SONGS WITH A BRADFORD ACCENT

A collection of Folk songs about people, groups, and special places in Bradford District To mark Bradford City of Culture in 2025 the Topic Folk Club is gathering together folk songs about the story of people and/or groups who work to make Bradford District a welcoming and supportive place. Please send any observations and questions to bd25topic@gmail.com 'Arry R.I.P. (Eddie Lawler) Black Water (Bella Gaffney) Ballad of Frizinghall (Eddie Lawler) Ballad of Little Beck (Eddie Lawler) Bradford Beck (Eddie Lawler) Bradford Canal (Eddie Lawler) Bradford Fair (Zbig) Bradford or Anywhere (Matthew Broadbent) Bradford Water (Tim Moon) Come To Thy Granny Lass (Ben Preston and Eddie Lawler) Emily's Song (Eddie Lawler) England (Den Miller) Havercake Lads (Alan Mosby) Jesus Walks The Streets of Bradford (Tim Moon) The Killing of the Bradford Boar (Julie Wigley) Kirkgate Market (Eddie Lawler) Red Kites Over The Chevin (Jon Palmer) Ring the Devil Away (Eddie Lawler) Saltaire'll Do (Eddie Lawler) Shipley Glen Tramway (Eddie Lawler) Silver Band Waltz (Eddie Lawler) Song For Katie (Eddie Lawler) Song For the Topic (Eddie Lawler) Spinning and Weaving (Eddie Lawler) Star of Saltaire (Eddie Lawler) The State of Bradford (Eddie Lawler) Three Bells Ring (Matt Stringer and Mark Heslop) Walking to Bradford (Eddie Lawler) Where We Once Were (Philip Cockerham) The Workers in the Mill (Eddie Lawler & Robbie Martin)

'ARRY R.I.P.
by Eddie Lawler

We all agree what lives today tomorrow will be gone
But 'ere's a piece of 'istory that cannot go unsung
A lad of local legend whose achievement's been destroyed
Will not be left to go unmourned into the global void

'Twere in Bradford after t' First World War that 'Arry made a smell
Just on t' end o' Bower Street straight up from Jacob's Well
Midst mills and terraced 'ouses all the folk enjoyed the whiff
That aroma were a chip 'oil, 'Arry fryin' fish and chips

And 'Arry and 'is missus fried seven days a week bar none
And soon up Westgate t' Cosy Caff became the second one
Tiled black and white wi' 'untin' prints they were on a solid winner
Wi' 'ungry shoppers stoppin' off for a Bradford fried fish dinner

Chorus:
    It were 'Arry written with an H and then pronounced without
    And 'Arry were a wick 'un and an 'ero 'ereabouts

But disaster struck when t' missus, as was Beatrice by name
Were stricken wi' consumption, 'twas that Bradford smog to blame
So 'Arry sought fresh air for 'er, away from t' dark satanic
They'd have to ply the trade and fry elsewhere upon the planet

And thus they flitted to White Cross and bought a wooden 'ut
And in a trice that appetisin' whiff come waftin' up
And grew a queue as perfect proof the Ramsdens 'ad bought wisely
In whiffin' range of a flippin' great pram-factory in Guiseley

Alas our 'Arry's lass she didn't last there very long
Which made 'Arry more determined and he fried on and on
Fresh fish from a brand new edifice, the 'ut 'ad 'ad its day
Cos now it were a rest'raunt, not just a takeaway

Chorus:
    'is name were 'Arry wi' an H, wrote large but not expressed
    Them as puts the H on 'Arry, 'ave 'ad ther chips, no less

But it wasn't just the factory folk 'at flocked to 'Arry's door
They came on t' tram and t' charabang, on two wheels and on four
And t' ramblers as went ambling up and down from Otley Chevin
Would finish wi' fish at 'Arry's, it were bloomin' close to 'eaven

Two 'undred folk could wine and dine 'neath crystal chandeliers
And it soon become a landmark which 'as lasted all these years
You could tell the time by 'Arry's clock an' tell it with a smile
"Harry Ramsden" (H at 10 o'clock), twelve symbols on the dial

It were back in 1963 our 'Arry passed away
But would 'e 'ave a rotten shock if 'e come back today
The owners 'ave disposed of it, said it were losin' brass
'Arry, if 'e 'ad the chance, e'd ask "Whose fault is that?"

Chorus:
    It were 'Arry with an H, as large and clear as rugger posts
    But 'Arry's H is silent, as silent as in GHOST

Of course this sad development's just a chapter of the tale
Where county and 'ole country is just one big jumble-sale
Wi' no respect for 'istory, tradition, local culture
And everything is pickin's for the money-grabbin' vulture

The locals shed a salty tear, but see through the mullarkey
It's all to do with puttin' up another supermarket
But there's plenty fryin' fish round 'ere wi' gumption, skill and brains
So though we're bruised, we'll not be battered, not be trapped in chains

Whereas the chain with Harry's name (the H must be pronounced)
Is in Stratford 'stead o'Bradford, and in sev'ral seaside towns
In Saudi, 'ong Kong, Singapore, you name it, anywhere
Except o' course West Yorkshire, well they wouldn't bloody** dare

Chorus:
    So there's Harry as a logo, just another plastic brand
    And 'Arry ' oo's an icon, local 'ero, businessman

---
** "ruddy" for audiences of gentle disposition
Harry Ramsden on CD From 'Ere and Elsewhere
See article in The Guardian
© Eddie Lawler 2012


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BALLAD OF FRIZINGHALL
by Eddie Lawler

All of a sunlit morning
The Manningham Minstrel recalls
The noble Sir Robert de Frizing
Rode out from his Norman hall
Six/seven miles out on his rideabout
Through glinting glade of greenwood
He clip-clopped into a bright clearing
Where the woodman's homestead stood

