Lyrics
(Irish folk song)
My Aunt Jane, she took me in,
She gave me tea out of her wee tin.
Half a bap with sugar on the top,
Three black lumps* out of her wee shop.
My Aunt Jane, she’s awful smart,
She bakes wee rings in an apple tart.
And when Halloween comes around,
For next that tart I’m always found.
My Aunt Jane has a bell on the door,
A white stone step and a clean swept floor.
Candy apples, hard green pears,
Conversation lozenges.
My Aunt Jane, she can dance a jig,
Sing a song ‘round a sweetie pig.
Wee red eyes and a cord for a tail,
Hanging in a bunch from a crooked nail.
My Aunt Jane she never cross,
She paid five shillings for an old wooden horse.
She jumped on its back, the bones let a crack,
You’ll play the fiddle till I get back.
*”black lumps” = “aniseed balls, popular with children at the time.” (source)
Recorder Notes D, E, G, A, B, C, D'
See also
- Country: Ireland
- Subjects: family / Halloween
- Harmony: ostinati / Orff arrangements / chords I, IV, V
- Melody: low so & low la / D,E,G,A,B,C,D’
- Meter: 4
- Rhythm: / / (see Orff arrangement) /
- Scale: hexachord
- Tones: drmfsl
YouTube
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4 thoughts on “My Aunt Jane”
Grandpa used to sing this to us as young children, but he sang it as ……half a ‘ penny ‘ bap…………etc……
My grandmother sang this to us but only the first verse. And she also said half a penny Bap. She grew up in Ireland.
I’m Irish too, I grew up there. Born 1939, I well remember aniseed balls during the 1940s-1950s. But hey were dark red, not black. I think the ‘black lumps’ were more likely to have been liquorice.
In the lyrics, the last line should be “Forninst that door I’m always found”. Forninst is a word rarely heard outside Northern Ireland, where this song originates (Belfast). It means “in front of”, as in front of the aunt’s house door. It’s opposite is “ahint”, meaning “behind”, as in “its ahint you” (behind you).
My father used to sing me the song when I was small . . . “Brandy balls and hard green pears . . .”.
AH, it was a great treat to here this again. I grew up on the Springfield RD in Belfast Where all the girls skipped to many a song. Its a great pity that none of the children today know any of those story telling songs, indeed making friends and learning about life as we did is lost to time. The quick witted hummer that taught us all how to engage with one and another seems to be found in I phones. I still miss the love of sharing songs and what we call the crack. Bless all who love life. Hugh.