V. CHILDREN'S GAME-SONGS
A NEGRO musician of Nashville, Tennessee (H. B. P. Johnson), said to me not long ago, "There are two aspects of Negro folk-music which I have never seen touched on, and which deserve to be discussed. . . . One is the children's game-songs. I wish you would write about them in your book." But the difficulty of getting hold of such material is greater than in the case of various other types of song, and but little effort has been made to collect it. Matthew Work, professor in Fisk University, who has done much to preserve the old spirituals and to restore them to the place of dignity they deserve, said to me recently: "I am planning a pageant which shall represent something of the history of our race. I need some children's game-songs, but I am having trouble rinding them."
Perhaps the reason for this difficulty lies in the shyness of children, their reticence about what concerns them as a class. Children, I find, will more readily give you their confidence as to their own personal affairs, than with regard to the close fraternity of childhood. They will speak as themselves more easily than as children. There is a secret fellowship among children from which adults are shut out — save in rare instances where grown-ups still have the childlike heart, the warm, spontaneous sympathy. The "little folk" among mortals are as jealous of their secrets as the fairy tribe themselves, and you must either win them or else surprise them, if you are to learn anything of their hidden ways. No doubt many parents and teachers would be astonished to discover with what tolerance and humorous patronage the youngsters regard them; with what care they conceal their real thoughts and customs, as they hide their faces under puckish masks at Halloween.
By the time you are grown up and can consider the folk-ways of your childhood with detached impersonality, you have forgotten what was of most value. Rarely will a child tell frankly of his lore, and rarely can an adult remember. The years are flaming swords to bar us from the lost paradise of childhood. There is no magic carpet that can transport us at will to enchanted scenes we remember dimly, no time machine to whisk us back to any date we choose.
Once having left that age of gold, —with what shortsighted jo3r in growing-up! — we can look on childhood only from the leaden years of maturity, can know only vicariously its mystical delights through the experience of other children.
Perhaps another reason for the difficulty in capturing these same songs now — apart from the self-conscious secrecy of childhood in general, and the racial reticence of Negroes — is the fact that game-songs are not sung as much by any children now as formerly; for children, like their elders, at present incline to take their music from phonograph records and the radio, and are slipping away from the great body of unwritten folk-song. They crave the novel, and they are losing their birth-right of racial song. Nothing in juvenile entertainment can quite take the place of the old ring-games, with their nonsensical tunes. A child who has never sung hilariously while he danced or skipped through some old, fantastic game has been cheated of some inalienable, right, and should seek redress from society.
One day, a year or so ago, while I was enjoying a solitary horseback ride in a country district near Richmond, Virginia, I came into what is called Zion Town, a Negro settlement. A little group of children were circling about in a ring, holding hands. Inside the ring a plump pickaninny was squatting on the ground, while a slightly larger girl poked him vigorously with a stick. The ring skipped about, chanting merrily, and I reined my horse in and sat there to watch and listen.
Frog in the middle
And can't get out. Take a stick
And punch him out.
As the stanza ended, "Froggy," impelled by a prodigious prod, hopped lurchily out of the ring and someone else took his place. Memory flashed back scenes of my own early years when I had played that game myself. If I had not been afraid of breaking in on the fun, I should have got down off my horse and begged for the chance to be "Frog" once more. But I knew I should be regarded as an alien, and so I chirruped to Rob Roy and rode on.
Negro children on the plantations before the war had many of their own ring-games and songs, some of which have come down to us. Those youngsters, untroubled by school and too small to work, had command of their own time and enjoyed a free childhood that juveniles now might well envy.
Mrs. Harvey Carroll, of Austin, Texas, told me of game-songs that her mother, Mrs. Crawford, heard the children on plantations in Louisiana sing in the early days. One that she recalled was Ransum Scansum.
RANSUM SCANSUM
Dis way out and t'other way in, In my la-dy's cham-ber.
Ransum scansum, through yonder.
Bring me a gourd to drink water. Dis way out and t'other way in,
In my lady's chamber. Dis way out and t'other way in,
In my lady's chamber.