Singing Whoa! Slow, my strong steed oh
Just look at what we have here-oh

For there in the sunlit morning
The woodman's daughter he spied
By far the most beautiful maiden
He had ever seen in his life
Maid! He exclaimed, you know my name
And all on my land obey me
For I am the Lord of the Frizing Hall
And you shall be its lady

She sang No! Go! On your strong steed go
My home's with my father here-oh

But Sir Robert commanded his henchmen
To escort her there and then
Unmolested back to his mansion
Where he solemnly offered his hand
But in sheer contempt of his blandishment
She cried "I'm the woodman's daughter,
If you follow your will, myself I'll kill
And haunt you ever after"

Sing woe, woe and ever more woe
If you keep me prisoner here-oh

As the moon came up in the evening
Said Sir Robert "To God I'll pray"
Full sure that the sun in the morning
Would melt her defiance away
But then with the dawn he came upon
A sunlit sight most awful
With a hunting knife she had taken her life
Her beauty cold as marble

Sing No! No, how was I to know
She wouldn't be my lady dear-oh

Then framed with in the doorway
The dead maiden's father appeared
Saying "Curses upon you Norman brutes
For the suffering you brought here
Within one year you will die, I swear
No child to call you father
Last of your kin, your home in ruin
No stone upon another

And so no-one ever will know
That Frizing Hall stood here-oh"

And there in the sunlit morning
Sir Robert's hopes lay dashed
And the woodman collapsed before him
He'd spoken and breathed his last
With his beautiful child lying at his side
And woodland flowers a-plenty
To the tears of the knight, they were wrapped in white
And laid to rest most gently

God repose their souls and the curse will go
And I'll not live on in fear-oh

All of a sunlit noontide
A twelve-month on but a day
Sir Robert in a woodland meadow
Laid down on a bundle of hay
Small sting in the ear from a creature there
By evening grew stronger
E'er midnight's chime he lost his mind
And leapt from his Hall's verandah
And lo! his abode in a decade or so
In the wood had disappeared-oh

And as for the Manningham Minstrel
Who witnessed what went on
He was afflicted by the old man's curse
And turned into a black swan
Condemned to survive a long, long life
But never to sing nor play
And though he knows full well where it all befell
He can never give the secret away

---
On CD Baildon Sky Rocket and YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler 2004

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BALLAD OF LITTLE BECK
by Eddie Lawler

I know exactly where I'm from
And I know where I will go
I'm born of raindrops poured from cloud
And I run to the river below    I know
I run run run run to the river below
I'm a modest English stream
I'm scarcely two miles long
And yet the sights that I have seen
Are more than enough for a very sad song
For the best-laid plans of wealthy men
To climb to the top of the tree
Have crumbled to nothing before my eyes
In less than a century    Come and see
In less than a century

So I sing my song as I tumble on my way
And mainly to myself
But I don't mind anyone listening
If you're seeking a tale to tell    But listen well
If you want a good tale to tell
My home is all green, briar, bramble
Bracken, nettle, but first in spring
There's a yellow celandine carpet
Then bluebells as if the sky had fallen in
Wild boar have drunk from my water
Shy deer skipped over my banks
Red squirrels have seen their reflection
From an overhanging branch        as they ran
On a bending bouncing branch

But suddenly I am enlisted
Diverted, channelled, dammed
Right next to a mill-owner's mansion
I'm part of his grandiose plan        yes I am
I'm part of a magnificent plan
For he's built his country residence
Away from the smoke and the din
And I fill a lake for little rowing-boats
With fine trout and white water-lilies in
By the croquet-lawn the huge hothouse
Holds melons, orchids and palms
And flowers from the corners of the wide world
With long long long Latin names        to amaze
With long long unpronouncable names

So an Englishman built his castle
At enormous expense, to impress
And it did, it caused a sensation
When royalty rolled in as guests        yes your Highness
A Prince and Princess as guests
But the young owner fell to a heart-attack
And all who took on the estate
Were visited by misfortune

One after another met a terrible fate
So the house gained a reputation
And sought for a buyer in vain
Then the thieves and the vandals did their best
Till the wrecking-ball and bulldozer came        shame shame
Till the growling bulldozer came

A gnarled old beech tree still stands there
It has seen the great house born and die
And some day soon it will end its life
But I will continue with mine        a long time
Yes I will continue with mine
The stones that are left are all shrouded in green
With lichen and moss for a cover
And everywhere ivy is winding its wreath
But I am no gloomy old funeral-lover
For I'm back to chuckling my own little way
Returned to familiar habits
And what was a lake is a tangle of trees
And the dam's been busted - by rabbits
Though the squirrels have faded from red to grey
And the wild boar's only a symbol
The shy skipping deer are once again here
And life is mysterious - yet simple        dear people

I know exactly where I'm from
And I know where I will go
I'm born of raindrops poured from cloud
And I run to the river below        I know
I run run run run to the river below

---
About Titus Salt Jnr and Milner Field; on YouTube and CD Bradford Canal
© Eddie Lawler 2014

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BLACK WATER
by Bella Gaffney

Down where the black water flows and over the bridge that we call home,
Down where the rocks are growing old that's where we'll be.
Black water passes me by, old forces bringing new life,
Stepping stones to the other side, that's what we need.

Another road, another step, another stone,
Taking me back home.
Black water flow,
From the dale to sea, the water runs from you to me,
The secrets that we keep.
Black water flow.

The gray heron is on the wing, down by the foss the voices sing,
They are lost souls still lingering with no way home.
The signs are in the sand, they lead me to the riverbank,
We're all strangers in this land, we're moving on.

Chorus:
    They say blood is thick, but the water runs deep.
    The secrets that we share is the love we keep.
    They say blood is thick, but the water runs deep.
    The music that we share, the music that we share is the bond we keep.

