The Five Pilchards


Fishing nets hung lose from the ceiling. Pictures of old ships covered the walls. Low wooden beams and large sturdy tables painted a picture of stout, little Cornish fisherman drinking to their long time at sea.

I rested my aching feet. The amber coloured beer, of a peculiar name, was sweet nectar to my parched mouth. A packet of cheese and onion crisps quelled the hunger pains from walking the coastal path for three hours.

A cluster of men sat around the bar. They spoke of tales of old in voices that swept through the small enclosed space, into coves and around tight corners.

I nonchalantly stared around the pub, interested in the various ornaments and fishing paraphernalia. I fixed my stare upon two figureheads, both of women. They were so lifelike with their defined features and long flowing hair. I stood up and went and had a closer look. One woman, her stare way out to sea. Her dark, bright eyes conveyed youth and energy. Her skin smooth. The other one, her gaze was slightly averted downwards. Her looks of a mature woman. A violence stirred in her eyes like a cat ready to attack.

I was mesmerised by these figureheads, when I became aware of a man stood beside me.

“You like “em, fresh in today,” the heavily built man said.





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This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)