Although she had known from the beginning what the boat’s name was to be, the sight of it affected her and brought the quick tears to her eyes. Jim perceived this immediately and put his hand into hers.
‘Don’t be upset, mother. Don’t be upset. Uncle Gus ‒’ The boy cleared his throat. ‘Uncle Gus would’ve been pleased at having the boat named after him. And such a brave handsome boat she is, too! Just you wait till you’ve seen all round!’
Maggie smiled at him through her tears. She gave his hand a warm, hard squeeze. And in a few minutes more he was persuading her to climb the ladder and board the boat so that she could inspect its marvels with the thoroughness they deserved.
Jim, of course, knew everything there was to know about the new boat. He had been in and out of the boatyard at every opportunity ever since the morning, early in May, when the elmwood keel had been laid on the stocks. The boat was modern. She was also big. And everything about her was of the best.
Jim showed his mother the roomy cabin, with its neat little lockers and bunks for six men and its cooking-stove fixed to the bulkhead. He showed her everything everywhere: fish-hold, net-hold, capstan, pumps; and he pointed out how beautifully finished everything was inboard: the decks and bulwarks all painted a dazzling white, with just the right amount of blue used to pick out the coamings, the cleats, and the chamfered edges on the stanchions.
At last Maggie was allowed to descend and Jim, preceding her down the ladder, watched over her anxiously lest, encumbered by her skirts, she should catch her foot and fall.
‘Careful, now, on this next rung. ‒ It’s the one that’s got a split in it. And watch out for your hands. ‒ There’s some lot of splinters in this old ladder, you.’
On the ground there were more things to see: the two stout masts, of Norwegian larch, and the hatches stacked in a neat pile, all varnished to perfection; the lugger’s punt, fifteen feet long, painted white, with a blue gunwale; and the two shiny black anchors, each weighing forty-five pounds, delivered a few days before from the Carnock foundry.
These things, and many more, lay on one side in orderly fashion, all moveable gear and fitments having been taken off to lighten the boat ready for moving down to the slipway early next morning. As Jim was explaining this to his mother, the boatbuilders came and set down the sails. There were eight of them altogether: foresail, two mizzens, two jiggers, one jib, a mizzen topsail and a spinnaker; and now, as Martin Laycock said, every last bit of tackle and gear was assembled for carting down to the slipway.
‘All excepting the ballast, of course, and that’s already down there, loaded into hundredweight bags.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Jim said. ‘I helped Uncle Brice and the crew to shovel the shingle into the bags.’
‘And shall you be here tomorrow morning to see us haul the lugger down?’
‘Yes, I’ll be here at six o’clock.’
‘Honour bright?’
‘Cross my heart!’
‘And what about the launching, you? You won’t be there for that, I suppose? You’ll have something better to do than hang about all day just to see a new boat launched?’
‘I shall be there,’ Jim began and then, perceiving his mother’s smile, realized that he was being teased. ‘I shan’t only see her launched,’ he said. ‘I shall be going out in her, on her first trials round the bay.’
On the wharf, as they walked home, Maggie and Jim met Brice, who had been to see the harbourmaster to discuss arrangements for the launching. ‒ Always a Herculean task, with a boat of the Gus Tallack’s size, and one that required all available help.
‘I hear you’ve been delivering the sails?’
‘Yes. And Jim has been showing me the boat.’
‘What do you think of her?’ Brice asked.
‘Oh,’ Maggie said, and spread her hands, looking at him with a smile that said, What do women know of such things? ‘She’s very big. Very beautiful. And I know she’s the finest boat in the world because Jim keeps telling me so.’
‘Tes only the truth,’ Jim declared.
‘Gus always said that Laycock’s yard built some of the best boats ever to sail out from this coast.’
‘Certainly the Emmet was one of the best,’ Brice said. ‘She’d have sailed another thirty years if that barquentine hadn’t done for her. And if the new boat turns out as good as the old ‒’
‘She will do!’ Jim said. ‘Of course she will!’
