The Great Escape

When I got home to our house in Kirkby ,mum told me that a policeman had called during the week, he was trying to serve a summons for some reason or other. I went hot foot to the solicitors in Dale Street, the one’s who had ben acting for me throughout my separation . Everytime I visited it cost £7-10s.,not much now ,but a hefty whack then. The solicitor who had been acting for me for the past 18 months had left the practise and one of the older partners took me into his office and informed me of the worst. The man who had been supposed to be helping me had been negligent in his handling of the brief and I had been pursued by my ex for more money. I had had no information ,other than the attempted serving of a summons for a court appearance ,and for the wilful ignoring of other summonses. I had known nothing at all about this and being ignorant of all things legal ,did not realise how serious at fault the solicitor had been. The old solicitor was apologetic and said that ( and even today I still find this advice incredible) I should leave Liverpool and perhaps stay away for awhile. I now know I could have sued the practise for malfeasance ,but I was still wet behind the ears then.
Meanwhile I had to get my wallet back from J. before I took my leave of Liverpool.
When I got to her house that night I was welcomed into the parlour with the news that we were to be married! No, she was’nt pregnant but her family,who I had’nt met except for her mother when she let me in, thought we should get hitched. I played along with her game ,long enough to get my wallet back.She had’nt touched the contents ,it was’nt much but it was needed. I feigned a headache and said that I would make it up tomorrow. She wanted another keepsake to ensure that I would be back and I gave her the panama I had just bought in New York ,I had two other hats and could afford to lose that one.
As we said goodbye at her door she said that if Idid’nt turn up the next night she would send her brothers to sort me out. What kind of start to married life would that be.
I got home and picked up my bags ,kissed Mum goodbye and gave Dad a hug ,the kid sisters were abed ,and I made my way to Lime Street station to catch the night train to London.
Lisa was already there and was going to meet me on the 10 0’clock train in the morning. I would be a few hours early.
I did’nt have a very auspicious start to my time in London, though not exactly poverty stricken, every penny I had was needed, I had no spare cash for frivolity’s. Stepping of the train at Euston ,I caught my toe on a broken paving slab and ripped the sole off my shoe. I was fuming, luckily there was a shoe repairers around the corner and ,when it opened at 9-00a.m ,I got him to glue it back on. I could have bought a new pair of shoes in Liverpool for what he charged me. But, come 10 0’clock,I was there at the station to meet Lisa.
She had been there three days and had been looking for somewhere that I could stay while we got things sorted, she was staying not far from Earls Court and told me that there where a lot of flats to let around there. We humped my cases across London on the tube and fetched up at the Cromwell Road. She was right, there were loads of flats to let, it took no more than an hour before we settled on one in Nevern Terrace. It was an attic flat , with a double bed ,sink and a gas ring ,not exactly home from home ,just somewhere to lay my head while I sought work.
I had to give a weeks rent in advance and, as I paid it, I realised that I was going to have to get a job fast before next weeks rent was due. As I was paying my rent, the landlord drew my attention to the house rules, no consumption of alcohol in the rooms, no visitors allowed , all heating to be paid for via a meter in the room, no more than two baths per week.
Lisa went out and bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our new life, I asked the landlord if he had some glasses and he looked very dubious ,but he gave me them.
There ,in that cold little room , we popped the cork and drank to our future.
We must have been exhausted ,because we fell asleep in each others arms and were awakened by the maid who had come to clean the room next morning. I thought I would be given my marching orders ,but no mention was made of Lisa’s overnight stay. I got washed and shaved and made my way to the local Labour Exchange to seek some sort of job while Lisa went back to wherever it was she was staying.
I spent the whole day going from agency to agency trying to find a job that would cover my outgoings, all I was offered were portering jobs or dishwashing work. It was’nt looking bright. When we met at the flat that evening Lisa suggested we go to the cinema; she wanted to see the Brendan Behan film ,”The Quare Feller”. I tried to dissuade her ,money was the problem but I did’nt like to mention the ugly word. “ Let it be my treat Brian ,I can afford it” She opened her bag and produced a roll of ten pound notes that was more than I seen in one go. I must have flinched for she laughed and told me not to be silly. “it’s only spending money” I could’nt help but feel this was’nt right, I did’nt want to be a kept man. We sat through the film in silence, it was quite a bleak film anyway and later we stopped for a sandwich at a late night café. She could see I was unhappy and told me not to worry ,she was sure I’d get a job and then we could start doing what we had set out to do. I could not help thinking of what her father would say if he knew his daughter was being sponged on by some English bum.
She slept with me again that night and we found comfort in each other but I still had those uncertainties. I’d never leeched off anyone ,and I was’nt about to do so now . Next morning we split up again, she of to god knew where, and me pounding the pavements looking fo a proper job. If I could drive I had the chance of few jobs ,but I had only driven dodgems at the fair so that was out.
When we met that night ,she threw me completely, “ I’ve got the answer to your problem” she said, handing me an agreement. I read it slowly, it was for an apartment in Hampstead Heath . “It’s yours Brian, no more worrying about your silly old rent, it’s covered for six months now and you can move in next week” I was shattered, this was worse than I feared. I could’nt tell her what I was feeling because she had no idea of my old fashioned working class morality. I was supposed to be the bread winner, it was’nt her money ,it was her father’s, and I was sure he would’nt be too happy about some Limey waster living off his cash.
We slept together again but I knew that this was to be our last night.
Next morning ,we went our different ways again, me job hunting, supposedly , and Lisa back to wherever. I went down to the local post office in Earls Court. There, I draughted a telegram which was to be delivered to me at Nevern Terrace. I wrote it as though it was from the Shipping Federation ,ordering me to report to Dock Street Pool in Aldgate where I was to sign on a foreign going vessel.
I waited at the end of the terrace when it was time for Lisa to appear and we entered the lodgings together. The landlords wife gave me the telegram when we got in .”This came this afternoon ,hope it’s not bad news” she said . I opened it in front of Lisa and let her see the contents. “But they can’t do this Brian ,it’s not like it’s the military” I told her that I was a contract seaman which was true, and that they could take legal proceedings if I did’nt obey . We had a tearful last night and next morning I got my kit together and headed down to Aldgate East. I booked into the Red Ensign Hotel and went down to Dock Street Pool. They had ships galore and I got myself a berth on a Gulf tanker, the S.S Ceuta, we would have to join her in Antwerp and there was a whole crew going there and we would be travelling together via the Hook of Holland Ferry ,seemed like old times again.

