This is an Ode to the Dauntless Dirk Kuyt.
Prologue.
To the right is the North Sea: its rippled skin is broken by a whale carrying its speared pride like a medal, or the clenched fist of a wave raining down on the jaw of a fishing boat. Bulwarks of water and sleet bending steel can’t bend the will of the man behind the captain’s wheel. He named his third child after himself. Dirk Kuyt’s father would come home to him every time.
To Dirk jr.’s left were churches, chip-shops and oblivion.