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Good people all both far and near,
Come listen to my song, sirs
Give ear to what I'm going to sing,
I shall not keep you long, sirs.
I'm sure my rhyme you will not blame,
When I have sung my song out;
It's all about the Ten per Cent
That caused the Stockport turn out.
Ch: We never shall be satisfied,
Nor ever be content, sirs
Until our masters do agree
To give the Ten per Cent, sirs.
'Twas in the year of forty-eight,
They formed a secret plan, sirs,
Our masters all agreed to bate,
Combining to a man, sirs,
They took our wage without delay,
Said we must be content, sirs,
They said they all must stop their mills,
Or bate us Ten per Cent, sirs.
So now our trade is good again,
We wish for to be paid, sirs,
The Ten per Cent they borrowed then,
Without so much delay, sirs;
What we demand is just and right,
Good people all remember;
We ne'er will flinch a single inch,
From now 'til next December.
God bless those masters one and all,
That's kindly given consent, sirs
To give us back our rights again,
And pay the Ten per Cent, sirs;
We hope that they will all agree,
And every one consent, sirs,
To give us back without delay,
Our glorious Ten per Cent sirs.
The Fire Brigate are all alert,
The town for to defend sirs,
But let them scamp and scull about,
On us they all depend, sirs,
The Pensioners and Cavalry
Are ready to assist them;
But let them say whate'er they will,
We never shall resist them.
Good people all pray lend your aid,
In this most glorious cause, sirs,
And help us all both great and small,
We'll ne'er offend our laws, sirs.
We'll every one be firm and true,
And join both heart and hand, sirs,
Resolved to have the Ten per Cent,
Throughout the Britishland, sirs
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2. |
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You power loom weavers far and near, come listen to my song,
I'll sing to you a verse or two and not detain you long,
In Preston town there is a mill, if work you chance to get,
I'd have you mind each day or else at night you'll be in debt.
Ch: Then weavers all in Preston town,
Unite all in a band,
And let us banish tyranny,
Then we'll have a happy land.
In the morning just at six o'clock the engine does begin,
You must set off a running for a prize you have to win,
For should it happen that you be ten minutes there too late,
You must give in your number and two pence they'll surely bate.
And while the engines running O, I'm sure it's very hard,
There's threepence more if you should chance to go out in the yard,
If any thing about your looms should chance to break that day,
There's no excuse, they'll tell you plain, you will get off for pay.
Four shillings for a temple box and eight pence for a stud,
Sixpence or eightpence for a fork, they'll suck your very blood,
Two shillings for a driving wheel, and twopence for one day's waste
Three pence for a gold bobbin if it does not run its race.
Should sickness overtake you and you stay away one day,
They'll fine you two shillings, or else they'll stop your pay,
And you never mend again it's true what I have said,
You must go and serve your notice there, after you are dead.
It is his daily study friends, and all that he can plan,
Which way to rob his brothers and his fellow working man,
For should you make a good week's work, this cunning old fox,
Is sure to take a cut or two and hide them in a box.
The engineers of England are doing all they can,
And standing up in every town to better their fellow man,
Then Preston weavers do the same and stand firm every one,
Then other towns will back you and assist you all they can.
Now to conclude and make an end, let's all unite and quick,
And never cease to labour till we drive him to old nick,
For these have always been his plans, both town and country knows,
The devil his right will never have till he has got him in his claws.
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3. |
The Colliers' New Hymn
07:47
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Each feeling heart pray lend an ear,
Unto this mournful tale;
To drop a tear of sympathy,
I am sure it cannot fail.
The fate of these poor colliers,
I'm sorry for to say,
By fire-damp, near Wigan,
Was lately swept away.
God of my life, now I descend,
To labour under ground,
While danger all my steps attend,
And darkness all around
The fiery-damp thou canst control,
And stop my fleeting breath,
And cause that heavy fall of coal,
To crush as soon to death.
To face these dangers,
Some brave mend did descend,
Unto their fellow creatures,
They did assistance lend
It struck their hearts with terror,
And fill'd them with dismay,
To see so many lifeless
In death's cold arms to lay.
Oh God our lives are in thine hands,
To spare or take away;
And to they care we'll recommend
Ourselves throughout this day.
From sudden death deliver us,
And let thy will be done,
I trust oh God, thou'lt let us see,
Once more, the setting sun.
This was a dreadful accident,
From all accounts we learn;
Their parents scarce could own their own,
They were so badly burnt.
We hope the Lord received their souls,
In heaven for to dwell;
The sufferings they did undergo,
No mortal man can tell.
Many go down to rise no more,
To see the glorious light;
Perhaps before the day is o'er,
We enter death's dark night.
Parents mourn, and children weep,
For those that's laid below;
Fathers and sons in death's long sleep
Creat'd by that fatal blow.
With hearts so light, they left their homes.
