The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time
I wrote the lyrics of this for a competition with the theme 'Historical Events in Pembroke'. The Pipes and Guitar are provided by the author of the music: James Donal Faulkner.
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
The song is based on a brutal unsolved murder that happened some years back in which a couple of walkers were assasinated on a lonely Pembroke Coastal path. Of all the theories as to why they died, the idea that they had stumbled onto an IRA gang smuggling weapons or explosives into Britain seemed to me the most likely and the song assumes that is the case. It is also about fate, of course.
Lyrics
Frank and Gwenda Dixon loved to walk the Pembroke coast.
“It’s an antidote to my city job”, was Frank’s repeated boast,
But the Dixons would find out one day in late June `89
They were walking in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Winding round the cliff tops, they kept a steady pace,
Both fit and in their fifties, they felt no need to race.
Hand in hand together they took in those views sublime,
Not knowing they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The sun streaked through the clouds shining golden off the sea,
Seagulls swooped like children’s kites, of childhood memory,
They laughed and joked together as they reached another climb,
Not knowing they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Far on the horizon, like black clouds, the Wicklow hills,
Sheltered men who in the past had maimed or even killed,
That day their comrades sweated in a cove of Pembroke lime,
The Dixons soon would learn of the wrong place and the wrong time.
The sun beat on their faces as the path it reached a fork,
The choice, to head down to the beach or continue with their walk,
“Little Haven’s not far off and we’ve got no deadline!”
Down they wandered to the wrong place at the wrong time.
Broad daylight's not the time to bring a cache of arms ashore,
“I’ll strangle that feckin fisherman!” Pat fearfully swore.
Then to his shock and horror coming down the path he spied,
The Dixons walking into the wrong place at the wrong time.
It all happened so quickly Gwenda had no time to shout,
Two men held her at gunpoint, while Frank received a clout.
“We haven’t seen a thing!” said Frank. “Let us go upon our way!”
But they were in the wrong place and the wrong time on that day.
The gunmen exchanged glances and slowly shook their heads,
Frank held Gwenda tightly fearing that they’d soon be dead.
Their hands were tied behind them using some old baler twine.
The price was high for those in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Pembroke’s solitude and beauty had drawn them to that place,
Now its very isolation had quickly sealed their fate.
Two frightened men with shotguns stood upon the seaweed's slime,
The seagulls’ mocking cries called out “Wrong place at the wrong time!”
Two shots in quick succession and the ugly deed was done,
The blood upon the clear white sand it glistened in the sun,
All traces would soon disappear below the high tide line,
Waves obliterating the wrong place and the wrong time.
The bodies were well hidden among the deepest grass,
Before the couple would be found several days would pass,
Their deaths would be a mystery, no-one’s yet paid for the crime,
The press said they'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
© Berni Armstrong 2007
