By: Blonde Two
Am I going to Widecombe Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
Remember me to Old Uncle Tom Cobley,
Because I can’t remember the words of this rhyme!
Dear Mr Pearce
Allow me to introduce myself; I am Blonde and have long been a fan of Dartmoor. I am hoping to attend this year’s Widecombe Fair and sign copies of my most recent (and most excellent) children’s story.
You may have heard of ‘The Non-Story of Ignatius Bowerman’ on social media; no wait a minute, maybe not. I am aware that you have broadband issues on the moor, and that the internet hasn’t yet been officially invented. Anyway, my children’s story is about a landmark near to Widecombe called Bowerman’s Nose. You must surely have ridden past this fine rock formation in year’s past on your way to Widecombe Fair; with Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davey, Daniel Whiddon, Harry Hawke and my Uncle,Tom Cobley?
The reason that I am writing to you is that I understand you have a most excellent grey mare that is available for hire. I need to hire your mare because the park and ride arrangements for Widecombe Fair are going to make it very difficult for me and my many books to get there. I am certain that such a fine beast as your mare (does she have a name?) would be able to carry myself and a couple of boxes of books.
I am aware that you have had problems in the past, with people not returning your mare to you. I can promise you faithfully that I will have her home by ‘Friday soon’ or ‘Saturday noon’ and that I will keep her safely stabled behind the Sexton’s Cottage, where I will be signing books. If you are in doubt that I can achieve this, please be assured that I will not be travelling alone; I will be accompanied by the fine fellowship of Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davey, Daniel Whiddon, Harry Hawke and my Uncle,Tom Cobley (to whom, by the way, my book has been dedicated).
I do hope Tom (may I call you Tom?) that you will listen to my case and allow me to hire your mare. Although I have not ridden for a long time, I have recently been told that I look pretty good in a pair of jodhpurs. I also understand that you have an eye for the ladies.
I look forward to hearing from you soon, and have a carrot waiting for your mare.
‘All along, out along, down along lea.’
Blonde Two
http://www.widecombefair.com/old-uncle-tom-cobley-and-all/
Folksongs. Humph. This one fails because of its terrible tune. Virtually an untune, recitative that’s strayed out of the liturgy. Note how the neutral descriptor “folk” morphs these days into “folkesy”, now exclusively a term of abuse. Am I raining on your parade?
The best folksong isn’t at all a folksong but I mention it because the composer realised the tune should hint at irredeemable gloom and acquired suitable words to match it:
Poor Jud is dead
Poor Jud Fry is dead,
He’s layin’ in his coffin all serene.
He’s layin’ there to rest,
His hands across his chest,
And his finger nails have never looked so clean.
Sung properly the last line should ascend towards a falsetto tenor, not descend as is the less imaginative tendency. There’s gloom in high notes as well as low.
Well that makes me very glad that I had an Uncle Tom Cobley instead of an Uncle Jed!
Parsley,sage rosemary and thyme all belong to Scarborough Fair – a bit too far for the grey mare, I fear! (But of course that would have been nearer for your Uncle Tom Cobley…..) Both Widdecombe Fair and Scarborough Fair are authentic folk songs, unlike Poor Jud, who, dead though he may be, was composed for the musical Oklahoma by Oscar & Hammerstein. Oh, Mr. Robinson……..! B2’sGM
GM: I trust you’re not suggesting I didn’t know who wrote Poor Jud: please look again at what I wrote: “the best folksong isn’t at all a folksong”. In fact if memory serves me correctly I first heard Oklahoma (launched in the USA in 1943) on the BBC along with a whole load of now very aged music fans; I seem to recall a copy of the Radio Times publicising the fact. Could the British premiere (Late forties? I’ve just checked, it was 1947) have been broadcast on radio? Dunno. The movie arrived much later, almost as an afterthought. How times have changed. Later I learned the whole lyric and used to sing it as pillion rider on a bike owned by a journalistic pal of mine who went on to become a moderately distinguished tenor. Five decades were to pass before I discovered I was a baritone and I seem to have left it very late to catch up.
RR Never too late to start singing – plenty of groups crying out for male singers! GM