Low Light — A Shanty by Katrina Porteous 🎶
Katrina Porteous is a renowned poet from Northumberland. She is President of the Northumbrian Language Society and an expert in North East fishing heritage.
This is one of her ballads about Britain’s first female fishing skipper, Shelia Hirsch, who still lives in North Shields.
The song is is set and sung by Celia Bryce. You can listen to more of her songs and see her upcoming gigs at theceliabryceband.com and facebook.com/theceliabband
Enjoy the song and the beautiful haunting sound of the accordian.
Boats: Border Maid, Border King, Contester and Conmoran.
The King’s Head pub and old Pilot Office are on the bank top.
Low Light
Raffle for the Fishermen, raffle for the Mission,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Everybody here has someone missing.
Low Light, go down.
In the bustle of the boxes on the pallets on the Quay
Go down, Old Low Light,
A woman on deck gonna vex the sea.
Low Light, go down.
Granddad ring-netted out of Oban.
Go down, Old Low Light.
Wouldn’t take me with him till I learnt to tie a bowline.
Low Light, go down.
Tommy Scorer showed me the scene,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Towin’ for sprats on the Girl Irene.
Low Light, go down.
Followed the ice to the Northern cod,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Irvin’s ‘Ben’ Boats next to God.
Low Light, go down.
Tied up the boat at the Knuckle End,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Shovellin’ prawns with the best of men.
Low Light, go down.
It’s a hard, hard life, chewin’ out The Gut.
Go down, Old Low Light.
A pan of shackles may be all ye’ll get.
Low Light, go down.
Knackered, askin’ – Why d’ ye take it?
Go down, Old Low Light.
Tight as family. Can’t escape it.
Low Light, go down.
Never saved nothin’ for a rainy day,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Never had much gives most away.
Low Light, go down.
Harry says, when it come coarse weather
Go down, Old Low Light,
The rogues an’ the angels sing together.
Low Light, go down.
Raffle for the Lifeboat, raffle for the Mission,
Go down, Old Low Light.
Everybody here got someone missing.
Low Light, go down.
Go down, Old Low Light,
Low Light, go down.
© Katrina Porteous
Melody & recording: Celia Bryce
From the author:
“This ballad was inspired by a conversation with Sheila Hirsch at the Old Low Light, North Shields.
Sheila is believed to have been the first female trawler skipper in the UK, and her 27 years at sea took her all over Britain and to the US. She is now retired and volunteers for the North Shields Fishermen’s Heritage Project. Fishing is a tough life and, as Sheila points out, fishing people the world over tend to help one another in time of need. Fishing remains the most dangerous occupation in the country, and this ballad is dedicated to everyone who has lost someone at sea.”
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
