It was October, Jim and I hopped a train to Wales for a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants trip. JIm and I were usually planners but we decided to switch things up. We landed in Tenby, a seaside resort town. It was quiet in the off season but packed with tourists over the summer. I was grateful that we missed the crowds. We found a bed and breakfast straight away. The owner who signed us in asked how we wanted to be in the register, Mr. and Mrs.? Jim turned to me and asked if I was ready for my reputation to be soiled. I erupted into a fit of laughter, knowing it was way too late for that. Whatever made her comfortable was fine, but I insisted on single beds. Mr. Turner and guest, she carefully wrote in her book. I adored Jim, but not in a boyfriend way. He often had me laughing until my sides hurt but I wasn’t attracted to him like he was to me.
Soon we found ourselves at the picturesque harbor. I began chatting with a man with masses of long red curls. He invited us on a boat ride to a nearby island to deliver supplies to a monastery that afternoon on a nearby island. I trusted him immediately. JIm wandered over and I told him we were going on a boat ride. He was hesitant but when he heard it was free and began to talk to my new friend, the captain, he was convinced it was a great idea.
After lunch we spotted our new friend on the pier. He broke the news that he wasn’t going but his friends were and they didn’t mind us coming along. We climbed on board the small boat bound for Caldy Island. We planned to take pictures for our class but didn’t count on the rough seas. The other passengers of the boat were entertained by us as we jockeyed for better positions without getting each other in our shots. I soon gave up and took my place at the bow like I had done so many times with friends on the Chesapeake Bay. I loved the way the boat rose on a swell then dropped when wave passed. I noticed one of the crew was near my age. He had black wavy hair, blue eyes, pre-raphaelite lips and dark two day scruff covering his strong jawline. He noticed me looking.
“Do ya work for the taxman?,” a handsome dark one asked me.
“The who?” Between his Welsh accent and the jargon, I had no idea what he was saying.
“The government, do ya work for the government to try and catch people not paying taxes on work they’re doin on the side?”
I laughed and told him I was an American student. He told me I didn’t sound like an American, a compliment in my book. Since I’d been in London, I’d picked up an accent. It wasn’t intentional, I did the same when I was around my grandmother who had a soft southern drawl or the natives of my hometown of Baltimore with their o’s that have two vowel sounds. Convinced, he went back to work but I noticed he was sneaking as many glances at me as I was of him.
When we got back to the harbor, I asked the handsome one if I could take his picture since we had stopped bouncing on the sea. My camera focused on him as I tried to capture both his manliness and his beauty. The black and white film wouldn’t capture his eyes that reflected the color of the sea. He left without me getting his name. JIm urged me up the hill to find more interesting people. He spotted an older man in a captain’s cap who invited us in for coffee. He called his home his cave, many years before the “man-cave” was ever a thing. His mum lived with him in his nautical themed home. I had the feeling that it wasn’t for show and that this was truly his life. I looked out the window at the view of the harbor below and tried to see if I could see the handsome man from the boat.
We’d set the alarm for 5:30am. We wanted to capture the sunrise on the bay. We both groaned and fell back asleep. When the alarm buzzed again, JIm leapt out of his bed and was simultaneously brushing his teeth and getting dressed. He urged me to get my “lazy ass out of bed”. He wanted to get an early morning shot of the inlet with the tide out. The boats had double keels so they rested on the sand at low tide. When the tide came in, the anchored boats rose with it. We made our way down the hill to the water. We made beautiful sunrise photos then went back to our B&B for breakfast. Our hostess told us about the annual fishing competition on the South Beach. The tide was still out so we roamed the beach. It was a paradise for a photographer. I had color film in one camera for the sunrise and brightly colored houses along the water. The other camera had black and white for my photo story. JIm and I headed down to the beach to find the fishing competition. He wandered off. I wanted to climb the rocks to a fortress you could only get to at low tide. I could get my overall shot of the fishermen from up high. When I descended, JIm was nowhere to be found. I began to photograph a fisherman in the surf. I walked backwards looking for a better angle when I bumped into the handsome man from the day before.
“Are ya followin me?” His lips curled in a half smile. “Are ya sure ya don’t work for the government?” He had a full smile now. “If I knew I was gonna see ya, I would’ve shaved and cleaned up a bit.” I assured him he looked just fine. Perfect, I thought to myself.
“I’m Thomas Nevitt,” he extended his hand. I clasped it and it seemed like a wave of electricity ran through me. He didn’t let go right away. His grasp was firm. His hand strong and warm.
“I’m Nell.”
“Really? My boat is named ‘Ellen May’ after my grandmother, but everyone called her Nell.” I wanted that to be a sign.
We talked as if we were old friends catching up after a long separation. I told him about being abroad with my college, the photo classes and where we’d traveled. I made sure he knew JIm wasn’t my boyfriend. He didn’t get much fishing done. He shared his sandwich and his beer with me. I was thankful that JIm hadn’t re-appeared. An hour later an older couple approached us.
. “I’m Meryl, this is my husband Mike and our son Michael Jr. is the one fishing down there with the waders on,” she said extending her hand. “I’m Thomas’s mum.” I’d been taking photographs of his brother before I bumped into Thomas . Meryl told me the history of Castle Hill, the Lifeguard house, the historic wall the town grew up around. She told me about attractions JIm and I should find before we left.
“Well I’ve lost JIm so I’ll stay put and photograph you all. He’ll find me” I thought Thomas might be the handsomest man I had ever met. His accent pushed me over the edge if I had any doubt of it. His mother seemed pleased with my attraction to her son. She could see he felt the same. I couldn’t wait to get back to London to develop these photos.
JIm came back too soon and I introduced him to the family. I felt guilty hoping he was not seeing how much I wanted to kiss this Welsh fisherman.
It was Meryl who added a level of awkwardness when I overheard her say to JIm, “She’s attracted to Thomas, isn’t she?” He shrugged. I pretended like I hadn’t heard. I thought he might be feeling uncomfortable with that question since he wanted me to be attracted to him instead.
I asked Meryl for their address so I could send pictures. She asked when I’d be coming back. “Next month, I think. Can I get a room in November or is the whole town shut down?” She told me I could find a place to stay and seemed excited at the prospect of me coming back. JIm looked at me and tapped his watch. We had to leave because we had to catch the train to Bristol to get back to London. I wanted to stay, school be damned. At least I had his name and address and I’d be using it.
Nell Carroll Photography 