Innocent on the run. Part 20.

Chapter 5. Doc called Ricky again at six thirty, and said that he'd had a lie in, so hit the deck pronto! Doc had got in the habit of putting Spanish words into his conversation since they had arrived at Port Arthur. He'd say, 'Que?' instead of 'what?' 'No sabe,' when he didn't understand something, 'Pronto,' for 'quick' and 'dinero' for 'money,' and loads of other words that Ricky was sure he'd invented. He washed and dressed and got up to the galley by a quarter to seven. Doc was singing 'The yellow rose of Texas,' as he busied himself at the stove. Nigel was in the galley loading up his dumb waiter with trays, and he shouted at Ricky, 'Come in if you can stand the noise, Rick.' 'You blokes don't appreciate good singing,' Doc laughed. 'Bueno Dias Rick.' 'Morning,' Ricky answered. Nigel sniffed. 'That's the trouble, we do appreciate good singing. I've got a headache already, listening to that noise.' 'Your headache is from too much beer last night, you drunken devil you. I saw you in that sleazy bar, talking to those American sailors,' Doc answered. 'Oh, you rotten liar, Doc. I did no such thing,' Nigel pouted. 'Yes you did, I saw you, so don't deny it. One of them was about six foot five and the other was a little Mexican type. You want to watch those Mexicans, they're full of beans and wind.' Doc jumped up and down on the spot. 'Boing, Boing, Frrrt,' he mouthed. Ricky was in stitches! 'Oh, really!' Nigel squealed, and flounced out of the galley. Doc laughed, 'I'll get him going yet. He's going to blow one of these days.' 'The way you say things, it sounds true.' Ricky said, pouring himself a cup of tea. 'Well, if he wants to work with men, he's got to take it like an hombre. I had him nearly there yesterday ! He was on the edge ! A few more words and he would have been over the top.' Ricky started washing up the previous night's dirty crockery. Doc carried on, 'I told him that the Captain had said his pantry needed a good clean, and he was going to get the Chief Steward to give Nigel a roasting ! Doc was grinning all over his face. 'He was nearly spitting! ''My pantry is not dirty, he squeaked. I'm very particular with my pantry! How dare anyone say my pantry is dirty.'' So you're calling the Captain a liar, then, I said. Go on, then, go see the Captain and call him a liar to his face. He stuck his nose in the air, like this,' and Doc demonstrated Nigel with his nose in the air and one hand on his hip. ' ''I shall go and see the Chief Steward,'' he said, and ponced out of here like a big tart.' Ricky was grinning at Doc's demonstration of an irate Nigel, so Doc took a couple of mincing steps across the galley, which cracked him up! 'Changing your profession, Doc.' A voice from the doorway said. 'Hello Mr. Mate,' he answered. 'Just showing Ricky who he's got to stay away from over here.' 'Not many of those in Texas.' the Mate grinned. 'Any breakfast ready yet? I've got to be on deck shortly so I'm not going in the saloon to eat.' 'Yes, here we go,' Doc replied, and broke two eggs in the pan. He opened his oven door and piled a plate up with sausages, bacon, black pudding, fried bread, and beans. Placing the eggs on the top, he handed it to the Mate. 'Blimey,' he said. 'Do I eat it or climb it ?' 'Set you up for the morning.' Doc answered. Ricky had finished his washing up, so he cleared the messroom tables and wiped them down. The boiler had been filled by Doc earlier and it was hissing away, ready for the tea and coffee. Other crew members were coming in for breakfast so he kept busy filling plates, washing up in between, and clearing the tables. Pete came in to the mess room and sat as far away from the serving hatch as he could get. He nursed a cup of tea between his hands. Both of his eyes were puffy and a dark bruise had appeared under the right one. ‘What happened to you?’ Doc called out to him. ‘Got in a bit of trouble in one of the bars,’ he answered. Doc turned away from the hatch and looked at Ricky. The lad smiled and Doc raised his eyebrows, questioning. Ricky said nothing. Charlie had been ashore the previous evening, and he told Ricky he'd met some beautiful American girls, who were mad for him, but he had to tell them all that he had to get back to his ship, as he was the Captain, and no one would know what to do if he wasn't there supervising. Doc overheard him, and he stuck his head through the serving hatch. 'Get lost, you grease monkey.' he shouted. 'The only girls you met were in your dreams.' Charlie laughed. 'It's true , Doc, honest. As true as I'm riding this bike.' 'Get back down below, you've been having those funny hallucinations again.' Ricky got his breakfast and joined Charlie at the table, telling him about the pool hall and the money he'd won. Charlie listened, then said, 'Be careful in places like that. At the first sign of trouble, get out of there fast ! Some of these guys over here are crazy. They'd kill someone for a few dollars.' The last of the men had eaten and Ricky cleared up after them and washed down the tables, before sinking his arms in the suds and doing the crockery and cutlery . After finishing in the galley, Ricky went out on deck and joined the rest of the crew in cleaning and maintenance work. They had stripped a part of the windlass on the fo'c'sle, and his job was to clean up the parts with a bucket of diesel, so that the engineers could inspect them, before renewing any parts. It was hot on the deck and he stripped off to his shorts. He had become a nice, even, brown colour on the trip down from the U.K. Doc was the barber on board and had cut his hair in a crew cut. He was filling out physically with the good food and constant exercise, so much so that he wondered if his Mum would recognise him when he got back home. It seemed like a lifetime since he had joined the ship, but it was only just over four weeks. He would have some good stories to tell his mates back at home after this trip, and he would have the new clothes and cowboy boots to prove where he'd been. They would be green with envy! He spent the day with the Engineers, and managed to get through the day without breaking or losing anything. The nearest he came to messing something up was when he dropped a small part of machinery that he was cleaning, and it rolled towards the ship's side. He just managed to stop it before it plunged over the side into the water. The Second Engineer said that if it had gone over, Ricky would have followed it! He did his chores in the messroom after dinner, before going back out on deck to keep his cargo watch. There didn't seem to be an awful lot of grain in the hold that he was assigned to, but the Mate told him that it was deceptive, and that there was about a third of the cargo aboard already. The evening passed quite quickly, and it was as Dave had said, the Crane man knew what he was doing, so all that needed to be done was keep the deck clear of spilled cargo. At Midnight he was relieved by an Able Seaman who was not happy to be working the night shift, and groused for ten minutes before Ricky was able to get away. Covered in dust from the cargo, he showered and went straight to bed. He'd had a long day, and was very soon asleep. Next day, Doc let him lie in until six thirty again, and he hauled himself out of his bunk trying to open his sticky eyes. Running the water in the sink and holding his head under it helped, and he pulled on his clothes and joined Doc in the galley. He was used to the same routine now, so he got on with his jobs after getting a cup of tea. Doc was in good form again, telling Nigel stories with a poker face, trying to wind him up. He managed to upset him most days, and today he told Nigel that the Chief Steward wanted all the stewards to help out with the cargo watches. Nigel shot off to see the Chief Steward, and Doc had leaned on the sink laughing like a maniac. 'He'll never learn,' he said. 'One day, he'll get his own back.' Ricky said. 'He'll never put one over on me, I'm not as gullible as he is.' Ricky spent that day out in the sun, working with the Bosun. They changed two of the mooring lines that had got frayed, by hauling new lines out of the forward locker, and substituting them for the old ones. Ricky tripped over the rope on the deck and sat down heavily, much to the Bosun's amusement. Ricky didn't think it was funny, though, his backside was sore! Changing them over took all morning and in the afternoon the Bosun cut out the worn bits on the two they'd changed, and spliced them together again. It was a long job handling the huge ropes, and Ricky had his work cut out laying the ropes out on deck in snakes and feeding the old, frayed bits to the Bosun when he needed them. He had to drape the rope over his shoulder and drag it up the deck to where the Bosun was sat. It was exhausting work, and he fell over a couple more times before they'd finished. They completed the two ropes and stowed them away just before dinner, so Ricky had to go straight into the messroom and lay up the tables.There was no work for him that evening, so he was free to go ashore, and he hurried through his jobs after dinner to get showered and changed. Doc stopped him as he was going over the gangway. 'Watch your step if you go to the pool room,' he advised. 'If any trouble starts, get under a table.' Ricky laughed. 'Okay Doc.' He walked down the gangway shaking his head, thinking old Doc's a worrier. The gangway was not as steep as it had been the first night that he went ashore, a sure sign that the ship was filling up with grain. Walking through the dockyard he stopped at the dry docks to see what progress had been made on the two ships there, and was amazed to see that both had had their bottoms scraped and painted, and the one with the new propeller had had all the scaffolding taken away from it. They certainly worked quick over here he thought. Men were still on the decks working on the winches and windlasses, so they were not completely finished. Both ships looked brand new with their nice new paint. He came out of the docks and walked up the streets towards the pool hall. Bars and shops were ablaze with neon lights even though it was not yet dark, and he stopped to look in the store windows. Everything that you could possibly imagine was on sale. There was even a store full of guns of all types, shapes and sizes. Revolvers, automatics, shotguns, machine pistols, and all the ammunition to go with them. Spicy and aromatic smells came from the delicatessens, mixed in with fresh bread, cheeses, dried fruits and fresh meats. Fruit and vegetable shops with items that he'd never seen or heard of before. Liquor stores packed with a mind boggling assortment of wines, beers, and spirits. Pawnbrokers and jewellers, Laundromats, restaurants and drug stores, all doing good business, by the amount of people in each. The number of cars on the streets was amazing! They were everywhere, huge chromium plated cars with fins on their backs, cars with engines showing, small wheels in the front and bigger ones in the back, open sports cars, yellow taxis, limousines, cars painted in garish colours and old rusty ones. It seemed like no one walked in Port Arthur, they drove up to the store they wanted, parked outside it, then drove away loaded up. How different it was to his home town where you were lucky if you saw two or three cars in a day. There were certainly no bright coloured cars at home, they were all black! He dawdled outside the store next to the pool hall, eying up the range of boots in the window. They started at eight dollars a pair, and he had six. He thought, maybe tonight I can win some more money. A voice said, 'Hi, Ricky.' It was Slim, on his way into the pool hall. 'Hello, Slim. I was just about to go in.' 'Well, come on, lets go. I'm meeting a couple of the guys here. We can make up a four hander.' They went in, and Slim headed for the guy he'd been playing with before Ricky met him. There was another young man with him, and they were playing together on a table in the corner. 'This is Ricky.' Slim said to the other two. 'These two guys are Chuck and Al' 'Hi, Ricky.' they chorused. Chuck held out his hand. 'Call me Chuck.' Ricky shook the offered hand. 'I'm Al.' the other one said and shook hands. 'My Dad's called Al, sometimes,' Ricky said. 'It's short for Alfred. What's yours short for? ' 'I'd rather not say,' he said looking away. 'Its Alphonso, that's what it is.' Slim said. 'And he can't stand it. Chuck's short for Charles.' Al was shorter than Ricky, with very black hair and black eyes. He looked like there was some Mexican in his family as his skin was a golden brown colour. Chuck was as tall as Slim, with fair, almost white hair and blue eyes. The three of them were dressed in jeans and Tee Shirts, with baseball boots. It seemed to be a uniform, as nearly every teenager in the hall was dressed the same. They watched as the two lads finished their game, then racked the balls up for a foursome, spinning up for partners, the losers to pay for the table. Chuck and Ricky were drawn together, and they lost the first frame, but won the second and third. They asked Ricky what it was like living in South Wales and he told them about his family's house, with no electricity, and candles to light the way at night. They thought he was joking at first, but soon believed him when he went on to describe the gas lighting, and fuelling the fires with wood and small coal, and sometimes coke which they had to carry from the gas works. 'What car does your old man drive?' Slim asked. Ricky looked at him, startled. 'No one that I know of has got a car. The only people who could afford cars would be Doctors and very rich people, I expect.' 'Damn, everyone drives cars here. I'll be getting one for my birthday next month,' Slim said. 'Yeah, I got a Ford.' Chuck told him. 'Few dollars down and a few dollars a month.' Al joined in. 'Hell, I'm building one from used spare parts. You get a body and chassis for a few bucks, then get the rest from the breakers. There's hundreds of cars crashed every day around here. Sometimes you can get the wrecks for nothing.' Ricky was impressed! What a country ! Even the kids had cars! The three American boys were all around seventeen years old, having been in the same class at school, and were working in Port Arthur. Slim worked in a delicatessen, Chuck worked in a meat packing plant, and Al was a trainee mechanic in a garage. They played three more games, then Slim suggested they go across the street to the bowling Alley, as there was no action in the pool hall, so they hung up their cues and crossed the street. The bowling arena was huge, with twelve bowling lanes, most of them occupied by teams or families. There was a bar selling soft drinks and ice creams, and seats around the end of each alley in a semicircle. Behind the semicircles there were rows and rows of tables and chairs. The noise was incredible! A mixture of laughter, conversation, cheers, screams and cursing. They booked an alley and changed into the special shoes that were on hire. The bowling balls were a lot bigger than the skittle balls that Ricky had used at home, with holes in them for placing your fingers in. There were ten pins at the end of the alley, and when some of them were knocked down, a machine automatically replaced them on the diamond. Slim showed Ricky how to hold the ball, sight it at the pins, run a few steps to the start line and throw the ball, following through with his arms and body. His first ball missed completely, but his next hit seven pins down and he gave a great shout of exhilaration, joining the others who cheered like mad. They formed themselves into two teams, competing against each other, and played for an hour. Ricky threw a lot of his balls off the alley completely, and on one occasion, couldn't let go of the ball and ended up sliding down the alley with the ball still attached to his hand. The onlookers thought it hilarious! 'Funniest game of ten pin I've ever played,' Slim laughed wiping his eyes. They sat at one of the tables watching the other players. Some of the teams that were playing had special shirts on with their names on the back. There were Eagles, Indians, Mac's Garage, Oilers and Denny's Diner. Chuck said, 'There's a party at my place on Saturday night. My folks are away for the week, so see if you can make it, Rick.' 'Great, I should be O.K. for Saturday. I'm duty tomorrow night, so I should be off the following night.' 'We'll be at the pool room early on, so if you can make it, we'll meet you there and take you to my place in the car.' 'That's great, thanks a lot.' 'There'll be a crowd of our buddies, and a lot of girls from the college, so we should have a great night.' 'Yeah, the last one we had lasted all night,' Slim said. 'That was at my place,' Al joined in. 'It took me nearly a week to clean the place up before the folks got back.' 'We helped.' Slim reminded him. 'Oh, yeah, you helped allright. If you hadn't been there it would have taken three days, instead of a week. ' 'Well, you can't work all the time. You gotta take it easy sometimes.' 'You took it easy all the time! I was the one scrubbing the carpets when you were sleeping on the couch.' 'I made the coffee!' 'Big deal!' Al told Ricky how the other two had turned up to help him clean up, and Chuck had ended up in the garage working on Al's car. Slim had lazed about, getting in the way, and Chuck had capped it all by coming in to the house with oil on his shoes, treading it into the carpets. They could laugh about it now, but at the time Al had nearly murdered the pair of them. Time was getting on, and Ricky had to be back onboard by midnight, so he told the American boys that he would have to leave.

