Arthur Jenner
22nd February 2009, 03:44
NOWHERE TO GO BUT AWAY
By Arthur Jenner
One of the quietest places I know is a ship’s wheelhouse at night. It’s not just an absence of noise; there are many other places where the silence is more profound, but it has an atmosphere like nowhere else: a little like a church perhaps; for it has a kind of holy ambience: a quietness. The wheelhouse at night is like an oasis in a desert. On a cold night it is warmer than elsewhere. On a hot night it seems a little less hot than most other places. On a windy night it is calmer. On a rough night it is a little less rough. Apart from the noisy engine room, it is the only place at night that is awake.
It is located on the bridge which is the highest point on the ship that is normally accessible. I say normally accessible because there are other higher parts of the ship that are accessed only by climbing vertical ladders. Approximately in the middle of the wheelhouse is the binnacle which houses the compass. Behind the binnacle is the steering wheel and behind that, standing on a wooden grating, is the helmsman or as he is usually called ‘the man-on-the-wheel’. (Occasionally, perhaps just to make him feel good, he is addressed as ‘quartermaster’). Behind him is the wall; ‘bulkhead’ in nautical parlance; that separates the wheelhouse from the chartroom. At night, just two people occupy these two compartments; the aforementioned ‘man-on-the-wheel’ and the officer of the watch. Although they spend as much as two hours together every night they rarely communicate; the class difference is much too powerful. The privilege difference too: for instance - the ‘man-on-the-wheel’ may not smoke on the bridge - the officer may. Sometimes a friendly second mate will strike up a conversation but not often.
The MV Ibis is a motor ship and the faint rhythmic thump of the diesel engine can be heard from the wheelhouse. The man on the wheel is thinking about this. He is thinking it is like the beating of a heart: the heart of the ship. I suppose it is and if that’s so, the chartroom and the wheelhouse are the brain.
Outside the wheelhouse, the wind which has been steadily rising for several hours is now at gale force and its slave, the sea, is continuing to rise with it. Inside, it is comparatively peaceful.
The man on the wheel though, is now fully occupied in keeping the ship on a straight course. If he is feeling a bit devilish, and tonight he is, he can make life a little uncomfortable for his shipmates. The wind is a couple of points off the port bow as is its slave the sea. He sees a really big wave coming towards the port bow and just before it reaches the ship he turns the wheel quickly to port so that the wave and the ship meet with a crash. The ship shudders as though it has hit a wall of rock. If he had done the opposite, the ship would have lifted gently with the wave, perhaps rolled bit and no-one would have woken up. Not only that but the structure of the ship itself would have been considerably less weakened.
But the ‘man-on-the-wheel’ is not concerned with the structure of the ship. Subconsciously he has every confidence that the ship is infinitely strong. He is quite wrong of course.
Down below the bridge, in the bedroom of his suite, Captain Jones is woken by the crash. He feels at one with the ship and suffers the shock as though it were his own body being attacked. He rolls from his bed, quickly dons his dressing gown and rushes up his internal stairway to the chartroom.
“What’s going on,” he shouts at the second mate, “What moron is on the bloody wheel.”
“Smithers, Captain.”
“I’ll give the bastard Smithers. I’ll smithereens him.” He smiles to himself at his witticism as he enters the wheelhouse.
“Smithers, What the hell do you think you are doing?”
“No Captain, Smithers ain’t here. I’ve just relieved him. I’m Jarvis sir.”
“Oh never mind, Jarvis. Just watch your steering will you.”
‘I’ll get the bugger in the morning,’ he thinks to himself.
But it was not to be.
After Smithers had left the wheelhouse, he had, instead of going aft for an hour of relaxation, a smoke or two and a cup of tea before relieving Bob Watson who was keeping lookout on monkey island, gone.
Gone? You may well ask. Yes, really gone. But gone where? We will never know. He obviously knew he was about to get a dressing down but he avoided that by going. So I suppose you could say that by avoiding a dressing down he gave himself a dressing up. Now there aren’t many places you can go when you are aboard a ship at sea. So, although he was all dressed up with nowhere to go, he still managed to went himself off somewhere.
