THE GOOD SHIP 'STOKE CITY'
This is a daring do tale of the good ship 'Stoke City' which I wrote for the Oatcake messageboard users. Some of you will not understand much of it, but it was written for a certain group of friends who I treasure. Enjoy.
I have left it in its original form and the remarks...'Continued' etc. come between each individual post as it was done. I much prefer the original thread because, for me, the other poster's remarks are part and parcel of this story and integral to it's enjoyment.
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Only at stoke could we go
through all we're going through! Four years ago, along came a group of
Icelanders to save us from the two pigs.....heroes dressed in Viking helmets and
sporting a 'five year plan' which would take us to the dizzy heights of the
Prem. At the helm of the good ship 'Stoke city' was a fearsome warrior sporting
a phenomenally brilliant name, Gudjon Thordarson. It was just like the days when
the Viking hordes swept across the vast expanse of terrible seas only in a more
modern way - sort of 17th century/20th century 'Vikingism'.
It was all hands to battle stations and our cannons resounded across the seas as
we made our journey to the land of honey with our unpredictable leader lashing
all who wouldn't succumb to his demands. Oh how we battled! Despite many
setbacks, we went gloriously on to Wembley, and despite losing our fiercest
warrior, Lootenant Thorne, [what a good seafaring name that is - almost as good
as Hornblower] we reached a major crossroads in our journey across the high seas
of promotion when we were accosted by those Welsh pirates from Cardiff. Although
heavily damaged from our first encounter and listing badly, we outfought them on
our second meeting and eventually berthed in the first division after another
heart stopping battle with the Galleon, Brentford.
That victory saw us drinking the inns dry of ale and we went a paping and
rillaging in big style. No one or anything was safe from our almost hysterical
outpouring of emotions and the Rivals Boards echoed to our taunts of 'we are
back, we are back'!
However, none of us at that time realized that the owners of the good ship
'Stoke City' would commit the cardinal sin of replacing our enigmatic and
volatile captain. What an odious crime that was! Even those who disliked him
could not believe that he could so easily be discarded in that moment of
triumph!
For a few months, the good ship 'Stoke City' lay at harbour, neglected,
leaderless and many of the crew were either sacked or abandoned.
A new [young and brashful] captain was secured and with him came renewed hope.
Those hopes were dashed when he abandoned ship and snuck off to join a different
line - and we floundered leaderless in uncharted waters.
Along came a new hope - a captain of questionable credentials whose experience
was not one that had seen him win many battles. Despite this, the owners of the
good ship 'Stoke City' cobbled together a motley crew and with the help of a
truly outstanding able seaman, Mr. Crossley, he eventually managed to avoid
certain death on the rocks of 'Relegation Point' just as the ship was about to
go down. The crew, the owners and its supporters breathed a massive sigh of
relief as it limped into port to be refitted for a new season.
The new captain gathered together an almost new crew and set sail again in the
murky waters of the First Division Ocean. At first, the ship made good headway
but then it began to flounder like a vessel laden with barnacles. Almost halfway
across the ocean, the crew were found lacking in good seamanship and the captain
began to lose control of the situation as it began to leak like a sieve. Not
only that, but when the hold was opened to bring up more powder for the guns, it
was found to be damp and wouldn't ignite.
At this point, the Welsh pirates appeared off the starboard bow.........
To be continued. [The best motto for being a Stokie is....'if you don't laugh,
you'll cry!'
]
OMG...WTF....despite the
recent portions of bitter lemons, many of the sailors are beginning to succumb
to the dreaded scurvy, some of the owners are going down with yellow fever and
two of the fattened pigs have contracted foot and mouth. It couldn't have
happened at a worse time - the ship's doctor, Lootenant Rawlins, has been washed
overboard by a particularly heavy sea. All hands to the boats! We must save him
or we are doomed.
At this point, Captain Pulis wrings his hands in despair and turns to Mr. Rudge
- his Captain at arms. There is a despairing look in his washed out eyes as he
utters the immortal words...."I think we are in trouble Mr. Rudge. The
dreaded pirates From Cardiff are closing in. Do you think we should prepare to
abandon ship?"
