Cold as a mackerel

1920, Fire Service (Official organ of the Fire Marshals’ Association of North America, and Eastern Association of Superintendents of Fire and Police Telegraph), 6 March, 1920, p. 7, “I tell you, Governor, that in those days they weren’t ashamed to have a little good liquor around to warm the insides of a man weary and as cold as a mackerel from an all night job.”

At that raw spring hour, mid-February or early March, the sky would be as beautifully cold as a mackerel, bluish-white at its base, everywhere else a dark bruise-blue except where gas lamps in the streets let in a pale green-whitish-yellow,

In some areas our audiences enjoyed the music; in others they were cold as a mackerel.

She had just slid forward in a pile in front of the chair, on top of her nice hat. She was as cold as a mackerel.

He said: Queenie, I think I’m going to pass out and before I do, I’m going to give you a piece of advice […] and he said quite solemnly: Queenie, always stick to Bach and the early Italians—and passed out cold as a mackerel.