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The War of The Worlds
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J.R.R. Tolkien. 1892-1973
C. S. Lewis.1898-1963
G.K. Chesterton. 1874- 1936
Flora Thompson. 1876-1947
Lark Rise To Candleford:
John Moore. 1907-1967
Gilbert White. 1720-1793
William Gilpin. 1724-1804
Thomas Hardy. 1840-1928
M.R. James. 1862-1936
Kenneth Grahame.1859-1932
Beatrix Potter 1866-1943
Charles Dickens 1812-1870
H.G. Wells 1866-1946.
The War of The Worlds
Anthem for Doomed Youth
The Library
The Library II
For Children Of All Ages
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Produced by Jeff Wayne

Part One:

The Coming of the Martians

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 that we were being scrutinized 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.

The Eve of the War

At midnight, on the 12th 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 beautiful, but somehow disturbing sight. Ogilby, the astronomer, assured me we were in no danger. He was convinced there could be no living thing on that remote, forbidding planet.

The Astronomer

    Chorus
    The chances of anything coming from Mars
    Are a million to one, he said (ahh, ahh)
    The chances of anything coming from Mars
    Are a million to one, but still, they come...

Then came the night the first missile approached Earth. It was thought to be an ordinary falling star, but next day there was a huge crater in the middle of the common, and Ogilby came to examine what lay there. A cylinder, thirty yards across, glowing hot, with faint sounds of movement coming from within. Suddenly the top began moving: rotating, unscrewing; and Ogilby feared there was a man inside trying to escape. He rushed to the cylinder but the intense heat stopped him before he could burn himself on the metal.

    Chorus
    The chances of anything coming from Mars
    Are a million to one, he said (ahh, ahh)
    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 (ahh, ahh)
    The chances of anything coming from Mars
    Are a million to one, but still, they come...

Horsell Common and the Heat Ray

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.
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, disk-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 slathered, and snakelike tentacles writhed as the clumsy body heaved and pulsated.
A few young men crept closer to the pit. A tall funnel rose and 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.
People clawed their way off the common, and I ran 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 on the machines they were making. Now and again a light like the beam of a warship's searchlight would sweep the common, and the heat ray was ready to follow.
In the afternoon, a company of soldiers came through and deployed along the common to form a cordon.
That evening, there was a violent crash and I realized with horror that my home was within reach of the 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

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 them against trees. Just hunks of metal, but they knew exactly what they were doing.
    Journalist: Hmm. There was another cylinder came last night.
    Artilleryman: Yes. Yes, it looked bound for London.
London! Carrie! I hadn't dreamed there could be danger to Carrie and her father, so many miles away.
    Journalist: I must go to London at once.
    Artilleryman: And me, got to report to headquarters, if there's anything left of it.
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: Bows and arrows against the lightning.
    Journalist: Hmm.
    Artilleryman: They haven't seen the heat ray yet.
We hurried along the road to Weybridge. Suddenly, there was a heavy explosion and gusts of smoke erupted into the air.
    Artilleryman: Look! There they are! What did I tell you!
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 tripods 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.
As it struck, all five fighting machines exulted, emitting deafening howls which roared like thunder:
    Martians: Ulla! Ulla! Ulla! Ulla! Ulla! Ulla!
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.
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 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! Ulla!

Forever Autumn

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

Forever Autumn

    Journalist
    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

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.
    Journalist
    Like the sun through the trees you came to love me,
    Like a leaf on the 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

As I hastened through Covent Garden, Blackfriars and Billingsgate, more and more people joined the painful exodus. Sad, weary women, their children stumbling in the street with tears, their men bitter and angry, the rich rubbing shoulders with beggars and outcasts. Dogs snarled and whined, the horse's 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.
    Martian: Ulla!
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.

    Journalist
    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

Thunderchild

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, gray, ironclad Thunderchild. 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.

Thunderchild

    Journalist
    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 Thunderchild

    Moving swiftly through the waters,
    Cannons blazing as she came,
    Brought a mighty metal warlord
    Crashing down in sheets of flame,
    Sensing victory was nearing,
    Thinking fortune must have smiled,
    People started cheering,
    "Come on Thunderchild! Come on Thunderchild!"

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 Thunderchild's valiant heart.

    Journalist
    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 and waves defiled,
    Slowly disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!
    Slowly disappearing, farewell Thunderchild!
    Farewell Thunderchild!
    Farewell Thunderchild, child, child, child, child...

When the smoke cleared, the little steamer had reached the misty horizon, and Carrie was safe. But the Thunderchild 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!


Part Two:
The Earth Under the Martians

The Red Weed (Part One)

Next day, the dawn was a brilliant, fiery red and I wandered through the weird and lurid landscape of another planet, for the vegetation that gives Mars its 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.

The Spirit of Man

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 week, and decided to bury him, decently.

    Beth: Nathaniel! Nathaniel!

The parson's eyes flickered open. He was alive!

