Thomas Anderson Lyrics

We are but images of stone

Do us no harm

We can do none

St. Crispin and St. Crispian are we

On the arch of the Shoemaker's arbour

High above the river on Kingsland we stood

On the gate to the hall of the shoemakers' guild

Where the bakers, the tailors, the butchers, the smiths

And the saddlers too their guild arbours built

Each year in procession the guilds gave a show

And marched through the town to the sound of the drum

Then it's back to Kingsland to feast and carouse

And enjoy the great day the guild members come

We are but images of stone

Do us no harm

We can do none

St. Crispin and St. Crispian are we

On the arch of the Shoemaker's arbour

On the 10th of June 1752

In a house called The Crown that stood on Pride Hill

John Richards' workmen received a week's pay

And there they stayed and drank their fill

When a redcoat patrol chanced to pass by

The men mocked and reviled them with Jacobite songs

And who struck the first blow no-one was sure

But a bloody riot soon raged through the town

The authorities trembled with passion and fear

When news of this Jacobite outburst was known

For the House of Hanover had won few hearts

And the Stuarts still plotted to win back the throne

And so that same year, one raw day in December

The rebellious townsfolk of Salop looked on

While below the old arch of the Shoemaker's Arbour

They made an example of Tom Anderson

Who was once spared by death on the field of Culloden

Then joined the dragoons but deserted, they say

Only to die on the banks of the Severn

By firing squad on a cold Winter's day

When the black velvet suit was stripped from his body

The Chevalier's colours were beneath it, it's said

Received from the hands of Bonny Prince Charlie

Whose cause like young Thomas is broken and dead

For it's 200 years since Bonny Prince Charlie

Died drunk and embittered, an old man in Rome

While a century ago in the flowers of the Dingle

The old arbour gateway found a new home

Now who's to remember the Shoemakers' Guild

Or the Jacobite rebels who fought for a throne

And who's left to grieve for Tom Anderson

But these two hearts of stone

We are but images of stone

Do us no harm

We can do none

St. Crispin and St. Crispian are we

On the arch of the Shoemaker's Arbour