School wasn't much of a thing where we lived. As soon as I was able, I went to work beside my Ma in the sail factory. I was that small I could crawl beneath the machines, gathering loose threads and feeding the heavy sailcloth through with my hands while the great iron wheels clattered above my head.

It was noisy work. Dusty work. Work that made your back ache before you'd seen fifteen summers.

I hated every minute of it.

Truth be told, I was delighted when I grew big enough to join my Pa on the docks.

That work put muscle on my skinny frame, and before long people started taking me for older than I was. Apparently I was a canny-looking lad, or so the ladies along the waterfront used to tell me. My Pa called them doxies and seemed to know rather a lot of them by name. Funny thing was, he always looked over his shoulder before saying hello, just in case my Ma appeared out of nowhere.

Life wasn't perfect.

But it was ours.

Then one night everything changed.

We were in The Admiral, me and my pals, feeling rich enough to buy one more pint than we probably should have. We'd all heard about the new Navy ship being fitted out upriver in Newcastle, but it was someone else's business.

Or so we thought. The press gang came through the door like a storm.

Shouting.

Boots.

Clubs.

Men running in every direction.

Alec was the lucky one. He slipped through the back and ran home to fetch our families, but there wasn't much anyone could do once the King's men had laid hands on you.

My Ma was beside herself. Mind, I wasn't exactly pleased either, but the way she was hollering and crying you'd have thought I'd already been buried.

That was that. That's how I went to sea at the grand old age of seventeen. They were only meant to take lads over eighteen, but because I looked older they never listened. I told them my age until I was hoarse.

They laughed.

The sea didn't care how old you were.

 

It was brutal at first.  Some of the old hands were good at looking out for you, some wouldn't have cared if you went overboard. You learned quickly or the sea learned you. At first I kept myself to myself. There wasn't much point making friends if they might be gone by morning. But then I started to make a name for myself as a reliable lad. I picked the work up quickly. The only thing I hated was the heights. I wasn't a rat, I couldn’t shimmy about on the rigging like some of the lads. And don’t get me talking about the crow’s nest. Luckily, I was pretty good at other things, so I didn’t get told to do that much. Then came our first battle with the Spanish.

I lost all my mates that had been with me since the beginning. 

The noise. 

The smoke. 

The screaming. 

My hands shook so badly. I thought I'd drop everything I touched and I couldn't stop being sick. Something leaves you the first time you see that many men die and it never quite comes back. 

After that I wasn't the new lad anymore. Living through your first battle earned respect quicker than years of service ever could. Even better, the sea stopped feeling like a prison and started feeling like a life. If I survived long enough, I thought I'd volunteer properly when we reached port. Same work, just better pay.

As the weeks became months and the months slipped into years, ship life was the life I wanted more and more. I often worried about Ma and Pa at home but getting word to them was impossible.  

Then came a day almost three years later that I’ll never forget. 

It was a hot July day when Mickey shouted from the crow's nest.

"Sails!"

Mickey had eyes sharper than any man aboard. The Captain reckoned he could spot trouble before trouble spotted us. We were sailing off the coast of Spain, leading a convoy sent to intercept the combined French and Spanish fleet returning from the West Indies. When Mickey shouted he'd seen both French and Spanish colours, every man aboard knew what came next.  Flags went up and messages flew to Admiral Calder. 

Not that that had anything to do with me, I was down on the gun deck, getting ready for the fight to come. I can't tell you what happened between the first cannon firing and waking below deck. Pain swallowed everything. When I opened my eye, Angus was sitting beside me.

"You're lucky, lad."

His voice sounded far away.

"A great splinter of oak caught you square in the head." 

I tried to move.

"Don't."

He pushed my shoulder gently back down.

"Save your strength. We'll need it getting home."

I reached up and felt rough bandages wrapped around my skull. They covered nearly half my face. Only my jaw and one eye were left uncovered.

"We're still afloat," Angus went on. "Just."

The ship was riddled with holes. We'd given as good as we'd got, he'd told me, but we'd taken a fearful beating ourselves. Now we were limping home for repairs.

Home.

After almost three years, that was the only word I heard.

Home.

To Tyneside.

Home.

I couldn't believe it after all this time.

If I'd known what was waiting for me on the banks of the Tyne, I'd have prayed the sea swallowed me first. 

As I sat in the sun and started to relax in its warmth, I looked around at the remains of the ship. The crew had been hard at work patching up what they could but there was too much damage to repair on the go, so they were working hard just to keep us afloat. I asked what I could do and I was set to sewing torn sails. Funny really. I'd started life stitching sailcloth beside my Ma, and here I was mending sails for His Majesty's Navy. 

As the weeks passed and the fresh air and sun did wonders for me. I wasn't the man I'd been before the battle, but I was stronger. When the shout came from the crow's nest that England had been sighted, I was at the rail as fast as everyone else. 

The sea smelled different long before we saw land. The salty tang of open water brought with it hints of coal smoke, mudbanks and the scent of the city. Even the gulls that circled overhead, cried louder as if they knew we were coming home. 

The sense of excitement that ran through the crew was so palpable that you could almost reach out and grab it with both hands. I'd never come home from the sea before, and it looked like the most beautiful jewel in Britannia’s crown to me. 

When the Tyne opened before us, my heart nearly burst.

I knew every bend of that river. 

Every warehouse. 

Every chimney. 

Every church tower. 

Some of the pressed men had already decided they weren't coming back once we reached port. I was different. Lieutenant Greaves had hinted there'd be a place for me if I volunteered properly next time, and I'd made my mind up. But first I needed to see my Ma and Pa, if they could actually recognise me now. 

Our wages had been waiting a long time for us, and we'd been waiting even longer for them. They were waiting for us at the port and everyone was going to get a good payout before going ashore. I knew that most of my shipmates would have drunk most of their money before we had to get back on board, but I was going to save some for my parents. 

