Posts Tagged ‘John Anderson My Jo’

John Anderson, My Jo – My Jim – My John – My Tom and My, What a Lunatic!

February 1, 2011

Image of this Irish couple (Luke and Bridget Reilly) is from the Photopol blog.

The parodies continue:

ANSWER TO “JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.”

BY MRS. CRAWFORD.

Jean Anderson, my ain Jean!
Ye’ve been a leal gude wife;
Ye’ve mair than shared by pain, Jean,
Ye’ve been my joy through life;
I loved ye in your youth, Jean,
Wi’ bonny snooded brow;
But maun I tell the truth, Jean,
I love ye better now.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *
I’ve been a man ol toil, Jean,
And aye obliged to roam;
But still ye had the smile, Jean,
And canny “welcome home!”
Our hearth was aye a light, Jean,
The kail pot on the fire,
When I came back at night, Jean,
I found my hearts desire.

Our bairus hae bred some cares, Jean,
But thanks to thee my Jo,
They brought not our gray hairs, Jean,
Wi’ shame or sorrow low;
And when at last our bed, Jean,
Beside the kirk maun be,
They’ll honor us when dead, Jean,
And that’s enough for me.

Rock River Pilot (Watertown, Wisconsin) Mar 1, 1848

The original Robert Burns version (previously posted) for comparison.

Peddlin’ My Jo:

1886 Bicycle for Two – Image from the Copenhagen City Museum

John Anderson, My Jo.
John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When we were first acquent
You wouldn’t ride the bike, John,
But now your spine is bent.
I see you riding by, John,
And goodness how you go —
You’re the swiftest sco???er in the town,
John Anderson, my Jo.

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither —
I’ll ne’er forget the day, John,
Nor, ”aibelins, wil you ither!
We coasted on your tandem,
And, jinks, how we did go,
Till we struck that fence-rail at the foot,
John Anderson, my Jo.

— Chicago News.

The Daily Herald (Delphos, Ohio) Jun 17, 1899

Civil War Hero:

John Logan, O my Jo, John,
When we were first acquaint,
A soldier bold you were, John,
Bedecked with warlike paint;
And when your slogan sounded
It nerved your loyal clan,
For to the front they bounded —
You led them like a man.

Oshkosh Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Jun 24, 1884

Image from Wiki.

Now for politics and corruption, but I repeat myself:

This one is about John Kelly and Tammany Hall:

John Kellyus, my jo, John,
When we were first acquaint,
You were a dreaded chief, John,
When you put on your paint;
But now your goose is cooked, John,
Your head is lying low —
It lies beneath old Sammy’s feet,
John Kellyus, my jo!

Albany Journal.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Oct 30, 1881

Image from The Old Photo Album website – American Civil War Portraits

COLFAX’S FAREWELL.

(“John Anderson, My Jo, John.“)

OLD subsidy, my Pomeroy,
When first we were acquaint,
The gospel of Sharpe’s rifles
Declared you quite a saint.
But now the cause of freedom
Will surely quick succumb —
In spite of all your bonds and things,
They cast you out, my Pom!

Well subsidized, my Pomeroy,
We fought the fight together,
And many a little picking, Pom,
Laid by for stormy weather.
Now we must tumble down, Pom,
But cheek by jowl we’ll fall,
And sink together in the mud
Where we were meant to crawl.

The Portsmouth Times (Portsmouth, Ohio) Mar 1, 1873

Image of Gov. J. Madison Wells from the Vangobot Pop Art Machine website.

“ADAPTED” FROM THE SCOTTISH.

Tom Anderson, my Jo, Tom,
When we were first acquaint,
For those electoral returns
In confidence you “went.”
You “fixed” ’em very bully, Tom,
With “Maddy” Wells and Co.,
And thought you had a certain thing,
Tom Anderson, my Jo!

But, Thomas A., my Jo, now
That matter “hasn’t went”
Entirely “serene,” and so
Your bonny brow is “brent,”
And your locks are prison locks, Tom,
And not at all like snow,
For they’ll not melt away with spring,
Tom Anderson, my Jo!

