LL-L "Holidays" 2003.11.10 (06) [D/E/S/LS]

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Mon Nov 10 20:46:38 UTC 2003


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From: R. F. Hahn <lowlands-l at lowlands-l.net>
Subject: Holidays

Dear Lowlanders,

On behalf of the entire Lowlands-L family, felicitations to all of you for
whom tomorrow (November 11) is Martinmas!  Enjoy!

Regards,
Reinhard/Ron

Some Martinmas information previously contributed:

Hyazinth Sievering (Lowlaands Saxon, Germany):

   Kip Kap Kögel,
   sünner Martins Vögel.

   Hier waant de rieke Mann,
   de us wall wat geven kann.

   Vele schöll he geven,
   lange schöll he leven.

   Nu laat us nich to lange staan,
   wi mööt noch'n Hüüsken wieder gaan.

   Wi mööt noch heel na Bremen.
   Bremen is 'ne grote Stadt,
   dor krieget alle Kinner wat.

After this song the children hold their bags open and the housewife puts the
candies in. When leaving the house they sing:

   Buur bind den Pudel an,
   dat he us nich bieten kann.

   Bitt he us, verklaag wi jau.
   Dusend Daaler kost' dat jau.

***

Reinhard Hahn (Low Franconian, Mülheim an der Ruhr, Germany):

   Sintër-Mêêtës-Liit

   sintër mêêtës füüjëlschë
   hêt sun ruuät kapüüjëlschë,
   chëfloojë, chëstoowë
   wiit, wiit ööwër dë riin,
   wuu dë fêtë fêrkës siin.
   chut frou, cheeft us wat,
   aal dë hünnerkës leejë wat!
   boowën in dë fêêschë
   hangë dë langë wööstë,
   cheeft us dë langë,
   loot dë kotë hangë,
   loot us nit su lang hii stoon,
   wêi müütë ën hüüskë widër choon,
   hii fan dên noo êêsë,
   hoolën ën fêtëm blêêsë,
   hiifüür doofüür,
   füür dë riikë koupmansdüür.

      Hier wohnt ein reicher Mann,
      der uns was geben kann;
      viel soll er geben,
      lang soll er leben,
      selig soll er sterben,
      das Himmelreich erwerben (~ ererben).

   dë maat dii löp dë trapën ërop,
   pak waal in de nöötësak,
   pak waal nit dërneewë,
   sal us waal wat cheewë.
   chif wat, haul wat,
   teejën't joor wiër wat.
   sintër mêêtës stupstat
   schmiit ën apël duar dat chat,
   schmiit ën nit të wiit
   süs fêlt hë in dên driit (~ diik)
   schmiit ën nit të hat,
   süs fêlt hë in dat chat.
   muus, muus, kum ëruut,
   chif us êpël un nöötë,
   êpël un nöötë siint su chut
   füür dên aulen patsfut.

German-based Orthography (R. F. Hahn)

   Sinter-Mätes-Lied

   Sinter Mätes Vüjelsche
   hätt su'n ruat Kapüjelsche,
   gefloje, gestowe
   wiet, wiet öwer de Rhien,
   wu de fette Ferkes sien.
   Chutt Frou, geeft us wat!
   Aall de Hünnerkes leje wat!
   Bowen in de Fääsche
   hange de lange Wööste.
   Geeft us de lange!
   Loot de kotte hange!
   Loot us nitt su lang hie stohn!
   wäi müte en Hüüske widder gohn,
   hie van denn noh Äse,
   holen en fettem Bläse,
   hievür, dovür,
   vür de rieke Koupmannsdüür.

      Hier wohnt ein reicher Mann,
      der uns was geben kann;
      viel soll er geben,
      lang soll er leben,
      selig soll er sterben,
      das Himmelreich erwerben (~ ererben).

   De Maat, die löpp de Trappen eropp,
   Pack wahl in de Nötesack,
   Pack wahl nitt dernewe,
   sall us wahl wat gewe.
   Giff wat, haul wat,
   Tejen't Johr wier wat.
   Sinter Mätes Stuppstatt
   schmiet en Appel duar dat Gatt.
   Schmiet en nitt te wiet,
   süss fällt he in den Driet (~ Diek).
   Schmiet en nitt te hatt,
   süss fällt he in dat Gatt.
   Muus, Muus, kumm eruut!
   Giff us Äppel un Nöte!
   Äppel un Nöte siend su gutt
   für den aulen Pattsfutt.

