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BILLS album (2017)

The Crow

© 2017 Lol Moran

To the crow you may well be a stran-ger
But he knows that you cannot fly
So he knows that you pose him no dan-ger
When he sees you walking on by

Ch   He has agility up in the sky
With nonchalant ease he will joyously fly
But back on the ground he will simply strut by
With not a care in the world

He knows that cars will not harm him
When he’s to the left of the line.
A speeding car cannot alarm him.
He’s out of the way in good time


He’ll wheel and soar over the city
No bird can more skilfully fly
But it’s sad that he’s more Goth than pretty
And he cannot improve his rough cry


He knows the ropes, he is street-wise
Humans are not a concern
It’s on the cats he keeps his eyes
But he knows that they never learn



Inky Fingers

© 2016 Lol Moran

Now that you're a man please tell me what's your plan.
Is writing for the stage still your ambition?
Is moving to the smoke no longer just a joke?
And will you leave your wife in her condition?

Don't waste all your days with acting and with plays
Get a trade in Stratford-upon-Avon.
London's big and rough, where you need to be tough
You could never call it a safe haven

Ch  Why won't you be a glover like me?
People need their gloves when winter lingers.
Why must you write, all day and half the night.
You never will be rich with inky fingers.

It would do no harm to work upon a farm
Like it did no harm to your grandmother
But your time you fill, in scratching with your quill,
Knocking out some sonnet or another.

You could be like me, a town celebrity,
Respected everywhere by poor and gentry.
But you hide away and work upon a play,
To which no-one would ever pay for entry.


But if London's where you're bound remember we're around
We'll always take you in if life gets tricky.
Good luck, but do take care, there's villains everywhere.
The streets aren't paved with gold but are brown and sticky.

And should things go awry, remember this my boy,
A pauper still is rich, having health and love.
…Though he'd be richer still if he didn't use a quill,
Especially if he could make a glove.


But if you must write, all day and half the night
Wearing gloves prevents having inky fingers.

Walking to Wilmcote

© 2017 Lol Moran

It’s such a magnificent day
When the) weather’s so good you just can’t stay at home.
So to Wilmcote I’m making my way
A-long the canal on the towpath I’ll roam.
It’s true I could get there by bus
But there’s not many buses which call there each day
And to walk to the bus stop’s such fuss
It’s as easy to just walk the whole ...of the ...way.
(So I’m)

Ch   Walking to Wilmcote, just taking the air
Surrounded by butterflies, swans and tall trees
Walking to Wilmcote, because it is there
And stopping to look at the boats when I please

On the train I could easily go,
But I’d walk a mile to the station in town
And as these modern trains don’t go slow,
I’d be up again soon after I had sat down
By bicycle I might have gone
But I do not have one, and I have to say
I can’t see me with bike helmet on
Riding in bright Lycra up ...the Ridge ...way
(so I’m)


(T go by canal boat sounds nice
But op’ning and closing twelve locks is a chore,
And just who’d pay the boat hire price?
And to get home means doing all twelve locks once more
Of course in the car I could drive,
It’s only a five minute trip, not too far
But if I in the car should arrive,
It would limit my choice at the Ma ...son’s Arms
(so I’m)


But now it is starting to rain
The idea of a walk has now lost its appeal
And so rather than go, I’ll remain
Then tomorrow, perhaps, I again ...will still ...fee-e-e-el ...up to


...and making sure swans do not go for my knees!

Mad Billy

© 2017 Lol Moran

Inspired by a thread on an internet messageboard where various contributors were remembering peculiar old men from their youth.

When I was a youngster, I'd go into town
(And) see lots of old folk who’d walk up and down
One man looked odd, and I couldn't say why
But small kids would taunt him as he trudged on by.
The old man ignored it, he’d brazen it out
But then he would snap, and he’d turn round and shout
And the kids would then laugh at achieving their aim
Winding up Mad Billy was just a game.

