What is it?

Unprotected Choral Variations on Ilkey Moor is, as you might expect, a set of variations for mixed choir (SATB), based on a folk song from Yorkshire, England. Nine verses in total, the lyrics are in the Yorkshire dialect. A proper competition piece that is also great fun, it presents a challenge that's well worth the effort.

Think of it as a choral version of the nitrogen cycle ...

Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?
Wheear 'ast tha bin sin' ah saw thee?
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at

Tha's been a cooartin' Mary Jane
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Tha's bahn' to catch thy deeath o' cowd
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Then us'll ha' to bury thee
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Then t'worms'll come an' eyt thee oop
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Then t'ducks'll come an' eyt up t'worms
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Then us'll go an' eyt up t'ducks
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Then us'll all ha' etten thee
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

That's wheear we get us ooan back
On Ilkla Mooar baht 'at ...etc

Well, dear Nat, Sol, Hayden and his dad are all American (we don't hold that against them, though, do we?), but they deserve credit for trying and at least to some degree succeeding in conveying a vaguely northern English accent! Gives you a good feel for how the parts fit together.

I first learned the song On Ilkley Moor Baht 'At at university in 1975, from a fellow student who hailed from Wakefield. It stuck in my brain. At the end of 2019 three friends (JJ, Adam and Ian) and I started a virtual pub. It's still going, as 'The Virtual Cornish Arms'. The aforementioned Ian, a Scouser living in the Netherlands, has become a regular. He and his wife have this choir, Snowe. They're pretty okay, from what I hear. Anyway - and possibly under the influence of just a little too much Islay whisky - I offered to do them a setting of On Ilkley Moor Baht 'At, which I finished off sitting in an apartment in Tirana, Albania. Why "Unprotected"? Simple: it's baht 'at, you see ...

The first and ninth verses are fairly conventional, though the harmony is frequently inverted. The second verse features the choir goin' all soft, like, at the thought of Mary Jane, well I mean, who wouldn't? The third verse uses some clever stuff to suggest that catching one's death of cold is not a terribly good idea: we'd 'ave to bury t'poor bloke what caught it an' got clobbered, like. So the fourth verse borrows Chopin's funeral march. Once t'poor bloke's buried, we let him rest in peace. Or maybe not. Along come t'worms chomping on t'poor bloke what's just been buried. Then t'ducks, they really like t'worms, you know. But we like duck a l'orange so off we go an' eyt oop t'ducks. By now we're sounding right barber shop quartettish. Until realisation dawns, that is. We've etten t'poor bloke, albeit indirectly. But never mind, waste minimisation and all that. Good for t'planet, so all's well that ends well. Except for t'poor bloke, I suppose, but hey, we can all finish on a high note. Good, eh?!