The children formed a ring, hands linked and arms held high. One child stood in the middle of the ring, which was "my lady's chamber," and as the song went on, would dodge in and out of the ring, under the uplif ted arms. The tempo of the tune is spirited, and it is hard to put the syncopation accurately on paper.
Another version of this, which Mrs. Carroll gave as her mother recalled it, is a little different.
Aransom Shansom through yander,
Bring me a go'd to drink water. Dis door's locked and t'other one's propped,
In dat Lady's garden. Dis door's locked wid a double lock,
In dat Lady's garden. Oh, Lawdy mercy, let me get out of here,
In dat Lady's garden!
A Negro girl was in the centre of the ring, and at the conclusion of the song the players sang to a different tune:
That's a mighty purty motion,
Susie gal! That's a mighty purty motion,
Susie gal! In dat Lady's garden!
A writer under the pen name of Virginia Stait sends me a couple of game-songs from Virginia, which friends had given her with the assurance that they dated back to ante-bellum days.
Lrpxo
Do, do, pity my case,
In some lady's garden. My floors to scrub when I get home,
In some lady's garden.
And so on — the singers and players bewailing the tasks they must perform, of baking bread, and so forth.
Mr. Newell says: "Our informant remembers the game as danced by Negro children, their scanty garments flying as the ring spun about the trunk of some large tree — but this is evidently no Negro song."
A game-song used by Negro children in Louisiana was sent me by Mrs. Cammilla Breazeale, of Natchitoches. The actions sung of are represented by gesture as far as possible.
Little Girl
"Little girl, little girl," —
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you go over the river?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you see my hen?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did she lay an egg?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you take it to yer mamma?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did she make it inter corn pone?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Wid jest dat egg? "
"Yes, ma'am." "Did she give you some?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Oh, how'd you like it?"
"Oh, very well."
"Little girl, Httle girl," —
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you go over the river?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you see my cow?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you milk her down?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Did you put it in a bucket?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did you take it to yer mamma? "
"Yes, ma'am." "Did she give you some?"
"Yes, ma'am." "Oh,how'dyoulikeit?"
"Oh, very well."
This is sung antiphonally, the leader shouting one line and the crowd another. It is said that the rhythm of this is strong, and the children stamp their feet with vigor as they sing the nonsensical lines.
Dr. Charles Carroll, of New Orleans, told me of a queer song-game played by Negroes in which the players tied themselves in a knot. Unfortunately, he could remember but vaguely either the progress of the game or the song that accompanied it.
In an article, "Ring-Games from Georgia," in the Journal of American Folk-lore, volume xxx, Loraine Darby gives various songs which she says are peculiar to the colored children of that region, southern Georgia.
"One of the prettiest is The May Pole Song. One girl skips about the inside of the ring, and at the singing of the fourth line bows to the one she chooses. Then both' jump for joy,' a peculiar step rather like a clog, which outsiders find difficult to learn. Then the song is repeated, the second girl choosing, and so on."
All around the May pole,
The May pole, the May pole; All around the May pole,
Now, Miss Sallie, won't you bow? Now, Miss Sallie, won't you jump for joy,
Jump for joy, jump for joy? Now, Miss Sallie, won't you jump for joy,
Now, Miss Sallie, won't you bow?
Miss Darby says, "Perhaps the most charming of all is:
This Lady She Wears a Dark-Green Shawl
This lady she wears a dark-green shawl, A dark-green shawl, a dark-green shawl.
This lady she wears a dark-green shawl, I love her to my heart!
Now choose for your lover, honey, my love,
Honey, my love! Honey, my love! Now choose for your lover, honey, my love,
I love her to my heart!
THIS LADY SHE WEARS A DARK-GREEN SHAWL
Now dance with your lover, honey, my love,
Honey, my love! Honey, my love! Throw your arms round your lover, honey, my love,
I love her to my heart!
Farewell to your lover, honey, my love,
Honey, my love! Honey, my love! Farewell to your lover, honey, my love,
I love her to my heart!"
