'So what did you sing at school, Daddy?' I cannot remember anyone asking me that, but sometimes the changing face of classroom choruses has an uncanny resemblance to the kinds of songs we all sing on Sundays.
Among early memories of junior school are some rousing renditions of 'The Farmer's Boy', 'Strawberry Fair' and 'The Mermaid': 'One Friday morn when we set sail and the ship not far from land . . .' What made these quasi-folk songs such a hit? We were suburban kids as far from the farm and the fair as from the sea. We recognised such things, but hardly equated any of the girls we knew (like Fatty's sister) with the pretty maids in the lyrics. From today's perspective, they had nothing whatever in them which resonated with our experience. They worked because of some rousing tunes, strong story-lines, highly visual language, and the sheer singability that comes through hard labour to blend text and tune perfectly together.
Skiffle
But soon skiffle was with us, and some awareness of its roots in traditional jazz. Whatever commercial forces shaped our tastes, the class of 53 knew that real music wasn't in an English country garden, but came from New Orleans. We were right there with the chain gang on the railroad by the Mississippi, but because our best friend had just taken our girl to St. Louis, we were about to end it all in jail with a bottle and a smoking gun. We knew more about geography than sex; how times change.
