They say a week is a long time in politics, or if you wait ages for a bus, three come along at once - in just one week Newlyn has just seen the loss of three member of its fishing community.
First to make his way to the deck of the big fishing boat in the sky was Mr PCCM himself, son of a coastguard, Dick Harvey. Dick epitomised 'old school'. As a share-fisherman, he was the kind of crew to be cherished, a crewman whom you could totally rely on to turn up, do the job and go home happy with his share. Although to many, in Dick's case, 'home' seemed to be either the Fishermen's Arms, Red Lion, Dolphin, Star or Swordfish. The guy worked hard but played even harder and had an enormous appetite for life and lived it to the full - though without any hint of pretentious extravagance and with a simple philosophy on life - for Dick, life was to be enjoyed!
I, (and I'm sure I'm not alone) thought Dick was invincible and would attend everyone else's funeral just to prove a point. He cheated death way more times than a cat is supposed to be able to - most, though not always, involving imbibing some brew of one sort or another. Here are just a few of those opportunities for him to be taken earlier than he would have ever intended.
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Back in his days longlining this was the old fish market - when a railing ran along the seaward edge - Dick, having left the warmth of the bosom of one of Newlyn's fine hostelries and headed for the oat found himself in need of relief. Positioning himself against of the handrail in order to facilitate proceedings the affects of the alcohol briefly confused his sense of balance and head first, over the rail he went. It being Dick of course he landed flat on his back in a few inches of water, it being low tide and all that, staggered to his feet and continued on his way apparently none the worse for his unintended Tom Daley manoeuvre.
For a short, but hugely eventful period, this meant pair trawling with the Keriolet something of a novelty for the Cornish boys and with a learning curve that would make the development chart of AI look like a flatline. In the pic above, Dick can be seen to the right of young Sam Hicks as they haul in the lazy deckie - under the scrutiny of a boarding party from the fisheries protection boat Anglesey; one can only imagine the likely comments falling from Dick's fag-laden lips!
Around about tat time the Ben my Chree headed off to St Guenole for a refit - she, like the Keriolet being an ex-French boat and it was de rigeur to do so. On arrival, Dick was keen to explore the harbour facilities and found the nearest bar, Le Crepsicule. After several local beers (remembering that in a fisherman's parlance, a couple is '3 or 4 and so on) which didn't quite do it Dick surveyed the local residents to clock their preferred tipple - which was, of course, red wine. Figuring that this was the way to go, Dick proffered his now empty beer glass and requested the barman fill it with red wine. That was lunchtime, so by the time Dick left the town he had had significantly more than 'a few'.
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| This is the fish market at St Guenole where the Ben my Chree was berthed |
No-one is entirely sure what happened next. Around midnight the crew of the boat laying astern of the BMC had all arrived to land their trip and heard the sound of splashing and groans coming from between the two boats. Peering over the edge of the quayside into the murky harbour the Breton crew spied someone hanging on the stern rope venting their frustration - they promptly retrieved him from the water. Despite having fallen off the quay and landed on the rail of the boat and being a non-swimmer - on his back - Dick suffered no serious consequences of yet another attempt to challenge Tom Daly's ability to enter the water from a height - other than what was probably the largest bruise ever seen in Newlyn - which, when proudly displayed on his return to one and all back in the safety of the Dolphin Inn, was seen to cover most of his back in various shades of black, blue, purple and yellow - cats had nothing on Dick.
I met him on the prom years ago when the Dolphin in Penzance (a one of two dockside pubs that mainly catered for the workers) had been given a major makeover by the brewery - they had offered a complimentary drink on opening day which Dick had obviously taken full advantage of - "how's it now Dick?" "Crap!" he replied, "typical half-pint and a pasty pub now".
One year he had a run-in with HMRC which resulted in a court appearance where Dick's defence was that given the bulk of his income went from his settlings straight into the coffers of the Treasury via the duty he paid on beer - which in his estimation was considerably higher than that which he would have paid in tax on his income - then HMRC had had more than their fair share - suffice to say the judge looked over his glasses disapprovingly, he was having none of it.
These and many more similar events became the stuff of many a repeated yarn in his favourite haunts - he was prevented from attending a new Year's Eve party at my place when his daughter Linda was lodging there - having been knocked into the verge by a hit-and-run driver while walking back from Mousehole - again nothing more than scratches bruises and a vague recollection of events to go with them.