Salut for everyone there, Brian, it is good writing, I like it keep it coming I aways saund good and familiar to me. It have been hot here and the sun keep raising with no clouds.
harry

i remeber that film The quare fellow with patrick Macgoohan. by the way how much would a bottle schampers cost then?

Great story Brian , a great escape indeed.-

Tom, don't know what champers cost then, but a bottle of 1962 vintage today aint cheap; Louis Roederer CRISTAL Vintage Champagne 1962 , £1620.00 Bottle.

S.S. Ceuta
Whilst I was staying at the Red Ensign ,I met one of the men who would be joining the Ceuta in Antwerp. His name was Ralph Horseman and he was a real Yorkshireman from the town of Scarborough. Ralph was my age and had the same sense of humour that I had and he had worked at a quite a few jobs. I knew I was going to get along with him.
On the Sunday before we left the Red Ensign, I bought a Sunday Times, I liked the new magazine and liked doing the crossword. There was an article in the magazine about Rover’s new P6 ,I was never a car buff ,but this item caught my attention because the design seemed so radically different from the usual old fashioned looking cars that Rover used to produce. I kept the article and read it later when we were at sea.
Getting to Antwerp involved travelling to Harwich ,then the Hook of Holland and then by Belgian Rail to Antwerp itself. The Pool official who accompanied us got pie eyed and we had to nursemaid him to the ship.
While on the ferry I made acquaintance with some of the other crew members, two that standout are a pleasant Ulsterman ,called, what else, Paddy ,and a man from Birmingham called Joe Aston. The four of us became drinking partners for the trip and how long that trip was going to be was anyones guess, oil tankers go where there cargo will fetch the highest price.
The homecoming crew were still in their cabins when we got there, busy packing and waiting to pay off ,we learned they had been away for over 12 months, there would be some tidy pay offs there.

