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| I sat down by Wtham side and watched the river flowing....... |
By Witham Side
I sat down by Witham side
And watched the river flowing
The peacefulness within my heart
It was beyond all knowing
For the
small fish jumped
They caught
the sun, on silver scales that evening
And cows
came down to take a drink
A scene
of peace beyond believing
but then
I thought of all my years
The places
I had travelled
How like
the small fish I once jumped for the sun
And all
my dreams unravelled
I sat down by Witham side
And watched the river flowing
The peacefulness within my heart
It was beyond all knowing
Son this
placid bank of time
I stand
by peaceful waters
Taking refreshment
from that scene
And think
what life has taught us
I know our
days, they run from us
Life’s
progress you can’t fight
But we can
return back to our source
And for
a moment catch the light
I sat down by Witham side
And watched the river flowing
The peacefulness within my heart
It was beyond all knowing
© Alan Whittle 23/07/2006 11:31
The Witham is the river
that runs through my Lincolnshire hometown of Boston.
My cousin Bernard lived
in St Helens in Lancashire. As two little boys , we loved each other very much, though
we only saw each other rarely. When My Grandma died, Bernard and his Mum came
over to Boston to help arrange the funeral. Bernard and I were pretty much
in the way. As a distraction we were given five shillings each to buy a pair
of fishing rods from Woolworth’s.
We were both in Grammar
Schools, and despite the strange circumstances of our respite from the everyday terrors of
school life - we were idyllically happy, fishing at a spot called Anton’s
Gowt on the Witham. The song was an attempt to conjure up the atmosphere of that
pastoral scene and quietitude.
Guitar tuned D A D
Fsharp A D
Play Ten Miles South of Oxford
Ten Miles South Of Oxford
It was ten mile south of Oxford ,
On a hot July day, We were both hitch hikin’
She said she was goin’ my way
Both at some sorta college,
but I was dumb as she was smart
Seemed all her life was comin’ together, while mine just kept
falling apart
Oh beauty was always there for you to see
It’s really not such a
rare commodity
But young or old - love rarely
happens
Be you woman or a man
Catch as catch can
Be you woman or a man
That was an educated thumb I was waving, I was a prince of the dusty
highway
I kept chain smoking tho’ the drivers was choking
It was an incredibly strung out day
That night in a fav’rite crash pad, we slept in our clothes
by the fire
Both our heads were full of the road, I sang her a lullaby
Yeh beauty is always there for you to see
It’s really not such a
rare commodity
But young or old - love rarely
happens
Be you woman or a man
Catch as catch can
Be you woman or a man
And that was it tho we write long letters, swop cards at Christmas
time
When Roger left her, when the kids got married
and that time she thought she was dyin’
Life isn’t meant to be easy - You just get the odd good day
Like ten miles south of Oxford with a girl
A real beauty in that 60’s way
Beauty is always there for you to see
It’s really not such a
rare commodity
But young or old - love rarely
happens
Be you woman or a man
Catch as catch can
Be you woman or a man
One of the first songs that I wrote, which defined my style was a song called George
Joseph Smith – a jokey take on the cult of serial killers.
Serial killers are
of course so few and far between that its still almost possible to be jokey about them.
However despite their numerical insignificance, they have impacted on our lives, and restricted our freedoms.
My college was at the
side of the A1 road near Grantham, Lincs. All the students hitch hiked, the A1
was OUR road. The more literary minded had little Jack Kerouac fantasies about criss crossing England. We all used hitch hiking as a practical means of getting home in the vacations, going down to London at
weekends to take in the folk music at Les Cousins – there was even an annual hitch hiking race up to Hayling Island.
You don’t let
your kids put themselves in such peril these days. We just know characters like
Fred West are out there.
Aunty Nelly
I had an Aunty Nelly, she loved to boogie woogie around
She used to get up on the table, and man she used to shake ‘em down
Well Grandma said to Aunty Nelly, Nelly you won’t come to no good
Hanging round the Yankees, stationed up at Burton Wood
But Nelly said to Granny, I wanna show ‘em something of mine
Before they get aboard of that big old B29
So Nelly went boogie ing, no matter what Grandma thunk
She used to come at dawn, with nylons and pineapple chunks
So that was the war, Daddy had to fight with a gun
But Nelly showed her knickers and just had loads of fun
I had an Aunty Nelly, she loved to boogie woogie around
She used to get up on the table, and man she used to shake ‘em down
If you journey from
St Helens in Lancashire in the general direction of Manchester,
you will at one point pass what was the largest American Air force base in England during the Second
World War – this is Burton Wood Aerodrome. There are still a few hangars
there.