The last few days were very busy trying to get as ship-shape as possible so as to be able to return to sea as soon as we could, the time passed quickly as pretty soon we were moored up at the docks.

Looking back, I'd give anything to have gone straight home while there was still daylight.

But I didn't.

The pull to have a celebratory drink with my mates was too strong. 

“Just the one”. 

I wasn’t prepared for the looks. The doxies couldn’t conceal it from their faces when they caught sight of me. 

A mixture of repulsion and curiosity. 

Some stared openly. Others looked away as soon as they caught sight of my face. One woman crossed herself. That hurt more than I expected.

I did stay for one too many drinks and started to feel a bit worse for wear so decided to take what money I had left and head home. After three years away it was going to be so good to even see the tenement buildings again and familiar faces. I said my farewells to my shipmates and left The Admiral and wandered out onto the dockside. 

A black dog sat opposite the tavern door.

He watched me without moving. Big thing he was, though not thin like a stray. His coat looked black even in the moonlight, swallowing what little light reached it.

He followed me for a way along the dock and I shared a little of the dried meat I still had in my pocket. His eyes never left mine. He took it gently from my hand and seemed happy to eat it even though it was probably as tough as old boots. 

I carried on until I had come to the alleyway that led away from the docks, and in the general direction of Queens Street. As I turned into the alley my dog shaped shadow stopped and barked at me. I thought he wanted more meat but I didn’t have any more to give. I turned away and started walking up the alley, trying to keep my footing in the dark. 

There was a drip… 

drip… 

drip… 

of water onto the cobblestones; they were slippery and uneven. 

My footsteps echoed down the alleyway,

All else was quiet, the noise of the busy waterfront seemed to have faded into the stillness of the night.

The dog barked once.

I laughed to myself, thinking it wanted more meat, and patted my empty pocket without turning round. "Sorry, lad." I took another few steps.

The growl came then. Low. Deep.

Nothing like a dog begging for scraps. I turned. The moon had disappeared behind the shape of a man standing across the alley.

The dog was gone.

Something crashed into the back of my head and the world lurched sideways and I hit the cobbles hard before I even knew I'd fallen. Then blows were raining down on me. Boots. Fists. Another kick to my ribs. I tried to lift my arms but they felt full of water. The ale, the weakness from my wound—it was all too much. 

Someone shouted. Someone screamed. I couldn't tell if it was me.

My head rolled to one side. At the mouth of the alley stood the black dog. Still. Watching.

Its bark echoed between the stone walls, louder now, furious. Then everything grew quiet.

The barking faded.

The alley faded.

The last thing I saw was the dog, standing where the moonlight should have been.

Then there was nothing.

My body was gone.

Only the dog remained.

I didn’t understand, but I knew it was me. Somehow I had become the black dog I'd seen at the moment I died. 

That was the only explanation that I could think of. I ran to the alley. No-one was there. I ran to The Admiral. It looked freshly painted. I looked in the window, it was busy inside but I couldn’t see any of my shipmates. I ran on towards the dock where my ship should be, but it wasn’t there. Another ship was in its place, much bigger than mine. I turned to look up towards the mouth of the river, the view should have opened straight to the mouth of the Tyne. Instead a crane stood there and a building blocked the horizon. 

Where had they come from?

I was panting hard, shaking, and frantic thoughts began running through my head. Was I so seriously hurt? Was I hallucinating? Was I lying somewhere with a raging fever? 

I ran up the gangplank, there were sailors on board but their uniforms were unusual looking, I didn’t recognise them as I made my way to the forecastle and went to stand above the figure head, looking out over the docks. No-one seemed to notice me.

I’m not sure how long I stood there. I had no idea what had happened to me. Thoughts swirled around my head, nothing made any sense. The only thing that I could think of was ridiculous. That my spirit must have been taken into the last thing I saw as I lay there dying. 

But how could that be true? 

I thought about my parents, I thought about my friends, I had no idea what had happened to them, did they know where I was? Did they realise I was missing? The emotions threatened to burst out of my chest and take over. 

I needed to find out. 

I jumped from the side of the ship onto the dock. Something that would have been impossible for me before, but now it felt so easy that I hardly registered the landing on the cobbles at all. 

I padded along the dock back towards the alley. Nausea rushed through my gut as I drew closer, but this time I just padded on, my four legs making short work of the long walk towards Queens Street. 

I turned into the tenement square and made my way towards my parents place. Everything looked different, the door was hanging off the hinges as I slinked in through the broken wood. The room felt damp, but I could still smell my Pa’s tobacco and the stain on the fireplace tiles where he tapped out his pipe. The fire was long gone and stone cold ashes blew around the floor like fallen leaves in autumn. I turned and saw my Ma’s favourite chair, two legs missing, lying on its side. Tears blurred my vision as I could still see her smiling at me from the corner of the room.

They had moved on and I had no idea where. I walked around the room sniffing anything to see if I could get a scent. Already the dog senses were kicking in, but there was nothing. It was clear this tenement had been empty for some time. 

I was heading back out into the street as a young couple came around the corner, I stood in the alley of the tenement as they passed. They didn’t seem to see me as they were engrossed in conversation, and what I heard broke my heart. 

"Such an awful story." The young woman stopped outside the doorway. "They say it happened in the alley."

"What happened?"

"The lad came home from the Navy with three years' wages."

Her sweetheart shook his head.

"His own mam and dad set upon him for the money."

"They didn't know it was him."

Silence.

"Not until she found the little wooden wolf he wore round his neck."

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, my own parents, this couldn’t be true. 

The girl continued, “ the screaming of his Mam brought the Dock Police down on them and they were both screaming and crying as they dragged them away.”

“His mates had come from the pub didn’t they?”

