SHANTY TIME

During the eight years or so that we have lived beside the sea and most usually, but not always, when the weather is good, we have developed a habit of driving to the seafront in the early evening to enjoy the air, the view, and in certain conditions, the sunset, which can be wonderful. This is often a much better prospect than going to the prom during the day, because in the evening there are likely to be places to park while most of the trippers have gone home, or at least back to their cars or the railway station.
Sometimes we even have the promenade largely to ourselves. Most often, there are just a few people about, strollers, like us, enjoying the atmosphere.
Of course, eight years is not a long time, and we would still be classified as newcomers by some long-term residents. It is a side issue, I know, but we realised only quite recently that some folk, who may have lived here for many decades, hardly ever go to the seafront, anyway. When we say we've been to look at the sea, they look at us with a decidedly odd expression. Is it something to do with familiarity breeding indiference? I don't know.
Anyway, one evening a short time ago the weather was fine, and so we parked the car near the West End of the prom, took a short stroll, and then found ourselves seats overlooking the incoming tide and affording distant views of the cluster of wind turbines several miles offshore. There were also a couple of ships at anchor.
And it was then we caught the sound of singing, wafting in the breeze. A short stroll towards the sound confirmed that it was the Shantymen, twenty or so of them, performing songs in the open air at the fishermen's slipway, surrounded by dozens of supporters and spectators.
They were marking not only the recent refurbishment of the slipway but also the choir's 25th anniversary. The Shantymen first got together in 1990 for a couple of one-off concerts, and they have not stopped since. Some of them are former fishermen or lifeboatmen, plus a mix of engineers, social worker, electricians, surveyors, ex-policemen, and the like, all brought together by a love of the sea, and sea songs.
Now they are known throughout the country, having performed at many different locations and on television, and they have even made their own CDs. Locally, of course, they are exceedingly popular, for they make such a happy sound. So we stayed, transfixed, and listened to them.
There were songs of ships and sailing, of faraway places and voyages to South Australia and Botany Bay, and of family and girls left behind. And it was magical. For here was the open air, fishing boats on the slipway, the shrieking nd swooping of gulls, and the hiss and churn of the incoming tide. And voices in the wind, making themselves heard.