Innocent on the run. Part 19.

Ricky turned away from the dry-dock and a voice called to him, ‘Hey! Come here you little sod, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ Pete was coming towards him, weaving unsteadily on his feet. He stabbed a finger into Ricky’s chest. ‘You little bastard,’ he hissed. Ricky recoiled from the alcohol-laden breath, and took a pace backwards. ‘Don’t walk away from me,’ Pete shouted. ‘It’s time you got taught not to carry tales about me.’ Ricky was stunned! He had no idea that Pete thought he’d been carrying tales. ‘I didn’t say anything about you,’ he declared. ‘Don’t lie to me you little swine. You told Doc that I’d been on your back and the old bastard poisoned me.’ Ricky shook his head, ‘ No, you’ve got it wrong.’ Pete grabbed the front of Ricky’s shirt and bunched it up, drawing the younger lad towards him so that their faces were inches apart. His breath nearly made Ricky gag. ‘I’ve got it right!’ Pete shouted in his face. ‘And this is where you get what’s coming to you.’ He punched Ricky in the stomach with his right fist and the lad was propelled backwards. Gasping for breath, Ricky saw Pete advancing towards him. Pete swung a punch at his head and Ricky ducked under it. The blow whistled over his head. Pete swung towards him again and aimed another punch at his face. Ricky swayed backwards on his heels and the punch missed him by inches. He squared up to Pete with his fists raised. Pete smiled, his hands on his hips. ‘Think you can fight do you? Come on, then. Let’s see what you’re made of.’ He advanced and threw a tremendous right hand punch but Ricky dodged to his right and as Pete was trying to recover his balance, Ricky danced in and slammed a right into his body. The air whooshed out of Pete’s lungs and he gasped. Seeing his chance Ricky came in again and smashed a right onto Pete’s jaw. He shook his head. ‘You little bastard,’ he grunted. ‘Now you’re for it.’ He came at Ricky again and threw a round-arm punch that Ricky ducked under. As he came up, he sent a left hook over Pete’s arm and smacked him in the right eye. Pete tried to grab him but the lad was not going to be caught that way and he weaved his way out of the clutching hands and danced away. Pete was getting mad and he rushed forwards. The boxing coach had always taught the boys that the fighter who loses his temper and started acting rashly was as good as beaten. He easily avoided the bigger lad’s rush and his flailing arms and sidestepped. As Pete blundered past, Ricky hit him with a left and right to the body. He turned to Ricky snarling, and tried another rush. Ricky’s straight left to the nose stopped him dead in his tracks and the right that followed it caught Pete in the left eye. He raised both his arms to cover his face and Ricky went in to the body. Left, right, left, right into the ribs. He punched for all he was worth, and felt his blows jarring him to the elbows. All the pent-up anger that he’d been suppressing while Pete was causing him grief was expelled in the weight of the hammer blows that he belted into the bigger boy’s body, staggering him backwards. Pete’s hands clawed at Ricky’s back as he desperately tried to stop himself falling backwards, but Ricky was advancing, still slamming punches into his body. Suddenly Pete’s feet couldn’t keep up with his backward motion and he toppled over with Rick on top of him. He lay on the ground winded as Ricky levered himself up and turned away from him. Pete gained a little breath. ‘Don’t think this is the end of it,’ he gasped, sucking in great quantities of air. ‘I’ll have you again.’ Ricky turned back to him. ‘Any time,’ he said. He picked up his carrier bag and walked towards the ship. **** Llanerin was brilliantly lit, with floodlights high up on the accommodation and masts lighting up the decks and hatches. The cranes had their own lights on as well, one floodlight either side of the cab, and one enormous one on the end of the jib pointing downwards, so the driver could see where he was dropping the grain. They continued their monotonous lifting from the delivery trucks, swinging the grab over the hold and releasing the jaws to drop the grain into the depths. He climbed the gangway and checked in with the Second Mate who had the deck watch, before going in to the mess room for a sandwich. Doc and Dave were there eating toast and marmalade and drinking tea. 'Where you been Rick? Apart from buying cowboy gear,' Doc asked eyeing up Ricky's new clothes. 'In a pool hall, playing a few games.' 'Did you win ?' 'I won one and the other guy won one.' 'Try saying that when you're sober.' Dave said. 'Be careful of these pool players, they'll hustle you.' Doc said. 'They lose one or two games purposely, then when you think you can beat them, they get you to agree to increase the stakes by some huge amount, and wipe the floor with you.' 'There were a couple of men playing a tournament, and I bet three dollars and won another three.' 'They're gambling mad over here.' Dave told him. 'Where did you go?' Ricky asked. 'Just a couple of bars. Had a quiet drink and came back again.' 'Did anyone come in with a gun to rob the place?' Dave smiled. 'No, not tonight.' 'I'm for my bed.' Doc said, rising from the table. 'See you boys in the morning.' 'Goodnight,' they said together, and Doc left them to go to his cabin just behind the galley. 'You'll be duty tomorrow night.' Dave told Ricky. 'The Bosun's drawn up a roster for cargo watching. You and Fred are on tomorrow evening, six ‘til midnight. There's not much to it, you just have to make sure the cranes drop the grain evenly in the hatch, so the ship doesn't get a list on her. You're supposed to signal the crane driver to drop it in the corners, once it piles up in one place, but they know better than we do where to drop it, so all you'll be doing is sweeping up the droppings and throwing it in the hold.' 'No pool tomorrow night then !' 'No, but it means a bit of overtime for you.' 'Oh, that's O.K. then. I may be able to get those cowboy boots yet.' 'High heels and pointy toes?' Dave laughed, 'They'll cripple you. You'll be walking like John Wayne with those things on.' Ricky grinned. 'I'll be two inches taller with boots on.' 'You're not doing bad without them. What are you ? Five foot six ?' 'Five seven. And nine stone exactly.' 'Well, keep up the training down below and you'll soon be like Charlie Atlas.' He rose from the table, and stretched, 'I'm off, see you in the morning.' Ricky got up and gathered the cups and plates up. 'Don't wash those now.' Dave said. 'Leave them soaking in the sink and do them in the morning. Other people will be coming back later and doing the same as us, so there'll be a pile to do. Goodnight.' Ricky was piling the dishes in the sink. 'Goodnight,' he replied. He filled the sink with hot water and threw a handful of soap powder in with them. The water boiler was half full so he topped it up and made his way to his cabin, cleaned his teeth and got turned in. It had been a good evening ashore, and he hoped he could go again. He really wanted those boots ! Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 18.

