Pop Goes the Weasel: The Secret Meanings of Nursery Rhymes Page 3

  Bobby Shafto

  BOBBY Shafto’s gone to sea,

  Silver buckles on his knee;

  He’ll come back and marry me,

  Bonny Bobby Shafto!

  Bobby Shafto’s bright and fair,

  Combing down his yellow hair;

  He’s my love for evermair,

  Bonny Bobby Shafto!

  Sung to the tune of an old sea shanty, this sounds much like a generic song sung by a sailor’s sweetheart waiting for his return, but the real Robert Shafto had nothing to do with the sea or with keeping his promises. He was born into a political family in 1732 at Whitworth, near Spennymoor in County Durham. Both his father John and his uncle Robert were Members of Parliament and Robert the younger joined them in 1760 when he won the seat of County Durham. He held the seat until 1768 when he moved south and became the MP for Downton in Wiltshire. It was during his election campaigns that his supporters started calling him Bonny Bobby Shafto in an attempt to win public favour.

  Robert Shafto may have achieved political success but he was apparently notorious for his bad treatment of the women in his life. The story behind the rhyme is believed to derive from the callous ending of his long engagement to Bridget Belasyse by his sudden marriage to another woman (wealthy heiress Anne Duncombe) on 18 April 1774, the eve of their proposed wedding. Legend has it that Bridget died of a broken heart just two weeks later.

  Then, during his marriage to Anne, the previously penniless MP set about the task of spending his new wife’s fortune, all the while courting various other young ladies with the promise of marriage. I guess you could see him as a Premiership footballer of his day leaving a wannabe WAG in every town. In the event, Bonny Bobby and Anne remained married until her death in July 1784. And Bobby Shafto never delivered on any of his wedding promises after that. He lived on until November 1797, just long enough to spend the rest of his wife’s cash. His body is buried in the Shafto family crypt at Whitworth Church.

  While there is little doubt Robert Shafto is the subject of the rhyme, recent research now suggests Bridget Belasyse actually died of tuberculosis on 6 April 1774, nearly two weeks before Shafto married Anne Duncombe. So perhaps he was the one left broken-hearted instead. Which cheers me up a little – although he was still pretty quick off the mark with Anne.

  Boys and Girls, Come Out to Play

  BOYS and girls, come out to play,

  The moon doth shine as bright as day;

  Leave your supper, and leave your sleep

  And come with your playfellows into the street.

  Come with a whoop, come with a call,

  Come with a good will or not at all.

  Up the ladder and down the wall,

  A half-penny loaf will serve us all;

  You find milk, and I’ll find flour,

  And we’ll have a pudding in half an hour.

  This rhyme dates back to the beginning of the eighteenth century or earlier, to a time when children generally worked during the day and so could not play until the evening. It is believed that children, up until the nineteenth century, might sing such a rhyme to their playmates to come and join them outside. But there are slightly sinister overtones too. Night was the time of witches, fairies and evil spirits, after all, and the moon in particular was seen as intensifying their power or tempting forth even more dangerous creatures, such as werewolves.

  This poem is a summons to children (the antithesis of Wee Willie Winkie), to leave the safety of their homes and to come out and play – with their enticing magical playmates. But as any child who knew their fairy tales could tell you, fairy time passed at a completely different rate to normal time. One evening spent playing with your new companions and you could return home only to find that everyone you had known had died of old age. Maybe safer to stay in with the PlayStation, after all…

  Christmas Is Coming

  CHRISTMAS is coming, the goose is getting fat,

  Please to put a penny in the old man’s hat;

  If you haven’t got a penny, a halfpenny will do,

  If you haven’t got a halfpenny, a farthing will do,

  If you haven’t got a farthing, then God bless you!

  The one enduring feature of Christmas since records began has been the desire to eat well at the festive season. The wealthy would indulge in huge, lavish banquets but they could do that at any time of year. For the majority of the population, Christmas was the one time when they could hope to have something special on the table, and whatever their circumstances, everyone tried hard to achieve some semblance of a feast. Although turkeys had been introduced to Britain during the 1700s, goose remained the traditional choice for a family Christmas dinner up until the twentieth century.

  However, before the late twentieth century many people could not afford what others took for granted and were delighted to have any kind of meat on their table. The strong tradition of charity at Christmas therefore played an important role in providing something special for the poor family’s dinner, especially in rural areas. Farmers often gave a bird or a joint of meat to their workers as a sort of Christmas bonus, and paternalistic squires provided meals for poor tenants and workhouse residents. As the rhyme shows, it was the one time of year that the poor and indigent could beg and confidently expect to be helped (Please to put a penny in the old man’s hat).

  Things were different in the towns and one very useful Victorian invention for the working family was the ‘goose club’ in which the members would pay a small sum every week to save up for their Christmas bird. The meetings of the goose clubs were parties in themselves. Although criticized by some reformers for encouraging people to drink, they served a very useful purpose and live on today in the form of the Christmas clubs set up by local shops and businesses.