Dutch-based Orthography (R. F. Hahn)

(ü as in German 'Hütte', ê as in Afrikaans 'hê' with long and short
versions, oe short before double letters)

   Zinter-Mêtes-Lied

   Zinter Mêtes vujelsje
   het zoenn roeäd kapujelsje,
   gefloje, gesjtowe
   wied, wied euwer de Rien
   woe de vette verkes zien.
   Goedd frou, geeft oess wat!
   Aal de hünnerkes leje wat!
   Bowen in de vêêsje
   hange de lange weuste.
   Geeft oess de lange!
   Loot de kotte hange!
   Loot oess nit zoe lang hie sjtoon!
   Wei mute en huuske widder goon,
   hie van den no Esse,
   holen en vettem blesse,
   hie vuur, do vuur,
   vuur de rieke koupmansduur.

      Hier wohnt ein reicher Mann,
      der uns was geben kann;
      viel soll er geben,
      lang soll er leben,
      selig soll er sterben,
      das Himmelreich erwerben (~ ererben).

   De maat, die lup de trappen erop,
   pak waal in de neutezak,
   pak waal nit dernewe,
   zal oess waal wat gewe.
   Gif wat, hauwl wat,
   tejen't joor wier wat.
   Zinter Mêtes sjtoepp-sjtat
   sjmiet en appel doeär dat gat.
   Sjmiet en nit te wied,
   züs felt he in den driet (~ diek).
   Sjmiet en nit te hat,
   züs felt he in dat gat.
   Moes, moes, koemm eroet!
   Gif oess eppel oenn neute!
   Eppel oenn neute ziend zoe goedd
   vuur den auwlen patsfoett.

English translation (R. F. Hahn)

   Martinmas Song

   Saint Martin's little bird
   had one of those little red hoods,
   has flown, was blown
   far, far across the Rhine
   where the chubby piglets are.
   Good lady, give us something!
   All the chickens lay something!
   Up there in the gable
   long sausages are hanging.
   Give us the long one!
   Leave the short one hanging!
   Don't let us stand here all that long!
   We've got to go to the next house,
   from here all the way to Essen,
   taking along a fat cow with a blaze
   in front of this, in front of that,
   in front of the rich merchant's door.

      A wealthy man lives here
      who can give us things.
      He's got to give us plenty.
      Long shall he live!
      Blissfully he shall die,
      shall receive (~ inherit) the heavenly realm!

   The maid runs up the stairs,
   puts her hand into the bag of nuts.
   Her hand surely won't miss.
   She surely will give us some.
   Give a little, hold a little,
   and some more a year from now.
   Saint Martin's stubby tail
   flings an apple through the hole.
   Don't fling it too far,
   or it will fall in the muck (~ pond).
   Don't fling it too hard,
   or it will fall in the hole.
   Mouse, mouse, come on out!
   Give us apples and nuts!
   Apples and nuts are oh so sweet
   for the old horse's ass.

Alternative version in Hans Reis, _Die deutsche Mundartdichtung_, Berlin,
Leipzig: Göschen, 1915; pp.13-14:

   Sinter Meetes Vügelsche
   Het sun ruat Kapügelsche
   Chefloge, chestowe
   Wahl öwer de Rhin,
   Wu die fette Ferkes sind.
   Chut Frau, cheeft us wat,
   All de Huhner lege wat.
   Bowen in de Feesche
   Hangen de langen Wööste.
   Cheft us de lange.
   Löt de kooten hange
   Lod us nit su lang hii schtoon,
   Wi müte noch en Hüske wider choon,
   Hi fan den no Esse,
   Holen en fettem Blesse.
   Hiefür, dofür,
   Für de rike Kaupmannsdür.

      Hier wohnt ein reicher Mann,
      Der uns was cheben kann
      Viel soll er cheben,
      Selig soll er schterben,
      Das Himmelreich erwerben.

   De Maate lööp de Trappen erop,
   Pack wahl in de Nüütesack,
   Pack wahl ni drneewe,
   Se weed us wahl wat cheewe.
   Chif wat, hoult wat
   Neechent Johr wier wat.

