The act set down that the copyright owner of a musical work could apply to a court with evidence that pirated copies of their work were being “hawked, carried about, sold or offered for sale.” The court could then have such copies seized and, if piracy was proved, destroyed.

But for all its good intentions, its rulings were largely toothless against a "street team" of hawkers who were always one step ahead of the bobby on the beat. The League did manage to convict a tiny number of pirates, at great cost and on a charge of conspiracy, but that was under criminal, not copyright, law.

Things grew so bad that in 1905, publishers were driven to announce that they would issue no more publications, and held a meeting at Queen's Hall, producing a petition to Parliament. Signed by hundreds of luminaries, including Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Rudyard Kipling, it was championed by the MP T.P. O'Connor, who helped to draft a private bill. It was squeezed through Parliament in the last moments of the final night of the session, and became the Copyright Act of 1906. Finally, it became a criminal offence to pirate music.

Guy Garvey: “We’ve had three record deals in the time we’ve had one publishing deal. [Our partnership with Warner/Chappell] It’s not just a cash investment, it’s a much-needed hand of support when your publisher’s with you and wants to stay with you.”

In 1964, the famous Chappell headquarters of more than 130 years were completely destroyed by fire. One young employee, William Hastings, who looked after amateur theatrical rights, was killed, and Teddy Holmes was hospitalised after falling to the street from a balcony.

Frank Coachworth, former General Manager of Chappell, remembers getting in from work only to see the Chappell offices on the TV news in flames.

“I rushed back, and I shall never forget it because there was Louis Dreyfus standing on a corner,” says Coachworth. “He couldn’t stand opposite because the flames were so intense, it actually buckled the fire engines, he just stood there and I went and stood with him.

“I got in at the crack of dawn the next day, and the whole place was just a black mess. There was what used to be a beautiful carved staircase, going up to the first floor, which instead of being wooden, carpented, was now the metal structure underneath. At the top of it was the directors’ office with the big, solid iron safe, which was still standing precariously there.

“I asked the police if they’d allow me to go up to the safe. There was not much money in there, but there were six guns, a relic of [the live production of] ‘Oklahoma,’ which we’d still got. The most important thing of all was Mr. Dreyfus’ passport, which was the first thing he asked me for.”

Chappell then set up office at 50 St. George Street, which they had purchased prior to the fire.

“I had masses of phone calls from other publishers,” recalls Coachworth, “Because in those days all your competitors were also your friends, within reason. I don’t really know how we managed. At one stage, we were selling sheet music off trestles in the street.”

Such an event threw the machinations of the publishing business into sharp relief, but Chappell’s work went on. In 1968, after Louis Dreyfus’ death, Chappell was acquired by the Gramophon-Philips Group, GPG, which had been formed as a joint venture by Philips and Siemens six years before, and would convert into the more familiar Polygram in 1972.

In an era of file-sharing, piracy and all kinds of commercial constraints, the smart companies are the ones that can move with the times.

“We’re getting there,” says former Warner/Chappell chairman, Dave Johnson. “Our digital revenues, which would have been non-existent a decade ago, are quite material. There’s an ever-expanding world, geographically. Thirty years ago, neither the recorded music business nor the publishing business made any money at all in China. Now, both businesses make some money in China, and I suspect they will make much more in the future.”

And Warner/Chappell has proved itself to be alive to all the possibilities offered by music’s digital age. In 2006, it launched its Pan-European Digital Licensing (PEDL) initiative, a bold move in encouraging collection societies throughout Europe to adopt simpler, one-stop licenses for W/C songs that are used by digital music services. A year later, when Radiohead chose to initially release its “In Rainbows” album without the aid of a record company, W/C came up with a one-stop solution enabling it to directly license the songs centrally for anywhere in the world, side-stepping record companies and collecting societies.

“I run business affairs for the world ex-U.S.,” says Jane Dyball. “But most of my time is spent dealing with digital issues, strategic issues and relationships with collection societies, because we’re so dependent on them for collecting our revenues, new markets and licensing relationships.”

Warner/Chappell songwriter Damien Rice found that a well-judged placement of his music on the big screen made a specific improvement to his international box office potential. More used to turning down requests for use of his material, Rice allowed director Mike Nichols to place his songs “The Blower’s Daughter” and “Cold Water” in his 2004 movie “Closer.”

“That came through Mike Nichols getting in touch directly,” Rice recalls. “That felt like they were marrying the song with the film, rather than just pasting it on top. When directors really use music in an artistic way, and not just as a tool, I find it very worthwhile and I’m excited to be part of that. After ‘Closer,’ I did go to places like Brazil and Singapore, the awareness grew enough that instead of going there and playing a tiny little bar, I could go into a theatre. It opened it up.” ”