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1. |
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From the shell of the Shell Mex
To Ranks Flour Mill
National Picture Theatre
Front standing there still
From the Prudential Tower
To Hammond's dance floor
We took it and took it
And took it some more
Chorus:
We are the 'Northern Coastal Town'
We pick ourselves up
When your bombs have rained down
And rise from the rubble
You razed to the ground
We are the 'Northern Coastal Town'
This city faced down
The fires of hell
And the ghosts in the basement
Of the old Punch Hotel
You could bomb Decoy Dock
Out to Riverside Quay
But you couldn't stop this port
Getting ships out to sea
Chorus
So when all your bombers
Have landed their load
And you've burned Ellis Terrace
To Holderness Road
We'll dust ourselves down
And we'll call after you:
"See you tomorrow.
Is that the best you can do?"
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2. |
Sally Army Tea
04:09
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I crunch
Across a path of broken glass
That glitters in the gutters
Through the shards of shattered shutters.
I never knew
This city had so many windows
Until I saw them that way
In the dim glow of light
From the rising sparks
That are drawn to the dawn
From the dying dark
And a perfect stranger handed me
A mug of Sally Army tea.
In the crater
On the corner a broken mains
Bleeds into the drains
Where a roof collapsed in vain
In a cloud of ash and shame.
It's a city of no straight lines
No front doors or shop signs
Prudential clock's lost time
And all around it
The wrecks of office desks
Feed incendiary fires
As a headless lamppost
Leans into trolley-bus wires.
It's insanity
But here's me
And a mug of Sally Army tea.
In the shelter
The bomb's arhythmic beat
Spoke distance to our feet
As we huddled in the heat
Of confined spaces
The booms diverted dust
And spoke of broken trust
In gravity to clusters
Of our frightened faces.
The ceiling
A broken promise made
Came down in a cascade
Of concrete and of screams
And crashing dark, and
I swam for all I'm worth
For the surface of the earth
Where a helping hand it hauls me out into
This night of sparks.
Of thirty three
There's just me
To hand a mug of Sally Army tea.
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3. |
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Whenever I hear Vera Lynn sing that song
Well it takes me straight back to that day
My Nanna's house when her cat brought that mouse in
And Sylvie screamed then ran away
How Great Grandad sat on her fireplace
And how she made us custard too sweet
Then I'm all alone in the rubble there
As a blackbird sang on Berkeley Street
Whenever I let my mind wander too far
Well it takes me straight back to that night
I hear in my mind my words cruel and unkind
A girl of 15 in a flight
I hear Mam slamming the old front door
And me sulking under the sheets
Then I'm all alone in the rubble there
As a blackbird sang on Berkeley Street
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4. |
Albert Baker
03:00
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Saltend, the oil tanks burning
I could have run, I swear
But in silhouette before me
Was Albert Baker standing there
And by the burning river
Lungs full of poison air
Bombs falling all around him
Was Albert Baker standing there
Chorus:
Some men, well they make money
But money's spent and gone
Some men they gave you courage
And Albert Baker he was one
On Cleveland Street that shelter
When death it filled the air
I might have lost my nerve
But for Albert Baker standing there
When some men run away, well
He wouldn't flinch
When some men fade and falter
He wouldn't budge an inch
If the devil challenged mankind
To meet his fiery glare
And came to Hull then he'd find
Albert Baker standing there
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5. |
The Bolt Of Lightning
07:14
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He was our Bolt Of Lightning
He was our only son
He was born in the Autumn
Before the Summer was done
Soon as he could walk, well
He wanted to run
He was our Bolt Of Lightning
He was our only son
I wouldn't say we spoiled him
But he was all that we had
His Mam held him closer
But then I was his Dad
And I remember that Christmas
Asked what would you like
Before even the turkey
He took off on that bike
Now that kid took to cycling
Like the sea takes to sand
And he knew the city
Like the back of his hand
And so when the war came
In his fifteenth year
Our Bolt Of Lightning
Was the first volunteer
As a Messenger Rider
For the fire fighting crews
When the cables were down they'd
Trust him to get through
"In the light from the fires, Dad,
The water from the flames
It's like the buildings are bleeding
And it runs off down the drains."
But then came that morning
The 9th day of May
The bombing relentless
The fires burned all day
He set out for the night shift
Pedalling off on his own
And our Bolt Of Lightning
He just never came home
I searched through the city
Not believing my eyes
How so much death and destruction
Could rain down from the skies
The pubs and dancehalls
The shops were all gone
But somehow my city
Was battling on
I asked at the Central
But no-one there knew
Asked the soot-blackened faces
Of every fire crew
I asked round the dockyards
Right through the old town
Til I got to the rubble
Where Ranks had burned down
He'd been sent to the river
To get word to the men
But not a soul in the city
Had seen him since then
Must have been midnight
When I made it home
My wife at the table
Sat there all alone
I said: 'I'm sorry, Bella
But I've asked everyone
And our Bolt Of Lightning
Sorry, love, but he's gone.'
She said: 'He's upstairs, Joe.
He's seen the back of my hand!'
I said: 'I'm sorry, Bella love,
But I don't understand!'
'He got off his shift, Joe
About a quarter past three,
And since then that 'Bolt Of Lightning'
Has been with Mary Mckee'.
