Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of

        THE WAR OF THE WORLDS

    To my Father, this rendering of his idea

    THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS

    THE EVE OF THE WAR

JOURNALIST: No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space. No one could have dreamed we were being scruntinized, as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely, they drew their plans against us.
    At night on the twelfth of August, a huge mass of luminous gas erupted from Mars and sped towards Earth. Across two hundred million miles of void, invisibly hurtling towards us, came the first of the missiles that were to bring so much calamity to Earth. As I watched, there was another jet of gas. It was another missile, starting on its way.
    And that's how it was for the next ten nights. A flare, spurting out from Mars - bright green, drawing a green mist behind it - a beatiful, but somehow disturbing sight. Ogilvy, the astronomer, assured me we were in no danger. He was convinced there could be no living thing on that remote, forbidding planet.
    "The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one," he said.
    "The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one - but still they come!"
JOURNALIST: Then came the night the first missile approached Earth. It was thought to be an ordinary falling star, but the next day there wa s ahuge crater in the middle of the common, and Ogilvy came to examine what lay there: a cylinder, thirty yards across, glowing hot. . . and with faint sounds of movement coming from within.
    Suddenly the top began moving, rotating, unscrewing, and Ogilvy feared there was a man inside, trying to escape. He rushed to the cylinder, but the immense heat stopped him before he could burn himself on the metal.
    "The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one," he said.
    "The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one - but still they come!"
    "Yes, the chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one," he said.
    "The chances of anything coming from Mars are a million to one - but still they come!"
    It seems totally incredible to me now that everyone spent that evening as though it were just like any other.
    From the railway station came the sound of shunting trains, ringing and rumbling, softened almost into melody by the distance.
    It all seemed so safe and tranquil.

    HORSELL COMMON AND THE HEAT RAY

JOURNALIST: Next morning, a crowd gathered on the Common, hypnotized by the unscrewing of the cylinder. Two feet of shining screw projected when, suddenly, the lid fell off.
    Two luminous, disc-like eyes appeared above the rim. A huge, rounded bulk, larger than a bear, rose up slowly, glistening like wet leather. Its lipless mouth quivered and slavered - and snake-like tentacles writhed as the clumsy body heaved and pulsated.
    A few young men crept closer to the pit. A tall funnel rose, then an invisible ray of heat leapt from man to man and there was a bright glare, as each was instantly turned to fire. Every tree and bush became a mass of flames at the touch of this savage, unearthly Heat Ray.
    People clawed their way off the Common, and I tan too. I felt I was being toyed with, that when I was on the very verge of safety, this mysterious death would leap after me and strike me down. At last I reached Maybury Hill and in the dim coolness of my home I wrote an account for my newspaper before I sank into a restless, haunted sleep.
    I awoke to alien sounds of hammering from the pit, and hurried to the railway station to buy the paper.
    Around me, the daily routine of life - working, eating, sleeping - was continuing serenely, as it had for countless years.
    On Horsell Common, the Martians continued hammering and stirring, sleepless, indefatigable, at work upon the machines they were making. Now and again a light, like the beam of a warship's searchlight, swept the Common - and the Heat Ray was ready to follow.
    In the afternoon, a company of soldiers came through and deployed along the edge of the Common, to form a cordon.
    That evening, there was a violent crash and I realized with horror that my home was now within range of the Martian's Heat Ray.
    At dawn, a falling star with a trail of green mist landed with a flash like summer lightning. This was the second cylinder.

