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The Bitter Withy

[ Roud 452 ; Ballad Index L689 ; trad.]

This carol was sung by A.L. Lloyd unaccompanied in the 1950s on his 78 rpm record Down in Yon Forest / The Bitter Withy, on his and Ewan MacColl's 1956 Riverside album Great British Ballads Not Included in the Child Collection, and accompanied by Alf Edwards playing concertina on his and Ewan MacColl's album English and Scottish Folk Ballads (1964). He commented in the album notes:

English country folk in the past showed themselves to be attracted to many “unofficial” scriptural legends, notably to those that depicted Biblical characters acting like European rustics, and most particularly to those that held an element of social protest or at least of egalitarianism. Thus, for instance, in the famous Cherry Tree Carol, Joseph speaks like a true peasant husband when he and his pregnant wife are making their way through the orchard, and Mary asks him to gather her some cherries, and we are told:

Up then spoke Joseph, with words rude and wild:
“Let him gather thee cherries that put thee with child.”

The Bitter Withy carol is likewise peopled with figures out of the rural landscape of medieval England—the child playing ball in the street, the snobbish young rich boys who scorn him, the rich young mothers who run with their tale of disaster, and the angry mother who chastises her child by laying him across her knee and thrashing him. The Bitter Withy (a carol without any connection with Christmas) remained one of the most favoured of English folk songs until very recent years, perhaps on account of its social content: the fact that it it, the snobbish young lords receive their “comeuppance” at the hands if the Infant Jesus seems to have endeared the carol to countless generations of humble singers. The tradition of Jesus supporting himself on a sunbeam, and his companions trying to do so and fatally falling, is to be found in the Apocryphal Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew, and also in a 13^th century English manuscript containing rhymed legends of the life of Jesus. A fresco in the church of San Martino in Lucca, Italy, shows the Virgin Mary chastising the young Jesus. (…) The incident of Christ's cursing the willow in the last verse, is not doubt a folklorish attempt to explain a natural phenomen: it is a fact that the willow is very prone to “perish at the heart”.

The carol seems to have survived best in Hereford and Shrophshire, where Vaughan Williams obtained more than half a dozen versions in 1908-9. The present tune is hexachordal (consisting of six adjacent steps), and of the major character.

Peter Bellamy sang The Bitter Withy in 1968 on the Young Tradition's last LP, Galleries. Heather Wood commented in the sleeve notes of the 1973 album reissue:

Peter learned this version from Audrey Coppard. It gives a far more believable picture of Jesus Christ than most of the ballads of his childhood.

Peter Bellamy sang The Bitter Withy also on April 28, 1981 in a Valley Folk recording for Radio WFCR. This was included on his Free Reed anthology Wake the Vaulted Echoes.

Mike Waterson sang The Bitter Withy on the Watersons' LP of 1977 and CD of 2007, Sound, Sound Your Instruments of Joy. This recording was also included 1990 on their 1990 CD reissue of Frost and Fire.

Maddy Prior recorded Bitter Withy in 1997 for her album Flesh and Blood. She noted:

The tradition has always presented an alternative to orthodox dogma, both social and religious. This story of the boy Jesus portrays him as all too human, and the does not accord with the given Bible image. It strikes me as a parable concerning power and the need for everyone to learn how to use it.

I first heard this song from the lovely rhythmic singing of Roy Bailey, but I finally tracked it down in Bert Lloyd's Folk Song in England, a must for anyone interested in folk music.

Roy Bailey's version mentioned by Maddy Prior is on his eponymous album of 1971, Roy Bailey. An even earlier recording is The Young Tradition's Bitter Withy on their 1968 album Galleries.

John Tams sang Bitter Withy on his 2005 Topic CD The Reckoning and on the charity anthology Huntingdon Folk 4.

The Albion Christmas Band with Kellie While singing recorded Bitter Withy in 2006 for their CD Winter Songs.

