Will Finn and Rosie Calvert

(R. Kipling, P. Bellamy)

Bees, bees! Hark to your bees
hide from your neighbours as much as you please
But all that has happened to us you must tell
or else we will give you no honey to sell

A maiden in her glory upon her wedding day
Must tell her bees her story or else they’ll pine away
Pine away, dwine away, dwindle down and leave you
For if you don’t deceive your bees, your bees will not deceive you

Bees, bees! Hark to your bees
hide from your neighbours as much as you please
But all that has happened to us you must tell
or else we will give you no honey to sell

Marriage, birth, or burying, news across the seas
All you’re sad and merry in, you must tell the bees
Tell them coming in and out, where the fanners fan
Because the bees are just about as curious as a man

Bees, bees! Hark to your bees
hide from your neighbours as much as you please
But all that has happened to us you must tell
or else we will give you no honey to sell

Oh don’t you wait where trees are, when the lightnings play
And don’t you hate where bees are or else they’ll fly away
Fly away, die away, anything to leave you
But if you never grieve your bees, your bees will never grieve you

Bees, bees! Hark to your bees
hide from your neighbours as much as you please
But all that has happened to us you must tell
or else we will give you no honey to sell

(Trad.)

A soldier trav’ling from the North, the moon shone bright and clearly
A lady knew the gentleman’s heart, because she loved him dearly

She took the horse by the bridle reigns and led him to the stable
There’s oats and hay for your horse, my love, to feed him you are able

She took the soldier by the hand, and led him to the table
Here’s cake and wine for you my love, so eat and drink your welcome

Then she took off her blue silk dress and laid it on the table
And he took off his uniform and he hopped in the bed with the lady

And there they lay the whole night through, and many’s the love-word was spoken
But when she woke, at the break of day, this lady’s heart was broken

I hear the bugle call my love, and I must go and meet it
Oh darling dear, don’t leave me here, or I’m undone forever

When cockle-shells turn silver bells, it’s then that we will marry
Oh darling dear, don’t leave me here, or I am ruined forever

A soldier trav’ling from the North, the moon shone bright and clearly
The lady knew the gentleman’s heart, because she loved him dearly

(Trad.)

Squirrel is a pretty thing, carried a pretty tail
He steals all the farmer’s corn and shucks it on the rail

Hawk he is a scheming bird, schemes all in the sky
Schemes into my chicken house and makes my roost-hens fly

Partridge is a pretty bird, carries a pretty breast
She steals all the farmer’s corn and carries it to her nest

Possum is a mighty man, he rambles in the dark
Ain’t afraid of anything, ’til he hears old Rattler bark

When I was a little girl, fifteen inches high
Thought I heard a jaybird say “I’ll marry you by and by”

(Trad.)

There once was a man who came from Kinsale,
Sing aber o vane, sing aber o linn
And he had a herring, a herring for sale,
Sing aber o vane, sing aber o linn,
Sing man from Kinsale, sing herring for sale
Sing aber o vane, sing aber o linn
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing
Sing aber o vane, sing aber o linn

So what do you think they made of his head?
The finest oven that ever baked bread
Sing herring, sing head, sing oven, sing bread
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing

So what do you think they made of his back?
A nice little man and his name it was Jack
Sing herring, sing back, sing man, sing Jack
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing

So what do you think they made of his eyes?
The finest dishes that ever held pies
Sing herring, sing eyes, sing dishes, sing pies
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing

So what do you think they made of his scales?
The finest ships that ever set sail
Sing herring, sing scales, sing ships, sing sails
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing

So what do you think they made of his fins?
The finest cases for needles and pins
Sing herring, sing fins, sing needles, sing pins
And indeed I have more of my herring to sing

So what do you think they made of his hair?
The finest rope for the seat of a chair
Sing herring, sing hair, sing rope, sing chair
And indeed I’ve no more of my herring to sing
And indeed I’ve no more of my herring to sing

(C. Gardiner, R. Vaughan Williams)

A hornet sat in an old elm tree,
A regular spiteful toad was he;
He merrily sang as he did sit,
His sting so sharp as a bayonet,
Saying, “Who so bold and fierce as I?
I tell thee, bee nor wasp nor fly.”

