A FEW days before settling down to compile these notes, a stranger hailed me at Helmsley Market and asked if I could tell him about the Skinningrove merman. My response was that I could indeed provide information about this mysterious creature and promised to do so in this paper.

Hence these notes ...

In fact, I had briefly referred to the Skinningrove merman two and a half years previously, but my contact could not recall reading it, and so this is an expanded version of that tale. It is widely considered to be a true story, even if it sounds rather like a myth or legend, but the sad thing is that, unlike the Loch Ness Monster or the Lambton Worm, it has done little to put Skinningrove on the tourist trail.

It must be said, however, that long-distance footpath the Cleveland Way does pass along Skinningrove’s lofty cliffs, but sadly there is little temptation to remain awhile.

Without the presence of heavy industry, this could have been a most beautiful beach in a charming cove, but Skinningrove, despite attempts to clean and smarten it, continues to be dominated by the ironworks.

My own links with Skinningrove go back to the days when it boasted its own highly competent silver bands, comprised mainly of miners.

My grandfather, Jim Walker, and several of his brothers were players in the band which functioned under several different names such as Skinningrove Silver Band, Skinningrove Miners’ Prize Silver Band and Skinningrove Miners’ Band.

My grandfather would tell us stirring tales of competing in national competitions such as the Grand Shield at Crystal Palace in 1910 and the national championships in 1911. We had a family photo of the band with all my great-uncles on it. If my childhood memory is accurate, the photo was taken at the Crystal Palace Grand Shield event. Sadly, memories of those splendid days have come to an end as the band no longer exists.

Despite the fame and glory brought to Skinningrove by this successful and popular band, the little seaside community in the shadow of an ironworks never attracted visitors to the extent enjoyed by Saltburn, Staithes, Runswick Bay, Sandsend, Whitby and others. There is no doubt that ramshackle sheds galore and ugly buildings persuaded visitors to try elsewhere, although one guidebook said: “There is little that is beautiful here except the splendid sunsets behind the smoke.”

However, it did attract a merman! The year was 1535 when a local man called Mr Wells recorded these events. That alone was a rare event – many such tales were related by word of mouth and never recorded in writing, except in later folk tales. In this case, Mr Wells realised the tale would never be taken seriously and so he vouched for its truth by recording it in writing, adding: “Old men that would be loath to have their credit cracked by a tale of a stale date, report confidently that a sea-man was taken up by the fishers.”

What had happened was that a fisherman’s nets caught a creature that looked like a man taken from the sea. In fact, he was called a sea-man. Unsure how to deal with this odd man who could not speak their language, the fishing community decided to accommodate him in a disused house. He would be given every kindness and attention and would be fed by the community. However, he refused all food except fish and was kept in that house for several weeks.

Apart from his food, he showed a typical masculine interest in what the records described as “fayre maides”.

It seems he welcomed visits from young ladies.

No description of the seaman has survived so we know nothing of his height, age or physical appearance.

Neither do we know whether he had arms and legs. It seems he tried to communicate with his human captors, but could only produce a type of shriek in a voice that was not human.

As time went by, the local people became accustomed to the sea-man and visitors also came to see him. He appeared to enjoy the attention, and if a young woman called to see him, he would sit and gaze at her with a very earnest countenance “as if his phlegmaticke breaste had been touched by a spark of love”.

He was polite to his visitors who plied him with fish, which was always in plentiful supply, and eventually he was allowed periodic moments of freedom. Then the inevitable happened.

A report of the time tells us: “One day he prively stoale out of doores and ere he could be overtaken, recovered the sea whereinto he plunged himself. He raysed his shoulders often above the waves makinge signes of acknowledgement of his good entertainment to such as beheld him from the shore. After a pretty while, he dived downe and appeared no more.”

He was probably nothing more exciting than a common seal, but it seems a pity Skinningrove Prize Silver Band wasn’t available to give him a memorable sendoff.

CONTINUING the seaside flavour, my only childhood sightings of cormorants were in and around Whitby harbour, some spending time on the cliffs whilst others fished among the cobles.

In youthful explorations on my bike, I never saw cormorants inland or on lakes, reservoirs, ponds or rivers.

However, even though they prefer rocky shores for their fishing expeditions and high cliffs for their nesting sites, they do venture inland. They may be noticed on lakes and reservoirs and I have been told they have been known to visit some of our rivers.

Recently, I was surprised to see a small colony on Castle Howard’s Great Lake, more than 20 miles from the sea.

There they can usually be seen drying their wings whilst perched on a dead tree on the shore. The last time we were there, we noticed three of them on that tree. We also encountered a gloomy-faced fisherman who was holidaying in one of the lakeside static caravans and he told us he hated cormorants because they caught all “his” fish.

Wing-drying seems a strange requirement for a bird that spends so much time in water, but both the cormorant and its near cousin, the shag, have to spend time standing with their wet wings outstretched while looking like sinister black crosses.

These large dark birds, often with white markings on the face or thighs in summer, are superb fishers, which is why they are not popular with fishermen. In eastern countries such as Japan or China, cormorants have been trained to dive and catch fish for human consumption, but they cannot swallow them because tight-fitting rings encircle their necks.

There is another downside to having cormorants nearby.

When they spend time in trees, those trees are killed by their droppings, which is probably why we noticed them wing-drying on that dead tree in Castle Howard.