I wrote this music and I wrote
these songs... to accompany a play.
A play about my hometown,
which is a shipyard town
in the North of England.
When I think of the environment I was
raised in, these streets and this ship,
such a huge part of our identity,
part of who we were...
and...
I am fiercely proud of it.
It's all there in my gospels
The Magdalene girl,
comes to pay her respects
But her mind is awhirl,
when she finds the tomb empty
The stone had been rolled
Not a sign of a corpse,
in the dark and the cold
When she reaches the door,
sees an unholy sight
There's this solitary figure,
in a halo of light
He just carries on
floating past Calvary Hill
In an almighty hurry, aye,
but she might catch him still
Tell me where are ye going Lord,
and why in such haste?
Now don't hinder me woman,
I've no time to waste
For they're launching a
boat on the morrow at noon
And I have to be
there before daybreak
Oh, I cannae be missing,
the lads'll expect me
Why else would the good
Lord himself... resurrect me,
for nothing will stop me,
I have to prevail
Through the teeth of this tempest,
in the mouth of a gale
May the angels protect me,
if all else should fail
When the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains,
and the cracking of timbers
The noise at the end of
the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship sails
It's that strange kind of beauty,
it's cold and austere
And whatever it was,
that ye've done to be here
It's the sum of your hopes,
your despairs and your fears
When the last ship sails
Whoa, the first to arrive,
saw these signs in the east
Like that strange moving
finger at Balthazar's Feast
Where they asked the advice
of some wandering priest
And the sad ghosts of men whom
they'd thought long deceased
And whatever got said
they'd be counted at least
When the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains,
and the cracking of timbers
The noise at the end of
the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship sails
And whatever you'd promised,
whatever you've done
And whatever the station
in life you've become
In the name of the Father,
in the name of the Son
And whatever the weave
of this life that you've spun
On the Earth or in Heaven,
or under the sun
When the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains,
and the cracking of timbers
The noise at the end
of the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship
Saaaaaails.
Welcome, everybody.
I'm delighted to be here because
I'm, I'm presenting some
brand-new songs for the
first time in almost a decade.
All of these songs you'll hear tonight,
or most of them, anyway,
have been inspired by
the writing of a play.
Now, you're not going
to see the play tonight.
Although one of our leading men
is right here by me, Mr. Jimmy Nail.
What you're going to hear,
what you're going to hear is the
the raw material from which
this play is being carved,
or constructed,
or pieced together.
That's not a collage, it's the picture of my
street, the street I was born and raised in,
and when I was old enough
to walk out the front door,
I turned south towards the river,
and that's what I'd see.
This mighty ship at the end the street,
blotting out the sky and the sun for most,
most of the year.
It was quite a sight.
But it was a surreal,
industrial landscape,
and every morning I'd watch thousands
of men walk to work, down that hill,
to work on the ships.
I'd watch them come back at night.
I wondered if that
was my destiny.
I didn't want it. I was frightened of the
shipyard. It was noisy and dangerous.
Those men, though,
were tough, and proud.
They worked in terrible conditions, but were
fiercely proud of the ships they built.
They built the largest ships ever
constructed on Planet Earth,
right at the end
of my street.
So this play is about my community,
the community I come from.
And this next song, which is probably
the first that I wrote in the series,
some of that community present themselves.
They talk about who they are, what they do.
Their hopes, their passions,
their fears for the future.
Mr. Nail, would you
take the floor?
- Yes.
- Thank you.
Oh, my name is Jackie White,
and I'm the foreman of the yard
And ye don't mess with
Jackie on this quayside
Why, I'm as hard as iron plate,
woe betide ye if you're late
When we have to push the
boat out on a spring tide
Now ye could die and hope for Heaven,
but ye'd need to work your shift
And I'd expect yous all
to back me to the hilt
And if St. Peter at his gate
were to ask ye why you're late
Why you'd tell him that
ye had to get a ship built
We've built battleships and
cruisers for Her Majesty the Queen
Super tankers for Onassis
and all the classes in between
We built the greatest shipping
tonnage that the world has ever seen
But the only life we've
known is in the shipyard...
Come on, boys!
Steel in the stockyard,
iron in the soul
We'll conjure up a ship where
there used to be a hole
And I don't know what we'll
do if the yard gets sold
For the only life we've
known is in the shipyard
All the platers and the welders
and the boiler-making crews
When they see that beggar
finished on the slipway, oh!
All the hardship's soon forgot
and we'll cheer as like as not
And the bairns'll wave
their Union Jacks all day
Ah, it's a patriotic scene,
all that's missing is the Queen
But she said she couldn't
make it of a Tuesday
Then something wells up here inside,
and you could take it in your stride
But you wonder if you'll
see another payday
For there's a mixture of emotions,
hatred, gratitude and pride
And you hate yourself for crying,
but it's difficult to hide
For there's a sadness in the launching,
you worry what's ahead
And that worry never leaves ye,
it keeps on nagging in your head
And so ye pray to God for orders,
but ye'll worry till you're dead
Until they bury your remains
in the blacksmith's shed
And the only life you've known
is in the shipyard. Come on!
Steel in the stockyard,
iron in the soul
We'll conjure up a ship where
there used to be a hole
And I don't know what we'll
do if the yard gets sold
For the only life we've
known is in the shipyard
Aye, in the shipyard.
