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Jock o’ the Side

[ Roud 82 / Song Subject MAS1074 ; Child 187 ; Ballad Index C187 ; Folkinfo 410 ; DT JOCKSIDE ; trad.]

J. Collingwood Bruce, John Stokoe: Northumbrian Minstrelsy James Kinsley: The Oxford Book of Ballads Sir Walter Scott: Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border John Stokoe: Songs and Ballads of Northern England

Ewan MacColl sang Jock o’ the Side in 1982 on his and Peggy Seeger’s Blackthorne album Blood & Roses Volume 1. They noted:

John of the Side is one of the names given in a list of marauders against whom complaint was made to the Bishop of Carlisle “presumably after” Queen Mary Stuart’s departure for France; not far, therefore, from 1550. It almost certainly refers to “John Armstrong of the Syde”.

The Armstrongs were an important family in Liddesdale from the middle of the 14^th century onwards. “By the middle of the 16^th century they had become the most important sept, as to numbers, in that region, not only extending themselves over a large part of the Debateable Land but spreading into Eskdale, Ewesdale, Wauchopedale and Annandale. The Earl of Northumberland, in 1528, puts the power of the Armstrongs with their adherents at about three thousand horsemen.” (Child)

Their frequent forays against their more respectable neighbours are the subject of several stirring ballads, two of which, Kinmont Willie (Child 186) and Archie o’ Cawfield (Child 188) are, to all intents and purposes, repetitions of the story of Jock o’ the Side. Child was enthusiastic about the ballad, describing it as “one of the best in the world, and enough to make a horse-trooper of any young borderer, had he lacked the impulse”.

Gordon Mooney played the tune of Jock o’ the Side on his 1998 album of music of the Scottish Borders played on the cauld wind pipes, O’er the Border.

Andrew Calhoun sang Jock o the Side on his 2016 album of ballads of the Anglo-Scottish border, Rhymer’s Tower. He noted:

Collated from eleven versions including a parallel ballad, Archie o’ Cawfield, Jock is a jailbreak ballad circa 1575. The Side [is] an area on the Liddell Water.

Lyrics

Ewan MacColl sings Jock o’ the Side

Now Liddesdale has ridden a raid
He’d hae done better to bide at hame;
For Michael o’ Whinfield he is deid
And Jock o’ the Side is prisoner ta’en.

His mither’s awa’ by the waterside,
She’s kilted her kirtle abune her knee,
And when she cam’ tae Mangerton
The tears were rinnin’ doon frae her e’e.

“Whit news, whit news?” the Laird he cried,
“O, whit’s the news ye’ve brocht tae me?”
“The news is ill, my brither dear,
For Michael is deid end they’ve ta’en my Johnny.”

“O never ye fear, ray sister dear,
For I hae cows and ewes fu’ mony;
My barns and byres are a’ weel-filled
And I’ll gie them a’ to save our Johnnie.

“There’s three o’ my men will ride the nicht,
A’ harnessed wi’ Toledo steel;
The English dogs’ll rue the day,
They’ll aye remember our Johnnie weel.

“The Laird’s Jock, ane, and the Laird’s Wat, twa,
And Hobbie Noble the third will be;
Thy coat is blue but ye hae been true
Since England banished thee to me.

“Noo, Jock, my man, hear whit I say.
Ye’ll shod your horses wrang way roond;
And it’s no’ like gentry ye will ride,
But gang like beggars upon the ground.

“Ye will nae show your Spanish blades,
But cover them a’ wi’ beggin’ weeds,
And ye will gang like country loons
And ride bare-backed upon your steeds.”

And when they cam’ tae Newcastle toon,
Jock cried: “The gates we maun ding doon”
But the porter stood on the wall sae high
And cried, “Ye canna come in the toon.”

Jock’s lowpit doon frae his horse’s back
And wrung the keeper’s neck in twa;
They’ve ta’en his life and they’ve ta’en his keys
And cast his body ahint the wa’.

