It's a good thing we have Lyle Lofgren to lighten up this column. I sing the occasional humorous song, but when I'm thinking about doing just one song, it's likely to be something deep and sorrowful. This month's entry fits.
Do you ever think about the degree to which enforcement of the law is voluntary? Most of us agree murder is wrong, so murder is rare. But a lot of people think speeding, or drug use, acceptable -- and so those two crimes are more common. The first, indeed, is almost universal (I say as one of the few people who generally does obey the speed limit on freeways).
That has its interesting effects. Someone whom the state views as a criminal may not be a criminal in his own mind; the punishment may actually do more harm than good, because it can prevent a good man from doing other good works.
This song brings out that point. Geordie was guilty, as he himself admits -- but of a hanging offense? All he did was kill a few wild deer. (A common crime; not only did Robin Hood do it, but also such ballad heroes as Johnnie o' Braidesley.) He has many friends, and apparently has done good deeds in his private life; hanging him seemingly does society as a whole more harm than good. Of course, there may be more going on behind the scenes. Starting with Kinloch in 1827, commentators have equated Geordie with George Gordon, Earl of Huntley (1512-1562), an illegitimate descendent of Scotland's King James IV, who in 1554 was imprisoned because he didn't work hard enough to suppress a rebellion. That the ballad is Scottish in origin is hard to deny; that it involves Huntley seems far more of a stretch -- particularly since the details in the song vary so much. For example, sometimes Geordie steals the king's horses rather than his deer; in still others,
There was a battle in the north,
And nobles there were many,
And they have killed Sir Charlie Haig,
And laid the wrath on Geordie.
I know at least three subfamilies of this song: the "Charlie Haig" version cited above, a "Will ye gang tae the Hielands" text approximating Child's "G" (recorded by Ewan MacColl, but I don't think he had it from tradition), and this one, all with different melodies. This particular version, which has the most majestic tune, I can't trace (it's one of those things I learned off an LP, probably one of my parents' rather than mine, so far back that I don't know the source -- fortunately, I put it in my songbook, so I have all the words), but a search of Bronson reveals that two similar versions show up in Arkansas, so this has genuine old-time roots even though I don't know any old-time recordings. It also has an interesting ending. Often, Geordie is ransomed by his wife or his clan. Not here; as sometimes happens, the happy ending has fallen away. Geordie's only crime is hunting the "king's own deer," but note the form of his confession: he didn't know the charges against him, but was imprisoned and tried anyway, and so -- in denying a serious crime -- admitted to a lesser fault that nonetheless sends him to the scaffold. In an open court, with habeas corpus and published charges and a working judicial system and the right to examine witnesses, it couldn't happen.
Complete Lyrics:
As I walked out o'er London bridge
One misty morning early,
Thought I heard a fair young maid
Lamenting for her Geordie.
Thought I heard a fair young maid
Lamenting for her Geordie.
Go saddle me my milk-white steed,
The black one's not so speedy,
That I may ride to yon castle fair
And plead for the life of Geordie.
That I may ride to yon castle fair
And plead for the life of Geordie.
She's taken out her silken purse.
The like I've ne'er seen any,
Saying, "Lawyers, come and fee yourselves
For I'll spend every penny."
Saying, "Lawyers, come and fee yourselves
For I'll spend every penny."
Then Geordie spoke, and thus he said,
"I've never murdered any;
Stole sixteen of the king's royal deer,
And sold them in Bohenny.
Stole sixteen of the king's royal deer,
And sold them in Bohenny."
The judge, he looked down on him,
He said, "Young man, I'm sorry,
But thine own confession's hangéd you;
Thy Lord have mercy on ye.
But thine own confession's hangéd you;
Thy Lord have mercy on ye."
He's walked down the linéd streets,
He's bade farewell to many;
Bade farewell to his own true love
Which grieved him more than any
Bade farewell to his own true love
Which grieved him more than any.
"Let Geordie be hanged with a golden chain;
His crimes were never many.
He was born of the royal blood
And courted a virtuous lady.
He was born of the royal blood
And courted a virtuous lady."
"I wish I were on yonders hill
Where kisses I've had often;
Stab myself on the point of a knife
Beside my lover's coffin.
Stab myself on the point of a knife
Beside my lover's coffin."