Argosy, September 1955 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

KEM BENNETT T five-thirty the buzzer went and Albert Pascoe stopped _ shovelling china clay in the hold of the Danish freighter i Langeland. At five-thirty-five, in company with fifty other dockers, and with a quarter-litre of smuggled aquavit in a tomato- ketchup bottle in his pocket, Albert walked past the policeman on duty at the dock gates. Then, and then only, did he permit — himself to let go a breath of gusty relief which shifted a cloud of — white dust from the hairs of his stubby moustache. The ferry was waiting. Albert went aboard, a short, stiff man ‘in middle age, filled with good nature, argument, and Cornish b independence. When they were halfway across the estuary, Harry. Sims, the ferryman, came up. “‘ Evening, Albert.’ BS sf Evening, Harry.” a “'They’m running, boy.” | a Albert blinked at the ferryman. “They be?” He went to — the side and stared down into the clear water, thinking of great — silver fish. A moment later he thought of his fine net, hanging in the woodshed behind his cottage, and of his boat, moored — half a mile upstream. ‘Then, sourly, he remembered Herbert — of Whiteway, the water-bailiff, and spat his disgust overboard. The law said that the salmon had to be left in peace to finish their journey to the spawning-grounds at the head of the Fowey ~ River. The law enforced its opinion with the threat of a fifty- S pound fine. Albert winced; then spat again, in disgust and for — the more practical reason that he needed to rid his throat of a Bi layer of china clay. B.: The ferry came to a stop at the slip below Pendennick, whose single street plunged like a madman’s ski-jump. Albert paid his Pe ; fare—a penny—and started to clump slowly up the hill to the © top, where lay his cottage and where the rolling Cornish farmland — started, with its fat cattle, gull-dotted ploughland, and sleek rds ey comicbooks, sco hist! bef