Part 18. 'When are we getting to Port Arthur?' Ricky asked the Bosun. 'It takes us three days to cross the Gulf,' he answered. 'How long are we stopping in port?' was the next question. 'Probably a week, if nothing goes wrong with the loading. It depends on how many cranes they put on us. If there's four cranes we could be loaded in three days, but I've only once had four cranes, when there were hardly any ships in. Generally its two, and it takes six or seven days.' 'Anxious to get ashore, eh, Rick?' Dave asked. 'Will I be able to go ashore?' 'I would think so, once the Immigration boys have seen you.' 'I don't have a Seaman's book or a Passport, or anything.' 'Shouldn't matter, once the old man has given you a temporary book.' 'I don't know,' the Bosun said. 'They're pretty hot here on documents. Last trip over here they wouldn't let the Fourth Engineer ashore, because he didn't have a British Seaman's Book. He was from a Commonwealth Country, but that didn't count.' 'I hope they do let me off, I wouldn't like to be stuck on board while everyone else gets ashore.' 'You can't go in the bars anyway, Rick, you've got to be twenty one here.' Dave told him. 'I don't want to go in the bars, I just want to see a bit of Port Arthur, and maybe buy a few clothes.' 'Watch your step here,' the Bosun said. 'They all carry guns, and if you upset them, they'll shoot you down like a dog. I was ashore with some of the crew on my last trip here, sat in a bar having a quiet drink, when this guy bursts in the door waving a big gun and shouts, ''Stick up!'' We froze ! ''Gimme the money.'' he shouts at the bartender. ''Okay, Okay''. he says and reaches for the till with one hand and under the counter with the other. The till opens with a loud, 'ding,' the guy on the other side of this gunman throws his whisky in his eyes, and the bartender brings out this baseball bat and smacks him over the head with it. Bingo! They took his gun off him and kicked his bum out of there.' 'What! They didn't even call the cops?' Ricky asked. 'No, they're used to it. It happens all the time.' The Bosun winked at Dave. 'Aint that right Dave?' 'Yes, nearly every bar you go in, its the same. Although, the last time I saw a holdup, the other guy didn't throw whisky in his eyes, it was beer. Probably didn't want to waste the whisky.' The Bosun grinned! Ricky's mouth was hanging open! 'Blimey,' he said. 'I'm definitely not going in the bars.' 'Don't get into trouble with the Police, either.' The Bosun warned. 'They'll lock you up regardless of how old you are. They dish out real sentences here as well, none of our short term jobs, life means ninety nine years.' 'Don't worry', Ricky answered. 'I don't expect to be in trouble with the Police. Sergeant Moore in our police back home taught me a lesson. We were out pinching apples and he caught me coming over a wall with a jersey full. He kicked my arse so hard it was sore for a week.' 'Well, they'll do more than kick you here, they'll shoot you.' Llanerin tied up in Port Arthur and the Customs and Immigration Officers came aboard. They asked to see the whole crew, and their documents, and checked each man against his Seaman's Book, asking each one if he had anything to declare. In each case the answer was no, so they put their stamps in the back of the books and returned them to the Captain. In Ricky's case, they accepted the Captain's temporary book and said that he was allowed to go ashore. He was overjoyed. The Captain had said he could have the wages due to him, and he planned to get some American jeans and a check shirt. There was still work to be done on board though, it didn't stop because the ship was in port. The hatch covers were raised and the two cranes that were assigned to them started loading the cargo of grain. Ricky was kept fully employed sweeping up the grain that dribbled out of the grabs on the end of the cranes, and throwing it in the hold. He had to wear a piece of rag around his mouth and nose to keep the dust out.The cranes would be working around the clock, and at 1630 hours, one of the seamen relieved him so he could do his other jobs in the Galley and Messroom. He was covered in dust from the cargo, and Doc told him to get showered before starting work. That evening Ricky walked ashore with Dave and Doc to see a little of the city and to do some shopping. All the stores stayed open late and he wandered up and down the streets and boulevards looking in the windows, trying to decide what to spend his money on. Dave and Doc went into a bar, telling Ricky they would see him back onboard. The stores were huge, and he was amazed at the amount of different designs and quality of clothes that he saw. There were some good denim shirts and jeans in one shop that he went into, and he bought one of each. What he really wanted as well were a pair of leather cowboy boots with pointed toes and high heels, but he didn't have enough money for them. He hoped that he would be paid again before they left Port Arthur, so that he could come back for them. He wore his new clothes and packed his old ones in to a carrier bag, feeling like a real cowboy. There was a Pool Hall alongside the store and he went in, wondering if it was like the snooker halls back home. It was pretty much the same, with rows of tables occupied by dozens of people playing games for fun or for profit. The atmosphere was very smoky, cigar and cigarette smoke gathering under the lights suspended above the tables, and curling up in clouds to the ceiling. The effects of years of this treatment had stained the paintwork brown and discoloured the light fittings and furniture, so that now everything looked drab and brown. Noise from the laughter and chatter was added to by the juke box in the corner, thumping out Country and Western songs, voices wailing on about lost loves, bar room brawls and gunfights. He sat on the long bench around the walls and watched a game being played. It was a strange game, the player having to nominate the pocket that he was aiming for before taking his stroke. If the ball went into a different pocket, that was a foul and the other player had two shots. The balls were bigger than snooker balls and the pockets seemed huge in comparison. Half of the balls had a stripe going around them and the others had just a spot on the ends. He watched as the one youth, a tall, thin lad with freckles all over his face, sank his three remaining balls and won the match. The other boy said, ' Aw, Hell,' threw a dollar bill on the cloth and hung his cue up in the rack. 'You want some more?' the thin kid said, picking up the money. 'Hell, no. I gotta split. See Ya.' And he pulled on a satin windcheater with a large H on the back and headed towards the door. The thin boy looked at Ricky. 'You want to play ,kid?' 'O.K, but I don't know the rules.' 'Hey, you ain't from around here, are you ?' 'No, I'm off a ship in the docks.' 'Yeah ? Where you live?' 'South Wales.' 'South Wales ? Where's South Wales?' 'It's a part of the U.K.' 'England, right ?' 'Yes.' 'O.K.' He came across to Ricky and held out his hand. 'Call me Slim.' Slim was over six feet tall, with red hair cut into a crew cut. He was wearing baseball boots, jeans, and a tee shirt with a Mickey Mouse on the front. Ricky took the offered hand and said, 'Ricky.' 'Pleased to meet you, Ricky. Now, we play for a dollar. The only rules are that you must nominate the pocket you're aiming to get your ball in. We spin a coin to see who breaks, then you choose either a stripe or a spot ball, and that's what you stick with for the length of the game. It's simple. The last ball you sink is the black. If it goes down before it should do, you lose.' He took out a coin. 'Heads or Tails ?' he asked. 'Heads.' Slim spun the coin and it came down Tails. 'My break', he said, and lined up his cue ball in the baulk, and gave it a terrific thump. The triangle of balls at the other end of the table split with a crash and scattered. One of the Spot balls ended up near a pocket and Ricky lined his white up and potted it. 'Good shot,' Slim said with a grin. 'Hey you ain't a hustler are you?' 'No, I've never played pool before. We have snooker at home.' He nominated his next ball in the top right hand pocket, and was surprised to see it disappear. 'Luck !' he said. Slim looked at him with narrowed eyes. 'Oh, Yeah !' he replied. The game continued, first Ricky potting a ball, then Slim taking one. It was a tight game all the way through, and Ricky eventually won it by potting his last ball followed by the black. Slim paid his dollar and they racked the balls up and had another game. Slim won that one and Ricky gave him his money back. They went over to watch a big game that had just started on a table near them. Crowds of men had been arriving and positioning themselves where they could get a good view. There was a lot of money changing hands as people bet on either of the two men who were playing. Slim knew them both, and he put some money on the one he said ought to win it easily. The match was over seven frames and the winner stood to win five hundred dollars, as well as any side bets that he'd placed. Ricky was reluctant to gamble his last three dollars, but Slim said 'Go ahead, live dangerously.' so he went for broke and laid his money down. Ricky watched in horror as their man lost the first two frames, then sighed with relief as he won the third. 'Don't worry, kid.' Slim muttered . 'It's part of the plan!' The other man won the next, and Ricky was already kissing his money goodbye, when their man got inspiration from somewhere and won the next frame. Three Two ! On the break, their man potted two balls and chose stripes , as there were three striped balls near to pockets. He took the three one after the other! The other man took two, then left the cue ball safely touching the cush. It was a difficult shot, with only a small amount of the ball to hit, above the edge of the table, but it didn't bother him at all. He chalked his cue, lined up and struck the ball, hitting another of his colours into a pocket. Ricky was practically jumping up and down, willing his man to win the frame. His hands were clasping together in a washing action, and he was muttering to himself, 'Come on, Come on', as his man cued up and potted another colour. His next ball missed the pocket, allowing the other man to pot two more of his colours. A great breath of air whooshed out of Ricky as his man potted the last colour, positioned the cue ball in a perfect position for the black and sank it, stopping the cue ball dead in it's tracks. Three each! The last frame was very tense, with first one man taking a ball, then the other coming back and taking one. The crowd shouted out in anguish as Ricky's man hit the cue ball too low and it jumped clear of the table, then sighed in relief as it landed again and hit the object ball. People were biting their nails, glued to the action. The other man's last object ball was hidden by the black, and his supporters held their breath as he hit down vertically on one side of the cue ball, and skidded it around the black to hit the object ball, which bounced off the cush and settled near a pocket, the cue ball again being obscured by the black. There was a deathly hush as Slim and Ricky's man aimed the cue ball up the length of the table, bounced it off the cush and hit the other ball on it's return journey, rolling it into a pocket. The lads both jumped in the air and gave a great shout of relief, as his next stroke sent the black into the same pocket. Ricky got six dollars back! It was eleven fifteen, so Ricky said goodbye to Slim, as he had to be back onboard by midnight, and told him he'd see him again when he could get ashore next. He walked back through the docks, past the other ships that were tied up, and the piles of anchor chain, ropes, baulks of timber, skips full of rubbish and other junk that littered the docksides. There were flat railway trucks loaded up with cars, miles of them, waiting in their sidings to be delivered to dealers across the country. Huge tanks of chemicals, paints, oils and petrol were enclosed behind wire fences, with security guards manning the gates into the depots. There was a huge oil refinery with enormous chimneys belching out smoke and steam. Huge trucks filled with cargoes from other vessels lumbered past him. Iron ore, coal, timber and many other commodities. He marvelled at the size of the place and the variety of goods that were on the move, day and night. There were dockyard workers everywhere, going about their jobs, or drinking coffee in the dockside canteens, reading papers and laughing among themselves. There was a dry dock with two ships in it, and dozens of men swarming over them, riveting, welding, scraping and painting. They had large, compressed air driven tools for taking the old paint off the ship's bottom, and the noise from them was terrific! He watched as a crane swung a bright, shiny, new propeller over the dry dock side and down to the men waiting on a scaffolding platform under the stern of one ship. It was huge, and dwarfed the men who were handling it. It appeared to Ricky to be a huge task to get the propeller positioned on it's keyway on the shaft, and then inch it forwards with compressed air tuggers, into its final position, before screwing up the enormous nut on the end of the shaft to keep it in place. But it was a part of a day's work to these men, and he watched them skilfully manoeuvring it, before reluctantly leaving to get back aboard before his deadline. Copyright Deric Barry 2005

Innocent on the run. Part 17.

