WEEP OCEANS

SALTY

As Thirza and Bram face troubling times in my current work-in-progress, fighting for the survival of seabirds on the East Coast in 1856, here's a poem that captures something of the mood.

SALTED CARAMEL

Photo credit -  Angele J from Pexels

I remember

The day I first heard

Salted Caramel

Was a thing.

That first eyes-closed

Sampling

The fudgy glory of it

The tang that twitched

Those salt-exalting buds

Making the flat golden

Saucy flow more edgy

Rewriting the mythic

Taste map of the tongue.

Not so the sea.

She is unimpressed

By her crystalline children

Strutting their way into

Coffee shops and eateries

Robed in sugar toffee puddles.

She is the sea

After all.

Perfect in every wave

Ebbing or breaking.

Secretly, though,

She must be proud

To be part of it,

Swelling her saline heart

At mothering such joy.

SO FAR UNDER

SO FAR UNDER

So far under I can't swim back to the surface.

Was I ever up there? Stark in the sunshine?

Shifting ponder mouths me down, floors me.

Somewhere Moon is plucking up tides,

Distorting the equator,

Puckering cliffs,

Frothing rock-pools with crisps of dead kelp.

My ribs ache from the kiss of a flame-tongued chimera,

Thump of pantechnicon push in the seething dark

Breaking me utterly, no tracks to trace retreat.

I should be psalming howls and how longs

Yet I banter and jive from that place called normal

Bobbing my head with quotidian nods

Catching crabs in the slipstream undertow

Sucking me down askance

So cushioned and carried

You need never know.

Sand castles and rock pools: first draft, second novel - taking the clifftop path towards "Cloudhover Solstice"

Scouting out "Cloudhover Solstice" locations: Flamborough Head 17th century Old Chalk Beacon Tower 

The first draft of "Cloudhover Solstice" feels to me a bit like a deliciously playful sand castle on the edge of a rockpool of rippling possibilities, hidden depths. The capricious tides of ideas and words are ebbing and flowing, filling things in, knocking bits down, smoothing jutting edges, revealing scary fissures beneath the surface, the story sculpted by sea frets as the wind veers around the compass of plot and pacing.

I'm back from my eagerly-anticipated research reconnaissance trip to fairest Flamborough, the setting for the novel, from the chalk cliffs and caves to the haunting hidden hollows of ancient Danes Dyke, cutting off the headland from the rest of these islands, leaving it pointing mysteriously out towards vanished Doggerland off the coast of Holderness.

Selwick Stack, Selwick's Bay, Flamborough Head

I took the opportunity of drinking in every detail, smelling the scents of the sea, tasting the bite of the onshore breezes, listening to the rhythms and colours of the seabirds' crying, so integral to my tale. I stood in Bram's shoes as he hears the unsettling call of the Kittiwakes over the water, stood with Thirza as she teeters, conflicted and determined on the edge of the crumbling cliff. I wandered along the beaches of North and South Landing, watching through the filter of imagination all the local sights and sounds that are the background to my evolving narrative.

Kittiwakes, High Stacks, Flamborough

Cave arch, North Landing, Flamborough

I took photographs and emotional mental snapshots, too, of those dominant sentinels of the headland, the 1806 Lighthouse and the Old Beacon Tower, built in chalk in the seventeen century. They must play their part, with their own tales interweaving into the lives of my characters and impacting on their fictional journey.

I took panorama sweeps to judge distances between landmarks, from Filey Brigg in the north, to Bridlington to the south. I explored Chatterthrow, formerly "Chattertrove" beyond Little Thornwick Bay, named for the racket made by the seabirds that thronged the cliffs as they nested, before humankind impacted their paradise, a central theme in my book.

Flamborough panorama from Chatterthrow back towards the Lighthouse

Flamborough did me good, as it always does, not only as a writer, but as a human being. Chronic illness has meant four years of not being able to manage a holiday, and Flamborough has haunted my dreams with glimpses of joy throughout those life-limiting days. Flamborough more than made up for it. Flamborough wouldn't know how to disappoint me if it tried!

Flamborough Head Lighthouse

So the chipping and carving at the sand castle goes on, as "Cloudhover Solstice" takes its own unique shape under my scribbling fingers, recreating and restoring me along the way. I hope when it's ready to reveal itself to the world, you will enjoy reading it and that you'll be enchanted too by this magical place!

