Track 2. The Last Shift In

I worked in the Wansbrough Paper Mill for a good few years, several decades before it closed in 2015. That Christmas Eve I met one of my old work colleagues in Pebbles Tavern; it was the day that the very last shift in had left the factory behind. “Wasson” was a greeting at the changing of shifts, if things were going well you’d say “Wasson boy?” (if you walked onto the floor and things were too quiet, if the machines weren’t running, you’d say “Wasson boy, any f***ing fear?”)

Wasson boy? Where are you goin’? Wasson boy? Was gonna do? Wasson boy? Any fear you knowin’? We’re going up the road.

Christmas Eve the mill was shut, all us boys was out of luck. No more we’ll walk through those cherry trees, we’re going up the road.

Pulp stack yard been gone and cleared. Pulper no more will churn this year. The chests are empty, the header box gone, we’re going up the road.

The wire’s twisted and the felt is torn. The calendar rollers turn no more. The reeler and the coiler are so still, we’re going up the road.

The last shift in that’s what we are, the last of many that made paper. 200 years and 60 more, we’re going up the road.

Once where we walked is a steel gate, it breaks my heart to see its fate. Blood, sweat and tears throughout the years, we’re going up the road.

There’ll come a time no one will remember the work done here to earn our keep. Sons and brothers, fathers too, we’re going up the road.

Down Pebbles Tavern we’ll sink a few. You’ll drink to me, I’ll drink to you. But life goes on and we must too, we’ve all gone up the road.

Wasson boy? Where are you goin’? Wasson boy? What’s gonna do? Wasson boy? Any fear you knowin’? We’ve all gone up the road.

We’ve all gone up the road.