Innocent on the run, Part 4.

The boys gazed up at the superstructure of the oil tanker that was being tied up. ‘She’s just come in,’ Brian observed as the crew ran out the gangway and lashed it into place. ‘Wonder where she came from,’ Ricky said Brian answered, ‘Must be the Persian Gulf. All the crew are as brown as berries.’ Ricky laughed. ‘They’re Indian or something.’ ‘Come on,’ Brian said, ‘lets go aboard.’ Ricky was reluctant. ‘I dunno, what flag are they flying.’ Brian laughed, ‘Who cares, they won’t bite us, come on.’ shorts and a pair of flip-flops. They climbed the ladders to the accommodation and found the open door into the galley. Standing in front of the sink, washing dishes was an Indian dressed in a ragged pair of shorts. ‘Hello,’ Brian called through the open door, ‘we’re looking for work.’ The Indian turned to face them. ‘You want job?’ he asked. ‘Yes please,’ they replied eagerly. The cook picked up a meat cleaver that was lying on the table and waved it in their direction. His face contorted in fury as he screamed at them, ‘My brother want job, my Father want job.’ He crouched and started to advance towards them with a snarl on his face. He sliced the air in front of him. ‘Get out here or I chop you up.’ They turned and fled, taking the ladders two steps at a time. Safely on the quayside, they looked up to see the cook at the hand rails waving his cleaver at them while the crew members fell about laughing. ‘Won’t bite you, eh?’ Ricky grinned. ‘He nearly chopped us up for curry.’ They continued around the dock until they came to the flour mill. The grain ship that was discharging its cargo stopped them in their tracks! It was a wooden hulled sailing schooner. They gazed up at the masts and rigging in wonder. After a long silence, Ricky said, ‘It must be great to sail on a real sailing ship.’ They walked up the gangway and looked over the hatch coaming at the mountains of grain in the holds. Brian sighed, ‘I wish we could get jobs on her.’ A man walked along the timbered deck towards them. He was dressed in a Naval greatcoat, thick serge trousers tucked into rubber boots, and a peaked cap. His weather-beaten face split into a grin. ‘What can I do for you, boys.’ ‘We’re looking for jobs, Sir.’ Brian told him. ’Do you need a galley boy or deck boy?’ ‘No we don’t, I’m sorry.’ He watched as their faces registered disappointment. ‘What ship is this, Sir?’ Ricky asked ‘This is the sailing schooner Pamir,’ he answered. ‘One of the only two remaining schooners still operating under sail and carrying cargo. The other one is our sister ship the Passat.’ ‘It must be marvellous sailing on her,’ Brian said. ‘It’s not as romantic as you think,’ the Captain replied. ‘The accommodation is cramped, the work is very strenuous and you get soaked to the skin several times during a watch.’ ‘We’d love all of that,’ Ricky said, peering up at the yards high above them. The Captain smiled again, ‘You’d be alright until we started across the Bay of Biscay,’ he said. ‘In bad weather she practically turns turtle. When the rails are under water you have to walk up hill to cross the deck.’ Ricky looked at the huge teak handrail running the length of the deck and tried to imagine the ship heeled over to such an extent that it was underwater. The Captain continued, ‘You can’t sign on, I’m afraid, but at least you can say that you were on board her, and there’s not many seamen who can say that.’ ‘Thanks, anyway.’ Brian said. They went back down the gangway feeling ten feet tall as the Captain had called them seamen. When they got on the dockside they looked up at the side of the ship. The Captain was leaning on the rail. ‘Remember me when you cross the Bay of Biscay for the first time,’ he called down to them. They both waved up at him. When they were in school they had worked together part time for a wood merchant. Evenings and Saturdays they would help the boss on his firewood round, selling chopped sticks and burning blocks to the people of the town and surrounding villages. After they had left school, the boss offered them full time work. They enjoyed the heavy physical work, carrying sacks of wood up stairs to flats, building up their stamina for the boxing club bouts they were entered for. As well as boxing they were keen members of the youth club rugby team, playing on Sunday mornings. All the while they continued their search for the ship which would take them on, and help them to realise their ambition. One Monday evening Ricky knocked on Brian’s door as they were due at the boxing club. He was a bit concerned because Brian had not been in work that day and the boss had assumed that he was sick. Brian’s Mother answered the door and told him that his mate was at sea! He’d gone as galley boy on a coaster after a friend of a friend had got him the job. Ricky was green with envy! He went to the boxing club cursing his luck that he hadn’t gone to sea with Brian, although he couldn’t blame his mate for taking the job. He’d have done the same himself. If they had gone together however, it might have changed Ricky’s mind about a career at sea, as ten days later Brian was back at home vowing never to set foot on another ship as long as he lived! The trip had been a nightmare! The vessel was a tiny coaster running across the English Channel to Belgium. The weather had been atrocious and Brian had spent most of his time on board lying in his bunk vomiting on the cabin floor. The cook had dragged him out of his bunk and beaten him with a ladle to get him into the galley to work. The smell of greasy food and stinking vegetables had been the final straw, and he paid off when she got back to Barry and almost ran home. Copyright 2005 by Deric Barry