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6. |
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He came through the flames
With a look of grim determination
Asked my daughter's name
Then covered up her head
Was then he saw our James
Crying out in desperation
But he turned and walked away
And left us there for dead
He came through the flames
This time looking ten years older
He reached down for our James
His hands burned to the bone
As a bomb shook where I lay
He threw my son across his shoulder
Turned and walked away
And left me all alone
He came through the flames
His face now burned and blistered
Though he tried to hide the pain
Cos he wouldn't let me see
I never knew his name
Or what became of him
But he came through the flames
He came back for me
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7. |
My Grandad's War
02:17
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My Grandad always swore
He only made it through the war
Cos he could pedal faster than a Heinkel
He said: "They flew so low at night,
They'd stop and ask you for a light!
But I thought that were taking the Michael!
There was one night in The Blitz
Son, I nearly did the splits!
They stopped me, and they asked me for directions!
I said stick your metal hail
Where a monkey has a tail
And gestured, as a mark of my affections.
There was this other time
A Messerschmidt, a 109
Flown by some cheeky bleeder name of Herman
Said: 'Fred, just give up now
And to our Fuhrer beg and bow.
Face it lad, you'll soon be speaking German.'
I said: 'You've flown round here too low
They've nicked your wheels, and don't you know
They've left a little message written under.'
He leaned out to have a look
And he read as far as 'f***'
Then he veered off and he crashed into the Humber!
But that Heinkel don't you know,
He were flying way too slow
I zig-zagged so the aimer couldn't find me.
I was peddling too fast
Then hit me brakes and he flew past
When their last bomb it had fallen well behind me."
I said: "Grandad, I'm just 2
Will I ever peddle fast as you?"
He said: "Someday son, you're only a beginner."
And he looked down at me plate
Where I'd left the turnip, that I hate.
"You can start by eating up your bloody dinner."
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8. |
Spitfires & Hurricanes
04:55
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I've grown out of Spitfires and Hurricanes
They're poetic, but not so profound
As the hundreds of millions of stories
That play out down here on the ground
Of course we remember the sacrifice
Of those who they labelled 'The Few'
But each pilot needed a plane made
And each plane it needed a crew
And all of them needed an airfield
Without it they couldn't leave the ground
I've grown out of Spitfires and Hurricanes
They're poetic, but not so profound.
I've grown out of Lancaster Bombers
Aren't they Heinkels in all but their name?
They may have bombed different people
But the end result was all the same
If we can't see past all these images
Then how can we say never again?
Cos how does bombing women and children
Make us any better than them?
We had to get rid of the Nazis
They were evil, a blight, and a stain
But I've grown out of Lancaster Bombers
Weren't they Heinkels in all but a name?
I've grown out of Spitfires and Hurricanes
I see the heroes in front of my eyes
The everyday fights of my people
Not the ones played out there in the skies
There's a young woman feeding her family
On less than they had in the war
And is a fascist saluting a Spitfire
What the killing and dying was for?
So I'm down here clearing up rubble
While the dogfight plays out in the skies
I've grown out of Spitfires and Hurricanes
I see the heroes in front of my eyes
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9. |
Leaving Gwendoline
07:07
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My Grandad's sister Ida
With Sylvia beside her
Slams the door behind her
And mumbles something
They march off down the terrace
Sylvia's getting jealous
The Maplin sisters skipping
Chanting Charlie Chaplin
Molly beats time with a hat pin
On a tin
They're leaving Gwendoline
On Mayfield Street the shadows
Drape from open windows
Ida fears the setting sun
Feels it like a loaded gun
To her imagination
But she's banished the sensation
For the smell of boiling cabbage
As starving strays they ravage through a bin
They're leaving Gwendoline
Ida's calming down
She thinks she maybe went to town
She knows that she was right
But she shouldn't have picked a fight
And for a second thinks
Of turning back and saying sorry
But now they're in a hurry
The fight has made them late
So making up can wait
And it's a rushed hello
To Mrs Storrey
Calling her kids in
They're leaving Gwendoline.
At Cranbourne on the corner
They run into Billy Horner
Kicking round a can
Trying to stay clear of his Mam
His purple ringworm head
Always the last kid in to bed
She's never ever said
But Sylvia really likes him
Ida's speeding up
How well she knows that look
Not a single word is spoken
But she knows the lad is broken
And there'll be no mending him
They're leaving Gwendoline
Turning right again they see
Number 83
A. L. B....
Sylvia spells out Albany
Nan's there at the door
Saying sorry for before
And kitty cat was naughty
Bringing living mice in.
Come in out the gloom,
You can lick the pudding spoon.
Mam sent Gwen up to her room
Well you can help me weigh the rice in
From the tin.
They're leaving Gwendoline.
The evening flows from there
To talk of Sylvia's hair
Now she's sleeping in a chair
By the blackout curtains
The cat comes in at nine
No gift for Nan this time
Just a bleeding paw and whine
To let her know it's hurting.
The air raid sirens wail
And it's raining metal hail
The cat is turning tail
Before the first explosion
As the searchlights search in vain
Death falls from a plane
And parachutes to earth in its
Mundane devotion
There's a blinding flash of light
That hollows out the night
And crater marks the site
Of number 83 now
Just brick and timber strewn
Beneath a Bomber's Moon
A silver pudding spoon
That Billy Horner sees
And then runs in
Leaving Gwendoline
In a few more years me Dad
Himself still just a lad
Will beg to stay out later
Playing in the crater
Beyond the war we win
Now we're leaving Gwendoline
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Joe Solo Scarborough, UK
Joe Solo is an award-winning musician, writer, poet, activist, broadcaster and washing machine engineer from
Scarborough.
Live he has an ever growing reputation as both a performer and raconteur, being thought-provoking, comical and punch-the-air political often in the same breath.
He is not an artist you forget in a hurry.
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