In Maldon the river is seriously silting up and nobody will accept responsibility for dredging it.

I’m the creep of Maldon quay. Your cash belongs to me.
One day when you are moored, I’ll sneak my way on board
When you’re glued in the ooze, I’ll collect my harbour dues
I’ll take your mooring fee, I’m the creep of Maldon quay

My welcome ‘s unfriendly; please stay away at sea.
If you’re deep in the sludge you’ll need a tow to budge.
There’s mud at Maldon quay, sprinkled with debris,
Of that I’ll guarantee. I’m the creep of Maldon quay

Oh I’m the Creep of Maldon quay. I’m a council employee.
When in the mud you’re stuck – Then I don’t care a lot.
When you can’t get afloat, Then I will sit and gloat.
I’ll count my cash with glee. I’m the creep of Maldon quay.

1. Tune: The sheik of araby

My Baby’s train aint commin’ back
The motor fell off onto the track
The Central line don’t run no more
If tanks worked like trains there’d be no war

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There’s nothing the songwriter likes more than a good death. There’s plenty of opportunity for high emotion and sorrowful reverie; there will be a story to tell either about the unfortunate chain of events or for why the deceased should be remembered. There’s the slight handicap of having to come up with something just right for the moment against the clock, but often this is a worthy cause to note the passing of a well respected friend. There’s an old tradition of broadsheets being sold at public executions which give lurid descriptions of the felonies and notorious exploits of the criminal. Modern writers might want to take a look at the Darwin Awards or look up “unusual deaths” on Wikipedia (Can I tempt you with a 50-year-old bricklayer from King’s Lynn who died laughing while watching an episode of The Goodies?)

But on the serious side, a card or a notice in the paper will soon be lost whereas a good song will enter the folk tradition and still be around on 100 years time. Read more

A couple of years ago it was suggested to me that the Morris of Maldon would like to do a Mummers play. Groan. A bit of pageant with the plot in shreds, unexplained symbolism and contradictions. So instead I wrote a modern morality play.
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The council collect mooring fees but won’t dredge the river. 40 years ago there was hardly any mud and the foreshore was gravel. Now by the quay there is over 1m of mud. Something must be done!

The creep of Maldon quay

Tune : The Sheik of Araby
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