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BRADFORD BECK
by Eddie Lawler

It's in the very nature of this green and pleasant land
You're bound to find a watercourse runs very close at hand
Our rivers and canals are full of good old English rain
But if you come to Bradford you will look for one in vain
From somewhere up near Allerton I tumble down to town
But the pleasure ends near Four Lane Ends when I'm shoved underground
And what goes on as I flow on nobody gives a damn
For instead of being a chuckling stream, a sewer's what I am

Chorus:
    My name is Bradford Beck
    If you wonder what the heck I'm doing singing this song
    It's 'cos I have to roll along incognito
    Beneath the city streets with no credibility
    Despised, unrecognised - set me free

As 200 years of soot and smog and smoke come to a close
Say "waterside" and everyone says "We got one o' those"
Besides the likes of Tyneside, Norwich, Leeds or Birmingham
Every tin-pot town pretends it's Venice or it's Amsterdam
But I have no illusions nor ambition to pretend
To challenge the charisma of the Severn or the Thames
But I have been anonymized as long as I can bear
It's time to give me credit, give me sky and give me air

Chorus:
    My name is Bradford Beck
    Still flowing undetected under pavement and road
    But history will show I'm a survivor
    For umpteen thousand years I've made my way to t' River Aire
    For thousands more, I'm sure - I'll still be there

But now's the time to help me shine and start to play a role
By sharing people's daylight, not hiding in a hole
No longer a joke with Bradford folk, but giving of my best
With trout and tiddlers, weeping willows, ducks and water-cress
But I'm culverted and tunnelled out of sight and out of mind
And when I briefly re-emerge I'm verged with warning signs
The cultures that can thrive in me might make you feel unwell
My name might not be Styx but I am very close to hell

Chorus:
    My name is Bradford Beck
    It's time for resurrection from this rat-ridden cave
    Time for me to save my reputation
    I'm real West Yorkshire water and I ought to be clean
    Be treasured, be a pleasure - and be seen

Chorus:
    (Repeat first Chorus)

---
CD version at https://www.eddie-lawler.co.uk/songs1
© Eddie Lawler 2001

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BRADFORD CANAL
by Eddie Lawler

Attention all passengers aboard this boat
Here's a health warning before we start
Draw a deep breath if you intend to sing
'Cos this song STINKS

Now the life of a bargeman's not cosy or easy
But he doesn't get scurvy and he shouldn't get seasick
With a boat for a home and a family for crew
There's goods to be carried and plenty to do
But there's one trip too far for a bargeman's morale
That's taking a cargo on the Bradford Canal

Chorus:
    Oh the stink, oh the smell
    You'll be forgiven for thinking it's hell
    Oh the stink, oh the smell
    Steer well away from the Bradford Canal

It's a navvy-built section from t'Liverpool-Leeds
Making Bradford's connection to West and to East
From Shipley Junction it's just three-and-half miles
But with ten locks to tackle takes more than a while
And once you've unloaded at t' Hoppy Bridge end
It's ten locks all over to get out again

Chorus

As transport for boats what's the water was meant
But this stretch of water's a deadly dead-end
Not used just for transport but everything else
Especially the nasty stuff poured out from t'mills
Which spring up like mushrooms along both its banks
Manufacturing water that's reeking and rank

Chorus

To t'solvent and dyestuff from t'making of cloth
Add human detritus tipped neat into t'broth
Which wafts all round Windhill when t' wind blows from t'West
And spreads typhus and cholera to those who ingest
The contents explosive, it might well ignite
By t' Bradford Canal please there's no naked lights

Chorus:
    Oh the stink, oh the smell
    Steer well away from the Bradford Canal
    Oh the stench, oh the reek
    The odour will stick with you many a week
    Oh the niff, oh the pong
    You've just been singing the smelliest song
    Oh the stink oh the smell
    Steer well away from the Bradford Canal

---
© Eddie Lawler 2012

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BRADFORD FAIR
by Zbig

If you ever come to Bradford Fair
There is no parsley sage and thyme
You'll find a piece of worsted cloth
Hung at the wool exchange in town
And lots of talk of better days
All spun by a true love of mine

Chorus:
    This city has trouble sleeping
    Since the mills all closed yesterday
    And the tanner spent
    To pay the rent
    Don't go so far these days

Well King Charles he sold the manor
So we became a roundhead town
Many a time the cannon roared
And we woke to the musket sound
The cavaliers came and were driven out
By Fairfax's rousing shout
The old king's money has no place
Here - in our Bradford town

Chorus

I was born in a two floor back to back
And that's where my youth and stay
The passage with the gaslight at the back
Would show me home each day
We ran the 'Coffee Tavern'
On Manningham's smoky streets
Spinners, carders and woolcombers
Would come to our fair to eat

Chorus

---
So a little about the song -

1. It is mocking the folk song ' Scarborough Fair' - with veiled references to it -
'no parsley sage and thyme','All spun by a true love of mine'. Suggesting Bradford is grittier,
more down to earth and has a tougher time

2. Several references to its woollen history throughout

3. During the English Civil War it was a puritan town and supported the Roundheads,
and King Charles had sold Bradford manor to London's citizens to pay his debts -
so the area disliked the king and Royalists

4. The last verse is about my wife's family in the early 1900's. They had several
thriving businesses in Manningham . One called the 'Coffee Tavern' opposite Manningham Mills
and providing meals mainly to the workers there; also a greengrocer and baker. Kath's gran
and mum lived in a typical back-to-back house in Heaton from the late 1930's,
so a brief description of that in the last verse.

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BRADFORD OR ANYWHERE
by Matthew Broadbent

How do? How do? We've never met but I'm friends with you.
So long. So long since we had a break like other big towns do.
Bradford, or anywhere!

He walked. Jesus walked. He waved to all the children on the shaws of butter.
"Not like the good old days" the old folks mutter.
Just take my hand and my heart starts to flutter now.
Bradford, or anywhere!

How do? How do? We've never met but I'm friends with you.
So long. So long since we had a break like other big towns do.
Bradford, or anywhere! Or anywhere!