And when they cam’ to Newcastle gaol
Unto the prisoner they did ca’:
“Sleep ye or wake ye, Jock o’ the Side?
We’ve come to fetch ye ower the wa’.”

“O, wha is it there that speaks sae big
To Jock o’ the Side, wha lies in chains?
I sleep saft and I wake aft
And I doubt that I’ll ever be free again.

“Fifteen stane o’ iron chains
And bolted bars they’ve laid on me;
Though a’ Liddesdale were here the nicht
I fear they never could set me free.”

“O, haud your tongue noo, Jock o’ the Side,
We need nae mair but just us three;
Ye work within and w e’ll work without,
For we hae promised to set ye free.”

The firstan door that they cam’ tae,
They opened the lock without the key;
And Hobbie he kicked the next door doon, Says,
“Come awa’, Jock, it’s time to leave.”

The Laird’s Jock broke the iron bands,
And Jock o’ the Side on his back he’s tae’en.
And he’s gane lowpin’ doon the stairs
Wi’ Jock o’ the Side and the iron chain.

Noo, Hobbie he said tae the Laird’s ain Jock,
“Some o’ the weight ye may lay on me.”
“Ye needna bother yoursel’,” said Jock,
“I count him as licht as a bumblebee.”

Then oot o’ Newcastle they a’ did ride,
Jock o’ the Side and his kinsmen three;
And they’re awa’ through the broken yetts
Rantin’ and singin’ sae wantonly.

“O Jock, ye ride sae winsomely,
Wi’ baith o’ your feet hingin’ on ae side;
Your chains they ring like weddin’ bells,
O Jock, my man, you’re a bonnie bride.”

And when they cam’ tae the riverside
The water o’ Tyne ran like the sea;
And the Laird’s saft Wat, he roared and gnat,
“We’ll a’ be drooned and I’m feared to dee.”

“Come fire or flood,” says the Laird’s ain Jock,
“There’s nae man dees afore his time.”
And he’s led them into the roarin’ flood,
And they hae crossed the water o’ Tyne.

They scarce had won to the northern side
When they heard the cries o’ men behind;
And they mocked and fleered at the English loons
Wha daurna cross the water o’ Tyne.

The sergeant o’ the English troop,
Says, “Tak’ your man, let him gang free;
Tak’ your man to Liddesdale,
But leave his fetters, I pray, to me.”

“C’wa’ wi’ that!” says the Laird’s ain Jock,
“Shoon for my guid grey mare they’ll be.
She carried them ower the water o’ Tyne
And I’m sure she’s bought them dear fae thee.”

Then they hae rid to Liddesdale,
Just as fast as they could ride;
And when they cam’ to Liddesdale
They cast the chains frae Jock o’ the Side.

They filled a bowl wi’ the guid red wine,
And after that they filled anither;
And aye the toasts birled roond and roond
Just as if they had been brither and brither.

Andrew Calhoun sings Jock o the Side

Liddisdale has ridden a raid
But they’d have better stayed at home,
For Peter o Whitfield he is slain,
And Jock o the Side is in prison bound.

Chorus (after each verse):
Wi my fa ding diddle, lal low dow diddle

Sybil is down the water gone,
With all of her skirts up in her arms
She never gave over swift running
Until she came to Mangerton.

“What news what news, my sister dear?”
Said the laird was just to meat set down;
“Peter o Whitfield he is dead
And my son Jock is in prison bound.”

“Never fear sister Sybil,” says he,
“For I’ve yokes of oxen eighty and three,
I’ve droves of cattle and troops of sheep,
I’d give them all for to save your Johnie.”

Up then spoke out Hobie Noble,
An English outlaw tried and true
Says, “Give me five good riding men
And I’ll fetch Jock o the Side to you.

“We’ll stuff up all our bags with straw,
And our horses they must go unshod.
We will not ride like men o war,
But go like pedlars on the road.”

Hobbie has mounted his good grey mare,
With Willie on his bay behind,
With the Laird’s Wat and the Laird’s Jock,
And Michael and Mudge for the water o Tyne.