Ch  Mad Billy, Mad Billy, soft in the head
Mad Billy, Mad Billy, never was wed,
‘Stay well away from him’ our parents said
It was an existence, not a life that he led

When, many years later, we’d chat with our peers
We kids of the fifties, compared our young years
The names and the places would differ but yet
We'd have similar stories, of (the) strange men we'd met
They were just ‘different’, (but) we thought them insane
Our parents knew better, but didn’t explain
As it suited them that we’d be on our guard
(And) to those old men’s lives they gave little regard


Then an old soldier, he gave an insight,
Those old men we’d known had once, been young and bright
So imagine them marching off, proudly to war
Then crouching in trenches, surrounded by gore
They may have been odd but, who wouldn’t have been
Having done what they’d done, having seen what they’d seen
Then returned to a country where folk didn't care
(That) their lives had been ruined by the shells ‘over there’



Mary Ann's Actual teapot
Mary Ann's actual Wedgwood teapot

Mary Ann's Teapot

© 2016 Lol Moran
A true story from north-east England in mid-Victorian times

(Can be heard here)

Mary Ann Cotton, who lived on Wearside
Had a black Wedgwood teapot she'd usually hide
But she'd bring it out and she'd show it with pride
To those she'd invited to tea
(Back) then ars'nic pois'ning was quite hard to spot
As similar symptoms would kill quite a lot
So she put some ars'nic in her black teapot
...(And) invited a victim to tea

She had four husbands but just one survived
And eleven of her children could not be revived
Her mother croaked just as the Hobnobs arrived
(But) after she'd swallowed some tea
She'd insured her husbands as soon as they wed
And made a quick claim after each one was dead
These payouts they all seemed to follow a thread
...(And) the clues implicated her tea

The whole sorry business it then was exposed
Her plan wasn't foolproof as she had supposed
So she was banged up with the door tightly closed
And Wearside was safe from her tea
Mary Ann's teapot brought financial gain
And she used it over and over again
(But) she offered tea to the hangman in vain
...Who lied about not liking tea

Mary-Ann was hanged, having not been reprieved
Becoming deceased after years being bereaved
Her neighbours were grateful that they'd not received
Mary-Ann's invitation to tea
As a poisoner, Mary Ann had great success
(Yet) she'd not have been caught had she just done it less
But breaking the habit is hard I should guess
...When the body count nears twenty-three

Mary Ann Cotton, who lived on Wearside
Had a black Wedgwood teapot she'd usually hide
But she'd bring it out and she'd show it with pride
To those she invited to tea
That black Wedgwood teapot sent Mary-Ann to hell
Was its colour a hint to her crimes – who can tell?
But no doubt the Devil now knows far too well
...She reminds him when she pours his tea
...(Which) he hopes will be arsenic-free


Bill the Quill

© 2016 Lol Moran

(In fifteen) sixty four, to the Shakespeares' door
A midwife makes her way.
And soon they've got a babe in a cot,
On St George's Day.
As they watch him grow, his folks soon know,
That William's a 'bit of a lad'.
He's poaching deer, and drinking beer,
And enjoying life like mad.

Ch  Let's drink to Bill the Quill, poet of renown,
And playwright who, wrote Hamlet too,
The Tempest, and The Taming of the Shrew.
Here's to Bill the Quill.

(He gets) Anne Hathaway in the family way,
(So) with Anne to church he goes.
(Now) he needs to work, can't afford to shirk,
As nobody wants his prose.
But what job he can do for a groat or two?
None in Stratford can he find,
So he goes off down to London town,
Leaving wife and kids behind.


(So he) goes on the stage, which brings in a wage,
And gets his foot in the door.
Then he says one day, that he's written a play,
And soon he's come up with more.
Whether comic or not, with holes in the plot,
The punters love each one.
And his shows sell out, so there's never a doubt,
That his new career's begun.


His skill with a quill brings fame to our Bill,
And he soon is all the rage.
With his debts all paid, and his fortune made,
And his plays on every stage,
But for all his fame, he tires of the game,
And returns to his old scene.
And a big house buys, in which he dies,
In the year sixteen sixteen.


