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Palaces of Gold

[Leon Rosselson]

Leon Rosselson sang his own song Palaces of Gold in 1968 on his album A Laugh, a Song, and a Hand-Grenade and in 1975 as title track of his LP Palaces of Gold; the latter recording can currently be found on his CD RosselSonGs.

Martin Carthy sang Palaces of Gold on his 1976 album Crown of Horn and as the B-side of his only single, Bonny Lass of Anglesey. This recording was also included in 1993 on The Collection and in 2001 on The Carthy Chronicles. He commented in his original album's sleeve notes:

Leon Rosselson wrote Palaces of Gold when the news came out about the pit heap disaster at Aberfan and feelings that had been floating around for a very long time overflowed.

This video shows Roy Bailey singing Palaces of Gold accompanied by Martin Simpson at Loughborough Folk Festival in 2008:

Jon Boden sang Palaces of Gold as the April 9, 2011 entry of his project A Folk Song a Day. He commented in his blog:

An amazing song this, written by Leon Rosselson, whose lack of national treasure status is shameful. Ian Giles sings this and it was always a big song at the Half Moon. I also recently saw Roy Bailey perform it, which was something special.

Lady Maisery sang Palaces of Gold in 2013 on their CD Mayday. And they sang it at Shepley Spring Festival on May 18, 2013:

Lyrics

If the sons of company directors,
And judges' private daughters,
Had to got to school in a slum school,
Dumped by some joker in a damp back alley,
Had to herd into classrooms cramped with worry,
With a view onto slagheaps and stagnant pools,
Had to file through corridors grey with age,
And play in a crackpot concrete cage.

Chorus (after each verse):
Buttons would be pressed,
Rules would be broken.
Strings would be pulled
And magic words spoken.
Invisible fingers would mould
Palaces of gold.

If prime ministers and advertising executives,
Royal personages and bank managers' wives
Had to live out their lives in dank rooms,
Blinded by smoke and the foul air of sewers.
Rot on the walls and rats in the cellars,
In rows of dumb houses like mouldering tombs.
Had to bring up their children and watch them grow
In a wasteland of dead streets where nothing will grow.

I'm not suggesting any kind of a plot,
Everyone knows there's not,
But you unborn millions might like to be warned
That if you don't want to be buried alive by slagheaps,
Pit-falls and damp walls and rat-traps and dead streets,
Arrange to be democratically born
The son of a company director
Or a judge's fine and private daughter.

Acknowledgements

Transcription by Wolfgang Hell, put up by Garry Gillard, who made changes.