Most people think the last invasion of Britain took place in 1066... this song reminds us it didn't... it took place in 1797!
Committed and passionate singer songwriter of new songs from traditional inspiration
Berni is a singer songwriter of passionate and committed songs.
Story behind the song
This was one of two songs I submitted for a songwriting competition on the theme of "Pembroke's History". Unfortunately, I was unbable to attend the final concert personally in the end and was therefore disqualified. The lyrics were published in the programme though.
Lyrics
They say the last invasion was the famed Battle of Hastings
When Normans came for conquest and Harold got it in the eye.
But let me tell you of Fishguard in Seventeen Ninety Seven.
When French troops were defeated 'neath a slate grey Pembroke sky.
While in Europe Boney's cannon roared in the name of freedom,
A plan was formed to free these shores from the boot of tyranny.
An army would burn Bristol then turn to Wales for haven,
Raising a peasant army as they marched for liberty.
Colonel William Tate was chosen as its leader,
A yank whose father had been killed by those loyal to the crown.
Fourteen hundred men made up Tate's ragtag army,
On four warships they sailed from France to bring a monarch down.
February winds barred their passage up to Bristol,
So Tate commanded that the fleet sail into Fishguard bay.
A canon roared a warning, but unknown to the Frenchmen,
That single shot was all the powder that they had that day.
Around the coast they landed near the crags at Carregwastad
This was no ordered army, but freed convicts to a man.
Many took to looting and drank themselves near legless,
While word spread round the Pembroke hills the invasion had begun.
Hundreds of women, all dressed in local costume,
Rushed to the scene to witness everything from the hillside.
The French mistook the women for a redcoat army,
Their stovepipe hats and scarlet tops had helped to turn the tide.
Jemima Fawr, a cobbler’s wife, armed only with a pitchfork,
Rounded up a dozen drunks and marched them to the town.
The Frenchies lust for glory vanished like their courage,
When the militia came in sight for the final showdown.
Two days were all it lasted this folly strewn invasion,
Tate surrendered to a force led by a local squire.
It had been doomed to failure since few poor folk from Pembroke,
Shared the radical ideals to which old Bony did aspire.
