Polsinney Harbour: A heartwarming family saga set in Victorian era Cornwall

by Mary E. Pearce

  Brice, although mollified, would not for one instant agree with this.

  ‘By the time we had known for sure, it would’ve been too late,’ he said. ‘Plenty of boats have gone that way.’

  Maggie, who was standing nearby, now spoke for the first time.

  ‘There’s no such thing as being over-cautious,’ she said. ‘Not when men’s lives are at stake.’

  Gus looked at her for a while in silence. Then he looked at Brice again.

  ‘Yes, well,’ he said at last. ‘You’ve made your point, both of you, and there’s nothing more to be said. Except to discuss the nets, of course … How many are there in the store?’

  ‘Five or six new ones, perhaps,’ Brice said, ‘and three or four old ones, but they’re badly shrunk.’

  ‘Then you’d better take the horse and cart and get what you need from Steeple Lumbtown. The sooner the better. Today if you can. Then Eugene can bark them this afternoon.’

  Brice nodded and turned towards the door.

  ‘I’ll go straight away after breakfast,’ he said.

  The new nets were fetched and barked and put aboard the following Monday and that night, though their catch was small, there were few complaints from the crew.

  ‘I shall never pray for big catches again,’ Billy Coit said, shaking his head. ‘Not after that strike in the Dings. I’m content to take what comes. I leave it in the hands of the Lord.’

  Not all the crew were as philosophical as this. The loss of a whole fleet of nets, together with an exceptional catch, still rankled with Ralph Ellis and a few weeks later he left the Emmet to go as skipper in a new lugger built by John Lanyon of Penlaw. Brice was not sorry to see him go; there had been friction between them for years; and Ralph, now that he had been lucky enough to get a first-class boat like the Bright Star, was even disposed to be friendly, hailing Brice at the quayside and exchanging good-humoured banter with him.

  ‘How’re you getting along without me?’

  ‘Oh, we muddle along, somehow.’

  ‘Cut away any nets lately?’

  ‘No, but I hear you lost your jib.’

  ‘Ess, we had some old weather out there, fishing the Cowlings last night. ‒ While you were skulking in the Chawls!’ Ralph’s place in the Emmet was taken by Clem Pascoe’s son Reg. Brice was well pleased with the change and so were his crew. And it happened that from that moment on, until the season ended in March, the herring catches were much improved.

  Some weeks after the loss of the nets Maggie decided to speak to Gus about an idea that had lain in her mind for a long time: that he should, by process of law, make the Emmet over to Brice; but although she used all possible tact in putting forward her suggestion, Gus’s reaction was hostile.

  ‘Your conscience playing you up again, because you’ll inherit my property?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could say that. We’ve got so much, you and me … Not only of worldly goods, but so many other things besides … And over the boat it seems to me that you could afford to be generous.’

  ‘I’m not in the habit of giving things away like that.’

  ‘Not even to please me?’

  ‘Why should it please you? That’s what I should like to know. Because when I’m dead the boat will be yours and you want to spare Brice’s feelings at having a woman employing him?’

  ‘I wasn’t looking so far ahead as that.’

  ‘It can’t be all that far ahead. I’ve lived thirteen years with this disease and that in itself is a miracle. But my luck can’t hold out for ever and it’s only right, I suppose, that you should look ahead a bit and make plans for the future.’

  ‘I’m not thinking about the future. I’m thinking of now. Brice is your own kith and kin and if it hadn’t been for me ‒’

  ‘Brice has said often enough that he doesn’t care tuppence for the property. Why don’t you take his word for that?’

  ‘But the boat is different, isn’t it? The boat really means something to him ‒’

  ‘Don’t you think it means something to me?’ Gus’s anger now came to the boil. ‘The Emmet is mine! My very own! Tommy Laycock built her for me and I sailed in her for thirty years. That’s something you seem to forget!’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie said, in a small voice, and was vexed with herself for her lack of wisdom. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to interfere. It was wrong of me. I see that now.’

