> Martin Carthy > Songs > Arthur McBride and the Sergeant
> Tony Rose > Songs > The Recruiting Sergeant

Arthur McBride and the Sergeant / The Recruiting Sergeant

[ Roud 2355 ; Ballad Index PBB093 ; trad.]

Martin Carthy sang Arthur McBride and the Sergeant on his 1969 album with Dave Swarbrick, Prince Heathen, and reissued on the compilation The Carthy Chronicles. Martin Carthy and Dave Swarbrick also played this on their 1992 video 100 Not Out and in 1976 as an instrumental on Dave Swarbrick's first solo album, Swarbrick.

Martin Carthy commented in the Prince Heathen sleeve notes:

I have always assumed that this highly subversive song was from East Anglia, but in fact I don't know. It is probably 18th century in origin and I learned it from Redd Sullivan, who sang it with great wavings of the arms—the folk world's Joe Cocker? The tune at the end is French.

A 1970 recording of Arthur McBride by Redd Sullivan can be found on the BBC album Folk on Friday.

Tony Rose sang this song with somewhat different verses as The Recruiting Sergeant on his 1982 album Poor Fellows. He commented in the album notes:

The recruiting sergeant of the 18th and 19th centuries enjoyed a popularity roughly akin to that of an eelworm in a potato patch. To ensnare the unwary recruit he had to be capable of both silver tongued guile and ruthless skulduggery… only the desperate volunteered! But not everyone was taken in…! There's splendid irony in this most violent of anti-militaristic songs. This version is to be found in Roy Palmer's The Rambling Soldier and I'm indebted to the Somerset group White Cockade for bringing it to my notice.

Lyrics

Martin Carthy sings Arthur McBride

I once knew a fellow called Arthur McBride
And his pleasure was walking down by the seaside,
A-walking, a-talking, a-viewing the tide
Though the weather was pleasant and charming.

So gay and so gallant we went on our tramp,
We met Sergeant Harper and Corporal Gramp
And the bonny little drummer who roused up the camp
With his row-dee-dow-dow in the morning.

“What ho, me good fellows,” the sergeant did cry,
“The same to you, sergeant,” we made to reply.
There was nothing more said and we made to pass by
All on that bright summer's morning.

“What ho, me good fellows, if you would enlist,
Ten guineas in gold I would slap in your fist
And a crown in the bargain to kick up the dust
And to drink the King's health in the morning.”

“Oh no, me good sergeant, we are not for sale,
Though we're fond of our country, your bribes won't avail.
Though we're fond of our country, we care not to sail,
For we are the boys of the morning.”

“If you would insult me without any word,
I swear, by me king, I would draw me broadsword
And I'd run through your body as strength me affords
Ere you could breathe out the morning.”

Oh we laid the little drummer as flat as a shoe,
We made a football of his row-dee-dow-doo.
The sergeant, the corporal, we knocked out the two
For we were the boys of the morning.

And as for the weapons that hung by their side,
We flung them as far as we could in the tide.
“And the devil go with you,” says Arthur McBride,
“For spoiling our walk in the morning.”

Tony Rose sings The Recruiting Sergeant

As we were a-walking down by the seaside
Who did we meet with but Sergeant McBride.
We determined to have a bit bathe in the tide;
It was all on a fine summer's morning.

And as we were a-walking down by the sea sand
Who did we meet with but Corporal Brand
And a little wee drummer called Arthur McDent,
Going to the fair in the morning.

“Oh well it's now, my brave fellows, if you want to enlist
It's five golden guineas I'll clap in your fist.
Besides there's five shilling to kick up a dust
As you go to the fair in the morning.

And it's then you will also go decent and clean
While score other fellows go dirty and mean,
While score other fellows go dirty and mean
And sup their bugoo in the morning.”

“And you need not be talking about your fine pay
For all you have got is one shilling a day;
And as for your debt, oh, the drum pays your way
As you march through the town in the morning.

And you need not be talking about your fine clothes,
Why, you've just got the loan of them, as I suppose;
And you dare not sell 'em in spite of your nose
Or you would get flogged in the morning.”

“Oh well I'm blessed,” says the sergeant, “if I allow more of that,
From any cocks-crow[?] or cow-feeding brat.
And if you tip me any more of your chat
I'll run you through in the morning.”

But before they had time for to pull out their blades
Our whacking shillelaghs came over their heads.
And we did teach them that we with their blades
Did dampen their rage in the morning.

And as for the drummer, oh we diddled[?] his pow,
And we made a football of his row-dee-dee-dow.
And into the tide we bid him to row
And bade them all a good morning.

Acknowledgements

Transcribed from the singing of Martin Carthy by Garry Gillard, with thanks to Ruth Bygrave and Wolfgang Hell for further suggestions and corrections.