Folk Songs, some back-story

by Wendi Capehart

Here is some of the backstory and supplemental information on AO and our use of folk songs for those who like that sort of thing.

Back when we first added folksongs to the AO curriculum, we only had one song per term. Although it had been done before, folksongs as part of the school curriculum was a new idea to many homeschoolers, and folksongs as part of a CM curriculum was a startling idea to others. They had not realized Miss Mason did this.

Although a Charlotte Mason education is not utilitarian by principle, still, many people wanted a utilitarian justification for including folk songs in their school day- what good will this do, why do they need to know this, and what is the purpose, that sort of thing.  The benefits of singing folk song are not utilitarian, and I personally find them so delightful that I find myself feeling inarticulate and dumb when I try to explain.  I also feel that the best way to learn the justification for singing folk songs is, well, , . just to start singing them and see what happens.  That's the hardest step for the reluctant parents who want convincing, but it's the most effective.

So we started with one folk song per term. Over time, many of our people, mostly those who tried them, quickly began to enjoy the folk songs and see the value in singing them.  They wanted more.So
we were able to add more than one song per term, which makes me very happy.

Btw, iust in case you have tried the folksongs in AO's line up and didn't find they resonated with you, don't give up.  There are thousands and thousands of folk songs from just as many traditions, cultures, and peoples.  There must be one that works for you and your family, because this singing of folk songs is a deeply human endeavor. There are illiterate cultures.  There are no cultures I have heard of with no music.  So look around and find some older, music of the people tradition that *does* speak to your children.  One more bit of freeby advice- don't decide too quickly *for* your children.  Unless there is a serious, well informed moral reason to object to a song, keep your opinions in check, engage cheerfully, and let the children develop their own tastes without relying on you to be their only curator for their relationship to folksongs.

 We originally started by relying on midi files, but in my defense, youtube didn't really start until a couple of years later.  Along the way as we improve and broaden our folksong selections, we hear more and more from families who are amazed at how much they add to their school days and family life in general.  Of course, there continue to be those  who don't see the benefit and aren't interested in just trying it out, and I remain inarticulate enough in this baffling (to me) recalitrance that I am unable to persuade those families that they are truly missing something special, a playful, happy part of the day as practical as a baby's laugh, but nearly as much of a blessing.  And so they continue to miss out, and I feel guilty about my inadequacies and a bit sad.

 There were once more than a few who liked the songs  well enough but were not convinced that Mason thought folk songs were of much importance (You might be surprised if I named names!) or doubted that she even used them in her schools.

 There is some evidence within the six volumes if you know what to look for, and more in her programmes and schedules. But the clearest evidence of all is found in a little journal nicknamed 'the plant' by those who edited, published, and subscribed to it.

 Charlotte Mason started a little college where she trained young women in her principles, equipping them to become teachers and governesses- and mothers! The school was called The House of Education.
 "In 1895, the House of Education Old Students' Association was formed to provide current and "old" students who were scattered abroad, opportunities to keep in touch and provide mutual support. In 1896 they began publishing the magazine, L'Umile Pianta, named after a plant growing near Ambleside, which Charlotte Mason admired for its ability to bend without breaking. This plant was also pictured on the House of Education's medal, with the motto "For the Children's Sake." The motto was used as the subtitle for the magazine. From 1896 to 1900 it was published twice each year; from 1901-1906 it came out three times per year and from 1907 onwards it was a quarterly. Issues were bound without covers or title pages." 
From the   Charlotte Mason Digital Archives at archive.org

 In  the September, 1911 edition of 'the plant', there is an article on folk music for children, where we read:
 "Some Excellent collections [of folk songs] are now published, but quite the best is a book by Rev. Baring Gould, who has collected the words of the songs in going through the country and getting the old people to sing to him the songs passed down from father to son. The music to these has been composed by M. Cecil Sharp, who has harmonised the exact melodies used by the people."

 That book is Folk Songs for Children or Schools, by Baring Gould, online here.
I have a playlist on youtube where I have been collecting recordings of the songs from this book, although I cannot guarantee that each of these is using precisely the same lyrics as Baring Gould did. He and Sharp sometimes tidied up their lyrics.

 There are several other L'Umile Pianta volumes that mention the use of folk songs and even suggest resources. I particularly like this one because the author not only recommends the Baring Gold volume and a handful of other folk song anthologies, she also recommends a few specific individual folk-songs, such as The Three Tailors (said by the author to be 'a charming song'), Strawberry Fair, The Three Wagoneers, the Three Sons, and Oh, No John.  I like looking at specific practices and recommendations because it helps me extrapolate some principles, but we do have to be careful not to mistake practice for principles.

