Part 5

Still simpler is "~Carry my Lady to London~." In this game two children cross hands grasping each other's wrists and their own as well--thus forming a seat, on which a third child can be carried. When hoisted and in order, the bearers step out singing:--

Gie me a needle to stick i' my thoom To carry my lady to London; London Bridge is broken down, And I must let my lady down.

Each child is thus carried in turn.

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"A B C" is a spirited game, admirably adapted for indoor practice on a wet day, which is played by children seated round a table, or at the fireside. One sings a solo--a verse of some nursery rhyme. For instance:--

Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon.

The chorus of voices takes up the tune, and the solo is repeated; after which the alphabet is sung through, and the last letter, Z, is sustained and repeated again and again, to bother the next child, whose turn it now is to sing the next solo. The new solo must be a nursery rhyme not hitherto sung by any of the company. If unable to supply a fresh rhyme within a fixed limit, the player stands out of the game and pays a forfeit. Less brain-taxing entertainments often engage adult wits.

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"~My Theerie and my Thorie~," with a political significance, is a game widely played. In one place it is known as "Cam a teerie arrie ma torry;" in another, "Come a theory, oary mathorie;" in yet another, "Come a theerie, Come a thorie;" or it may be, as in Perthshire, "My theerie and my thorie." And even as the refrain varies, so do the rhymes. But the action is generally the same. The players divide into two sides of about equal number, in lines facing each other. Moving forwards and backwards the sides sing verse about of the following rhyme:--

_Question._--Have you any bread and wine, Bread and wine, bread and wine; Have you any bread and wine, My theerie and my thorie?

_Answer._--Yes, we have some bread and wine, Bread and wine, bread and wine, Yes, we have some bread and wine, My theerie and my thorie.

_Question._--We shall have one glass of it, etc.

_Answer._--One glass of it you shall not get, etc.

_Question._--We are all King George's men, etc.

_Answer._--What care we for King George's men, etc.

_Question._--How many miles to Glasgow Lee? etc.

_Answer._--Sixty, seventy, eighty-three, etc.

_Question._--Will I be there gin candle-licht? etc.

_Answer._--Just if your feet be clean and slicht, etc.

_Question._--Open your gates and let me through, etc.

_Answer._--Not without a beck and a boo.

_Reply._--There's a beck and there's a boo, Open your gates and let me through.

A struggle ensues to break through each other's lines, and reach a fixed goal on either side--the first to arrive being the victors.

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"~Glasgow Ships~" is a simple but pretty game. All join hands, forming a ring, and, moving round, sing:--

Glasgow ships come sailing in, Come sailing in, come sailing in; Glasgow ships come sailing in On a fine summer morning.

You daurna set your fit upon, Your fit upon, your fit upon; You daurna set your fit upon, Or Gentle John will kiss you.

Three times will kiss you; Four times will bless you; Five times butter and bread Upon a silver salver.

Who shall we send it to? Send it to, send it to; Who shall we send it to? To Mrs. [Thomson's] daughter.

Take her by the lily-white hand, Lead her o'er the water; Give her kisses, one, two, three, She's the favourite daughter.

Braw news is come to town, Braw news is carried; Braw news is come to town, [Maggie Thomson's] married.

First she got the kail-pot, Syne she got the ladle; Syne she got a dainty wean, And syne she got a cradle.

The girl named turns her back to the centre of the ring, and the game is resumed. When all in like manner have been named and have turned, the "soo's race" ensues: a hurry-scurry round--which continues until some one falls, and the game ends by all tumbling in a confused heap.

* * * * *

"~Airlie's Green~," played by boys and girls alike, has perhaps had its greatest vogue in Strathmore. A space is set apart for the "green," upon which he, or she, who is "Airlie" takes his, or her, stand. The play begins by the crowd encroaching on the "green," when all but "Airlie" sing:--

I set my fit on Airlie's green, And Airlie canna tak' me: I canna get time to steer my brose For Airlie trying to catch me.

"Airlie's" object is to "tig" one within the boundary. The player touched takes his, or her, place, and the game may proceed thus as long as desired.

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"~Het Rowes and Butter Cakes~," in some places called "Hickety, Bickety," is a purely boy's game. One stands with his eyes bandaged, and his hands against a wall or post, with his head resting upon them. One after another his fellows come up unnamed behind him, laying hands on his back; and the rhyme is repeated by all in chorus:--

Launchman, launchman, lo, Where shall this poor Scotchman go? Will he gang east, or will he gang west, Or will he gang to the hoodiecraw's nest?

