Come here, my little Jacky
Now I’ve smoked my backey
Let’s have a bit crackey
Till the boat comes in
Dance to thy daddy, sing to thy mammy,
Dance to thy daddy, to thy mammy sing;
Thou shalt have a fishy on a little dishy,
Thou shalt have a fishy when the boat comes in.
A morning stroll by the sea at Saltburn, watching fishermen at work. A pleasure of retirement.
A modern coble, one of the last operating on this beach, is pulled ashore by an ancient tractor.
Its fleet of crab pots safely stowed and flaggy bow fluttering in the breeze.
On a mekkin tide, two hours off high.