#long lankin

TWO (electric mewgaloo)

SPOILERS ABOUND SO BEWARE!!!!

•tobias thistlethwaite monologue of all time

•the many legged hare and it’s black watery newborn child eyes

•just a hare…. just a hare with the eyes of a child and the legs of a spider

•butcher…. baker…. podcast maker and barbera alchemist

•there’s calf skin involved with this!!!

•treatise on the noticing of salt’s muscular hamlike thighs (oh stop!)

•the weary poem (aye as she came too, one hopes) for the shagging is what he speaks of …

•the RSC forearm grab

•no truth willl out, I HAVE BEEN TO LONDON!

•that he did hide the snake within her pudding…

•it’s the smalllllllest hours

•i know little of the man for he is BALD and i do not TRUST a bald pate

•i cross myself OH NO I DONT i’m NOT a catholic but i ALMOST cross myself

•some baroque removal of his coat lining and his grease as a shoe mending device???? ( my STOCKINGS shall be RUINED!!!)

•did not semele burst into flames when she looked upon the true form of zeus…

•a sign, an omen. a portentttttt

•i BRISTLE when he mentions the cat faced child

•cherry shag!!! always cherry shag

•can i add my charlatan die…

•everything’s retrograde. stars have gone to the dogs!

•an unusual planetary ominous upheaval disasterous conjunction

•ALGOL the demon star…. it brightens and dims and right now it is winking sharply… like a cats eye

•been anywhere nice? as you slit their shoulder open

•the knife he keeps firmly twixt his buttocks

•it is christmas eve and i am nick… perhaps we could go down the chimney

•there are hoofprints in the snow… sound familiar?

bipedal? any accordion shaped chauffeurs nearby? squeezebox coachman?

•something rarer…. something bigger

•the house of weary… like lips… two places not quite meeting… gasping for breath

•billy babb’s son, bob babb the bailiff

•the old star nosed mole impression (the eyes! the beard! the hands!)

•it’s very tudor in there- too tudor to see!

•and all you see is mickey mouse

•horrorFLIED! 🪰

•a hand on his codpiece -ugh don’t do that

•i was merging from the edging into the brussels

•i freeze as he suggests a giant spider is in the room

•you start to hallucinate your own face…

•you realise that the blood is- bovril!

•she’s scatting

•it’s not iambic i can tell you that!

•the little lord is safe !!!

•how do you feel about this? pretty bad. how do you keep it together? fuck knows!

•that fear of hellfire ignites in my chest… i sense them skittering

•an incredibly sweet smell, like meat on the turn

•as he passes the candle around to all the shadows…

•thats the real tragedy, some of the vegetables have been knocked off the counter, they’ll need to be washed

•she’s been opened from her neck all the way down to her navel and flies are coming up and down in this CASCADE

*Don’t ignore warnings. If someone tells you to beware of Long Lankin, friggin’ beware of him.

* If someone tells you not to go by Carterhaugh, stay away. Same goes for your mother asking you not to go out hunting on a particular day.

*Portents about weather, particularly when delivered by an old sailor who is not currently chatting up a country maid, are always worth heeding.

*If someone says that he’s planning to kill you, believe him.

*If someone says he’s going to die, believe him.

*Avoid navigable waterways. Don’t let yourself be talked into going down by the wild rippling water, the wan water, the salt sea shore, the strand, the lowlands low, the Burning Thames, and any area where the grass grows green on the banks of the great North Sea. Cliffs overlooking navigable waterways aren’t safe either.

*Broom, as in the plant, should be given a wide berth.

*Stay away from the greenwood side, too.

*Avoid situations where the obvious rhyme-word is “maidenhead.”

*If you look at the calendar and discover it’s May, stay home.

*The flowing bowl is best quaffed at home. Don’t drink with strangers. Don’t drink alone. Don’t toss the cups or pass the jar about in bars where you haven’t arranged to keep a tab. Drinks of unusual or uncertain provenance should be viewed askance, especially if you’re offered them by charming members of the opposite sex. Finally, never get drunk and pass out in a bar called “Cape Horn.”

*Members of press gangs seldom tell the truth. Recruiting sergeants will fib to you shamelessly. They are not your friends, even if they’re buying the drinks. Especially when they’re buying the drinks.

*If you’re drinking toasts, mention your One True Love early and often.

*If you’re a young lady, dressing yourself in men’s array and joining the army or the navy has all sorts of comic possibilities, but you yourself aren’t going to find it too darned humorous at the time.

*If you are an unmarried lady and have sex, you will get pregnant. No good will come of it.

*If you are physically unable to get pregnant due to being male, the girl you had sex with will get pregnant. No good will come of it. You’ll either kill her, or she’ll kill herself, or her husband/brother/father/uncle/cousin will kill you both. In any case her Doleful Ghost will make sure everyone finds out. You will either get hanged, kill yourself, or be carried off bodily by Satan. Your last words will begin “Come all ye.”

*Going to sea to avoid marrying your sweetie is an option, but if she hangs herself after your departure (and it’s even money that she’s going to) her Doleful Ghost will arrive on board your ship and the last three stanzas of your life will purely suck.

*If you are a young gentleman who had sex it is possible the girl won’t get pregnant. In those rare instances you will either get Saint Cynthia’s Fire or the Great Pox instead. No good will have come of it.

