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

by Mary E. Pearce

  ‘I have no wish to be like them. I’m just a plain fisherman and quite content to stay that way.’

  ‘Even after your uncle is dead and that girl becomes owner of the boat? Yes, you can stare, you poor innocent fool! You hadn’t thought of that, I suppose?’

  No. It was true. He had not thought of that. And the realization came as a shock.

  ‘How will you like it then, my son, when you have to go cap-in-hand to her, to answer for the boat’s affairs?’

  Brice looked at his mother with a cold blue gaze. Just for a moment he hated her. Then abruptly he turned away.

  ‘If the worst came to the worst, I could always go as skipper on some other boat, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. And, after all, there’s always the farm.’

  ‘The farm! The farm! What good is that? Fifteen paltry rented acres and more than one third of it covered in stones! What profit this farm brings in could just about be put in my eye! Your uncle knows that, devil as he is, and yet you’re still foolish enough to stand up for him!’

  ‘Fool I may be but at least I can accept the facts. Whether my uncle is right or wrong, there’s nothing we can do about it, so where’s the sense in wrangling like this? For my part I’ve had more than enough so please let there be an end to it.’

  ‘There will never be any end to it!’ Rachel said, in a passion of anger. ‘We shall have to live with it all our days, seeing that girl, when your uncle dies, coming into property that should be yours and passing it on to her bastard child. Oh, how she must smile to herself, having wormed her way into such a good berth! And oh, how the folk in Polsinney are looking on and enjoying it all!’

  ‘It will all die down in time. We’ll just have to bear it as best we can.’

  But for Brice the gossip was in fact the hardest thing of all to bear. At first, when he had heard the news, he had not believed it; he had thought it was one of Dicky Limpet’s jokes; and by the time he knew it was true, he had already betrayed the fact that his uncle Gus had not seen fit to take him into his confidence. Four of the five men in his crew had kept a considerate silence, for they were men of fine feeling and were very well disposed towards him, but Ralph Ellis had been quick to make the most of his discomfiture.

  ‘So the old man’ve done the dirty on you and pinched your girl from under your nose? I’d have thought at least he’d have told you first, instead of springing it on you like this, but maybe you’ve fallen out with him?’

  ‘No, I haven’t fallen out with him, nor do I intend to,’ Brice said.

  ‘You don’t mean to say you aren’t sore at the trick the old devil’s played on you?’

  ‘What my uncle chooses to do is no one’s business but his own.’

  ‘Will you be going to the wedding, then?’

  ‘That depends on whether I’m asked.’

  ‘Yes, well, of course,’ Ralph said, ‘you’ve got to keep in with him, I suppose, if only on account of the boat.’

  Ralph was frankly jealous of Brice because, when Gus had first become ill, Brice had taken over as skipper, a job Ralph felt should have been his.

  ‘Seems there edn much profit in being the old man’s kin after all. I reckon I’d just as soon be as I am. At least I can call my soul my own.’

  All this from Ralph was only a sample of what Brice had to endure on his way up through the village that morning and of what he would have to endure for a good many days and weeks to come. His mother was not much liked in Polsinney and many people relished the thought that she had been taken down a peg. He himself was liked and respected: among men, who knew him to be a good seaman, and among women because he was a fine upstanding young man who treated them with courtesy; and from some he received friendly words that showed he had their sympathy.

  ‘I would never have thought of your uncle Gus doing a thing like that,’ old William Nancarrow said to him, ‘but you mustn’t take it too much to heart, for your uncle Gus is a sick man and seemingly tes affecting his mind.’

  But the gossip, whatever form it took, was all equally hard to bear and Brice was often sick at heart. The sympathy of some; the slyness of others; the jokes, the probing, the lewd remarks: all were equally hateful to him because, whichever way he answered, he was made to feel a fool. Still, he was determined to put a good face on it, if only for the sake of pride, and one of the first things he knew he must do was to call on his uncle Gus.

