  When by the aid of the "chapping-out" rhyme it has been decided who should be "it," the game to follow may be "Single Tig," "Cross Tig," "Burly Bracks Round the Stacks," "Pussie in the Corner," "Bonnety," "The Tod and the Hounds," "I Spy," "Smuggle the Keg," "Booly Horn," "Dock," "Loup the Frog," "Foot and a Half," "Bools," "Pitch and Toss," or any one of another dozen, all of which are essentially boys' games, and have no rhymes to enliven their action. But if it is to be a game in which both sexes may equally engage, or a game for girls alone, then almost certainly there is a rhyme with it. Somehow girls have always been more musical than boys, even as in their maturer years they are more frequently the subject of song than their confreres of the sterner sex. "Peever," "Tig," and "Skipping Rope," are indeed, so far as I can recall at the moment, about all of the girls' commoner games which are played without the musical accompaniment of line and verse. Their rhyme-games, on the other hand, are legion, and embrace "A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass," "The Merry-Ma-Tanzie," "The Mulberry Bush," "Carry My Lady to London," "I Dree I Droppit It," "Looby-Looby," and ever so many more. Like the counting-out rhymes, the game-rhymes are found in only slightly differing forms in widely divided countries and places. But ever alike, they are never quite the same. The "Merry-Ma-Tanzie," for instance, though always the same in name, will be found with varying lines in almost every town and village in Scotland even. There are variants equally, I suppose, of all. "Merry-ma-Tanzie" is solely a girls' game, of which boys, however, may be interested spectators. The counting-out rhyme having put one in the centre, the rest join hands in a ring about her, and moving slowly round, they sing:— | Here we go round the jingo-ring, The jingo-ring, the jingo-ring, Here we go round the jingo-ring, About the merry-ma-tanzie. Twice about and then we fa', Then we fa', then we fa', Twice about and then we fa', About the merry-ma-tanzie. Choose your maidens all around, All around, all around, Choose your maidens all around, About the merry-ma-tanzie. | Replying to this invitation, the one in the centre chooses two from the circle, and retires with them a short distance away. During their absence the ring-band proceeds as before, and sing with imitating gesture:— | Sweep the house ere the bride comes in, The bride comes in, the bride comes in, Sweep the house ere the bride comes in, About the merry-ma-tanzie. | When those who left return, the one who was in the centre takes up her original position, as also do the others, and the ring moves on again with:— | Here's a bride new come hame, New come hame, new come hame; Here's a bride new come hame, About the merry-ma-tanzie. | Then follows "Mary Anderson is her name," with the usual repeats, and "Guess ye wha is her true love," "A bottle o' wine to tell his name," "Andrew Wilson is his name," "Honey is sweet and so is he," (or "Apples are sour and so is he,") "He's married her wi' a gay gold ring," "A gay gold ring's a cank'rous thing," "But now they're married we wish them joy," "Father and mother they must obey," "Loving each other like sister and brother," "We pray this couple may kiss together," all, of course, sung with their repeats as above; and the game may be played until every little girl has revealed her little sweetheart's name, which, to be sure, is the motif of the play.
"The Mulberry Bush," which goes to the same air as "Merry-Ma-Tanzie," and is in some places called "The Mulberry Tree," and in others "The Gooseberry Bush," is yet more of an action game. The arrangement is again in a ring, and, moving round hand-in-hand, all sing:— | Here we go round the mulberry bush, The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush; Here we go round the mulberry bush, On a cold and frosty morning. | Stopping short with a curtsey at the conclusion and disjoining hands, they stand, and imitating the process of hand-washing, they sing:— | This is the way we wash our hands, Wash our hands, wash our hands, This is the way we wash our hands, On a cold and frosty morning. | All joining hands again, they go round as before, singing—"Here we go round the mulberry bush," and so on, which is repeated regularly after each action-verse on to the end. The opening lines of the action-verses alone may be given here to suggest the whole. They are:— | "This is the way we lace our stays." "This is the way we comb our hair." "This is the way we walk to school." "This is the way we return from school." "This is the way the ladies walk." "This is the way the gentlemen walk." |
"A Dis, a Dis, a Green Grass," is so simple it is a favourite generally with very little ladies. And there are different forms of the game, both in Scotland and England, if not also in other countries. The more common way, however, is for the children to stand all in a row, and, when the counting-out rhyme has been applied once and again, the two who have been "hit out" face up together hand-in-hand in front, and, advancing and retiring, sing:— | A dis, a dis, a green grass, A dis, a dis, a dis; Come all ye pretty fair maids, And dance along with us. For we are going a-roving, A-roving o'er the land; We'll take this pretty fair maid, We'll take her by the hand. | This sung, they select a girl from the group, who joins on either side, as she is directed, and the song continues, bearing now the comforting assurance to the one chosen:— | Ye shall have a duck, my dear, And ye shall have a beau; And ye shall have a young prince By chance to marry you. And if this young prince he should die, Then ye will get another; And the birds will sing and the bells will ring, And we'll all clap hands together. | Having all joined in the last two verses, all clap hands together. And the same process is repeated again and again until the last of the "pretty fair maids" is taken over from the row, when the game is ended—though it may be but to begin again as the desire is expressed and supported.
Some one, to be sure, may suggest "Looby-Looby," which has but to be named when all are ready and eager. A ring is formed, when all join hands and dance round singing:— | Here we go looby-looby, Here we go looby light; Here we go looby-looby Every Saturday night. | Why on Saturday nights only I don't know, and it would be futile, I suppose, to inquire. Anyway, with the expression of the last word they all instantly disjoin hands, and, standing each in her place, they sing the next verse, suiting the action to the word:— | Put your right hand in, Take your right hand out; Shake it, and shake it, and shake it, And turn yourself about. | As the last line is being sung each one wheels rapidly round by herself, then hands are joined again, and they scurry round in a ring as before, singing:— | Here we go looby-looby, Here we go looby light; Here we go looby-looby Every Saturday night, | and so on, the "looby-looby" coming in regularly between each of the action-verses, which are varied by "left hand in" and "out," and "right foot in" and "out," and "left foot in" and "out," "noses," "ears," etc., etc., the game finishing only when the anatomy of the players has been exhausted.
