6. OLD BOATS 



They lie along the beach, the old boats, more 

 scattered than the old men and pensioners who sit 

 in a row on the seat under the south wall, and 

 much more silent, yet saying as plainly, 'My 

 work's done. It's only a dead-calm sea I shall 

 face any more. Do 'ee mind the time?. . . .' 

 Aye ! do 'ee mind the time when this was a sea- 

 worthy craft that brought in great catches of 

 herring and sailed for the ofEng at dawn — fair 

 wind out and fair wind home — and earned food 

 for two generations of children, and saved men's 

 lives, and ran ashore in that gale? My God, 

 what a sea It was that night ! and dark ! and 

 raining ! and cold ! 



Old boats, like old men, are the historians of 

 fishing — saved, it might seem, from the scrap-heap 

 expressly for that purpose. As the old men hold 

 one's ear, so the old boats catch one's eye, lying 



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