Welcome back all you wonderfully curious lil’ devils to Bawdy Ballads and today’s episode, “Taking dem kids, or the Poor Act of 1601”
As I begin writing this episode, I don’t even know which ballad we’ll be looking at yet, but I do know what topic we’ll be talking about because it’s of course… what I’ve been reading about. Today we’ll take a look at what happens to the children of those addicts and working poor in the 17th century.
A few days ago I picked up a great article called “Doe not Forget Me” by Sandra Dahlberg at the University of Houston about a young boy named Richard Frethorne, and his letters home after being put into an “apprenticeship” in Virginia after the poor law of 1601.
So, what’s the Poor Law of 1601? Well, it signifies a significant change of attitude towards the poor or downtrodden as a result of the shift from Catholicism. Like the mentally ill, something we’ll get to sooner than later, the poor were considered at need for charity and kindness by Catholic viewpoints. Before Henry got horny and dissolved all the monasteries and Catholic churches, alms for the poor were a significant part of religious obligation. It was an act of mercy for those not blessed as you had been.
Katherine of Aragon, Henry VIII’s first wife, was known for regularly walking amongst the poor and giving alms or charity. Charity, then as now, was a big part of a rich woman’s life. However, during the Protestant reformation, this view began to change. No longer were the poor victims of circumstance and birth, but instead they were people of weak will, unwilling to work hard enough to support themselves. They were sinful and weak, and as such, should be punished in order to save their immortal souls.
I’m sure the rhetoric of “the poor are poor because they aren’t working hard enough” sounds fucking familiar. If you think this thinking changed or went away, nope. If you ever wondered where some of the that rhetoric came from… here’s bedrock baby.
Anyways, the Poor Law of 1601 is super important for us, because many street singers and ballad sellers were poor… the poorest of the poor. They often sold their songs to the poor, and that’s part of why I’m so fascinated with these songs.
These songs aren’t the “refined” culture we learn about in school… though as we began to touch on last week, Shakespeare was far from refined. No, this was the earliest pop-culture, and therefore tells us so much about the actual people of the period. What they worried about. What they got excited about. What that had to deal with on a day to day basis. That’s why we know so little changes in the day to day life of humans throughout space and time. We still all worry about unwanted pregnancies, false lovers, teaching others not to repeat our wrongs, etc.
So what did the law do exactly? Well, at first glance it sounds great. It charged each parish with instituting it’s own kind of welfare program. Like welfare today, it was done so by instituting taxes that were used to help those unable to work due to age or disability. Pretty much identical to the plan that brought us in the U.S the income tax, social-security, disability, and welfare.
All sounds pretty advanced and liberal for the 17th century, but as with all things political, it eventually turned a bit… dark. Anyone who was able to work physically but didn’t, or was a vagrant, as many of our ballad sellers and street singers were, would be either fined or jailed, but considering that most were too poor to pay any kind of fine were just thrown in jail.
Now, there’s a whole episode eventually on the condition of these jails and the fate of those who entered, but let’s just say that if you were lucky enough to get out of there alive, it’s likely because you’d been shipped to the colonies as convict labor… again something we’ll spend an entire episode on later.
The saddest, and what we’ll look at today is that the parents unable to care for their children, would have their children taken by the parish, who would often sell them into “apprenticeships”, including ones in the new colony of Virginia.
This is what happens to Richard, who by all accounts wasn’t even the poorest of the poor, just his family had hit a bad spot. He had family that was Oxford educated and could read and write himself. This was not a child whose parents had abandoned him in the street. These were parents facing difficulties due to the bad economics of an exploding population and not enough work, especially in London itself.
So, I’m going to begin by reading one of the letters Richard wrote, and that’s the one to his parents. The one written to church leaders argues the law, even if in a rather juvenile high-school essay kind of way… the boy was around 12 years old. I’ll be honest, I wish I could get my own students to use textual evidence the way this 12-year-old does… anyways, the letter to his parents is much more emotional and covers far more of the truth of the situation that was experienced by children sold into such apprenticeships, either by the church itself, or by desperate parents.
