Ewan MacColl - The Ballad of John Axon lyrics

John Axon was a railway man to steam trains born and bred He was an engine driver at Edgeley loco shed For forty years he followed and served the iron way He lost his life upon the track one February day The year was 1957, the morning bright and gay On the 9th of February John Axon drove away In a cla** 8 locomotive from Buxton he did go: On the road to Chapel–en-le Frith his steam brake pipe did blow It's a seven-mile drop from Bibbington Top, oh Johnny It's 1 in 58 and you've no steam brake, oh Johnny She's picking up speed and the power is freed; it's a prayer you'll need But you'll never make it, Johnny It's hell on a plate, it's a funeral freight, oh Johnny It's the end of a dream in steel and steam, oh Johnny There's a world in your head and you're due at the shed and there's life ahead But you'll never see it, Johnny [CRASH] It was 4 AM that Saturday John Axon left his bed At five he drew his time-card at Edgeley loco shed Just after six Ron Scanlon his fireman cried ‘Away' - It was a day no different from any other day The iron road is a hard road and the work is never ending Working night and day on the iron way - We're the boys who keep the engines rolling You sign on at the loco shed, they put you through the cleaning In your dungarees, cleaning Super D's, you're a – Sweeper-upper, brewer-upper, shovel-slinger, spanner-bringer, steam-raiser Fire-dropper, general-cook and bottle-washer, learning how to keep ‘em rolling Hey lad will you fetch me a bucket of red oil for a red tail lamp Charlie! Hey Charlie! On your toes – clean that muck out of number 5 Look alive there Get weaving – Where've you been for that oil, Arabia? See the job on number 3 they've got to strip her Ginger! Leave the job you're working on - help the fitter – Hold the light, pa** the wrench, a one-inch spanner up the bench, a one-inch reamer Hey cleaner Do this, do that, get me this, get me that, rush job on number 8, working late, got a date, I'll Never make it You'll have to break it Just a bloody skivvy, that's me Two years, five years, ten years, fifteen years a cleaner! When you've done your time at the loco shed and had your share of trouble On the open plate you're the driver's mate and you're married to a lousy shovel It's check the water, check the tools and chuck the blooming coal in Give the gauge a wipe, check injector pipe Now it's swing your shovel at the double, give her rock, watch the clock, steam-raising Sweat-running, back-aching, bone-shaking – Fireman, fireman, keep her rolling You bend your back almost double Feed that coal-hungry fire, swing that shovel, that's a fireman's trade You've got your long-handled shovel Three and a half feet of sweat-polished wood and a narrow steel blade Swing your long-handled shovel Hear that shovel ring Swing your steel-bladed shovel Hear the fire sing Give us some rock, a round at a time, party your signal along the line… Put your weight behind your shovel From your middle, swing Swing your steel-bladed shovel From your shoulders, swing One at the front, one at the back One at each side, and that's the knack Sweat on your back, sweat in your eyes Feed the fire, the steam'll rise Bend and thrust, lift and turn There's nine tons of coal to burn Breathing steam, swallowing coal Brace your legs to take the roll Now fireman, come on, she's lagging, get some rock on You've got your long-handled shovel – Then make it ring Take your steel-bladed shovel – On the tender ring Sweating it out, eight hours a day. Earning your keep, on the iron way When you've shovelled a million tons of coal Some ten or twelve years later And your only dream is of raising steam Then they hand to you your driver's papers Home more tired than you did as a fireman'. And I never used to believe him, but it's true You're on your own, mate King of the footplate You've got a load, mate, watch the road, mate Get her through mate, it's up to you, mate She's a cla** eight engine She's as tough as they come Weighs well over 100 tons She's a puller, an iron horse You've got nine tons of coal You've got four thousand gallons of water You've got a measure Her boiler pressure is Two hundred and twenty five pounds an inch You've got a snorter You give her water, you give her coal Hand on the regulator, watch her roll Mama, I swear as long as I live, going to serve me steam locomotive Dirty tunnels, blinding smoke Cover your head, mate, or else you'll choke Mama me heart and me soul I give, going to serve the steam locomotive Got me paddle iron, that's a ten foot spoon Got me pricker and me dart like a long harpoon Mama, I tell you positive, going to serve me steam locomotive You've got to watch the line And get her there in time And keep her rolling Keep your hand on the brake She's a monster, mate, that you're controlling You can sing the praises of the aviators Rocket pilots and ocean navigators Arctic explorers and deep sea divers, but me, I sing of the engine drivers Mama, listen to me narrative, going to serve me steam locomotive The iron road is a hard road and the work is never-ending Working night and day on the iron way With our Loco drivers, early-risers, lodging-turners, Pile-burners, eleven-quid-a-week-earners - We're the boys who keep ‘em rolling The rain was gently falling when they started down the line And on the way to Buxton the sun began to shine But the steam brake pipe was leaking and a wisp of steam