    THE ARTILLERYMAN AND THE FIGHTING MACHINE

JOURNALIST: The hammering from the pit and the pounding of guns grew louder. My fear rose at the sound of someone creeping into the house. Then I saw it was a young artilleryman, weary, streaked with blood and dirt.
ARTILLERYMAN: Anyone here?
JOURNALIST: Come in. Here - drink this.
ARTILLERYMAN: Thank you.
JOURNALIST: What's happened?
ARTILLERYMAN: They wiped us out. Hundreds dead - maybe thousands.
JOURNALIST: The Heat Ray
ARTILLERYMAN: The Martians! They were inside the hoods of machines they'd made - massive metal things on legs! Giant machines that walked - they attacked us! They wiped us out!
JOURNALIST: Machines?
ARTILLERYMAN: Fighting Machines! Picking up men and bashing 'em against trees. Just hunks of metal, but they knew exactly what they were doing.
JOURNALIST: Mmm. There was another cylinder came last night.
ARTILLERYMAN: Yes. It looked bound for London.
JOURNALIST: London! Carrie! I hadn't dreamed there could be danger to Carrie and her father, so many miles away. I must go to London at once.
ARTILLERYMAN: And me. Got to report to Headquarters - if there's anything left of it.
JOURNALIST: At Byfleet we came upon an Inn, but it was deserted
ARTILLERYMAN: Is everybody dead?
JOURNALIST: Not everybody. Look! Six cannons with gunners standing by.
ARTILLERYMAN: It's bows and arrows against the lightning. They haven't seen the Heat Ray yet.
JOURNALIST: We hurried along the road to Weybndge. Suddenly, there was a heavy explosion. The ground heaved, windows shattered and gusts of smoke erupted into the air
ARTILLERYMAN: Look! There they are! What did I tell you?
JOURNALIST: Quickly, one after the other, four of the Fighting Machines appeared. Monstrous tripods, higher than the tallest steeple, striding over the pine trees and smashing them. Walking engines of glittering metal. Each carried a huge funnel and I realized with horror that I'd seen this awful thing before.
    A fifth Machine appeared on the far bank. It raised itself to full height, flourished the funnel high in the air - and the ghostly, terrible Heat Ray struck the town
JOURNALIST: As it struck, all five Fighting Machines exulted, emitting deafening howls which roared like thunder.
MARTIANS: Ulla! Ulla!
JOURNALIST: The six guns we had seen now fired simultaneously, decapitating a Fighting Machine. The Martian inside the hood was slain, splashed to the four winds, and the body, nothing now but an intricate device of metal, went whirling to destruction. As the other Monsters advanced, people ran away blindly, the Artilleryman among them, but I jumped into the water and hid until forced up to breathe. Now the guns spoke again, but this time the Heat Ray sent them to oblivion.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: With a white flash, the Heat Ray swept across the river. Scalded, half-blinded and agonized, I staggered through leaping, hissing water towards the shore. I fell helplessly, in full sight of the Martians, expecting nothing but death. The foot of a Fighting Machine came down close to my head, then lifted again, as the four Martians carried away the debris of their fallen comrade. . . and I realized that by a miracle. I had escaped.
MARTIANS: Ulla! Ulla! Ulla!

    FOREVER AUTUMN AND THE THUNDERCHILD

JOURNALIST: For three days I fought my way along roads packed with refugees, the homeless, burdened with boxes and bundles containing their valubles. All that was of value to me was in London, but by the time I reached their little red-brick house, Carrie and her father were gone.

    FOREVER AUTUMN

    The summer sun is fading as the year grows old
And darker days are drawing near
The winter winds will be much colder
Now you're not here.
    I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you're not here.
    Like the sun through the trees you came to love me
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away
    Through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
'cause you're not here
'cause you re not here
'cause you're not here
JOURNALIST: Fire suddenly leapt from house to house, the population panicked and ran - and I was swept along with them, aimless and lost without Carrie. Finally, I headed Eastward for the ocean, and my only hope of survival - a boat out of England.
    Like the sun through the trees you came to love me
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away. 
A gentle rain falls softly on my weary eyes
    As if to hide a lonely tear
My life will be Forever Autumn
'cause you're not here
'cause you're not here
'cause you're not here
JOURNALIST: As I hastened through Covernt, Garden, Blackfriars and Billingsgate, more and more people joined the painful exodus. Sad, weary women, their children stumbling and streaked with tears, their men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars and outcasts. Dogs snarled and whined, the horses' bits were covered with foam . . . and here and there were wounded soldiers, as helpless as the rest.
    We saw tripods wading up the Thames, cutting through bridges as though they were paper - Waterloo Bridge, Westminster Bridge . . . One appeared above Big Ben.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. This was no disciplined march - it was a stampede - without order and without a goal, six million people unarmed and unprovisioned, driving headlong. It was the beginning of the rout of civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
    A vast crowd buffeted me towards the already packed steamer. I looked up enviously at those safely on board - straight into the eyes of my beloved Carrie! At sight of me she began to fight her way along the packed deck to the gangplank. At that very moment it was raised, and I caught a last glimpse of her despairing face as the crowd swept me away from her.
    Like the sun through the trees you came to love me
Like a leaf on a breeze you blew away.
    Through autumn's golden gown we used to kick our way
You always loved this time of year
Those fallen leaves lie undisturbed now
'cause you're not here
'cause you're not here
'cause you're not here
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: The steamer began to move slowly away - but on the landward horizon appeared the silhouette of a Fighting Machine. Another came, and another, striding over hills and trees, plunging far out to sea and blocking the exit of the steamer. Between them lay the silent, grey Ironclad 'Thunder Child'. Slowly it moved towards shore; then, with a deafening roar and whoosh of spray, it swung about and drove at full speed towards the waiting Martians.