Innocent on the run Part 3.

They had tried to become Seamen by going to the Merchant Seamen’s Association, where crew members were recruited for the dozens of ships plying in and out of the South Wales ports, but the clerk had told them that they must have a Seaman’s Discharge Book before he could place them on a ship. ‘How do we get books?’ Brian had asked. ‘You do a trip to sea,’ he’d replied. ‘We can’t do a trip without a book,’ Ricky answered. The clerk shrugged his shoulders and turned away, completely disinterested. They left feeling very frustrated. Outside, from their vantage point on the hill, they looked across the docks at the dozens of ships loading or discharging cargoes. The port was a bustling hive of industry. Colliers, called flatties because of their low superstructures, designed to pass under river bridges on their way to the power stations, loaded their cargo from endless lines of railway trucks. Huge tankers discharged their oil into massive tanks standing on the dockside in tank farms. General cargo ships loaded farming machinery, steel coils, timber of all kinds, pit props, engineering supplies, and thousands of other items. Ships specialising in transporting iron ore, fresh produce, fruit and vegetables and grain were being unloaded. The iron ore in mountains on the dockside, the fruit and vegetables being hurried into warehouses and enormous buckets on the end of crane wires grabbing the grain in ships’ holds before dropping it into lorries for shipment to the flour mill. The boys gazed at the scene before them in awe. ‘Surely, among all these vessels, there must be someone who needs us,’ Ricky said. ‘Of course there is,’ Brian grinned. ‘Come on, we’ll go around the ships again.’ They walked around the docks again, gazing at the ships with longing in their eyes and hope in their hearts. When the boys had first started going aboard ships, Ricky’s Mother had protested to his Dad about the dangers of young boys boarding vessels. ‘He’ll come to no good down there,’ she’d said. ‘Those foreigners could do anything to him and we’d never know what happened.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ his Dad replied. ‘All the foreign vessels have British Officers.’ ‘Don’t worry,’ she’d shouted. Of course I worry. I don’t want him kidnapped and sold into slavery or something.’ Ricky laughed. ‘I’ll be alright, Mam. Brian and I can look after ourselves. That’s why we’ve been going to the boxing club for years.’ ‘Fat lot of good that would do against grown men.’ she’d cried. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he’d said. ‘I can sort Dad out.’ His Dad had leapt to his feet and stabbed out a left at Ricky. Ricky dodged it and countered with a right but his Dad was faster, he’d moved out of the way and his right hand, palm open had caught Ricky on the side of the head. It staggered him even though there was no force behind it. ‘Pack it in you two,’ Mam had grinned, slapping them with her tea towel. Copyright 2005 by Deric Barry

Innocent on the run Part 2.

