Barbara Allen - a version of a song mentioning Totnes

A Church in Totnes - note the flowers in the wall - not roses, but one can imagine... - By User:Wigulf (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-2.5 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

"IN Totnes town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Made every youth cry "Well-a-way,"
Her name was Barbara Allen.

All in the merry month of May,

When green buds they were swelling,
Young Johnny Gale on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his groom unto her then,

To the town where she was dwelling,
" You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.

For death is printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing :
Then haste away to comfort him,
Oh ! lovely Barbara Allen !"

Though death be printed on his face,

And o'er his heart is stealing,
Yet little better shall he be,
For bonny Barbara Allen.

So slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said, when up she came,
"Young man, I think you're dying."

He turned his face unto her straight,

With deadly sorrow sighing,
" Oh ! lovely maid, come pity me,
I'm on my death-bed lying."

" If on your death-bed you do lie,
What needs the fate you're telling :
I cannot keep you from your death.
Farewell !" said Barbara Allen.

He turned his face unto the wall,

And deadly pangs he fell in,
"Adieu, adieu, adieu to all !
Adieu to Barbara Allen !"

As she was walking o'er the fields,

She heard the bell a-knelling,
And every stroke did seem to say,
" Unworthy Barbara Allen."

She turned her body round about,

And 'spied the corpse a-coming,
" Lay down, lay down, the corpse," she said,
" That I may look upon him."

With scornful eye, she looked down,

Her cheeks with laughter swelling,
Whilst all his friends cried out " For shame, 

Unworthy Barbara Allen !"

When he was dead and in his grave,

Her heart was struck with sorrow,
" Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed,
For I shall die to-morrow.

" Hard-hearted creature him to slight,

Who loved me so dearly ;
Oh ! that I'd been more kind to him,
When he was alive and near me."

She, on her death-bed as she lay,

Begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day,
That she did e'er deny him.

"Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all,

And shun the fault I fell in,
Henceforth take warning by the fall,
Of cruel Barbara Allen."

Sung by John Snow, of Tiverton, at a supper party, A.D. 1869.

Hewett 1900

Map - Totnes
Map - Tiverton

[This song contains the line " Oh, mother ! mother ! make my bed, / For I shall die to-morrow." which is very similar to a version of a song about Yarrow I know ("Oh mother dear make me my bed/ make it both long and narrow/ for he who died for me today/ I shall die for him tomorrow") - folk songs are not bothered by copyright, simply by what is best! This song is well known - type it into the EFDSS catalog and you will get 34 results, though of course the town varies massively! A good version is found here.]

Bampfylde-Moore Carew - the so called "King of the Gypsies"

[I cant help thinking that for some Gadjo English aristocrat to waltz in and declare himself "King" of the gypsies must have been pretty insulting to the Roma in England at that time, who where and are often quite a close knit community by necessity. I may be wrong, but I doubt he was king of many Gypsies]

Bampfylde-Moore Carew By Richard Phelps (died 1790) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

"Bampfylde-Moore Carew was the son of the Rev. Theodore Carew, rector of Bickleigh, Tiverton, Devon. Born, July 12th, 1690. At the age of twelve he was entered as a pupil at Old Blundell's School, Tiverton, where he formed the acquaintance of the sons of the best families in the county. At first he gave close application to study, and bid fair to make his mark in the world. His father had every reason to hope that at some future time he would succeed to the family living of St. Mary, Bickleigh. Blundell's scholars at this period possessed a fine pack of fox-hounds, and Carew took frequent opportunities to indulge in sport at the expense of his studies. Besides strength of body and vigour of mind he possessed agility of limb, and a voice of such depth of sound that he could give the loudest halloo to the hounds of any man of his day. Dogs were attracted to him in a marvellous fashion, and in after years this mutual sympathy proved disastrous to our hero, who on this account suffered imprisonment several times.

 

It happened one day that a farmer coming to Tiverton market saw Carew standing at the school gateway, and knowing the latter's fondness for sport, acquainted him with the fact that a deer, with a collar around his neck, was harbouring in a field on Exeter Hill ; whereupon Carew, Martin, Escott, Coleman, and a crowd of other Blundellians started to hunt it. This happened just before corn-harvest. The chase was hot and lasted several hours ; they ran the deer many miles across fields of ripening grain, doing great damage. The deer proved to be a tame one, the property of Col. Nutcombe, of Clayhanger. Persons who sustained damage to their corn, complained to the headmaster of the havoc made. The culprits were so severely threatened that several absconded, Carew being one of the number. They made for a small wayside inn at Brickhouse, on the Bampton road, situated about a half-a-mile from the town. Here they fell in with a party of gipsies and remained in their company the whole night, engaging in the wildest orgies. In the morning they were admitted as Romany members, each taking the necessary oaths and going through the requisite ceremonies.
 

It may be interesting to the reader to know that a recruit goes through various rites and takes certain oaths before being admitted a member of the fraternity.
 