“Aye and found his poor body in the alley with a dog nearby. They didn’t know if he had a dog but it wouldn’t leave him till the authorities came and took his body away, then it just wandered away down the dock.”

“I remember that, no one could find it later.”

“These rooms are said to be cursed now, no-one wants to move in, even though housing’s scarce these days.” 

The sorrow building within me was too much to bear and I let out a scream that was filled with rage, regret and unspeakable sadness. I felt as though I would break in two. Such a waste.

Then the girl was screaming and her bloke was dragging her away. I had walked out of the alley as the church clock was striking midnight.

One. Two. Three. By the twelfth bell, the clouds had slipped away from the moon and silver light spilled into the square. Moonlight washed over my black coat. Fur bristling, I lifted my head. Everything inside me—rage, grief, terror, love, regret—flowed out of me like a torrent of water over a waterfall.

I howled.

The sound crashed around the stone walls of the tenements and came back again, louder than before, until it seemed the whole square was crying with me.

The young couple were frozen in fear a few feet away from me, they could see me now. I looked at them when my pain was spent, eyes red as burning embers, then turned and walked away, back to the only place I knew, the docks. 

As I walked away people were coming out of their rooms or opening windows to see what the noise was about. I ignored most of them, their reactions, their horror at what they saw. I looked back at them through their windows, seeing my glowing red eyes and scarred face looking back at me only made the desperate situation all the more grotesque. 

I walked down the main streets towards the docks, any of the doxies and their punters either didn’t see me or didn’t react to the big black dog dejectedly walking through. 

How could this have happened? 

How could my future have been reduced to this?

Was I cursed to walk the docks…

… alone for the rest of eternity? 

I looked up from my thoughts and I was back at the ship where my own had once been. There was something going on that was causing a scuffle up on deck, so I ran up the gangplank to take a look. 

As I made my way aboard I saw a young sailor, he must have been all of seventeen, on sentry duty and he was in a fight for his life with a couple of drunken thugs, and he was losing the fight. Before I had time to think, I was moving. I leapt from the entry way and in between the young sailor and the thugs.

I did not want to see any death today, enough was enough, and if I could keep this young man from falling at the hands of those louts I would. 

As I made my appearance the frightened sailor pushed himself back across the deck and into the mast. The two thugs were taken aback at first, but then the drink got the better of their senses again and they began to advance towards me, they had a couple of belaying pins in their meat hook hands that they had been threatening the young sailor with. 

I was faster than them, my snapping jaws grabbed one pin. It cracked free from his hand as I tossed it across the deck, then I looked up at them with my glaring red eyes and snarled. 

Saliva dripped onto the wood of the deck. The second thug dropped his pin and they both beat a hasty exit down the gangplank and away into the night. 

I turned to look at the young sailor, he reminded me of myself when I had first been pressed into service, too young really. He was shaking and there were tears in his eyes. I heard a noise to my left thinking the thugs were back, but it was other sailors from below decks that had heard the scuffle and came up to see what was going on. 

I looked at the young one once more, then ran to the side of the ship and jumped off. I was aware that the other sailors ran to the side to see me land but the moon had gone behind the clouds and I was no longer visible.

I found a place at the edge of the dock where I could watch the river meet the sea. For the first time since waking in this strange body, everything was quiet. The sky slowly paled. A strip of gold appeared beyond the water.

Sunlight reached the cobbles.

I looked down.

My paws had begun to disappear.

The black fur faded into the morning light until I could see the stones beneath it.

Piece by piece...

...I vanished into the dawn

This is where I exist, 

This is what I am, 

This is my purpose. 

This night for me is different from many I have encountered in this essence that I inhabit. There seem to be many circles of the globe between one night and the next for me. While I stay stationary everyone on the living plane of existence moves forward without me until I emerge into being for one night of their lives. 

From my vantage point on the quay, with my back to the sea, I sit and observe what is unfolding before moving forward. It is a dark night, I am invisible to those I move among, unless I will it. 

Once again I tread the cobbles of North Shields docklands. 

Once again I pad silently through the lives of those who cannot see me. 

Once again I am the only stable entity in an ever changing landscape.

The docks are a living, breathing creature tonight. The throbbing of humanity covers every square foot of space, pulsing, screaming, and clawing its way to relevance, to being, to safety.

There are ships, moored to every available space. Mighty vessels made of iron and steel, belching their foul breath into the sky as they disgorge their human cargo onto the cobblestones and concrete.

Men and women in uniforms move quickly about the waterfront, moving with purpose in contrast to my slow amble between legs, under stretchers, keeping my distance from the guns, supplies, horses and vehicles that clutter the space between buildings and sea.

As I make my way through the crowds, I am struck by the need. People need help in so many ways and there are so many of them that the feelings threaten to overwhelm me. Waves of pain, misery, anger, fear, engulf me like waves in a storm. 

Like drowning…

… on dry land.

I sit for a moment and realise I am outside The Admiral. Once the windows spilled songs and drunken shouting onto the quay. Tonight they spill lamplight and whispers. 

A somber gathering of walking wounded, sitting on the floor, upturned barrels and boxes, while kind nurses and other women serve cups of hot tea and jam and bread to any who wants it.

Some have bandages across their faces, burned skin peeking out from underneath, like a badly behaved child behind their mothers skirts. Uniforms are mottled with dark dry stains, blood, mud, urine, and tears, tracks of life weaving their way through the fabric. 

I begin to move on and knock over a soldier’s wooden crutch onto the cobbles. As he bends down to retrieve it I see he has a bandage over his eyes, I lean in and push his hand with my muzzle towards the crutch. 

“Ah, there's a good lad” he says,

A woman serving tea looks over to him, “who you talking to pet?” she asks

“Just the wee dog”

“What dog, hinny? There’s not one here aboot”

I move away down the water front.