The "hoodiecraw's nest" is the space between the blindfolded one's feet and the wall. When all have been sent to different places around, he who is "it" removes the bandage from his eyes; and when all are ready he gives the call--"Het rowes and butter cakes!" when all rush back to the spot whence despatched. The last to arrive is "it;" and the game goes on as before. Where played as "Hickety, Bickety," the rhyme is:--

Hickety, bickety, pease scone, Where shall this poor Scotchman gang? Will he gang east, or will he gang west; Or will he gang to the craw's nest?

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"~Queen Mary.~" In this game the rhyme goes:--

Queen Mary, Queen Mary, my age is sixteen, My father's a farmer on yonder green, With plenty of money to dress me fu' braw, But nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'. One morning I rose, and I looked in the glass, Says I to myself I'm a handsome young lass; My hands by my side and I gave a ha! ha! Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'.

It is played by girls only, who stand in a row, with one in front alone to begin with, who sings the verses, and chooses another from the line. The two then join hands and advance and retire, repeating together the verses, with suitable action, as the one had done before alone. At the close they select a third from the line; and the game proceeds thus until all are taken over.

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"~Whuppity Scoorie~," though a game peculiar to Lanark, and to the boys of Lanark, and played only once a year, is yet worth mentioning. Its origin, like so many of the Lanark celebrations, is lost in the mists of antiquity, nevertheless, it is still regularly played, and creates a sensation on its annual recurrence, affecting the old scarcely less than the young in the community. From the month of October till the month of February, inclusive, the bells in the Parish Church steeple there cease to ring at six o'clock in the evening, but resume on the first day of March. At the first peal of the bell then the children start and march three times round the church, after which a rush is made for the Wellgate Head, where they engage in a stand-up fight with the youth of New Lanark (who come that length to meet them), the weapons used being their bonnets attached to a long string. The fight over, the victors (generally the boys of the Old Town) return, marching in order, headed by one carrying a huge stick in exalted attitude, with a flag or handkerchief attached to it; and thus arranged, they parade the principal streets, singing, as their fathers and grandfathers sang before them:--

Hooray, boys, hooray, For we have won the day; We've met the bold New Lanark boys, And chased them doun the brae!

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In Chambers's _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_ there is a description of "~Hinkumbooby~," which I have never seen played. It is, however, only an extended version of "Looby-Looby." The party form a circle (says the writer), taking hold of each other's hands. One sings, and the rest join, to the tune of _Lullibero_:

Fal de ral la, fal de ral la;

while doing so they move a little sideways and back again, beating the time (which is slow) with their feet. As soon as the line is concluded, each claps his hands and wheels grotesquely round, singing at the same time the second line of the verse:--

Hinkumbooby, round about,

Then they sing, with the appropriate gesture--that is, throwing their right hand into the circle and the left out:--

Right hands in, and left hands out,

still beating the time; then add as before, while wheeling round, with a clap of the hands:--

Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la; [_Moving sideways as before, hand in hand._] Hinkumbooby, round about, [_Wheeling round as before, with a clap of the hands._]

Left hands in and right hands out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about.

Right foot in, and left foot out, [_Right feet set into the centre._] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about.

Left foot in, and right foot out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, etc.

Heads in, and backs out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.

Backs in, and heads out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.

A' feet in, and nae feet out, [_On this occasion all sit down, with their feet stretched into the centre of the ring; and it is a great point to rise up promptly enough to be ready for the wheel round_.] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.

Shake hands a', shake hands a', Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc.

Good-night a', good-night a', [_The boys bowing and the misses curtseying in an affected formal manner_.] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about.

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More generally played--and not in Scotland only--is "~Three Brethren come from Spain~." The players stand in two lines, slightly apart, facing each other--the boys on one side, the girls on the other. The boys advance dancing, and singing the first verse. The girls remain motionless, and only she who represents the mother speaks.

We are three brethren come from Spain, All in French garlands; We are come to court your daughter, Jane, And adieu to you, my darlings.

As they recede, the mother replies:--

My daughter Jane she is too young, All in French garlands; She cannot bide your flattering tongue, And adieu to you, my darlings.

