This song evolved from the very popular ballad "The Unfortunate Rake". It has been a British barrack-room favorite.
Harry Cox recorded a unique version in 1953 for Peter Kennedy which may be heard on the Folkways album Field Trip - England.
Lou Killen learned a version from Cyril Tawney. Haslar Seawall, at the Haslar Hospital, Gosport, was Tawney's choice to gather the attention of his shipmates.
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As I was a-walking down by the Royal Albert, Black was the night and cold was the day; Who should I see there but one of my shipmates. Wrapped in a blanket far colder than clay.
He asked for a blanket to wrap 'round his head, Likewise a candle to light him to bed; His poor heart was breakin', his poor head was achin', For he's a young sailor cut down in his prime.
We'll beat the big drums and we'll play the pipes merrily, Play the dead march as we carry him along, Take him to the churchyard and fire three volleys o'er him For he's a young sailor cut down in his prime.
At the corner of the street you will see two girls standing, One to the other did whisper and say. "Here comes a young sailor whose money we'll squander, Here comes a young sailor cut down in his prime."
His kind-hearted mother, his kind-hearted father, Both of them wondered about his past life, For along with the flash-girls he would wander, Along with the flash-girls it was his delight.
As sung by Harry Cox
As I was a-walking down by Haslar Seawall, Cold was the morning and wet was the day When who should I spy but one of my shipmates Wrapped up in flannel yet colder than clay
He called for a candle to light him to bed, Likewise a flannel to wrap round his head, For his poor head was aching, His poor heart was breaking, And he was a sailor cut down in his prime.
So beat the drum over And play the fife merrily Sound the dead march as you carry him on Take him to the graveyard Fire four volleys o'er him He was a young sailor cut down in his prime
Now his good old mother, his dear old father, They oft-times had told him about his past life When with those flash girls of the city he'd wander With flash girls of the city he'd take his dear life.
Now he is dead and is laid lay in his coffin, Let six strong matalons come carry him along, And likewise six young girls to carry white roses, So as not for to smell him as they pass along.
At the corner of the street two young women were standing One to the other was heard to remark: "There goes the young sailor whose money we squandered, Whose life we have tasted and wasted away."
At the top of his headstone these words they are written, All you young men take a warning by me And never go courting flash girls in the city, Flash girls of the city have been the ruin of me.