I see a young man standing in the middle of a busy section of the walkway. He is just motionless while all the hurley-burley carries on around him, his oversized metal helmet in his hand, hanging by his side. He looks young, too young I’m guessing. 

I trot over and sit next to him and lean in a little. At first he doesn’t register the pressure but as I lift my head to look up at him, he gently starts to run his fingers through my fur, almost absent mindedly. Gentle fingers swirl around my ears like running hands through heads of corn, barely touching. Then his palm makes contact with my head and touch pushes down, fingers spreading, the whole hand making contact, gentle and smooth. 

I wait…

Eventually he looks down.

He smiles gently but it struggles to reach his eyes.

Tears build up as he looks deep into my face.

Then he crouches down next to me, wraps his arms around me, fiercely grabbing handfuls of fur. He buries his head into my neck and cries. Quietly, but mournfully of a soul in pieces, and of a life that will never be whole again. 

I lean into him so he can feel my presence, my stability, my comfort.

A shout echoes out.

“Jonesy!”

His shoulders tense a little.

“Private Jones!”

He pulls away, his face close to mine, looking deep into my eyes and sighs. I lick his face, tasting his salty tears mixed with soot and smoke. He chuckles a little and ruffles my fur between my ears. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand he stands up and looks over his shoulder.

“Jonesy!”

“Here sir”

“Come on lad, what are you doing lolly-gagging, lets get stocked up we leave in the morning”

“We goin back sir?”

“Aye lad, this war isn’t going to win itself now is it”

As he walks away, I watch him go, when he looks back I am already invisible in the throng of bodies moving back and forth across the dock.

“Who ya lookin for Jonesy”

“No one corporal, just a dog”

“A dog is it? As long as it’s not a big black one sunshine"

“....Sir?”

“There’s one said to haunt these docks, not real mind you, but plenty people say they ha seen him”

“A ghost sir?” Jonesy looks back over his shoulder

“Some say. Can’t say I believe in all that stuff mesel”

Jonesy stops walking and looks up the dock, whispering “ah do sir, ah do”

Jonesy disappears into the crowd.

I walk slowly along the waterfront to the quieter end away from the main thoroughfare. Here there is less noise, less bustle, but no fewer people if you count those lying on stretchers upon the ground.

They lie side by side in long, silent rows, disappearing into the darkness.

Rough green woolen blankets cover them. 

Some are wrapped from head to toe. 

Others leave a pair of boots uncovered, a dirty sock hanging loose from tired feet. . 

One arm rests upon the cold cobbles, as though reaching for someone who is no longer there.  

Name tags flutter in the night breeze like little white moths searching for the light.  

I stand still. 

For all my years, for all my wandering, there is nothing I can give these souls except my witness. 

I hear crying and move towards it. The kind of crying that comes when a soul has run out of strength. A  cry for a mam. The cry every child carries inside them, no matter how old they grow.  The moon slips from behind the clouds and silver light falls across my coat as I pad towards the stretcher.  

I lie next to the soldier, my head on his chest. The crying lessens as a bandaged hand moves out of the blanket and up to my face to slowly stroke my fur. The touch is light, almost as though it is not there at all. We breathe together, mine easy, his a struggle, each breath grows shallower than the last. The crying has stopped now, the hand no longer moving through my fur.

Silence.

I remain beside him until the warmth begins to leave his fingers. 

Gently, I rise…and move on.

As I move off into the shadows a nurse comes over and realises that the soldier has gone. She covers his head with the blanket, she looks around,

“Where did that dog go?”

“There’s no dog here” says the doctor standing over another stretcher, “come and help me with this bandage please.”

She looks around once more. Her eyes settle on the shadows where I stand. For a heartbeat I think she sees me. Then someone calls her name, and the moment is gone.

“Hey there boy”

I turn to see a young lad reaching out to me. I pad over and lower my head into his outstretched hand.

“Oh you’re a good boy aren’t you?”

I lie down as he scratches my chin.

“My old dog Jock used…. to….like that too..” A cough interrupts him. Dark blood stains his lips. He smiles anyway. His fingers find the place beneath my chin as though they've done it a thousand times before. 

“Good boy Jock”

His hand slips away as I watch his chest rise once, then fall. It never rises again. Eventually I rise and walk away.

“Hey, hey… that’s it. There! The dog again!"   the nurse is pointing in my direction

"There's nobody there." 

She looks back in my direction but she can no longer see me.

My night carries on. One stretcher to another. One frightened young man to another. One final breath after another.

The hours creep towards morning. I feel the need to face the sunrise. It no longer warms my bones, but it pleases me to see it.

"Can you see him now? Look... there he is."

The nurse is pointing directly at me.

Another nurse follows her gaze.

The doctor turns slowly.

For the first time, all three of them are looking straight at me.

"I swear..."

Her voice is barely a whisper.

"Every soldier that dog sat beside… passed away tonight."

Silence.

The younger nurse takes a step backwards.

"That's no ordinary dog."

"No..."

The doctor cannot take his eyes off me.

"That's a bad omen."

I turn away from them and face the river as the first edge of the sun breaks above the horizon. Golden light spills across my black coat until every hair burns like amber.

I feel myself becoming lighter.

The cobbles appear beneath my paws.

The river shines through me.

Behind me, their voices falter.

By the time the sun has cleared the water...

...I am gone.

A solitary sentry is walking past, stopping to check locked doors with a customary jiggle of the handle before moving on. He chats briefly with the night warden who is on his regular route, hunting down escaping beams of light that find their way through, around, up and under the blackout curtains that encase every window and door. 

“How you doin tonight Jack?” the young soldier enquired “How's the sciatica?”

“Ah it’s kanny the night young lad, pretty kanny”

“Tha’s good then. Not seen anything happening tonight?”

