Edward FitzGerald and "Posh" / "Herring Merchants"

“Neighbour’s fare” was long in coming to FitzGerald in his venture as a “herring merchant.”  But he was happy enough in the consciousness that he was doing Posh a good turn.  Whether or not Posh had a greater share of the earnings of the boat than he was entitled to I cannot say.  Certainly he began to thrive exceedingly about this time, and, as an old longshoreman seven years Posh’s senior, said to me the other day, “He might ha’ been a gennleman!  He used to kape his greyhounds, and he had as pratty a mare as the’ wuz in Lowestoft.  Ah! Mr. FitzGerald was a good gennleman to him—that he wuz!”

But whether the year had been bad or good, it was necessary for the sleeping partner to look into the accounts of the firm.

On Christmas Day of 1867, when the season was over and all the herring drifters had “made up,” that is to say, had worked out their accounts and struck a balance of profit or loss, Fitzgerald wrote to Posh:—

Well, he had his wish, though Posh maintains that there was gain in the business at a certain time to be referred to hereafter, and that there might have been plenty of gain but for the “interfarin’ parties” before mentioned.

And FitzGerald had, before ever the partnership was an accomplished fact, impressed on Posh the importance of remembering his debts.

Before the spring fishing began in 1868 the question of accounts came to the fore.  On March the 29th the sleeping partner wrote from Woodbridge:—

The Mr. Spalding here referred to was at that time the manager for a large firm of agricultural implement makers.  Subsequently he became the curator of the museum at Colchester, and the letters from FitzGerald to him which were handed to Mr. Francis Hindes Groome formed the most valuable part of the second part of Two Suffolk Friends called “Edward FitzGerald.  An Aftermath.”

Mr. Durrant was a market gardener and fruiterer in Lowestoft, and his sons carry on the same business in three shops in Lowestoft now.  One of them remembers FitzGerald as a visitor and “a queer old chap,” and that’s all he knows about him.

I do not think Posh troubled himself much about the accounts.  But there was another subject already broached which was to cause some unpleasantness between the partners.

But in this first instance Posh gave way.  On April 14th FitzGerald wrote Mr. Spalding: “I believe that he and I shall now sign the Mortgage Papers that make him owner of Half Meum and Tuum.  I only get out of him that he can’t say he sees much amiss in the Deed.”  But Posh is still bitter about that deed, and still blames his old “guv’nor” for having listened to the “interfarin’ parties.”  He does not know what was the matter with him that spring.  “I was quare, sir,” he says.  “I don’t know what ta was.  But I was quare.”

“Mackerel still come in very slow, sometimes none at all: the dead calm nights play the deuce with the Fishing, and I see no prospect of change in the weather till the Mackerel shall be changing their Quarters.  I am vexed to see the Lugger come in Day after day so poorly stored after all the Labour and Time and Anxiety given to the work by her Crew; but I can do no more, and at any rate take my share of the Loss very lightly.  I can afford it better than they can.  I have told Newson to set sail and run home any Day, Hour, or Minute, when he wishes to see his Wife and Family.”

Now that the Meum and Tuum was ready for work FitzGerald’s anxiety for the lives of her crew made him insist upon their taking life-belts aboard with them, although the mate had stated that no one would wear them.  On April 24th a letter was written to Posh from Woodbridge.

For the sake of convenience I give a letter here which is somewhat out of date, but inasmuch as it has nothing to do with the fishing but only with the trust which FitzGerald had in Posh it may very well come in here.

The glass was, Posh assures me, a good one.  But no one knows what became of it.  Later FitzGerald again mentions the glass.

And it isn’t a bad yarn for one which is actually true in every respect.

About the same time, or a little later (for it is impossible to fix the date of these letters definitely), Fitzgerald wrote:—

The “making up” may require some little explanation.  The “drift” fishing—i.e. the herring and mackerel fishing (for though sprats and pilchards are caught by drift nets, it is unnecessary to consider them when dealing with the great North Sea drift fishing)—is carried on on a system of sharing profits between owners and fishermen.  Trawlers, i.e. craft that fish with a “trawl” net for flat fish, haddocks, etc., etc., are managed differently.

“Making up” is the technical term for balancing profit and loss of a season, and ascertaining the sums which are due to owners and crew respectively.

Posh, as half owner, would take four-sixteenth shares, and as skipper would probably take another two-sixteenths, so that he would draw more than any one else.

Posh does not remember whether he laid out the three halfpence or not.  But he doubts it.  “I knowed as that couldn’t ha’ nothin’ ta dew along o’ us,” says he.  And he stuck to his guns and proved to be right.

“. . . I only left Lowestoft partly to avoid a Volunteer Camp there which filled the Town and People with Bustle: and partly that my Captain might see his Wife: who cannot last very much longer I think: scarcely through the Autumn, surely.  She goes about, nurses her children, etc., but grows visibly thinner, weaker and more ailing.”

The builders were at work on Little Grange, which FitzGerald predicted he would never live in but would die in.  However, he falsified both predictions, for he lived in the house ten years and died in Norfolk.

Mr. Durrant was still in default.  I doubt if FitzGerald ever got those flowers.  They were plants, Posh tells me, which FitzGerald wished to plant out at Little Grange.

“My dear Cowell,

“. . . My lugger Captain has just left me to go on his Mackerel Voyage to the Western Coast; and I don’t know when I shall see him again. . . .  You can’t think what a grand, tender Soul this is, lodged in a suitable carcase.”

