Arthurs Place

Arthurs Place (Lyrics by Sheila Clark and Music by Dave Clark - April 1998)

Here's the original recording of the song below (PS Stick with it, despite the Commodore Amiga recording software, if only for the banjo solo at the end!)

Arthur’s Place

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night..... G D C G
He sings about Bollington’s green hills G D Am
and by White Nancy he truly belongs C G D Em
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo C G D
While he sings for the sake of the song C D G

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur.... G D C D
C D G

On holiday he went to France D Am
And had a rare old time C G
taught the French about fine wine D Em
And sat outside and ate fine food - al fresco C G D
“I think your vineyards are just grand Em G
but the finest wine in all the land D Em
You’ll find at Macclesfield, near Bollington - at Tesco’s” C G D Em

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills
And by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur....

At Bollington at Arthur’s Place
You’ll have a rare old time Dougie always wins the wine
“Now my next guest and me - we go back years
“Always a favourite at the club” then he rushes downstairs to the pub
Muttering to himself “I’ve lost the wine” and “Where’s me beer!”

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills
And by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings all his days
Not just for listening la-dies
He just sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur.... G D C D
Every Friday night down at Arthur’s place C Em Am D G

December 1999

Arthur’s Place - XMAS 99

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills/and by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur....

Its Christmas time at Arthurs Place
You'll find some Xmas cheer but Arthur will lose his beer
Now Ian Bruce and me we go back years
He requests his favourite tune then rushes straight out of the room
And comes back at the end to clap and cheer then find his beer

Its Christmas time at Arthur’s Place
That special time of year, all the singers are now here
The deep, the loud, the high and sweet falsetto
Now its that thrilling raffle time, its time to draw the Christmas wine
All the way from Longsight near Levenshulme - from Nettos

Years ago he went to Erin's Isle
Though he says he's never been and forgotten what he'd seen
He went to Dublin but his memory is a fog
He says their music is just grand but the finest tunes in all the land
Are by Arthur Wakefield, on his banjo - at the 'Dog'

At Bollington at Arthurs Place
One thing is for sure, poor old Steve is on the door
He sits outside and takes the cash - its rotten
But we let him sing his ploughboy song, seventeen verses won't take long
The impressario who sits outside - forgotten

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills/and by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings all his days
Not just for listening la-dies
He just sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur...
every Friday night down at Arthur’s place

December 2000

Arthur's Place - Xmas 2000

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills
And by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur....

One Sunday in the Summertime
To Macclesfield Marina
For a musical arena
But soon the rain came leaving us forlorn
Still Arthur sang just like he oughta
Til his banjo filled with water
And the amplifiers blew up on stage - in the storm

On holiday he went to Spain
He was made to go by Myra
Though he does so often try her
But with sun and wine he soon felt like a God
“Although this good life takes my fancy
I’m Arthur Wakefield at White Nancy
So I really must get back by Friday - to the ‘Dog’“

Now Arthurs on the internet
He’s got his own computer
Though we think he needs a tutor
An email take him ages to get right
Though now he’s getting better
Its cheaper than sending a letter
But then he panics shouting “I’ve lost me password!” - and “Whats me website?”

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills
And by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo
While he sings all his days
Not just for listening la-dies
He just sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur...
every Friday night down at Arthur’s place

December 2001

Arthur’s Place - XMAS 2001

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....

He sings about Bollington’s green hills/and by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo/While he sings for the sake of the song

This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur....

Its Christmas time at Arthurs Place
You'll find some Xmas cheer but Arthur will lose his beer
Now Ian Bruce comes back every year
He requests his favourite tune then rushes straight out of the room
And comes back at the end to clap and cheer then find his beer

At Bollington at Arthurs Place
One thing is for sure, poor old Steve’s not on the door
He ran away and changed his name to Steffano
He teaches Italians his ploughboy song, seventeen verses don't take long
Now people queue to pay to leave the room in Milano

In September to Amerikay
But it wasn’t him, he swore, who drove America to war
While there he saw many sights that took his fancy
He said ‘Your canyons are just grand but you’ve got nothing in this land
To compare with Bollington or the ‘Dog’ or White Nancy

Down at Arthur’s Place, on a Friday night.....
He sings about Bollington’s green hills/and by White Nancy he truly belongs
And he plonka, plinka, plonks on his old banjo/While he sings all his days
Not just for listening la-dies, he just sings for the sake of the song
This is a song on a Friday night for Arthur...every Friday night down at Arthur’s place