They painted all of the accommodation, and when that was finished they started on the decks and hatch covers. There was a lot of work to be done and they kept at it day after day. Ricky still had his other duties in the Galley and Mess Room, and he went to bed at night thoroughly exhausted. As the days went by, he became fitter and the sun burned him brown. The crew used a large room in the bowels of the ship as a gymnasium, and Charlie taught Ricky how to exercise properly with weights, so that you didn't strain any muscles. He was used to doing exercises for his boxing training, and he practiced shadow boxing and punching the bag that had been rigged up as well. The exercise made him hungry and soon he was eating everything that Doc put before him. 'You must have lost your own appetite and found a Lions,' Doc commented. As the weeks passed, Ricky got to know more about the ship. They had lifeboat drills every week and they mustered at their assigned lifeboat with their lifejackets on, and had their names recorded by the Second Mate. The Bosun had to get into the lifeboat with one of the Engineers, and they tested the engine, running it for half an hour, and checking the oil levels and battery condition. Emergency rations and fresh water were kept in a locker in the lifeboats, as well as a first aid kit and distress flares. He was given a guided tour of the vessel by the Second Mate, and all of the fire fighting equipment and the emergency exits were pointed out to him. The emergency exit nearest to his cabin was a steel ladder on the bulkhead outside his door, leading up to a steel hatch, which opened up into a small compartment full of coils of rope and tins of paint. Another steel ladder led from this compartment up to a hatch, which opened up onto the deck. The Second Mate made him climb the ladders, and open up the hatches until he got to the deck. Once he had done that the Second made him do it blindfolded. He said it was good policy to do it frequently, so that you could do it in the dark, as you never knew when you might need it. Nigel showed him the Officers pantry and Dining Saloon. Every meal time, Nigel would hoist trays of food up to the pantry on the dumb waiter in the Galley, and keep them hot in his hot press. One of the other stewards would wait on the Officers and give their orders to Nigel, who would put up the meal for the steward to serve. The stewards would look after the dining saloon, lay the tables, wash up their own cutlery and crockery and keep their consumables topped up from the Galley Stores. As well as this they would clean the Officers cabins, change the bedding, clean the passageways and stairs, and generally keep the ship clean and tidy. The Captain walked around the ship every Sunday accompanied by the Chief Steward to see that everything was shipshape. The first time that Ricky opened the door into the Engine Room, he was amazed that anyone could work in there, it was so noisy. Charlie showed him around the different pieces of machinery and had to shout close to his ear, to make himself heard when explaining what they were. As well as the noise there was the heat to contend with! It was tremendously hot in there from the Main Engine, generators and pumps, as well as a boiler to heat water for the crew's use. The Main Engine was a huge diesel, with steel catwalks around the top of it . The Engineers had to take temperatures from thermometers fitted into the top of each cylinder block, every half an hour, and check the pressures of lubricating oil and fuel, topping them up when necessary. The diesel generators had to be checked every half hour as well, and the voltage and current that they were producing had to be logged. Fuel pumps and tanks, fresh and salt water pumps, filters and cooling systems all had to be monitored. Charlie spent his watches, oiling and greasing the thousands of grease nipples and oil holes, in the machinery, as well as assisting the Engineers when they had a piece of machinery to strip down and repair. Ricky was glad when the tour of the Engine Room finished and he could get back to the quiet of the galley. Pete treated Doc with suspicion after his bowel trouble and watched him carefully as Doc put up his meals, but he didn’t suffer from the runs again, so eventually he stopped being so vigilant. He still had a feeling that Doc had done something to his food, but as he had no way of proving it, he kept quiet about it. Doc treated Pete in a very offhand manner, feigning hurt over the things Pete had said about his cooking, but every time Pete turned away from the serving hatch, Doc doubled over, holding his stomach and pointed at Pete’s back with a huge grin on his face. Ricky couldn’t help himself when he first saw Doc taking the mickey out of Pete and he burst out laughing. Pete whirled around at the sudden explosion of laughter from the galley and scowled at them both, not understanding what was going on, for by now Doc had assumed an expression of innocence on his cherubic face. Pete’s attitude towards Ricky changed after the day he spent running to the toilet. He thought the young lad had gone running to Doc, crying about the trouble he was getting into because of Pete, so Doc had taken revenge on him. He vowed to himself that he would get Ricky ashore one day and teach him a lesson for carrying tales and having Doc put him through the agonies of the trots. Until then he would stop harassing the little squirt and get him to think that he was safe. Once ashore and out of the safety of the ship, the little telltale would get what was coming to him. Pete looked forward with relish to the day he would give the little baby a good hiding. Ricky started enjoying himself on the voyage. Things were going well for him at last. He worked cheerfully and didn’t get into any more trouble with the Bosun. He worked hard and every night slept like a top. It was a lot more relaxing now that Pete had stopped playing tricks on him, and he settled down into the routine of the ship. Llanerin rounded the tip of Florida and headed across the Gulf of Mexico, setting a course for Port Arthur. An offshore breeze helped to keep the sailors on deck cool. The day workers had finished their duties and were sprawling on the hatch covers, reading or talking. It had been a very hot day, the sun beating down on them mercilessly. They had kept the hose pipes playing on the decks and accommodation, to keep the steel cold enough to touch. Ricky had helped to wash down the decks, and had had the hose turned on him by Dave. It had soaked him, but it was beautifully cool after the initial shock. He had turned his hose on Dave, and a full scale battle had started, the Bosun and Fred joining in until they were all soaking wet. It didn't matter much, as all they were wearing was shorts or cut down trousers, and hats. Ricky's hat was apiece of rag tied into a headscarf.

Innocent on the run. Part 16.

As they got further South, the weather started to improve, and as they passed the Azores, they were able to strip off to shorts when working on deck.The sea was a glassy calm now, and in their leisure time the crew came out to sunbathe. Doc was still producing huge roast dinners and heavy puddings. He said the weather didn't make a bit of difference, a man still had to have a full belly! Ricky was taught to steer the ship and keep it on course. It was difficult at first, as you wound the wheel in one direction to bring the ship's head on to the correct course, then immediately wound the wheel in the opposite direction, to take off the amount of wheel that you'd put on. It was confusing, trying to get the ship to move in the direction you wanted it to go, using the compass, and many times Ricky turned the wheel in the wrong direction, then had to furiously spin the wheel the other way while the Mate laughed aloud at his efforts. It took a long time before Ricky managed to keep the ship on a straight course. The Mate showed him how they plotted the ship's position every hour, and drew it on the chart. They were using a system of navigation which consisted of three patterns of Radio Waves, transmitted from coast stations located in countries adjacent to the course they were steering. The company that owned the system covered the globe with a network of radio waves, and any ship which hired its equipment could navigate by it. Whichever part of the world the ship was in, there was a chain of staions that she could use. The Llanerin was using the North Atlantic Chain, and the stations were called the Red, the Green and the Purple stations, with the Red station in North America, the Green station in Southern Ireland, and the Purple station on the West Coast of Africa. The patterns were sent out on different frequencies, and the Receiver on board the ship would convert the three radio signals, electronically, into three separate numerical displays. The charts that they used were criss crossed with the radio patterns, interpreted as coloured lines, of red, green and purple, starting from the parent station and extending outwards to cover the whole of the North Atlantic. The red, green and purple displays on the receiver were read off and then transferred to the chart, and plotted as a cross where the three intersected. Every day at noon a sun sight was taken with the sextant, and their position plotted, as a visual check to confirm the Navigation system's position. Ricky was also shown the Radar, and how to interpret the images which showed up on the luminous screen. There were four ranges on the radar, of four, eight, twelve and twenty miles, with range rings at two mile intervals on the screen. The source of the beam at the centre of the screen, represented the ship. There was a black rubber, conical hood over the screen, with an oval eyepiece, for the observer to rest his face on, when keeping radar watch in poor visibility. The shield also prevented strong light from shining on the display and distorting the images. He learned how to give an accurate range and bearing to another ship on the screen, by using the range rings and the graduated 360 degree circle running around the outside edge of the display. The Radio Room was situated behind the bridge and the Radio Officer kept watches throughout the day, and was available on a twenty four hour basis in case of emergencies. He showed Ricky the Main transmitter and Receiver and the stand - by sets which he kept warmed up in case the main ones broke down. All his equipment was run from batteries, constantly charged from the ship's mains. If there was a breakdown of power on the ship, the batteries would take over until the power was restored. There was also an emergency transceiver, which the radio man could take with him, in event of them taking to the lifeboats. This portable set was worked by a built in generator, which had to be cranked by a handle to generate the power. He could send and receive messages on it, and there was also an automatic distress transmission facility. In the Radio Room, there was also an emergency receiver to detect any vessel in trouble. If the stricken vessel sent out an alarm signal when the Radio Man was not in his shack, then the Auto Alarm was activated, and he came running to the shack to listen for the alarm, followed by the distress signal, and message. The Radio Officer told Ricky that he could send a telegram home to his parents at any time, as he was constantly in touch with Coast Stations and sent all of his messages in Morse Code. All the instructions sent by the owners to the Captain, as well as private telegrams came through the Radio Man. He was bound by the Official Secrets Act never to reveal the contents of any message, so everything was in the strictest confidence. Telegrams were expensive though, and there was a cheaper type called a Ship Letter Telegram that could be sent. It went to the Coast Station in the usual way, but from there it was posted as an ordinary letter. Ricky enjoyed learning about the different jobs on the ship and always looked forward to his turn at the wheel. The Bosun taught him how to splice ropes to prevent the ends from fraying, and to make loops in them with an eye splice. He learned how to tie knots, and spent many hours practising them. He was shown how to operate the windlass on the Fo'c'sle, to raise and lower the anchor, and how to count the amount of chain that was used, by paint marks on the shackles. Elementary Seamanship was drummed into him. A Red light at night is the Port side light of another vessel, a green light, the Starboard side. One white light is the stern of a vessel moving away from you. Red and Green with a white light above them, is a vessel moving towards you, but all of these were confusing when there were a lot of lights blazing out from the accommodation of a vessel. You took avoiding action according to the basic rules of the sea :- Green to green or Red to red, perfect safety, go ahead. If to your Starboard Red appear, it is your duty to keep clear. The Mate showed him a set of Tide Tables which gave the depth of water to expect in rivers and harbours, at high and low water. There were books full of these tables for every country in the world, and it was essential to know the draught of your ship, or how much was under the water, and the expected depth at your position. If you didn't know this, the ship could go aground. This was explained to him just for his own information, he wouldn't be expected to put this specialist knowledge into practice for many years, but it was interesting to know how the ship was handled, and what rules were to be obeyed. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 15.