There are many more of these games and songs which have never been set down in print and which are like to perish if they are not captured soon. Children to-day are singing them but little in comparison with those of the past, and since these old songs depend on oral transmission for their passing from one generation to another, it is easy to see how slight their hold is becoming. Children grow up so quickly now — and how can they remember what they do not know? Yet what a tragedy it is to let these precious folk-memories fade away, and to lose traditions and songs that have given pleasure for centuries! Parents and teachers and social workers could do a service of real value here, if they would set down these quaint and lively old game-songs as they learn them from children or find them in the recollections of older people. When they are once lost, how shall they be recaptured?
Lipto, lipto, jine de ring, Lip to, lipto, dance an' sing; Dance an' sing, an' laugh an' play, Fur dis is now a holiday. Turn aroun' an' roun' an' roun', Clap yo' han's, an' make 'em soun'; Bow yo' heads, an' bow 'em low, All jine han's, an' heah we go.
Lipto, lipto — fi-yi-yi,
Lipto, lipto, heah am I,
Er holdm' uv dis golden crown,
An' I choose my gal fur ter dance me down.
Lipto, lipto, jine de ring, Lipto, lipto, dance an' sing; Dance an' sing, an' laugh an' play, Fur dis is now a holiday. Turn aroun' an' roun' an roun', Clap yo' han's, an' make 'em soun'; Bow yo' heads, an' bow 'em low; All jine han's, an' heah we go.
Lipto, lipto — fi-yi-yi,
Lipto, lipto, heah am I,
Er holdin' uv dis golden crown,
An' I choose my man fur ter dance me down.
Louise Clarke Pyrnelle, in her book, "Diddy, Dumps and Tot," which describes child life on a plantation before the war, gives this as an authentic ante-bellum song. The game which it accompanied dramatized the various actions spoken of in the lines. The "gal" chosen must dance with the youth till one or the other "broke down," after which the girl chose a man by the same music.
Another song sent by the same contributor is typically negro. It also appears in much the same form in "Diddy, Dumps and Tot."
Monkey Motions
I ac' monkey motions, too-re-loo, I ac' monkey motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de monkeys ac'.
I ac' gen'man motions, too-re-loo, I ac' gen'man motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de gen'mans ac'.
I ac' lady motions, too-re-loo, I ac' lady motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de ladies ac'.
I ac' chillun motions too-re-loo, I ac' chillun motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de chillun ac'.
I ac' preacher motions, too-re-loo, I ac' preacher motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de preachers ac'.
I ac' nigger motions, too-re-loo, I ac' nigger motions, so I do; I ac' 'em well an' dat's a fac' — I ac' jes' like de niggers ac'.
Mrs. Clarke Pyrnelle says that the leader would give dramatic illustration of the "motions" sung of, improvising according to his own whim, and seeking to entertain the crowd.
John Trotwood Moore, Librarian of the State Library of Tennessee, and author of many stories, poems, and novels depicting the Negro of former days as well as the present, gave a song which he said was used by the young Negroes in Alabama years ago. Mr. Moore said that it was his observation that the black Negroes, of pure African blood, were the ones who sang the folk-songs. The yellow ones, mulattoes or quadroons, cared less for folk-lore or song.
Dog in the wood, Barking at the squirrel; My true love Is as good as the worl'.
Chorus
Mr. Banks, he loves sugar and tea, Mr. Banks, he loves candy. Mr. Banks he can whirl around And kiss the girls so handy.
Dog in the wood, Barking at the squirrel; Roses are red and violet blue, Sugar is sweet and so are you. Chorus
We're walking,
We're walking down our true love's lane;
Oh, chillum, let us be happy,
For we may not hunt again. Chorus
This was sung with a kissing-game. The name would be changed for each boy, who would pick another girl. A line was formed on each side, making an aisle, in which the singer acted the motions of the dog and the squirrel in the wood.
Mr. John Stone, of Mountfair, Virginia, president of the Virginia Folk-lore Society, sends me a couple of game-songs. " Several years ago while hunting ballads I found two singing-games of darky origin that may be of use to you.
"In one game two people skip around a tree and sing:
"Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum-dee!"
