The Old Man of the Sea

Grandad’s description of the monster from the sea was pretty terrifying. Even more terrifying was the fact that it visited him every night and often during the day – or so he said. Why would a sea monster venture on to land I wondered but I didn't question this. As an impressionable five-year-old with an illusion that all adults told the truth, I was vastly in awe of Gramps and his ability to carry on with everyday life, knowing this invisible creature could spring on him any second. It would have meant a quick and horrible exit for Gramps and I often composed poems that I intended to read out at his funeral. These eulogies were quite often quite profound in some ways and terrible bad taste in others.  

One that I can remember went like this:

Old Gramps was tough – the monster found him hard to chew,
It spat him out a few times and I noticed Gramps went blue.
His head poked from the monster’s mouth, it was not a pretty sight
in spite of that I must admit Gramps still put up a fight.
And now he’s in the monster’s tummy and will be evermore
so I hope the monster’s tummy will get very very sore.

This particular poem lacked any profundity whatsoever.  I still thought it was good though. Funny thing though was that Gramps did not die at that stage. He continued to battle on but then considering the life he had led earlier as a fisherman in terrible storms when many of the crew had been killed by falling overboard, his toughness was unsurprising. Mind you Gramps did reveal to me once that the men killed by falling overboard had taken too much whisky.  They weren’t killed by thunder or lightning or giant breakers.  I kind of thought that was a pity in some ways and went into denial about the truth for some years.

Yes indeed, Grandad had been a ‘Man of the Sea’  – his own description –  and he looked the part too, very weatherbeaten and craggy.  His beard was long and had its own life.  I tended to think that even if grandad did not venture to sea again his beard might go off on its own and captain its own ship. Even have it’s own parrot nestling in the midst of it. I think at times Gramp’s fishing background merged with a pirate one.  Much more exciting.  

Years passed and at the age of ten, I ceased to believe in Grandad’s tales.  I had stopped believing in Father Christmas, so it was a natural progression. Gramps though, still maintained that the monster was continuing to plague him, so I still listened to his woes just to humour him. After all one has to humour the aged, especially aged fishermen. His seafaring life of the past had not allowed the years to be kind to him and he was beginning to look old and seaweedy.  Also he had a vacant expression, that could have only come from staring out to sea with no land in sight, for God knows how many years. His legs were a bit bowed and brown with what looked like barnacles climbing up them and his feet were like flat kippers. His hands were the worst though: covered in blue rivers that were rising as they made their way to a final estuary. I actually put that description in an essay and my teacher praised it, gave me a gold star but did say it showed a lack of respect for Gramp‘s age. His blue eyes, once the colour of the great oceans were beginning to muddy a bit too.

I tried hard to look sympathetic and understanding as I listened to Gramp’s tales of the monster still plaguing him but my mind was full of other exciting things, like Superman, Batman and other Marvel heroes,  They had far more to offer than Gramps did.  If I had actually seen the monster for myself, it would have made a difference.

A year later I stand with mum on a deserted beach as the dawn rises. The water’s cold edge laps between our toes so that we do not venture further in to scatter Gramp’s ashes. Never mind, it will still take him back to his old boat or what was left of it.

Mum turns to me and says, “I hope the monster doesn’t follow him!”

I look at her aghast.  “You knew?  Was it real?”

“As real as any ghost can be,” she says.  “He called your grandmother a monster didn’t you know? When she died, he said she turned into even more of a monster by coming back to haunt him.”

I looked at the small waves dispersing Gramp’s ashes and could say nothing.

“Mum was always a nag. She had a cruel sharp tongue too.  I’m afraid I took after her for a while.”

The last speck of Grandad went in flourish of seafoam. “Is that why dad left us, too?”

“Yes, when you were a baby.”.

We turned from the water’s edge and looked up as the sun shot pale light across the sand. I was thinking now very hard and mum seemed to tune into those thoughts.

“Why did he call her a sea monster?”  It was the only part that didn’t fit.

“She was a good swimmer and loved the sea just as your grandfather did.  Maybe your Grandad embellished that a bit.  But the rest was true. I saw her myself. Very scary.”

She holds my hand briefly for as long as an eleven year old boy will allow, before it makes him feel ‘soppy’. Then she let it go. We hear gulls crying overhead as our footprints become less distinct in the sand closer to the sea wall steps. Grandad was far from us now, riding atop foamy flurries, hopefully at peace.

“Maybe it was for the best,” she says quietly. “Your dad left at the right time and it made me come to my senses...before I turned into a monster, too.”