  When he arrived at the cottage he found it the scene of unusual activity. Jimmy Jenkin, the Polsinney builder, was perched high at the top of a ladder, removing the old rusty launders and pipes which, having leaked for six months past, were the cause of the dampness in the walls. Another man was repairing the chimney and a third was repairing a hole in the roof. And down in the cobbled yard below, Gus, in his wheelchair, sat watching them.

  For more than two years now the place had been falling about his ears and he had lacked all heart to order the necessary repairs. But in three weeks’ time there would be a woman in the house and that would be a different matter entirely. For her sake, and for her child’s, when it came, every inch of the cottage was to be made good, inside and out. New launders and drainpipes were to be put up; the stonework was to be washed with lime; and the roof was to have a coat of cement to keep the slates firmly in place when the south west gales came blowing in. No expense was to be spared, and Gus watched with critical eyes, determined that the work should be properly done.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard that I’m to be married?’ he said, as Brice stood before him.

  ‘Yes, and I’ve come to wish you well.’

  ‘No hard feelings, then?’

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘You understand what it’ll mean? That Maggie will get my property?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Brice said. Then, with some dryness, he said: ‘I could hardly fail to know since any number of kind folk have been busy pointing it out to me. Polsinney can talk of nothing else. The gossip’s enough to stop the church clock.’

  ‘Well, it seems you’re taking it pretty well, and seeing we’ve got three witnesses watching from up there on the roof, I think it would be a good idea if you and me were to shake hands.’

  Brice had no hesitation whatever; he had always valued his uncle’s friendship; and as their hands met and clasped he knew it was more than just a show for the benefit of the onlookers: he knew that the friendship was still intact. His uncle had said some hard things during the course of their previous meeting but Brice was willing to forget them now, and whatever difficulties lay in the future, so long as he had the old man’s goodwill, he would do his best to face up to them.

  Gus looked up at his nephew with a certain quizzical understanding. He could guess what deliberations had brought the young man here today. Brice had shown what Gus saw as weakness in his behaviour over Maggie but there was little fault to be found in his behaviour today.

  ‘I suppose it’s too much to hope that your mother shares your view of things?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is.’

  ‘The wedding is fixed for September the tenth. Will you come?’

  ‘If you wish it, yes, of course.’

  ‘Would you be willing to do more and give Maggie away?’ Gus asked.

  Brice stared. He was taken aback. It was more than he had bargained for. But Maggie, as he well knew, had nobody of her own.

  ‘Yes. Very well. I’ll give her away.’

  ‘I’m thankful to see that you’ve got more of your father in you than your mother. Sometimes I’ve wondered about that.’

  ‘My mother will get over this ‒ in time.’

  ‘I don’t much care if she does or not. I’ve never got much joy from her company so tesn’t a thing I’m likely to miss.’ Gus looked up with a mischievous gleam. ‘Still, you can tell her, if you like, that she’s welcome to attend the wedding,’ he said.

  But Rachel, as Brice expected, only found this message provoking.

  ‘I will not be present at the wedding, nor will I
ever set foot inside your uncle’s house again, and as for that sly, scheming slut of a girl, if we should ever chance to meet, I shall have nothing to say to her.’

  During the next three weeks people in Polsinney said that the dust rising from Gus Tallack’s cottage could be seen from the top of Teeterstone Hill. Gus had succeeded in persuading Maggie to give up her work in the fish-cellars and to turn her energies instead towards putting her future home to rights.

  ‘I’ve got Mrs Kiddy in and I’ve told her to give the place a good clean but she needs keeping up to the mark and you would be better employed if you were here to see to it.’

  So Maggie now spent her days at the cottage and, in Mrs Kiddy’s words, was turning the place inside out. The sail-maker’s wife was not best pleased at receiving orders from this slip of a girl, and the high standard of cleanliness that Maggie expected her to achieve was, she considered, unreasonable.

