Sam O'Shanker...

Produced at St. Katherines College, Liverpool in 1972. The same production was taken to the Edinburgh Fringe in August & September.

"The first 'real' piece of writing I did was to adapt, update and relocate
Burn's narrative poem Tam O'Shanter. I had a number of Scots friends, including the singer Tich Frier who used to recite the poem. I was keen to do the same for the English club audiences that I played to; but, of course I couldn't really do justice to the marvellous dialect which would, anyway, probably have been inpenetrable to many in the audience.

So, eventually I came up with the idea of writing a new, updated and relocated version of the poem."

WHEN WORK IS DONE for another day
And the sky takes a look of smouldering grey,
As friendly bloke meets friendly bloke
And the air in the bar becomes thick with smoke;
Whilst we all sit talking about the match
Or, perhaps, the latest female catch,
We think not once of the lonely roads
That lie between us and our abodes
Where sits the wife, with dinner gone cold,
Preparing to nark, to chide, to scold.
Oh Sam! if you had used your brain
But your long suffering wife warned in vain
That no good ever comes of a boozer
That the drunkard always end the loser.
She told you no good would come of your rantin',
That there's always mischief in galavantin'
From one pub to the next and coming home late;
"Your stomach", she said, " It's like a river in spate".
She told her sister that your doom wasn't far off,
That one night you'd drive the car off
The road and die a drunkard in some ditch
Where bogey-man, devil and witch
Would claim your sodden skin and bone
And whisk you off to their evil home.

But back to our tale of Sam O'Shanker;
One night in a pub, the Keel & Anchor,
The fire roared in the Welsh stone grate
And lit up the faces of Sam and his mate,
Bandy Billy, the cockle seller;
Sam loved the company of this old fella!
The pair of them would sit for ages
Talking of the world while drinking their wages.
And this night was no exception to the rule
The fire was hot, the Guiness cool
and Mabel, the landlady, served them well.
One word that from her lips fell
Would melt the heart of the hardest man.
"A song, give us a song!" someone called to Sam
And Sam, with beer now well plied,
In fact he was bloody mortified says,
"Alright, close y' traps and open y' ears,
An ' I'll sing youse one that'll bring the tears
Rolling down y' rosy cheeks."
No sooner than Sam speaks
The pianist plays a thumping 'A'.
And now the night is well under way;
Songs applause, the sounds of laughter,
Echo from every wall and rafter,
Drowning the noise of the storm outside.
But oh Sam! a long and lonely drive
Awaits you when all this mirth is past,
And the warmest of nights can never ever last.

So, come the hour of closing time
And to the final strains of 'Auld Lang Syne',
Sam and Billy bid each other a fond 'tara'.
Oh Bandy Bill, how lucky you are
Only living down the street
And using for transport nothing bur your feet,
While poor old Sam faces a long, lonely drive
Before finally he'll arrive
Home to a reception that's guaranteed to be ice cool
Twenty miles away in Liverpool;
Liverpool, which no other town reaches
For its curler-headed women and their peroxide bleaches

In company a king, alone a mere man
Sam stumbles from the pub to his waiting van.
A lightning shaft tears the sky apart
And fear folds its fingers around Sam's heart.
Sam was never the bravest of men
And alone in the dark he's a child again.
The aged van gives a splutter and wheeze,
Sam, in return, gives curses and pleas
Until finally she comes to life with a hawking roar.
Sam puts his foot down hard to the floor.
Along the lanes enclosed by trees
On lonely roads Sam's old van speeds;
The wind whistles madly as the van battles on
The rain hurtles down, the thunder rattles on;
And with every blinding, lightning flash
The countryside becomes awash
With a whiteness stark and evil.
Sam speeds through it all, poor devil!

