The Brewer’s Big Horses

This is one of the Songs to Raise Girls, songs that I learned before Kindergarten. A very weird list of songs.

This song comes from my maternal grandfather. My mother said that it was a Congregationalist temperance song….

The photograph is Morris D. Temple and his grandson, F. Temple Burling. F. Temple Burling is my maternal grandfather. I am related to Temple Pumps. According to my mother’s stories, Morris Temple was more interested in Japanese art than in Temple Pumps and the company eventually folded. I don’t know if that is true, or if it was a different Temple then Morris. However, my middle name is Temple.

This song is one that I don’t have memorized, though I know the tune. I have my mother’s handwritten lyrics, with her drawings framing it. There is a tape of my grandfather singing it in the Library of Congress, according to my mother. I would like to go listen to it some time.

I’ve copied it just how my mother wrote it out. There might be an issue about political correctness, but I have a picture of Morris Temple in the 1860s, in his civil war uniform, with a sword. You will have to wait for that post to see which side he fought for….. I presume that my mother wrote it down as she was taught it. I am not sure who talked like this in Iowa in the 1880s, but maybe it was most people.

The Brewers’ Big Horses

O, the brewer’s big horses, comin’ down de road
A totin’ along old Lucifer’s load
Dey step so high and dey step so free
But them big horses can’t run over me

Chorus:
O no! boys O no!
De turnpike’s free where ever I go
I’m a temperance ingine don’t you see
So them big horses can’t run ovah me
Repeat with “toot toot toots”

O de liquo’ men been actin lak de own de place
A livin’ off de sweat o’ de po’ man’s face
Dey’s fat and sassy as dey can be
But deir big horses can’t run ovah me

Chorus

I’ll harness dem horses to de temperance cart
I’ll hit ’em with the gad fo’ to give ’em a start
I’ll teach ’em how fo’ to haw an’ gee
So them big horses can’t run ovah me

Chorus

It took me a while to find this song on the internet. It is listed in temperance songs in wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Temperance_songs and is mentioned in The Christian Advocate under lyrics: The Brewers Big Horses. It is listed as written in 1913 by JB Herbert and HS Taylor. Isn’t it interesting that Budweiser still uses the Brewer’s Big Horses in advertising?

Again, this is a song I was learning way before I know what a brewer or a turnpike was. My parents stopped singing a bunch of songs when they realized that I was memorizing all of them. They did not want me singing certain songs in Kindergarten.

They did not need to worry. I shut up when I got to school, because no one wanted to sing and no one knew the songs. They all talked about television and we didn’t have one.

I was very disappointed in school. Not enough singing and it was lonely.

Cindy gets real and skips the ball

We had a lovely dinner with family and friends. I look at the tablecloths and napkins that I have inherited and I am glad that I live in a time where I can work as a female physician and am not embroidering elaborate tablecloths and napkins. Some of the ones that I have WERE done by female relatives. Amazing and work that is currently not very valued.

So my centerpiece was an acknowledgement of the changes: Cindy is not going to ride in the coach. She has a canoe and paddles and a backpack, sleeping bag, stove, water bottle and GPS. She is going to find her own way and paddle her own canoe.

Dream: Get real, Girl

I dream that I am a prisoner and being tortured. The torturers are indistinct and shadows. They cut slices into my flesh and put me back in my cell.

I am out of my cell again and I am seen from the back, naked from the hips up. The torturer cuts slices in my back with a cutlas. The previous slices have healed and scarred. I am done. I turn, grab the cutlas and slice off the torturers hands at mid-forearm. His hands are visible as they fall away, but the rest of him is still a shadow. I will win, I know.

I have a new vase. I take the white china vase out of the base, which has brass wheels and a support like a coach. Like Cindarella’s coach. I use the vase as a template to carve the base of a pumpkin to fit. I carve it into a coach sitting on the base. I find a plastic horse and the “Get real, Girl” in her hiking boots. I photograph it and caption it: “After she smashes the glass slippers, the coachmen and horses revert to mice and rats and run away. She steals a horse from her father, puts on her hiking gear, skips the ball and heads for the hills for good.”

Then I wake up.

As you can see, I haven’t carved the pumpkin yet, nor found the horse. But I will.