Fishermen's Monument

A late summer dive into Dunbar gave us way more than we bargained for. Such a beautiful seaside location with a solid sense of past.

Rows of houses, tall and small, line the narrow streets, like a Southern Spanish swathe of camino spilling out into the sea. Wandering down Shore Street to the Cromwell Harbour, we found the Fisherman's Monument.

Hugging the harbour walls and kissed by fishing nets and lobster pots, he Fisherman's Monument stands as a nautical navigational aid to those attempting to avoid peril on the sea some centuries ago.

It's a visible description of the term monumental...solid blocks of stacked sandstone, I'd say more than two humans high!

It was funded and erected in 1856 by William Broadie of Seafield Brick and Tile Works, with the marble insert crafted by the Musselburgh sculptor A. Handyside Ritchie.

Over a hundred years before, Oliver Cromwell and his men used this harbour to alight and fight, where he defeated the Scottish Covenanters at the Battle of Dunbar, but on the evening, we visited, there was nothing other than the comforting lap of the sea and soft sun setting on the harbour walls.

The Fisherman's Monument was a key to seafarers' safety in the 1800s. At its heart, it held a barometer to measure the pressure of the air, which was the predictor of bad weather. It was a life saving tool which was, on many days, the deciding factor of whether a sailor should set to sea or stay put!

It's a sort of cenotaph to seafarers who didn't make their way back; a warning from wives not to set sail.

The barometer is now sadly defunct, as had been the relief work that had been nibbled away over the years by the salty seas of time, the wild winds, and the raucous rain of this Northern nub of land. More of that in a minute.

Dunbar sits on a shoulder of coast just below North Berwick and before the sea slices into Edinburgh's Firth of Forth. It's exposed and vulnerable, as were many of the fishermen who set off from these shores to make a living, whaling and bringing shoals and shellfish ashore to sell at market.

I loved the day to day domesticity shown in the stone, a familial scene of care and compassion carved in Carera Marble. Look at the way the wife is imploring her husband not to go.

He, toe on boat, flagon in hand, is raring to go. Their sons are heading up the bow and casting off, untying the rope, ready for the off. Little fishermen in the making.

She, meanwhile, is on bended knee, gathering up her skirt and practically pleading with him not to set sail. Her hand on his arm, her care and consideration are outweighed by his need to provide. In looking, I wondered who'd won this family argy-bargy over the need to stay or be paid. I hope it was her.

There are countless stories of small boats being snapped to sticks in the rough North Sea. Its harsh and cruel waves took the lives of 189 men in 1881 when a freak storm struck, as wives and children who witnessed their loss stood helpless on the Berwickshire coast. So it's easy to have empathy for this worried wife.

The barometer in Cromwell Harbour would have perhaps been the deciding factor in many domestic discussions about whether to sail or stay home.

Rise your eyes up above the marble tableaux.

There's a stone carved sail with a dedication:

Presented to
The fishermen of Dunbar
To whose perilous industry
The Burgh owes so much
Of its prosperity.

The detail in the design here is immense. Look at this swag of sea life carved in sandstone. I could see sea sponges, crabs, clams, whelks, conch, scallops, razor clams, prawns and tightly coiled gastropods, hanging here like the very best haul of the sea.

The inclemency of the weather didn't just get the better of seamen and rheumatic joints; it ate away at the soft sandstone and marble, and in 1998, expert stonemason Michelle De Bruin (Look her up. Her work is breathtaking), who lives in the Scottish Borders, was commissioned to bring new life to old shells and recut the stone sealife to give new life to the monument. It's undoubtedly remarkable and beautiful in its definition and detail.

Fourteen years later, Graciela Ainsworth and colleagues made inroads with the marble and re-carved the relief of the departing fisherman and his wife. New life in an old monument. And at the bottom, an inscription by theologian John Ewen, which was a verse from his old Scots song 'The Boatie Rows'.

Oh we'll may the Boatie row That wins the bairnie's bread.

The memorial was intended as a dedication to the fishermen of Dunbar and had the added benefit of housing the barometer within the belly of the monument. It's a grade B listed structure and is, without a doubt a beautiful reminder of staying safe on our seas.

I loved the hugeness of this piece of art, and the fact that so much effort had gone into showing and preserving its integrity in the 1800s and in the new millennium.

169 years later, it still stands as a marker of the brave men of Dunbar.

I loved the close crossover between the practical and the personal.

I don't know how many people will career down these tiny caminos, but those who do will surely be treated to a slice of potential life-saving history right here, up against the harbour wall.

On my travels so far, this was one of my favourites.

Make sure to look at the views south, passing the power station at Torness and curling round to the tiny harbour of Cove. We drove there afterwards and looked at the sun setting over Dunbar. The power station almost looked festive, adorned in many tiny lights!