Upon that fatal morn,
They little thought of their hard fate,
Before that night did dawn.
Our lives are quite uncertain,
As plainly you may see,
One moment we're in health and bloom,
Next in eternity.
O give us grace our Lord to see,
That all there may be well,
Bless God, when we descend the pit,
Tis not the pit of hell.
Thou canst create, thou canst destroy,
Whatever thou thinkest best,
If it's thy will this day we die,
Then take our souls to rest.
Their money, Colliers dearly earn,
The should protected be,
You all well know a collier,
From danger's never free.
The cries of wives and children
Was dreadful as we find,
May God protect their lovely babes,
Whom they have left behind.
The cries and graons of those poor men,
Would cause your hearts to ache,
And many shed sad tears that day,
For those poor colliers' sake.
Whilst those poor mournful widows,
Their hearts did ache with pain,
To think that morn,should prove the last
They e'er should meet again.
Now their wives and helpless children
In sorrow are left behind,
May the Lord be their protector,
And unto them prove kind.
For grief is so distressing, so piercing to our ear,
Each joys are fled,
Their fathers dead,
And those children left to rear.
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4. |
The Felting Machines
04:21
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Mechanics and artisans pray now give ear
To what I am going to say,
For curious inventions and improvements rare
Are springing up every day.
Of all the inventions that e'er was known
Since the curious invention of steam,
There's none bid so fair as to ruin Yorkshire
As the new broadcloth felting machine.
Ch: Hey-oh, when on't I heard tell it made me to cry,
What will the weavers and spinners do by and by.
This felting machine is working by steam
Just now as the story proceeds,
And it goes as they state, at a devil of rate
Making this felt cloth at Leeds.
When the wool is comb'd out the work's done about,
Some people will take it on oath
To the machines they bring it, and in less than a minute
Out tumbles two yards of broad cloth.
Now when the wool's scribbled and also bedeviled,
The process is just beginning,
There's no carding or rubbing, and no billy-slubbing,
But it's wrapp'd in a piece of wet linen.
And then it is felted as I've said before,
There's no sizer, no weaver, no spinner
These, as soon as it can, it will turn out of doors
To seek somewhere else for a dinner.
Should this Felting so clever by perfected ever,
Machines will in plenty be made,
Each to make as they say, 500 yards a day
And so ruin the famed Yorkshire trade.
The carders and pievers may all go to school
For the slubbers there's no use in life
While the weavers and spinners, the miserable sinners,
May go and spin yarns for their wives.
I hope with my lines, no one fault will find,
Or with my plain story be vex'd,
But they say this improvement may yet be improved
If so, well I'll tell you what's next.
When the weavers and spinners are all done away
For the tailors there'll soon be no call,
They will send it in wool, bring out ready made clothes
With pockets and buttons and all.
So now to conclude pray don't think me rude
When I sobriety say,
As machinery improves fell poverty moves
And poor folks get worse every day.
The want of employment and scant of enjoyment
Caused many a hard working man,
To turn out a begging who would have been digging,
If he'd had a spade and a bit of land.
Hey-oh, no wonder poor folks are beginning to cry
Machinery will ruin us all by and by.
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5. |
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Come all ye sons of toil,
Listen to my song,
Whilst a tale I unfold
Of grief and wrong.
Ch: But truth is on our side,
With cheering ray;
Help us then fellow men,
To win the day.
It was in forty-eight,
When work was scant,
Our wages were reduced,
Full ten per cent.
Our masters pledged to pay,
Should trade revive,
The ten per cent they took
The panic to survive.
But now trade is good again,
Our wants we have made known,
But our employers tell us
We must "let well alone".
Since they will not comply
With our just demand,
We have resolved to bring,
Their mills to a stand.
Thousands of families,
Now cry for bread,
Which causes cause to come
And ask for your aid.
If we the losses of
Bad trade must bear,
Why not in prosperous times
Have our just share?
Good people standing round,
Cast in your might,
Assist, while we oppose,
Right against might.
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6. |
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Come all you factory lads and lasses
Give attention for awhile;
I'll sing you a song, not very long,
Will cause both old and young to smile.
In Stockport town, the Factory folk
Were resolved without a doubt,
To have better wages for their work,
Or else they'd every one turn out.
Ch: So now, my boys, come raise your voice,
Be united hand in hand,
You're sure to win, so don't give in,
Until you get your just demand.
In Stockport town the Factory people,
All together did combine,
For to have just and equal wages,
Or their places they'd resign;
Ten per Cent, was all they wanted,
But the masters in a pout,
Said that they'd never grant it,
So all the people have turn'd out.
The masters they without delay,
In consultation did agree,
To get the average list of prices,
That was paid across the land,
But that you know is all a scheme
To blind the people if they can,
But shout huzza! and don't give way
Until you get the rights of man.
