Nic Jones The Little Pot Stove Lyrics

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

In that little dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps in your soul,
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal.

Fireman Paddy he worked with me on the engine frozen cold.
A stranger to the truth was he, there's not a lie he hasn't told.
He boasted of his gold mine and of the hearts he had won,
And his bawdy sense of humour shone just like a ray of sun.

In that little dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps in your soul,
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal.

We lived it seven days a week; cold hands and frozen feet. Bitter days and lonely nights; making grog and having fights.
There was salt fish and whale-meat sausage, and fresh penguin eggs a treat
And we trudged along to work each day through icy winds and sleet.

In that little dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps in your soul,
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal.

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

In that little dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps in your soul,
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burned oily rags and coal.