Lyrics: I am St. Michael’s Church, Newhaven’s oldest building. I have been here for 900 years. Imagine what I’ve seen over those nine centuries, the stories I could tell. Let me take you on a journey through time. by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

About this time was William de Warenne With his good lady wife Gundrada The owners of the settlement The name of which was Meechynge Decided in that place to build a dedicated chamber to offer up their prayers unto their Lord. Amen. by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

PART 1 We are a flock of sheep, We frolic on the hillside Across the fields of green, Come sunshine, rain or ‘tween. The grass is fresh and sweet, We keep it nice and tidy. And as our size increases We grow our woolly fleeces! Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa. The Shepherd keeps us safe, His faithful dog to help him. She plays with us and then She guides us to our pen. And wool is what we give for such a carefree living. Our fleeces, when they’re shorn Could cover every lawn. Baa… PART 2 (Sung as a round – by humans!) Twisting wool makes thread and yarn, Useful stuff to mend and darn. Spinning, weaving, warp and weft, Crissing-Crossing, right and left. Magically, before your eyes, Yards of cloth, materialised! Bonnet for a baby’s head, Or a blanket for the bed, Conjure-up a hero’s cloak, or a smock for village folk. Shades us when the sun is bold, Keeps us warm in winter’s cold. Even as the King decrees, Help my loved one rest in peace. We are a flock of sheep, We frolic on the hillside Across the fields of green, Come sunshine, rain or ‘tween. The grass is fresh and sweet, We keep it nice and tidy. And as our size increases We grow our woolly fleeces! Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa, Baa. by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

Reader, with kind regard this Grave survey, Nor heedless pass where Tipper's ashes lay; Honest he was, ingenuous, blunt, and kind; And dared do, what few dare do, speak his mind. Philosphy and History well he knew, Was versed in Physick and in Surgery too, The best old Stingo be both brewed and sold; Nor did one knavish act to get his gold, He played through Life a varied comic part, And knew immortal Hudibras by heart, Reader, in real truth such was the man; Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can. Be better, wiser, laugh more if you can. (Taken from Thomas Tipper's gravestone in St Michael's Church, Newhaven - Anon.)

They gathered round and listened to my tale, not often spoke, of pistol-bearing smugglers, ungentlemanly folk. Who, when they pass, in dead of night, will watch for you. Stay out of sight! If you don’t know, you’ll be alright. Just leave them, don’t provoke. Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do? Let me tell you what they did, they didn’t pay their duty! In Newhaven, a Customs Man, called Matson, did his best to halt the smugglers in their stride and put their trade to rest. He saw them, chased them like a hound. He fired his gun, and at that sound a dying smuggler hit the ground. To that, I can attest. Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Let me tell you what he did, he only did his duty! And after that, the smuggler’s gang was seeking retribution. They wanted vengeance for their mate and thought of a solution. They kidnapped Matson, then and there. They dragged him to their smugglers’ lair. And Matson started to prepare to face his execution. But wait! Events weren’t going in the way that Matson thought. It turns out he’d been taken there to face a Smugglers’ Court. The charge was ‘Murder’, no surprise. He saw the hatred in their eyes. He searched for those who’d sympathise, who’d give him their support. The case was put, against and for the wretched-looking soul. And once the evidence was heard, the smugglers took a poll. The votes were tallied in plain sight, and double-checked, so they were right. Would Matson be set free that night, or buried in a hole? Before I tell you Matson’s fate, the moral of this ode is smugglers, though they’re tough and mean, live by the ‘Smuggler’s Code’. And Matson, by a vote of 10 was found ‘Not Guilty’, and so then the smugglers let him go again. So grateful, off he rode! Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did they do?. Let me tell you what they did, they only did their duty! Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Tell me, tell me now, tell, what did he do? Let me tell you what he did, he only did his duty! by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

