Oh By Jingo Sheet Music

[Reney Shammo]

MacDermottwas born in Islington in 1845, as John Farrell. His parents were Patrick Farrell, an Irish bricklayer, and Mary McDermott, also from Ireland, a laundress. He had left home by 1861 to join the navy, where he started to perform as an entertainer. Back in London in 1866 he married Mary Ann Stradwick, with whom he had a son. He became an actor at the Grecian Theatre in Shoreditch using the stage name Gilbert Hastings before adding his mother's maiden name and becoming known as G. H. Macdermott. In 1872 he wrote an adaptation of Charles Dickens' Edwin Drood for the theatre.[1][2]

He started performing in music halls in 1874, with the song "If Ever There Was a Damned Scamp", but had his greatest success in 1878 with the song "By Jingo", also known as "Macdermott's War Song". The song was written at the time of the Great Eastern Crisis and the threat of all-out war between Russia and Turkey.[3] MacDermott was persuaded to buy the song from G. W. Hunt for one guinea, and became well known for his rousing rendition. Its chorus of "We don't want to fight but by jingo if we do, We've got the ships, we've got the men, and got the money too!" introduced the word jingoism into the English language.[1][4] The song became hugely popular, so much so that the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII, had MacDermott sing it for him at a private audience. The war song was brought back several times by other artists and was sung in an altered version during the First World War.

MacDermott also performed other songs, including "True Blues, Stand By Your Guns", and "Charlie Dilke Upset the Milk", about the notorious Dilke divorce case of 1885.[1] In about 1883 he started living in Lambeth with a young actress, Annie Milburn, daughter of actor James Hartley Milburn, and had another four children, all of whom adopted his stage name of MacDermott.

His youngest child, Annie Louise Mary MacDermott, later became a stage star by the name of Ouida MacDermott. In an obituary on 9 May 1901, The Daily Telegraph called G. H. MacDermott the last lion comique, artists whose stage appearance resplendent in evening dress contrasted with the cloth cap image of most of their music hall contemporaries. The MacDermott family grave is at West Norwood Cemetery. Ouida is buried in the Roman Catholic Churchyard at Old Hall Green, Hertfordshire.

One midnight of a winter month the sleepers in Riversley Grange were awakenedby a ringing of the outer bell and blows upon the great hall-doors. SquireBeltham was master there: the other members of the household were, his daughterDorothy Beltham; a married daughter Mrs. Richmond; Benjamin Sewis, an oldhalf-caste butler; various domestic servants; and a little boy, christenedHarry Lepel Richmond, the squire's grandson. Riversley Grange lay in a richwatered hollow of the Hampshire heath-country; a lonely circle of enclosedbrook and pasture, within view of some of its dependent farms, but out of hailof them or any dwelling except the stables and the head-gardener's cottage.Traditions of audacious highwaymen, together with the gloomy surroundingfir-scenery, kept it alive to fears of solitude and the night; and there wasthat in the determined violence of the knocks and repeated bell-peals whichassured all those who had ever listened in the servants' hall toprognostications of a possible night attack, that the robbers had come at lastmost awfully. A crowd of maids gathered along the upper corridor of the mainbody of the building: two or three footmen hung lower down, bold in attitude.Suddenly the noise ended, and soon after the voice of old Sewis commanded themto scatter away to their beds; whereupon the footmen took agile leaps to thepost of danger, while the women, in whose bosoms intense curiosity nowsupplanted terror, proceeded to a vacant room overlooking the front entrance,and spied from the window.

Meanwhile Sewis stood by his master's bedside. The squire was a hunter, of theold sort: a hard rider, deep drinker, and heavy slumberer. Before venturing toshake his arm Sewis struck a light and flashed it over the squire's eyelids tomake the task of rousing him easier. At the first touch the squire sprang up,swearing by his Lord Harry he had just dreamed of fire, and muttering ofbuckets.

'Cool, sir! confound it, Sewis, haven't I heard a whole town of steeples atwork? I don't sleep so thick but I can hear, you dog! Fellow comes here, givesme a start, tells me to be cool; what the deuce! nobody hurt, then? all right!'

'Gentleman downstairs come rather late.' The squire recapitulated theintelligence to possess it thoroughly. 'Rather late, eh? Oh! Shove him into abed, and give him hot brandy and water, and be hanged to him!'

Sewis held the garment ready. The squire jumped from the bed, fumingspeechlessly, chafing at gaiters and braces, cravat and coat, and allowed hisbuttons to be fitted neatly on his calves; the hammering at the hall-door andplucking at the bell going on without intermission. He wore the aspect of onewho assumes a forced composure under the infliction of outrages on hischaracter in a Court of Law, where he must of necessity listen and lock hisboiling replies within his indignant bosom.