Come on, Tom!
Me name is Tommy Thompson,
I'm shop steward for the Union
- Me dream is proletarian revolution
- Go on, Tom!
Comrades, brothers,
fellow travellers and others
Class struggle is the means
of dialectic evolution
Das Kapital's me Bible,
and the ruling class are liable
And quoting Marx and Engels
it's entirely justifiable
If the workers' revolution here
is ever to be viable
And we become the rightful
owners of the shipyard
So, it's a one-day stoppage
or an overtime ban
Or a work to rule for
the Five Year Plan
Till the means of production
are safely in our hands
And we become the rightful
owners of the shipyard
I'm not saying it won't be hard
if the boss hands us me cards
And they try to close us
down like other shipyards
And if industrial action
only helps the competition
As I've heard the bosses bleating
from their usual position
And I stand accused of anarchy,
disruption and sedition
Well, ye'll never knock us down,
you reactionary clowns
When it's time for
occupation of the shipyard
My name is Peggy White
And I've nursed ye
through your injuries
- And your cuts and wounds I've bound.
- Come on, Peg!
Busted arms and busted heads,
broken backs and broken legs
I'd sooner put ye in a splint than
have them put ye in the ground
And the fumes from all the welding
where the poison air is hung
And the toxic radiation that's
been blackening your tongue
I could give yous all an aspirin
while you're coughing up your lungs
But it's all you'll ever
get here in this shipyard.
- Adrian Sanderson! - Just putting
me hat on. Be patient, will you?
You're on, kid!
Ah, me name is Adrian Sanderson,
and the river is me trade
But it's intellectual discourse
I'm known better for
I may forego English grammar
when I'm injured by the hammer
But I've a preference for
the deference of a metaphor
I've read The Odyssey by Homer,
and the Iliad as well
- I've read Tacitus and Pliny
- Aye, aye, and the Scarlet Pimpernel
I've spent a night shift down with
Dante on his journey into Hell
And that's what we'll all be facing,
if this yard's put up to sell
For the only life we've
known is in the shipyard...
- Shall I go on?
- Go on.
Now about those Trojan wars and
the troubles that they caused,
- when they sailed off on that
summer's afternoon? - Yes.
Because the ship they had was crap,
and they lost their bloody map
When they tried to get
themselves back to the tomb
There's a lesson in these tales
although they happened ages past
Just like Spartacus,
that film by Stanley Kubricks
First it's tragedy then farce,
then they'll kick you up the arse
When you tempt the gods
with arrogance and hubris
Well, it's obvious I'm gifted
with the rhyming and the meter
- And hereabouts I'm thought
of highly as a bard! - As a bard.
And if I wasn't shooting rivets,
I'd be famous in me time
All those literary circles,
I could dazzle with me rhyme
I've never lacked ambition,
you can say it was a crime
For rivets may be riveting,
but sonnets are sublime
And the only life we've known
is in the shipyard... Come on, lads!
Steel in the stockyard,
iron in the soul
We'll conjure up a ship
where there used to be a hole
But we don't know what
we'll do if this yard gets sold
For the only life we've
known is in the shipyard...
Oh, here he comes, Davy Harrison,
the town drunk!
- Are you all right, Davy?
- Davy!
Oh, me name is Davy Harrison,
I like a drink or two
You could ask me when it started,
and I haven't got a clue
I'm ever never miserable,
I'm never ever blue
And I'll still be up tomorrow
for the shipyard
I drink meself into a stupor,
and I wake up with two heeds
And then the missus starts complainin',
about all me drunken deeds
Like when I got the
train to Sunderland...
- ... but found meself in Leeds
- Leeds!
And I had to get up
early for the shipyards
You know I once
gave up the drinking
It was 1963
But it seems as if sobriety
was not the thing for me
It was the worst...
three hours,
I ever hope to see
Steel in the stockyard,
iron in the soul
We'll conjure up a ship where
there used to be a hole
And the ship sets sail,
and the tale gets told
And the only life we've
known is in the shipyard
Steel in the stockyard,
iron in the soul
We'll get the bastard finished
and we'll end up on the dole
And we don't know what
we'll do if the yard gets sold
The only life we've
ever known is in the
Shipyaaaaard.
Thank you!
So... so without giving too
much of the play away,
because I want you to come
out and see it eventually, um...
It does have a love story, and our
leading man is a man called Gideon.
He's been away from
this town for 14 years.
He went away to sea.
He left under a bit of a cloud.
He doesn't like the place,
but he's back because his Dad's died,
and he needs to sort some
things out, but there's also,
some other ghosts he needs to lay,
some unfinished business.
This is Gideon's song.
Oh, I know I've come
home for a reason
But that reason
escapes me now
The engine's ceased and
the wind from the east
Cleared the fog
off the starboard bow
Well, here's the mouth
of the river that spawned me
I feel like a stranger here
How long has it been, well,
I haven't been seen...
in these parts for 14 years
Yes, these are the streets
where I once played
Where some debt of
the soul was left unpaid
And the place the old
man's bones are laid
And coming home,
coming home's not easy
I wonder if she still
lives round here
That girl I've been
missing these 14 years
She's probably married,
with kids of her own...
...by now
By now.