A beetle up that tree did climb,
And scornfully did cast his eye.
Says he, “Sir hornet, who gived thee
The right to sit in that there tree?
For though thy sting’s so rare and fine,
I tell thee—there’s a house of mine.”

The hornet’s conscience feeled a smart,
But growing bold with his long dart,
Says he, “Possession makes the law,
And here thee shouldn’t have put your claw.
Be off, and leave the tree to me.
The dirt looks good enough for thee.”

Just then a woodpecker passing by
Was asked by both their cause to try.
Says he, “’Tis very plain to see,
You’ll make a famous lunch for me.”
His beak was sharp, his stomach lear,
So up he snapped the squabbling pair.

So you who be to law inclined,
This little story bear in mind,
If to the law you ever do go
You’ll find they always serve you so.
You’ll meet the fate of these here two:
They’ll take your coat and carcass too
And make a meal right out of you.

(C. Frye)

I come from the mud and the wind and the wet
From as far to the west as a man can get
And I’ve worked those waters for all my years
And I’ve caught my share of triumphs and tears
Oh the ocean’s the source of my hopes and fears

Kept an eye on the jigger pole, hand on the gaff
And the smiley on the line always brought a laugh
She’s the prize of the coast, biggest of the springs
We would carry her home past Edward King
Unloading at the packers’ and the money would ring
I’m Bamfield’s John Vanden

And you might slip and stumble on the rocks at the shore
And exult in the blast of the mighty wake’s roar
But when you stand humbled by the ocean’s door
Then you’ll understand just who I am
Bamfield’s Johnnie Vanden

Fair weather is a mask that the devil dons
A disguise for the tempest that’s coming on
But looking toward the west, I can always tell
By the tint of the sky and the strength of the swell
Who’s winning today, is it heaven or hell?

And when unseen arms threw thundering gales
We risked our souls on the telegraph trail
When the listing wrecks needed us the most
We slipped past death on the graveyard coast
But the ocean remembers, so we never did boast
I’m Bamfield’s John Vanden

And you might slip and stumble on the rocks at the shore
And exult in the blast of the mighty wake’s roar
But when you stand humbled by the ocean’s door
Then you’ll understand just who I am
Bamfield’s Johnnie Vanden

I’ve rolled and trawled and my hands were worn
In God’s vindictive southeast storms
Heard the hull of the ship as it ripped and groaned
But there is one thrill I have never known
Yes, the love of a woman I could call my own

So your questions of romance don’t ask me
I’m the man who wed the Pacific sea
Tempestuous though she may have been
A more faithful two you never seen
She’s kept me wise and fit and lean
I’m Bamfield’s John Vanden

And you might slip and stumble on the rocks at the shore
And exult in the blast of the mighty wake’s roar
But when you stand humbled by the ocean’s door
Then you’ll understand just who I am
Bamfield’s Johnnie Vanden
Bamfield’s John Vanden

(J. Conolly)

North to the Faroe Islands, South to the coast of Spain
West with the whaling fleet, and back to the pole again
Over the world of water, seventeen seas I’ve strayed,
Now to the North I’m sailing, back to the trawling trade.

Come you bold seafaring lads, there’s fortunes to be made,
In the trawling trade.

Back to the midnight landings, back to the fish dock smell,
Back to the frozen wind, as hard as the teeth of Hell,
Back to the strangest game that ever a man has played,
Follow those stormy rollers back to the trawling trade

Come you bold seafaring lads, there’s fortunes to be made,
In the trawling trade.

Down with your nets and tackle, down with your nets and gear,
Wait for the winches winding, wait for the deckie’s cheer,
Up with the shining harvest, glittering silver sprayed,
Down to the decks below to pay for the trawling trade.

Come you bold seafaring lads, there’s fortunes to be made,
In the trawling trade.

Home with the harvest wind and back with the Humber tide,
Run to the water’s edge and leap to the water’s side,
Roll with a roaring bunch of fishermen, newly paid,
Down to the dockside pubs to drink to the trawling trade

Come you bold seafaring lads, there’s fortunes to be made,
In the trawling trade.

