Mark Walker

Songs by Mark Walker

TICKLE COVE POND 

In cuttin' and haulin', in frost an' in snow,
We're up against troubles that few people know,
And 'tis only by patience with courage and grit
And eatin' plain food that we keep ourselves fit ;
The hard an' the aisey we takes as it comes?
When the pond freezes over we shortens our runs.
To hurry my hauling, the spring coming on,
Near lost my fine mare in on Tickle Cove Pond.

Chorus
Oh, lay hold, William Over; lay hold, William White,
Lay hold of the cordage and pull all your might;
Lay hold of the bowline and pull all you can,
And give me a lift for poor Kit on the Pond.

I knew that the ice became weaker each day,
But still took the risk and kept hauling away.
One evenin' in April, bound home with a load,
The mare showed some halting against the ice road,
And knew more than I did, as matters turned out?
And lucky for me if I joined her in doubt.
She turned round her head and with tears in her eyes,
As if she was saying"You're riskin' our lives."

All this I ignored with a whip handle blow,
For man is too stupid dumb creatures to know.
The very next minute the pond gave a sigh,
And down to our necks went poor Kitty and I.
Though if I'd taken poor Kitty's advice
I never would take the short cut on the ice.
Poor creature, she's dead, and, poor creature, she's gone.
I'll ne'er get my wood off of Tickle Cove Pond.

I raised an alarm you could hear for a mile,
And neighbours turned up in a very short while
You can always rely on the Overs and Whites
To render assistance in all your bad plights.
To help the poor neighbour is part of their lives,
The same I can say of their children and wives.
When the bowline was fastened around the mare's breast
William White for a shanty song made a request :

There was no time for thinking, No time for delay,
So straight from my head
Came this song right away:
Lay hold, William Over; lay hold William White,
Lay hold to the ropes and pull all your might
Lay hold to the bowline and pull all you can:
With that we brought kit out of Tickle Cove Pond.

NELLIE NEIL, ME LITTLE KETTLE 

Come, all good people, pray attend
And listen to my ditty
'Tis of a maid who is more fair
Than any in the city.
For Tickle Cove is her abode;
She has but little fortune,
But mirthful glee it pleases me,
Being fond of all diversion.

Many a man would take her hand
If he only got the offer;
For she's a handsome, sporting maid,
Likewise a midwife's daughter.
And in the sunshine of her smile
To bask sick swains are longing;
No wonder, then, so many men
Around her house keep thronging.

And now the names I will explain,
Or else it won't be funny
There's Connors, Prince and foxy Jack,
And likewise Bill Mullowney.
Joseph Crewe, she did ensnare
And drew his whole attention
Another lad has gone quite mad,
Whom I don't care to mention.

All were prosperous fishermen,
And if she favoured any
A Savings Bank book he could show,
Recording dollars many.
But maiden's mind is hard to find,
And you should hear our strictures
When she got wed to travelling Ned,
Enlarging tin-type pictures.