H is for HARBOUR

We walked there every night and usually at least once during the day. Our rented house lay just off the cliff path, close to the sea and it was no more than a twenty minute, brisk walk, but with a couple of small kids and a buggy it could stretch to much longer. We found a resting place on the wall, close to the harbour and could easily sit there for a couple of hours any evening, while the two lads played on the pebbly beach nearby or climbed over the small rocks beside the footpath. And as they played, their imaginations ran wild and we eavesdropped on their little world as it unfolded before their widening eyes. Often, it was long past their bedtime when we left but wife had already dressed them for bed and protected them from the elements with large, all-in-one sleepy suits that always go unnoticed on young children but might have created a furore if I had chosen to wear on 'down the town'

It wasn't a huge harbour, mainly rectangular in shape with a small opening at one corner to the bigger world beyond. Nestling in its security was a mixture of old and new boats, nothing too flash and most in residence for a purpose. A few belonged to fishermen, one or two of whom probably scraped their livelihood from a day at sea but most appeared to be casual sailors for whom a few fish was an added bonus. Lobster pots lined the path around the harbour and although I never managed to see a live or dead crustacean as I roamed the perimeter, they must have served their purpose at some stage of the day, otherwise they wouldn't have stayed. Every day, a few, more senior individuals congregated in the vicinity of the walls, to enjoy a pipe of tobacco or just a chat and to watch the world drift by. Few noticed them, in the rush of driving past, but they were always there, long past taking a boat out on the waters but possibly reliving past experiences at beyond the harbour walls. For most of the day, like any other harbour, the boats remained still and empty, save for the odd enthusiast on board and several seemed not to have moved for a long time, but they must have all been sea-worthy to be worth a place in the harbour.

At the weekend it was a hive of activity, with the odd fish stall, ice-cream stand and a preacher competing for the attention of the hundreds of tourists who invaded the main street. And most people seemed to have the same agenda, a walk along the cliff path ending in the harbour and an ice cream in one of the town's parlours.

I've been to different harbours, all over the world and they all exhibit that same sense of emptiness and isolation, where the boats are left alone while the owners discover the surroundings inland. Sometimes, the smell of cooking, a faint cabin light or a pair of sandals standing idly on the gangway is the only indication of life on board. Yet at some stage, they all leave the harbour for deeper water and whatever it may hold. I'm not a seafaring man but I know from sitting on the walls that leaving the harbour just doesn't happen. It takes a lot of preparation to have everything on board that you need, to know that your boat isn't going to sink in deeper water and to know how to handle it when you get outside the walls and conditions change. I'd be absolutely hopeless because all my sea knowledge wouldn't cover a postage stamp. But I guess that even with all the knowledge, to make it worthwhile, you still have to get out of the harbour. Being a Christian can be pretty secure at times, as long as you don't look over the walls. I suppose for a lot of believers that's where their adventure with God begins and ends. But where is the thrill and excitement of serving Him, when you spend your life tied to the church wall with maybe the occasional short trip beyond its safety. Jesus challenges us to 'go into all the world and preach the gospel' and says that he will make us 'fishers of men.' And he never sends us out unprepared for deep water. We'll not reach much of the world if we only see a short distance beyond the walls and I've never seen too much fishing in the harbour.