The Fisherman's Barrow

Good morning, “fresh fish, fresh fish.” Knew a fisherman by the name Mr Miners, came from Polperro.

Good morning, “fresh fish, fresh fish.” Knew a fisherman by the name Mr Miners, came from Polperro. "Fresh fish, fresh fish," he’d shout and sold just what ‘e said: fresh fish, from a barrow. Mostly ‘e had they in a barrow but then again, sometimes Miners had a cart and sometimes a pram, or so I’ve been told. Never seen nobody with a pram of fish myself. Anyways, Mr Miners, ‘e walked along the lanes from Polperro to Liskeard, Fridays. One day, Miners, ‘e had crabs to sell. He was busy shoutin “fresh fish, fresh fish” and chatting away to anyone who was listenin’ and the thing about they crabs was, they were live crabs still and all they live crabs went runnin up the streets of Liskeard. “Fresh fish, fresh fish,” is all ‘e says. Another day, Mr Miners didn’t have nothin but a conger eel in his cart. Some old wife came up and Miners put his hand underneath the eel and flipped it up life like so its huge eyes and teeth were grinning at her. She ran away in fright. Later on, later on.