“Nah lad, not even a black dog’s out tonight. It’s very quiet”

“Well that’s a good thing int it?” the young soldier chuckled “Don’t want to be dropping deed after seein him now do we”

“Oh he’s not like that lad, ye shouldn’t believe all ye hear” Jack pulled out his pipe and started to fill it from his tobacco pouch in his waistcoat pocket.

“Like what?” said the young man, “How’d you know what he’s like?”

“Remember last year, when Wilkinson’s Lemonade Factory got hit?”

“How could ah not, bad business that”

“Aye, indeed it wor. Did ya know ma mate Al was in the warehouse down the quay there that night?”

“The ship's stock warehouse?” the younger man leaned in a bit closer

“Tha’s the one. He didn’t get out the building a’fore it was hit, full on it was”

“Was he….?”

“He was stuck under rubble, could ‘ne get oot”

“Nah”

“I tell ye, he thought he was a gonner. Then oot of nowhere this big black hound came and started diggin him oot, then grabbed hold of his jacket collar and pulled him ower to what was left of the door, a’fore the rest of the roof caved in.”

“Nah, you’re having me on”

“God’s honest truth, as sure I’m standing ere. So don go telling me he’s all about showing up a’fore people die. He’s a bloody saviour, that black dog, a bloody saviour.”

And with that the old watchman walked away through a puff of pipe smoke, like he was a spirit himself. The young sentry, left with his mouth open, looked around himself a little uncertainly, then shaking his head proceeded on his way in the opposite direction.

I watch as the night watchman turns the corner

Even The Admiral is wrapped in darkness. Muffled laughter and music still found their way through the blackout curtains. I slowly move over to the windows, there is no moonlight tonight, no chance of being seen as I stand in front of the big bay window listening to the muffled voices singing around the slightly out of tune piano. Happy voices in spite of the world outside. 

Small things.

Small things matter.

Human connection matters.

I sit by the window and listen, a part of it but separate.

The old watchman was right, no one is out and about tonight, maybe tonight will be a quiet night for me too, it would be good to have a night off.

Then I hear singing coming round the corner and the watchman telling them to keep their voices down, followed by giggles and “Sorry mate”.

A young couple comes into view and saunters towards the pub, arm in arm, heads lowered together, sharing a secret made just for them. As they pull closer to the doorway, the young woman looks up and sees me. Actually, sees me, no moonlight involved.

“Ooh look at him, who’s a good boy” she drops down to one knee to ruffle my fur between my ears, “he shouldn’t be out here tonight, he’ll get cold”

“Ah he’ll be fine, he’s wearing a bloody fur coat” her companion muttered through half open lips as he lit a cigarette.

"Come on, boy. You'll freeze your paws off." She opened the door into the curtain enclosed entryway, her beau went in and I dutifully followed, something inside me told me this was where I needed to be tonight. 

When the young man opened the second set of black curtains all three of us entered into The Admiral. I hadn’t set foot or paw inside here in so long that it felt like a homecoming. The smell hit me first. Ale, tobacco smoke, wet wool, coal dust... and bread. Different people. Different century. The same old pub. 

The sudden brightness made me stop and close my eyes slightly, when I opened them again the girl and her beau had made it to the bar and were ordering drinks. I looked to my right and the crowd around the piano were tapping each other on the shoulder, the singing stopped.

The pianist's fingers hovered above the keys.

A glass paused halfway to someone's lips.

Heads turned.

One after another.

Every pair of eyes in The Admiral was fixed on me.

“What the bloody hell is that?” a powerful voice from behind the bar rang out

“Aw he’ just a wee puppy Taffy, he can come in can’t he?”

“A wee puppy Doreen?” Taffy threw his hands in the air.  "He's a bloody big brute, that’s what he is. Not a damn Yorkshire Terrier!”

Doreen gave Taffy a look any puppy would be proud of, and he walked off muttering to himself about establishments not being zoos. 

An elderly gentleman with a cane was sitting in the corner nursing a pint of stout, when he caught my eye he simply doffed his cap and then carried on drinking his pint. I ignored the other  looks and settled down on the door mat where I could keep an eye on Doreen. 

After a few minutes the pianist started to play and very soon others had crowded back round to join in a rousing chorus of ‘Roll out the Barrel’, I was forgotten for now.

Time passed in companionable chatter, occasionally someone left, and others arrived. Doreen and her beau propped up the bar like regular fixtures and fittings. I watched, and waited.

It came so quietly at first I almost missed it.

A hum.

No louder than a bee trapped behind a window.

I lifted my ears.

Steadier now.

Closer.

I picked it up even with the thumping of the piano to my right. I sat up, my ears twitching. Only the old man in the corner noticed as he shifted his gaze to the door. 

There it was, unmistakable now, I could feel the faint vibrations through the wooden floor, I began to bark. I took people by surprise, they’d  forgotten I was there, as if I had vanished into the wood paneling and sawdust. The group at the piano started to edge away from me as I continued to sound the alarm. They couldn’t hear it yet and the air raid sirens had not gone off, but it was definitely getting closer. 

Doreen tottered over towards me, a little worse for wear by now as she breathed sherry filled words into my face to try to calm me down. I nudged her back over to the bar and went towards the door to the cellar. I whined and scratched at the door, Taffy came towards me with a soiled tea towel as a switch and wafted it at me.

“Ere, mind me door ye brute!” 

I turned and growled at him, my scar rising my lip further up my face, then barked at Doreen to move forward. 

“What’s going on?”

“Doreen can’t you get him to stop?”

“Shut up, the lot of ye”

“Crazy animal”

“He’s trying to tell us something”

“He’s not bloody Lassie”

Suddenly, the front door burst open and in ran the warden with the sentry hot on his heels shouting to turn the lights off.

