Radio Times/1923/10/26/A Stroll that Led to Fame

MONG the "one poem-poets" of our literary annals, Henry Carey may be put almost at the top of the class. There are others who run him close, particularly the Irish parson who wrote "The Burial of Sir John Moore," and the poor wanderer on the fate of the earth, who had never known its joys, who penned "Home, Sweet Home." It is not that Carey was not a prolific writer. The very titles of his burlesques, farces, plays, poems, songs, would fill half a column of this paper. yet only one song of all this mass has lived throughout the 180 years since he died a tragic death—as some think; by his own hand, although that statement was never substantiated, and posterity, which loves his great and immortal song, ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The one song by which Henry Carey secures immortality is the famous "Sally in Our Alley." a song which has been sung some millions of times since it was written, and, it is safe to say, by almost every famous singer. The tune originally set to these wonderful words, which have so appealed to the hearts of English folk especially, was written by Carey himself, who, besides being a poet and playwright, was an accomplished musician; but the tune now so familiar, and to which the song has long been exclusively sung, was borrowed from a still earlier song, called "The Country Lass," the words of which have long passed into oblivion.

We are apt to account for the world-wide popularity of the songs of Burns by the fact that he was himself a son of the soil, one who wrote out of his own experiences the joys and sorrows, the loves and losses, the hopes and fears of the poor; but it is not necessary to be a dog to write about dogs, or even a costermonger to write about Covent Carden, and genius can soar or sink with equal ease, and "the short and simple annals of the poor" have often been most sympathetically presented by men who have never known privation.

That was the case with Carey. There is, strangely enough, mystery enshrouding both his birth and his death. The year of the first event is not known; the cause of the second will never now be proved; but it is practically certain that he was the natural son of George Savile, the famous, orator and statesman of the Restoration, who lived to see William of Orange on the throne, and who is better known as the Marquis of Halifax. It goes without saying that Carey was a man who only knew "alleys" from the outside, and "Sallys"—who in those days corresponded to the more modern "'Arriets"—from the point of view of a man-about-town.

And what a different town it was! A couple of hundred years is not really a long time historically considered, yet Sally and her beau, and Henry Carey who followed them, for a bit of sport, one Sunday, to the fair in Moorfields, and later to the Farthing Pie House, lived in a London which would never be recognized by its modern inhabitants.

The streets were narrow, and either unpaved or paved with cobble stones, and the upper stories of the house and shops projected so that people could almost shake hands across the street. Off these main streets ran numerous "alleys," the derelict remnants of which may still he seen, especially in Fleet Street on its northern side.

A great feature of Fleet Street and Cheapside and St. Paul's Churchyard in those days was the 'Prentice Lads. Every tradesman had his little posse of "'prentices," and a very lively lot they were. 'Prentices' riots were common. Occasionally, they would fight among themselves; but oftener make common cause against the rest of the town.

It was just such a 'prentice who was Sally's sweetheart. She lived in one of the little alleys off the "Cheap," immediately adjacent to his shop on the front street. Possibly the back door opened into it. She was not quite his social equal, because he was regularly apprenticed to a respectable shoemaker, with whom he lived, whereas, her parents were hawkers. But what she lacked in position she amply made up for in beauty.

One Sunday Carey was strolling down Cheapside, when he observed a handsome, well-built youth pop furtively out of Bow Church, in the midst of sermon time, look up and down the street, and then take to his heels and disappear up one of the numerous alleys; which opened off the main thoroughfare. He was "intrigued," as we say nowadays, and followed in the eager youth's wake, only to see him emerge with the prettiest of pretty girls.

Having nothing better to do, Carey, in his embroidered coat, laced waistcoat, brilliant, buckled shoes, gold-clocked stockings, perfumed wig, and feathered hat, followed the couple. and saw how they spent their day—a lad and lass with lots of love in their hearts and very little money in their pockets. This is based upon his own confession, that, unknown to the pair, he "dogged them" during the whole day and sympathetically observed all their doings.

London roared with laughter at the idea of a poet of Carey's class making a song of such a subject, and he was so sneered at, as the "alley poet," that he vowed never to write another line, a vow he did not keep. On the contrary, he lived to see his song make its way into Society, and even to hear it sung at Court.

("Sally in Our Alley" will be sung from the London Station on Sunday afternoon October 28th.)