By tea time that day ,we had the ship to ourselves, she was’nt too old nor too big ,her gross tonnage being less than 21,000 tons. She had single berth accommodation and the mess and recreation rooms were large ,bright, and air conditioned . She seemed very American in appearance ,with iced water machines in the mess and a refrigerator too ,something that I suppose would be standard now but was very much the exception to the rule .
She was in the process of discharging her cargo and would be having a tank wash before leaving and so we had some time to enjoy the delights of the old sailortown in Skipper Straat. Ralph and Joe had never been their before and I did’nt enlighten them as to what they might expect when we got to Danny’s bar.
The old “queen” still held court behind the bar and there one or two very beautiful “girls” awaiting some unsuspecting sailors. Joe’s eyes near popped out of his head when he saw the talent and Ralph was quite appreciative of the company too. . So ,there we where ,the three of us, sat at the bar ,me in the midd.le and Ralph and Joe on either side ,both with a young “queen” sat on his knee . A bar photographer came in and I got him to take a picture of the five of us, Ralph and Joe holding their “ladies” tight and me grinning like a Cheshire cat.
It was a Polaroid camera and I had the picture paid for and in my wallet before either of the other two realised they had been had.
We pub crawled around the red light district ,watching the hustlers and whore's making their moves and then decided to have a “Chinese” before going back aboard. Joe, being a Brummie ,persuaded us to go for an Indian instead ;he told us that Birmingham was full of curry houses and that we should try one ,they could be delicious.
We same across a little Indian restaurant in Canal Street and went in to look at the menu, Joe and Ralph settled on a Chicken Madras, Joe reckoned it would’nt be as hot as he had them in Small Heath,”Them’re experts there mite” he said. I had a steak, I was’nt much of a curry lover then. We sat and listened to Joe as we waited for our meal to arrive,he elaborated at length on Tindaloos ,Vindaloos and Pindaloos,some being so hot that you almost needed the fire brigade to douse the flames. We had got down two beers before the meal arrived; Ralph sampled a forkful and declared it adequate, Joe said it was very mild.
There was a bowl of chilli sauce on our table and I tipped the wink to Ralph and he picked up on my meaning right away .Joe was sat facing the window ,alongside Ralph ,and he nudged Joe ,” Cor,look at her out there “ he said. Joe looked out and I dolloped a spoonful of chilli sauce on his curry.
He did’nt seem to notice and kept eating, Ralph and I finished our beers and started to use the water in the carafe. Another “Cor look at the ….” Joe looked and I dolloped some more chilli on his curry. Sweat started to break out upon Joe’s brow and Ralph started saying how the curry was so much milder than he had had in Yorkshire . Joe mumbled about it not being as hot as a Brummie curry ,sweat now running freely down his fore head. One more nudge from Ralph succeeded in my getting great dollop of chilli on Joes plate. He was gasping now ,and Ralph and I had finished the water, the table was dry. Joe was slowing down ,you could almost feel the heat coming from his mouth. A window cleaner was outside washing down the restaurant window with a hose ,Joe took another forkful and let out a yelp and ran outside and grabbed the hose off the cleaner and stuck it down his throat. By the time he came back in we had three beers on the table and were splitting our sides with laughter. When his throat had cooled down he saw the funny side of it too.

Next morning we learned that we were off to Maracaibo in Venezuela ,I’d never been there before and looked forward to seeing somewhere new.

Our mess boy was very androgynous and had very nice legs, any woman would have been glad of a pair like he had. He always wore shorts, far too short ,and feminine jumpers and t shirts. He always had a little necklace on too ,it did’nt bother me, you are what you are. Trouble was he fancied me. I would get served first and he would take every opportunity to sit by me , I tolerated it and took the ribbing from the lads in good part. But the kid got serious, I was sitting having my midday meal when I felt my crotch being massaged by his foot. He was sat opposite me with as smile that near cracked his face when he felt the effect he was having. I stood up and gave him a mouthful ,he was seventeen ,still a boy. He saw that I was angry and never did it again. But word gets round and I was teased something rotten, especially by Ralph and Joe. I settled matters with them by pinning the Polaroid of them , with the two Queens, to the notice board in the mess. Result!!!

