Geordie cryptids are normally identifiable by a number of peculiar "trademarks"; they tend to wear string vests, drink copious amounts of brown ale ( colloquially known as lunatics' broth) and have a fondness for dining on the fish Gadus morhua, or Atlantic Cod. Being omnivorous, they will often supplement their diet with the root vegetable Solanum tuberosum. Together, Gadus morhua and Solanum tuberosum are commonly called "fish and chips". Anyway, enough of the science lesson and on with the blog.
On Saturday evening, Mr. Richard Freeman and I proceeded to a somewhat ostentatious drinking establishment called The Alum Ale House. "The Alum" sits on the south bank of the River Tyne in South Shields, and provides refreshment to weary travellers. However, in keeping with Geordie by-laws patrons who frequent the place must be at least two weeks old and are not allowed to purchase alcoholic beverages until they have reached three months. For pedants, an "alcoholic beverage" in Geordieland must be at least 86% proof. Any weaker products are classed as "soft drinks", as only new-borns and "soft" people imbibe them.
The purpose of our visit was to educate the local populace regarding two cryptozoological enigmas. I opened the proceedings by informing the packed Dungeon Bar about one of our more colourful crustaceans; a huge critter commonly known as The Giant Lobster of Trow Rocks. Having suitably traumatised those foolhardy enough to attend, Mr. Freeman then followed with a rendition of his adventures in a country called "Russia", which allegedly lies many furlongs away in another land supposedly called "Europe". The existence of both these locations has yet to be verified by our scientists.
The Giant Lobster of Trow Rocks is something of a puzzle, as it is almost certainly not a lobster and it doesn't reside on Trow Rocks. Mind you, it lives pretty close to them.
Aquatic cryptids are supposed to live in picturesque underwater caves decorated with sea shells. The Giant Lobster of Trow Rocks, being a Geordie, prefers to tart up his home with old copies of Viz magazine and Woodbine packets, but we need not quibble over details.
In the early part of the 20th century, there stood in Jarrow, also on the banks of the Tyne, a dock. Docks were places where we used to build ships, dismantle ships and fish for our supper, but with the decline of the shipping industry they steadily became redundant. At the neck of the dock stood a huge steel thing known as a gate. The gate was used to keep some of the water out and to prevent the locals from escaping. At some juncture it became surplus to requirements, and a rich bloke bought it and decided to have it sent off to Norway where it could be broken down and sold for scrap. The plan went swimmingly - please excuse the pun - at first. The dock was strapped to another big thing called a boat, and it duly made its way down river. After entering the North Sea the boat turned right and got as far as Marsden Bay. Here, alas, tempestuous waves and gusty winds precipitated a disaster. The boat shuggied about a bit in the sea, and the gate fell off.
Now the gate was so big that even after it hit the bottom the top bit was still sticking out of the water, where it remained for many decades - a stark testament to both the skill of our nautical engineers and the ferocity of our ocean.
Twenty years later, a bloke from Sunderland, which lies within the adjacent Kingdom of Mackemland, purchased the gate with the intention of salvaging it. He strapped it to a boat, sailed a bit further up the shore and then watched as it fell off again. Bugger, he opined. A third attempt also ended in like manner, and the remains of the gate have lodged at the bottom of the briny ever since. You can still see it at low tide.
In 1963, people started to see a strange thing on the beach. It was 12 feet in length, dark green in colour and had big claws, upon which it sported sharp lumps. Recently, after much investigation, our marine biologists positively identified these lumps as - sorry to get technical - "pointy bits" and suggested that they are probably best avoided by bathers who find themselves in close proximity to the creature. Since its arrival, the creature has been known as The Giant Lobster of Trow Rocks, but this is a misnomer. Indeed, its description fits closely that of Jaekelopterus rhenaniae, the long-extinct (supposedly) Giant Sea Scorpion.
What, pray, I hear you ask, has this creature got to do with the dock gate? For reasons I have not been able to fathom, a legend arose that the monster - whatever its taxonomical provenance - lived beneath the remains of the gate just off the coast, and would only venture forth from its steel home to catch its prey or put a bet on at the local bookies.
This, in essence, is the story of the Giant Lobster of Trow Rocks. Those who wish to learn more can do so by purchasing a copy of my book Mystery Animals of the British Isles: Northumberland & Tyneside (CFZ Press, 2008), by means of which they may also edify themselves regarding more serious cryptids such as The Giant Rabbit of Felton and the Ghost Birds of Jesmond Dene. (The latter, I hasten to point out, should not be confused with two other species known as the Drunken Birds of Benwell and the Dolly Birds of Walker).
After, Mr. Freeman regaled our audience with tales of his Russian trip. One highlight was his fascinating description of a gorilla's penis, which was accompanied by vigorous wiggling of his little finger. Mr. Freeman assured us that both his pinkie and a gorilla's penis are nigh-identical. Whether the refusal of our audience to shake hands with him later was connected to this I cannot say, but his lecture went down a storm and the crowd yelled for more. Indeed, they got more the following evening when we were invited back by popular demand. The audience, alas, was not quite as large as the previous evening, but we at least had the opportunity to sample a delightful real ale called The Cross Buttock. I will refrain from going into too much detail, but I would like to point out that this beverage very much "does what it says on the tin", and proved to be a most efficacious treatment for solemnity as well as other burdens of body and mind.
Yours in the spirit of Biffa Bacon....Mike.
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