The 26th of January, 1800, A wretched day, as I recall. For I dreamed, that on that day, I was awoken, earlier than the sun The hollow, foreboding alarm, so long and plaintive, rung. A thousand paces west of here a ship was gone aground beneath the cliffs. Although still dark, the spot was easy found, The wretched mariners' cries for help were guidance by their sound… We ran across the fading beach, my unborn child and I, towards the place we could not reach… The flooding tide so cruelly caught our feet. As daylight pushed the darkness veil away, we saw to our dismay, a broken vessel buffeted, by the storm enraged and angry at the rising morn. From cliff to victim, distance was too vast… despairing sailors clinging to the mast. The angry sounds from violent stormy moans, the breaking boat, the breaking bones… Helpless victims, battling their fate. Helpless rescuers, forced to watch and wait… And in my heart, I begged he was not there, had stayed in port and waited for the weather to be fair… Or was alive, but floating in the rage, and reaching out in vain to grab the cage. For two brave heroes, with thoughts not for their own were lowered from the cliff top down and down, Their rescue craft was no more than a pen, but it could be salvation for some men… One man was dragged out from the deep and saved, that day, from his eternal sleep. But not my man… not my man. And he confirmed it, deep inside I knew, t’was Captain Hanson and The Brazen sinking from our view. Those Brazen Souls, the sloop had been their nest. 95 came lifelessly to shore. And in the graveyard now are laid to rest. Their monument reminds us evermore. To this day my gaze from shore is ever with sadness tinged As still I hear their mournful cries, carried on the wind. Oh what irony that I should live so long, When my child and Captain James, my husband, were so early gone… by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

Now Caroline was a special Catt, From the tips of her toes to the top of her hat, I had never ever seen a lady like that As she rode past on her horse and trap. Her dad, William, owned the old Tide Mills And that’s why she had such buttons and frills. She didn’t have to struggle to pay her bills at Meeching House, looking down from the hill. She was landed gentry, that’s for sure! She was worth a pretty penny and even more, Had a carved inscription above her door, But was always very kind to the children and the poor. For every year, on the 1st of May, Which by all accounts was her birthday, She’d invite all the children to ask if they Would come to her house with a sweet bouquet. Then she told her staff what had to be done, They would all line up in the midday sun, And proving that philanthropy could also be fun, They’d give each child a penny, and an apple, and a bun! So Caroline was rich, but generous too, And the Town’s folk liked her, well wouldn’t you? ‘Cos with all that wealth she did accrue She shared some out with the many and the few. And every year, in May, day 1, We would line up all the children in the midday sun, And proving that philanthropy could also be fun, We’d give each child a penny, and an apple, and a bun! Although I’m fairly happy with life, I’m sure there’d be no trouble or strife If, of all the women from here to Fife, I persuaded Caroline to be my wife! But my bended knee stayed under my hat. Perhaps if I had been an aristocrat… And my dream? It did remain just that, For nobody married, nobody married, No one ever got married to Caroline Catt! by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

Can you hear the bells? by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

Just want to let you know that every time you go out on the sea to save a stranger I think of you with pride. My heart beats hard inside when you go facing any danger. And when the pager beeps I say a prayer that keeps you from harm. Oh how I curse that alarm! No matter, day or night, You’re ready for the fight To go and rescue someone stranded. When there’s a shout and you dash out, no sense of doubt, you do the duty that no one demanded. You say you’re sorry and I shouldn’t worry. You’ll always be my kind of guy, R.N.L.I. You tell me, boldly, you’ll come back to hold me, no matter the sea or the sky, R.N.L.I. Once that alarm has gone I put my brave face on. But baby, it’s just an illusion. When there’s a shout and you dash out I stand there watching as you disappear from view. I try to hide the fear inside, look dignified through all those hours until I can see you. You say you’re sorry and I shouldn’t worry. You’ll always be my kind of guy, R.N.L.I. You tell me, boldly, you’ll come back to hold me, no matter the sea or the sky, R.N.L.I. You show no fear, though, You are my hero! You’ll always be my kind of guy, R.N.L.I. by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved

I am St Michael's Church, Newhaven's oldest building. I have been here for 900 years. by Mike Flood (2019) - all rights reserved