Sentence The Onehundredandthirteenth
Now, we are fast approaching a nautical adventure which has been hinted at previously but from which we have strayed – as stray we always must – in order to make some attempt to keep the various strands of our, admittedly, at times, rather shipwrecky (to continue our oceanic theme) narrative progressing as a flotilla may, upon the seas of life; so, before we get carried away on our digression, let us turn away from the party of golfers we have been accompanying, for golfers miss the best sights to be found in this seaside town and port, and let us follow that young woman with the twinkling legs who skips down this cobbled lane, lined with quaint and picturesque cottages of the kind oft-called 'Sea Houses' as they were built many generations ago to shelter those who earn their livings on the foamy brine – yes, that again – and as we turn another corner, Lo! see the vista that opens up before our very eyes and describe the scene as best you may: it is a busy harbour, bustling with countless pennant streaming fishing smacks, trawlers, lobster-catchers, dirty British coasters with their salt-caked smoke stacks, motor car and foot passenger ferries, yachts and dinghies with sails of every colour; the quays and promenades are filled with fishermen and fishwives, trawlermen unloading their catches of the silver darlings, see them spill across the decks. and dealers from all the cities of Britain and beyond are buying and loading their fleets of vans which race off to the finest hotels and palaces with their trays of fish packed in ice; and alongside these scenes of industry and commerce, there are the crowds of sightseers, craning their necks to glimpse any celebrity who might be passing – titled heads of every state in Europe have passed this way, Hollywood Stars, Prime Ministers and Presidents, along with small boys and girls in sailor suits and hats, skipping and dodging between the legs of passengers and crewmen, heaving, rolling and lugging steamer trunks and all other manner of luggage on board one of the mighty leviathans of the sea – ocean liners flying the flags of every state in the world and every great steamer company and all eyes are on the
Daily Steamer to Marseilles, due to move off within the quarter-hour with her full complement of passengers and crew, and Lo! she exclaimed to herself, spotting a familiar face among the hustle and jostle, for there is Captain Phemie, waving maniacally as she stands, feet wide apart, four-square and indomitable on the deck of her trusty boat – The Lady – her sleek lines trim and sparkling, her aspect freshly painted, as so too is The Lady; and so the feet nimbly hasten, up the gangway and skip aboard the sweetly spruced-up vessel, where ne'er a barnacle can be seen, for every saxicoline that had clung tenaciously to her keel has been hauled and become jetsam and Phemie, her boat and her crew – for Miss Cristal Caddy is now officially her Mate; and as she pipes her visitor aboard, she – the boarder, Theresa that is, turns and beckons the crowd waiting on the quayside to follow and Phemie bawls out: “this way for The Bass, me Hearties!”
Now, we are fast approaching a nautical adventure which has been hinted at previously but from which we have strayed – as stray we always must – in order to make some attempt to keep the various strands of our, admittedly, at times, rather shipwrecky (to continue our oceanic theme) narrative progressing as a flotilla may, upon the seas of life; so, before we get carried away on our digression, let us turn away from the party of golfers we have been accompanying, for golfers miss the best sights to be found in this seaside town and port, and let us follow that young woman with the twinkling legs who skips down this cobbled lane, lined with quaint and picturesque cottages of the kind oft-called 'Sea Houses' as they were built many generations ago to shelter those who earn their livings on the foamy brine – yes, that again – and as we turn another corner, Lo! see the vista that opens up before our very eyes and describe the scene as best you may: it is a busy harbour, bustling with countless pennant streaming fishing smacks, trawlers, lobster-catchers, dirty British coasters with their salt-caked smoke stacks, motor car and foot passenger ferries, yachts and dinghies with sails of every colour; the quays and promenades are filled with fishermen and fishwives, trawlermen unloading their catches of the silver darlings, see them spill across the decks. and dealers from all the cities of Britain and beyond are buying and loading their fleets of vans which race off to the finest hotels and palaces with their trays of fish packed in ice; and alongside these scenes of industry and commerce, there are the crowds of sightseers, craning their necks to glimpse any celebrity who might be passing – titled heads of every state in Europe have passed this way, Hollywood Stars, Prime Ministers and Presidents, along with small boys and girls in sailor suits and hats, skipping and dodging between the legs of passengers and crewmen, heaving, rolling and lugging steamer trunks and all other manner of luggage on board one of the mighty leviathans of the sea – ocean liners flying the flags of every state in the world and every great steamer company and all eyes are on the
Daily Steamer to Marseilles, due to move off within the quarter-hour with her full complement of passengers and crew, and Lo! she exclaimed to herself, spotting a familiar face among the hustle and jostle, for there is Captain Phemie, waving maniacally as she stands, feet wide apart, four-square and indomitable on the deck of her trusty boat – The Lady – her sleek lines trim and sparkling, her aspect freshly painted, as so too is The Lady; and so the feet nimbly hasten, up the gangway and skip aboard the sweetly spruced-up vessel, where ne'er a barnacle can be seen, for every saxicoline that had clung tenaciously to her keel has been hauled and become jetsam and Phemie, her boat and her crew – for Miss Cristal Caddy is now officially her Mate; and as she pipes her visitor aboard, she – the boarder, Theresa that is, turns and beckons the crowd waiting on the quayside to follow and Phemie bawls out: “this way for The Bass, me Hearties!”
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