The Tyre Fitter
(Alasdair Clayre)

They called him Tiny Newman be cause he was so small,
No higher than a lamppost not so broad as he was tall.
His job was fitting motor tyres he did it with his hands,
And he took some home when his mother made jam to use for elastic bands.

cho: Where's Tiny Newman, come sun or rain or snow?
Where's Tiny Newman when the morning hooters blow?
Turn left at number fifteen gate and that's where Tiny stands,
With the motor tyres all round him and he's fitting them with his hands.

One day there was a powewr cut, the coal supply was low;
The presses all dropped idle and the line went creeping slow.
So Tiny turned it with his hands and he sent it whirling fast
Till a copper ran him in for driving two hundred cars too fast.

Tiny was a peaceful man, his fights were short and few
But a mate of his in an argument once stood on a different view.
He held him out of the top of a 'bus between the road and sky
When he dragged him in that mate and him saw exactly eye to eye.

Now astronomers from all the world are gathering in their crowds
To see why flying saucers now come whistling through the clouds.
They'll tell you thry're phenomena only science understands
But they're Tiny Newman's rejects going hurtling from his hands.

And if your little daughter points a finger at the sky
And asks why there are stars up there, so sparkling and so high
You can tell her Tiny Newman is the one who is to blame
Since the night he took up welding, things have necer been the same.

Well, no one knew what he should do, the day that Patsy died
The tyres of the hearse they sagged and burst with the weight that lay inside;
Then an off back dor swung open and a voice behind a hand
Says," I'll fit them fur and then no more till I check on at the Promised Land.

note: Tiny Newman lived and worked in the 1930's, achieving a legendary
status. RG
From Room for Company, Palmer
RG
oct96

Ctrad. (Patsy Fagan)
A