68 ALONGSHORE n 



indeed, preserve themselves against odds that 

 would kill off most other people. They rub 

 along, as they put it. 



Go where you will — to Folkestone, St. Ives, 

 Brixham, Clovelly, or across the water to Boulogne, 

 Le Portel, and the other northern French ports — 

 the fishing quarters have all a close resemblance. 

 They differ as much from putrid slums as from 

 those modern dwellings which are designed in 

 their entirety beforehand, on paper, and into 

 which families are tipped like fish into barrels. 

 Most people nowadays have to grow into their 

 houses; fishermen's houses have grown to them, 

 and in so doing have become humanized. They 

 are higgledy-piggledy, up and down, huddled and 

 patched; their roadways, or, as is often the case, 

 their stepways, are narrow; and they have out- 

 houses stuck upon them wherever possible; for 

 fishermen do not like storing gear in their front 

 bedrooms, though many are obliged to do so, and 

 many's the bride that has thrown her wedding 

 garments upon a pile of fishy herring-nets. 



Fishermen are obliged to live near their boats, 

 seeing they never know what hour of the day or 

 night they may be called out. When gear grows 

 old, they had always rather make shift than get 



