‘The stormy evening closes now in vain,
Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain,
While here in sheltered house,
With fire-y painted walls,
I hear the wind abroad,
I hear the calling squalls--
“Blow, blow!” I cry; “you burst your cheeks in vain!
Blow, blow!” I cry; “my love is home again!”’
After the Mate’s illness an unreasoning dread of the place where she
had lain ill conquered me, and I put away all idea of returning there
for the winter. Fortunately, a move was easy enough. If we had been
living in a house it would have been otherwise, but a ‘house removal’
for us meant no more than weighing anchor and going to a new spot of
our choice. Our choice was conditioned, first, by the necessity of my
going to London daily; and, secondly, by the need of providing for our
girl’s education, who was now of school-going age.
One anchorage--now known to us as the Happy Haven--attracted us beyond
all others. We had found it under stress of weather during one of our
Essex cruises, and had ever since thought of it with affection for
the quiet peace of the tidal creek between its grassy banks and for
the welcome we had received from the family which lives at the head of
that creek and presides over its amenities.
As the autumn deepened it became urgently necessary to decide upon our
winter quarters, but the Mate had received no answer to a letter in
which she had asked the Lady at the Happy Haven whether means of
education for Margaret could be found thereabouts. One day, when we
had almost despaired of an answer, I met the father of the family at
the Happy Haven unexpectedly in London. His wife, he said, had been
travelling; we must write again. And soon an answer came that solved
our difficulties. There was no school to give such an education as we
wanted, but Margaret could be taught with the family in the house at
the head of the Happy Haven. Within a few days we sailed to the Happy
Haven, and there we have since lived and hope long to live.
To reach our port there are but two ways, one by water and one by
land. Are you coming by water? Then you must come in from the sea and
take the young flood up the river past the low-lying islands; if the
wind be foul you will have to wait for water according to your
draught. With a fair wind come straight on past the village and the
wood off which the smacks lie, and past the church tower to the south.
When abreast the creek leading to the red-tiled farmhouse on the
starboard hand you will find the best water in the middle.
Keep close to the point on the north side, and from there steer
straight for the three great poplars you will see ahead until you
reach another church among the trees on the north side. Then keep the
hut on the point just open of the old water-mill.
It is quite easy. But long before you come to the Happy Haven our
mahogany-faced old pilot, with a walk like a penguin, a parson’s hat
tied under his chin with a piece of tarred string, a red jumper, and
yellow fearnought trousers, will ‘board you,’ if you want him, and
berth you. Two shillings is his charge.
But suppose you come by land. For two shillings you can be driven from
the railway station out through the old market town until you come to
an avenue of trees and a rookery. There you must turn off the public
road into a private road, and drive under the great trees which meet
above, and down a lane of thorns until, suddenly turning a corner, you
will drive alongside the river to the grassy quay where the _Ark
Royal_ is lying.
You can go no farther, for the road ends there.
After all, you may say, there is not much to see. Only an old
water-mill and three barges alongside it; the mill-house, and above it
the mill-head spreading wide; our friend’s house among the poplars; on
the opposite shore a farmhouse where a barge is loading hay; under
the sea-walls on both sides fields dotted with cattle and white gulls;
an unbroken vault of sky; and the shining creek stretching away into
the ultimate green of flat pasture lands. Perhaps a red-sailed barge
is coming up the river; the ‘tuke,’ or redshanks, are giving warning
of her approach; and a thousand dunlin keep settling on the brown mud,
rising to show off all together in a flash that they are snow white
underneath.
A cable’s length from the _Ark Royal_ is a small head of water held up
by a sea-wall and a sluice-gate, and from it, meandering down past the
ship into the gut, is a narrow course worn by the water. If you happen
to come at the right moment, two families of children in bathing
costumes--ours and the children from the house among the poplars--will
be taking turns at packing themselves into a large bath. Someone lifts
the gate, and the bath in a torrent of foamy water ‘chutes’ down the
channel into the gut or is capsized on the way.
Such is a brief description of how to arrive at the Happy Haven, and
what there is to see there. But wild tugs with steel hawsers will not
drag the name from me. Those who want to live in floating homes will
search far to find a better berth.
