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Rhubarb

By Rhubarb
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Badger Bill

Badger Bill

Posted
Posted

I'll tell you a story,

'tis a strange and weird tale:

Of a factory in my valley,

not fed by road or rail.

It's built beneath the mountain,

beneath the coal and clay.

It's where we make the outside-halves,

that'll play for Wales one day.

 

Down by the council houses,

where on a quiet day,

You can hear the giant engines

digging up the clay.

No naked lights or matches

where the raw material's found

In the four-foot seams of outside-halves,

two miles below the ground.

 

We've camouflaged the mouth with stones,

from Bradford Northern spies:

From plastic 'E-Type' Englishmen

with promise in their eyes.

And we've boarded up the entrance

for the way must not be shown;

And we'll tell them all to **** off

and make their ******* own!

 

My Dad works down in arms and legs

where production's running high.

It's he that checks the wooden moulds

and stacks them forty high,

But he's had some rejects lately,

'cos there's such a big demand;

So he sells them to the northern clubs,

and stamps them 'second-hand'.

 

It's there where Harry Dampers works,

it's where the money's best,

But now his health is failing

and the dust lies on his chest.

But he'll get his compensation

though his health's gone off the rails

When he sees that finished product

score the winning try for Wales.

 

But now the belts are empty,

came a sadness with the dawn.

And the body-press is idle,

and the valley's blinds are drawn.

Disaster struck this morning

when a fitter's mate named Ron

Cracked the mould of solid gold,

that once made Barry John.

 

Old Harry Dampers (struck with grief),

received the final call.

And old Harry has been taken to

the greatest outside-half of all.

Whose hands are kind and gentle,

though they bear the mark of nails,

So Harry stamped him 'Number Ten',

'cos he was made in Wales.

 

Quality, from Max Boyce, 'Live at Treorchy'

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Badger Bill

Badger Bill

Posted
Posted

It's called 'The Outside Half Factory' from 'Live at Treorchy '

 

taken from here, but I was given the LP when I was a kid by an uncle and loved it. I am a "plastic 'E-Type' Englishmen" too, but used to love listening to this, and another I had given, called 'The incredible plan' an album about a fella who sold his local club's allocation of tickets, and then got everyone to dress up as blind refs, "with white sticks, dogs and tin cans!", and St John's ambulance men and he went as the marching bands mascot, a goat! But got run over. That one was titled, where there's a will, there's a way.

 

Superb ❗ 😬 *cool* *thumbup*

 

edited to put the link in! D'oh!

 

Edited by - Badger Bill on 27 Aug 2004 10:55:45

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KevSull Too

KevSull Too

Posted
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Ah, yes!! The one and only Max.

 

Fantastic lyrics on The Outside Half Factory, but 9-3 is the best! Always very emotional.

 

Also Duw it's Hard, very moving, good lyrics "If ham were underground it would be ten bob a pound"

 

Rhondda Grey is yet another....

 

and Morgan the Moon (one of my favourites)

 

and....

 

and....

 

Ah bollox, they're all fantastic!!

 

😬You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same. 😬

 

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KevSull Too

KevSull Too

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Here's the Incredible Plan for you BB....

 

 

There's a story told in the valleys

And I'll tell it as best as I can

The story of one William McGonegal Morgan

And of his incredible plan.

 

It all started off on a cold winter's night

A night that was strangely, so still

When the rugby club's general commitee

Sign-died their ticket sec... Will.

 

He was in the wrong, we knew all along

There was no point in petitions and pickets

He was caught with this woman at the back of the stands

With the club's allocation of tickets

 

What made it worse... she wasn't the first

He'd been caught with Ben Water's wife, Ethel

We all knew her with her fox and her fur

She wore it on Sundays to Bethel.

 

Will was sign-died, he broke down and cried

I've never seen a man in such sorrow

'Cos like Judas of old, he'd sold more than gold

With a Scotland and Wales game tomorrow.

 

Then he had this idea... he'd go in disguise

He had it all drawn up and planned

And he went to the game, to his family's shame

As one of the St. Alban's Band.

 

Back in the village, they all got to know

'Make one for me, will you?' they'd say

They'd ask, 'Any chance, for one against France?'

And fair play, like... what could he say?

 

But the man's very able, I think he's in 'Table' (Roundtable?)

He was working all hours, fair play!

He gave of his best, he was down to his vest

Making about fifty a day.

 

But Will's getting on and his best days are gone

'Well, my lad... I'm sad.' he'd say

'Will, you're on the floor... you can't do no more'

And he'd say, 'Where there's a Will there's a way!'

 

So he put an ad. in 'The Guardian'

To employ a few men starting Monday

And he started some men, I think about ten

Three shifts and some working Sunday.

 

They made about three or four hundred

When the night shift was sent 'two 'til ten'

The jigs were all changed and the tools rearranged

And they started on ambulance men.

 

Then they ran out of buttons and bandage

And policemen were next on the plans

While 'B' shift made refs. with dark glasses

Alsatians, white sticks and tin cans.

 

Then production was brought to a standstill

And the union could quite understand

When management tabled the motion

How things were a bit out of hand!

 

I'll never forget the day of the match

The likes of I'll ne'er see again

I can see them all, still... coming over the hill

Hundreds and thousands of men.

 

The refs. came in four double deckers

It was going exactly to plan

And the St. Albans Band came in lorries

And the police in a 'Griffs' vending van.

 

I'll never forget the day of the match

The likes of I'll ne'er see again

When Queen Street was full of alsatians

And the pubs full of ambulance men.

