1. |
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I see rats in the water and crows on the quay
And mothers with stones where their hearts used to be
I see children so skinny they ought to blow down
All for the sailing tomorrow
And the dead have moved in like a wave of the sea
Like a plague or a tempest or a swarm of old fleas
And they crowd on the quays and are like to fall in
All for the sailing tomorrow
And the shippers are raking the coin from the hands
Of the peasant-stream flowing from the vales of the land
There’s a waving of hankies and hats on the shore
You’ll never see your loved ones more
Brothers and sisters and lovers and friends
Running madly along with the ship on the strand
It’s a daily occurrence so horrid and cruel
From Drogheda Port to Liverpool
And the lucky ones root with the cattle and pigs
Oh the youngsters of Connacht have seen nothing so big
As a port town so heaving with humanity
All for the sailing tomorrow
And the shippers are raking the coin from the hands
Of the peasant-stream flowing from the vales of the land
There’s a waving of hankies and hats on the shore
You’ll never see your loved ones more
Brothers and sisters and lovers and friends
Running madly along with the ship on the strand
It’s a daily occurrence so horrid and cruel
From Drogheda Port to Liverpool
Are you turning your face out of mercy or shame?
Or a sense of injustice, or is it all the same?
One way or the other, we all must report
All for the sailing tomorrow
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2. |
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John Cleveland is the master of the Porcupine
He’s been halfway round the world and back again
Through storms and mutinies and everything
Johnny’s pulled his crew through
Johnny’s got a girl at home called Sarah Lou
She is serious and smart and steadfast and true
She doesn’t take shit from Johnny or his crew
And she hates the Porcupine
If some day that ship goes down
And you don’t come home to me
I’ll find you I swear
You’ll hear my voice on the wind all summer
Now the Porcupine has run aground in shallow seas
And the crew is all praying, all down on their knees
For a current or a breath of wind to set them free
But Johnny’s not worried at all
He lies in his bunk and thinks of Sarah Lou
And he knows she’s the talisman that gets him through
She waits impatiently for word or news
And Johnny won’t dare let her down
If some day that ship goes down
And you don’t come home to me
I’ll find you I swear
You’ll hear my voice on the wind all summer
“Becalmed is nothing” he says to his first mate
“Compared to what awaits us all if we are late
So get up off your knees, boys, and own your fate
We’ve got work to do”
If some day that ship goes down
And you don’t come home to me
I’ll find you I swear
You’ll hear my voice on the wind all summer
John Cleveland is the master of the Porcupine
He’s been halfway round the world and he’s come back again
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3. |
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Dear reader, just last week we had some sad news to relay
With loss of goods and souls aboard, three ships had cast away
But happily we now report these losses to be small
In fact only one ship lost souls on the Island of St. Paul
This ship had sailed from Ireland – some north-eastern seaport town
One hundred sixty souls aboard, all dreaming of renown
An English square-rigged brigantine, Isabella she was called
Well eight poor souls will dream no more on the Island of St. Paul
Far from South-West Light she was, on the island’s eastern side
Where many a vessel’s gone aground and many a sailor’s died
Maybe she was fog-blind or caught up in a squall
Or maybe the ghosts of the sea claimed her for the Island of St. Paul
Some were picked up in a boat, some made it to shore
Their ship lost to the rocks and to the ocean’s angry roar
They listened for a passing ship or a loved one’s lonesome call
But the wind carries only seagulls’ cries on the Island of St. Paul
In the north Atlantic, on an island grey and plain
The wind sings in the lichen for the memory of the slain
Many a ship has cast away before she’s made landfall
In the Graveyard of the Gulf we know as the Island of St. Paul
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4. |
The Brig Manley
04:58
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Let me tell you a story with an unhappy ending
Of the brig Manley and its fate
A storm was raging, the likes of which we’d never seen before
Around our lifeboat station and we were called to the fray
We mustered at station, we answered the call
And we rowed into the dark and the howling gale
There were three on our crew that night
We were three miles from Queensborough
We were three minutes from our fate
When the captain called ...
The brig Manley, badly beaten by the wind
Bruised and shaken, had run aground on its lee
The crew, in blind panic, had shinned the rigging to escape
The grasping hands of the furious sea
And we heard them calling from the ratlines and shrouds
But we just couldn’t fight the vicious tide
There were three on our crew that night
We were three miles from Queensborough
We were three minutes from our fate
When the captain called:
“Turn around boys, the tide’s too strong
Turn around boys, this feels all wrong
Turn around boys, we’ll perish here
Turn around boys, there’s no shame in fear
Turn around with everything you’ve got
Turn around”
The voices faded as with heavy hearts we made our way home
And the brig surrendered its crew to the sea
And they cursed us for cowards in the streets and in the papers
And the Harbour Board called for our redundancy
And I still hear those voices whenever I rest
And I wake up calling
“Turn around”
(Eighty tonnes Newport coal in transitu
Seven young sailors stout-hearted and true
Six in the shrouds in five minutes undone
Forsaken three miles to shore
And the race is hard won)
There were three on our crew that night
We were three miles from Queensborough
We were three minutes from our fate
When the captain called
“Turn around”
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5. |
Little Things
03:37
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There is a ship down on the quay
And it sails today at noon
There is work waiting for me
And a berth for Liverpool
If I thought that you would wait for me
I would be happier to go
But I’ve been fooled before by kisses sweet
And a soft word whispered low
There will be too much time to think
On the wine-dark, angry foam
Oh the soft fingers of doubt
Will you wait? Will you roam?
