Widecombe Regatta

Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce lend me your grey sloop
All along, down along, out on the sea
Cos my old mare she's gone down with the droop
With Admiral Nelson, Long John Silver, Cap'n Ahab, Cap'n Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Cap'n Hook, down Davy Jones Locker and all!
​Down Davy Jones Locker and all.

I wants to sing at our local Regatta
All along, down along, out on the sea
Sounds bloomin' awful but don't really matter
To Admiral Nelson, Long John Silver, Cap'n Ahab, Cap'n Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Cap'n Hook, down Davy Jones Locker and all!
Down Davy Jones Locker and all.

I only go for the grub and the beer
All along, down along, out on the sea
And it's miles away and not very near
To Admiral Nelson, Long John Silver, Cap'n Ahab, Cap'n Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Cap'n Hook, down Davy Jones Locker and all!
Down Davy Jones Locker and all.

Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, your sloop is now wrecked.
All along, down along, out on the sea
Your topsail's truncated and mizzen bedecked.
By Admiral Nelson, Long John Silver, Cap'n Ahab, Cap'n Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Cap'n Hook, down Davy Jones Locker and all!
Down Davy Jones Locker and all.

On cold winter nights you might see her at rest.
All along, down along, out on the sea
'Er's out on her own like the Marie Celeste
Without Admiral Nelson, Long John Silver, Cap'n Ahab, Cap'n Birdseye, Captain Pugwash, Cap'n Hook, down Davy Jones Locker and all!
Down Davy Jones Locker and all.
Lyrics by Mike Lilley & Daf Edwards
Tune - er... traditional?

***
We have been lucky enough to snaffle the lyrics of a few more original songs (as original as this one, at least) and here they are.
This was created by Simon Butcher and performed at the 2015 Regatta. The lyrics were originally on the Regatta page but now we have more songs it makes sense to put them all together.

***
The Widecombe Regatta Song
(Or: How many words can I rhyme with 'regatta'?)
Well the rain is falling from the sky on to the sides of Hameldown
And the water's rising up so high, they say they fear we'll drown
Our only hope will be a boat, large enough to save the world
The kind you only read about in the holy book of old.
But this is Widecombe my friend and we live far from the sea
And you don't see many boats round here – no, none, if you ask me.
But thank the Lord of providence he sent Daf to our shores
She started up the Sailing Club right here up on the moors


CHORUS:
We've got a great big regatta, lots of food on our platter and a smile all over our face
There's no persona non grata, come and sing this sonata and celebrate life in this place
The world in-country might choose to drown in a sea of fear and hate
But we're not going to let them pull us down, so haul up the anchor, mate!


We're sailing down to Widecombe in our schooners, ketches and yawls,
we're tacking round the square tonight in spite of all these squalls
We're cruising up the East Webburn in a great big catamaran
We're making waves and dodging watery graves and singing just as loud as we can
(CHORUS)
Well They're ain't no stigmata 'bout the Widecombe regatta, everybody's welcome on board.
It really doesn't matter if you're mad as a hatter, a pauper or a Lord
The only thing we ask that you leave on the shore is your malice and your enmity
If you really want to live out here on the moor then come on and join our family
(CHORUS)
Well the rain is falling from the sky on to the sides of Hameldown
And the water's rising up so high, they say they fear we'll drown
But thank the Lord of providence he sent Daf to our shores
She started up Widecombe Sailing Club right here on Dartymoor.

***
Next up is our own Mike Lilley's reworking of a slightly known number by Rod Stewart. Our version is called 'The Swaler's Lament'. Rod's was more simply known as 'Sailing'.

Swaling, we be swaling, setting small fires as a team
We be swaling, up on Haytor -  to make grass grow very green.

Oh the smoke blows, oh the smoke blows, blows right up, up yer nose.
Makes yer eyes cry and yer nose dry. We has to do it, goodness knows.

Don't want bracken, don't want gorse growing high out of hand.
Keep the moor clear, as in yesteryear* by Tom Cobley and his band.

We are crying, we are dying for a pint at the Inn.
Leaving burnt bits up on Haytor, clearly showing where we've been.

When my time's done and my race run, take me back to Haytor Hill.
Build a pyre there, light a fire there, spread my ashes as you will.

Things will grow well up on Holwell, feeding critters by the score.
I will stay there, making hay there and will do so for evermore.
*I wrote that bit.