"I Dree I Droppit It" calls for a mixture of the sexes, and when the numbers are even—or as nearly as chance affords—the players are ranged in a ring, a boy and girl alternately facing inwards with a space between each. The one who is "chapped out"—say it is a girl—goes tripping round the others' backs, with a handkerchief dangling in her hand, singing the while:— | I sent a letter to my love, And by the way I droppit it, I dree, I dree, I droppit it, I dree, I dree, I droppit it; I sent a letter to my love, And by the way I droppit it. | | There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk, He'll no bite you, he'll no bite you; There's a wee, wee doggie in our cot-neuk, He'll no bite you—nor you—nor you—nor you, | and so forth, until at length she drops the handkerchief stealthily at the heel of one of the little boys, saying "but you," and bolts round this player, round that one, in here, out there, and away! And the boy, who has first to pick up the handkerchief, gives chase, pursuing her exactly in the course which she may choose to take. If he makes a wrong turn, by that fact he is "out," and must take her place; but if he pursues her correctly and overtakes her, he may claim a kiss for his pains, for which heroism he will receive the applause of the crowd; and the girl—suffused with blushes, as it may be—must try and try again—indeed, try until she proves herself more agile than her pursuer, whom, of course, she is always free to choose. When at length—as come it will some time—her effort is successful, she takes her victim's place in the ring, and he takes hers on the outside of it. And thus the play may go on—boy and girl about—as long as time and energy will permit.
As for "Bab at the Bowster" (more generally pronounced "Babbity Bowster"), I am not sure but that grown people have engaged in it more than wee folks have. Indeed, it is not improbable that the young borrowed this originally from the old, by observation. Now-a-days, undoubtedly, we know it exclusively as a child's play. But yet, within the memory of living men, it was the regular custom in country places nearly over all Scotland to wind up every dancing-ball with "Bab at the Bowster." No wedding dance, no Handsel Monday ball, would have been esteemed complete without it; and I have seen it performed at both, less than forty years ago. Performed by old or young, however, the mode is the same. The girls sit down on one side of the barn or square, the boys on the other. A boy takes a handkerchief—it is regularly a male who starts this play—and while dancing up and down before the girls, all sing:— | Wha learned you to dance, Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster; Wha learned you to dance, Bab at the bowster brawly? My minnie learned me to dance, Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster; My minnie learned me to dance, Bab at the bowster brawly. Wha ga'e you the keys to keep, Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster; Wha ga'e you the keys to keep, Bab at the bowster brawly? My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep, Bab at the bowster, bab at the bowster; My minnie ga'e me the keys to keep, Bab at the bowster brawly. Kneel down and kiss the ground, Kiss the ground, kiss the ground; Kneel down and kiss the ground, Kiss the bonnie wee lassie. | By the time the last verse has been reached the boy has fixed on his partner, and at the command to "kneel down and kiss the ground" he spreads the handkerchief on the floor at the girl's feet, on which both immediately kneel. A kiss ensues, even though it should be obtained after a struggle; then the boy marches away round and round followed by the girl, while all again sing the song. By the time the last verse is again reached, the girl in turn has selected the next boy, but does not kneel down before him. She simply throws the handkerchief in his lap, and immediately joins her own partner by taking his arm. If, however, she can be overtaken before she joins her partner, a penalty kiss may be enforced. Second boy selects second girl as the first did the first girl, and pair after pair is formed in the same fashion until all are up and marching arm-in-arm round the room, or square, when the game is finished. At adult assemblies, I should state, even as the company paired in this dance, they departed for home.
"The Wadds" is another game in which grown folks no less than children may engage, and which, like "Bab at the Bowster," is essentially a house game. Its mode is for the players to be seated round the hearth, the lasses on one side and the lads on the other. One of the lads first chants:— | O, it's hame, and its hame, it's hame, hame, hame, I think this nicht I maun gang hame. | To which one of the opposite party responds:— | Ye had better licht, and bide a' nicht, And I'll choose ye a partner bonnie and bricht. | The first speaker again says:— | Then wha wad ye choose an' I wad bide? | Answer:— | The fairest and best in a' the countryside. | At the same time presenting a female and mentioning her name. If the choice is satisfactory, the male player will say:— | I'll set her up on the bonnie pear tree, It's straucht and tall and sae is she; I wad wauk a' nicht her love to be. | If, however, the choice is not satisfactory, he may reply:— | I'll set her up on the auld fael dyke, Where she may rot ere I be ripe; The corbies her auld banes wadna pyke. | Or (if the maiden be of surly temper):— | I'll set her up on the high crab-tree, It's sour and dour, and sae is she; She may gang to the mools unkissed for me. | But he may decline civilly, by saying:— | She's for another, she's no for me, I thank ye for your courtesie. | A similar ritual is gone through with respect to one of the gentler sex, where such rhymes as the following are used. In the case of acceptance the lady will say:— | I'll set him up at my table-head, And feed him there wi' milk and bread. | Whereas, if the proposal is not agreeable, her reply may be:— | I'll put him on a riddle, and blaw him owre the sea, Wha will buy [Jamie Paterson] for me? | Or:— | I'll set him up on a high lum-heid, And blaw 'im in the air wi' poother and lead. | A refusal on either side must, of course, be atoned for by a "wadd," or forfeit—which may consist of a piece of money, a knife, a thimble, or any little article which the owner finds convenient for the purpose. Then, when a sufficient number of persons have made forfeits, the business of redeeming them commences, which may afford any amount of amusement. He, or she, as the case happens, may be ordered to "kiss the four corners of the room;" "bite an inch off the poker;" "kneel to the prettiest, bow to the wittiest, and kiss the one he (or she) loves best," or any one of a dozen similarly silly ordeals, as the doomster proposes, may have to be gone through. When the forfeits have all been redeemed the game is ended.
