Silly Sisters - Geordie

My foray into bawdy folk music has lead me to the Silly Sisters. This song is performed by June Tabor. I am addicted to it. People are starting to worry about me.

I just want to be referred to as "my dearie" by Amy, is that so wrong? (I also think it'd be cool if she threatened to make the blood flow upon the green if she didn't get her laddie.)

Here are the lyrics, more or less, in "English":

There was a battle in the north,
And nobles there was many,
And they hae kill'd Sir Charlie Hay,
And they laid the wyte on Geordie

O he has written a lang letter,
He sent it to his lady;
Ye maun cum up to Enbrugh town
To see what words o' Geordie.

When first she look'd the letter on,
She was baith red and rosy;
But she had na read a word but twa,
Till she wallow't like a lily,

Gar get to me my gude grey steed,
My menzie a' gae wi' me;
For I shall neither eat nor drink,
Till Enbrugh town shall see me.

And she has mountit her gude grey steed,
Her menzie a' gaed wi' her;
And she did neither eat nor drink
Till Enbrugh town did see her.

And first appear'd the fatal block,
And syrie the aix to head him;
And Geordie cumin down the stair,
And bands o airn upon him.

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strang,
O airn and steel sae heavy,
There was na ane in a'the court,
Sae bruw a Man as Geordie.

O she's down on her bended knee,
I wat she's pale and weary,
O pardon, pardon, noble king,
And gie me back my Dearie!

Gar bid the headin-man mak haste!
Our king reply'd fu' lordly:
O noble king, tak a'that's mine,
But gie me back my Geordie.

The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran,
And they were stark and steady;
And ay the word amang them a'
Was, Gordons keep you ready.

An aged lord at the king's right hand
Says, noble king, but hear me:
Gar her tell down five thousand pound
And gie her back her Dearie.

Some gae her marks, some gae her crowns,
Some gae her dollars many;
And shes tell'd down five thousand pound,
And she's gotten, again her Dearie.

She blinkit blythe in her Geordie's face,
Says, dear I've bought thee, Geordie:
But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green,
Or I had tint my laddie.

He claspit her by the middle sma',
And he kist her lips sae rosy:
The fairest flower o' woman-kind
Is my sweet, bonie Lady!

Theology of the Bawdy: Amy, Will You Let Me

Here's a little salt to go with the sweet of the last post...

Amy and I have been watching (and loving) the Sharpe videos starring Sean Bean as Richard Sharpe, a British soldier fighting in the Napoleonic Wars.

One of the best parts of the series is the music. Much of the music is composed and sung by Rifleman Dan Hagman, played by British folk singer John Tams. Tams' voice is amazing and the Napoleonic-era folk songs in the videos are wonderful. A song I particularly liked hearing was "The Spanish Merchant's Daughter" (sometimes called "No, John, No"). It's a bawdy song and I found it charming--so charming that I decided to try my hand at writing my own. What follows is what I came up with.

Imagine it being sung back and forth like "There's a Hole in the Bucket". I'll try to record this one later, too.

p.s. It's not really all that bawdy, but sing it to the tune of Tantum Ergo if you long for the thrill of scandal...

Amy, Will You Let Me?

Robert: See that girl there? Her name’s Amy—
She looks nice in panty hose.
I would like to have a look-see
Just how high them hoses goes.

Oh, Amy will you let me
see how high them hoses goes?

Amy: Yes, my Love, on one provision—
You must do just what I say.
Robert: But of course, dear. What’s my mission?
Amy: Wait until our wedding day.

Oh, Robert, patient Robert,
Wait until our wedding day.

Robert: Surely, Love you must be teasing—
what an unkind thing to speak!
Can you not just once appease me?
I will marry you next week.

Oh, Amy, will you let me?
I will marry you next week.

Amy: Since, my Love, you asked so sweetly,
You can see how high they go.
I’ll remove my hose completely--
Put them on and you will know!

Oh, Robert, patient Robert
Put them on and you will know.

Theology of the Body: Max's Song

I wrote a song this morning for my son, Max.

I wanted to express the idea that he is an unmitigated blessing to our family and that he is the result of our fruitful love. He's an absolute delight and everybody's favorite. The first two verses are sung to him as if he still in the womb. Verse three is after he's been born.

The "crying and the laughter" mentioned in the second verse is a reference to this. Olivia ("Ala" to Max) has since gotten over the fact that he's not a girl and Joseph is still especially fond of him because sisters can be wearying.

I'll put up a recording here once I figure out how to do it.

Max's Song

Verse 1:
Baby, do you know
That you are something special?
Even if you don’t,
I’m here to tell you truly,
That you are being waited
for with eagerness and joy,
The long anticipated
baby brother for our boy.

Chorus:
You were made by Love,
Conceived in love,
You were made for love,
We love you, Boy

You were made by Love,
Made for love,
And we welcome you with joy.

Verse 2:

Baby, can you hear
The crying and the laughter?
Just wait till you appear—
It’s silence you’ll be after.
The home you’re coming into
Is filled with kids and toys,
It’ll take some getting used to
Though, especially the noise.

Chorus

Verse 3:
Baby, can you see
Now that we’re together,
Now that you are here we
All love a little better?
You’re bringing out the best in us
It’s such a great surprise
To see our family’s happiness
Increase before our eyes.

Chorus

Happy Feast Day, Olivia!

When the little girl with the intoxicating smile pictured on the left was born, I quipped that the family martini finally got its olive. My mother-in-law thought I was being flippant. Then she realized I was just being unfunny. Anyway, today is one of the many days that we celebrate around here because today is the feast of Blessed Olivia.

Below is her entry on catholic.com's website. I don't know exactly how much about this Blessed is "pious fictional legend", but we're going to celebrate anyway. Our little lady does some pretty unbelievable stuff herself, so maybe it's something that goes with the name...

Bl. Olivia
Feastday: June 10

Olivia is a derivative of Olive whose feast day is June 10th. According to pious fictional legend, she was a beautiful girl of thirteen, of a noble Palermo, Italy, family who was carried off to Tunis by raiding Moslems. They allowed her to live in a nearby cave but when they found that her miracles and cures had converted many Mohammedans, she was imprisoned, tortured, and after converting her executioners trying to burn her to death, was beheaded.

When I read that entry to her, Olivia thought it was pretty cool. She said, "It's like the olive tree gets its head chopped off when it gets cut down." That's our Olivia. Very serious, very grave. She is the polar opposite of Sophia in that she has a pretty strong morbid streak. She's always asking to see gruesome things. Once she made us TiVo surgeries just so she could decide if she wanted to be a doctor. (She'd make an excellent doctor or nurse--she always takes care of her siblings and parents when they fall ill.)

Lately, Liva has been sleep walking. She wakes up completely distressed and comes to us muttering "it's just hard...it's just hard." We don't know if she's dreaming about math or Goldilocks' first mattress--maybe she's contemplating the challenges of converting the Mohammedans--but it's pretty entertaining.

On a side note, I can't believe how beautiful this kid is (the picture doesn't do her justice). Even when she's completely delirious, she looks gorgeous. I fully intend to send the names of any of her potential suitors to the vocations directors of multiple religious orders. I'm not sure I can part with her.