In the ensuing silence, the hum of engines could be heard from outside. 

Taffy took charge then, “Right everyone, go out the back door and get to the air raid shelter.”

“No time Taffy”, said the warden, “the sirens have not come on, we don’t have time to get there, they’ll be here in a minute”

I barked again. Louder.

The sound cracked through the silence. Everyone jumped. I ran back to the cellar door and scratched furiously.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

This time no one argued.  Taffy opened the door and ushered everyone down into the cellar.

I stood in the doorway until every foot had crossed the threshold. Only then did I turn towards the river. The engines were overhead now. 

The warden and the sentry, who both stood and looked at me, then looked at one another, then the sentry shrugged, and shaking his head, went on down the stairs.

The old man appeared beside Jack's elbow so quietly it was as though he'd stepped out of the shadows themselves.

"Ah knew we'd need him t'night," he said softly “as soon as ah saw him.”

Jack never took his eyes off me. 

“Eye Al, ye not wrong there,”

Large metal fences, designed to keep people out, surround derelict and decaying buildings. Some are so broken that the only parts left standing are the foundations, sticking up through the patchy grass like long forgotten tombstones.  

Keep off.

Keep Out.

Trespassers will be prosecuted.

Danger of collapse.

The signs bang against the metal fences in the breeze as it blows in across the coastline, as if to punctuate every word.

Only the Fish Quay still feels alive. New boats come and go beneath bright floodlights, and new freezer buildings stand where old warehouses once watched the tide. Life has moved. It has simply moved somewhere else.

Is this what my dockside life and death has come to?

As I sit and come into being, the remains of the sun cast my fur into hues of grey. 

I look as old as I feel. 

The setting is fitting, we belong together.

I take a deep breath and start my nightly patrol along the only area I have ever known. 

I pass the broken buildings, home now to those who do not have anywhere else to go. Broken walls are covered in rag-tag paint, splashed there by vandals who have probably grown into respectable people with respectable jobs somewhere in the city by now. The docks remember them, even if they have forgotten the docks.

As the waterfront dips into total darkness, no streetlights are left standing here. The Fish Quay floodlights blaze against the darkness.  Nothing gets in the way of a good catch at any time of day or night.

I walk to where The Admiral used to be. Even he has left for greener pastures. 

I continue down the dock until I come to the alleyway. The alleyway.

I know it before I see it.

It is still there. Although it might as well not be. The walls forming the alley are all that’s left standing of the buildings either side. I sniff the air as it wafts towards me. 

Mould

Must

Urine

Sea air

Memories

I have no desire to go down there again. 

I turn away just as a group of boisterous young people come running down it. Pushing and shoving each other into the rotting walls.  A couple of bricks fall down, and a collective “Ooooh” issues from every throat as the perpetrator is pushed again into the same wall while everyone laughs. They burst out of the end of the alleyway spreading out into the darkness. 

“You’re such a dick Kevin”

“ Nah, you are. You should’ve just asked her out man”

“I woz gunner, but you never gave me chance”

“Cos we’d still be waiting”

The last comment ended in more raucous laughter.

As they make their way over to the water’s edge they haven’t seen me yet, and I’m not sure if I will let them. They sit, legs dangling towards the water, passing around cigarettes and bottles of beer. 

“Is your da back yet”

“Nah, he’s long gone by now.”

“Good riddance I say mate”

“ Yeah, me mams much happier now, an we had fish and chips for tea last night, it wa lush”

A chorus of approval rolled through the group. 

“Hey, ya know wore Denise got a job down Dorothy Perkins in toon”

More collective sounds of agreement,

“Well, she sez they're still lookin for more staff if ya wonna tell your Becky aboot it. She said she'll try an get her a job too. Only if she wants it, mind.” 

“Thanks Kev, I’ll let her nah. She could do with the work, me mam says she needs to get oot the hoose soon”

“Hey you're a bit quiet the night Sam, what's wrong?”

The boy called Sam was sitting at the end of the line and wasn’t partaking in the usual back and forth sharing of the Newcastle Brown Ale bottles. He was just looking out to sea, not that much could be seen in the darkness.

“ I’ve joined up” he said rather quietly, “Ah did it weeks ago, an ah leave t’morra”

Collective sounds of astonishment greeted this statement from the gang. I sat behind them and waited.

Sam continued “Ah'm sick of having nothin, doing nothin, going no-where, applying for jobs 'n not gettin them, looking for jobs that dinnae exist, and having the old folks look down their noses at us for just existin.” 

“Jesus Sam, tha’s no excuse for joining the po-lice”

Sam gave the boy next to him in line a shove “nah ya dafty I’m joining the navy”

“Ah never knew ya wanted to do anything heroic, but good on ya mate, good on ya.” Kevin reached around to Sam’s shoulder and gave it a supportive shake.

I listened more intently now.

“So, if this is somethin ya wanna do, then why the long face man?”

“Yeh ya look like ya about to eat me sisters cookin”

“Well, just sitting here….” Sam stalled “I just kinda thinkin aboot….”

“Thinking about what?”

“Come on man, spit it oot”

Sam continued, rather rushed, “thinkin aboot that navy guy that got turned into a dog”

I took an involuntary step forward, this I needed to hear.

The boys collectively knew the story, it seems they had grown up hearing it from grandparents and parents. But, as they all talked over each other it became apparent to me, the actual dog in the story, that they were nearly all wrong about it. 

Apparently I was a demon dog who'd killed all his shipmates and jumped ashore as soon as the ship docked. I was the ghost of a real dog that ate a sailor in the alleyway behind them. I was a sailor who died of the plague until all my skin fell off. 

Every one of them was wrong. 

Every one of them believed it.

