The Fisherman’s Wife

(Trad)

 

Who would be a fisherman’s wife

To work with a tub and a scrubber and a knife

A died out fire and a ravelled bed

And away to the mussels in the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

Now give us a hand to run a ripper lead

To try for the coddies off the bay of Peterhead

They may be at the Lummies or the Clock at Salt House Head

We’re off to the small lines in the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

Me poor old father’s in the middle of the floor

Beating hooks onto tippets and they’re hanging on his chair

They’re made with horses hair, for that’s the best of gear

To be going to the fishing in the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

It’s down to Geddle Braes in the middle of the night

With an old syrup ton and a candle for a light

To gather up the pullers, every one of them in sight

To get the lining baited for the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

It’s easy for the cobbler sitting in his nook

With his big copper kettle hanging on a crook

But we’re in the bow and we cannot get a hook

And it’s cold sore doing in the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

It’s not the kinda life that a gentle queen can hold

With her fingers red raw with a scrubbing out a yawl

A little’un on her hip, she’s away to carry coal

It’s cold hard work in the morning

 

Here we come scooring in

Three reefs to the foresail in

There’s not a dry stitch to put on our backs

But still we’re all teetotal

 

Who would be a fisherman’s wife

To work with a tub and a scrubber and a knife

A died out fire and a ravelled bed

And away to the mussels in the morning