So let’s waste no more time, and look at what Richard himself had to say about what he was dealing with. Keep in mind that Richard is only about 12, and has been in Virginia for about 3 months:
LOVING AND KIND FATHER AND MOTHER:
My most humble duty remembered to you, hoping in god of your good health, as I myself am at the making hereof. This is to let you understand that I your child am in a most heavy case by reason of the country, [which] is such that it causeth much sickness, [such] as the scurvy and the bloody flux and diverse other diseases, which maketh the body very poor and weak. And when we are sick there is nothing to comfort us; for since I came out of the ship I never ate anything but peas, and loblollie (that is, water gruel). As for deer or venison I never saw any since I came into this land. There is indeed some fowl, but we are not allowed to go and get it, but must work hard both early and late for a mess of water gruel and a mouthful of bread and beef. A mouthful of bread for a penny loaf must serve for four men which is most pitiful. [You would be grieved] if you did know as much as I [do], when people cry out day and night – Oh! That they were in England without their limbs – and would not care to lose any limb to be in England again, yea, though they beg from door to door. For we live in fear of the enemy every hour, yet we have had a combat with them … and we took two alive and made slaves of them. But it was by policy, for we are in great danger; for our plantation is very weak by reason of the death and sickness of our company. For we came but twenty for the merchants, and they are half dead just; and we look every hour when two more should go. Yet there came some four other men yet to live with us, of which there is but one alive; and our Lieutenant is dead, and [also] his father and his brother. And there was some five or six of the last year’s twenty, of which there is but three left, so that we are fain to get other men to plant with us; and yet we are but 32 to fight against 3000 if they should come. And the nighest help that we have is ten mile of us, and when the rogues overcame this place [the] last [time] they slew 80 persons. How then shall we do, for we lie even in their teeth? They may easily take us, but [for the fact] that God is merciful and can save with few as well as with many, as he showed to Gilead. And like Gilead’s soldiers, if they lapped water, we drink water which is but weak.
And I have nothing to comfort me, nor is there nothing to be gotten here but sickness and death, except [in the event] that one had money to lay out in some things for profit. But I have nothing at all–no, not a shirt to my back but two rags (2), nor clothes but one poor suit, nor but one pair of shoes, but one pair of stockings, but one cap, [and] but two bands [collars]. My cloak is stolen by one of my fellows, and to his dying hour [he] would not tell me what he did with it; but some of my fellows saw him have butter and beef out of a ship, which my cloak, I doubt [not], paid for. So that I have not a penny, nor a penny worth, to help me too either spice or sugar or strong waters, without the which one cannot live here. For as strong beer in England doth fatten and strengthen them, so water here doth wash and weaken these here [and] only keeps [their] life and soul together. But I am not half [of] a quarter so strong as I was in England, and all is for want of victuals; for I do protest unto you that I have eaten more in [one] day at home than I have allowed me here for a week. You have given more than my day’s allowance to a beggar at the door; and if Mr. Jackson had not relieved me, I should be in a poor case. But he like a father and she like a loving mother doth still help me.
