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Child Maurice / Child Morris / Gil Morice / Bill Norrie

[ Roud 53 ; Child 83 ; G/D 2:214 ; Ballad Index C083 ; DT BILLNORR , GILMORIS ; Mudcat 4949 , 63916 ; trad.]

Alexander Keith: Last Leaves of Traditional Ballads and Ballad Airs James Kinsley: The Oxford Book of Ballads

I like the suspense in this tragic ballad as the jealous husband kills his lady’s suspected lover only to find out in the end that he is her son.

Martha Stewart of Blairgowrie sang Child Norris to Hamish Henderson in 1956 (School of Scottish Studies SA1956/126(A4)) This tracks was included in 2006 on the Kyloe anthology Hamish Henderson Collects Volume 2. Mike Yates noted:

Child Norris sends a messenger to Lord Barnard’s wife, with a message that they should meet in the Greenwood. Lord Barnard intercepts the message and, disguised as Child Norris’s mother, surprises Child Norris and kills him with his sword. In Martha Stewart’s short fragment we only hear the start of the ballad, where Child Norris sends his servant, Willie, off with his message. According to Gavin Greig, who collected several sets of the ballad, “Gill Morice is a popular ballad, and a great chapbook favourite”. It is, of course, clearly related to another of Professor Child’s ballads, Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard (Roud 52, Child 81), and Martha’s final verse can also be found in some versions of Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard. Professor Child’s earliest reference to the ballad dates to 1755. The following year the ballad’s story formed the basis for a play, titled Douglas, which was written by the Rev. John Home and produced in Edinburgh in 1756, and Child felt that the play was probably responsible for the ballad’s subsequent popularity. Martha Stewart told Hamish Henderson that she had first heard the ballad sung by her brother-in-law, James Whyte of Aberdeen. Was James, I wonder, the same man as Jimmy Whyte who sings The Swan Swims so Bonnie O on this CD? A musical transcription of Martha Stewart’s ballad may be found in volume 4 of The Traditional Tunes of the Child Ballads by Bertrand Harris Bronson (Princeton University Press. 1972. p. 476), together with a note pointing out the similarity of the tune with that used for another ballad, Sir James the Rose (Roud 2274. Child 213). There is also a cylinder recording of this ballad in the James Carpenter collection (Gil Morrice sung by Peter Christie of Stonehaven c.1929-35). As yet, this remains unpublished.

Ewan MacColl sang as Gil Morice in 1956 on Volume III of his and A.L. Lloyd’s eight-record anthology on the Riverside label, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads (The Child Ballads). This song and 28 other from this series were reissued in 2009 on his Topic double CD set Ballads: Murder·Intrigue·Love·Discord. Kenneth S. Goldstein noted:

In the 18^th century, this classic tragic ballad excited more interest than had any other of the many ancient ballads preserved from tradition in Scotland. No doubt this was due not only to its merits as an exquisite piece of poetry, but because it furnished the plot for John Home’s very popular tragedy of Douglas (1756). The ballad had been printed in Glasgow in 1755 and had wide distribution; after Home’s play, the ballad came into greater vogue than previously, and it is probable that the sophisticated printed copy passed into tradition and infected those which were repeated from earlier tradition. Indeed, an old women told Motherwell that she had learned Chield Morice in her infancy from her grandmother, but at a later period of her life she committed to memory Gil Morice (probably from the printed copy) “which began, with young lasses like her, to be a greater favourite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and old folks used to sing”. It is interesting to note that Greig collected a version in this century that had been learned around 1850 and which closely reproduced the printed Glasgow text of a century earlier, indicating rather strongly that the printed copy definitely took hold in tradition.

At the present time. the ballad may well be extinct in tradition. The last version reported was a fragmentary recited text collected in Newfoundland in 1920. The version sung by MacColl was learned from Greig and Keith [Last Leaves of Traditional Ballads and Ballad Airs].

Ewan MacColl also sang Child Maurice in 1982 on his and Peggy Seeger’s album Blood & Roses Volume 2. He noted:

The earliest printed copies of Child Maurice belong to the mid-1700’s, though it was probably in oral circulation at an earlier date. It provided the basis for Home’s tragedy The Douglas, produced in Edinburgh in 1756 and, in its turn, the play seems to have crested a vogue for the ballad. The version given here is a more recent and—dare we say it?—superior composition.

