Shorelines: Stories from the Sea

By Berwick Writers Workshop

An anthology of writing by writers from the area around Berwick-upon-Tweed, UK. Contains short stories, poetry, non-fiction, etc.
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• Language: English
• Publisher: Berwick Writers Workshop
• Release date: Mar 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476171708

Berwick Writers Workshop

Berwick Writers Workshop was founded in 1985 to help writers from North-Northumberland and the Eastern Scottish Borders to develop and promote their writing. Since 2005 they have produced an anthology almost every year on a chosen theme, and hope to continue this aim in the future. Some of the authors have long experience of published stories, articles or poetry, etc. Some are beginners. Each anthology is a reflection of the work being produced at that point. Some contributory authors also publish books individually through Blue Button Publications,so watch out for those too!

Book preview

Shorelines

Stories from the Sea

by the members of

Berwick Writers Workshop

A Border Bridges Publication

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Border Bridges Publications and the Authors as named 2012

First Published in print in Great Britain in 2005.

Published by Border Bridges Publications.

Print edition ISBN 978-0-9552066-0-3

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to

Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work

of these authors.

Cover Photograph and Design by Wendy B. Scott & Gary Neal

Line Illustrations by Genna Bard and Bluebell

Editing and Layout by Bluebell

Table of Contents

I Wouldn’t Mind But… by Anton Taylor

Galleons of the Tweed by John Marsh

Gran’s Stone by Mary Rawnsley

The Riddle of The Vanishing Christmas by John Marsh

Lindisfarne By Moonlight by Jean Curtis

Jess by Jacqui Adams

Midsummer Magic and Nemesis by Jean Curtis

I Am – On Lindisfarne by John Marsh

Trawlers by John Marsh

The Calm Before The Storm by Genna Bard

Islands in Blue Water by Wendy B. Scott

Wreckers by Glenn Bard

Profound Thoughts on a Surprise Day Out by Jean Curtis

Sea Winds by Gary Neal

Me, The Immigrant by John Gibbons

Berwick and The Whaling Trade by Wendy B. Scott

A Man Forgets by Mary Rawnsley

Always Here – On Lindisfarne by John Marsh

Helen’s World by John Marsh

Plain Sailing by John Gibbons

About the Authors

Other Books by Berwick Writers Workshop

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I Wouldn’t Mind But…

by Anton Taylor

It was cold. There was ice on the beach, and snow in the north-easterly wind.

‘Coming fishing tonight?’ they’d asked.

‘Yeah, why not?’ Cocklawburn beach. In January. Fool.

It was cold. Even wearing, wait for it, a pair of pants, vest, t-shirt, a pair of the wife’s seventy-denier tights, long-johns, thermal socks, Newcastle United football socks, tracksuit bottoms, long-sleeved shirt, woollen jumper, tracksuit top, scarf, two pairs of gloves, and a thick ex-GPO greatcoat. All topped off with a balaclava, as modelled by the SAS and fashion-conscious terrorists. Oh, a woolly hat and Doc Martins.

I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t like fish.

A flask of hot coffee, well laced with Napoleon’s finest was doing it’s best to work from the inside, but it was an uphill struggle. I wanted to have a smoke, but my fingers were too cold to open the packet. Getting it lit would have been impossible in the gale that was blowing, even if I could have moved my fingers enough to flick the wheel. Plus, I wasn’t taking my gloves off for anything.

‘You’ve got a bite!’ Graham yelled in my ear. The line from the end of my rod was taut, and beginning to run out against the ratchet. Silly fish. It had to be warmer in than out.

I reeled in as best I could, my heavily gloved and numb fingers struggling with the handle. Eventually, in the dark, I could see a shape at the end of the line wouldn’t mind, but I don’t really like fish.

A three-quarter pound codling. Oh goody!! Neither big enough to brag about, or enough on it to make a meal. But I had to take it home, just to prove we’d been fishing.

--0—0—0—

When I’d thawed out, around lunch time, I cleaned the fish out and left it on a plate in the kitchen. She could have it.

No chance.

‘I’ll do it for you when you come off shift, pet. For your supper.’

Great.

--0—0—0—

As I came through the front door, I could smell it. Cooked fish. Any appetite I may have had, died. I walked through to the kitchen. My wife was looking out the kitchen window into the dimly lit garden.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘What’s for supper?’ As if I didn’t know. She’d cooked it so I’d have to eat it. And smile.

‘You know that fish,’ she said slowly, not turning round.

‘Yees…’ I replied, warily. I knew what these slow sentences could lead to. A man has to be up in his toes once a wife starts to talk in that way. Something’s coming you don’t want to hear. Usually.

‘I thought I’d poach it for you, and make a nice sauce for it. Then do some mashed potatoes and peas. You know, make it nice. Like.’

‘Yeeees…’ Still wary, committing myself to nothing. At this stage.

Damn. It