“We’ve driven them to poverty Let’s leave them for a spell – Let’s try the Joneses down the road They’re bound to feed us well!” Chorus Source material: Eirwen Jones, Folk Tales of Wales, London, 1947, pp. And we’ve no spinach nor spring greens, No peas inside the shell We’ll boil up daisy petals, then, And they’ll serve just as well!” Chorus The elves sat at the dining table, But when they heard Nod’s words, They curled their lips disgustedly, They said, “That’s quite absurd! Roasted frog for twenty men? The woman must be joking! And daisy petals for our greens?” They coughed, and started choking. “I’ll wring their scrawny little necks, The witch will cast a spell! That shepherd said the elves were kind! Oh! What a fib to tell!” Chorus “See here! You must pretend to leave!” Said the wily witch, “Pack your cart with furniture, And clothes, take every stitch! And when you’ve gone across the river Then you may turn back!” And so poor Non and Morgan Rolled the cartload down the track, But when they stopped to turn around Poor Morgan cried, “Oh hell! A ton of luggage is in this cart And all the elves as well!” Chorus But when it came to harvest time They had a cunning plan, And Morgan said, “I’ll need some help – More’n twenty man!” Non said, “More than twenty men? Why then, they must be fed, But we’ve no meat, so they must eat Some roasted frog instead. He cried, “We’ll have to see a witch! She’ll tell us what to do!” But he got a shock when he tried to stand – His bum stuck down with glue. They’d hurled the crockery down a cliff And watched it fall pell-mell, They’d piddled on the furniture, It left an awful smell! Chorus And when poor Morgan tried to dress They’d pinched his underpants He wanted honey on his porridge But they’d filled the pot with ants.
So he went to the folks in the village And he told them, “Be kind to the elves, For they’ll always do you a favour With never a thought for themselves.” Now the people believed this strange story, But I think it sounds dubious, don’t you? ‘Twas a happy tale told by the shepherd, But it wasn’t entirely true: Non was the wife of Morgan, She was a kindly soul An elfin lass came by one day, So she offered her a bowl Of lovely soup, ‘twas piping hot, But hearken what resulted: For she said, “I’m an elfin queen, And now I feel insulted! I’ll tell my subjects, one and all And they’ll play merry hell! I’ll have them pilfer all your plates And all your food as well!” Chorus: And if you will not serve us well, Why, we will serve ourselves! Don’t try to make us go away! We’re the nosy Brecon Elves! Then all was silent on the farm Until the break of day, ‘Twas then poor Morgan realised They’d led the cows astray, They’d stolen all the horses’ shoes, The milk-churns overturned He couldn’t even light his pipe – The match-heads were all burned.
The elf, he departed with bowing, “Alas, I am poor, and I’m old,” The shepherd said, “else I would pay you With a round sovereign of gold.” The shepherd went out for the shearing, He said, “I’ve a stone in my shoe,” He emptied it out on the heather – ‘Twas a sovereign shiny and new. He gave the elf thanks for his housework As he warmed his cold toes by the hob, He offered the elf buttered kippers And the elf stuffed them into his gob. He came home one morning for breakfast And he found that his kitchen was clean Sitting down by the dogs of the fire Was an elf, clad in scarlet and green. THE BRECON ELVES Prologue: A poor shepherd lived on the hillside, Way up in the high Brecon hills He lived where the grouse chuckled softly, Far from the sound of the mills. I wrote this song lyric quite a few years ago, before I had ever seen the Brecon Beacons national park.
#GOLDEN BLACK FROQ HOW TO#
As you can see, an invisible one is sitting on that fencepost in the foreground, wondering how to jinx my camera. It is best to wear at least your underpants inside-out when negotiating this countryside, since the local Little People are said to be particularly tricksy. These are the Black Mountains, a short, ear-popping drive from Hay-on-Wye, and the weather is more or less typical, in our experience.
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