  Gus leant forward in his chair and poked the fire in the stove. It burnt up bright immediately and the red glow lit his bearded face. For a moment he sat watching the flames, broodingly, his face creased with thought. Then he dropped the poker into the hearth and leant back in his chair again.

  ‘I don’t need to give Brice the boat. He’ll get it anyway in the end. And everything else as well.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, when I’m dead, you’ll marry him. He will have everything then. Boat … business … cottage … wife … I daresay he’ve got it all worked out.’

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. Why do you say such terrible things? Brice isn’t that sort of man at all.’

  ‘Oh, it isn’t so bad as I’ve made it sound, bearing in mind the important fact that he’s been in love with you all these years.’

  Maggie looked down at her hands, at the piece of needlework, so far untouched, that lay meaninglessly in their grasp. Absently, she turned it over; stared at it in a blank way; then allowed it to fall again. Gus watched her closely and shrewdly.

  ‘You’re not going to say, as you did once before, that all that was over years ago when he found out you were having a child? Because we both know that isn’t true. Oh, he hides it well enough! He certainly never makes a fool of himself. But it’s there all the same, no doubt of that, and if I can see it, so can you.’

  ‘Even if what you say is true, I don’t think we ought to talk about it, if only for Brice’s sake.’

  ‘Brice! Brice! Never mind about Brice! I want to talk of it!’ Gus exclaimed. ‘This is something that needs threshing out. We’ve always been honest with each other, you and me, and we must try and keep it so. That means facing up to facts.’ There was a long, difficult silence and in it he watched her consideringly. But at last, in a dry tone, he said:

  ‘You’ll run into some trouble, of course, when it comes to marrying him, owing to affinity. “A man may not marry his father’s brother’s wife.” But you can always get round that. Others have done, often enough. The parson will soon sort it out for you.’

  ‘It seems,’ Maggie said, haltingly, ‘that you’ve given the matter a lot of thought.’

  ‘Yes, well, so I have. I want your happiness. You know that, I hope. So of course I’ve given it a lot of thought. Brice is a good enough chap in his way. He’ve grown up in the past few years. You’ll be in good hands, married to him, and I’ve got no worries on that score. It will all work out well enough, I’m sure, once I’m dead and out of the way … I can see you together, plain as plain … and in my more Christian moments, I ask God’s blessing on you both.’

  Maggie tried to speak but could not, and he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘No need to get upset,’ he said gruffly. ‘My Christian moments are all too rare and there are times when I’d damn him to hell. I know I’ve got no right to be jealous, but I am jealous all the same, knowing that when I’m out of the way Brice will step straight into my shoes.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.’

  ‘I’m just facing up to facts.’

  ‘But you’ve got no cause to be jealous of Brice, because I never think of him in that way.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Gus said, with a keen look. ‘Are you certain sure of that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t lie to you,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Don’t talk so foolish! Of course you would! You’d lie to me with your last breath if you thought it would only spare my feelings. And the lies would come easy to you because you believe in them yourself. Not that I have any claim on you
‒ our marriage being what it is.’

  ‘Those vows I made when I married you … they were not without meaning for me, you know, whatever sort of marriage it is.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ Gus said. ‘You’ll be a loyal wife to me, whatever it costs you, I know that. But it’s hard on you all the same and I did you a grievous wrong when I married you and tied you down. You’re a young woman, not thirty yet. You’ve got warm blood in your veins ‒ Jim is living proof of that ‒ and with Brice always so close at hand, a handsome young man, devoted to you, you wouldn’t hardly be human, else, if you hadn’t come to feel something for him with the passing of the years. As for boy Brice himself, well, he’s only human, too, and I can’t say that I blame him if he wishes me out of the way.’

  ‘You don’t really think that, knowing Brice as you do?’

  ‘I only know what I should feel if I was him,’ Gus said. ‘And that’s something I’d like brave and well ‒ a chance to change places with Brice. To be a strong young man again and walk about on my own two legs. I’d soon show you a thing or two if I was in boy Brice’s shoes, cos I couldn’t suffer to stand by and see the one woman I loved tied to a useless old hulk of a man more than twice her own age. I should’ve upped a good while since and carried you off across the sea, to Jersey or Guernsey or some such place.’