(So) Saint George's Day, was the very sad day,
Of Bill the Quill's demise.
He missed his cue, on his birthday too,
No more would his curtain rise.
(He's never) lost his fame, or his wide acclaim,
Though he's been four centuries dead,
And although long gone, he'll forever live on,
Will the bard with the shiny head.



© 2017 Lol Moran

Stranton was a village, two centuries ago
When Ralph Ward Jackson built some docks and a new town that would grow
A town that would envelop it, a sleepy place no more
With its iron works and shipyards, its docks and pubs galore
Stranton was surrounded, and much was swept away
The Blacksmiths Arms and parish church were all that were to stay
And fine new shops and houses around its village green
Made this part of West Hartlepool, a fair sight to be seen

Ch  Stranton, little Stranton, around which grew a town
It was a stylish suburb once, but now is so run down
Stranton, shabby Stranton, with its church upon its hill
It’s not as smart as once it was, but hangs on in there still

But then decay and planners, ensured its heart was gone
And it became a dead end, in more senses than one
And with that sad old row of shops which looks out on the green
It’s nothing like the lively place that Stranton once had been
Its name is now redundant, its future a lost cause
Wouldn’t it be nice to see it once more as it was
But sadly that’s a wistful dream, and all pie in the sky
It’s just an urban backwater that surely soon will die



Holey Melodeon

©2017 Lol Moran

My melodeon it had a puncture. And it was running out of puff
So I tried to squeeze it harder. But it still was not enough
So I repaired it with some duck tape. I thought two rolls would do the trick
But it never cured the problem. And the bellows now is two feet thick

So I took out my penny whistle though I hadn’t played it for a while
Not a peep could I get from it ‘til I fished some gunge out with a file
But still no music was it making despite the air I blew in there
It seems the red bit and the brass bit - they work only as a pair

So next I tried to play my bodhran There’s little to go wrong with those
Unless your partner finds one handy when hanging out wet clothes
Then of course there was the banjo, which was somewhat out of tune
As I was tuning it a string broke. Some might say “and not too soon”

So then I tried a comb and paper, but Bronco loo rolls they don’t sell
Their successors go all limp and soggy, and they get stuck in your teeth as well
So I gave up all thoughts of playing. To hear a record I preferred
But vinyl discs require a stylus, so Steeleye Span were never heard

My melodeon it had a puncture. The start of all my woes
So I revisited the problem, the leak in its bellows
So I stripped off all the duck tape, and fixed the leak with superglue
And once I’ve ...prised my fingers from the buttons, it will be as good as new

Navvy Nan

©2016 Lol Moran

Ch  Our town car-rier, Navv-y Nan,
She was rough-er than the rough-e-st man
She drank like a fish, and she would join any fight
And she'd have to be carried from the pub each night

Nan went round the town in her donkey cart
Delivering stuff to any part
But outside the town she couldn't ever go
Her repu'tation made it so

Nan did one rou’nd trip each day
And stopped at ev'e'ry pub on th'e way
Her morning deliv'e'ries were never late
In the aft'er'noon you would have a long wait


Her old donkey it was grey
And she'd be chewing tobacco all day
She'd spit on his ear to make him slow down so
One ear was grey but the other was brown

To the Blacksmith's Arms each night she'd go
And knock back pints, about nine or so
When drunk she'd take th'e whole pub on
She'd wave he'r stick an'd shout “Come on!”


Nan's grey donkey he was smart
He'd carry her home asleep in the cart
Which meant that she couldn’t hit him on his rear
And that he’d get home without a soggy ear

Nan she died in the old White Hart
For a hearse they used he'r donkey cart (so)
For her last trip, like so many be'fore
The donkey to'ok Nan, laid flat on the floor



Old Banger

©2016 Lol Moran

Alas, old banger, you've now gone wrong,
so I'm casting you out, discourteously
Though I have loved you for so long
Delighting in your company

Ch  Old banger, you were my joy
You, old banger, were my delight
But - a lorry they’ll soon employ
To take you my dodgy old banger

Your rust is of the earthen brown
Your brakes aren't safe and your tyres are bald
You'd hardly make it into town
Even if your engine never stalled