‘Then I shall be well pleased,’ Brice said. He glanced up and around the sky. ‘It’ll be a fine day for the launch, I believe. A day pretty much like today, I would say, with the wind going nicely round with the sun.’ He turned to face Maggie again. ‘The crew are all down at Enery Trennery’s, getting their hair cut,’ he said. ‘They mean to make a smart come-out of it tomorrow, be sure of that.’
‘I’m glad the new boat will have the same crew.’
‘Yes, so am I,’ Brice said.
Since the loss of the Emmet, the crew had got work where they could, ‘filling in’ on other drifters that happened to be a man short, perhaps, but often obliged to go to Carnock and earn what they could on the quay there, helping to unload other men’s fish.
Billy Coit and Clem Pascoe had in fact been offered permanent places on certain boats where they had filled in but, knowing that Brice was building a new boat with the insurance money from the Emmet, they had chosen to wait for the chance of crewing with him again. And they, like young Jim, had spent all their spare time at the boatyard, watching the Gus Tallack grow and sometimes giving a hand with the work.
‘I reckon that’s a good idea, naming her after the old skipper,’ Billy Coit had said to Brice, ‘cos he was a good old sort in his way, and I’ve got a funny old feeling that whenever we put to sea, he’ll be watching over us, seeing we dunt come to no harm.’
As Maggie and Jim and Brice walked together along the wharf a number of people passed by and each had something to say to them, for everyone in Polsinney knew that the Gus Tallack was due to be launched the following day and, the launching of a new boat being always a great occasion, young and old alike looked forward to it with pleasure and interest.
‘Handsome weather you’ll have for it!’ said old Horace Wearne, and Annie Tambling, touching Brice on the arm as she passed, said: ‘There’s my good luck on you, my son, but dunt say nothing back to me or that’ll only send it away!’ Everyone had some special word and many, as they passed by, turned to look at Maggie and Brice with lively curiosity. In the three months that had passed since Gus’s death, they had been closely observed, the subject of much speculation, and because they were well aware of it, they had throughout that time conducted themselves with great correctness.
Their feelings were in accord over this and had never needed to be put into words. They loved each other and in time they would marry; it would cause a good deal of talk and people would say they had known all along just how it would turn out; but there would be no undue haste for the more spiteful gossips to fasten on. Maggie was in mourning for Gus and it was no mere formal display; she mourned for him quite genuinely and knew that Brice did too; and much as they might long for each other, neither of them wanted marriage while Gus’s death was still fresh in their minds.
That morning, early, Maggie had been in the churchyard, trimming the grass on Gus’s grave. She liked to go there very early, before anyone else was about, and she liked to keep the green mound well trimmed because Gus had respected neatness and order above all other things. On the headstone, above his name, was carved, in the simplest fashion, a boat under sail. ‘I am the Lord,’ said the text, ‘which maketh a way in the sea, and a path in the mighty waters.’
She had been to the grave many times but on that particular morning, as she knelt beside the mound, she had received a strong impression of Gus’s presence close beside her. This feeling was with her still and although it filled her heart with sadness, it also brought a sense of peace and a sense, somehow, of being protected. She spoke ab
out this now to Brice, as they reached the gate of the barking-yard, and he told her what Billy Coit had said about Gus watching over the new boat and keeping it safe from harm.
‘Uncle Gus was a seaman and spent his last hours at sea. He was happy doing that. And I know even the way he died will have been more to his liking than dying slowly in his bed. These things, and the way we remember him, are enough to bring peace to his soul, I think, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said, quietly, ‘his soul is at peace with itself, I’m sure.’
At three o’clock the next afternoon, watched by a huge crowd that thronged the fish-quay and the wharf, Maggie launched the Gus Tallack from Laycock’s slipway at Porthvole.
The day, as promised, was fine and sunny, with a hot south easterly wind giving a sea that was deep blue and calm, with just a bit of a lop on it. The boat had been hauled down to the slip without any mishap just after six that morning and from then until midday men had swarmed all over her, crew and boatbuilders working together, rigging her out ready for sea.
