Bluegrass Messengers

Some Rarities from Arkansas- Cray 1959

Some Rarities from Arkansas
Ed Cary
Midwest Folklore, Vol. 9, No. 1 (Spring, 1959), pp. 21-30

informant wished to remain anonymous, I have identified the informant as fully as possible.

THE GIRL WHO HAD BEEN IN AN ACCIDENT
(Contributed by Doris Summers, former student at FSC.)
The three boys huddled closer together in the car to keep warm. It was a cold night and the snow sifting in under the doors didn't make the boys feel any better. It was late, but the boy at the wheel didn't dare drive any faster because the roads were bad. It was snowing heavily, and the road ahead was barely visible.

One of the boys made a joke and all three started laughing. Suddenly they became silent. On the road ahead was a figure crawling on hands and knees. They stopped the car and jumped out. The figure was that of a girl and she had evidently been in an accident. Fearfully the boys lifted her into the car. Her hands and feet were nearly frozen and her teeth chattered from the cold. There was a wound on her forehead that had dried blood on it. Greatly concerned for her, they tried to get her to tell them where she lived, but at first she wouldn't speak. Finally she managed a weak whisper.

"I was in an accident," she gasped. "Mason's Lawn. Get me to Mason's Lawn before . . ."

Her voice trailed off here and she did not speak again. One of the boys wrapped his scarf about her. They all knew where Mason's Lawn was. It was a big estate on Morgantown Avenue. They had driven by it many times. The fact that the injured girl might live there surprised them, for they hadn't known old Mrs. Mason had a daughter. It was supposed the old lady lived alone. The car moved steadily and soon reached Mason's Lawn. As they approached it the wounded girl regained consciousness and became alert. The car came to a halt in front of the huge house. Before the boys could get out the girl muttered a hasty 'thank you' and hurried out of the car. They watched her in surprise as she ran up the walk and went into the house. "Hey," said one boy, "she's got my scarf." Puzzled, but tired, the boys went home, determined to return the next day.

Upon arriving in the afternoon they knocked on the door. It was answered by Mrs. Mason who invited them to come in.
"Is your daughter in?" one of the boys asked.
They noticed a decided change in the old lady's countenance.
"I don't understand," she said. "I have no daughter."
Quite a great deal puzzled, the boys began a complete explanation of the happenings of the night before. It made them uneasy
to watch the old woman grow pale and nervous. When they had finished she caught her breath. When she spoke her voice was tight and strained.
"My daughter is dead. She was killed in an automobile accident several years ago. This is the fifth time someone has tried to bring her back to me."

THE GHOST OF BILL WHITE'S WIFE
(Contributed by Mrs. Josephine Shriver.)
Quite some years ago, during the "Oil and Gas Boom" in this part of Wetzel County, there lived a family on Rock Camp whose
name I shall call the White family. Several children had been born to this union, but at the time these things were happening, they had all married and made homes of their own with the exception of one daughter whose husband had died.

Mrs. White was a hard working woman, doing most of the farm
work such as milking, tending to the chickens, raising a truck garden,
and canning for the family. Bill was a sort of teamster, did a great
deal of horse trading, and was away from home quite a lot. He
wasn't very kind to Mrs. White; yet the neighbors said she never
complained. Often her relatives would know he had mistreated her,
and the children would want her to leave and come live with them,
but she wouldn't. The story goes that one day, while out in the yard,
when Bill was returning from one of his jaunts, they seemed to get
into an argument and he picked up an old chair from under an
apple tree and knocked her down. They seemed to have some trouble
over affairs Bill had with other women.
One summer Mrs. White took fever and died. Soon after Bill
brought home a new bride. The daughter continued to live with
them. It seemed she had an interest in the farmn. It wasn't long
before drillers on a well on the farm began to relate strange happenings
they had heard and seen.
Two men were going on midnight turn and some nights she
(Bill White's wife) would just appear around the engine house.
Another man said in the early dusk he saw her going down through
the gate to the barn next to the road. Then the family told of seeing
her go from the house to the spring house, but she never seemed to
return back to the house again. At night one time, they (members
of the family) were in bed and a sound like a great lot of small
apples or gravel dumped on the roof was heard. They said on
evenings several times while they would be in another room they
could hear the noise of someone poking the coal in the cookstove
and the rattling of pots and pans. They would get up and go to
see what it was, and all they could hear would be the sound of
someone moving out of the kitchen door into the darkness. Then
the daughter sold out to her father and left.
The barn was down next to the road and people said, when they
passed by it at milking time, they would hear the sound of someone
milking with both hands, and could hear the sound of the milk
going into the pails. But if anyone would go in to investigate, he
would find no one.
One evening as Bill was coming in from the field, he got just
about under the apple tree. He said she seemed to come right toward
him and say, "Here, Bill, is where you knocked me down with a
chair." He was so scared he couldn't move, but let out some kind
of yell. His wife, hearing him, came running but she could see
nothing.

