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Long forgotten songs returning.

Wow, thanks for all the responses! Lovely to see so many people have these songs hard wired too :D
 
Was singing vera lynn this morning for the first time since my days as a brussel sprout circa 1979ish!!!
 
GNC said:
Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy
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The song was more widely known in the days in when the Liverpool waterfront was busier than today.

Signs for the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board were said to have the line about the lambs added as graffiti.

I suspect it is apocryphal, having heard it only on the radio years later as an excuse to play a "mouldy oldie." o_O
 
A kiddly divy do, wooden ewe?
 
escargot1 said:
Something at work - I'm not sure what - sets me off singing the lively calypso 'Sammy Dead-o' which I was taught at school.

A no tief Sammy teif mek dem kill him,
A no lie Sammy lie mek him dead oh,
But a grudgeful dem grudgeful kill Sammy,
But a grudgeful dem grudgeful kill Sammy,

Sammy plant piece a corn dung a gully
An it bear till it kill poor Sammy.
Sammy dead, Sammy dead, Sammy dead oh,
Sammy dead, Sammy dead, Sammy dead oh,

Neighbour kyaan bear fe see neighbour flourish,
Neighbour kyaan bear fe see neighbour flourish,
Sammy dead, Sammy dead, Sammy dead oh,

Sammy gone dung a hell fe shoot blackbud,
A no lie Sammy lie mek him go deh,
But a grudgeful dem grudgeful kill Sammy,
But a grudgeful dem grudgeful kill Sammy

In our songbook it said 'nayga', not 'neighbour', representing a then-common term for a person of colour.
We wouldn't be singing that now!

There's also Mango Walk which I now find is a Caribbean nursery rhyme.

'Mango walk' means mango-scrumping and 'number eleven' is a variety of mango. I learned that from the singing book at school!
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I can imagine Nick Cave singing that to the accompaniment of a sinister backing track.
 
Down in the meadow where the wind blows free,
in the middle of a field stands a lightning tree.
It’s limbs all torn from the day it was born
for the tree was born in a thunderstorm.

Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it’s never too late for you and me;
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily.

Down in the meadow where the wind blows light,
the lightning struck in the middle of the night.
Limbs stripped bare by the lightning flare
the lightning flare was a wild affair.

Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it’s never too late for you and me;
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily.

Down in the meadow with the wind in the west,
the lightning tree faced up to the test.
Its heart went snap when it took the rap,
the terrible rap of the thunder clap.

Grow, grow, the lightning tree, it’s never too late for you and me;
Grow, grow, the lightning tree, never give in too easily.

Down in the valley where the wind blows free,
A whisper of green in the lightning tree,
Dreams come true when you want them to,
If you want them to them it’s up to you.

Grow, grow the lightning tree,
Never give in too easily
Lightning tree, lightning tree.

 
For no obvious reason the other day, I found myself mumbling "dancing in stilettos in the snow" and other lyrics to Kayleigh, a song which I've never particularly given much thought to.
 
GhostInTheMachine said:
Jesus Christ! Superstar!
Wears frilly knickers and a ladies' bra!
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It was Georgie Best, Superstar! when I first heard it. Best's long hair was enough to cause gender-unease in the 1960s, when "Get your hair cut!" was a live generational taunt. Youth duly responded with the skinhead look.

The earliest possible date for the chant would be 1970, the year of the musical. So my memories of having heard it in Primary School are false! :confused:

It was slightly different in the Georgie Best version:

"Walks like a woman and he wears a bra!"

Maybe it reverted to Jesus when the reference to Best was no longer topical and needed explaining. These days, Jesus would need a footnote! :rolleyes:
 
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Jesus Christ, superstar
Rode into heaven on a Yamaha
Did a skid, killed a kid,
And... then what did he do? Can't remember the last line!
 
JamesWhitehead said:
It was slightly different in the Georgie Best version:

"Walks like a woman and he wears a bra!"

Maybe it reverted to Jesus when the reference to Best was no longer topical and needed explaining. These days, Jesus would need a footnote! :rolleyes:
Click to expand...

That's the one I remember, in both Jesus and Georgie versions. Also GNC's variant remind me of something about JC being on a Yamaha, but don't recall any youthful pedestrians coming to harm.
 
