Set sail from Plymouth - Westward ho!
Hold fast together, fair winds blow
and fill our sails with gentle breeze,
propelling us through sparkling seas.
Round Lundy's island, seabirds swarm,
and kind Atlantic currents warm
a feathered wing, a dinghy's sail -
perhaps a half-glimpsed mermaid's tail.
The Irish Sea: here countries meet
and lands extend themselves to greet
their cousins from across the sea,
to celebrate shared ancestry.
The swiftest fish and hardest catch
are found in Fastnet. None can match
the speed of piscine hide-and-seek,
each one a molten silver streak.
From coast to coast, and pole to pole,
no sea is lonelier than Sole.
Forsaken tars, a sense of loss,
where one might see an albatross.
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
early in the morning.
In Shannon's breakers, dolphins play
at dodging ships, each passing day.
In Gaelic, meaning 'small and wise',
they see with smiling Irish eyes.
On Malin's shoreline, giants trod,
as terrible as any god.
A coastal Causeway, nothing more,
survives of age-old local lore.
Proceed with care through Rockall's waves -
too many souls have found their graves
where boulders large as houses float,
to split an unsuspecting boat.
The velvet seas of Bailey teem
with exhiled Whisky, laced with cream.
A heady brew, a welcome cheer -
men overboard find pleasure here.
Through Hebrides, traversing north,
did Egypt's kings and queens set forth?
The Faroes, where the ancients dwelt,
remain, it's sad to say, misspelt.
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
early in the morning.
It's knit one, purl one - needles click,
where Fair Isle's seas abound with thick
and chunky patterned woolly-wear.
No sheep or goat finds safety there.
Through Viking's hostile, choppy seas,
marauders brought us to our knees.
Though Cromarty's fine water lacks
the longboat, studded shield and axe.
In Forth and Forties, both seas count,
and each is worth its own amount.
Poor luckless Forth - it never wins;
though Forties knows where life begins.
In faithful Dogger's waters, hark
to hear the playful grey seals bark
a throaty, primitive 'Hello',
in language only they can know.
A Latin shadow gives its name
to Humber's sea, while sailors claim
that foggy spectres still persist
in Tyne, notorious for mist.
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
Hooray, and up she rises
early in the morning.
From merest stream, through country locks,
to Barrier and London's docks,
the old Thames curves past wharf and port,
until it tastes the wide sea's salt.
Proud Dover's cliffs: a sentinel,
ensuring Britain never fell,
secured against a wartime breach,
immortalised in Churchill's speech.
Past Cleopatra's Needles, bright
with chalk deposits, on through Wight,
where still a royal dwelling stands -
an isle of multi-coloured sands.
To pass through Portland's costly brine,
each shipmate pays a hefty fine
for Neptune's guaranteed goodwill -
no choice but pay the Portland Bill.
At last, return to Plymouth's shore,
set foot on solid ground once more;
remembering those hardy crews
relying on the Shipping News.