North to the Faroe Islands, South to the coast of Spain
West with the whaling fleet, and back to the pole again
Over the world of water, seventeen seas I’ve strayed,
Now to the North I’m sailing, back to the trawling trade.

Come you bold seafaring lads, there’s fortunes to be made,
In the trawling trade, In the trawling trade

(Trad.)

Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
And it’s early in the morning.

Never did I know her mind,
Never did I know her mind,
Never did I know her mind,
And it’s early in the morning.

Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
And it’s early in the morning.

Sorrow, Sorrow is my name,
Sorrow, Sorrow is my name,
Sorrow, Sorrow is my name,
And it’s early in the morning.

Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
And it’s early in the morning.

Oh, she’s gone and I can’t go,
Oh, she’s gone and I can’t go,
Oh, she’s gone and I can’t go,
And it’s early in the morning.

Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
Morning’s come and Mariah’s gone,
And it’s early in the morning.

(P. Seeger)

Lady, what do you do all day? Lady, how do you spend your time, lady?

Got no time to be standing here gabbling, got no time to be answering,
There’s beds need making, the dishes need washing, and then to me dusting and polishing.
Scrubbing and sweeping and sewing and cleaning and cooking and ironing, are you listening?
I’m a production line all by myself, only my wages are missing.

Three kids of eight, and seven, and two, leisure is just a mythology,
When it’s over my head, I can’t go to bed, it’s temper, or else psychology.
Mary’s bed-wetting and Tommy is jealous of baby, his yelling is driving me crazy,
A nurse and a nanny, until I’m a granny, why is it nobody pays me?

I care for a lovely old mother-in-law, she’s 87 and cranky.
Husband’s home with a feverish cold, run for the tea and the hankies,
The hot-water bottle, the telly, the paper, and now the kids have it, it must be contagious,
So now I’m the family medical staff, where the hell are my wages?

If wives and mothers all took to their heels, you’d soon be needing an army,
And paying them all their union wages, I bet it would drive you barmy.
All eyes and ears, all hands and feet, my sign is Gemini, should’ve been two of me,
I do the work of a dozen a day, but where are the wages due to me?

With wages so low, prices so high, budgeting must be meticulous.
The hours I spend in looking for bargains, and cooking them’s really ridiculous.
And though my man’s doing all that he can, what he brings home isn’t making ends meet,
So I’ll have to go out for a wage myself, if the family’s gonna keep eating.

Ho!
Up in the morning before all the family, get the grub on the table.
The beds need making, the dishes need washing, and everything done on the double.
Drop the kids off at the school, and run for my bus. Don’t you think it’s outrageous?
I’d more than enough with my labour of love, now I’m doing another for wages!

The boss is as good as a boss can be, but the office is just like a nursery.
Smoothing his life, soothing his trouble, remembering his anniversary.
Reminding, hurrying, scurrying, worrying, into the frying pan, out of the cage, and it’s home from home wherever I roam, but at least I’m getting my wages!

On my way home, I shop for the dinner, and then have a tidy around,
Billy comes in, sits down with the papers, says ‘Girl, don’t you ever sit down?’ Men of the world, would you think it was strange, think it was right, think it was funny,
To slog all night at a job for free, after slogging all day for your money?

So!
Give me wages, give me my due, I’m opting out of the system.
Give me bonuses, overtime, sick leave, and paid holidays, and a pension,
Then I can strike! Work to rule, or go slow, or object to conditions and hours for wages
Would give me the power to have a say in a world where a person
Who happens to be female, is supposed to be happy,
To spend all her time as a…

Baby minder, sock finder, bacon fryer, dish dryer,
Floor sweeper, light-sleeper, brow smoother, mend the hoover.
Nappy folder, hand holder, onion chopper, mess mopper,
Button sewer, to-and-fro-er, tidy-upper, 
What’s for supper?
Money stretcher, run-and-fetch-er.

Cake maker, back-acher, early waker, bed maker, breakfast maker, lunch maker, tea maker, sandwich maker,

Lady, what do you do all day? Lady, it’s your only life.
When they ask you, what do you say?