A new name must be assumed, after which he takes the following oaths

I, Bampfylde-Moore-Carew (or as the case may be), do swear to be a true brother; to obey the commands of the tawny prince ; to keep his counsel ; not to divulge the secrets of the brotherhood ; will never leave the company ; and observe and keep all times of appointment by night or by day, in every place whatsoever.

I will not teach anyone to cant, nor will I disclose our mysteries to them. [This was broken then!]
 

I will take my prince's part against all that shall oppose him or any of us.
 

I will not suffer him, or any of us, to be abused by strangers, but will defend him or them to the death. I will not conceal aught I win out of private houses or elsewhere, but will give it for the benefit and use of all the company, &c.

Carew was an actor of the highest type, as is evidenced by the numberless opportunities he embraced to personate the leading men of the neighbourhood in which he found himself. By assuming the garb of a. peasant, a beggar, an old woman, a soldier in distress, a maimed sailor, or whatever guise his fertile fancy dictated, he successfully deceived even his nearest relatives and wrung from them entertainment, gifts of money, clothes and any commodity he demanded.

On the death of Claude Patch, the king of the gipsies, Carew was, by a large majority of the brotherhood, elected his successor. He at once took up the government, but ran his kingly power on totally different lines from the former sovereign. Instead of living in idleness and luxury, depending on the members of the tribe for support, he started off on a round of adventure.

The knavish tricks and deceptions he successfully practised on his nearest relations and most intimate friends would be too numerous to chronicle in these pages. A Life of Bampfylde-Moore Carew, can, I think, be obtained at any bookseller's, and to lovers of humorous incidents would prove amusing.

Carew married about the year 1720, a Miss Gray, daughter of an apothecary, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, at Bath.

They had one daughter who married a Westcountry squire, by whom she had a numerous family of promising children.

After a life of beggary, adventure, and imprisonment, Carew returned to his birthplace at Bickleigh, where he resided two years previous to his death in 1758."

Hewett 1900

Map - Bath

Map - Bickleigh

Map - Tiverton

Water Dowsing in Tiverton, Plmpton, Plymouth, Chumleigh and in Cornwall

Dowsing, , from Pierre le Brun, Histoire critique des pratiques superstitieuses, (Jean-Frederic Bernard, 1733–1736)

"The Divining Rod is known also as the Dowsing Rod, Moses's Rod, and the Virgula. It is simply a twig of this form V, each limb being from ten inches to twelve inches long, cut from a cherry tree, hazel, or white thorn. The operators are named dowsers, diviners, water-witches, or water-finders. Great interest is attached to the rod, as used for the purpose of discovering subterranean water-springs and lodes of ore. Its mysterious properties have been exemplified in numberless instances. The satisfactory finding of water by its aid was recently shewn at Tiverton, Plympton, Plymouth, Chumleigh, and many other places, which caused much correspondence for and against the "art" in the Western Morning News and other west country newspapers. In Cornwall, too, the dowser has pointed out spots where valuable lodes of metals have been unearthed. One case in particular may be quoted at Great Briggan, when the late Captain Trelase was the diviner.

The modus operandi is very simple, The waterwitch holds the thin arms of the twig between his fingers and thumbs with the point projecting outwards, while he walks steadily over the suspected spring or lode. If there be water or mineral below, the hazel turns upwards with a sudden jerk, if there is neither, it remains passive. It is said that the operator experiences peculiar sensations in his limbs as the twig vibrates, and that his face assumes an agitated expression. All persons are not sympathetic and the twig lies inert in their hands, but with a born dowser the rod very soon puts on vitality, and frequently completes a circle breaking short off at the points. Hundreds of persons pooh-pooh the whole thing and condemn it as a trick, and are surprised that in these days of scientific attainments people should be found weak enough to pin their faith to the virtues of a twig. Despite opposition and ridicule the search for water by this means is popular throughout Devon and her sister-counties."

Hewett 1900

Map -Tiverton

Map - Plymouth

Map - Plympton

Map - Chumliegh/Chulmleigh

[Rather weirdly we did this at primary school with imaginary lines drawn by the children while another child waited outside - it worked. I have also done it for water and felt the weird sensation of it twisting (so hard I could not stop it). However I didn't then dig for the water to test its truth!. I did however triangulate a field of nettles looking for a lost pen-knife - and found it in the very center of the two foot wide triangle I ended up with. It is all very weird. No idea if it works with the subconscious recognition of signs or with some external physical force... My aunt has also used it successfully, and my wife has used another method, with two individual bent rods - I have also used this successfully, but it it not as fun because you cant feel the force through your hands!]

The Death-Watch in Devon

Death-Watch Beetle - Xestobium rufovillosum - By Sarefo (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC-BY-SA-2.5-2.0-1.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5-2.0-1.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

ONE often hears issuing from the rafters and woodwork of old houses sounds resembling the ticking of a watch. These clickings are produced by a small insect known as the " Death-Watch." By nervous persons they are considered omens of death.

