Come all ye Fisher Lassies

Come all ye fisher lassies noo and come awa’ wi’ me
Frae Errinbog and Gamrie and frae Inverallochie
Frae Buckie and frae Aiberdeen and all the country roond
We’re awa’ to gut the herrin’ we’re awa’ to Yarmouth toon

Rise up early in the morning wi’ your bundles in your hand
Be at the station early or you’ll surely have to stand
Tak’ plenty to eat and a kettle for your tea
Or you’ll surely die of hunger on the way to Yarmouth quay

The journey is a lang one and it tak’s a day or twa
And when you reach your lodgings aye it’s soon asleep you’ll fall
But you’ll rise at five with the sleep still in your e’e
You’re awa’ to find the guttin’ yards along the Yarmouth quay

It’s early in the morning and it’s late intae the night
Your hands are cut and chappit and they look an awful sight
And you’ll greet like a wain when you put them in the breen
And you’ll wish you were a thousand miles awa’ frae Yarmouth quay

There’s coopers there and curers there and buyers, canny chiels
And lassies at the picklin’ and others at the creels
And you’ll wish the fish had been all left in the sea
By the time you finish guttin’ herrin’ on the Yarmouth quay

We’ve gutted fish in Lerwick and in Stornoway and Shields
We’ve worked along the Humber ‘midst the barrels and the creels
Whitby, Grimsby, and all the country roond
But the place to find the herrin’ is the quay at Yarmouth toon

(Ewan MacColl/Peggy Seeger/Charles Parker)