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Northern Tide

Out to sea, on a northern tide
On a northern tide, I'm bound away,
To the fishing grounds, and the ocean wide
And more besides, to earn my pay.

But I'll not let the ocean come between us,
There's part of me that never leaves the shore
And if I had to say the words, my own one
I couldn't love you more.

Far away, from my second home,
From the salt and foam, of a foreign sea.
Lashed by the winds of a raging gale,
Sleet and hail are home to me.

You asked me, 'Is it lonely on the ocean?'
You asked me, 'Did you miss me?' but you know
I missed you, but the sea will never leave me
-And I can't let her go.

Heave to Lads, and haul your nets
And fill the decks, with a ton of cod!
Barrels full of liver oil, fisherman's spoil
Pays the rent-Thank God!

Our holds are full and we are heading homeward
To the Humber's muddy waters we'll return
We'll leave the icy ocean far behind us
And pleasure, in the money, we have earned

Sailing home, on an evening tide
On an evening tide, we're getting near
From the fishing grounds, and the ocean wide,
And more besides, to you, my dear.

North Cape calling

February, North Cape calling me,
Mercury rising, and our hearts are full with fear,
Layers of ice on our lower decks
We'll trim the hatches down boys
As the raging storm draws near.

Chorus

It's too late to turn around, our skipper says,
There's a hold half empty here, besides
There's plenty more good fishing to be done, me lads
We'll ride the storm till morning, then decide

February, North Cape calling me,
We've lost our mast and cut the engines too
We've dragged the first mate back into the hold, me lads
The frostbite has his fingers, but we're sure that he'll pull through

Chorus

February, North Cape calling me,
We've never prayed so hard in all our lives
'Good Lord! If this is judgement, then I'll promise you
I'll give up drink and women, if you'll just let me survive!'

Chorus

February, North Cape calling me,
Mercury rising, and a calmer sea prevails
'Lower your nets!' we hear the skipper cry
The sooner we get done here, then the sooner we set sail!

(Chorus) It's too late to turn around, our skipper says,
There's a hold half empty here, besides
There's plenty more good fishing to be done, me lads
We'll ride the storm till morning, then decide
It's too late to turn around, our skipper says,
There's a hold half empty here, besides
There's plenty more good fishing to be done, me lads
We'll ride the storm till morning, then decide
We'll ride the storm till morning, then decide
We'll ride the storm till morning

Thiepval

Its all hallows eve in the low lands of Flanders
A cold pale fog on the land it is spread
And out of the mist , come a marching and singing
Long gaunt files of men near a hundred years dead

They stand ,parade order, by the building at Thiepval
And at the command each steps up and stands tall
And receives in his turn from the ghost Colour Sarjeant
His name rank and number removed from the wall

Their spectral Officer calls the dismissal
And grey NCOS give each man his paybook
they salute and depart from the grim fields of Flanders
without a glance sideways or a backward look

They march away and their singing is fading
But long before dawn their home places they've found
And finally back ,after nearly a century
Each with relief can sink into home ground

And all over England their names are erasing
From column, memorial and empty tomb
The dead and the missing that have had no resting place
Returning to lie in their dark native womb

And now here at Thiepval there stands a cold monument
Shiny, unmarked made of pale Portland stone
Because all the men it was made to memorial
Have all returned home, to sleep still with their own

(From the poetry of Micca Patterson. In our

performance of this song, we fade into the first

verse of 'It's a long way to Tipperary')

Broom Lee Lough

Cloud rise, and falling fast, and the mist hangs in the air,
Cold waves on a northern shore, will hide the treasure there,
And my father knew the tale of old, though he was a simple man
Who sought his fortune in the soil, but sowed a barren land
For deep beneath the Broom Lee Lough, a treasure hidden lays
The Viking gold, most cursed and rare, from ancient sunless days
To grasp the jewels of Danish might, many men, ill-fated tried
A watery grave became their plight, and many young men died,
five fathom five.

Chorus

Five fathom five, my father lies asleep
And on his head, a golden crown,
And in his slumbers deep,
For it's twice for the man I am
And twice the golden mane,
And a seenth son of a seventh son
Shall strike a golden chain, five fathom five.

So care aside, my father sought to lay this treasure bare
And sailed out from the middle shore, with the soft wind in his hair,
When all at once, the sky grew dark and with a mighty thunderous roar,
His boat sank deep into the lough and scarce was seen no more
'Oh Death, Oh Death' my mother cried,'My husband, you have ta'en'
'Go from this house, my son' she said, 'You shall not here remain'
'The land lies barren ,as before and black our future burns
So take your love, and leave this house, and never yet return'.
Five fathom five

Chorus

'I cannot marry you my love, whilst my pocket empty stays'
The seeds fall dead upon the ground, and cursed my future lays
But in the deepest watery grave, there shines a crystal light
I will search beneath the lakes wild shores and heave it from its site.
Your hair is like a golden thread, that is spun by heaven's might
Your lips taste like the honey'd dew, that gleams in morning's light.
More riches than the Pharoahs have, I'll not my love deny,
When the moon is full, Ill take the tide, my oars will strongly ply,
five fathom five.

