Log of the Demeter. 24th July. There seems some doom over this ship. Already a hand short and entering on the Bay of Biscay with wild weather ahead, and yet last night another man lost. Disappeared. Like the first, he came off his watch and was... Not seen again. Men all in a panic of fear. Sent to round robin asking to have double watch as they fear to be alone. Mate angry. Fear there will be some trouble as either he... or the men will do some violence.
Mina Murray's journal, 24th of July, Whitby. Lucy met me at the station, looking sweeter and lovelier than ever, and we drove up to the house at the Crescent in which they have rooms. This is a lovely place. The little river, the Esk, runs through a deep valley, which broadens out as it comes near the harbour. A great viaduct runs across with high piers, through which the view seems somehow further away than it really is.
The valley is beautifully green and it is so steep that when you are on the high land on either side, you look right across it, unless you are near enough to see down. The houses of the old town, the side away from us, are all red-roofed and seem piled up one over the other anyhow, like the pictures we see of Nuremberg. Right over the town is the ruin of Whitby Abbey.
which was sacked by the Danes and which is the scene of part of Marmion, where the girl was built up in the wall. It is a most noble ruin, of immense size and full of beautiful and romantic bits. There is a legend that a white lady is seen in one of the windows. Between it and the town, there is another church, the parish one, round which is a big graveyard, all full of tombstones.
This is, to my mind, the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the town and has a full view of the harbour and all up the bay to where the headland, called Kettle Ness, stretches out into the sea. It descends so steeply over the harbour that part of the bank has fallen away and some of the graves have been destroyed. In one place, part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below.
There are walks with seats beside them through the churchyard, and people go and sit there all day long, looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come and sit here very often myself and work. Indeed, I am writing now, with my book on my knee and listening to the talk of three old men who are sitting beside me. They seem to do nothing all day but sit up here and talk. The harbour lies below me, with...
On the far side, one long granite wall stretching out into the sea, with a curve outwards at the end of it, in the middle of which is a lighthouse. A heavy sea wall runs along outside of it. On the near side, the seawall makes an elbow crooked inversely, and its end too has a lighthouse. Between the two piers, there is a narrow opening into the harbour, which then suddenly widens.
It is nice at high water, but when the tide is out, it shoals away to nothing, and there is merely the stream of the Esk, running between banks of sand with rocks here and there. Outside the harbour on this side, there rises for about half a mile a great reef, the sharp edge of which runs straight out from behind the south lighthouse. At the end of it is a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather.
and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost, bells are heard out at sea. I must ask the old man about this. He is coming this way. He is a funny old man. He must be awfully old, for his face is all gnarled and twisted like the bark of a tree. He tells me that he is nearly a hundred.
and that he was a sailor in the Greenland fishing fleet when Waterloo was fought. He is, I am afraid, a very sceptical person, for when I asked him about the bells at sea and the white lady at the abbey, He said very brusquely. I wouldn't fash myself about a miss. Them things be all wore out. I don't say that they never was, but I do say that they wasn't in my time. They'd be all very well for comers and trippers and the like, but not for a nice young lady like you.
Them faint folks from York and Leeds that be always eating cured herrings and drinking tea and looking out to buy a cheap jet would creed out. I wonder myself who'd be bothered telling lies to them. Even the newspapers were just full of fool talk. I thought he would be a good person to learn interesting things from, so I asked him if he would mind telling me something about the whale fishing in the old days.
He was just settling himself to begin when the clock struck six, whereupon he laboured to get up and said, I must gang againwards home now, miss. Me granddaughter doesn't like to be kept waiting when the tea is ready, for it takes me time to cram a laboon the grease, for there be many of them, and miss, I lack the belly timber sourly by the clock.
He hobbled away, and I could see him hurrying, as well as he could, down the steps. The steps are a great feature on the place. They lead from the town up to the church. There are hundreds of them. I do not know how many. and they wind up in a delicate curve. The slope is so gentle that a horse could easily walk up and down them. I think they must originally have had something to do with the abbey. I shall go home too.
Lucy went out visiting with her mother, and as they were only duty calls, I did not go. They will be home by this. This episode featured Alistair Stewart as the captain of the Demeter, Isabel Ademako Young as Mina Murray, and Graham Rowett as Mr. Swales. Directed by Hannah Wright. Dialogue editing by Stephen Indrasano. Sound design by Tal Manir. Produced by Ella Watts and Pacific S. Obadiah. With executive producers Stephen Indrasano, Tal Manir, and Hannah Wright. A bloody FM production.