The master of the Ceuta was a man called Frank Anson, he made an impression on me because he was an avowed socialist. On one of my turns at the wheel , there were just the two of us on the bridge and he asked me if I ever thought about politics. A most unusual question for a captain to ask a rating; I answered that apart from paying my union dues and hating the Tories, no, I was’nt what you would call political. He then informed me that there was going to be an election and asked if I would be voting. “I’m never at home to do that cap’n “ I replied. “Would you like to vote?” he asked. “ How” I asked him. “By proxy. If I get the forms would you vote?” I nodded and then he went into almost a lecture of how Britain was crying out for a change. This was’nt some barroom fire brand, this was the master of my ship and he was putting into words things that I had long felt. Next day he called a meeting of the crew in the recreation room and got the agreement of most of them to vote by proxy.
I like to think that our votes helped bring that change about.
Politically I was to the left ,but I had no political grounding; I was still working my way through Henry Williamsons massive work ,A Chronicle of Ancient Sunlight. It was a work of faction, the main character was based on the author and detailed his service in the trenches in World War One.
Real people filled the pages and you could feel his anger at the governments betrayal of the men who had fought in the trenches, the homes fit for heroes which never materialised , the unemployment and the means test. Much of what I was reading I had heard from my grandparents and mum and dad.
I was slowly sucked into the ethos of the work, the hatred for the profiteers and the upper class idiots that were in charge of things. A fictional war hero appears in the books about the twenties, Boy Birkin. A much decorated officer from an old landed family, he is naturally given a safe Tory seat and a place in Government and then becomes disenchanted with the uncaring attitude toward the old sweats, he then resigns from the party and crosses the floor to become a star in the Labour Party. I did’nt realise it but the books were shaping my politics, how much so I was’nt to realise until the 1970’s.

Ralph was a very interesting watchmate, as we sat and drank our nightcaps ,he would talk of some of the jobs that he had done. The one that interested me most was erecting grain silo’s. He worked all over the country ,on contract to the company that sold the units ,and he could make £200 .00d a week. He slept in hay lofts ,barns and ,sometimes in a farmhouse. There would be just him, a mate , plusthe bosses truck.He worked outdoors all summer, and went back to sea for the winter. A job like that really appealed to me, when we got home he was going to see how the land lay, if it was possible ,he’d get me fixed up with him.

By now we were in Maracaibo, or, near Maracaibo, we were buoyed off with no chance of getting ashore so I never got to see the place. We were there two days and we learned that our cargo was for Thameshaven, so no long trip for us then. We were all paid off at the Estuary and a group of us ,Ralph, Paddy ,Joe and me ,decided to have a pub crawl in the West End before going home. Well I was’nt going home, it was the Red Ensign for me.
We traipsed about Soho and the fringes of the West End, the three of them had trains to catch after closing time and we kept a watchful eye on the clock.
We were in a little bar by the French House when Paddy looked out the window and saw a gleaming white car parked at the opposite kerb. It’s lines were long and sleek and the car buffs began to make suggestions as to what it was. “Italian, gotta be, Pinin Farina I bet” said Paddy. Joe disagreed, ”Looks French to me; they know how to do style” I looked at ir,it was the car in the Sunday Times magazine .” It’s a Rover mate” I said. They fell about laughing, “ A Rover, Britain could’nt make a car like that “ said Ralph. “ It’s a Rover, and this fiver says it is “ I said putting a blue one on the counter. Joe was despatched to check the badge. He came back, awed that I had known ”It’s a bleedin’ Rover” he said and Paddy and Ralph went out to check for themselves. When Ralph got back he asked how I had known, I told him the truth and did’nt take his money.
Later on we were in the bar next door to the Empire ,Leicester Square ,when Ralph said that he had better phone his sister to leave the key under the front door mat so that he could get in in the early hours. He came back to the bar flummoxed, ”They’ve changed the phone system and I can’t understand how it works” I had used the STD system shortly after it came out and asked him to give me the number and I would call it for him. I was a bit tiddly, I got into one of the phone boxes by the cinema and pulled up one of the books that were hanging by the phone. I opened it ,laid out the papers I had in my inside pocket ,wherein I had put Ralph’s phone number, and made the call. I never had a wallet on me, it was locked away in one of my bags ,but I did have my months pay, loose, and among the paperwork I had just laid out on the telephone book. I closed the book and let it hang back in the rack. Leicester Square was quite full now and there was quite a queue outside the phone boxes; a James Bond film was having it’s premiere in the Empire and the place was heaving.
When I got back to the bar I gave Ralph the good news and we finished our drinks and got a taxi to Kings Cross station. I told Ralph that I would pay the fare as I would keep the cab to go back to Aldgate, I was given no argument and felt in my pocket for the notes. It was empty! I had closed the bloody money in that phone book!
I was penniless. I told the lads what had happened and Paddy said “Let’s go back ,it could still be there” I told him about the queues of people who were waiting for the phone. “ You gotta try” he said and ordered the cabbie to get back to Leicester Square pronto.
The taxi pulled up alongside the phone boxes and I rushed to the one I had been in ,there was a young man on the phone and I leaned in, excusing myself, lifted the phone book out its rack and opened it, my pay of was still there. A mixture of tens ,five s and singles. The young man let out an expletive that would have brought a blush to an old salts face and said “Is this Candid Camera?” the crowd outside straining to see the cause of the commotion. Very much relieved ,I got back into the cab and we dropped the lads of in good time to catch their trains. Ralph said that he would back down the following week so that we could ship out together. Saying goodbye, I went back to the Red Ensign to start my weeks leave in London.

