Don't you cry don’t you frown as his time it runs down Be you journeyman ploughman or baker You bold men of Devon from country or town Drink a health to George Routleigh watchmaker I’ll sing you this song if you’ll hear of his fame His town it was Lydford, George Routleigh his name Time’s been his life as he helped time to run As he worked as the Lydford watchmaker When he was new made his movement was fast His hands never stopped as the hours they flew past Without care as the sands of his youth ran away Never stopping to think of the future Don't you cry don’t you frown as his time it runs down Be you journeyman ploughman or baker You bold men of Devon from country or town Drink a health to George Routleigh watchmaker But after the passing of youth’s brittle years He learned of the meaning of other men’s fears His days they slipped past at slower pace now And prudence was his regulator So calmly time glided he never went wrong True was his life’s rhythm with joy in his song Except when he was set going by those who knew and cared not for his key Don't you cry don’t you frown as his time it runs down Be you journeyman ploughman or baker You bold men of Devon from country or town Drink a health to George Routleigh watchmaker He is an old man now his song it is sung His movement is rusty his mainspring is sprung His hands go but slowly his case it is scratched He knows he is running down truly But though in the churchyard his case will be laid When his hands they are stopped he will not be afraid He knows he’ll be wound up and taken in hand In the next world was he meets his maker Don't you cry don’t you frown as his time it runs down Be you journeyman ploughman or baker You bold men of Devon from country or town Drink a health to George Routleigh watchmaker credits

1. Dawn it comes creeping from out of the darkness The world still lies sleeping away The daylight is filtered through misty greyness And all that was clear fades away And out of the shadows come shapes of the rail Of the mast and the rigging the of the nets and the sails And we feel the chill of the day 2. The harsh laugh of gulls echoes clear in the shallows The coldest of mornings is here The mist on the river brings shapes in the shadows That fill all us sailors with fear We know all the perils of the journey ahead As out to the ocean we steer Chorus As we long for home once more In the port of Appledore 3. This hard winter’s morning out past the Burrows The small ship sails high on the tide Our reddened hands bleeding from hard frosty ropes Already half blinded by spray Ands behind us are wheeling the merciless gulls Watching like hawks for their prey Chorus 4. And it’s far from the harbour, far out to sea Drifting with aching hearts Tossed on the ocean, far from the shore The stars and the moon far apart And out there past Lundy the sea it is raging Already we feel like lost men

In fields down to the river On the heaving orchard boughs In mounds beneath in garnered heaps The crimson apples flame By the farmer and his horses In the last light of the day The crimson tide is gathered up In woven horse hair grey And the tide of life is turning Where the grinding presses run By a patient blindfold pony In the light of the setting sun With the carts now deep and harvest full To Townstal home again To where the presses grip and crush And the juice in rivers flows Long into the dark of night The faithful pony turns In slow and placid circles As the golden liquid churns And the tide of life is turning Where the grinding presses run By a patient blindfold pony In the light of the setting sun On their polished elm in rays of light Stand carved on the timber frame The names of pals who went to France But won’t come back again When at last the weary beams are still The cider amber bright They drink and they remember Deep into the starry nights And the tide of life is turning Where the grinding presses run By a patient blindfold pony In the light of the setting sun Red eye sun in low November And the boughs are bright with frost Vault doors fast put home long since And the pony is at rest