The boys advance again, singing:--

Be she young, or be she old, All in French garlands, It's for a bride she must be sold, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Answer:--

A bride, a bride, she shall not be, All in French garlands, Till she go through the world with me, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Address:--

Then fare ye well, my lady gay, All in French garlands; We'll come again some other day, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Answer:--

Come back, come back, you scornful knight, All in French garlands; Clear up your spurs, and make them bright, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Address:--

Of my spurs take you no thought, All in French garlands; For in this town they were not bought, And adieu to you, my darlings.

Answer:--

Smell my lilies, smell my roses, All in French garlands: Which of my daughters do you choose? And adieu to you, my darlings.

Address:--

Are all your daughters safe and sound? All in French garlands: Are all your daughters safe and sound? And adieu to you, my darlings.

Answer:--

In every pocket a thousand pounds, All in French garlands; On every finger a gay, gold ring, And adieu to you, my darlings.

The formula is repeated as above until every boy has chosen a lady-mate, when all march round arm-in-arm in pairs, and the game is ended.

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"~Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay~." This is played as a preliminary game to decide who shall join, and which side they will take, in a coming tug-of-war. The chief delight derived is in putting and answering questions. Two principals, standing as rival chiefs, and acting together as catechists, begin the play; and all are warned before replying:--

You must say neither "Yes," "No," nor "Nay," "Black," "White," nor "Grey."

Then, as each child approaches, the formula proceeds:--

Here comes a poor sailor from Botany Bay; Pray, what are you going to give him to-day? A pair of boots [may be the answer]. What colour are they? Brown. Have you anything else to give him? I think so. What colour is it? Red. What is it made of? Cloth. And what colour? Blue. Have you anything else to give him? I don't think so. Would you like a sweet? Yes.

Now he is trapped. He has given one of the fatal replies; and the child who answered "Yes" goes to a den. After all have gone through a similar form, the youngsters are divided into two classes--those who avoided answering in the prohibited terms, and the little culprits in the den, or prison, who had failed in the examination. The tug-of-war now begins, the one class being pitted against the other. No rope is used; but arms are entwined round waists, or skirts, or coat-tails are taken hold of; and the victors crow over the vanquished.

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"~Janet Jo~," widely played, has for _dramatis personæ_, a Father, a Mother, Janet, and a Lover. Janet lies stretched at full length behind the scenes. The father and mother stand revealed to receive the visits of the lover, who approaches singing, to an air somewhat like "The Merry Masons":--

I'm come to court Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; I'm come to court Janet jo-- How is she the day?

Parents reply together:--

She's up the stair washin', Washin', washin'; She's up the stair washin'-- Ye canna see her the day.

The lover retires, and again, and yet again, advances with the same announcement of his object and purpose, to which he receives similar evasive answers from Janet's parents, who successively represent her as up the stair "bleaching," "drying," and "ironing clothes." At last they reply:--

Janet jo's dead and gane, Dead and gane, dead and gane; Janet jo's dead and gane-- Ye'll see her face nae mae!

She is then carried off to be buried, the lover and the rest weeping. Sometimes she revives (to their great joy), and sometimes not, _ad libitum_--that is, as Janet herself chooses.

A south-country version (Dr. Chambers tells) differs a little, and represents Janet as "at the Well," instead of upstairs, and afterwards "at the Mill," and so on. A Glasgow edition gives the whole in good west-country prose, and the lover begins: "I'm come to court your dochter, Kate Mackleister!"

In the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, "Janet Jo" used to be a dramatic entertainment amongst young rustics. Suppose a party have met on a winter evening round a good peat fire, writes Chambers, and is resolved to have "Janet Jo" performed. Two undertake to personate a goodman and a goodwife; the rest a family of marriageable daughters. One of the lads--the best singer of the party--retires, and equips himself in a dress proper for representing an old bachelor in search of a wife. He comes in, bonnet in hand, bowing, and sings:--

Gude e'en to ye, maidens a', Maidens a', maidens a'; Gude e'en to ye, maidens a', Be ye or no.

I've come to court Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; I've come to court Janet jo, Janet, my jo.

Gudewife sings:--

What'll ye gie for Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; What'll ye gie for Janet jo, Janet, my jo?

The wooer replies:--

I'll gie ye a peck o' siller, A peck o' siller, peck o' siller; I'll gie ye a peck o' siller For Janet, my jo.

Gudewife exclaims, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" then sings:--

Ye'se never get Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; Ye'se never get Janet jo, Janet, my jo.

