JACK MAYS and JIM CHAMPION
Recorded Lithgow, 1973

Jingle on the Lithgow Ironworks Tunnel Struggle

Some people say that Lithgow is now noted for its strike,
And that to break the unions up is capitalistic skite.
Oft has a ruthless master tried on this cruel 'gag',
But when the 'screw' was on the men, he ran against a 'snag'.
The present trouble had its birth quite early in July;
When miner Caims asked to get off, the boss made no reply.
He went and did his duty, and when he sallied back
The boss said: 'Here, you can't go in, for you have got the sack.'
The chap was taken back a peg, but not dismayed was he,
And turned round to his mates who said; 'Cheer up, old man, we'll see.'
Now, these are men with humane hearts, who stand by one another;
They tried to patch the matter up without industrial bother.
With this in view, they sought the man who made the first big
bloomer—

He would not listen to their tale, go 'down below' he'd sooner.
Then came the head 'boss money bag', and broke a savage grin;
He said: Til take the twopence off and then you may go in.'
'Not we', the sturdy man replied, "we've not come here for sport;

Before we sacrifice our rights we'll let it go to court.'
The pit was stopped, the men were off to please a stubborn will,
Tis said that volunteers came forth—'twas rather a command,
And soon a score of weak-kneed chaps took on the 'scabby band.
To make things better for the fight they called on worthy Owens
To cut some coal, but he, for one, gave in his answer 'no'.

Then as the true men left their work, with each succeeding shift,
The policemen came along and said, 'For you I've got a "stiff".'
But some there were who crawled about, their billets to retain—
Such 'scabs' as these may never hope for man's respect again.
A pity 'tis there are such men to stoop to things so mean:

To gratify the 'money bags' they make themselves unclean.
But this did not undo the men, to principle so true,
Who oft escorted down the street some of the measly crew.
The poor clerks too, in raiment fine, were called to help the mob;
With aching backs and blistered hands they broke a little gob.
And when they thought the workers' homes were short of bread and
buns,

The press was full of master's mag—the men stood by the guns.
Still, this is a Christian land, where men kneel oft and pray:

Two hundred to the organ fund—the men may go to hell, eh?
And when the parson sues for peace that understanding passes,
The rich ride home in motor cars and dink the champagne glasses.

Here luxury and ease abound, and much congratulation
That they're not like the men who strike for better situations.
And all this trouble is for gold, that goeth not to grave;

This is their god, and not the One who sent His Son to save.
Then brothers, wives and children, dear—who sigh to see such greed,
Stand by your precepts—living wage; life's sunshine's what you need.
Be sober, honest, worthy men, and let conviction rule,
But never, never have it said you've been a tyrant's tool.

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