 Since the author referred to the Three Tailors as a charming song, I especially wanted to know more about it. I found that Eugene Field worked it into a poem of his own. You can read it here. There is an old version sung here.

 The gist of the ballad is that three wine loving tailors try to trick a landlord into giving them free wine in exchange for magic tricks they do with a needle, but they aren't real tricks, and he sees through them and rewards them with a thimble full of wine and tells them to get drunk on that. Put out at their trick being used against them, they nail his ears to the door and ride away. (!)

 We're not doing that song in AO.

I personally wouldn't mind it so much.  I have a warped sense of humour and I like the macabre but I don't create the Folk Song line up for my own gratification and pleasure.  I try to keep in mind that we have thousands of others using our playlist. every year I think I've cleared the songs enough to suit everybody and every year I discover I missed something or somebody else has misunderstood something, or I am just am reminded anew that we can't please everybody all the time, and we each have to make decisions for our own families. But I try to consider how others might see these songs when making decisions.  It didn't take any thinking about it at all to recognize that a song about  3 rascals nailing the landlord's ears to the door because he won't let them get drunk for free and then stealing his wine and  riding off scot-free doesn't seem like a song the majority of our families would prefer to have their little ones sing.  Yet, remember, this is a song the author of the L'umile Pianta article described as a charming song!

 It's entirely possible that the version the L'umile Pianta author recommended as a charming song is different in some way. Or, since readership of L'Umile Pianta was a small and close-knit group, perhaps everybody knew the lyrics already, and they also knew the author of the article and it was an inside joke and she was being facetious. We can only know so much from merely reading these old archives, and must speculate to fill in the gaps.  Nothing wrong with a little bit of speculative filling in of gaps, so long as we speculate with humility and honestly and do not ever impose our speculations on others as authoritative statements of How Things Are You Silly Women Who Do Not Do As I Say.  (please giggle, just a little?)

 Another specific song recommend is Strawberry Fair, and the Baring Gold version is quite sweet:

 1 As I was going to Strawberry Fair,

Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies, I met a maiden taking her ware,
Fol-de-dee! Her eyes were blue and golden her hair, As she went on to Strawberry Fair, Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do, Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee.

2   "Kind sir, pray pick of my basket!" she said,

Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies, "My cherries ripe, or my roses red,
Fol-de-dee ! My strawberries sweet, I can of them spare, As I go on to Strawberry Fair." Ri-fol, &c.

3   Your cherries soon will be wasted away,

Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies, Your roses wither and never stay,
Fol-de-dee! 'Tis not to seek such perishing ware, That I am tramping to Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol, &c.

4   I want to purchase a generous heart,

Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies, A tongue that is neither nimble nor tart.
Fol-de-dee! An honest mind, but such trifles are rare, I doubt if they're found at Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol, &c.

5   The price I offer, my sweet pretty maid,

Singing, singing, buttercups and daisies, A ring of g. old on your finger displayed,
Fol-de-dee! So come, make over to me your ware In church to-day at Strawberry Fair. Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-li-do, Ri-fol, Ri-fol, Tol-de-riddle-dee.

However, this version is sanitized. The original is more risque (you can read the lyrics and listen to it here), and I can find only one example of the prettily sanitized Baring-Gold version on youtube.  That doesn't mean there aren't others, I just could not find them. So I could not really include this one, either.  Perhaps later somebody else will add some other renditions we could use.  Meanwhile.... You can listen to the one I found here and see what you think about why I didn't include it.

 Of course, there's no reason you can't use any folk song you like for your own family!  Please do!  The folk songs AO suggests are there to help you, not to restrict you.  If you are not a part of one of the English speaking nations with origins in England or one of its English speaking colonies, you should definitely be looking for folk songs in your own culture and language.  I can't really help you do this because that would be arrogant and ridiculous, since I have not the background knowledge necessary for that.  Ask your grandparents, your great aunts and uncles, the elderly relatives of friends and acquaintances, see if anybody has made a study of your culture's folk music (ask the music departments of your country's universities, check libraries if you have access to them, look for buskers in your town and ask them if they know any old songs.)Your elderly relatives would probably be thrilled to share what they know.

  I was deeply blessed and encouraged at our camp in TN this past summer when a lovely Brazilian mother living in America  told me that singing the native folk music of her home country had been a beautiful, rich way for her kids to connect with their grandparents back home, and improve their accents and vocabulary at the same time.  Singing folk songs connects generations, she told me, and it gave me goosebumps of delight to think about it, it really did, right then and there.  Singing folk songs connects generations. 

