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The Miller and His Sons / The Miller's Three Sons / The Derby Miller

[ Roud 138 ; Master title: The Miller and His Sons ; Laws Q21 ; G/D 3:703 ; Ballad Index LQ21 ; Old Songs MillerWill ; Bodleian Roud 138 ; Wiltshire 889 ; Mudcat 127317 ; trad.]

Walter Pardon sang The Miller and His Sons at home in Knapton, Norfolk in 1974 in a Bill Leader recording that was published in 1975 on his Leader album A Proper Sort.

Jumbo Brightwell sang The Derby Miller (The Three Rogues) in 1975 on this Topic LP of traditional songs and ballads from Suffolk, Songs from the Eel's Foot; this recording was later included on the anthology Troubles They Are But Few (The Voice of the People Series Volume 14; Topic 1998).

John Kirkpatrick sang this song as The Miller's Three Sons on Brass Monkey's 1983 eponymous debut album Brass Monkey. This LP was re-released in 1993 as the first half of the CD The Complete Brass Monkey. They also sang it as The Derbyshire Miller on the 1988 Radio Derby charity cassette The Derby Tup Presents. The first album's sleeve notes commented:

As sung by Jumbo Brightwell, the singer from central Suffolk. Jumbo's original version of the song can be heard on his Topic LP Songs from the Eel's Foot.

Cross o' the Hands sang The Derby Miller on their 2003 CD Saint Monday, and Sarah Matthews returned to it in 2006 on Gill Redmond's and her album Personally Speaking. She noted:

An old miller on his death bed tries to find a suitable replacement among his sons, a process that reveals a lot about their personal character! The original words for this were taken from Topic's Voice of the People collection, our version is re-written and set to a new tune. Included in the arrangement is another Playford tune aptly named The Dusty Miller—the coincidence was just too rich to pass up.

The Claque sang this song as The Miller and His Three Sons in 2008 on their WildGoose album Sounding Now.

Dave Robbins sang at The Jolly Porter Folk Club in Exeter in the sixties and early seventies and it’s from him that we take The Miller and His Three Sons It reinforces the well trodden theme of Jack, the youngest and least valued son, turning up trumps, surprisingly, in an intellectually illuminated way. The song is from Devon, we believe.

Jackie Oates learnt The Miller and His Three Sons from the singing of Barry Lister and The Claque and recorded it in 2009 for her CD Hyperboreans.

Bella Hardy sang The Derbyshire Miller in 2012 on her CD The Dark Peak and the White.

Lyrics

Walter Pardon sings The Miller and His Sons	John Kirkpatrick sings The Miller's Three Sons
It's of a crafty miller and he Had able sons one two and three. He called them all to make his will To see which one should take the mill.	There was an old miller in Derbyshire, In Derbyshire did dwell. Now this old miller he had three sons, The miller, the miller did well.
Chorus (repeated after each verse): With me wack fol the riddle ol The riddle ol the dee
The miller called for his eldest son, Said he, “My days are almost done. And if the will to you I make What toll dost thou intend to take?”	Now he called up his eldest son, “Oh son, oh son, my race is run. And if to you my mill I'd leave Pray tell me the toll that you'd receive.”
“Father,” he said, “My name is Jack, From every bushel I'll take a peck, And every bushel that I grind The profits they'll be large I'll find.”	“Oh father, oh father, my name it is Dick, I'd grind the corn and I'd swear a peck. And every grit that I do grind A very good living I should find.”
“Thou art a fool,” the old man said, “Thou hast not learned well thy trade. To take such toll no man could live, To thee the mill I ne'er will give.”	“No, you are a foolish knave, You have not learnt your father's trade. And when I'm dead and in decay I know you will fool my mill away.” So a rogue he lived and a rogue he died, He opened his mouth and he gapped away.
The miller called for his second son, Said he, “My days are almost done. And if the will to you I make What toll dost thou intend to take?”	Now he called up his second son, “Oh son, oh son, my race is run. And if to you my mill I'd leave Pray tell me the toll that you'd receive.”
“Father,” he said, “My name is Ralph, From every bushel I'll take a half, And every bushel that I grind The profits they'll be large I'll find.”	“Oh father, oh father, my name it is Ralph, I'd grind the corn and I'd swear a half. And every grit that I do grind A very good living I should find.”
“Thou art a fool,” the old man said, “Thou hast not learned well thy trade. To take such toll no man could live, To thee the mill I ne'er will give.”	“No, you are a foolish knave, You have not learnt your father's trade. And when I'm dead and in decay I know you will fool my mill away.” So a rogue he lived and a rogue he died, He opened his mouth and he gapped away.
The miller called for his youngest son, Said he, “My days are almost done. And if the will to you I make What toll dost thou intend to take?”	Now he called up his youngest son, “Oh son, oh son, my race is run. And if to you my mill I'd leave Pray tell me the toll that you'd receive.”
“Father,” he said, “I am your boy, To take the toll will be my joy. Before I shall good living lack I'll take it all, I'll forswear the sack.”	“Oh father, oh father, my name it is Jack, I'd grind the corn and I'd swear the sack. And every grit that I do grind A very good living I should find.”
“Thou art my boy the old man said And thou hast learned well thy trade. I give the mill to thee,” he cried, Then he turned on his side and died.	“Yes, you are a stout young blade, You truly learned your father's trade. And when I'm dead and in decay I know you won't fool my mill away.” So a rogue he lived and a rogue he died, He opened his mouth, and his prayers, dropped his toes … and died.