Oh yes, I'd totally forgotten the Georgie Best variant! I know there were more verses to it but that's all I remember... Yes, I was at primary - went to high school in 1973, so it has to pre-date that.

ETA: I wonder why a ladies' bra? Aren't all bras ladies' bras?
 
GhostInTheMachine said:
Oh yes, I'd totally forgotten the Georgie Best variant! I know there were more verses to it but that's all I remember... Yes, I was at primary - went to high school in 1973, so it has to pre-date that.

ETA: I wonder why a ladies' bra? Aren't all bras ladies' bras?
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The full version (Scottish variant) that I remember was:

Georgie Best (or Dixie Deans as it was at my school), Superstar
Looks like a lassie and he wears a bra
The bra's too big, he wears a wig
That's why his mummy calls him sexy pig


Bizarre. But we were just kids.
 
GhostInTheMachine said:
Oh yes, I'd totally forgotten the Georgie Best variant! I know there were more verses to it but that's all I remember... Yes, I was at primary - went to high school in 1973, so it has to pre-date that.

ETA: I wonder why a ladies' bra? Aren't all bras ladies' bras?
Click to expand...
He wore a Playtex bra round our end. As it were.
 
Maybe not topical, but here's something that happened to me, some years ago.

1978, a warm summers afternoon in Enfield Town had left me feeling parched, so, deciding I'd had enough of window shopping, I decided to wait for the bus home. As fate would have it, my distraction was achieved via the shape of two extremely beautiful girls aged 18 and 19 (I determined) who proceeded to try and press-gang me into a cult I knew nothing of at the time. They revealed themselves to be 'acolytes' of the ministry of 'The Children of God'. I use the term press-ganged in its literal sense as they were both well-endowed and pinned me to the barrier near the bus-stop! Needless to say, I missed the bus home and had to wait for the next, although I wasn't too bothered as I had plenty to think about!
The next bus only went as far as Ponders End, but I jumped on anyway. This was rather fortuitous as getting off at the Bus-Station, another was preparing to leave. Instead of terminating at Brimsdown, this bus was going on to Chingford Mount. Made no difference to me, as they both passed by where I lived. Arriving at Green Street, and feeling somewhat revived, I decided not to get off at my stop, but continue on to Chingford. This gave me an opportunity, from my top-deck seat, to scan the vicinity of Green Street. I was on the look-out for two characters whom I hadn't seen for a few days. I was rather disappointed at not seeing them, yet I had the impression that they'd gone away for a break. ( I'd seen them sometime before - excitedly putting things into a car.) Little did they know how much I cared and looked out for them?
Onward then, to Chingford Mount, where I disembarked and with satisfaction realized that the conductor hadn't asked for more money! I bought myself a bottle of ice-cold coke and proceeded to explore (as was my want} the vicinity. All in all, I would say that my mood was fine.
About an hour of walking around and beginning to get bored, I happened upon the entrance to Chingford Mount Cemetery. It looked a fairly large area and with rather an unkempt, overgrown look to it. Gothic, I would say and right up my street!
I'd have a quick look-round and make my way home.
I entered the cemetery and took the path which veered to the left. Ahead of me, a large Chapel of Rest loomed.
I remember how still the atmosphere seemed. No sound of traffic: no sound of birds: no sound of people. Nothing, except me and the gravestones and the heat.
The chapel, I noticed, had a bell-turret at one corner and I remember thinking that would give me a great view, if I could get up there.
The whole building was surrounded by a wide path of shingle which crunched beneath my feet as I made my way to the entrance. Rounding the end of the building, I was surprised to find that the large double-doors which provided the entrance, were wide open. Looking into the heart of the chapel, there was another surprise. The whole of the interior had been ripped out. There was nothing: even the pews had been dismantled and lay stacked against the wall. I couldn't tell whether or not it was being readied for renovation or demolition! The fact that the doors had been left open suggested to me the latter. I felt a sense of sacrilege. Notwithstanding that, I examined the dismantled pews which were of high quality, some having intricate carvings upon them and realized that I could probably wood-panel my whole house with them. What a waste, if they were to be discarded! I made a mental note to contact the council over the matter and see if a deal could be done.
