NoiseFactory Synthetic Folk Project

Poor Old Horse

We are extremely grateful to Malcom Douglas for providing the lyrics used by the Steel Bank Band on the track we've encoded for RealAudio, together with some explanatory background notes.

"This is the lyric for the Sheffield version: (Collected in 1971 by Ruaridh Greig, from William Palmer & Chris Ralphs. The Horse was somebody called Reg. They were from Dronfield, and performed in Dore.) I'm not sure where I got the lyric I used; I have a vague idea that it was a version from Leicester way, mixed with the above, but heaven knows where I found it. (It was in a book, I remember that much; but this was about 15 years ago [c. 1984, ed.]) All the recorded versions, so far as I can tell, derive from an original source, presumably printed. Here is the version from North Elmsall, recorded in -roughly- the 1870s/1880s. (Archives of NATCECT) Obviously, the fact that one version is older than another does not necessarily mean that it is more authentic; the reverse is often true. I've found some Welsh versions recently, too. (Not in Welsh.)"

Sheffield Variant

We have a poor old horse
And he's standing at your door
And if you wish to let him in
He'll please you all I'm sure
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
He once was a young horse
And in his youthful prime
His master used to ride on him
And he thought him very fine
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
But now he's getting old
And his nature doth decay
He's forced to nab yon short grass
That grows beneath yon way
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
He's eaten all my hay
And he spoiled all my straw
He's neither fit to ride upon
Nor e'en attempt to draw
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
We'll whip him, cut him, slash him
And a-hunting let him go
Over hedges, over ditches
Over fancy gates and stiles
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
I'll ride him to the huntsman
So freely I will give
My body to the hounds then
I'd rather die than live
Poor Old Horse, Poor Old Horse
Thy poor old bones
They shall lie beneath yon ground
And never more be thought of
By all the hunting round
Poor Old Horse, Thou must die
Get up Bob.

North Elmsall Variant
This is my poor old horse
That has carried me many a mile
Over hedges, walls and ditches
Likewise high gates and stiles
POOR OLD HORSE
I used to be kept
All in a stable warm
To keep my tender body
From taking any harm
My clothing it was
Of linsey-woolsey fine
My tail and mane they grew at length
My body it did shine
POOR OLD HORSE
It was yon dirty blacksmith
That did for me undone
In shoeing of my forefoot
He pricked me to the strun
POOR OLD HORSE
I used to be kept
On the best of corn and hay
That ever grew in fields
And in meadows fresh and gay
POOR OLD HORSE
But now I'm growing old
And nature does me call
I'm forced to nep the short grass
That grows upon the wall
POOR OLD HORSE
My hide to the huntsman
I gladly will give
My body to the dogs
For I'd rather die than live
POOR OLD HORSE
HE MUST DIE
So whip him, strip him, turn him out
To the Huntsman let him go
So whip him, strip him, turn him out
To the Huntsman let him go
POOR OLD HORSE