---
Lyrics & music by Matthew Broadbent


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BRADFORD WATER
by Tim Moon

Crossing the water is the reason we're here
Letting animals drink and graze in the clear
Waters of the beck
Good for the sheep and the wool
And we sing..

Oh the water of Bradford
Oh the clear spring
Always been in Bradford
Lift your voices and sing

Then came the navvies to build the canal
Efficient transport for the goods and wool
Waters of the cut
A clear band in a world of soot
And we sing...

Now look at the place where trollies once brought ya
Open spaced area of light and water
Fountains and light
A wonder at night
And we sing...

Here's to the water of Centenary Square
Throw off your troubles and all your cares
Splash in the pool
Keep yourself cool
And we sing...

Coda
Here's to the water of Bradford
Here's to Centenary Square
Here's to the water of Bradford
Here's to being there

---
Can be performed solo with shamisen.

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COME TO THY GRANNY LASS
by Ben Preston and Eddie Lawler

Come to thy granny lass, come to thy granny/ Bless me to me th'art as pretty as any
Fatherless bairn of a dowter unwed/Little tha knows dear the tears 'at I've shed
Trials I've known both for t' heart and for t' head/ Shortness o' work ay, and shortness o' bread

These I could stand, though th'art not to blame/ Bless thee, tha browt me both sorra an' shame
Granny poor sowl, for a two month or more/Hardly could fashion to lewk aat o' t' door
T' neighbours called aat to me, 'Dunnot stand that/ Aat wi' that hussy an' aat wi' 'er brat'

Deary me deary me, what could I say?, First thing of all, I thowt let me go pray
Christ Jesus said, it's in my memory/Let all little childer come unto me
Neighbours may think or may say what they will/ T' muther and t' dowter sal stop wi' me still

Come on 't what will, they'll stay in my 'ouse/ Woe be to them as maks bad into worse
Some fowk may call thee a name 'at I hate/Wishin' fra t'heart tha were weel aat o' t' gate
Of this 'ard world into t' gutter'll shove thee/ Poor little lamb, wi' no daddy to love thee

Dunnot thee fret love, while granny 'ods up/ Nivver sal tha want a bite nor a sup
What if I work these owd fingers to t' boan/ 'Appen tha'll love me long after I'm goan
T' last slice i' t' cupboard is thine till we part/ Ay but tha's stown a slice o' my 'eart

Spite of all t'sorra, all t'shame 'at I've seen/Sunshine comes back to my 'eart through thy een
Come to thy granny lass come to thy granny/Bless thee to me th'art as bonny as any
Rosy and sweet from thy brow to thy feet/Kingdoms and craans wodn't buy thee to-neet

---
Ben Preston poem set to music. On Website under title Come to thy Granny Doy and on YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler 2018

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EMILY'S SONG
by Eddie Lawler

I love the hills of Yorkshire
I'm a part of the Pennine moors
The valleys with all variations of green
The sun, the clouds mirrored in the stony walls

I feel so at home here somehow
It's as if I'd been shaped with the land
There's mystery and wild magic around
Yet seems made by a familiar hand

It's a home of hard and soft the same time
It's both grim and gentle in its guise
Gives the feeling true that my feet are free
And some other part deep down inside

It's to do with something I will call REAL
Moments of heaven, moments of hell
Through pleasure and passion, through torment and pain
Till the beauty rings out like a bell

It's to do as well with my Irish father
Whose Cornish lady lies long in the grave
The colour of his hair upon my head
His inscrutability in my face

Perhaps Mourne Mountains gave him the gift
For there's poetry runs through his prose
A fire that of a sudden ignites in the breast
He has a music that strikes the soul

I love the hills of Yorkshire... (repeat first verse)

---
Emily Brontë - on CD Baildon Sky Rocket and YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler 1999
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ENGLAND
by Den Miller

A prehistoric man felled a tree and found it would float
And he set off to sea in his primitive boat
And discovered that Eden wasn't quite so remote
In fact... it was just across the Channel in England
So he paddled back again, he got his wife and his kids
And his cousins and said "hey now, come and see this"
"I've found a new place to live, it's absolute bliss"
"And it's just across the Channel in England"
And he said "it's a privilege to be here
It's always the place I'll call home
And if I ever feel unlucky to be here
Just remind me what it is to me
The geography, the history
The reason I'm standing so tall
Is the reason I've come to this place after all"

A few thousand years later some tourists from Rome
Called it civilisation as they piled up the bones
But they had problems with Vandals
And they had to go home
But some stayed back to help to build England
Then the Angles and Saxons and Vikings and Jutes
All took it in turns to bag hold of the loot
Till the Normans got sick of their daily commute
And thought they might as well live here in England

Chorus:
    Cos it's always a privilege to be here
    It's always the place I'll call home
    And if I ever feel unlucky to be here
    Just remind me what it is to me
    The geography, the history
    The reason I'm standing so tall
    It's the reason they come to this place after all

Well, all of our neighbours then wanted a fight
Till the French got fed up and the Spanish took flight
Hey, but even the Germans have turned out alright
Everyone's welcome in England
And your typical local, genetics will tell
There's a rainbow of nations there under the shell
And there's probably a smidgeon of Martian as well
Well, their first stop was bound to be England

Chorus

So when you hear today's Englishmen and women complain
"They come over here and they never fit in"
Well, all down the centuries it was ever the same
That's how we've all come to be here in England

Chorus

---
Inspired by racism in Keighley
© 2015 Den Miller

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HAVERCAKE LADS
by Andy Mosby

We are lads from Timmy Taylor's, we are lads from Keighley town
And we own that Taylor's brewery is the best for miles around
But we hear that over Europe marches mighty Germany
We must leave our work and families, we must face the enemy

Chorus:
    From the hops and yeast and barley to recruiting sergeant go
    From the mash tun and the copper, we must go to fight the foe

Keighley lads are strong and feisty, Keighley lads are bold as brass
And Havercake lads in smart new uniforms'll go where fighting's to be had
Fort the honour of our nation we must not let Belgium down
For the sake of King and country, for the glory of our town

Chorus:

(Slower and quieter instrumental break / next verse in minor key)

Havercake lads we did our duty in Duke's Yorkshire regiment,
And on the battlefields of Flanders many a young life there was spent.
And those left among the living swore that war would be no more,
Back to a land not fit for heroes, weary we returned to shore.
Back to the hops and yeast and barley,
Back to Taylor's brewery,
Back to the mash tun and the copper,
But not the men we used to be, not the men we used to be.