did rise - The fireman he reported this when in Buxton they arrived Come all you British loco men who travel the Iron Way There's a long weekend and money to spend, it's time to draw your pay You've done your 80-hour fortnight and now it's time for play So off with your dirty dungarees, your time is yours today We'll give her some rock and we'll beat the clock and send her on her way For every train is an express train upon a Saturday The missus is standing at the door, your dinner is on the hob So bung your driver's ticket in, forget all about the job - Get dolled up in your Saturday best, the match'll be starting soon So hurry up mate and don't be late - it's Saturday afternoon We'll give her some rock and we'll beat the clock and send her on her way For every train is an express train upon a Saturday There's some that's fond of gardening and some that like a gill And some of the lads, they play the pools and sometimes make a k** Some like a potato pie supper and an extra hour in bed But everyone likes the moment when he signs off at the shed We'll give her some rock and we'll beat the clock and send her on her way For every train is an express train upon a Saturday So come all you gallant loco men, steam and diesel too You lads that serve the Iron Road, let's drink a gla** or two And join me in the chorus, all you who like a tune - The railwayman's friend is the long weekend - and Saturday afternoon So long to the driver's lobby, so long the controller's room For while we're here we can't be there – on Saturday afternoon The repair was done and the train made up When they left in Buxton siding And the time was just eleven-five And the sun it was a-shining Four eight one double eight was her number Scanlon was the fireman And the guard in the van was Alfred Ball And the driver was John Axon Her wagons numbered thirty-three And a twenty-ton rear brake van She was carrying coke, woodpulp and coal And fire bricks and pig iron The down line out of Buxton climbed She was pulling nice and steady And the bank engine was pushing behind And the guard's brake stick was ready John Axon looked at the rolling hills And he found them to his liking And he thought of his early courting days The days when he went hiking I may be a wage slave on Monday But I am a free man on Sunday I've been over Snowdon, I've slept upon Crowdon I've camped by the Wain Stones as well I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder, and many more things I can tell Me rucksack has oft been my pillow The heather has oft been my bed And sooner than part from the mountains I think I would sooner be dead I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way I get all me pleasure the hard moorland way - I may be a wage slave on Monday But I am a free man on Sunday I once loved a maid, a spot welder by trade She was fair as the rowan in bloom And the blue in her eyes matched the blue moorland skies And I wooed her from April till June On the day that we should have been married I went for a ramble instead For sooner than part from the mountains I think I would rather be dead I'm a rambler, I'm a rambler from Manchester way I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way - I may be a wage slave on Monday But I am a free man on Sunday John Axon smiled at the thought that Later he'd be celebrating And he smiled when he thought of the Stockport pub Where a pint of mild was waiting John Axon was a dancing man On his pins he was light and nimble And often he'd stand on the old footplate Whistling an old-time jingle Come all you young maidens, take a warning from me - Shun all engine drivers and their company They'll tell you they love you and all kinds of lies But the one that he loves is the train that he drives I once loved a fireman, he said he loved me He took me out walking into the country He hugged me and kissed me and gazed in my eyes And said, You're as nice as the eight forty-five He said ‘My dear Molly, Oh won't you be mine Just give me the signal and let's clear the line My fires are all burning, me steam it is high If you don't take the brake off I think I shall die.' I told him,Young fellow now don't make so free For no loco fireman shall ever have me - He'll hug you and kiss you and when you're in need He races away at the top of his speed A sailor comes home when the voyage is done A soldier gets weary of following the drum A collier will cleave to his loved one for life But the fireman's one love is the engine, his wife John Axon kept a little book And in it there was written The cla**, the type and the number of Every engine he had driven Steam train steam train What's your number what's your name Collecting trains, a fine game I've got more than you Waiting for the Arpley train On the road to Cheadle Saw the local pa**ing by Pop goes the diesel I've got a Cornish I've got a Lancastrian I've got the Prince of Wales My Dad's a railwayman Steam train, steam train There goes a Super D Write the name and number down Four oh one ninety-three Steam train, steam train, racing down the line Thirty wagons full of coal and lime Cla** eight, never late, she'll arrive on time Four eight one double eight Pulling a lot of freight Steam train on the line Rattle rattle crash Watch the Corny pa** Like a rocket flash That's the train for London Chuggy chuggy chug Like a little bug Crawling on a rug - That's the shunting bogey Cla** A's an express pa**enger train B's an ordinary