— Washington Post.

The Daily Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Feb 15, 1878

Image of John Sherman from Wiki.

ANOTHER CONFIDENTIAL LETTER.

FROM JOHN SHERMAN TO JAMES E. ANDERSON.

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
When first we were acquaint,
You hadn’t kalsomined yourself
With pugilistic paint.
But now your jaw is oiled, Jim,
You’re telling what you know,
And I am shaking in my shoes —
Jim Anderson, my jo.

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
We planned the fraud thegither,
And promised that we never would
Go back on one anither,
We juggled the returns, but James,
Jim James, how could you blow
And peach on me and Rutherford —
Jim Anderson, my jo?

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
I promised we would pay,
But you despised a clerkship at
Three dollars every day,
Old Evarts should have sent you off
Consul to Cailao —
But hindsight isn’t foresight much
Jim Anderson, my jo!

Jim Anderson, my jo, Jim,
‘Twas not a fair divide,
You stole the mule for us and then
We wouldn’t let you ride.
And Stanley M. is sick, Jim,
And Hayes is lying low,
And I’m the deadest sort of duck,
Jim Anderson, my jo!

— N.Y. Sun.

The Daily Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jun 9, 1878

Read more:

Title: A Political Crime: The History of the Great Fraud
Author: Albert M. Gibson
Publisher: W.S. Gottsberger, 1885

pg 214 [Wells, Tom Anderson]

Chapter XV pg 283 [Sherman and John E. Anderson]

President John Tyler image from the We Love the Prairie Primer homeschool blog.

From the United States Gazette.

A New Song to an Old Tune.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, when first we were acquaint,
You did pretend to be a Whig, for Harry, sir, you went;
But now you’ve got in power, John, the cloven foot you show;
A shame unto all traitors, John, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, the Whigs they fought thegither,
And many a canty day, John, they had with one anither;
But you have betrayed them, John, and why did you do so?
A shame unto all traitors, John, John Tyler, sir, my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, when nature first began,
To try her canny hand, John, her master work was man,
But when she turned you out, John, she said it was “no go,”
You proved to be but journey-work, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, why will you be a fool,
And sneak around the Locos, John, who use you as a tool?
They’re laughing in their sleeves, John, to think that you’ll veto
The only bill can save you, John, John Tyler, sir my Jo.

John Tyler, sir, my Jo John, the higher monkies go,
The more they show their tails, John, you know it’s even so;
Then get you out the White House, John, and homeward do you go,
And make the people happy, John, John Tyler, sir, my jo.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Sep 27, 1842

Image from the Turn Back to God website.

Sweet, Long-lasting love:

IT’S MIGHTY COMFORTIN’.

Oh, it’s mighty comfortin’ when your hair is gettin’ thin,
And the wrinkles in your face have come to stay,
Just to feel her little hand smoothin’ out each silver strand,
While you meet her lovin’ look and hear her say:

“John, my dear, it seems as tho’ every day you live you grow
Handsomer than in olden day.”
And you smile back at your wife while you think, in all your life
You never heard a sweeter word of praise.

Then somehow, the teardrops rise to your dim, old fadin’ eyes,
While you kiss the tender hand still white and small,
And you try to tell her how you loved her then — you love her now,
But, bless me, if the words will come at all!

For just then it comes to you to think of trials she’s gone thro’,
And borne without a murmur for your sake;
You can only bow your head at the lovin’ things she’s said,
And your poor old heart can only ache and ache.

But she knows what ails you then, and she kisses you again,
While you hear her gently whisper, sweet and low;
“Life has bro’t more hopes than fears; we have known more smiles than tears;
You are the dearest dear of dears, John Anderson, my Jo!”

So it’s comfortin’, I say, when your hair is gettin’ gray,
And our slippin’ down life’s hill a mighty fast,
Just to feel her little hand strokin’ back each silver strand,
While she whispers that she loves you to the last.

— Farmer’s Voice.

The Daily Herald (Delphos, Ohio) Feb 26, 1898

Image of Lunatic Asylum, Columbus, Ohio from Wiki.