We have only one very near neighbour, an ex-barge skipper. Like the
bargee of whom Stevenson wrote, there seems to be no reason why he
should not live for ever. He has seen the best part of eighty
years, and is still hearty and quite as active as he need be. He has
achieved an appearance barely suitable to old age, and has stopped
there. He spends many hours each day in thought. Like us, he pays no
rent, rates, or taxes, for he lives in a small and old yacht. And
though his means of living are a mystery he lives well.
[Illustration: BATHING IN THE SLUICE AT THE _ARK ROYAL’S_
HEADQUARTERS]
Twice to our knowledge he has taken a party for a short cruise in the
yacht, but beyond this we have never known him earn a penny. And yet
if a new mast be wanted, or new iron work, or paint, or varnish, or a
rope for fitting out, or a new sail, he buys it. Rumour says he has
been a notable smuggler, and there are some that say he has friends
who are still free traders. Others believe that he has a share in a
barge. But no one knows.
Always healthy, he observes none of the laws of health. It is true he
sleeps nine hours every night, but that is in a cabin without
ventilation. On a fine summer’s morning most people, when they get up,
begin to do something, even though it be unimportant. Not so our
friend. He starts the day--breaking, as usual, some rule of health--by
lighting his pipe. Then, seating himself comfortably in the open, he
airs himself for a long time. While the airing is going on he surveys
the sky many times, rotating slowly till he has examined all points of
the compass. If anyone be present, he will give his considered
verdict on the prospects of the weather for the day.
When that problem has been solved he will chop a few sticks and remark
that he must ‘see about his kittle.’ Soon afterwards smoke will issue
from the chimney of his boat, and for the next hour he will not be
visible. After that some cleaning operations--not personal--will go on
in the cockpit for possibly another hour. Then he may scrape a spar or
varnish one, or do a bit of painting. If it be hot he will probably
rig an awning, and sit beneath it stitching at an old sail; if it be
cold he will rig up a windscreen, and sit behind that.
A couple of hours before high water the pilot, also an ex-barge
skipper, arrives to see what barges are coming up, and then he and our
friend will be seen side by side discussing things connected with the
sea. The approaching barges have to be watched until recognized, and
again watched until they are safely berthed. From this important but
unpaid labour they know no remission during the proper hours.
Thus, with intervals for meals, our curious neighbour passes his days
from one end of the year to the other.
Sometimes I have had the privilege of being present at the sessions of
our neighbour and the pilot. One day the pilot described the sorrows
of fishermen when the stinging jelly-fish are about, for he spends an
odd day at sea in a smack.
‘The water’s full o’ they blessed ould stingin’ squalders, and every
time us hauls aour net that’s full on ’em, and they do make me swear
suthen. That ain’t a mite o’ use tryin’ to be religious, same as if
you wants to be, with them stingin’ squalders abaout. They’re puffect
devils.’
I remember the pilot’s comment on our neighbour’s account of a
hailstorm. ‘That was a wonnerful heavy hailstorm, that was,’ said our
neighbour, ‘and the stones was most as big as acorns. And one come and
hit me on the laower part of the thumb. Lor’, that did hurt suthen!’
‘Well, that come a long way, yer see,’ said the pilot.
Another day the pilot, who is appreciably more mobile than our
neighbour, described to me an errand of mercy he had undertaken.
‘I’ve just been daown to see pore ould George what bruk his arm last
week. Yaou know him, sir, don’t ye? Him what’s skipper of the _Nancy_.
I wonder who’ll sail she while ’is arm’s a mendin’. Wonnerful
venturesome fellow is George, and that’s haow ’e come to do ut. He
took and bought one o’ they bicycles. From what I can hear of it, ’e
larnt to ride that well enough same as on the flat. They what taught
he to ride tould he to shorten sail same as goin’ daown hills and
that, and maybe ’e did. But accordin’ to what I can hear of it, that
bicycle took charge daown the hill just past the railway, and George
den’t fare to knaow what to do, so ’e reckoned that were best to
thraow she up in the wind. And they picked the ould fellow out o’ the
ditch with his arm bruk. ’E’s gettin’ on well, and is all right in ’is
’ealth. The doctor’s a givin’ of him some of that medicine aout o’ one
o’ they raound bottles.’