Similar to the foregoing, in some respects, is "The Wadds and the Wears," which John Mactaggart, the writer of The Gallovidian EncyclopÆdia, describes as (in his day) "the most celebrated amusement of the ingle-ring" in the south-west of Scotland. As in the "Wadds," the players are seated round the hearth. One in the ring (says Mactaggart), speaks as follows:— | I hae been awa' at the wadds and the wears, These seven lang years; And's come hame a puir broken ploughman; What will ye gie me to help me to my trade? | He may either say he's a "puir broken ploughman," or any other trade; but since he has chosen that trade, some of the articles belonging to it must always be given or offered, in order to recruit him. But the article he most wants he privately tells one of the party, who is not allowed, of course, to offer him anything, as he knows the thing, which will throw the offerer in a wadd, and must be avoided as much as possible—for to be in a wadd is a very serious matter, as shall afterwards be explained. Now the one on the left hand of the poor ploughman makes the first offer, by way of answer to what above was said: "I'll gie ye a coulter to help ye to your trade." The ploughman answers, "I don't thank ye for your coulter, I hae ane already." Then another offers him another article belonging to the ploughman's business, such as the mool-brod, but this also is refused; another, perhaps, gives the sock, another the stilts, another the spattle, another the naigs, another the naig-graith, and so on; until one gives the soam, which was the article he most wanted, and was the thing secretly told to one, and is the thing that throws the giver in a wadd, out of which he is relieved in the following manner:— The ploughman says to the one in the wadd, "Whether will ye hae three questions and twa commands, or three commands and twa questions, to answer or gang on wi', sae that ye may win oot o' the wadd?" For the one so fixed has always the choice which of these alternatives to take. Suppose he takes the first, two commands and three questions, then a specimen of these may run so:— "I command ye to kiss the crook," says the ploughman, which must be completely obeyed by the one in the wadd—his naked lips must salute the sooty implement. "Secondly," saith the ploughman, "I command ye to stand up in that neuk, and say— | 'Here stan' I, as stiffs a stake, Wha'll kiss me for pity's sake?'" | Which must also be done; in a corner of the house must he stand and repeat that couplet, till some tender-hearted lass relieves him. Now for the questions which are most deeply laid, or so touching to him, that he finds much difficulty to answer them. "Firstly, then, Suppose ye were sittin' aside Maggie Lowden and Jennie Logan, your twa great sweethearts, what ane o'm wad ye ding ower, and what ane wad ye turn to and clap and cuddle?" He makes answer by choosing Maggie Lowden, perhaps, to the great mirth of the party. "Secondly, then, Suppose you were standin' oot i' the cauld, on the tap o' Cairnhattie, whether wad ye cry on Peggie Kirtle or Nell o' Killimingie to come wi' your plaid?" He answers again in a similar manner. "Lastly, then, Suppose you were in a boat wi' Tibbie Tait, Mary Kairnie, Sallie Snadrap, and Kate o' Minnieive, and it was to cowp wi' ye, what ane o'm wad ye sink? what ane wad ye soom? wha wad ye bring to lan'? and wha wad ye marry?" Then he answers again, to the fun of the company, perhaps, in this way, "I wad sink Mary Kairnie, soom Tibbie Tait, bring Sallie Snadrap aneath my oxter to lan', and marry sweet Kate o' Minnieive." And so ends that bout at the wadds and the wears.
But the games engaged in exclusively by the "wee folks" are the really delightsome ones. Such is "The Widow of Babylon," the ritual of which, less elaborate, resembles that of "Merry-Ma-Tanzie," though the rhymes are different. Girls only play here. One is chosen for the centre. The others, with hands joined, form a ring about her, and move round briskly, singing:— | Here's a poor widow from Babylon, With six poor children all alone; One can bake, and one can brew, One can shape, and one can sew. One can sit at the fire and spin, One can bake a cake for the king; Come choose you east, come choose you west, Come choose the one that you love best. | The girl in the middle chooses one from the ring, naming her, and sings:— | I choose the fairest that I do see, [Jeanie Anderson] come to me. | The girl chosen enters the ring, communicating the name of her sweetheart, when those in the ring resume their lightsome motion, and sing:— | Now they are married, I wish them joy, Every year a girl or boy; Loving each other like sister and brother, I pray this couple may kiss together. | The girls within the ring kiss. The one who first occupied the circle then joins the ring, while the last to come in enacts the part of mistress; and so on the game goes until all have had their turn.
"London Bridge" is a well-known and widely played game, though here and there with slightly differing rhymes. Two children—the tallest and strongest, as a rule—standing face to face, hold up their hands, making the form of an arch. The others form a long line by holding on to each other's dresses, and run under. Those running sing the first verse, while the ones forming the arch sing the second, and alternate verses, of the following rhyme:— | London bridge is fallen down, Fallen down, fallen down; London bridge is fallen down, My fair lady. | | Question.—What will it take to build it up? (With repeats.) Answer.—Needles and preens will build it up. Question.—Needles and preens will rust and bend. Answer.—Silver and gold will build it up. Question.—Silver and gold will be stolen away. Answer.—Build it up with penny loaves. Question.—Penny loaves will tumble down. Answer.—Bricks and mortar will build it up. Question.—Bricks and mortar will wash away. Answer.—We will set a dog to bark. Question.—Here's a prisoner we have got. | At the words "a prisoner," the two forming the arch apprehend the passing one in the line, and, holding her fast, the dialogue resumes:— | Answer.—Here's a prisoner we have got. Question.—What's the prisoner done to you? Answer.—Stole my watch and broke my chain. Question.—What will you take to set him free? Answer.—A hundred pounds will set him free. Question.—A hundred pounds I have not got. Answer.—Then off to prison you must go. | Following this declaration, the prisoner is led a distance away from the rest by her jailers, where the questions are put to her, whether she will choose "a gold watch," or "a diamond necklace." As she decides she goes to the one side or the other. When, in like manner, all in the line have chosen, a tug-of-war ensues, and the game is ended.
"The Jolly Miller."—In this the players take partners—all except the miller, who takes his stand in the middle, while his companions walk round him in couples, singing:— | There was a jolly miller, who lived by himself, As the wheel went round he made his wealth; One hand in the hopper, and the other in the bag, As the wheel went round he made his grab. | At the word "grab," every one must change partners. The miller then has the opportunity of seizing one: and if he succeeds in so doing, the one necessarily left alone must take his place, and so on.