'See you later, Doc,’ Ricky called as he went through the door. ‘OK,’ Doc replied. ‘Special treat today, Rick. Chocolate pudding.’ Ricky grinned. ‘Great,’ he enthused, rubbing his stomach. The two portholes were looking good with most of the paint off them and he started with the steel wool. He rubbed and scrubbed at the brass until there was not a speck of paint left on either of them. When they were ready for polishing, he picked up the canvas on the deck by the corners and tipped the chippings into the centre. He bundled up the canvas and carried it out of the cabin, taking care not to spill anything on the Mate’s carpet. He took it to the guardrail and emptied it into the sea, giving it a good shake to get the last bits out. Replacing the clean canvas on the deck  of the bathroom, he poured metal polish onto some steel wool and started polishing the first brass porthole and the brass clips for tightening it down, until his arm ached. He rested for a minute before starting on the second one. When he had finished, both portholes were coated in black metal polish. He rested again before going back to the first one and rubbing the dry polish off with a rag. The brass gleamed and shone like new. He really could see his face in nit. He was finishing off the second one when the Mate came in to see how he was getting on. ‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. ‘You have done a good job.’ He inspected both portholes. ‘Marvellous,’ he said. ‘Well done, son. That’s a great job.’ Ricky picked up his cleaning materials and went out grinning like a Cheshire cat. He felt better than he had done in days. At lunch, Doc was pushing the chocolate pudding and custard. He insisted that everybody had at least one helping and tried his best to get them to have seconds. ‘Get it down you,’ he said to Charlie as he handed him a large slice covered in custard. ‘Why don’t you make this more often?’ Charlie asked. ‘What, and spoil you bunch of ingrates.’ Pete came to the hatch for a second helping and Doc turned to the cooker where the pudding was balanced on the flap down door of the oven. He bent over the tray and placed a huge slice in Pete’s bowl ‘I’m glad someone appreciates my duff,’ he said as he ladled custard over the bowl. ‘It’s great, Doc,’ Pete grinned. He took it back to his place at the table and wolfed it down. In the galley, Doc watched Pete making a pig of himself and smiled. The Bosun took Ricky aside at the start of the afternoon’s work and he was smiling. ‘The Mate asked me to take a look at his portholes,’ he said. ‘I agreed with him, they look marvellous and you did a great job.’ Ricky flushed with pleasure. ‘You see, you can do a good job when you want to, can’t you?’ ‘Yes, Bosun.’ ‘Good, keep it up and we’ll get along just fine. You can help Fred this afternoon, splicing some wire.’ Fred showed him how to splice an eye in the end of a steel hawser. First he bent the end of the steel hawser around in a loop and held the loop clamped in a vice. He then used a sharp pointed spike which he called a marlin spike to force open the strands of the main body of the steel wire, above where the loop would be formed. Then he separated a single strand of wire from the end of the loop and forced it through the gap he’d made in the main wire, with the spike. He wore strong leather gloves to protect his hands from the sharp strands of wire and worked his way around the hawser, threading the loose ends through the gaps he made, alternating over and under the strands of the main hawser. It was hard work and they made up three wire strops with an eye in each end from the coil of steel hawser that afternoon. ‘What do you use the strops for?’ Ricky asked. ‘We pass them around machinery or anything very heavy, then we can lift it on or off the ship using the ship’s derrick.’ Ricky turned in and slept like a baby that night. The hard work and the praise he’d had from the Mate and the Bosun made him forget all about his troubles with Pete. He awoke refreshed and in a happy frame of mind the following morning. Doc was singing when Ricky arrived in the galley. ‘You’re happy today, Doc,’ he said grinning. ‘Always happy, me’ Doc answered. ‘I’ll bet someone else isn’t , though.’ ‘Oh, who’s that, then?’ Ricky queried. ‘Just a feeling I’ve got about something,’ Doc said innocently. The work got underway and soon the washing up was done and the mess tables cleaned ready for breakfast. There was the usual hubbub of noise as the crew bantered among themselves good naturedly. Suddenly the noise subsided and became a deathly hush as every eye in the mess turned to the doorway. Pete clung to the doorjamb, his face ashen and his eyes bloodshot. He opened his mouth and a squawk came out of it. ‘Aaargh,’ he squawked. There was silence in the mess as they all gazed at Pete’s drawn features. ‘Doc,’ he managed to get out. Doc came to the serving hatch. ‘What’s up?’ he asked. Pete pointed to his mouth. ‘Poisoned,’ he squeaked. ‘Poisoned,’ Doc said, puzzled. ‘How? What did you take?’ ‘Your bloody grub.’ Doc was outraged! ‘My grub?’ he shouted. My bloody grub poisoned you?’ Pete nodded. ‘Been on the shithouse all night.’ He croaked. ‘Can’t stop shitting.’ ‘And you’re blaming my grub are you?’ Doc shouted in fury. ‘That’s bloody typical, isn’t it?’ he asked the mess. ‘I’ll bet you were in here raiding the fridge and cooking stuff after I’d gone to bed, weren’t you?’ Pete nodded, ‘Yes, but…..’ ‘No bloody buts. How come no one else is down with the shits? Eh? If it was my cooking they’d all be down with it.’ He waved his teacloth at the men gathered in the mess. Pete started spluttering. ‘Don’t blame me,’ Doc continued. ‘If you come in here after I’ve gone to bed and start cooking for yourself, you’ve only got yourself to blame. You’ve probably given yourself Salmonella poisoning or something.’ Pete shouted, ‘Oh, Christ!’ and dashed out of the mess room to the toilet across the passageway where the crew heard the door slam followed by a great, lingering sigh from within. They all erupted in laughter. The Bosun wiped his eyes as his laughter subsided. ‘I won’t get any work out of him today,’ he chortled. Doc was leaning over the sink, doubled up with laughter. Ricky was holding his stomach, tears of laughter streaming down his face. ‘That’s made my day,’ Doc exploded. ‘Teach the bugger to have midnight fry-ups.’ He dried his eyes on his apron as the crew filed out of the mess to start work, laughing among themselves. Doc told everyone who came in to eat after the watches changed, how Pete had caught some bug from having midnight fry-ups. He demonstrated how Pete had looked, holding on to the doorjamb and croaking like a frog. The crew loved it! When Ricky was clearing up after everyone had left the mess, he said to Doc. ‘What do you think gave him the runs, Doc?’ Doc grinned and whispered, ‘probably something to do with the four chocolate laxatives I put in his pudding, I expect.’ Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 14

When breakfast was over, Ricky reported to the Bosun on deck. The Bosun scowled at him. ‘I’m going to give you a job to do on your own. Try not to mess it up this time.’ Ricky nodded dumbly. ‘Right,’ the Bosun continued. ‘Go to the Mate’s cabin. Last trip I sent the deck boy up there to paint the bathroom out and he painted everything in sight, including the brass portholes.’ He pointed at Ricky. ‘I was hoping that you would be more intelligent than him, but I’m having doubts.’ The lad flushed and looked down at the deck. ‘Scrape all the paint off the two portholes and polish the brass until you can see your face in it. Then polish it again.’ Ricky didn’t move. The Bosun waited, then put his hands on his hips and shouted, ‘Go on, then. Get on with it! Or do you want me to find the cleaning materials for you?’ ‘No, Bosun.’ He turned away and went for'ard to the paint locker. He picked up a scraper, some steel wool, rags and a tin of metal polish. He was about to leave the paint locker when he spied a piece of canvas folded up on top of a drum. Remembering how his Mum had shouted when his Dad had scraped off the old paint on the windows in their living room, and the paint chippings covering the carpet, he took the canvas to cover the floor to catch the chippings as they fell. He muttered to himself, ‘I’ll show the old sod I can do a good job.’ When he knocked on the Mate’s door a voice called, ‘Come.’ ‘The Bosun told me to scrape and paint the portholes in your bathroom, Mr. Mate,’ Ricky said as he entered the cabin. ‘That’s good,’ the Mate said, pointing with the book he was reading. ‘Through that door. You all right on your own? I’ve got to do my rounds.’ ‘Yes, I’ll be fine, Mr. Mate.’ Laying the canvas on the deck, Ricky started chipping paint off the brass ports. It was a slow job as the paint had set hard, and he chipped and scraped with fury to get the first one fairly clean of paint. He had just started on the second one when the Mate came back in, ‘Smoko, go and get a cuppa.’ Ricky was surprised that the time had gone so quickly and he put down the scraper and went back to the mess. He took his tea into the galley where Doc was pouring a chocolate pudding into a tray. ‘Hiya, Rick. What have they got you doing today?’ ‘Scraping the paint off the Mate’s portholes. The last boy painted all the brass.’ ‘I’m not surprised at anything that idiot did. It’s a wonder he didn’t paint the glass as well.’ Ricky laughed. He wasn’t that bad, was he?’ ‘I kid you not.’ Doc bent over to put the tray of chocolate pudding in the oven.  ‘If you didn’t lead him by the nose and spell out what you wanted in words of one syllable, he got it wrong.’ ‘Where was he from, Doc?’ ‘Up North somewhere. Manchester I think. He was always going on about Manchester United. Tell you how thick he was. I sent him down the engine room with a bucket one day and told him to get me a bucket of steam. When he came back there was a little wisp of steam coming out of the bucket and a little drop of water in the bottom. ‘That’s no good,’ I told him. ‘How am I going to get my Yorkshire puddings to rise with that much steam? Go and get another bucketful.’ Doc grinned and Ricky sniggered. ‘I had him going all morning on that one.’ The crew were filing out of the mess to start work again, and Ricky quickly cleared the messroom tables and put the crockery in the sink. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 13.

