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Jellon Grame

[ Roud 58 / Song Subject MAS1062 ; Child 90 ; G/D 2:198 ; Ballad Index C090 ; DT JELGRAEM ; Mudcat 164335 ; trad.]

Alexander Keith: Last Leaves of Traditional Ballads and Ballad Airs James Kinsley: The Oxford Book of Ballads. Sigrid Rieuwerts: The Ballad Repertoire of Anna Gordon, Mrs Brown of Falkland Sir Walter Scott: Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border

Gavin Greig collected Jellon Graeme from Alexander Robb of New Deer, Aberdeenshire on 25 October 1910 (G/D 2:198), and James Madison Carpenter recorded him twice singing Jellon Graeme in between c.1929 and 1935. This seems to be the song’s only existing field recordings.

Paul Clayton sang Jellon Grame in 1956 on his Riverside album Bloody Ballads. Kenneth S. Goldstein noted:

Very few ballads concern patricide. The classic Scots ballad of Jellon Grame deals not only with patricide, but with another murder as well. And who can blame the young man for killing his father, especially after pater (for no obvious reason) informs the young man of the murder of his mother.

Bob Coltman wrote Red Robber as an update for Jellom Grame. He sang it on his 1976 album Son of Child on which he noted:

Jellon Grame is kind of a monster of the greenwood, a bad Robin Hood, more like what a regulation outlaw should be. I’ve modelled this on Child’s first version; in the other ones May Margerie or May-a-roe has two lovers, which complicates the plot a great deal. In some of the versions there is definitely witchery working: the boy grows up with unnatural speed and learns much too readily for any ordinary sort of child, as if Mama had somehow passed on a curse. But the magic is too low-lying and old and cryptic to be seen clearly.

There are pieces of many ballads in this, a sign that it was composed late, probably in the early part of the 19^th century when people were all hot and excited about ancient relics and antiquities, and songwriters cast about amongst the old dusty bits of ballads to please them. It was a fairly steady ballad market, the customers being largely prosperous folk and particularly gentle young ladies with spinets. As the French say, the more everything changes the more it is the same.

Peggy Seeger sang Jellon Graeme in 1982 on her and Ewan MacColl’s Blackthorne album Blood & Roses Volume 3 They noted:

This is a very rare ballad—since the publication of Child, it has been reported only twice in the oral tradition, once from Scotland and once from Virginia (via North Carolina). My text, from the memory of M.A. Yarber, Mast, N.C., is startlingly like the Child A-text. The B and C texts are notably different in that the maid is slain by Hind Henry, brother to Brown Robin (the father of the child). May Margerie’s sisters come running to the wood, take the infant up and educate him. When he is grown, he meets Hind Henry in the wood and slays him. These latter two texts seem over-complicated and top-heavy with detail. The simpler story remains a grand example of a genre not often found in balladry: that of a grown child killing its parent.

She also sang it in a concert recording from 3 November 1982 on her 1992 Folkways compilation album The Folkways Years 1955-1992: Songs of Love and Politics. She noted:

This is a very rare ballad. Since the publication of Child’s English and Scottish Popular Ballads, it has been, to our knowledge, reported only twice in the oral tradition. This text, from the memory of M.A. Yarber, Mast, N.C., is startlingly like the Child A-text. Child’s other texts seem over-complicated in comparison. The simpler story remains a grand example of a genre not often found in balladry: that of patricide committed by a grown child.

Philadelphia group Broadside Electric sang Jellon Grame on their 1999 album With Teeth. They noted:

A seldom heard ballad, but with a terrific story.

The surviving versions of Jellon Grame (Child #90) are unclear and confused. It is closely related to another ballad, Fause Foodrage (Child #89), and their contents have been mingled and cross-poluted over the centuries. Most of the words used here were extracted from Child. Certain verses have been heavily re-written or newly authored by Jim [Speer] and Melissa [Demian]. Plus, in an attempt to present a more compelling and straightforward story, we’ve re-introduced a handful of additional goodies, taken from cousin-ballads from Denmark and Färöe.

The music we apply here is based on a Bulgarian dance called Dospatsko Horo.

Sara Grey sang Red Robber, a variant of Jellon Grame “adapted by Bob Coltman from diverse elements”, in 2019 on her and her son Kieron Means’ WildGoose album Better Days a Comin. She noted:

This is a rare ballad—few version have been found: one in Scotland and one in the Appalachians. In this reworking of the ballad Coltman gets rid of all the complicated versions—with witchcraft—with sisters of the dead woman educating the child. The ballad is made up of other ballads indicating it’s probably not that old, maybe 19^th century.

Lyrics

Alexander Robb sings Jellon Graeme

Jellon Graeme sat i’ good green’oods
An’ sharped his broad sword lang,
An’ he called on his young footpage
Wha quickly tee him ran.

“Get up, get up, my young footpage,
As fast as e’er ye can,
For ye maun gang tee Lily Flooer
Ere the sun be on the reign.

“Ye maun gae tee Lily Flooer
Ere the sun be on the reign,
An’ ye maun tell tee Lily Flooer
Ti speak wi Jellon Graeme.”

Fan he came tee Lily Floor,
Fan there first drew his rein,
Says, "“Sleep ye, wak ye, Lily Flooer?
The red sun’s on the reign.

“An’ ye maun gang tee good green’oods
Ti speak wi Jellon Graeme;
An’ ye maun gang tee good green’oods,
Bet I fear ye’ll never win hame.”