Alas, old banger, you're past your best
It's time that you went to pastures new
That pool of oil it would suggest
Your travelling days will be very few


Alas, old banger, on a lorry you've gone,
and I've cast you out, discourteously
Though I had lov'ed you for so long
...But fifty quid's better than nothing for thee


© 2017 Lol Moran

Bishop Hugh de Puiset asked one William of Hartburn
To give up his land, for some Hugh planned, to offer in return
William knew refusing him was a thing that wasn’t done
So he, bereft, from Hartburn left, and to Washington was gone.
But William, now of Washington, he prospered once he’d moved.
And that became, the family name, which his descendants used.
Then one, a Robert Washington, for a wealthy heiress fell.
And made a dash, towards her cash, in Lancashire to dwell.

The secret of success is knowing when to move along
And if an heiress comes your way, you really can’t go wrong

Then his descendant Lawrence also played the heiress game.
And wed a lass, with cash and class, when he to Sulgrave came
But here the story goes awry, their money all was lost.
The Civil War, then kept them poor, but brought a further cost.
The family of John Washington had backed the losing side,
So he sailed away, to Amerikay, in the Colonies to hide.
He never came back, but did a stack, of things which earned acclaim
But as George Washington’s great-grandad he has much greater fame

The secret of success is knowing when to move along
But if the White House comes your way, you really can’t go wrong

But let us think back to that time eight hundred years ago.
Had the bishop been, a bit less mean, that bossy so-and-so.
He’d not have elbowed William out; from Hartburn made him go,
And things could now be diff-e-rent, though we’ll never really know
So while young John may still have crossed the wild Atlantic foam
His family name, it would be the same, as their ancestral home
So that may mean Seattle could, in Hartburn State now be,
And that famous sight, the White House might, be in Hartburn DC

The secret of success is knowing when to move along
But moving to a place called acid reflux is so wrong

tilted CD cover image

BOMBARDED album (2014)

Whole album can be downloaded free from here

The Durham Pals

© 2014 Lol Moran

Ch  We're the Durham Pals, – and we're off to the war.
Although we're new to soldiering, we'll pick it up, we're sure.
We'll proudly leave our northern home, between the Tyne and Tees,
And make our mark, it'll be a lark, when we go overseas.

The country is in danger and it needs some men to fight.
As patriotic Englishmen we've all done what is right.
We have all enlisted, and our friends they've done the same.
We'll all be pals together, when we join the Kaiser's game.


The training isn't easy – climbing walls, and doing runs,
Long marches with a backpack, practising with guns.
Charging with your bayonet at a sack that's full of straw,
And hoping straw's the only thing that you will use it for.


We'll think of our fine county – while we are away,
And we will all look forward, to returning one fine day,
To march through the old city, with the flags all flying high,
But we won't give a single thought to the chance that we might die.



It's a Long Way to the Front Line

© 2014 Lol Moran (and Williams & Judge, © 1912)

It's a long way to the front line, it's a long way to go,
In the land that sent the monkey, a hundred years ago.
Goodbye to Saint Hilda's, farewell to the Heugh.
It's a long, long way down to the front line, but we'll be back soon enough.

All Thanks To The War

© 2014 Lol Moran

We're all so busy, all thanks to the war
The Borough Hall dances we have to ignore
No afternoon tea with Mrs Next Door
We just work hard to get through

We do the jobs that the men used to do
Climbing up ladders, or clearing the flue
Even collecting the tramcar fares too
We're working hard to get through

Our usual chores are as well, not instead
Look after the children and keep them well fed
Make sure they all say their prayers before bed
And say one for Dad to get through

There is no time to simply sit on a seat
The doorstep needs scrubbing, the mats must get beat
The brass must be polished, the front room stay neat
We're working hard to get through

Once it's all over and the men are back here
Perhaps before Christmas or in the New Year
While they are out drinking Cameron's beer
We'll still be working – working and working
Still working hard to get through

I Know a Secret

© 2014 Lol Moran

I know a secret, I can't pass it on.
The Germans are coming To shell us at dawn.
It mustn't get out That their codes have been cracked,
So I can't warn my men Before they're attacked.

