Arthur Jenner
26th February 2009, 03:01
Here is a little more fiction
The book that changed my life
“This is the book that’ll change your life. Come on, Arthur. Listen to me. This is the book that’ll change your life.”
“Shut up Snowy. I’ll change your bloody life for the worse if you don’t be quiet. I’m trying to read a serious book.”
I was reading a paperback western and Snowy’s voice was interfering with my enjoyment of a gunfight between a sheriff and a gang of outlaws. It was the beginning of the trip and I was only just beginning to realise that the bloke I was sharing a room with was a raving bible basher. Snowy had just come off the four to eight watch and instead of lying on his bunk with a good story like most of us did, he had to go around preaching about the bible.
“ When you’ve read this one, you’ll never want to read any other book.”
“Listen Snowy. I had that book drummed into me at school and that was enough of it. Also, I don’t want to change my life. I like it the way it is.”
I think Snowy must have been a recent convert to some branch of Christianity because it seems to me that it is only the newly converted that are so determined to bring the rest of the world to their way of thinking. Those brought up in a religion generally seem take it more for granted.
“I’m sure that if you would listen to me, I could make you see the good book in a different light.”
“I don’t want to see it in a different light. I don’t want to see it in any light at all ever again.”
He continued to nag me about his good book at every opportunity for the rest of the trip. Fortunately it was a comparatively short trip and I prayed, no sorry, hoped that I would never sail with him ever again.
My next trip was on a tanker and I was very wary about getting a reasonable room mate. Unfortunately, I became stuck with a fellow from Glasgow who seemed quite a reasonable bloke at first. He had the top bunk and mine was underneath. He didn’t appear to be particularly religious but he was, as I was to discover later, a fanatical follower of sport of all kinds and in particular boxing. He would lay on his bunk chattering about all the top boxers of the day in a way that assumed I must surely be as interested in them as he was. The more I tried to convince him that I wasn’t interested, the more he tried to persuade me that learning about his heroes would change my life. He even had a book about them that he threatened to give me for nothing. Absolutely free. I did manage to survive that trip. I don’t know how.
Then came a long trip right around the world. Casablanca, Suez, East Africa, Singapore, Fremantle, Sydney, Japan, Vancouver, Panama. A very long trip and the very worst life-changing book fanatic of them all.
His name was Christian but, of course, he wasn’t one. Quite the opposite in fact. He was committed communist. A devotee of Karl Marx whose book, Das Kapital, would, he assured me, change my life for ever. Once I had read it, I would see the light and never look back.
I suffered as never before. At every opportunity, he would bash my tired ears with his propaganda. While we were lying on our bunks, when we were working together painting, chipping, sugeeing, battening down, tying up or whatever, his voice would persist in trying to implant his beliefs into my tired brain. It eventually became too much to bear.
It was when we were homeward bound from Panama for Liverpool. I had managed to avoid him to some extent by volunteering to be the day-worker. Which meant I worked a five and a half day week and had my one and a half day week-end free. He was on the eight to twelve watch and one night I was on my way to the second mate’s room to return a copy of the Shorter Oxford Dictionary that he had lent me. It was just after two bells, nine pm to you, and I saw Christian walking along the deck, coming off look-out and heading aft for smoke. The sight of him must have turned my brain. I crept up on him and hit him as hard as I could with the heavy book He staggered but didn’t fall. He turned and saw me and a surprised look came onto his face. Before he could recover I hit him again and he fell. As quick as I could, I bundled over the rail and into the sea. As he fell I thought I heard him say faintly, “Why, Arthur, why?”
I continued on my way, hoping I hadn’t damaged the book, that wonderful book that has changed my life. Now I always take a copy of that book on all my trips. Actually though it isn’t quite the same book. I hollowed out my copy and filled it with lead. It has come in handy a number of times. So you lot had better watch out.
.
The book that changed my life
“This is the book that’ll change your life. Come on, Arthur. Listen to me. This is the book that’ll change your life.”
“Shut up Snowy. I’ll change your bloody life for the worse if you don’t be quiet. I’m trying to read a serious book.”
I was reading a paperback western and Snowy’s voice was interfering with my enjoyment of a gunfight between a sheriff and a gang of outlaws. It was the beginning of the trip and I was only just beginning to realise that the bloke I was sharing a room with was a raving bible basher. Snowy had just come off the four to eight watch and instead of lying on his bunk with a good story like most of us did, he had to go around preaching about the bible.
“ When you’ve read this one, you’ll never want to read any other book.”
“Listen Snowy. I had that book drummed into me at school and that was enough of it. Also, I don’t want to change my life. I like it the way it is.”
I think Snowy must have been a recent convert to some branch of Christianity because it seems to me that it is only the newly converted that are so determined to bring the rest of the world to their way of thinking. Those brought up in a religion generally seem take it more for granted.
“I’m sure that if you would listen to me, I could make you see the good book in a different light.”
“I don’t want to see it in a different light. I don’t want to see it in any light at all ever again.”
He continued to nag me about his good book at every opportunity for the rest of the trip. Fortunately it was a comparatively short trip and I prayed, no sorry, hoped that I would never sail with him ever again.
My next trip was on a tanker and I was very wary about getting a reasonable room mate. Unfortunately, I became stuck with a fellow from Glasgow who seemed quite a reasonable bloke at first. He had the top bunk and mine was underneath. He didn’t appear to be particularly religious but he was, as I was to discover later, a fanatical follower of sport of all kinds and in particular boxing. He would lay on his bunk chattering about all the top boxers of the day in a way that assumed I must surely be as interested in them as he was. The more I tried to convince him that I wasn’t interested, the more he tried to persuade me that learning about his heroes would change my life. He even had a book about them that he threatened to give me for nothing. Absolutely free. I did manage to survive that trip. I don’t know how.
Then came a long trip right around the world. Casablanca, Suez, East Africa, Singapore, Fremantle, Sydney, Japan, Vancouver, Panama. A very long trip and the very worst life-changing book fanatic of them all.
His name was Christian but, of course, he wasn’t one. Quite the opposite in fact. He was committed communist. A devotee of Karl Marx whose book, Das Kapital, would, he assured me, change my life for ever. Once I had read it, I would see the light and never look back.
I suffered as never before. At every opportunity, he would bash my tired ears with his propaganda. While we were lying on our bunks, when we were working together painting, chipping, sugeeing, battening down, tying up or whatever, his voice would persist in trying to implant his beliefs into my tired brain. It eventually became too much to bear.
It was when we were homeward bound from Panama for Liverpool. I had managed to avoid him to some extent by volunteering to be the day-worker. Which meant I worked a five and a half day week and had my one and a half day week-end free. He was on the eight to twelve watch and one night I was on my way to the second mate’s room to return a copy of the Shorter Oxford Dictionary that he had lent me. It was just after two bells, nine pm to you, and I saw Christian walking along the deck, coming off look-out and heading aft for smoke. The sight of him must have turned my brain. I crept up on him and hit him as hard as I could with the heavy book He staggered but didn’t fall. He turned and saw me and a surprised look came onto his face. Before he could recover I hit him again and he fell. As quick as I could, I bundled over the rail and into the sea. As he fell I thought I heard him say faintly, “Why, Arthur, why?”
I continued on my way, hoping I hadn’t damaged the book, that wonderful book that has changed my life. Now I always take a copy of that book on all my trips. Actually though it isn’t quite the same book. I hollowed out my copy and filled it with lead. It has come in handy a number of times. So you lot had better watch out.
.