(Slow instrumental air/lament )

Back to the hops and yeast and barley, back to Taylor's brewery,
Back to the mash tun and the copper, but not the men we used to be
(repeat last line)

(Slow instrumental lament )

---
Sprightly, upbeat instrumental intro and first two verses in 6/8 (quick waltz)time

This song tells the tale of workers from the local brewery who, full of confidence
and bravado, joined the 'lads' recruited by the Duke of Wellington's Regiment at the
start of WW1. Their nickname the 'Havercake Lads' stems from the havercake (a Pennine oatcake)
on the end of the recruiting sergeant's sword when looking out for hungry volunteers in
earlier days.

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JESUS WALKS THE STREETS OF BRADFORD
by Tim Moon

Down where the black water flows and over the bridge that we call home,
Down where the rocks are growing old that's where we'll be.
Black water passes me by, old forces bringing new life,
Stepping stones to the other side, that's what we need.

Another road, another step, another stone,
Taking me back home.
Black water flow,
From the dale to sea, the water runs from you to me,
The secrets that we keep.
Black water flow.

The gray heron is on the wing, down by the foss the voices sing,
They are lost souls still lingering with no way home.
The signs are in the sand, they lead me to the riverbank,
We're all strangers in this land, we're moving on.

Chorus:
    They say blood is thick, but the water runs deep.
    The secrets that we share is the love we keep.
    They say blood is thick, but the water runs deep.
    The music that we share, the music that we share is the bond we keep.

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THE KILLING OF THE BRADFORD BOAR
by Julie Wigley

Come, who will end its reign of terror
This fearsome beast which roams about these parts
Wreaks havoc on our land and property
And strikes great fear in all our hearts

A price upon its head
A parcel of land in store
All for the killing of the Bradford Boar

Bold John de Northrop went a'hunting
Both pig and prize he sought to take
Kept vigil by the well, deep in Cliffe Wood
'Til it came forth, its thirst to slake

Two arrows straight and true
A parcel of land in store
All for the killing of the Bradford Boar

Being too great a weight, he left the carcass
Removed its tongue as proof of its demise
Then by and by, a second huntsman
Chancing upon it could scarce believe his eyes

Cut off its head and to the manor
With this propitious find he made great haste
Arriving prior to John de Northrop
Who failed to equal so brisk a pace

"My Lord, the deed is done
A parcel of land in store
All for the killing of the Bradford Boar"

Then in strode John, bearing his trophy
"This brazen charlatan I'll soon prove wrong
For you'll discover on close inspection
'Twas I who severed this wild boar's tongue

"I stake my rightful claim
To the parcel of land in store
All for the killing of the Bradford boar"

The prize was granted on condition
That he'd thrice blow upon the gelder's horn
Once every year in Bradford market square
That being on St Martin's morn

Those lands around Hunt Yard
He earned as just reward
All for the killing of The Bradford Boar

Those lands around Hunt Yard
He earned as just reward
All for the killing of The Bradford Boar

---
March 2024

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KIRKGATE MARKET
by Eddie Lawler

How would you like to do your shopping in a dream-store?
All under one roof and on one floor
With never a drop of rain yet in the broad daylight
Service with a smile and the prices just right

A place with -

Chorus:
    Coats and suits and hobnail-boots
    Screws and hooks and new and old books
    Pots and pans and pies and peas
    Overalls and dungarees
    Babywear and lingerie
    Tasty snacks and cups of tea
    Flowers, flatcakes, furnishings
    Bradawls, bibles, bracelets, rings

And anything that fits into a basket

Now this just isn't half as daft as it appears
There was such a place in Bradford and they had it a hundred years
Right slap bang in the centre of the town
And Bradford was so proud of it they knocked it all down

Cos the planners and the Council they condemned it
And all the stallholders given notice to quit
And to move to newly-built accommodation instead
Cos this one was Victorian and they're all stone dead

So all those -

Chorus

Everything just had to be restructured

I bet you anyone from the South would think you're crazy
You might as well cut the nose from off of your face
For Bradford is no metropolis with no Fleet Street, no Pall Mall
So they decided to make it the capital of nowhere-at-all

And so the building was left in chimney-muck and bird-lime
With cobwebs to decorate the girders' grime
But to spite official policy mother nature wouldn't comply
And the old accursed edifice wouldn't curl up and die

And all those -

Chorus

Were flourishing, and business was as usual

For all those steps and walls and gates were made to last long
Much longer than the speculators itching to make a bomb
And who bury their heads in building-sand refusing to realise
That it paid for itself, was purpose-built and teeming with life

But the authorities declared the cost outrageous
To give the place a clean-up and a couple coats of gloss
While it was clear as daylight to everyone else around
That it's certainly not the market we ought to knock down

Stand up for -

Chorus

And everything that was Bradford's Kirkgate Market

---
My first broadcast protest song! BBC Radio Leeds) a recent version now on YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler c 1973

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RED KITES OVER THE CHEVIN
by Jon Palmer

Intro     G Em C / D G

Red kites over the Chevin     G Em
Red kites up on the wing     C D
Red kites over the Chevin     G Em
Oh it's a beautiful thing     C / D G

Out across the park     Em / C
And over the railway bridge     D G
Through the field with the oak tree     Em / C
And up onto the ridge     D G
To the pub, on the old high road     C D

Chorus:
    Two old friends trading news
    I guess it's been a while
    Evening sunshine and beers
    It's enough to make you smile
    Catch these moments, as they pass

Chorus

Catch these moments, as they pass     C D
Catch these moments, as they pass     C D

Chorus

Oh it's a beautiful thing...

