Songs marked "PBLG" are on "Pennbucky to Llangenny", those marked "CHAR" are on "Characters"
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Dead Reckoning (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
(Chorus) Dead reckoning, all that's left to me now is dead reckoning,
Though I've mastered the seas and the fresh living breeze,
All that's left to me now is dead reckoning.
I was fifteen when first I went off to sea,
And in forty-one years under sail,
I've seen losses and crisies and tragedies,
And a way of life falter and fail.
(Chorus)
I sailed once round the world as a deckhand,
I sailed twice round the world as first mate,
And for thirty-odd years I've been Master here,
Of my crew and my ship and my fate.
(Chorus)
I've seen crewmen who fell from the main yard arm,
Stiff and numb from the sleet and the cold,
I've seen crewmen who died from the poisoning
Of some venomous booze they'd been sold.
(Chorus)
I met a crewman of mine by the railway bridge,
In his new bosun's jacket so fine,
And he signed me aboard of this smoking hulk
To sail round the world one last time
(Chorus)
Now I'm polishing brasses and sweeping dust,
On a steamer that goes where it will,
And instead of Cape Horn we've got Panama,
So who needs an old sea captain's skill?
(Chorus)
And instead of white canvas above us now,
There's a plume of black smoke to be seen
How I wish I had died with the men I knew,
While the sky and the seas were still clean
Chorus) Dead reckoning, all that's left to me now is dead reckoning,
Though I've mastered the seas and the fresh living breeze,
All that's left to me now is dead reckoning.
From a story told by Dick Sullivan, last of the Swansea Cape Horners. For his last voyage, as bosun on a steam ship, he was told to go to the railway bridge over Wind Street, Swansea (the usual "picking up point" for casual labour) and collect an old sailor down on his luck, give him a few odd jobs so he could feel he was still being useful. The old sailor turned out to be a captain that Dick had rounded the Horn with several times, but whose skills were now redundant with steam and the Panama canal.
Drinks at the Cuba (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
Who here drinks at the Cuba? One last time, before he puts to sea?
Who here drinks at the Cuba? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
(Chorus) Bound away next morning, Bound for old Cape Horn again,
Who here drinks at the Cuba? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
Who here drinks at the Horner? One last time, before he puts to sea?
Who here drinks at the Horner? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
(Chorus)
Who here drinks at the Fountain? One last time, before he puts to sea?
Who here drinks at the Fountain? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
(Chorus)
Who here drinks at the Cuba? One last time, before he puts to sea?
Who here drinks at the Cuba? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
(Chorus) Bound away next morning, Bound for old Cape Horn again,
Who here drinks at the Cuba? I tell you sir, indeed I do!
The Cuba Inn, the Cape Horner and the Mexico Fountain were traditionally the three pubs where Swansea sailors enjoyed their last drinks and comforts ashore before setting off for the southern ocean. The song could be extended indefinitely by adding more pubs!
Elephants' Teeth (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
People they calls us the longshore men,
We earns our living along the sea shore,
On what we picks up from a storm or two,
We can live for a six-month or more.
The roofs of our farms are of good Welsh slate,
From the trader that grounded last year,
And the beams are made of the timber frame
Of a short-sighted French privateer.
(Chorus) We've picked up the coal and the calico,
We've rescued the biscuits and beef,
But what, my friends, are we going to do
With a shed-full of elephants' teeth?
Well, ships they comes and ships they goes,
And sometimes a ship is cast up at our door,
It's a tragedy for the men of the sea
But a bonus for us of the shore
And sometimes a barrel will come to land,
It was lost, but now it's found,
Be it lamp-oil or brandy, it comes in handy,
It all helps the world to go round.
(Chorus)
They says we're poor and knows nothing at all
Of the gentrified life and what it's about,
But we drinks our brandy and smokes our cigars
And the salt helps to ward off the gout.
You might think the parson would rail about this,
And tell us to take it all back,
But he's too busy down at the church,
Admiring his ivory plaques.
(Chorus)
We've all got boats and we knows the ports
Where goods can be sold and no questions asked,
And to slip away with a tusk or two,
Well, it isn't a difficult task.
And the revenue men will be off home again,
And it can't be a moment too soon,
And each child born here for the next hundred years
Gets an ivory christening spoon.
(Chorus) We've picked up the coal and the calico,
We've rescued the biscuits and beef,
But what, my friends, are we going to do
With a shed-full of elephants' teeth?
