Salad Days.13

I was to become eternally grateful I joined my next ship as an EDH and was no longer considered a boy rating. My 18th birthday was a week before I joined the ship and it couldn't have come at a better time. The crew of the last ship were in the main easy-going, hippiesque (I made that word up but you get the gist). The crew of this one were mostly drunken brawlers, the stereotypical seamen in the eyes of many shoresiders. Of course I didn't know that immediately but it became apparent very quickly. If I were given the choice of repeating the experience, would I? Hard to say, probably. I think the positives outweighed the negatives on a personal level. 

The trip would certainly be eventful. Joining in Brest, everything seemed normal. The first thing I noticed was the crew all came from different places. One Geordie, one Jock, one Scouse, etc. I joked afterwards that the Federation had taken the worst arsehole from every pool in the country and stuck them on this ship. The ship itself was a 53,000 tonnes bulk carrier. It was huge compared to my last ship but not in the same league as the supertanker. It was a rust-bucket and maybe my conspiracy theory was not far from the truth.

We went ashore en masse in Brest and the crew were already boisterous, pushing and shoving each other. It was a popular game, as someone with you approaches a lamp-post or sign-post, they would be given a nudge so they walked into it. I wasn't participating but that didn't mean I wouldn't be a victim. With a little help from Scouse I walked smack into a pole. It was cold and I had my hands in my pockets so I caught it full on and felt a lump rising on my head.

Everyone carried on and the laughter died down, then I saw it. There was a dead rat in the kerb and the others ignored it. Walking at the back to avoid anymore injury, I saw a chance of revenge. I picked up the rat and threw it as hard as I could. Bullseye! It hit Scouse on the back of the head so hard it knocked him forward. When everybody saw the rat the were decking it, holding their stomachs as they laughed so loud it hurt. Scouse didn't laugh, he rubbed his head and looked at me angrily. I just stood there smiling and I put a finger to my forehead where the lump was. He scowled and turned away.

Apart from a minor scuffle between Paddy and an engine room guy, there was no trouble ashore. The problem occurred in the dock itself. Half a dozen fork-lifts were parked up for the night and all the keys were in the ignitions. It was too much of a temptation and races were organised. The fork-lifts didn't exactly go fast but when you had your pedal to the metal they were really hard to steer in a straight line. I have to admit watching the antics was very funny and yes, I did have a go. It was funny right up to the point the deck-boy after being bumped by another driver headed straight off the quay and into the dock. Everybody dashed to look what became of him. When we saw his treading water we started laughing. Luckily he was close to a ladder, the water was freezing.

The next night we went ashore but all split into pairs, it was clear this crew wasn't going to get along. As I came back with Tommy, a steward from Norwich who was barely a year older than me, I noticed a number of black cars. They weren't there the night before and the windows were blacked out. It had to be because of the antics last night. They were probably wanting to know where the other fork-lift was. I couldn't wait to get away from France. In truth it wasn't just France, I wanted shot of Europe, I'd just had nearly a year of summers. Unfortunately we were headed to Antwerp and London first.

Antwerp wasn't particularly thrilling as most stayed in the same pairs. It was a quiet night as a result. There had already been a couple of scuffles on board but both times Paddy was involved. He was very pugnacious and fearless, thankfully he was just average height and quite thin so he wasn't a major threat to anyone. He catch-phrase was "What'll you do?" (in an Irish accent) and was usually by someone saying 'don't...' or 'stop...', if they made a threat Paddy would spring into action. I couldn't decide what Paddy liked more, hitting or being hit.

In London we docked at an almost deserted Millwall Dock. The only ship in was A Russian one on the far side of the dock. Thatcher's sell out and dismantling of the merchant navy was already in full swing. Soon seamanship would disappear from our island nation. The best trained seamen in the world would no longer be required when so many cheap imports were available. The government allowed British companies to register in 3rd world countries so they didn't have to meet the strict safety guidelines laid down by the Lloyd's Register insurers. Safety of crew / passengers is not of great importance.

Outside the dock gates it was just a short walk through the deserted streets until we found a pub. At lunch hour we all frequented the pub, even though we had cheaper beer on board. It was just good to get off the ship. There was a stripper every lunchtime laid on by the landlord, it was a piece of genius with all the drunken lechers in attendance. I could relate an incident in which the poor deck boy was 'educated' by the stripper on the pool table, but I'm trying to avoid an 18+ label for this series. Besides which, a repetition today could see criminal charges brought against the crew (and the stripper), though I doubt the deck-boy would press charges.

Finally we left cold and miserable London and were headed south-west on route to Lisbon. the company were keeping their cards close to their chest when informing us of our next port of call. It should have aroused some suspicion but it was quite common for tramp ships. We had no thoughts beyond Lisbon anyway. Still there was no sign of what was to come as all the seamen congregated in the Texas Bar. I remembered  that bar on subsequent visits over the years but whilst it kept its name it changed its identity.

I suppose the presence of available women was a pacifier and I was lulled into a false sense of security. There was much more to Lisbon than just the Texas Bar but we only had an overnight stay on this occasion, giving me no time to explore, We sailed into the Mediterranean and took bunkers in Malta without major incident and whilst there were no scuffles the volume of arguments increased. The constant squabbling over trivia was beginning to get to me and one night I turned the sound system in the bar onto max to drown them out. A big Geordie donkey-greaser came rushing into the bar and ripped the machine out of the wall.
"Who the fuck turned that up?" he demanded and everyone looked at me.
"I did" I said defiantly.

Some of you may think I was extremely brave but I'd already been grassed up by everyone looking at me so I had to stand firm and deny and look a coward. The donkey-greaser stormed over me and launched a verbal tirade at me as I stood looking at him impassively. We were almost touching noses but I wasn't going to back away. When he finally ran out of expletives I said softly:
"Have you got a problem?"

The confused look he gave me would have been comical if I hadn't shat my pants. I could see his mind working out what to do next.
"Aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!" he yelled then turned and stomped out of the bar.

It was a close call but worth the risk, the crew were still looking at me in stunned silence. I should thank the donkey-greaser, it would be a long time before anyone picked on me. They imagined I was a lunatic or some sort of martial arts expert. Suez Canal was next, I hoped it would give me the same feeling as Panama had.