Wee Pot Stove

How the Winter blizzards blow, when the Whaling Fleet’s at rest

Tucked in Leith Harbour’s sheltered bay, safely anchored ten abreast

The whalers at the station, as from ship to ship they rove

Carry little bags of coal with them, and a little iron stove

In the wee dark engine room, where the chill seeps in your soul

How we huddled roon’ that Wee Pot Stove, that burned oily rags and coal

Fireman Paddy worked wi’ me, on the engines stiff and cauld

A stranger to the truth was he, there’s not a lie he hasn’t told

He boasted of his goldmines, and of hearts that he had won

And his bawdy sense of humour shone, just like a ray of sun

In the wee dark engine room, where the chill seeps in your soul

How we huddled roon’ that Wee Pot Stove, that burned oily rags and coal

We laboured seven days a week, with cauld hands and frozen feet

Bitter days and lonely nights, making grog and having fights

Salt fish and whale meat sausage, fresh penguin eggs a treat

And we trudged along to work each day, through icy winds and sleet

In the wee dark engine room, where the chill seeps in your soul

How we huddled roon’ that Wee Pot Stove, that burned oily rags and coal

Then one day we saw the sun, and the Factory Ship’s return

Meet your old friends, sing a song, hope the season won’t be long

Then homeward bound when it’s over, and we’ll leave this icy cove

But I always will remember, that little iron stove

In the wee dark engine room, where the chill seeps in your soul

How we huddled roon’ that Wee Pot Stove, that burned oily rags and coal