One of the earliest recorded shipwrecks on the Gower coast was in 1731, recorded because the cargo included 200 elephant tusks intended as a gift for King George II. When the Revenue men arrived to salvage the cargo, it had all vanished. Notices threatened dire consequences for anyone hanging onto these "Elephants' Teeth", but only about 50 were ever recovered. Presumably the other 150 tusks, each about 6 ft (2m) long, are still "out there" to this day.
Good Ship Skyvie (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
We set sail on the forty-fourth day of the month between April and May
To the East-North-West we sailed away, aboard the good ship Skyvie.
And all the crew to man her sails was a Chinese cook with three pigtails
And a male voice choir from the North of Wales, aboard the good ship Skyvie.
(Chorus) Set your compass East-North-West, Skipper's in the crow's nest, he knows best,
Tie a bowline in the bosun's vest aboard the good ship Skyvie!
And on this ship was seven masts, that varied in size from small to vast
So that we could sail either slow or fast aboard the good ship Skyvie.
And on each mast was seven sails, for breezes, blasts, typhoons or gales,
And a big pair of bellows if all else fails, aboard the good ship Skyvie.
(Chorus)
We shipped nine hundred head of clams to an oyster farm in South Japan,
And we had to feed them all by hand aboard the good ship Skyvie.
So we shipped eight hundred bushels of wheat to give them clams some feed to eat,
But they'd ate the lot in half a week, aboard the good ship Skyvie.
(Chorus)
Well, then we didn't know what to do, they ate the deck and the main mast too,
All night long it was "chew, chew, chew" aboard the good ship Skyvie
For three more days we drifted around, there was nothing to hear but that chewing sound,
Till the hull caved in and we all was drowned. . .
(Spoken) So the song never got finished!
Just a nonsense song, of the type enjoyed by sailors everywhere, in which nautical terminology gets deliberately mixed up. Best performed with generous hand movements!
Harriet Lane (CHAR)
© Andrew McKay
Oh listen, you landsmen, I'll sing you a song,
How they feeds us at sea when we're out there so long,
The Board of Trade tells 'em the least we can get,
They could give us more, but they never has yet.
(Chorus) Oh Harriet Lane, oh Harriet Lane,
I'm telling you clear, and I'm telling you plain,
A blessing to sailors is Harriet Lane!
Well, biscuits like roof-tiles we gets every day,
They're baked out of sawdust and bulked out with clay,
You can smash 'em or hash 'em, or throw 'em away,
But with Harriet Lane you get meat every day!
(Chorus)
Well, wet hash for breakfast, it works pretty well,
It slips down a treat if you don't mind the smell!
But oatmeal with treacle that tastes just like tar,
It goes over the side, it's a breakfast too far.
(Chorus)
Dry hash for breakfast, that isn't so good,
It tastes like it's made out of chippings of wood.
But pea-soup is fine, it'll warm you right through,
And if anything breaks, you can use it as glue!
(Chorus)
Now, the beef that they gives us is leathery hard,
The pork that they gives us is mostly sour lard,
As a slurry with curry they calls it a treat,
But with Harriet Lane you gets close to real meat.
(Chorus)
Oh listen, you landsmen, I'll sing you a song,
How they feeds us at sea when we're out there so long,
The Board of Trade tells 'em the least we can get,
They could give us more, but they never has yet.
(Chorus) Oh Harriet Lane, oh Harriet Lane,
I'm telling you clear, and I'm telling you plain,
A blessing to sailors is Harriet Lane!
Jack Owen, another old Swansea sailor, left a humerous account of the food provided for ships' crews in Victorian times, as regulated by the Board of Trade. One of the men's favourites was a tinned meat product, an early forerunner of Spam, nicknamed "Harriet Lane" after the victim of a particularly brutal London murder.
Jerry the One-Legged Rigger (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
By the time he was born he'd been twice round the horn,
For his Mam was his Dad's navigator,
He was born in the dark on an old Swansea barque
About thirty miles from the equator.
By the time he was three he'd spent four years at sea,
What he didn't know didn't figure,
Now his sailing is past, but he's still up the mast,
He's Jerry the one-legged rigger.
(Chorus) Oh you may have a dock where you float round the clock,
And your ships may be faster and bigger,
But there's one thing we've got which we're sure that you've not,
That's Jerry the one-legged rigger.
Now copper's our trade, in the Hafod it's made,
The ore comes from far away places,
So the sea's always glad of a strapping young lad,
Who knows how to haul the lee braces.
By the time he was ten Jerry'd sailed with the men,
On the Gem and the old Ocean Beauty,
It was always his boast to be first at his post
And foremost in doing his duty.
(Chorus)
Well, the story's in baulk, because Jerry won't talk
Of just how his leg went a-missing,
Was it through work, from which he'd never shirk,
Or a fight over who he'd been kissing?