Besides his boat our neighbour owns a shed. When he applied originally
to the landowner for leave to put up the shed he was refused, because
the landowner feared that it would be unsightly. The negotiations that
followed are a model for diplomacy.
The old man next asked that he might be allowed to haul up an ancient
sieve-like boat on to the bank. To this the landowner assented--if it
could be done, which he doubted.
It was done.
But at very high tides the ground underneath the overturned boat was
flooded, so that gear stored there could not be kept dry. The boat was
then raised bodily a foot or so from the ground by planking. After a
few weeks, to make more storage room still, the old man raised the
sides of his boat some three feet more and put a roof over her.
This structure escaped objection from the landowner for a year, and so
the following summer the roof was removed, the sides were raised
another two feet, and the roof was put on again.
This also escaped criticism. Accordingly, the following year an
annexe was built on at the bows, and eventually a cement floor was
laid. Now there is a water-butt at the junction of the annexe and the
main building.
We await further developments.
We made the mistake once--if, indeed, it was not an offence--of
offering our neighbour some work. He explained that he had too much to
do already, and referred to a particular job which he did not begin
till six months later. ‘No sooner do I git one job done than I sees
another starin’ me in the face,’ he often says.
Last summer he painted the inside of his yacht, and for ten days he
slept in his boat-hut on shore. Sundown every evening was his time for
‘bunkin’ up,’ as he called it, and we used to make a point of asking
him what time he would be up in the morning. To this he would answer:
‘Abaout five or six, I reckon. Last summer I used to get up at faour
sometimes. Goo to bed with the ould hens and git up along of
’em--that’s the way.’
Then we would watch him retire. There is no door on hinges to his hut,
but a flap which fits in the opening. He had to disappear stern first,
fit the flap in the bottom of the opening, and pull the top into
position with a string. He withdrew from our gaze each evening in the
following order: legs, body clad in a blue jersey, white beard, red
face, and straw hat.
The next morning we would always be up first, and while we were busy
on deck we kept an eye open for the first trembling of the flap. Then
out would come the hat, the red face, the white beard, blue body, and
legs, and another day had begun for our neighbour. We thought he would
have made excuses for not getting up earlier, but we soon discovered
that on most days he had no idea what the time was.
At the Happy Haven our water is brought to us by cart in a canvas
water-carrier, which holds two hundred gallons. One day we had a panic
about one of the tanks. The water-cart had brought four loads, and
still the tanks were not full. We heard a sound of running water,
which we took to be the water siphoning from one tank to the other.
When I returned from London the next evening, the sound of running
water continued, but there was something worse--an audible splashing.
And the water in the port tank had fallen. Friends were dining with us
that night, but luckily they did not expect conventional amusements;
they preferred tackling leaking water-tanks to bridge.
The first thing to be done was to break the siphon between the two
tanks by letting air into the pipe. After trying in vain to unscrew a
joint I decided to drill a small hole in the pipe; but, using more
force than skill, I broke my only drill. This meant that all the water
still in the tanks--six hundred gallons--might find its way into the
bilge. We pulled up a floor-board aft, and discovered that the missing
water was even then nearly level with the floor. I lifted the plug
aft, but the water would not run out, as the barge was sitting on soft
mud, which choked the hole. Pumping is back-breaking work, and I did
not intend to do that if it could be avoided. I put on sea-boots and
went over the side with a boat-hook and a kind of hoe to puggle about
until there was a clear way for the water to run. The difficulty was
to find the hole, but the ladies held lights and called out directions
while the men shoved a stick through the plug-hole. The water began to
run at last, and the _Ark Royal_ was soon dry.
The next day we emptied the port tank into the bilge, and the plumber
got inside through the manhole and found the hole, which by a great
piece of luck was in such a position that he could mend it by removing
enough of the bathroom bulkhead to allow his hand to get through. What
we should have done if the hole had been out of reach we hardly dared
to think.
