Sea stories

I’m going to try to publish all the hack’s stories I have written on life at sea. Don’t panic, there’s not many You never know – it might encourage someone else to have a go – there has to be more ex sailors on here other than Alan and myself!

These are all true stories, by the way. In days when life was simpler, the craic better and the life itself? Oh aye….a great one. Better times than these…..

Coastal tugs are unimportant wee craft in the eyes of the pointed heads and Minor Gods who are Harbour Control. Invariably when you are on tugs and you enter a harbour, you get the worst berth the Harbour Master can find because – let’s face it – you are just a scruffy wee tug boat and in the great scheme of things, way down the list of really ‘important’ shipping.

This was the case after we had towed a bucket dredger from Dublin. A good tow, to be honest, as it followed along like a lumbering old dog leaving the Liffey for the Clyde. Ships have souls – I truly believe that – and this old dredger had lain too long alongside gathering barnacles and weed.

On reaching the Clyde we entered the river, got the tow alongside in the traditional ‘on the shoulder’ manner – conscious that the Clyde tugmen were watching us – and were moving ahead to make fast (it being a good berth) when the Port Control calls us up on the radio.

” Ye cannae stay there! It’s no possible, Captain. Ye have tae shift, ‘m afraid. Once you’ve got shot of yer tow….”

” But……..”

” There’s a wee berth alang side an auld jetty o’er Greenock way. Ye can hae that f’r as lang as yer wantin’. Call us when you’re there….”

It didn’t take long to berth the dredger and once the tow tied up, we cast off and poodled down the river a mile to what turned out to be more than an ‘auld jetty’ – it was decrepit! One of them concrete jobs smeared with sea-gull crap and with planking that looked dodgy, to say the least.  A derelict, old and unused arthritic finger pointing out into the turgid Clyde. Its most noticeable feature being a small brick building balanced precariously at the end of the jetty – a memory of when the place had seen industry but now forlorn and neglected as the jetty it stood on.

Now, the Old Man – being the Old Man – had decided to give the ‘cadet’ a go at ship handling. He wasn’t really a cadet – a sort of seagoing apprentice officer that are traditionally  poorly paid and generally overworked until they earn their stripes and become fully fledged Officers. He was, in fact, just a deckhand who had delusions of grandeur. For example, he always carried a set of navigator’s parallel rules and study books with him in a briefcase on every trip. He was the Old Man’s ‘blue eyed boy’ and thought this was because he was officer material – it would take him a few years to realise that the reason the Captain had his eye on him had more to do with the Captain’s sexual preferences……..but hey, we all have to start somewhere!

Temporarily unemployed, the crew stood around in various seafaring poses – leaning over the side with a mug of tea and a roll-up jammed into the corner of the mouth. You could hear the Old Man giving instructions to his eager apprentice through the open door of the wheelhouse

” Half ahead and swing her in to the tide. Keep the revs on and just bring her in at an angle to the edge of the jetty and then straighten her up f’r the lads to get a line ashore. Once they have a line up, she’ll fall back on it. In your own time….and don’t listen to them bloody admirals on the after deck, lad!”

We, meanwhile – as most tuggies are wont to do –  were in a critical mass just aft and shouting out encouragement, just to remind our eager young non-apprentices we had our eyes on him.

He swung the tug  ’round well enough and was making a good lead for the jetty but then – for some reason – he didn’t seem to want to stop. Maybe he’d dreamed of  himself out on the grey wastes of the deep Atlantic, grim-faced and heading out for a salvage job to salve some unfortunate million dollar freighter……I don’t know! However, as the end of the jetty got closer and closer, we mere observers were getting a wee bit concerned. From where we stood, it wasn’t looking good….

When he realised this he’d already overshot. Instead of lowering the revs and dropping back with opposite helm, he gave her the gun – lots of exhaust fumes jetting out into the morning air, the twin diesels growling like big cats with an attitude problem and vibrations shuddering enough through the whole ship so that things were rattling as if they were alive. We stood and watched, each of us having this rather strange feeling that this was not going to be good reinforced as he turned towards the jetty before, suddenly realising his mistake, and swung the wheel away…..

The stern hit the jetty with a crack you could have heard in Belfast – and as we scattered in all directions like rabbits, the old brick hut on the edge of the jetty collapsed and came thundering down onto the deck with a terrific rumble and a great cloud of brick-dust…..

When it cleared, to everyone’s amazement – and surprise – there was an old tramp sitting in the rubble looking dazed – but not that dazed as he fixed us all with red eyes and snarled ” Ye’ve wrecked ma hoose, ye bastids…….! “ before standing up and moving menacingly towards the crew…..

He was calmed down when we eventually managed to get alongside by being given a few odds and sods of old clothing, some food and some fags. He was all smiles then, wanting to stay and ” hae a wee dram “ with his new found friends. Eventually, he walked off with more than he’d arrived aboard with – not a bad return for being made ‘homeless!

Suffice to say we never reported the demolishing of the ‘wee hoose’ – just shovelled it all over the side, washed the evidence down with the fire hoses and – after a night ashore (paid for by the apprentice and his abashed master)  – bimbled off innocently the next morning doon the watter!

Oh and we never let the Old Man forget it…….