This town,
this stain on the sunrise
Disguised in the
mist this morning
It's 8am
A seagull shouts
a sailor's warning
This sky,
this bend in the river
Slows down
and delivers me
The tide rolls back
And all my memories
fade to black
And yet, and yet,
I'm back
This town has a
strange magnetic pull
Like a homing
signal in your skull
And you sail by the
stars of the hemisphere
Wondering how in the
hell did you end up here?
It's like an underground river,
or a hidden stream
That flows through your
head and haunts your dreams
And you stuffed those
dreams in this canvas sack
And there's nothing round
here that the wide world lacks
And yet, and yet,
you're back
Some nights I'd lie on
the deck and I'd stare
At the turning
of the stars
Those constellations
hanging up there
From the cables
and the rigging
I'd wonder if she
saw the same
Or managed to
recall my name
Why would she
ever think of me?
Some boy she loved
who fled to sea?
And why waste time debating,
whether she'd be waiting,
for the likes of me?
So you drift into port
with the scum of the seas
To the dance halls and the
brothels where you took your ease
And the ship's left the dock
but you're half past caring
You haven't got a clue
whose bed you're sharing
And your head's like a
hammer on a bulkhead door
And it feels like somebody
might have broken your jaw
And there's bloodstains
and glass all over the floor
And you swear to God
you'll drink no more
And yet, and yet
In truth,
it's too late to find her
Too late to remind her
at some garden gate
Where a servant
tells me I should wait
And perhaps a door's
slammed in my face
My head must
be in outer space
And yet, and yet
Before the sun has set
Before the sea
There may be something
else that's waiting for...
the likes of me
This town,
this stain on the sunrise.
When August
winds are turning
The fishing boats set
out upon the sea
I watch till they
sail out of sight
The winter follows soon
I watch them drawn
into the night
Beneath the August moon
And no-one knows
I come here
Some things I don't share
I can't explain
the reasons why
It moves me
close to tears
Or something in
the season's change
Will find me
wandering here
And in my public moments
I hear the things I say,
but they're not me
Perhaps I'll know
before I die
Admit that there's
a reason why
I count the boats
returning to the sea
I count the boats
returning to the sea
And in my private moments
I drop the mask that
I've been forced to wear
But no-one knows
this secret me
Where albeit unconsciously
I count the boats
returning from the sea
I count the boats
returning from the sea
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Oooooooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Oooooooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh.
Thank you.
So...
...the shipyard will close,
with terrible results
for this community.
The men who had such pride,
and such dignity, a sense of self,
will be robbed of that.
Robbed of their work,
their jobs.
A parish priest decides
he needs to do something
about his community,
his parish.
He has this wacky, quixotic,
even Homeric idea.
He wants the men to
occupy their shipyard,
and build a ship
for themselves.
Eventually, he convinces them because
they realise they have nothing else.
And in my dialect
they would say,
"What have we got?
We've got nowt else",
and this is their song.
- Good people, give ear
to me story - Steady!
Pay attention,
and none of your lip
- For I've brought you five lads
and their daddy - And their daddy!
Intending to build
yous a ship
Wallsend is wor habitation
It's the place we was
all born and bred
And there's nae finer
lads in the nation
And none are more
gallantly led...
One, two, three!
- What have we got
- But the buzzer in the morning?
- And what have we got
- But the laying of a keel?
- And what have we got
- But the cranes above us soaring?
The commotion and the clamour
in the welding of the steel?
- What have we got
- But the mist upon the river?
- And what have we got
- But that noise inside the hold?
- What have we got
- But the arse end of the weather?
Where we work in horizontal
rain and shiver in the cold
What do we got?
We've got nowt
We've got nowt else
What do we got?
We've got nowt
We've got nowt else
- What have we got
- But the singing in the cables?
- What have we got
- But the ringing in your ears?
- What have ye got
- But the telling of the fables?
And the ghosts of all them ships,
that we've been building donkey's years
What do we got?
We've got nowt
We've got nowt else
What do we got?
We've got nowt
We've got nowt else...
You're standing for your tea break.
You're up to here in shite.
You're dying for a cigarette,
you're desperate for a light.
And then the gaffer pulls along
with his drop sheet and he reads,
"Tea break's over, gentlemen,
now get back on your heids. "
- What's it say in the papers?
- What does it say on the news?
- They say we've all gone bloody daft.
- Oh, what have we got to lose?
- What would I get for murder?
- What would I get for life?
- What do I get for a capital crime?
- What'll I tell me wife?
- What do you get for your politics?
- What do you get for your vote?
- What have you got at the end of the day?
- A great big bloody boat!
Aye, you've got to die of something,
it's written in your fate!
Ye might as well die next Tuesday,
and woe betide you're late.
Come on!
Ah-ah-ah...
- What have ye got
- All you men what's fit and able?
- What have ye got
- For the straining in your neck?
- What have ye got
- When you're laid out on the table?
And the snapping of a cable
when the rigging hits the deck?
- What have ye got
- But the loyalty of brothers?
- What have ye got
- But the punching of the clock?
- What have ye got
- You reactionary clowns!
Well, ye'll never knock us down,
cos we're the union of the dock!
- What do we got?
- What do we got?
- We've got nowt
- We've got nowt else
- Hey! What do we got?
- What do we got?
