Rhymes are fun.

Check out my new site and read some of my rhymes. They're sure to bring a smile. https://sites.google.com/site/rhymestogo/

Savoury cabbage rolls

This is a different way to make savoury cabbage rolls. http://scarytaff.hubpages.com/hub/Savoury-cabbage-rolls

National Heroes

Deric Barry has serialised his book, The National Heroes.' Worth a read http://scarytaff.hubpages.com/hub/The-National-Heroes-Part1

Innocent on the run. Part 44

The Bosun hadn't changed though, he was still a hard task master and he rarely had a good word to say about anything. Ricky was his usual clumsy self, knocking over trays of paint and managing to get the Bosun's wrath down on his head on numerous occasions. He laughed it off nowadays, determined not to let the Bosun spoil his exhilaration at going home. Not only was he going home, but he was taking enough money with him to set his folks up for life, if they would accept it. Every night he turned in after an exhausting day, dreaming of his homecoming, one day closer. Mac said to him one day, 'If you've got anything you don't want the Customs to find when we get to London, you'd better hide it somewhere safe. If they send the Black Gang down to search the ship, they'll rip everything apart, including the wall panelling, deckheads, lighting, everything.' Ricky was taken aback. He hadn't thought about the Customs. If they found the money he had, he would probably end up in jail. It would be hard to explain where all that money came from. If it was legally his, they'd want to know why he hadn't flown home with a replacement passport from the consul. He'd have to find a safe hiding place on board. For days he wracked his brains, trying to think where he could put it. He asked people in a round about way, where the best hiding places were. He was working in the engine room one day and he said to the Fourth engineer, 'Have the Customs ever caught you with anything?' 'No,' he said. ` I've got a great hiding place. Forget about under the plates in the bilges, or down the stern under the prop shaft, this is somewhere they'll never find.' He beckoned Ricky to follow him, and they went into the generator room. One of the huge generators was stripped down for maintenance work. 'This is what I do,' he said. 'Put smallish things like cartons of cigarettes on top of the pistons. There's a hollow in the cylinder head, and they fit in perfectly. Bolt the cylinder head back down and connect all the pipework up. The Customs are not going to strip all the machinery down, it would take them forever. But, you've got to make sure first that the generator won't be used, cos if someone fires it up, all your fags go up the funnel.' Ricky asked him if they would be reassembling the generator before getting in to port, and the Fourth grinned at him. `Want to smuggle some fags in for your old man do you ?' `Yes,' Ricky answered. `O.K. I'll be putting the cylinder head on just before we get to the English Channel, so I'll give you a shout and you can hide them in there.' 'Great, thanks.' Ricky went to bed that night happy that he would be able to get the money stowed away safely. The Fourth would know of his hiding place, and would help him take the cylinder head off again once they'd cleared Customs. The ship ploughed on, making heavy weather in the Bay of Biscay and slowing down to everyone's frustration. They were willing the weather to change, for the wind to stop blowing the seas into mountainous waves, and to get behind the ship and blow it into British waters. Ricky felt quite sick again as the ship heaved and rolled in the swells. It had been a long time since he'd experienced bad weather. The smell of the oil in the engine room was nauseating in itself, without the ship's movement adding to it. He didn't eat anything for twenty-four hours, until suddenly the wind died away and the swells lessened. The sun came out and everyone was cheerful again. People were deliriously happy when the ship turned into the English Channel, and the Fourth Engineer had them in stitches down on the plates, doing a tap dance in his engine room boots, and singing at the top of his voice. He had reassembled the generator and Ricky had stowed his bundles of money in cigarette cartons, in the cylinder head as planned. Ricky now underwent the strange malady that effects all seamen when they enter the Channel after being away for months, Channel fever. Commonly called the channels, it makes people so restless that they can't eat or sleep properly. They pace up and down the decks, dreaming of home and the wonderful reception they'll get from their loved ones. The excitement spreads throughout the crew and the problems of yesterday disappear. People who have been sick get well. Others who have fallen out with each other, forget their differences. Tasks become easier and everyone works with a will. The crew cheered loud and long when they saw the white cliffs of Dover, and everyone came out on deck to see them. Even the Bosun was seen to smile. They picked up the pilot and entered the River Thames, everyone in a party mood. It was the happiest they'd been in months. Ricky was leaning over the rails as the ship slowed in the river and the Fourth came out to join him. He leaned over the rail. 'Great to be home again,' he said. 'Oh, by the way,' he added. The Second's down below taking her in to port, and I forgot to tell him about your stuff in the generator. Better nip down and tell him.' 'Right,' Ricky answered and went inside. He climbed down to the plates but the Second wasn't there. The Fireman pointed at the generator room and Ricky went in, just in time to see the Second Engineer about to start up the generator where Ricky's money was hidden. Ricky shouted, but his voice was drowned by the noise of the compressed air starter bursting into life. The generator faltered for a second, then fired up and raced away for a minute before settling down to a steady rhythm. Outside on deck, the crew looked up in amazement as a shower of green confetti burst from the funnel, danced around their heads and was swept away in the breeze. Copyright Deric Barry 2005 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.

