During a working life, one meets many people. Some of those people you get on with, or tolerate as they do you. Very occasionally, you meet someone who you really get on with, and these people become more than just workmates, some become friends for life. 
In 1978, a boy named Mervyn came to work in the same department as me. We got on well, and Mervyn was keen on music as I was, We both used to bring in cassettes of albums to listen to, and to pass the time and boredom away. We went to quite a few concerts together, Hawkwind and early Marillion in particular. 
We worked together for 8 years, which as you get older seems no time at all. Redundancy beckoned, and we said our goodbyes, but kept in touch. Somehow, through redundancy and unemployment, I ended up working with Mervyn again, this time for 28 years until I threw the towel in October 2021. The last thing I said to Mervyn before he whizzed off to be with his girlfriend was that I'd keep in touch.
On the morning of 27th January 2022, I received a message from Simon, another good friend from the company, to tell me that Mervyn was very ill in hospital on the Isle of Wight, with secondary liver cancer, which turned out to be terminal. Apparently Mervyn became very ill just after Christmas and tests revealed his illness. I contacted Mervyn through facebook, I didn't know what to say, but that my thoughts were with him. He replied to say he'd try to keep me updated.
On 28th February, Simon contacted me to tell me that Mervyn had passed away the night before. It all seemed so topsy turvy, Mervyn was the sporty one and looked after himself. where as I haven't been that good to myself and recall stern warnings from Mervyn when I used to get into work like death warmed up. He used to say, 'You keep that up, I'll be going to your funeral!' How my lovely parents never noticed the state I was in at mornings I'll never know.
I was invited by Mervyn's girlfriend to write a bit about him for the celebrant to read during his funeral service, which of course I was delighted to do.
We said our final farewell to Mervyn on March 14th at the Isle of Wight Crematorium.
I very rarely compose tunes or songs with people in mind. Mervyn has always enthused in my music, so I have given a little bit back for all his kind words. Although, after listening, he would often pause before giving his verdict. Occasionally he would say "It's a bit long isn't it?" So this one dear Mervyn, is a short one, just for you xxx

MERVYN

A song I wrote in 1980. Originally recorded on the very first 4 track TEAC Portastudio, this version is digital. This song originally titled 'Field of Expressionless Faces', was written from a small boy's perspective of war. When it dawns on him that war is very real, and people get killed for the sake of their leader, country, and sometimes religion, and is not the fun and glamorous side of dressing up your GI Joe or Action Man and playing outdoors. However, just like  Action Men, our brave lads and lasses are sent out to war to be manipulated like toy soldiers by some great power.
In 1982, I was the small boy who woke up to the stark reality of battle, when the brother of a dear friend I had known since she was a little girl, was killed in action during the Battle for Mount Longdon on 12 June 1982. He was shot trying to save another soldier's life. 
For the benefit of the grammar police, I am well aware that the line 'I wish you could have run away!' should be 'ran away', as I said, this song is written from a small boy's perspective.

Here are the words:-

When we were young and we used to play
I never thought that I would see the day
That you’d have to fight in the grown up way
If you could speak I wonder what you’d say
But your name is on the call up written in blood, not ink
And although your eyes can scarcely blink
I’m sure I saw a tear run down your cheek
I wonder what you’d say if you could speak

Oh Action man, oh Action man
Does it have to be that way?
Oh Action man, oh Action man
I never thought I’d see the day

You’ve got no choice, you have to go
What would they’d do if we all said no?
Would they press-gang us, would they bully us so?
I guess that’s something that we’ll never know
No matter how they dress you, you’re all as one
Expressionless faces behind a gun
Different uniforms, but you’re all the same
Fighting for your God and country’s name

Oh Action man, oh Action man
Don’t you know you are a pawn?
Oh Action man, oh Action man
You may never see the dawn!

You’re manumotive, but there’s no manumit
Your only freedom is when you are hit
Then you're kissing the earth and biting the grit
But you’re a brave soldier ‘cause ya didn’t submit 
They say you’re disposable, they’ve got plenty more
That’s what army surplus means in the war
And the soldiers hanging dead from their armoured cars
Their only expressions made by battle scars 

Oh Action man, oh Action man
Did it have to be that way?
Oh Action man, oh Action man
I wish you could have run away!