    THUNDER CHILD

PEOPLE: There were ships of shapes and sizes
Scattered out along the bay
And I thought I heard her calling
As the steamer pulled away
The Invaders must have seen them
As across the coast they filed
Standing firm between them
There lay Thunder Child
    Moving swiftly through the waters
Cannons blazing as she came
Brought a mighty metal War-Lord
Crashing down in sheets of flame
Sensing victory was nearing
Thinking fortune must have smiled
People started cheering
'Come on Thunder Child'
'Come on Thunder Child'.
JOURNALIST: The Martians released their Black Smoke, but the ship sped on, cutting down one of the tripod figures. Instantly, the others raised their Heat Rays and melted the Thunder Child's valiant heart
PEOPLE: Lashing ropes and smashing timbers
Flashing Heat Rays pierced the deck
Dashing hopes for our deliverance
As we watched the sinking wreck
With the smoke of battle clearing
Over graves in waves defiled
Slowly disappearing
Farewell Thunder Child!
Slowly disappearing
Farewell Thunder Child!
Farewell Thunder Child!
Farewell Thunder Child!
JOURNALIST: When the smoke cleared, the little steamer had reached the misty horizon, and Carrie was safe. But the Thunder Child had vanished forever, taking with her man's last hope of victory. The leaden sky was lit by green flashes, cylinder following cylinder, and no one and nothing was left now to fight them. The Earth belonged to the Martians.
MARTIANS: Ulla!

    THE EARTH UNDER THE MARTIANS

    THE RED WEED AND PARSON NATHANIEL

JOURNALIST: Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation which gives Mars it red appearance had taken root on Earth. As Man had succumbed to the Martians, so our land now succumbed to the Red Weed.
    Wherever there was a stream, the Red Weed clung and grew with frightening voraciousness, its claw-like fronds choking the movement of the water; and then it began to creep like a slimy red animal across the land, covering field and ditch and tree and hedgerow with living scarlet feelers, crawling! crawling!
    I suddenly noticed the body of a Parson, lying on the ground in a ruined churchyard. I felt unable to leave him to the mercy of the Red Weed and decided to bury him decently.
BETH: Nathaniel! Nathaniel!
JOURNALIST: The Parson's eyes flickered open. He was alive!
BETH: Nathaniel! I saw the church burst into flame! Are you all right?
PARSON: Don't touch me!
BETH: But it's me - Beth. Your wife.
PARSON: No. You're one of them. A devil!
BETH: (to JOURNALIST) He's delirious!
PARSON: Lies! I saw the devil's sign.
BETH: What are you saying?
PARSON: The green flash in the sky. His demons were here all along - in our hearts and souls - just waiting for a sign from him. And now they're destroying our world.
BETH: But they're not devils - they're Martians.
JOURNALIST: We must leave here.
BETH: Look! A house still standing! Come. Nathaniel, quickly!
JOURNALIST: We took shelter in a cottage and Black Smoke spread, hemming us in. Then a Fighting Machine came across the fields, spraying jets of steam that turned the smoke into thick, black dust.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
BETH: Dear God - help us!
PARSON: The voice of the devil is heard in our land!

