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Captain’s journal
Captain’s journal 25th December, 1673
Matthew’s passing had prompted a sombre and reflective mood amongst the crew. After 15 years, there were precious few left who had sailed under him, but all had heard the stories and he was as real a crew member to many of them as the men they worked beside. The panacea for these ills would have been the activity and urgency of our planned infiltration of the Governor’s Mansion in Jamaica. As cruel fortune would have it, my Mother’s contact to gain access to the building would now be away ‘till beyond St Stephens Day. So, with nothing to distract us we listlessly worked our daily routes, keeping the ship clean, chasing down merchant ships. Rolling Sisyphus’ boulder.
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It was, in part, as remedy to these doldrums that our quartermaster suggested keeping Christmas this year in more elaborate fashion than we ever had before. Last year’s feast was a paltry affair as we’d not put to port for several weeks due to a bad case of recognisability and were waiting ‘till our infamy had died down. Consequently, our Christmas feast consisted of pickled beef, biscuit and some extremely questionable cheese. This was a situation Davy abhorred, having been whelped in a household where Cromwell’s Christmas censure was adhered to with joyless efficiency. So, sailing to the markets on the mainland, Chalky took three men and a barrow to buy geese, hens, brawn, fruit to make pudding and other Christmas husbandly fare.
Holly can be found in the Caribbean, but for Ivy and mistletoe we were left wanting. In spite of this lack, the crew gaily decorated the ship with garlands and sprigs, and a candle in every sconce, although not, of course, in the powder magazine!
This only leaves the alcohol to account for, which was left to Davy’s Christmas punch, a concoction that whilst warming to the spirit was utterly devastating to sense! Strong mountain Malaga wine, brandy, rum, sugar, lemons and nutmeg combined to create a drink with an effect worthy of the name ‘punch’.
We caroused through the day with food and wine, many of the men played cards, always of course ensuring that if Chalky played, they let him win as much as he lost (as mentioned before, the man for all his virtues is a spectacularly ungracious loser). Robert took up his fiddle as the evening wore on, so we had music and all were replete with mirth and good spirits. Towards the end of the day, I sat with Davy (who by this point had drunk enough punch to drown a whale). Being something of a tavern philosopher, he opined that keeping Christmas well was the best thing a man could do. It’s a way of showing that whatever has happened to us we’re still here, unbowed and enjoying ourselves. Whether we suffer a distant monarch seeking to take our freedom, puritanical Cromwell trying to ruin a good time or simply
So, sailin the slings and arrows of outrageous the mar fortune, celebrating Christmas on the bites our collective thumb to all of mainlan them. I’m obviously paraphrasing Chalky to as he slurred most of it, cursed three men repeatedly then fell out of his seat, and a barr but that was the general sense of to buy gee it. However, as mazed as he is, I hens, bra cannot disagree, so a very merry fruit to Christmas to you all and a happy make and prosperous New Year.
It is not unknown for pirates to enjoy drinking alcohol at Christmas or at any other time of year (picture courtesy of Jeff Penfold).
Asingle row of what were once the homes of local fishermen and a pub beside the beach are all that remains of the original hamlet of Saltburn on the coast of North Yorkshire – its name was derived from Saxon words for a local brook, which translates as ‘salty stream’. There used to be several licensed premises in what is now known as Old Saltburn, but only The Ship Inn, which was built in the late 1500s, still survives.
Once the centre of the smuggling trade in the area, it has been enlarged over the centuries, but still retains many features that would be familiar to old-time freebooters. In fact, although electricity arrived at the pub in 1900, hurricane lamps were routinely used during World War II and these polished relics from a bygone age still hang in the bar to this day.
In the days when pirates were most active in the 17th century, smuggling became a way of life for poor coastal villages along the North Sea Coast, particularly on the lonely high cliffs from the mouth of the River Tees to Whitby. At this time, England had become involved in a series of expensive wars in the colonies, as well as Europe, and imposed heavy taxes on imported goods such as alcoholic drinks and tobacco (no change there then). Smuggling was elevated to a fine art at Saltburn, with nearly the entire local population involved in the receipt of contraband deposited on the sandy shore in the lee of Hunt Cliff.
John Andrew was named by his GrandDaughter as the ‘King of Smugglers’ for his skilled and resourceful activities. Born in Scotland, he moved to Saltburn and became proprietor of The Ship Inn in 1780 from where he ran an extensive and profitable smuggling operation, becoming a legendary rogue in the process. It is believed there was a tunnel under the pub used to store illicit cargoes and move goods on to willing customers without the smugglers being seen leaving the building.
He was also Master of the local hunt known as the Cleveland Nimrods, so his pub became a meeting place for hunters to gather and arrange outings for the pack or perhaps there was more to discuss than just sport!
In 1827, John was finally arrested at The Ship Inn and duly presented with a large fine at his trial, which he was unable to pay, so prison beckoned and he eventually died in 1835.
The present landlady, Lisa Burton, welcomes locals, visitors from the adjacent Victorian resort of Saltburn-by-theSea and tourists to her friendly and atmospheric hostelry at any time of year to enjoy tasty, wholesome food in the bar or at tables in the garden where customers can enjoy a drink of cracking Yorkshire ale whilst watching waves roll up the beach. More information from www.shipsaltburn.com