- We've got nowt
- We've got nowt else
- What do we got?
- What do we got?
- We've got nowt
- We've got nowt else
- What do we got?
- What do we got?
We've got nowt
We've gooot nooowt
eeeeeeeeeeeelse.
So, you know, I didn't enter
the musical theatre blithely...
...thinking it would be easy.
It's not.
The landscape is strewn with
bleached corpses on either side.
What I hadn't realised is just how precise
and exacting a medium it is. You know.
I had a fantastic team
of collaborators.
My first collaborator was Brian Yorkey,
prize-winning, Pulitzer-winning...
Um, a fantastic director,
Joe Mantello...
and, um...
...and another prize winning writer,
John Logan...
and, um...
...and occasionally they would tell me that,
um, a song I'd written wasn't quite right.
Now, this is novel for me.
But you know it's hard for me
as my finest couplets are being
thrown in a bin and I'm
spluttering my flimsy protests.
But every song in a musical
fights for its life,
every character fights for its life, every
verse in every song fights for its life.
Every line, every word is scrutinised
with an intensity that's unusual.
Um, the next two songs
are a case in point.
I envisaged an older character
called Arthur, who's about my age,
who falls in love with a much
younger woman. It's a common thing.
Um, this song is called Practical
Arrangement, and it goes like this.
Am I asking for the moon?
Is it really so implausible?
That you and I could soon,
come to some kind
of arrangement?
I'm not asking for the moon
I've always been a realist
When it's really
nothing more,
than a simple
rearrangement
With one roof
above our heads,
a warm house
to return to
We could start
with separate beds
I could sleep alone,
or learn to
I'm not suggesting
that we'd find,
some earthly
paradise for ever
I mean how often
does that happen now?
The answer's
probably never
But if we came
to an arrangement
A practical arrangement
And you could learn
to love me, given time
Well, I like my independence,
I get by,
I'm not greedy
Do you see yourself
as Galahad?
Do I really look that needy?
I brought a child
up on my own
It takes me all my
strength to face him
The father upped
and left me
And I'm not desperate
to replace him
Tell me what kind of catch
is a struggling single mother?
I respect you,
and I like you
But I won't
accept another...
empty promise
When some grey
and stormy rain cloud
hangs above me
When I've heard it
all 100 times,
from a man who
said he loved me
But if we came
to an arrangement
A practical arrangement
Then perhaps
I'd learn to love you...
given time
I'm not promising the moon
I'm not promising a rainbow
Just a practical solution,
to a solitary life
I'd be a father
to your boy
A shoulder you
could lean on
How bad could it be...
to be my wife?
With one roof
above our heads,
a warm house to return to
You wouldn't
have to cook for me
You wouldn't
have to learn to
I'm not suggesting
that we find...
some earthly
paradise for ever
I've no intention
of deceiving you...
you're far too clever
But if we come
to an arrangement
A practical arrangement
Then perhaps you'd
learn to love me...
given time
It may not be the romance
that you had in
mind
But you could
learn to love me...
given time.
So... so that song was
in the play for a while.
And then one Monday morning
I turned up for work
and my dramatic collaborators
were sitting there at a table.
It looked like an intervention
was about to take place.
I said "What's up?"
They said,
- "Uh, Arthur. "
- "What about him?"
- "Practical Arrangement. "
- "Yes?"
"Can't be in the play. " I said, "Come on.
"It's a great, I mean, you know... "
And I was really thinking, you know,
Arthur is me. He's my age.
You know this is, this is me!
I said, "Well why? What's the reason?" They
said, "Well, as soon as he opens his mouth,
"he's clearly lost the girl.
He's not going to get this girl.
"We need the rival to Gideon to be viable.
"To be young, to be virile. "
So...
I know, I know.
And it took me a good month
of struggling with this issue...
and then one day I woke up and said,
"You know. "You put yourself in the way.
"Get out of the way.
"Write a song for this character.
"This young, virile character, even though
you don't like him. Write a song for him.
So, I came up with this...
There's a house on the
hill that's come up for sale
It's a place I've known
since I was a lad
And it needs a lick of paint
and a hammer and a nail
But it's part of a boyhood
dream I've always had
I'd climb up the hill
with the Evening News
I'd been sent from
the town to deliver
And I'd stand in the porch,
and gaze at the views
Till my eyes were bruised by
the sunset's glow on the river
I'd imagine a girl who
would share my life
As dreamers'll tend to do
And the face I always
conjured up
Was always no-one...
else but you
What say you, Meg?
What's this
story's ending?
I want you, Meg,
by my side
What's the use, Meg,
to gaze at a
view on your own
For richer, for poorer,
in sickness and health
I will see,
this through, Meg
No chance,
of this ending
Such a view, Meg,
as we gaze from
the house on the hill
To love and to cherish,
to have and to hold
I'm a hard man to beat,
if I may be so bold
And I promise it all by
the sweat of my brow
Tell me what,
say you, Meg
now?
What say you, Meg?
How's this story shaping?
I want you, Meg,
as we gaze from
the house on the hill
For richer, for poorer,
in sickness and health
I'd be hard to replace,
if I say so myself
And I promise it all
by the sweat of my brow
Tell me what...
say you, Meg...
...now?
...now?
Thank you.
So...
another theme in our play is the perennial
struggle between fathers and sons.
