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A Northern Coastal Town: Hull In The Blitz

by Joe Solo & Rebekah Findlay

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1.
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?"
2.
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.
3.
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
4.
Albert Baker 03:00
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
5.
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'.
6.
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
7.
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."
8.
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
9.
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

about

In early May 1941 Hull suffered its worst nights of the war, the heart of the city completely destroyed by bombing and raging fires which gutted every building left standing.

Before the sirens, my Great Aunt Ida and her youngest daughter Sylvia left their home off Mayfield Street for Nana Ada's house at 83 Albany Street leaving 15-year old Gwendoline behind. At the same time, Albert Baker set off for his shift as a fireman while his wife Esther walked into the Central where she worked a volunteer; and a young lad took off on his bike to help relay messages in case the bombers came and the cables went down.

This album is their story.

For further reading try 'City On Fire' by Nick Cooper and 'City In Flames' by Esther and Howard Baker.

credits

released July 16, 2021

Written by Joe Solo 2021
Recorded in T-Shed during Lockdown, and at Findlay Towers.
Mastered by Chris Miley at Strange Reality Studios, Snaith.

Joe Solo- Vocals, guitars, harmonica & percussion.
Rebekah Findlay- Violin & Vocals

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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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