At one o’clock, washed and shaved, and wearing their best dark serge suits, they had gathered again at The Brittany Inn for the special launching feast, where cold roast beef and pickles, followed by apple tart and cream, had been washed down by beer or cider or, in the case of the teetotallers, by Mrs Kemp’s special lemonade.
At half past two, out on the slipway, the crewmen were joined by their families. Maggie and Jim were already there, with Rachel Tallack; Isaac Kiddy was there with his wife and son; and Percy Tremearne was there with his new sweetheart from St Owe. These, together with the boatbuilders and all the other stout-armed men standing by to help with the launching, almost filled the slipway; and everywhere about the harbour, wherever there was a piece of ground that commanded a view of the proceedings, the onlookers were thronged in their hundreds, the young girls in their summer frocks, some carrying parasols, making splashes of bright colour among the men in their sober blacks, under the red and green bunting fluttering gaily overhead.
The Gus Tallack, with her stern towards the sea, stood with her keel resting on rollers, well and truly chocked underneath and supported all along her sides by struts of timber firmly wedged under bilge-keels and strakes. Jim, gazing up at the boat, which was forty-four feet in length and weighed sixteen tons, thought how immense she looked, standing here on the slipway, and yet how small such a boat could seem once she was out on the open sea. And he thought, too, with a tingle of pleasure, of the silver shilling which, earlier that day, watched by Uncle Brice and the crew, he had placed underneath the foremast as a token to ensure the boat’s good luck.
All around him on the slipway the launching party, in high spirits, were chatting with one another and with a few privileged persons, including the vicar, Mr Rowe, the Methodist minister, Mr Hoskins, and, representing the ‘parliament’ of old retired fishermen, the stalwart William Nancarrow. The boat was inspected, discussed, admired; compared with famous boats of the past; and made the subject of predictions concerning the speed she might achieve and how she would most likely behave in a lively seaway.
But Brice and his crew, though they chatted, had one eye on the time, and promptly at five minutes to three they boarded the boat, with young Jim and Martin Laycock. The ladder was taken away and the launching team, numbering thirty men, took up the stations assigned to them, each man watching Martin Laycock, directing proceedings from the boat’s bows.
Now William Nancarrow, with conscious dignity, went to a small wooden table, set conveniently by, on which stood a bottle of French red wine and a glass. He filled the glass with wine and gave it to Maggie and she, somewhat flushed in the cheeks at being the centre of attention, turned and walked towards the boat. The whole crowd was utterly silent, watching her and listening, and for a brief interval the only sound heard on the slipway was the lapping and slapping of the water, a few yards from the lugger’s stern.
Maggie raised her glass aloft, took a deep breath to steady herself, and spoke in a loud, ringing voice that carried clearly all round the harbour.
‘I wish prosperity to this boat and name her the Gus Tallack, and I ask God’s blessing on her and her crew.’
She drank some of the wine from the glass, then dashed the rest against the boat, and such was the splendid timing achieved by the launching team in removing chocks and struts that as the wine splashed against her bows the Gus Tallack began to move, slowly at first, with scarcely a sound, but very soon, as the rollers turned, picking up speed in a way that was almost frightening to behold.
A burst of clapping broke out among some of the onlookers but most were watching, hearts in mouths, for now the lugger was beginning to run, rolling and rumbling down the slipway with a noise like thunder. There were shouted instructions from Martin Laycock, a scraping of boots on the granite setts as men lay back on the check-ropes, and then, with a satisfying splash that brought the spray up over her stern, the Gus Tallack was afloat in two or three fathoms of water.
The crew, having cast off the check-ropes, waved their caps and gave a cheer, which was echoed and very quickly drowned by the cheer that went up from the watching crowd. Brice, at the helm, gave a salute, and as the lugger moved out on the ebb, the water deepening under her, he very slowly brought her round until her stem pointed seawards.