When Knowsley village comes into sight
Sam, instead of turning right
Turns left, lest the police should put the flag up
And make him blow the little bag up.
Sam's drank too much and well he knows
One breath would make it decompose.
So to the left he turns the wheel
As up ahead the church bells peal
Midnight: the time of all things bad.
Oh Sam! poor Sam, you luckless lad:
Just before old Knowsley church
The battered van gives a sudden sorry lurch;
She coughs and splutters, starts to crawl
Before coming to rest by the church wall.
Sam shook his weary, drunken head,
The motor was hopelessly, helplessly dead.
He tugged at the starter but all was in vain
And outside the pouring rain
Threatened a soaking for the would-be mechanic.
Sam felt a rush of panic:
How could he fix it? he was no engineer!,
His only flair was consuming beer.
With a half-hearted curse he push open the door
But stepping from the van, what a sight he saw:
There in the graveyard a dance going on,
Witch, goblin and evil demon
All employed at some hellish rave
Prancing from grave to eerie grave.
Sam was rooted to the spot, mesmerised
Unable to tear away his gaping eyes;
For witches like these he'd never seen
In fairy tale or childlike dream;
This was no ugly, haggard band,
These weren't creatures from some Dracula's land;
These were shimmering beauties slim and white,
Their bodies glistening in the night
As Sam watched them dancing, brazen and bold;
This was no sickly waltz or quickstep strict and cold
But an urgent, quivering, rhythmic flow
That commanded each muscle from head to toe.
And in the centre of the throbbing crowd,
Was the Devil himself, defiant and proud,
Providing the music with his black guitar,
Viciously throwing the notes afar.
The music he made knowing no harness
As it mercilessly pierced each crease of darkness.
And as the thumping tune went on longer
So the reckless dancers seemed to grow stronger.
Their hips became like springs uncoiled
Till the atmosphere fizzed and boiled.
Sam let his gaze wander at random
Till one dancer even more full of abandon
Than the rest, came into view.
Oh Sam! was ever a bigger fool than you?
On this one young witch Sam fixed his eyes
When, to his delight and great surprise,
She started to throw off her sweat-soaked clothes
And oh! how Sam's blood pressure rose.
As she danced she threw them off
Till soon her only claim to cloth
Were the bra and pants she left in place.
Poor Sam! his excited face
Went through every known expression,
Oh that his tongue had known suppression
But he couldn't hold it back a second more
And he let out a piercing, shrieking roar.......
"Go on there love, get the rest off."
As soon as he'd spoken he wished he'd not
For every eye was turned his way.
He dived to the van without delay
But pulling the starter he recalled with dread
The bloody engine was completely dead.
DEAD! The word echoed through his little brain,
He pulled on the starter again and again,
He gave a desperate, savage tug
And then, thank God, she began to chug.
He slipped in the gear, he turned around
But then his heart began to crash and pound
For coming over the old church wall
Were witches and devil, one and all.
Slowly, slowly the van started on its way
As Sam for speed began to plead and pray.
He chanced another quick look back
Oh how soon they'd closed the gap,
Some were running, others flying
And each and everyone was crying,
"Oh don't you worry, we'll get you Sam
You prying, meddling, drunken man!"
And his own sweet fancy was leading the chase
Gaining so much that her face
Could be clearly seen in his rear-view mirror.
His stomach churned and turned in terror,
His foot was pressed hard to the floor
But the tired old van could do no more
Than a modest thirty-five.
But finally glancing in his mirror and "Saints alive"
At last he was starting to leave them behind.
"Now", he thought, "Now if only I can find
Away to lose them forever,"
Then he remembered, "The river!
Running water makes all spirits halt."
He turned the wheel, started to make for the river Alt.
With a glance behind, his position to check
He could see, far behind him, a tiny speck
Back along old Knowsley lane.
"Thank God," said Sam and breathed again.
Sam sped on as fast as he could,
Past Stinky Lane and Flookers wood
Till with only half-a-mile to do,
Before the river and the bridge came into view,
He looked in his mirror and was horrified to see,
Coming up behind him, a Ford GT.
Sam felt a chill go through his blood
For there upon the bonnet the young witch was stood
And her man, the Devil, was driving,
"Oh Christ!" prayed Sam, "Let me go on living."
Ah Sam, was there ever, since the birth of time
A longer or lonelier half-mile than thine?
The poor old van was like some snail
Or fishing smack that fights the gale.
Her years now are way past ten
And she'll not know the thrill again
Of taking bends at an easy fifty,
Her past few years have bid her be thrifty
And avoid premature departure
To Otterspool tip and no thought of the future.
As she carries Sam towards the river
She can feel her weary body shiver,
She knows this trip will be her end
And she thinks of Sam, her master and friend
Urging her to make more speed.
She hopes she has the strength to heed.
As the Ford begins to close and draws up, so near
That Sam is almost sick with fear
His van gives a sudden last courageous roar
And pulls away from the evil Ford.
Off towards the bridge she tears
Faster than she has for years;
But just when it seems the bridge they'll make,
And the southern bank, secure and safe,
With only fifty yards to go
The tired van starts to slow,
Her last wild burst has taken its toll,
Now she can only hope to roll
The last few yards to safety.
But devils and witches are awful crafty....
Sam reaches the bridge and is almost upon it
When the young witch flies off the Ford's bonnet;
She grabs the bumper and holding it tight
She pulls and tugs with all her might
But just as it seems the van will come to a stop
The rusty bumper rips right off.
The witch screams and spits out hate
But, luckily for Sam, she is just too late;
The van is safe on the opposite bank
And a million curses wouldn't take him back.
Now any man that likes his beer
Let him once, poor Sam's tale hear.
And if his wife says, "No more ale!" he'll kiss her and thank her
And remember the tale of SAM O'SHANKER.