Folk Off - No 3 of Lots
Manchester Morning
In the 60’s I was living in the North of Manchester, not too far from the aircraft factory where I worked. But about 6 months after I found my flat, the whole design office was moved to the airfield, 15 miles to the South of Manchester, giving me a 40 minute drive to work through the centre of town. So driving through at just after 7 in the morning, with hardly any traffic (English offices usually worked 9 to 5), I really NOTICED the things I could see. Especially if there was an inversion, and chimney smoke climbed vertically from factories. Few people were about, and in winter, all huddled up in thick coats against a 4 degree C temperature. The starlings, which at the time populated just about every building in the city centre, found rubbish to eat. The hamburgers and hot dogs sold from carts to late night revellers were the kind of quality you might expect, and followers of Terry Pratchett would recognise the C.M.O.T. Dibbler “sausage inna bun” type of product! Anyway, the various sights caused me to perpetrate this song. The tune’s a bit boring, but it WAS my first attempt at my own composing, rather than borrowing a traditional tune!
So, my images of a January morning, driving through Manchester:
In the 60’s I was living in the North of Manchester, not too far from the aircraft factory where I worked. But about 6 months after I found my flat, the whole design office was moved to the airfield, 15 miles to the South of Manchester, giving me a 40 minute drive to work through the centre of town. So driving through at just after 7 in the morning, with hardly any traffic (English offices usually worked 9 to 5), I really NOTICED the things I could see. Especially if there was an inversion, and chimney smoke climbed vertically from factories. Few people were about, and in winter, all huddled up in thick coats against a 4 degree C temperature. The starlings, which at the time populated just about every building in the city centre, found rubbish to eat. The hamburgers and hot dogs sold from carts to late night revellers were the kind of quality you might expect, and followers of Terry Pratchett would recognise the C.M.O.T. Dibbler “sausage inna bun” type of product! Anyway, the various sights caused me to perpetrate this song. The tune’s a bit boring, but it WAS my first attempt at my own composing, rather than borrowing a traditional tune!
So, my images of a January morning, driving through Manchester:
A new winter morning dawns clear and chill,
Scattered grey clouds watching from the sky.
Chimney smoke rising from a grimy mill,
Climbing silent as a prayer on high.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning,
The city wakes to greet the coming day
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
An early workman starts upon his way.
The city stretches arms out to catch and hold the dawn,
First buses rend the quiet with their roar.
A tramp in tattered overcoat now rises with a yawn
To warmth and food behind a hostel door.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning.
The smell of breakfast cooking fills the air.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
The dawn of hope for some, when others care.
From city roofs the starlings rise, to start upon their day
And peck at last night’s hamburger remains.
The gutters fill with litter that the night crowd threw away,
Last night’s memorials, clogging up the drains.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning.
Last night’s love dissolving into tears.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
A young girl suddenly grown past her years.
The gaudy flash of neon sign no longer mocks the sun.
The slogans lie dead in the morning light,
Cathedral clock begins to chime, to call that night has run,
And pigeons raise their heads up to the sight
Of a Manchester morning, a new day is dawning,
The birdsong is drowned out by lorries’ roar.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
The city is awakening once more – to a Manchester morning.
Scattered grey clouds watching from the sky.
Chimney smoke rising from a grimy mill,
Climbing silent as a prayer on high.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning,
The city wakes to greet the coming day
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
An early workman starts upon his way.
The city stretches arms out to catch and hold the dawn,
First buses rend the quiet with their roar.
A tramp in tattered overcoat now rises with a yawn
To warmth and food behind a hostel door.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning.
The smell of breakfast cooking fills the air.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
The dawn of hope for some, when others care.
From city roofs the starlings rise, to start upon their day
And peck at last night’s hamburger remains.
The gutters fill with litter that the night crowd threw away,
Last night’s memorials, clogging up the drains.
Manchester morning, a new day is dawning.
Last night’s love dissolving into tears.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
A young girl suddenly grown past her years.
The gaudy flash of neon sign no longer mocks the sun.
The slogans lie dead in the morning light,
Cathedral clock begins to chime, to call that night has run,
And pigeons raise their heads up to the sight
Of a Manchester morning, a new day is dawning,
The birdsong is drowned out by lorries’ roar.
Cold winter morning, Manchester morning,
The city is awakening once more – to a Manchester morning.