Cross o' the Hands sing The Derby Miller

There was a miller in Derbyshire,
Well, he in Derbyshire did dwell.
He had three sons of which you'll hear,
Oh that old miller, he lived well.
So he called up his eldest son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?”

“Father, Father, my name is Nick,
I'll grind a comb and I'll say a peck.
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find.”
“No,” he said, “you foolish blade,
You have not learnt your father's trade.
And when I'm dead and in decay
I know you'll fall my mill away.”

Well that old miller from Derbyshire,
A rogue he lived, or so they say.
Of his hard life he now did tire,
He rolled his eyes and he turned away
As he called up his second son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?”

“Father, Father, my name is Craft,
I'll grind a comb and I'll swear it half.
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find.”
“No,” he said, “you foolish blade,
You have not learnt your father's trade.
And when I'm dead and in decay
I know you'll fall my mill away.”

So that old miller of Derbyshire,
His time had come to make his way,
A rogue he'd lived and a rogue he'd die.
He closed his eyes and he slipped away
As he called up his youngest son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?”

“Father, Father, my name is Jack,
I'll grind a comb and I'll swear the sack.
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find.”
“Yes,” he said, “you're my true blade,
You have well learnt your father's trade.
And when I'm dead and in decay
You won't fall my mill away.”

Jackie Oates sings The Miller and His Three Sons

There once was a miller and he lived all alone,
He had three sons all fully grown.
When he went for to make his will
All he had left was a little old mill.

The sun comes up and the sun comes down
To mark a brand new day.

And so he called to him his eldest son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll will you take?”

“Oh father, father, my name is Bill,
Out of each sack I'd take a gill.”
“You fool, you fool,” the old man cried,
“Out of such a little you can never make a ride!”

And the sun comes up and the sun comes down
To mark a brand new day.

So he called to him his second son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll will you take?”

“Oh father, father, my name is Ralph,
Out of each sack, I'd take the half.”
“You fool, you fool,” the old man cried,
“Out of such a little you can never make a ride!”

And the sun comes up and the sun comes down
To mark a brand new day.

So he called to him his youngest son:
“Son, oh son, my race is run.
If I a miller of you make
Pray tell me what toll will you take?”

“Oh father, father, my name is Jack,
I'd take the lot, forswear the sack.”
“Hallelujah!” the old man cried,
And the old woman turned up her toes and she died.

And the sun comes up and the sun comes down
To mark a brand new day.

So they wrapped him up in a neat cow's hide
And some do say his soul it died.
Where he went no-one could say
But I rather fear that he went the other way.

And the sun comes up and the sun comes down
To mark a brand new day.

Acknowledgements

Transcribed from John Kirkpatrick's singing by Garry Gillard.