No General But Ludd Means The Poor Any Good

by 12 Dead in Everett

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about

The aforementioned RECORD is produce’d in the DIY fashion and ethic by the LOW AND MOST SEDITIOUS band call’d 12 Dead in Everett.

It do tell SAD AND LAMENTABLE tales of HIS MAJESTY'S northern subjects, corrupt’d from loyal service by LUDD'S REBELLION of 1811-13, when they did MOST SAVAGELY turn upon the new machines that STOLE their trade and STARVED their children. It do comprise of songs that the poor folk of ENGLAND did sing in those very years of HUNGER, STRIFE AND TREASON.

It is here presented by way of moral instruction to the youth of England, that they may better see the TRUE WICKEDNESS of rebellion, machine-breaking, and ALL MANNER OF UNRULY BEHAVIOUR.

credits

released August 14, 2017

All songs are traditional, arranged by 12 Dead in Everett. Tune of Brandreth's Soliloquy in Prison by 12 Dead in Everett.

12 Dead in Everett
Martin Craig - vocals, five-string banjo, early banjo
Bethan Wellbrook - vocals, fiddle, accordion, guitar
Christopher Wellbrook - vocals, guitar

Album artwork by Georgina "Pinky Blossom" Millar: www.behance.net/georginami4aeb

Recorded and Produced in collaboration with Andy Sissons at The Audacious Art Experiment: sisbon(at)gmail.com

Produced within the borders of the People's Republic of South Yorkshire: www.welcometosheffield.co.uk/visit

We are indebted to family, friends, fellow workers and followers of General Ludd (both past and present), without whom this record would have been impossible.

PUT DOWN ALL MACHINERY HURTFUL TO COMMONALITY

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12 Dead in Everett England, UK

A low-down, seditious trio playing old time, folk and rebel music. Songs to fan the flames of discontent and tell your boss to go to hell. Sweet harmonies of reason in a world deaf to exploitation.

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Track Name: Over The Hills
Hark now the drums beat up again,
For ye true soldier gentlemen,
Enlist and enter into pay,
Over the hills and far away,

Chorus
O’er the hills and o’er the main,
Through Flanders Portugal and Spain,
King George commands and we obey
Over the hills and far away,

Ye gentlemen that have a mind,
To serve the King, who’s good and kind,
Join with us and march away,
Over the hills and far away,

Here’s forty shillings on the drum,
For them as volunteers do come,
For volunteers will gain the day,
Over the hills and far away.
Track Name: Hard Times Of Old England
Come all brother tradesman who travel along,
Oh pray wont you tell me where the trade has all gone,
Long time I have travelled, I cannot find none,

Chorus:
And it's all the hard times of old England,
In England very hard times.

You go to a shop for provisions it's true,
But you've got no money so there's none there for you,
What's a poor man and his family to do?

You see that poor tradesman a-walking the street,
Goes back and goes forth for employment to seek,
And barely are there any shoes on his feet.

Our soldiers and sailors been fighting at war,
Been dying for King and Country this year,
Come home to be starved, better stay where they were.

And so to conclude and to finish my song,
I'll pray that these hard times don't last very long,
And soon may have occasion to change my song.

Last Chorus:
And it's all the good times of old England,
In England very good times.
Track Name: Poor Cotton Weaver
I’m a poor cotton weaver as many one knows,
I’ve nowt to eat and I’ve worn out my clothes,
You’d hardly give six-pence for all I have on,
My clogs they are broken and stockings I’ve none,
You’d think it were hard, to be set in the world,
To starve and do the best that you can.

Our church parson kept telling us long,
We’d have better times if we’d but hold our tongues,
Well I’ve holded my tongue, aye I’ve hardly drawn breath,
Though I know in my heart that he'll drive us to death,
I know he lives well, back-biting the Devil,
Bet he never picked oe’er in his life.

We tarried six weeks and thought each was the last,
We tarried and shifted til now we’re quite fast,
We lived upon nettles while nettles was good,
And waterloo porridge was best of us food,
I’m telling you true, I can find folks anew,
Who are living no better than me.

Old Bill O’Dan sent bailiffs one day,
For a shop-score I owed him that I couldn’t pay,
But he was too late for old Bill O’Bent,
Had already taken all we had for rent,
We’d nowt but a stool, a hard seat for two,
To do for both Margrit and me.

The Bailiffs looked ‘round them as sly as a mouse,
To see all our things taken out from the house,
Says one to the other “All’s gone thou may see’.
I said, “never mind lads, you’re welcome to me!”
Well they made no ado, but kicked out the stool,
And we both went whack upon the flags.