Something I know
a little bit about.
You know, sometimes a
father will not appreciate
the scope of a son's ambition.
And a son will not realise that a father
cares for him when he thinks is
being, just being controlled.
In my community there's a phrase
called dead man's boots.
Dead man's boots really indicates
how difficult it is to get a job.
Uh, you'd only get a job if someone died,
so they called it dead man's boots.
And when your father gets you a job
in the shipyard and you say; "No"...
...that's trouble.
You said, you see these
work boots in my hands,
they probably fit
you now, my son
Take them, they're a gift from me,
why don't you try them on?
It would do your old man good, to see
you walking in these boots one day
And take your place among the men,
who work upon the slipway
These dead man's boots
though they're old and curled
When a feller needs a job,
and a place in the world
When it's time for a
man to put down roots
And walk to the river
in his old man's boots
He was dying, son, and asking
that you do one final thing, you see?
You were barely but a sapling,
and you thought you were a tree
If you need a seed to prosper,
you must first put down some roots
He wanted you to settle
in your old man's boots
These dead man's boots
know their way down the hill
They could walk there themselves
and they probably will
There's a place for you
there to sink your roots
And take a walk down the
river in your old man's boots
I said, "Why the hell
would I do that?"
Why would I agree?
When his hand was
all that I'd received
As far as I remember
It's not as if
he'd spoiled me
With his kindness
up to then, you see
I'd a plan of me own
and I'd quit this place
When I came of
age September
These dead man's boots
know their way down the hill
They can walk there themselves
and they probably will
I'd plenty of choices,
plenty other routes
And he'd never see me walking
in these dead man's boots
What was it
made him think
I'd be happy
ending up like him?
When he'd hardly got two ha'pennies left,
or a broken pot to piss in
He wanted this same thing for me,
was that his final wish?
- So, what the hell are you going to
do, lad? - I said, "Anything but this!"
These dead man's boots
know their way down the hill
They can walk there themselves
and they probably will
But they won't walk with me
cos I'm off the other way
I've had it up to here,
I'm going to have my say
When all ye've got left
is that cross on the wall
I want nothing from you,
I want nothing at all
Not a pension, nor a pittance,
when your whole life is through
Get this through your head,
I'm nothing like you
I'm done with all the arguments,
there'll be no more disputes
And you'll die before
you see me in your...
...dead man's boots.
Most of the people on the stage come
from the North East of England.
Um, and we have five brothers
here from my neck of the woods.
They're called the
Wilson Family.
Um...
I actually, actually thought I was
hiring the Beach Boys, but I was...
Pretty soon I figured
they weren't.
They're going to sing a song which
was a poem by Rudyard Kipling
written in 1911,
called Big Steamers.
And the music was by Peter Bellamy,
and this is the Wilson Family.
Oh, where are you going to all,
you big steamers?
With England's own coal,
up and down the salt seas?
We are going to fetch you,
your bread and your butter
Your beef, pork, and mutton,
eggs, apples and cheese
And where will you fetch it from,
all you big steamers?
And where shall I write you,
when you are away?
We'll fetch it from Melbourne,
Quebec and Vancouver
Address us at Hobart,
Hong Kong and Bombay
But if anything happened to all,
you big steamers
Suppose you were wrecked,
up and down the salt sea?
And you'd have no coffee
or bacon for breakfast
And you'd have no muffins
or toast for your tea
Then I'll pray
for fine weather
For all you big steamers
With little blue billows,
and breezes so soft
Oh, billows and breezes
don't bother big steamers
We're iron below
and steel rigging aloft
Then I'll build a new lighthouse,
for all you big steamers
With plenty wise pilots,
for to pilot you through
Oh, the Channel's as bright
as a ballroom already
And pilots are thicker
than pilchards at Looe
Then what can I do for you,
all you big steamers?
Oh, what can I do,
for your comfort and good?
Send out your big warships
to watch your big waters
That no-one may stop
us from bringing you food
For the bread that you eat,
and the biscuits you nibble
The sweets that you suck,
and the joints that you carve
They are brought to you
daily by all us big steamers
And if any one
hinders our coming...
...you will staaaaaaarve!
That's the Wilson Family.
This next song concerns the
mild hazing that would go on
when an apprentice had his
first day at the shipyard.
You'd be sent for some
spurious nonexistent, um,
item like a left-handed screwdriver,
a glass hammer...
...or you might be sent
for a long wait.
In this case our hapless apprentice
is going to be played by Jimmy.
He does hapless very well.
He's going to be sent for a brace,
that's two, a brace of sky hooks.
Presumably something
that you hook onto the sky.
He's going to be sent for
a packet of nail holes,
and finally two cans of
tartan paint. Thank you.
Oh, and I'm going to make my
debut on the spoons in New York City.
I almost forgot.
Me first day in the shipyard,
the gaffer says to me
I want ye to go to the store lad,
and get a few things, do you see?
Now here's a list, can you read, lad?
Can you read it back to me?