Kind of odd, dare I say crazy, for this Judge to out “riding” with this  “lunatic.” Maybe he was jilted:

A Poetic Fancy.

Judge Gilmore, of Columbus, has the original manuscript of the following verse, written by a young man who went to the lunatic asylum about a week later. The young poet asked the Judge out for a drive, and when they had gone some miles into the country said his object was to submit something to him. He then recited, “John Anderson, my jo,” and when he came to the sad ending: “We’ll sleep the gither at the fit, John Anderson, my jo,” he exclaimed, “That’s not the end of it. Burns never finished it. That’s not the end of such life-long love. There’s more to it. I have the closing verse here.” Then he read it:

John Anderson, my jo, John,
We wilna min’ that sleep;
The grave, so cauld an’ dark, John,
The spirit canna keep
For we will wake in heaven, John;
An’ hand in hand we’ll go
An live for aye in blissfu’ love
John Anderson, my jo.

Lima Daily News (Lima, Ohio) Jul 9, 1889

*****

Previous “John Anderson, My Jo” posts:

Robert Burns: “John Anderson, My Jo”

and

John Alcohol and the Poor Man’s Club

Robert Burns: “John Anderson, My Jo”

January 25, 2010

From: The News (Frederick, Maryland) Mar 28, 1924

Intriguing comment [excerpt] left by Astri on a previous post about Robert Burns and Auld Lang Syne:

I just discovered at a local Robbie Burns party celebrating his birthday last night, here in western Canada, what I, for 3 or more decades, have loved and sung in Norwegian as an old Norwegian folk song. This is “Jon Anderson, Min Jo”.

Last night at the party, I discovered the English-language song called “John Anderson, my Joe” – to nearly the same tune (some of the ancient natural-scale tones common in the Norwegian folk music had been anglicized or ‘normalized’ according to english folk tunes) and with basically the same verses, in English.

I said to my friend driving home in the car, “I wonder if Burns heard this song and ‘lifted’ it for its beauty and lovely sentiment,” ~  maybe while travelling in Norway, or in a pub meeting Norwegian travellers (brought together by the prospect of beer, ever-alluring to both our peoples, from early days of mead-making and viking-travel, on doubt!)!

It would be interesting to find out when the Norwegians first started singing this song.  Might turn out to be one of those chicken/egg things, but I would be interested in finding out more. I tried searching the Norwegian title, and I only got 2 hits, neither of which gave any information.

This comment jogged my memory of a temperance poem I had previously posted, which turned out to be a parody of “John Anderson, My Jo.”  I decided to see what else I could dig up on this same poem, being it is Robert Burns’ birthday. Evidently, this poem was so popular, it was parodied quite a bit. Below is a sample of what I found:

From the Murder by Gaslight blog (link below)

Looking for a sausage vat picture for this first parody, I was surprised to find the above image actually took me to a blog  post about the murder referenced in the parody! Link: Louise Luetgert: The Sausage Vat Murder

Rather sick sense of humor, I think:

SAID IN FUN.

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When you and I first met
We loved each other well, John;
But not, already yet;
We had a little spat, John,
Not many months ago,
And you boiled me in a sausage vat,
John Anderson, my Jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Oct 21, 1897

SAID IN FUN.

John Anderson, my Jo John
When we again prepare
To kill the boar black pigs John,
That scent the perfumed air,
We’ll bribe our fellow men, John,
With cash before we go,
To haul them to the slaughter pen,
John Anderson, my Jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Nov 22, 1897

I saw the great regatta go
A half a mile from land;
The sons of Eli tried to row
Their boat to beat the band.
The oars sank deep, the men perspired,
I heard them puff and blow —
Too slow the pace, they lost the race,
John Anderson, my jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Jul 10, 1909

*****

Now, for a couple of advertisements:

The Ohio Democrat ( New Philadelphia, Ohio) Oct 18, 1888

SKIDOO!

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When last it was we met,
Our winter supply of Coal, John,
Hand not been purchased yet.
“It’s time you was skidooing, John,”
I hear all the wise people speak —
There should be something doing, John,
Then do it now — this week.