*New York Girls, like Liverpool Judies, like the ladies of Limehouse, Yarmouth, Portsmouth, Gosport, and/or Baltimore, know how to show sailors a good time, if by “good time” you mean losing all your money, your clothes, and your dignity. Note: All of these places are near navigable waterways. In practical terms this means that if you’re a sailor you’re screwed (and so are any young ladies you happen to meet). See also: Great Pox; Doleful Ghost.

*If you are a young lady do not allow young men into your garden. Or let them steal your thyme. Or agree to handle their ramrods while they’re hunting the bonny brown hare. Cuckoo’s nests are right out. And never stand sae the back o’ yer dress is up agin the wa’ (for if ye do ye may safely say yer thing-a-ma-jig’s awa’).

*Never let a stranger teach you a new game. No good will come of it.

*Sharing a boyfriend with your sister is a bad plan.

Having more than one True Love at a time is a non-starter.

*If you’re a brunette, give up.

*Not that being a blonde will improve the odds much.

*If your name is Janet, change it.

I was listening to Ian Lynch (of Lankum)'s radio show Fire Draw Near the other day, and he mentioned this recording being one of his all time favorites, so I looked it up. I was particularly enchanted by the liner notes which the youtuber here thoughtfully transferred in whole to the vid description, which quite paint a picture of the field recording process- to repost those here:

Liner Notes by Tom Munnelly: This ballad - Child no 93 - was recorded on my first ever field trip for the Department of Education in mid-September 1971. At that time the Reillys were camped on a bog a few miles from Cootehall. They did not own a caravan and we all crowded into the bowtent which was their home. Also inside were a couple of visiting in-laws sitting on the bedding of straw which, with an oil-drum fire, made up the furnishing. Half a dozen young children made a noise not exactly conducive to good recording quality. And the mother-in-law insisted on joining in all the songs, whether she knew the words or not. I returned in late October to try to get some better recordings and on that day there were only eight of us in the tent. We still had problems. Mrs. Reilly was holding a child in her arms in an attempt to keep him quiet, nevertheless the child would still occasionally wallop the microphone with one of the lollipops I had brought along to help pacify the youngsters. Recording had to be stopped twice as John would be overcome with laughter at the antics of his children. It is worth noting that Sam Henry's informant Alexander Crawford learned his version of this ballad from a traveller at a bog near Ballymoney, co. Antrim: J. Moulden Songs of the People I Belfast 1979, pp. 81-83.

-dan rhotic lancashire accent <3

-dabbin folk stick togetherrrr 💪

-fun christmasy intro and silly clapping!! ,,,, ~tehstinghh~

-dahdahdah. why isn’t this fuckn thing working??? thank yOU… riyt ,,,riiiiyt.

-edmund kittiwake!!! versifier and gentleman informerrrrr, metaphysical poet, failed divinity student, son of a weaver, and not a blacksmith inspired by sean bean

-trepanning.

-you’d then have to burn… the librarian

-an enormous hamlet!

-some lead for your scrofulous parts

-bahbahbahbarber alchemist

-thistlethwaite, kittiwake and berry <3

-dan wheeler: butcher, baker, podcastmaker, barber alchemist

-kittiwake and his killigrewesque voice!!! and the bound nature of a circle!!

-the MOLE

-working out all our personal issues as characters, that’s good 😎

-berry the amateur taxidermist

-when i was a boy. and he was a boy. (and they were both boys)

-nedwin havelock >:(

-so i was gulling young men

-the silent smoky obelisk of john dee

-six hours with biddy graham’s finest mince pies (aka nick berry makes a friend) that would never be anything more 🤨 (and their game of twister) (‘and then they fucked like wild dogs’ no they didn’t 🔎👁️)

-bugger off ned!!! you’re interrupting the WEAVING!!!

-secret gluten intolerance

-a cat’s stare that would make a bishop concerned (she’s foreshadowing)

-what’s his name? watt’s his name (x1000)

-you’ve got ghosts in your blood, let’s do some cocaine!!

-i’ll cook the wine while you cook the baby :D

-roll snitch 😎

-the rangey muscularity of the blacksmith

-WATT resemblance (but there’s an H in there…)

-i dip my hare-blood-soaked hands in the wassail and suck it off my fingers 🤢

-it has TEETH. do you feel disturbed?

-we’ll have this wrapped up in no time! let’s all look at the baby again!

-a metaphor for the curious…

-dee himself would have turned his face away!! and then turned it back! for greater study

-i feel deeply uneasy about doing this but it is the period (kiss him!)

-kill your son, no worries if not, all the best nick berry xxx

-joseph backstory monologue <3

(via Long Lankin - The Wainwright Sisters (2015)

There’s blood in the kitchen, There’s blood in the hall, There’s blood in the parlour, Where my Lady did fall.

Pretty Betsy she rode up to the tower so high till she saw her own dear father come a-riding close by “Oh father, oh father, will ye lay no blame on me, ‘twas the false nurse and Lamkin that killed your lady.”

Well, Long Lankin has been one of my favourite songs since I first heard Steeleye Span’s version when I was 6 or so, so obviously I had to draw it for @dotzines Loop zine, which you can download for free here.