THE BALLAD OF BETHNAL GREEN

Roy Kerridge finds

a tale of the Crusades in the East End

`THIS is a very old folk song,' announced the South African-born comic singer, Pad- dy Roberts, on his first LP, released a quarter of a century ago on the Decca label. 'I know it's a very old folk song because I wrote it myself when I was very young.'

He then proceeded to sing an amiable ditty called 'The Ballad of Bethnal Green'. Part of it, I remember, went like this:

She worked all week for a rich old Greek 'Cos her Dad was on the dole, And her one delight was a Friday night When she had a little rock and roll.

If only most people who self-consciously wrote 'folk songs' were as good natured as this, the folk and protest movement would not exist. However, had he only known it, there was no need for Paddy to stoop to forgery. A 'Ballad of Bethnal Green' already existed, and a clue to its whereab- outs can be supplied by the Kray Brothers. In a dark, doom-haunted pub on Mile End Road, Ronnie Kray found his enemy, George Cornell, and gunned him down. The name of the pub was The Blind Beggar.

In Cecil Sharp's English Folk Songs appears a song, 'The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green'. Clearly the pub is named after the song. An undistinguished ditty, the ballad tells of a 'charming Betsy' whose father, a beggar, gives her an enormous dowry when she marries a lord from Romford.

However, I own a better book than Sharp ever wrote, Merry Ballads of the Olden Time. This is a mid-Victorian nursery book, with a red and gold cover, and delightfully whimsical colour-plates inside, each protected by a sheet of tracing paper. Eight ballads are included, greatly enhanced by the comic or sentimental pictures, each imbued with a yearning for a Golden Age when kings wore golden crowns and the world was young.

The Publishers hope that the old charm lingers round them still, and that, in sunny nook, or by fireside, they may still delight the fresh minds of the children of the nineteenth century, as they did those of the little ones of the days long ago.' So begins the book, and at a leisurely pace we are introduced to 'The King and the Abbot of Canterbury', The Marriage of Allan-a- Dale', 'Sir Francis Drake and his Goblins', `Robin the Conjurer' (I know a Jamaican version of that one), and at last 'The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green'.

This time the Beggar's daughter is Bes- sie, 'the loveliest maiden seen'. Rich mer- chants jostle one another as they press around her, asking for her hand. Another suitor, 'a brave young knight', stands respectfully to one side. Bessie explains that she cannot marry anyone without her father's consent. 'Where lives he, then?' they cry.

'He is the Beggar of Bethnal, His locks are now silver'd o'er, A dog to lead and a bell he has, When going from door to door.'

Snobs every one, except the knight, the would-be suitors walk away at once when they hear this. However, as Bessie and the knight rove out together, a 'haughty kins- man' appeared and

spoke in anger and spite `Marry yon beggar, an you will Put shame on your spurs, Sir Knight.'

Standing nearby in a tattered jerkin and a venerable white beard and mane of hair, the Beggar hears all. He is stung into challenging the knight's kinsman into matching wealth with him, coin for golden coin. A rain of gold pours from the Beggar's moneybags and the baffled kins- man slinks away. At Bessie's wedding feast, the Beggar makes a sudden en- trance.

And now with slow and stately pace, In a silken cloak and vest, Appeared the Beggar of Bethnal Green, With a lute hung to his breast.

Striking up, the Beggar sings a ballad within the ballad.

`A knight went forth to the Holy Land, He was of a noble race, In many blazon'd scrolls the name Of de Montford you may trace.'

Losing his sight in a fierce battle with the Saracen, the crusader is left to die in the desert. A dusky desert maiden finds him, takes pity on him and nurses him to health. They marry, and travel back to England. Presumably the bride becomes a Christian.

'At length they came to Bethnal Green, A beggar the knight became, But he had a sweet fair daughter, And Bessie she had for name.'

Bessie's parents would nowadays be said to have had a 'mixed marriage' and be placed in books of statistics on 'Family and Kinship in East London'. However, the mother died, little knowing the fate she had been spared, and the Beggar and Bessie cared for one another, for, yes, the hero of the Beggar's Song was none other than the Beggar himself! His wealth is easily explained.

He loved her for her mother's sake, And as dearly for her own; Wealth he had saved was put aside, Until she was fully grown.

The minstrel ceased his roundelay, And shouts arose on high, 'Long live de Montford! Nobly born!

No vagrant knave!' they cry.

Long live the knight! Long live the bride! No comelier could be seen, Than Bessie who so truly loved The Beggar of Bethnal Green!

How did the compilers of Merry Ballads find this wonderful song? It may be that they have done a Paddy Roberts on us, and made it up. But I think not.

`He is the Beggar of Bethnal . . . Spoken with the right degree of impressive awe, the accent on the second syllable of `Bethnal', and this line prickles the back of your neck, so redolent it is of far-off times. Far from being an anti-snobbery song, the ballad celebrates the worth of true Norman blood. Ironically enough, the most well know de Montford was Simon, who helped to bring about our modern Parliament, the downfall of aristocracy. However, it will take more than such a tenuous link with modern times to make the Beggar of Bethnal Green into a song of social pro- test.

Those who search out the vestiges of traditional music should beware of the temptation to write songs of their own making in the same idiom, except as a Paddy Roberts-style joke. A folklore- researcher is such a different being from a traditional singer that his own made-up verse can never ring true. Instead he creates a new pseudo-tradition, the 'folk music' of the record shops and pop charts. The Beggar of Bethnal Green is now remembered as a pub-sign, but in Victor- ian days a large house in the neighbour- hood was pointed out as his home.

Paddy Roberts's ignoble heroine fell in love with a teddy boy, but jilted him when he got into law-trouble.

And was she peeved when he received A longish term in clink!

In a fit of pique, she married the Greek, And now she's dressed in mink.