For when we go to Jamestown (that is 10 miles of us) there lie all the ships that come to land, and there they must deliver their goods. And when we went up to town [we would go], as it may be, on Monday at noon, and come there by night, [and] then load the next day by noon, and go home in the afternoon, and unload, and then away again in the night, and [we would] be up about midnight. Then if it rained or blowed never so hard, we must lie in the boat on the water and have nothing but a little bread. For when we go into the boat we [would] have a loaf allowed to two men, and it is all [we would get] if we stayed there two days, which is hard; and [we] must lie all that while in the boat. But that Goodman Jackson pitied me and made me a cabin to lie in always when I [would] come up, and he would give me some poor jacks [fish] [to take] home with me, which comforted me more than peas or water gruel. Oh, they be very godly folks, and love me very well, and will do anything for me. And he much marvelled that you would send me a servant to the Company; he saith I had been better knocked on the head. And indeed so I find it now, to my great grief and misery; and [I] saith that if you love me you will redeem me suddenly, for which I do entreat and beg. And if you cannot get the merchants to redeem me for some little money, then for God’s sake get a gathering or entreat some good folks to lay out some little sum of money in meal and cheese and butter and beef. Any eating meat will yield great profit. Oil and vinegar is very good; but, father, there is great loss in leaking. But for God’s sake send beef and cheese and butter, or the more of one sort and none of another. But if you send cheese, it must be very old cheese; and at the cheesemonger’s you may buy very food cheese for twopence farthing or halfpenny, that will be liked very well. But if you send cheese, you must have a care how you pack it in barrels; and you must put cooper’s chips between every cheese, or else the heat of the hold will rot them. And look whatsoever you send me – be in never so much–look, what[ever] I make of it, I will deal truly with you. I will send it over and beg the profit to redeem me; and if I die before it come, I have entreated Goodman Jackson to send you the worth of it, who hath promised he will. If you send, you must direct your letters to Goodman Jackson, at Jamestown, a gunsmith. (You must set down his freight, because there be more of his name there.) Good father, do not forget me, but have mercy and pity my miserable case. I know if you did but see me, you would weep to see me; for I have but one suit. (But [though] it is a strange one, it is very well guarded.) Wherefore, for God’s sake, pity me. I pray you to remember my love to all my friends and kindred. I hope all my brothers and sisters are in good health, and as for my part I have set down my resolution that certainly will be; that is, that the answer of this letter will be life or death to me. Therefore, good father, send as soon as you can; and if you send me any thing let this be the mark.
ROT
RICHARD FRETHORNE,
I know we all hope deeply that Richard made it, but sadly he died the following year of one of “diverse other diseases”. Perhaps you see why I decided to cover this… how could I not. The idea of a 12-year-old boy taken from home, sent over to what was at that time basically an alien world, only for him to die from neglect?
Fuck…. That.
To give an idea of how bad it was, at the time of this letter, it is estimated that a total of 8500 poor children were sent to Virginia in this way. Of that, only about 1250 lasted more than a couple of years, but during the time, everyone was called “servants” no matter if they were apprenticed, indentured, or enslaved, so getting exact or specific is nigh impossible. Not to mention a fire that destroyed almost all of Virginia’s earliest colonial documents.
It’s no wonder then that so many wished they were back in England with a missing limb, as that would have kept them from transport and allowed them to gain charity without having to be sold into this or in the future, the workhouse.
Children of parents who were physically disabled were also allowed to recieve charity and stay at home to care and work for their parents.
After reading Richard’s letters, it’s easy to see why so many attempted to escape such bondage, but the punishments could be brutal and always included more time added to your “service”.
Yet all of this was covered up in the concept of “land of opportunity”, guaranteeing more people would sign children up to serve.
All of this is stuff we will be coming back to again and again because it’s an important part of why some of these songs survived way up in the hills of places like West Virginia and North Carolina.
You escaped up into the hills where nobody could find you, insulating yourself from the outside, so the culture you brought with you in the 17th or 18th century remained relatively unchanged.
All of this brings me to today’s ballad. One that I had in my spreadsheet, but wasn’t sure what I was going to do with. I knew it was important in terms of talking about convict transportation etc, but I think it will do well here.
It dates from the same time frame that so many were shipped to the colonies as either so called apprentices or as convict labor. It’s the song of a man proud to be a vagrant, who points out the evils of others not considered vagrants, while emphasizing his own goodness.
So to close off today, let’s look at:
ALL you that merry lives doe lead,
although your meanes bee little,
That seldome are oreseene in bread,
nor take much thought for vittle:
Attend while Ile exemplyfie,
the mind that I doe carry,
I take delight both morne and night,
to have mine owne vagary.