Each story was more exciting and gruesome than the last. Eventually they were all in hysterics, howling with laughter and the ridiculousness of it all. Once they had all calmed down, Kevin, wiping tears from his eyes, stood up, rubbed his hands down his trousers, stood to attention and saluted Sam.

“Ah’d tek ma hat of to yer, if ah had one on mate”

One by one the others stood up, saluting,

“Me too”

“Me too”

Sam stood up as well and looking at the ground said, “Ah’ll bloody miss the lot of ya”

“All right, ya daft bugger, don’t go makin it all soft now” said Kevin punching Sam in the shoulder.

They began to move back towards the alleyway, Kevin threw his beer bottle over the wall into the deserted ruins behind. One of the other boys tried to do the same with the last bottle but missed and as it hit the wall the collective howls of “Ooooh” echoed down the alley ahead of them mixed with laughter. 

Only Sam loitered, slowly making his way from the waters edge, he looked over his shoulder as if to catch one last glimpse of the sea, and he saw me. He turned to look fully at me, his eyes wide, all colour drained from his face. I padded slowly forward out of the darkness, he seemed rooted to the spot, I looked up as I stood in front of him and nudged his hand with my nose. I wanted him to feel what so many others had felt from me. 

Comfort

As he touched my fur, his fingers caught for a moment on the old scar that curled my lip. Then a call rang out from deep in the alley,

“Ya comin or what?” 

He took a step towards the alley, then turned back, I was gone, he looked around and saw me slowly walking along the quay. Soon the night had swallowed me up altogether. Sam stood watching the darkness for a long moment before turning to follow his friends into the alley.

Adrian leaned in as he passed; he winked, “Great speech Boss.” Then a little louder, “If you could follow me ladies and gentlemen, we will show you our latest project”

As the group moved away, the constant hum of conversation gradually faded and the ‘boss’ was left for a moment's peace. It had been a long time since he had stood on this spot looking out over the sea, and he breathed in the fresh salt sea air of a sunny but blustery afternoon. 

Samuel Adams had become the go-to person for this project since returning to his childhood home after years overseas. His passion for the area outstripped its dereliction. He saw potential where everyone else saw rubble. Not through rose-tinted glasses, but with a realism that bordered on fanaticism. 

His ex-wife had said as much.

He wanted to create a version of the waterfront that until now had been an uphill struggle. He wanted a place for people to live, shop, dine and exercise and it was now gaining the much needed momentum that it needed. 

He could almost taste the success.

He removed his hard hat and walked along one of the new waterfront walkways. He needed to breathe. He needed a holiday really but he would have plenty of time to rest once this phase of the project was nearing completion. 

He continued to walk until he reached an alleyway between two new residential blocks. Space for shops and restaurants on the ground floor and executive apartments above. He had a soft spot for this place. He never really understood why he'd insisted the alley stay open during redevelopment. 

He had personally named this alley as ‘Admirals Walk’. The wind shifted. He smelled…

Salt.

Tar.

Wet stones.

Then, for one heartbeat...

Tobacco smoke.

Breathing deeply he turned his back to the alley and looked out to sea. There was a storm coming in, he recognised the clouds forming over the waves. It might bring Adrian's tour to a premature end, but it couldn’t be helped. Standing here always reminded him of being sixteen. The ebb and flow of time bringing pictures of loved ones and friends long gone brought into focus and then faded just as quickly. He was not sure how long he stood there but the newly installed streetlights were coming on as the evening breeze brought the storm closer to shore. 

As expected his phone rang and it was Adrian.

“Hey Ade, what’s up?” Samuel already knew the answer,

“Hi, yes it’s looking a bit dodgy Boss, shall we carry on?”

“Nah mate, just apologise and bring them back to the headquarters so they can get to their cars and stuff.”

“Ok sure. You ok Boss?”

“Yeh mate, just not the best start today is it. Don’t worry waiting for me, just get yourself home to your lovely wife and give your bairn a kiss on the head from me.”

“Will do, thanks Boss, see ya tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

Samuel turned back the way he had come and made it to the onsite office just as big heavy raindrops started to fall. The office staff had already left for the day except Rosey. She always stayed longer than she should, and Samuel had a sneaking suspicion that she had a crush on her much older boss. 

“Go home Rosey, what are you still doin here?” 

“Ah jus thought Ah’d finish this filing first.”

“It’ll still be there tomorrow lass, go home.”

“Ah’m meetin the girls in town so Ah’m not gannin hame yet”

"Well, you be careful, Rosey. Don't let those young lads cause you any trouble." 

Rosey burst into fits of giggles as she put on her coat, “Ah’m the trouble Mr. Adams, me an Claire that is, you just ask me mam” 

“Well, take care anyway, see you tomorrow.” As he walked to his desk, Rosey rapped on the window as she walked past pretending she was being blown by the wind. Samuel shook his head smiling to himself as he opened his laptop.

He sighed…spreadsheets….

He wished he could just go out drinking again with his friends, but he wasn’t sixteen anymore, hell he wasn’t even thirty anymore. 

He sighed again….pushed the laptop away and looked out of the window. The wind was really picking up now. The streetlights showed the rain landing on a diagonal and rubbish blowing by like it had somewhere to go. 

He grabbed his coat and headed out. The wind hit him hard as he turned the corner and headed towards the carpark, rain splattering his face, head bowed he pushed on. 

“Mr. Adams……”

“Mr. Adams, sir…..”

Barry Coggins, the building foreman, was running in his direction.

“What is it Barry?”

“Sir we got tarpaulins all over the place, an’ the crane needs sorting afore we can go fer the night, an Terry’s hurt is bloody arm, asne. Sorry to ask, but…….”

Samuel cut him off, “it’s ok Barry I’ll come and help.” They started to head back to the site on the other side of the office building. “So, what’s Terry done exactly?”

