The North Wall: words John Evardson music by his son Dave Evardson.

THE NORTH WALL
(John & Dave Evardson)

I went down dock this morning where I used to earn me pay,
And I walked by empty berths where deep-sea trawlers used to lay,
Where we fitted out their engines, the diesel and the steam,
But their mighty power is gone, and now they're just an old man's dream.

And I know with each new generation, everything must change.
Of the good things we once took for granted, not much now remains.
And I ask the rain that rattles all along the bleak North Wall,
Could they not have left a little? Did they have to take it all?

Now we hadn't long to turn 'em round. The fishing mustn't stop.
And when new parts were needed, well, we'd make them in the shop.
They were glorious grand old ladies. Maybe someone could explain
Why they're scrapped or halfway round the world and won't sail home again.

I've drunk my fill with trawler men with hands as hard as nails,
Who risked their lives for small reward and perished in the gales.
They were only casual labour, signing on from ship to ship,
So there was no compensation when they made the final trip.

Now, in its prime, the Dogger Bank was plundered night and day.
Not a thought for conservation; there were shareholders to pay.
They were not content with plenty and their greed it knew no bounds.
Private enterprise prevailed and finished off our fishing grounds.

Now all I've left are memories of the diesel oil and grime,
And the mucky damp conditions that left me old before me time.
But the memories aren't all bitter, for there were good times after all.
Still I think I'll not return again to this empty bleak North Wall.

HTML line breaks added. --JoeClone, 9-Jul-02.