> A.L. Lloyd > Songs > Polly Vaughan / The Shooting of His Dear
> Shirley Collins > Songs > Polly Vaughan
> Anne Briggs > Songs > Polly Vaughan
> Martin Carthy > Songs > The Fowler
> Tony Rose > Songs > Polly Vaughan

Polly Vaughan / The Fowler / The Shooting of His Dear

[Trad.]

A.L. Lloys sang this tragic ballad in a 1951 BBC recording that has been included in the Alan Lomax Collection CD World Library of Folk and Primitive Music: England. He also sang it in the early 1950s on his 78rpm record The Shooting of His Dear / Lord Bateman and on the 1956 Riverside LP Great British Ballads Not Included in the Child Collection. Both of these recordings had the title The Shooting of His Dear.

Shirley Collins recorded Polly Vaughan three times with a self-composed tune: in 1959 for her album Sweet England, and twice in 1967 for her albums The Sweet Primeroses (reissued on Fountain of Snow) and The Power of the True Love Knot (reissued on Within Sound and on The Classic Collection). Strangely, the The Sweet Primeroses version isn't mentioned on album cover, sleeve notes and record label.

Anne Briggs sang Polly Vaughan in 1964 on her Topic Records EP The Hazards of Love. This recording was reissued on her Fellside and Topic compilation CDs, Classic Anne Briggs and A Collection. A.L. Lloyd wrote in the album's sleeve notes:

Patrick Joyce heard it as Molly Bawn, “sung in fine style in the streets of Dublin by a poor woman with a child on her arm.” He felt it “obviously commemorates a tragedy in real life.” That was in the mid-19th century. Fifty years earlier, an Aberdeen maidservant sang it to Robart Jamieson, who thought it “a silly ditty... one of the very lowest description of vulgar modern English ballads... paltry stuff.” Neither Joyce nor Jamieson saw what lay behind the ballad's simple but odd story. Modern scholars have little doubt that in fact Polly Vaughan is a fine relic of a very ancient ballad concerning one of those magic maidens, familiar in folklore, who are girls by day light but swans (or white does) after sunset, and are tragically hunted and killed by brother or lover. Somerset, Kent and Norfolk are some areas from which the ballad has been recovered, but almost surely it came to England from Ireland. The “fountain of snow” seems a typical bit of Gaelic exuberance, though it may have something to to with the wraith-like appearance of magical Polly.

Martin Carthy sang a version very similar to Anne Brigg's - except for one missing verse - as The Fowler on his and Dave Swarbrick's 1967 album Byker Hill. It was reissued on their compilation album This Is... Martin Carthy. Carthy said in the original album's sleeve notes:

The Fowler or The Shooting of His Dear is another song from the Norfolk collection of E.J. Moeran with an additional verse. It seems curious that Child should have passed over this song when compiling his English and Scottish Popular Ballads as he undoubtedly knew of its existence. Perhaps he felt himself more than usually guided by the opinions of notable predecessors like Jamieson who called it a “silly ditty” and “one of the very lowest of vulgar modern English ballads” and “paltry stuff” before stating his apology for printing it. To be fair, it is in a very confused state. Anne Gilchrist in the Journal of the Folksong Society (number 26) points to many tales, Hessian, Celtic, Scandinavian, and French, telling of girls as milk-white doves or swan maidens who can only be released from enchantment by death. Some have the girls resuming human form at night (Swan Lake is an obvious close relative). It would seem that a less blurred version of the ballad might have the young man coming upon the maiden at sunset, about to undergo the transformation from swan to maiden, thus doing away with the need for the “apron” rationalisation in the last verse. Miss Gilchrist goes further to suggest that in the alternative title “dear” has become confused with “deer” and that “fountains of snow” could possibly have been “fawn, white as snow”. She concludes “Molly Bawn (as she is known in some versions) is no kingless waif of vulgar balladry, but her ultimate ancestry may be left to folklorists to trace...”

