I dreamed last night that Mat Lyon had made Hellworks V: The Iron Maiden (a soul driven steam train). And so....

Jay Gould's Daughter (Lyrics in video not identical to the ones shown here - the lyrics I used were the ones sung by Pete Seeger.)

On a Monday morning it begin to rain.
'Round the curve come a passenger train.
On the blinds was Hobo John.
He's a good old hobo, but he's dead and gone.
Dead and gone, he's dead and gone.
He's a good old hobo, but he's dead and gone.

Jay Gould's daughter said before she died
Papa, fix the blinds so the bums can't ride.
If ride they must, they got to ride the rod.
Let 'em put their trust in the hands of God.
Hands of God Etc.

Jay Gould's daughter said, before she died,
There's two more trains I'd like to ride.
Jay Gould said, "Daughter, what can they be ?"
The Southern Pacific and the Santa Fe.
The Santa Fe, etc.

Jay Gould's daughter said, before she died,
There's two more drinks I'd like to try.
Jay Gould said, "Daughter what can they be?
They's a glass o' water and a cup o' tea.
A cup o' tea, etc.

Charlie Snyder was a good engineer
Told his fireman not to fear
Pour on your water, boys, and shovel on your coal
Stick your head out the window, see the drivers roll
See the drivers roll, etc.

The Auld Grump

This may well get me banned... but I cannot find a rules section... so here goes :

The Lay of Gwinivere : Attributed to L Webb

My Knights: said King Arthur, let me make it clear,
This round Table mean that we’re all equal here
So they all shagged beneath it with Queen Quenivere,
And Arthur wound up with the slops !

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Sir Kay into Camelot softly did creep,
He crept up on Arthur, and Quennie asleep,
So he tore down her ramparts and entered her keep,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Sir Lancelot’s Weapon stood proud strong and tall,
He’d gaily show his lance to one and to all,
Until Quenivere sheathed it in her entrance hall,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!


The staff of old Merlin was wrinkled and spent,
But rose proud and rampant when over she bent,
So he buggered her bandy with great merriment,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!


She tied up Sir Gwaine, and she beat him with gorse,
Sir Galahad wears all her dresses of course,
Sir Percivale watched her go down on his horse,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!


Sir Bourse, And Sir lionel, and young Percivale,
All wanked themselves off into The Holy Grail,
And they passed it to Arthur, and said : Have some Ale!
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Let’s all raise a cheer To Queen Quenivere,
Been Had at least six times by every man here,
She’ll go flat on her back for the price of a beer,
And Arthur wound up with the slops!

Reminds me a bit of the book Rude Tales and Glorious. (But worry not - I shall resist the urge to reply with The Ballad of Eskimo Nell....)

Above I quoted a song by Tom Lewis. Tom Lewis in turn led me to the late Cyril Tawney - I just found out that Cyril Tawney died a few years back, so here are a couple of his songs. I lost my Tawney CDs a few years ago in a move. I am going to miss him.

Grey Funnel Line

Don't mind the rain or the rolling sea
The weary night never worries me
But the hardest time in a sailor's day
Is to watch the sun as it dies away
Here's one more day on the Grey Funnel Line

2. The finest ship that sails the sea
Is still a prison for the likes of me
But give me wings like Noah's dove
I'll fly up harbour to the girl I love
Here's one more day on the Grey Funnel Line

3. O, once my heart was wild and free
Like a flashing spar on the open sea
But now that spar has washed ashore
And come to rest at my true love's door
Here's one more day on the Grey Funnel Line

4. Each time I gaze behind the screws
Makes me long for Saint Peter's shoes
I'd dance on down that Walker Shore
And rest in my true love's arms once more
Here's one more day on the Grey Funnel Line

5. O Lord if dreams were only real
I'd feel my hands on that wooden wheel
And with all my heart I'd turn her round
And tell the boys that we're homeward bound
Here's one more day on the Grey Funnel Line

6. I'll pass the time like some machine
Until blue waters turn to green
Then I'll dance on down that walk ashore
And sail the Grey Funnel Line no more
And sail the Grey Funnel Line no more

Chicken on a Raft

Skipper in the wardroom drinkin' gin,
Hey yo, chicken on a raft!
I don't mind knockin', but I ain't goin' in!
Hey yo, chicken on a raft!
The jimmy's laughin' like it'd rain,
Hey yo, chicken on a raft!
He's lookin' at me comic cuts again!
Hey yo, chicken on a raft!

cho: Chicken on a raft on a Monday morning,
Oh, what a terrible sight to see,
Dabtoes forward and the dustmen aft,
Sittin' there a'pickin' at a chicken on a raft!
Hi, ho, chicken on a raft!
Hey, ho, chicken on a raft!
Hi, ho, chicken on a raft!
Hey, ho, chicken on a raft!

Gave me the middle and the forenoon too,
Now I'm pullin' on a whalin' crew.
Seagulls wheelin' overhead,
I oughter be home in me featherbed!