Chorus

---
2/8/2020

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RING THE DEVIL AWAY
by Eddie Lawler

Go! You ringers for now is the time
To fill night air with ring-a-ding chime
Clear the clutter that muddles our mind
In the thundering din of our town
So up the stone spiral make your way
Light up the loft and begin to play
Make your music and make our day
With your bing-bong ding-a-dong sounds

Chorus:
    So flex your fingers and get them working
    Standing there in your magic circle
    Ring through the dark and make it sparkle
    Ring the devil away away
    Ring the devil away away
    Ring the devil away

Ring the bobs your grandsires played
Ring that round and ring that change
Ring the bells to cast the spells
That change all skinflints into saints

With your rope-dance you will dispel
Gloom and folly and fear of hell
Your carillon-candles guide us well
Through winter's winds and rains
Bells called Tom and Peter and George
Born as they were in the fiery forge
Dodge the devil and his discords
When in tune with the human frame

Chorus:
    So lift up your arms and get them working...

Ring through the windscreens of the cars
Over the babble of the shops and the bars
Fill up the sky till this ringing island
Rings with the crystal shining stars

Ring that repertoire far and wide
Fling hallelujahs amplified
By hill and dale and valley-side
Like a musical waterfall
By Aire and Wharfe and Calder and Colne
Worth and Ryburn, Hebble and Holme
Double and triple those echoing tones
Sing out "Rejoice" that's all

Chorus:
    So stretch those shoulders and get them working...

---
On CD Bradford Beck and https://www.eddie-lawler.co.uk/songs1
Can dedicate to Maggie Silver, this song helped to inspire her to replace the bells in URC
© Eddie Lawler

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SALTAIRE'LL DO
by Eddie Lawler

If you're looking for a place to reside
Listen up 'cos I'm telling you
I'm not claiming it's paradise
I'm just saying - Saltaire'll do
If you're browsing after houses to live
I'm not trying to sell to you
I'm not being over-positive
I'm just singing - Saltaire'll do
Founder Titus, man of foresight
Streets named after family
I'm so lucky he got it right
I've got one - named after me
Waking up to morning flavours
What's that smelling so tasty?
Follow my nose round to the neighbour's
At Edward Street Bakery
So if you're looking for a place to reside
Listen up and I'm telling you
I'm not praising it up to the skies
I'm just offering a little advice
If you think of visiting don't think twice
(Think on) - Saltaire'll do

---
Title song of CD Saltaire'll Do and https://www.eddie-lawler.co.uk/songs1
© Eddie Lawler 2015

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SHIPLEY GLEN TRAMWAY
by Eddie Lawler

If you called old Sam Wilson an entrepreneur
He'd tell you "No swearing, or you'll get a thick ear
I'm a showman" he'd say, "and a showman intends
To give hard-working locals some fun at weekends"
Well it's many a year since our Sam passed away
But his Shipley Glen Tramway's still running today

We once had a town full of trams and blue trolleys
But cheap diesel-oil saw them well-nigh abolished
Yet Sam's tram stays on track burning clean energy
Plus spirit and gumption and old-fashioned elbow-grease

Chorus:
    Pick out a couple of coins from your pocket
    A pleasure to treasure is yours for a song
    The best form of transport since Stephenson's Rocket
    The Shipley Glen Tramway goes rattlin' on

Sam Wilson's creation's defied all the odds
So just jump aboard and ride up through the woods
Fly up for two furlongs on narrow-gauge track
And wave at halfway to the folk coming back
The cable sings sweetly and hoists you uphill
Sing along and enjoy your funicular thrill

Chorus

So hold tight everybody, we're off on the ride
Keeping our knees and our elbows inside
Climbing through bluebells in spring is sublime
Or taking the kids to see Santa at Christmas time

Chorus

---
On CD Bradford Canal and Other Tales, and live on YouTube
© Eddie Lawler 2014

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SILVER BAND WALTZ
by Eddie Lawler

Remember the nights of raucous rehearsal
Blowing the cobwebs of dull days at work
Remember the raffles, the scrounge for donations
Till shining new instruments struck up in turn
The thrill of the new tenor-horns in your hands
And even without them you'd look like a band
Slim youth was soprano, the paunch was the tuba
With your marches, your hymns, your selections from Sousa
But when you sat down in concert there was no doubt at all
Your favourite tune was the Silver Band Waltz

Chorus:
    So pick up that cornet and clean off the tarnish
    Polish your smile back into the bell
    And play away, play away, make it a holiday
    Blow out your heart, and mine as well

Remember the times of sunshine and sparkle
On warm village green or the stand in the park
The charabanc rides, garden parties and galas
The Lord Mayor's Show and the Whitsuntide Walk
Remember the cobblestone carols each year
With fingerless gloves, cotton-wool in your ears
To the chime of the flugelhorn, trombones would crackle
The chimneys would tremble, the alleys would echo
But your feet couldn't wait to get back in the warm
To sit down and play us the Silver Band Waltz

Chorus

Remember the days of fierce competitions
When music rang out in the hug of the hills
The banners, the buttons, the brass and the tassels
From collieries and chapels and mucky old mills
In the face of defeat, disappointment was cured
By downing a pint with a wide embouchure
Then you'd twist out your mouthpieces, pack up your gear
Crossing your fingers for better next year
And for sweet consolation, there's all our applause
When you come home to play us the Silver Band Waltz