Tony Rose recorded Polly Vaughan in 1976 for his LP On Banks of Green Willow. His sleeve notes comment:

There is a strong element of the supernatural in Polly Vaughan where the ghost of a young girl, shot by her sweetheart in mistake for a swan, appears at his trial to plead for his freedom. This is substantially the version collected by George Gardiner from William Bone of Alton, Hants, and published in Frank Purslow's Marrowbones.

Lyrics

A.L. Lloyd sings Polly Vaughan

Come all you young fellows that carry a gun,
I'll have you come home by the light of the sun.
For young Jimmy was a fowler, and a-fowling alone,
When he shot his own true love in mistake for a swan.

As young Polly went out in a shower of rain,
She hid under the bushes her beauty to gain.
With her apron thrown over and he took her for a swan,
He aimed and he fired, shot Polly, his own.

Well, home run young Jimmy with his dog and his gun,
Crying, “Uncle, dear uncle, have you heard what I've done?
O cursed be that old gunsmith what made my old gun,
For I've shot my own true love in mistake for a swan!”

Well, the funeral of Polly it was a brave sight,
With four-and-twenty young men and all dressed in white,
And they carried her to the graveyard and they laid her in the grave,
And they said, “Farewell Polly,” and went weeping away.

Shirley Collins sings Polly Vaughan

Come all you young fellows that follow the gun
And beware of sharpshooting by the light of the moon.
Young Polly, she was a-walking in a shower of rain
And she hid by the bushes her beauty to maintain.

Young Jimmy, he was a-fowling, a-fowling all alone,
When he shot his own true love in the place of a swan.
Oh Jimmy, dear Jimmy, don't you see what you have done?
And his poor heart lies bleeding for Polly his own.

Now the girls of this country they're all glad, I know,
To see Polly Vaughan a-lying so low.
You could stand them on a mountain and stand them all in a row,
And her beauty it would shine for line a fountain of snow.

Anne Briggs sings Polly Vaughan

Come all you young fellows that handle a gun,
Beware how you shoot when the night's coming on.
For young Jimmy met his true love, he mistook her for a swan,
And he shot her and killed her by the setting of the sun.

As Polly was walking all in a shower of rain,
She sheltered in the green bush her beauty to save.
With her apron throwed over her, he mistook her for a swan,
And he shot her and killed her by the setting of the sun.

Then home ran young Jimmy with his dog and his gun,
Crying, “Uncle, dear uncle, have you heard what I done?
I met my own true love, I mistook her for a swan,
And I shot her and killed her by the setting of the sun.”

Then out rushed his uncle with his locks hanging grey,
Crying, “Jimmy, oh dear Jimmy, don't you run away.
Don't leave your own country till the trial do come on,
For they newer will hang you for the shooting of a swan.”

Oh, the girls of this country they're all glad, we know,
To see Polly Vaughan brought down so low.
You could take them poor girls and set them in a row,
And her beauty would outshine 'em like a fountain of snow.

Well, the trial were on and Polly's ghost did appear,
Crying, “Uncle, dear uncle, let Jimmy go clear,
For my apron was thrown round me, he mistook me for a swan,
And he never would have shot his own Polly Vaughan.”

Martin Carthy sings The Fowler

Come all you young fellows that follow the gun,
I'll have you not go out by the light of the sun.
For young Jimmy was a fowler and a-fowling all alone
When he shot his own true love in the room of a swan.

Then it's home went young Jimmy with his dog and his gun,
Saying, “Uncle dear uncle, do you see what I've done,
Oh, cursed be that old gunsmith who made me my gun
For I've been and shot me true love in the room of a swan.”

Then out came his uncle with his locks hanging grey,
Saying, “Jimmy, dear Jimmy, don't you run away.
And don't you leave your own country till your trial it come on,
For you never will be hanged for the shooting of a swan.“

All the girls in this country, they're all glad we know,
For to see pretty Polly and lying so low.
Oh, you could pile them into a mountain, you could line them all in a row,
And her beauty would shine among them like a fountain of snow.

Now the trial it came on and pretty Polly did appear,
Saying, “Uncle, dear uncle, let Jimmy go clear,
For with me apron thrown over me he took me for a swan,
And his own love lay bleeding for it was Polly his own.”

Acknowledgements

Martin Carthy's version transcribed by Garry Gillard.