I had a little girl in Donny-B,
And did she make a fool of me.
Her heart was like a pusser's shower,
Run hot to cold in a quarter of an hour!

We kissed goodbye on a midnight bus,
She didn't cry and she didn't fuss,
Am I that one she loves the best,
Or just a cuckoo in another man's nest?

An amazon girl lived in Dumfries,
Only had her kids in two's and three's,
She's got a sister in Maryhill,
Says she won't but I think she will!

If I remember properly Tom Lewis once told an audience that 'Normally I would be singing a Cyril Tawney song at this point, but he never sings any of mine, so...' when a voice called from the audience 'I do to!' It has been entirely too long since I have listened to Tom Lewis in concert.

The Auld Grump

Mollymauk
(Bob Watson)



Oh the southern ocean is a lonely place
Where the storms are many and the shelter's scarce
Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn


On the restless water and the troublin' skies
You can see that mollymauk wheel and fly
Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn

Chorus:
Won't you ride the wind and go, white seabird
Won't you ride the wind and go, mollymauk
Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn

See the mollymauk floatin' on his wide white wings
And lord, what a lonely song he sings

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn


And he's got no compass and he's got no gear
And there's none can tell you how the mollymauks steer

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn

Chorus:

He's the ghost of a sailor-man as I've heard say
Who's body sank, and his soul flew away

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn


And he's got no haven and he's got no home
He's bound evermore for to wheel and roam

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn


Chorus:

When I gets too weary for to sail no more
Let my bones sink better far away from shore

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn


You can cast me loose and leave me driftin' free
And I'll keep that big bird company

Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn



Chorus:

This is a song that I normally hear sung by Norris Dale of Roll & Go - I have been looking for the lyrics for years - only tonight to discover that I have been consistently misspelling Mollymauk.

The Auld Grump

This one I meant to put up for Christmas -

Spirit Song of George's Bank

Smile if you got a mind to or p'raps you'll lend an ear
A boy and man together nigh on for forty years
I have sailed across the waters from the western banks to grand
I was in some herring vessel that went from Newfoundland

And icy storms l tell you where t'ings looked kinda blue
And then somehow or other l was lucky and got through
But I’ll not brag however l won't say much but then
I'm not much easier frightened then most of other men

But one dreary night l speak of we were off of the shore a ways
I never will forget it in all my mortal days
When in my dim dark watch l felt a chilling dread
It bowled me down as if l hard one calling from the dead

When on the decks there clambered pale sailors one by one
A dozen drippin' sailors just wait till l am done
Right on the decks they clambered but not a voice was heard
They moved about together but neither spoke a word

Their faces pale and sea-wet shone ghostly through the night
Each took his place as freely as if he had a right
And Eastern worked the vessel till land was just in sight
Or rather l should say sir the lighthouse tower's light

And then those ghostly sailors moved through the rail again
They vanished in the mist where sun can't shine on them
I know not any reason in truth why they should come
To navigate our vessel till land was just in sight

They are the same poor fellows l hope God rest their souls
Where our old ship ran under that time near George's shoals
And now you've got my story it's just the way l say
For l believes in spirits since that time anyway


And in hopes that a certain ghostly Maiden appears on the horizon....
Song of an American Sailor (The Death-Ship)

Oh hush your crying, honey dear
The Jackson Square remains still here
In sunny New Orleans
In lovely Louisiana

She thinks me buried in the sea
She can no longer wait for me
In sunny New Orleans,
in lovely Louisiana

I am not buried far at sea,
The death-ship is now part of me
So far from sunny New Orleans,
So far from lovely Louisiana

It is the death-ship I am in
All have I lost, nothing to win
So far from sunny New Orleans,
So far from lovely Louisiana

So hush your crying, honey dear
I am not there, nor you are here
So far from sunny New Orleans,
So far from lovely Louisiana

Both songs are on Gordon Bok's Schooners.

There used to be You Tube videos of both songs, but they appear to have vanished.

The Auld Grump

Mariner's Revenge - A long one, but a bit of grisly fun.

Long enough that I am not going to copy all the lyrics, but....

Find him, bind him
Tie him to a pole and break
His fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he
Wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling
Of his grave....

The Auld Grump

Monty Python's take on a sea shanty: The Crimson Permanent Assurance

BRAW SAILING

There cam' a letter late yestreen
The Ship maun sail the morn
"Alas!" Cried the bonny lass
That ever I was born

Chorus
And it's Braw sailing on the sea
When wind and weather's fair
It's better tae be in my love's airms
An' oh, gin I were there

And when he cam tae her faither's hoos
At twelve o'clock at noon
This lassie bein' prude hairted
She wouldna let him in

So he's ta'e a ring frae his pocket
It cost him guineas three
Sayin' "Tak ye that my bonnie lass
An' aye think weel o'me"

Then she's ta'en a ring frae her pocket
It cost him shillings nine
Sayin'"Tak ye that my bonnie lad
For I ha'e changed my min'"

An' it's braw drinkin' Glasgow beer
It's better drinkin' wine
It's better tae be in my love's airms
Where I've been money's the time

The Auld Grump

And from the other side - Rolling Sea Eliza Carthy has updated the music, but the anger is straight from the traditional. (As a point - she actually dropped one word from the original lyrics, a word that rhymes with 'Brass'....) I may end up singing this with my girlfriend.