---
On CD Bradford Beck and on YouTube Channel
Commemorates my great grandfather Barney Gilroy, Irish immigrant to Bradford who
founded St Mary's Silver Band >and handed on to my grandfather Tom Gilroy. The
band never resumed after World War Two.
© Eddie Lawler

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SONG FOR KATIE
by Eddie Lawler

I live in the valley, she lives on the hill
And though it puts a penny on her energy bills
She's happy up there, breathing fresh air
With a view that goes on for miles
Hears the earth in tune with the sun and moon
Cos she's a natural

Chorus:
    With strings for her fingers and bells on her toes
    She brings music wherever she goes

Down here in the hustle and the hurry of town
I forget my worries when she comes around
She brings magic a while, casting her spell
Turning melodies into smiles
I see faces charmed by a sweep of her arm
Cos she's a natural

Chorus

Should you ever need her, she's easy to find
Switch on your computer, google one of a kind
And very soon she'll be there, a breath of fresh air
Making music and miles of smiles
That's her energy, help yourself, it's free
Cos she's a natural

---
For Bradford harpist Fiona-Katie Roberts
On CD From 'Ere and Elsewhere and YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler 2009

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SONG FOR THE TOPIC
by Eddie Lawler

In the heart of Bradford you hear songs
Of bravery and boldness
Praise and of protest
Of soldiers, sailors
Victories and failures
In distant lands and in our own backyard
And mostly with a chorus
And always... from the heart

Chorus:
    The Topic is a Chorus Song
    To echo down the years to come
    As long as there is Thursday
    The song will run and run

In the heart of Bradford you hear ballads
Of death and dereliction
Love and resurrection
Full of fun full of fear
Songs of peace, songs of war
Of King Billy, Barleycorn and Bonaparte
Mostly with a chorus
And always... from the heart

Chorus

In the very heart of Bradford there are folk
Who raise their voice
To accompanying noises
From things you pluck, things you blow
Drums you bang and strings you bow
Things that rattle and that ring
Concertinas, mandolins
Banjos ukuleles and guitars
And mostly with a chorus
And always... from the heart

Chorus

The Topic is a chorus song
To echo down the years to come
Keep ringing on when we're all gone
For many many birthdays
As long as there is Thursday
The song will run and run

On and on

---
On CD Saltaire'll Do and YouTube Channel
© Eddie Lawler 2016

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SPINNING AND WEAVING
by Eddie Lawler

I'll sing of a Bradford magician / Proud citizen from Manningham way
Who carries on Bradford's tradition / Of spinning and weaving for a living today
In the shadow of old Lister's Mill / He perfected the art of the conjuror's skill

Now you see it, now you don't / Leaving you feeling a bit of a dope
You'll swear that you saw it in front of you there
Next thing it's vanished straight into thin air
And you're out / Hear the shout / No doubt about that / Ow-zat?

Maybe sport is not your obsession / Maybe cricket isn't your game
But I'm not for keeping you guessing / Adil Rashid's the Bradfordian's name
And he's giving the leather a twirl / Spinning and weaving his way round the world

There it was, there it wasn't / Maybe he has, or maybe he hasn't
You could read the maker's name on the ball
But it turns out you really read nothing at all
And you're out / Hear the shout / No doubt about that / Ow-zat?

You're wondrin' what's coming up next
Only he knows, it's anyone's guess
He'll hypnotize and surprise yer
With a leg-break? A googly? Top-spinner? A slider?
You marched out so proudly to bat
Now you're truly bamboozled and on your way back

A twist of the wrist - you swish and you miss
Just when you thought you could hit it for six
You're bowled all ends up by an absolute snorter
Or baffled and snaffled cos somebody's caught yer
And you're out / Hear the shout / No doubt about that / Ow-zat?

So Adil keep on spinning so England keep winning
Keep on weaving from Lords to Dunedin
Long may your fame / grace the art of the game
And when the game's over may you bequeath
Your gift as a model, to coach and to teach
Your marriage of skill with complete dedication
To Bradford, to Yorkshire and all cricket nations.

A twist of the wrist - you swish and you miss
There is was - and there it wasn't
Thought you saw it? No, you didn't

Thank you Adil but don't pack up yet
There's matches to play and there's wickets to get
You're not out No not yet One more over today
You've not finished bowling, just ask Virat Kohli
Adil Rashid - MBE - Play!

---
© Eddie Lawler 2024

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STAR OF SALTAIRE
by Eddie Lawler

Intro: I'd a song coming on in your honour
But the title took a while to hang it all on
Cos I'm a slow coach, as they say around 'ere
But Tada! I think I've got there
It's...Star... of Saltaire

You were not from round 'ere/ But you made us your home
Enjoyed what was best / and made it your own
And you rolled up your sleeves/ saying "Thanks for all that"
Now I'm settling here / What can I give back?
And you shone - now you're shining up there
Star of Saltaire

Now you've left our hard cobbles and flagstones behind
For the walkabout theatre up there in the sky
Where you twinkle along with the Swan and Great Bear
And the Man in the Moon has your chuckle to share

Yes you offered your talent / with grace and with charm
And of course - just when needed / a touch of strong arm
But you've floated offstage / with no drama, no fuss
Leaving us here for you/ and you somewhere for us
We're not sure, but we're here to declare who you are
Star of Saltaire

Gazing upwards at night-time we're having to peer
Cos our vision is blurred - well let's call it a tear
But hang on - we're in Yorkshire, it must be the rain
As you know it's much moister round 'ere than in Spain

Adios! As they say over there
And round 'ere it's a simple Ta-ra
Wherever you are
Star of Saltaire

---
For Hattie Townsend, Star of Saltaire 13 Feb 2023
© Eddie Lawler 2023

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THE STATE OF BRADFORD
by Eddie Lawler

"Pity Poor Bradford" the lady's ghost said
To the Earl of Newcastle on his Bolling Hall bed
Next day he'd lay waste to the town, he declared
No mother, no child to be spared