Ricky stared in horror at the white paint forming an ever- widening pool on the red deck, and the streaks of white running down the black hatch coaming. The Bosun had turned at Pete’s shout and his face contorted in fury. ‘You bloody imbecile,’ he bellowed. Ricky recoiled and felt the blood rushing to his face. ‘It wasn’t….’ he started to say, but the Bosun furiously waved his words away. ‘Don’t give me any excuses, you clumsy idiot. Get some cotton waste and thinners and clean this mess up, and if you so much as scratch that new paint you’ll re-paint the whole deck yourself.’ He glared at Ricky and, as he turned away, inwardly fuming to make his way to the paint locker for cleaning materials, the Bosun shook his head sadly. ‘Damned if I know what to do with him,’ he muttered. ‘he’s only been on the ship a dog watch and he’s driving me crazy already. I think he has to practice these accidents to make sure he gets them right.’ Pete grinned to himself. That night Ricky lay in his bunk furiously thinking how he could get back at Pete. Ideas came but he rejected each of them in turn, steal something of the Captain’s and put it under Pete’s pillow….. no, he would probably get caught in the act of stealing, then he would really be in trouble. Trip Pete up when he was carrying the filthy oily waste after mopping up under the bilge pump for'ard, making sure that the filth went over the Bosun…..no Pete would turn it around so that Ricky got the blame. He turned over in his bunk and drifted off to sleep, promising himself that he would get even. He tossed and turned in troubled sleep and dreamed that he saw Pete in the paint locker, pouring thinners over the deck. Pete stepped back and looked at Ricky whose feet seemed to be welded to the deck. He grinned maliciously and took a box of matches out of his pocket. Slowly sliding the matchbox open, he slowly selected a match. Ricky shouted, ‘NO, NO,’ but no sound came out of his mouth. He watched in horror as the arsonist struck the match and waved it in his face, grinning all the while before backing out of the paint locker and tossing the match on to the thinners. Now Ricky was outside the paint locker and the flames leaped and roared among the drums of paint. Cans exploded and showered burning paint on to the newly painted deck. Ricky shielded his face from the burning heat and turned to see the Captain and the Bosun pointing accusingly at him. Sweat poured from his brow and he shouted out in anguish as the heat seared him He awoke suddenly, startled to find that he was bathed in sweat. Relieved that it was just a nightmare, he realised that the bunk light above his head was still lit and the heat from the bulb in the confines of the bunk was nearly burning him. He calmed himself, thanking God that it was only a dream. Switching off the light and turning over, he drifted off to sleep again. Nigel entered the galley before Ricky the next morning. ‘Doc,’ he said. Ricky is taking the blame for something he didn’t do’ Doc looked at him. Sometimes the effeminate steward talked sense. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Well, I was looking out of a for'ard porthole in the Captain’s cabin yesterday.’ ‘Slacking again when you should have been working?’ Doc grinned. ‘Watching the men when you should have been going about your business?’ ‘Oh, stop it, Doc. He pouted. ‘This is serious. I saw that deck boy, Pete, kick over Ricky’s tin of paint. It went all over the newly painted deck and the Bosun was furious. Pete blamed Rick for it and he got a roasting from the Bosun. That creep, Pete, was grinning all over his face.’ ‘Probably just fooling around,’ Doc said, turning to the stove. ‘No, I think its more serious than that, Doc. Ricky’s been a bit down lately.’ ‘Yes, I’ve noticed he’s not his usual chirpy self. I’ll have a word with him.’ ‘Good, he’ll listen to you Doc. He wouldn’t take me seriously.’ ‘None of us do, Nigel, none of us do.’ Nigel said, ‘Hmmph,’ stuck his nose in the air and departed. Ricky came into the galley a few minutes later and Doc called out his usual cheerful, ‘Mornin’ Rick.’ Ricky mumbled, ‘Mornin.’ He wasn’t feeling too bright after his disturbed sleep, and he went to the sink and started running hot water onto the dirty dishes left by the night watches. He poured washing up liquid on them and started washing up. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ Doc asked. ‘What’s up?’ ‘Nothing. I’m OK.’ Doc came across the galley to the sink. ‘I hear you’ve been getting blamed for something Pete did.’ Ricky looked sharply at him, startled. He’d told no-one of his problems with Pete. ‘Well, its nothing I can’t handle.’ ‘You can’t handle that lad. He’s a head taller than you and a stone heavier.’ ‘I’ve been boxing since I was ten years old. I can handle myself.’ Doc grunted. ‘Maybe so, but watch him, he’s a mean one.’ Ricky nodded glumly. The injustice of taking the blame for problems caused by Pete was making him feel dispirited. ‘I heard he kicked over your tin of paint on deck,’ Doc continued. ‘Yes, the Bosun gave me a right roasting. Everything I do seems to go wrong, especially when the Bosun’s around.’ ‘Like the boiling water in the tea urn?’ Doc asked. ‘Yes, I saw Pete taking it out in a bucket.’ Doc’s lips tightened. ‘The rotten little devil,’ he snarled. ‘I’ve a good mind to teach him a lesson.’ ‘No, Doc. Don’t do anything, please. I really can handle it.’ Doc turned and walked back to the stove, his face set in a scowl. Ricky followed him across the galley. He looked up into Doc’s rigid face. ‘Please, Doc. Let me do it my way,’ he urged. Doc looked down at the young lad, so eager to sort his own problems out and admired him for it. He nodded. ‘OK, Rick, I won’t say a word to him.’ Ricky relaxed and went back to the sink and Doc mouthed silently to himself, ‘But I might just do something.’ He grinned! Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 12.

Ricky crawled out of his bunk. Still fully clothed, he just had to put his shoes on. The ship was not rolling and pitching so badly now, and he thought that the weather must have got better during the hour or so's sleep he'd had. When he got to the messroom he was amazed to see that the clock said 5.48. He'd been asleep for 17 hours! The weather had improved overnight, and Llanerin was rolling steadily, but she wasn't corkscrewing or crashing back and forth, as she had been doing the day before. Ricky could actually stand upright and just lean, as she rolled. 'How d'you feel today?' Doc asked. 'A lot better than I did yesterday.' 'Don't worry, there were a few more on here who felt the same as you did. I had hardly anyone in for dinner last night. Now get some milk and toast before you start.' Ricky did as he was told and afterwards felt a lot better. At breakfast, Charlie came in. 'You alright kid?' he asked. 'Last night you were sweating streams in your bunk.' 'I'm fine now.' 'Good. The smell of the fuel doesn't help. I felt a bit queasy myself,' he added. 'Wasn't the fuel at all,' Doc piped up. 'It was the ship. These old boats are enough to make anyone sick.' 'Not like the old coal burners, eh Doc?' Charlie smiled. 'I could tell you some tales that would make your hair curl,' Doc replied. In the war I was on coal burners on the Russian convoys. If you thought yesterday was bad weather, you should have been on the Murmansk run. We were chipping the ice off the handrails, so that we wouldn't get top heavy and sink.' 'Why didn't you get the engineers to put the steam on the handrails,' Charlie said , 'it's all connected up, all you have to do is turn on the valve.' Doc swiped him with his tea towel. 'Give over you daft sod, D'you think I'm as green as Ricky.' Charlie sniggered, and dodged the next swing. 'Bloody grease monkey,' Doc laughed. 'Get back down your hole, will you. You're like moles in that engine room, you blink when you come up into daylight.' Charlie made his way down the passageway, chortling away to himself. After breakfast, the Bosun, Dave and another seaman called Fred went out on deck to work. Ricky joined them after he'd finished his jobs.The sea was calmer now with just a long swell, moving the ship in a gentle, rolling motion. They were able to work on deck again and the Bosun got them painting the outside of the accommodation. First they had to wash down the salt that had dried out after the bad weather, and they took until tea break, or smoko, as the seamen called it, to wash down both sides of the accommodation. When it was dry, they started painting, firstly dabbing red lead on the bare patches of metal, and then painting everything white, when it was dry enough. They spent all day on that job. There was a lot more to be painted, and good weather would give them a chance to do the whole of the accommodation. Fred was not a very communicative sort of man, and as he was working on the same side of the ship, as Ricky, the day was spent very quietly, with breaks for lunch, coffee in the afternoon, and dinner. Ricky was able to eat a bit more now that he was getting used to the ship's motion, but he still couldn't eat the heavy meals that Doc cooked for the crew. Lunch was from 1130 to 1230 and was generally soup, a roast of some kind, with all the vegetables followed by a sweet. The evening meal was a little lighter. Cold meat left over from lunch, and salad, or fish and chips, toad in the hole, fried potatoes, baked beans, or rice. Ricky could eat the salads, but his stomach still heaved at the thought of roast meats and gravy. The ship ploughed on towards the Gulf of Mexico, and life onboard settled down to the usual routine at sea. Seamen and Mates kept watches on the Bridge. The Third mate had the Twelve to four watch, the Second Mate had the Four to eight, and the First Mate the Eight to Twelve, although the Mate sometimes handed over to the apprentice so that he could gain experience of watchkeeping. The Mate would then do his rounds and decide on the work that needed to be done on deck and in the accommodation. The Officers worked four hours on watch and eight hours off. During their eight hours off they also attended to the dozens of other little jobs that always need to be done on a ship at sea. Pete kept playing dirty tricks on Ricky. He would do anything to get the lad into trouble with the Bosun and the Officers. Ricky was nervous that he would get such a bad name on the ship that eventually it would get back to the Captain. The Captain had the power to issue him with a temporary Seaman’s book, but if his performance was not exemplary he would give him a D.R. or ‘decline to report’ stamp on his paperwork. This would make other Captains reluctant to employ him as D.R. was considered to be a very bad recommendation. Ricky realised that if he were to retaliate against Pet’s childish behaviour and do what he really wanted to do, punch his head, he would find himself in serious trouble. He remembered the Captain telling him that violence was not to be tolerated on the ship. The painting of the ship continued and Ricky was working with the Bosun and Dave, painting the handrails on the Port side. The crew had been busy for days painting the whole foredeck a deep red and the hatch coamings black. She was looking really good and now they were putting the finishing touches to her by smartening up the handrails with white paint. Ricky hummed to himself, his half gallon of paint on the deck near his feet. He sensed someone behind him and turned to see who it was. Suddenly his tin of paint crashed over and the contents spewed out, covering the newly painted deck and splashing up the coaming. Pete was behind him and shouted for all to hear, ‘You stupid sod Rick, look at what you’ve done!’ Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run Part 11.

