The Cruel Mother- Gibson (NC) 1918 Sharp H
[Not a local title. Sharp H, from English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, with music. His notes follow.
This version was covered by Hedy West: The Cruel Mother; Ballads, Topic 12T163, 1967.
R. Matteson 2014
No. 10. The Cruel Mother. Texts without tunes :—Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads, No. 20. C. Burne's Shropshire Folk-Lore, p. 540. A. Williams's Folk Songs of the Upper Thames, p. 295. Journal of American Folk-Lore, xxv. 183 ; xxxii. 503. Texts with tunes:—Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 44 and Appendix. Child, v. 413. Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, i. 105 and 107. Journal of the Folk-Song Society, ii. 109; iii. 70. Folk Songs from Somerset, No. 98 (also published in English Folk Songs, Selected Edition, Series 1, p. 35, and One Hundred English Folk Songs, p. 35). Gavin Greig's Last Leaves, No. 11. Dick's Songs of Robert Burns, p. 347. Cox's Folk Songs of the South, pp. 29 and 522. W. R. Mackenzie's Ballads and Sea Songs from Nova Scotia, No. 3. British Ballads from Maine, p. 80. Davis's Traditional Ballads of Virginia, pp. 133 and 560. McGill's Folk Songs of the Kentucky Mountains, p. 83. The tune of version B is that of The Wife of Usher Well, No. 22. In version I there appears to be a change of mode from Dorian to Mixolydian. The singer is a brother of Mr. W. B. Chisholm of Woodridge, who sang version D. Version A is published in Ballads (School Songs, Book 261), Novello & Co., London, and version E in Folk Songs of English Origin, 2nd Series—both with pianoforte accompaniment.
H. The Cruel Mother- sung by Mrs. Mary Gibson at Marion, North Carolina, Sept. 3, 1918 "Sharp H" from English Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians.
There was a lady in New York,
All along little Omy,
She fell in love with her father's clerk,
All down by the greenwood sidey.
SHe was a-going across the bridge,
She found herself a-growing big.
She leant herself against an oak;
First it bent and then it broke.
She leant herself against a thorn;
And there she had two little babes born.
She carried a penknife both keen and sharp;
She pierced those little babes to the heart.
She buried them under a bunch of rue;
She prayed to the Lord they'd never come to.
When she was a-walking across the porch,
She saw two little babes at play.
O babes, O babes, if you were mine,
I'd dress you up in silk so fine.
Mother, O mother, when we were yours
You neither gave us coarse nor fine.
Mother, O mother, for our sakes
You'll always carry the keys of Hell's gates.