Sting: When the Last Ship Sails Page #4

a warm house to return to

You wouldn't

have to cook for me

You wouldn't

have to learn to

I'm not suggesting

that we find...

some earthly

paradise for ever

I've no intention

of deceiving you...

you're far too clever

But if we come

to an arrangement

A practical arrangement

Then perhaps you'd

learn to love me...

given time

It may not be the romance

that you had in

mind

But you could

learn to love me...

given time.

So... so that song was

in the play for a while.

And then one Monday morning

I turned up for work

and my dramatic collaborators

were sitting there at a table.

It looked like an intervention

was about to take place.

I said "What's up?"

They said,

- "Uh, Arthur. "

- "What about him?"

- "Practical Arrangement. "

- "Yes?"

"Can't be in the play. " I said, "Come on.

"It's a great, I mean, you know... "

And I was really thinking, you know,

Arthur is me. He's my age.

You know this is, this is me!

I said, "Well why? What's the reason?" They

said, "Well, as soon as he opens his mouth,

"he's clearly lost the girl.

He's not going to get this girl.

"We need the rival to Gideon to be viable.

"To be young, to be virile. "

So...

I know, I know.

And it took me a good month

of struggling with this issue...

and then one day I woke up and said,

"You know. "You put yourself in the way.

"Get out of the way.

"Write a song for this character.

"This young, virile character, even though

you don't like him. Write a song for him.

So, I came up with this...

There's a house on the

hill that's come up for sale

It's a place I've known

since I was a lad

And it needs a lick of paint

and a hammer and a nail

But it's part of a boyhood

dream I've always had

I'd climb up the hill

with the Evening News

I'd been sent from

the town to deliver

And I'd stand in the porch,

and gaze at the views

Till my eyes were bruised by

the sunset's glow on the river

I'd imagine a girl who

would share my life

As dreamers'll tend to do

And the face I always

conjured up

Was always no-one...

else but you

What say you, Meg?

What's this

story's ending?

I want you, Meg,

by my side

What's the use, Meg,

to gaze at a

view on your own

For richer, for poorer,

in sickness and health

I will see,

this through, Meg

No chance,

of this ending

Such a view, Meg,

as we gaze from

the house on the hill

To love and to cherish,

to have and to hold

I'm a hard man to beat,

if I may be so bold

And I promise it all by

the sweat of my brow

Tell me what,

say you, Meg

now?

What say you, Meg?

How's this story shaping?

I want you, Meg,

as we gaze from

the house on the hill

For richer, for poorer,

in sickness and health

I'd be hard to replace,

if I say so myself

And I promise it all

by the sweat of my brow

Tell me what...

say you, Meg...

...now?

...now?

Thank you.

So...

another theme in our play is the perennial

struggle between fathers and sons.

Something I know

a little bit about.

You know, sometimes a

father will not appreciate

the scope of a son's ambition.

And a son will not realise that a father

cares for him when he thinks is

being, just being controlled.

In my community there's a phrase

called dead man's boots.

Dead man's boots really indicates

how difficult it is to get a job.

Uh, you'd only get a job if someone died,

so they called it dead man's boots.

And when your father gets you a job

in the shipyard and you say; "No"...

...that's trouble.

You said, you see these

work boots in my hands,

they probably fit

you now, my son

Take them, they're a gift from me,

why don't you try them on?

It would do your old man good, to see

you walking in these boots one day

And take your place among the men,

who work upon the slipway

These dead man's boots

though they're old and curled

When a feller needs a job,

and a place in the world

When it's time for a

man to put down roots

And walk to the river

in his old man's boots

He was dying, son, and asking

that you do one final thing, you see?

You were barely but a sapling,

and you thought you were a tree

If you need a seed to prosper,

you must first put down some roots

He wanted you to settle

in your old man's boots

These dead man's boots

know their way down the hill

They could walk there themselves

and they probably will

There's a place for you

there to sink your roots

And take a walk down the

river in your old man's boots

I said, "Why the hell

would I do that?"

Why would I agree?

When his hand was

all that I'd received

As far as I remember

It's not as if

he'd spoiled me

With his kindness

up to then, you see

I'd a plan of me own

and I'd quit this place

When I came of

age September

These dead man's boots

know their way down the hill

They can walk there themselves

and they probably will

I'd plenty of choices,

plenty other routes

And he'd never see me walking

in these dead man's boots

What was it

made him think

I'd be happy

ending up like him?

When he'd hardly got two ha'pennies left,

or a broken pot to piss in

He wanted this same thing for me,

was that his final wish?

- So, what the hell are you going to

do, lad? - I said, "Anything but this!"

These dead man's boots

know their way down the hill

They can walk there themselves

and they probably will

But they won't walk with me

cos I'm off the other way

I've had it up to here,

I'm going to have my say

When all ye've got left

is that cross on the wall

I want nothing from you,

I want nothing at all

Not a pension, nor a pittance,

when your whole life is through

Get this through your head,

I'm nothing like you

I'm done with all the arguments,

there'll be no more disputes

And you'll die before

you see me in your...

...dead man's boots.

Most of the people on the stage come

from the North East of England.

Um, and we have five brothers

here from my neck of the woods.

They're called the

Wilson Family.

Um...

I actually, actually thought I was

hiring the Beach Boys, but I was...

Pretty soon I figured

they weren't.

They're going to sing a song which

was a poem by Rudyard Kipling

written in 1911,

called Big Steamers.

And the music was by Peter Bellamy,

and this is the Wilson Family.

Oh, where are you going to all,

you big steamers?

With England's own coal,

up and down the salt seas?

We are going to fetch you,

your bread and your butter

Your beef, pork, and mutton,

eggs, apples and cheese

And where will you fetch it from,

all you big steamers?

And where shall I write you,

when you are away?

We'll fetch it from Melbourne,

Quebec and Vancouver

Address us at Hobart,

Hong Kong and Bombay

But if anything happened to all,

you big steamers

Suppose you were wrecked,

up and down the salt sea?

And you'd have no coffee

or bacon for breakfast

And you'd have no muffins

or toast for your tea

Then I'll pray

for fine weather

For all you big steamers

With little blue billows,

and breezes so soft

Oh, billows and breezes

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