My old friend Chris Cobley and I set out when we were 16 to walk diagonally across Dartmoor from SE to NW over 2 days. At the end of Day 1 we had reached the Warren House Inn, where we dined and supped and pitched our tiny tent. the rest of the night is a haze! We were awaken next morning by the police! They asked us if we were alright because there was a missing convict from Dartmoor Prison on the moor! Me and my mate we set out on the moor From Scorriton right up to Sourton Tor Past Poundsgate and Widecombe, our way we found Up over Hameldon down through Grimspound And then as sun it went down in the west We knew we were done we had given our best Although we were 16 we thought it no sin To find our way into the Warren House Inn The 5 pints of cider that we put away Were causing the walls of the bar for to sway We picked ourselves up and went out the back And found a few beers there to fill up our sack We found that the mist on the moor had come down And made us pitch our tent on uneven ground To trip on the guy ropes it was no disgrace Cos you couldn't see your hand in front of your face Early next morning our heads they felt dire There was plenty of groaning as we lit the fire Bacon and baked beans was our breakfast choice When outside of our tent we heard a loud voice Its Dartmoor police here are you lads alright? Be assured I do not mean to give you a fright But a man has escaped from the Princetown Mens Club And we think that he nicked a few beers from this pub! He’s out on the moor He’s out on the moor That’s why we’re searching the cleaves and the tors For its the mad axemen that we’re looking for Frank Mitchell is out on the moor Now this man Frank Mitchell he likes robbing banks He’s mean and he’s nasty, he’s built like a tank Extortion and torture are his stock in trade The screws let him run free cos they are afraid In case that he finds you and follows your tracks I think that i ought to tell you this fact The book that he frequently reads to relax Is “101 Things To Do With an Axe”! He’s out on the moor He’s out on the moor That’s why we’re searching the cleaves and the tors For its the mad axemen that we’re looking for Frank Mitchell is out on the moor We got rid of the empties and stood by the Cross To make the long wait for the bus to come past In the ghostly old mist there as it swirled around We feared there a mad axeman’s face would be found We vowed that we’d never drink cider no more We’d nick no more beers from the Warren House store And we vowed to ourselves we would never no more Take the long route from Scorriton to Sourton Tor…

Whitlock Smerdon come from t’other side of Hameldon He courted Sibley Shillingford and how they loved each other A steady and a kindly love her simple heart had won Like two halves of a flail they were - one nought without t’other. Whitlock knew the hour had come her father for to face He’d learned his lines fair word for word the night before he came To Blackslade where the master sat the table for to grace Where 7 generations there had held the title claim Mr Shillingford he said I’ve got a startler here for you Humble as a worm I stand before you on your land But I will uplift myself as all true lovers do For I have a fierce and fearful love to drive on my demand I’d be proud as a turkey cock to ‘ave your daughter's hand That scratches in the farmyard dust and struts his head held high I’m cruel poor but I’ll work hard to earn her wedding band I ban’t of much account I know but I will be by and by I’ll make her such a husband as is not known in this land Except for tales in story books and songs the choir do sing This love I have for her will move the tors come presently If twill only move you first to give consent to me Twas just then that his daughter ran into her father’s arms She was on his breast so instantly her hair across his face Oh father dear I love him for his kindness and his charms I pray you’ll let me ‘ave him for no-one can take his place A kindly but a proud man old Shillingford was he He lived his life so righteously all Webburn men could see He said to Whitlock now there young man although you speak so free An honest, fair and loving man I’m certain that you be ‘E gave consent and they rejoiced, and married they’ll be soon And news of their betrothal spread across the vale by noon And as these two lovers stood contented arm in arm A sunset smile lit up the whitewashed face of Blackslade farm. credits

1. There’s an old house at the corner just beyond the Rose and Crown There’s a low wall all around it you can see And now the gate is rusty and it’s almost broken down And the little bit of garden’s full of weeds And standing in his slippers in the shadow of the door There is an old man there called Henry Brown Ch. And you wouldn’t think to look at him that he was once well known You wouldn’t see him if he passed you on the street You wouldn’t think that he was once the hero of renown But some folks still remember Henry Brown 2. It was in the height of winter over 50 years ago A gale blew from east on to the shore The fishing boats and trawlers all tied up along the quay The waves crashed 50 feet above the wall The people in the cottages there were huddled round their fires Waiting for the day to come around 3. There really was no warning – no shout, no light or bell To tell them that a nightmare had begun The wall was breached down by the shore the sea was in the street There was nothing that the people could have done And all in that dreadful night so many people might have drowned But a score or more were saved by Henry Brown Ch 4. And all throughout the bitter night he fought against the tide And all night the raging sea denied Cradling the women and the children that he found And carrying them up to the higher ground He didn’t stop his work until the day at last came round And the sea receded from the broken land And every year round Hallsands when November comes around And the gale blows from the east so wild and free And the gannets and the gulls are driven hard against the cliffs And the boiling waves blow spume across the Ley The people raise their glasses all remembering the time When their lives were saved that night by Henry Brown

