I used to watch the fishermen, go out from Saltburn sands
Their cobbles loaded up with nets and long lines in their hands
The lobster pots were up forard, with the markers and the picks
Going to the fishing grounds, they knew all the tricks
They wore a woolen jersey and a yellow vinyl coat
A sow wester when it was raining, or a beanie in the boat
I used to watch them coming home, from the fishing bed
A wave pushing his beam, i loved my uncle Fred
The cobbles they were sturdy boats overlapped you see
Corked with tar to seal them from the northern sea
I've seen them in the water when storms are about ter burst
Disappearing beneath a wave, it's what they fear the worst
Up she comes with the spray, there oars are digging deep
Just longing for some dry clothes and someones arm's to sleep
I've seen them on the good days, . when a bountiful catch is landed
I heard them in the pub that night tall tales, They expanded
I've seen their craggy faces, as they smoked their pipes
I've seen them playing dominoes an listened to their gripes
A braver bunch I've never met, apart from the miner
I take my hat off to fisherfolk, you make my England finer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well, I had to comment on this one. Oh but you have brough back memories for me. Certainly a brave group of men in those boats. Irene