As a child, my dad would always have bacon and eggs at the ready, before we went to school. Black pudding and peppery saveloys were a favourite as well, made by Richard Barker of Johnsons’ Pork Butchers on the east side of Whitby, on Church Street. Indeed, the same cobbled street housed the locally famous Fortune Kippers at the foot of the 199 steps, under the haunting shadow of Whitby Abbey, where for five generations the same family have cured plump herrings. Friends of ours, the Watkins, owned the aptly named Kipper Cottage just down from the smokery, on Henrietta Street, and when I stayed there, I remember waking to the almost overpowering scent of smoke wafting through the sash windows of their harbourside haven. Even to this day, it has addictive qualities, drawing me back to this little shop. Next door, the jet black hut, tarred thick with years of smouldering sawdust, transforms these shiny ‘silver darlings’ into lightly lacquered breakfast beauties.