  ‘Would you indeed?’ Maggie said. ‘And supposing I didn’t want to go?’

  ‘If I was boy Brice, my girl, I’d damn well see that you wanted it! But that’s Brice all over as he is. ‒ Just enough sin in him to covet another man’s wife but not enough to do something about it!’

  ‘Why do you always speak of him in that disparaging way?’ Maggie asked. ‘Even when you say something good about him, it always comes grudgingly, with a sneer.’

  ‘You won’t grudge him nothing much, once I’m out of the way, will you?’

  ‘Gus!’ Maggie said beseechingly.

  ‘Oh, I know, I know!’ he exclaimed. ‘I ought not to talk like that. It’s hard for a young woman like you to understand an old man’s feelings and you mustn’t take too much heed of me if I burst out in a temper sometimes.’

  ‘I suppose it’s only what I deserve. I had no business trying to tell you what to do with your own property and I can only say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, well, never mind, we’ll say no more about it,’ he said. ‘It’s over and done with and wiped off the slate. We’ve said what we think, both of us, and that’s an end to it, once and for all.’

  But that was not the end of it and during the next two or three days it became only too obvious that the matter was still very much on his mind.

  It happened just then that the weather was bad and he was obliged to keep indoors. This always produced choler in him and now, in his present brooding mood, he would sit in front of the window, often silent for hours at a time, looking out across the harbour and watching the great wind-vexed seas breaking over the far quay-head. At meal-times, when Jim was present, he made some effort to talk, and whenever Maggie spoke to him he answered her readily enough; but his manner and tone were cold and abrupt and Jim soon noticed it.

  ‘What’s the matter with Uncle Gus? Isn’t he feeling too clever just now?’

  ‘He’s got something on his mind. I expect he’ll get over it quite soon.’

  But Gus’s mood only got worse and, as always at such times, he was drinking heavily. It was something that worried Maggie and she felt she had to speak of it.

  ‘Why do you drink so much? Dr Sam said it was bad for you and surely you’ve proved it often enough?’

  ‘I shall drink as much as I choose! And if it kills me, so what of that? ‒ You’ll be your own mistress then and all your problems will be solved!’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Maggie said, distressed. ‘And all this has blown up because of what I said about giving Brice the boat.’

  ‘Damme! That boat is mine! Why in hell’s name should I give it away?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ Maggie said. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned it.’

  ‘Brice is her skipper. What more should he want? I’d change places with him like a shot if it meant I could go to sea again. And I wouldn’t skulk at home days on end just because of a blow of wind!’

  ‘It isn’t only Brice,’ Maggie said. ‘All the boats have stayed in ever since the gale on Monday night.’

  ‘No, not all of them,’ Gus said. ‘Two or three have been out since then.’

  ‘Two or three mad ones, that’s all.’

  It was now early April; the long-lining season had begun; but strong south-westerly winds, coinciding with spring tides, had kept the fleet at home all the week. The skippers and crews could be seen on the wharf, shoulders hunched and caps pulled well down, sheltering from the worst of the wind in the space between the coopers’ sheds; chatting together and smoking their pipes; constantly watching the sea and the sky and discussing every subtle change.

  Brice was not among them because, however bad the weather, there was always something to do on the farm, and he was particularly busy just now, repairing the damage caused by the gales. So it happened that he did not come for his usual Saturday evening visit but came on Sunday afternoon instead. Maggie and Gus were alone together; Jim had gone to Sunday school; and the moment Brice walked into the kitchen it was plain that Gus had it in for him.

  ‘Where did you get to yesterday?’

  ‘I was mending the barn roof. We lost a lot of slates in last Monday’s gale. The cowshed door was damaged too. I only finished repairs this morning.’

