Please to See the King

By Kathleen S. Allen

These are the stories of the ballads sung in the courts of England and Ireland. Come read about the witch who will do anything for love; the noblewoman who leaves her husband and baby for a pirate; the vampire who stalks impressionable young women in the forests at night and more. Vampires, pirates, witches, ghosts, thieves, murderers all have a story to tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen S. Allen
• Release date: May 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458051097

Kathleen S. Allen

Kathleen carries in her messenger bag a container of salt, a vial of dead man's blood, a floral bonnet, a box of Twinkies, a sonic screwdriver, and a dog-eared copy of Frankenstein.

Book preview

PLEASE TO SEE THE KING:

STORIES FROM THE BALLADS OF

ENGLAND AND IRELAND

Kathleen S. Allen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 Kathleen S. Allen

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my daughters who gave honest criticism of my writings, and who have supported me wholeheartedly to pursue my passion, despite the hardships we have gone through as a family.

This book is also dedicated to my late mother, Elizabeth, who bought me my first guitar and always encouraged me to pursue my creative dreams and for giving me my love of all things Celtic.

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INTRODUCTION

Ballads were often folktales told from one person to the next that were set to music. A folktale is an oral story that was commonly told by the people (the folk) as either entertainment, as a lesson of some sort, or to give out information. Ballads usually were composed by what we call the peasants, the illiterate, uneducated simple country folk that is why some of the ballads have misspellings or creative spellings of common words. The ballads were not necessarily written down by the person that composed them or even in that same time. This is why so many ballads have different versions. An example of this is the ballad known as Molly Bawn in Ireland and as Polly Vaughn in America. In the Irish version the young man in the ballad kills his fiancée when he mistakes her for a swan, in the American version; he mistakes her for a deer. There are other versions with other animals in it. This is an example of how a ballad can change from the original.

The title of this book came from the ballad, Please to See The King which is a ballad that celebrates the life of the king. According to the website, The Mudcat Café (http://www.mudcat.org), The king was the wren. The wren was the king of the birds. In ancient religions the king was sacrificed very seven years for the fertility and good of the tribe. In some places (Ireland) the queen was royal and married new consorts to be sacrificed. The consort was treated well for seven years (or one year) and then sacrificed by the new consort. A wren was killed and dressed up in ribbons, etc. and carried about the village. This is from Pembrokeshire in South Wales, commemorating the wren-killing on St. Steven’s Day, Dec. 26. Old Christmas, still celebrated rather than December 25, is Twelfth Night. .

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PLEASE TO SEE THE KING

Joy, health, love, and peace be all here in this place

By your leave, we will sing concerning our King.

Our King is well-dressed, in silks of the best

In ribbons so rare, no King can compare.

We have traveled many miles, over hedges and stiles

In search of our King, unto you we bring.

Old Christmas is past, Twelfth Night is the last

And we bid you adieu, great joy to the new.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Dr. G.B. Cross (Emeritus) Eastern Michigan University Children’s Literature professor for his inspiration and notes from his graduate class Folktales, Ballads and Legends lectures.

Frances J. Child books, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, Vols. 1-5 for the original words of the ballads and folklore.

Dr. Ian Wojcik-Andrews Eastern Michigan University Children’s Literature professor for lending me his copies of the Child books.

The Mudcat Café website for folklore and information about the ballads on their website.

Folk Music of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland and America website for the lyrics to Reynardine and information about the ballad.

The Ballad Index for folklore and alternative titles of the ballads.

Joan Baez, Buffy Ste. Marie, Judy Collins, Steeleye Span and various other musicians who first introduced English ballads to me through their songs and music and inspired me to learn to play the guitar so I could sing ballads too.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

1 ALISON GROSS

2 REYNARDINE

3 THE GYPSY LADDIE

4 LORD RANDALL

5 FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM

6 THE LASS OF ROCH ROYAL

7 BONNIE BARBARA ALLAN

8 THE CRUEL MOTHER

9 GEORDIE

10 THE UNQUIET GRAVE

11 JAMES HARRIS (THE DAEMON LOVER)

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1 ALISON GROSS

I bit down dribbling blueberry juice all over my chin.

You have juice on you, Sean said pointing at me. I wiped the juice off with the back of my hand. He glared at me. Stop eating so many, we need some for home.

I laughed. The best part of blueberry picking was eating the warm sun-drenched berries. I popped another one in my mouth.

These are so sweet, I mumbled as I stuffed another one in and bit down hard spraying juice all over him.

Watch out, he yelled. I grinned at him, blueberries for teeth. He grinned back. You are an annoying little sister, he said.

But you love me, I said continuing to eat and pick at the same time.

I suppose. I stole a glance at him. He did not seem to be angry with me. A rustling in the grass made me turn. A woman stepped out. She had long dark curls that bounced around her as she walked. Almost as if they were a living, breathing part of her. Dark curious eyes stared at me, then at Sean. I felt, rather than heard, her sharp intake of breath. Sean and I were alike in our coloring, dark brown hair with reddish highlights, freckled noses, green eyes and slight frames. But on me, the coloring was paler, washed out. Sean got the vibrant color of autumn’s splendor; I got the faded end just before the snow fell color. I pushed my hair to one side and stood up. My knees dirty, hands sticky with juice, face dirtied as I tried to scrub it clean with a corner of my skirt. I saw her glance at my bare leg and hastily let the skirt fall.

Who are you? I asked in that bold way that made Sean wince.

He stepped in front of me and extended a hand to her. I am Sean, and this urchin is my sister, Gilly. She took his hand with a slight incline of her head. She held it longer than I expected. Sean, seventeen this past week and two years older than I, blushed, the heat traveling up his neck to his forehead. Amused by his reaction, I laughed. He dropped her hand and whirled on me.

Show some manners, Gilly. I curtseyed to the lady who also inclined her head to me.

These are my blueberries, she said in a singsong voice.

Oh? I asked. How can they be? They belong to the castle on the hill. I pointed through the bushes to the general area where the castle stood.

I am from the castle, she said her eyes on Sean. I might as well been invisible. I cleared my throat loudly. Sean glared at me.

Who are you then? he asked.

Alison. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

The witch? I breathed. She nodded ever so slightly. But you can’t be the witch. The witch is old and ugly and eats children. Stories my parents had told me over and over when I was small. Do not venture into the woods near the castle. But of course I disobeyed and went into the woods so often it was as if I knew them better than I knew my own home. Sean knew them too.

The witch smiled at me.