They left their home on the Zuider zee,
Neath the Old Red Duster went to sea.
These fishing folk came to the fore,
To sail with us in time of war.

They signed aboard in London town,
A worn out tramp, New Brunswick bound.
There was no glory and sure no pomp,
They left behind the jackboot's stomp.

They traded nets for an ancient gun,
And sailed the North Atlantic Run.
Those Dutchmen served in danger's hour,
To help defeat the Axis power.

They made six crossings safe and sound,
The war was over and homeward bound.
Went home to fish the Zuider zee,
To loved ones dear and living free.

Ian Adrian Millar