High up on a cliff top on a wild North Devon day Roar of the surf through the fog and driving rain I watch an old man in his window as he gazes out over the sea Living his life through his memories lost in a distant dream Still dressed in his uniform pressed sharp every day Still keeping it shipshape, keeping the sailors way Half smile on his face, hands still grasping the rail Remembers his days spent under the swelling sails Born in the Indies born with a famous name Sea in his blood and rum running all through his veins When only a young boy he first put out to sea Signed on as an Ensign in the Royal Navy Burned brown in the sunshine crossing the line as he'd go Vancouver to Quito, Lima to Valparaiso Hard tack in the winter, watching the icebergs run Watching the whales blow day after day without sun Out in New Zealand half a world away On board the Veronica sailing down through Hawkes Bay Strange light in the sky, a roaring from under the shore Tearing the ground like a giant eagle’s claw And of all of the houses in Napier town Not a brick on a brick left all crashing down to the ground Strange tilt of the shore line, harbour no longer there Land tossed round like a child's doll broken and barren and bare Sixty years later on a museum wall I saw the same man in a photo, younger and stronger and tall Directing the rescue, among the survivors ashore Feeding the hungry, tending the wounded and sore To remember the earthquake an anniversary’s held And the people who died on the day that the buildings all fell If you stand by the harbour by the Pacific Ocean swells You can hear the people of Napier ring the Veronica’s Bell I remember this old man, and remember the younger man’s fame Master and commander, Captain Morgan his name

From Hartland Quay we watch the summer sun go down all pink and gold The curlew’s startled cry around us as they rise up from their fold Come with me my true companion Wherever that we roam Walk together onward home At the seasons turn, at the seasons turn The river by the old black bridge all autumn brown and raging free Watching all the spreading water over meadows over lea From Winsford Hill we watch the valley in the chill of winter morn Filled with mist, a rolling blanket, hear the birds of early dawn In Orleigh wood the spring is coming, green of bud and shoot and spur Promise of the year around us, feeling all our hopes return credits

How short the road with you my friend, How short the road with you The tors and vales, the heights and dales And each unfolding view For side by side and foot by foot Though long that summer noon The twilight fell too soon my friend The twilight fell too soon Oh the twilight fell too soon How far the road alone my friend How far the road alone The tors how steep the dales how deep Their ancient magic flown For now the way together trod You cannot tread again In sunshine or in rain my friend In sunshine or in rain Nor In sunshine or in rain Still winds the patient road my friend Still winds the patient road Whereon I go, now high, now low With my appointed load And glories shared I felt were gone For ever when you passed Have brought you back at last my friend Have brought you back at last They have brought you back at last

In this ancient valley, in this fold of land My mother’s father’s father’s farm still stands Set down to pasture in this rich red Devon soil All the turning seasons it has stood here Ch. I will remember now and forever I will keep their memory here ‘til morning Lit by the stars tonight I’ll walk upon these lands Until the sky is streaked with dawning Hard rain and burning sunshine winter gloom and summer sun The seasons slowly turned the days around I’m tracing the blazing stars across the darkest skies I hear the foxes bark and screech owls calling My mother's father’s fathers knew nothing of the life That fills my head with cares each waking night Hard men but honest, grinding toil a daily round Rising at dawn again each morning They spent all their lives here three brothers on this land Gave it all their dreams and hopes of glory Until the war it came and they all marched away Three brothers killed in just one July morning In this ancient valley, in this fold of land The list of the fallen here still stands Hard by the pastures in this rich red Devon soil All the turning seasons it has stood here