But when they came to Cullerton ford,
The water was up, they could not go;
And then they spied a good old man,
His boy and he were at the plough.

“O I have dwelt here three score year,
The Tyne it runs here like the sea;
I never saw man nor horse go o’er,
Except it were a horse o tree.”

Says Mudge the Miller, “We’d best turn back.”
But Hobbie says, “Mudge, now that won’t do!”
And on they rode till they found a ford
They might ride over two by two.

Then they came into Swinburne wood,
And there then they felled a tree,
With twenty snags cut on each side
The length was thirty foot and three.

The six of them took up the plank,
As light as it had been a flea,
And carried it to New Castle jail,
And climbed the wall up by the tree.

The Laird’s Wat he broke a door,
And the Laird’s Jock he broke three
Until they came up to the room,
Where Jock was praying so mournfully.

“God bless thee, Sybil o the Side!
My own mother so dear,” said he;
“If ye knew this night that I was here,
A woeful woman you would be.

“And fare thee well, Laird Mangerton!
And ever I say God be with thee!
For if ye knew that I was here,
Ye’d sell your land for to borrow me.”

“But who is this, at stroke o twelve,
That knows and calls my name to me?”
“I am a bastard-brother of thine;
This night we’ve come for to set you free.”

But Jock o the Side says, “Go away brothers,
Or ye’ll be taken as well as me
There’s fifteen stone of Spanish iron
Laid on me fast with lock and key.”

“Never fear!” said the Laird’s Jock,
“We’ll work without, ye’ll work within,”
And six of them tried the iron door,
But there’s none alive could break it in.

“It fears me sore,” said Mudge the Miller,
“The time is past for us to flee;”
“Fie on thee, Mudge!” then said Hobie,
“For I fear a man ye never shall be.”

Hobie had Flanders files three,
And he filed the lock of that iron door,
Took Jock in chains upon his back,
Says, “See that you never come here no more!”

Down the tollbooth stair came they
And then they all made haste to ride,
They tied Jock up on Willie’s bay
For he could neither sit nor stride.

Then Hobie how he smiled and laughed,
Says Jock, “How winsomely ye ride,
With both your feet upon one side,
In troth ye sit just like a bride.”

And when they came into Swinburne wood,
Hobie had Flanders files three
To file Jock’s bolts from off his feet,
That he might ride more easily.

Then Michael looked o’er his left shoulder
“To horse, to horse now, lads,” cried he;
“For yonder comes the lord lieutenant
With twenty men in his company.”

And there was horsing then in haste,
And cracking of whips out o’er the lea,
But when they came to Tyne water
It now was rumbling like the sea.

Up then spoke poor Mudge the Miller,
“I’ll bless ye all and say goodbye
My horse is limping, he will not swim
I’d rather be taken here than die.”

“Fie on thee, Mudge,” then says Hobie,
“It’s only the fearful that must die
I’ll take thy horse, thou take my mare,
And the Devil drown my mare and thee.”

Now the water they all have taken,
By ones and twos they all swam free;
When they stood on the other side
They wrung their clothes right drunkenly.

“Come through the water, now Lord Lieutenant,
Come through and drink some wine with me,
There is an alehouse not far off,
It will not cost ye one penny.”

“O now let all your taunting be
For I think ye are some witch’s son,
There’s not a man in the king’s army
That would have tried what you have done.”

“Well then if ye be gone with the rogue,
Pray throw the irons across to me”
“We’ll keep them to shoe our horses true,
They’ve bought them all full dear from thee.”

The seven are up again on horse,
To Liddisdale fast as they could ride,
Upon the morn he was to die,
Jock danced a turn by the fireside.

The Laird says, “Bless ye, Hobie Noble,
A bowl for all the loyal men!
Ye’ve fetched us home good Jock o the Side,
We thought we never would see again.”

And then they drank a bowl of punch
And after that they filled another
If they don’t give o’er, they’re drinkin’ yet,
Just as they had been brother and brother.