HOP, OLD SQUIRREL
Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum-dee!
"The second tries to catch the first. The song was given to me by a white lady, a descendant of William Byrd II. She had seen the darky play it. Afterwards I persuaded an old colored woman to show me how it was played. Words are improvised for it. She sang various things, such as:
" Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum — eidle-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum-dum-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum — eidle-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum-dee!
"I'll give you fifty cents, eidle-dum — eidle-dum, I'll give you fifty cents, eidle-dum-dum-dum, I'll give you fifty cents, eidle-dum — eidle-dum, I'll give you fifty cents, eidle-dum-dee!"
Another squirrel game-song in use among the Negroes, and considered by its collector to be of undoubted African origin, perhaps brought over from the Congo, is given in an article, " Carols and Child-lore at the Capitol," by W. H. Babcock in Lippincotfs Magazine, September, 1886. Whether of jungle or plantation origin, it is such as would appeal to the Negro, who so loves the out-of-doors and gives to animals his own intense feelings. Mr. Babcock says that two players stand face to face, to represent trees, while a third, taking the part of a squirrel, peeps round the trunk of one tree, at another squirrel not visible, but apparently off-stage. The chorus goes "pat and sing":
Peep, Squirrel, peep, Peep at your brother.
Why should n't one fool Peep at another?
The fox, in the person of another player, comes up, at which the song changes to a warning:
Jump, Squirrel, jump!
Jump, Squirrel, jump! Jump, or the fox will catch you;
Jump, jump, jump!
When the squirrel sees the fox, he leaps round the tree and trots toward the other squirrel off-stage. As the fox follows him, the song becomes:
Trot, Squirrel, trot!
Trot, Squirrel, trot! Trot, or the fox will catch you; Trot, trot, trot!
The squirrel trots faster, the excitement of beating time*and singing increases, and the chorus becomes more animated:
Run, Squirrel, run!
Run, Squirrel, run! Run, or the fox will catch you;
Run, run, run!
The game finally turns into a whirl of dodging and leaping and furious pursuit. The squirrel cannot go far, as he must not leave his tree for any distance, and so he is inevitably caught.
In another article, "Games of Washington Children/' in the American Anthropologist for July, 1888, the same author describes a game, and gives a song which is evidently a version of one sent me by Ella Oatman, of Houston, Texas. Mr. Babcock's song is called Old Humpsy and Miss Oatman's is Old Ponto.1
This also is a ring-game. Three players are discovered inside the ring, one standing up straight to represent a tree, one — Old Humpsy, or Old Ponto — crouched beside the tree, and the third representing an old woman. As the song proceeds, the players dramatize the actions sung of, and when the end comes, each of the three selects in succession and the game and song begin all over again.
OLD PONTO IS DEAD
dead and laid in his grave. Wnool Whoo! Whoo! . .
Old Ponto is dead and laid in his grave, Laid in his grave, laid in his grave. Old Ponto is dead and laid in his grave. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
1 Professor Kittredge writes me: "Your Old Ponto is Dead is an English song — still popular as a game-song. The person who is dead (in English and American versions) is Oliver Cromwell, Old Crompy, Old Crony, Old Pompey, Old Grundy, Old Grumley, Father Adam, Granddaddy, Sir Roger, Little Johnny Wattles, etc. See my note in the Journal of American Folk-lore, xxxv, 407."
There grew a large apple tree over his grave, Over his grave, over his grave. There grew a large apple tree over his grave. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
The apples got ripe, beginning to fall, Beginning to fall, beginning to fall. The apples got ripe, beginning to fall. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
There came an old woman a-picking them up, A-picking them up, a-picking them up. There came an old woman a-picking them up. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
Old Ponto jumped up and gave her a thump, And gave her a thump, and gave her a thump. Old Ponto jumped up and gave her a thump. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
It made the old woman go hippity-hop, Hippity-hop, hippity-hop. It made the old woman go hippity-hop. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
Miss Oatman says, "As children we added the bridle-and-saddle verse. I do not know whether it belongs or not."
