|
Eve Streeter investigates the fishy goings on at the seafront
and ends up a Fisherman's Friend for the day.
If
you're in the need of a bit of cheering up, go and buy
some fish. Any old kind of fish will do, but not any old
kind of place. For if it's a smile on your face you're
after, and that wonderful feeling that it's not such a
bad world after all, you'll have to visit the city's fresh
fish sellers on the seafront. Just don't make any plans
for the rest of your day, as you might not want to leave.
And you might forget you ever came there for fish in the
first place.
Yes,
on an arctic day under a blue sky, I found the heart of
Brighton down by the sea. I'd gone expecting a brief chat
about the price of fish and ended up spending the best
part of two days learning, laughing and watching the world
go by with straight-talking people with huge hearts. Although
Brighton prides itself on being a thoroughly modern city
with thoroughly modern attitudes, we, like those before
us, continue to be drawn to the traditional heart of the
city: the seafront. The sea has always fed our new city,
from the fishing industry it spawned to the tourist trade
it attracted. Alan and Carol Hayes and Jack and Linda
Mills are part of that landscape.
Alan
and Carol own the fresh fish shop on the seafront. Alan
has been fishing nearly all his life and, like many of
the people involved in the trade down under the arches,
it's in his blood. "Born in Ship Street with my playground
on the beach, I've been on this part of the beach since
I could cross the road on my own, and was trying to get
a ride in a boat since I was 10 or 11." It's a life
spent outdoors that shows on his weathered face, and I
feel I'm in the presence of a man who isn't afraid of
the elements. He cuts a no-nonsense, yet genial figure
on this beach he knows so well, with time and talk for
everybody and a charming ability to generate happy laughter
wherever he goes. Unlike many in the business, his family
weren't fishermen. He went to sea because "I liked
messing about with water," and was taught the trade
by his wife Carol's uncle. "He was one of the old
breed of fishermen," and part of a family that can
trace it's fishing roots back to 1623.
Sitting
with Alan as he sells shellfish to passers by on a bitingly
beautiful day, there's something that feels very timeless
as I watch babies being pushed past in prams, children
laughing and running, friends chatting and old ladies
nattering, all enjoying a sunny day by the sea just as
they might have done 100 years ago. While the town behind
it buzzes to a backdrop of nightlife and neon, time here
seems to have paused and taken a breath. And taken time
to be civil.
In
reality, however, the picture is one of continuing change,
especially in terms of the city's fishing industry. In
fact you might well ask: what fishing industry? If there
is fishing in Brighton, where are the boats, where are
the fishermen? "Years ago there were 100 fishing
boats along this beach, but gradually they got less and
less because the council thought they were an eyesore,"
says Jack Mills who, together with his wife Linda, were
the last fishermen on this stretch of beach. The aesthetic
demands of tourism, together with the ease of harbouring
in deeper waters, mean that today's beach is bare of boats.
But what that doesn't mean is that this is an industry
in decline; just that if you want to find fishermen, you'll
have to go to the Marina or to the harbour at Shoreham.
In
the hearts of the men who have watched the industry change
on Brighton's seafront, however, there's a strong sense
that fishing isn't what it used to be along this stretch
of the coast. "It's still got the biggest fishing
industry in the whole of Sussex. You just don't see it,"
says Jack. But it's not the same life as they remember.
Modern techniques mean that man can fish more than the
sea can produce and stocks are increasingly unable to
replenish themselves. "Forty years ago you would
fish 20 nets in the spring for eight weeks, which you'd
pull up by hand, says Alan. "It was as much as a
man could do. Now they're fishing 100 nets every day of
the year because of modern technology. It will be the
death of the industry. Now you can plough the sea like
a field and sounders and satellites mean you can over-fish."
There's
something in the wistful way these fishermen talk of the
industry today that suggests that while fishing isn't
in decline, something is: it's the spirit of the thing.
"Back then we all worked together. We went out together
and came back together and it was more of a family concern,"
says Alan. "The whole town knew someone who was in
the fishing and we looked out for each other. It's a little
less of a community now and it's a different type of fishing.