Brian and Ricky walked home through the town to the East side. ‘Another plastic cup for the mantlepiece,’ Ricky said, eyeing his prize. Brian laughed, ‘Yea, but think about it, one day it could be a gold cup or even a Lonsdale belt.’ Ricky’s turn to laugh, ‘Maybe one day we’ll win a cup big enough to drink a pint out of.’ ‘You could keep it behind the bar in the King Billy,’ Brian chuckled. ‘If the landlord gets changed,’ he added. ‘This one’s a miserable so and so.’ ‘I know,’ Ricky agreed. ‘ Did you hear him ask me if I was eighteen last Saturday? He nearly didn’t serve us.’ ‘We could try the Royal this week.’ ‘No fear. That’s too near home. My old man goes in there.’ They stood on the corner of Brian’s street. ‘I’m fed up with this town,’ Brian said. ‘Wish someone would give us a chance to get away to sea.’ He kicked a stone into the gutter. ‘Let’s try the docks again tomorrow,’ Ricky suggested. ‘Okay. I know a few more ships came into port yesterday. We may be lucky this time.’ ‘Okay, see you in the morning. I’ll be around about eleven.’ Brian turned to walk up his street. ’See you, Rick.’ Ricky walked up the hill towards his home, wondering if the next day would be the one where they got a ship together. Their burning ambition was to go to sea and for over a year they had trailed around the docks, boarding every new arrival, asking the same question of anyone in authority, ‘ Do you need a deck boy or galley boy, please?’ They had always been refused but they never gave up. They both knew that there were three methods of getting away to sea in the nineteen fifties. You either went to Nautical College where your parents paid the fees for your apprenticeship, you went to a Seaman’s training school or you knew someone who could get you a job on a ship by recommending you to the captain. Nautical College was out of the question for the two boys as their families were large and everyone had to earn a living to make ends meet. Ricky's dad was a fireman in the local fire brigade and his Mum was a part time cook at the fire station. His dad's wage was just enough to pay the rent on their tiny house, and pay for the essentials like groceries, coal and gas bills. There was no electricity in the house and only gas lighting in the living room and kitchen. When going to bed they used candles to light the way. The only entertainment, apart from amusing themselves by reading or playing cards and games, was the Radio Relay, which was a radio signal piped in to the houses by the local Radiocommunications Company. They paid a rental for the receiver and could switch in either of two programmes. Three months training in Liverpool at the Seaman’s training school was a non- starter for the same reason, and as they knew no one with influence, they trailed around the docks, hoping that a Captain would one day give them a chance. Some of their friends had done it that way in the past. Ricky had seen Merchant Seamen pay off vessels in the town and splash their bundles of money around, buying new suits and shoes, treating their families to luxuries and generally having a good time. He’d listened to their stories of visiting exotic ports; meeting beautiful dusky maidens and he’d been green with envy. He wanted the same for himself and couldn’t wait for the new life of excitement, money and adventure to start. If it meant trailing around the docks every day, enquiring on every vessel regardless of nationality and flag, then that was what he would do. As Ricky approached school leaving age, his parents tried to get him into an apprenticeship. They made sure that he applied to the local council and to the factories in the area, as well as the Dock's Board. He was interested in carpentry and had made some useful items from wood in the woodwork class at school, but there were too many boys chasing the same apprenticeships and Ricky was unlucky. He also tried for entry into the building school in Cardiff, and although he passed the entrance exam, they offered places to the Cardiff boys first, so he was unlucky again. Some of Ricky's mates got apprenticed to bricklayers, some to roofers, and some to painters. A lot went on to the railway as cleaners, which eventually led to them becoming firemen, and then drivers. Ricky's elder brother had started as a cleaner but was now a fireman. A few of the boys who left school that year had managed to get apprenticeships as electricians, but they were all from the grammar school. The Secondary Modern school, as it was called now, provided a good, solid, but basic education, which was adequate for most employers in the town. The companies associated with the docks took on apprentices in the engineering and electrical trades. The Docks board itself took on Boilermakers, Pipefitters, Sheet Metalworkers, Laggers, Shipwrights and Riveters. Riveting ships sides was a dangerous and very dirty job. The riveter would heat up the rivets to red heat, pick one up in his tongs and throw it to the apprentice, who would catch it in a bucket, before fishing it out with his tongs and shoving it in the hole in the steel plate on the ship's side. Other riveters would then apply the hammers to flatten out the rivet. Ricky didn't fancy that job at all. He'd heard stories of boys being burnt, when they missed catching the red hot rivet in the bucket, and it had landed on them. Copyright 2005 by Deric Barry

