‘Twas the second Sunday morning, just after leaving port,
We met a heavy Sou’west gale that washed away our boat.
It washed away our quarterdeck, our stanchions just as well,
And so we sent the whole shebang a-floating in the gale.
CHORUS :
For the wind was on her quarter and the engine’s working free.
There’s not another whaler that sails the Arctic Sea,
Can beat the Old Polina, you need not try, my sons,
For we challenged all both great and small from Dundee to St. John’s.
Art Jackson set his canvas, Fairweather got up steam,
But Captain Guy, the daring boy, came plunging through the stream.
And Mullins in the Husky tried to beat the blooming lot,
But to beat the Old Polina was something he could not.
There’s the noble Terra Nova, a model without doubt.
The Arctic and Aurora they talk so much about.
Art Jackman’s model mailboat, the terror of the sea,
Tried to beat the Old Polina on a passage from Dundee.
And now we’re back in old St. John’s where rum is very cheap.
So we’ll drink a health to Captain Guy who brought us o’er the deep.
A health to all our sweethearts and to our wives so fair.
Not another ship could make the trip but the Polina I declare.
There was birch rind, tar twine, cherry wine and turpentine,
Jowls and cavalances, ginger beer and tea.
Pig’s feet, cat’s meat, dumplings boiled up in a sheet,
Dandelion and crackie’s teeth at the Kelligrews Soiree.
Oh, I borrowed Cluney’s beaver as I squared my yards to sail,
And a swallow tail from Hogan that was foxy on the tail.
Billy Cuddahie’s old working pants and Patsy Nolan’s shoes,
And an old white vest from Fogarty to sport at Kelligrews.
There was Dan Milley, Joe Lilly, Tantan and Mrs. Tilley,
Dancing like a little filly, ‘twould raise your heart to see.
Jim Brine, Din Ryan, Flipper Smith and Caroline.
I tell you, boys, we had a time at the Kelligrews Soiree.
Oh, when I arrived at Betsy Snook’s that night at half past eight,
The place was blocked with carriages stood waiting at the gate.
With Cluney’s funnel upon my pate, the first words Betsy said,
“Here comes the local Preacher with the pulpit on his head.
There was Bill Mews, Dan Hughes, Wilson, Taft and Teddy Roose,
While Bryant he sat in the blues and looking hard at me.
Jim Fling, Tom King, Johnson, champion of the ring,
And all the boxers I could bring to the Kelligrews Soiree.
“The Saratoga Lancers first,” Miss Betsy kindly said.
I danced with Nancy Cronin and her Granny on the Head.
And Hogan danced with Betsy well you should have seen his shoes,
As he lashed the muskets from the rack that night at Kelligrews.
There was boiled guineas, cold guineas, bullock’s heads and piccaninnies.
Everything to catch the pennies you’d break your sides to see.
Boiled duff, cold duff, apple jam was in a cuff.
I tell you boys we had enough at the Kelligrews Soiree.
Crooked Flavin struck the fiddler and a hand I then took in.
You should see George Cluney’s beaver and it flattened to the rim,
And Hogan’s coat was like a vest, the tails were gone you see.
Says I, “The Devil haul ye and your Kelligrews Soiree.
Some are working their jiggers while others are yarning.
There’s some standing up and there’s more lying down.
While all kinds of fun, jokes and tricks are begun,
As they wait for the squid on the squid jigging 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 ranting Tory out here in a dory,
A-running down Squires on the squid jigging ground.
There’s men from the Harbour, there’s men from the Tickle,
In all kinds of motorboats, green, grey and brown.
Right yonder there’s Bobby and with him is Noddy,
He’s chawing hard tack on the squid jigging ground.
Oh, God bless my sou’wester, there’s Skipper John Chaffey.
He’s the best hand at squid jigging here, I’ll be bound.
Hello, what’s the row? Why he’s jigging one now.
It’s the very first squid on the squid jigging ground.
Now, the man with the whiskers is old Jacob Steele.
He’s getting well up but he’s still pretty sound.
While Uncle Bob Hawkins wears six pairs of stockings,
Whenever he’s out on the squid jigging ground.
Holy smoke! What a scuffle, all hands are excited.
‘Tis a wonder to me that there’s nobody drowned.