I suspect that in the morning Captain Jones would hope it was to hell.
By Arthur Jenner
One of the quietest places I know is a ship’s wheelhouse at night. It’s not just an absence of noise; there are many other places where the silence is more profound, but it has an atmosphere like nowhere else: a little like a church perhaps; for it has a kind of holy ambience: a quietness. The wheelhouse at night is like an oasis in a desert. On a cold night it is warmer than elsewhere. On a hot night it seems a little less hot than most other places. On a windy night it is calmer. On a rough night it is a little less rough. Apart from the noisy engine room, it is the only place at night that is awake.
It is located on the bridge which is the highest point on the ship that is normally accessible. I say normally accessible because there are other higher parts of the ship that are accessed only by climbing vertical ladders. Approximately in the middle of the wheelhouse is the binnacle which houses the compass. Behind the binnacle is the steering wheel and behind that, standing on a wooden grating, is the helmsman or as he is usually called ‘the man-on-the-wheel’. (Occasionally, perhaps just to make him feel good, he is addressed as ‘quartermaster’). Behind him is the wall; ‘bulkhead’ in nautical parlance; that separates the wheelhouse from the chartroom. At night, just two people occupy these two compartments; the aforementioned ‘man-on-the-wheel’ and the officer of the watch. Although they spend as much as two hours together every night they rarely communicate; the class difference is much too powerful. The privilege difference too: for instance - the ‘man-on-the-wheel’ may not smoke on the bridge - the officer may. Sometimes a friendly second mate will strike up a conversation but not often.
The MV Ibis is a motor ship and the faint rhythmic thump of the diesel engine can be heard from the wheelhouse. The man on the wheel is thinking about this. He is thinking it is like the beating of a heart: the heart of the ship. I suppose it is and if that’s so, the chartroom and the wheelhouse are the brain.
Outside the wheelhouse, the wind which has been steadily rising for several hours is now at gale force and its slave, the sea, is continuing to rise with it. Inside, it is comparatively peaceful.
The man on the wheel though, is now fully occupied in keeping the ship on a straight course. If he is feeling a bit devilish, and tonight he is, he can make life a little uncomfortable for his shipmates. The wind is a couple of points off the port bow as is its slave the sea. He sees a really big wave coming towards the port bow and just before it reaches the ship he turns the wheel quickly to port so that the wave and the ship meet with a crash. The ship shudders as though it has hit a wall of rock. If he had done the opposite, the ship would have lifted gently with the wave, perhaps rolled bit and no-one would have woken up. Not only that but the structure of the ship itself would have been considerably less weakened.
But the ‘man-on-the-wheel’ is not concerned with the structure of the ship. Subconsciously he has every confidence that the ship is infinitely strong. He is quite wrong of course.
Down below the bridge, in the bedroom of his suite, Captain Jones is woken by the crash. He feels at one with the ship and suffers the shock as though it were his own body being attacked. He rolls from his bed, quickly dons his dressing gown and rushes up his internal stairway to the chartroom.
“What’s going on,” he shouts at the second mate, “What moron is on the bloody wheel.”
“Smithers, Captain.”
“I’ll give the bastard Smithers. I’ll smithereens him.” He smiles to himself at his witticism as he enters the wheelhouse.
“Smithers, What the hell do you think you are doing?”
“No Captain, Smithers ain’t here. I’ve just relieved him. I’m Jarvis sir.”
“Oh never mind, Jarvis. Just watch your steering will you.”
‘I’ll get the bugger in the morning,’ he thinks to himself.
But it was not to be.
After Smithers had left the wheelhouse, he had, instead of going aft for an hour of relaxation, a smoke or two and a cup of tea before relieving Bob Watson who was keeping lookout on monkey island, gone.
Gone? You may well ask. Yes, really gone. But gone where? We will never know. He obviously knew he was about to get a dressing down but he avoided that by going. So I suppose you could say that by avoiding a dressing down he gave himself a dressing up. Now there aren’t many places you can go when you are aboard a ship at sea. So, although he was all dressed up with nowhere to go, he still managed to went himself off somewhere.
I suspect that in the morning Captain Jones would hope it was to hell.