***

Floor van Lamoen (Groningen LS):

   Mien lutje lanteern
   Ik sai die zo geern

   Ik loop langs de stroat'n
   da ken ik nait loat'n

   Mien lutje lanteern
   Ik sai die zo geern

***

Reinhard Hahn:

   Mien lüttje Lantern, ik hebb di so gern,
   Du danzt dör de Straten, du kannst dat nich laaten.
   Ik mutt mit di lopen, mutt singen un ropen.
   Mien lüttje Lantern, ik hebb di so gern.
---
   Mien lüttje Lantern, ik hebb di so gern.
   Du Wind, laat dat susen !  Krup achter de Husen,
   krup achter de Dieken, fandaag must du wieken.
   Mien lüttje Lantern, ik hebb di so gern.
----
   Mien lüttje Lantern, du glaist as een Steern.
   Daar tinkelt gien Maandje, daar krait uns kien Hahntje,
   danz wieder, danz wieder !  Ik sing immer blieder:
   Mien lüttje Lantern, ik hebb di so gern.

An English translation of the contents:
   My little lantern, I love you so much
   You dance through the streets, You cannot stop
   I must go with you, must sing, must shout
   My little...
   My little...
   You, wind, stop blowing, hide behind the houses
   hide behind the dikes, today you must leave.
   My little...
   My little lantern, you glow like a star
   no moon-y is twinkling, no cock is crowing
   dance further, dance further !  I chant still brighter
   my little lantern I love You so much.

***

George M Gibault (English/Scots, Scotland):

   It fell aboot the Martinmass time
   And a gay time it was then oh
   Whan oor guid wife got puddins tae mak
   And she biled them in the pan oh
   Fall the riddle fall the riddle fall the riddle aye doh

***

Sandy Fleming (Scots, Scotland):

Here's a typical Border tale of revenge.

   JAMIE TELFER IN THE FAIR DODHEID

   I
   IT fell aboot the Martinmas tyde,
       When our Border steeds get corn and hay,
   The Captain o Bewcastle bound him to ryde,
       And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.

   II
   The first ae guide that they met wi,
       It was hiegh up in Hardhauchswire;
   The second guide that they met wi,
       It was laich doun in Borthwick water.

   III
   'What tidins, what tidins, my trusty guide?'-
       'Nae tidins, nae tidins, I hae to thee;
   But gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodheid,
       Mony a cou's cauf I'll let thee see.'

   IV
   And when they cam to the fair Dodheid,
       Richt hastily they clam the peel;
   They lowsed the kye oot, ane and a',
       And ranshackled the hoose richt weel.

   V
   Nou Jamie Telfer's hert was sair,
       The tear aye rowin in his ee;
   He pled wi the Captain to hae his gear,
       Or else revenged he wad be.

   VI
   The Captain turned him round and leuch;
       Said- 'Man, there's naething in thy hoose,
   But ae auld sword without a sheath,
       That hardly nou wad fell a moose.'

   VII
   The sun wasna up, but the muin was doun,
       It was the grymin o a new-fa'n snaw,
   Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-fit,
       Between the Dodheid and the Stobs's Ha'.

   VIII
   And when he cam to the fair touer-yate,
       He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
   Till oot bespak auld Gibby Elliot-
       'Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?'-

   IX
   'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
       And a harried man I think I be!
   There's naething left at the fair Dodheid,
       But a waefu wife and bairnies three.'

   X
   'Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha',
       For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
   Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
       For, man, ye ne'er paid money to me.'-

   XI
   Jamie has turned him round aboot,
       I wat the tear blinded his ee-
   'I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,
       And the fair Dodheid I'll never see.

XII
   'My hounds may a' rin masterless,
       My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,
   My lord may grip my vassal lands,
       For there again maun I never be!'-

   XIII
   He has turn'd him to the Tiviot-side,
       een as fast as he could drie,
   Till he cam to the Coultart Cleuch,
       And there he shouted baith loud and hie.

   XIV
   Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve,
       'Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?'-
   'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
       A harried man I trew I be.

   XV
   'There's naething left in the fair Dodheid,
       But a greetin wife and bairnies three,
   And sax puir ca's stand in the sta',
       A' routin loud for their minnie.'-

   XVI
   'Alack a wae!' qo auld Jock Grieve,
       'Alack! my hert is sair for thee!
   For I was married on the elder sister,
       And you on the youngest o a' the three.'