In all the mills they put up bills,
And said it was their full intent,
To give mule and self-acting five,
And throstle spinners eight per cent;
But to the weavers' just demand
A plump denial they have made,
For they vow and say, the weavers' pay
Is above the average of the trade.
So now you factory lads and lasses,
Every one united be;
Like birds of a feather, you stand together,
And join in peaceful unity;
Until you're righted, be united,
Don't be timid or dismayed,
You've been oppressed, so do your best,
A fair day's wages to be paid.
So now to finish up these lines,
The young and aged must unite,
And in awhile, through Britain's isle,
Poor people they will get their rights;
Don't be parted or down hearted,
Bill and Jack, Ned, Bob and Dan,
For the lasses gay all vow and say
They'll never wed a knobstick man.
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7. |
Weavers' Crime
04:00
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Come all you cotton hand weavers,
Your looms you may pull down,
And seek employ in factory
In country or in town.
For all these cotton masters
They have found out a new scheme,
They have such a deal for calico cuts
They'll have them wove by steam.
You may go into a loom-shop,
And see three or four pairs of looms
There moldering, standing empty,
More cumbrance to the room.
And if you ask the reason why,
The old mother will tell you plain,
My daughters they have forsaken them,
And gone to work by steam.
There sow makers and dressers,
And some are making warps,
While these pincop spinners,
Must mind their flats and sharps,
For if one end slips under,
And that by chance it may,
The weaver cries, my piece is marred,
You have one shilling to pay.
Then comes the gurly winder,
He says my twist is marred,
It's full of snarls and soft bad ends,
I have rolled out many yards,
I shall certainly tell the master,
Or the Jos when he comes in,
They'll daub you down one shilling to pay
And the money comes rolling in.
Next comes on is the weaver's turn,
For they must not escape,
To enlarge their master's fortune,
They do in every shape.
Bad edges and thin places,
One end out or afloat,
Which causes them to scribe you down,
Two, three or a groat.
Come all you factory workmen,
You must rise up very soon,
And be confined in factory,
From morning until noon,
You must not walk out in your garden,
By two or three hours a day,
But you must stand at their command,
To keep their shuttles in play.
The will be good times for work, folks,
When Old England's at and end,
For combined laws and steam engines,
They make poor people bend.
There is no redress here to be found,
That every workman sees,
For we are used like galley slaves
In the West Indies.
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8. |
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We have come to ask for assistance
At home we've been starving too long;
And our children are wanting subsistence,
Kindly aid us to help them along.
Ch: For humanity is calling,
Don't let the call be in vain,
But help us, we're needy and falling
And God will return it again.
'Tis no strike but a great contention
That has brought us to hunger and pain;
And our laws oppose intervention,
So help us, and honour you will again.
Wars clamour and civil commotion,
Has stagnation brought in its train;
And stoppage brings with it starvation,
So help us some bread to obtain.
The American War is still lasting,
Like a terrible nightmare it leans
On the breast of a Country, now fasting
For Cotton, for Work and for means.
Let us hope that the war will be ended,
And blockages be heard of no more,
But peace and contentment be blended,
As rivals on every shore.
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9. |
Working Men of England
05:09
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Oh the working men of England, we labour for the great,
We toil away both night and day to keep the church and state,
In every part, in every clime, our commerce and our toil,
Adds lustre to the genius of Great Britain's native isle;
On every fort, on every tower, the British flag's unfurled,
Which tells the strength of Britain's power in all parts of the world,
Our hardy tars that plough the deep, our glory to expand,
With the produce of our labouring men, the pride of Britain's land.
Ch: Oh the working men of England will never cease to be
The prop of this great nation, and they ever should be free
They toil without a murmur when good wages they command,
And bring honour, glory and renown to Britain's happy land.
Oh the working men of England, when they get reform
What merry joy without alloy their happy brows adorn;
They care not for whiy or tory, but to labour and be paid
With honour to good masters and the founders of free trade.
And should a foreign foe threat to read upon our shore,
Our working men would fly to arms as they have done beofre,
There's not a Briton in this isle but boldy forth would stand,
In defence of wife and kindred, his Queen and native land.
Oh the working men of England, what progress have they made,
To iron, cotton, wool and coals, the staple of our trade,
The morning bells that ring for toil oft fills them with delight,
In hopes of joyous plenty on a glorious Sunday night
And may kind providence divine their humble efforts aid,
And freedom's sons for ever shine on commerce and free trade,
Contentment is the workmen's lot, he'll toil by night or day,
But give him plenty in his cot, with freedom and fair play.
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Living With Machines England, UK
Vibrant new Yorkshire-based folk collective breathing fresh life into 19th century strike and industrial songs of the North
of England.
Bringing together long-untouched archive material from the British Library & carefully recrafting these old songs for the modern audience
............
Alice Jones
Pete Dilley
Simon Robinson
Katy Ryder
... more
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