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.