Scarborough Fair and the Oral Tradition
How can we imagine so much about the past? The answer is simple: through the stories left behind for us.
Broadly, these come in two sources. First is the oral tradition: the act of passing on knowledge through the spoken word. Songs, poems and more were learnt off by heart and told, perhaps, around the fire for entertainment. Compared to the second source, written records, it’s a much-maligned method. Some of this belief makes sense: if there are different versions of the same event, and each version changes over time, how can you know what the truth is? Documents are much more tangible!
These ideas, however, neglect the fact that the written word can be just as unreliable; history is produced by the winners. There are, therefore, pros and cons to both methods. For the oral tradition, one positive is that any change can make stories belong to everyone. We’ve already seen this in the places claiming King Arthur for their own. Reinvented through many tellings, the main story feels alive.
There’s always a common thread, though. Even the more fantastical tales can tell us a lot about the context – the culture, history, and above all, people – they come from. As an example, let’s look at what is probably the most famous folk song of all time: ‘Scarborough Fair’.
The Where Fair?
Scarborough is in North Yorkshire, but the song isn’t actually from there. Well, sort of. Due to the oral tradition producing many versions of one tale, ‘Scarborough Fair’ is an English variant of an older Scottish ballad, ‘The Elfin Knight’.
This is common. The Ancient Britons, known as Celts, were pushed north and predominantly west by other groups of people settling in our islands: the Romans, Vikings, Anglo-Saxons. Today, this means that what remains of them in England often feels like it belongs more to the modern-day Celtic countries. With Yorkshire being in the north, there are further obvious overlaps with Scottish culture, compared to southern England.
In past centuries, it seems that there was more communication between different places than we think. Songs like ‘The Elfin Knight’ were shared as broadside ballads, because the broadsheet type of paper was easiest to produce and distribute. Before the printing press was invented, sharing compositions was solely the work of medieval minstrels. Before them, it was down to Celtic bards.
Behind our English song’s lyrics, the Fair in question was a large market that ran between the 13th and 18thcenturies. According to Scarborough’s Maritime Heritage Centre, the town’s key location – a North Sea port – meant that it was able to welcome traders from Scandinavia to the Ottoman Empire, as well as those closer to home.
Between Sea and Shore
Because it’s a seaside town, Scarborough became a Victorian resort, known for its history, sands – and spa water. Yorkshire water’s high mineral content makes for supernatural associations, but this is true for water in general. Where does this association come from?
The answer is in mythology, where bodies of water lie hand in hand with the land of the dead. In Ancient Greek beliefs, later adopted by the Romans, the most famous is the River Styx. When you die, Charon, if paid, ferries you across it to reach the Underworld. In Celtic mythology, the Otherworld was also believed to be underground. Anything linked to the earth beneath Britons’ feet was considered sacred. Bodies of water – particularly springs – were portals to this afterlife.
Here is where the differences come in. The Greco-Roman land of the dead is a dark, permanent place, difficult to reach. More often than not, people are trapped there. The Celtic version, on the other hand, sounds more heavenly: a paradise without age or disease. Its borders aren’t as strict, either. While the dead can only cross to the living world at gateway times, like Samhaim (Halloween), mortals can visit the Otherworld throughout the year.
The place still has an edge, though. It merges with stories of Faerie. It’s common in Celtic myth for people to spend one amount of time (say, minutes) in the Otherworld, only to go home and find that another length (say, centuries) has passed in the land of the living. Today, we’re more familiar with this in fantasy fiction. Susanna Clarke, for instance, peppers the footnotes of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell with this type of tale. Sometimes, her side characters have no idea how long they’ve been away in either place. Time is blurred.
So is meaning. Both ‘The Elfin Knight’ and ‘Scarborough Fair’ tell the story of a woman who’s about to marry a mysterious man. The wedding doesn’t have to go ahead – but only if she completes certain impossible tasks. The situation sounds hopeless.
Rosemary means Remembrance
Impossible tasks, however, are a common trope in fables. Like riddles and prophecies, they teach us that the future is not certain – or to be scoffed at. Despite being called impossible, they are often solved by somebody thinking out of the box. Shakespeare, for example, has Macbeth grow complacent after being told that none ‘of woman born’ can harm him; this proves to be the character’s undoing.
The woman in our folk song(s) also finds a way out. Unable to complete her tasks, she decides that, if she has to marry the man, it’s only fair to make requests of her own. By setting him equally impossible tasks, neither is able to marry the other. The situation is resolved.
It’s unclear when exactly ‘Scarborough Fair’ branched off from ‘The Elfin Knight’, but it’s a staple among folk singers. The song was collected in its current form from a retired miner, Mark Anderson, by Ewan MacColl in 1947. With Peggy Seeger, the latter man published it in a songbook, a copy of which came to Martin Carthy. He then taught it Paul Simon, who added lyrics with Art Garfunkel in an anti-war protest – and so, the most famous version of the song was born.
‘Scarborough Fair/Canticle’ gained new life in 1968 when it featured on the soundtrack to The Graduate. Since then, folk music has had a steady influence on our age of screen. After the Unthanks’ ‘Magpie’ underscored a breath-taking Detectorists montage, the Northumberland group again teamed up with Mackenzie Crook for Worzel Gummidge. The cast of Inside Llewyn Davis, Oscar Isaac’s breakthrough film, really do sing. Bardcore – medieval-style pop covers, and thus another form of reinvention – is a growing aesthetic. It’s clear that the oral tradition is here to stay.
Written by E. A. Colquitt
E.A Colquitt is based in the north of England. Currently working on her first novel, she is a graduate of Lancaster University and her favourite thing is being happy.
You can check out her blog HERE.
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