In our ballad the argument between Gil Morice and his footpage has been developed in such a way as to give an extra dimension to the ballad. The footpage has ceased to be a mere lay figure; he is now a fully filled-out character, a hot-tempered young man whose advice has been ignored and whose loyalty to his master has been turned into flaming resentment. In other ways too, the ballad is a rewarding one, full of incident, interesting dialogue and memorable lines of poetry, as “I since was fu’ o’ Gil Morice as hip is o’ the stane”: surely one of the most potent metaphors for pregnancy in all literature.

Liz Dyer sang Childe Maurice in 1974 on Andrew Cronshaw’s Transatlantic album A Is for Andrew, Z Is for Zither. Andrew Cronshaw noted:

Liz collated two versions of the text from 19^th century ballad books and here sings them to a tune based on a combination of two tunes I’ve been trying to use for some time. One of these is the melody Hedy West sings to the fragmentary incest ballad Fair Rosamund, the other being derived from a tune for The Cruel Captain.

The story of Childe Maurice was used by Home as the basis for his tragedy "Douglas. first staged in Edinburgh in 1756.

Martin Carthy sang Bill Norrie in 1988 on his Topic album Right of Passage; it was re-released in 1993 on both of his anthologies Rigs of the Time and The Collection. He also sang it in December 2004 live at Ruskin Mill and live in studio in July 2006 for the DVD Guitar Maestros. Martin Carthy noted on the original recording:

That the world is full of walking emotional time bombs will come as no news, nor should it be surprising that people have sung about it for a long time. Neither Bill Norrie nor the unnamed woman in the song have told another nearest or dearest the true nature of their relationship and the countdown starts at once.

This video shows Martin Carthy at the Soundpost Full English Weekend in October 2015:

Damien Barber learned Bill Norrie from Martin Carthy’s album and recorded it for his 2000 album, The Furrowed Field.

John Spiers and Jon Boden sang this ballad as Child Morris in 2005 on their CD Songs, and Jon Boden sang it as the 29 July 2010 entry of his project A Folk Song a Day. They noted:

Or Gil Maurice—once a very well known ballad in Scotland inspiring tawdry dramatic adaptions and cropping up all over the place in various ballad versions. Our text is based on a version collected from Banffshire in 1826 from “Widow Michael, a very old woman.”

This video of Spiers & Boden singing Child Morris was uploaded to YouTube in November 2006:

Lucy Ward sang Bill Norrie on her 2018 album Pretty Warnings.

Piers Cawley sang Bill Norrie on his 2020 download album Isolation Sessions #2. He noted:

Sat in the Cumberland Arms at the top of Byker Bank in Newcastle in the singing session that the Witches of Elswick used to run, I heard Fay Hield sing Bill Norrie and it blew me away. I had to learn it. Listen to it once and you’ll understand why.

You think it’s just going to be a jolly(ish) song about a little light adultery and then it zigs and zags like a lightning bolt and hits you right between the eyes. It also has what must be the worst ever attempt at an apology from the husband.

I believe Fay had it from Damien Barber, who had it from Martin Carthy, who no doubt pulled it from a dusty old manuscript in the bowels of Cecil Sharp House and turned it into the magnificent beast we have today. It’s just what he does.

Alasdair Roberts sang Bob Norris on his 2023 album Grief in the Kitchen and Mirth in the Hall. He noted:

My version of this ballad derives ultimately from Mary Macqueen of Lochwinnoch, whose extensive ballad repertoire was noted down in the early 19^th century and first printed around 1825 by Andrew Crawfurd (also of Lochwinnoch). I learnt it from a recording of Stirling-based singer Jo Miller, who has done thorough research on Mary Macqueen and her ballads.

Lyrics

Liz Dyer sings Childe Maurice

Childe Maurice was a fine young man
He rode the woods about.
He hunted all in the forest green
To take the hind and hart
He’s called unto his little page
“O do you see what I do see?
Yonder I see the very first
That ever gave her love to me.

“Here is a ring, a ring,” he said,
“Set with an emerald stone.
Tell her to come to the Silverwood
And ask the leave of none..”
“Well do I love you my master dear,
But better do love my life.
Wouldst have me go to John Steward’s hall
And tryst away his lawful wife?”

“O don’t I give you meat,” he said,
“And don’t I give you fee?
And ye shall rue and sorely rue
If ye’ll not heed to me.”
One little while this boy he rode,
Another while he stooped and ran,
Until he came to John Steward’s hall
And at the bell he loudly rang.

“O I am come at my master’s word
And that right speedily,
Childe Maurice greets thee very well
And this l bring to thee.
It is a ring and a ring, ladye,
A ring set with a precious stone
And ye are bid to the Silverwood
And tell it not to anyone.”

And with him manservant he took none.