Innocent on the run. Part 43.

The engine room was huge and the network of pipes like enormous spaghetti, winding around the machinery spaces and disappearing through bulkheads into other compartments. The engineers and greasers were cleaning up after some major overhaul, as the deck plates were up and people were lying face down taking tools from others who could not be seen, in the bowels of the ship. The noise was incredible, and the main engines were not running yet. Ricky reported to an engineer in a white boiler suit and shouted that the Bosun had sent him to help. He nodded and led Ricky off to one side where there was a pile of black, oily, cotton waste in a pile, with oil oozing out from under it. He shouted in Ricky's ear to stuff it in a bag, then clean the deck up under it. When he'd done that he was to carry it up the ladders and dump it in the waste bin on the jetty. It was a filthy, disgusting job, as Ricky found out that it was not just oil that had been cleaned out of the bilges underneath the plates, it smelled strongly of urine as well. He struggled up the ladders with the bags of waste and dumped them in the bin alongside the ship. He leaned on the hand rails of the ship for a breather and a voice shouted, 'I thought I told you to get down the engine room.' The Bosun had come outside and spotted him. 'I'm dumping the rubbish.' Ricky retorted. 'No you're not ! You're wasting time leaning over the side. Now get below.' Ricky turned and went back to the engine room, boiling with anger. He wiped the decks clear of oil and muck, and polished the steel plates until they shone. He vented all his anger on the job, and felt a little better when the Second Engineer saw him rubbing the plates furiously and came over. He grinned and shouted, ` Don't rub the plates away, they're only thin.' He beckoned Ricky to follow him and led the way into the boiler room. There were two enormous boilers in there, and the temperature must have been in the nineties. One boiler was working supplying steam to the pumps and machinery and the other was open at the front. The Second indicated that Ricky should climb inside the boiler into the firebox, and help the firemen drag out the sacks of scale and soot that were being filled. He sweated streams and got dirtier and dirtier as the soot stuck to his skin. The firemen were stripped to the waist, and had cloths tied around their foreheads to stop the sweat dripping into their eyes. Ricky found some rag and did the same. At the end of two hours the boiler was finished and the bags out on the deck plates. The Engineers started reassembling the front of the boiler, and the Second told Ricky to carry some of the bags up top and ditch them in the bin. After that, he bellowed, 'knock off,' and he thanked Ricky for his help. By the time he'd manhandled two of the bags up to the deck and thrown them in the bin, he was black, soot and boiler scale in his hair and clogging up his nose, and streaks of dirt running down his body. He didn't waste time, but went down to the cabin and found a towel in among the linen that Mac had left for him. He stripped off all his clothes and hid the belt of money under his pillow. The bathroom was opposite the cabin and he showered the muck off, before washing his clothes by hand in the large china sink. There was a drying room off the bathroom, heated by pipes from the boiler room and he hung his clothes up to dry. When he got back to the cabin, Mac was already in bed reading, and Ricky was surprised to discover that it was eleven thirty. `What did they get you doing ?' he asked. `Boiler cleaning, and bilge work.' Mac laughed. `They won't let you rest, you'll see. They'll work you all the way to the U.K.' `Well, as long as I'm going home, I don't care.' He made up his bunk and turned in, relaxing and thinking that it wouldn't be long before he was home. It seemed like he'd been away for years. The engines starting up woke him later, but he turned over and went back to sleep. Chapter 16. At six a.m. Ricky and Mac were called to start work, and they got themselves ready and made their way up to the mess room for a cup of tea. The crew started drifting in, and by six thirty those not on watch were ready for work. The Bosun got them out on deck and they started painting. The weather was beautiful, the sun already shining in a clear blue sky. The ship steamed through the calm waters of the Caribbean at full speed, with no cargo to slow her down, just the necessary ballast to keep her trim. After lunch the Bosun told Ricky to go back to the engine room as they needed help. He spent the rest of that day down in the generator room helping the engineers strip down a generator. It was hot, dirty work and the sweat poured out of him. The noise in the machinery spaces was so loud that they had to communicate by hand signals. It was like heaven to come out of the noise for dinner, and once they had eaten, in the special little mess room set aside for the engineers, they went back down again. The generator that they were working on was stripped down to the main bearings, and the engineers fitted new shell bearings to it, and then measured up the wear in the cylinders. They found that they had to fit a new set of piston rings to each of the pistons, and as the time was nearly midnight, decided to resume the work the following day. The Second told Ricky to come back down at eight in the morning, so he dragged himself up the ladders, showered and turned in. The exhausting work and the heat took their toll, and Ricky found it hard to get out of his bunk when the Bosun called him at six a.m. He washed and dressed and sat in the mess room with a cup of tea. At six-thirty, the Bosun had them out on deck painting again. After breakfast, Ricky told the Bosun that the Second Engineer needed him down below again, and he let him go, scowling in bad temper. Ricky enjoyed working in the engine room. It was hot and noisy, but at least the men were happy and liked to have a joke. They taught him how to use tools properly, how to recognise different types of threads on the nuts and bolts, and to use the appropriate spanners. They taught him not to rush the job, work methodically and efficiently. It took them four days to overhaul the generator, but it was done properly, and when the time came to run it up , it started first time and ran like a sewing machine. The Second showed him how to increase the voltage output from it, and when it was producing exactly the same voltage as the others on the electrical switchboard, to throw the breaker and bring it into operation. He learned to take the temperatures of the main engine and the ancillaries, keep a check on the oil pressures and water levels used for cooling, and to watch the water pressure and temperature in the boilers. The burners in the front of the boiler were regularly changed, and the used ones had to be stripped down and cleaned, scraping carbon out, and re - seating the atomisers after soaking them in diesel oil. Work continued around the clock, the regular routine making the days flash by. Ricky continued helping out on deck when he wasn't needed down below in the engine room, and he noticed the weather changing as they got further North into the Atlantic. The swells were getting bigger and the wind picking up. The temperature was several degrees lower, and they started running into rain squalls. People working outside changed from their tropical wear into shirts and trousers again. The mood of the men had changed as they got nearer to their home country, and people were actually smiling as they went about their tasks on deck. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 42.