"Willie Wastle" is essentially a boy's game. One standing on a hillock or large boulder, from which he defies the efforts of his companions to dislodge him, exclaims, by way of challenge:— | I, Willie Wastle, Stand on my castle, And a' the dogs o' your toun, Will no ding Willie Wastle doun. | The boy who succeeds in dislodging him takes his place, and so on.
"Oats and Beans and Barley," a simple but pretty game, is played all over England, as well as in most parts of Scotland, with varying rhymes. In Perthshire the lines run:— | Oats and beans and barley grows, Oats and beans and barley grows; But you nor I nor nobody knows How oats and beans and barley grows. First the farmer sows his seeds, Then he stands and takes his ease; Stamps his feet, and claps his hands, Then turns around to view his lands. Waiting for a partner, Waiting for a partner; Open the ring and take one in, And kiss her in the centre. | The players form a ring by joining hands. One child—usually a boy—stands in the middle. The ring moving round, sing the first four lines. These completed, the ring stands, and still singing, each player gives suitable action to the succeeding words; showing how the "farmer sows his seeds," and how he "stands and takes his ease," etc. At the tenth line all wheel round. They then re-join hands, still singing, and at the words, "Open the ring and take one in," the child in the middle chooses from the ring a partner (a girl, of course), whom he leads to the centre and kisses as requested. The two stand there together, while the ring, moving again, sing the marriage formula:— | Now you're married, you must obey, Must be true to all you say; You must be kind, you must be good, And help your wife to chop the wood. |
"Hornie Holes" is a boys' game in which four play, a principal and assistant on either side. A stands with his assistant at one hole, and throws what is called a "cat" (a piece of stick, or a sheep's horn), with the design of making it alight into another hole at some distance, at which B stands, with his assistant, to drive it aside with his rod resembling a walking-stick. The following unintelligible rhyme is repeated by a player on the one side, while they on the other are gathering in the "cats." This is attested by old people as of great antiquity:— | Jock, Speak, and Sandy, Wi' a' their lousie train, Round about by Edinbro', Will never meet again. Gae head 'im, gae hang 'im, Gae lay him in the sea; A' the birds o' the air Will bear 'im companie. With a nig-nag, widdy—(or worry) bag, And an e'endown trail, trail, Quo' he. |
The Craw admits of a good deal of lively exercise, involving, as Dr. Chambers remarks, no more than a reasonable portion of violence. One boy is selected to be craw. He sits down upon the ground, and he and another boy then lay hold of the two ends of a long strap or twisted handkerchief. The latter also takes into his right hand another hard-twisted handkerchief, called the Cout, and runs round the craw, and with the cout defends him against the attack of the other boys, who, with similar couts, use all their agility to get a slap at the craw. But, before beginning, the guard of the craw must cry out:— | Ane, twa, three—my craw's free. | And the first whom he strikes becomes craw, the former craw then becoming guard. When the guard wants respite, he must cry:— | Ane, twa, three—my craw's no free. |
"Neevie-neevie-nick-nack."—A lottery game, and confined to boys, is of simple movement, but convenient in this—that only two players are required. They stand facing each other, the leader whirling his two closed fists, one containing a prize, the other empty, while he cajoles his opponent with the rhyme— | Neevie-neevie-nick-nack, Whilk hand will ye tak'— The richt are or the wrang, I'll beguile ye gin I can? | If he guesses correctly, he gains the prize. If he misses, he has to equal the stake. Until success falls to the second, the original player continues the lead.
"Blind Man's Buff," though not a rhyme-game, is yet so well known it is worth mentioning for the mere purpose of telling its story. Like many more such—if we only knew how—it is based on fact. It is of French origin, and of very great antiquity, having been introduced into Britain in the train of the Norman conquerors. Its French name, "Colin Maillard," was that of a brave warrior, the memory of whose exploits still lives in the chronicles of the Middle Ages. In the year 999 LiÉge reckoned among its valiant chiefs one Jean Colin. He acquired the name Maillard from his chosen weapon being a mallet, wherewith in battle he used literally to crush his opponents. In one of the feuds which were of perpetual recurrence in those times, he encountered the Count de Lourain in a pitched battle, and—so runs the story—in the first onset Colin Maillard lost both his eyes. He ordered his esquire to take him into the thickest of the fight, and, furiously brandishing his mallet, did such fearful execution that victory soon declared itself for him. When Robert of France heard of these feats of arms, he lavished favour and honours upon Colin, and so great was the fame of the exploit that it was commemorated in the pantomimic representations that formed part of the rude dramatic performances of the age. By degrees the children learned to act it for themselves, and it took the form of a familiar sport. The blindfold pursuer, as with bandaged eyes and extended hands he gropes for a victim to pounce upon, seems in some degree to repeat the action of Colin Maillard, the tradition of which is also traceable in the name, "blind man's buff."
"Water Wallflower."—All should know this game, which is more commonly played by very small misses. Forming a ring, all join hands and dance, or move slowly round, singing:— | Water, water wallflower, growing up so high, We are all maidens, and we must all die, Excepting [Nellie Newton], the youngest of us all, She can dance and she can sing, and she can knock us all down. | Here all clap hands, with the exception of the one named, who stands looking abashed, while the others sing:— | Fie, fie, fie, for shame, Turn your back to the wall again. | At the command, she who has been named turns, so that she faces outwards now, with her back to the centre of the ring; though she still clasps hands with those on either side, and continues in the movement, singing with the others. When all in like manner have been chapped out, and are facing the open, the game is finished.
"The Emperor Napoleon" is a little game which affords, invariably, a good deal of fun. Again, as so commonly, the form is in a ring, and all go round, singing:— | The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men, The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men, The Emperor Napoleon has a hundred thousand men, As he goes marching along. | In each successive singing of the verse, one syllable after another in the main line, beginning at the far end, is left out—or at least is not spoken—the blank, or blanks, as it happens latterly, having to be indicated merely by nods of the head. As each player makes a mistake, by speaking, instead of nodding, or vice versa, she pays a forfeit and drops out. The play goes on till all have fallen.
