their turn at the jetty.
The people of Plyn were delighted with the growth of the town - trade would make them prosperous and rich. Only the old folk grumbled, disliking the change.
‘What be us wantin’ with ships an’ clay?’ they muttered.
‘There’s nothin’ now but hammer and crash i’ the harbour, from mornin’ till night. Why can’t they leave Plyn alone?’
New houses were built up the hill, straighter and more severe than the old cottages at the water’s edge, and they had plain gaunt windows hung with lace curtains. The quaint latticed windows of the cottages were considered old-fashioned and rough, and instead of the roofs being tiled with the soft grey slate, they were black and shiny. Queen Victoria was now on the throne, and in the parlours of the Plyn houses her likeness would hang, with that of the Prince Consort at her side.
Plyn was no longer a lazy, sleepy harbour, but a busy port, with the noise of ships and the loading of clay. The ship-building yard of Thomas Coombe was important in Plyn. Large vessels were launched from the slip now, ships of over a hundred tons, schooners, barquentines, and the like.
Thomas was now forty-eight, little changed in character, but his work had told on him; his shoulders were bent, and there were tired lines beneath his eyes. He thought only of the business, and the name he had made for himself in Plyn. He was devoted to his wife and his family, but the business came first. They still lived in Ivy House. Nothing had been altered here, the large warm kitchen was the same, where they all sat around the table and had their meals.
Mary had helped her mother make new curtains for the parlour, and in the corner of the room was a harmonium which she had learnt to play.
Samuel had joined his father down at the yard, and proved as honest and clever a workman as Thomas had been at his age. He was indeed his father’s right-hand man, and Herbert too, ever eager to copy his brother, was learning the trade beside him. Soon perhaps the board above the yard would bear their names as well - ‘Thomas Coombe and Sons’. That was the dream always present in the minds of Samuel and Herbert.
Mary remained at home in Ivy House, cheerful and willing, desiring nothing better than to remain there all her life and look after the needs of her father and brothers.
Philip seemed to have no wish to join his brothers later at the yard; he was a queer secretive boy with his own friends and his own ideas, and he spoke little, spending most of his time reading in a corner.
Lizzie was now a dear unselfish little girl of ten, who seemed fond of everybody, and was made a general pet by the household.
What of Joseph? At eighteen he was taller than his father and his brothers, with square powerful shoulders and a massive chest. Except for Lizzie, he was the only dark one of the Coombe family. His hair was thick and curly, already whiskers were growing on his cheeks, and he looked older than his brother Samuel, who was twenty-two. He had not yet learnt caution. There was not a man in Plyn he would not have fought for the pleasure of it, nor any wild escapade of which he did not make himself the leader. Old people shook their heads when Joe Coombe’s name was mentioned.
The girls of Plyn blushed when he looked at them in church, which he had made a point of doing, and they would gather in groups, giggling, and whispering excitedly when he passed them in the street. ‘He’s treated Emmie Tippit shameful, ’ whispered one. ‘Aye, an’ now they say he’s turned down Polly Rogers,’ whispered another. Who would be the next victim, they wondered. One of them, perhaps. The secret longing rose in their hearts and would not be stilled.
It was high time Joseph went to sea. He was going, too; very shortly now he was to join the Francis Hope as apprentice under Captain Collins, Sarah Collins’s husband.
Joseph felt that the first ambition of his life was to be realized. To go to sea, to
The people of Plyn were delighted with the growth of the town - trade would make them prosperous and rich. Only the old folk grumbled, disliking the change.
‘What be us wantin’ with ships an’ clay?’ they muttered.
‘There’s nothin’ now but hammer and crash i’ the harbour, from mornin’ till night. Why can’t they leave Plyn alone?’
New houses were built up the hill, straighter and more severe than the old cottages at the water’s edge, and they had plain gaunt windows hung with lace curtains. The quaint latticed windows of the cottages were considered old-fashioned and rough, and instead of the roofs being tiled with the soft grey slate, they were black and shiny. Queen Victoria was now on the throne, and in the parlours of the Plyn houses her likeness would hang, with that of the Prince Consort at her side.
Plyn was no longer a lazy, sleepy harbour, but a busy port, with the noise of ships and the loading of clay. The ship-building yard of Thomas Coombe was important in Plyn. Large vessels were launched from the slip now, ships of over a hundred tons, schooners, barquentines, and the like.
Thomas was now forty-eight, little changed in character, but his work had told on him; his shoulders were bent, and there were tired lines beneath his eyes. He thought only of the business, and the name he had made for himself in Plyn. He was devoted to his wife and his family, but the business came first. They still lived in Ivy House. Nothing had been altered here, the large warm kitchen was the same, where they all sat around the table and had their meals.
Mary had helped her mother make new curtains for the parlour, and in the corner of the room was a harmonium which she had learnt to play.
Samuel had joined his father down at the yard, and proved as honest and clever a workman as Thomas had been at his age. He was indeed his father’s right-hand man, and Herbert too, ever eager to copy his brother, was learning the trade beside him. Soon perhaps the board above the yard would bear their names as well - ‘Thomas Coombe and Sons’. That was the dream always present in the minds of Samuel and Herbert.
Mary remained at home in Ivy House, cheerful and willing, desiring nothing better than to remain there all her life and look after the needs of her father and brothers.
Philip seemed to have no wish to join his brothers later at the yard; he was a queer secretive boy with his own friends and his own ideas, and he spoke little, spending most of his time reading in a corner.
Lizzie was now a dear unselfish little girl of ten, who seemed fond of everybody, and was made a general pet by the household.
What of Joseph? At eighteen he was taller than his father and his brothers, with square powerful shoulders and a massive chest. Except for Lizzie, he was the only dark one of the Coombe family. His hair was thick and curly, already whiskers were growing on his cheeks, and he looked older than his brother Samuel, who was twenty-two. He had not yet learnt caution. There was not a man in Plyn he would not have fought for the pleasure of it, nor any wild escapade of which he did not make himself the leader. Old people shook their heads when Joe Coombe’s name was mentioned.
The girls of Plyn blushed when he looked at them in church, which he had made a point of doing, and they would gather in groups, giggling, and whispering excitedly when he passed them in the street. ‘He’s treated Emmie Tippit shameful, ’ whispered one. ‘Aye, an’ now they say he’s turned down Polly Rogers,’ whispered another. Who would be the next victim, they wondered. One of them, perhaps. The secret longing rose in their hearts and would not be stilled.
It was high time Joseph went to sea. He was going, too; very shortly now he was to join the Francis Hope as apprentice under Captain Collins, Sarah Collins’s husband.
Joseph felt that the first ambition of his life was to be realized. To go to sea, to
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