Cornish Catches Part 3

Out along from old Mevagissey,-- Beatin' out from old Mevagissey,-- With a sky full o' scud blowin' over us, An' a stiddy brazzle plonkin' at the bow.

We shut the seine, an' watched the lights a dancin' green an' red, An' wallowed first to starboard, then to port, Until the dimsey touched the West, an' we was slowin' dead, An' then we knawed 'twas tummals we had caught, For the corks was bobbin' short.

Out along from old Mevagissey,-- Low lay old Mevagissey,-- When the grey dawn showed the shadows over us, An' the brazzle came alippin' at the bow.

We lugged the silver net aboard until the bilge was hid, For crates was little use for such a haul, An' then we let the main-sheet go, an' home along we slid, With the h.e.l.lum nearly buried in a squall, But we didn' care at all.

For it was home along to old Mevagissey, Back along to old Mevagissey, With the dangers of the night blown over us, An' A MILLION PILCHERS slitherin' below.

We tacked into the harbour with the ground-say grindin' hard, An' we b.u.mped to berth at last 'longside the quay, Which was chockered up with barrels so you couldn' step a yard, When we brought our s.h.i.+nin' harvest from the say:-- Now 'tis salt an' stawed away.

An' we'm home along in old Mevagissey, Home again in old Mevagissey, With the cloud o' winter care blown over us, Whatever winter winds may blow.

d.i.c.kY

A year agone, a year agone, our d.i.c.ky sailed away; A blue light danced about his eyes like suns.h.i.+ne on the bay, He whissled pa.s.sin' down along, his heart was glad an' gay, A year agone, a year agone, when d.i.c.ky sailed away.

A year agone! a year agone! The time do speed so fast, It scairce do seem a year agone we saw our d.i.c.ky last; It seems as if his steps must come aclatterin' to the door, An' he be claimin' payment with his breakfast for the score.

He loved the lanes in springtime an' he loved them at the fall, But when the honeysuckle bloomed he loved them best of all; I mind me how he had a sprig stuck in his cap that day, A year agone, a year agone, when d.i.c.ky sailed away.

There wasn' lad was handier at stawin' of a sail, There wasn' lad was cheerfuller at stemmin' through a gale, There wasn' lad was heartier at fis.h.i.+n' or at play, A year agone, a year agone, when d.i.c.ky sailed away.

A many s.h.i.+ps come into port along the flowin' tide, A many lads come home again an' safe in harbour ride, But all in vain we watch for one, an' all in vain we pray.

A year agone, a year agone, our d.i.c.ky sailed away!

THE OLD FISHERMAN'S LAMENT

'Tis well an' fine for the steam-trawler to sweep the floor of the say, But 'tis turble hard for the fisherman as awnly sails the Bay, For the fish gets scaircer an' scaircer an' hardly ait at all, An' what's to be catched with the seinin' be barely wuth the haul.

Us used to count on the herrin's to buy us Chris'mus cheer, But the catch runs lighter an' lighter, an' pervisions be allays dear, An' what us gets in the crab-pots that don't take long to sell, Especial when most of the pots be gone on a long ground swell.

'Tis a whisht poor life for a lad to lead, an' mos'ly they wont abide, But sterry away to the furrin' ports athurt a keenly tide, An' us be left, all lone an' long, to moil as best us may, While the clankin' trawler steams along, an' sweeps the floor of the say.

A LOOE LAY

Ole Sammy took fish from Downderry to Looe; Jest the darnedest thing that Ole Sammy could do; An' n.o.body knawed what Ole Sammy was thinkin'

For when he got there the fish was a stinkin'.

He cried them in stores an' he cried them in housen, But no one would have them at tuppence a thousan'; He cried them in Fore Street an' then on the Pier, But folks said as "Nothin' was tuppence too dear."

Sure awnly a saftie would ever be carin'

To pay for the fish when they'd had such a airin'!

An' any regreater deserve to be stranded For carryin' fish to the port where they'm landed!

So Sammy went homeways from Looe to Downderry, An' on to Torpoint an' acrost by the ferry, An' up along Plymouth, remarkable flish, He selled out to wance all his basket of fish.

'Tis sartin that 'tis, an' can't be no 'tisser, Us knaws fish an' fish from the Rame to the Lizzer; What's hansun for Devon for us doesn' do, So don't 'ee be carryin' fish into Looe.

ON THE KAY (QUAY).

As I was bendin' a hook one day A furriner* strawled along the kay.

His cheeks was white as gannet's wing, An' he looked a whisht an' wakely thing.

His clo'es was nate an' spickety span, But I sez to meself "Now there's a man!"

An' I sez to meself "Now look at his legs, They'm like a couple o' crabpot pegs."

An' I sez to meself "A bit of a squall Would blow his bones to the end of all."

An' I sez--but I didn' had time to say For a scraitch went up from the end o' the kay,

Where a cheeld was aswingin' jest afore, An' now there wasn' no cheeld no more,

Then a'most afore I could see him go, That furriner sprang in the say below.

He couldn' swim much, but he keeped afloat Jest while I tumbled into the boat,

An' I hooked him up an' lugged him aboard, An' he had that cheeld clipped tight as cord.

He trembled an' shook, he was wake an' white, But he awnly sez "Is the kid alright?"

Sure 'nuff, an' he simmed to understand When I gived him a hearty shake o' the hand.

I started abendin' the hook agen, An' I sez "There's different looks to men,

Braave hearts in whisht poor bodies bide, An' looks don't count to what's inside."

[Footnote *: To Cornishmen, non-Cornish are "furriners."]