There’s confusion, a bustle, a wonderful hustle.
They’re all jigging squids on the squid jigging ground.
Says Bobby, “The squids are on top of the water.
I just got my jiggers ‘bout one fathom down.
But a squid in the boat squirted right down his throat,
And he’s swearing like mad on the squid jigging ground.
There’s poor Uncle Billy, his whiskers are spattered,
With spots of the squid juice that’s flying around.
One poor little boy got it right in the eye,
But they don’t give a darn on the squid jigging ground.
Now if ever you feel so inclined to go squidding,
Leave your white shirts and collars behind in the town,
And if you get cranky without your silk hanky,
You’d better steer clear of the squid jigging ground.
‘Twas down in the garden this fair maid did go,
Plucking the beautiful primrose.
The more she plucked the more she pulled,
Until she gathered her apron full.
She climbed on yonder hill above,
To give a rose unto her love.
She gave him one, she gave him three.
She gave her heart in company.
But as they sat on yonder hill,
His heart grew hard, so harder still.
He has two hearts instead of one.
She cried, “Young man. what have you done?
“For when I carried my apron low,
You followed me through frost and snow,
But now my apron is to my chin,
You pass my door and won’t call in.
CHORUS :
Lay hold William Oldford, lay hold William White,
Lay hold of the cordage (hawser) and pull all your might.
Lay hold of the bowline and pull all you can,
And give me a lift with poor Kit on the pond.
I knew that the ice became weaker each day,
But still took the risk and kept hauling away.
One evening in April, bound home with a load,
The mare showed some halting against the ice road.
And knew more than I did as matters turned out,
And lucky for me had I joined her in doubt.
She turned ‘round her head and with tears in her eyes,
As if she were saying, “You’re risking our lives.”
All this I ignored with a whip handle blow,
For man is too stupid dumb creatures to know.
The very next minutes the pond gave a sigh,
And down to our necks went poor Kitty and I.
For if I had taken wise Kitty’s advice,
I never would take the shortcut on the ice.
Poor creature she’s dead, poor creature she’s gone.
I’ll ne’er get my mare out of Tickle Cove Pond.
So I raised an alarm you could hear for a mile,
And neighbours turned up in a very short while.
You can always rely on the Oldfords and Whites,
To render assistance in all your bad plights.
To help a poor neighbour is part of their lives.
The same I can say for their children and wives.
When the bowline was fastened around the mare’s breast,
William White for a shanty song made a request.
There was no time for thinking, no time for delay.
Straight from his head came this song right away.
LAST CHORUS :
Lay hold William Oldford, lay Hold William White,
Lay hold of the cordage and pull all your might,
Lay hold of the bowline and pull all you can,
And with that we brought Kit out of Tickle Cove Pond.
‘Twas twenty-five or thirty years since Jack first saw the light.
He came into this world of woe one dark and stormy night.
He was born on board his father’s ship as she was lying to,
‘Bout twenty-five of thirty miles southeast of Bacalieu.
When Jack grew up to be a man he went to Labrador.
He fished in Indian Harbour where his father fished before.
On his returning in the fog he met a heavy gale,
And Jack was swept into the sea and swallowed by a whale.
The whale went straight for Baffin Bay, ‘bout ninety knots an hour,
And every time he’d blow a spray he’d send it in a shower.
Oh now, says Jack unto himself, I’ll see what he’s about.
He got the whale all by the tail and turned him inside out.
CHORUS:
How I long for those bright days to come again once more,
But come again they never will for now I’m sixty-four.
We went a little further on, it was up the hill we walked,
And sat down on that very stone where we oft-times sat and talked.
We talked about those days gone by so blissful and serene.
We talked about those days gone by when we were sweet sixteen.
The little fish swims in the brook and he wanders down below.
He swims there still and he ever will as he did long years ago.
The little meadow by the brook is just as fresh and clean.
It’s just as fresh now as it was when we were sweet sixteen.
The past is past and she is gone, on earth we’ll meet no more,
But we will meet in heaven above on that eternal shore.
And when we meet no more we’ll part, in heaven we both shall reign,
No more to sigh for days gone by when we were sweet sixteen.
Poor fishermen we been out all the day.
Come home in the evening full sail up the bay.
