Here's to the Grimsby lads out at the trawling
Here's to the lads on the billowing deep
Shooting their nets and heaving and hauling
All the night long, and the landsmen asleep
They sail in the cold and the grey of the morning,
Leaving their wives and their families behind;
Following the fishing, fulfilling their calling,
Their charts are all ready the shoals for to find
Away to the north where they know will be waiting
Frost and black ice and the lash of the gale,
Trawling and hoping and anticipating
A ship bumper-full and safe homeward to sail
From Scotland's grey shore to the cold coast of Iceland
Through White Sea and Faeroe they're working their way,
Through Dogger and Forties to stormy Bear Island:
Eighteen long hours is the fisherman's day
The nets are inboard and the catch lies a-gleaming;
There's gutting and washing and packing below
Ten days of fishing and home they'll be steaming:
A thousand miles gone and a thousand to go
On Humber's brown water the new sun is gleaming;
To the fisherman's prayer the breeze sings the amen
The smoky grey town in the stillness is dreaming;
Her sons from the waters return once again
@sailor @England
from Palmer, Oxford Book of Sea Songs
sung by Cliff Haslam
filename[ GRIMLADS
playexe GRIMLADS
SF
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