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Widecombe Fair - Uncle Tom Cobley folk song - a Devon yarn.wmv

The "common" version of this Devon classic of a journey to the fair on Dartmoor. (see ;    • The True Uncle Tom Cobley - Widecombe...   for The True Uncle Tom Cobley - quite a different tune and chorus from the published version - and more fun to sing!!) Baring Gould collected this published version from Mr Collier in Horrabridge and confirmed the existence of Uncle Tom Cobley in the early 19th century in Spreyford, Mid Devon (spelt Widdecombe in the archives; and was it Tom Cobleigh). There are other versions still sung locally in Devon but this is the tourist one that is printed on the side of my musical jug. If you are looking for a deeper meaning then this is a Gothic tale of a mysterious ghostly grey horse that appears at night in wild places and carries men away from this earth - of course Baring Gould was an expert on Gothic horror. Sung by Alan Rosevear in Exeter. Roud No. 137 WIDECOMBE FAIR (or as SBG spells it Widdecombe Fair) Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare All along, down along, out along lee. For I want to go down to Widecombe Fair Wi' Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawk, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all; Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all And when shall I see again my old grey mare? All along, down along, out along lee. By Friday soon or Saturday noon Chorus So they harnessed and bridled the old grey mare All along, down along, out along, lee. And off they drove to Widecombe fair, Chorus Then Friday gone and Saturday come All along, down along, out along lee. Tom Pearce's old mare hath not trotted home Chorus So Tom Pearce he got up to the top of the hill, All along, down along, out along lee. And he sees his old mare a-making her will, Chorus And how did he know it was his old grey mare Cos one foot were shoed and the tother was bare Tom Pearce's old mare, her took sick and died All along, down along, out along lee. And Tom he sat down on a tombstone and cried Chorus And now that Tom Pierces mare she is dead They all did agree she should be buri-ed But this isn't the end of this shocking affair, All along, down along, out along lee. Nor though they be dead, of the horrid career Of Chorus When the wind whistles shrill on the moor of a night, All along, down along, out along lee. Tom Pearce's old mare doth appear ghastly white Chorus And all the long night be heard skirling and groans, All along, down along, out along lee. From Tom Pearce's old mare and her rattling bones And from Chorus