The Wreckers’ Prayer
Give us a wrack or two, Good Lard,
For winter in Tops’il Tickle bes hard,
Wid grey frost creepin’ like mortal sin
And perishin’ lack of bread in the bin.
A grand, rich wrack, us do humbly pray,
Busted abroad at the break o’ day
An’ hove clear in ’crost Tops’il Reef,
Wid victuals an’ gear to beguile our grief.
God of reefs an’ tides an’ sky,
Heed Ye our need an’ hark to our cry!
Bread by the bag an’ beef by the cask.
Ease for sore bellies bes all we ask.
One grand wrack—or maybe two?—
Wid gear an’ victuals to see us through
’Til Spring starts up like the leap of day
An’ the fish strike back into Tops’il Bay.
One rich wrack—for Thy hand bes strong!
A barque or a brig from up-along
Bemused by Thy twisty tides, O Lard!
For winter in Tops’il Tickle bes hard.
Loud an’ long will us sing Yer praise,
Marciful Fadder, O ancient of Days,
Master of fog an’ tide an’ reef!
Heave us a wrack to beguile our grief. Amen.
In the old days before the building of the light houses, the poor “noddies” of many a Newfoundland outport prayed for wrecks—aye, and with easy consciences. Only a few hundreds of them who took to deep-sea voyaging ever learned anything of the world and its peoples. All the world, excepting their own desolate bays and “down Nort”, was “up-along” to them. Montreal, Pernambuco, London, Oporto, Boston, Halifax—all were included in up-along to them; and up-along was a grand, rich place where all men were gentlemen wearing collars and coats, eating figgy-duff every day and smoking all they wanted to. The folk of up-along had the easy end of life; so why shouldn’t they contribute something of their goods and gear to poor but honest noddies now and then, even if against their inclinations—aye, even if at the cost of their lives?