The driver pulled up at a large oil tanker flying the British flag, and Ricky read the name off the stern. 'Norcombe,' registered in London. Ricky thanked the driver and climbed the gangway. The crew were out on deck and directed him to the Chief Officer who was on the bridge amidships. He was a large fat man with three gold stripes on the epaulettes of his uniform shirt. He had enormous white shorts on and a peaked cap. His face was beetroot red, and he mopped it with a handkerchief. 'Aha,' he said, laughing out loud. 'Our passenger. They tell me you've had a bit of a journey getting here.' `Yes, sir. It's taken a while.' The Mate chuckled, good naturedly. 'The Captain will see you now. He'll sign you on as a D.B.S. Come this way.' He waddled off and led the way down a deck to the Captain's cabin and knocked on the door. 'Come in,' a voice said. The large Mate opened the door and went in, holding it open for Ricky. 'Our wayward D.B.S, Sir.' he announced, grinning hugely. The Captain was a small, thin man in his sixties. He was sitting at his desk and he turned to look at them. 'Thank you Mr. Preston,' he said. The Mate went out and closed the door. The Captain took out the large sheets of official paper which were the Ships Articles. He asked Ricky's particulars, wrote them in the columns, and told him that he would not be paid for this trip, as he was D.B.S, but that he would be expected to work for his keep. 'Yes, Sir. That's fine.' Ricky agreed. 'Right, then the next thing you do is report to the Bosun on deck. He will settle you in to a berth, and put you to work.' 'Thanks very much Captain.' Ricky said, happy to be at last on a British ship. He found his way out on to the deck. It was a very much bigger ship than Llanerin had been, with the Officers' accommodation amidships and the crews' aft. There were catwalks connecting the forecastle and the amidships superstructure, and the amidships to the after accommodation. It was very much easier than climbing down to deck level, then walking along and climbing back up to the accommodation level. The crew were busy painting the tops of the tank hatches, and Ricky asked for the Bosun. He was a small, sour faced man in middle age, and he had a dirty pair of shorts on and a cloth cap. He put down the paint brush and wiped his hands. 'You're the supernumary are you ?' `Yes. The D.B.S.' One of the crew laughed. 'Welcome to the ship from hell,' he said.The Bosun ignored the remark and led the way aft. `You'll be in a cabin with the galley boy. Once you've changed into your working gear, come back on deck.' `I don't have any working gear with me.' `Then you're going to get those dirty, aren't you,' he replied, pointing at Ricky's clothes. The cabin was in the bowels of the ship, three decks down at the stern, and he followed the Bosun down the ladders. The room was tiny, cramped, with a pair of bunks and two lockers in it. The lower bunk was a jumble of bedclothes, and the upper had just a mattress on it. 'Get your bedding from the steward later,' the Bosun said. 'Come on, back on deck and start work.' Ricky followed the Bosun back on to the deck where he was given a paintbrush and a pot and told to get busy. He joined the other crew members and started painting. They were a quiet, morose lot, and kept themselves to themselves. Ricky tried to talk to the man working near him, but he just turned away without answering. They continued in silence until the Bosun, who was watching their every move, looked at his watch, waited a minute, studying the watch face intently, then clapped his hands and said, ‘Smoko.' The crew put their brushes down and filed into the accommodation, Ricky following. They silently set about getting themselves a cup of tea or coffee and sat at the mess room tables. There was very little of the normal banter or jokes that you would expect from a crew, and Ricky sat at a table on his own, in silence, until the galley boy came in whistling. 'Stop that whistling.' The Bosun roared. 