And me and the boys'll listen while
we're having our morning tea
Now reading was me pride,
when I left school at 14
There wouldn't be no problem here,
I'd show them I was keen
But when I starts to reading,
they just couldn't hold their mirth
Splitting their sides and spluttering,
like they was giving birth
First off a brace of sky hooks,
and a packet of nail holes neat
And then three cans of tartan paint,
and that's me task complete
The gaffer swipes me on the heid,
and sends me on me way, he says;
"Don't come back empty-handed lad,
or I'll have to dock your all pay"
So he gets to the store all nervous,
and the quartermaster's there
He pulls the list out of his pocket,
and he starts to read all square
Well, he hadn't barely finished,
when the storeman's face turns red
He gives him such an evil look,
he thought he'd soon be dead!
First off a brace of sky hooks,
and a packet of nail holes neat
And then three cans of tartan paint,
and that's me task complete
The storeman swipes me on the heid,
and sends me on me way
With a kick in the arse for good measure,
and such was my first day...
On the violin,
Kathryn Tickell, thank you.
It's Julian Sutton on
the melodeon, please.
So, I get back home that evening,
and me mother says to me
"How was it, son? How was your day?
Sit down and have some tea!"
I told her of the list I'd read,
and the trouble I was in
I couldn't go back tomorrow else,
the gaffer'd have me skinned
First off a brace of sky hooks,
and a packet of nail holes neat
And then three cans of tartan paint,
and that's me task complete
Me mother swipes me on the heid,
and sends me on me way
With a kick in the arse for me efforts,
and such was my first day
First off a brace of sky hooks,
and a packet of nail holes neat
And then three cans of tartan paint,
and that's me task complete
Me mother swipes me on the heid,
and sends me on me way
With a kick in the
arse for me efforts,
and such was my first
Daaaaaaaay.
It was a doozy!
So, I have a very good friend that
I've known for many years.
Mr. Billy Connolly,
the actor and comedian.
Before he was a famous actor
and comedian he worked
in the shipyards as a welder
in Glasgow, in Scotland,
and he told me some stuff about
welders that I found very amusing.
He said all welders are crazy.
They're crazy because
of the welding fumes
that they have to ingest
for eight-hour shifts.
Also,
they're all practical jokers.
You should never let a welder get
behind you or he'll weld your heels,
the steel toecaps to the
deck and you'll fall over.
The other thing about
welders is all of them sing.
All of them.
Because in the...
welder's helmet there's
a natural echo chamber.
So they all think they're Elvis Presley.
They sing all day.
So this idea really tickled me,
and I wrote this next song.
It's called Jock
The Singing Welder.
Any shipyard man can sing,
when he works upon the hull
Amongst the noise and the
clamour that he all but disregards
So he'll sing to himself,
and no-one pays him any mind
He's just another crazy
welder in the shipyards
But inside this welder's helmet,
if you'll let me demonstrate
When the mask is in position,
and the fumes accumulate
There's the finest echo chamber,
with a sound that can't be beat
Where I'm the
king of rock'n'roll,
and the world is at me feet
And it may not sound like much
to all them jokers on the squad
But inside of
here I'm singing...
...with the voice
of fuckin' God
I'm Jock the singing welder,
heavy metal, rock'n'roll,
jazz, blues, roots reggae,
country, rockabilly, soul
When I'm singing, well, you'd best
lock up your daughters and your mothers
I'm Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochrane,
I'm the missing Everly Brother
I'm Jock the singing welder,
I'm heading for the heights
I'm Jock the singing welder
and the Acetylene Lights
Well, I'm more than just a welder,
and I'm telling you my name
And one day you'll see it blazoned
in the rockin' hall of fame
I've got these songs in my head,
I've got this dancing in my bones
I'm Roy Orbison, Elvis Presley,
I'm Tom fuckin' Jones
I'm Jock the singing welder,
I'm heading for the heights
I'm Jock the singing welder
and the Acetylene lights...
Yeah, yeah, yeah,...
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Uh-huh-huh
Prometheus, he stole the fire,
and he brought it down to Earth
It was a prehistoric welder,
who figured out what it was worth
They call it holy metallurgy,
and I want it to be clear
That no man puts asunder what
I've joined together here
I'm Jock the singing welder
in the belly of the ship
I've got my shaky leg,
I got my quivering lip
I'm Jock the singing welder
I just haven't got a choice
Cos I'm singing all day,
at the top of my voice
I'm Jock the singing welder,
and the Acetylene lights
There's an empty throne
waiting every Saturday night
There'll be no more mistaking
where I've set my sights
Cos I ain't no pretender,
cos it's mine by rights
I'm Jock the Singing Welder
and the Acetylene Light
Jock the Singing Welder
and the Acetylene Light
Jock the Singing Welder
and the Acetylene Light
Jock the Singing Welder
and the Oxy-Acetylene Light.
Yeeeeeeeeah!
So, here's a plot spoiler alert.
Close your ears if you want.
Our beloved Father O'Brian,
whose idea this ship-building was,
is not going to make it
through the second act.
He's been diagnosed with,
uh, a terrible disease.
And first, this scene was just a dramatic
scene, there was no singing in it,
and then our esteemed producer
came to me one day and said,
"Sting, you've got to
musicalise that scene. "
Now I'd never heard
of that verb before.
But I knew what he meant.
And luckily, already in the text there was
a metaphor which I thought I could use.
This song is called So To Speak,
thank you.
They're seriously saying
it's prolonging me life
If I'll only submit to
the surgical knife?
But what are the odds,
on a month or a week?
