We perhaps need to bear in mind the song transmission process in the pre-digital era. We all sat there in folk clubs, festival concerts and singarounds, often in venues with lousy acoustics and high background noise levels, clutching our cassette recorders and recording everything that was offered. Afterwards we tried to decipher what we'd recorded and, because many singers had either enunciation problems, strong accents and dialects- or all three(!)- we inevitably had to guess some parts of the lyrics. And of course, despite all the special record labels like Leader, Topic, Fellside, Tradition etc.etc not everyone who deserved it got a chance to record at that time.

I've experienced this transmision process with one of my songs. I'd made a songsheet of it and flogged a few at 5p a throw. Years later it came to my ears that someone was asking for the words to this song because he'd taped a group singing it in the Sidmouth beach store and couldn't decipher all of it. I'd never heard of the group! Eventually a link to a beachstore recording of the group came my way and it was clear that arranging the song for the concert must have been a rush job because the singer was blatantly faking the lyrics in places!

As far as The Factory Lad goes, I've learnt it from Pete Coe, who in turn learnt it from Mick Bramich, and there are one or two differences to the lyrics given above. Unfortunately since my stereo is playing up I can't check what Pete sings but the main difference seem to be:

v1 (line 3): So you'd best get out of your bed, my boy........

v2: So dark and drear the morning as you slip through the gate......
    .........
    Off comes your coat, it's damp and cold......

v3: Now the Gaffer's walking down the shop......
    .........
    But often I'm dreaming of my girl........

v4: For old Tom Brown last Friday, his final bell did ring...
    .........
    He made a speech and he got paid off from a lifetime working here
    And as I shook his hand I felt I'd laboured forty years.

v5: And when at last the time it comes for me to leave this place
    I'll walk right out past the chargehands desk, I'll never turn my face
    Out of the darkness, into the sun, and I'll leave it all behind
    With one regret, for the mates I've left who must carry on the grind