Many of our friends have said that they would like to live in the _Ark
Royal_ in the summer, but most of them boggle at the thought of the
winter. To me, somehow, the contrast between the comfortable interior
of our home and the rigours of the winter scene pressing close in upon
us is particularly satisfying. It is very agreeable at the end of a
winter’s day in London to come back to the barge; to leave an office
with its telephone bells, and the hubbub of the streets; to come in
little more than an hour to where the lane of thorns ends at the
sea-wall. The faint glow ahead comes from the _Ark Royal_. Those
piping cries are the redshanks calling in the dark. As I come nearer
the separate columns of light from the windows and skylights beam like
searchlights. And above the blaze stands up the mast and rigging, free
from all burden and strain, resting the winter through. The cheerful
chimneys pour out their smoke, which, blowing darkly to leeward, turns
into clouds of misty gold as it crosses the belt of yellow light.
Even in our retired creek it is a joy to know that we are on the magic
road, which is all roads in the world because it leads everywhere. Of
course, we shall never sail out to the back of beyond; but when on
summer nights we sit on deck under the pole star, and the
phosphorescent water streams past our side like molten metal, we feel
that the same sea that bears us laps equatorial islands and
continents.
When the _Ark Royal_ lifts to the rising tide her timbers creak as
though she were asking to be free; and her voice is high or low
according to the wind. At night she speaks most clearly. In measure to
the wind she reminds us of peaceful driftings under still skies, or of
torn sails and dragging anchors. When a gale with all the weight of
winter behind it bursts in squalls through the rigging, the tiny
waves of our haven rip along our sides and the lamp in the saloon
swings gently. Then we know, at a safe remove, what weather there must
be ‘outside’ if we have such tumult in here. Heaven help us if we were
out in the Swin with those clean-bowed fish-carriers that are racing
in from the North Sea! Let us hope that the barges that have been
‘caught’ have reached such anchorages as Abraham’s Bosom, or the
Blacktail Swatch, sheltered from clumsy steamers by the lighthouse and
from the weather by the sand.
Even my insurance policy recognizes that our life is not as life on
shore. I am ‘Master under God of and in the good ship or vessel called
the _Ark Royal_.’ And the policy deals with life in a large way. For
example: ‘Touching the perils whereof they, the assurers, are content
to bear, they are of the Seas, Men of War, Fire, Pirates, Rovers,
Thieves, Jettisons, Letters of Mart and Countermart, Surprisals,
Takings at Sea, Arrests, Restraints and Detainments of all Kings,
Princes and People of what Nation, Condition, or Quality soever,
Barratry of the Master and Mariners and of all other Perils and
Losses.’
* * * * *
Several years have we spent in the _Ark Royal_, and let it be admitted
that we feel the need for more room. Once more perceive the advantage
of living afloat. We can add to our establishment in units. No
builders will tear down our creepers, or excavate our garden, or mix
mortar on the lawn. Nor shall we suffer the horrid noise of
carpenters. When our additional rooms are ready they will be floated
alongside. No District Council will have a word to say about the
material of the new building or the nature of the roof.
The _Overdraft_, as our first addition under the unitary system is
called--a name which is nautical in sound, and suggests both the
overflowing of the ship’s company and a certain financial operation at
the bank--is an old lighter thirty-five feet long with a beam of
twelve feet. We are raising her sides to a height of seven feet six
inches and dividing her into three compartments. There will be a
sleeping-cabin at each end, and the middle room will be a workshop and
playroom, fitted with a carpenter’s bench and a range for both cooking
and heating. If our friends in the house among the poplars give a
dance we shall be able to float the _Overdraft_ along to the foot of
their garden to provide extra rooms for their guests. When she lies
alongside the _Ark Royal_ there will be a covered-in gangway to her
entrance-door.
Some day, by the unitary system, we may add other rooms, but the only
plan in the offing which seems reasonably likely to reach port soon is
a scheme for electric lighting by using our head of water to drive the
dynamo.
The reader may permit, however, a vision of our ultimate development.