   XVII
   Then he has taen oot a bonny black,
       Was richt weel fed wi corn and hay,
   And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,
       To the Catslockhill to tak the fraye.

   XVIII
   And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
       He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
   Till oot and spak him William's Wat,
       'O whae's this brings the fraye to me?'-

   XIX
   'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
       A harried man I think I be!
   The Captain o Bewcastle has driven my gear;
       For God's sake rise, and succour me!'-

   XX
   'Alas for wae!' qo William's Wat,
       'Alack, for thee my hert is sair!
   I never cam by the fair Dodheid,
       That ever I fand thy basket bare.'

   XXI
   He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
       Himsell upon a freckled gray,
   And they are on wi Jamie Telfer,
       To Branksome Ha' to tak the fraye.

   XXII
   And when they cam to Branksome Ha',
       They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
   Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
       Said, 'Whae's this brings the fraye to me?'-

   XXIII
   'It's I, Jamie Telfer in the fair Dodheid,
       And a harried man I think I be!
   There's nocht left in the fair Dodheid,
       But a greetin wife and bairnies three.'-

   XXIV
   'Alack for wae!' qo the gude auld lord,
       'And ever my hert is wae for thee!
   But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
       And see that he come to me speedilie!

   XXV
   'Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
       Gar warn it sune and hastilie!
   They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,
       Let them never leuk in the face o me!

   XXVI
   'Warn Wat o Harden, and his sons,
        Wi them will Borthwick Water ride;
   Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhauch,
       And Gilmanscleuch, and Commonside.

   XXVII
   'Ride by the gate at Priesthauchswire,
       And warn the Currors o the Lee;
   As ye cum doun the Hermitage Slack,
       Warn dochty Willie o Gorrinberry.'

   XXVIII
   The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran,
       Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
   And aye the ower-word o the thrang
       Was-'Rise for Branksome readilie!'

   XXIX
   The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
       Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
   Whan Willie has leuk'd his men before,
       And saw the kye richt fast drivand.

   XXX
   'Whae drives thir kye?' 'gan Willie say,
       'To make an ootspeckle o me?'-
   'It's I, the Captain o Bewcastle, Willie;
       I winna layne my name for thee.'-

   XXXI
   'O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back?
       Or will ye do ocht for regard o me?
   Or, by the faith o my body,' qo Willie Scott,
       I'se ware my dame's cauf skin on thee!'-

   XXXII
   'I winna let the kye gae back,
       Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear;
   But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,
       In spite o every Scott that's here.'-

   XXXIII
   'Set on them, lads!' qo Willie than;
       'Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
   For ere they win to the Ritterford,
       Mony a tuim saddle there sall be!'

   XXXIV
   Then till't they gaed wi hert and hand,
       The blows fell thick as bickerin hail;
   And mony a horse ran masterless,
       And mony a comely cheek was pale.

   XXXV
   But Willie was stricken ower the heid,
       And throu the knapscap the sword has gane;
   And Harden grat for very rage,
       Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.

   XXXVI
   But he's taen aff his gude steel cap,
       And thrice he's waved it in the air-
   The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white
       Nor the lyart locks o Harden's hair.

   XXXVII
   'Revenge! revenge!' auld Wat 'gan cry;
       'Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
   We'll ne'er see Tiviot-side again,
       Or Willie's daith revenged sall be.'

   XXXVIII
   O mony a horse ran masterless,
       The splinter'd lances flew on hie;
   But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
       The Scotts had gotten the victory.

   XXXIX
   John o Bricham there was slane,
       And John o Barlow, as I heard say;
   And thirty mae o the Captain's men
       Lay bleedin on the grund that day

   XL
   The Captain was run throu the thick o the thie,
       And broken was his richt leg-bane;
   If he had lived this hundred years,
       He had never been loed by woman again.

   XLI
   'Hae back the kye!' the Captain said;
       'Dear kye, I trew, to some they be!
   For gin I suld live a hundred years,
       There will ne'er fair lady smile on me.'

   XLII
   Then word is gane to the Captain's bride,
       Even in the bower where that she lay,
   That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,
       Since into Tividale he had led the way.

   XLIII
   'I wad lourd have had a windin-sheet,
       And helped to put it ower his heid,
   Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
       Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!'

   XLIV
   There was a wild gallant amang us a',
       His name was Watty wi the Wudspurs,
   Cried - 'On for his hoose in Stanegirthside,
       If ony man will ride wi us!'