Having decided on that, I turned my attention to accessing the bell-turret. However, my attention was caught by several sheets of discarded paper which lay upon the parquet flooring. Picking a couple of them up, I was astonished to find that they were records of the graves, complete with names of those buried and plot numbers!
This was more sacrilege! How were people going to search for their long-lost loved ones? This was something else I was going to have to bring up with the council ! Maybe I could use this matter to my advantage when negotiating for the pews?
Anyhow, that was for the future. For now my main interest was with the bell-turret.
At the far end of the chapel were two doors. The door on the left was obviously for access to the turret, whereas the door to the right was a mystery. I decided on the mystery first and was happy to find it unlocked. However, all that revealed was a wash-basin. Next was the door to the turret !
Slowly turning the handle, I was relieved to find this door too was unlocked. Opening the door, I was presented with a set of wooden stairs; spiralling up in a clockwise fashion. I had one look around me and then proceeded on my climb to the top. They creaked somewhat, as I put my weight upon the treads and as I neared the top, the going got treacherous owing to the amount of bird/ bat droppings (I couldn't tell which) upon them. The strong musty odour of the droppings made me glad when I reached the top and could draw in deep breaths through the open vents of the bell-housing. Unfortunately, the bell was missing. Not that I wanted to negotiate with the council over it; rather, I fancied a bit of bell-ringing. Still, that wasn't to be. At least I had the view, which was as good as I'd hoped for and afforded me a wonderful vista over the cemetery. I wasn't sure how long I stayed there, looking out. It may of been an half-hour, no longer than that before I decided that I'd had enough for now. Not only that; the sun had gone down a fraction and the shadows had lengthened a bit. There was something else. Something I couldn't quite understand? I can only describe it as a sense of unease. I pulled back from the opening and leaned against the bell-housing whilst I tried to fathom it out. The cemetery was deserted, I could see and if anyone had approached the chapel, I would have heard, owing to the shingle path. Yet, my vibes were awakened and I had the slow realization of another presence in the vicinity. Time for me to leave; of that I was in no doubt now!
The first problem was the stairs, for they had now become rather gloomy. I went down them slowly and nearly fell, having slipped on the droppings. Still, with relief, I made it to the ground, yet had a sense of foreboding as I opened the door to the interior of the chapel. I peered out and was pleased to find that no-one was there. I stepped out into the chapel which itself had become quite dark, although the double-doors to the entrance were still wide open and a low sunlight still illuminated the thresh-hold. I felt much better about things now and paused while I took stock and puzzled over my vibes. Then, it happened!
Between myself, at the back of the chapel and in the direction of the double-doors: footsteps across the floor.
I froze. I waited. I knew what I heard, yet tried to make sense of it; tried to explain it away.
It must be the wooden stairs, I reasoned, creaking from their use and change in temperature.
Then, again; more footsteps! In front of me, going towards the doors! There was no mistaking the sound.
I followed with my eyes as they made their way towards the entrance and then stopped and then shuffled as if the perpetrator had turned to look at me! And then, all the papers with the grave names suddenly leapt from the floor and twirled about as if some strange gust of wind had mysteriously appeared and scattered them!
Now, you've probably gathered by now that I'm no faint-heart but I can tell you that I couldn't wait to get out of there. The fact that I had to pass the very spot where the footsteps had stopped induced me to find resources of will-power I never knew I possessed! I took a deep breath, got my head down and marched straight out through the doorway and into the sun-light. Having made it outside, I congratulated myself on how brave I'd been!
Needless to say; I never returned for the pews.
This is a true story and it is also a Ghost story. More than that; it is a story of Enchantment in Action.
I hope you enjoyed it. SC
 
Stuart Certain said:
Maybe not topical, but here's something that happened to me, some years ago.