FitzGerald thought very highly of that “carcase” of Posh’s, as will be seen from the story of the Laurence portrait, set forth hereinafter, as the lawyers, whom Posh hates so much, would say.

The sleeping partner throughout seems to have had more anxiety on account of Posh’s sea hazards than on account of business losses.  How the mackerel paid I do not know, but Posh was in time to go north for the beginning of the herring fishing in July.

There must always be an interval ashore between the return of the drifters from the western voyage and their sailing north to follow the herring down from Aberdeen to Yarmouth.  And during this interval, in 1869, FitzGerald wrote one or two letters to Posh which have survived that wholesale destruction of which their recipient speaks.

Despite his silk hat and his boa, FitzGerald was a keen and genuine lover of yachting.  Even in the way in which he took his enjoyment of this he was original.  Posh asserts that he has seen his “guv’nor” lying in the lee scuppers while the Scandal was heeling over in a stiff breeze, and permitting the wash of the sea to run over him till he was drenched to the skin.  Indeed, although his long lean body looked frail, he was reckless in the way in which he treated it.  Posh tells one story which I give in his words.  He vouches for its truth, and I give it on his authority and not as vouching for its accuracy myself.  Personally I believe the tale is true enough, but I admit that it requires a power of assimilation which is not given to all.

But before Posh was hard at it every day, fishing off the Norfolk coast, his “guv’nor” wrote him a note in a much more cheerful strain.  Indeed, this is a letter by itself, unlike any other of the writer’s which I have seen, though (as Dr. Aldis Wright says) “FitzGerald never wrote a letter like any one else.”  The power of throwing himself “into the picture,” the humour of conscious imitation, were never more brilliantly illustrated than by this hail-fellow-well-met letter, written by the scholar and poet:—

Once again FitzGerald chuckles at the morality of the “salwagers,” and chuckles again at the expansiveness of the East Anglian “half a pint,” which may mean anything between its nominal measure and the full holding capacity of the drinker—which is as vague as “half a pint,” itself.

The Elsie was a yacht which belonged to a syndicate of Woodbridge yachtsmen, of whom Mr. Silver (a Woodbridge friend of FitzGerald’s) was one and Mr. Manby was another.  The two friends who went to Mutford Bridge to look at the lugger were (so far as Posh can remember) Mr. Silver and Mr. Cobbold, of Cobbold’s Bank.  Posh says that the lugger was a beauty.  But nothing came of the visit, and the Woodbridge man did not buy her.

The hopes for the home fishing of 1869 should have been good.  On August 30th, 1869 (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 114), FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding from Lowestoft: “You will see by the enclosed that Posh has had a little better luck than hitherto.  One reason for my not going to Woodbridge is, that I think it possible that this N.E. wind may blow him hither to tan his nets.  Only please God it don’t tan him and his people first.”

It is to the credit of the great heart of the man that he never lost his love of Posh (Posh is certain about this), though he undoubtedly did lose his confidence in and respect for him.

And Posh’s old eyes will water.  Indeed, I have noticed a likeness between the thoughts of Posh in reference to FitzGerald and the remorse of the son of a loving father who had tried his sire hard in lifetime and understood that he had done so after his father’s death.  Even now, this old man of sixty-nine leans, metaphorically, on the recollection of the man who loved him so.  Even now he says, “Ah! that would ha’ upset him if he’d known I should ha’ come to this!”

He did.

Posh says that there “were lots o’ breezes” between him and his “guv’nor,” and when the reader of this study (who should have got to know something of FitzGerald’s attitude by now) realises this he will be able to appreciate the long-suffering generosity of this cultured scholar whom fools have painted as a mere eccentric hermit.  Posh, now that he was well started by the aid of his governor, began to yearn for independence.  Possibly he had some reason to complain that his sleeping partner interfered in matters of which he was ignorant.  On September 21st, 1869, FitzGerald wrote to Mr. Spalding (Two Suffolk Friends, p. 118):—

The first is dated February 1st—that is to say, February 1st, 1870—and was written at Woodbridge by FitzGerald to his partner.  The letter, as handed to me by Posh, was incomplete, and lacked signature.  No doubt the second sheet had been lost with those “sackfuls.”

Even here, when Posh had obviously gone beyond his rights and bought another boat without consultation with his capitalist partner, FitzGerald shows his anxiety and solicitude for the man.

There is a good deal of dust flying about the net chambers; for the cutch and oil and thread all shred off and poison the air.  “Why,” said Posh the other day, “he bought me one o’ them things that goo oover the mouth” (a respirator), “but lor!  I should ha’ been ashamed ta be seed a wearin’ on it!”

I have, of course, chuckled over the opinion that Dr. Worthington senior was “very expensive.”  But I believe that FitzGerald was one of those (I might almost say “of us”) who regarded all doctor’s bills as luxuries!  At all events, if FitzGerald was right, I can say that Dr. Dick Worthington is not atavistic in this particular!

Mr. Spalding’s opinion inclined FitzGerald to make no difficulty about finding the money for the Henrietta.  He lodged it at his bankers’ for Posh to draw when occasion required.  But Posh seems to have been a little in advance.  There is no heading whatever to the following letter.

Shortly after the last letter FitzGerald wrote again.  Now his kind anxiety about this man, whom he still loved, outweighed all thought of money.  It was a bitter winter, and Posh, he thought, was not over-hale.

I think this must have been written about the date of the letter with which I commence the next chapter, or possibly a little later.  It would, almost certainly, be after the catches of mackerel mentioned by “Mr. Manby” as hereinafter appears, and, very likely, after the termination of the partnership.