  ‘Why, this old house is so black as a shaft, and no amount of rubben-and-scrubben is ever going to make it come clean. And where’s the sense of it, anyway, when Jimmy Jenkin and his crew are coming in presently to put new paper on the walls and paint everything spick and span? They’ll soon cover up the dirt and no one will ever know tes there!’

  But this would not do for Maggie and she said so in no uncertain terms. Every room, upstairs and down, had to be thoroughly scrubbed out before she pronounced herself satisfied, and even when this was all done there was still no rest for either of them, for the rugs and mats had to be cleaned, the curtains and bed-linen had to be washed, and constant warfare had to be waged on the mice that infested every cupboard. Mrs Kiddy was run off her feet. She had never worked so hard in her life.

  ‘Such a skimmage there is down there!’ she told her neighbours in the backlet. ‘I’m sure if old Gus Tallack had known what he was letting himself in for he’d have changed his mind before twas made up!’

  In fact Gus was enjoying it all. The bustle and stir pleased him no end. It was the first time in years that this old neglected cottage of his had seen such a spate of activity and he sat all day out in the yard, looking on with undisguised glee as Mrs Kiddy steamed to and fro, carrying pails of water from the pump to fill the copper in the scullery, where Maggie was washing blankets and sheets.

  The only thing that troubled him was the fear that Maggie was working too hard.

  ‘You want to take it easy, young woman, and leave Mrs Kiddy do a bit more, instead of rushing and tearing about, wearing yourself down to the cheens.’

  ‘I’m all right. I’m as strong as a horse.’

  ‘And what about your baby?’ he said. ‘Supposing you was to do him some harm?’

  But Maggie knew what she could do. Her unborn baby was too precious for her to take any risks with it, and although she worked throughout the day, she was careful never to strain herself. As for Mrs Isaac Kiddy, complaining of her own aches and pains, Maggie had no scruples in keeping her hard at work, for Gus was paying her a shilling a day and if, as happened all too often, Mrs Kiddy skimped some chore, Maggie would make her do it again.

  ‘I d’feel sorry for this poor old house, getting pulled and pummelled about,’ Mrs Kiddy said to Gus. ‘Tes just about been scrubbed to the bone and there edn a stick nor stitch inside’n that haven’t been rummaged through and through!’

  ‘And not a moment too soon, neither,’ Gus said.

  He himself was full of admiration for the way Maggie was doing things for he, as an old fisherman, respected order in all things, and always, in the old days, just as his boat had been one of the best-kept craft seen on this south Cornish coast, so had this cottage of his been object of the same pride and care. The boat, under Brice’s skippership, had been kept up to the same high standard, but Gus, since the onset of his illness, had allowed his home to fall into decay. Now it was all being put to rights; he had the incentive, the will, the drive; and with Maggie firmly in charge, the place was now being restored to its former brightness and comeliness, with everything shipshape and Bristol fashion, neat and tidy and spotlessly clean.

  Of course, a great many things would be needed yet to make a comfortable home of it, fit for a woman and her child, but there would be plenty of time for Maggie to buy whatever she needed, and meantime the most important thing was to see that the dirt and dampness were banished and that Jimmy Jenkin did a good job with his repairs and renovations. And when at last, two days before the wedding, everything was done that could be done, even Mrs Kiddy had to admit that perhaps after all it had been worthwhile.

  ‘The house d’look a picture,’ she said. ‘I wouldn mind living in it myself. And to think they old curtains belonged to be red when all these years I’ve thought they were brown! As for that old slab of yours, Maggie must’ve used a ton of blacklead, getting it to shine like that, and I reckon if you was minded to, you could see to comb your hair in it. This cottage is just about as fitty as any bride could wish to come into and it strikes me that Maggie Care is doing better than she deserves.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that!’ Gus said.

  At noon on the day before the wedding, when Maggie called on Gus to make a few last-minute arrangements, he was absent from his usual place in the yard, and when she walked into the kitchen she found him, not in his wheelchair, but standing a short way away from it, supporting himself on two walking-sticks.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, alarmed.