Chorus

And out he rode into the night, though fear had gripped his mind
And deep his love, for the maiden fair, stood on the banks behind
The night black water, thick as blood, sucked down upon his bones,
And the demon mist crept round his boat, and he found himself alone
'Oh Father, Father, hear me now!' I know that you lie near,
'I see a golden light beneath, and I'm filled with mortal fear,
Your face I see beneath the waves, your voice as clear as ice'
'Go back! Go back! I beg you Son, lest you should lose your life'
Five fathom five

Chorus

'For you have not a brother born, in likeness to your own,
And golden horses you have none, nor mighty oxen own,
And seven generations on, a blacksmith must be near,
To strike a chain of finest gold, to pull the treasure clear.'
'I have no brother, Father dear,in likeness to my own,
I have no horse or oxen strong, as I stand here alone,
And I do not have a golden chain to pull the treasure clear,
Oh Death draws quick around me now, I fear the end is near.'
Five fathom five.

Chorus

And his love stood by the middle shore, in the distance she surveyed,
A ghostly mist crept o'er the lake, where her lover's boat had laid,
And nought remained, but deadly still, and the hollow of her sigh.
For she knew her love would not return, but not the reason why.
For curses broken, will revenge themselves upon those men,
Who do not heed them and with greed will seek their fortunes, then
With mighty vengeance death is wrought, and none can then be saved
And the legend, that is Broom Lee Lough, becomes their watery grave
Five fathom five.

Chorus

(Broom Lee Lough is a small Northumbrian lake

near Hadrian's Wall. I read of the legend of lost treasure in the

National Trust magazine. The lost treasure can only be retrieved

by a male twin, and pulled clear of the lake by twin oxen and twin
horses.It must be secured by a golden chain, smote by a 7th

generation blacksmith. Probably easier to do the Lottery!

The recording of this song on 'Fish out of water'

is an abridged version. Here is the full version.)

The Gallow Waltz

My loved one, my own one,the birds are not singing.
The wind it blows coldly on a far Southern shore.
For word I've received, that you've cruelly been taken,
And our poor baby son, will see his father no more.

Oh when, tell me when will this cruel war be over,
And brother will stand with his brother once more?
And the crops will grow tall, there'll be flowers in the meadow,
And we'll dance in the moonlight, like we did one before.

They say that they trapped you, then killed all your comrades,
That they left you to hang, in a tall willow tree,
And your poor beaten body, swayed gently in motion,
Till you danced with th dead, my beloved, not me.

I'll never forget you, my Johnny, my own one,
Though they've buried your body in a land far away,
And one day when he's older, I'll bring Michael to you,
And we'll come to Virginia, to visit your grave.

And we'll laugh and sing songs, and remember the old days
When we danced in the moonlight, kissed under the stars,
And our bodies will sway in a soft gentle motion,
But you dance with the dead, as you lay in my arms.
This war it is cruel and many have perished
And the nation united will better be then,
But now the seed is unplanted and the harvest is empty
And the graveyards are full, of our lovely young men.

I am an avid student of the American Civil War.

I remember seeing pictures of trees with the bodies of young

men hanging from them. These were young African American soldiers

who had escaped slavery to return to the South to fight the Confederacy.

The Maiden and the Rose

The icy cloak of winter, wraps the still and frozen ground
A maiden’s heart is broken by, the new love she has found
And a cold wind blows, and a cold wind blows
Forever

The songbirds are all silenced, as they wait for warmer air
A raven circles overhead, to guard the maiden fair
As she rues her love, as she rues her love
Whatever

Slow to melt the ice is, uncovering below
Small green shoots of a new life, amidst the virgin snow
And the maiden knows, that inside her grows
Another

And plough and man together, see the parting of the land
And the planting of a new life, but she doesn’t understand
Why he keeps away, when she begged him stay
In pity

And all the live long summer, crops they grew both proud and tall
And ripened in the sunlight till they hear the harvest call
And a maiden’s prayer, that her love might share
The sorrow

Now the crops are gathered safely, and the leaves begin to fall
And the songbirds journey southward, and the wind begins to squall
And a maiden cries, with her new life dies,
Together

And the wind blows cold in winter, and the days are dark and wild
And deep within the earth, there lays a maiden and her child
And on her grave, a single rose it lays
A lover’s rose it lays
Forever

The Luckiest Sailor

I’ve been fishing the seas, since a lad of fifteen,
There’s not a stretch of the ocean where I haven’t been,
And I’ve seen Northern Lights, and the whale fish at play,
And I’ve slept through the dogwatch, been fined half me pay,
And I’ve prayed long and hard, in a Westerly storm
And I’ve dreamt of those young girls who helped keep me warm,
And I’ve sat with the old jacks, and listened in glee,
To the tales of the women, the drink and the sea.

(Chorus)

I’m the luckiest sailor, that Hull ever knew,
When the Kingston ship sank, with the loss of her crew.
And I prayed for their lives, sons and their wives,
On the day that the Peridot perished.