Rolling Sea

Don't you see the ships a-coming?
Don't you see them in full sail?
Don't you see the ships a-coming
With the prizes at the tail?

Chorus (after each verse):
Oh my little rolling sailor,
Oh my little rolling he;
How I love my rolling sailor
When he's on a rolling sea;
When he's on a rolling, rolling,
When he's on a rolling sea.

Sailors they get all the money,
Soldiers they get none but brass.
How I love my rolling sailor,
Soldiers they can kiss my ass.

How can I be blithe and merry
With my true love far from me?
All this pretty little sailors,
They've been pressed and tanged to sea.

How I wish the press were over
And the wars were at an end.
Then every sailor laddie
Would be happy with his friend.

When the wars they are all over
Peace and plenty come again;
Everybody sailor laddie
Will come sailing on the main.

Oh, the wars will soon be over
And the sailors once come home;
Every lass will get a lad,
She won't have to sleep alone.

Traditional, dates back to the late 1700s.

Since I did not have a game tonight I went to a concert by a group that I used to sing with. Left me in a piratey mood.

Ballad of Jon Silver

We were schooner rigged and rakish, with a long and lissome hull,
And we flew the pretty colors of the cross bones and the skull;
We'd a big black Jolly Roger flapping grimly at the fore,
And we sailed the Spanish waters in the happy days of yore.

We'd a long brass gun amidships, like a well-conducted ship,
We had each a brace of pistols and a cutlass at the hip;
It's a point which tells against us, and a fact to be deplored,
But wew chased the goodly merchantmen and laid their ships aboard.

Then the dead men fouled the scuppers and the wounded filled the chains,
And the paint-work was all spatter-dashed with other people's brains.
She was boarded, she was looted, she was scuttled till she sank,
And the pale survivors left us by the medium of the plank.

O! then it was (while standing by the taffrail on the poop)
We could hear the drowning folk lament the absent chicken coop;
Then, having washed the blood away, we'd little else to do
Than to dance a quiet hornpipe as the old salts taught us to.

O! the fiddle on the fo'c's'le and the slapping naked soles,
And the genial "Down the middle, Jake, and curtsy when she rolls!"
With the silver seas around us and the pale moon overhead,
And the lookout not a-looking and his pipe bowl glowing red.

Ah! the pig-tailed quidding pirates and the pretty pranks we played,
All have since been put a stop to by the naughty Board of Trade;
The schooners and the merry crews are laid away to rest,
A little south the sunset in the Islands of the Blest.

-- John Masefield - Poet Laureate 1930 - 1967, can't you just feel the haut culture just poring off of the lyrics?

The Auld Grump, the Real McKenzies did a rock version of this....

Another Cyril Tawney song -
Sammy's Bar

I went down to Sammy's Bar
Hey, the last boat's a'leavin
By the shore at Pieta
Haul away the daighsoe

And my real love, she was there
There was sand all in her hair

How did sand get in your hair
Darling Johnny put it there

Been with Johnny all the day
Down at Ghajn Tuffheija Bay

He's a better man by far
Because he's got a Yankee car

I went out from Sammy's Bar
Had to hire a Yankee car

Fourteen days I drank no wine
Saving for that love of mine

Then one day in Paula square
At a paper I did stare

Johnny tried a hairpin bend
For my love, it was the end

Going back to Sammy's Bar
I don't need no Yankee car

Demme, I wish that Cyril Tawney's CDs could be bought for reasonable prices, here in the States.

The Auld Grump, not exactly a happy song, that.

There are ships who's luck is... odd.
This ship first ran into trouble before she was even launched - her planging frames scattered by a storm in 1850, and reassembled in the wrong order. She ran aground on her maiden voyage, in 1851. She was pulled free, but the impact had skewed her keel in an odd way. There are those who believed that this skew gave the ship the reputation that she had from that day forward - as the fastest clipper of her time, the Marco Polo.

Old Figurehead Carver by Gordon Bok (Sung by Alistair Brown).

I have done my share of carving figureheads of quaint design
For the Olives and the Ruddicks and the famous Black Ball Line
Brigantines and barks and clippers, brigs and schooners, lithe and tall
But the bounding Marco Polo was the flower of them all.
While my hands are steady, while my eyes are good,
I will carve the music of the wind into the wood.

I can see that white-winged clipper reeling under scudding clouds
Tramping down a hazy skyline with a Norther in her shrouds
I can feel her lines of beauty, see her flecked with spume and brine
As she drives her scuppers under, and that figurehead of mine.

'Twas of seasoned pine I made it, clear from outer bark to core
From the finest piece of timber, from the mast-pond on Straight Shore
Every bite of axe or chisel, every ringing mallet welt
Wrought from out that block of timber all the spirit that I felt.