Top brass decided to risk the attack
The targets aren't huge though defences are slack
And letting folks know would cause panic and fear
But may not save lives since our fleet's nowhere near

It would be treason to let someone hear
But my men and their families all live quite near
So all are in danger but they can't be told
And this information I'd rather not hold

All I can do is arrive on the day
For an early inspection, show the flag, as they say
And hope that my timing will give them a clue
That something is happening, that's all I can do.

I know a secret, I can't pass it on.
The Germans are coming To shell us at dawn.
It mustn't get out That their codes have been cracked,
So I can't warn my men Before they're attacked.

What Was All That About?

© 2014 Lol Moran

What was all that about? What's going on?
An early inspection, then he was gone.
He said almost nothing - except “Carry on”
Something is happening - but he's not letting on.

Perhaps his old lady and him had a row
And rather than face her he thought he'd come now.
Perhaps he just fancied a fry-up down here
But once he'd arrived, he went off the idea

Perhaps his peaked cap has been chewed by the cat
And he came before dawn so we'd not see that
Perhaps he just wants us to keep on our toes
As Jerry won't come any time that we chose

Perhaps he stayed up all night, out on the pop
So as he was passing he thought he would stop
Perhaps he knows Germans are not far away
And they're getting ready to attack us today

What was all that about? What's going on?
An early inspection, then he was gone.
He said almost nothing - except “Carry on”
Something is happening - but he's not letting on.

Riding On The Top Deck of a Tramcar

© 2014 Lol Moran

Riding on the top deck of a tramcar
What interesting sights you'll spot from there
You'll see people through their first-floor windows
Who think that you won't see them when they're bare
See the mess a garden wall is hiding
See bald patches men don't think they've got
Riding on the top deck of a tramcar
You can see the lot.

I went off to work on Wednesday morning
Caught the tram a little after eight
Went up to the top deck for a smoke there
Thought that I was going to be late
As the tram, it rattled out of Seaton
Off to Church Street, just two miles away
I saw what looked just like like a flash of lightning
Not far off, in the bay.

The flash was shortly followed by a loud boom
Which made us think that rain would soon come down
Another flash, another boom then followed
Again over the sea and near the town
No, this wasn't thunder, it was gunfire
Coming from three ships out in the bay
They were firing shells off at the headland
The war's come here today.

The conductor came to find out what was happening
While shells were flying thick and fast both ways.
As plumes of smoke were rising on the Headland
The driver stopped the tramcar, just in case.
Clouds of smoke were covering the bay now
When up above us passed a German shell,
Which was heading for the steelworks right beside us.
We got off and ran like hell!

Riding on the top deck of a tramcar
What interesting sights you'll spot from there
Watch a German shell fly to the Headland
Hear it as it whistles through the air
See the smoke then rising from the ruins
Hear the noise as buildings start to fall
Riding on the top deck of a tramcar
You can see it all.

Where's The Sub When You Need It?

© 2014 Lol Moran

Ch   Where's the sub when you need it, where's the bloody thing at.
It's still back in the harbour. What is the use of that?
It should be firing torpedoes, that's what the bloody thing's for.
Not sitting there in the harbour, but giving the Kaiser what for.

We're surrounded by warships: the finest the Navy has got
But alas the senior service hasn't been helping a lot,
They didn't spot the three cruisers, 'til they were under their nose,
And now's a bit late to be calling the sub in to deal with those.


At last the sub is arriving, the crew must have finished their tea,
Now they're avoiding the shelling by diving under the sea.
And now they can't launch a torpedo, until they come up once more.
Which means the bloody sub's useless. What did they bring it here for?


Now the Germans are leaving, they're going back to their base
The Navy couldn't protect us. That was a bloody disgrace.
Now the sub is returning, it never got in a shot.
And all it achieved in the action amounted to hardly a lot.


Who Put That Lighthouse There?

