just a simple seaman

At six years old: January of 1947 saw the start of one of the worst winters recorded. Dad made toboggans for each of us – mine was bigger than my younger brother Steve’s of course! We were the envy of several of our friends whose Dads were not so skilled but we were all a ‘gang’ and shared anyway. We were supposed to confine our sledging activities to the grass hillside overlooking the park but the snow was so compacted, that roads and pavements were just as good. Also, there was the advantage that the road did not have obstacles like bramble bushes – nor was it dotted with hidden cowpats. The bottom of The Avenue, where it approached the junction onto the main road, was quite steeply sloped. One afternoon, some pals and I were taking turns to sledge down this slope and always at the last minute before reaching the main road, swerved to the right into the forecourt of Walls’s Garage. At least I did – until a truck pulled from the garage forecourt just as I was approaching. Panicking and virtually losing control, I had little choice but to keep going and shot under one side of the lorry, out the other side and skittered straight across the main road, coming to a standstill in the yard of a removal company opposite. I frightened myself so much that I never told my parents. The telling off I received from the driver of the lorry was quite sufficient, I thought. Sixteen years old: Slowly, the tugs pulled Manipur out into the middle of the dock and as we stood on the poop-deck I was becoming aware of just how cold it could be over water in mid February. Things were quiet for a while and the Second Officer used the opportunity to lecture me on the dangers of ropes parting, ‘Not breaking, Parks. Only fools ashore say ropes break. They’re not brittle.’ He followed this with gruesome tales of unwary seamen sustaining terrible injuries, losing limbs or even being severed in two when mooring ropes under tension parted and snapped back on board like a giant rubber band. The Second was in fine form. ‘And another thing, Parks, when I tell you anything, an order that is, repeat it back to me so I ken you have nae got it wrong,’ he admonished. During the next half hour or so as the ship was inched across and along the dock, with his breath coming out as vapour, Mr Milne gave me a verbal lesson in ship construction. Having shared this wisdom, he proceeded to delve into one of the capacious pockets of his duffle coat and produced a packet of sandwiches. I was asked to hold his flashlight and looked on curiously as, in the beam of the torch, the Second Officer carefully peeled back a corner of the top piece of bread on each of the sandwiches and peered at the contents. ‘Another thing, Parks. Take my advice. Never eat your sandwiches in the dark and always look under the lid of any pie with a crust.’ I must have looked puzzled. ‘That way you'll eat fewer cockroaches.’ There was so much to learn. Life seemed to be filled with ‘And another thing, Parks.’