"A' the Birdies i' the Air," purely Scotch, is a simpler form merely of "London Bridge." Two players, facing each other, hold up their hands to form an arch, and call the formula:— | A' the birdies i' the air Tick-to to my tail. | The others, who may be running about indifferently, decide in time which side they will favour, and when each and all have chosen which champion they will support, and have taken their places at her back, a tug-of-war ensues. Afterwards the victors chase the vanquished, calling, "Rotten eggs! rotten eggs!" and the game is ended; to be followed perhaps by
"Through the Needle-e'e, Boys," played also to some extent in the form of "London Bridge," and much resembling "Barley Break," a pastime of highborn lords and ladies in the time of Sir Philip Sydney, who describes it in his Arcadia. The boys first choose sides. The two chosen leaders join both hands, and raising them high enough to let the others pass through below, they sing:— | Brother [John], if ye'll be mine, I'll gie you a glass o' wine: A glass o' wine is good and fine, Through the needle-e'e, boys. | Letting their arms fall, they enclose a boy, and ask him to which side he will belong, and he is disposed according to his own decision. The parties being at length formed, are separated by a real or imaginary line, and place at some distance behind them, in a heap, their jackets, caps, etc. They stand opposite to each other, the object being to make a successful incursion over the line into the enemy's country, and bring off part or whole of the heap of clothes. It requires address and swiftness of foot to do so without being taken prisoner by the foe. The winning of the game is decided by which party first loses all its men or all its property. At Hawick, where this legendary mimicry of old Border warfare peculiarly flourishes, the boys are accustomed to use the following lines of defiance:— | King Covenanter, come out if ye daur venture! Set your feet on Scots ground, English, if ye daur! |
"King Henry" somewhat resembles "I dree I droppit it;" only, instead of standing, the girls forming the ring sit, or rather crouch in a sort of working-tailor attitude. One girl, occupying the centre, is "it." A second girl is on the outside. Immediately the ring begins singing the rhyme:— | King Henry, King Henry, Run, boys, run; You, with the red coat, Follow with the drum, | the one on the outside is pursued by the girl from the centre. The rhyme may be repeated as often as the ring decides; but the object of the one who is "it" is to overtake and "tig" the other before the singing ceases. Otherwise she remains unrelieved, and must try, and try, until she succeeds in getting out, and putting another in her place; and so on.
"The Blue Bird," played by very small children, is rather pretty. The rhyme is:— | Here comes a [blue] bird through the window, Here comes a [blue] bird through the door; Here comes a [blue] bird through the window, Hey, diddle, hi dum, day. Take a little dance and a hop in the corner, Take a little dance and a hop in the floor; Take a little dance and a hop in the corner, Hey, diddle, hi dum, day. | The players dance round in a ring. One previously, by the process of a chapping-out rhyme, being made "it," goes first outside, then into the centre. Her business now is to decide who shall succeed her; and according as the colour-word in the rhyme—red, blue, green, or yellow, etc.—corresponds with the dress of all the individual players in the successive singing, the ones spotted successively take their place in the centre, and the process goes on, of course, until all have shared alike in the game.
"When I was a Young Thing," of simple though pretty action, has had a wide vogue. Its rhyme goes:— | When I was a young thing, A young thing, a young thing; When I was a young thing, How happy was I. 'Twas this way, and that way, And this way, and that way; When I was a young thing, Oh, this way went I. When I was a school-girl, etc. When I was a teacher, etc. When I had a sweetheart, etc. When I had a husband, etc. When I had a baby, etc. When I had a donkey, etc. When I took in washing, etc. When my baby died, oh died, etc. When my husband died, etc. | The players, joining hands, form a ring, and dance or walk round singing the words, and keeping the ring form until the end of the fourth line in each successive verse, when they unclasp, and stand still. Each child then takes hold of her skirt and dances individually to the right and left, making two or three steps. Then all walk round singly, singing the second four lines, and making suitable action to the words as they sing and go: the same form being continued throughout.
Still simpler is "Carry my Lady to London." In this game two children cross hands grasping each other's wrists and their own as well—thus forming a seat, on which a third child can be carried. When hoisted and in order, the bearers step out singing:— | Gie me a needle to stick i' my thoom To carry my lady to London; London Bridge is broken down, And I must let my lady down. | Each child is thus carried in turn.
"A B C" is a spirited game, admirably adapted for indoor practice on a wet day, which is played by children seated round a table, or at the fireside. One sings a solo—a verse of some nursery rhyme. For instance: | Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon. | The chorus of voices takes up the tune, and the solo is repeated; after which the alphabet is sung through, and the last letter, Z, is sustained and repeated again and again, to bother the next child, whose turn it now is to sing the next solo. The new solo must be a nursery rhyme not hitherto sung by any of the company. If unable to supply a fresh rhyme within a fixed limit, the player stands out of the game and pays a forfeit. Less brain-taxing entertainments often engage adult wits.
"My Theerie and my Thorie," with a political significance, is a game widely played. In one place it is known as "Cam a teerie arrie ma torry;" in another, "Come a theory, oary mathorie;" in yet another, "Come a theerie, Come a thorie;" or it may be, as in Perthshire, "My theerie and my thorie." And even as the refrain varies, so do the rhymes. But the action is generally the same. The players divide into two sides of about equal number, in lines facing each other. Moving forwards and backwards the sides sing verse about of the following rhyme:— | Question.—Have you any bread and wine, Bread and wine, bread and wine; Have you any bread and wine, My theerie and my thorie? Answer.—Yes, we have some bread and wine, Bread and wine, bread and wine, Yes, we have some bread and wine, My theerie and my thorie. Question.—We shall have one glass of it, etc. Answer.—One glass of it you shall not get, etc. Question.—We are all King George's men, etc. Answer.—What care we for King George's men, etc. Question.—How many miles to Glasgow Lee? etc. Answer.—Sixty, seventy, eighty-three, etc. Question.—Will I be there gin candle-licht? etc. Answer.—Just if your feet be clean and slicht, etc. Question.—Open your gates and let me through, etc. Answer.—Not without a beck and a boo. Reply.—There's a beck and there's a boo, Open your gates and let me through. | A struggle ensues to break through each other's lines, and reach a fixed goal on either side—the first to arrive being the victors.
