In this dark ballad, a young mother named Lorraine is forced by her husband to ride his dangerous horse Vindictive in a steeplechase. She holds her newborn and pleads, knowing the horse has killed a boy and a man, but her husband threatens to turn her out if she refuses. The pounding ‘Barum, Barum, Baree’ refrain gallops through the poem like a drumbeat of doom. Lorraine is both brave and trapped—her only option is to climb into the saddle. She masters Vindictive and nearly wins, but at the brook he swerves and kills her against a willow tree. The final sting is the loneliness: no one but the baby cries for her. The ballad feels like a grim folk song, steeped in cruelty and maternal sacrifice.
Lorraine — Summary
“ARE you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree? Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree. You’re booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee, You’re booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see, To keep him straight, and keep him first, and win the run for me.” Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.
She clasp’d her newborn baby, poor Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree. “I cannot ride Vindictive, as any man might see, And I will not ride Vindictive, with this baby on my knee; He ’s kill’d a boy, he ’s kill’d a man, and why must he kill me?”
“Unless you ride Vindictive, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree, Unless you ride Vindictive to-day at Coulterlee, And land him safe across the brook, and win the blank for me, It ’s you may keep your baby, for you ’ll get no keep from me.”
“That husbands could be cruel,” said Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorrèe, “That husbands could be cruel, I have known for seasons three; But oh, to ride Vindictive while a baby cries for me, And be kill’d across a fence at last for all the world to see!”
She master’d young Vindictive—O, the gallant lass was she! And kept him straight and won the race as near as near could be; But he kill’d her at the brook against a pollard willow tree; Oh! he kill’d her at the brook, the brute, for all the world to see, And no one but the baby cried for poor Lorraine, Lorree.