1978, a warm summers afternoon in Enfield Town had left me feeling parched, so, deciding I'd had enough of window shopping, I decided to wait for the bus home. As fate would have it, my distraction was achieved via the shape of two extremely beautiful girls aged 18 and 19 (I determined) who proceeded to try and press-gang me into a cult I knew nothing of at the time. They revealed themselves to be 'acolytes' of the ministry of 'The Children of God'. I use the term press-ganged in its literal sense as they were both well-endowed and pinned me to the barrier near the bus-stop! Needless to say, I missed the bus home and had to wait for the next, although I wasn't too bothered as I had plenty to think about!
The next bus only went as far as Ponders End, but I jumped on anyway. This was rather fortuitous as getting off at the Bus-Station, another was preparing to leave. Instead of terminating at Brimsdown, this bus was going on to Chingford Mount. Made no difference to me, as they both passed by where I lived. Arriving at Green Street, and feeling somewhat revived, I decided not to get off at my stop, but continue on to Chingford. This gave me an opportunity, from my top-deck seat, to scan the vicinity of Green Street. I was on the look-out for two characters whom I hadn't seen for a few days. I was rather disappointed at not seeing them, yet I had the impression that they'd gone away for a break. ( I'd seen them sometime before - excitedly putting things into a car.) Little did they know how much I cared and looked out for them?
Onward then, to Chingford Mount, where I disembarked and with satisfaction realized that the conductor hadn't asked for more money! I bought myself a bottle of ice-cold coke and proceeded to explore (as was my want} the vicinity. All in all, I would say that my mood was fine.
About an hour of walking around and beginning to get bored, I happened upon the entrance to Chingford Mount Cemetery. It looked a fairly large area and with rather an unkempt, overgrown look to it. Gothic, I would say and right up my street!
I'd have a quick look-round and make my way home.
I entered the cemetery and took the path which veered to the left. Ahead of me, a large Chapel of Rest loomed.
I remember how still the atmosphere seemed. No sound of traffic: no sound of birds: no sound of people. Nothing, except me and the gravestones and the heat.
The chapel, I noticed, had a bell-turret at one corner and I remember thinking that would give me a great view, if I could get up there.
The whole building was surrounded by a wide path of shingle which crunched beneath my feet as I made my way to the entrance. Rounding the end of the building, I was surprised to find that the large double-doors which provided the entrance, were wide open. Looking into the heart of the chapel, there was another surprise. The whole of the interior had been ripped out. There was nothing: even the pews had been dismantled and lay stacked against the wall. I couldn't tell whether or not it was being readied for renovation or demolition! The fact that the doors had been left open suggested to me the latter. I felt a sense of sacrilege. Notwithstanding that, I examined the dismantled pews which were of high quality, some having intricate carvings upon them and realized that I could probably wood-panel my whole house with them. What a waste, if they were to be discarded! I made a mental note to contact the council over the matter and see if a deal could be done.
Having decided on that, I turned my attention to accessing the bell-turret. However, my attention was caught by several sheets of discarded paper which lay upon the parquet flooring. Picking a couple of them up, I was astonished to find that they were records of the graves, complete with names of those buried and plot numbers!
This was more sacrilege! How were people going to search for their long-lost loved ones? This was something else I was going to have to bring up with the council ! Maybe I could use this matter to my advantage when negotiating for the pews?
Anyhow, that was for the future. For now my main interest was with the bell-turret.
At the far end of the chapel were two doors. The door on the left was obviously for access to the turret, whereas the door to the right was a mystery. I decided on the mystery first and was happy to find it unlocked. However, all that revealed was a wash-basin. Next was the door to the turret !
Slowly turning the handle, I was relieved to find this door too was unlocked. Opening the door, I was presented with a set of wooden stairs; spiralling up in a clockwise fashion. I had one look around me and then proceeded on my climb to the top. They creaked somewhat, as I put my weight upon the treads and as I neared the top, the going got treacherous owing to the amount of bird/ bat droppings (I couldn't tell which) upon them. The strong musty odour of the droppings made me glad when I reached the top and could draw in deep breaths through the open vents of the bell-housing. Unfortunately, the bell was missing. Not that I wanted to negotiate with the council over it; rather, I fancied a bit of bell-ringing. Still, that wasn't to be. At least I had the view, which was as good as I'd hoped for and afforded me a wonderful vista over the cemetery. I wasn't sure how long I stayed there, looking out. It may of been an half-hour, no longer than that before I decided that I'd had enough for now. Not only that; the sun had gone down a fraction and the shadows had lengthened a bit. There was something else. Something I couldn't quite understand? I can only describe it as a sense of unease. I pulled back from the opening and leaned against the bell-housing whilst I tried to fathom it out. The cemetery was deserted, I could see and if anyone had approached the chapel, I would have heard, owing to the shingle path. Yet, my vibes were awakened and I had the slow realization of another presence in the vicinity. Time for me to leave; of that I was in no doubt now!
The first problem was the stairs, for they had now become rather gloomy. I went down them slowly and nearly fell, having slipped on the droppings. Still, with relief, I made it to the ground, yet had a sense of foreboding as I opened the door to the interior of the chapel. I peered out and was pleased to find that no-one was there. I stepped out into the chapel which itself had become quite dark, although the double-doors to the entrance were still wide open and a low sunlight still illuminated the thresh-hold. I felt much better about things now and paused while I took stock and puzzled over my vibes. Then, it happened!
Between myself, at the back of the chapel and in the direction of the double-doors: footsteps across the floor.
I froze. I waited. I knew what I heard, yet tried to make sense of it; tried to explain it away.
It must be the wooden stairs, I reasoned, creaking from their use and change in temperature.
Then, again; more footsteps! In front of me, going towards the doors! There was no mistaking the sound.
I followed with my eyes as they made their way towards the entrance and then stopped and then shuffled as if the perpetrator had turned to look at me! And then, all the papers with the grave names suddenly leapt from the floor and twirled about as if some strange gust of wind had mysteriously appeared and scattered them!
Now, you've probably gathered by now that I'm no faint-heart but I can tell you that I couldn't wait to get out of there. The fact that I had to pass the very spot where the footsteps had stopped induced me to find resources of will-power I never knew I possessed! I took a deep breath, got my head down and marched straight out through the doorway and into the sun-light. Having made it outside, I congratulated myself on how brave I'd been!
Needless to say; I never returned for the pews.
This is a true story and it is also a Ghost story. More than that; it is a story of Enchantment in Action.
I hope you enjoyed it. SC
Click to expand...