I had read of Marco Polo, til his daring deeds were mine
And I say them all a-glowing in that balsam-scented pine
Saw his eyes alight with purpose, facing every vagrant breeze
Saw him lilting free and careless over all the seven seas.

That was how I did my carving, beat of heart and stroke of hand
Putting into life and action all the purpose that I planned
Flowing robes and wind-tossed tresses, forms of beauty, strength, design
I saw them all and tried to carve them in that figurehead of mine.

And when my hands are feeble, and my outward eyes grow dim
I will see again those clippers reeling o'er the ocean's rim
Great white fleet of sailing rovers, wind above and surf beneath
With the Marco Polo leading, and my carving in her teeth.

She was built in New Brunswick, and took fifteen days to run from St. John to Liverpool. She returned to Liverpool, making thirty five days from Mobile, Alabama. She was purchased by the Black Ball Line, and ran from Liverpool to Melburne, as a cargo ship, then a passenger ship, and then again to carry cargo. She served for thirty years.

Marco Polo

The Marco Polo's a very fine ship
Fastest on the sea
On Australia's strand we soon will land
Bully Forbes he can look for me
Going to jump the ship in Melbourne town
Going a digging gold
There's a fortune found beneath the ground
Where the eucalyptus grows

Marco Polo, fastest on the sea
Marco Polo, fastest on the sea

Said the Blackball owner, Mr. Baines
To Bully Forbes one day
"It's up to you to keep your crew
While the gold lures them away"
Said Bully Forbes to mr. Baines
"I have a plan so fine
Leave it to me and you'll agree
I'm the king of the Blackball Line"

When we reached Australia's shore
Bully Forbes declared, "There's scurvy
On this trip you won't leave the ship
Until we reach the Mersey"
Now we lie in Salthouse dock
I'll go to sea no more, sir
Done me time on the Blackball Line
And Captain Bully Forbes, sir

She became the first ship to make a crossing from England to Australia in less than six months, being able to complete two crossings in a year.

Blue Nose Line
(Geoff Noble)

Come listen to me story
Of ships so proud and fine
Of captains and of fishermen
All from the Maritimes
Great carpenters and craftsmen
Who worked with skill and pride
Built mighty ships of the bluenose line
to sail the ocean wide

cho: The Bluenose Line, the Bluenose Line
Fastest ships in all the world
To plow the stormy brine

From Halifax to Yarmouth
St. Johns to Charlotte town
Great ships were built of oak and spruce
To tame the ocean down
With triple masts and triple decks
The Marco Polo fine
She was the fastest ship to sail
for the mighty Blackball Line

The Will-i-am D. Lawrence
Ten thousand tons so fine
She was the largest wooden ship
Built in the Maritimes
Eight thousand yard of sail she'd sport
To catch the wind and fly
Took storm and gale and wind and hail
And high seas in her stride

Four thousand and five hundred ships
In Registry at one time
With captains brave who knew the waves
All from the Maritimes
McKensie and Bill Laurence
James Smith and Captain Wren
Brave and disciplined they were
In charge of many men

The seas were ruled by bluenose ships
All from the Eastern Shore
The fastest way to travel
In years counted in scores
But then with steam and iron
Cunard, who took the mail
The bluenose ships were past their time
Tho' they ruled the days of sail

In 1883 she went down on Prince Edward's Island. Her wreck is considered a National Historic Site. There is currently a project underway to rebuild the Marco Polo, fastest ship on the ocean, though only at half scale.

The Auld Grump

Dedicated to Mission Orange - a tender ballad of a woman proclaiming her love for her Captain. Captain Morgan, that is.

The Captain’s Wench

I love ramble and I love to roam,
But nevermore must I adventure alone.
I met Captain Morgan one night at the war,
And I’ll be the Captain’s wench evermore

[Chorus] He’s better than lovers, ‘cause he’s always there,
And when I get bitchy he just doesn’t care.
He’s never too tired, he tells me no lies,
So I’ll be the Captains wench ‘til I die!

When seas are stormy, and skies are grey,
And I need safe harbour to get through the day,
The Captain is there for me, tasty and warm,
So this Captain’s wench can weather the storm.

[Chorus]

Men come and go, they’re a troublesome lot.
Most leave me cold, a few make me hot.
But next to true love, it all fades away,
So I’ll be the Captain’s wench all my days

[Chorus]

So I’ll be the Captain’s wench ‘til I die!

My girlfriend and I were supposed to perform this at a St. Valentine's concert, but the concert was canceled due to electrical problems at the venue.

The Auld Grump

*EDIT* The Captain's Wench can be found Here.

Why Auld Grump, I'm very touched!

Hey! Long time no see!

The Auld Grump

I went to a Roll & Go concert tonight, picked up a few new ones.

From the religious end, seldom heard these days.

Sail O Believer, Sail.

Sail, o believer, sail,
Sail over yonder
Sail, o my brothers, sail,
Sail over yonder.

