OT Advent Calendar Bonus Content: 380 Reasons to Leave Your Lover

Advent has always been my favorite time of year. Not only does it lead up to the festival of Christmas, but my birthday falls right around half way through. What’s more, I grew up in snowy Central New York—that’s the barren hinterlands of Upstate, for those in the city so nice they named it twice—and if I didn’t get a White Christmas, the Great Lakes were good for a storm around my birthday so there’d at least be a good beginning to the winter.

Advent is far from an untouched subject around these parts, so I’m clearly not alone.

Your OT Advent Calendar this year will be musical. We’ll talk about diamond-in-the-rough traditional tunes just waiting for renewed popularity, crimes against Christmas, the silly songs and the songs that have become modern traditions. We’ll also talk about the notion of true Christmas Carols, those which address the twelve days festival beginning on Christmas itself, including not just the one day-counting song but another. 

Let’s dive in, shall we?

Today’s theme, our last, is Counting Songs.

Christmas is a twelve day festival, and of the twelve days of Christmas, Christmas itself is the first. Twelfth Night is, in the Western Tradition, followed by the Feast of the Epiphany, January 6th. Today I offer two counting songs. Let’s begin with the less annoying, shall we?

“Jolly Old Hawk”

The history of this song is thin; it was collected by Cecil Sharp in Somerset, England in the earliest 20th century. It is, however, likely to be much older. All of the gifts smack of pastoral English peasant life.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey;
Now let us sing.
Who’s going to win the girl but me?
Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth-most day.

Twelve old bears and they was a-roaring,
Eleven old mares and they was a-brawling,
Ten old cocks crawl out in the morning,
Nine old boars and they was a-quarrelling.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth most day.

Eight old bulls and they was a-blaring;
Seven old calves and they ran before
Six old cows and they was a-bellowing,
Five for fif and a fairy.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey
Sent to my love on the twelfth most day.

A four-feeted pig and a three-fistle cock,
And two little birds and a jolly old hawk.

Jolly old hawk and his wings were grey;
Now let us sing.
Who’s going to win the girl but me?

For what it’s worth, “fif and a fairy” appears to refer to a fieldfare, a sort of thrush.

“The Twelve Days of Christmas”

First off, this song is not, nor ever was, a secret code for repressed recusant Catholics during the English Reformation and Counter-Reformation. Not only is there no evidence suggesting that it was, all logic is to the contrary.

The song was first published in a children’s songbook around 1780 in England, with possible origins in the north, perhaps around Newcastle-on-Tyne. It was likely a children’s memory song.

It is also one of the worst examples of dating advice imaginable. Between Christmas and the 5th of January, a total of 380 gifts of varying utility are given by the True Love in question.

A dozen partridges in as many pear trees, for example. If you don’t already own the sort of land suitable for a small orchard, this is gifting an obligation.

You can eat the partridges; I hear they’re delicious.

A turtle dove is a symbol of love and friendship. Twenty-two turtle doves is a couple of weeks decent eating.

While I think my True Love should just have called Omaha Steaks or somesuch, My true Love is so far ahead on balance.

I can eat the thirty French hens or their eggs, but what the Hell am I supposed to do with thirty-six calling birds? That’s an unholy cacophony, right there.

My True Love is slipping, but I’m still a hair in the black.

Forty golden rings! Now, there’s a gift. This is a substantial gift card level gift.

My True Love toyed with me a bit, but this is solid.

Forty-two geese a-laying. This is a sneaky good gift. Not only do I get eggs, but geese are notoriously territorial. I have, essentially, a security force to keep the tax assessors out of my pear orchard.

Forty-two swans a-swimming. Another obligation. I can feed them, but killing them and eating them is controversial.

Forty maids a-milking. I guess they earn their keep, though I guess I need to invest in cows or goats or something.

My True Love is slipping again.

Thirty-six ladies dancing. Just like the maids aforesaid, I now need to clothe, feed and otherwise maintain the ladies. Unlike the maids, these ladies just prance around, being more in the way than not, I imagine.

That’s 118 straight gifts that are terrible. My True Love has to have something sweet up her sleeve, right?

Thirty lords a-leaping. Am I supposed to set up a steeplechase? This is absolutely useless.

My True Love has failed, completely. Not even a thirty-four member pipe and drum corps can save her. 

Sorry, True Love.

To those who have been following this series, I hope that you have had some laughs, some joy and heard some new music. I know that I have learned much over the last month. Thank you for reading.