Afterwards, they said that she must have had the locket all along, that she had kept it hidden those many years.
According to her, she’d given the locket to Tom Hames just before he left on his first voyage. She was just seventeen and he was nineteen, and they would be married when he returned. Only he never did. Somewhere far away tragedy overwhelmed his ship, and none of that crew ever made port again.
When the news came, she had at once gone out of the house and up onto the cliff tops, and stayed there all day, looking out to sea. They came and tried to bring her back down to warmth and comfort, but she refused.
“He’ll come back to me,” she told them.
They gently tried to explain that he was never coming back. But she pointed to the white birds soaring above the cliffs.
“Don’t you know that when a sailor dies at sea, his soul becomes a gull? My Tom is out there somewhere, flying back to me. And I will be here for him.”
Every day she went back up to the cliff. Every day, as the weeks and months and years went by.
They told her that with so many gulls riding the wind above them, she would never know if her Tom was amongst them. But she said that she would be sure.
“I gave him a token, a locket, and he put it close to his heart, and swore that it would never leave him till he was with me again.”
They could not persuade her, and they would not force her. So she lived out her life up on the cliff top, day by day, in wind or rain or summer’s heat. And the gull's mournful cry spoke for her heart.
They were a close knit community, and didn’t share their secrets readily. None-the-less, word got out about the Seagull Lady, and a newspaperman came along one day to write up Sarah’s tragic story. He told a sad tale of the poor treatment of the mentally ill in remote communities. And soon enough after that they were along to take Sarah away to be assessed and properly looked after.
She wept quietly but did not resist them. At the first opportunity she made her escape, and went back to the cliff top to resume her vigil.
There was a gale blowing that night, which kept all but the mad and foolish off those exposed high places. But they found her there next morning. She was snuggled up in the gorse bushes, cold and dead, but with a smile on her face that had not been seen in all those long years. A seagull was on her lap, as dead as she. Around its neck and in her hand was a locket on a silver chain.
Of course, she had had it hidden all that time. Just waiting for the right seagull.
According to her, she’d given the locket to Tom Hames just before he left on his first voyage. She was just seventeen and he was nineteen, and they would be married when he returned. Only he never did. Somewhere far away tragedy overwhelmed his ship, and none of that crew ever made port again.
When the news came, she had at once gone out of the house and up onto the cliff tops, and stayed there all day, looking out to sea. They came and tried to bring her back down to warmth and comfort, but she refused.
“He’ll come back to me,” she told them.
They gently tried to explain that he was never coming back. But she pointed to the white birds soaring above the cliffs.
“Don’t you know that when a sailor dies at sea, his soul becomes a gull? My Tom is out there somewhere, flying back to me. And I will be here for him.”
Every day she went back up to the cliff. Every day, as the weeks and months and years went by.
They told her that with so many gulls riding the wind above them, she would never know if her Tom was amongst them. But she said that she would be sure.
“I gave him a token, a locket, and he put it close to his heart, and swore that it would never leave him till he was with me again.”
They could not persuade her, and they would not force her. So she lived out her life up on the cliff top, day by day, in wind or rain or summer’s heat. And the gull's mournful cry spoke for her heart.
They were a close knit community, and didn’t share their secrets readily. None-the-less, word got out about the Seagull Lady, and a newspaperman came along one day to write up Sarah’s tragic story. He told a sad tale of the poor treatment of the mentally ill in remote communities. And soon enough after that they were along to take Sarah away to be assessed and properly looked after.
She wept quietly but did not resist them. At the first opportunity she made her escape, and went back to the cliff top to resume her vigil.
There was a gale blowing that night, which kept all but the mad and foolish off those exposed high places. But they found her there next morning. She was snuggled up in the gorse bushes, cold and dead, but with a smile on her face that had not been seen in all those long years. A seagull was on her lap, as dead as she. Around its neck and in her hand was a locket on a silver chain.
Of course, she had had it hidden all that time. Just waiting for the right seagull.