The following year on New Year's Day lunchtime I remember him striding into the Fishermen's Arms making a beeline straight to the bar before addressing both Mike and Kath behind the bar - "I've just called in to apologise for last night". The perplexed couple looked at one another then at Dick, "You didn't come in last night Dick, we didn't see you". "Thank **** for that" said Dick, "Just wanted to get the apology in first" quoth he as he headed for the door, presumably bound for Jackie and a similar story in the Red Lion. The last time I spoke at length with him was on his 79th birthday last year outside the Smithy in Penzance as he headed for the bus stop and home - it was around 1:30 in the afternoon - and he was hammered. We had a conversation on the meaning of life and then, as a result of someone wishing him good luck, "Good luck?! no such thing! life is what you make it", retorted Dick.
That was Dick all over, he had a certain way with him that many seemingly found irresistible especially members of the opposite sex - he referred to it as, 'PCCM' personality, charm, charisma and magnetism - and it resulted in several long term relationships of a romantic kind for which there is no space or time on which to elaborate here.
No doubt there will be a coming together of sorts in order to raise a glass or three in honour of time spent alongside the man on decks and in bars - no doubt Dick is somewhere out there explaining patiently to a newbie fishermen that it's 'seizing' not 'seasoning' on the fishing line!
Geoff Davies 1948-2023
Talking of HMRC and tax, fish buyer Geoff Davies, seen here with early-days mobile phone hitched to is belt, was a tax inspector in a previous life - that was before he came to fish from Newlyn and then, subsequently went ashore and worked for leading fish merchant Nick Howell when his premises were behind Waghorns.
Geoff as there until 19984 and sooner or later, anyone who spent time on the fish market was bound to be caught by local artist Bernard Evans and recorded on canvas for posterity - in this instance Geoff can be seen in his grey buyer's coat to the right of the auctioneer bending forward in anticipation of dropping some fish tallies on the box of fish for which he is bidding...
in this oil sketch, Geoff was there again - red body warmer and a fag in his mouth - back then spitting was prohibited but not smoking!...
After helping grow the company as a major exporter of prime fish like monk, hake and megrim sole to Spain and over twenty years of long-standing service with fish merchant Nick Howell, Geoff made a strategic move to join Ocean Fish as their main man on the market as senior fish buyer - a job which he did until he was in his 70s. Unlike some, Geoff played the part of fish buyer as if he were in a poker game, cool, calm and collected.
David Stevens 1950-2023
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James Matthew Perkin, David Stevens, Maurice Golding then Paul Stevens. Front row left to right Francis Stevens, Ernest Stevens and Raymond Stevens. Francis and Raymond no relation. |
Fishing runs deep in the Stevens family, generations have fished from the port of St Ives. Ernest Stevens, David Stevens father had the second and much larger Rose of Sharon built in 1969 by Forbes of Sandhaven, the first built them back in 1964.
and as a youngster, David Stevens, seen here on the left, cut his teeth aboard the family boat longlining like so many at that time...
However, due to her size it became imperative that she be based in Newlyn as St Ives is very much a tidal harbour. In the early 1980s, David left to join Stevenson's fleet aboard the beam trawler Algrie, and brothers Paul and Peter Stevens ran the Rose of Sharon for a few years until later Peter and David ran the Rose of Sharon together...
fishing at times for langoustine on the Smalls along with the rest of the 'clan'.
Continuing with trawling, David and brother Peter bought the first Crystal Sea in 1989, the first of three trawlers to bear the name...
the boat that served them both well until Peter decided to leave fishing altogether... -
after which David saw potential in pair trawling, and with two young sons for crew, purchased the Macduff built Rebecca, renaming her Crystal Sea II and began twin-rigging in the Southwestern Approaches...
the boat was fished successfully until the first major new build for Newlyn in decades was ordered and the 24m Macduff built Crystal Sea arrived in the harbour on Valentines Day, 2020...
by which time, David Stevens senior, seen here supervising from the quay, was happy to come ashore and leave boy David take over skippering the ship with his brother Alec.
Despite the belief in trawling, David was hugely superstitious as exemplified by the time when, on her first trip after a refit and having changed the colours of the wheelhouse casing on the Rose of Sharon the gearbox blew up while they were fishing off Lundy. A lengthy tow home and layup gave him time to repaint the wheelhouse and casing in their original colours as there was no doubt that the boat was deeply affected with the resultant gearbox disaster.
Let's hope the harbour flags remain atop the masts for a considerable period of time now.
PS Some recollections may have been coloured by the passage of time for which I apologise in advance.
