Rosherville Rosherville: welcome to Rosherville – the place to spend a happy day. Rosherville: we’re all in Rosherville, and Rosie the bear says she’ll see you there. Rosherville: welcome to Rosherville. Baron Nathan says he’ll dance the hornpipe on eggs. Rosherville: we’re all in to Rosherville – the place to spend a happy day. But after the Lord Mayor’s Show The river continues to flow. (It) carries time out to sea as he goes. After the Lord Mayor’s Show. Rosherville: welcome to Rosherville – the place to spend a happy day. Rosherville: we’re all in Rosherville. Near the hermit’s cave the tightrope walkers brave. Rosherville: welcome to Rosherville – the place to spend a happy day. Rosherville: we’re all in Rosherville. A million people a year land at the steamboat’s pier. But after the Lord Mayor’s Show The river continues to flow. (It) carries time out to sea as he goes. After the Lord Mayor’s Show. ‘Keep up! Come on!’ Alice says she’ll meet you at the pier. ‘Keep up! Come on!’ It’s just a hop from Gallions Reach to here. ‘Keep up! Come on!’ Alice says, ‘Rosherville draws near.’ Well this is a tranquil place – so glad to find you here. See, there’s your Christmas face. We led you here from there. Jeremiah Rosher spied the burning town behind your eyes. Shake off your jackdaw skies, the garden’s waiting. Well here lies a peaceful place – so glad we find you here. Open the rail gates wide, grasp the atmosphere. This is your healing place; peace of mind restored. In every companionway, trippers rammed aboard. Jeremiah Rosher spied the septic streets, the toxic skies. Victoria’s London cries, ‘The garden’s waiting!’ Frederick Whomes is on his way down Parson’s Hill. The organist is on his way to Rosherville. Professor Whomes had seen the posters proclaim The garden is a place he’ll spend a happy day. But the Dockyard organ no longer plays, And the stained glass window’s words betray. His return ticket turned out to be one way In spite of it all.

Holywell Street Delorian tells you Wednesday’s good, but she never says which one. It’s as though she wants it understood that she’s messing with you for fun. On Holywell Street, where life is crazed, shop windows beckon men in macs. There’s a guarantee that you’ll be amazed, and another you’ll be crawling back. Locked in no-man’s land, Delorian takes your hand. And the sky’s filled with fire. They’re singing our song As the sun draws us higher, higher. And the world burns with ire. I’m singing our song As the moon pulls us higher, higher – ’Till we fall. The taxicabs will back away when you tell them where you’re bound. (They’ll) drop you at the far end where it’s better you turn round. Delorian leaves the shuttered gloom, as daylight creeps inside. A glance beyond the frowning roofs, and her spirit is revived. And the sky’s filled with fire. They’re singing our song As the sun draws us higher, higher. And the world burns with ire. I’m singing our song As the moon pulls us higher, higher – ’Till we fall.

Ghost Planes A wretch they nicknamed ‘Diver’. A slingshot England-bound. Her shadow stains the waning moon. Her ‘rocket’ shakes the ground. Dogfight over the channel. Outruns Merlin’s straight-line speed. Two fingers flick the AKAK. Seems the drone just may succeed. The ghost planes scorch the evening sky Eighty days one summer. Tails of fire never tire. Vengeance is her only crew. Across the rooftops ghost planes fly Eighty days one summer. If your last defence is pure revenge, This grave’s for two. Monstrous silver jumbos Keeping goal for London Town. From Redhill through to Chatham (They) train their wires across the Downs. A ‘Wellsian’ dream awakens. A robot war is born. Blue Skies and Tailwinds, And God help one and all. The ghost planes scorch the evening sky Eighty days one summer. Tails of fire never tire. Vengeance is her only crew. Across the rooftops ghost planes fly Eighty days one summer. If your last defence is pure revenge, This grave’s for two. Silently our Diver Falls to earth not far away. The boys astride the rooftop Fixing tiles at break of day. The stoic and the fearless And the terrified join hands. The wicked mankind does is shared Across opposing lands. Eighty days one summer, 1944. The fag end of a fight to bring The curtain down on war. The ghost planes scorch the evening sky Eighty days one summer. Tails of fire, no human flier, Vengeance is her only crew. Across the rooftops ghost planes fly Eighty days one summer. If sense descends to pure revenge… The ghost planes scorch the evening sky Eighty days one summer. Tails of fire, no human flier, Vengeance is her only crew. Across the rooftops ghost planes fly Eighty days one summer. If sense descends to pure revenge, This grave’s for two.

