"Saint Monday" Song Lyrics

The Nailer's Song
All Things Are Quite Silent
The Great Derby Foot Race
The Beggin'
Fill Every Glass
Derby Miller
Seeing Red
Fourpence A Day

 

The Nailers Song (J Boyes)

Iím a hard man, Iím a Nailer
Not your tinker, not your tailor
Iíd fight a soldier, Iíd fight a sailor
You wonít find me against a wall
They call me Tiny, they call me Sojer
They call me Shearer, they call me Bodger
They call me Nobbin, they call me Filler
They call me Syntax and thatís not all

Iíve got fifty six pounds of Iron
I make a living Ė thatís if Iím trying
But Iím not the one you can rely on
Iím in the beer shop, Iím in the pub
Iíve gone off shearing, Iím on a bender
And when I come home I canít remember
Except when it comes to Monday
Or when Iíve spent me sub

I get the children to light the fire
And as the charcoal flames get higher
I get the wife to apply the bellows
I set to work and I hammer on
I can make three nails in one heating
These Belper nails Lads, they take some beating
Iíve got to stop now Iíve got a meeting
Of the Union in the White Swan

Oh St. Monday, Oh St. Monday
When shall I have my reprieve
After Sunday, after Sunday
I believe, I believe

We fought the navvies in í37
A Tommy Ďammer armageddon
We fought the circus just 8 years later
But the leaders were made to pay
Bare knuckle fighting it is our leisure
It is our sport and it is our pleasure
At Cross Ďo th Hands, lads weíve got there measure
And the constableís far away

(Sometimes we're paid in money
Which is fine if it isn't funny
But other times we get a piece of paper
to spend in the Tommy Shop
Where the Nailmaster sells provisions
And the price causes derision
And sometimes you buy his elbow
If your eyes aren't like organ stops)


In the sixties there was trouble
Dissatisfaction began to bubble
We struck for 6d and we were locked out
By the Nailmasters we were fooled
They employ blacklegs, and not our brothers
They say one thing then do another
But weíre a flame that they cannot smother
Weíll not be beaten, weíll not be ruled

Though conditions they were fearful
We had reasons to be cheerful
There was game in the park aplenty
And we stored it beneath a tomb
But after 6 months we forced back
Solidarity we never once lacked
Our resolve became all the stronger
And it helped us through the gloom

Oh St. Monday, Oh St. Monday
Itís still good to be alive
After Sunday, after Sunday
We survived, we survived

(Now although our trades declining
Every cloud has a silver lining
And though we fought against the Tommy Hammer
In the end things have got to change
But we learned determination
And despite rules and regulation
Things can always be re-aranged)


Now my song is almost ended
And not quite as it was intended
Itís never least said soon is mended
When it comes to troubled times
So put your cards upon the table
Speak your mind as you are able
Never doubt that you are stronger
When in union youíre combined

So come all you lads and lasses
And fill up your empty glasses
And drink a health to the Belper Nailers
Though theyíre long since dead and gone
You can hear them in every footfall
In Belper Town and at the football
They say Ďnever to be beatení
They lived to fight and they labour on

(Verses in parentheses omitted in COTH Version)
 

All Things Are Quite Silent (Trad)

All things are quite silent, each mortal at rest,
When me and my true love lay snug in one nest,
When a bold set of ruffians broke into our cave,
And they forced my dear jewel to plough the salt waves.

I begged hard for my darling as I would for my life,
But they'd not listen to me, a lonely poor wife,
Saying the King must have sailors; to the seas he must go,
And they left me lamenting in sorrow and woe.

Through green fields and meadows we oft times did walk,
And with fond recollections together we'd talk,
While the lark and the blackbird so sweetly did sing,
And the sweet thrushes' voices made the valleys to ring.

Well I'll not be forsaken; I'll not be cast down,
Who knows but my true love one day will return,
And he'll make me amends for my trouble and strife,
And me and my dear will be happy for life.

 

The Great Derby Foot Race (Trad)

The eighteenth day of March, me lads, will long be handed down
When thousands came from miles around into fair Derby town
To see the great footrace being run for a hundred guineas a side
Twixt Shaw the Stafford hero and Wantling Derby's pride

Fol-de-rol, fol-de-rey, to Derby make your way
To see the two brave heroes run the great footrace today

And now the day it is drawn nigh when the heroes try their skill
While thousands flock around the streets wagering who will
Large sums they are laid down me boys, e'er they begin to run
In mingled shouts you'll hear em cry "Ill take you're bet" and "Done"

And now we see them striving, which one will get there first
Straining vein and muscle boys 'til their lungs almost burst
Young Wantling takes the lead now and he labours hard to gain
The money for his friends and to establish his own fame<-!>

And now the race is over and the women, men and boys
Cry "Wantling now forever" in shouts that wrend the skies
His name today is lifted up as a Hero of great fame
For Shaw the stafford hero has been whooped by him again

Ye noble lads of Staffordshire who backed Shaw on this day
And ventured all your money, leaving none of your shots to pay
Be wiser in the future if again you chance to come
And bring more money with you, lads, lest you go empty home


The Beggin'

I am a jovial beggar, I have a wooden leg,
Lame from the cradle and forced for to beg

And a beggin' I will go me lads, a beggin' I will go

I've a little bag for me oatmeal, another one for me salt
With me two wee bonny crutches you can see me swing and halt

And a beggin'Ö.

