When I first started writing songs, about ten years ago, I took them around to folk clubs. One, I discovered too late, took a hard-line, faintly Stalinist, approach to any music that did not belong to what is reverently described as ‘the Tradition’.
The song I sang was mildly rude and, apparently, not part of the tradition. Scarred by the experience, I wrote a song called Hearts of Oak which I have videoed for Songs from the van #8.
Here are the lyrics, followed by the video:
‘Twas in the merry month of May
I went to a folk club down me way
I’d written a song, it was slightly rude,
I thought it couldn’t be misconstrued.
With just a touch of the ambigued.
Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, foldy-ay-de-ay
The club they met in a village hall
The sign at the door said ‘Welcome all’
They asked me if I could sing
I said, ‘What the hell, I’ll give it a spin,’
So I paid me fiver, and went right in.
Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, foldy-roldy-all.
Pride of England, hearts of oak
Just like long ago
Never to bend to the tyrant’s yoke,
No! Tiddly-oh.
Inside the hall was a merry throng
With ladies of large proportion
Blokes who were hearty and were hale
Drinking pints of real ale
In T-shirts that read ‘Save the whale’
Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, Bom-de-om-de-om.
First up was a solicitor
Singing songs of slaves in Africa
Then a teacher of fifty-three
Told a tale of lost virginity
And we all sang the harmony
Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, tum-ti-tum-t—ta.
Pride of England, hearts of oak
Just like long ago
Never bend to the tyrant’s yoke,
No! Tiddly-oh.
One by one they took to the stage
Singings tales of love and rage
There were ballad songs, and working songs
Of rich and poor and weak and strong
Of maidens who were woebegone
And the arrant knaves who’d done ‘em wrong
And each of them were very long
And went on and on and on
And on and on and on and on
And every one had a singalong
(It went) Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, tiddly-up-di-aye.
Then someone played an Irish jig
Called The Curly Tale of Paddy MacGinty’s Pig
Soon every was joining in
With ukuleles and mandolins
I’ve never heard such a terrible din before
I couldn’t believe when Paddy MacGinty’s bloody pig
Was given a rousing encore
But when I came to sing mysong
Everything went horribly wrong
In the room was a sudden chill
They looked at me like I was ill
Bloody hell, if it looks could kill
Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay
Someone started a slow hand
Another shouted I should be banned
They started walking out to the bar
Muttering I’d gone too far
They told me where to stick my guitar
I went tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay
I’m a-gettin’ outta here.
So if you write a little song
And you want a folk club to sing along
Be careful that you don’t provoke
These bonny ladies and decent blokes
By playing them the wrong kind of folk
(Just go) Tarum-de-um-de-tiddley-ay, tiddly-up-di-aye..
Pride of England, hearts of oak
Just like long ago
Never to bend to the tyrant’s yoke,
No!
Pride of England, hearts of oak
Just like long ago
Never to bend to the tyrant’s yoke,
No! Tiddly-oh.