When Shakespeare wrote you sang the song I still hear And when Eliza reigned your linted locks Flashed where they flash today among the rocks And showered their tresses twined into the brown pool clear The bear it lapped your waters on his rounds The stricken elk beside you dropped at last A flint in his shoulder thrust home deep and fast To smear your emerald moss in red of wounds And there were children in your lap beside The early men of stone whose lodges stand Like mushroom circles high up on the land Above the cotton grass that made your cradle wide Their ruins sink below now; foxglove springs Above the roofless hut and smelting place No more the shadows fall upon your face Or medieval chimes of pick and hammer rings You danced and flung your foam upon the fern And sang along your green and granite ways Even as now, in far off summer days When toiled the Tinner man beside your your heathery urn Where once the silver wolf pack hunting went Their cries unearthly through the snowy nights Now driven roads cut through the moorland heights Your peace destroyed just as the earth is rent But the days are quiet now your banks around Your gentle murmuring and birdsong sound Is all we hear beside the waving ferns Times flow full circle in these closed down days

Old Christmas eve’s the proper night for wassailing the apple trees And though the snow came to their knees our forefathers done what was right Poured out their cider, sang their song, and fired the gun the boughs among The girls their cider pitchers bring with liquor steaming on the air And toast and spices floating there. Then come a score of boys to sing And at the gate waiting us, Jan Bassett and his blunderbuss. With Ned and Fred and Jeremy, and Jonah Moss and Billy Blee And Granfer Budd back ‘ome four score, and Sammy Meek, back from the war. The trees fling down upon the snow their crooked shadows where we walk To hear the ancient gaffers talk of wassailings long long ago Then pour their cider at the roots to help another summer’s fruits Bang! Bang! and Bang! The guns do ring and flash a light upon the throng Who laugh aloud and tramp along all busy at the wassailing But here and there twin shadows go where hangs a tod o’ mistletoe With Nick and Dick and Amos Thorn, Jane Mortimer and Michael Horn Or Granfer Budd, or Toby Trout, of Farmer Westaway so stout The moony branches bright and clear are full of funny goblin eyes All staring down in great surprise to see their neighbours in such cheer There’s whispering from tree to tree above the jolly company Good lord it don’t seem far ago - but I was then a little lad And snuggling close beside my dad, bustin’ with joy to see the show Tis sixty year and more I doubt they bygones held their merry rout Of Nick or Dick or Amos Thorn, Jane Mortimer or Michael Horn Or Granfer Budd, or Toby Trout, of Farmer Westaway so stout Yet when old Christmas eve do bring together moon and snow once more I see that far away upstroke; I hear the sleeping people sing And mark so thick as honey bees, their ghosts through the apple trees With Ned and Jeremy, and Jonah Moss and Billy Blee And Merryweather Chugg so grand, and father holding of my hand.

In the hollows on the blacklands snow was lying until May The young folks they have nothing left up there to make them stay The first frosts of the autumntide they won’t be far away Their crops be bad, their corn sells low, their bills they cannot pay There’s nort here in North Devon for the husbandmen to do Their children they are hungry and their pleasures they are few And the shadow of the Workhouse hangs upon them every day Although they love our country they are forced to sail away But when there’s a full sou’ wester and ees blowing strong and free When they see the Lundy lighthouse playing out across the sea And the swallows in the rawdage sing of springtime on its way It’ll tell them if they come home there’s a welcome here for they When us old men we were young we built the warships for the fleet With timber that our own ships brought from far across the sea A hundred vessels rose up all along the Torridge strand Built by our own sweat and toil with hammers in our hand But now the war is over and the hammers have grown cold There’s no longer any work here and the yards they have been sold Our shipwrights they are leaving too off to Prince Edwards shore In Canada were Devon men are building ships once more But when there’s a full sou’ wester and ees blowing strong and free When they see the Lundy lighthouse playing out across the sea And the swallows in the rawdage sing of springtime on its way It’ll tell them if they come home there’s a welcome here for they Those of us who are staying behind we’re all along the quay 5000 strong we’re watching as the three ships head for sea And our lads and lasses there on board to leave they are resigned To cross the raging ocean for a better life to find Now it is just us old folks left back here to spend our days Watching out to sea as for their safety we do pray We keep a candle in our windows as we look out from the shore And we pray the day will come when they’ll return once more And when there’s a full sou’ wester and ees blowing strong and free When they see the Lundy lighthouse playing out across the sea While the swallows in the rawdage sing of springtime on its way It’ll tell em that if they come home there’s a welcome here for they