Or could it have been like a fellow I seen,
When we was in port making merry,
Took a swim for a lark, and got ate by a shark,
Well perhaps that's what happened to Jerry.
(Chorus)
When your ship's on the Strand and you've ale in your hand,
The sails in the locker are lying,
When it's time to put out, they gives a great shout,
And that's when the riggers come flying.
They're an old stranded crew but they know what to do,
And they do it with skill and with vigour,
But the foremost of all, at the foot-rope or fall,
Is Jerry the one-legged rigger.
(Chorus)
When there's ships to prepare, you'll see him up there,
His old ragged trouser-leg flapping,
And he hops to and fro, both aloft and alow,
To check out the rigging and wrapping.
When she puts out to sea, Jerry's left on the quay,
But you know that what e'er may betide her,
Come spring airs or late gales, Jerry's heart's in her sails,
And his thoughts on the ocean beside her.
(Chorus) Oh you may have a dock where you float round the clock,
And your ships may be faster and bigger,
But there's one thing we've got which we're sure that you've not,
That's Jerry the one-legged rigger.
Old sailors spoke of "Jerry the one-legger rigger, who could be seen working aloft on the top-gallant yard, the empty leg of his trousers flapping in the wind" - I thought he deserved a song. The Hafod is the part of Swansea near the river, where the copper smelters were sited. Swansea was late in getting a floating dock - ships tied up at the riverbank (The Strand) and at low tide sat on the mud. This prevented the big, fast clippers from using Swansea - the typical Swansea barque was a small, flat-bottomed vessel of about 500 tons, with a crew of 10 to 12 - and in these little ships they went round Cape Horn in their hundreds.
Lifeboat Horses (PBLG)
© Andrew McKay
In the village of Mumbles, at the end of the bay,
They keep two fine horses, a brown and a grey,
When the signal rings out they are harnessed away,
To go down to the sea for the lifeboat.
And the lifeboat crew's coxswain he mentions with pride,
How the brown and the grey, they would work side by side,
By day or by night, at high or low tide,
To go down to the sea for the lifeboat.
(Refrain) To go down to the sea for the lifeboat,
To go down to the sea for the lifeboat
By day or by night, at high or low tide,
To go down to the sea for the lifeboat.
And also in Mumbles there lives a proud man,
With mutton-chop whiskers and gloves on his hands,
Who makes a fine living from the dead of the land,
In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat.
And he's got two horses, they're regal and black,
They stand in the traces with plumes on their backs,
He takes many folks forward, brings none of them back,
In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat.
(Refrain)
But the black horses sickened, they lay on the floor,
The horse-doctor came round with his potions galore,
He said "No more hearse driving for a fortnight or more,
In your sombre black hat and your frock-coat."
"But the squire's just died, oh it couldn't be worse,
I haven't a horse for to handle the hearse!"
Then he scratched at his head and he muttered a curse,
In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat.
(Refrain)
Then he said "These two horses, the grey and the brown,
They were bought and maintained for the good of the town,
They do nothing all day but just wander around,
And go down to the sea for the lifeboat!"
Well, the brown and the grey didn't quite look the part,
In the nodding black plumes of the old dead-man's cart,
But they started off strongly, and the proud man took heart,
In his sombre black hat and his frock-coat.
(Refrain)
'Twas a stormy old day but they pulled with a will,
On squire's last trip to the top of the hill,
Till the signal rang out from the coastguard so shrill,
"Come down to the sea for the lifeboat!"
Well, the horses they faltered, and then they stood still,
And then they turned round and walked back down the hill,
Though the proud man he hollered and hauled with a will,
They went down to the sea for the lifeboat
(Refrain)
They pulled that old hearse right out into the bay,
The mourners stood watching in shock and dismay,
As the squire's remains drifted out and away,
Going right out to sea like a lifeboat.
And from that day to this, the brown and the grey,
Have had nothing to do but to eat grass all day,
Till the signal rings out from the coastguard to say,
"Come down to the sea for the lifeboat!"
(Refrain) Come down to the sea for the lifeboat!
Come down to the sea for the lifeboat!
Till the signal rings out from the coastguard to say,
"Come down to the sea for the lifeboat!"
I really want this to be a true story. If not, it is at least a genuine legend from Mumbles, the village at the western end of Swansea bay. The story dates from before the building of the pier with its lifeboat station did away with the need for launches from a horse-drawn waggon (photo, top). The song has a 'refrain' rather than a 'chorus', because it changes every time, reflecting the last line of the verse.