Sup Up an’ Get Out

‘SUP UP AN’ GET OUT’ ’ (Where's That Song From? Part 2)

By Zeke Deighton

The Story Behind the Song:

One April evening in the early 1970s I had a call from John Burrill, the driving force behind Knaresborough Folk Club, held at that time every Friday in The Commercial pub. John was inviting me and a few other Pateley Bridge singers (who were also strong supporters of the Knaresborough club) to a ‘celebration evening’. We were to celebrate a very successful year at John's club, and he was rewarding regular singers by putting a quite substantial sum of money behind the bar of The Commercial ... for us to steadily work our way through the following Wednesday night. A lively evening of singing and meeting up with old friends was promised.

On the appointed night a group of us - including Bob Thomas, Tony Bayliss, Alan McAvoy and other Watermill regulars - arrived in Knaresborough for a good night. By about 9 pm the money behind the bar had gone, and from then on we were paying our own way ... but we didn't mind ... the songs and tunes were flowing in one corner of the bar, and other folks were gathered in groups, catching up on times gone by.

In those days strict licensing laws were strictly adhered to by landlords - particularly in the towns and cities. We were all used to the cry of ‘Last Orders’ shortly before closing time was a thing ... though all too often it seemed to come when the evening was at its best! Hardened drinkers would then purchase 2 or 3 pints, and get them all down before ‘supping up time’ which was ten minutes later. There were heavy penalties for landlords and customers caught drinking after ‘Time’ had been called. In country areas (particularly high up in the Dales) the rules and landlords tended to be a little more relaxed. 

On this joyous night in Knaresborough, the bell was rung at 10.20 pm and the cry of ‘Last orders, please’ rang out across the room. I got Jan and myself another drink and set about drinking this last pint before the cry of ‘Let's have your glasses, please’ would ring out at the 10.40 supping up time. With about five minutes to go before this deadline however, a chap appeared at our table and said “Right. You. Get that beer supped off and get on your way.” 

“Who are you?" I asked, a bit surprised at his sudden appearance and aggressive manner. “I'm the Landlord” he announced. This was a bit of a surprise to me, as we hadn't seen him all night and, in my book, a landlord should be there throughout the night, looking after his customers in one way or another. I told the newcomer what I thought and gave him a few hints on how he should treat his customers and run his pub. He proceeded to tell us how he had been upstairs all night and had just come down to empty the tills! You can imagine what I thought of this information, and gave him a few more hints on landlord and customer relations. 

By this time, supping up had been called, so I gave him my almost full pint pot and went off in search of the rest of the Nidderdale group. As we left I noticed our hard working host standing by the bar and, not wishing to part-on unfriendly terms, I apologised to him for speaking my mind. This fell on largely deaf ears as he retorted “You've had too much to drink, that's your trouble” “That may be so,” I replied, “but your staff were eager enough to sell it to me.” As we made our way back up Nidderdale, our sober (non-drinking) driver and the rest of the car’s occupants had to listen to me giving my long-held opinions on British licensing laws ... and on strict landlords who obeyed them to the letter ... and often treated their customers as unwanted riff-raff at the end of the night.

Once we'd arrived home I had settled down a bit and, before retiring for the night I decided to visit the loo. Whilst on the seat of learning I thought over the evening’s events, and very quickly the words to a song began to form in my head. Now, I am not what is today called a ‘singer-songwriter’, and practically all my repertoire consists of traditional material. Over the years I have made-up all of four songs; I can't really say I've written them ... but I digress ... 

As I sat there, the words flowed from my lips and I scribbled them down on the handy pieces of paper found in this small room. I entitled the song Sup Up an’ Get Out, and set it (loosely) to the tune of the traditional Scottish song A Pair o' Nicky Tams. The whole process took about 20 minutes, and I sang the song the following Monday at my Watermill club.

I'm pleased with the song, and consider it the best of my literary works. It's a protest song, I suppose, and it always goes down well. Even almost 50 years after the event, I'll often see nods of understanding, approval or recognition from older members of the audience. Younger people (brought up on much freer pub rules) don't quite understand it, but - who knows - after the trials, tribulations, lock downs and curfews of Covid19, they perhaps they might. [Mind, the old, rebellious me agrees with all the rules and regulations we have been subjected to recently!] I even sang the song one night at Knaresborough Folk Club ... even though the landlord had banned me a year earlier. He didn't recognise me, but he wouldn't, would he?

So, here is the song, and if you find you can sing it, then please do ... but don't forget to say who made it up, where you got it from and how the song came about. Cheers.  

Sup Up and Get Out        Tune (loosely): A pair o' Nicky Tams

One night my wife an’ I an' some friends, we went out for a drink

The evening passed off pleasantly, as you would surely think

But then that terrible time drew nigh - the time that we all fear

They called last orders, then they said “It's time to sup yer beer!”

Well I picked me pint up slowly an, I tried to sup the lot

But suddenly the air was rent with “Get that beer supped off”

“Get it all supped off, I said ... or get yer sen outside”

I turned and there I spied the Landlord, standing by my side

So I tried to drink it quickly, but a thought come to my head

“The law is right - I do suppose - but what was that you said

“Get it all supped off” I said “or get yer sen outside

“I've got the law to keep up to - an' besides I've got my pride”

I gave him my unfinished drink an’ said “Well summat’s wrong

“I've spent me money here all night, but now I don't belong

“You've got two hands to tek me brass an’ a till to keep it in

“Now those same hands chuck me outside, then count up all yer tin”

As I walked out quite slowly, well I saw him standing there

“I'm sorry” I said “for my bad manners”. He said “I don't really care

“You've had too much, too much to drink, as far as I can see ...”

“Oh well” I said “that's all your fault, for selling too much to me”

Now if he'd been a butcher ... or a baker ... or a smith

Would he treat his customers as though they were just filth?

Would he say “Now get outside, no meat, no bread, no nails”?

If he did, I can tell you this - he’d get no more ruddy sales

So come all ye fiery publicans an’ list what I do say

Remember where the drinking man doth choose to spend his pay

If he enjoys his night with you, he'll come back to your place

So don’t bite the hand that feeds you and don’t kick him in the face

Zeke Deighton (April 1973)