G'day John, Raggytash, Andrew, Terry and all,

From the depths of the Antipodes ... I still felt there were a few words not quite as I remember Vin singing it. I also have it on LP - his The Valley of Tees and this is how I hear that recording:

THE STREETS OF STAITHES
Garbutt/Slater

One fine August day as I was making my way
Along the hardship-troubled streets of Staithes,
I saw the seagulls flying in the grey northern sky
Heard the shifting chorus of the waves
As Staithes looked so fair in the crisp morning air,
Sea mist lifting to fragmented specks of light,
And on the sea wall, though the mist's lifting pall,
An old man sitting there came into sight.

Well, we sat side by side until the turning of the tide
But not the smallest craft put out to sea -
As the water receded, still unheeded lay the boats,
The pots and nets neglected on the quay.
I asked him the reason why no boats put to sea.
He looked long and thoughtfully at me
And then, with a sigh, he said: "You might well wonder why
For who'd have thought such things could ever be."

"Aye, there's days I remember when from March till November
The men of Staithes set out with net and line
And every day from morn till night, every man and boy would fight
To take the family's living from the brine,
And when the men came back to land, their women lent a willing hand
To get the hard-won catch safe on the shore;
Work for women and for men, pots to pull and lines to mend
Hooks to bait - all ready for the morn."

"But now the boats come empty in - no fish will buy no bread.
To fish today you need a radar screen
Those trawlers with their fine mesh nets are out to take all they can get.
Between them they'll soon fish the North Sea clean.
So Staithes now wears a different face - the fishwife's bonnets trimmed with lace
Are only curios and souvenirs
And since they've taken buried hens, the lobster too are at an end.
The only fish is frozen now in Staithes."

"So now you see the fishing's gone, the folks are moving on.
If it's Staithes you came to see, you came too late.
Although the seagulls still fly high, our men now work at ICI -
They've moved up to the council house estate.
Ah, but think on now you've heard me tale, these cottages you see for sale
For a way of life they are an unmarked grave."
And on the air's salty breath, I seemed to catch the smell of death
On the hardship-troubled streets of Staithes.

Regards,

Bob (E&OE)