"Glasgow Ships" is a simple but pretty game. All join hands, forming a ring, and, moving round, sing:— | Glasgow ships come sailing in, Come sailing in, come sailing in; Glasgow ships come sailing in On a fine summer morning. You daurna set your fit upon, Your fit upon, your fit upon; You daurna set your fit upon, Or Gentle John will kiss you. Three times will kiss you; Four times will bless you; Five times butter and bread Upon a silver salver. Who shall we send it to? Send it to, send it to; Who shall we send it to? To Mrs. [Thomson's] daughter. Take her by the lily-white hand, Lead her o'er the water; Give her kisses, one, two, three, She's the favourite daughter. Braw news is come to town, Braw news is carried; Braw news is come to town, [Maggie Thomson's] married. First she got the kail-pot, Syne she got the ladle; Syne she got a dainty wean, And syne she got a cradle. | The girl named turns her back to the centre of the ring, and the game is resumed. When all in like manner have been named and have turned, the "soo's race" ensues: a hurry-scurry round—which continues until some one falls, and the game ends by all tumbling in a confused heap.
"Airlie's Green," played by boys and girls alike, has perhaps had its greatest vogue in Strathmore. A space is set apart for the "green," upon which he, or she, who is "Airlie" takes his, or her, stand. The play begins by the crowd encroaching on the "green," when all but "Airlie" sing:— | I set my fit on Airlie's green, And Airlie canna tak' me: I canna get time to steer my brose For Airlie trying to catch me. | "Airlie's" object is to "tig" one within the boundary. The player touched takes his, or her, place, and the game may proceed thus as long as desired.
"Het Rowes and Butter Cakes," in some places called "Hickety, Bickety," is a purely boy's game. One stands with his eyes bandaged, and his hands against a wall or post, with his head resting upon them. One after another his fellows come up unnamed behind him, laying hands on his back; and the rhyme is repeated by all in chorus:— | Launchman, launchman, lo, Where shall this poor Scotchman go? Will he gang east, or will he gang west, Or will he gang to the hoodiecraw's nest? | The "hoodiecraw's nest" is the space between the blindfolded one's feet and the wall. When all have been sent to different places around, he who is "it" removes the bandage from his eyes; and when all are ready he gives the call—"Het rowes and butter cakes!" when all rush back to the spot whence despatched. The last to arrive is "it;" and the game goes on as before. Where played as "Hickety, Bickety," the rhyme is:— | Hickety, bickety, pease scone, Where shall this poor Scotchman gang? Will he gang east, or will he gang west; Or will he gang to the craw's nest? |
"Queen Mary." In this game the rhyme goes:— | Queen Mary, Queen Mary, my age is sixteen, My father's a farmer on yonder green, With plenty of money to dress me fu' braw, But nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'. One morning I rose, and I looked in the glass, Says I to myself I'm a handsome young lass; My hands by my side and I gave a ha! ha! Yet there's nae bonnie laddie will tak' me awa'. | It is played by girls only, who stand in a row, with one in front alone to begin with, who sings the verses, and chooses another from the line. The two then join hands and advance and retire, repeating together the verses, with suitable action, as the one had done before alone. At the close they select a third from the line; and the game proceeds thus until all are taken over.
"Whuppity Scoorie," though a game peculiar to Lanark, and to the boys of Lanark, and played only once a year, is yet worth mentioning. Its origin, like so many of the Lanark celebrations, is lost in the mists of antiquity, nevertheless, it is still regularly played, and creates a sensation on its annual recurrence, affecting the old scarcely less than the young in the community. From the month of October till the month of February, inclusive, the bells in the Parish Church steeple there cease to ring at six o'clock in the evening, but resume on the first day of March. At the first peal of the bell then the children start and march three times round the church, after which a rush is made for the Wellgate Head, where they engage in a stand-up fight with the youth of New Lanark (who come that length to meet them), the weapons used being their bonnets attached to a long string. The fight over, the victors (generally the boys of the Old Town) return, marching in order, headed by one carrying a huge stick in exalted attitude, with a flag or handkerchief attached to it; and thus arranged, they parade the principal streets, singing, as their fathers and grandfathers sang before them:— | Hooray, boys, hooray, For we have won the day; We've met the bold New Lanark boys, And chased them doun the brae! |
In Chambers's Popular Rhymes of Scotland there is a description of "Hinkumbooby," which I have never seen played. It is, however, only an extended version of "Looby-Looby." The party form a circle (says the writer), taking hold of each other's hands. One sings, and the rest join, to the tune of Lullibero: | Fal de ral la, fal de ral la; | while doing so they move a little sideways and back again, beating the time (which is slow) with their feet. As soon as the line is concluded, each claps his hands and wheels grotesquely round, singing at the same time the second line of the verse:— | Hinkumbooby, round about, | Then they sing, with the appropriate gesture—that is, throwing their right hand into the circle and the left out:— | Right hands in, and left hands out, | still beating the time; then add as before, while wheeling round, with a clap of the hands:— | Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la; [Moving sideways as before, hand in hand.] Hinkumbooby, round about, [Wheeling round as before, with a clap of the hands.] Left hands in and right hands out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about. Right foot in, and left foot out, [Right feet set into the centre.] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about. Left foot in, and right foot out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, etc. Heads in, and backs out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc. Backs in, and heads out, Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc. A' feet in, and nae feet out, [On this occasion all sit down, with their feet stretched into the centre of the ring; and it is a great point to rise up promptly enough to be ready for the wheel round.] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc. Shake hands a', shake hands a', Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, etc. Good-night a', good-night a', [The boys bowing and the misses curtseying in an affected formal manner.] Hinkumbooby, round about, Fal de ral la, fal de ral la, Hinkumbooby, round about. |
More generally played—and not in Scotland only—is "Three Brethren come from Spain." The players stand in two lines, slightly apart, facing each other—the boys on one side, the girls on the other. The boys advance dancing, and singing the first verse. The girls remain motionless, and only she who represents the mother speaks. | We are three brethren come from Spain, All in French garlands; We are come to court your daughter, Jane, And adieu to you, my darlings. | As they recede, the mother replies:— | My daughter Jane she is too young, All in French garlands; She cannot bide your flattering tongue, And adieu to you, my darlings. | The boys advance again, singing:— | Be she young, or be she old, All in French garlands, It's for a bride she must be sold, And adieu to you, my darlings. | Answer:— | A bride, a bride, she shall not be, All in French garlands, Till she go through the world with me, And adieu to you, my darlings. | Address:— | Then fare ye well, my lady gay, All in French garlands; We'll come again some other day, And adieu to you, my darlings. | Answer:— | Come back, come back, you scornful knight, All in French garlands; Clear up your spurs, and make them bright, And adieu to you, my darlings. | Address:— | Of my spurs take you no thought, All in French garlands; For in this town they were not bought, And adieu to you, my darlings. | Answer:— | Smell my lilies, smell my roses, All in French garlands: Which of my daughters do you choose? And adieu to you, my darlings. | Address:— | Are all your daughters safe and sound? All in French garlands: Are all your daughters safe and sound? And adieu to you, my darlings. | Answer:— | In every pocket a thousand pounds, All in French garlands; On every finger a gay, gold ring, And adieu to you, my darlings. | The formula is repeated as above until every boy has chosen a lady-mate, when all march round arm-in-arm in pairs, and the game is ended.
