Six miles, roads snow-blocked and ice-bound, sixty men and more with shovels and rope, horse and cow, clearing the way for lifeboat and crew; overland the means of reaching the Bay. Callow the 'prentice leading the horse, eighteen to the traces and pulling like Samson, strain and haul, men turn and turn about at the carriage. Up hill and down, going straight through field and hedge where road narrows fine, men joining from near and far to haul and make way, the sight strange yet warming to heart; Robert Whitworth, vivid on a sea of snow, a splash of colour in a world made black and white.
Morely the maiden fair, follows in their wake, basket of cake and sweetmeat in arm, forbid to come yet come anyway, tending to blister and hurts, reviving with Molly the Gossip's intended wedding cake, taken from parlour and sorely missed by vexed and anxious mother. Caught in the moment and swept along with the current, open eyed and wishing for a glimpse of her heart's desire, keeping back the best of stolen promise for him alone.
Sixty, eighty, a hundred, two hundred; the numbers grow as more come out, digging and clearing back from the Bay, bent backs and sweat chills cold as relief comes at last. Two hours of toil and the Bay reached, herculean task almost done. Watching from clifftop the little craft tossed on white-streaked sea, crashing tumult of wave on rock 'twixt boat and shore; roaring sound and defiance at the crowd.
Bamforth staggers and falls to knees, sees his fear realised; Visitor, the brig destroyed, broken backed and breaking fast, his boy the mate for last three voyage on fateful ship.
Inch by inch the lifeboat lowered down the cliff, hearts in mouths and sturdy hands on rope, lest the precious load runs and breaks. Gasps and curses rent the air as men stagger and horses baulk, precious near but done at last; the Robert Whitworth tastes the sea again.
Strength lads! Oh the joy of life and will renewed! I see them come! There, down cliff comes a sight no sailor could ever forget! Effort to match our own as like! If we can but stay on our oars for a little longer, we will prevail lads! Just a little longer!
Ellis! Ellis, pull that oar. Pull that oar good son and we'll make it yet, you'll see! Them's my Whitby kin. They'll see us a'right!
...hold fast a little longer, lads!
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The Shipping Forecast
Short StoryA collection of short stories based on the Shipping Forecast regions around the United Kingdom. Some factual, some mystical, some sad and some amusing, I will be adding to this collection over time. These stories are currently on Wattpad as stand al...