 Sing.  Sing together. Sing the  happy songs, the sad songs, the tragic songs, the silly songs, the work songs, the love songs, the ballads and the nonsensical songs.   Sing.

In my opinion, the primary principle for folksongs in a Charlotte Mason education is just that: sing them.  Sing them. This is about participatory, active, personal involvement, not a consumer or spectator activity.  It doesn't matter if you don't like how you sound. Sing anyway.  It doesn't matter if you've never done this before. Sing anyway. There are sound physiological reasons for this- singing increases happy hormones, reduces stress, regulates your breathing.  Research shows that singing together is an activity that improves bonding, strengthens relationships, and just makes people feel more connected to each other- and couldn't we all use more of that in a family? It doesn't take more time, it saves you time, as by taking time to sing fun folk songs together you not only get the benefits that come from the act of singing, you lighten your day, increasing the sense of cooperative, unified spirit as folk singing does will repay you by making the rest of your day go more smoothly.

Hymns also do this, but hymns are not usually pitched in the easy, suitable for children way that folk songs are. They aren't about silly situations, they don't have the seemingly meaningless but rhythmic fol de rol refrains that give children mouth music and play with sounds and syllables and rhyme scheme.  You can play around with folk songs, singing them together as you do chores, go on road trips, sit in the dark during a power outage,  playfully messing about with the lyrics to make them funny, to make them match what you are doing or things that are happening in your lives in ways that might feel irreverent should you try them with hymns. 

I know I've said all this before, but we also have new families who are hearing this for the first time.

Please, give them a fair trial if you haven't already and sing folk songs together.

Creatures in Exile

Creatures in Exile 

Caitlin Beauchamp

Winter was so long, friends. In its damp final days, we jostled against each other in small rooms, aching to be turned loose into sun and wind. At last came an afternoon mild and golden. I sent my children outdoors shoeless, feeling that all our trials were over. And yet even out in the open air the indoor squabbles persisted. Everyone wanted the tricycle; everyone wanted one specific bucket; one child wanted to be alone in the sandpit and the others wouldn’t oblige. Call it desperation or wisdom, but all I could think to do was go to the creek. 

Our creek forms a little greenbelt through the neighborhood. It is narrow and shallow and sometimes nearly runs dry, yet it has carved a quiet gully for itself, sheltered by a scrubby wood. We stepped through an opening in the trees behind the neighborhood playground and began the steep descent into the gully, working our way slowly under low branches and over exposed roots until the little path leveled out and joined the main trail through the woods. We followed this upstream along the bank of the quiet green creek.  Somewhere ahead of us, almost obscured by the undergrowth, a lighter flickered in the hands of a young teenage boy. Pot smoke lingered in his wake. He walked ahead out of sight, and we turned onto an ascending path that carried us to the crest of a little waterfall. Above the fall, the creek bed widens to a shelf of craggy shale; here we settled in. My children scrambled over rocks and roots and splashed in their rainboots through the low, puddling sheet of water, in a world of their own. Already, the peace of the place had descended on them.  

My three small children and I find too many ways to get at odds with each other at home. For one thing, there are so many objects lying around to be scattered and misused. Then there are the burdens created by my expectations and visions. We mothers dream of lovely days, orderly and meaningful, with an aesthetic imbibed, perhaps, from the curated lives of internet strangers. One of my children just recently joined our family through foster care; in the wake of such life change, it becomes clear how impossible these aspirational images truly are. We do not frolic along a pristine riverside, charmingly dressed in linen and accessorized with butterfly nets. We go to the creek in humility and desperate need, and one child is still wearing pajamas. 

But in the simplicity of the creek we find refuge and solace. We have nothing particular to do or see or accomplish. There are rocks and sticks for everyone, few expectations, and plenty of space. There is also plenty of trash; we live in the city, after all, and this creek bears many different kinds of use. Below the waterfall, a permanent island of litter stagnates against the creek bank—fast food packaging, cigarette butts, bottles, beer cans. Still, always at the creek we are ministered to by things plain and true—water, stone, juniper, moss, sun and wind and the quiet passage of time.

The more I learn about the land beneath my overgrown city, the more I ache for it—the felled woods, the golden-brown prairies embroidered with green, shady streams. First came settlers and farmers, then the postwar housing boom raised a crop of little houses, row after row after row. Thank goodness, this creek and bit of woods were left to us. Here, in nests and burrows and shallow pools, a remnant remains of the old wilderness—armadillos, tortoises, hawks, even a few coyotes, caught on home security cameras prowling the neighborhood at night. These are creatures in exile, huddled here along this graffitied creek bank because it’s the closest thing they can find to the wild land they were made for.

