Loss was in the village for a long time after the tragedy, tragedy is like that -- long lived in the memories of those that survive.
Long-lived, but not quite immortal.
Still, it smeared the stones of the whitewashed harbour cottages masking the smell of cannery fish with its heady, oppressive fume.
It hid in dark pools of shadow underneath the blue-green, blood -berried Yew Trees that lined the path to the Sailor’s Church.
It clung to the damp, evergreen laurel wreaths laid on sandstone steps in absence of a decent seaman’s grave, and stroked out cat-cries from women asleep in half empty, hand-quilted beds - making them thrash and churn like storm-thrown waves upon an unfamiliar shore.
It made pinkling babies crease calm-water brows in frown and knowingly peeked inside their laced cradles at the new and hopeful life.
It knew each of the weather browned, wrinkled old men so well as they silently sat on darkly worn straight-backed chairs at ‘The Rope’, skillfully playing their memories and taking them down to drown deep in bitter beer and remember what once had been.
Loss took six of them in all that Late August storm - Casey, Hatch, Mitch, S.T., M.T., and of course Skerry, the Captain of the Scarlet Gull.
Yes loss is long-lived, but not quite immortal. As those that remained were to find that sunny April morning when the Scarlet Gull returned home once more to harbour.
Yes I like this. More please. Thame Church has yew trees. Is that where the picture is of?
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