Well, I was a young sailor with settle in hand
From fishing in Iceland, with white fish to land.
And I’m dressed to the nines in me ruckerback tails,
And I’m odd down the ‘Stricky’ to sink a few ales.
Well I’ll tell you a tale of the taxman and me,
He’s been robbing me blind, since I first went to sea,
So I says to the skipper,’ I’ll spend time ashore,
‘Cos I’m damned if that taxman will have anymore’.

Chorus

Well a whisper was heard, that a Hull ship was down,
With no chance of a rescue, her men had all drowned.
So I sups me ale, ‘cos I knew in me head
That the Hull ship, was my ship,
And me mates were all dead.
And the coins in me pocket, weighed heavy that day,
And it took me no courage to give them away,
And me mind took me back to those long days at sea.
Then I asked the good Lord ‘Why me mates, and not me?’

Chorus (repeat twice)

The Kingston Peridot sank with the loss of all hands in 1968.

It was one of three trawler tragedies for the fishing port of
Hull. Within a short space of time, the Ross Cleveland, the

St Romanus and the Kingston Peridot all suffered the same fate.
The above is a true account of how one young sailor managed

to avoid tragedy.

Sparehand

I dream of distant waters though my fishing days are gone
And for thirty years I've worked the factory floor.
At night when I lay sleeping I can still hear howling gales
As we hauled our nets and brought our fish aboard.
Though owners called me casual I'd twenty years at sea
And I swear I worked as hard as any can.
And although they cut the quotas and they took my job away
In my heart I know I'm still a fisherman.

It's a dim and distant memory now and fading with the past
Like a photograph that's not seen light of day.
But you can't forget the hunger and you don't forget the pain
Or the misery that doesn't go away.
'Cause when the fishing ended and the men in suits demand
"You'd better find another job and this time on dry land.
But don't expect redundancy or to have a helping hand."
Don't they know that I was born a fisherman?

The cold of the Atlantic chilled the hearts of angry men
Who struggled on to earn their daily bread.
Who like their fathers long before had ploughed the ocean deep
Who never thought their living would be dead
Now they're waiting by the factory gates and queuing in the line
But "Try again tomorrow lads, you've had no luck this time."
So they wander home and tell the wife and kids it will be fine
And I wish that I was still a fisherman

And the TV and the tabloids got bored and went away
And they told us that they'd bigger fish to fry
And the men in suits informed us it's a fight you cannot win
So give up lads and let the fishing die.
But they're sure to pay the owners, was their influence that great?
That they wouldn't have them suffer at their hand?
It's a trickle down economy, they will give you what they can
So you'd best forget you were a fisherman.

And the children sit and listen to the tales their fathers tell
And it doesn't seem a world they'll ever know.
Of the catches and the conflicts, of the misery and the hell
And the battle grounds off Iceland long ago
For their father is a carpenter, or a driver of a van
Or a lagger or a miner, or he does the best he can
But when he goes to sleep at nights he'll be bringing in the cran
'Cause you'll always live and die a fisherman
Yes when he goes to sleep at nights he'll be bringing in the cran
Yes you'll always live and die a fisherman

The Cod War, between Britain and Iceland in the 1970's,

destroyed the fishing industry, and thousands of fishermen

were laid off. After years of struggle, the trawler men were only recently

paid compensation or not having received redundancy In many

cases they worked for one fishing line for maybe twenty years or so,

they would sign on and off trawlers and were paid

settling for each catch. Then they were effectively

rehired for the next sail. Their status was determined to

be 'casual labour' and the trawler owners did not

have to pay redundancy terms . Trawler owners, however,

were paid a large compensation for decommissioning

their boats, only for many of them to sell the trawlers abroad.

Octavius

Soft eerie light on the water
Silent, she moves with the ocean beneath her
Caverns of ice, rise above her
Slowly, the soft cloak of winter descends.

I am no match for you.

Moonlight has captured her beauty,
Pale silhouette in the blackness beyond her
Swanlike, in elegant motion,
One fleeting moment, and then she is gone

I am no match for you.

Forced by the passage of time and degree
Locked in an ocean of death, ice and sea
Statues of frozen flesh, blood withered bone
Death came to those who were so far from home.

Soft eerie light on the water
Square sailed, a breathless wind often becalmed her,
Floating her haunted path eastwards
Too late, her journey would not take her home.

I am no match for you

Caught in the grip of the ice-storm,
Life like some flickering candle that’s over,
Slowly our breath fading from us
Caught with the dying words trapped n our minds.

I was no match for you

Steer us, beyond that which we’ve come to fear
Keep us in memory of those we hold dear.
Onward, Octavius drifts into night
Dwarfed by cathedrals of glistening ice.

Soft eerie light on the ocean
Gleaming the Arctic stars shine high above us
Onward our dead souls are drifting
Caught in a journey of time and degree.

I was no match for you.

Soft eerie light on the water
Thirteen long years that it took to discover
Crew frozen fast in an ice storm
Caught in a journey, of time and degree.

A true story of the ship Octavius, which in 1775 was discovered by

the packet 'Herald' drifting with its entire crew frozen dead.

The captain's log showed that it had been travelling for thirteen years

and had covered thousands of miles, sailing as it did, through the

North West Passage.