Shoals of Herring Ewan MacColl
With our nets and gear we’re faring
On the wide and wasteful ocean;
It’s there on the deep that we harvest and reap our bread,
As we hunt the bonny shoals of herring.
Oh, it was a fine and a pleasant day,
Out of Yarmouth harbour we were faring,
As a cabin boy on a sailing lugger,
For to go and hunt the shoals of herring.
Now the work was hard and the hours were long,
And the treatment sure it took some bearing,
There was little kindness and the kicks were many,
As we hunted for the shoals of herring.
Oh, we fished the Sward and the Broken Bank,
I was cook and I’d a quarter sharing,
And I used to sleep standing on my feet,
And I dreamt about the shoals of herring.
Well, we left the home ground in the month of June,
And to canny Shields we soon were bearing,
With a hundred cran of the silver darlings,
That we’d taken from the shoals of herring.
Now you’re up on deck, you’re a fisherman,
You can swear and show a manly bearing,
Take your turn on watch with the other fellows,
While you’re following the shoals of herring.
In the stormy seas and the living gale,
Just to earn your daily bread you’re daring,
From the Dover Straits to the Faroe Islands,
While you’re following the shoals of herring.
Well, I earned me keep and I paid me way,
And I earned the gear that I was wearing,
Sailed a million miles, caught ten million fishes,
We were following the shoals of herring.
Night and day we’re faring,
Come winter wind or winter gale,
Sweating or cold, growing up, growing old, and dying,
As you hunt the bonny shoals of herring.