By now the crew were at work; there were a few quiet commands, a flapping of canvas, a cheeping of blocks; and Billy Coit, in charge of the tack, looked up at the two brown sails as though willing them to draw. And in another moment or two, as the boat cleared the lee of Scully Point and the hot wind came breathing down on them, bringing a scent of Goonwelter furze, the sails very gently and gracefully filled.
Jim, standing with Brice at the helm, watched as his mother, on the slipway, grew smaller and smaller still. He put up a hand to wave to her; a special wave, for her alone; and saw the flutter of her blue and white sleeve as she waved back to him. Brice also was watching her. He watched until, as the distance lengthened, her figure grew blurred and merged with the crowd. He turned his head and looked at Jim and Jim, as yet too full to speak, looked up at him with a smile of pure joy.
The boat now began picking up speed, making westward across the bay. Martin Laycock came aft to speak to Brice.
‘Going handsome so far, edn she?’
‘Yes, she’s going like a bird.’
Rachel, with Maggie on the wharf, listening to the good wishes, the congratulations, the compliments, had little to say in reply. She did not approve of the new boat. She had wanted Brice to give up the sea. But men, as she well knew, would do whatever they wanted to do, for it was their nature and couldn’t be changed.
‘That boy of yours will be the same. He will go to sea, sure as fate, and nothing you say will make him see sense. And he will spare no thought for the feelings of those he leaves behind.’
The well-wishers had moved away and Rachel and Maggie, alone together, began walking slowly along the wharf.
‘Jim’s got the sea in his blood. He’s grown up within sight and sound of it. The pull of it is too strong for him. He could never resist it even if he wanted to.’
‘It seems you accept it.’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘You are wise,’ Rachel said. ‘I suppose it’s been bred in you.’
She herself had learnt acceptance rather late in life and only after much inner conflict. She was beginning to feel her age. Becoming resigned. Bowing to fate. But there were some compensations to make up for the sense of defeat. She accepted that Brice and Maggie would marry and even found satisfaction in it, for it meant that Gus Tallack’s property would come back into the family even if, one day, Brice’s children would have to share it with Maggie’s illegitimate son.
All along the wharf, as Maggie and Rachel strolled along, there were little groups of people still watching the new boat performing her trials out in the bay.
‘You launched her brave and fitty, midear,’ Kate Cox said as Maggie passed, and ol
d Thomas Lean called out: ‘Proper job! Proper job! And a more handsome craft never put to sea.’
Maggie smiled; made some reply; and walked on at Rachel’s side. The two were silent for a while. Then Rachel came to a halt.
‘We’re very different, you and me. I’ve lived in this place more than thirty-five years but I still feel myself a stranger here, and that’s how people see me, I’m sure. But you are at home here. You seem to belong. It’s as though you had lived here all your life.’
‘Yes, that’s how I feel,’ Maggie said. ‘Polsinney is my home in a way Porthgaran never was. I’ve been happy here. I’ve put down roots.’
‘Yes, and the tree has borne fruit, in more ways than one,’ Rachel said, with a touch of her old acerbity. And after a while she said briskly: ‘Well, I must be getting home. You may stay here if you like, watching that boat go to and fro, but I’ve got things to do on the farm.’
‘I would come and help you but I promised Jim I’d stay here and watch them come in,’ Maggie said.
‘You’ll have a long wait, I can tell you that. They’ll be sailing about for hours yet, if I know anything about it. Still, waiting is something you’ll have to get used to, once you are married to Brice. And I daresay there is justice in that because God knows he has waited for you long enough.’
Rachel went off along the wharf, giving a perfunctory nod to the groups of people who made way for her. Maggie walked on to the quay, to join the watchers still gathered there, and fair-haired little Cissie Birch, leaving her grannie, Betsy Coit, came with a hop-skip-and-a-jump to take hold of Maggie’s hand.
Out in the bay, off Volley Head, the Gus Tallack, under full sail, sped smartly before the wind, a few gulls flashing behind her, omen of good things to come.
Polsinney Harbour: A heartwarming family saga set in Victorian era Cornwall Page 23