He’s dressed himself in his lady’s gown,
A wimple o’er his face,
And he’s away to the Silverwood
So well he knew that place.
And when he came to the Silverwood,
Among the leaves so fresh and fair,
Childe Maurice sat all on a stone,
A-combing down his yellow hair.

Then he climbed into a tree,
He whistled and he sand.
“And woe is me” Childe Maurice sighed,
“My mother tarries long.”
John Steward had a sharp, sharp sword
That hung down low all by his knee
And he’s cut off Childe Maurice head
And left his body all in the tree.

He’s took the head all on his sword
And rode back to the hall,
He threw the head in his lady’s lap
Says: “Lady here’s a ball.
And can’st thou know Childe Maurice Head
Now that his heart be gone from thee?
So wrap it soft and kiss it oft,
For thou hast loved him far more than me.”

She’s took the head into her hands
And answer thus made she:
“I never bore a child but one
And thou hast slain him trulye.
I bore him in my father’s house,
To me it was my sin and shame.
I raised him in the good green wood
Under the dew and the pleasant rain.”

“Cursed be my servants,” John Steward cried,
“That I gave meat and cloth,
And could they not have holden me,
When I was in my wrath.
For I have slain a courteous knight
And wronged my own and my true ladye.
Had you but told me be was your son
He never had been slain by me.”

Ewan MacColl sings Child Maurice (Gil Morice)

Gil Morice was an earl’s son
His name it waxed wide,
It wasnae for his great riches
Nor for his muckle pride.

His face was fair, lang was his hair
In the wild wood where he stayed,
But his fame was by a lady fair
That lived on Carronside.

Whaur will I get a bonnie boy
That will win hose and shoon,
That will gang to Lord Bernard’s ha’
And bid his lady come?

O, ye maun rin for me, Willie,
And ye maun rin for pride;
When other boys rin on their feet,
On horseback ye shall ride.

O no, O no, my maister dear,
I daurnae for my life;
I’ll no’ gang to the bauld baron’s
For to tryst forth his wife.

My boy Willie and my dear Willie
And my bird Willie, he said,
How can ye strive against the stream
For I shall be obeyed.

O no, O no, my master dear.
In greenwood you’re your lane
Gie ower sic thochts I would ye pray
For fear that ye be slain.

Haste haste, I say, gang tae the ha’
And bid her come wi’ speed;
Gin ye refuse my high command
I’ll gar your body bleed.

You’ll bid her tak’ this gay mantle,
It’s a’ gowd but the hem,
And bid her come to the greenwood
E’en by hersel’ alane.

Ah, there it is, the silken sark,
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve,
Bid her come to the greenwood
Speir nae bauld baron’s leave.

Noo, since I maun your errand rin
Sair, sair against my will;
I’ll mak’ a vow and keep it true,
It shall be done for ill.

The baron he’s a man o’ micht,
And ne’er could bide a taunt;
And ye shall see before it’s nicht
Hoo sma’ ye hae to vaunt.

When he cam’ to the broken brig
He bent his bow and swam,
And when he cam’ to grass growin’
Set doon his foot and ran.

And when he cam’ to the castle wa’
He would neither chap nor ca’;
He set his bent bow to his breist
And lichtly leapt the wa’.

He would tell no man his errand
Though twa stood at the gate.
But straight into the ha’ he cam’
Whaur great folk sat at meat.

O hail, ye michty sir and dame.
My message winna wait;
Dame, ye maun to the greenwood gang
Before that it be late.

You’re bidden tak’ this gay mantle
It’s a’ gowd but the hem;
And ye maun gang to the greenwood
E’en by yoursel’ alane.

Ah, here it is, a silken sark,
Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;
Ye maun speak wi’ Gil Morice,
Speir nae bauld baron’s leave.

The lady stampit wi’ her foot
And winkit wi’ her e’e;
But for a’ that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wouldnae be.

For a’ that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wouldnae be,
It’s surely to ane o’ my bower maidens,
It ne’er could be to me.

Then oot and spak the auld nurse,
The bairn upon her knee;
If it be come fae Gil Morice,
It’s dearly welcome to me.

Ye lee, ye lee, ye filthy nurse,
Sae loud’s I hear ye lee;
I brocht it tae Lord Bernard’s lady,
I trow ye be nae she.

Then oot and spak the bauld baron
And an angry man was he;
He kicked the table wi’ his foot,
In flinders gart it flee.

Gae fetch a robe o’ yon clothing
That hings upon the pin;
And I will to the greenwood gang
And speak wi’ your leman.

