In the time before TV, houses surrounding a yard, no sound systems, everybody had a 'turn' they could do, jugs of ale, laughter, tears. 'All round to our John and Nora's next week!'
lyrics
Well every Saturday, if you were down our way
You'd find us in the parlour by the fire
Uncles and aunts would call, cousins and nieces all
Prepared to do a party piece, but not to arty,
Please we'd say, let Uncle Jackson play
He'd take down his battered old guitar
He only had one song, he could play all night long
The only words he knew were la la la
The pianola played, we drank the lemonade
All the grown-ups drank the stout and ale
Then we'd form our queues outside the outside loos
That served for twenty four but on Saturday for more
And then we'd go to bed but in our weary head
We heard the songs the others sang below
And the last we'd hear, sweet and clear
Was Uncle Jackson playing soft and low