pa**enger train C's an express once again Just for carrying parcels E and F are freights we know H is freight that travels slow K's a local train that goes Between the local stations Steam train, steam train Carry me away with you Steam train, steam train Going to be a driver Under the large injector steam valve There's a length of one and one-eighth piping It connects with a driver's brake valve The connecting point is a joint of bra** A one and one-eighth steam pipe Fixed in a threaded joint Rests on asbestos packing And is sealed – Sealed with brazing metal A hundred and twenty-five tons of engine Six hundred and fifty tons behind And the boiler pressure - Two twenty-five pounds per square inch And the men? Two fragile bodies Flesh and blood and brittle bone Carbon and water, nerves and dreams Power from coal. Power from water Power imprisoned in a one and one-eighth pipe The restless steam Watches the tired metal Explores the worn thread Watching, watching Every turn of the four-foot wheels Every lunge of the smooth-armed piston Every thrust in the two great cylinders Weakens the joint's resistance And the brazed flange crumbles The pipe is parted - IT BLOWS! [Intense gush of steam] The engine had reached the distant signal When the broken steam pipe began to scream - John Axon and his mate couldn't reach the driver's brake For the cab was full of scalding steam, poor boys The cab was full of scalding steam John Axon he knew that his regulator Was still wide open and on full power He couldn't turn it off for the way that it was blocked And the cab was full of scalding steam, poor boys The cab was full of scalding steam They hung on the side and they both took turns At shifting the regulator from afar They prodded at the bar with the pricker and the dart But they couldn't move the iron bar, brave boys They couldn't move the iron bar John Axon, he got to the fireman's side And over the scream of the steam did say - We'll have to get outside if we want to stay alive Or this'll be our dying day, poor boys Or this'll be our dying day The guard, he was waiting to pin down the brakes The train it didn't slow down that day - He stood in the van with the brake stick in his hand And he knew she was a runaway, poor boy He knew she was a runaway John Axon, he cried to his fireman: Jump! It is the only thing you can do While I hang on the side and I'll take a little ride For I've got to see the journey through, brave boy I've got to see the journey through John Axon, he was all alone, there on the engine side The train it reached the hilltop and began the downhill ride The sun it was still shining, the sky was still as blue He gambled with his life that day, and this John Axon knew Ooooh… You're on your own, mate Ooooh… King of the footplate Oooh Johnny, oooh Johnny What makes you do the things you do, Johnny? Oh why do you have to see it through, Johnny? Oooh, oooh, oooh, Johnny It's a seven-mile drop from Bibbington Top, oh Johnny It's one in fifty-eight and you've no steam brake, oh Johnny She's picking up speed and the power is freed; it's a prayer you'll need But you'll never make it, Johnny Every yard of the track says you won't come back, Oh Johnny She's a fist of steel, every turn of the wheels cry Johnny There isn't a chance You'll get to your dance You can see at a glance That you'll never make it Johnny There's a tunnel ahead, you can't cover your head, oh Johnny Doing sixty an hour and she's gaining power, oh Johnny Watch out for the wall - Bunch yourself up small In the smoky pall Or you'll never make it, Johnny It's hell on a plate, it's a funeral freight, oh Johnny It's the end of a dream in steel and steam, oh Johnny There's a world in your head And you're due at the shed And there's life ahead But you'll never see it, Johnny All alone now. Ron's gone. On my own now, all the way, all the way Never make it. How far's all the way? There's a gradient all the way into Whaley Seven-mile gradient. One in seventy. One in sixty. One in fifty-eight Wait! Dove Hole's pa**ed Going too fast to see if they saw me hanging outside the cab Down the curving line, through the hill of limestone, Eaves tunnel Every turn of the four foot wheels Every lunge of the smooth-armed piston Every thrust of the two great cylinders Sings of a man's destruction Was I born for this? To hang like a fly on an iron ball Helpless, on a moving wall To die, to end In a welter of blood and oil Twisted metal, splintered bone What was it that Jim said, one day in the shed Jim said, or was it in the pub What was it that Jim said about steam, about power - Curse the power Curse the boiler pressure. The burning coal that made it. the fire and the air which fed it Curse the water which boiled and turned to steam Curse the steam brake and the nut which connects with the steam brake pipe Curse the bra** of the steam brake valve Curse the nut of the steam brake valve Curse the steam The run it is finished, the shift's nearly ended So long, mates, so long, remember - A man is a man, he must do what he can For his brothers By his deeds you shall know him By the work of his hand By the friends who will mourn him By the love that he bore By the gift of his courage And the life that he gave [Crash] John Axon was a railway man to steam trains born and bred He was an engine driver at Edgeley loco shed He was a man of courage and served the iron way - He gave his life upon the track one February day