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.