I've a little bag for me wheat, sir, another for me rye
With a little bottle by me side to drink when I am dry

Seven years I've begged for me old Master Wild
He taught me how to beg sir when I was but a child

I've begged for me Master and got him store of pelf
But now the Lord be praised, Sir, I'm begging for meself

In a hollow tree I live, Sir, and there I pay no rent
Providence provides for me and I am well content

Oh I've been blind a hundred times and deaf a score or more
Many's the right and willing lad I've bedded in the straw

Of all the trades in England, the beggin' is the best
For when a beggar's tired, he can lay himself to rest

Of all the trades in England, the beggin' is the one
For we live a life of going to do and die with nothing done!

 

Fill Every Glass (Trad/D Eunson Verses 2+4)

Fill every glass for wine inspires us
And fires us with courage, love and joy
Women and wine should life employ
Is there ought else on earth to enjoy
Fill every glass for wine inspires us
And fires us with courage, love and joy

Fill every glass for wine unites us
And lights our good cheer and company
Music the food for heart and soul
Is there ought else so dear we hold
Fill every glass for wine unites us
And lights our good cheer and company

Fill every glass for wine inspires us
And fires us with courage, love and joy
Women and wine should life employ
Is there ought else on earth to enjoy
Fill every glass for wine inspires us
And fires us with courage, love and joy

Fill every glass for wine unites us
And lights our good cheer and company
Music the food for heart and soul
Is there ought else so dear we hold
Fill every glass for wine unites us
And lights our good cheer and company

 

Derby Miller (Trad/Sarah Matthews)

There was a miller in Derbyshire
Well, he in Derbyshire did dwell
He had three sons of which you'll hear
Oh that old miller, he lived well
So he called up his eldest son
Son, oh son, my race is run
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?

Father, Father, my name is Nick
I'll grind a comb and I'll say a peck
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find
No, he said, you foolish blade
You have not learnt your father's trade
And when I'm dead and in decay
I know you'll fall my mill away

Well that old miller from Derbyshire
A rogue he lived, or so they say,
Of his hard life he now did tire
He rolled his eyes and he turned away
As he called up his second son
Son, oh son, my race is run
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?

Father, Father, my name is Craft
I'll grind a comb and I'll swear it half
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find
No, he said, you foolish blade
You have not learnt your father's trade
And when I'm dead and in decay
I know you'll fall my mill away

So that old miller of Derbyshire
His time had come to make his way
A rogue he'd lived and a rogue he'd die
He closed his eyes and he slipped away
As he called up his youngest son
Son, oh son, my race is run
If unto you I leave my mill
Tell me how you'd do my will?

Father, Father, my name is Jack
I'll grind a comb and I'll swear the sack
And every grit that I do grind
A right good living I shall find
Yes, he said, you're my true blade
You have well learnt your father's trade
And when I'm dead and in decay
You won't fall my mill away

 

Seeing Red

I was the one, the one who ran at the front
Adrenaline rush and pounding heart in my mouth
My muscles were flexed and feeling ready to run
The crowd was wild, crying and jeering us on.

Chorus
The cries grew louder and whistles did fly
With stamping hooves, we all thundered by.
Rounding the corner, I tripped as I ran,
Catch up again with the others,

If I can -------- (if I can)

Some of the men were waving sticks in their hands
They talk of respect, (oh but what of their plansÖ.)
Beating and kicking, chasing them all up and down.
Race to the end and finally the drum beats us round.

I was the one, the one who turned and saw red,
The flick of a shirt, flashing too close to my head.
I turned to the right, I had him fixed in my stare,
Quick as flash, tossed him up in the air.

Chorus x 2
(Alternative chorus lyrics)
Come all you young men, the brave and the free
They'll be mayhem and bloodshed when you're starting to flee.
I can sense your excitement, see the fear in your eyes
You can hide in your cages, (with your taunts and your cries.)

'Cos I'm seeing red.. seeing red!

 

Fourpence A Day (Trad)

The ore is waiting in the tubs, the snow's upon the hill
And canny folk are sleeping yet, but lead is reet to sell
O come me little washer lad, oh come let's us away
We're bound down to slavery for fourpence a day

Fourpence a day my lads, for fourpence a day
We're bound down to slavery for fourpence a day

Me father was a miner and lived down in the town
'Twas hard work and poverty that always kept him down
He aimed for me to go to school, but brass he could not pay
So I had to go t' washing rake for fourpence a day

Fourpence a day my lads, for fourpence a day
I had to go t' washing rake for fourpence a day

It's early in the morning, we rise at five o'clock
And little slaves come to the door, to knock, knock, knock
O come me little washer lad, oh come let's us away
It's very hard to work for fourpence a day

Fourpence a day my lads, for fourpence a day
It's very hard to work for fourpence a day

Me mother rises out of bed with tears upon her cheeks
She puts me wallet on me back, which has to last all week
It often fills her great big heart when she to me does say
I never thought that you'd 've worked for fourpence a day

Fourpence a day my lads, for fourpence a day
I never thought that you'd 've worked for fourpence a day

Fourpence a day me lads, and very hard to work
And never a pleasant look from a gruffy looking turk
His conscience it may fail and his heart it may give way
And then he'll raise us wages to nine pence a day

Ninepence a day me lads, for ninepence a day
And then he'll raise us wages to ninepence a day
 

Page Last Updated

29/10/03