Lyrics

A.L. Lloyd sings The Bitter Withy	Peter Bellamy sings The Bitter Withy
As it fell out on a bright holiday Small hail from the sky did fall; Our Saviour asked his mother dear If he might go and play at ball.	As it fell out upon a bright holiday Small hail from the sky did fall; Our Saviour asked his mother dear If he might play at ball.
“At ball? At ball? My own dear son? It's time that you were gone; Don't let me hear of any complaints At night when you come home.”	“At ball? At ball? My own dear son? It's time that you was gone, But don't let me hear of any doings Tonight when you return.”
So up the hill and down the hill Our sweet young Saviour ran Until he met three rich lords', “Good morning to each one.”	So it's up the hill, and down the hill Our sweet young Saviour ran, Until he met three rich young lords All playing in the sun.
“Good morn, good morn, good morn,” said they, “Good morning,” then said he, “And which of you three rich young lords Will play at ball with me?”	“Good morn, good morn, good morn”, cried they, “Good morning,” oh says he, “And which one of you three rich young lords Will play at ball with me?”
“We are all lords' and ladies' sons Born in a bower and hall, And you are nothing but a poor maid's child Born in an ox's stall.”	“Well, we're all lords' and ladies' sons, All born in a bower and hall, And you are nothing but a Jewish child Born in an oxen stall”
Sweet Jesus turned him round about, He did neither laugh nor smile, But the tears came trickling from his eyes Like water from the sky.
“If you're all lords' and ladies' sons Born in your bower and hall, I'll make you believe in your latter end I'm an angel above you all”	“Well, though you're lords' and ladies' sons All born in your bower and hall I'll prove to you at your latter end I'm an angel above you all”
So he made him a bridge of the beams of the sun And over the water ran he; The rich young lords chased after him And drowned they were all three.	So he built him a bridge from the beams of the sun And over the river danced he; Them rich young lords followed after him And drowned they was all three.
So up the hill and down the hill Three rich young mothers ran Saying, “Mary mild, fetch home your child For ours he's drowned each one.”	So it's up the hill and down the hill Three rich young mothers run Crying “Mary mild, fetch you home your child For ours he's drowned each one.”
“Oh I've been down in yonder town Far as the holy well, I took away three sinful souls And dipped them deep in hell.”
Then Mary mild, she took her child And laid him across her knee And with a handful of withy twigs She gave him slashes three.	So Mary mild fetched home her child, She laid him across her knee And with a bundle of withy twigs She gave him thrashes three.
“Oh bitter withy, oh bitter withy You've caused me to smart. And the withy shall be the very first tree To perish at the heart.”	“Oh bitter withy. oh bitter withy That causes me to smart. Oh the withy shall be very first tree To perish at the heart.”

Mike Waterson sings The Bitter Withy	Maddy Prior sings The Bitter Withy
As it fell out upon a bright holiday Small hail from the sky did fall; Our Saviour asked his mother mild, “Can I go and play at the ball?”	As I fell out on a bright holiday Small hail from the sky did fall; Our Saviour asked his mother dear If he might go and play at ball.
“At the ball, the ball, my own dear son? It's time that you was gone, But it's don't let me hear of any mischief At night when you come home.”	“At ball? At ball? My own dear son? It's time that you were gone, And don't let me hear any mischief At night when you come home.”
So it's up the hill and it's down the hill Our sweet young Saviour ran, Until he come to three rich lords' sons, “Good morning sirs, each one.”	So it's up the hill, and down the hill Our sweet young Saviour run, Until he met three rich young lords, “Good morning” to each one.
“Good morn, good morn and good morn,” says they, “It's thrice good morn,” says he, “And it's which of you three rich lords' sons Is gonna play at the ball with me?”	“Good morn, good morn, good morn”, said they, “Good morning,” then said he, “And which one of you three rich young lords Will play at the ball with me?”
“Why, we, we're lords', we're ladies' sons Born in a bower or hall, But you, you're nothing but a poor maid's child You was born in an ox's stall.”	“Ah, we're all lords' and ladies' sons Born in a bower and hall And you are naught but a poor maid's child Born in an ox's stall.”
“Well, if I'm nothing but a poor maid's child Born in an ox's stall, I'll make you believe in your latter end That I'm an angel above you all.”	“If I am naught but a poor maid's child Born in an ox's stall, I'll make you believe at your latter end I'm an angel above you all.”
And so he built him a bridge with the rays of the sun, Over the river ran he; Them three rich lords' sons, they followed him And it's drowned they were all three.	So he made a bridge of beams of the sun And over the river ran he; And after him ran these rich young lords And drowned they all three.
And it's up the hill and it's down the hill Three weeping mothers ran, Saying, “Mary mild, take home your child For ours he's drowned each one.”	Then it's up the hill, and it's down the hill Three rich young mothers runm Crying “Mary mild, fetch home her child For ours he's drowned each one.”
And so it's Mary mild, she took home her child, She laid him across her knee, And it's with a switch of the bitter withy Why she's given him slashes three.	So Mary mild fetched home her child And laid him across her knee, And with a handful of withy twigs She gave him lashes three.
“Oh, bitter withy, oh, bitter withy You caused me to smart, And now the willow shall be the very first tree Gonna perish at the heart.”	“Ah bitter withy. Ah bitter withy That causes me to smart, And the withy shall be very first tree To perish at the heart.”

Acknowledgements

Transcribed from the singing of Mike Waterson by Garry Gillard.