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Plot - Jack - 11-11-2025     Welcome to Whitby – a small Yorkshire coastal town. Throughout its history, Whitby has been (among other things) an important religious centre, one of England’s most prolific shipbuilding ports, and a favoured haven for smugglers. Today, in 1895, its main industries are Whitby jet, fishing, and above all - tourism. Its quaint streets and harbour, jet shops and sandy beach draw hordes of vacationing families every summer, while a great many novelists, painters and photographers find inspiration in the town's beautiful surroundings, the seemingly idyllic lives of the close-knit fishing community, and the ruins of the Gothic abbey towering dramatically above the harbour on the East Cliff.   It is December 1895 and winter has truly settled in. There is hardly a tourist to be found now. Days are short and dark; the weather cold and damp. When thick fog rolls in from the North Sea, Whitby is truly a dreary place. Icy rains or snow turn the 199 steps to the Abbey into a slippery hazard for the unsuspecting visitor. North-easterly gales occasionally flood the poorly dredged harbour and may even drift passing colliers onto the shallow seabed to the north-east of town, known as Whitby Rock. A disaster for the owner, but a welcome reprieve for the local poor: free coal!   Local school registers keep marking the same pupils as absent on snowy days “for want of boots”. Charities and kindly neighbours do what they can to alleviate the worst suffering, but for Whitby’s very poorest, the cold of winter may prove the last push into the workhouse. The local fishermen have exchanged their nets and pots for long-lines to fish for cod, but rough seas do not always permit them to safely leave the harbour. When they do set out, on calmer days, they know the weather can turn quickly. Many fishing families pick up alternative trades during winter to make ends meet.   For those with time and money to spare, the approach of Christmas offers a welcome distraction from the dreariness. Hosts plan dinners and balls. Others shop for Christmas presents. Local shop owners see their profits rise. Lets just hope their business will not be the next target of the rumoured serial arsonist who has already claimed the Whitby Gazette’s printing office and that infamous brothel, the Diamond Pony.   As for Whitby’s high society, some have gone to winter in more tolerable climates, such as the French Riviera. Those who remain, busy themselves with the usual social calls, concerts, philanthropy and gossip. All the gossip - the only context in which anyone still mentions the name ‘Carrington’, tut, and that most unladylike Lady MacKenzie. Then there are the newcomers, Mr and Miss Du Pond, who suddenly appear high on every guest list although nobody seems to know who first introduced them into their society.   With all the gossip, Christmas festivities, possible arson, frostbite, pointing and laughing at visitors slipping down steps, snowball attacks by street urchins, and shipwrecks, December promises to be another eventful month! Photograph by: Frank Meadow Sutcliffe (1853-1941)