Gordon Bok
Gordon Bok's Biography and website
(Photo courtesy Bill Gamble).

The Schooner Ellen Munn The Schooner Ellen Munn
This is a traditional folk song about a vessel that sank, off the coast of Newfoundland.

Wreck of the Schooner Ellen Munn
Traditional Newfoundland

Well, it happened to be on Christmas day,
'Twas from King's Cove we sailed away,
And we were bound up for Goose Bay
The Ellen to repair;
When we left, the wind was down,
We headed her up for Newman Sound,
But the tide was strong and we did lose ground,
(she) fell off her Little Denier.

The wind came out of the west-southwest,
And Barrow Harbor we could not fetch.
The gale came blustering up the Reach;
'twas near the close of day.
So to Dark Hole we ran her in
And waited there for a half-fair wind
The twenty-seventh to begin
Our anchors for to weigh.

Early next morning our hearts were light,
We ran her up for the standing-ice,
Thinking that all things were right,
As you may understand,
When from below there came a roar:
"There's water over the cabin floor!"
The signal for distress did soar
For help from off the land.

The men into the hold did make,
The women to the pumps did take,
Thinking that we could stop the leak
And beach her in a trice.
But still the water came tumbling in;
Against the flow we could not win.
The skipper's voice rose o'er the din:
"All hands get out on the ice!"

But 'twas our very sad mistake,
We found the ice was very weak,
And we had to carry and to take
The children to dry ground.
Poor Tommy Holland scratched his head:
"For God's sake, skipper, save me bed!"
Immediately these words were said,
The Ellen, she went down.

Early the next morning we bid adieu
To bring down Tommy Holland's crew;
We landed them in Plate Cove too,
For to walk along the shore.
Repeating often, Tommy did say:
"I'll never get caught up in Goose Bay,
"And if I get out of her today
"I'll trouble her no more."

Tim Holloway lives on Goose Bay shore,
His father and two brothers more,
All hardy men to ply an oar,
To the wreck their way did wend.
A pair of boots, a barrel of flour
They salvaged in working half an hour
And leather for Joe Horney
For Susanna's boots to mend.

So, now, to close, take this advice:
Don't ever trust the new-made ice;
She'll hold and squeeze you like a vise,
Else shave your plank away.
Until at last they're worn so thin,
And, when a sea-voyage you begin,
Don't sail on Christmas Day.




Previous  Next