We have often desired to own a tug--having long been strong admirers
of the indescribable fussiness and importance of tugs. We should keep
steam up in our tug, and use her at moorings as a central heating
plant. We should offer to tow the trading barges in and out of the
creek, which would be one of the best pastimes imaginable, besides
bringing us many devoted friends. And then when we wanted to shift our
anchorage! You should just be there to see us start: first the tug,
then the _Ark Royal_, then the _Overdraft_, then the other extra
rooms, then the _Perhaps_, then the sailing dinghy, and lastly the
duck punt. When the moment came to anchor again there would be no
orders in the manner of ‘Let go the ’ook, Bill,’ but a dignified
signal from the tug in the way described by the best of English sea
songs:
‘Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor.’
APPENDIX
DETAILS OF THE COST OF BUYING, ALTERING, AND FITTING OUT THE _ARK
ROYAL_
£ _s. d._
Purchase 140 0 0
Wood, match-lining, and flooring 37 17 7
Three-ply veneers 15 3 11
Insurance during alterations, £2; Registration, £1 1s.;
Changing name, £3 18s. 6 19 0
Galvanizing chain, stanchions, blacksmith’s work 8 15 9
Two tanks of 400 gallons each 8 0 0
Six mahogany doors and other fittings from shipbreaker’s
yard 5 4 6
Pumps, bath, w.c., heating stove for bath 13 16 7
Brass fittings, tools, and sundries 4 15 11
Paint and varnish 6 5 8
Rope 5 8 8
Disinfecting at gasworks: formaldehyde, etc. 4 2 6
Kitchen range, copper, etc. 6 0 0
Linoleum, wash-hand-stand, brass fittings 6 5 0
Plumbing 7 16 0
Raising main cabin-top 38 10 0
Wages: two men for four months 39 15 0
Lamps, £2 10s.; Nails, £2 3s.; Saloon stove, £2 10s. 7 3 0
Caulking deck and buying and fixing second-hand
skylight for boys’ cabin 5 12 0
Brass screws, hinges, and wire rope 3 19 0
Petty cash 4 8 11
------------
£375 19 0
============
A few words must be added in explanation of these bare figures.
As the cost of labour after the _Ark Royal_ reached Fleetwick, with
the cabin-top raised, was only £39 15s., the reader can understand how
much was done by the owner’s hands. Help, however, was given by
friends--in particular by a retired Civil Servant who displayed
extraordinary skill as a carpenter. It was a mistake not to raise the
main cabin-top ourselves. We probably could have done the job better,
and certainly we could have done it cheaper.
Now as regards the annual expenses of upkeep, apart from the interest
on the capital sunk. These expenses, of course, do not appear in the
table of initial cost. The largest item is insurance. Our policy
allows us to cruise sixty-two days in the year, with a rebate for the
number of days’ cruising short of the allowance. The policy works out
at about £10 a year. So far we have done all the annual fitting-out
ourselves, the cost of which, with varnish, paint, and renewals, has
averaged about £5.
Our running gear lasts a long time, as our cruises are short. We have
not renewed our sails since the barge was rerigged. The sails of a
trading barge, if carefully tended, last ten or twelve years. Ours,
therefore, should last at least twenty. The upkeep of barges has been
reduced to a science. All gear and fittings are standardized, and
there is, besides, a free market in second-hand things taken out of
condemned barges.
A barge’s sides are tarred and blackleaded. This costs shillings where
paint and anti-fouling composition would cost pounds. Although we tar
and blacklead the _Ark Royal’s_ sides, we have a false whale which we
enamel white. Another economy we practise is to paint the cabin-tops
with Stockholm tar, thinned out with paraffin and with a little teak
paint to colour it. As the superficial area of the two cabin-tops is
four hundred square feet, much paint would be required. The
stanchions, the wheel, iron uprights which hold the sidelight screens,
metal blocks, and most ironwork, we cover with galvanizing paint,
which costs little, is easily renewed, and looks smart.
[Illustration: PLAN OF THE “ARK ROYAL.”]
