Here's a link to some interesting stuff for all you shantymen out there which was sent to me by my fellow bandmember Sean. --Enjoy!!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/in-pictures-23035692

http://www.sea-cadets.org/liverpoolcity/home.aspx

http://www.liverpoolnavalclub.co.uk/

Belvedere Session John Routledge on the Northumbrian pipes Mike Locke on the octave mandolin. 19 Sept.

The voyage of the Western Rose

We heard the gun sound one o clock

the gulls flew from the shore

we rolled across the harbour bar

and sailed for Baltimore

the days were fair the seas were calm

we made good speed to West

 we scanned the seas for privateers

so we could never rest

*

Our lookout on the masthead stood

and called to us below

I fear I spy a pirate barque

Black colours does it show.

They put a shot across our bows

they ordered us to stand

surrender now your ship to me 

 you'll never more see  land

*

Our captain cried stand fast me lads

make ready for the fray

we'll win the day and take the prize

 to fair Americay.

were armed and strong we know no fear

we've taken ships before

so sharpen up your cutlasses

the sea will roll with gore

*

We fired our big guns first

 and saw the chainshot rake their decks

the screaming of the wounded

made the hair rise on our necks.

they fired next and carnage wrought

among our steady crew

 the seas rocked floating corpses

of the sailors that they slew.

*

Then hand to hand the battle raged

with pistol knife and sword

till our bosun slit their captains throat

and threw him overboard

we took the crew at musket point

and made their barque secure

we worked them with a longtail lash

right down to  Baltimore.

*

The pirate crew were took in irons

their barque as booty sold

we shared the prize so dearly won

in bags of Yankee gold

we rigged the ship and bent on sails

and slipped our ropes at dawn

and shipping oil and indigo

set off around cape horn.

*

In battles fray our brave lads killed

will rock in Neptunes arms

and with the seabirds follow us

to save us all from harm

the spirits of our comrades slain

will ever watch their ship

through hells hot fire and battle grim

until the final trip.

*

We rolled her home to Liverpool

with baccy rum and sugar

and back to shore we rowed ourselves

in Brasser Murphys lugger

the bonny girls came down in flocks

both doxy tart and whore

 they'll get a little Yankee gold

till its off to sea once more.

©mike locke.

A year in the dales , As I remember the routines and work and now understand them better , the dialect was rich curious and laden with the remnants of old Norse

When 't suns up bright 'a cares 'f nowt else.
Things that diverted me in 't cowd days o winter
are nobbut a dark shadda now.
Blossoms hum wi a choir o bees
chickens lay ruddy eggs agin.

See 't fust candlestick flowers ont owd chestnut
and travellers pluck catkins of pussy willow
and tie em in bunches t' sell 'f luck 't t gulls
on  doorsteps o some far smokey town.

Grease 't grindstone pivot and mak ready 'f time o plenty
lambs are out and lil fishes come up fra deep pools
Gittin fat on skimming flees on the peaty beck water
 turnin silver bellies as they roll 'n slither back.

Kine graze low in 't pasture agin
fleshing their coat rack winter bones wi pullin at 't new grass
and fillin wi cream rich milk
't owd silage smells sweet mulching new strawberry rows and spring chicks scrat in t garden f't  fust slugs.

Arm thick rhubarb stalks wave green umberella leaves in 't breeze
 damsons peep out from the browning blossoms
pink wary chaffinches pull beaks of dry moss 't line the cuplike cozy nest
Wagtails scuttle int gill after larvae /t feed twittering grumpy looking beaks.

Shippon stands daylight dark and empty
and swallows nests cling high in t dark cobweb corners
awaiting t first returning birds twittering fra ower 't sea
as they skim widdershins ower 't pools roun' irises 'n rushes.

Wild strawberries feed the bustling ouzel
and 't chicks get fat in 't nest under 't waterfall
hidden fra feist 'n fox behind 't wet curtain o 't crashing gill
as it runs pourin ower 't slippery mossy rocks into 'th hungry beck

Hot sun beams down on 't flower drippin meadows
 sharp singin' scythes flash as they sweep swathes of lush grass
 heavy with the sweet smell of green as it dries 'n browns in long rows
Quivverin osses flick long tails at t clegs
as they stand waitin' to pull full sleds away.

Hogs get fatter in 't sty and root in the paddocks dark mud
Sow lies still while pink grubby piglets squabble and squeal
fighting for 't best juicyest tit 'ft suck warm rich milk
Hams and bacon in plenty soon hanging fra beams
Goin amber 'n dryin in 't dark tarry walled smokehouse

Waste no time as the dark days are coming too soon
Lay in dry logs and fill 't buttery wi cheeses and rhubarb jam
ta store the  rays of the summer sun 't see us through dark winter days knowing that as the days grow longer
the rich bounty will return and feed us another year.

.

Baltic Bash!!

The "First Saturday" Provided us with some great music again with players and singers from around the area (And some from further) contributing to a another night to remember with "Trimrig and a Doxy" hosting and Julia running the floor . Nick Caffrey ad Ed Mc Gurk gave us two delightful sets , Bernie Davies did four songs and the "Liverpool shanty crew" did two sets in their "Mother ship" , Yesterdays men , Harry and Arthur were in great form and of course Derek and Julia , hosting , did some great sets! Matthew Edwards was in and Jack Coutts led a couple of fine shanties as only he can! The "Liverpool shanty kings" did  a set before moving on to their next venue and I look forward to their return next month.
 There were some fine young floor singers this time and it was great to have their excellent contributions and I hope they enjoyed the atmosphere and music enough to return and sing again next month.
Look out for the 19th October when a "pop up" session pays tribute to Liverpool's Irish links at the end of the Irish culture week with a night of jigs reels and hornpipes (singing and dancing too) ! Don't miss this one!!!

The scything boys.

Down from the high moors we return every year
the rake and the pitchfork the tools of our trade
We live off the land and sleep under the sky
not knowing the morn where to sleep we may lie
On hilltop or green woodland glade.
*
We travel by stars and we work by the day
to help in the hayfields to bring in the crop
paid with fell farmers money hard earned and hard parted
the years seasons cycles nere ending once started
ere the warm summer rain starts to drop.
*
The rich flowery crop yields in swathes to our scythes
as we sweep a fast arc laying low the sweet grass
the summer sun browns the long rows that we turn
our long wooden rakes comb the sedges and fern
We watch the dark clouds  as they pass.
*
The horses lead sleds with their trembling stacks
to  the fieldbarns dark window high in the stone  wall
The pitchforks bright tines toss the clumps of sweet hay
 the sun blazes down at the height of the day
as the raven croaks out his harsh call
*
The scampering children up tramping the moo
like dust powdered urchins will tumble and play
then  home to their beds with a bread crust or two
with their ears full of dust and their hair full of hay
While we gather our pitchforks to go.
*
Whilst we wait in a line for to sign for our pay
The farmer stands watching with long leather purse
a florin a drink and a basket of food
A couple of rabbits we shot in the wood
then away for to find work the new day

©mpl

 

With thanks to Matthew Edwards 

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Trimrig and a Doxy! AKA Derek and Julia Batters.   Just before we struck the rocks!!! and the Liverpool shanty crew !!!

Some of the singers and players in the Baltic Fleet in full flight!