Faith and fear lettering on the ribs

The gale came in on Tuesday with the evening tide, and the Harbour Street shutters were still up when Mrs Pascoe knocked to say the Mary Ellen had lost her mast off the Gannet. You will hear the rest from the papers, so I will not write it out. What I want to tell you is about the board over the boathouse door, which I went down to scrub on Wednesday because nobody else would.

Father painted it the winter before he went out with the crew. Faith in his curling copperplate, then a ruled line, then fear in the plain black capitals he used for the tide tables. People laughed at it. Mr Hosking said a sign like that ought to say Lifeboat Station and be done. Father only said the line was the bit you could not see from the shore, and that a boat always went out on the far side of it.

I filled the bucket and worked the wire brush from the top down, and when I reached the line my hand stopped. The paint under it was newer than the rest. Somebody had gone over the word fear again this spring, very neatly, so the letters stood out sharp against the grey wood. I think it was Father, though he never went near the boathouse after his chest went bad. I left it alone.

I am coming home on the Thursday boat, so keep your head down on the crossing and bring me back the good thread for the nets. I will bring the brushes.

Love, Nell