© 2014 Lol Moran

Ch   Who put that lighthouse there?
Which clod built it that way?
Who put that lighthouse there?
It just gets in the way.
Couldn't they have set it up
Behind our six-inch guns?
Who put that lighthouse there?
It's sheltering the Huns.

How come these people do the stupid things they do?
Building a lighthouse that blocks the gunners' view.
If we aim for the target we'll smash the lamp to bits.
But Fritz knows we won't do that so in its shadow sits.


Why don't they think the problems through? Why don't they realise
We've got only six-inch guns – Theirs are twice the size
We can get the range all right but can't do them much harm.
For all the good it's doing this gun could be sat in Yarm.


Over By Christmas

© 2014 Lol Moran

Theophilus Jones was from West Hartlepool
He worked in Leicestershire - ran his own school
Your country needs you, Lord Kitchener said
So he volunteered as a soldier instead

He went back to his home county once more
Where the Durham Light Infantry trained him for war
Then he was posted to guard some big guns
On Hartlepool's Headland – and far from the Huns.

Ch   Over by Christmas, said all the top men
Give the Kaiser a black eye, then back home again
Over by Christmas, what a party there'd be
We thought we were safe this side of the North Sea

Young Hilda Horsley was just seventeen
The lads of her age on enlisting were keen
They went with the Durhams to France, full of cheer
While the women all worried, and stayed over here

But the lads would soon come back, and march up Northgate
No-one gave a thought to a different fate
The lads out in France might have known otherwise
But in the town that would remain a surprise


Just four months after the lads had signed on
On December the sixteenth, just after the dawn
As the mist cleared, three ships came in view
And big guns rained shells on the town they all knew

Theo was killed by the very first shell
And, moments later, young Hilda as well
A thousand and more shells, in less than an hour
Killed nearly a hundred, and hurt many more


Fishermen know danger, and soldiers as well
But mothers and children now learned war was hell
As shells flew at them from out on the waves
Leaving in Hartlepool many new graves

Ch   It wasn't over by Christmas, or the one after that,
There'd be four Christmases in a tin hat
Not over by Christmas, no party there'd be
After the Kaiser's guns crossed the North Sea

It's a Long Way to the Headland

© 2014 Lol Moran (and Williams & Judge, © 1912)

It's a long way to the Headland from North Germany
But Seydlitz, Moltke, and Blücher all crossed the cold North Sea
Arriving early morning, by nine they'd turned and run
They came a long, long way to the Headland, bringing death from a gun.

Remember Scarborough

© 2014 Lol Moran

The Germans have shelled English towns on the coast
The twin towns of Hartlepool suffered the most
Whitby and Scarborough likewise were hit
We think we can make propaganda of it.

The Germans perhaps thought their targets were fair
Radio masts, shipyards, and docks were all there
But by killing civilians in their native land
The Germans have just played right into our hands

Ch   Remember Scarborough! That infamous dawn
-When helpless mothers and children forlorn
Died in the barbarous shelling raid wrought
On that most genteel English seaside resort
You now know what evil The Kaiser can do
So all men of Britain we say unto you
Avenge Scarborough's folk, killed in that cruel way
By enlisting for King and for country today

The story is complex, we'll slim it all down
We should just focus on only one town
Scarborough is posh and by far the best known
So we'll just use that, leave the others alone

Think of a number for those who have died
SNo-one will notice if it seems a bit hig
But we think we can make sure recruitment improves
Remember Scarborough! is the slogan we'll use


Hans Across the Sea

© 2014 Lol Moran

Ch   Hans across the sea, join Hans across the sea
In the Kaiser's Navy, how happy you will be
Cross the German Ocean, shell a town or three
Join the Kaiser's Navy, that's the life for me.

We went off to England, a few months into war
As the morning mist cleared Saint Hilda's Church we saw
And all around it Hartlepool had come into our view
And fifty minutes later we had shelled it black and blue.


Our mates went off to Scarborough while we'd gone up north
Where they lobbed some shells in for all that they were worth
They lobbed some more at Whitby while passing on their way
Saint Hilda's abbey copped one – it was not her day!


