A writers’ group I belong to were recently set the task of composing a short piece opening with the words: ‘I walked to work today…’ This was mine.

‘I walked to work today…’ or words to that effect, have long served as the opening for songs the world over. And small wonder, since walking – or Shanks’s pony as my mum often called it – has been the main means of transport for thousands of years. What often happened next in these songs was the protagonist met with some misfortune, as in the Broadside Ballad, The Death of a Lady (1683-1700), which goes:

As I walked out one morning in May, the birds did sing and the lambs did play,

Unfortunately, she meets an old man who says:

My name is Death, cannot you see? Lords, dukes, and ladies bow down to me.

Though the lady offers gold, jewels, and costly robes to live a few more years, he continues:

Fair lady lay your robes aside, no longer glory in your pride,

And now sweet maid make no delay, your time has come, and you must away. 

But ill fortune does not always follow, as in The Wanton Seed, a song collected by A.L. Lloyd:

As I walked out one spring morning fair,

To view the fields and take the air,

There I heard a pretty young maid making her complain,

All she wanted was the chiefest grain…

In other words, what she needs is a man to: ‘sow my meadow with the wanton seed.’

Then he: ‘sowed high and sowed low, and under the bush the seed did grow.

There are, of course, many songs where pregnancy leads to disgrace and even death, but though some collectors attempted to sanitize bawdy lyrics the original version usually emerges. Though not just traditional songs may begin this way. Bob Dylan, in 1967, John Wesley Harding, wrote:

As I went out one morning to breathe the air around Tom Paine,

I spied the fairest damsel whoever did walk in chains.

I offered her my hand, she took me by the arm,

And in that very instant knew she meant to do me harm. 

The lyric’s meaning, as with many Dylan songs, have been argued about but seem to me a simple warning – as in many old songs – beware false charms of the opposite sex. An even more recent example of the mode is Van Morrison’s 2020 rant:

As I walked out all the streets were empty,

The government said everyone should stay home.

And they spread fear and loathing and no hope for the future,

Not many did question this very strange move.

Van’s main complaint seems to be that the government changed its mind about the need to socially distance and asks why we are not being told the truth. He has, obviously, the right to sing what he likes, but underlying it appears mainly frustration at the cancellation of gigs. Perhaps, though, Morrison and others who disregard medical advice might heed the words of this old American song:

As I walked out in the streets of Laredo,

As I walked out in Laredo one day,

I spied a young cowboy wrapped in white linen,

Wrapped in white linen and cold as the clay.

‘The Streets of Laredo’ was first published in 1910 in John Lomax’s ‘Cowboy Songs and Other Frontier Ballads’, though it’s probably older. Recorded by Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, Willy Nelson, and many others. A rather gloomy message, I agree, like many folk songs – the joy being able to say thank goodness not me. As in ‘The Housewives Lament’ written by an anonymous woman during the American Civil War (from ‘Something to Sing’, compiled by Geoffrey Brace, 1970).

One day as I was walking I heard a complaining

And saw an old woman the picture of gloom.

She gazed at the mud on her doorstep, twas raining,

And this was her song as she wielded her broom.

Oh life is a toil, and love is a trouble, beauty will fade, and riches will flee.

Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,

and nothing is as I would wish it would be.

But modern song writers can be just as glum – see Frank Turner’s ‘Broken Piano’ (Tape Deck Heart – 2013):

As I walked out one morning fair I found myself drawn thoughtlessly,

Back to the place we used to live, and you still do, now without me.

Around the back, away from the road, behind the bins, beneath your window,

I found the hulk, the rusting bulk, of a shattered old piano.

Someone had torn out the keys with cruel care, not thoughtlessly,

In such a way one could only play minor melodies.

It goes without saying, Frank’s attempt to play sad songs ‘on the banks of the muddy Thames’, does not go well. Maybe, as with many other song writers, he should have stayed at home and not ‘walked out one morning’.