Oh, brother, bear a hand,
Sail over yonder;
Come, brother, lend a hand,
Sail over yonder. (CHO)

Come view the Promised Land,
Sail over yonder;
Come view the Promised Land,
Sail over yonder. (CHO)

Oh, Mary, Mary weep,
Sail over yonder;
Bow low, Martha,
Sail over yonder. (CHO)

Oh my Lord coming down,
Sail over yonder;
And my Lord bars the door,
Sail over yonder. (CHO)

Oh my Lord coming down,
Sail over yonder;
Oh my Lord bears the key,
Sail over yonder. (CHO)(2X)

(Traditional gospel song from the Georgia Sea Islands, attributed to the Quimby family. )

Yet another song about the Marc Polo.

Marco Polo

Where the Marsh Creek waters meet Courtenay Bay –
Heave her round and let her fly!
The James Smith's yard a keel did lay –
There's no ship here can match her!
She was launched with a groaning thud –
She's like a demon sailing by!
She lay two weeks in the Marsh Creek mud –
There's no ship here can catch her!

Chorus:
And it's Liverpool in fifteen days,
The Seven Seas her name will praise;
The wind in her hair and her sails unfurled,
She's the fastest ship in all the world,
And her name is Marco Polo!

Her keel's all bent, she'll never sail
Heave her round and let her fly!
James Smith's hopes are doomed to fail
There's no ship here can match her!
She's heard the wrath, all the jeers and scorn
She's like a demon sailing by!
From such pain a legend's born
There's no ship here can catch her! (CHO)

To the Black Ball Line she soon was sold.
Heave her round and let her fly!
Australia bound, in search of gold.
There's no ship here can match her!
She was ruled with an iron hand,
She's like a demon sailing by!
When Bully Forbes was in command.
There's no ship here can catch her! (CHO)

Sixty-eight days to Melbourne town;
Heave her round and let her fly!
The waves will echo her renown.
There's no ship here can match her!
She's beaten packets run by steam
She's like a demon sailing by!
From James Smith's hopes to St. John's dream
There's no ship here can catch her! (CHO)

For thirty-two years she ran the tide.
Heave her round and let her fly!
On Cavendish Shoals she finally died.
There's no ship here can match her!
But dreams are much too hard to kill.
She's like a demon sailing by!
The Marco Polo's living still.
There's no ship here can catch her! (CHO)

(Composed by Jim Stewart, © 1988 Jim Stewart, SOCAN,
used with permission.

The Auld Grump

From Carol Davis comes a song of parting, of a woman parted from her husband as one heads to sea... this time around it is the man who stays ashore, as the woman plies the waves - Neptune's Daughter.

There's a voice I've just heard calling, calling as before,
And it's calling Neptune's daughter back to the sea once more,
Back to the sea once more, right back to the sea once more,
And it's calling Neptune's daughter back to the sea once more.

It's borne on the winds and breezes, and sounds in the sea birds' cry,
For when Neptune calls his daughter, no daughter can deny;
No daughter can deny, no daughter can deny,
For when Neptune calls his daughter, no daughter can deny.

Since I was a young girl, before I was full-grown
I'd have traded dolls and dresses for a boat to call my own;
For a boat to call my own, a boat to call my own;
I'd have traded dolls and dresses, for a boat to call my own.

Now my own boat's waiting, to sail where the wind's inclined,
And it's Neptune's daughter who must go, while you must stay behind;
While you must stay behind, you must stay behind,
And it's Neptune's daughter who must go, while you must stay behind.

It's well you should remember, it's well you should realize,
I was always Neptune's daughter before I was your bride;
Before I was your bride, before I was your bride,
I was always Neptune's daughter, before I was your bride.

Sometimes when the twilight's fading, in tune with the night wind's play,
Will you think of Neptune's daughter on the ocean far away?
On the ocean far away, on the ocean far away,
Will you think of Neptune's daughter on the ocean far away?

The Auld Grump

A few poems of the end of the days of sail, by Canadian raised, but English born C. Fox Smith. They have since been set to music.

Sailortown

Along the wharves in sailor town a singing whisper goes
Of the wind among the anchored ships, the wind that blows
Off a broad brimming water, where the summer day has died
Like a wounded whale a-sounding in the sunset tide.

There's a big China liner gleaming like a gull,
And her lit ports flashing; there's the long gaunt hull
Of a Blue-Funnel freighter with her derricks dark and still;
And a tall barque loading at the lumber mill.

And in the shops of sailor town is every kind of thing
That the sailormen buy there, or the ships' crews bring:
Shackles for a sea-chest and pink cockatoos,
Fifty-cent alarum clocks and dead men's shoes.

You can hear the gulls crying, and the cheerful noise
Of a concertina going, and a singer's voice —
And the wind's song and the tide's song, crooning soft and low
Rum old tunes in sailor town that seamen know.

I dreamed a dream in sailor town, a foolish dream and vain,
Of ships and men departed, of old days come again —
And an old song in sailor town, an old song to sing
When shipmate meets with shipmate in the evening.

