The Shipping Forecast

Tyne - Part 2

Early morn, dawn breaks, life begins again. Winter-paced, slow and quiet, no hurry to go to places where no-one need be. The town wakes peaceful, streets quiet and wanderer-free. Husbands and wives, maids and young men, boys and girls and cat and dog stay close to well stoked hearth, quietly conversing, reading, sewing.

See only those whose need brings them out; farmer checks his flock, pushes through drifts of snow, furrows in the crystal shining white, hat and cloak and scarf bound tight 'gainst keening wind.

Parson checks his flock too, slips and staggers through lanes 'tween silent houses; smoke from chimneys dark 'gainst early morning frost-blue sky. Coal smoke and cold makes him sneeze and shiver, advancing years brings him closer to those for whom he cares and prays for.

And a boy, running careless down icy lanes through town, calling and hollering as he goes, falling and up again, heedless of graze and bruise, intent only on reaching his destination, the message he is to deliver, urgent and pressing, necessary and already late.

See now the harbour master, asleep in his chair since fear of the dark receded, awoken by shouts and knock on his door. Grumbling displeasure he sheds his blanket and stumbles out, cursing the intrusion and cowering the lad, words forgotten in the glare of an elders woken rage.

"Well! Ye got me up! Now out with it boy, I 'ain't got all day for 't stand out in cold!"

The boy cowers, shrunk by authority before him, doffs his cap and stammers his words. Urgent questions - answers not known - the master places his hand on the boys shoulder and gives calm instruction, then inside to fetch greatcoat and pipe. He follows the child out into the wild day, watches the boy go do his bidding. Turns to the harbour and the boathouse beyond.

No-one has seen. No-one knows! We've been here for hours and nothing, nothing to show recognition of our plight! So cold and tired, can't keep rowing for ever, arms aching and voices raw. Fingers too cold and clumsy with line and knot. Bailing, constant bailing, the sea trying always to join us and tempting us down, cold with its wash and splash as another wave breaks, pushing closer, always closer, to the tumult of the harsh, hard shore.

Bright morning sky - so clear! - taunting with its purity and cleanliness. Tempting me to heaven and relief from fear. Oh, mother, oh, father! I am so close to home. Fate be damned that it should end this way!

So cold. I'm so very cold.