The Emancipated (fishing) Widow

In a house, not far from town
I promise I don’t kid you,
there sits a woman on her own,
she’s called a fishing widow,
wicked thoughts run through her mind
if she took off would he miss her?
Because the poor girl rues the day
she got married to a fisher.

Yes time is long for some dear wives
from March until September,
for others it’s most of their lives
if it’s grayling November.
They’ve only got a month or so
to persuade their dear sweethearts,
to do some jobs around the house
before the season starts.

She’ll do her best to coax him
(and however hard she tries)
to paint the door or cut the grass
he’d rather tie some flies.
Just once he took her into town,
a present he must get,
what good intent he only went
to buy a landing net.

There was a time when they were young,
he used to buy her flowers,
but now she’s left alone all day,
to while away the hours.
The seasons started and he’s off
for the river’s now in spate,
no one knows when he’ll be back
or what will be his fate.

She screamed, “ Where have you been to?
You’re over three hours late,
what have you caught? Just as I thought,
there’s nothing for the plate”.
She’d been at home with all the kids
and here’s the flipping rub,
he’d just popped in to get some cash
before going to the pub.

He bows his head looks full of shame
and appears so full of sorrow,
but holds his tongue for tell the truth,
he’s going again tomorrow.
A nice brown trout is in his mind
it swam through last nights dream
he talks about it all the time,
his wife’s about to scream.

So off he goes in spite of things
this time he does quite well well,
a brace of brownies ten inch long
to a trotted worm they fell.
“Don’t put them in my sink” she cried,
“I cannot stand the smell,
the sight of them just makes me puke
you can take the things to hell”.

Those strong words and her shouting
would cause many men to quiver
and would probably stop the best of us
from returning to the river.
But this bloke was made of sterner stuff
and deaf to all her cries,
there’s not a night in summer yet,
that he’s missed the evening rise.

But I sense he’s getting nervous
almost afraid to ask,
if she’ll get up at five tomorrow
to make him sandwiches and flask.
So when the seasons ended
she’s been led a merry dance,
why won’t he take her out to lunch?
to re-kindle some romance.

Well he’s had his ultimatum
and she’s in a separate bed.
While he was at the river
a lot of books she’d read,
there was a very thick one
and it may have been an omen,
a female wrote it…..it was called,
“ The Emancipated Woman.”

What’s more and deadly serious,
which smacks of indignation,
is a very worrying trend they call
Women’s liberation.
After reading all those library books
which stuffed her head with knowledge,
she’s getting a prospectus
to go back to Bridgend college.

So she will not do those late night meals
cooked with tenderness and loving,
if he dares to turn up three hours late
he’ll find it dried up in the oven.
And the worst thing he could ever do,
if he wants to stay alive
is to ask for flask and sandwiches
to be put for him at five.

She’s curtailed all his fishing
and has gone a little quiet.
Loads of blokes are gawking
now she’s on the Atkins diet.
He’s feeling rather fed up,
it makes his stomach churn,
for it’s not just on a size 12 hook,
that he’s noticed the worm turn.

Now he’s a wizard with the Hoover
and will paint away for hours,
if I didn’t know him
I’d say it’s her who wears the trousers.
He gets out in the garden
in between the wind and showers,
the patch he used to dig for worms
is now planted out with flowers.

She goes to keep fit classes
and has coffee with the girls,
don’t know where she goes on Friday nights
in her mini skirt and pearls.
So take heed all you fishermen
and always be aware,
if you’re wife’s a little cracker
practice tenderness and care.

My advice to all you anglers
is to turn over a new leaf,
look after her I warn you
or else you’ll come to grief.
It’s no good tying flies,
when you’re at home baby-sitting,
if kid’s need scarf and jumpers
you may have to take up knitting.

There’s something else to tell you
and I swear it’s not a lie,
she’s bought some chest high waders
and has learnt to cast a fly.
He’s slaving over red-hot stove
and is washing all the dishes.
She may even let him tag along
when she goes out catching fishes.

“Peter Ross”