The Traveller

I've loops o' string in the place o' buttons, I've mostly holes for a shirt;
My boots are bust and my hat's a goner, I'm gritty with dust an' dirt;
An' I'm sitting here on a bollard watching the China ships go forth,
Seeing the black little tugs come sliding with timber booms from the North.
Sitting and seeing the broad Pacific break at my feet in foam.
Me that was born with a taste for travel in a back alley at home.

They put me to school when I was a nipper at the Board School down in the slums,
And some of the kids was good at spelling and some at figures and sums;
And whether I went or whether I didn't they learned me nothing at all,
Only I'd watch the flies go walking over the maps on the wall,
Strolling over the lakes an' mountains, over the plains an' sea, —
As if they was born with a taste for travel something the same as me!

If I'd been born a rich man's youngster with lots o' money to burn,
It wouldn't ha' gone in marble mansions and statues at every turn,
It wouldn't ha' gone in wine and women, or dogs an' horses an' play,
Nor yet in collecting bricks and bracks in a harmless kind of a way;
I'd ha' paid my fare where I've beat my way (but I couldn't ha' liked it more!),
Me that was born with a taste for travel — the same if you're rich or poor.

I'd ha' gone bowling in yachts and rolling in plush padded Pullman cars, —
The same as I've seen 'em when I lay resting at night-time under the stars,
Me that have beat the ties and rode the bumpers from sea to sea,
Me that have sweated in stokeholds and dined off mouldy salt-horse and tea;
Me that have melted like grease at Perim and froze like boards off the Horn,
All along of a taste for travel that was in me when I was born.

I ain't got folks and I ain't got money, I ain't got nothing at all,
But a sort of a queer old thirst that keeps me moving on till I fall,
And many a time I've been short o' shelter and many a time o' grub,
But I've got away from the rows o' houses, the streets, an' the corner pub —
And here by the side of a sea that's shining under a sky like flame,
Me that was born with a taste for travel, give thanks because o' the same.

LUMBER

If I'd got to choose alone
One of all the freights I've known –
All my cargoes live and dead,
Bacon pigs and pigs of lead,
Cattle, copra, rice and rails,
Pilgrims, coolies, nitrates, nails,
Lima beans and China teas –
What do you think my pick would be?

If I'd got to name the best –
Take just one and leave the rest
Out of all the ports I've known –
Coral beaches white as bone,
All the hot lands and the cold,
Nights of stars and moons like gold,
Tropic smells and Spanish wine,
Whispering palm and singing pine,
All the isles of all the sea –
Where do you think I'd want to be?

Loading lumber long ago
In a ship I used to know,
With the bow-ports open wide
In her stained and rusted side,
And the saws a-screaming shrill
At the Steveston lumber-mill;
Where the Fraser floods and flows
Green and cold with melting snows,
And the tow-boats' wailing din,
As the booms come crawling in,
Fills the echoing creeks with sound,
And there's sawdust all around,
Deep and soft like drifted snow;
Nowhere much a man can go,
Nothing much to see or do,
Mouldiest burg you ever knew…

But I'd give the years between –
All I've done and all I've seen,
All the fooling and the fun,
All the chances lost and won,
All the good times and the bad,
All the memories sweet and sad,
Far and near, by shore and sea,
I would give them all to be
Loading lumber years ago
With the lads I used to know –
Loading lumber all day long
Stacks of scented deals among –
Loading lumber at the mill
Till the screaming saws were still,
And the rose-red sunset died
From the mountains and the tide,
And the night brought out its stars,
And the wind's song in the spars
Of that ship I used to know –
Loading lumber, long ago.

Morgan le Fay

I will put by my violent days, and the ill deeds that I have wrought,
All wayward sins of a wild heart, all empty joys I sought,
I will forswear the fruitless year and the deedless day,
And the long gold tresses and false caresses of Morgan le Fay.

The songs are hollow and empty: the wine is down to the lees:
I am full sick of the witching dance and unclean mysteries:
And the palace of magic and wonder just an ill shadow seems,
Wild feats and vile faces out of evil dreams.

There shall no sleep come nigh me all through the long night,
Where I watch mine arms alone for a space ere I ride forth to fight,
Alone with the cold altar and the cross of my slain Lord,
With the stark helm and the grey mail and the cross-hilted sword.

I have bound the spur to my heel again; I have rent the past like a scroll:
In the bitter waters of sorrow will I wash clean my soul.
I have put by the worthless world and the deedless day,
And the long gold tresses and false caresses of Morgan le Fay.

Cicely Fox Smith 1882-1954 was compared to the likes of Kipling, Stevenson, and Service. Her poems are largely forgotten today, but are being rediscovered, and set to music. All poems brutally pillaged from the Old Poetry website.