  Today turkey has overtaken goose as the centrepiece of the traditional festive dinner, but for the Victorians a goose was an integral part of Christmas feasting – most famously illustrated in Dickens’s A Christmas Carol (1843) and making an appearance in a Sherlock Holmes story (‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle’, 1892 – the stolen jewel being found in the bird’s crop).

  The Cutty Wren

  WE will go to the wood, says Robin to Bobbin,

  We will go to the wood, says Richard to Robin,

  We will go to the wood, says John all alone,

  We will go to the wood, says everyone.

  What to do there? says Robin to Bobbin,

  What to do there? says Richard to Robin,

  What to do there? says John all alone,

  What to do there? says everyone.

  We’ll shoot at a wren, says Robin to Bobbin,

  We’ll shoot at a wren, says Richard to Robin,

  We’ll shoot at a wren, says John all alone,

  We’ll shoot at a wren, says everyone.

  She’s down, she’s down, says Robin to Bobbin,

  She’s down, she’s down, says Richard to Robin,

  She’s down, she’s down, says John all alone,

  She’s down, she’s down, says everyone.

  Then pounce, then pounce, says Robin to Bobbin,

  Then pounce, then pounce, says Richard to Robin,

  Then pounce, then pounce, says John all alone,

  Then pounce, then pounce, says everyone.

  She is dead, she is dead, says Robin to Bobbin,

  She is dead, she is dead, says Richard to Robin,

  She is dead, she is dead, says John all alone,

  She is dead, she is dead, says everyone.

  In a cart with six horses, says Robin to Bobbin,

  In a cart with six horses, says Richard to Robin,

  In a cart with six horses, says John all alone,

  In a cart with six horses, says everyone.

  Then hoist, boys, hoist, says Robin to Bobbin,

  Then hoist, boys, hoist, says Richard to Robin,

  Then hoist, boys, hoist, says John all alone,

  Then hoist, boys, hoist, says everyone.


  How shall we dress her? says Robin to Bobbin,

  How shall we dress her? says Richard to Robin,

  How shall we dress her? says John all alone,

  How shall we dress her? says everyone.

  We’ll hire seven cooks, says Robin to Bobbin,

  We’ll hire seven cooks, says Richard to Robin,

  We’ll hire seven cooks, says John all alone,

  We’ll hire seven cooks, says everyone.

  How shall we boil her? says Robin to Bobbin,

  How shall we boil her? says Richard to Robin,

  How shall we boil her? says John all alone,

  How shall we boil her? says everyone.

  In the brewer’s big pan, says Robin to Bobbin,

  In the brewer’s big pan, says Richard to Robin,

  In the brewer’s big pan, says John all alone,

  In the brewer’s big pan, says everyone.

  ‘The Cutty Wren’ – one of many rhymes written in a cumulative way (see For Want of a Nail, The House That Jack Built and Who Killed Cock Robin?) – derives from an ancient custom, once widespread throughout the British Isles. The tradition of hunting the wren was carried out on St Stephen’s Day (26 December). The antiquary and writer John Aubrey (1626-97) tells of ‘a whole Parish running like madmen from Hedge to Hedge a Wren-hunting’. Parties of men and boys killed one or more wrens (or pretended to do so), which they then placed in a garland-like ‘bush’ or special box and perambulated the village, singing, dancing, playing instruments and collecting money. The rhyme was chanted in the ceremonial procession after the kill had been made.

  Part of the Boxing Day ritual seems to stem from this tiny bird being treated as if it were larger than an elephant. The wren, whose feathers were thought to provide protection against shipwreck, was regarded as the king of birds, due to an ancient folk tale. According to this, in a competition to see who should be king of the birds, the eagle flew higher and faster than all the others. Just as he was proclaiming his victory, the wren, who had hidden in his feathers, popped out and flew a few inches higher, claiming the crown.

  Ding, Dong, Bell

  DING, dong, bell,

  Pussy’s in the well.

  Who put her in?

  Little Johnny Flynn.

  Who pulled her out?

  Little Tommy Stout.

  What a naughty boy was that

  To try to drown poor pussy cat,

  Who never did him any harm,

  And killed all the mice in his father’s barn.

  Tracing the origins of this nursery rhyme is relatively straightforward. It would have been composed as a cautionary tale for badly behaved children, to encourage them to be more compassionate – especially to defenceless animals. It is in a similar vein to other poems and rhymes with a moral message that were so popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries (see Little Bo Peep and Mary Had a Little Lamb).

  However, the rhyme’s echo of Shakespeare’s famous song from The Tempest (1610), about a drowned sailor (rather than a drowned cat), has led some people to argue that the Bard himself may have written it:

  Full fathom five thy father lies…

  Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell:

  Hark! now I hear them – Ding, dong, bell.

  The refrain also appears in The Merchant of Venice (1596-8):

  Let us all ring fancy’s knell;

  I’ll begin – Ding, dong, bell.

  Meanwhile, a contemporary rhyme goes:

  Jacke boy, ho boy newes,

  The cat is in the well,

  Let us ring now for her knell,

  Ding dong ding dong bell.