“Aw the daft bugger tried to grab one o’ the mooring lines o’ the tarp. Bloody wind ripped it away and the hook on the end torn a ruddy great ‘ole in his hand.”

“Shit!, is he alright?”

“Ees kanny, Craig’s takken im doon A&E, few stitches e’ll be right as rain”

“Good, I'll catch up with him tomorrow.”

They rounded the corner  and a fresh burst of wind and rain pushed them back. Samuel saw a couple of the lads wrestling to tie down some tarps that were threatening to take flight across the worksite. One was already pressing itself into the crevices and crannies of a stack of pallets as though it was liquid. The rain cast a shimmer across the concrete beneath the site spotlights, making the whole scene look strangely unreal.  Barry went off to look after the crane as Samuel ran to help the others. By the time the four men had got some semblance of organisation back to the site, they were soaked through and frozen to the bone. 

“Good job lads, get yourselves off home. There’ll be a little sweetener in your pay this week.”

“Thanks Guv’”

“Cheers, Boss”

“All good, ta for that”

Samuel headed across the site and back around the corner towards his office and the carpark. As he was wondering whether to retrieve the spare suit he had in his cupboard before heading home, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. 

Samuel turned, his breath caught in his throat, and his heartbeat quickened imperceptibly. 

Something moved beyond the floodlights.

A dog.

It stood perfectly still in the rain.

Its coat was so black it seemed to swallow the light around it.

Then it lifted its head.

The scar curled its lip into that familiar, permanent snarl.

“Impossible,” he thought, after all this time, all these years, how could it be?

The rain was pummeling him, the wind threatening to blow him off his feet and yet here he was, a sixteen year-old boy, just ready to leave for the Navy…

And a dog…

This dog…

The dog took one step towards him, then turned on itself and headed off down the quay towards Admirals Alley. 

Sam ran, the wind and rain forgotten.

Out of the dark, shapes began to form, people, a small group of girls and boys, all cluttered together in the storm. As he got closer the dog slowed and stopped in the mouth of the alleyway, looking towards the sea wall. The young people saw Sam and a girl came running up, it was Claire, Rosey’s friend. 

“Oh Mr. Adams, thank god it’s you. Rosey, you have to help her. Please” the last word came out as a scream. Then all the young ones were shouting at the same time. 

“Wait what’s going on? Where’s Rosey? One at a time please” he shouted over the noise of the wind and the raging surf.

“She fell in!”

“She’s in the water!”

“We can’t see her.”

All thoughts of the black dog were pushed from Sam’s mind at this point. Rosey? She’s not going to survive this! Facing the sea he stood at the edge of the wall, looking to see if he could spot anything in the dark waters. 

“I need light”

Phone torches sprang up, but it didn’t help much, then…

“I see her coat, look, red, right there.”

Then it was gone as a wave came and smashed over the floating form, but that was all Sam needed. He kicked off his shoes,,

“Have you called for help?’

“Yes”

Then jumped off the sea wall and onto the stoney sand below. 

The waves began to throw him back into the rough stone of the wall almost instantly, making any headway into the deeper water was painfully slow but he began to feel he was making progress. He had been a good swimmer in the Navy, one of the best in his class, and he had kept it up after he left as a good way to keep fit. He was glad he had tonight.

He took a deep breath as pushed under the waves to get further out to sea, but he couldn’t see anything when he surfaced. The ice cold of the water was sapping his strength by the second. Treading water as best he could, he looked left and right trying to catch any glimpse of red. Then there was blinding light, a police car had arrived and was shining its headlights towards him. There were vague figures in the shadows of the car pointing behind him it seemed. He turned, and found himself submerged by a large wave, then something hit him square in the chest. 

He reached down and to his surprise grabbed an arm. He surfaced, coughing and choking on salt water. A mass of strawberry blonde hair floated next to him, he lifted the arm in his hand and Rosey’s face came into view. He hooked one arm beneath her shoulder and across her chest. Then he pulled with his free arm, kicking frantically against the tide. 

They didn’t move, the surge of the waves seemed to pull them out to sea more than towards the shore. Someone threw a life ring into the water and it splashed pretty close to Sam. He grabbed the rope and pulled it close enough to jam it over Rosey’s head and shoulders. Pulling her arms roughly through it he waved for them to pull it back in. 

He tried to hold on, he really did, but his strength was almost gone. Fingers and hands were blocks of ice, legs were numb. As he watched Rosey’s inert form being lifted out of the water, he felt strangely at peace. 

************************************************************

I didn’t expect to go this way.

Then a soft body helped push me to one side.

I opened my eyes, not having realised they were shut. And looked into the face of the Black Dog. The Dog seemed to move effortlessly through the water and pushed me diagonally across the waves and into a small stoney inlet further up the seawall than where we started. I didn’t have the energy to even crawl out of the sea but I found myself lying on my back in the shallows. I could hear sirens, people crying, shouting, but all as if from a distance, muffled sounds, and to one side sat the Black Dog. As I felt rough hands pulling me and pressing my chest all I could focus on was The Dog. Then everything faded, the noises grew quiet; until….

Silence….

I blink. I am looking down at a group of people gathered on the stony beach. Someone is lying among them.

It takes a heartbeat too long to realise it's me.

I look down.

Feet should have been there.

Instead...

Black paws rested on the stone.

Wet.

I look up into the eyes of the Black Dog, just another black dog sitting next to my body, somehow familiar but old and tired.

It’s your watch now. 

The words whisper in my head, light like leaves brushing past. His outline softens. I see light through his fur. His eyes are the last thing to fade. Then he's gone.

The wind dropped. The sirens were quiet now as I stand alone on the quay. I lift my head towards the mouth of the Tyne, salt, diesel, the sea. 

The river breathed in, the river breathed out.

Somewhere behind me, someone whispered…

"Did you see that dog?"