'Are you trying to whistle up the wind.' The boy was unabashed, but he stopped whistling and sat next to Ricky. He held his hand out. 'Malcolm. ' he said. Ricky shook his hand and told him his name. ‘What's wrong with them all?' Ricky asked him, indicating the glum looking crew members. The boy spoke in a low voice. 'The Captain's a bastard, and the Bosun's a worse one. It's a very unhappy ship. They don't bother us in the galley though. I try to ignore that old bastard most of the time.' He nodded across at the Bosun. 'So you're in my room with me are you.' he said in a normal voice. ‘Yeah.’ `I'll throw some bedclothes in for you when I go down, then.' 'O.K, thanks.’ The Bosun looked at his watch again, slammed his mug down on the table and bellowed, ` Right, lets get back to it.' Malcolm whispered, `He won't give them an extra minute. Everything's done by the clock.' Ricky followed the crew back to the deck and started painting. He stripped his shirt off when he got too hot and hung it over one of the large valves that controlled the flow of oil into the tanks. The Bosun came across to look at his work, but after watching for a while he walked away without a word. Ricky got on with the job, humming to himself. His headache had gone by now, and his stomach had settled down, so he was a lot happier than he'd been that morning. He wondered how Earl and Winston had got him out of the club and up to Winston's little house ! All he could think of was that they carried him out and got him into a taxi. If he ever came back to Jamaica he would have to look them up and thank them. They knocked off at five o'clock on the dot, and cleaned up for dinner. The food was not very good, but Ricky ate with relish, glad to be back eating British food again, even though it was steak and kidney pie with boiled and roast potatoes. British cooks were all the same, he thought, the temperature in the eighties and piping hot meals on the menu. After dinner Ricky went out on deck for some air. A sign had been hung on the gangway and he crossed over to read it. Vessel sails at 0100 hours, it said. Alongside the 'Leave expires at' notice, was chalked, NO LEAVE in bold letters. No wonder the men were moody, he thought. They weren't allowed ashore. Malcolm came out to join him on deck, and Ricky pointed the notice out to him. 'Yes,' he said. The old man won't let anyone ashore, 'cos he's scared they'll jump ship. Two men jumped in Maracaibo two weeks ago. If he loses any more he won't have enough crew to work the ship. That's probably why we're going back to U.K. this time, so he can pay this lot off and get a new crew.' 'Are things that bad on here then ?' 'They're not really all that bad, but when you've been cooped up on a ship for seven months like these blokes have, the slightest thing can upset you. The Bosun gets more than his pound of flesh out of the men. He keeps them at it all the time, and because one man was late on deck one day, he reported him to the Captain, who stopped him a day's pay and cancelled everyone's beer ration. He said if they didn't have beer, they wouldn't get drunk and oversleep.' Ricky said, 'So they get no shore leave and no beer aboard the ship . No wonder they're miserable.' `Yeah. Oh, I threw some bedding on your bunk, so you can make it up when you want. There's some books in the top drawer under my bunk, if you fancy a read.' `Thanks, Mac.' `That's O.K.' He stretched and yawned. `Well, must get back to work, there's just the clearing up to do now.' Ricky followed him back in to the accommodation. The Bosun was in the mess room and he beckoned Ricky over. 'The engineers could do with a hand down below,' he said. 'Report to the Second Engineer in the engine room.' 'Now ?' Ricky asked. `Yes, now,' he shouted. 'There's no room for passengers on this ship, lad.' Ricky turned away, seething with anger. He was glad of this trip home, and he was glad to work his passage, but there was no need for the little bastard to be so nasty. He entered the engine room and climbed down the ladders to the bottom. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.

