Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I’ve heard tell
Where fishermen go when they don’t go to Hell.
By S.L.Ingleby
“Me Da was a fisherman. And his Da, and his. I remember Uncle Jimmy sayin’ that if you cut our veins you’d find sea water, not blood. It’s just always been a way of life for us. Bloody brilliant. But tough!”
Edward had been on the coast for just three nights but felt he knew the locals like lifelong friends. What fascinating people! He could listen to them for hours. He was apprehensive when asked to complete an article on the fishing industry. He knew absolutely nothing about it. Yet here he was, in the Low Lights Tavern, sharing a drink with people he felt he’d known a lifetime.
“Ya know lad, it’s one thing hearin’ about it, but it’s another thing actually doin’ it!” Bernie, the one closest to a fisherman stereotype, remarked. “Now, just be careful of those rocks between the two piers. Stay well clear, and you’ll be fine.” Edward realised if he was going to write the article that would get him noticed, he’d have to get his hands dirty.
Rowing was harder than he thought. Just ahead, he could see the rocks he had been warned about. Black and jagged, sticking from the water like the twisted bones of an ancient sea monster. As he got closer, he noticed something upon the rocks. At first, he thought it was a seal. But as he moved nearer, he realised it was a man; clinging with what looked like the last of his strength. Filled with adrenaline, Edward rowed towards him. How could he leave him there? He had to save him.
“I’m coming. Just hold on!” Edward shouted. The noise of the waves crashing against the rocks appeared to drown out all the sound around them. Somehow, he managed to reach the man. Using the last of his strength, he pulled the man aboard.
“Thank you, lad! I thought I was on me way to Fiddler’s Green!” he spoke, taking sips from the flask Edward handed him.
“I must have hit the Black Middens on me way back. Didn’t take long for me boat to go down, but I managed to hold on to the rocks! Oh, and me hat!” The man laughed, pulling it from his breast pocket. He shook it, punched the inside to give it back its shape and then placed it on his head. It was navy blue, with a unique anchor emblem stitched onto the front. He assumed the two letters of GS were those of his initials.
“Are you hurt?” Edward asked.
“Me, lad? Why no! Been through worse. I was quite warmin’ to the idea of gannin’ to Fiddler’s Green!” He let out a belly laugh, that reverberated around the boat.
“Fiddler’s Green?”
“Aye. You never heard of Fiddler’s Green? Whey, it’s a place where fishermen go when they die. It’s meant to be even better than heaven! Mainly because you can have all the beer, and women, that you want. And the music! A constant sing-along to all the finest sea shanties you can imagine!” Singing, the man seemed in remarkably high spirits considering he had almost perished at sea.
“We best get you back to shore,” Edward said, lifting up the oars and glancing back to where he thought the shore was.
“The tide’s pushing us out. We need to start rowin’, fast!” The man sat beside him, taking up an oar. Edward couldn’t believe his strength.
“I’m Geordie, Geordie Smith.”
“Edward, Edward Canterbury.”
“Aye, I heard about you. ‘Came to write a story on the dyin’ fishin’ industry; left a hero!’ Ha! Doesn’t get much better than that, does it, lad?”
“You mentioned hitting the Black Middens? What did you mean?”
“The Black Middens? It’s the name given to those rocks we can just about make out. Some say the Devil himself threw it out there to damage the coal trade. Some call it the Devil’s Backbone! When the tide is in, they become invisible, hidden below the water. Back before people could send out warnings, ships would come in; unaware that just below the surface were rocks so sharp they could tear through wood like teeth through butter. Lots of lives lost because of those rocks.”
Edward thought about all the lives that had ever been lost at sea. He thought about how the ocean was one large graveyard, a resting place for so many lost souls.
“Well, looks like we made it lad! You’re going to have to let me take you for a pint; a way of thanks for savin’ me life!” Geordie insisted.
“It would be my pleasure to join you for a drink!” He needed a strong one!
“Oh, I’ve forgot me hat! Go ahead and I’ll catch you up,” Geordie stated, heading back to the boat.
As Edward entered he was warmly welcomed. He looked around back at the shore but couldn’t see Geordie.
“Bloomin’ heck, Edward! Did you fall overboard or somethin’?” Bernie laughed. Edward looked down at himself, soaked through, his knees shaking below him.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you! Have you seen Geordie?” Edward laughed back. But he was the only one laughing. On hearing his words, the entire pub fell silent.
“Geordie Smith?” Bernard asked.
“Yes. He was just behind me, I heard him whistling.”
Edward was confused. They obviously knew who he was talking about, and yet they looked at him as if his words were nonsense.
“Now, I don’t know what happened to you out there, lad. But whoever you met was not Geordie. Our Geordie Smith has been missing at sea eighteen years this winter.”
Edward felt his head spin. It can’t be? He was with him, he found him on the rocks. He spoke to him, heard him whistling. Edward felt his rationality taking over. He was an academic, a journalist. He didn’t believe in ghost stories. “Are you sure? Is there no way he could have washed ashore somewhere else?”
“Lad, he’d be a very old man now if that were the case. I know we never found his body, but his boat was a mangled mess. Hit the Middens. And there was this,” Bernie reached above the bar. He pulled something down which was hanging on a hook just above an old, faded photograph. He handed it to Edward.
Edward gasped. The item fell to the floor, from his shaking hands. He looked down at it. It couldn’t be? At his feet, torn and weathered, was a fisherman’s hat, with a unique anchor emblem and the initials GS. He looked up to the picture by which the hat hung. There, on the photo, looking exactly as he had looked just moments before was Geordie, Geordie Smith.