There’s Kate in the corner with a wink and a nod,
Saying, “Jimmy or Johnny, have you got any cod?”
And it’s hard, hard times.
First comes the merchant to see your supply,
Saying, “The fine side of fishing you’ll have by and by.”
Seven dollars for large, six-fifty for small.
Pick out your West Indie, you’ve nothing at all,
And it’s hard, hard times.
The baker has loaves, grow smaller each week.
The same for the butcher that weighs up your meat.
The weights they fly up and the scales they fly down,
And when it’s all over you’re short half a pound,
And it’s hard, hard times.
Then come the doctor, the worst of them all,
Saying, “Whats been the matter with you all the fall?”
He says he will cure you of all your disease.
When your money he’s got, you can die if you please,
And it’s hard, hard times.
The best thing to do is to work with a will,
For when it’s all over you’re hauled on the hill.
Hauled up on the hill, put down in the cold,
And when it’s all over you’re still in the hole,
And it’s hard, hard times.
Lukey’s boat got a fine forecuddy, aha my boys,
Lukey’s boat got a fine forecuddy,
And every seam is chinked with putty.
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
Lukey’s boat got high stop sails, aha my boys,
Lukey’s boat got high stop sails,
And she was planched with copper nails.
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
“I think,” says Lukey, “I’ll make her bigger,” aha my boys,
“I think,” says Lukey, “I’ll make her bigger,”
I’ll load her down with a one claw jigger.”
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
Lukey’s rolling out his grub, aha my boys,
Lukey’s rolling out his grub,
One split pea in a ten pound tub.
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
“Aha,” says Lukey, “the blinds are down,” aha my boys,
“Aha,” says Lukey, “the blinds are down,”
My wife is dead and underground.”
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
“Aha,” says Lukey, “I don’t care.” aha my boys,
“Aha,” says Lukey, “I don’t care,
I’ll get me another in the spring of the year.”
Aha, aha me riddle I day.
On Saturday we sailed away being in the evening late.
Bound into Conception Bay all for a load of bait.
The clouds lay in the atmosphere for our destruction met.
Boreas blew a heavy squall, our boat was overset.
Your heart would ache for all their sake if you were standing by,
To see them drowning one by one and no relief being nigh.
Struggling with the boisterous waves all in their youth and bloom,
But at last they sank to rise no more all on the eighth of June.
Now to conclude and finish, these lines I write in pain.
Never depend out of your strength while sailing on the main,
But put your trust in Providence, observe the Lord’s command.
He’ll guard you right, both day and night, upon the sea and land.
I’m the son of a seacook and a cook in a trader,
I can dance, I can sing, I can reef the main boom.
I can handle a jigger and I cuts a fine figure,
Whenever I gets in a boat’s standing room.
My name it is Robert they call me Bob Pittman.
I sailed in the Ino with Skipper Tom Brown.
I’m bound to have Polly or Biddy or Molly,
Just as soon as I’m able to plank the cash down.
If the voyage is good then this fall I will do it.
I want two pound ten for a ring and a priest.
A couple of dollars for clean shirts and collars,
And a handful of coppers to make up a feast.
I went to a dance one night in Fox Harbour.
There were plenty of girls as nice as you’d wish.
There was one pretty maiden a-chawing on frankgum,
Just like a young kitten a-knawing fresh fish.
There’s plump little Polly, her name is Goldsworthy.
There’s John Coady’s Kitty and Mary Tibbo.
There’s Clara from Brule and young Martha Foley,
But the nicest of all is my girl from Toslow.
Farewell and adieu to you girls of Fox Harbour,
Oderin and Presque, Crabbes Hole and Brule.
I’m bound to the westward to the wall with the hole in,
For I can’t marry all or in the chokey I’d be.
When spreads thy cloak of shimmering white,
At winter’s stern command.
Through shortened day and starlit night,
We love thee frozen land.
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee frozen land.
When blinding storm gusts fret thy shore,
And wild waves lash thy strand.
Through spindrift swirl and tempest roar,
We love thee windswept land.
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee windswept land.
As loved our fathers, so we love,
Where once they stood, we stand.
Their prayers we raise to heaven above,
God guard thee Newfoundland.
God guard thee, God guard thee,
God guard thee Newfoundland.