Author: Robert O'Brien

THE OLD IRON ANCHOR
By Robert O'Brien
July 2000

The Old Iron Anchor,
She's as rusty and crusty as an old dockside nail.
 I got her in '44, through the coastal boat mail.
 The anchor, she did lie on the Newfie Pride bow, 
To hold this new fishing vessel,
With determination carved in her brow.
 
This old iron anchor, forged from Bell Island land.
Always was there, when we needed her hand.
Only once did we set her,
And skidded and slid near Cape Race.
We drifted past old Uncle Harry* in disbelief and disgrace.
The faithful crew of the Newfie Pride
Looked forwards in respect to this steward of the Sea;
But sometimes wished, that the Bitter End**
They would someday get to see?
 
Why, then she'll sink below to her watery grave,
No more to be hauled abroad by those fishers strong and brave.
Why, she'd wedge herself between those craggy rocks
Some twenty fathoms below,
This old rusty anchor holding onto lives above, I know.
 
The tug of war begins, between her and the men, but
Skill and determination wins out; time and time again.
Up she comes! Like a ton of lead.
To lay her head on the bow of Newfie Pride,
I guess it's where she'll stay I' low.
 
Hungry nets and hungry men
Go to sea to fish.
The old Iron Anchor has only one wish - "if she could wish at all"
Is for all of us who use the sea,
To guard its resources for you and me.
 
Her brothers and sisters, the Killick,
Chevy block, grapnel and stone.
Compared to all of those, The Old Iron Anchor, stood alone.
 

Dedicated to Bruce Gill, Skipper "Newfie Pride" Fogo, Newfoundland.
* Uncle Harry - nick name for hidden rocks **Bitter End - end of the anchor line as it is lost over-board.