The Auld Grump

That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

Hanging Johnny

Well, they call me hanging Johnny,
yay-hay-i-o
I never hanged nobody
And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, first I hanged your mother
away-hay-i-o
Me sister and me brother
And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, I’d hang to make things jolly
yay-hay-i-o
I’d hang all wrong and folly
And it's hang, boys, hang

A rope, a beam, a ladder,
I'll hang ye all together
Well next I hanged me granny
I’d hang the holy family

Well, they call me hanging Johnny,
yay-hay-i-o
I never hanged nobody
And it's hang, boys, hang

And it's hang, boys, hang
-Hum-
yay-hay-i-o
-Hum-
And it's hang, boys, hang

Come hang, come haul together,
Come hang for finer weather,
Hang on from the yardarm
Hang the sea and buy a big farm

Well, they call me hanging Johnny,
yay-hay-i-o
I never hanged nobody
And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, I'd hang the mates and skippers,
yay-hay-i-o
I'd hang 'em by their flippers
hang, boys, hang

Well, I'd hang the highway robber,
yay-hay-i-o
I'd hang the burglar jobber;
And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, I'd hang a noted liar,
yay-hay-i-o
I'd hang a bloated friar;
And it's hang, boys, hang

Well, they say I hung a copper,
yay-hay-i-o
I gave him the long dropper
And it's hang, boys, hang

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The Auld Grump - believe it or not there are dirty versions of this....

It has taken me a long time to find this, only to get the answer handed to me by Woozy in the comments section of Skinhorse
Boatman's Cure, by George Ward, much thanks to Woozy for this!

1 Poling up the river in a three-hand boat,
Too deep to carry, too shallow to float (x2)

* Refrain:
If it doesn’t lift your spirits, it’ll leave you numb,
Best cure for the river is a bottle of rum (x2)


2 Listen to the forwarder struttin’ up the quay,
Quick to tell a boatman how the river will be,
Got to tell a boatman how the river will be.

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, it’ll leave you numb,
Best cure for the forwarder’s…

3 Workin’ up the rift, the current swung her ‘ round,
Bedbugs swum ashore, poor boatman nearly got drowned (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, it’ll leave you numb,
Best cure ...

4 Sweatin’ in the heat of day, chillin’ in the rain,
Sleepin’ in the open, got the ague again (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, ...

5 Frostbite in November took my toes away,
Devil take the black fly ‘bout the last week in May (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, ...

6 Sweet Annie of Schenectady, she broke my heart,
Her face is in the fire-light, the river sings her part (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, ...
Best cure for a woman is ...

7 Got a callus on my shoulder and my hands are raw,
Sweetest sight some thirsty frontier maid ever saw (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, ...
Best cure for wisdom is ...

8 I fought all through this wilderness in ’59;
I still fancy I see shadows movin’ time after time (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, well, it leaves you numb,
Best cure for shadows is ...
Only cure for shadows is ...

9 Morning comes up early for a fast batteau,
Shoulder to your settin’ pole, you push off and go (x2)

* If it doesn’t lift your spirits, well, it leaves you numb,
There ain’t no cure for livin’ in a bottle of rum.
ain’t no cure for livin’ in a bottle of rum.

Not the version I heard, but I suspect mine had gone for a few rounds in the folk circuit - raw edges worn off, words substituted, the music changed a wee bit. '59 is 1759, for those who wonder.

The version I heard started with :
You know you'll hate to leave her when the mornin' come,
Best cure for the woman is a bottle of rum.
If it doesn't make you happy, It'll leave you numb,
Best cure for the woman is a bottle of rum.
Best cure for the woman is a bottle of rum.

There's a man down on the levy 'neath the mornin' sun,
Mighty quick to tell you how the river will run.
Quick to tell a boatman how the river will run.
If it doesn't make you happy, it'll leave you numb,
Best cure for the foreman is a bottle of rum.
Best cure for the foreman is a bottle of rum.

But I am pretty sure that the version Woozy found is the original. Busy buying Mr. Ward's albums on CD Baby.

The Auld Grump

Warning: Somewhat raunchy-
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Posted for no good reason.

The Auld Grump

Been a while, and so....

STAND WITH ME, BOYS
(Mark Sisti)

We sailed out from the island the way we have for years
The sea was calm the sun was bright the sky was blue and clear
It’s a lovely day to sail I said looking to the sea
But captain he just frowned and said those clouds they worry me

We’d been at sea for two days when the winds they turned around
The sky turned black the thunder cracked the rain came crashing down
We cannot see the shoreline, we’ve got no place to run
We’ll have to ride it out right here until the storm is done

CHORUS
And it’s stand with me boys Though the wind blows bitter cold
Or the sea will claim your body as the devil claims your soul

The first mate says to me it’s just two weeks since I wed
Mary begged me not to sail, not to leave my wedding bed
And I’m not afraid of dying It holds no fear for me
But I’d rather not go down below in another sailor’s sea

Chorus

Just then we heard the bells, saw the lighthouse through the haze
we struggled for the distant shore as the lightning brightly blazed
We stumbled to the port and we kissed the solid ground
As the final man set foot on land the brave old ship went down

We sought the lighthouse keeper so that we could thank the man
They said, the keeper died this morn, just as the storm began.
There’s been no one to shine the light, no one to ring the bell
I guess someone wants you here more than they wanted you in hell

Chorus

Can be downloaded free as part of the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast from 10 March 2011 (and other episodes as well - it is fairly popular).