  ‘I’m practising how to walk,’ he said.

  ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘I don’t know. But that’s what I’m doing all the same.’ Cautiously, without turning his head, he looked at her out of the sides of his eyes. ‘I can walk just a short way, you know, so long as the groundswell is not too bad. I’m not completely done for yet and tomorrow when I get into church I intend to stand on my own two feet. Tes just a question of trying it out. Finding my sea-legs, as you might say.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Yes, you can look the other way!’

  But she was too nervous on his behalf to obey this curt command and she stood close by, watching over him, ready to help if necessary. The effort it cost him to lift one leg and put one foot down in front of the other required all his strength and concentration and he had to lean heavily on the two sticks. With his back slightly bent and his shoulders hunched, he took a few painfully difficult steps and then came to a halt again, breathing stridently through his nose. The exertion was too much for him and the perspiration, pouring from his forehead, dripped down his cheeks and into his beard. His strong teeth were clenched together and his lips were drawn back from them in a little snarl of rage.

  ‘Damn! I’ll get as far as that wall even if it takes all day!’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re being foolish?’

  ‘Tes my two legs that’re being foolish, and if they think I’m giving in to them, they can damned well think again!’

  With a stubborn effort he moved forward again and Maggie watched him in distress. She hesitated to go to him, for he was still a stranger to her, and she knew not how he would react. But she feared very much that he would fall and do himself an injury and it was a great relief to her when a knock came at the half-open door and Brice walked in.

  Gus, turning to look at Brice, swayed and was in danger of losing his balance. His brief burst of strength was almost spent and he was trembling from head to foot. But Brice, seeing at once how it was, went and put his arms round him and held him in a strong, close grip, and when Maggie pushed the wheelchair forward, the old man, with a scowl of defeat, suffered himself to be lowered into it and thrust the two sticks into Brice’s hands.

  ‘I’m to be married tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and I wanted to be married standing up, not stuck in my chair like a Guy Fawkes!’

  ‘Better stuck in your chair,’ Brice said, ‘than falling down on the floor in church.’

  ‘You mean I might fall dead, I suppose? Yes, well, you’re right, I can’t risk that. Not until I’ve made Maggie
my wife.’ Exhausted but resigned, Gus sat back, closing his eyes for a little while and taking deep breaths that filled his lungs. Gradually the tremors passed. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead and cheeks. Then he looked up at Maggie and Brice and a self-mocking grin spread over his face.

  ‘Well, I may not get married standing up, but at least I shall look some smart!’ he said. ‘I’ve had the barber in this morning, clicking and fussing over me, and he’ve left me smelling like a dockside moll! I’ve got my Sunday suit on, too, to get the smell of mothballs out of it, and if I don’t look the part tomorrow it only means folk are hard to please!’

  Gus was highly amused at himself and turned his head this way and that to show off his neatly trimmed hair and beard. He also pointed out his boots, for he had polished them himself and was proud of the brilliant shine on them. And over his head, as he rattled on, making boyish fun of himself, Maggie and Brice looked at each other.

  It was the first time they had met since Maggie had been at Boskillyer and it meant there was some constraint between them. Although he had known he might meet her today, he was still foolishly unprepared, and he felt a sudden cowardly urge to make some excuse and depart post haste. But Maggie, perhaps understanding this, looked at him in such a way that he found his mind growing quiet and still and in a while, as his uncle’s self-banter petered out, he found himself speaking quite normally, as though what lay between him and this girl had no significance whatever.

  ‘I thought I’d better call on you and find out if everything is fixed for tomorrow.’

  ‘I think it is. Yes, I’m sure. And thank you for your kindness in agreeing to give me away.’

  ‘The wedding’s at half past eleven,’ Gus said. ‘I hope you’ll be back in harbour in time to get the fish-scales washed off yourself?’