The bridle and saddle are on the shelf, On the shelf, on the shelf. The bridle and saddle are on the shelf. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
If you want any more you can sing it yourself, Sing it yourself, sing it yourself. If you want any more you can sing it yourself. Whoo! whoo! whoo!
I have seen Negro children in Texas sing with glee some of the games which the white children also sang, as Farmer in the Dell, and so forth. I have seen them act out the following simple play. One child would stand alone before his fellows and chant:
Here I stand
All ragged and dirty. If you don't come kiss me
I'll run like a turkey.
I never saw the actual kiss given, as children in my region in my day did not play kissing-games. But some child of the opposite sex would come forward and tap the singer on the shoulder, after which he would take his place and sing.
Newell, in his "Games and Songs/' gives an old kissing-game reported to be played by Negro children at Galveston, Texas, years ago, which is apparently a remote version of the Sleeping Beauty tale.
A girl pretends to be asleep, while a ring of children circle round her, singing:
Here we go round the strawberry bush, This cold and frosty morning.
Here's a young lady sat down to sleep, This cold and frosty morning.
She wants a young gentleman to wake her up, This cold and frosty morning.
Mr.-----his name is called,
This cold and frosty morning.
Arise, arise, upon your feet, This cold and frosty morning.
After the kiss has been given, the sleeper wakes, and the game continues with some one else as central figure. This is a survival of an old English round.
I have seen Negro children in Texas play the old game, which we white youngsters also played, called " Chickamy, Chickamy, Crany Crow." This is a thrillful game, with a witch in it, and wild chasings and captures. A witch sits at one side, while a leader representing a mother hen enters, with a string of chickens behind her, each clinging to the garments of the chicken in front of him. The line circles fearfully about the witch, chanting:
Chickamy, chickamy, crany crow,
I went to the well to wash my toe.
When I came back one of my black-eyed chickens was gone.
The leader pauses near the witch and asks, "What time is it, old witch? " If the witch answers with any numeral less than twelve, the mother and chickens are safe for the moment, and circle around again, chanting, and again ask the hour. But if the old witch replies, "Twelve o'clock!" then she springs at them and they flee shrieking in terror. If the witch captures a chick, — as she surely does, — the
prisoner is put into a pen and the game begins with those that are left free.
Many — if not most — of these songs and games are of old English origin and have courtiy traditions behind them, as their phrasing suggests. " My lady " of the old songs is changed in the Negro child's version to "some lady" or "dem ladies."
John Stone, of Virginia, sends this game-song, which was given him as used by Negroes. "The darkies would form a ring, as in 'dropping handkerchief,' but with hands behind them. One with a key would walk around the ring and place the key in some one's hands. Led by the walker, all would sing:
*—* *
I done lost de clos - et key In dem la - dies' gar - den.
I done lost de closet key In dem ladies' garden; I done lost de closet key In dem ladies' garden.
The walker, leading all, would then sing:
Help me to find de closet key In dem ladies' garden; Help me to find de closet key In dem ladies' garden.
All would then sing, led by the one having the key:
I done found de closet key In dem ladies' garden; I done found de closet key In dem ladies' garden.
The one having the key would then hide it again and sing as before." This is something like an old song given me years ago by Dorothy Renick, of Waco, Texas, who had learned it from Negroes.
In Some Lady's Garden
Oh, somebody come and let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden. I'll roll like a log if you let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden.
Oh, somebody come and let me out of here,
I'se in some lady's garden. I'll pant like a lizard if you let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden.
Oh, somebody come and let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden. I'll run like a rabbit if you let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden.
Oh, somebody come and let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden. I'll kick like a donkey if you let me out of here.
I'se in some lady's garden.
There are endless variants for this, the actions of all imaginable natural-history specimens being offered as reward for release from the garden.
A song given by William Wells Newell in his " Games and Songs of American Children" (published by Harper and Brothers in 1884), as sung by Negro children, is evidently akin to these.
DO, DO, PITY MY CASE
Do, do, pity my case,
In some lady's garden. My clothes to wash when I get home,
In some lady's garden.
Do, do, pity my case,
In some lady's garden. My clothes to iron when I get home,
In some lady's garden.