(G) C G7 C G / G C F G7 C / C G7 C F C G C G / C F C F C
     In that wee dark engine room,
     Where the chill seeps through your soul,
     How we huddled round that wee pot stove
     That burned oily rags and coal.

C F C G7 G /

How the winter blizzards blow, and the whaling fleet's at rest,
Tucked in Leigh harbor's sheltered bay, safely anchored ten abreast.
The whalers at their stations, as from shed to shed they go,
Carry little bags of coal with them, and a little iron stove.

     CHORUS

The fireman Paddy worked with me on the engine stiff and cold.
A stranger to the truth was he - there's not a lie he hasn't told.
And he boasted of his gold mine, and of all the hearts he'd won,
And his bonny sense of humor shone just like a ray of sun.

     CHORUS

Then one day we saw the sun and factory ships' return.
Meet your old friends, sing a song; hope the season won't be long,
Then homeward bound when it's over; we'll leave this icy hold,
But I always will remember that little iron stove.

     CHORUS

------------------------------------------------------------------

Words and music by Eric Bogle

Recorded by Ed Trickett on "The Ways of Man," FSI-68 copyright 1978.

"Many songs are sung about whaling and whalers.  Almost all describe
a voyage, or the catch of the whale, or some of the men and their
needs.  This song, written by Eric Bogle, describes the bone-
chilling existance of the men who stayed with the ships when they
were laid up for the winter, doing routine maintenance and engine
overhaul in the clammy, unheated holds of the engine rooms." -ET

@sailor @work
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