***

And we are really chuffed to bits to have the lyrics of a song written by Martyn Babb, an interloper from Exmoor who, nevertheless, has proved himself a worthy Widecombe Sailor. Here's his song, which we think he premiered at the Winter Regatta, January 2017:

The Widecombe holidaymaker.
Oh look! The rain’s stopped... well , it’s not quite so hard,
and the floods have begun to subside. The wind has dropped down to force 7 or 8,
I think we might venture outside; it’s not bad for Widecombe, it could have been worse,
for August we musn’t complain... I’ve got a plan, get your wellies on Gran,
CHORUS; lets walk round the village again, again, lets walk round the village again.
The campsite's not too bad, well, apart from the cows, who leave piles of poo on the grass
so it’s watch where you tread when you run for the gate,
or you’re bound to slip onto your ass!
An’ when you step through the door of the Rugglestone Inn,
all the punters start sniffing the air, well, we won't stay too long, we’re aware of the pong,

CHORUS; so we’ll walk round the village again, again, we’ll walk round the village again.
We’ve had seven cream teas from the Cafe on the Green, an’ it’s only a quarter past two,
we’ve been round the church, and down to the bridge, just looking for something to do,
we’ve played Ludo and Cluedo, and Trivial Pursuits, an’ I’m beginning to feel a bit strange,
so before I go spare, and drink Ambre Solaire,
CHORUS; let’s walk round the village again, again, let’s walk round the village again.
I switched on me cellphone, but there’s no signal here, it’s the same with the car radio too.

Went for a look where they have the fair, but there’s nort there to see, seems there’s bugger all else left to do,
for the gale took me frisby, me pasty’s gone limp, and me kite is half way to South Zeal,
but if we’re in luck, we’ll avoid the cow muck
CHORUS; when we walk round the village again, again, we walk round the village again.
We thought we’d try sailing, we heard there’s a club, seems there’s a regatta in May or in June.

 We looked for the water, but were told the tide’s out, it’s something to do with the moon,
but there’s no boats, no moorings, no nautical folk, we think it might all be a joke!
Well, don’t worry Gran, we’ve still got our first plan....
CHORUS; we’ll walk round the village again, again, we’ll walk round the village again.
We’ve been to Ponsworthy, Grimspound and Haytor but they all look the same in the fog.

Went for a walk in some farmers field, but his sheep wouldn’t play with our dog.
I got damp in me toes, and dew drops on me nose; an’ it’s all doing in me poor brain! ........

What’s that? ... Never fear! ... We’ll be back again next year ...

CHORUS; to walk round the village again, again,
to walk round the village again and again, to walk round the village again.

2018

January. The Winter Regatta again gave us some newly minted lyrics to old tunes. These two are both penned by Widecombe's own Brenda Boston.

The Fairytale of the Widecombe Sailing Club
 
It's the Regatta babe
In the sailing club 
Newsletter Number One
Won't be another one
Cos this is just my first 
Will likely be my worst
Don't want to see me do
A Crap-py Number Two!
 
Some of you like to see
The great Steve Knightley
Go to the Green Cafe
Great menu for the day
Hap-py Regatta,
I love the sailing club
I want t’invite you all
And dream my own gigs!
 
I have pirates with patches 
And legs made of wood
Fish in their pockets 
Not smelling so good!
But I want to invite you to my sailing gig
Date, time and menus for making it big. 
 
It's fun, it's exciting
Though it may not be Knightley 
I have limited budget
Well, just cheese on toast! 
The band won't be coming
We're quite good at humming 
If y’don't like us humming 
Just come for the grub!
 
The boys of the Widecombe Sailing Club
Are singing all the day
And you're welcomed to a gig  Regatta day.
 
The menu’s unique
We do homegrown, quite posh 
Easy for payment
Just give me the dosh! 
I won't give my bank stuff
I don't trust online
But my pockets are empty
Quite strong and well lined!
 
The boys from the Widecombe Sailing Club 
Are singing all the day
And you're welcomed to a gig  Regatta day.
 
I could have done those gigs
Well so could anyone 
Put you on mailing lists
Whether or not you come. 
But mine does not equate 
With what Daf’s done, my mate
She's made her dreams come true
Steve Knightley sang to you!
 
So well done Daf and Sailing Club
For brightening up our days
And you're welcome to enjoy Regatta day! 

No one Sleeps Tonight…
 
Whimoweh x6,
whimoweh x2 a bit lower.
Repeat
 
In the Church House,
The mighty Church House,
The singers meet tonight.
 
In the Church House,
The mighty Church House,
The singers sing tonight.
 
Oh, oh… sing away
 
(Singaway, singaway, singaway 6 + 2 etc
 
In the belfry,
The mighty belfry
The ringers ring tonight.
 
In the village,
The noisy village
No one will sleep tonight.
 
Oh, oh… ring away
 
(Ringaway, ringaway, ringaway 6 + 2 etc)

In the Café,
The Greeeeen Café,
Steve Knightley sings tonight.
 
In the Café,
The Greeeeeeen Café
The Sailing Club just might
 
Oh, oh, sail away
 
(Sail away, sail away, sail away 6 + 2 etc)
 
On the ocean,
The mighty ocean
The pirates come to fight
 
On the ocean,
The mighty ocean
The Sailing Club’s in sight
 
Oh, arrrrgh
Bang away!
 
Oh, arrrrrgh,
Bang away
 
(A-bang away, a-bang away, a-bang away 6 + 2 etc)
 
BANG!!