The Fires of Calais (James Keelaghan) The fishing boats roll out across the dark green Channel water As they gather speed for Flanders they cut their nets away It's not herring they'll be pulling from the waters on this morning But they'll reap a bitter harvest from the fires of Calais Twenty leagues from France I saw the amber soaked horizon In our lee the cliffs of Dover fall beneath the Channel waves Where waters used to sing a song to soothe the hearts of fishers Now we hear the rolling thunder from the fires of Calais As we pull in tight to shore, this armada bent on rescue I could curse the men behind the desks who sell our lives this way I never signed aboard to save them from this bloody lack of planning That strands these fine young men beneath the fires of Calais On the beach allied confusion, will they stand or are they running If it's run, where will they go to between the sea and the melee On the flanks the troops advancing and with heavy guns they're firing And not a mother's son could save them from the fires of Calais In scattered groups upon the shore some look towards a safer harbour Some fix their eyes upon the flames that turn night to day Some yet standing bold and ready to stoutly guard the rear from Jerry They'll need no flares to see him 'neath the fires of Calais I've fished these Channel waters since I was man enough to face them For the herring and the flounder I have often hauled away But a catch like this i've never had in forty years of sailing Saving Tommies as they flounder 'neath the fires of Calais The fishing boats roll out across the dark green Channel water As they gather speed for Flanders they cut their nets away It's not herring they'll be pulling from the waters on this morning But they'll reap a bitter harvest from the fires of Calais Copyright James Keelaghan FB apr97
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