He was an old man who fished alone by the coast of Newcastle upon Tyne and he had gone five years now – ever since his arrival on September 24, 2017 – without taking a fish. For a few days in late-2022 an Australian boy named Bigs Bardot had been with him.
But after some time without a fish the local chavs had told Bigs that the old man, known as Fiddler’s Green, despite his impressive height of more than two metres, was unlikely to catch any fish as he was made from corten steel and, thus, unable to move his hands at all, and the boy had popped off to the nearby Wetherspoon for their famous Thursday night Curry Club meal deal, paired with a cheeky glass of Wolf Blass Sparkling Brut with a slice of strawberry.
It made the boy sad to see the old man sitting by himself each day, often with a chubby seagull perched atop his head, and he always trotted down there to munch on a selection of lovingly-prepared canapés whilst admiring the statue’s intricate details, which provided a haunting commentary on a world Bigs knew precious little about.
A tribute to the countless fisherman lost to the pitiless brine, Fiddler’s Green had been meticulously crafted by renowned artist and steel fabricator Ray Lonsdale. All who swaggered past remarked that his work had been a permanent success.
Even though he weighed more than two tonnes, the old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. Inspired by a photograph taken in North Shields in 1961 by local photographer Harry Hann, titled The Salt, the old man seemed to contemplate the fate of his fellow fishermen. Wordless, breathless, his gaze acknowledged that he, too, shall be lost to the ocean one day.
The severe, carved ridges in his tunic and the aching contours of his ruggedly handsome face stood as a testament to the brutal reality of life at sea. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions in a fishless desert.
Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same colour as the sea and were super cheerful and undefeated. Which came as no surprise to Bigs, as this memorial was designed with a life expectancy of 150 years.
“Fiddler’s Green,” the boy said to him as they huddled together in a futile bid to stave off the biting autumnal breeze. “You can come with me. We’ll move to Manchester, get a flat in a trendy, yet still affordable area, and make a life together.”
The old man had taught the boy to love and the boy loved him.
“No, Bigs” the old man said. “You know I’m enchanted by Manchester’s burgeoning craft beer scene and eclectic markets as much as anyone, but the waves will always be my home.”
“But remember how we popped out to the Gay Village for a quick watermelon and ruby grapefruit hard seltzer and then didn’t make it back to our hotel for three weeks?”
“I remember,” the old man said. “I know you did not leave me even when I passed out in the toilets with a fishbowl on my head.”
“It was the bouncer made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey him.”
“I know,” the old man said. “It is quite normal.”
“He threatened to punch me in the kidneys until I cried blood.”
“Yes Manchester’s bouncers are notoriously violent,” the old man said. “They basically had to pour us into the street by the end of it, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” the boy said. “Can I offer you a watermelon and ruby grapefruit hard seltzer on the Terrace and then we’ll go home?”
“Why not?” the old man said. “I’ll pack a dufflebag!”