    THE SPIRIT OF MAN

PARSON: Listen, do you hear them drawing near in their search for the sinners?
Feeding on the power of our fear and the evil within us.
Incarnation of Satan's creation of all that we dread
When the demons arrive those alive would be better off dead!
BETH: There must be something worth living for
There must be something worth trying for
Even some things worth dying for
And if one man can stand tall
There must be hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man
PARSON: Once there was i time when I believed without hesitation
That the power of love and truth could conquer all in the name of salvation
Tell me what kind of weapon is love, when it comes to the fight
And just how much protection is truth against all Satan's might
BETH: There must be something worth living for
There must be something worth trying for
Even some things worth dying for
And if one man can stand tall
There must be some hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man
People loved you and trusted you, came to you for help.
PARSON: Didn't I warn them this would happen?
Be on guard, I said
For the Evil One never rests
I said exorcise the devil
But no, they wouldn't listen
The demons inside them grew and grew
Until Satan gave his signal
And destroyed the world we knew.
BETH: No, Nathaniel
Oh no Nathaniel
No, Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The love we used to know
Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The light that we have lost
PARSON: Now darkness has descended on our land and all your prayers cannot save us
Like fools we've let the devil take command of the souls that God gave us
To the altar of evil like lambs to the slaughter we're led
When the demons arrive, the survivors will envy the dead!
BETH: There must be something worth living for.
PARSON: No. there is nothing!
BETH: There must be something worth trytng for.
PARSON: I don't believe it's so.
BETH: Even some things worth dying for
If just one man could stand tall
There would be some hope for us all
Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man
PARSON: Forget about goodness and mercy - they're gone.
Didn't I warn them. . .
Pray I said
Destroy the devil, I said
They wouldn't listen
I could have saved the world
But now it's too late
Too late!!!
BETH: No, Nathaniel
Oh no, Nathaniel
No, Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The love we used to know
Nathaniel, no
There must be more to life
There has to be a way
That we can restore to life
The light that we have lost.
PARSON: Dear God! A cylinder's landed on the house! And we're underneath it - in the pit!
JOURNALIST: The Martians spent the night making a new machine. It was a squat, metallic spider with huge articulated claws - but it, too, had a hood in which a Martian sat. I watched it pursuing some people across a field. It caught them nimbly and tossed them into a great metal basket upon its back.
PARSON: Beth! She's dead! Buried under the rubble. Why? Satan! Why did you take one of your own?
    There is a curse on Mankind
    We may as well be resigned
    To let the devil, the devil take the spirit of man
JOURNALIST: As time passed in our dark and dusty prison, the Parson wrestled endlessly with his doubts. His outcries invited death for us both - and yet I pitied him.
    Then, on the ninth day. we saw the Martians eating. Inside the hood of their new machine, they were draining the fresh, living blood of men and women and injecting it into their own veins.
PARSON: It's a sign! I've been given a sign! They must be cast out and I have been chosen to do it I must confront them now!
JOURNALIST: No. Parson, no!
PARSON: Those machines are just demons in another form! I shall destroy them with my prayers! I shall burn them with my Holy Cross! I shall -
JOURNALIST: The curious eye of a Martian appeared at the window-slit, and a menacing claw explored the room. I dragged the Parson down to the coal cellar. I heard the Martian fumbling at the latch. In the darkness I could see the claw touching things, walls, coal, wood - and then it touched my boot! I almost shouted! For a time it was still and then, with a click, it gripped something. The Parson! With slow, deliberate movements, his unconscious body was dragged away. . . and there was nothing I could do to prevent it.
    I crept to the blocked window-slit and peered through the creeper. The Martians and all their machinery had gone! Trembling, I dug my way out and clambered to the top of the mound. Not a Martian in sight! the day seemed dazzling bright after my imprisonment, and the sky a glowing blue. Red Weed covered even scrap of ground, but a gentle breeze kept it swaying and oh! the sweetness of the air!
JOURNALIST: Again, I was on my way to London, through towns and villages that were blackened ruins, totally silent, desolate, deserted. Man's empire had passed away, taken swiftly and without error, by these creatures who where composed entirely of brain. Unhampered by the complex systems which make up man, they made and used different bodies according to their needs. They never tired, never slept and never suffered, having long since eliminated from their planet the bacteria which cause all fevers and other morbidities.
ARTILLERYMAN: Halt! Who goes there?
JOURNALIST: Er - friend.
ARTILLERYMAN: Be on your way. this is my territory.
JOURNALIST: Your territory? What do you mean?
ARTILLERYMAN: Wait a minute - it's you! The man from Maybury Hill!
JOURNALIST: Good heavens! The Artilleryman! I thought you surely burned.
ARTILLERYMAN: I thought you surely drowned.
JOURNALIST: Have you seen any Martians?
ARTILLERYMAN: Everywhere. We're done for all right.
JOURNALIST: We can't just give up.
ARTILLERYMAN: 'Course we can't. It's now we've got to start fighting - but not against them 'cos we can't win. Now we've got to fight for survival, and I reckon we can make it. I've got a plan.