Things went from bad to worse. They had bad luck with their
cattle. They did no good. His horses both died. The new Mrs. White
didn't have good health. Finally they sold out and left.
The house is still standing and is occupied, but I don't believe
they (the occupants) are bothered by the "ghost of Bill White's wife."
THE GHOST OF A TORTURED SPARROW
(Sent in by an anonymous reader of my weekly folklore column.)
More than a hundred years ago, before the Civil War, and when
this section was still a part of Virginia, there came to these parts a
man from farther south in Virginia with his family, his wife, his son,
Caliph, and his mother-in-law. On thd east side of the "River-of-
Falling Banks," which was the Indian word Monongahela, the local
river getting its name because the steep mountains along its eastern
shores were constantly sliding down into the stream, was a village
then know as Palatine. The village was later incorporated under that
name, which it retained for many years, until it was incorporated
with Fairmont, into Greater Fairmont.
South of Palatine and up the Monongahela River a short distance,
the man, whose name was Strode, purchased a steep and wooded
tract of land. Across from what is now Fifth Street on the flat below
Palatine Knob, and above the Monongahela, he built a log house.
Caliph Strode was as mean a young man as ever lived in these
parts. He was cruel to animals and was rude and overbearing. He
was disliked heartily by all who came in contact with him. The
slaves on his father's farm were terrorized by him. The animals were
abused and mistreated.
One cold winter day Caliph Strode caught a live sparrow. He
pulled all the feathers off the half dead bird, and then tossed it out
into the snow. The bird managed to hop up on a low limb of a
tree, where it sat freezing and chirping. When morning came the
bird was clinging to the limb of the tree, frozen stiff.
Then Caliph Strode became meaner than ever. He also became
very nervous, sullen, and appeared to be afraid. It was not long
until he was a raving maniac. His mother, who was a poor downbeaten
woman and seldom spoke, told some of the neighbor women
that every night when Caliph was sleeping, the frozen sparrow would
come to the limb of a tree outside the window of his room and chirp,
"Caliph, I'm cold! Caliph, I'm cold!" This would continue until
Caliph would awaken, screaming. He moved his sleeping quarters
to another room, but it did no good. He sat up all night before the
split in half to form two stanzas in "Kemo Kimo"7 Whatever the
origins of the song are, oral tradition seems to have parodied any
original elements which might still be present.

Way down yonder on Poplar Creek

Where the niggers grows eleven feet,
They put them to bed, but it ain't no use
For their feet sticks up for the chicken roost.

Chorus: Do Johnny bugger, won't you help that nigger?
0, do Johnny bugger, do!
0, do Johnny bugger, do!
As I went down to Hannah's mill,
My dinged old team stopped right still.
I hitched myself before my team,
And I pulled up hill going by steam.

