Post Cod War Blues Part 2 - A Mouthful of Ashes By Terry Ireland

Blood money isn't paid in silver these days, just transferred straight to your account with a sheet of computerised data to inform you their agreed amount. Now I'm standing over the fish sheds to my front are near empty docks behind, the steady running Humber, to the left the gates and locks. In my pocket this little piece of paper telling me the price of my pride and I'm standing out here in the open 'cos I won't be seen crying inside. So many years I served on those trawlers the boy to man years of my life I saw nearly more of my ship mates than I did of my children and wife; stood on the decks in the cold and the fog and the rain and the sleet and the ice gutting the fish for your table. We accepted it wouldn't be nice. I worked all those years for a living because fishing was part of my blood from a proud and vital community surviving bad years and good. Most of those years worked for one company, most of that time in one or two ships I was a regular deckie I didn't miss many trips. Then they turned and told me you're finished with a little just by the way you were only a casual worker, don't get any severance pay. All these years we've fought for our justice For recognition of our effort and pride The numbers slowly dwindling One by one old comrades died: And now they call this a victory time to pay for my wasted years so I'm standing atop of this fish shed no shame in my bitter tears. Before you add your vinegar just grant me one little wish enjoy your cod my brother but think of one price paid for fish.

Copyright Terry Ireland 2009

This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.

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