At the End of the Pier Where the North Sea Meets the Weather
(written upon hearing the title of Neil Cuthbert’s painting)
by Tris Kerslake
A block-and-tackle jump, we kids would guess how deep the water really was, but still the jump was all that kept us from our adulthood.
Blues and greys and scummy green, the Whitby pier was home at times to remnants of the northern fishing fleet sailing on the back of scanty herring. Preferred by spider crabs and children for its creviced legends.
From the chill Cape Wrath right down to The Naze the North Sea chafed the stones of safety cast by frantic men, greeting ceaseless onslaught and the waiting wives of captains reckoned by their names on iron rings and absences.
And on the sunny afternoons we kids would guess how many dead men lay beneath our feet.
Built before the gales and for those moments when the North Sea meets the weather, the old stone pier gives comfort to the restless boats that bounce a fender’s distance from dry land, and leave their painted signatures along its faithful skirt.
No subtlety in its construction, block on block it runs standing square against the vagaries of common use, tucking Whitby town away, exciting nothing but the kids who guess and wait to jump.