Did I offer love far too fast?
Or maybe not quite quick enough?
Either way it’s too late now, my heart is in your hands
Be you gentle, be you rough
It’s the little things that give you away
Even you can’t believe half of what you say
And real, real love would only get in your way
People like you
I should have known
You don’t really fall in love
And your heart remains your own
It’s the little things that give you away
Even you can’t believe half of what you say
And real, real love would only get in your way
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6. |
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Hand me my Sunday dress
Don’t bother telling me what you think
The sun is over the yard-arm now
Surely a girl deserves a drink
Almost time to go to work
Shield my eyes against the sun
Punched and kicked and spat upon
Goosed against the harbour wall
Merchant, sailor, vagabond
I do it for the money, though the money is small
And old Madame will know what’s what
Every act and deed that’s done
Every penny goes in the pot
No point trying to fox that one
And when it’s time to go to work
Shield my eyes against the sun
Punched and kicked and spat upon
Goosed against the harbour wall
Merchant, sailor, vagabond
I do it for the money, though the money is small
God save us all
When the comfort’s cold and your bed is hard
After those long weeks at sea
Or long hours in the foundry yard
You can always come to me
Let me help wind down your day
Let’s not speak of your wife’s worn brow
Let’s not think what your mother would say
Or how your sons would see you now
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7. |
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We used to wait out at Queensborough
Where the dippers sing in the hiss of the reeds,
Dawn spreads slowly over the mud banks
And the shearwaters silently wheel on the breeze
And the ships would come in, and expertly we’d gauge them
Mark them by their lie and their flag and their name
We’d approach in our boats and loudly we’d hail them
With authority board them in the King’s name
Saying “Show me the wood and the iron
Show me what lies unseen
Show me the saltwort and barilla
Show me your hands are clean”
Yes I worked in the Waterguard as a tidewaiter
I rummaged the ships in the Port, on the quay
Looking for anything hidden within there
I was a bloodhound - nothing escaped me
Saying “Show me the wood and the iron
Show me what lies unseen
Show me the saltwort and barilla
Show me your hands are clean”
We board your ships
We know your hiding places
We read your packing lists
We read your faces
And nothing gets by us
On Sundays it’s quiet all along the dockside
And we’re not as busy as we used to be
Early June and the cool of the river
Morning tide pushing up on the lee
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8. |
Ann Marie / Silver Sail
05:43
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Ann Marie was a girl of three
And she was her Daddy’s light
He worked hard in Grendon’s yard
And when he came home late at night
He brought stories fresh from the sea
Of whales who ate sailors for their tea
And if they were hungry some of the time
She’d forget it when he’d sing
There’s a golden ship with a silver sail
And Ann Marie is the captain
Her Daddy’s there with her worn old bear
And they sail by lands
And they all hold hands
As the moon comes over the mountains
Ann Marie didn’t move too quickly
But she got around alright
She’d never be tall, even her hands were small
But she held her treasures tight
A shiny stone and a feather blown
That she kept to show her Daddy
And when he returned to sing her song
She smelled safety in the dark
There’s a golden ship with a silver sail
And Ann Marie is the captain
Her Daddy’s there with her worn old bear
And they sail by lands
And they all hold hands
As the moon comes over the mountains
At night Ann Marie didn’t breathe so free
He could feel her small chest heaving
And in the morning’s pall, when the foundry would call
His heart would twist as he was leaving
Then one morning he didn’t show up
And his friends knew where they’d find him
He held her close in their room and he sang to her
And he knew she’d be sailing soon
There’s a golden ship with a silver sail
And Ann Marie is the captain
Her Daddy’s there with her worn old bear
And they sail by lands
And they all hold hands …
(Oh Daddy
I can see the sun
I can see it coming
I can see it coming
I can see it coming …)
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9. |
Jack
03:59
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The scudding sky
The whistling wind
The smoke curls in the air
The sun is down
The cattle low
The water’s calm, the weather’s fair
It’s quiet all
Along the quay
The boys are in their bunks
The steamers settle
On the tide
The lines are tied, the anchors sunk
Mare’s tails and mackerel scales
All our ships will wear short sails
Tomorrow we have work to do
Some of it long overdue
So go home, son
It’s time to sleep
Leave tomorrow to its cares
Wash your face
And kiss your Mam
Watch your draft and say your prayers
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SJ McArdle Drogheda, Ireland
SJ McArdle is an Irish songwriter and musician who has toured internationally, had several songs in movies and has
released four solo albums.
He is known in part for his former work with Kern and with Long Woman's Grave with Nuala Kennedy & Trevor Hutchinson.
“Bravo for an artist who has taken contemporary Irish music to parts it far too seldom reaches” – Hot Press
Artist photos: Brian Connolly
... more
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