Won't You Buy My Pretty Flowers - Discussed by Martyn Jolly

Here is a new set of life model magic lantern slides I have just acquired. I love the twin perspectival vanishing points of the first painted backdrop, the photogrammed snow flurries in slide two, and the weirdly frozen Beckettian choreography of the passers-by in the final slide. They were made by Bamforth and Co after 1897 in the UK. The song originates from the US in 1877 and is by George W Persley, Arthur W French, George Clare. (Although interestingly it was re-published in 1887 under the names of the American stage actress Miss Jennie Calef and producer H. P. Danks, after they had used it in their play “Little Muffets” — a clear case of IP theft and copyright infringement.) Later Bamforth and Co. recycled the original shots as postcards with the choruses as printed captions. I’m looking forward to one day projecting these slides, perhaps life size and outside in an urban setting, accompanied by a singer, as part of our project Heritage in the Limelight: The Magic Lantern in Australia and the World.

Underneath the gas light’s glitter,
Stands a fragile little girl;
Heedless of the night winds bitter,
As they round about her whirl.
While the thousands pass unheeding
In the evening’s waning hours;
Still she cries with tearful pleading,
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?
Refrain.
There are many sad and weary
In this pleasant world of ours,
Crying in the night winds bitter.
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?

Ever coming, ever going,
Men and women hurry by.
Heedless of the tear drops gleaming.
In her sad and wistful eyes.
While she stands there sadly sighing,
In the cold and dreary hours,
Listen to her sweet voice crying,
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?
Refrain.
There are many sad and weary
In this pleasant world of ours,
Crying in the night winds bitter.
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?

Not a loving word to cheer her.
From the passers by is heard;
Not a friend to linger near her,
With a heart by pity stirred.
On they rush the selfish thousands,
Seeking pleasure’s pleasant bowers;
None to hear with sad compassion,
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?
Refrain.
There are many sad and weary
In this pleasant world of ours,
Crying in the night winds bitter.
Won’t you buy my pretty flowers?