Action Man is brave
Action Man is strong
Action Man is here, and he's wasting his time
Action Man is brave
Action Man is strong
Action Man is here, and he's wasting his time

Action man is made of nerves, he’s made of steel, he never dies, he’s made of plastic!

ACTION MAN

Music for my audio/video ad for Spigworth Pond

Spig Audio 2

spig audio 1

The soundtrack to my soon to be published video ad, to promote my new book Spigworth Pond. Voice-over actor David Shaw-Parker, with music and noises pour moi.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spigworth-Pond-John-Saunders-ebook/dp/B0152B37WY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449993145&sr=1-1&keywords=spigworth+pond

Spigaudiosoundtrack

Another blast from the past of my analogue days. I first uploaded this on Myspace around eight or so years ago. The song was recorded longer ago than that on 4 track tape. The song was criticized at times for it's muddy quality, use of a cheap analogue drum machine, being too depressing, or whatever else was thrown at it. The song however did attract enough attention to inspire my friend Hendrik Gardyn to paint a painting with the title Leaving the Ghetto. I'm afraid my poor photography in the image does not do this wonderful piece of art justice. 
This song was my attempt at making a song which is a little under 5 minutes long sound longer than it is, by making it out of many parts.

LEAVING THE GHETTO

Hi there Yuletide freaks,
Thanks to all who have turned up to hear my silly little Christmas medley, but for those of you that haven't, here are a few words of ill advice:>Yes that's right! Just when you thought things couldn't get much worse as the year is nearly over, Ol' Vernham has done it again. Yes, he's wheeled out that rusty old Chrimbopap... er... Chrimbopop tune again and plonked it on the top of his player. But for those of you that were fortunate enough to miss out last year, read on...
BAH HUMBUG by Old Uncle Eb and his Hah Bumhug Orchestra



That's torn it!, Vernham has sold out bigtime! Where once he vowed to never even think of doing a cover let alone play one, he's finally plummeted to the depths of depravity enough to plague you with Christmas Drivel ...
Yes it's that time of year in the Northern Hemisphere again folks!...Winter! And at this particular time of year people start getting ready to get drunk and broke for Christmas, I'd like to share some of this misery with you, with this sonic Christmas card. Think of it as that old baggy jumper Aunty knitted for you, but at least you wont have to wear it down the pub to be ridiculed by your well meaning friends on Boxing Day. So this is my gift to you then, this scritchy, scratchy recording free to air, why not share it with your friends so that you can annoy other people with it as well. But I go on too much!, so with no further ado, I'd like to present to you "Old Uncle Eb and his Hah Bumhug Orchestra" with his $ hit number ... BAH HUMBUG!
Old Uncle Eb limps up on stage, spits on the head of a small boy, grabs hold of the poor child's Action Man, bites its head off and leers at his terrified orchestra (Will they, won't they get paid?). Yes he's ready chums, guitar strapped on, lead plugged in, runs his fingerless mitts through his filthy silver hair and..."No, it's horrid !, make it go away Mummy, please?".
For those among you not familiar with the term 'Bumhug', it's something not to do to a person that's been eating sprouts this Christmas.
I thank you!
HAPPY CHRISTMAS EACH AND EVERY, AND AN EQUALLY FANTASMIC NEW YEAR, AND IF YOU DON'T CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS FOR WHATEVER REASON, HAVE A WELL DESERVED BREAK FROM ALL THAT GROUND YOU DOWN THIS YEAR BEFORE WE ALL HAVE TO GO AND DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN NEXT YEAR,
Love John.

BAH HUMBUG by OLD UNCLE EB AND THE HAH BUMHUG BAND

This a piece I have recorded for the intro to my audio story 'Sea Breeze', soon to be uploaded here for your perusal.

Unknown album (1/14/2018 6:58:38 AM)

Sea Breeze Intro

This piece is the outro for my audio story Sea Breeze soon to be uploaded for your perusal.