    BRAVE NEW WORLD AND DEAD LONDON

ARTILLERYMAN: We're gonna build a whole new world for ourselves. Look, they clap eyes on us and we're dead, right? So we gotta make a new life where they'll never find us. You know where? Underground.
    You should see it down there - hundreds of miles of drains - sweet and clean now after the rain, dark, quiet, safe. We can build houses and everything, start again from scratch.
    And what's so bad about living underground eh? It's not been so great living up here, if you want my opinion.
Take a look around you at the world we've come to know
Does it seem to be much more than a crazy circus show
But maybe from the madness something beautiful will grow
In a brave new world
With just a handful of men
We'll start - we'll start all over again - all over again - all over again - all over again.
We'll build shops and hospitals and barracks right under their noses - right under their feet! Everything we need - banks, prisons and schools. . . We'll send scouting parties to collect books and stuff, and men like you'll teach the kids. Not poems and rubbish - science, so we can get everything working. We'll build villages and towns and . . . and . . . we'll play each other at cricket! Listen, maybe one day we'll capture a Fighting Machine, eh? Learn how to make 'em ourselves and then wallop! Our turn to do some wiping out! Whoosh with our Heat Ray - Whoosh! And them running and dying, beaten at their own game. Man on top again!
Now our domination of the Earth is fading fast
And out of the confusion the chance has come at last
To build a better future from the ashes of the past
In a brave new world
With just a handful of men
We'll start all over again
Look - Man is born in freedom but he soon becomes a slave
In cages of convention from the cradle to the grave
The weak fall by the wayside but the strong will be saved
In a brave new world
With just a handful of men
We'll start all over again
I'm not trying to tell you what to be
Oh no, oh no, not me
But if mankind is to survive
The people left alive
They're gonna have to build this world anew
And it's going to have to start with me and you.
Yes!
I'm not trying to tell you what to be
Oh no, oh no. not me
But if mankind is to survive
The people left alive
They're gonna have to build this world anew
Yes and we will have to be the chosen few
Just think of all the poverty, the hatred and the lies
And imagine the destruction of all that you despise
Slowly from the ashes the phoenix will arise
In a brave new world.
With just a handful of men
We'll start all over again
Take a look around you at the world you've loved so well
And bid the ageing empire of man a last farewell
It may not sound like Heaven but at least it isn't Hell
It's a brave new world
With just a handful of men
We'll start - we'll start all over again - all over again - all over again - all over again.
I've got a plan!
    Can't you just see it? Civilization starting all over again - a second chance. We'll even build a railway and tunnel to the coast, go there for our holidays. Nothing can stop men like us. I've made a start already. Come on down here and have a look.
JOURNALIST: In the cellar was a tunnel scarcely ten yards long, that had taken him a week to dig. I could have dug that much in a day, and I suddenly had my first inkling of the gulf between his dreams and his powers.
ARTILLERYMAN: It's doing the workin' and the thinkin' that wears a feller out. I'm ready for a bit of a rest. How about a drink, eh? Nothing but champagne, now I'm the boss.
JOURNALIST: We drank and then he insisted upon playing cards. With our species on the edge of extermination, with no prospect but a horrible death, we actually played games.
    Later, he talked more of his plan, but I saw flames flashing in the deep blue night. Red Weed glowing, tripod figures moving distantly - and I put down my champagne glass. I felt a traitor to my kind and I knew I must leave this strange dreamer
ARTILLERYMAN: Take a look around you at the world we've come to know
Does it seem to be much more than a crazy circus show
Maybe from the madness something beautiful will grow . . .