Thank you for those kind comments.I am conscious of the fact that my race is almost run..........................................................................I will be sad to finish as it was my best time,
BrianD

Lovely stories Brian, I really enjoy reading them. I remember a few from the Yo Liverpool site, I never go on there these days.

Good photo of the Ceuta as well, a neat handy size ship.

Alec.

Thanks for the last few tales, Brian, as brilliant as always. I'm not going to be too happy if you run out of stories to tell!

Hi All,
I'm off to the Vindi Reunion for the weekend, looking forward to seeing the Lad's (I forgot to ask Ernie if he was going}.Stan said he'll be there ,and there a twenty lads going from Liverpool, so it should be a good weekend. I'm posting another chapter to see you through the weekend. Have a nice yourselves,
BrianD

London

London is a hell of a place for Jack ashore, yes ,there are plenty of ale houses and dance halls ,but there are theatres and great museums and art galleries too.
In those days admission was free to most galleries and I would spend my days doing the tourist thing, and worthwhile it was too. The Imperial War museum and the Greenwich Naval museum would require a week at each place to do them any justice; as it was I spent a day at each ,plus a day at the Victoria and Albert too.
Some lunchtimes I would frequent pubs for a ploughmans or some such,back then you could get a good meal for a pound at lunch time ;I fouled up once though. I was in Kensington High Street, having spent the morning in the V&A and I was looking for somewhere plain and simple to have a bite to eat. Most of the places seemed a bit posh ,and then I espied a plain fronted establishment bearing the name ,Peter Jones , restaurant. I thought it looked down to earth enough to risk a pound and entered its door. Wrong move. It was a full blown first class restaurant, a maitre d’ met me at the entrance and summoned a waiter to escort me to a table. In the middle of the dining room sat a baron of beef on a carving table and a chef was slicing portions on to the waiters platters. I shrivelled inside. I would’nt get much for a quid here.
The waiter brandished the menu and I scanned the dishes for something that would’nt break the bank. And there it was ,steak tartare , I had never had it before ,but it was affordable and it was a beef steak. After the waiter took my order ,a foreign looking chef arrived at my table bearing a beautiful looking piece of raw sirloin on a silver platter, he flourished it at me, his face a question mark. I nodded and thought he would disappear back to the kitchen and cook it. No; he had brought a little trolley with him on which there were some knives ,a cutting board and some condiments and sauces. Smiling ,he placed the steak on the board and took up a knife and minced the steak, looking at me for approbation at each stage of the process. He added sauces and salt and pepper ,the knife flashing furiously. He then produced a silver mould an a scooped the mixture into it. I thought” Well ,it’s off to be cooked now” and looked as he turned the mould upside down onto a dinner plate and then garnished it with some salad leaves. “Voila” he said ,laying the plate before me.
Lunch was served! I like my meat rare , raw was different, and not something I would eat again by choice.