Mrs. Hagland, a laundress, living at Tiverton, came to me one morning in great distress of mind, and her simple story will give a better insight into the feelings of the superstitious than any thing I can say. I give verbatim her account of a very unhappy experience

" I be zure zom'thing is gwaine tli 'appen tii me, or mine, for all last night I kep' on hearing of the Death-Watch, aticking, ticking, ticking, ess, he kep' on ticking till he drawved me most mazed. He made me think of my poar bwoy Bill whot's out to zay, 'e tha' bin gone now for tii or dree yer ; I dii zim 'tez a brave while ago I zeed 'n, but there God Almighty 'th tiiked kear aw'n zo var and I 'opes as how He will 'et. I a'n't ahad ide-nor-tide aw'n zince he went away and I dii zim tez a longful time agone that I zeed'n. Well, as I wuz azaying of, I yeard that Death-Watch aclicking all drii the night and dii trubble me dreffel bad. Gi'th me the heart ache and  I can't get no rest for thinkind aw'n ; 'tez all day and ivvry day and all night tii. A mawther's heart is a sorrowful thing tii car about, when her only cheel is zo var away, and out tii zay tii. I've a yerd the Death-Watch avore, and then my mawther died perty quick afterwards, but he diddent tickee zo 'ard and zo dismal-like as he did last night. It zimmed to me, as how he zed, 'tick ! tick ! tick ! tick ! wake up, Mawther ! I be drownded ! I be drownded !' Ah ! Lord-a-massy ! if he be a drownded 'twill break my heart. What diiee think mum ?" Poor soul, she went away, crying bitterly. Bill never came back, and now she has gone to her rest, where there will be no more wakeful nights, or dread born of the love-calls of a common insect. Swift ridiculed the foolish fancy of predicting death in this way, but ridicule, be it never so strong, does not kill belief in the supernatural.

A wood-worm

That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form,
With teeth or with claws it will bite, or will scratch ;
And chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch
Because like a watch it always cries click ;
Then woe be to those in the house that be sick,
For, sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost.
If the maggot cries click when it scratches the post
But a kettle of scalding hot water ejected,
Infallibly cures the timber affected.
The omen is broken, the danger is over ;
The maggot will die, the sick will recover."

Hewett 1900

[Later Hewet reiterates that it is unlucky "To hear the melancholy ticking of the " Deathwatch," in woodwork, is an omen of death. " Because like a watch it always cries click, Then woe be to those in the house that be sick."]

Map - Tiverton

Isabella and the seven sons

Bickleigh Bridge - Neil Kennedy [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

"She, too [Isabella Courtney of Powderham], it was, who met a man on Bickleigh Hill, near Tiverton, carrying a basket containing seven of his baby children, to whom he intended to give "a swim in the river Exe at Bickleigh Bridge." On being asked by her what he was carrying, he replied, "Puppies not worth rearing." Presently he confessed that his wife had given him seven sons at a birth, and fearing the lack of food and raiment, he had determined to drown them. The countess adopted them, and provided for their upbringing out of the proceeds of her estates at Tiverton and Chumleigh."

Hewett 1900

Map - Powderham
Map - Bickleigh Bridge
Map - Tiverton
Map - Chumleigh

[Hooray! Chumleigh! A story that involves mid Devon! Amazingly little about this area - all I need to do now is find a story to fill the vast hole of silence around Holsworthy...]

Tiverton Castle and the 'Mistletoe Bough'

'Here is preserved a grim relic - that fatal chest celebrated in Rogers' "Ginevra" and that once popular song of "The Mistletoe Bough".'

Hope Moncrieff 1895


'MISTLETOE BOUGH

(G) C G C / F G7 C / C G C / F G7 C

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall;
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall.
The Baron's retainers were blithe and gay,
Keeping the Christmas holiday.

The Baron beheld with a father's pride
His beautiful child, Lord Lovell's bride.
And she, with her bright eyes seemed to be
The star of that goodly company.

F G7 C

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

"I'm weary of dancing, now," she cried;
"Here, tarry a moment, I'll hide, I'll hide,
And, Lovell, be sure you're the first to trace
The clue to my secret hiding place."

Away she ran, and her friends began
Each tower to search and each nook to scan.
And young Lovell cried, "Oh, where do you hide?
I'm lonesome without you, my own fair bride."

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

They sought her that night, they sought her next day,
They sought her in vain when a week passed away.
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly, but found her not.

The years passed by and their brief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past.
When Lovell appeared, all the children cried,
"See the old man weeps for his fairy bride."
Oh, the mistletoe bough.

At length, an old chest that had long laid hid
Was found in the castle; they raised the lid.
A skeleton form lay mouldering there
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair.

How sad the day when in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest,
It closed with a spring and a dreadful doom,
And the bride lay clasped in a living tomb.

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

Published in "Ozark Folksongs" by Randolph and other folk music
collections. It is credited to Thomas Haynes Bayley, who also
wrote "Long Long Ago," and dates back to the early 19th century.'

[from The Mudcat Cafe - http://mudcat.org/]