Sung by the Blarney Rebel Band.

The Auld Grump

quite honestly one of my favorite songs I have ever heard on that.

You know that you had an odd game when this song runs through your head:
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Oh... this is the place where the fishermen gather
With oil-skins and boots and Cape Anns battened down
All sizes of figures with squid lines and jiggers
They congregate here on the squid-jiggin' ground.

Some are workin' their jiggers while others are yarnin'
There's some standin' up and there's more lyin' down
While all kinds of fun, jokes and tricks are begun
As they wait for the squid on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's men of all ages and boys in the bargain
There's old Billy Cave and there's young Raymond Brown
There's a red rantin' Tory out here in the dory
A-runnin' down Squires on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's men from the Harbour and men from the Tickle
In all kinds of motorboats... green, grey and brown
Right yonder is Bobby and with him is Nobby
He's chewin' hard tack on the squid-jiggin' ground.

God bless my sou'wester, there's Skipper John Chaffey
He's the best hand at squid-jiggin' here, I'll be bound
Hello! What's the row? Why, he's jiggin' one now
The very first squid on the squid-jiggin' ground.

The man with the whiskers is old Jacob Steele
He's gettin' well up but he's still pretty sound
While Uncle Bob Hawkins wears six pairs of stockin's
Whenever he's out on the squid-jiggin' ground.

Holy smoke! What a scuffle! All hands are excited
'Tis a wonder to me that there's nobody drowned
There's a bustle, confusion, a wonderful hustle
They're all jiggin' squid on the squid-jiggin' ground.

Says Bobby, "The squids are on top of the water,
I just got me jigger 'bout one fathom down"
When a squid in the boat squirted right down his throat
And he's swearin' like mad on the squid-jiggin' ground.

There's poor Uncle Bille, his whiskers are spattered
With spots of the squid juice that's flyin' around;
One poor little b'y got it right in the eye
But they don't give a damn on the squid-jiggin' ground.

Now if ever you feel inclined to go squiddin'
Leave your white shirts and collars behind in the town
And if you get cranky without yer silk hanky
You'd better steer clear of the squid-jiggin' ground.

The Auld Grump

Learned this one as a kid.
Oh, have you heard the news, me Johnny
One more day
We're homeward bound tomorrow
One more day
Only one more day, me Johnny
One more day
Oh, rock and roll me over
One more day

Don't you hear the old man growlin'
Don't you hear the mate a howlin'

Don't you hear the caps'n pawlin'
Don't you hear the pilot bawlin'

Only one more day a-howlin'
Can't you hear the gals a-callin'

Only one more day a-rollin'
Can't you hear the gulls a-callin'

Only one more day a-furlin'
Only one more day a-cursin'

Oh, heave and sight the anchor, Johnny
For we're close aboard the port, Johnny

Only one more day for Johnny
And your pay-day's nearly due, Johnny

Then put out your long-tail blue, Johnny
Make your port and take your pay, Johnny

Only one more day a-pumpin', Johnny
Only one more day a-bracin'

Oh, we're homeward bound today, Johnny
We'll leave her without sorrow, Johnny

Pack your bags today me Johnny
Oh, an' leave her where she lies, Johnny

Only one more day a-workin', Johnny
Oh, come rock 'n' roll me over

No more gales or heavy weather
Only one more day together


A song about the days of sail being over, and yet....
Lyrics in the video.

...Some things don't change.

The Day Of The Clipper:
You can see the squares of canvas dancing over the horizon
You can feel the chanty wailing to the heaving of the men
You can feel the seas up to your knees and you know the sea is rising
And you know the clipper's day has come again
To the men on high, the bosun's cry commands a killing strain
Till every mother's son begins to pray
With a hearty shout, she comes about as she heads into the rain
And the ship has never seen a better day

Chorus:
Sailing ships and sailing men will sail the open waters
Where the only thing that matters is the wind inside the main
So all you loving mothers keep your eyes upon your daughters
For the sails will mend their tatters and the masts will rise again

Wooden beams and human dreams are all that makes her go
And the magic of the wind upon her sails
She'd rather fight the weather than the fishes down below
God help us if the rigging ever fails

As the timber creaks, the captain speaks above the vessel's groan
'Til every soul on board can hear the call
It's nothing but the singing of the ship inside her bones
And this is when she like it best of all

Where the current goes, the clipper's nose is plowing fields of green
Where fortune takes the crews, we wish them well
Where men could be when lost at sea is somewhere in between
The regions of a heaven and a hell

Well, they're sailing eastern harbors and the California shores
If you set your mind to see them them you can
As you count each mast go sailing past you prouder than before
Then you'll know the clipper's day has come again

The number of tall ships has been climbing over the last thirty years.

The Auld Grump

An unexpected find -

It doesn't say, but I am pretty certain that the singer is Captain Kendall Morse.

What I am certain of is the folks wearing the blue and white striped shirts - I used to sing with those people! Nor, Eli, Charlie....

The Auld Grump

Marvey! Thanks for sharing!