I think about the coyotes often. I lost a cat to them once; I wasn’t over-fond of the cat, truthfully, and meanwhile the lurking presence of coyotes in suburbia is invigorating. I wonder if somewhere in their cells they hold ancestral memories of the prairie. I wonder if they feel the burden of their exile. Perhaps this is simple projection of my own longing. It seems to me that some of the solace I find at the creek is in the suggestion of what it was once, when the land was wilder. The creek itself is in exile, in a way—cut off from its sources, polluted, siphoned through drainage pipes where it becomes an inconvenience.

Reader, this is all a parable. It seems to me that we too are creatures in exile, burdened with longing for something lost. We live in an era of change and uncertainty; we feel unmoored from cultural memory. This sense of disconnectedness is the hallmark of modernity, prominent in our culture since the upheaval of the Great War. As mothers and educators we sense it keenly. When we think of the education we wish to give our children, we feel inadequate. Who will show us the way? There is too much we never learned ourselves, too much our communities have forgotten. We feel isolated and uncertain and we grow restless, searching hungrily for resources to bolster us. We accumulate stuff: more philosophies, more curricula, more picturesque manipulatives, more podcasts, more mentors, more activities. Still, our uneasiness and longing remain.

But it’s too pat a conclusion to say that our sense of lostness dates back neatly to the turn of the 20th century. In truth, we have been in exile almost ever since the world began, since the garden gates closed behind our first parents. We were made for a place more whole than anything we’ve known; deep in our souls, we’re always longing for Eden, our first home. Perhaps beneath our restless parenting aspirations and our nagging discontent lies this homesickness, though we seldom think to call it by name. Perhaps in calling it by name, we might find liberty. So: let us confess together that we secretly hope to restore ourselves and our children to Eden by our own heroic efforts. Let us also confess together that this was never possible. 

We stayed at the creek for two hours that afternoon. As the light began to fade, we gathered ourselves up and retraced our path through the trees. “I wish I was a creature so I could sleep here all night,” my daughter said as I lifted her down off the rock ledge where she had been quietly playing. How I wished it too, for I’d begun thinking of what waited for me at home: lunch dishes still on the table, breakfast dishes in the sink unwashed, foster care paperwork to complete, scattered toys, a sofa piled with laundry, the same old behaviors to discipline. It had been the kind of day that makes a mockery of all our brightest aspirations as mothers, homemakers, educators. And yet, our time at the creek gave me fresh courage, because it reminded me that while our children’s needs are profound, they are also simple. They thrive on good stories, rich relationships, hours of water and stones and sunshine.  They do not need our restless quest for the just-right resource, the elaborate system. They need us to learn to abide, to sink roots into a life that is deep and plain and true. 

As I write this, our creek is the scene of an active police chase. A car theft gone wrong, or so says neighborhood gossip, and now the suspect is hiding in the greenbelt somewhere while squad cars and a helicopter circle. Somewhat irrationally, my immediate prayer is that the moss won’t be badly trampled. Our creek isn’t pure, idyllic, or without risk. And yet the wild creatures find refuge there, and the trees spread their trash-tangled roots out along the water, and my children are given exactly what they need. 

Even so, havens of refuge remain for us while we are in exile. There are still deep places to be found, where goodness, truth, and beauty pool like water. These springs are muddied and imperfect, and they will never fully satisfy our longing, but they are full of blessing just the same. Meanwhile, let us not wish away our longing. If it is a burden, it is also a gift, pointing us to the Savior who is Himself the living water. He is making all things new, and He will lead the exiles home. 

~ Caitlin Beauchamp was among the first AmblesideOnline graduates. She is the daughter of AO Advisory board member Lynn Bruce, and was entirely schooled at home with Charlotte Mason methods from K-12th grades. Caitlin holds a BA and an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Texas at Dallas. She lives in Texas with her husband (also homeschooled), their two children, and sometimes a foster child. Caitlin is a writer and poet, and a regular contributor to Afterthoughts blog. Instagram @caitlin.beauchamp.

~ Painting by Sheila Atchley- a momentary glimpse of a work-in-progress, as yet untitled; ink on primed wood, 2019. Used with permission. Discover more of Sheila's art and writing at sheilaatchley.art and on Instagram @sheilaatchleydesigns.