Chorus

69. THE JEALOUS HEARTED HUSBAND
Mrs. Dusenberry has a unique version of "Our Goodman" (Child 274) primarily because of the cumulative nature of the man's response.
This seems to be the first time that the song has been reported in
this form. The length is also a little unusual in that the husband
discovers six suspiciouts items instead of the more common three or
four.
I went into my setting room, to see what I could see.
Three gents' hats a-hanging there, one, two by three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three gentlemen's hats a-doing here, unless they belong to me?"
"You old fool, you blind fool, can't you very well see.
Here's three soup bowls my mammy sent to me."
"Hey, oh, soup bowls with hat bands on, such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone; here they must be."
I went into my dressing room, to see what I could see.
Three gentlemen's coats a-hanging there, one, two and three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three coats a-doing here, unless they belong to me?"
"You old fool, you blind fool, can't you very well see,
Here's three coverlids my mammy sent to me."
"Hey, oh, coverlids with buttons on, and soup bowls with hat bands on,
such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone, and here they must be."
I went into my drawing room to see what I could see.
Three gentlemen's boots a-setting there, one, two and three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three gentlemen's boots a-doing here, unless they belong to me?"
26 Midwest Folklore, IX: 1
You old fool, you blind fool, can't you very well see,
Here's three pudding bags, my mammy sent to me."
"Hey, oh, pudding bags with spurs on, and coverlids with buttons on,
and soup bowls with hat bands on, such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone, and here they must be."
I went into my bedroom, to see what I could see.
Three gentlemen a-lying there, one, two and three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three gentlemen a-doing here, unless they live with me?"
"You old fool, you blind fool, can't you very well see,
Here's three milk maids, my mammy sent to me."
"Hey, oh, milk maids with whiskers on, and pudding bags with spurs on,
and coverlids with buttons on and soup bowls with hat bands, on,
such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone, and here they must be."
I went into my back yard, to see what I could see.
Three gentlemen's dogs a-lying there, one, two and three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three gentlemen's dogs a-doing here, unless they belong to me?"
"You old fool you blind fool, can't you very well see,
Here's three sucking calves my mammy sent to me."
"Hey, oh, sucking calves with flopping ears, and milk maids with whiskers
on and pudding bags with spurs on and coverlids with buttons on
and soup bowls with hat bands on, such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone, and here they must be."
I went into my horse lot, to see what I could see.
Three gentlemen's horses a-standing there, one, two and three.
I called to my dear loving wife. "Kind sir," she answered me.
"What's these three horses a-doing here unless they belong to me?"
"You old fool, you blind fool, can't you very well see,
Here's three milch cows my mother sent to me."
"Hey, oh, milch cows with saddles on and sucking calves with flopping
ears and milk maids with whiskers on and pudding bags with spurs
on and coverlids with buttons on and soup bowls with hat bands on,
such things I never did see.
They're always here when I am gone, and here they must be."
7 1. GILDEROY
This is the second time that this ballad has been reported in
the United States. According to James Johnson, "Gilderoy was a
notorious freebooter in the highlands of Perthshire, who with his
gang, for considerable time infested the country, committing the most
barbarous outrages on the inhabitants."8
The full title of the ballad is offered by A. L. Humphreys in an
article for Notes and Queries9 as "The Wonderful Life of Gilder
Ed Cray 27
Roy, a noted murderer, ravisher, incendiary and highwayman. A
native of the Highlands of Perthshire, who was executed, at Edinburgh,
about the year 1656, and hung in chains on a gibbet forty
feet high, on Leith Walk." Humphreys dates the ballad as 1656.
The Musical Museum goes on to contradict the above date,
claiming a black letter broadside "at least as early as 1650." Traditionally,
Johnson claims, "the ballad was composed by a young
woman, of no mean talent, who unfortunately became attached to
this daring robber, and had cohabited with him for some time before
his being apprehended."
The ballad was rewritten for more delicate ears by a Lady Wardlaw
though no date is offered by Johnson. Humphreys in his N&Q
article mentions "The Scotch Lover's Lamentation or Gilderoy's Last
Farewell" which probably is the Wardlaw rewrite. He quotes one
stanza:
"At Leith, they took my Gilderoy,
And there, God wot, they hang'd him,
Carry'd him to fair Edenburgh (sic)
And there, God wot, they hang'd him,
They hang'd him up above the rest,
He was so trim a Boy,
My only Love and Heart's Delight,
my handsome Gilderoy."10
See also Journal of the English Folk Song Society II (1906)
p. 239 for another traditional text. Percy's Reliques of Ancient English
Poetry (London, 1891) Volume I, pp. 321 ff. has the Wardlaw
rewrite. Francis James Child included it in English and Scottish Ballads
(The British Poets Series, Boston, Little Brown and Company,
1858, Volume VI, pp. 196 ff.) but though he could identify the
Wardlaw emendations, he declined to use the broadside in his The
