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Newlyn Fish Market - boats due to land.

Friday, 13 October 2017

"A fish-frail of stout" on Seafood Week's final #FishyFriday

"You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing. Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep. And you alone can hear the invisible starfall..."

the words, written originally for the radio rather than the stage, capture the very blackness of a harbour town in the dead of night when the sky is...




"the darkest-beforedawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the SkylarkZanzibarRhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride."



inside the fish market the buyers bid on black cuttle-filled containers...



young Mr Smart looks aghast as Mr Bick whispers sweet nothings in Buttons' ear...



big turbot, big mouth...



first of the netters to get fish ashore for buyers starved of hake for the week...


was the Karen of Ladram...




with the ability of cuttlefish ink to permanently stain, many of the boats now take black boxes to sea especially for them...



the traditional way to 'wing' ray...



Harvest Reaper in the haddock again - which just happens to be the nominated fish for Day 8 of this year's Seafood Week...



and the odd tub gurnard...



time to get things moving...



a brace of congers...



and a box of the very best red mullet...



all go down in the buyers' little black books...



there are still plenty of plaice coming on to the market...



moving swiftly on...



name that flatfish...



those eyes don't miss much on the seabed...



it's a wrasse, but which one?..



how many buyers does it take to stack a pallet?..



aye-aye...




delicious Dory...


another bashful buyer...



pouts are plentiful this week...



as will hake be on Monday's market...



until then Roger keeps the market clear of boxes...



as there is only half the space available...



as the nights grow ever longer...
"Fishermen grumble to their nets. Nogood Boyo goes out in
the dinghy _Zanzibar_, ships the oars, drifts slowly in the
dab-filled bay, and, lying on his back in the unbaled water,
among crabs' legs and tangled lines, looks up at the
spring sky"
With thanks to Dylan Thomas, for the words from Under Milk Wood, who married his wife-to-be Caitlin in Penzance registry office before honeymooning in the Lobster Pot Hotel and drinking in the Ship Inn..