John Cresswell

John Cresswell of Whitfleet Fisheries, one of the men whose catch has made him as important to the appetite of Britannia’s towns as many lords who sit in Parliament.

John Cresswell of Whitfleet Fisheries belongs to the practical aristocracy of food. Fish follows a different geography from grain or meat — salt yards, smoke houses, eel weirs, herring fleets, cod stages and river fish markets — and the men who organise that traffic have become as important to the towns as many lords seen in Parliament. Cresswell is one of the names most often given when that point is made.

He is young for the standing he holds, about thirty, and the trade is said to have doubted him for it until a hard winter in which Whitfleet’s landings kept coming after other yards had tied up. On the quays he is known for keeping his own tally book, for going out with the boats more often than his position requires, and for dealing directly with the preserving works and tin stores that now carry fish to barracks, ships, colonial depots and winter towns.

Companies meet him when catches go missing between quay and market, when a buyer’s contract is disputed, or when boats fail to come back from grounds that were safe the season before. He pays promptly and asks for plain accounts.

In person

Cresswell is about thirty, wiry and strong, with dark-blond hair and a long blond beard that makes him look at once younger and older than he is. His face is weathered by river and coast, and his eyes are a pale blue-grey. He dresses for work rather than office — heavy waterproof coat, waxed canvas and leather, high boots, gloves and a weather hat — and carries a tally book, a knife and a brass tide gauge as other men carry a watch.