Henry's Songbook

And all I got it's a weary, weary life
Who would be a drinking man's wife
Who wanted all this trouble and this strife
Who but a silly woman

Hush, wee baby, for your daddy's coming in
Stumbling up the stairs and missing every one
Rotten with beer and stinking of gin
He's drunk again as usual

Hush, wee baby, for he's coming in the door
Drunken big feet skyting o'er the floor
He's had a bucket but he's thirsting for more
He doesn't know when he's beaten

Hush, wee baby, listen to him sitting there
With his bloodshot eyes and his tangled hair
Mouth full of big talk and eyes full of despair
And blaming me as usual

Hush, wee baby, for your daddy's gone to bed
In the morn he'll not remember all the words he said
But his tongue was sharp and all the wounds they bled
But then I'm used to bleeding

Hush, wee baby, and close your weary eyes
Cuddle in to mammy and stop your tired wee cries
And in the morning when you decide to rise
Your mammy'll be here, waiting

[1981:] [My] first song, written in July 1970. [...] The not so funny side of drink and its consequences on family life. Written about Scotland, but unfortunately applicable to most countries in the world. (Notes Eric Bogle, 'Plain and Simple')

[1994:] The truth is that I didn't know [my father] Skip any other way but drunk. [...] When he was late home there was never any doubt where he was or what state he would come home in [...]. I would sit with [my mother] Nan until we heard him falling up the stairs and trying to open the door, then I'd scamper off to bed and hide under the blankets until the inevitable row was over. [...] Nan could handle the toughest bureaucrat, but she was helpless against her husband, and it always ended with her defeated and crying and him asleep in a drunken stupor; he always 'won'. In truth, the shouting, distressing as it was, affected me less than the sight of my mother so totally vanquished each time. Everything had happened with Skip in no fit state to remember it, but Nan didn't drink and she remembered every word, as I did, and every word hurt. (Meg Henderson, Finding Peggy 94)