Poor Man's Labour

Whistle
1

Saw this band last night at a coffee shop in NE Wisconsin (Green Bay)…they totally ROCKED!! They played the fiddle, two whistles (high and low D)…I wish I would have asked them what kind they play…but the place was seriously crowded. Other instruments were guitar and spoons and I believe an Irish flute (although I don’t know what one looks like)

It was just soooo good to go and listen to an Irish music band…we had to travel 75 miles one way to do it…(We live in no-man’s land, void of many cultural activities…except hunting and drinking!!) So…it was a memorable night. One of the band members asked if I was a whistler and I said YES!!! Although…not a very good one…just started in August…but I’m improving with the help of this board…and other great tutorials on the net!!

I can’t wait till they come out with a cd. If you are ever in NE Wisconsin…go look them up…I guess they play alot at The Cork in downtown Kewannee. They ROCK!!

Nancy

2

Basically, an Irish flute is wood, without or without keys, and a band (also called silver or boehm) flute is metal, with keys.

I know what you mean about being void of cultural activities from being in no wo/man’s land…I’ve only been to a movie theatre three times in my life and nobody in my family ever has.

3

If all I knew about this band was their name, I’d love them. Glad you found them, Nancy!

Carol

4

The name is a quote, I presume, from the song When I was a Young Man. Great song, great air. There’s the line it: A poor man’s labor is never done.

I WAS A YOUNG MAN

I was a young man, I was a rover,
Nothing could satisfy me but a wife
Soon as I reached the age of twenty,
Weary was I of the single life

The very first year me wife I married,
Out of her company I could not stray
Her voice as sweet as a lark or a linnet,
Or the song of the nightingale at break of day

Now she’s fairly altered her meaning,
Now she`s fairly changed her tune
Nothing but scolding comes from her mouth
A poor man’s labor’s never done

The very first year me wife I married,
Scarce could I get one half hours sleep
With her two knees she rubbed my shins,
Says husband dear put down your feet

The baby cried, she bitterly scolded,
Out of the door I was forced for to run
Without trousers, hat or a waistcoat,
A poor man’s labor is never done

I went up to the top of the hill,
To view my sheep that had all gone astray
When I came back she was lying in her bed,
At twelve o’clock on a summer’s day

When I came back both wet and weary,
Weary and wet now where could I run
She was lying in her bed, the fire right beside her,
Says young man is the kettle on

I’ll go home to my aged mother,
She’ll be sitting all alone
Says there’s plenty young women to be had,
Why should I be tied to one

All young men that is to marry,
Don’t, they’ll grieve you evermore
Death, o death come take my wife,
And then my troubles will all be o’er

(I know a couple of versions of this, and I don’t think all these verses are typically sung. Lyrics from mudcat.org)

5

Well, I didn’t know that, and thanks. Brought this one to mind, purely in the interest of equal air time, you know. :wink:

SORRY THE DAY I WAS MARRIED

Sorry the day I was married
And sorry the day I was wed
And it’s Oh, if I only had tarried
When I to the altar was led.

Young William sure there’s no pleasing
For let women do what they can
It’s always your heart they’ll be teasing
For that is the way of a man.

When I was a young lass I was bonnie
Had silks and bright jewels to wear
And red were me cheeks like a berry
And me heart it was free from all care.

Silks now I have none for me wearing
Me jewels have all gone away
And surely this life there’s no bearing
I’m pale as a primrose today.

Think, pretty maids, ere you marry
Stand fast by your sweet liberty
And as long as you can you must tarry
And not be lamenting like me.

Carol

6

Oh, is that how it’s going to be? Equal airtime my a/c.

STERN OLD BACHELOR

I am a stem old bachelor,
My age is forty-four-
I do declare I’II never live
With women any more.
I have a stove that’s worth ten cents,
A table worth fifteen,
I cook my gruel in oyster cans
And keep my things so clean.

chorus:
O little sod shanty
Little sod shanty dear to me,
I am a stern old bachelor
From matrimony free.

When I come home at night
I smile and walk right in
I never hear a voice call out, or say,
“Where have you been?”
On a cold and stormy night
In my cozy little shack,
I sing my songs and think my thoughts
With no one to talk back.

I go to bed when e’er I please
And wake up just the same,
I wash my socks three times a year
With no none to complain.
At night when I’m in peaceful sleep
My snores can do no harm,
I never have to walk the floor
With a baby on my arm.

