elaborate cipher of nicknames. Because his hair had once stuck straight up like a brush he was called ‘Brush’ Walsh – but for some ‘Brush’ became ‘Deck-Brush’, and in time ‘Deck-Brush’ became ‘Deck’ and ‘Deck’ mutated to ‘Dee’ and then ‘Dee’ became ‘Double-dee’ and simply ‘Double’. Most had no idea why he was called Double as he was now completely bald.
In Newlyn, the fishing began well. In the first week they cleared nearly £50. At the end of it, Jack received a letter addressed to
Captain Jack Sweeney, Maria Five, The Harbour, Newlyn
and delivered by a boy from the post office. It was from Mrs Abraham.
Dear Mr Sweeney,
Thank you for the fish! I drew him quickly – then cooked him. Now I am sitting outside the cottage. It is very early inthe morning and as quiet as Heaven. Maurice is asleep. He was up in St Ives and they had a big meeting of painters. They all get together for a meeting and speak nonsense to each other and they agree important things and then they go out and drink and talk more nonsense and disagree about everything. I stayed here. What is it like catching pilchards, I wonder? I think of you out on the sea with your nets and here I am sending some magic messages from Polmayne.
Anna Abraham
[She had drawn a picture of a line of birds flying over the horizon towards his boat; as they came closer the birds dived into the sea and became fish and were gathered up in his nets.]
Jack lay on his bunk in the mid-afternoon. It was very hot. He could feel the sun on the deck above. The boat creaked against its warps. They had landed thirteen thousand pilchards that morning and now they were tied up in the inner harbour and everyone was asleep. But Jack could not sleep. He was lying on his bunk with the letter in his hand and he was watching a patch of sunlight where it spilled through the hatch, sliding back and forth against the bulkhead. She’s being friendly, that’s all. She is married and she is being friendly. He tried to tell himself that is just how they are in Iceland or Russia but he did not try that hard because it was much more pleasant in the hot afternoon to lie on his bunk and think of her – and it was pleasant at night when the nets were out and they were waiting to haul, pleasant in the morning too when they were motoring in with a hold full of fish.
It was not until the following week that the pilchards stopped coming. Four nights in a row they drew black nets. The gains they had made began to slip away. When some of the St Ives boats announced they were cutting their losses and returning home, Double suggested doing the same.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ sighed Jack.
Croyden told him: ‘You leave now and you leave without me.’
Jack knew he could not continue fishing without Croyden. They agreed to give it another week. On the Sunday another half-gale set in from the south and they lost a further two days. The rafted boats in the inner harbour strained and knocked against each other, as did the crews. Croyden and Double came close to blows and Jack told Croyden to go and stay with his wife’s family in their tobacco store.
On Tuesday afternoon the wind began to ease. The next evening, in a brilliant blue and orange dusk, the entire fleet put to sea again. The
Maria V
headed west, and with a group of Mevagissey boats reached a place some three miles south of the Wolf Rock. It was a warm night. A light westerly breeze just filled the mizzen. The moon glowed behind a thin layer of cloud. Down to leeward, the other boats took up positions and on the
Maria V
they could hear the murmur of conversation and the single, united voice of a crew singing.
Double rubbed his hands. ‘They’re about tonight, Jack! I feel it in my bones.’
Croyden glared at him. ‘Shut up, Dee.’
They shot the first fifteen nets with ease. The seas had settled and the boat wallowed in the last of the swell. From the bows, the line of cobles stretched out into the
In Newlyn, the fishing began well. In the first week they cleared nearly £50. At the end of it, Jack received a letter addressed to
Captain Jack Sweeney, Maria Five, The Harbour, Newlyn
and delivered by a boy from the post office. It was from Mrs Abraham.
Dear Mr Sweeney,
Thank you for the fish! I drew him quickly – then cooked him. Now I am sitting outside the cottage. It is very early inthe morning and as quiet as Heaven. Maurice is asleep. He was up in St Ives and they had a big meeting of painters. They all get together for a meeting and speak nonsense to each other and they agree important things and then they go out and drink and talk more nonsense and disagree about everything. I stayed here. What is it like catching pilchards, I wonder? I think of you out on the sea with your nets and here I am sending some magic messages from Polmayne.
Anna Abraham
[She had drawn a picture of a line of birds flying over the horizon towards his boat; as they came closer the birds dived into the sea and became fish and were gathered up in his nets.]
Jack lay on his bunk in the mid-afternoon. It was very hot. He could feel the sun on the deck above. The boat creaked against its warps. They had landed thirteen thousand pilchards that morning and now they were tied up in the inner harbour and everyone was asleep. But Jack could not sleep. He was lying on his bunk with the letter in his hand and he was watching a patch of sunlight where it spilled through the hatch, sliding back and forth against the bulkhead. She’s being friendly, that’s all. She is married and she is being friendly. He tried to tell himself that is just how they are in Iceland or Russia but he did not try that hard because it was much more pleasant in the hot afternoon to lie on his bunk and think of her – and it was pleasant at night when the nets were out and they were waiting to haul, pleasant in the morning too when they were motoring in with a hold full of fish.
It was not until the following week that the pilchards stopped coming. Four nights in a row they drew black nets. The gains they had made began to slip away. When some of the St Ives boats announced they were cutting their losses and returning home, Double suggested doing the same.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ sighed Jack.
Croyden told him: ‘You leave now and you leave without me.’
Jack knew he could not continue fishing without Croyden. They agreed to give it another week. On the Sunday another half-gale set in from the south and they lost a further two days. The rafted boats in the inner harbour strained and knocked against each other, as did the crews. Croyden and Double came close to blows and Jack told Croyden to go and stay with his wife’s family in their tobacco store.
On Tuesday afternoon the wind began to ease. The next evening, in a brilliant blue and orange dusk, the entire fleet put to sea again. The
Maria V
headed west, and with a group of Mevagissey boats reached a place some three miles south of the Wolf Rock. It was a warm night. A light westerly breeze just filled the mizzen. The moon glowed behind a thin layer of cloud. Down to leeward, the other boats took up positions and on the
Maria V
they could hear the murmur of conversation and the single, united voice of a crew singing.
Double rubbed his hands. ‘They’re about tonight, Jack! I feel it in my bones.’
Croyden glared at him. ‘Shut up, Dee.’
They shot the first fifteen nets with ease. The seas had settled and the boat wallowed in the last of the swell. From the bows, the line of cobles stretched out into the
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