SIGH NO MORE

This Noel Coward revue opened at the Piccadilly Theatre in London on August 22, 1945 and ran for 213 performances.  It was written, composed and directed by Noel Coward.  It starred Cyril Ritchard, his wife Madge Elliott and Joyce Grenfell.

In Manchester, a sketch, JAPANESE SPIES, with Madge Elliott and Cyril Ritchard was included, but did not make it to London.

Click here for a photo of  THE BURCHELLS OF BATTERSEA RISE.  My friend John Groushko has kindly provided me with the lyrics for this:

We are those people who seldom make fusses, You see us in tubes and in trams and in buses, We couldn't be classed as 'Noblesse', Nevertheless We're not so humble, Any observer who's really observant Can see how we flinch at the phrase 'Civil Servant', The Government fools us, Bureaucracy rules us, But still we mustn't grumble, We're the class that they take for a ride, Still we say with commendable pride: We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise, We're the backbone of England and proud of the fact, Though in utter confusion we're frequently hurled By political views from the News of the World We're supposed to be solid and wise Though we don't hold with boasting out loud of the fact. If the workers unite We'll be Left and quite Right And cry, 'Oh what a surprise For the Burchells of Battersea Rise!'Though we're fed up with restrictions and strictures We learn about life from the Press and the Pictures So all our inaccurate views You must excuse And rise above them. Having survived over five years of war If the National Government wants an encore We shall pray that it warms up And fill some more forms up To prove how much we love them, Though we're dead against rocking the boat Still we hold the majority vote. We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise, We believe every word that we read in the Press, When encouraged to argue and stick out our chins We go off at half-cock and Bureaucracy wins, We resent and detest and despise Being talked of as THIS HAPPY BREED in the Press, If the author we meet We'd be happy to greet Him with two lovely black eyes From the Burchells of Battersea Rise. We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise And we see at least four Double-Features a week, To American war films we'd rather not go For we say, 'How by Golly would Hollywood know?’ If they have people in to advise We can only surmise that their teachers are weak, Though we've seen many actors Win through through Max Factor's We can't hand them a prize From the Burchells of Battersea Rise.

We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise And we've written and written and written again To some local official who Dad seems to think Might concede us a permit to build a new sink, We've already had several tries, It's as bad as the Battle of Britain again, Though we've drawn up the plans We shall sit on our cans Till the old bastard replies To the Burchells of Battersea Rise. We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise And we all believed firmly in 'Peace-in-our-time', We heard speeches from Germans and Eyeties and Frogs, No one knew what they meant so we went to the dogs And the Government told us such lies, We've heard plenty of cackling old geese in our time, We were mugs to agree But in future we'll see That they don't capitalize On the Burchells of Battersea Rise. We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise And when foreigners murmur, 'We hope you're all right,' How we wish that they'd buzz off and leave us alone For we live chock-a-block in an occupied zone With the land full of alien spies. Poor old England's a bleeding Utopia all right, We've got Bishops and Peers Who will burst into tears If the Huns won't fraternize With the Burchells of Battersea Rise. We're the Burchells of Battersea Rise And we're faced with a dismal selection again, We may find if we swallow the Socialist bait That a simple head cold is controlled by the State, Though we know Winston Churchill is wise And we'd love him to win the election again, If he's forced to say 'Yes' To the Beaverbrook press There'll be loud animal cries From the Burchells of Battersea Rise.

In his autobiography, Alan Melville wrote:  The greatest lyric-writers of the past half-century are Coward and Farjeon.  In his revue SIGH NO MORE, Coward wrote a brilliant lyric called 'Nina'; it was about a lady from Argentina who was mad about dancing the samba and fell in love with a sailor with a wooden leg.  As well as being very funny, it was filled to capacity with double and triple rhymes; it had such a verbal rhythm to it that it hardly needed music; I envied it.  (This number was sung by Cyril Ritchard.)

NINA (by Noel Coward)

Senorita Nina From Argentina Knew all the answers, Although her relatives and friends were perfect dancers She swore she'd never dance a step until she died. She said, 'I've seen too many movies And all they prove is Too idiotic, They all insist that South America's exotic Whereas it couldn't be more boring if it tried. She added firmly that she hated The sound of soft guitars beside a still lagoon, She also positively stated That she could not abide a Southern Moon, She said with most refreshing candour That she thought Carmen Miranda Was subversive propaganda And should rapidly be shot, She said she didn't care a jot If people quoted her or not! She refused to begin the Beguine When they requested it And she made an embarrassing scene If anyone suggested it For she detested it. Though no one ever could be keener Than little Nina On quite a number Of very eligible men who did the Rumba When they proposed to her she simply left them flat. She said that love should be impulsive But not convulsive And syncopation Has a discouraging effect on procreation And that she'd rather read a hook-and that was that! Senorita Nina From Argentina Despised the Tango And though she never was a girl to let a man go She wouldn't sacrifice her principles for sex. She looked with scorn on the gyrations Of her relations Who danced the Conga And swore that if she had to stand it any longer She'd lose all dignity and wring their silly necks!

She said that frankly she was blinded To all their over-advertised romantic charms And then she got more bloody-minded And told them where to put their tropic palms. She said I hate to be pedantic But it drives me nearly frantic When I see that unromantic Sycophantic Lot of sluts For ever wriggling their guts, It drives me absolutely nuts! She declined to begin the Beguine Though they besought her to And in language profane and obscene She cursed the man who taught her to, She cursed Cole Porter too! From this it's fairly clear that Nina In her demeanour Was so offensive That when the hatred of her friends grew too intensive She thought she'd better beat it while she had the chance. After some trial and tribulation She reached the station And met a sailor Who had acquired a wooden leg in Venezuela And so she married him because he couldn’t dance! There surely never could have been a More irritating girl than Nina, They never speak in Argentina Of this degenerate bambina Who had the luck to find romance But resolutely wouldn't dance! She wouldn't dance! Hola!!

Visit my Joyce Grenfell webpage at http://judyharris.net/grenfell.htm

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