Innocent on the run. Part 41.

Chapter 15. Ricky came around slowly. It was dark with a few chinks of light shining through something. His head was splitting, and the sharp needles of light made him shut his eyes again quickly. He looked out from under lowered lids, but couldn't make anything out in the gloom. He sat up and winced at the pain in his head. Chinks of light were coming from around what looked like a door in the far wall. He crawled over to it on hands and knees, and collided with something soft on the floor. It groaned. It was a person. Ricky climbed over it and it snored. He got to the door and opened it. It was a shed door. He held his hand up to his eyes as the sunlight blinded him, and he looked downwards. He was still crawling. He used the side of the shed as a support to raise himself to his feet. Turning unsteadily around, he looked back into the shed and could see Winston, sleeping on the floor on a quilt. It was morning. My God, he thought. What time was it? His watch told him that it was ten forty five. The Consul. He had to be there at eleven. But where was he? The shed he'd slept in was on a hillside surrounded by dwellings which all looked like garden sheds, made up from odd bits of wood and corrugated iron. His head was bursting, but he had to find a taxi, so he staggered down the hillside, feeling like death. Jamaicans were sat outside their huts, laughing at him as he stumbled on, desperate to get to the consul. After ten minutes he came to a built up area and managed to flag down a passing taxi. 'British Consul. Quick,' he croaked. There was something wrong with his throat, he could hardly talk. The taxi driver grinned at him, and put his foot down. It was eleven fifteen when they pulled up outside the Consulate, and Ricky paid the driver and ran into the foyer. The same clerk was behind the desk and Ricky told him his name, which he checked against his list. Ricky had hardly sat down to wait, when the door of the same office that he'd been in the day before opened, and the fair haired man came out. He glared at Ricky and shouted across the foyer, 'Davies, come.' Ricky got up and went into the office. The man stared at him. 'You're late.' he bellowed, and Ricky cringed at the noise. `And look at the state of you,' he continued. `You're worse than you were yesterday, if that's possible.' Ricky looked down at the crumpled state of his clothes, and the alcohol stains that were all over him. He must stink to high heaven, he thought. `Accident,' he managed to say. `Accident , my foot. I smell alcohol, and you're obviously hung over. I'll be glad to see the back of you, Davies, I really will. What a disgusting state to come into the consulate in. You deserve to get no help at all, but as we want to be shot of you as soon as we can, I can confirm that the Shipping Company you worked for has verified your story about missing your ship. They have sent a telegram to your parents, telling them that you are well and where you are. I'm sending you home, laddie. There's a British Tanker sailing tonight and you're going to be on it.' Ricky 's spirits soared. He grinned at the consul. `Wipe that stupid grin off your face, it won't be a picnic. I've told the Captain to put you to work, and work you shall. You've caused untold extra work for us, and the sooner we see the back of you, the better we'll like it.' Ricky was so relieved, he said ` Thank you very much.' The consul picked up the phone. ` Have the car brought round,' he said into the mouthpiece. `That's all Davies,' he said. `Get your gear, if you’ve got any. The driver will take you to the ship.' Ricky turned to go, happy to be on his way. As he was going out of the door, the consul said, `If you miss this ship, you're on your own, Davies. Don't come back here.' The car was waiting outside and Ricky directed him to Betty's house. He went in and Betty came out from the back room to meet him. `Where you been, son? ' she said, a worried look on her face. 'Sorry, Betty,' he said. I met some friends and got a bit carried away. The car's waiting to take me to a ship. I'm on my way home.' `That's good,' she said. 'Thanks a lot, Betty. I'll just get my things and be off.' He ran up the stairs and gathered his few items together. His head was still banging like a drum, but he didn't seem to mind it now. He was going home at last. He raced down the stairs and thanked Betty for all that she’d done for him. He was embarrassed when she took him in a bear hug and told him to look after himself. All the Jamaican money that he had left, he'd put on the bedside cabinet in the room. It wouldn't be any good to him now, and he knew that Betty wouldn't accept it if he offered it to her. She had a tear in her eye as she bade him farewell at the door. He waved to her from the car until she was out of sight. Copyright Deric Barry 2005.