Harborside

Net lofts, fish cellars and the Customs House. The smell of tar never quite leaves your coat.

From Hale’s notebook

The Customs House still stands. It sells ice cream now. I stood at the foot of its stairs for a long time: fourteen stone steps, worn in the middle like old spoons. In 1953 the cellars under the harbor wall salted pilchards by the ton, and on Lantern Night the boats came in early to hang their lamps from the masts. Most of the names on these pages worked with their hands and were up before the tide.