    Beth: Nathaniel, I saw the church burst into flame, are you all right?
    Nathaniel: Don't touch me!
    Beth: But it's me, Beth! Your wife!
    Nathaniel: No! You're one of them- a devil!
    Beth: He's delirious!
    Nathaniel: Lies! I saw the devil's sign!
    Beth: What are you saying?
    Nathaniel: 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.
We took shelter in a cottage, and black smoke spread, hemming us in. Then a fighting machine came across the field spraying jets of steam that turned the smoke into thick, black dust.

    Martians: Ulla!
    Beth: Dear God, help us!
    Nathaniel: The voice of the Devil is heard in our land!

The Spirit of Man

    Nathaniel
    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?
    In carnation of Satan's creation of all that we dread
    When the demons arrive those alive will be better off dead

    Beth
    There must be something worth living for
    There must be something worth trying for
    Even something worth dying for
    And if one man can stand tall
    There must be hope for us all
    Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man

    Nathaniel
    Once, there was a 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 could stand tall
    There must be some hope for us all
    Somewhere, somewhere in the spirit of man

    Beth: People loved you, and trusted you, came to you for help...
    Nathaniel: Didn't I warn them this would happen? Be on your 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
    (No,) 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

    Nathaniel
    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 were led
    When the demons arrive the survivors will envy the dead!

    Beth
    There must be something worth living for

    Nathaniel: No, there is nothing!

    Beth
    There must be something worth trying for

    Nathaniel: I don't believe it's so!

    Beth
    Even something 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

    Nathaniel: 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
    (No,) 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...

    Nathaniel: Dear God! A cylinder's landed on the house, and we are underneath it, in the pit!

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.
Then, on the ninth day, we saw the Martians eating. Inside the hood of their new machine they were drawing the fresh, living blood of men and women and injecting it into their own veins.
    Nathaniel: Aaah! 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!
    Nathaniel: 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...

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.

The Red Weed (Part Two)

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 every scrap of ground but a gentle breeze kept it swaying, and oh, the sweetness of the air.
Again, I was on my way to London through towns and villages that were blackened ruins, totally silent, desolated, deserted. Man's empire had passed away, taken swiftly and without error by these creatures who were 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, a 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'd surely burned.
    Artilleryman: I thought you'd 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 that we've got to start fighting. Not against them, cause we can't win. Now, we've got to fight for survival. I reckon we can make it. I've got a plan.

Brave New World

    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? S'not been so great living up here, if you want my opinion.

Brave New World

    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
    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!

    Artilleryman: 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 then like you we'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!

    Artilleryman
    Now our domination of the earth is fading fast,
    And out of the confusion a 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 life 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 aging 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!

    Artilleryman: Can't you just see it? Civilization starting all over again! A second chance! Heh- 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.

In the cellar there was a tunnel scarcely ten yards long. It 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 power.

    Artilleryman: It's doing the working and the thinking that wears a fellow out. I'm ready for a bit of a rest. How about a drink, eh? Nothing but champagne now I'm the boss.

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

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 jewelers some gold chains and a watch were scattered on the pavement.

    Martian: Ulla!

I stopped, staring towards the sound. It seemed as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice for its fear and solitude.

    Martian: Ulla!

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, drifting from street to empty street, drawn inexorably towards that cry.

    Martian: Ulla!
I saw, over the trees on Primrose Hill, the fighting machine from which the howling came. I crossed Regent's Canal. There stood a second machine, upright, but as still as the first.

    Martian: Ulla!
Abruptly, the sound ceased. Suddenly the desolation, the solitude, became unendurable. While that voice sounded London 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 were 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 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, the Martian's camp was below me. A mighty space it was, and scattered about it, in their overturned machines, were the Martians, slain after all man's devices had failed by the humblest creatures on 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.
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 could 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: Looking good, going good, we're getting great pictures here at NASA control Pasadena. 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 about that, Bermuda?
    Bermuda: Fantastic. Look at that dune field!
    Pasadena: Hey, wait, I- I'm getting a no-go signal. Now I'm losing one of the craft. Hey Bermuda, you getting it?
    Bermuda: Nah, lost contact. There's a lot of dust blowing up there.
    Pasadena: Now I lost the second craft. We got problems.
    Bermuda: Full contact lost, Pasadena. Maybe the antenna's--...
    Pasadena: 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, Burmuda? ...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...........!

Jeff Wayne's production of The War of The Worlds
Original Release Date: 1978

vinyl
 
UK) CBS / 9600
USA) Columbia / XSM 164710
JAPN) Epic / 40 3P 18-19
1978
 
cd
 
UK) Columbia / CD 9600
USA) Columbia / C2K 35290
 
there is also a remastered version of
the CD, with extra tracks, but for
authenticity stick with either the
original vinyl or the original CD release
 

Track Listing
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Epilogue (Part 1)
 
Epilogue (Part 2)

The Cast
 
 
voices
 
voices
 
voices
 
voices
 
voices
 
voices
 
guitars
 
Jo Partridge
guitars
 
bass
 
Barry Morgan
drums
 
Barry da Souza
percussion
 
keyboards
 
 
produced by  Jeff Wayne
 

Death of the Thunderchild

the complete etext