"Here Comes a Poor Sailor from Botany Bay." This is played as a preliminary game to decide who shall join, and which side they will take, in a coming tug-of-war. The chief delight derived is in putting and answering questions. Two principals, standing as rival chiefs, and acting together as catechists, begin the play; and all are warned before replying:— | You must say neither "Yes," "No," nor "Nay," "Black," "White," nor "Grey." | Then, as each child approaches, the formula proceeds:— | Here comes a poor sailor from Botany Bay; Pray, what are you going to give him to-day? A pair of boots [may be the answer]. What colour are they? Brown. Have you anything else to give him? I think so. What colour is it? Red. What is it made of? Cloth. And what colour? Blue. Have you anything else to give him? I don't think so. Would you like a sweet? Yes. | Now he is trapped. He has given one of the fatal replies; and the child who answered "Yes" goes to a den. After all have gone through a similar form, the youngsters are divided into two classes—those who avoided answering in the prohibited terms, and the little culprits in the den, or prison, who had failed in the examination. The tug-of-war now begins, the one class being pitted against the other. No rope is used; but arms are entwined round waists, or skirts, or coat-tails are taken hold of; and the victors crow over the vanquished.
"Janet Jo," widely played, has for dramatis personÆ, a Father, a Mother, Janet, and a Lover. Janet lies stretched at full length behind the scenes. The father and mother stand revealed to receive the visits of the lover, who approaches singing, to an air somewhat like "The Merry Masons":— | I'm come to court Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; I'm come to court Janet jo— How is she the day? | Parents reply together:— | She's up the stair washin', Washin', washin'; She's up the stair washin'— Ye canna see her the day. | The lover retires, and again, and yet again, advances with the same announcement of his object and purpose, to which he receives similar evasive answers from Janet's parents, who successively represent her as up the stair "bleaching," "drying," and "ironing clothes." At last they reply:— | Janet jo's dead and gane, Dead and gane, dead and gane; Janet jo's dead and gane— Ye'll see her face nae mae! | She is then carried off to be buried, the lover and the rest weeping. Sometimes she revives (to their great joy), and sometimes not, ad libitum—that is, as Janet herself chooses. A south-country version (Dr. Chambers tells) differs a little, and represents Janet as "at the Well," instead of upstairs, and afterwards "at the Mill," and so on. A Glasgow edition gives the whole in good west-country prose, and the lover begins: "I'm come to court your dochter, Kate Mackleister!" In the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, "Janet Jo" used to be a dramatic entertainment amongst young rustics. Suppose a party have met on a winter evening round a good peat fire, writes Chambers, and is resolved to have "Janet Jo" performed. Two undertake to personate a goodman and a goodwife; the rest a family of marriageable daughters. One of the lads—the best singer of the party—retires, and equips himself in a dress proper for representing an old bachelor in search of a wife. He comes in, bonnet in hand, bowing, and sings:— | Gude e'en to ye, maidens a', Maidens a', maidens a'; Gude e'en to ye, maidens a', Be ye or no.
I've come to court Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; I've come to court Janet jo, Janet, my jo. | Gudewife sings:— | What'll ye gie for Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; What'll ye gie for Janet jo, Janet, my jo? | The wooer replies:— | I'll gie ye a peck o' siller, A peck o' siller, peck o' siller; I'll gie ye a peck o' siller For Janet, my jo. | Gudewife exclaims, "Gae awa', ye auld carle!" then sings:— | Ye'se never get Janet jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; Ye'se never get Janet jo, Janet, my jo. | The wooer hereupon retires, singing a verse expressive of mortification, but soon re-enters with a re-assured air, singing:— | I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd, A peck o' gowd, peck o' gowd; I'll gie ye a peck o' gowd, For Janet, my jo. | The matron gives him a rebuff as before, and he again enters, singing an offer of "twa pecks o' gowd," which, however, is also refused. At his next entry he offers "three pecks o' gowd," at which the gudewife brightens up, and sings:— | Come ben beside Janet Jo, Janet jo, Janet jo; Ye're welcome to Janet jo, Janet, my jo. | The suitor then advances gaily to his sweetheart, and the affair ends in a scramble for kisses.