A GLOSSARY OF ESSEX WORDS AND PHRASES
In this Glossary obvious mispronunciations and corruptions are not
included. By including them a glossary might be extended indefinitely,
and to no profit. Numerous Essex dialect words are, of course, current
in other counties; Essex shares a particularly large number with the
rest of East Anglia. The aim here is simply to give the dialect words
which the authors of this book have themselves heard in Essex, and
which they believe to be most characteristic. No one interested in
dialect is ignorant where to turn for the greatest store of
information on the subject yet collected--Dr. Joseph Wright’s masterly
work, _The English Dialect Dictionary_. The following list, however,
contains several words which do not appear in that Dictionary. The
dictionary is referred to as _E. D. D._:
=Bangy= (pronounced ‘banjy’), drizzling, misty. ‘Bange’ is a very light
rain.
=Between lights=, twilight.
=Bever=, light refreshments between the larger meals, eaten either at 11
a.m. or 4 p.m. (_Cf._ ‘levenses’ and ‘levener,’ which are the same
words as ‘elevens’ and ‘elevener,’ meaning a slight meal eaten at
eleven in the morning. _Cf._ also ‘fours’ or ‘fourses,’ which is a
similar meal eaten about four o’clock in the afternoon.)
=Bibble=, to tipple; to drink noisily like a duck.
=Bird=, pupil of the eye.
=Blare=, to cry, blubber.
=Botty=, conceited.
=Breeder=, abscess, boil.
=Bulk=, to throb (the ‘u’ pronounced as in ‘bull’). Also =Bullock=.
=Buller=, _vide_ =Duller= (the ‘u’ pronounced as in ‘dull’).
=Bullock=, another form of ‘bulk.’
=Buskins=, gaiters.
=Buzz=, blow on the head. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Cankerhooks=, tenterhooks. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Chance time=, sometimes.
=Chissick=, pinch (of salt, pepper, sugar, or suchlike). (Not in _E. D.
D._)
=Choice=, pinch (of salt, pepper, sugar, or suchlike). (Not in _E. D.
D._)
=Coarse=, rough. Used of the weather. A fisherman will say, in a curious
phrase, ‘Coarse weather, don’t it?’
=Coase=, to pet, stroke--_e.g._, ‘he was coasing his dog.’ The ’s’ is
pronounced as in ‘roast.’ (Not in _E. D. D._) The word no doubt comes
from the same root as the well-known word _cosset_.
=Cob=, long basket, manure-hod.
=Cotchel=. A barge is said to go cotchelling when she discharges or
takes up her cargo piecemeal at various ports, instead of taking a
single cargo from one port to another. _E. D. D._ gives the
substantive ‘cotchel,’ meaning an odd measure or a partially filled
sack, but does not mention the verb which has been formed from this
word.
=Court=, stye--_e.g._, ‘hogs’ court,’ ‘pigs’ court.’
=Crock=, smudge of soot, smut.
=Cuff=, tall story. (_E. D. D._ gives _cuffer_.)
=Cuff=, to tell tall stories--_e.g._, ‘He’s cuffin’ a rare yarn.’
=Culch=, rubbish. Particularly, in fishermen’s language, the broken
shells of an oyster-bed.
=Curren=, cunning, sly. (Not in _E. D. D._)
_Dag_ (frequently pronounced ‘daig’), dew, mist.
=Deleet=, cross-roads--_e.g._, a ‘three deleet’ or a ‘four deleet,’
according as three or four roads meet. =Releet= is another form. (_E. D.
D._ gives =Releet= and =Eleet=.)
=Ding=, to work at--_e.g._, ‘I’m dinging all the coal out o’ that ould
locker.’ When fishermen throw their catch down into the hold, they are
said to ding it. The word of command for all hands to begin their
work is ‘Ding!’ In the Essex use of the word the sense of furious
effort mentioned in _E. D. D._ seems to be absent.
=Discern=, to see. Constantly used when there is no suggestion whatever
of seeing something with an appreciable effort.
=Do=, used elliptically for ‘if it does,’ ‘if he does’--_e.g._, ‘That’ll
rain, _do_, that’ll rain hard.’