I said to our Margrit as we lay on the floor,
We’ll never be lower in this world I am sure,
And if things to alter I’m sure we must mend,
For I know’s in my heart that we’re both at far end,
For meat we have none, nor looms to weave on,
But eh god, they’re as well lost as found!

So I took up my work, and I took it them back,
I scarcely dared speak master look’t so black,
To think that we work to keep him and his set,
All the days of our lives and then die in their debt,
Well our give o’er this trade and find work with a spade,
Or I’ll go and break stones on the road!
Track Name: Cropper Lads
Come cropper lads of high renown,
Who love to drink strong ale that’s brown,
And strike each haughty tyrant down,
With hatchet, pike and gun!

Chorus
The Cropper Lads for me,
Right gallant lads they be,
Who with lusty stroke the shear frames broke,
The Cropper Lads for me!

What, though the special, still advance
And soldiers nightly round us prance,
These Cropper Lads shall lead the dance
With hatchet, pike and gun!

And night by night when all is still,
And the moon is hid behind the hill,
We forward march to do our will,
With hatchet, pike and gun!

Great Enoch still shall lead the ‘van,
Stop him who dares, stop him who can!
Press forward every gallant man,
With hatchet, pike and gun!
Track Name: Foster's Mill
Come all ye croppers stout and bold,
Let your faith grow stronger still,
For the cropper lads in the county of York,
Have broken sheers at Foster's Mill!

Chorus
And around and around we all do stand,
And solemn swear we all,
That we’ll break them sheers and the windows too,
And we’ll all set fire to Foster's Mill!

Well the wind it blew and the sparks they flew,
Which alarmed the town full soon,
And the great and small, and the old folks an’ all,
Did run to the mill by the light of the moon,

Well around and around they all did stand,
And solemn they did swear,
That no man pledged to mill or machine,
Should be of any assistance there!

For dark and dreary is this day,
That a man has to fight for bread,
Some noble judgement surely must come,
And the coach of triumph shall be led!
Track Name: Brandreth's Soliloquy In Prison
I must die—but not like a slave,
To his tyrant in penitence bending;
I shall die like an Englishman brave,
I have lived, and so be my ending!
I have lived, and so be my ending.

I must die—and my doom is my pride;
The death that awaits me is welcome;
The daemon's last pang is defied,
But a day of deep vengeance there shall come,
But a day of deep vengeance there shall come.

What wealth would they freely give then,
For the sleep that I soon shall be sleeping!
To never feel sorrow again—
To know not its watching and weeping!
To know not its watching and weeping.

What wealth would they freely give then
For the grave that poor Brandreth will cover;
To hide from the hatred of men,
From the terrors which fearfully hover!
From the terrors which fearfully hover.

And what is the gem they would give
For that conscience this firm heart supporting;
That when they no longer could live,
They might die with a Brandreth's comporting!
They might die with a Brandreth's comporting!

But conscience can never be bought,
Courage can never be sold:
The villain will die as he ought;
The good man may always be bold!
The good man may always be bold.
Track Name: The Triumph Of General Ludd
No more chant your old rhythms about bold Robin Hood,
His feats I but little admire,
I will praise the achievements of General Ludd,
The hero of Nottinghamshire,
These engines of mischief were sentenced to die,
By unanimous vote of the trade,
And Ludd, who can all opposition defy,
Was grand executioner made.

And when in the work of destruction employed,
Bold Ludd to no method confines,
By fire and by water he gets them destroyed,
All elements aid his designs,
Whether guarded by soldiers along the highway,
Or safely secured in stout rooms,
He shivers them up both b’neet and b’day,
‘Tis nothing can soften their doom,

He who censures great Ludd’s disrespect for the laws,
Who ne’er for one moment reflects,
That foul imposition alone was the cause,
That produced these unhappy effects,
Let the haughty no longer the humble oppress,
Then’ll Ludd sheave his conquering sword,
His grievances instantly meet with redress,
And peace shall be quickly restored!

Let the wise and the brave lend their aid and advice,
Nor e’er their assistance withdraw,
‘Till full fashioned work at the old-fashioned price,
Be established by custom and law,
Then the trade, when this arduous contest be o’er,
Will raise in full splendour her head,
And coulting and cutting and squaring no longer,
Deprive honest labour of bread.

No more chant your old rhythms of bold Robin Hood,
His feats I but little admire,
I will praise the achievements of General Ludd,
The hero of Nottinghamshire,
These engines of mischief were sentenced to die,
By unanimous vote of the trade,
And Ludd, who can all opposition defy,
Was grand executioner made.