And apparently my Aunty
Nelly had a thing about Yank flyers. The family legend was that she used to dance
on the tables with wild abandon, and they used to reward her efforts with tins of pineapple chunks and the like.
I was repeating this
legend to my cousin Bernard, who looked at me with gaze of withering pity and said – actually Alan, the trade was a
bit more basic than that.
One day when I was
about four I was my Aunty Eileens house in Atherton
Street, St Helens and Eileen said to my Mum – it’s Nelly’s birthday this week…
My Mum said, oh I’d forgotten…
Never mind said Eileen, I got these off the market.- we can send them from both of us
And Eileen produced a staggeringly beautiful pair of diaphanous French knickers – canary
yellow, with lines of white lace along the back.
Oh yes, said Mum, Nelly
loves that sort of thing
I thought to myself,
I’d be a Bobby Dazzler if I had a pair of those…..And you know that’s probably the best you can hope for
from this life……making sure you have one or two snapshots that make you smile.
This song won the lancashire Dialect Society's
Presidents Cup in 2008 at Fyle festival and can currently be heard on the first page of this site.
Also on the first page is a Youtube connection where there is versio
of it on dvd.
Play The Wayward Son
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| Denise getting the rockstar interview treatment in Cologne |
The Wayward Son
I wrote this in a hotel
room in 2006 in Cologne. Denise and I had been invited to mime on a German TV show – our 1983 song Rummenigge was voted the 38th most popular football song in Germany. So there we were performing between a punk rock version of You’ll
Never Walk Alone and The Village People singing Go West with the German football team.
We had been lodged
in the Out of Africa Suite in a posh hotel, ( there were plastic giraffes standing guard outside our hotel room door, imitation
leopard skin cushions strewn around the place and plastic elephant heads on the wall). There was a view out of the window
of the train station and Cologne Cathedral.
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| Plastic Elephants Head on the Wall in Out of Africa Suite |
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| Imitation giraffes out side the door of the Out of Africa Suite |
Suddenly I realised
that this was IT……this was THE DREAM. This business of the hotel
room and the guitar, and waiting for the limo to take you off to the gig was what so many of my dear friends had put their
lives on hold for, trying to achieve; relationships and families subordinated to this great vision of creative fulfilment. Billy Connolly even does whole TV series asking us to envy his gigging musician/tourist
perspective on the world – what Christopher Isherwood calls the Down there on
a Visit syndrome.
Somehow the symbol
of the apple with a worm at its heart seemed very pertinent.
Tuning DADGAD
The Wayward Son
Well I won’t say that we fell on our feet
It was just a place that we all used to meet
Always somethin’ to smoke there, and before too long
this guitar would appear – I’d play it
She’d sing a song
And I suppose what we do, makes us what we are
A few old songs and a ragtime guitar
Some words of love set to a guitar strum
And a Lady that sang like a Wayward Son
So I played the music and she sang the songs
And sometimes we made it, oh yes we got along
Everyone listened before too long
To the Lady that sang like a Wayward Son
And I suppose what we do, makes us what we are
A few old songs and a ragtime guitar
Some words of love set to a guitar strum
And the Lady that sang like a Wayward Son
So here I am sat in a hotel room
Writing down some words, she’ll be singing quite soon
While she’s out with some girlfriend,
My fingers endlessly search this guitar
And the TV station says they’ll send round a car
And I suppose what we do, makes us what we are
A few old songs and a ragtime guitar
My words of love set to a guitar strum
And a Lady that sang like a Wayward Son
I hope you like what we do, cos that’s what we are
A few old songs - and a ragtime guitar
The words of our love set to a guitar strum
And the lady that sings like Wayward Son
©2006 words and music by Alan Whittle
Play Mellow Moonlight sample
Mellow Moonlight
I’ve been ill
with heart disease for nearly two years now. I can’t communicate with the
doctors, about how I feel. I came to performing late in life and finding a way
I could enjoy making a living out of it very late. I was lucky, some people never find as much.
As the illness grew
worse I had to give up the way of life of a professional performer, something I’d loved and striven for, for years.
So I sat at home and
played the guitar. And one morning I was sat in my backroom, strumming away with
the sunlight streaming in on me, and some words of WH Auden came into my mind
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless
Some people are like
that – sunlight streaming in on you. One night I was in Mansfield folk Club, feeling very down about
the way things were going. This lady , Stella and her husband Erwin sat next
to me and they were so nice – asking how I was, and what I was doing……
I think it was the
next day I wrote this song.
Mellow Moonlight
Sunlight came through my window this morning
Found these chords on my guitar
I said, Sunlight you know who I am
And I know who you are
And your sunbeams must write the poetry
For this morning I have no words
I saw sunlight on my window
And this is the song I heard
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