I have always been a sucker for a French Chanson, Piaf, Brel, Trenet all reduce me to quivering Francophilia.
My latest discovery, of at least a year, is Georges Brassens, partly because he came from Sète, which is just down the road from us in Herault but mainly because he is just bloody brilliant.
The Brassens song of the summer had to be Les Copains d’Abord, partly because it was on the play list of Nostalgie my French radio station of choice whose title exactly describes its repertoire, but also because I managed to do a sort of weird Karaoke of this song with a Hurdy Gurdy lady in Capestang (see here.)

One of the great rewards of being semi-retired is that every so often one can clear a day and be totally self indulgent. Today was such a day and I finally made good on a promise I made to myself during the summer and did a translation of Les Copains.
I must confess that when I started out I had no idea what the song was about. It turned out to be a fairly innocent sea-shanty.

I didn’t translate the title, it just works better in French, can you imagine Piaf’s standard, La Vie en Rose, having any resonance at all if translated as The Pink Life?
Les Copains d’Abord roughly means Friends First.
Here is a You Tube reference of the great Brassens himself singing it in concert.
Here are his words followed by my effort at translation.

Les Copains d’Abord

Non, ce n’était pas le radeau
De la Méduse, ce bateau
Qu’on se le dise au fond des ports
Dise au fond des ports
Il naviguait en pèr’ peinard
Sur la grand-mare des canards
Et s’app’lait les Copains d’abord
Les Copains d’abord

Ses fluctuat nec mergitur
C’était pas d’la litterature
N’en déplaise aux jeteurs de sort
Aux jeteurs de sort
Son capitaine et ses mat’lots
N’étaient pas des enfants d’salauds
Mais des amis franco de port
Des copains d’abord

C’étaient pas des amis de luxe
Des petits Castor et Pollux
Des gens de Sodome et Gomorrhe
Sodome et Gomorrhe
C’étaient pas des amis choisis
Par Montaigne et La Boetie
Sur le ventre ils se tapaient fort
Les copains d’abord

C’étaient pas des anges non plus
L’Évangile, ils l’avaient pas lu
Mais ils s’aimaient tout’s voil’s dehors
Tout’s voil’s dehors
Jean, Pierre, Paul et compagnie
C’était leur seule litanie
Leur Credo, leur Confiteor
Aux copains d’abord

Au moindre coup de Trafalgar
C’est l’amitié qui prenait l’quart
C’est elle qui leur montrait le nord
Leur montrait le nord
Et quand ils étaient en détresse
Qu’leurs bras lancaient des S.O.S.
On aurait dit les sémaphores
Les copains d’abord

Au rendez-vous des bons copains
Y avait pas souvent de lapins
Quand l’un d’entre eux manquait a bord
C’est qu’il était mort
Oui, mais jamais, au grand jamais
Son trou dans l’eau n’se refermait
Cent ans après, coquin de sort
Il manquait encore

Des bateaux j’en ai pris beaucoup
Mais le seul qu’ait tenu le coup
Qui n’ai jamais viré de bord
Mais viré de bord
Naviguait en père peinard
Sur la grand-mare des canards
Et s’app’lait les Copains d’abord
Les Copains d’abord

Les Copains d’Abord

No, it was not that sort of craft
Not like Medusa on her raft
As they say deep within the port
Deep within the port
They sail along swinging the lead
Through the Atlantic and the Med
They call themselves Copains d’Abord
Les Copains d’Abord

Tossed by the waves but never sunk
They thought all literature was bunk
And feared not witchcraft or the sword
Witchcraft or the sword
But then their faith was deep and true
In both the captain and the crew
These were the freemen of the port
Les Copains d’Abord

They weren’t the men for the soft times
Like the sailors from other climes
Or those from Sodom and Gomorrah
Sodom and Gomorrah
Nor were they like the special friends
In La Boetie or in Montaigne
But were rough buddies and hard chaws
Les Copains d’Abord.

But they were far from saints as well
They let the gospels go to hell
But were all of one accord
When the south wind roared
Jean Paul, Pierre, Phillipe and Co
Believed in only one Credo,
One gospel one confiteor
Les Copains d’Abord

At the first signs of battle cry
They would be standing side by side
One hand upon the boarding sword
On the boarding sword
There was no need for SOS
Each man could sense his mates distress
This was their only semaphore
Les Copains d’Abord.

At the renunions of the mates
No one was missing none were late
Only those who had lost their sword,
Gone to their reward.
They’d be rembered all their lives
As would their sweethearts and their wives
No dead man ever was ignored
By Copains d’Abord

Oh there are lots of boats out there
From Biscay up to Finisterre
But never were such friends on board
Such good friends on board
They sail along swinging the lead
Through the Atlantic and the Med
And call themselves Copains d’Abord
Les Copains d’Abord.