Bridgwater Farmer- Hughes (Dorset) c.1962 MacColl

Bridgwater Farmer- Hughes (Dorset) c.1962 MacColl

[From: Caroline Hughes-- Sheep-Crook and Black Dog (MTCD365-6) http://www.mtrecords.co.uk/pdf/hughes.pdf
Also in Travellers' Songs from England and Scotland by Ewan Maccoll, Peggy Seeger

Following are liner notes from Topic, includes bio and text.

R. Matteson 2016]


See: English Gypsy Songs from MacColl & Seeger, Travellers Songs p. 106 Kent & Dorset.

These are the rarely heard 1963 and 1966 recordings made by Ewan MacColl, Peggy Seeger and Charles Parker, which
we're proud to make widely available for the first time.

Caroline Hughes (1900 - 1971) [liner-notes]
Caroline Hughes (née Bateman) was born in 1900 in a horse-drawn caravan in Bere Regis, Dorset.

“My mother's name was Lavinia Bateman and my father was Arthur Hughes.  I was one of seventeen children.  My parents worked all their lifetime to bring we up clean and  respectable.    My  father  was  a  rat-and-varmint  destroyer.    We  could  bide anywhere, and was respected with anybody.  My father had a good name and a good character.    My  mother  worked  hard,  use  to  go  hawking  to  get  a  living  in  a straightforward way.  Never done no wrong.  Never been had up for stealing, robbing, lived a straight life ... I started to go hawking with my mother, time I got up old enough, then I went to school ‘til I was ten year old.  Then I took off with my mother to get my living, just like all my sisters did.  And I grew up to get married and I knew how to get my living."

It’s  also  interesting  to  note  that  the  recordings  Peter  Kennedy  made  of  Caroline Hughes in 1968 show a number of similarities and differences.  Broadly, the songs with  a  clear  narrative  line  (in  her  versions)  remain  pretty  much  the same  in  these later recordings, while those made up of largely unconnected verses tend to contains the  same  verses,  but  often  in  a  completely  different  order.   This  remains  true  of songs  which do   have  a  clear  narrative  line  in  their  ‘standard’  versions,  but  not  in Mrs Hughes’ version.


The Bridgwater Farmer
(The Brake of Briars)

Spoken:

. . . near Bridgwater,
He had two sons and a daughter dear;
They feeled it fitting to plough the ocean
To plough the ocean that raged so clear.
Our servant man’s going to wed my sister,
My sister she have got mind to wed.
They have soon courtship and their blood they have ... (slaughter?)
And send her to a silent grave
Well now hunting three days and three nights she lately dreamed
She dreamed, she dreamed of her own true love;
By her bedside there was tears like fountains,
Covered over with gores of blood.
She rose in the morning and come to her brothers
“Dear brothers, you’re welcome home
And where’s our dear servant man?
My brothers you killed him and ain’t you cruel?”
She got hold of her horse, she saddled her horse;
Down through the copse as she was riding,
She heard a mournful, dreadful noise
She got off from her horse and she raised down on him
She pulled her pocket handkerchief and she wiped his eyes
With tears of salt like any bride.
My brothers have killed you and ain’t they cruel?
That’s just to send you to your silent grave.

Sings the tune. Then, sung:

Oh there was a farmer living near Bridgwater
Well he had two sons and one daughter dear;
Well she felt it fitting for to plough the ocean
Oh to plough the ocean, oh that raged so clear.
Surely, surely, they was deluded,
Which caused this poor farmer to live in fear.

Well, our servant man’s a-going to wed my sister,
Yes, my sister she have got mind to wed.
You will soon courtship and it won’t be longing
Surelye, surelye, that will drive me wild.

Well three days and three nights, oh she latelye mention,
Oh she dreamed, she dreamed of her own true love;
Oh by her bedside there was tears like fountains,
Covered over and over all by gores of blood.

She come dressed herself, she come down to her brothers,
A-crying tears like lumps of salt;
Dear brother, oh, tell, do tell me where he’s? [slain; lain]
You’ve killed my love, and you’ll tell me too [true]

Down through the woods oh that she went a-riding,
Oh, she heard a mournfully bitter cry;
Surelye, surelye, that’s my own dear true love,
In the brake of briars oh he’s throwed and killed.

Oh she got off’n her horse and she looked down on him,
Wiping the tears from her eyes oh like any brine;
My brothers have killed you and ain’t they cruel?
Surelye, surelye, that now would drive me mad.