    DEAD LONDON

JOURNALIST: There were a dozen dead bodies in the Euston Road, their outlines softened by the Black Dust. All was still, houses locked and empty, shops closed - but looters had helped themselves to wine and food, and outside a jewellers some gold chains and a watch were scattered on the pavement.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: I stopped, staring towards the sound. It seemed as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice for its fear and solitude.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: The desolating cry worked upon my mind. The wailing took possession of me. I was intensely weary, footsore, hungry and thirsty. Why was I wandering alone in this city of the dead? Why was I alive, when London was lying in state in its black shroud? I felt intolerably lonely, drilling from street to empty street, drawn inexorably towards that cry.
MARTIANS: Ulla!
JOURNALIST: I saw, over the trees on Primrose Hill the Fighting Machine from which the howling came. I crossed Regents Canal. There stood a second machine, upright, but as still as the first.
MARTIANS: Ulla! Ul-!
JOURNALIST: Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly, the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. While that voice sounded, London had still seemed alive. Now, suddenly there was a change, the passing of something and all that remained was this gaunt quiet.
    I looked up and saw a third machine
    It was erect and motionless, like the others
    An insane resolve possessed me.
    I would give my life to the Martians, here and now
    I marched recklessly towards the Titan and saw that a multitude of black birds was circling and clustering about the hood. I began running along the road. I felt no fear, only a wild, trembling exultation as I ran up the hill towards the motionless monster. Out of the hood hung red shreds, at which the hungry birds now pecked and tore.
    I scrambled up to the crest of Primrose Hill. and the Martian's camp was below me. A mighty space it was, and scattered about it, in their overturned machines, were the Martians - dead. . . slain, afler all man's devices had failed, by the humblest things upon the Earth, Bacteria, Minute invisible, bacteria!
    Directly the Invaders arrived and drank and fed, our microscopic allies attacked them. From that moment they were doomed!
JOURNALIST: The torment was ended. The people scattered over the country, desperate, leaderless, starved. . . the thousands who had fled by sea - including the one most dear to me - all would return. The pulse of life, growing stronger and stronger, would beat again.
    As life returns to normal, the question of another attack from Mars causes universal concern. Is our planet safe, or is this time of peace merely a reprieve? It may be that, across the - immensity of space, they have learned their lessons and even now await their opportunity. Perhaps the future belongs not to us - but to the Martians?

    EPILOGUE

PASADENA CONTROL: It's looking good. It's going good. We're getting great pictures here at Nasa Control, Pasadena. The landing-craft touched down on Mars 28 kilometers from the aim-point. We're looking at a remarkable landscape, littered with different kinds of rocks - red, purple.... How 'bout that, Bermuda?
BERMUDA CONTROL: Fantastic! Look at the dune-field.
PASADENA CONTROL: Hey, wait. I'm getting a no-go signal. Now I'm losing one of the craft. Hey, Bermuda, you getting it?
BERMUDA CONTROL: No. I lost contact. There's a lot of dust blowing up there.
PASADENA CONTROL: Now I've lost the second craft. We got problems
BERMUDA CONTROL: All contact lost. Pasadena. Maybe the antenna's...
PASADENA CONTROL: What's that flare? See it? A green flare, coming from Mars, kind of a green mist behind it. It's getting closer. You see it, Bermuda? Come in. Bermuda! Houston, come in! What's going on? Tracking station 43, Canberra, come in, Canberra! Tracking station 63, can you hear me, Madrid> Can anybody hear me? Come in, come in...