When the betting shop's
closing its doors, so to speak
When you're tied to a pump,
and a breathing machine
With their X-rays and probes,
and their monitor screens
And they'll wake ye up hungry,
saying, how do ye feel?
And then you're stuffed
full of pills, or a barium meal
Prolonging me life?
Now that's some kind of joke!
I'd be laughing me head off,
and I'd probably choke
The spirit's still willing,
but the rest of me's weak
Now the bets are all off,
and the prospects look bleak
When you're laid like a piece
of old meat on the slab
And they'll cut and they'll slice,
and they'll poke and they'll jab
And they'll grill ye and burn ye,
and they'll wish ye good health
With their radium, chemo,
and God knows what else?
Well, ye can't fault the science,
though the logic is weak
Is it really an eternal
life we should seek?
That ship has sailed
That ship has already sailed,
so to speak
Our mission is more than
a struggle for breath
For a few extra rounds
in a fight to the death
When our mission is love,
and compassion and grace
It's not a test of endurance,
or a marathon race
For love is the sabre
and love is the shield
Love is the only
true power we wield
When eternal love,
is all ye should seek
And that ship
will be ready to sail...
...so to speak
Well, I'm tossed and I'm
torn like a leaf on a street
And I'm blown every which way
by the tides of a dream
And the ship of my heart
doesn't know what it seeks
And the water's way over
my head, so to speak
So make a decision, Meg,
hold to it fast
Keep your hand on the tiller,
tie yourself to the mast
For this sea of emotions,
no place for the meek
When it's only eternity's love
you should seek
For when that ship sails
and the course has been set
And the wind's in the offing
and the sails have been let
And the hatches are full,
and the hull doesn't leak
That ship will be
ready to sail,
so to speak
I'm tired and fadin,
and losing the light
And I've no way to tell,
if it's day or it's night
Follow your heart
It's the harbour you seek
And this ship isready to sail
This ship is
ready to sail
This ship is
ready to sail
So to
Speeeeeeeak.
Show some respect on this
deck for the dear departed
Gather yous round, let's be
bound by the work we started
Save all your strength for the
length of the task before us
Think on that ship on the slipway,
they can't ignore us
It's what he would have wanted,
he'll not be disappointed
Each of us well appointed,
we've all but been anointed
Such was our occupation,
this means of our salvation
We'll make a rope out of our
dreams and hopes and tribulations
We'll weave these strands together,
we'll splice a rope and tether
And though we won't know whether,
it's fair or stormy weather
We'll quit this quay,
and we'll cast this net
of souls upon the sea
Are you with me?
Pick up your tools, we're not
fools to be treated lightly
- We'll weld our souls to the bulkheads
- Secure them tightly!
We'll use the skills and the crafts,
that our fathers taught us
We'll work with pride, not as
slaves, no-one ever bought us
We'll weave a net of our dreams
and our hopes between us
We'll be the envy of that sorry bunch,
who'll wish they'd been us
We'll form a web of steel,
a structure that will not be broken
We'll be the heroes of the day
whenever tales are spoken
And as the dance gets faster,
we'll build a double master
No vessel will outlast her,
no other ship gets past her
We'll quit this quay and we'll cast
this net of souls upon the sea...
Come on!
Come strike the floor with your feet,
all you lads and lasses
And if you're too old to dance,
you can raise your glasses
Just come on in, take a spin,
in your dreams ye've held her
What are ye?
Man or a mouse?
Or a shipyard welder?
Shy bairns get nowt for waiting,
so why ye hesitating?
Ships don't get built debating,
or launched just contemplating
Wear out your old shoe leather,
we're in this dance together
We'll pull the blades and feather,
in fair or clement weather
Each one of us connected,
all trades and skills respected
Always to be expected,
we will not be deflected
We'll quit this quay and we'll cast
this net of souls upon the sea
- Are you with me?
- Come on!
Na-na-na-na na-na -
na na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na na-na -
na na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na na-na -
na na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na na-na -
na na-na-na-na-na
- Na-na-na-na na-na
- Na-na-na-na na-na
- Na-na-na-na na-na
- Na-na-na-na na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-
na-na-na-na-a-a-a-a-ahh
Show some respect, fill the deck,
get the lassies twirling
Cos they expect, to be swept,
off their feet and whirling
Life is a dance, a romance,
where ye take your chances
Just don't be left on the
shores of regretful glances
We may not drive Rolls-Royces,
we're hardly spoilt for choices
If we're to pay invoices,
we'll need to raise our voices
Our strength is in communion,
this Boilermakers' Union
This Shipwright Welder's Guild,
with every working station filled
These bonds we've spliced together,
will face all kinds of weather
Considered all together,
and sailing hell for leather
We'll quit this quay and we'll cast
this net of souls upon the sea
Where will you be...
...when we cast this net
of souls upon the sea?
Show some respect on this
deck for the dear departed
Gather yous round, let's be
bound by the work UPON THE SEA!
They say there's an
underground river...
...that none of us can see
And it flows through
winding tunnels...
...on its way to
a tideless sea
And across that
sea is an island...
...a paradise, we are told
Where the toils of
life are forgotten...
...and they call it
the island of souls
For only a soul
can go there...
...a soul that's
been set free
From the confines
of our working life...