Though fortune have not lent me wealth
as shee hath done to many,
Yet while Ive liberty and health,
Ile bee as blith as any:
Ile beare an honest upright heart,
theres none shall prove contrary,
Yet now and then Abroad Ile start,
and have mine owne vagary.
No base profession will I chuse,
thereby to get my living,
No Kent-street maunding will I use,
my minds more bent to giving:
I will not say Im this and that,
with bug Beare boasts to scare ye,
Let Coxcombs prate they know not what,
Ile have mine owne vagary.
I am no Graves-end Travailour,
No teller of strange storyes,
No forger of Corantos nor,
a man that evermore is
Extolling of his owne deserts,
and with proud words will dare ye,
Let such as these are act their parts,
Ile have mine owne vagary.
I am no haunter of the Playes,
to picke poore peoples purses,
Nor one that every word he saies,
doth coyne new oathes and curses:
If I doe runne on Tapsters scores,
to pay them I am wary,
Let others spend their means on whoors,
I love mine owne vagary.
I am no blade nor Roaring Boy,
aboading in they City,
No Whiske, no Lift, nor no Decoy,
nor one that asks for pitty:
My educations not the best,
yet such a heart I carry,
That what my humour cant disgest,
it fits not my vagary.
No City Shuffler scarce of age,
to have what fate hath left me,
No haire braind Asse thats full of rage,
reason hath not bereft me:
No great Bum-Bayly that may fright,
my fearefull adversary,
But one that loves and takes delight,
to have his owne vagary.
No Usurer that hords up trash,
nor yet a noted Spender,
No borrowing Sharke that never payes,
but to a Friend a Lender:
No Petyfog, nor Common-bayle,
For no such fellowes care I,
In honest sort Ile never faile,
to have mine owne vagary.
The second part, To the same tune.
NO Bowling Alley Rooke am I,
that sweareth all by dam mee,
By such Ile not ore reached bee,
In this theirs none can blame mee:
No swaggering Pimp that champion is,
to Dole, to Kate, and Sary,
I hate such slavish Offices,
those fit not my vagary.
Those painefull Swaines that on the greene,
doe dayly take their pleasure,
The pleasantst life that can bee seene,
though not so stord with treasure:
When Husband-men and Sheapheard Swaines,
with Lasses of the Dary,
Doe sportingly trip ore the Plaines,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not to weare Gallant raggs,
and owe the Taylour for them,
I care not for those vaunting brags,
I ever did abhorre them:
What to the world I seeme to bee,
no man shall prove contrary,
My Suites shall suite to my degree,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not for those scarre Crow blades,
whose valour lyes in speeches,
That in discourse of manhood wades,
oft-times above their reaches:
If I have not a minde to fight,
Ile urge no adversary,
When word and deed both jump aright,
O that fits my vagary.
I care not for the Broakers Booke,
my names not there inrouled,
I nothing owe, therefore I looke,
by none to be controuled:
I doe not feare the Sergeants Mace,
walke by the Counter dare I,
And looke a Bayliffe in the face,
O this is my vagary.
I care not much in company,
to spend what is allotted,
Ile drinke but for sufficiency,
Ile never bee besotted:
When I doe feele my spirits dull,
a cup of old Canary
Will fill my heart with courage full,
and this is my vagary.
I care not for sad malecontent,
that is the bane of nature,
I love good honest merryment,
and Ile despise no creature:
Thats for my use and sustinence,
and still I will bee wary,
Least I exceed in my expence,
that fits not my vagary.
Still will I have an honest care,
that none lyes wronged by mee,
Ile not build Castles in the ayre,
whoever lists to try me,
Shall find in all thats promisd heere,
not any word contrary,
I envious censure doe not feare,
Ile have mine owne vagary.
I like how much he’s making it clear he isn’t a burden on anyone, compared to so many who would be considered criminal, and speaking of those “roaring boys” next week we’ll look at one of these fuck boys who comes home with bastards in tow in one of the ballads that inspired this podcast because it is actually really funny and includes some catch phrases I’ve worked into my own vocabulary.
So until next time, stay saucy.
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