The Nightwatchman The Nightwatchman calls. Though daylight fails, I follow your shadow Across graffitied walls. Where the black-lipped kiss of night says, ‘We turn in circles around the sun, And take no blame for the evil we’ve done.’ As darkness falls, The Nightwatchman calls. The Nightwatchman calls. In a moonless night, your sleep is uneasy. All wisdom stalls. Angry words of a gentle man tell me That we turn in circles around the sun, And take no blame for the evil we’ve done. As darkness falls, The Nightwatchman calls. Soft words spoken. We borrowed from you and returned it broken. Turning, watching us all. Twist his neck until he falls. The Nightwatchman calls. Though daylight fails, I follow your shadow Behind factory walls. Where the black-lipped kiss of night says, ‘We turn in circles around the sun, And take no blame for the evil we’ve done.’ As darkness falls…

White Star’s Sunrise Olympic The trams to Queen’s Island were running for hours, Spilling Belfast out onto the quay. The north wind was chilling. The bright autumn day, Grey as the suits and the sea. The great and the good, draped in scarlet and white, Stole the eyes from the black gang below. Rockets fired skywards and keel blocks away – Meet the star of the white star show. In sixty-two seconds the slipway was clear; A deafening roar split the sky. The, finally, waterborne queen of the seas, The virgin white towering sides. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. Set the clock as we pass Daunt’s Rock. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. The fleeting sight of the Fastnet Light. We move on, we move on. Up in the staterooms, a young Irish girl Catches breath through Havanas and pearls. Living her dreams as the ship puts to sea – The Olympian’s unsinkable girl. The petulant siblings will do their worst With every yaw, roll and pitch. But Violet sighs and, the look in her eyes, says ‘You’re better born lucky than rich’. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. Set the clock as we pass Daunt’s Rock. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. The fleeting sight of the Fastnet light. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. The southern route, Ambrose salute. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. A brighter day over New York Bay. We move on, we move on. Sisters Different flowers, same garden. Ourselves but not ourselves. A mother’s gift of companionship Can shatter all our broken spells. The watcher and the dancer; Land bound and tight as death. As twilight comes, they’ll sing their songs That scatters you and steals your breath. And the sisters three, should carry you home ‘Cross the tides of the siren seas. But the sisters three will hold tragedy In the wake of our silent screams. As they sail, through our dreams judgement comes, for childhood deeds. As they sail through our dreams, The ocean drowns: their final peace. Titanic Any other day, Welcome her to Upper New York Bay. Any other day, Ellis Island’s dreamers slip away. Any other day, Rhumb line steers her one degree away Any other day, Harbour lights appearing come what may. Any other day, Lady in the harbour shows the way. Any other day, Glasses in the locker saved the day. Any other day, Welcome her to Upper New York Bay. Any other day, Captain Edward Smith had saved the day. Britannic Fair game for the high command; The brave ships sail alone, unarmed. No mercy in the filth of war; The Hague convention’s rotten core. Mines, torpedoes, U-boats’ ire; Survivors caught in machine gun’s fire. Doctors, nurses, reluctant tars, Bidding lovers au revoir. Brave Britannic’s ravaged dream. No refuge in red, white and green. Sanguine ocean calls her home, But Violet’s eyes flash grim resolve. Propeller’s switchblade slashing down Test the girl who will not drown. The great ship shares her sister’s curse, But no match for a simple nurse. Fair game for the high command; The brave ships sail alone, unarmed. No mercy in the filth of war; The Hague convention’s rotten core. Mines, torpedoes, U-boats’ ire; Survivors caught in machine gun’s fire. Doctors, nurses, reluctant tars, Bidding lovers au revoir. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. Set the clock as we pass Daunt’s Rock. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. The fleeting sight of the Fastnet light. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. The southern route, Ambrose salute. We move on, we move on. Chasing White Star’s sunrise. A brighter day over New York Bay. We move on, we move on.

Now the old pipe organ no longer plays. As the Dockyard workers all kneel to pray For Frederick Whomes on that fateful day, In spite of it all. Alas, the trippers now mere ghosts; The railway took them down to the coast. Seaside towns stole London’s trade. The Rosher vision drifts away. You can build it high, build it grand, But in the end it turns to sand. You can build, but when all’s said and done, It comes to naught if they don’t come. The Italian Esplanade unloved. The Hermit’s Cave, the bear pit closed. Greek Temples, Baronial Hall – Shunned in favour of the winkle stall. Jeremiah’s vision, a place for all, Buried under Crossrail’s spoil. Thames-side houses set to feed A housing shortage, people’s need. You can build it high, build it grand, But in the end it turns to sand. You can build but when all’s said and done, It comes to naught if they don’t come. But let’s not dwell on the garden’s fate. There’s one last show, and it’s getting late. Let’s join Frederick and hundreds more – The Princess Alice heads for shore. And as our happy day slips away, (It’s) just time to catch the show in the Bijou below. Before our eyes Gallini flies, But one little man steals the show. Tichborne stands four foot six. Tin whistle, dancing; our gaze firmly fixed. The big boot dance; the perfect clown. Golden buzzer hammers down. Come down, say hello. ‘Little Tich’ just stole the show. Come down, say hello. Alice waits we have to go. Poem Rosherville: Rosherville, The place to spend a happy day. Rosherville: Rosherville, One man’s folly, no one saved. After the Lord Mayor’s Show The river will ebb and flow. Drags the past out to sea as he goes. After the Lord Mayor’s Show.

Depth of Field In a place out of view, the camera lay unused. Your golden hour seems fleeting now. Without a sound just flew. The ambient light fades – the group just slipped away. But the cameraman stands his ground – Lives the time-lapse frame by frame. The depth of field becomes your paradigm. The depth of field a moment sealed in time. In a place out of view, the camera lay unused. Your golden hour so fleeting now Grew wings and softly flew. The images live on, But the cameraman has gone.