The Llanerin ploughed on through the night and the weather got steadily worse. She was out into the Atlantic now, heading South South West for the Gulf of Mexico, to pick up a cargo of grain to take to Russia. The swells were coming from the Southwest and hitting her on her Starboard Bow, with waves between ten and twelve feet high. The wind was also from the Southwest, blowing 25 knots, but increasing hourly, by the anemometer in the bridge. The ship behaved quite well with the weather as it was, but if the wind shifted around further to the West as it was forecast to do, then things could get very uncomfortable, as the sea would build up with the force of the wind behind it and hit the ship on the beam. At around Three o'clock in the morning the wind swung more to the West! It gradually increased to 40 knots, and the ship started ploughing in to the seas, and rolling heavily. As the bows crashed down into the troughs, the stern came out of the water with the propeller racing, and she slid down the backs of the huge waves, before digging herself in to the seas at the bottom of the troughs. The propeller then drove her forward again and she'd come corkscrewing back, the bows reaching upwards, clawing herself out of the trough, as the wind on the beam forced her over to Port and tried to dip her rails under the seas. Seawater came cascading off the forecastle, racing down the length of the decks before bursting out through the scuppers and back over the side. During the next four hours, the wind increased to 50 knots, occasionally gusting to 60. When Doc came to call Ricky at six o'clock, he couldn't keep himself upright. He hung on to the door jamb as he shook Ricky awake. When Ricky tried to put his trousers on, he hopped around on one leg for a while until he learned how to time the rolls, while bracing himself against his locker. He made his way up to the galley, feeling dreadful. His mouth was dry and it felt as if it was full of fur. Although he had been in bed for eleven hours, he didn't feel at all rested. He had been awake for a lot of the night, sliding about in his bunk. There was a bit of damage in the galley as one of the cupboard doors had sprung open, and some sauces had flown out and smashed on the floor. Doc gave him a cup of milk to drink and it tasted like nectar. He cleaned up the mess and started on his jobs. Doc still had to prepare the same breakfast, even though the weather was so bad and he clattered about, cursing the wind, the sea, the ship, and anything else he could think of.  Nigel came in at his usual time and tried to cheer Doc up with his banter, but all he got was a glare. 'Be like that if you like you old crosspatch, he said. 'I'm sure Ricky will talk to me, won't you Ricky?' Ricky nodded at him. 'He hasn't got time to talk,' Doc shouted. 'There's work to be done.' Nigel flounced out, his feelings hurt. 'Bloody stewards,' Doc muttered. A big sea hit the side of the ship and she gave an almighty roll. Ricky heard water slosh in the mess room and he looked through the hatchway to see what had caused it. He was just in time to see Pete disappearing through the mess room door carrying a bucket of steaming water. There was a puddle on the deck under the tea boiler. Suddenly the frying pan on the cooker slid off under the bars and landed on the deck with a crash spilling fat on the galley floor. 'Keep the bloody thing steady up there will you,' Doc shouted at the deckhead. He bent over and wiped up the mess with a rag before throwing the pan in the sink for Ricky to wash. 'Why do I do it,' Doc asked the cooker. 'Why do I keep sailing on these bloody death traps, cooking food for people who don't appreciate it, and most of the time don't want it. Because you don't know how to do anything else, you silly old sod,' he answered himself. 'You wouldn't last a month ashore, Doc.' A voice said, and Ricky turned to see the Bosun bracing himself in the doorway. 'Morning Bosun,' Doc replied 'what's the weather forecast like?' 'Not good ,' he replied. 'Now then, boy,' he said to Ricky. ‘What’s the most important job in the mess room?’ Ricky grinned. This was easy. ‘To keep the tea boiler topped up, Bosun.’ The Bosun scowled and shouted, ‘Then why haven’t you done it?’ Ricky was stunned! ‘But I did do it. It was full.’ ‘Don’t lie to me,’ he bellowed. ‘I can forgive a genuine mistake if you forget, but I can’t stand a liar.’ Ricky suddenly remembered seeing Pete carrying a bucket of water out of the mess room. He must have done it on purpose to get Ricky into trouble. Ricky mumbled, ‘Sorry, Bosun.’ The Bosun glared at him. ‘Get in there and fill it up now.’ The lad did as he was ordered, fuming to himself. So that was the way Pete wanted to play, was it? When he got back to the galley the Bosun said, 'As it's too rough to go on deck unless there's an emergency, we'll work inside today. There's plenty of washing down to be done.’ Ricky didn't really care if he worked or not, and he was getting to the stage where he didn't care if he lived or died. He washed up the cups and plates as the men used them and balanced them on the draining board before wiping them up. The ship gave a terrific lurch to Starboard, and the last two cups and plates that he'd washed jumped off the drainer and smashed to bits on the deck. 'Don't smash them after you've washed them,' Doc shouted. 'Do it before.' After breakfast, they started washing down the bulkheads around the Port and Starboard alleyways, on the mess deck level. Ricky hadn't realised that there was an alleyway on the Port side, the same as on the starboard. A doorway at the far end of the mess room opened on to the Port alleyway. But he didn't know very much about the ship yet, and in this bad weather, he didn't want to know. If he could have stretched out on the deck where he was, never to get up again, it wouldn't have bothered him at all. How he got through that morning, he would never know. The ship heaved and crashed through the weather, she rolled and pitched, scattering anything that was not firmly tied down or wedged in. One man had to hold the bucket, wedging himself in somewhere, while another man washed down the bulkhead. Water was slopped everywhere, and it became slippery and dangerous underfoot. At 1130, the Bosun called a halt and they stowed the gear away and knocked off for lunch. Doc looked at Ricky's chalky white face and sweaty brow and told him to go and lie down for a while. He staggered to his bunk and lay on it, fully clothed. He was instantly asleep, and some time later, feeling chilly, he got under the blankets. He was awakened by Doc shaking his shoulder.

Innocent on the run. Part 10.

'You'd better report to the Bosun, now,' Doc told him. Ricky went down the passageway and out on to the deck. The superstructure was all aft in this ship, and the forward deck contained the three hatches which carried the cargo. The sea was quite smooth, with a slight swell, which caused the ship to roll from side to side. The wind was quite light and Ricky felt better with the wind in his face. The Bosun was a seaman from Cardiff, in middle age, with a lined and wrinkled face. His hands were huge, horny and scarred from a lifetime of splicing ropes and wires. 'Where's your wet weather gear?' he asked. ‘Er, I haven’t got any.’ The Bosun said, ' Come with me, then. We’ll find something for you.' He led the way to the fo'csle in the bows of the ship and opened a locker. The strong smell of tarry rope and paint made Ricky’s stomach turn over. The lad who had told him off for joining at the pier head was in the fore part of the fo’csle painting and he stopped work as Ricky passed him, sneered and spat on the deck. The Bosun handed Ricky an old pair of seaboots that someone had discarded, and an oilskin jacket and trousers, covered in paint splashes and oil. They were miles too big for the lad but he stuffed the trousers into the seaboots and turned the cuffs of the jacket up. The Bosun then showed him how to connect up the deck hose, and he started washing down the decks. Once the deck had been washed down, one of the seamen told Ricky to get out of his oilskins and help them with the painting. They were painting the funnel, and the fumes from it, falling on to deck level were pretty foul, making Ricky feel sick again. The seaman's, name was Dave, and he and the Bosun had rigged a kind of chair, on ropes which was slung up on the funnel and could be lowered gradually using a block and tackle. There was another one on the other side of the funnel and a seaman was already sitting in it, painting. 'What are you like at painting?' Dave asked. 'Not too good.' 'Now's your chance to learn then. Keep the brush filled and keep your strokes even. Here's your paint pot and brush. Now sit in the Bosun's chair and we'll hoist you up.' They hauled Ricky up the funnel, and shouted like mad when he accidentally spilled some paint out of his pot on to the deck! He quickly righted his paint pot and started painting the side of the funnel, while Dave shouted up instructions to him. The height made Ricky giddy for a while and this, on top of the seasickness and the ship rolling made him feel terrible. He wondered why he had ever wanted to go to sea, and if he could go back twenty four hours, he would run a mile from ships and the sea. He clung to the side of the Bosun's chair with one hand while clutching the paint pot, and tried to paint with the other. He managed to get some paint on, though, and Dave was encouraging him, laughing when he missed the funnel altogether when the ship rolled away from him. They let the Bosuns' chair down at ten o'clock and went down to the messroom for a cup of tea. Dave told him to eat some dry toast and to wash it down with tea, as he needed something in his stomach, and once he’d done as instructed he felt a little better. They continued painting the funnel for the rest of that day. At lunch time Ricky helped Doc lay out the tables and washed the dishes after it. When he got back up to the funnel, Dave was in the chair and Ricky helped the Bosun with the raising and lowering of it. At Dinner time Ricky again laid out the tables, and Doc showed him how to wet the table cloths with water to prevent the crockery from sliding off it, as the bridge had told them that there was some bad weather due. Ricky thought that the weather was bad enough now, as the ship was rolling a bit more than she had in the morning. He couldn't wait to be released so that he could go to bed. Doc also showed him the chains and shackles under each chair, and they screwed the shackle into a ringbolt in the deck, effectively anchoring the chair to the deck. 'If you don't do this,' Doc warned, 'someone could get hurt, falling out of a chair if it tips over in bad weather.' 'Does it get that rough,' Ricky asked him. 'It doesn't have to be very rough to set these old ships rolling. They were built in the war, in America, and were supposed to last for only one trip across the Atlantic. They carried food to Europe, for us Brits and their own troops. As you can see, all the accommodation is aft and she's very high. They're like an upside down pendulum. Once they start to roll, they don't stop. This ship would roll in wet grass. You're cabin's not too bad though, you're low down in the ship. The Captain and the other Officers are the worst off. Their cabins are right up the top, so they swing the most.' After the crew had eaten their dinners, Ricky washed up for the last time, and cleared all the rubbish that had been left around before cleaning down the tables. Doc told him that he was finished for the day, and he could relax. He would be called again at six in the morning. Some of the crew were sitting around in the mess, playing cards. There was a lounge with a few easy chairs, forward of the mess room, and some crew members used it for reading or playing dominoes, Monopoly and a few other games that were stored away in a cupboard. The only thing that Ricky could think of at the moment was bed. Sweet, blessed relief from his aching body and sick stomach. He made his way down to the cabin, nearly gagging as he reached the engine room door. The smell of diesel fuel was overpowering. He quickly cleaned his teeth and swilled off his face. The cold water felt good on his fevered skin. He then stripped off his clothes and climbed into his bunk. Within minutes he was asleep, in spite of the noise from the engine. Copyright Deric Barry 2005

Delicious burger pie

Just read about this delicious burger pie. It sounds easy to make and looks really yummy. Find it here. http://sgbrown.hubpages.com/_1g3pm5f9bb68l/hub/Quick-and-Easy-Cheeseburger-Pie-Recipe

Innocent on the run. Part 9.