Danes Dyke Beach, Flamborough

ALL HER FAULT

ALL HER FAULT

--a poem inspired by a glimpse of Thirza, heroine of my WIP "Cloudhover Solstice"--

Tries to stand

Soles rippling

Beneath the boil

Basso profundo boom

Inching purchase

On sea stamped sand

Plunge forgotten

Now razor balanced

Between sink and scull

Spray rainbow halo

Stinging eye and tongue

Frothing sodden

Tries to breathe

Less and lower

Lower to mute

Her eye discerns the heart

Between two swan necks

As breakers seethe

Molten gold

In the eye of the tide

Breaks her buoyancy

In the undetow

She grasps for his hand

The earthed root hold

Tries to rise

Wings wrung with salt

Drag to inertia

Anchor to halt

The cliffs' billed cries

Are all her fault

© 2016 Joyce Barrass

"CLOUDHOVER SOLSTICE" - the tide is about to turn...

It's been four heart-yearning years since my health let me off the leash with enough energy to let me anywhere near fantabulous fair Flamborough, one of my favourite spots on the planet.

But this year, come gannets, guillemots, gust or gale, I'm going back to stay awhile.

This summer, armed with the first draft, plot outlines, character studies, orphaned scenes, midnight notes, scribbles, dreams and delirious delight, I'm heading back to the headland, the heartland of the East Yorkshire coast.

I'm off to reimagine those chalk cliffs, beloved from childhood, to plumb the landscape for its secret drama, its lighthouse and beacon, its hidden sea caves, stacks and scars, the Kittiwakes crying over the ocean ledges, the spray flinging itself against those craggy gorges and rockpools. I'm going to revisit it all through the eyes of my characters, Thirza, Bram and their friends and foes old and new.

Is that Piper I hear barking from South Landing?

"Cloudhover Solstice" is coming. The tide is slowly turning, dragging all that's familiar beneath the swilkering foam.

In the spirit of serendipity, my arrival on the East Coast coincides with this year's Summer Solstice, with the full Moon poised to shine down on the shimmering North Sea (if the forecast clouds, sea frets and mists deign to clear her a path over Holderness!)

Wishing calm seas and joyful summer voyages of imagination to all my lovely readers!

My first novel "Goatsucker Harvest" is available for Kindle and in Paperback here.
For news of my authorial shenanigans, and for updates on my progress with the sequel, "Cloudhover Solstice," you can always like my Author Page on Facebook or follow me on Twitter or Goodreads.

If you've enjoyed my writing, please would you take a moment to leave me a quick review on Amazon or Goodreads to let others know and spread the word? Thank you so much!

South Landing at Flamborough nominated for BBC Countryfile Magazine's Beach of the Year

Wonderful news that this beautiful hidden treasure of the Yorkshire Coast has been nominated as Best Beach of the Year!

If you want funfairs, sticks of rock, crowds, donkey rides and noise, this gorgeous spot isn't ever going to be your cup of sea.

For those of us who love the sound of the ocean, the cry of seabirds, chalk cliffs meeting the waves and sweet seaside solitude, for me at least, it just cannot be beaten.

Still time to vote in all categories here till 31st January 2016: BBC Countryfile Magazine Awards 2015/16

Here's some more views  of Flamborough's South Landing I took in June 2012:

Flamborough Cliff Climbers: Historical Human Cliffhangers in my Work in Progress

The Flamborough "climmers" (climbers) or egg collectors, seen in this Yorkshire Film Archive footage from 1908, YORKSHIRE FILM ARCHIVE: THE EGG HARVEST - CLIFF CLIMBING AT FLAMBOROUGH (1908) are integral to the action of my WIP "Cloudhover Solstice" set in the 1850s. Thirza and Bram on their keel "Thistle" find themselves swept off course, caught up in a maritime nightmare where seabirds face daily peril from gangs of tourists with guns and locals who harvest their eggs for profit and their feathers for fashion.

What hidden dangers haunt the East Coast chalk cliffs and caves? Beached and stranded, Thirza and Bram strive against the odds, risking everything to uncover what makes the Kittiwakes cry and turn the tide of creeping commercialism and vested interests towards care and conservation of our fragile coastline. This quest will challenge Bram's ancestral skills as a wildlife whisperer, his inventive ingenuity and compassion, not to mention his unsteady sea legs to the limit, as well as plunging the feisty and fearless Thirza literally over the edge.

Warning: We wildlife lovers may find distressing the sight of one climmer near the end of this short film, staging a mock 'fight' between a captured Guillemot and Puffin. It is historical scenes like this that motivate Thirza and Bram in the struggle to 'reverse the ravage' caused by humankind and to champion these voiceless and vulnerable creatures.

Watch for future updates about "Cloudhover Solstice" and meanwhile don't miss my first novel featuring Thirza and Bram in the heartstopping historical fantasy "Goatsucker Harvest" on Amazon in paperback and ebook.

Thanks so much for stopping by!