A great read Stuart!
The use of delectable young ladies as a honey-trap for religious cults must be a common practice. I was once waylaid by a member of the Church of Seven day Adventists who was somewhat stunning. We got talking and then she invited me to a `Faith Meeting` or something. Had I been more naive I wouldn't have hesitated to go.This is the bait that catches many a young man - presumably.

One wonders how this technique sits with their religious devotion....
 
Zeke Newbold said:
A great read Stuart!
The use of delectable young ladies as a honey-trap for religious cults must be a common practice. I was once waylaid by a member of the Church of Seven day Adventists who was somewhat stunning. We got talking and then she invited me to a `Faith Meeting` or something. Had I been more naive I wouldn't have hesitated to go.This is the bait that catches many a young man - presumably.

One wonders how this technique sits with their religious devotion....
Click to expand...

Yes Zeke, I'm sure you're right. In my case, I was invited to a gathering, a (sort of) party where all food and drink would be supplied. I was given an address in Finchley or Barnet (can't quite remember) and as an added pull (apart from themselves} was told that a well-known Rock-Guitarist from a famous Group would be in attendance. Again my memory lets me down as to his name; apparently he'd mysteriously disappeared from a hotel in New York (?), never to be heard of again.
 
Stuart Certain said:
Yes Zeke, I'm sure you're right. In my case, I was invited to a gathering, a (sort of) party where all food and drink would be supplied. I was given an address in Finchley or Barnet (can't quite remember) and as an added pull (apart from themselves} was told that a well-known Rock-Guitarist from a famous Group would be in attendance. Again my memory lets me down as to his name; apparently he'd mysteriously disappeared from a hotel in New York (?), never to be heard of again.
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Reckon they abducted him to force him to make these appearances at cult bashes?
 
Mythopoeika said:
Was it this guy?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Taylor_Kramer

The circumstances of his disappearance were strange. He was involved with the development of the MX Missile, among other things.
Click to expand...

Similar, but not sure its the same person. My own experience dated 1978, so would have to know if he was in this country (England) at that time. Well found link though; Thanks
( Of course, they may have said that he was due to attend, but never actually turned up)
 
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