But he called off that massacre of Bradford then and there
The Civil War's horrors moved on to elsewhere
But go to Bradford today and take one look around
And you'll see that it's massacred now

In the Second World War we got off very light
Just a few German bombs hit the centre one night
It was when peace broke out the destruction began
And since then it goes on and on

We looked on as our swish Swan Arcade met its end
We were shocked to watch packed Kirkgate Market condemned
A unique Central Library brought low in days
Local history swept clean away

Not to mention two stations both razed to the ground
Their replacements moved further away from the town
Every trace of old Tyrrel Street flattened and bare
Now they call it Centenary Square

City Hall has survived, for the powers that be
To look out of their windows and what can they see?
To the West empty property seeking a role
To the East just a gigantic hole

But the civic establishment still had the cheek
To shout "Capital of Culture", it fair makes you weep
When they've wasted five decades in wrecking the best
To leave us this hell of a mess

And the final mad project's a lake, would you guess
To mirror grey cloud that sweeps over our heads
So the wind can howl freely round Jack Priestley's coat
Whistling: "Thank You - for nowt"

A city-centre that offers you nothing at all
'Cept a dip in a pond or a jump down a hole
Is an achievement that fully deserves the award:
Capital of Nowhere-at-All

So we say to the ghost who once haunted our city
You can toddle off home love, there's nowt left to pity...
Or roll up them long sleeves and get cracking and then
We'll build Bradford back up again

---
Protest at THE HOLE in Bradford Centre
© Eddie Lawler 2009

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THREE BELLS RING
by Mark Stringer and Mark Heslop

Stories and tales filled the days,
Imaginary kingdoms so far away,
But never beyond the old parsonage gate,
So magical,

Soon they all outgrew the play,
But kept the dreams flowing some other way,
Retelling through poems or thoughts in a book,
So wonderful,

But in times not long passed there was silence,
The ink would run dry on their words,
They stood with an act of defiance,
And would write to be heard,

And those three Bells ring
Their voices for centuries will sing out
The pages will turn, as their fire still burns
And those three Bells ring

Narratives moulded as clay
Antagonists written into the fray
Growing experiences setting the scene
So original

Drama and romance unfurled
Unleashing such beauty into the world
Hiding in plain sight their sweet masquerade
So humble

Their fiction preferred over science
Many eyes would cast over their words
In authors a new found reliance
As their movement was stirred

And those three Bells ring
Their voices for centuries will sing out
The pages will turn, as their fire still burns
And those three Bells ring

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WALKING TO BRADFORD
by Eddie Lawler

2002, and there we were walking
From Manningham Park to Centenary Square
Lots of us picking up a chant from the little Muslim girls
Keeping us cheerful, and getting us there
It goes Bush Bush, we know you
You father was a bomber too

2003 and there we were gawping
Televised images live from Iraq
We didn't send our boys out there
But a Shipley neighbour's the first one back
It's rough tough it's Thatcher's Law
Each Prime Minister needs a war

2004 and there's no stopping
Death every day, no sign of an end
Numbskull Westerners out of their depth
It's Vietnam all over again
But hush hush, better not say
How many more have died today

2005 and there I was singing
Same as I did three years ago
It's an invasion, an occupation
Led by liars, an illegal war
You Bush Puppy Tony Blair
You're the naked emperor

2006 and the song's getting boring
Arrogant folly is at it again
Shred all your history books and sling 'em on the home fires
And wait for the news from Afghanistan
The poppy-fields have all returned
When will they ever learn?

---
Protest at Iraq War, on CD Baildon Sky Rocket
© Eddie Lawler 2005/6

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WHERE ONCE WE WERE
by Philip Cockerham

I know a place where I can watch the smoke rising
Look down on town, helps to clear my mind

And life goes on, I watch through my open window
These hills are mine, land I hold so dear

I'm the one who said that people are the only way for me
But I don't always need you with me now
There's a memory of where we once were

I know a place where mountains stretch the horizon
Its air is mine, helps to clear my mind

I know a place, my soul is part of the landscape
I go there still, helps to clear my mind
Helps to clear my mind...

---
This song was originally written in response to my many visits to the high
hills north of Bradford, in particular those above Shipley and Baildon.
I have regularly visited these parts throughout my life from being a young
child to the present day and whilst the towns have grown and changed, the
most beautiful spots above them remain largely as I first encountered them,
a lifetime ago. I have often watched the sun set from there and I still
return regularly in order to recharge my soul - Phil
© P.Cockerham 2024 (from earlier work)


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THE WORKERS IN THE MILL
Words by Robbie Martin to the tune of The British Grenadiers

Some talk of Cunliffe Lister and some of Titus Salt
of Jowett and of Forster and such great names as these
but of all Bradford's heroes there's nothing to compare
with a "Oy you! get o'er here!" The workers in the Mill

The Noble comb could not be stopped by troops of Gen'ral Ludd
They felt the power of t' bosses to keep their wages low
But our union men do know it and organise once more
with a "Oy you! get o'er here!" The workers in the Mill

Whenever we're instructed to work unsocial hours
Our stewards check the rule book and we're on time an' half
We work all hours god sends us to keep the wolf at bay
With a "Oy you! get o'er here!" The workers in the Mill

Whilst profits keep on rising our wages remain low
Trans-nationals take over with Governments in tow
Trades unions sell insurance, it's global now you know
with a "Oy you! get o'er here!" The workers in the Mill

So celebrate with caution the bubble it will burst
when profits take a nosedive it will hit the workers first
Come Brothers and Sisters, we're fighting side by side
with a "Oy you! get o'er here! The workers in the Mill

---
I wrote this as an example of a political song for the 2009 International Festival
of Political Song. It was not entered into the competition of that festival. First
played at Topic Folk Club at the Irish Club by "into The Buttercup".
© Eddie Lawler 2009

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