In many strange lands o'er the ocean I've been,
And countless the beautiful sights I have seen,
But I'm a Tynesider, and proudly must say,
I've seen nothing finer than Cullercoats Bay.
The men go fishing, I've met by the score,
They spin the same yarns both abroad and ashore:
But give me the language that's spoken my way,
Sweet music to exiles from Cullercoats Bay.
I love the small houses where fisher-folk bide,
So neat, and so tidy, if you peep inside:
Fresh lobsters, and crabs at the doors they display,
And sell, canny-hinny, at Cullercoats Bay.
How well I remember those mates that I knew,
We talked on the Bank Top as sailormen do:
But when seas were raging, all ready were they,
To man the old lifeboat, at Cullercoats Bay.
And when I grow old, and go sailing no more,
I'll make for the harbour I fondly adore:
And there, in life's gloaming, with each passing day,
I'll thank the Almighty for Cullercoats Bay.
Written by John Gair “Jack” Robson (1885-1957)
The song was taken from Cullercoats Poets Corner