When Joe’s well-worn hobnailed boots hit the corner of the street that marked the beginning of the Cragg, it was a strange feeling for him.  For he grew up here, but he no longer lived here.  The story was simple: Joe’s grandfather on his mother’s side, Elias, was a sailor, man and boy.  After serving Her Majesty as a sailor for the crown, he was the coxswain of a Whitby fishing boat and lived with wife and family alongside other fisherfolk here.  Joe’s parents were young and broke, so lived with Elias and started to raise their young family.  Better pay and a bit of luck eventually allowed Joe’s immediate family to move across the river to Osway.

“Aye up.  Are the Wards in?” Joe asked a nearby fisherwomen standing on her step.  She nodded and pointed in the appropriate direction.

The Wards lived in one of the yards off the Cragg. Greyish slab stones covered square. There were latrines in one corner, and a little shed that served as a shared scullery in another. There were many doors, some on the ground floor, others at the end of steps leading down to basements or up to first floor tenements, for the houses had been divided up into smaller tenements to house as many people as possible. The buildings in the back seemed built into the cliff and the people living there had to be either suicidal or just very poor. At the far end, a flight of stairs led up into the cliff, to further buildings, and ultimately to Cliff street above.

There was a foul smell in the air, that the inhabitants of the yard seemed to have forgotten about, but that would be quite perceptible to someone from a better neighbourhood - a mixture of latrines, old rotting rests of fish and shellfish, drying nets, tar, and - so pervasive in this part of town - the dirty chimney smoke of inferior coal and driftwood. And yet the women had hung their laundry out here to dry, and two toddlers with dirty faces and soiled dresses sat on a step, and once the school would out, flocks of children would hang around in the yard or play here, so as not to take up space inside. They had to be oblivious to the smell, surely. Or perhaps they simply had no choice.

Rose came out of one of the first floor doors, carrying a bucket. Her reddish-brown hair was tied up at the back of her head, her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and she wore an old oilskin apron. "Joe!" she said, when she saw her old friend. She walked down the steps. "Have ye come to visit. Give us a hand the pump, will ye?" she said, and she held her bucket under the pump.

It was an old smell, but Joe remembered it fondly - that is the memories associated with it, not necessarily the odour.

"Aye. Talkin' to you the other day reminded me I 'aven't been down 'ere in a long time. So, I thought I'd pop in" He said removing his jacket to help with the pump.

"Is it as ye remember it?" Rose asked as he bucket was filling up.

Joe looked around at the grey, the stone, the grime. "Oh aye. Bit smaller than when I were 'ere last, but that was long ago. And I were a lot shorter too. Say, anybody from back then still 'ere?"

"Aye," said Rose, and she nodded at the two toddlers. "See those bairns? They're Lizzy Jenkins'. Her mother died, and her father's still there, but ill. She married John Storr from down the road. Moved in here so they can take care of her father, since her sister got married to a Runswick man, and Pip and Frankie are both workin' at the Teesside. Abe Barnes and his family moved to the Teesside as well. Gave up fishin' altogether. The Russells are still livin' o'er there and - Oh!"

She suddenly realized the bucket was full and water was running over the side. She pulled it away and tilted it gently to let some of the water run out. Then she rose, lifting the bucket.

"Aunt Grace is still livin' in t' Cragg and me cousin Matthew, but Susie got married and now lives in Blackburn's yard and me uncle and cousin Luke drowned along with Tom." She began to lead him up the steps. "Me father ain't home yet, but he'll be here any time. We'll make ye a cuppa."

Some familiar names there and fragments of memories past:

Lizzie Jenkins.. now with two of her 'own!..

Got into a spot of bother with Frankie over penny sweets, got my arm twisted behind me back proper for it too.

The Russells made good cakes if he remembered correctly

The memories stopped as the bucket overflowed, Joe chuckled. "Cuppa sounds nice, lead on then. Do you want me to carry the bucket?" he asked grabbing his jacket.

"Nah, it's alright," said Rose, for she was already halfway up the stairs. She opened the door and let him in. The door opened straight into the cottage's main room, which seemed very crowded, with fishing gear, laundry, and other items suspended from lines just below the ceiling. Built into one wall was a bedstead, but the doors were closed. There was a door in the other wall, but it was closed as well. On the far end of the room, a kitchener filled the fireplace, and in the middle of the room stood a large table that was currently covered in oilskins and on which several buckets and baskets stood. Some of the buckets were filled with limpets and other mollusks. On a chair by the table sat a red-headed, chubby girl of about fifteen, who blushed a little when she saw the stranger. She was skaning flithers - removing the soft part of the mollusks from their shell for bait. "Hello." she said shyly.

"Ye might remember, Anne, though you'll hardly recognize her." Rose told Joe as she put her bucket beside the table and walked over to the kitchener. Or perhaps he didn't remember her at all, for Anne had been a shy and silent child, who was good at not being noticed. "Anne, this is Joe, me old friend from school. Do ye remember him?"

"Aye, I do now," said Anne. "Ye came to our place sometimes."

"I do remember Anne, but she were wee. You've grown up Anne, as pretty as Rose, I see." Joe said plopping himself down in an empty chair. There was no harm in making the girl feel good about herself for a moment. Plus he earned good graces with Rose for being nice.

Anne turned crimson for nobody ever called her pretty. "Thank you... you've grown good looking too," she mumbled, and then seemed embarrassed with her own words and looked down at her work

Rose laughed heartily. "Now look what you've done to me poor sister, Joe. You ain't been in the house for a minute!"

Anne looked mortified.