...to find eternity
Your dad had a cage
for his pigeons
And they say that's
where he kept his soul
And when he watched them fly,
he would see himself
At least that's
how it was told
But his soul was still
trapped in the cage, son
While the birds they
soared to the sky
But he couldn't
find his own way out
At least not till
the day he died
A man builds a cage with
the tools he is given
His casket is sealed
with a riveter's gun
Ah, the days in between
he's just making a living
And he takes to his bed,
and he lays down his head
And he's passed down
his tools to his son
I know that he loved you
but he hadn't the words
He'd be easier speaking
the language of birds
For to speak of emotion,
oh, it just wasn't done
It was him that was trapped
in the soul cage, son
It was him that was
trapped in the soul cage
Oh, a man builds a cage
with the tools he is given
His casket is sealed
with a riveter's gun
Ah, the days in-between
he's just making a living
Till he takes to his bed,
and he lays down his head
And he's passed on
his tools to his son
And the ship's left the quay,
only now is he free
And the days of his
labour are done
Oh, a man builds a cage
with the tools he is given
His casket is sealed
with a riveter's gun
While the days in-between
he is just making a living
Till he takes to his bed,
and he lays down his head
And he's passed on
his tools to his son
They say there's an
underground river...
...that none of us can see
And it flows through
winding tunnels...
...on its way to
a tideless sea
And across that
sea is an island...
...a paradise, we are told
Where the toils of
life are forgotten
And they call it the
island of souls.
You are too kind!
Before we leave you tonight,
we have one more song,
but first of all I want to
tell you a little story.
In my home town,
we never saw any celebrities.
Very short on celebrities
in my town.
Except, when they would launch
a big ship, they would invite
a member of the royal family
to come to our town to
throw some champagne at the bow,
and the ship would go into the river.
So one Saturday, my mother dresses
me up in my Sunday best, which I hate,
and she gives me a little
British flag, the Union Jack,
and the whole street's out there,
and everybody's really excited.
Even the Communists are excited, because,
um, because the Queen Mother is coming.
So, we're all stood there,
then suddenly at the top of the hill,
there's some motorcycle
outriders, police.
And then this gigantic Rolls-Royce
moving very slowly,
in a stately fashion
down the street.
Now to explain to you Americans what
the royal family means to the British.
It wasn't that long ago that children
with diseases like scrofula
were held up to touch the hem of the
monarch's garment to cure them.
All right?
It's true.
So, there I am, stood there,
and the car's moving past me,
and I wave my little flag...
and the Queen Mother waves back.
She smiles at me and I smile and
I wave my... She sees me.
She picks me out
of all of the crowd.
Well, I wasn't cured
of anything.
It was the opposite.
I was infected with something.
I was infected with
this idea that...
I don't want to
be on the street.
I don't want to end
up in that shipyard.
I want to be in that car.
And so, I'm here.
Anyway, um...
Appropriately...
appropriately, this next song
begins in Buckingham Palace.
- You ready?
- Ready.
And you Jackie White,
shall I pass you this chalice?
Is there something afoot
down at Buckingham Palace?
Well, the footmen are
frantic in their indignation
For it seems the Queen's took
a taxi herself to the station!
Where the porters, surprised
by her lack of royal baggage
Bustle her and three corgis
to the rear of the carriage
For the train it is crammed
with all Europe's nobility
None of them famed
for their compatibility
There's a fight over seats
I beg pardon, Your Grace
But you'll find that one's mine,
so get back in your place!
Aye, but where are they going?
The porters debate
Why they're going to Newcastle,
and they dare not be late
For they're launching a boat
on the Tyne at high tide
And they've come from all over,
from far and from wide
Oh, there's the old Dalai Llama,
and the Pontiff of Rome
Every palace in Europe,
and there's no bugger home
Here's the Duchess of Cornwall,
and the loyal Prince of Wales
Looking crushed and uncomfortable
in his top hat and tails
And they haven't got tickets,
oh, but it's just a detail
There was no time to purchase,
and one has to prevail
For we'll get to the shipyard
or we'll end up in jail
And the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains
and the cracking of timbers
The noise like the end of
the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship sails
It's a strange kind of beauty,
it's cold and austere
And whatever it was,
that you've done to be here
It's the sum of your hopes,
your despairs and your fears
When the last ship sails
Oh, the first to arrive
saw these signs in the east
Like that strange moving
finger at Balthazar's Feast
Where they asked the advice
of some wandering priest
And the sad ghosts of men whom
they'd thought long deceased
And whatever got said
they'd be counted at least
When the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains
and the cracking of timbers
The noise at the end of
the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship sails
And whatever you'd promised,
whatever you've done
And whatever the station
in life you've become
In the name of the Father,
In the name of the Son
And whatever the weave of
this life that you've spun
On the Earth or in Heaven,
or under the sun
When the last ship sails
Oh, the roar of the chains
and the cracking of timbers
The noise at the end of
the world in your ears
As a mountain of steel
makes its way to the sea
And the last ship
Saaaaaaaaails!
I don't think anything you do can
get away from who you are.
Why would it?
Why would we want it to?
I'm proud of my story, I think it's
a good story. It's not finished yet,
but I'm proud of who I am,
I'm proud of where I come from.
It's a simple abiding emotion in me,
is gratitude.
I'm grateful.
- Subtitle -
Completely fixed: titler