=Doddy=, little. Often used intensively with ‘little’--_e.g._, ‘Doddy
little boat.’
=Doke=, dent, impression.
=Dooberous=, doubtful, dubious, suspicious. The nearest word to this in
_E. D. D._ is the Norfolk ‘dooblus,’ which would perhaps be better
spelt ‘dooblous.’ An Essex fisherman will say, ‘I doubt that’s
dooberous to go to leeward of that buoy.’
=Doubt=, to think, consider--_e.g._, ‘I doubt that’s goin’ to rain’; ‘I
doubt he won’t catch the train.’
=Draining=, _vide_ =Dreening=.
=Dreening=, wringing wet. Also =Draining=.
=Dringle=, to dawdle along. When the tide is barely moving it is said to
be ‘just dringling.’
=Drizzle=, to cry a little--_e,g._, ‘She kep’ all on a drizzlin’.’
=Duller=, to moan or blubber noisily (the ‘u’ pronounced as in ‘dull’).
Also =Buller=.
=Dunted=, melancholy, depressed.
=Dunty=, stupid. Used of sheep that are difficult to drive.
=Duzzy=, stupid, dazed.
=Fall=, to drift--_e.g._, a smack falls through a reach with her trawl
down.
=Fare=, to do, seem. This word is the Essex maid-of-all-work. It serves
as many purposes as the French _faire_, with which, however, it
probably has no etymological connection.
=Fleet=, tidal dyke in a marsh. Any shallow dyke or ditch.
=Fleet=, to float. Past participle is ‘flet.’
=Fleet=, shallow--_e.g._, a man will ‘plough fleet.’ Again, a waterway
is said to be fleet enough when it has fall enough for the water to
flow.
=Frickle=, to fidget. Used of the tide swerving about in eddies.
=Gag=, to retch.
=Good tightly=, properly, well.
=Grizzle=, to whine, cry, complain.
=Gull=, scour out, especially by means or running water.
=Gushy=, gusty.
=Haggy daggy=, mist.
=Happen=, perhaps.
=Head=. This word is used to express the superlative--_e.g._, ‘a head
masterpiece.’
=Hoggle=, to sail with easy canvas before a fair wind, or to roll in a
calm with the boom swinging. The word is no doubt related to such a
phrase as ‘hoggling boggling,’ meaning unsteady.
=Hoo roo=, row, fight.
=Housen=, houses.
=Hull=, to hurl, to throw.
=In=, often used for ‘of’--_e.g._, ‘What do I think in it?’
=Jack at a pinch=, man employed in an emergency--_e.g._, man brought
into a crew at the last moment.
=Jown=, joined, spliced.
=Juble=, jolly, merry. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Kelter=, condition, order. ‘Out of kelter’ means ‘out of order.’
=Kilter=, _vide_ =Kelter=.
=Largess=, extra pay, especially at harvest.
=Lessest=, least.
=Levener=, light meal between breakfast and dinner. _Vide_ =Bever=.
=Low=, to allow, estimate, reckon.
=Masterous=, wonderful, astonishing. A superlative of this word is
sometimes used. A man will say, ‘That was the masterousest thing I
ever did see.’ (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Masterpiece=, wonderful or astonishing thing.
=Mawther=, a girl.
=Mizzle=, light rain.
=Nit=, nor yet.
=Nuzzle=. A fisherman will say that he ‘nuzzled the mud’ (_i.e._, ran
the bows of his smack on the mud on the flood tide) while having his
dinner.
=Offer to=, try to--_e.g._, ‘I was that bad winter-time I lay abed six
weeks and never offered to move.’
=Old.= It is impossible to ascribe any particular meaning to this word.
In Essex dialect it is the universal adjective.
=Paffle=, breaking water caused by wind and tide--_e.g._, ‘The reach was
all of a paffle.’ (This meaning is not mentioned in _E. D. D._)
=Paltry=, poor in health.
=Peak=, to peep or pry--_e.g._, ‘A rabbit peaked out of its hole.’
=Pingle=, to be fanciful about one’s food.