O bide at hame, my ain dear lord,
I warn ye, bide at hame!
Nor wyte a man wi’ violence
That ne’er to you did nane.

Gil Morice sits in the greenwood
He whistled and he sang;
O what means a’ these folk coming?
My mither tarries lang.

When the baron cam’ to the greenwood
Wi’ muckle dule and care,
There he saw brave Gil Morice
A-kaimin’ his yellow hair.

No wonder, noo, Gil Morice brave,
My lady lo’es ye weel;
For the fairest part of my body
Is blacker than your heel.

Yet ne’ertheless, Gil Morice brave,
For a’ thy great beauty;
Ye’ll rue the day that ye were born,
That heid shall gang wi’ me.

Then he has ta’en his trusty brand
And slait it on the strae;
And through Gil Morice’ fair body
He gart cauld iron gae.

Then he has ta’en Gil Morice’ heid
And set it upon a spear,
And the meanest man in a’ his train
He had the heid to bear.

Then he has ta’en Gil Morice up
And laid him across his steed.
And ta’en him to his painted bower
And laid him on a bed.

The lady sits at the castle wa’,
Beheld baith dale and doon;
And there she saw Gil Morice’ heid
Come trailin’ through the toon.

Far more I lo’e that bloody heid
But an’ that bloody hair,
Than Lord Bernard and a’ his lands
As they lie here and there.

Then she has ta’en Gil Morice up
And kissed baith mouth and chin;
I aince was fu’ o’ Gil Morice
As hip is o’ the stane.

I got thee in my faither’s ha’
Wi’ muckle grief and shame,
And brocht ye up in the greenwood
Under the heavy rain.

Oft hae I by thy cradle sat
And watched thee soundly sleep;
Noo I maun gang about thy grave
The saut tears for to weep.

Then she has kissed his bloody cheek
Syne and his bloody chin.
Better I lo’e my Gil Morice
Than a’ my kith and kin.

Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman
And an ill deith may ye dee;
Gin I had kent he was your son
He’d ne’er been slain by me.

Upbraid me no’. Lord Bernard,
O upbraid me no’, for shame!
Wi’ that same sword noo pierce my heart
And put me out o’ pain.

Since naething but Gil Morice’ heid
Your jealous rage could quell,
Wi’ that same hand noo tak’ her life
That ne’er to you did ill.

Enough o’ blood by me’s been spilt,
Seek no’ your deith fae me,
I’d rather it had been mysel’
Than either him or thee.

Wi’ wae, sae sair I hear your plaint
Sair, sair, I rue the deed
That e’er this cursed hand o’ mine
Did gar his body bleed.

But dry your tears noo, winsome dame,
Ye cannae heal his wound;
Ye saw his heid upon my spear.
His heart’s blood on the ground.

I curse the hand that did the deed,
The heart that thocht the ill,
The feet that bore me wi’ sic speed
The comely youth to kill.

I’ll aye lament Gil Morice
As though he were my ain;
I’ll never forget the dreary day
On which the youth was slain.

Martin Carthy sings Bill Norrie

Young Bill Norrie’s a fine lad and he lives like the wind,
Eyes shine like the silver or gold in morning sun.

“O friend John, and dear John, and do you see what I see?
Yonder stand the first woman that ever loved me.”

“And here’s a glove, a glove John, it’s lined with the silver grey,
Give it to her and tell her to come to her young Billy.”

“And here is a ring, a ring John, it’s all gold but the stone,
Give it to her and tell her to ask for leave of none.”

“O friend Billy, dear Billy, you know my love for thee,
I’ll not go to nobody to steal their wife away.”

“O Friend John, dear John, swim not against the tide,
Be with me in the stream John for I will be obeyed.”

John ran down to the high house and he rang low at the door,
Who was there but this woman to let young Johnny in.

“Here is a glove, a glove lady, lined with silver grey,
Bids you come to greenwood to meet your young Billy.”

“And here is a ring, a ring lady, all gold but the stone,
Bids you come to greenwood and ask for leave of none.”

Husband stood in the shadow and an angry man was he,
“I never thought the man lived my love loved more than me.”

So he’s gone down to her room and he dressed in her array
Like some woman he’s gone down to find this young Billy.”

Young Billy sat in the greenwood and he whistled and he sang,
Yonder come the woman that I have loved so long.”

Billy ran down and down there to meet her where she came,
O the sight that he saw his heart grew still as stone.

Billy ran down and down there to help her from the horse,
“O and oh,” he cries out, “Woman was never so gross.”

Husband he had a long knife, it hung down his knee,
He took the head of young Billy and off his fair body.

