Peterheid Fisherman’s Wife
Fa wid be a fisherman’s wife
Tae run wi a creel and a scrubber and a knife,
A raivelled bed, and a dee’d-oot fire,
And awa tae the mussels in the mornin?
Chorus:
Here we come scoorin in
Three reefs tae the foresail in
There’s nae a dry stich tae pit on wir backs
But still we’re aa teetotallers
Fa’ll gie’s a hand tae run a ripper-lead,
Or fish for codlin in the Bay o Peterheid,
Or maybe tae the Lummies, the Clock or Satis Heid
Fin we sail tae the sma lines in the mornin?
It’s doon the Gaidle Braes in the middle o the nicht
Wi an auld syrup tin and a cannle for a licht
Tae gether in the pullers, every een that is in sicht
Tae get the linie baitit for the mornin
It’s easy for the cobbler sittin in his neuk
Wi a big copper kettle hingin frae a crook
We’re in the boo and we canna get a heuk
And it’s gey sair work in the mornin
It’s nae the kind o work a saft quine’ll thole
Wi her fingirs reid-raa wi scrubbin oot a yawl
A little-een on her hip and awa tae cairry coal
She’ll be caaed fair deen in the mornin
Puir auld faither’s in the middle o the flair
Pittin heuks tae tippins and they’re hingin frae his chair
They’re made o horse’s hair, and that’s the best o gear
Fin ye gyang tae the fishin in the mornin
But I widna change for the grandest kind o gear
Tho ye’ll never ken the minute that your hert’ll lowp wi fear
Awa tae the sea, he’s your bonnie dear –
You’ll be a widow wi his bairnies in the mornin