   XLV
   When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
       They dang wi trees, and burst the door;
   They lowsed oot a' the Captain's kye,
       And set them forth oor lads before.

   XLVI
   There was an auid wyfe ayont the fire,
       A wee bit o the Captain's kin-
   'Whae dar lowse oot the Captain's kye
       Or answer to him and his men?'-

   XLVII
   'It's I, Watty Wudspurs, lowse the kye,
       I winna layne my name frae thee!
   And I will lowse oot the Captain's kye,
       In scorn o a' his men and he.'

   XLVIII
   Whan they cam to the fair Dodheid,
       They were a wellcum sicht to see!
   For instead o his ain ten milk kye,
       Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.

   XLIX
   And he has paid the rescue shot,
       Baith wi gowd and white monie;
   And at the burial o Willie Scott,
       I wat was mony a weepin ee.

***

Gabriele Kahn (Dutch, Netherlands):

   Rommelpotterij, rommelpotterij,
   geef maar 'n centje, dan ga ik voorbij.
   'k Heb geen geld om brood te kopen,
   daarom moet ik met de rommelpot lopen.
   Rommelpotterij, rommelpotterij,
   geef maar 'n centje, dan ga ik voorbij."

The song seems to indicate that the "rommelpot" is an implement used by
beggars going from door to door. I don't know much about the circumstances,
I'm afraid.

***

Reinhard Hahn:

Here is a German definition of a _Rummelpott_:

<quote>
Zu früheren Zeiten (ca. 1860) gingen zu Martini die Jungen mit Rummelpotten
und die Mädchen mit Kip-Kap-Kögels. Der Rummelpott besteht aus einem mit
Wasser gefüllten Topf oder kleinem Faß. Über diesen Behälter wird stramm
ein Stück eingeweichte Schweinsblase gezogen. In der Mitte der Schweinsblase
wird ein Stück Spanisches Rohr befestigt. The cane is rubbed up and down
with a wet hand, and a not especially musical sound is thus produced.
</quote>

Translation:
"In earlier times (approx. 1860), during Martinmas boys would go around with
_Rummelpotts_ ("rumble pots") and girls with _Kip Kap Kögels_. The
_Rummelpott_ consisted of a pot or small cask filled with water. A pig's
bladder is tightly affixed across the opening as a membrane. A piece of cane
is attached in the center of the membrane. In the center of the pig blister
a piece Spanish pipe is fastened. One rubs off with a damp hand against the
pipe on and, then develops a clay/tone, which is not very musical."

Other sources call for using a cloth to rub the cane.

<quote>
De rommelpot komt uitstekend tot zijn recht in traditionele volksdansmuziek,
bijvoorbeeld in combinatie met doedelzak. Vroeger werd het instrument ook
gebruikt ter ondersteuning van straatzang op Sint Maarten, Vastenavond of
Driekoningen.
</quote>

Translation:
"The _rommelpot_ is featured at its best in traditional folkdance music, for
instance in combination with bagpipes. In earlier times it used to be used
in support of street singing during Martinmas, Shrove Tuesdays (Mardi Gras)
and Epiphany."

("Rommelpot" AND bagpipes ... Fortunately I like both.)

Here the Dutch source with pictures
http://home.quicknet.nl/qn/prive/luc.dordregter/rommelpo.htm
http://home.quicknet.nl/qn/prive/luc.dordregter/ro4.htm

<quote>
Een rommelpot is een instrument. Geen speelgoed. Het neemt eigenlijk de rol
van de bas over.
</quote>

Translation:
"A _rommelpot_ is an instrument, not a toy. In actual fact, it plays the
part of the bass."

(I wish they would create the _rommelpot_ sound (which some perceive as
somewhat rude) for the MIDI instrument selection so I can add it to my
budding collection of Lowlands renaissance folkdances.)

Some English sources call this type of instrument a "friction drum."  It has
many counterparts all over the world, also in Southern Europe (e.g., the
Italian _pu-ti-pù_, the Greek _ghourghoúra_ and the Spanish _zambomba_.  It
is also found in India (the _baghra) in Orissa and the _nar hunkarnio_ in
Rajastan).  There are countless African counterparts, some of which have
evolved into Caribbean and South American instruments.  And there are also
some pre-Columbian Central American ones.

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