Song of the Stage Hands

We work in the wings at various things That nobody sees from the stalls
You don't think of us unless there's a fuss, and bits of the scenery falls.

But what would be seen of the old Fairy Queen, if the Palace came down on her head?
The actors may bark but if they're in the dark It don't matter what Shakespeare said.

It's the same thing wherever you go, the bloke in the front gets the show.

But where would he be if it wasn't for we -
Working away in the wings?

It looks all serene: you see a new scene, from the bed-chamber, say to the yacht.
But you'd change your mind, if you came round behind, and saw what a job we have got.

We lower the mast, but the damn thing sticks fast. The rigging is foul of the punt.
We push houses round, but we don't make a sound, For the hero's proposing in front

And then, when we change to the wood,
With the moon coming up as it should,
Well, give us a hand, the invisible band
Working away in the wings.

But still we're all proud, that we're part of the crowd That's pulling the jolly old strings:
For, bless you, we know we're as much in the show As the fellow who dances or sings.

We've got no bouquets, and they don't wait for days To see us come out of the door.
We can't write a play, but if we go away There won't be no plays any more.

Though we bark we don't bite, it'll be right on the night.

Enjoy yourselves, do, for we'll see you through,
Working away in the wings.

By Sir Alan Herbert
Originally posted to rec.arts.theatre.stagecraft by Lynda McLean