The Outing

This rusty looking engine, could it be for real?
I think the way it worked was to spin a flywheel.
Against incoming tide we were really so slow,
But at about four knots, slowly we did seaward go.

We'd slowly make our way out off the Fludgers Arms.
A discharge pipe was there, we fished with no alarms.
Between the four of us we had no proper rods,
All made up of bits, all made of odds and sods.

We all had fishing reels; old ones made of wood.
Had to feel for a bite, of it became quite good.
Flat fish, Pollock, Flounders and four or five pound Codling,
Back home for supper this bounty we'd bring.

On their way back to our berth, someone would start a song,
It wasn't the fish, perhaps the rum, we'd fished for far too long!
Dad prepared the fish, mum cooked chips and fish in batter;
Chips fresh, but I'll never have fish again as good as the latter.

It must have been about this time, the dockers had their outing,
Of course, it could have been later in date, of that there's doubting.
I remember we all met outside the dockers canteen,
A more motley crew would be hard to be seen.