  ‘Seems you’re more of a farmer than a fisherman these days.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s true,’ Brice said. ‘Not that I’ve got much cause to complain. It means I can catch up with all the odd jobs. But it falls hard on the crew when we lose so many nights in a row.’

  ‘Shares worked out two and tuppence a man. None of them was best pleased at that. You’ll find yours up on the mantelshelf there.’

  Maggie, who was standing on the hearth, took down the money and gave it to Brice. He looked at her enquiringly, hoping for some guidance as to the cause of his uncle’s mood, but there was little she could convey in a glance, beyond her own anxiety, and he turned away with a puzzled frown, slipping the money into his pocket.

  ‘Don’t spend it all at once,’ Gus said, ‘cos dear knows when the next lot’ll be coming.’

  ‘That’s nothing new in fishing, is it, especially at this time of year? But luckily the weather is on the mend. The glass is rising steadily and now that the spring tides are slackening off I’m hoping with a bit of luck we shall maybe get out tomorrow night.’

  ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’ Gus said. ‘If you haven’t lost the knack of it!’

  Brice, trying hard to keep his temper, looked the old man straight in the eye.

  ‘Would you have had us go out, then, in spite of conditions all this week?’

  ‘Not for me to say, is it? You’re the skipper, not me. I’m just the owner, no more than that. But a few boats did go out, didn’t they, unless my old eyes were playing me false?’

  ‘Four boats went out,’ Brice said, ‘out of a fleet of thirty-three.’

  ‘Ralph Ellis was one, I believe, and even managed to get a few fish.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Brice said, and this time it was his turn to be sarcastic. ‘He got all of two stone of hake, I heard.’

  ‘Better than nothing,’ Gus said. ‘More than you’re likely to get, kiddling about up there on the farm.’

  Brice, tight-lipped, walked to the door. He felt he had been patient enough. He paused and looked back at Maggie.

  ‘It seems I’m not welcome here today so I may as well take myself off. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait to see Jim. Tell him I ran into a squall.’

  As soon as the door had closed on him Maggie rounded fiercely on Gus.

  ‘Are you proud of yourself, I wonder, for driving him away like that?’

  ‘You don’t need to fight Brice�
�s battles for him. He can stand up for himself. Else, if he can’t, tes high time he could!’

  ‘But he doesn’t even know what it’s all about!’

  ‘Maybe you’d like to tell him?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie said, ‘that’s a good idea!’

  She took her shawl from the hook on the door and went out into the wind.

  Brice, having walked at a furious pace, was well on his way up the steep cliff road when Maggie, calling out to him, at last managed to make him hear. He turned in surprise and stood watching her but then, seeing her toiling up the hill, fighting against the boisterous wind, he began walking down towards her and they met just as an extra strong gust came in over the sea wall, bringing a skitter of spray with it.

  For a moment she was unable to speak; wind and hill had defeated her; and she stood before him, quite breathless, giving a little choking laugh as she clumsily rearranged her shawl, pulling it tight over her head and twisting her hands into its folds so that the wind should not whip it away. Brice stood in silence, too. Under the peak of his close-fitting cap, his face was clenched in angry lines and there was still a look in his eyes that made them glint, a cold, hard blue, yet failed to hide the hurt in them. Maggie, seeing this look in his eyes, and the bitter lines about his mouth, felt the hurt in her own heart as though a knife had twisted there. At last she found enough breath to speak.

  ‘You mustn’t mind what Gus says to you. He doesn’t mean it most of the time. It’s just that he’s ‒ he’s feeling under the weather these days.’

  ‘Yes, the weather’s to blame for a lot just now. If it doesn’t let up pretty soon ‒’

  ‘You won’t take any risks, will you? You won’t let him goad you into it?’

  ‘Is that what he wants by any chance?’

  ‘Oh, Brice!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘I don’t know which of you is the worst, you or your uncle Gus, for saying things you don’t mean.’

  ‘I can guess what things he says about me and I daresay he means them sure enough.’

  ‘No, no, that’s where you’re wrong! It’s only the mood he’s in at the moment and I’m the one who’s to blame for that.’