I am a stem old bachelor,
My age is forty-four-
I do declare I’II never live
With women any more.
And when I die and go to heaven
As all good bachelors do,
I’ll never have to grieve to fear
My wife will get there too.

7

Um, nothing here.

8

Howdy,

Not ITM, but I figured it’s only fair to give equal time to the ladies’ point of view.

Best,

Dave

Hedningara: “Gone to Sot”

Lo, beware you lightsome lassie,
hark, you heather still a blooming,
shun the shed of drunken scoundrels,
bed and berth of raving rascal,
soiled sheets of a soaker,
mangy blankets of a madman.

Often will the drunken scoundrel,
even more the raving rascal,
thrust his hand to thrash about you,
grab and jerk your braid and hair do.

Often will the drunken scoundrel,
even more the raving rascal,
spew about the straws and sheetings,
throw up on the bed and blankets,
to get washed by angry woman,
to get quieted by a calm one.

What did ever so bereave me,
who did ever so beguile me,
made me lose my mind to reason,
lose my wit and ways of thinking,
words of wisdom and warning,
first and last of all my learning,

When I went to such a madman,
chose myself a drinking scoundrel,
went to bed with raving rascal,
let him lie on sheets beside me,
on the straws upon the bride bed
willingly I took the toper;
took a cudgel of a fir tree,
took a branch of spruce beside me.

9

This is not a heartening thread for a woman who just this minute got home from buying her daughter’s wedding dress. :stuck_out_tongue:

Susan

10

A single girl, a single girl
Goes dresed so fine, oh…
She goes dressed so fine
A married girl, a married girl
Wears just any old kind, oh…
She wears just any old kind

A single girl, a single girl
Goes anywhere she please, oh…
She goes anywhere she please
A married girl, a married girl
'S got a baby on her knees, oh…
Got a baby on her knees

A single girl, a single girl
Goes to the store and buys, oh…
She goes to the store and buys
A married girl, a married girl
Rocks the cradle and cries, oh…
She rocks the cradle and cries

But then again:

Boys keep away from the girls, I say
And give them lots of room
You’ll find when you’re wed
They’ll bang you till you’re dead
With the bald-headed end of a broom

This one sounds nice and cheerful on the whistle (and seems to work well in either D or G, though it sings better for me in D). It’s a bit short, though, so it’s a good candidate for some ornamentation and variation.

11

You guys/gals crack me up!!! Never a dull moment in this forum I say!!!

Thanks for the smiles!!

Nancy

12

I recognize these lyrics. But what’d driving me nuts is that I can’t remember the tune and I think I have a recording of this tune but I can’t remember who did the recording. :sniffle:

Any of you folks know who might have done this ?

13

Sure. I have it on an old Oisin record, Traditional Irish Songs, Ballads, and Instrumentals. It’s just voice and bodhran, and not all the verses are included.

14

One more from the man’s perspective:

The man who wrote the “Home, Sweet Home” never was a married man
He never had no loving wife to beat him with the frying pan
She’ll meet you at the door when you go to come in
And knock you down with with a rolling pin
Oh, the man who wrote the “Home, Sweet Home” never was a married man

On the other hand, I know dozens of murder ballads in which a man kills a woman, but only two that go the other way (“Frankie Silver” and “Frankie and Albert” [later “Frankie and Johnny”]).

There’s a cool recording of the latter at http://www.lyon.edu/wolfcollection/songs/daughertyfrankie1248.html

I love the Web!

15

On the other hand, I know dozens of murder ballads in which a man kills a woman, but only two that go the other way (“Frankie Silver” and “Frankie and Albert” [later “Frankie and Johnny”])

Frankie Silver is “kin folk” to me. Actually, her husband is the direct one that I’m kin to. . Of course, the book that is called"The Ballad of Frankie Silver" implies that she did not kill her husband, but took the blame rather than have other members of her family be executed also. She was the last woman in NC to be hung for murder. She was convicted of the ax murder of her husband in 1831 and was hung in 1833 in Morganton, NC.In fact, my Dad and brother visited Charlie Silvers’ graves sites. There are three sites because as they found more parts of him ,they dug another grave and he ended up with three graves in the little church graveyard at Kona, NC.

16

Yes, I read about the book on the Web. The New Lost City Ramblers did a nice, mournful version of the song, but there doesn’t seem to be enough to the tune to justify it as an instrumental.