The Ballad Of Herbie Jones (RPM)
A folksy number inspired by the stories my nan told me many moons ago about her uncle Herbie..
Herein lies the story, of a man named Herbie Jones.
Not a million miles away from a man you might have known.
A miner in the twenties, blue scars filled with coal,
Hit the City in the thirties, and in the forties war explodes.
Herbie and his miner friends, return to their Terraced homes,
Their wives scrub their black skin, to reveal the flesh below.
Rivulets descending, little mue in tow,
Watching, recording, for future stories told.
A night class here some time there, soon the great escape,
Freedom from the coaldust, where the countryside was raised,
Megan’s pickled onion turned out to be a girl,
And for Herbie now Herbert, a new entire world.
From the dark coalfields,
To the home cooked meals,
Throw your hat down in the street,
These cards will not be beat,
A man amongst Welshmen,
In the land of the midnight sun,
Is not where you belong,
Its not where you belong.
Up and out to Newport, and a job above the ground
Working for an HP company in the centre of the town,
Happy now and carefree, soon to be disturbed,
By the Devil’s invasion, and the ugliest of words.
Later on a policeman, with a number for a name
Never thought he’d find himself, in a job he hated again.
Later on to Oslo, in a mission for the war
Never thought he’d find himself in a job he hated more.