Innocent on the Run

Innocent on the Run By Deric Barry A young lad’s first trip to sea turns into a disaster when his ship sails without him, leaving him stranded in America. A string of misfortunes including kidnap, bank robbery, attempted murder and shipwreck follow him as he tries to get back home to the United Kingdom. Copyright 2005 by Deric Barry All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Chapter 1. Ricky jabbed with his left fist then crossed with his right. The right hander landed on his opponents jaw and the lad staggered backwards. Ricky was on him in a flash, pummelling his body with quick lefts and rights. His opponent was on the ropes covering up as best he could as Ricky slammed the punches home, scoring every time. The referee hovered around the fighters watching intently as the boy on the ropes tried to avoid further punishment. The bell suddenly rang out to end round two and the referee’s arm came down in between the boxers. ‘Stop,’ he shouted. Ricky stepped back and went to his corner. He slumped down on the stool breathing heavily and his second flapped a towel in his face. He sloshed the wet sponge on Ricky’s face and handed him the bottle to rinse his mouth out. ‘That’s one round each,’ the second said, pulling Ricky’s shorts away from his stomach to assist his breathing. ‘Keep up the pressure in the last round and you’ll win it.’ Ricky nodded and spat water into the bucket outside of the ring. ‘He’s tiring,’ the second went on. ‘His punches have lost their sting. Get to the centre of the ring and make him do the running around. ‘Okay,’ Ricky answered. The timekeeper called, ‘Seconds out of the ring. Third and 4 last round.’ Ricky’s second slid out of the ring under the top rope as the bell rang to start the last round. The boxers met in the centre of the ring and touched gloves. The referee called out, ‘Box.’ Ricky led with his left, his opponent blocked it with his right hand and shot his own left out towards Rick’s head. Ricky slipped it over his left shoulder and hooked him to the body with his left. His opponent danced away and Ricky gained the centre of the ring. His opponent danced back in and threw two lefts in succession followed by a right which Ricky blocked with his left then countered with a right into the other boy’s body. The boy bent forward slightly to lessen the blow’s impact and Ricky sent a crashing left hook over the top of the boy’s guard. It caught him on the point of the jaw and he staggered sideways under the force of the blow. Ricky leapt at him and crashed a right hand into his head. The boy’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. The referee danced in between the boxers and stopped Ricky by putting an arm up in front of him. As the boy got to his feet, the referee looked at him closely and waved him back to his corner, knowing that the lad had had enough, and to continue would have meant further punishment for him. The fight was over! Ricky leaped into the air waving his arms in triumph as the crowd cheered and stamped their feet. Ricky’s second congratulated him as he handed him a towel to wipe the sweat out of his eyes. ‘Great last round,’ he said, starting to untie Ricky’s gloves. 5 Ricky grinned. ‘I’m glad it didn’t go on any longer,’ he panted. ‘I’d almost had it myself.’ The referee called the boxers to the centre of the ring and stood them on either side of him. When the applause and noise had died down a little, the Master of Ceremonies announced, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen. By a technical knockout in the third round, the winner is Davies in the blue corner.’ The crowd roared as Ricky’s hand was held aloft by the referee. His team were boxing in the inter-club championships against clubs from all across South Wales. Ricky’s club was the Barry Boys’ Club and he’d been training there since he was eleven years old. He was now fifteen in the year 1951, and he was a lightweight. Still panting from exertion, Ricky joined his team mates at the back of the hall. Brian Proctor, his best mate laughed. ‘Nice going, Rick.’ He slapped Ricky on the back. Brian had fought in the bout before Ricky’s and had out pointed his opponent. They watched the rest of the bouts, cheering their team mates on, yelling like mad when they won, commiserating with the fighter when he lost. At the end of the competition, points were tallied up and the prizes awarded. Barry Boy’s Club had come a respectable third overall, which they thought was an excellent result, as seven clubs had taken part.

Death of our Lido

The local council let our beautiful Lido fall into disrepair, then when it became an eyesore decided to fill it in and grass over it. A criminal shame. See it here

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Easy money

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