Unknown album (1/14/2018 9:12:32 AM)

Sea Breeze Outro

A story I have written with radio play in mind. Think 'tales of the unexpected' but sillier.  This is the first time ever that I've read any of my stories, normally I prefer to ask David Shaw-Parker. David, as I write is treading the boards as Father O'Hara in Some Mothers Do 'ave 'em with Joe Pasquale. I will most likely ask David to read for me a proper version of this, as I have made a right pig's ear with my past and present tense at the beginning. I am still however very proud of this and consider it a learning curve to actually read the script rather than trying to remember it.

Iris Campbell, a guest house proprietor in Chinmouth on the coast of South Devon, agrees to pose as a life model for artist Rupert McAdam in her guest house. Iris soon discovers that she has made a huge mistake.
Music by me.
Sound effects courtesy of You Tube and Pond 5.

Unknown album (2/3/2018 11:40:11 AM)

SEA BREEZE (A 'Tales of the Unexpected' type story, but sillier.

Highly talented, fine actor (I prefer the term 'actress' as it sounds supreme) Joanne Rothery reads the latest short story by John Saunders. 
https://www.mandy.com/u/joanne-rothery/
Mrs Emily Bunkerton, much loved elderly resident of the village of Vernham hasn't been seen for quite a while; there is obviously some concern for fellow Vernhamites...
Music and noises by me

NEIGHBOURHOOD WATCH

My name is John Saunders, I am a songwriter and musician (for want of a better terminology) and I am the author of 'The Vernham Chronicles' my first novel. This page is a place where I shall be uploading songs and instrumentals that are designed to accompany an audio version of my book should the opportunity arise.
There are 3 instrumentals here not connected with The Vernham Chronicles and come from my murky past as part of an ongoing body of work called 'Filmless Soundtracks' that hails from the early 1980s.
The Vernham Chronicles’, John Saunders’ first book, is a charming light comedy with a schoolboy sense of humour that is perhaps a little dark around the edges at times, it features twelve chapters, ten of which detail a day or event in the life throughout a year of a little fantasy village called Vernham. Two chapters are dedicated to complete and utter nonsense, one recounting characters and events of Vernham past (Of Idiosyncrasies, Ideas and Idiots), the other details the farcical happenings in the Vernham native’s lives (Vernham Gossip Update).
‘The Vernham Chronicles’ confuses fact with fiction, merging historical events with complete fabrication. It is written as a narrative in the present tense, with the odd recycled joke, in a children’s story style which is often sarcastic, and the occasional digression and flashback to previous events that explain the reasons behind the current situation.
The little village of Vernham, buried deep in the Vernbury Vale, is a hive of activity with its natives going about their everyday business in sometimes less than conventional ways. Almost frozen in time, where its populace struggle to come to terms with the modern day, Vernham village refuses to recognise the £1 coin, only £1 notes are accepted in its shops. For visitors to Vernham, or ‘Spruggles’ as the Vernhamites call them, the £1 notes are printed in the city of Busted at the back of a Bureau de Change, where the exchange rate is £1.20p to £1 note, and when the need to change notes back to coins arises you’ll only get 80p in return for your £1 note. The characters are all a bit odd, there is the local Bobby PC Fred Sweetman who has a strange habit which is revealed in chapter two, a Fire Chief that is irresponsible with matches, Mrs Bunkerton who’s been recently widowed seven years ago as she tells everybody every day, she also suffers from a strange obsessive compulsive disorder and irritable bowel syndrome, but we won’t mention too much about the latter. A very alcoholic Reverend Parsworthy, always collecting for the Church door fund, and spending the proceeds in the local pub ’The Grummet and Nut’, the door never gets bought. And the star ‘Mr Robson the counterfeit Scotsman’, seemingly ubiquitous and irritating, convinced of his Scottish ancestry and past lives after he had a dream about Rabbie Burns, which he wrongly refers to as his ‘post monition‘, a warning after the event. Mr Robson of course has always been a Vernhamite, as were all of his ancestors, he’s quite mad. The final chapter sees Mr Robson realising his Celtic dream at a Christmas party, in a sad but very sweet way.
<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vernham-Chronicles-John-Saunders/dp/1907499598/ref" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vernham-Chronicles-John-Saunders/dp/1907499598/ref</a>=sr_1_1?s=books&amp;ie=UTF8&amp;qid=1317379163&amp;sr=1-1

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Vernham Chronicles (John Saunders)

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