The Kaiser Demolished Our Grandstand

© 2014 Lol Moran

The Kaiser sent warships to shell us
He then sent a Zeppelin as well
To drop bombs from height in the black of the night
But damage was slight where they fell
The next Zeppelin sent by the Kaiser
It dropped bombs all over the town
But a pilot's good aim, got it shot down in flame
When it went and knocked our grandstand down

The Kaiser demolished our grandstand
It was our joy and our pride
'Til a Zeppelin crew over Hartlepool flew
And chucked some bombs over the side
But we'll build a temp'rary grandstand
And a proper one, after the war
It may not be strong, but we won't need it long
And the Kaiser will pay, we are sure

The wreckage was there in the morning
Timbers and splinters all round
Repair wasn't on so it quickly was gone
We were left with a hole in the ground
But we were in need of a grandstand
So a stop-gap design was drawn out
Constructed of wood, though it may not look good
Compensation would mean we'd pay nowt

We were yet to receive compensation
Yet the grandstand got built as we'd planned
But hard times came round, and we never found
The finance for something more grand
So it lasted and lasted for decades
More tatty and warped with each year
And bits would fall off, if the fans did but cough
So only the brave would go near

Then after a fire in Bradford
The blame fell on grandstands of wood
So ours was condemned, and facing its end
Several years after it should.
Then despite our shortage of money
We paid a contractor a fee
A few hundred pound, to knock our stand down,
Which the Kaiser had once done for free

The Kaiser demolished our grandstand
It was our joy and our pride
But that airship raid left us rather dismayed
Even more when our claim was denied
We built just the temp'rary grandstand
Which for sixty-six years, stood alone
Contractors' men and not bombs caused its end
But it would have come down on its own

It's a Long Way to the Trenches

© 2014 Lol Moran (and Williams & Judge, © 1912)

It's a long way to the Trenches, it's a long way to go
The soldiers and the generals they're all in France you know
It's a long way to the Trenches, but the troops are there on their own
And a long, long way back are the generals, giving orders by phone.


© 2014 Lol Moran

We used to look for seashells
We would collect - seashells
Down by the piers - seashells - Seashells

We took them home - seashells
Threw some away - seashells
Laid them in rows - seashells - Seashells

Lying there on the shore, the seashells
Lying there in rock pools, the seashells
Lying there on the sand, the seashells - Seashells

When we'd stopped looking for seashells
Three big ships came, firing sea shells
Over the piers - sea shells - Sea shells

They hit our homes - sea shells
Some passed away - sea shells
We laid them in rows - sea shells - Sea shells

Flying over the shore, the sea shells
Flying over rock pools, the sea shells
Flying over the sand, the sea shells - Sea shells

Children survived - sea shells
They still collect - seashells
Down by the piers - seashells – Sea shells

They take them home - seashells
Throw some away - seashells
Lay them in rows - seashells – Seashells

Local Connections

Lyrics - "Local Connections" album (2005)

Wagga Moon

© 2005 Lol Moran

Hear it HERE

Standing in the light of the Wagga Moon,
The scenery it may be awful,
Buth that orange hue does wonders for the view.
- It's so bright it keeps the burglars lawful!

Down by the steelworks Wagga is the place,
Where the rolling mills sound like thunder.
But visible all round from Yarm to Station Town,
The Wagga Moon's a man-made wonder!

Courting by the light of the Wagga Moon,
Just find yourself a lass if you can get her.
The orange glow goes high, reflected by the sky.
And makes an ugly girl look better!

From miles and miles away you'll see the Wagga Moon.
At sea by sailors often it's detected.
They think this reddish light means ladies of the night,
But the slag they find is not expected.

A Zeppelin was caught out by the Wagga Moon
For this strange effect it wasn't ready.
It dropped a bomb or two but hastily withdrew,
As the place looked all ablaze already!

Closing time on Friday, beneath the Wagga Moon,
You get fixed up, and you homeward stagger.
You walk your new friend home and hope she lives alone,
But preferably not near Wagga.