Hey, am I alone out there? No one else with memories of the early 50's?
O.K. then. Bank Line was.......
Being ordered over the side at sea to take the after draft on the Eastbank and I'm damned if I can remember where or when. The Fannings? Perhaps.
She was pitching and a swell running and the draft varied over several feet. I was very lonely and awful feart at the end of a rope in the bo's'un's chair. But not so feart as I was of the Old Man, Holbrook. For some reason he was very displeased with my wild guess.
Tallying drums of bitumen from the poop two weeks into my first trip at the anchorage off Point Fortin with hatches 4 and 5 being worked from opposite sides and then covering all hatches at smoke-o's and meal breaks. Wondering in my panic how I could possibly match the super men who could tally all 5 hatches. Turned out all right in the end as we got them to the nearest million.
Walking through the fireflies to a house and listening to a guitar strumming singer calypsoing "Rum and coca cola" whilst drinking (of course) rum and coca cola. Y'all know it: "Jack and Jill went up the hill, to get a little hanky-panky,
Jack came back with a dollar bill, Jill came back with a Yankee". Every time I hear it....................
Standing on top of disembowelled and tatty sacks full of a fibrous type substance in hold #4 looking up at the shimmering pretty effect as the tropical noonday sun beat down, rays of light through the floating fibres enhancing the scene, breathing in slowly only because I somehow thought that it might not be good for me. Grey, blue, brown...I think that was the range of colours for asbestos. Then later reading that mesothelioma....not a word to say with loose dentures....might not show up until 10 years after exposure to asbestos. Yahoo, sigh of relief. Then 20 years. Oops. Then as I became responsible for instructing post mortems even more aware that it could be 30, or 40 years. Now, the irony is that having apparently evaded that problem, I am too bloody close to natural extinction for it to matter anymore.
Walking back in from the bridge wing counting 01, 02. 03........to the chronometer and the early excitement of fixing a position line.
Standing on the bridge wing with glasses glued to the horizon from dusk through to midnight looking for One Degree island, the OM having set course for it from the morning star sight stating that by so doing the chances of hitting it were negligible and continuing on at full speed, and he wanted two pairs of young eyes for lookout. We never hit it and we never saw it. Bit obvious that, if we hadn't hit it!
Ah yes, I think I remember it well...