Tour de Yorkshire passes through Flamborough - setting for my next novel "Cloudhover Solstice"

Flamborough, North Landing

Today's the day the ‪#‎TourDeYorkshire‬ starts in Sewerby, passing through Flamborough, Bempton and Buckton before crossing into North Yorkshire. Crowds are lining the beautiful route which will finish in Scarborough at around 4pm today (May 1st). 

Readers who are getting excited about the sequel to "Goatsucker Harvest" - the cliffs and countryside around Flamborough are the gorgeous setting for my next book "Cloudhover Solstice"! So keep your eyes peeled for more mysterious and mesmerising glimpses of Yorkshire!

Springwatch Special from the stunning Yorkshire Coast setting of my next novel!

Springwatch Special this Good Friday (April 3rd 2015) on BBC TV is being beamed from the Yorkshire cliffs where my next novel is set! Details of the programme are here in the Yorkshire Post: Springwatch brings region’s wildlife delights to new audience

Tune in to soak up the atmosphere and see the amazing place where seabirds take centre stage. Gannets, Puffins, Guillemots, Razorbills, Kittiwakes and Puffins throng the coast here. But back in Victorian times, who would protect them from trophy-seekers with shotguns from the city?

I'm already brewing up more drama and a sea of skulduggery and Victorian villainy set between Bempton & Filey Brigg & the sea caves to the tip of Flamborough Head for you all to enjoy!

Thanks to all of you who have been enjoying my first novel set in Victorian Yorkshire, "Goatsucker Harvest," leaving amazing reviews on Amazon and letting me know how much you are enjoying the adventures of Thirza and Bram (and Piper the kooikerhondje, of course!). 

Thank you for helping to spread the word to new readers, who can get a copy of the first novel set on the wild bogs and fens around Doncaster on Kindle or in paperback here: Amazon UK or here Amazon.com or here Amazon.com.au. 

Hope you'll enjoy the next story just as much! Watch this space for more information and batten down the hatches for the reading ride of a lifetime along the cliffs and in the caves!

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North Landing at Flamborough, North Yorkshire, one of the stunning settings for Joyce Barrass's second novel

There is a heavy sea astern! Song for a drowned ancestor

No grave marker for my cousin three times removed.


His death certificate gives his place of death as "170 miles NE x ENE of Spurn". Miles out at sea, far beyond where Spurn Point drizzles its thin finger into the wild North Sea off the Yorkshire Coast.

The date was etched on his family's memory.

6th February 1897. The day when a freak wave, attacking like a sea-monster from behind, stopped our George ever coming home to them from the fishing grounds.


His full name was George William Barrass. He was eldest child of my great great grandmother Charlotte's middle brother Samuel, who was a keelman like most of his kin before and after him.

Hull docks, on the North Sea coast of eastern Yorkshire at the mouth of the River Humber

Samuel married George's mother Clara Clark, in 1861. She was a Lincolnshire lass, born near the famous landmark that dominates those flat acres, Boston Stump, at a tiny place called North Forty Foot Bank. Their family of six sons grew up on the sailing keels and around the docks in the port of Kingston-upon-Hull, at the sea end of the Humberhead Levels in bleak and beautiful East Yorkshire.

Boston Stump in Lincolnshire, the nearest town to where George Barrass' mother Clara Clark was born in 1839

The boys in order were:

George William (b 1864) the subject of this blog post, had to step up and look out for his younger brothers when, aged just 42, their father died of TB, and their mother, seeking solace in the bottle perhaps, as she was forced away from life on the ships to the fate of a poor charwoman, died of cirrhosis of the liver five years later aged 45.


Clark (b1867) named for his mother's maiden name, a lighterman on the Humber


Arthur (b 1870), who was already with his younger brother Alfred in the Seaman's Orphanage in Hull after his father's death, indicating Clara could not care for the older boys and could only look after the two youngest


Alfred (b 1872), a seaman; his army records from WW1 show he had brown eyes and was 5 feet 4 inches tall. He had a scar from an operation on a right scrotal hernia and like his brother Arthur, suffered from rheumatism and debility caused by exposure. He had a catalogue of misdemeanors during military service, including absence, fighting on guard mounting parade, using obscene language to an N.C.O., creating a disturbance in the barrack room at 10.10pm and disobeying an order, drunkenness, found in women's quarters contrary to standing orders and being absent from duty again. Then more drunkenness, not paying the proper compliment to a superior officer and insolence to the Company Sergeant Major. Never a dull moment with our Alfie! His character is still listed as "Good"!


Robert Sunter (b 1873) called after his maternal grandfather, a Lincolnshire shepherd. As his father couldn't spell, no doubt the Hull registrar of births couldn't make sense of the name "Sumpter" and Robert's middle name is the nearest approximation to the sound the clerk could arrive at from proud father Sam's instructions!


