![\"\"](\"https:\/\/d2wipdjmobk1g8.cloudfront.net\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/4\/2019\/01\/23163600\/COTTAGE.jpg\")
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Warm, five o\u2019clock, Scottish, June sunshine bathes my old ripening skin as I sit here by the Harbour Cottage Art Gallery, overlooking the deep muddied channel of the river. A faint smell of diesel is in the air. Fishing boats are queued up, blue and white, some a little rusted, moored and waiting.<\/span><\/p>\n Empty lobster pots are stacked alongside the neatly cut grass the other side of the chain railings which enclose a small park. The inevitable \u2018anchor statue\u2019 graces this park. The one which really tugs at the heart strings is the carved oak sculpture of two female figures clinging desperately to each other, representing family awaiting the return of a loved one lost at sea; shows the true emotions connected with such a perilous occupation.<\/span><\/p>\n Going back is never a good thing. Better to have the memory. The insulting sanitisation and gentrification of such hardship and honourable work is too much, for the likes of us, to bear. We had work, we had pride in ourselves; we slept from exhaustion, driven by the next day of expectation. It wasn\u2019t a bad life!<\/span><\/p>\n Times change you see. Should I feel guilty, now, about what I was doing then? I was merely earning my living. Cold unpleasant work it was. My sons feel the guilt, not me! For me it was blood, sweat and tears. I saw terrible things, a man with his legs ripped off him, caught in the capstan; he never worked again.<\/span><\/p>\n They were long hours on board ship, in all weathers, in shocking conditions, you wouldn\u2019t want a dog to experience. I had two littl\u2019uns at home, but I never saw much of the little buggers! They were \u2018mummy\u2019s boys\u2019, they hardly knew me.<\/span><\/p>\n Looking back, it wasn\u2019t a good thing, killing those beautiful animals. It was barbaric and a truly life-changing experience, but, I\u2019m glad I did it\u2026and the money was good especially if you got a job on the Norwegian factory ships! Paid no dues to any governments yer see. Could be away for 4-5 months on those damn ships, had to travel further afield when the stocks got low.<\/span><\/p>\n It was work\u2026 and you just got on with it! You could warm yer frozen hands in the blood of a freshly killed whale, but a dead\u2019un, a week old and stinking\u2026 boy, you wouldn\u2019t want to be there!<\/span><\/p>\n So you see, when I sit here and look at these \u2018namby pamby\u2019 tourists drinking their Pinot Grigot and eating their fancy scallops in that garlic and ginger, I get a peculiar feeling in me belly. Very nice life they have, very nice! Soft hands and Nancy shirts, they don\u2019t know what real work is; the horrors I\u2019ve seen. They see these cute fisherman\u2019s cottages all prettied and painted up, think nothing of paying the mad rents and they thinks they\u2019re in Fairyland?<\/span><\/p>\n This is an empty, pale ghost of a town haunted by the dead whaling men who didn\u2019t make it back home. I keeps me own thoughts to meself, like. Got big emotions and profound memories of what this place has meant to me over the years. It\u2019s not the place I remember now\u2026I won\u2019t be stayin\u2019 long and I won\u2019t be comin\u2019 back!<\/span><\/p>\n Warm, five o\u2019clock, Scottish, June sunshine bathes my old ripening skin as I sit here by the Harbour Cottage Art Gallery, overlooking the deep muddied channel of the river. A faint smell of diesel is in the air. Fishing boats are queued up, blue and white, some a little rusted, moored and waiting. Empty lobster […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":153,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"inline_featured_image":false,"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_caption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_nocaption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_hide":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[162,8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5981","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles","category-fictional-stories"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nBio-Data<\/u><\/span><\/h6>\n
Ianthe Pickles<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
Lives in Liverpool<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
Aged nearly 68, birthday 18\/12\/1950<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
Retired full-time Primary and later Secondary\/Special School teacher and college tutor, worked for 37 years.<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
Read many books related to work only. After retiring, joined a Creative Writing group, with an inspiring tutor, attended courses, and achieved \u2018A\u2019 Level in Creative Writing.<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
Writing (especially poetry) was often a release during emotional and turbulent times in the 1980s working in an area of severe deprivation and unemployment in Liverpool.\u00a0 Now I write for fun!<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
A group of us meet regularly in each other\u2019s homes to read and discuss our scribblings!<\/span><\/em><\/h6>\n
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