Part I: Seals teeth and whales ears - Scott Polar Research Institute ...

Because we returned each year for several years we knew many of the other
holidaymakers, who became friends, although mostly we did not see them from one
year to the next. And later on there were a few attractive girls who I looked forward to
seeing. We also had a few friends in the village. I remember a picture book 'cottage'
(really a small detached modern house) with blue-painted woodwork and white walls,
where an artist lived with his wife. Much later my parents told me they had considered
buying a cottage on the coast near the harbour; it would have cost about £450 - God
knows what it would cost to buy now, but it would have a been a good investment.
What put them off was their financial situation - they were expecting to have to put
Peter through University - and lack of transport, since neither of my parents drove a car,
which meant that we could not have taken full advantage of it.
The highlight of such a holiday was a day-long boat journey to the Farne Islands
and, if the weather was exceptionally good on to Lindisfarne (Holy Island). We voyaged
in a fishing cobble (pronounced coble), the east-coast design which is so seaworthy, with
beautiful lines, ‘tumbling home’ towards the square stern. Usually the boat was open,
but some had a small deck house aft or perhaps were decked in forward; this was more
often the case when we embarked on the bigger boats at Seahouses. It was on these
trips, when others were suffering, that I first realized that I was one of those lucky souls
who do not suffer from sea-sickness (and in later years, on many voyages to the
Antarctic over the great waters of the Southern Ocean, this was confirmed).
Such a day would start with a walk over to the harbour in the early morning sun,
where the party would clamber into the boat down the cool stone of the quayside. The
engine would be ticking, or rather 'clonking' over and the two fishermen clad in their
working clothes, complete with rubber thighboots and oilskins for use if the weather
worsened. The boat was redolent of the normal fishing activities - pungent fishy smells,
diesel fumes, Stockholm tar and other unknown scents. We took our places and made
ourselves comfortable as the boat rounded the point and headed north for the islands,
accompanied by the plaintively crying seagulls. I liked to have a place up in the bows,
but there might be some competition for this. Often we would have a few lines out
trolling for mackerel. It was a leisurely voyage, with the coast to observe as we passed
Seahouses, the epic Bamborough Castle on its rocky crag and the castle mound of
Lindisfarne ahead in the hazy blue distance. The coast was varied: sandy beaches
backed by sand dunes, separated by rocky headlands. Offshore there was always
something new to observe, seabirds fishing, other boats and the vast expanse of sky that
one experiences when on the water. There were the ever-present noises of the waves,
the tinkling and splashing of water against the hull and the throb of the engine.
The islands grew larger until we could make out the red and white Longstone
Lighthouse, set on a low rocky islet, the larger inner Farne, grass-covered with steep
fringing seabird cliffs, Brownstone. The sea, which had been smooth and calm with a
long rocking swell, became fretted on the surface with eddies and swirls, due to the
currents running between the islands. When we came close to the shore the bottom
appeared to rise up towards us through the crystal clear water, like greenish-tinted
glass. And peering down (that was an attraction of the position at the bow) one could
see the swirling seaweed fronds, holdfasts, sand, rock and shingle of the sea floor, with
sea anemones and sea urchins prominent on the rocks and the occasional fish darting
about.
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