 

It was then I saw Will for the first time

I was standing on the steps by 'The Grand'

He was in a camel-hair coat... dressed up as a goat

Marching in front of the band.

 

It was then that the accident happened!

The roads were all slippy and wet

He was struck by a man in a greengrocer's van

And they took him to Davies... the vet.

 

Now Davies the vet's a bit short sighted

He said, 'I'm afraid it's his heart...

But he wouldn't have lived longer, if he'd been stronger

His eyes are too far apart.

 

The funeral was held on a Monday

The biggest I'd ever seen

The wreaths came in four double deckers

There was one from Prince Charles and The Queen.

(Sorry!... 'The Price of Wales' and 'The Queens')

 

There were sprays there from three thousand policemen

And one from the St. Albans Band

And the bearers were refs. with alsations

Dark glasses, white sticks and tin cans.

 

We sang at the graveside, the old funeral hymns

And we all went to comfort his son

What made him sad, he said, was his Dad

Had died, not knowing we'd won.

 

I couldn't sleep for most of that night

I kept thinking of what he had said

Dad had died... not knowing we'd won

So I dressed when I got out of bed.

 

And I walked again to that hillside

To that last resting place on the hill

It was all quiet, save... when I leaned over the grave

And I shouted, 'WE 'AMMERED THEM, WILL!'

 

And that story is told in the valleys

And I've told it as best as I can

The legend of William McGonegal Morgan

And of his Incredible Plan.

 

 

😬You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same. 😬

 

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KevSull Too

KevSull Too

Posted
Posted

And

 

DUW, IT'S HARD

(Max Boyce)

 

In our little valley

They closed the colliery down,

And the pithead baths is a supermarket now.

Empty gurneys red with rust

Roll to rest among the rust

And the pithead baths is a supermarket now.

 

CHO: 'Cos it's hard, Duw, it's hard

Harder than they will ever know.

And it's they must take the blame,

The price of coal's the same.

And the pithead baths is a supermarket now.

 

They came down here from England

Because our output's low.

Briefcases full of bank clerks

That had never been below.

And they'll close the valley's oldest mine

Pretending that they're sad.

But don't you worry, Butty bach,

We're really very glad.

 

My clean-clothes locker's empty now,

I've thrown away the key.

And I've sold my boots and muffler

And my lampcheck 153.

But I can't forget the times we had,

The laughing midst the fear,

'Cos every time I cough I get

A mining souvenir.

 

I took my old helmet home with me,

Filled it full of earth,

And I planted little flowers there -

They grew for all their worth.

And it's hanging in the glasshouse now,

A living memory,

Reminding me they could have grown

In vases over me.

 

But I know the local magistrate,

She's got a job for me,

Though it's only counting buttons

In a local factory.

We get coffee breaks and coffee breaks,

Coffee breaks and tea.

And now I know those dusty mines

Have seen the last of me.

 

FINAL CHORUS

'Cos it's hard, Duw, it's hard

Harder than they will ever know.

And if ham was underground,

Would it be twelve bob a pound.

And the pithead baths is a supermarket now.

Aye, the pithead baths is a supermarket now.

 

 

😬You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same. 😬

 

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KevSull Too

KevSull Too

Posted
Posted

Ahhh, finally found Rhondda Grey.

There's a little introduction to the song by Max at the start...

 

 

 

'The tools are on the bar' is an old mining term used commonly in the South Wales coalfield to signify the end of the shift, when it was time to 'put the tools on the bar', The bar was a rod of iron on which the collier kept his tools locked for safety.

 

This mining expression also became symbolic of ill-health. Old colliers taking their grandsons for a walk on Sunday mornings would be forced to

stop a while to fight for breath because of 'dust'.

 

'Wait a minute, bach, 'they'd say, 'the tools are on the bar. ,

 

I used that expression in a song which tells about a colour. A colour not found in the slates or the pavements of the valley towns but only in the faces of the old men that once worked in the mining industry.

 

I called that colour and the song- Rhondda Grey

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rhondda Grey © Max Boyce

 

 

One afternoon from a council school

A boy came home to play.

With paints and coloured pencils

And his homework for the day.

We've got to paint the valley, Mam,

For Mrs Davies art.

What colour is the valley, Mam?

And will you help me start?

 

Shall I paint the Con Club yellow,

And paint the Welfare blue?

Paint old Mr Davies red,

And all his pigeons too?

Paint the man who kept our ball,

Paint him looking sad?

What colour is the valley, Mam?

What colour is it Dad?

 

'Dad, if Mam goes down the shop

To fetch the milk and bread,

Ask her fetch me back some paint-

Some gold and white and red.

Ask her fetch me back some green,

(The bit I've gots gone hard),

Ask her fetch me back some green;

Ask her, will you Dad?

 

His father took him by the hand

And they walked down Albion Street,

Down past the old Rock Incline.

To where the council put a seat.

Where old men say at the close of day

'Dy'n ni wedi g'neud ein siar'*

And the colour in their faces says

The tools are on the bar.

The tools are on the bar.

 

And that's the colour that we want

That no shop has ever sold.

You can't buy that in Woolies, lad,

With your reds and greens and gold.

It's a colour you can't buy, lad,

No matter what you pay.

But that's the colour that we want:

It's a sort of Rhondda Grey,

 

*We've done our share.

 

 

😬You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same. 😬

 

 

Edited by - KevSull on 27 Aug 2004 11:53:22

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