When it’s Over it’s Over


From The Album India

When it’s over, it’s over, there’ll be no more curtain calls
Senses are still glowing from the thrill of it all
The heart is still aching from words set on fire
Voices still shaking a seat that never tires

When it’s over it’s over, but the memory never fades
Echoes from a distant past, fill the empty stage
Comforting the restless soul, helping get through the night
When eyes are closed what really counts is what remains in sight

There’s a young boy and his mother living each day as it comes
Cold and hungry, sometimes scared, sometimes out of turn
The greatest gift she ever gave was to make him see
If you have theatre in your life, a rich man you will be

When it’s over it’s over, a man sits alone
A life of fulfilment with a family of his own
But each week in a theatre seat, the man becomes a boy
A mother in his heart and a life that’s filled with joy

THE STORY BEHIND THE SONG

My father was born in 1920 and grew up in a slum in Lambeth, South London. Grandfather Nemo was more interested in playing cards than earning a living, so my grandmother struggled to bring up their five children. Being the youngest son, my father was by far the favourite, so one day as a special treat, his mother took him to the theatre. It was the start of a lifelong love affair, and as hard as things were, she always managed to find the money to pursue his passion.

My parents regularly went to the theatre until my mother’s poor health prevented her from going, and I took her place. Dad and I used to go regularly to the Duke of York theatre in Brighton until shortly before he died aged ninety-three. In his later years, he found it difficult to get up and down from his seat when people wanted to get past, so he reserved a box which was a surprisingly reasonable price. He insisted on having lunch out and a glass of wine before the play, so he always slept through the first half of the performance, but it didn’t deter from his enjoyment of the outing.