It’s fan she came tee good green’oods,
She lichted at a tree,
Says, “Spare my life, now Jellon Graeme!
I’m nae prepared ti dee.”

Peggy Seeger sings Jellon Graeme

Jellon Graeme sat in the wood
He whistled and he sang;
He called for his servant boy
Who quickly to him ran.

“Hurry up, hurry up, my pretty little boy,
As fast as ever you can.
You must run for Rosy Flower
Before the day is gone.”

The boy buckled on his yellow belt
And through the woods he sang,
Ran till he come to the lady’s window
Before the day was gone.

“Are you awake, little Rosy Flower?
The blood runs cold as rain.”
“I was asleep but now I’m awake,
Who’s that that calls my name?”

“You must go to the Silver Wood
Though you never come back again.
You must go to the Silver Wood
To speak with Jellon Graeme.”

“I will go to the Silver Wood
Though I never come back again.
The man I most desire to see
Is my love, Jellon Graeme.”

She had not rid about two long mile,
It were not more than three;
Till she come to a new-dug grave
Beneath that white oak tree.

Out and sprang young Jellon Graeme
From out of the woods nearby.
“Get down, get down, you Rosy Flower,
It’s here that you will die.”

She jumped down from off her horse
Then down upon her knee.
“Pity on me, dear Jellon Graeme,
I’m not prepared to die!
Wait until our babe is born
And then you can let me lie.”

“If I should spare your life,” he said,
“Until our babe is born,
I know your pa and all your kin
Would hang me in the morn.

“Pity on me, dear Jellon Graeme,
My pa you need not dread;
I’ll bear my baby in the Silver Wood
And go and beg my bread.”

No pity, no pity for Rosy Flower,
On her knees she pray;
He stabbed her deep with the silver steel
And at his feet she lay.

No pity, no pity for Rosy Flower,
She was a-lying dead.
But pity he had for his little young son
A-smothering in her blood.

He’s torn the baby out of the womb,
Washed him in water and blood;
Named him after a robber man
He called him Robin Hood.

Then he took him to his house,
And set him on a nurse’s knee;
He growed as much in the one-year-time
As other ones do in three.

Then he took him to read and write
And for to learn how to thrive,
He learned as much in the one-year-time
As other ones do in five.

“But I wonder now,” said little Robin,
“If a woman did bear me;
Many a mother do come for the rest
But never one come for me.”

It fell out in the summertime
When they was a-hunting game,
They stopped to rest in the Silver Wood,
Him and Jellon Graeme.

“I wonder now,” said little Robin,
“Why my mammy don’t come for me?
To keep me hid in the Silver Wood,
I calls it a cruelty.

“But I wonder now,” said little Robin,
“If the truth would ever be known?
Why all this woods as a-growing green
And under that tree there’s none?”

“You wonder now,” said Jellon Graeme,
“Why your mammy don’t come for thee;
Lo, there’s the place I laid her low
Right under that white oak tree.”

The little boy chose him an arrow
Was both keen and sharp,
Laid his cheek all along his bow
And pierced his father’s heart.

“Lie there, lie there, you Jellon Graeme,
The grave you never will see;
The place where lies my mammy dear
Is far too good for thee.”

“I should have torn you out of the womb
And thrown you upon a thorn!
Let the wind blow east and the wind blow west
And left you to die alone.”

Broadside Electric sing Jellon Grame

Word has come to May Margaret
To her garden where she sat:
“You are bidden come to good Green-Wood
And speak with Jellon Grame.”

“Go saddle my horseback,” she said,
“As quick as e’er you may,
And I will ride to good Green-Wood,
It is a pleasant day.”

She had not ridden a mile, a mile
A mile but barely three
When she came to a new made grave
beneath a green oak tree

Up then started Jellon Grame
Out of a bush nearby
“Light down, light down now May Margaret
For in this grave you’ll lie.”

She lighted off her milk-white steed
and knelt upon her knee
“Oh mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame,
I’m not prepared to die.”

“Your babe that stirs between my sides
Will shortly see the light
To see it lying in my blood
would be a piteous sight.”

It’s out he drew a long, long sword
And a struggle did ensue
But quickly through that lady’s sides
He’s struck her through and through

O with her last dying breath
That scoundrel she did curse:
“The baby stirring in my sides
Shall be more mine than yours.”

Then up spoke cruel Jellon Grame,
“Your curse I shall not heed,
For though you fed our daughter blood,
I’ll feed her milk and meat.”

He felt no pity for that lady
Though she was lying dead
But he felt some for the bonny girl
Lying in her mother’s blood

He’s taken up that bonny girl
and given her nurses nine
Three to wake and three to sleep
and three for in between

So strange a thing about this girl
And the way in which she grew
She reached the age of twenty years
While others aged but two

So soon it was that bonny girl
Became a hunting maid
She learned her art from Jellon Grame
And never left his side

One day it fell upon a time
As a-hunting they did go
They rested them in good Green-Wood
It was a pleasant day

Then out did speak that bonny girl
While a tear stood in her eye
“O tell me this now, Jellon Grame,
and I pray you will not lie,

“Why is it that my mother dear
does never take me home?
To keep me still in banishment
is both a sin and shame.”

“You wonder why your mother dear
does never send for thee
Lo, there’s the place I slew your mother
beneath that green oak tree.”

With that the girl has bent her bow
It was both stout and long
And though and through this Jellon Grame
She’s made an arrow go.

“Lie you there, oh father dear
My mother’s curse to rue
The place that she lies buried in
Is far too good for you.”