English and Scottish Ballads. The Henry E. Huntington Library of
San Marino, California, has a Catnach imprint of the Wardlaw text
which may date as early as 1815. The music set with a new text,
"Ah, Chloris, Could I Now But Sit" was often included in English
collections of popular songs in the 18th Century, but generally listed
under the title, "Gilderoy."
As sung by Mrs. Dusenberry, the ballad has Gilderoy hanged not
for terrorizing the countryside but for "disgracing a woman" as she
put it. The Dusenberry version most probably is derived from Lady
Wardlaw's rewrite, thus partially accounting for the defective text.
I and Gildy was borned in one town together.
At seven years old we loved one another.
Our fathers and our mothers too both thinking of much joy,
A-thinking of the wedding day of I and Gilderoy.
28 Midwest Folklore, IX:1
But I and Gildy waited till we was full sixteen
And then we spent the rest of our days among the leaves so green."
Is it not a pity that a man should be hung
For stealing women's wearing?
A-robbing ladies of their hears (sic) or any such affairing?
They carried him to London Town and there they condemned him.
They carried him to Wisdom Town and there they did hang him.
They hung him up above the rest, just like a trimmy boy.
When they had said all they could say,
She raised and kissed her joy.
Saying, "You've robbed me of my heart's delight;
You've robbed me of my joy.
You've robbed me of my heart's delight;
You've robbed me of my boy."
72. LONG BEFORE THE RISING SUN
Obviously a woman's lament, Mrs. Dusenberry's song shares
similar sentiments with a number of songs, among them "Single Girl"
and "The Housekeeper's Tragedy" but remains a separate song.12
Long before the rising sun,
I'm forced to leave my bed.
To make the fires and bake the cakes
And get the table spread.
"O, stir the pudding, Peggy,
And give those ducks a turn.
Be quick, be quick, you lazy girls
Or one or both will burn!"
Here I stand beside the fire
A-turning round and round;
I hear the kettle boiling
I hate the very sound.
"O, rock the cradle, Susie,
0, rock the cradle on.
0, rock the cradle, Susie
And keep the baby warm."
A close parallel to the last stanza is sung by Gid Tanner in his
recorded version of "Soldier's Joy" on RCA Victor 447-0570:
"Rock the cradle, Cindy.
Rock the cradle high.
Rock the cradle, Cindy;
Don't let the baby cry."
Ed Cray 29
74. BOUNCE THE CYMBLIN
Mrs. Dusenberry was simply asked to record, one song reminding
her of the next. Number 73 in the collection, "Shake That Wooden
Leg, Dinah-O," seems to have recalled this one. The dance directions
in this play-party are quite general and can be found in "That's
a Mighty Pretty Motion," a Negro children's song.'3 "Cymblin" may
be folk-speech for simelon, a melon,'4 though how one bounces a
melon is not clear.
As a guess, "too-die-iddle-linker" could be reassessed as "to the
middle link her" which might indicate an origin in some English
round dance. "High-me-lingo" might be "hide me and go" pointing
to some sort of game to be played with the original form of the song.
The tune for the chorus is similar to the Creole song, "Pauvre
Lolette."'5
Bounce the cymblin.
Too-die-iddle-linker.
Too-die-iddle-linker.
Too-die-day.
High-me-lingo, here we go.
High-me-lingo, here we go.
High-me-lingo, here we go.
Too-die-iddle-linker-day.
Gentlemen in motion, etc.
Awful ugly motion, etc.
Ladies in motion, etc.
Awful pretty motion, etc.
NOTES
' Vance Randolph used 18 songs collected from Mrs. Dusenberry in his
Ozark Folk Songs (Columbia, Mo. 1946). Waldemar Hille is reported to
have collected "over 100" including some social protest material. One of
these has been recorded by Pete Seeger on Folkways FH 5251, American
Industrial Ballads, as "The Blind Fiddler."
2 For listing see Randolph IV, Appendix III.
3 The Dusenberry material in this paper is used by permission of Laurence
Powell: all rights reserved.
4 G. Malcolm Laws, Jr., American Balladry from British Broadsides
(Philadelphia, 1957), p. 261.
5 Recorded by Oscar Brand and Jean Ritchie on Elektra Long Playing
record ELK 126 as "Hey Little Boy." "Did you Go to the Barnic ?" as
printed by Ruth Crawford Seeger in her American Folk Songs for Children
(New York, 1948), p. 112, is most probably a rewritten version of Mrs. Dusenberry's
recording deposited in the LC archives.
6 See American Skiffle Bands, Folkways FA 2610, for a recording.
7Randolph, Vol. II, p. 364. See also Newman I. White, American
Negro Folk Songs (Cambridge, 1928), p. 138; p. 230.
30 Midwest Folklore, IX: 1
8 Scots Musical Museum, Vol. I, p. 70.
9N&Q, CLXXVIII (1940), p. 311. I am indebted to D. K. Wilgus for
furnishing this reference.
10 N&Q, p. 311. This is quoted from the Bagford Ballads, Part I, pp.
105-107. Humphreys also says that the ballad is in the Pepys Collection.
Johnson cites Playford's Wit and Mirth (1st ed, 1703, Vol. III) as a source
for the older, unexpurgated version of the ballad. For a recording, see Ewan
MacColl, Bad Lads and Hard Cases, Riverside LP 12-632.
1I This seems to be a redaction of "mantle so green" that is, the tradition
euphemism for lying with a maid in the fields.
12 See The Frank C. Brown Collection of North Carolina Folklore, Vol.
III, pp. 367-8; Cecil Sharp and Maud Karpeles, English Folk Songs from the
Southern Appalachians (2nd ed., Oxford University Press, 1952), Vol. II,
pp. 32 ff.
13 Altona Trent-Johns, Play Songs of the Deep South. (Washington,
1944), p. 22.
','Dr. Wayland Hand figured this one out for me.
15 Sylvia and John Kolb, A Treasury of Folk Songs (New York, 1948),
p. 191.