No.2 Chestnut . . . $5.75 the ton
UNION COAL CO. 119 Main St.

The Fitchburg Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Jun 25, 1906

*****

A political parody:

John C. Calhoun (Image from http://www.historycooperative.org

JOHN C. CALHOUN MY JO.

A COMIC POLITICAL SONG.
Tune – “John Anderson my Jo.”

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, I’m sorry for your fate,
You’ve nullify’d the Tariff laws, you’ve nullify’d your State;
You’ve nullify’d your party, John, and principles, you know,
And now you’ve nullified yourself, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Oh! John how could you look into the face of Henry Clay?
The glory of the Western World, and of the World away;
You call’d yourself his ‘master,’ John, but that can ne’er be so,
For he ‘would not own you for a slave,’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The Father of the Tariff, and patron of the Arts,
He seeks to build his country up in spite of foreign parts;
And Harrison will soon upset the little Van & Co.
And renovate the ship of State, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, ambition in despair
Once made you nullify the WHOLE, the HALF of it to share;
The ‘whole hog now you’ve gone,’ John, with Kendall, Blair & Co.’
But ‘you’ve got the wrong sow by the ear,’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

American mechanics, John, will never sell their votes
For mint drops or for Treasury bills, or even British coats;
They want no English coaches, John, while servants they forego,
For their carriage is of Yankee stamp, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Oh! John he is a slippery blade with whom you’ve got to deal,
He’ll pass between your clutches too, just like a living eel;
You think he’ll RECOMMEND you, John, but Van will ne’er do so,
For he wants the fishes for himself, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, if this you dare to doubt,
Go ask the LIVING SKELETON who deals his secrets out;
His favorites are marked, John, the mark you cannot toe,
And you’ll soon repent the bargain made, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

This is dirty business, John, go wash your little hands,
And never bow your knee again to cunning Van’s commands;
‘How are you off for soap,’ John, I cannot say I know,
But ‘your mother does not know you’re out’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The brave sons of the South, John, will never own you more,
And Benton’s Mint Drops will not save — you’re rotten to the core;
The people will no power, John, on such as you bestow,
And you’ve jump’d your final sumerset, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Then better men, my Jo John our sad affairs will fix,
Republicans in principle, the Whigs of Seventy six;
The offices they’ll purge, John, Swartwouters all must go,
And Sycophantic fellows too, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The farmer of North Bend, John, will plough the weeds away,
And the terror of Tecumseh then will gain another day;
America will flourish John, mechanics find employ,
And our merchants will rejoice indeed, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, when one term shall expire,
He’ll drop the reins of power and with dignity retire,
To look upon a smiling land, that he has rendered so,
And every Whig will cry AMEN, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

MIDFORD BARD.
Poet’s Garret, Baltimore, January, 1840.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Mar 7,  1840

Francis Scott Key

This last one is not a parody, but rather interesting, if Francis Scott Key actually penned these additional verses:

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

A Pipe Creek Man Awakens a Reminiscence of Francis Scott Key.

A correspondent of the Washington Evening Star writes: In your issue of Saturday you publish an added verse to Burns’ “John Anderson, My Jo,” written by a lady from Georgia.

Mr. Francis S. Key, the author of the “Star Spangled Banner,” wrote two additional verses to Burns’ poem, and not remembering having seen them published, I send them to you.

Mr. Key writes:

“There ought to be another —

John Anderson my Jo, John,
From that sleep again we’ll wake,
When another day’s fair light
On our opened eyes shall break.
And we’ll rise in youth and beauty
To that bright land to go,
Where life and love shall last for aye,
John Anderson, my Jo

OR

John Anderson, my Jo, John,
One day we’ll waken there,
Where a brighter morn than ever shone,
Our opened eyes shall cheer.
And in fresh youth and beauty
To that blest land we’ll go
Where we’ll live and love forever,
John Anderson, my Jo.”

Pipe Creek, October 13, 1842. B.

The News (Frederick, Maryland) May 21,  1885