The earliest reminder the sea was calling me to her bosom was when I was just a month old. My parents lived in Joppa. Every morning my mother pushed my pram along the seafront. When the waves crashed against the seawall the wind whipped cold wet sea spume into my face. To my mother’s puzzlement I shrieked with delight. This was truly the first omen of my nautical destiny!
The next omen was when I was age six and at Edinburgh’s Melville College. I was invited to a dance sailor’s hornpipe. My parents made me a white bell-bottomed suit. I careered backwards and forwards at high speed, then danced to one side then the other. I ended with a masterly demonstration of the hand over hand motions of climbing aloft into the rigging. I got a long standing ovation!
At age ten my friends spent their pocket money buying lemonade and sticky buns. But I spent mine hiring a heavy rowing boat from the Elie harbourmaster. He knew I was competent, but was shocked when I rowed right round the bay!
The next omen of my sea-going destiny was when I was fourteen and was transferred to Edinburgh Academy. The best masters were absent fighting the war. The elderly retired teachers brought back temporarily could not keep discipline. I fell far behind and quit school with no qualifications. But my father was determined I should be interviewed as a potential cadet officer, and the old-boy network got me an interview with the MD of the famous City Line of Glasgow. I joined the City of Hong Kong on my 16th birthday, India-bound.
I was thrown in at the deep-end, and carried out tasks considered too dangerous or onerous for the Indian crew. I was desperate to succeed in my sea career. But I was often immersed in farcical and ludicrous situations, and things often went awry. I seemed unable to please my irascible captain and I worried lest my cadetship might not be renewed. But my character developed rapidly and I soon developed the sailor’s antidote: An idiosyncratic sense of humour!
I went home on leave and my parents showed me a letter from my captain. In he wrote that he was being transferred to another ship but wanted my parents to know that he thought that I would make a very fine City Line officer indeed.
When I unpacked my sea-chest a bar of wood fell onto the floor. I knew instantly it was a crapping bar: The handle you clutched when defecating in the heads in bad weather. A practical joke by our Gaelic quartermasters I guessed! My dog, a boxer called Buster, picked it up and took it to his bed. But I grabbed it and threw it over the garden wall. Buster clasped it in his mouth and we tore across the fields as happy free spirits. This story is quirky, politically incorrect, and achingly funny. It is the ideal read for Kindles, iPads, Tablets, e-readers, and mobile phones: On beaches, trains, planes, hotels, restaurants, and in bed!
The next omen was when I was age six and at Edinburgh’s Melville College. I was invited to a dance sailor’s hornpipe. My parents made me a white bell-bottomed suit. I careered backwards and forwards at high speed, then danced to one side then the other. I ended with a masterly demonstration of the hand over hand motions of climbing aloft into the rigging. I got a long standing ovation!
At age ten my friends spent their pocket money buying lemonade and sticky buns. But I spent mine hiring a heavy rowing boat from the Elie harbourmaster. He knew I was competent, but was shocked when I rowed right round the bay!
The next omen of my sea-going destiny was when I was fourteen and was transferred to Edinburgh Academy. The best masters were absent fighting the war. The elderly retired teachers brought back temporarily could not keep discipline. I fell far behind and quit school with no qualifications. But my father was determined I should be interviewed as a potential cadet officer, and the old-boy network got me an interview with the MD of the famous City Line of Glasgow. I joined the City of Hong Kong on my 16th birthday, India-bound.
I was thrown in at the deep-end, and carried out tasks considered too dangerous or onerous for the Indian crew. I was desperate to succeed in my sea career. But I was often immersed in farcical and ludicrous situations, and things often went awry. I seemed unable to please my irascible captain and I worried lest my cadetship might not be renewed. But my character developed rapidly and I soon developed the sailor’s antidote: An idiosyncratic sense of humour!
I went home on leave and my parents showed me a letter from my captain. In he wrote that he was being transferred to another ship but wanted my parents to know that he thought that I would make a very fine City Line officer indeed.
When I unpacked my sea-chest a bar of wood fell onto the floor. I knew instantly it was a crapping bar: The handle you clutched when defecating in the heads in bad weather. A practical joke by our Gaelic quartermasters I guessed! My dog, a boxer called Buster, picked it up and took it to his bed. But I grabbed it and threw it over the garden wall. Buster clasped it in his mouth and we tore across the fields as happy free spirits. This story is quirky, politically incorrect, and achingly funny. It is the ideal read for Kindles, iPads, Tablets, e-readers, and mobile phones: On beaches, trains, planes, hotels, restaurants, and in bed!