The squire was diverted from his objurgations against this piece of servitorialdefiance by his daughter Dorothy's timid appeal for permission to come in.Sewis left the room. Presently the squire descended, fully clad, and breathingsharply from his nostrils. Servants were warned off out of hearing; none butSewis stood by.

'Is plain Augustus Fitz-George Roy Richmond at this moment, Mr. Beltham. Youwill recognize me better by opening your door entirely: voices are deceptive.You were born a gentleman, Mr. Beltham, and will not reduce me to request youto behave like one. I am now in the position, as it were, of addressing abadger in his den. It is on both sides unsatisfactory. It reflects egregiousdiscredit upon you, the householder.'

It was a quiet grey night, and as the doors flew open, a largely-built man,dressed in a high-collared great-coat and fashionable hat of the time, stoodclearly defined to view. He carried a light cane, with the point of the silverhandle against his under lip. There was nothing formidable in his appearance,and his manner was affectedly affable. He lifted his hat as soon as he foundhimself face to face with the squire, disclosing a partially bald head, thoughhis whiskering was luxuriant, and a robust condition of manhood was indicatedby his erect attitude and the immense swell of his furred great-coat at thechest. His features were exceedingly frank and cheerful. From his superiorheight, he was enabled to look down quite royally on the man whose repose hehad disturbed.

'Permit me first to speak of the cause of my protracted arrival, sir. Theridicule of casting it on the post-boys will strike you, Mr. Beltham, as itdoes me. Nevertheless, I must do it; I have no resource. Owing to a rascal ofthe genus, incontinent in liquor, I have this night walked seven miles fromEwling. My complaint against him is not on my own account.'

'Mr. Beltham, I implore you, be merciful. I submit to any conditions: only letme see her. I will walk the park till morning, but say that an interview shallbe granted in the morning. Frankly, sir, it is not my intention to employforce: I throw myself utterly on your mercy. I love the woman; I have much torepent of. I see her, and I go; but once I must see her. So far I also speakpositively.'

Some minutes later the boy was taken out of his bed by his aunt Dorothy, whodressed him by the dark window-light, crying bitterly, while she said, 'Hush,hush!' and fastened on his small garments between tender huggings of his bodyand kissings of his cheeks. He was told that he had nothing to be afraid of. Agentleman wanted to see him: nothing more. Whether the gentleman was a goodgentleman, and not a robber, he could not learn but his aunt Dorothy, havingwrapped him warm in shawl and comforter, and tremblingly tied his hat-stringsunder his chin, assured him, with convulsive caresses, that it would soon beover, and he would soon be lying again snug and happy in his dear little bed.She handed him to Sewis on the stairs, keeping his fingers for an instant tokiss them: after which, old Sewis, the lord of the pantry, where all sweetthings were stored, deposited him on the floor of the hall, and he foundhimself facing the man of the night. It appeared to him that the stranger wasof enormous size, like the giants of fairy books: for as he stood a little outof the doorway there was a peep of night sky and trees behind him, and thetrees looked very much smaller, and hardly any sky was to be seen except overhis shoulders.

The squire seized one of the boy's hands to present him and retain him at thesame time: but the stranger plucked him from his grandfather's hold, andswinging him high, exclaimed, 'Here he is! This is Harry Richmond. He has growna grenadier.'

'You see what you have done; you have cut me off from my own,' he said terriblyto the squire; but tried immediately to soothe the urchin with nursery talk andthe pats on the shoulder which encourage a little boy to grow fast and tall.'Four years of separation,' he resumed, 'and my son taught to think that he hasno father. By heavens! it is infamous, it is a curst piece of inhumanity. Mr.Beltham, if I do not see my wife, I carry off my son.'

'You swear to me she has lost her wits; she cannot suffer. I can. I shall notexpect from you, Mr. Beltham, the minutest particle of comprehension of afather's feelings. You are earthy; you are an animal.'

'Damn your fine speeches, and keep your blackguardly hands off that boy,' thesquire thundered. 'Mind, if you take him, he goes for good. He doesn't get apenny from me if you have the bringing of him up. You've done for him, if youdecide that way. He may stand here a beggar in a stolen coat like you, and Iwon't own him. Here, Harry, come to me; come to your grandad.'

The door slammed violently on such further speech as he had in him to utter. Heseemed at first astonished; but finding the terrified boy about to sob, he drewa pretty box from one of his pockets and thrust a delicious sweetmeat betweenthe whimpering lips. Then, after some moments of irresolution, during which hestruck his chest soundingly and gazed down, talked alternately to himself andthe boy, and cast his eyes along the windows of the house, he at last droppedon one knee and swaddled the boy in the folds of the shawl. Raising him in abusiness-like way, he settled him on an arm and stepped briskly acrossgravel-walk and lawn, like a horse to whose neck a smart touch of the whip hasbeen applied.

3a8082e126