    THE END

 - - -

    Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of
      THE WAR OF THE WORLDS

    THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS

 1. THE EVE OF THE WAR
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton and Justin Hayward

 2. HORSELL COMMON AND THE HEAT RAY
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton

 3. THE ARTILLERYMAN AND THE FIGHTING MACHINE
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton and David Essex

 4. FOREVER AUTUMN
    featuring Richard Burton and Justin Hayward

 5. THUNDER CHILD
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton and Chris Thompson

    THE EARTH UNDER THE MARTIANS

 1. THE RED WEED (PART 1)
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton

 2. THE SPIRIT OF MAN
    featuring Richard Burton, Phil Lynott and Julie Covington

 3. THE RED WEED (PART 2)
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton

 4. BRAVE NEW WORLD
    featuring Richard Burton and David Essex

 5. DEAD LONDON
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton

 6. EPILOGUE (PART 1)
    featuring Richard Burton

 7. EPILOGUE (PART 2) (NASA)
    featuring Jerry Wayne

    THE NEW FILES '96

 8. THE SPIRIT OF MAN (DubUlladub)
    featuring Phil Lynott and Julie Covington

 9. FOREVER AUTUMN (Remix '96)
    featuring Justin Hayward

10. FOREVER AUTUMN (Dark Autumn Dub)
    Jeff Wayne
    featuring Richard Burton and Justin Hayward

11. THE EVE OF THE WAR (ñr²h Mix)
     - ñ = Pi symbol (best I can do in this font)
    featuring Richard Burton and Justin Hayward
    special appearance by Jerry Wayne

    The Journalist - Richard Burton
    Beth - Julie Covington
    The Artilleryman - David Essex
    Parson Nathaniel - Philip Lynott
    The Heat Ray - Jo Partridge

    Executive Producer - Jerry Wayne
    Composed, Orchestrated, Conducted and Produced by Jeff Wayne
    Lyrics by Gary Osbourne except "The Eve Of The War" by Jeff Wayne and "Forever Autumn" by Gary Osbourne and Paul Vigras
    Written by Doreen Wayne, adapted from the H G Wells novel "The War Of The Worlds"
    Dramatic and Narrative Sections Directed by Charles Dublin and Jerry Wayne
    Guitars - Chris Spedding, Jo Partridge
    Bass Guitar - Herbie Flowers
    Drums - Barry Morgan
    Percussion - Barry Da Souza, Roy Jones, Ray Cooper
    Keyboards and Synthesisers - Ken 'Prof' Freeman and Jeff Wayne
    Tar, Santur and Zither - George Fenton
    Backing Vocals by Paul Vigrass, Gary Osbourne and Billy Lawrie
    Epilogue voices by Jerry Wayne
    SFX by Pest
    Phil Lynott appeared by courtesy of Phonogram
    Julie Covington appeared by courtesy of Virgin Records, Ltd
    Justin Hayward appeared by courtesy of The Decca Record Company Limited
    Chris Thompson appeared by courtesy of Warner Bros. Records Inc
    Musical Co-ordination by Music Activity Management and The General Booking Company
    Art Director and Logo Design - John Pasche
    Published by Jeff Wayne Music Ltd, except "Forever Autumn" published by Jeff Wayne Music Ltd / Duchess Music Inc
    Engineer - Geoff Young assisted by Laurence Diana
    A 48 Track Production recorded at Advision Studios, London, May 1976 - July 1977
    Mastered by Bill Foster at Tape One, London
    Compact Disc cut by Laurence Diana at CBS Studios, London 1985
    First released in the UK June 1978

    Track 8 written by Jeff Wayne / Gary Osbourne
    Track 9 & 10 written by Jeff Wayne / Paul Vigras / Gary Osbourne
    Track 11 written by Jeff Wayne (Dialogue: Doreen Wayne)
    Track 8, 9 and 11 Produced by Gareth Cousins, Kipper and Jeff Wayne
    Arranged and Programmed by Gareth Cousins and Kipper
    Original Orchestrations - Jeff Wayne
    Mixed by Gareth Cousins
    Executive Producer Jeff Wayne
    Track 10 Co-produced by Frederikse / Shurrer
    Executive Producer Jeff Wayne

- - -
Jeff Wayne's Musical Version Of The War Of The Worlds
m1nion scan #2
- - -
m1nion scan #1: Sandman - Death The High Cost Of Living