Tales from the Tour

Adventures, Antics, and Ales with The Rusty Tubs

As the rascals of the UK shanty scene, we’ve sung in storms, beer tents, and the occasional questionable pub corner and over the years, we’ve had some proper laughs along the way. From the high seas of festival chaos to the late-night singarounds that no one quite remembers starting, we’ve seen things that probably shouldn’t have happened, but did anyway. Here are a few of our favourite tales of Tubs' triumphs, near disasters, and the sort of camaraderie that only comes from too much travel and not enough sleep…

…and maybe the odd beer or twelve!

Athletic Pursuits (and Questionable Choices)

We’re a lively bunch on stage, sometimes, too lively!

Take Oostende 2025: the crowd was electric, the song at its climax, and Alfie and Matthew decided to jump into the audience to get everyone clapping along. Unfortunately, they had to pass Dave, whose well-documented enthusiastic arm-swinging nearly took their heads off. Dodging a fist nearly made Alfie do a backflip! Thankfully, there were no broken noses, and the only sore heads that weekend were from the lashings of Belgian beer.

Then there was Bristol 2025. During the Saturday night set at Underfall Yard, Matthew had climbed a sturdy wooden bench to lead a chorus. Come Sunday afternoon at The Great Eastern Hall, there were only flimsy school chairs for him to clamber on. Undeterred, he attempted the same stunt. The chair wobbled, the crowd gasped, and gravity very nearly claimed another Rusty Tub. Lesson learned... for now.

But nothing beats The Stingray Incident at Harwich 2024. After a packed gig, the crowd demanded an encore. In a moment of inspiration (or madness), we dashed out the back door, sprinted through the restaurant next door, and burst back in through the front! What we hadn’t planned for was having to fight through our own audience to reach the stage. We’d also neglected to tell Paul about this stunt, so he stood alone, looking utterly baffled as we reappeared like a rogue tide. Timing, as they say, is everything.

Love and Lust for The Rusty Tubs

The year is 2024; the place, a packed beer tent. A rowdy crowd, and a level of enthusiasm fuelled as much by beer as by melody. Alfie, our resident innocent, found himself the target of a particularly forward fan. Between verses, she was making gestures that would’ve made a sailor blush. “Oh, I like ’em young and sweet!” she shouted.

We, being the supportive bandmates we are, egged him on, but poor Alfie looked like he wanted the stage to swallow him whole (Or at least that's what he maintains).

The next morning, while we looked for breakfast, Mark and Dave spotted the lusty woman, clearly worse for wear but soldiering on behind a counter now selling bacon baps. Seeing the opportunity, they sent an unsuspecting Alfie to queue up. He drew slowly closer to the front until the moment arrived. Their eyes locked over the sizzling bacon, and their cheeks blushed an identical shade of scarlet. She opened her mouth to speak as we leaned in to eavesdrop - was romance in the air? “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed. “I’m married!” The rest of us nearly choked on our coffee. Alfie, bless him, still can’t face a breakfast queue without checking who’s serving...

The bar is just over the horizon in this picture.

Fast forward to Harwich 2025, our last set of the weekend, out on the pier. Spirits were high, voices strong, and the crowd lively. It was the sort of gig where you can feel the wood vibrating under your boots. Midway through the set, Dave began introducing the band members and, helpfully, pointing out who was single.

At that moment, a woman in the audience, perhaps mid-forties, leaned forward and shouted to Jack, who’d just celebrated his nineteenth birthday earlier that month, “I’ll be your Mrs Robinson!”

There was a beat of silence, followed by a roar of laughter and applause. Jack froze, face a perfect picture of alarm and disbelief. We carried on singing, barely holding it together while the crowd cheered.

After the set, the teasing began immediately. Jack’s still not sure whether to be flattered or frightened, but it’s fair to say no one’s sung “Here’s to you, Mrs Robinson” around him since.

Sadly, both Alfie and Jack are too young and innocent to know when they’re onto a good thing. Richard, on the other hand, would never have such problems.

Two Hours’ Sleep and a Full Workday

After Appingedam, we faced the most heroic feat of endurance in Rusty Tubs' history: an overnight trek from the Netherlands back to England, complete with a missed ferry, motorway coffee, and delirious laughter. Eighteen hours later, Mark and Dave arrived home around 5 a.m., just enough time for a shower before heading straight to work.

Now, you might imagine they’d take the day off. But no. Both are teachers, meant to be pillars of respectability. Mark walked into school, head held high, pretending nothing was amiss. Enter Dave. Within seconds of seeing the head teacher, he blurted out, “We’ve only had two hours’ sleep!”

The head looked at Mark with that weary expression teachers usually reserve for their most troublesome pupils. Disappointed in Mark, but unsurprised by Dave.

Jack’s driving lessons have been going well, or so he claims…

Strike the Bell

Our song “Strike the Bell” has a simple enough ending: Paul shouts out “Strike the bloody bell!” and rings an old last-orders bell, a relic from when Richard was a landlord, to mark the end of the song.

Just before one set, at The Crown Post during Harwich 2025, he forgot to get the bell from the bag and dashed off to fetch it moments before we started. His sudden exit caught the attention of the packed audience, so, naturally, we decided to make the most of it. While he was gone, we primed everyone that when he finally rang the bell, they were to shout “Bellend!”

He returned, triumphant, and at the end of Strike the Bell gave it a mighty ring. The packed room erupted: “Bellend! BELLEND!!”

The look of confusion on his face was priceless. It took him a few beats to realise what had happened and a few more to forgive us. The audience loved it. Paul… eventually did.

The Harwich Toilet Block

It’s not all high drama and high notes; sometimes it’s just high jinks. Same festival, late-night singaround at the Boat Club. We were in fine voice, swapping songs in the bar and sinking pint after pint of Guinness.

All those fine beverages naturally led to nature’s call. So Mark and Matt strode out of the bar and into the vast toilet block and changing rooms.

We laughed and talked about the sets we’d nailed earlier that day and our excitement for the next day’s performance.

But then came disaster. When we tried to leave, the door was bolted shut from the other side. We checked for another exit, but this was the only one. The only other potential escape routes were those high, tiny windows you get in places like this. Matt’s been on a diet, but he’s still a long way from squeezing through any window, and Mark, to be blunt, probably couldn’t reach.

For fifteen long minutes, we were trapped laughing, shouting, and mildly panicking, resigned to our new life in the changing rooms.

Then came salvation. The door swung open to reveal Dave, wearing a sly, self-satisfied grin. Our imprisonment hadn’t been an accident at all; it'd been a prank.

It was all in good fun, of course, though we’ve since made a strict rule: never let Dave near a latch after dark… or too much Guinness.

Last Orders

From beer tents to toilet blocks, every gig seems to leave us with another story. We’ve sung in the rain, sprinted through restaurants, survived ferry crossings, and narrowly avoided being decapitated by our own bandmates. Through it all, we’ve learned that sea shanties are best sung with laughter and that there’s no better crew to weather it with.

So here’s to more music, mayhem, and memories in the year ahead. If you’ve ever caught one of our sets and witnessed your own bit of Rusty Tubs chaos, we’d love to hear it. Until then, keep your chairs sturdy, your bells handy, and your mothers away from Jack and Alfie!