=Pingly=, off colour, having a bad appetite.
=Pucker=, to worry.
=Pucker=, agitated state of mind--_e.g._, ‘She was in a regular pucker.’
=Puggle=, to mess about, particularly with a stick in opening a hole
stopped with rubbish. Thus, figuratively, to muddle about.
=Push=, boil, abscess.
=Releet=, _vide_ =Deleet=.
=Riddy=, rid.
=Rowels=, thick stockings worn inside sea-boots. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Same.= It is impossible to give precise meanings for this word in its
frequent and various uses. They may be deduced from the dialogue of
this book. It may be said that in Essex dialect the word ‘same’
commonly introduces a hypothetical statement which might equally well
be expressed by ‘supposing.’ If you ask an Essex man to explain
something, he will begin: ‘Same as if you was doing so-and-so--’. If
he imagines something happening in the winter, he will say, ‘Same as
winter-time.’
=Scrouge=, to crowd.
=Scud.= When fish, lying in the net alongside a smack, are shaken along
to the most convenient point for lifting them on board, they are said
to be scudded. Fish are also scudded into the hold.
=Seizen=, to bind, or seize, things together.
=Shiftening=, change of clothes.
=Shiver=, slice.
=Similar-same=, like.
=Snarled=, tangled, knotted.
=Sneer=, to twitch, wince.
=Sob.= When the wind dies away temporarily, it is said to ‘sob’ or ‘sob
down.’
=Soo=, to settle down, like a vessel on the mud that is gradually being
left by the tide. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Spuffle=, to fume.
=Squalder=, jelly-fish. In Norfolk ‘squadling’ and ‘swalder’ mean a
small jelly-fish, but among Essex fishermen ‘squalder,’ which seems to
be a form of ‘squadling,’ is used of the large stinging jelly-fish.
(Not in _E. D. D._)
=Stam=, to astonish.
=Stench=, to stanch. Used of soaking a boat or barrel to make the wood
swell or ‘take up.’
=Stetchy=, _vide_ =Tetchy=.
=Suthen=, something. Widely used as an adverb of emphasis--_e.g._, ‘That
blowed suthen hard last night.’
=Tempest=, thunderstorm. (Not used of wind.)
=Ter=, it. Used in such phrases as ’as ter was’ for ’as it was.’ A
fisherman examining a dead bird on the shore was heard to say, ‘That’s
a watery bird be ter whether ter may’--_i.e._, ‘That’s a sea-bird
whatever it may be.’
=Tetchy=, treacherous. Used of the wind when it flies about from one
point of the compass to another. Also =Stetchy=.
=That=. Universally used throughout Essex, as in all East Anglia, for
‘it.’ People say, ‘That’s a goin’ to rain,’ ‘I doubt that’ll turn to
wind,’ ‘That’ll be a rum ’un [_i.e._, a strange thing] if he comes,’
and so on. This is probably a relic of the old Anglo-Saxon neuter.
=Thrashel=, _vide_ =Threscal=.
=Threddle=, _vide_ =Thriddle=.
=Threscal=, threshold, door-sill. Also =Thrashel=.
=Thriddle=, to thread one’s way as through a crowded harbour. (Not in
_E. D. D._) Also =Threddle=.
=Tissick=, a tickling cough.
=Tore out=, worn out.
=To-she-from-she gate=, kissing gate. (Not in _E. D. D._)
=Wanten=, wanted.
=Went=, gone--_e.g._, ‘He ought never to have went.’
=Wonderful=, very--_e.g._, ‘He’s a wonderful long time a comin’.’ Some
Essex people use the word (like ‘old,’ _q.v._) in almost every
sentence.
=Wring=, to strain. A barge is said to wring when she changes her shape
slightly through lying on uneven ground. When a vessel begins to move
perceptibly, without actually floating, on the in-coming tide the
fisherman says, ‘She’s wringing.’ This is only a special sense, of
course, of the old intransitive verb ‘to wring,’ meaning to writhe or
twist.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND
End of Project Gutenberg's A Floating Home, by Cyril Ionides and J. B. Atkins