  Appearing in 1609 in Pammelia, Musickes Miscellanie, this rhyme was therefore published after The Merchant of Venice, but further investigation shows that it in fact predates the play – going back to at least 1580. Which makes it look as though Shakespeare was simply quoting what was already a well-known rhyme. Ringing bells were clearly all the rage with the Elizabethans – or with Elizabethan poets, that is. One thing that all these related rhymes point to, is that the version we all know is a somewhat sanitized one –perhaps to avoid upsetting sensitive children. Ding, dong, bell is a knell, a bell rung to mark a death. Little Johnny Flynn had actually succeeded in drowning the poor pussy cat.

  Doctor Foster

  DOCTOR Foster

  Went to Gloucester

  In a shower of rain.

  He stepped in a puddle

  Right up to his middle

  And never went there again.

  Like the last example, this rhyme would have been used as a warning to children – this time that danger lurks around every corner and that they should watch their step. Before the days of tarmacadam, large potholes in the road were common and could easily be mistaken for shallow puddles, which, as we all know, attract children like a magnet.

  One theory runs that the origins of this verse stretch back over seven hundred years to Edward I (1239-1307), who was known by the nickname of Doctor Foster – perhaps because he was a learned fellow, or just someone in authority, from the Latin doctor, meaning a teacher or instructor. One day, on a visit to Gloucester during a rainstorm, the king rode his horse through what appeared to be a shallow puddle. When it turned out to be a deep ditch, both king and horse became trapped in the mud and had to be hauled out by the good folk of Gloucester, much to Edward’s fury and embarrassment. The king, also known as ‘Longshanks’ (if not quite long enough to negotiate deep puddles) or ‘Edward the Lawgiver’ and responsible for much of the Tower of London in the form that we know it today, vowed never to return to Gloucester – and he remained true to his word.

  However, another, rather more likely, theory concerns the geography of Gloucester itself. As Britain’s most inland port, Gloucester is located on the banks of the River Severn – a low-lying area highly prone to flooding, as recent years have shown, and therefore with puddles aplenty. Relatively close to the Welsh border, the town would have been of strategic importance to Edward during his campaigns against the Welsh. Hence it is quite possible that ‘Foster’ follows ‘Doctor’ – the long-legged, learned, lawgiving king – simply because it rhymes with ‘Gloucester’.

  Elsie Marley

  ELSIE Marley has grown so fine,

  She won’t get up to feed the swine,

  But lies in bed until eight or nine,

  And surely she does take her time.

  The protagonist of this rhyme, which was first written down in the mid eighteenth century, is believed by some to be Alice Marley, a North Country ‘alewife’ or landlady, who lived earlier in the century. An alternative, more satisfying theory is that Elsie is in fact ‘Eppie’, the heroine of a Scottish version of the rhyme:

  Saw ye Eppie Marley, honey,

  The woman that sells the barley, honey;

  She’s lost her pocket and all her money

  By following Jacobite Charlie, honey.

  Eppie Marley’s turned so fine,

  She’ll no gang out to herd the swine,

  But lies in her bed till eight or nine

  And winna come down the stairs to dine.

  The hidden meaning behind the seemingly innocent verse would have been well understood by the clansmen north of the border. Jacobite Charlie, better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie, was none other than Charles Edward Stuart (1720-88). Depending on which side of the border you hailed from, the so-called Young Pretender was either a Scottish terrorist or – as the grandson of James II, deposed in the Glorious Revolution of 1688 (see The Grand Old Duke of York) – the rightful king of both England and Scotland.

  In 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie arrived in Scotland to lay claim to the thrones of Scotland, Ireland and England in opposition to King George II. Already a popular and romantic figure, Charlie was soon rallying support for his claim, and several rhymes and songs from that time encourage the good folk of Scotland to fight for their prince. But there were huge dangers inherent in such support, as the Scots were to learn after th
eir defeat at the Battle of Culloden on 16 April 1746.

  After the rout, the English under the command of the Duke of Cumberland were ordered that ‘no quarter’ be given to the Scots, which meant the wounded and captured were simply slaughtered on the battlefield to ensure they never rose against the English again. The Scottish economy was also deliberately devastated and morale was flattened for generations. Hence ‘Eppie Marley’ can be seen as a cautionary tale, warning children against any future association with the Stuarts. Like Charlie himself, who did not distinguish himself in the campaign, the supporters of the Stuarts are pictured as effeminate, seeing themselves as too fine to engage in day-to-day work like the rest of their community. (See also The Lion and the Unicorn and The Skye Boat Song for more on the effects of Jacobite Charlie.)

  Flour of England

  FLOUR of England, fruit of Spain

  Met together in a shower of rain;

  Put in a bag and tied with a string;

  If you tell me this riddle,

  I’ll give you a ring.

  At first glance, this seems the world’s strangest recipe for plum pudding. While that may be the obvious answer to the riddle the rhyme is asking, there could be rather more to it than that, however.