My nightlife consisted of going dancing in the West End, I used to alternate between the Lyceum in the Strand and the Empire in Leicester Square. The bands were first class, the Lyceum had Cyril Stapleton and the Don Lang Five and the Empire featured Ken Mackintosh and some other group which I forget.
You could’nt fail to get a dance partner at either of them and ,on my second night ,I met a lovely young Danish girl at the Lyceum. She was with her friend, who was very glamorous, but I liked Astrid, she was pretty rather than glamorous and I had noticed that she could dance.. I spent the whole time with them until it was goodnight sweetheart ,I danced with both ,but Astrid was interesting. She liked most of the novelists I was into ,she also liked classical music and art and we got on like a house on fire I walked her to the Tube but she declined my offer to see her home she was with her friend and they lived in the same apartment block in Putney. She gave me her work number and asked me to call her next day, yes ,she would like to see me again.
I went up to the West End next day and had a look around the theatres, there was an American Ballet company on at the Royal Court, the Alvin Ailey dance group performing modern dance. She had said she liked ballet so I got two tickets. Then I went to a little Italian restaurant in Greek Street and inquired if he had a table for two in the early evening. Yes ,they had ;I told the head waiter that I was bringing a rather special lady and would be pleased if they could make a bit of a fuss for her. They were more than happy to do so.
I phoned Astrid and gave her the news, “Don’t go home first, meet me by the Empire” She sounded excited and I went back to Red Ensign for a shower and a change of clothing.
The meal went swimmingly, the staff treated me like an old customer and Astrid loved the warmth and familiarity . We then strolled on to the Royal Court where we were treated to a marvellous ballet with some wonderful music. It was’nt Swan Lake, one of the pieces was “The House of the Rising Sun” the music was by an acoustic rhythm and blues group which had a black singer with the most haunting voice. There were pieces by Gershwin ,Aaron Copeland and other American greats and the whole ensemble was black. It was magic.
We took the Tube back to Putney and she invited me up to her apartment, the block was owned by the Danish Embassy and was used for housing their staff.
I was impressed by her décor, the walls were done in a mahogany veneer and there were little silver wall lights ,the furniture was in the same wood ,and the settee was an enormous black leather affair. Her drinks cabinet was full of the wines and spirits you would find in most good hotel bars and she poured me a glass of Canadian Club while she had a spritzer. There was a silver candleabra on the dining table, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was playing softly in the background and we were talking about some French author. She gave a little shiver and said ”So cold” hugging herself. I drew her to me and said “ Shall we make love and get warm” She nodded and I scooped her up into my arms and headed for a door ,the only door ,apart from the front door, and carried her through it. She was shaking with laughter, it was the bathroom!
The big black leather couch was a put u up. In no time we were bedded and were each as hungry for the other. I awoke with the dawn chorus and slid out of bed to wash and dress. Astrid was awake when I came out of the bathroom and I promised that I would see her again that night .As I stepped into the hallway ,there were other young men leaving from other flats, aah ,those Danish girls.

I went down to Dock Street when I returned to the East End,my leave was due up and I did’nt want to run out of pennies before it was time to sail. It was the day that Ralph was due to meet me too and so I hung around the Pool in case I bumped into him. There was still no sign of him by afternoon ,I did’nt have his number to call and see if he was on the way so I chickened out and took a ship that I would have to join in Rotterdam the next day.
I got two tickets for the Prince Charles theatre and booked our table at the Italian in Greek Street, I wanted my last night with Astrid to be a special night. It was; the restaurant staff were marvellous and we could have headed straight to Putney after our meal ,but I had those tickets for the Prince Charles. It was’nt much of a show ,English variety at its very worst. Astrid fell asleep against my shoulder and I had to wake her gently for the journey to her place.
I ordered a taxi to call for me at her apartment next morning,six o’clock sharp. We were being picked up by coach to be taken to Heath Row for a flight to Schidaam.
Although we had only known each other for little more than two days, Astrid and I were as in tune with each other as it can take some couples a lifetime to get it together. We hardly spoke, the music played as we moved each other until we fell asleep, clasped in each others arms. The phone awoke us ,it was the taxi company giving me ten minutes notice. I had just time for a black coffee and a wash before the door bell rang. Our parting was not one of sorrow , we had enjoyed what we had had, life would go on and we would both meet others along the way ;but it was sweet while it lasted.

I had to get back to the Red Ensign, pick up my kit ,and then get down to Dock Street Pool, where the rest of the crew would be meeting to join the coach. As I was paying my bill , the receptionist at the Red Ensign gave me a message,Ralph had arrived last night. I just had time to see him as he went for breakfast. I felt awful ,I felt like I had let him down in the worst way. I lost track of him over the years, and if by some stroke of good fortune he should read this. I’d love to catch up with him again. It could happen, the next chapter was requested by a man I met later on that day in Heathrow airport. One of the lads I met through this site was his brothers best friend and when we were talking about his friend ,who lived in a tiny village up in Scotland , I recognised the name of the village and asked Clancy his friends surname. It was the same as the guy I had sailed with. When Clancy went up to Scotland ,my shipmate ,on hearing that I was still breathing ,told Clancy that he should ask me to write of what happened on the Rowanmore. 46 years have passed since those events, but the memory of it is etched into my brain . I just hope that I have the ability to to set things down as they happened.

A very good story Brian i cant wait untill the next chapter

thanks again for a good story brian

Brian you have the most interesting stories. I was telling Wrinklie about them last night.

I know I haven't been posting in your stories, but I do read them and enjoy them a lot.