The wooer hereupon retires, singing a verse expressive of mortification, but soon re-enters with a re-assured air, singing:--

I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd, A peck o' gowd, peck o' gowd; I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd, For Janet, my jo.

The matron gives him a rebuff as before, and he again enters, singing an offer of "twa pecks o' gowd," which, however, is also refused. At his next entry he offers "three pecks o' gowd," at which the gudewife brightens up, and sings:--

Come ben beside Janet Jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; Ye're welcome to Janet jo, Janet, my jo.

The suitor then advances gaily to his sweetheart, and the affair ends in a scramble for kisses.

* * * * *

"~The Goloshans.~" This is a Hogmanay play, and not confined to children alone, which for that, as well as other reasons, will not inaptly close this chapter. In some parts it was called "The Galatians," to be sure, I say _was_, because one never sees it now-a-days, though fifty years ago, under the one designation or the other, it was played annually by the Hogmanay guizards, who, dressed for the occasion, set it forth with deliciously unsophisticated swagger and bluster in every house they visited that had a kitchen floor broad and wide enough for the operation. It formed the material of a chap-book which was regularly on sale at the "Johnnie-a'-thing" shops in the middle of last century, though now, I suppose, a copy could scarcely be had for love or money. Sir Walter Scott, who delighted to keep up old customs, and could condescend to simple things without losing genuine dignity, invariably had a set of guizards to perform the play before his family both at Ashestiel and at Abbotsford. The _dramatis personæ_ of "The Goloshans," after the character in the title-role--who was inevitable on all occasions--differed somewhat in the various districts. Chambers gives a fairly adequate version in his _Popular Rhymes of Scotland;_ but the fullest and best I have seen is contained in _Proverbs and Proverbial Expressions_, edited by "Andrew Cheviot," and recently published by Mr. Alexander Gardner, of Paisley, and which I take the liberty of quoting mainly, though part also is taken from Chambers's version. The characters are Sir Alexander; Farmer's Son; Goloshan; Wallace; Dr. Brown; and Beelzebub.

Enter Sir Alexander, and speaks:--

Haud away rocks, and haud away reels, Haud away stocks and spinning-wheels; Redd room for Gorland, and gie us room to sing, And I will show you the prettiest thing That ever was seen in Christmas time. Muckle-head and Little-wit stand ahint the door: But sic a set as we are ne'er were seen before.

Enter next Farmer's Son:--

Here come I, the farmer's son, Although I be but young sir, I've got a spirit brave. And I'll freely risk my life, My country for to save.

Goloshan appears:--

Here come I, Goloshan--Goloshan is my name, With sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game.

Farmer's Son:--

The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power, I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour. My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel, My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel.

Goloshan:--

My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone, And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone.

Enter Wallace:--

Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight, Who shed his blood for Scotland's right; Without a right, without a reason, Here I draw my bloody weapon.

(_Fights with Goloshan--the latter falls._) Farmer's Son:--

Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid; And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid.

Wallace:--

It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime, 'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine.

Sir Alexander:--

Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me! For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee.

Wallace:--

How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on? How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn?

Farmer's Son (to Wallace):--

How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on, You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down.

Wallace:--

If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure, And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour; Round the kitchen, round the town, Haste and bring me Dr. Brown.

Dr. Brown enters:--

Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town.

Wallace:--

What makes you so good, sir?

Doctor:--

Why, my travels.

Wallace:--

And where have you travelled?

Doctor:--

From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies, and back to old Scotland.

Wallace:--

Is that all?

Doctor:--

No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside, from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big.

Wallace:--

Well, what can you cure?

Doctor:--

I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of sixty look like a girl of sixteen.

Wallace:--

How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do?

Doctor (turning away):--

Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose.

Wallace:--

Would ten pounds do?

Doctor:--

Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do--- that, and a pint of wine. I have a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (_Approaches Goloshan._) By the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho! start up, Jack, and sing!

Goloshan (rises and sings):--

Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive, And blessed be the doctor that made me revive; We'll all join hands, and never fight no more, We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before.

All four:--

We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more, We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before; God bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise, And all the pretty children that round the table rise. Go down into your cellar and see what you can find, Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind; We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer, We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year.

Enter Beelzebub (for the collection):--

Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club, And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man? It's money I want, and money I crave, If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave.

Old Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist such?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily to occupy another stage.

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