"The Goloshans." This is a Hogmanay play, and not confined to children alone, which for that, as well as other reasons, will not inaptly close this chapter. In some parts it was called "The Galatians," to be sure, I say was, because one never sees it now-a-days, though fifty years ago, under the one designation or the other, it was played annually by the Hogmanay guizards, who, dressed for the occasion, set it forth with deliciously unsophisticated swagger and bluster in every house they visited that had a kitchen floor broad and wide enough for the operation. It formed the material of a chap-book which was regularly on sale at the "Johnnie-a'-thing" shops in the middle of last century, though now, I suppose, a copy could scarcely be had for love or money. Sir Walter Scott, who delighted to keep up old customs, and could condescend to simple things without losing genuine dignity, invariably had a set of guizards to perform the play before his family both at Ashestiel and at Abbotsford. The dramatis personÆ of "The Goloshans," after the character in the title-role—who was inevitable on all occasions—differed somewhat in the various districts. Chambers gives a fairly adequate version in his Popular Rhymes of Scotland; but the fullest and best I have seen is contained in Proverbs and Proverbial Expressions, edited by "Andrew Cheviot," and recently published by Mr. Alexander Gardner, of Paisley, and which I take the liberty of quoting mainly, though part also is taken from Chambers's version. The characters are Sir Alexander; Farmer's Son; Goloshan; Wallace; Dr. Brown; and Beelzebub. Enter Sir Alexander, and speaks:— | Haud away rocks, and haud away reels, Haud away stocks and spinning-wheels; Redd room for Gorland, and gie us room to sing, And I will show you the prettiest thing That ever was seen in Christmas time. Muckle-head and Little-wit stand ahint the door: But sic a set as we are ne'er were seen before. | Enter next Farmer's Son:— | Here come I, the farmer's son, Although I be but young sir, I've got a spirit brave. And I'll freely risk my life, My country for to save. | Goloshan appears:— | Here come I, Goloshan—Goloshan is my name, With sword and pistol by my side, I hope to win the game. | Farmer's Son:— | The game, sir, the game, sir! it is not in your power, I'll cut you into inches in less than half-an-hour. My head is made of iron, my heart is made of steel, My sword is a Ferrara that can do its duty weel. | Goloshan:— | My body is like rock, sir, my head is like a stone, And I will be Goloshan when you are dead and gone. | Enter Wallace:— | Here come I, Sir William Wallace, wight, Who shed his blood for Scotland's right; Without a right, without a reason, Here I draw my bloody weapon. (Fights with Goloshan—the latter falls.) | Farmer's Son:— | Now that young man is dead, sir, and on the ground is laid; And you shall suffer for it, I'm very much afraid. | Wallace:— | It was not me that did the deed, nor me that did the crime, 'Twas this young man behind me who drew his sword so fine. | Sir Alexander:— | Oh, you artful villain, to lay the blame on me! For my two eyes were shut, sir, when this young man did dee. | Wallace:— | How could your eyes be shut, sir, when you were looking on? How could your eyes be shut, sir, when both the swords were drawn? | Farmer's Son (to Wallace):— | How can you thus deny the deed? As I stood looking on, You drew your sword from out its sheath, and slashed his body down. | Wallace:— | If I have slain Goloshan, Goloshan I will cure, And I will make him rise and sing in less than half-an-hour; Round the kitchen, round the town, Haste and bring me Dr. Brown. | Dr. Brown enters:— | Here come I, old Dr. Brown, the foremost doctor in the town. | Wallace:— | What makes you so good, sir? | Doctor:— Wallace:— | And where have you travelled? | Doctor:— | From Hickerty-pickerty-hedgehog, three times round the West Indies, and back to old Scotland. | Wallace:— Doctor:— | No sir. I have travelled from fireside to chairside, from chairside to stoolside, from stoolside to tableside, from tableside to bedside, from bedside to press-side, and got many a lump of bread and butter from my mother; and that's the way my belly's so big. | Wallace:— Doctor:— | I can cure the rurvy-scurvy, and the rumble-gumption of a man who has been seven years dead or more, and can make an old woman of sixty look like a girl of sixteen. | Wallace:— | How much would you take to cure this dead man? Would five pounds do? | Doctor (turning away):— | Five pounds! No, five pounds would not get a good kit of brose. | Wallace:— Doctor:— | Yes, perhaps ten pounds would do—that, and a pint of wine. I have a bottle of inky-pinkie in my pocket. (Approaches Goloshan.) By the hocus-pocus and the magical touch of my little finger; heigh ho! start up, Jack, and sing! | Goloshan (rises and sings):— | Oh, once I was dead, sir, but now I am alive, And blessed be the doctor that made me revive; We'll all join hands, and never fight no more, We'll all be good fellows, as we have been before. | All four:— | We'll all shake hands and agree, and never fight no more, We'll all be like brothers, as we were once before; God bless the master of this house, the mistress fair likewise, And all the pretty children that round the table rise. Go down into your cellar and see what you can find, Your barrels being not empty, we hope you will prove kind; We hope you will prove kind, with whisky and with beer, We wish you a Merry Christmas, likewise a good New Year. | Enter Beelzebub (for the collection):— | Here come I, Old Beelzebub, over my shoulder I carry a club, And in my hand a frying-pan. Am not I a jolly old man? It's money I want, and money I crave, If ye don't give me money I'll sweep ye to your grave. | Old Beelzebub's appeal not being resisted (for who might dare to resist such?), the picturesque players retire, and proceed from thence merrily to occupy another stage.
Mr. Sandys, it may be noted, in his elegant volume of Christmas Carols (1833), transcribes a play called "St. George," which still is, or used to be, acted at the New Year in Cornwall, exactly after the manner of our Scottish play of "Goloshan" which it resembles as much as various versions of "Goloshan" in Scotland resemble each other. The leading characters, besides St. George himself and the Dragon, which is twice killed, are a Turkish knight and the King of Egypt. It is curious thus, as Dr. Chambers remarks, to find one play, with unimportant variations, preserved traditionally by the common people in parts of the island so distant from each other, and in many respects so different. It is curious further, and of much interest to note, that in these singing-games, if nowhere else, the country and the city child, the children of the mansion and the children of the alley, meet all, beautifully, on common ground. And, how the out-door ones lie dormant for spaces, and spring simultaneously into action in widely separated parts—town and country alike—is a problem which may not be easily solved. It seems to us that, like the songs of birds, they belong to certain seasons, and are suggested, each in its turn, or class by class, by the feeling in the air. But mark, I say only seems, for who may dogmatize on such matters!
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