Lyrics: Harry Robertson
The autumn sky wi’ colours tinged, as darkness dons its coat,
Outlines the four wee whaling ships that sway and gently float,
One moment mooring ropes are slack — then tighten in the breeze
That kills the warmth of the day and chills the River Tees.
Just newly built and tested — fitted out by shipyard men,
The whaling crews are ready now to go to sea again,
Familiar farewells finished, to the people that ye know,
The last song sung, an embrace clung, it’s now ye have to go.
A sharp command, the engines turn, and ropes are cast adrift,
And on the jetty waving friends grow smaller in the mist,
The whaler’s tender feeling — false gruffness fails to hide
As we head towards Antarctica — upon a running tide.
© Harry Robertson,
and subsequently ©1995 Mrs Rita Robertson, Brisbane, AUSTRALIA
Registered with APRA-AMCOS www.apra-amcos.com.au