Doc was preparing breakfast. He slid a tray of bacon and sausages in the oven and started opening tins of tomatoes. There were steel bars about two inches high around the top of the galley stove and also across the middle to keep the pots and pans from sliding off the stove in rough weather. 'Breakfast is from 7.30 to 8.30.' Doc told him. 'So that the crew going on watch at 8 o'clock can eat before they go on, and the ones coming off at 8 o'clock can have theirs. Same breakfast most days. Sausage, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, fried bread, and they can make their own toast and tea. The crew come to the hatchway between the messroom and the galley and order what they want. Have you filled the boiler?' he asked. 'Yes.' Ricky squawked. Doc looked at him. 'You seasick?' He asked. Ricky bent over and leaned his head on the sink. 'Oh, God,' he moaned. 'Don't be sick in that sink,' Doc warned. 'There's a heads over the other side of the passageway.' Ricky raised his head from the sink, ‘Heads?’ He squeaked. ‘Toilet,’ Doc informed him. 'I won't be sick,' Ricky replied, feeling dreadful. 'Best thing for seasickness is work. After you've done the dishes, you can mop out the messroom. That should take us up to breakfast time.' A slim young man appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a white shirt, bow tie, black trousers and highly polished black shoes. 'Morning Doc.' He whispered in a soft, effeminate voice. 'What's for breakfast?' Doc looked at him with a scowl. 'The same that's been for breakfast for the last six months that I've been on this horrible, friggin' vessel,' he said. 'Oh, dear,' replied the man,' got out of our bunk on the wrong side have we.' He noticed Ricky by the sink, staring at him. 'OOh! who's this, Doc?' he asked. 'That's my new boy, Ricky. And don't you go corrupting him,' Doc warned, waving a teatowel at him. 'As if I would,' he squeaked. 'This is Nigel, the Officers Steward,' Doc told Ricky. 'Stay away from him, he's trouble.' 'Oh, you beast Doc, I'm not, ' he said. 'Anyway, it's nice to meet you Ricky, and don't listen to Doc, he's just a rough old sailor.' Nigel gathered up the sauces and condiments that he would need up in the Officer's Saloon, just under the bridge, and placed them in the dumb waiter in the corner of the galley. He pulled on the rope alongside it and they disappeared upwards. 'Bye, Ricky,' he said, and waved his fingers as he went out. 'Come on, Rick, It'll be lunch time if we don't get a move on,' Doc moaned. Ricky finished the washing up and then got the mop and bucket out from the heads opposite, and washed the messroom floor. It was almost 7.30 by the clock in the messroom and men were beginning to drift in to breakfast, when Ricky accidentally kicked over the bucket of water. There was water everywhere, swilling around as the ship rolled. The men were laughing at his plight, and he hurriedly mopped up, feeling very embarrassed. 'Right,' Doc said. 'I've done the breakfasts for the officer's saloon.' He indicated the trays of hot food. 'Put those in that dumb waiter and haul them up to Nigel.' Charlie came in, yawning and scratching himself. 'Hiya Rick, how do you feel?' he asked. 'A bit sick,' Ricky replied. 'You'll get used to it, we all do.' 'Knock off for a bit," Doc shouted. 'Come and get your breakfast.' Ricky didn't really want to eat anything but he didn't want anyone to know how sick he felt, so he went into the galley. Doc had his back to him at the stove, and as Ricky approached he turned and offered him a plate with a large lump of white fat, swimming in grease. Ricky 's stomach heaved and he dashed out to the toilet. There were four faces grinning at him through the messroom hatchway as he ran past with his hand over his mouth. Doc roared with laughter! When he came out of the heads, Doc made him eat some dry toast and drink a cup of tea. The men going on watch were drifting away to their duties, and Ricky was able to clean up the tables again, before the next lot came in. He felt terrible, his head ached and his stomach churned around making gurgling noises Wind was coming up from his stomach in a series of mild burps. The sight of the spilled food and slops on the tables made him heave. As Ricky was cleaning a table, a lad of about seventeen came into the mess. He came across to where the new lad was working. 'You must be the kid who did the pier head jump,’ he stated. 'Yes. Call me Rick.’ The lad's face hardened. I'll call you what I like, mate, he spat out. . I had to go to training school to get my job as deck boy. Three bloody hard months with no money. You jump straight into a job with no training and no experience. He stabbed a finger into the younger lad's chest. Keep out of my way or you'll be sorry. He turned away and got himself a cup of tea. Ricky was astonished! He'd had no idea that someone would resent him getting a job on the ship. He turned back to his work trembling. Once the second sitting for breakfast had finished Ricky cleaned up for the last time. Copyright by Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 8.

The mate and the Pilot left the bridge, letting in a little light as they held the curtain aside and went out into the passageway. 'Come over here son,' the Captain said into the darkness. Ricky's eyes were getting used to the dark now, and he approached the front of the bridge and looked out of the bridge window. The fore deck was lit on the side where the Pilot ladder was, and Ricky saw the Mate and the Pilot emerge from the accommodation and walk towards the ladder. Two seamen were standing by the rope ladder, and the Pilot climbed up on to the ship's side and climbed down the ladder into the launch that was keeping pace with the ship. The launch turned away from the ship's side and headed back to Barry Dock. The two seamen hauled the Jacob's ladder back into the ship and they and the Mate came back into the accommodation. The light on deck was switched off. The Captain rang for Full Ahead on the engine room telegraph and the engines throbbed into life as the ship picked up speed. 'Steer 225 degrees,' the Captain told the helmsman. '225, Sir,' he replied. The Captain drew across the curtain cutting off the chart room from the bridge, and beckoned Ricky inside. ' Close the curtain,' he instructed. 'To shield the light from the helmsman's eyes.' He took out a large, folded document from a drawer underneath the chart table. Down the left hand side was a list of names. To the right of the names was the person's rank or rating and his title on the ship, the date of joining and a blank space for date of leaving. Then the address and next of kin. In the last column were their signatures. 'Now,' said the Captain, 'full name and address and next of kin. And the note from your parents giving their permission for you to sail with us.' Ricky brought out the note that his father had written, giving his permission for Ricky to go to sea. The Captain looked at the note. 'Did you forge this ?' he asked with a frown. 'No, Sir.' Ricky said quickly, going red in the face. The Captain smiled. 'I did when I first went to sea.' He laughed aloud as he took the address from the note and entered Ricky's Dad as his next of kin. 'Your full name ?' 'Richard Alfred Davies' 'Age' 'Sixteen.' The Captain looked at him sideways. 'Fifteen and a half,' he answered. The Captain grinned. 'Now sign here. You are on the ship's articles as deck boy but your duties will also be to assist the cook in the galley and mess room. 'We have another deck boy aboard, slightly older than you. His name is Peter. You’ll meet him tomorrow. You can go and get turned in now, as it's nearly midnight.' 'Thanks Captain,' Ricky replied, turning away. 'Before you go,’ the Captain added. ‘Two things that I will not tolerate on my ship are drunkenness and fighting. If you are brought before me on either offence, I shall punish you most severely. That goes for anyone in the ship’s company, regardless of rank or rating.. Do you understand?’ 'Yes, Sir.' Ricky replied, and went back down the ladders to the messroom. He looked in, but as Doc wasn't there, he carried on down to his cabin. The noise down here was incredible compared to the bridge, and the smell of the diesel oil from the engine room was very strong. Ricky went into the cabin and made up his bunk. He unpacked his bag and stowed his clothes in the locker. Taking his towel and toothbrush he tried the other two doors on this passage. The first was a locker with engine room consumables in it. Cotton waste, tins of degreaser, tins of grease, nuts and bolts and gaskets of all shapes and sizes. The next door opened into the bathroom. There was a shower, a toilet and a washbasin, and Ricky quickly washed himself, cleaned his teeth and went back to the cabin. There was a man in there now, undressing before climbing into his bunk. 'Hello, mate,' he shouted, 'call me Charlie. I'm the engine room greaser.' 'I'm Ricky.' 'O.K Ricky. See you in the morning.' And Charlie climbed into his bunk, switched off the little light above his head and turned to face the bulkhead. Ricky quickly undressed and climbed into his bunk. He switched off the bunk light and lay there going over the events of the day in his mind. If anyone had told him twenty four hours ago that he would be at sea tonight, he wouldn't have believed them. He eventually dropped off to sleep with the engine still thumping away below him. During the night Ricky was awakened once with the ship rolling. As the bunks were placed across the ship, every roll she gave slid Ricky down the bunk, and then slid him back again when she righted herself. But he was too tired to stay awake for long and he was soon fast asleep again. He was awakened by someone shaking him and he climbed out of the bunk. It was Doc and he was just disappearing out of the door again. Ricky climbed into his clothes and stumbled up the passageways to the mess room. The ship was steadily rolling from side to side, and Ricky had to be careful in case he stumbled and hit the chairs or tables in the mess. He could see by the mess room clock that it was just before six a.m. Doc told him to get himself a cup of tea before cleaning the tables and washing up the cutlery and plates that the crew had used during the night. He didn't really want tea as he was feeling a bit queasy, but he managed to get most of it down. He gathered up the crockery and cutlery put it through the hatchway into the galley, stacked it in the sink and filled the sink with hot water. Doc showed him where the cleaning materials were kept, and he took the cloths and soap back to the mess room and cleaned the tables of the litter that the crew had left. Looking at the remains of meals and sandwiches that were scattered on the tables, and the tea and coffee that had been spilled, and mixed in with it, made him feel even sicker. Once he'd cleaned the tables, wiped down the tea boiler and made sure it was full of water, he went back into the galley and washed up. Copyright by Deric Barry 2005.