And he’s run home and home there and down into his hall,
Tossed Billy’s head to her, crying, “Lady catch the ball.”

And she’s taken up the head there, she kissed it cheek and chin,
“I love better this head than all my kith and kin.”

And she’s taken up the head there, she hugged it to her womb,
“Once I was full of this boy as the plum is of the stone.

And when I was in my dad’s house and my virginity,
A young man come to my room and we got young Billy.

And I’ve loved him in my room in secrecy and shame,
I loved him in the greenwood all out in wind and rain.

And I will kiss his sweet head and I will kiss his chin,
I will vow and stay true and I’ll ne’er kiss man again.”

And up and spoke the husband and a sad sad man was he,
“If I had known he was your son he would not be killed by me,
If I had known he was your son he would not’ve been killed by me.”

Spiers & Boden sings Child Morris

Child Morris stood in the good greenwood, with red gold shined his weed,
By him stood a little page boy dressing a milk-white steed.
“I fear for you my master, for your fame it waxes wide.
It is not for your rich-rich gold nor for your mickle pride,
But all is for another Lord’s lady that lives on the Ithan side.”

“O here’s to you my bonny wee boy that I pay meat and fee,
Run you an errand to the Ithan side and run straight home to me.”
“If you make me this errand run it’s all against my will,
If you make me this errand run I shall do your errand ill.”
“But I fear no ill of you bonny boy, I fear no ill of you,
I fear no ill of my bonny boy, for a good bonny boy are you!”

“Take you here this green mantle, It’s all lined with the fleece,
Bid her come to the good greenwood for to talk to Child Morris.
And take you here this shirt of silk, her own hand sewed the sleeve,
Bid her come to the good greenwood and ask not Bernard’s leave.”

But when he got to the castle wall they were playing at the ball,
Four and twenty ladies gay looked over the castle wall.
“God make you safe, you ladies all, God make you safe and sure,
But Bernard’s lady among you all, my errand is to her.

“O take you here this green mantle, it’s all lined with the fleece.
Come you down to the good greenwood for to talk to Child Morris.
Take you here this shirt of silk, your own hand sewed the sleeve.
Come you down to the good greenwood and ask not Bernard’s leave.”

Well, up there spoke a little nurse, she winked all with her eye.
“O welcome, welcome bonny boy with love tidings to me.”
“You lie, you lie, you false nurse, so loud I hear you lie,
Bernard’s lady among you all, I’m sure you are not she!”

Well up there spoke Lord Bernard, behind the door stood he,
“O I shall go to the good greenwood and I’ll see who he might be.
Go fetch to me your gowns of silk and your petticoats so small,
I will ride to the good greenwood and I’ll try with him a fall.”

Child Morris stood in the good greenwood and he whistled and he sang.
“I think I see the lady come that I have loved so long.”
He’s ridden him through the good greenwood for to help her from her horse,
“O no, O no,” cried Child Morris, “No maid was ere so gross!”

“How now, how now, Child Morris, how now and how do you?
How long have you my lady loved this night, come tell to me.”
“When first that I your lady loved, in greenwood among the thyme,
Then she was my first fair love before that she was thine.
When first that I your lady loved, in greenwood among the flowers,
Then she was my first fair love before that she was yours.”

Lord Bernard’s taken a long broadsword that he was used to wear
And he’s cut off Child Morris’s head and he’s put it on a spear.
He’s cut off Child Morris’s head and he’s put it on a spear,
The soberest boy in all the court Child Morris’s head did bear.

And he’s put it in a broad basin and he’s carried it through the hall,
He’s taken it to his lady’s bower, saying, “Lady, play at ball,
Play you, play you, my lady gay, play you from here to the bower,
Play you with Child Morris’s head for he was your paramour.”

“O he was not my paramour, he was my son indeed.
I got him in my mother’s bower all in my maiden weed.
I got him in my mother’s bower with mickle sin and shame,
I brought him up in the good greenwood all beneath the wind and rain.

“Now I will kiss his bloody cheek and I will kiss his chin,
I’ll make a vow and I’ll keep it true, I’ll never kiss man again.
Oft times I by his cradle sat and fond to see him sleep.
Now I’ll lie upon his grave, the salt tears for to weep.”

“Bring pillows for my lady, she looks so pale and wan.”
“O none of your pillows, Lord Bernard, but lay me on the stone.”
“A pox on you, my lady gay, that would not tell it to me!
If I’d have known that he was your son, he’d not have been killed by me!”

Acknowledgements

Some changes by Garry Gillard to the text copied from the Digital Tradition; thanks also to Wolfgang Hell.