It's much more of a big business."
The
old spirit is still strong among the fish sellers along
the seafront, however, who are now the most visible elements
of the city's fishing industry. Theirs is a community
and a family concern. This is more than the old heart
of Brighton; it is the soul of the place. These people
really care: care about fishing, about their work, about
the service they provide and about the people they provide
for.
Both
businesses are rewarded with regular customers, some from
as far as Bognor Regis and Milton Keynes, who come not
only for the guarantee of fresh fish, but for an experience
of shopping you just wouldn't find at the impersonal check-outs
of supermarkets. If you've bought fish from Carol Hayes
during the six years she's been in business, chances are
she'll remember your face and that your mother was unwell
the last time she saw you. She's a woman who can seem
formidable when you first meet her; she's a straight-talker
who doesn't suffer fools. But she melts soon enough -
generally into a big elfin smile and an infectious laugh.
"It's not a shop, it's home. It's a home for everybody,"
she says. Her regulars come in all shapes and sizes, from
nine-year-old Charlie who always visits when he comes
to stay with his dad at weekends, and eight-year-old Alice,
or 'The Crab Stick Queen' as she's known, to a couple
of old ladies who are both over 90. "When it was
their birthday, I got a crab and dressed it for them as
a little present and took it to them," says Carol.
It's
this thoughtfulness that sets these seafront businesses
apart, and somehow the selling of fish becomes small fry
in the face of these acts of human kindness. "Carol
should never have been a fisherwoman. She would have been
a marvellous carer," says Sid, who lost his wife
last year and now comes to the shop to sit and help out
come rain or shine. "There are very few people like
her. She's always there to help people, no matter who
they are." "If my daughter sees me talking to
a customer and asking them how they are, she jokes 'they'll
be at the table Christmas Day!'" says Carol.
It's
a rare thing today, but people, not pounds, are the driving
force behind these businesses. "If it was for the
money, I wouldn't be here," says Carol. "Business
isn't steady. You don't know from one day to the next
how it's going to be and you could be standing here all
day for nothing." The fresh fish shop is open all-year
round, but closes if the sea is rough and the boat hasn't
been able to go out. And the regulars know that what's
available is what's been caught on the day. "I couldn't
say there's a most popular fish as people buy whatever
we've got. But huss is a favourite. And plaice and cod."
Jack
and Linda run the only commercial smoke house in Brighton
and it is clear that this is more than just work for them,
too. "This is my life," Jacks tells me. "All
I ever wanted to do was to do fishing. My father insisted
I serve an apprenticeship as an engineer. I hated it,
but did it then went straight to the sea. I love to be
here." He's a tall, proud man with snow-white hair
whose frame nearly fills the arch where he and Linda built
their business three years ago. When he talks of the sea
and fishing, it is with enormous affection and nobility
and, as with all the fish-sellers here, he and Linda have
the look of people who are at peace with their lot in
life. She was the last fisherwoman in Brighton - an unusual
profession, as women were considered unlucky in fishing.
"I was never unlucky," she says with a smile.
"I always caught more fish than anybody else."
I'm sure her warmth and complete lack of affectation make
every customer feel as welcome and at ease as I do as
the last light of the day disappears behind us.
The
couple hung up their nets when Jack had a heart attack
and set up the business with the help of a European grant
that funded the regeneration of the arches. Years ago,
many houses would have had their own little smoking hut,
and one can only imagine the smell that would have hung
in the air in the kipper season. Today it's a tradition
that Jack and Linda are keen to keep alive. All of their
fish is produced organically in a process that sees fresh
fish filleted, marinated in brine and a variety of herbs
and spices, from tarragon to juniper berries, then smoked
over an oak and apple wood fire. And their homemade fish
soup is gaining something of a reputation for being an
excellent hangover cure.
So
the next time you fancy a bit of fish, you'll know where
to go. Go visit the people who get to see the sun set
over the sea every day, and take a moment to enjoy the
heart of Brighton. "It's the best place to be in
the whole town, here," says Alan. And I have to say,
I agree with him.
copyright New Insight 2001
|
