Take nine Cornishmen and a Yorkshireman, all dwellers in Port Isaac on the Cornish coast and all with a past or present connection with fishing, and you have Britain’s only dyed-in-the-wool shanty group.

By their own admission producing a “wall of sound”, they stir the salt in the blood of even the laziest landlubber.

Our island race is never far from the sea. On Thursday it might have been lapping at the Barbican’s sides, so strong was the tang in the air.

Deep bass Jon Cleave’s native twang provided humorous links.

Shanties concern serious work, sometimes life or death, on the ocean wave. A shantyman coordinates his crew in strenuous effort, singing the verses while they provide chorus. So all but the accordionist in this talented group sang at least two solos in this way (even he joined the choruses).

Methodist chapel harmonies animated these songs, not your maudlin Victorian mush, but strong, clean, folk-leaning music, without vibrato.

Naturally, we had Shenandoah – an authentic, unfamiliar version – and the Drunken Sailor got a look in. But there were tales of West Indian banana boats and South Australian deportees and a Titanic blues.

All human life was here: hard times, good times, No-hopers, Jokers And Rogues, and, naturally, women. Most moving of all was the death of a whale.

Here were real hearts of oak to remind us that Britannia ruled the waves and in Cornwall still does. Lucy Ward was the engaging warm-up singer.