Have you met my best friend
Who lives in Cawsand, by the sea
Always there to greet you
Always with a cup of tea
She’s now quite old
Can tell a story, yarn or two
Of things long past, and yesterday
Don’t be surprised, if she knows you
So let me introduce her
She can tell you more herself
How she can be your best friend too
And to your inner health
I am the Cawsand Congregational Church
Born in seventeen ninety three
One side faces the Garrett Street
The other out to sea
Each day I wait here silently,
Where waves do lap the shore
The sea washes the rocks, my foundations,
In storms, touch the fisherman’s store
Sometimes they gently caress
Sometimes they crash and roar
Whatever mood the sea is in
It’s there, outside my door
I can tell you many a tale
Of sights from my windows
Of smuggling days, of fishing ways
On these rocks, the Pembernose
Excisemen fighting smugglers,
My sea, a battlefield, bloody gore
The King of Prussia’s boat was here
Unloading ankers, contraband, more
Harry Carter, given up for dead
Kicked to a deathly wave
Floated to a Cawsand beach
Saved from a watery grave
Humphrey Glinn, a preventative man
Took a musket shot, off Penlee
From the smuggler boat of Polperro
By the name, of Lottery
I’ve seen the wooden navy
Bonaparte on Bellerophon
Lord Nelson in the old Ship Inn
With his love, Lady Hamilton
The Blitz of the second world war
Lit up the Plymouth sky
Still some bombs rained on us here
They fell near me, close by
All these things of love and hate
Have come in, with the tide
But those who choose to enter here
Leave their burdens, on the rocks, outside