Confessions of a Sedan Chairman
I came across a short feature about the use of the Sedan Chair as a mode of transport prevalent in the 18th Century. It argued that, far from being a grand and luxurious mode of transport, the majority of them were not. Often they’d been left out in the rain, ending up as boxes of wet leather, linings saturated with water and they were rarely clean and fragrant!
The chairmen themselves had to cope with overweight gout-ridden passengers which they had to carry up some pretty big hills; and in some houses up the stairs – where doorways were widened to cater for sedan chairs being carried up to the customer’s bedrooms doors!
I decided to write this song from one of the Chairmen’s perspective about what they might have to put up with and what it might drive them to sometimes!
Lyrics:
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
I climb every hill; with your swollen rear a foot from my face
I walk through the storms; walk ‘til I bleed, just to get you home
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
I’ve got mouths to feed, and the landlord to pay
I wouldn’t be a chairman if there was another way
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
You turn the air blue, the muck on your shoes won’t come off the floor
You tarnish the seat, you spit at my feet, you strike at my face
I carry your chair; you’ll soon know I’m there, you’ll soon know my name.
I’ve got mouths to feed, and the landlord to pay
I wouldn’t be a chairman if there was another way
I carry your seat; down Avon Street to the Old Bridge
I along with my pair, upend your chair over the side
I watch as you drop into the slop, where you belong
I carried your chair; now you’re down there, remember my name.
The chairmen themselves had to cope with overweight gout-ridden passengers which they had to carry up some pretty big hills; and in some houses up the stairs – where doorways were widened to cater for sedan chairs being carried up to the customer’s bedrooms doors!
I decided to write this song from one of the Chairmen’s perspective about what they might have to put up with and what it might drive them to sometimes!
Lyrics:
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
I climb every hill; with your swollen rear a foot from my face
I walk through the storms; walk ‘til I bleed, just to get you home
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
I’ve got mouths to feed, and the landlord to pay
I wouldn’t be a chairman if there was another way
I carry your chair; you don’t know I’m there, you don’t know my name.
You turn the air blue, the muck on your shoes won’t come off the floor
You tarnish the seat, you spit at my feet, you strike at my face
I carry your chair; you’ll soon know I’m there, you’ll soon know my name.
I’ve got mouths to feed, and the landlord to pay
I wouldn’t be a chairman if there was another way
I carry your seat; down Avon Street to the Old Bridge
I along with my pair, upend your chair over the side
I watch as you drop into the slop, where you belong
I carried your chair; now you’re down there, remember my name.