Samuel (b 1876), the baby of the family, taken under the wing of his eldest brother to be shown the ropes at sea. His life ended suddenly aged 31 when he accidentally fell from a waggonette in Hull and died the following day from fracture of the skull, laceration of the brain and haemorrhage. This makes his part in the tragic tale of his eldest brother George all the more poignant.

When George and Samuel signed on to be part of the five man crew on the fishing smack "Amy Isabel" and set sail with the Great Northern Fleet on 11th December 1896, George was the third hand and young Sam the deck hand on the fleeting fishing cruise. George left his wife Martha Jane and their little five year old daughter Ada ashore.

A Victorian fishing smack from the port of Hull

When dawn broke on the morning of February 6th, the sea seemed quite calm enough to allow the fleet to land the fish and the 'Amy Isabel's captain, Danish skipper Peter Poulson, saw the usual signs that all was well to proceed with boarding the fish.


Brothers George and Samuel and the second hand, Joseph Harrison were to crew the smack's little boat, 20ft long, 3ft deep and 6ft wide. The boat was in 19 fathoms of water. The sea was moderately choppy, but nothing to cause the seasoned sailors concern. 

60 or 70 other ships in the fleet were all around them. What harm could they come to? The Admiral of the fleet, John Atkinson, skipper of the "Mountaineer", let the signal for "boarding" fish be hoisted at the foremast of the carrier ship "Eastward" to which all the fish from the various vessels would be rowed in little boats just like the one where the Barrass brothers were that morning.

The boat, fitted with a rope life-line, rove through the keel, extending fore and aft on both sides, set out towards the carrier ship. 17 boxes of fish were duly loaded and stowed on it and the launch went without incident.

Old wholesale fish market in Hull docks

Joseph Harrison, second mate, was standing pushing the after oar, while young Sam, the deck hand, was pulling the forward oar on the port side. George, the third hand, was sitting keeping the boat stable in the stern sheets.


At around 9am, the 'Amy' lay at the port bow of the carrier steamer "Eastward", about 200 to 250 yards away. Her little boat had got half way across from their own ship to the "Eastward" when disaster struck. 

Suddenly, Sam saw that a huge wave was rising threateningly behind them. He shouted to the other oarsman, Joseph Harrison on the starboard side:


"There is a heavy sea astern!"


Joseph looked round, and in his terror at what he saw, dropped the oar. Almost immediately, the huge wave rolled right over the boat and swamped it, sinking it instantly. It was never recovered. Neither were the boxes of fish or the oars. But these were the least of the losses that day.

When Sam spluttered to the surface, he was relieved to find George very close to him. He saw that Joseph Harrison was lying quite still and lifeless face down a few feet away from them. Nearby, like a saviour in a storm, he made out another little boat like theirs, the one belonging to the fishing smack "Smiling Morn," which had ridden the wave that sunk them. She was only a few yards away and surely within easy swimming distance.


The brothers swam towards the other boat. As Sam was pulled into it, with George only a foot or two behind him, he saw his brother sinking, exhausted from his efforts, only seconds from certain rescue. His body, and that of Joseph Harrison, was never recovered.

The 'Amy Isabel' returned to her home port of Hull, arriving two days later on the 8th of February. What it was like for Sam to be the only survivor, to tell the news to waiting friends and family, his sister-in-law Martha Jane and his little niece Ada, we can only guess. Seafaring families are used to tragedy. But nothing can prepare you for such losses when they intrude into your loved ones' lives without warning.


Sam gave evidence at the inquiry into the incident, which can be read here:


Report into the tragic loss of the 'Amy Isabel's boat and two members of her crew 6th Feb 1897


I wrote this song in the video below, in memory of the heroes who sail out to face the perils of the ocean. It's partly in the form of a lullaby for Ada, the little daughter our George left behind, sung from the point of view of his grief-stricken widow Martha.

Its images include the superstitions of the fishermen's communities, such as never saying goodbye or looking back so as not to incur bad luck on a voyage. Some wives even carried their husbands onto the ships so they didn't get their feet wet!

The final verse also mentions the superstition that a baby's 'caul', (that part of the amniotic sac that occasionally emerges on the head on a new born baby), is considered lucky. A caul was preserved in the maritime community as an object of wonder, believed to protect its keeper from drowning.


The title and chorus of the song is "Round, Round." I wrote it knowing that in singing it, the words could also be taken as "Drowned, Drowned,"and the meaning there is, of course, not unintentional on my part.

I sing it in tribute to my long lost distant cousin and all my seafaring and sailing ancestors, to whom I dedicate it with love and profoundest respect: