Steve Tilson’s version

THE FISHER LAD OF WHITBY version by Steve Tilson

My love he was a fisher lad
And when they came to shore
He always steered to me
To greet me at my door
And he knew I loved him well
As anyone could see
Oh but I was famed
When he came a-courting me.

It was on one lovely morning
One morning in May
He took me in his fishing boat
Out upon the bay
And he told me of his love
As we wallowed with the tide
That before the month was over
I would be his bride.


The ships come sailing in
And the ships they sail away
The fishermen they sing their songs
Out on Whitby Bay
And the fishermen they haul the nets
And happy I would be
Living with my fisher lad
Down beside the sea.

But on that very afternoon
A pressgang combed the lanes
They dragged him to a Man O' War
Bound by iron chains
Irons on his hands
Oh and irons on his feet
They carried him aboard
To fight in the fleet.

Now my father often talks
Of the perils of the main
My mother says she hopes
He will come back again
But I know he never will
For in my dreams I see
His body lying low
At the bottom of the sea.


And when the house is still
And everyone is asleep
I sit upon my bed
And most bitterly I weep
And I think on my true love
At the bottom of the sea
For he never, never more
Will come again to me.

The ships come sailing in
And the ships they sail away
The fishermen they sing their songs
Out on Whitby Bay
But for me my heart is broken
And I only wish to be
Lying low with my fisher lad
At the bottom of the sea

The bottom of the sea...