This morning was a clicking kind of morning. You know the sort when you start by looking up one thing on Google and it turns into 10 clicks and an hour later. That was me, until I clicked on the lyrics to a song called “When Pigs Begin to Fly” and a myriad of thoughts flooded my noggin. Here’s how it started. I was doing research for my new story (Chapter 1 coming soon. Read it here!) so I began by looking up historical information about a town called Duxbury MA – the fictitious town in my story, Deluxbury, MA, is based on this Boston bedroom, coastal community. I read about the shipbuilding industry that began in the mid 1700’s and progressed to 1840. Part of my story will incorporate 1840 happenings, so next I searched for music from 1840. This is where I came across the song “When Pigs Begin to Fly.” I was particularly drawn to that song title because last summer I attended the wedding of my dear friend Ann Unwin’s daughter Morgan at the Inn at Leola Village. When we arrived to check in, we noticed the guys at the desk were all wearing ties with varying patterns of flying pigs. We asked, “What’s with the ties?” As the story goes, when the new owners took over the inn, they were told they would make a go of it “When Pigs Begin to Fly!” Apparently Pigs are flying somewhere, because the inn is a wonderful place and seems to be thriving.
Although I had previously heard the saying, I really had no idea of its origination. As far as I can tell the original song was written as a joke about women’s rights and the idea of cremation. I don’t know about you, but I don’t associate these two ideas. However, in the mid 1800’s, both concepts were seen by some as absurd – women will have the right to vote and people will opt to burn in this life rather than an afterlife – when pigs begin to fly. Apparently pigs are flying somewhere, because cremation is quite popular and wow, women can vote and wear comfortable clothing. (But, alas, a woman will be president of the U.S. when pigs begin to fly.)
Here are the lyrics
When the Pigs Begin to Fly.
I’ve got the gift of prophecy, As I will quickly show.
The secret of the future Most infallibly I know;
I’ll give you a few straight tips.
And I will prophesy
Of some strange things to happen. When the pigs begin to fly.
Chorus.
When the pigs begin to fly, oh! won’t the pork be high,
Tho’ they are the most unlikely birds that ever flew in the sky;
I see no reason why they never should have a try-
Much queerer things will come to pass when the pigs begin to fly
Some folks they want cremation, And are very much perplexed Because they say they’d rather burn In this world than the next.
They’re bound to make a ‘ash of it. If they cremation try,
They’ll settle this burning question When the pigs begin to fly.
Chorus.
When the pigs begin to fly, oh! won’t the pork be high,
Tho’ they are the most unlikely birds that ever flew in the sky; I see no reason why they never should have a try-
We’ll all adopt cremation when the pigs begin to fly.
We hear a lot of women’s wrongs And also women’s rights,
They want to wear the breeches, Do the old and ugly frights.
The rights they need are marriage rites, For Home Rule they should try;
We’ll send old maids to Parliament When the pigs begin to fly.
Chorus.
When the pigs begin to fly, oh! won’t the pork be high,
Tho’ they are the most unlikely birds that ever flew in the sky; I see no reason why they never should have a try-
Old spinsters will be ministers when the pigs begin to fly.
The force of folly and of fashion Could no further go,
You must confess that ladies’ dress At present is a show.
With ruffs, puffs, cuffs, and muffs, and stuffs, Dame Nature they defy,
I do believe they’ll dress like Eve
When the pigs begin to fly.
Chorus.
When the pigs begin to fly, oh! won’t the pork be high,
Tho’ they are the most unlikely birds that ever flew in the sky; I see no reason why they should never have a try-
They’ll only wear their natural hair when the pigs begin to fly.
A day will come when ev’ry belle
Will dress with simple taste;
She won’t puff out her figure
And screw in her dainty waist.
High heels, low bodies, dress improvers. Chignons she’ll decry,
Drop powder puff, and all such stuff, When the pigs begin to fly.
Chorus.
When the pigs begin to fly, oh! won’t the pork be high,
Tho’ they are the most unlikely birds that ever flew in the sky; I see no reason why they never should have a try-
Each female saint will never paint when the pigs begin to fly.
Upon further clicking I came across a Broadway musical and this sweet song/animation by Sandra Boynton. Her version, about the love and encouragement a parent can give to a child, is one of hope and achieving dreams.
Take a listen.
For myself, I find I’m in constant flux. Sometimes I feel like the sarcastic pessimist from the 1840’s song. “Yeah, the world will get better, people will stop judging, stop killing, when pigs begin to fly.”
But some days, I’m a dreamer, I look into the sky and am certain I can see pigs fly…
How about you?
Acknowledgements: Thanks Sarah Satrun for allowing me to use your flying pig illustration. I love it!