[To be continued as the week progresses and as my sense of humour gets more ridiculous
by the day. At this rate, I will soon match trouserdog in the *stark
raving mad poster* awards.
]
Continued......
Dark clouds filled the sky, the wind rose to gale force and the cold grey sea began to swell, crashing noisily against the bulwarks which sent vibrations through the hull that echoed in the very depths of the vessel. The empty cannons began to stir and one jolly tar, able seaman Eustace, looked on in disgust. He had joined this outfit thinking he was joining a secure ship but now he was finding things different when the going had gotten tough. Only the cook, a young guy called Commons had the bottle and guile to be worthy of his respect - him and the guy who looked after the rigging at the stern - Midshipman De Gooey.
"Captain Pulis"....shouted Mr. Rudge with a fearful look in his beady eyes, "we have just sunk 3 points lower aft! OMG...WTF...I think the bilge has sprung a leak!”
“All hands on deck and man the pumps" screamed captain Pulis as he realized that he had no chance against the Welsh pirates if the good ship 'Stoke City' wallowed too much in the heavy swell. It was imperative to keep the vessel on an even keel to survive the forthcoming battle. "Lower the mainsail and tack to port. Steer a course of oh five zero and batten down the hatches. We cannot afford to take more water in the magazine or all will be lost. Look lively there men - our lives depend on it!"
From all quarters of the stricken ship, sailors dressed in red and white came a running. This was indeed a motley crew and many of the orders had to be relayed a number of times as the howling gale screamed through the rigging. A sudden lurch to port sent the captain reeling and all eleven of the deck hands in the immediate vicinity came back to help him out, but even so, a mighty wave swept over the side and dashed them against the oak timbers. Midshipman De Gooey picked up a cannon ball from the netting that had flown over his head in the melee. He glanced at some of the crew and shook his head.
Down in the bilge, seamen sweated as they pumped out the rising water with a worn out two handled pump – a legacy of under-investment by the owners. They cursed as their hands became raw and blisters quickly formed, rising like pustules on a septic penis. But they continued and slowly but surely, the waters receded and the ship leveled out. Captain Pulis breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the vessel come back on an even keel.
While frantic efforts to save the ship progressed, Artificers Oldstokie and the one legged sea dog, Teltooyoo, rowed away from the ship in one of the lifeboats in search of the ship’s doctor, Lootenant Rawlins who had been washed overboard. Lootenant Rawlins was also one of the owners but he had signed on for this voyage to get away from a woman who was chasing him for some of his bounty. Well known throughout the land as a man of means [if not too blessed with common sense] he was courted by many of the ship’s supporters as a future saviour of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ and many still held him in high esteem.
From in the darkness and above the sound of crashing waves, a cry was heard. Teltooyou cupped his hand to his mouth as he shouted through the storm…. “Ahoy there Mr. Rawlins….is that yooooooooooo?”
A faint reply was heard drifting on the wind….. “Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp”.
OS and Tel rowed towards the faint voice and saw a head bobbing in the heavy seas. It had a bald spot on the crown and they knew it was Mr. Rawlins. Tel placed his wooden leg on the side of the boat and an icy hand gripped it tightly. Slowly but surely, the dripping figure of the Ship’s doctor was dragged on board. It was at this point that OS realized that he could hatch a dastardly plan if he played his cards right.
To be continued…….
Continued…….
The ship’s doctor, Mr Rawlins, placed his hand on Teltooyoo’s wooden leg and patted it gently. “Thank you guys” he mumbled as he tried regain his composure. “I owe you big style and, one day, I hope to be able to repay you. You saved my life and I won’t forget that. I’m going to tell you both something now….” - he glanced at both Teltooyoo and OS through narrowed eyes….. “I’m pretty sure I was pushed overboard. I think someone is trying to get rid of me from our great ship Stoke City’ and I think I know who it is.”
“It might be that woman who’s after your bounty Mr. Rawlins” said OS with a sly grin. [:D]
“No, I don’t think so, she needs me around because I’ve got my financial affairs sorted that she won’t get anything if I go down with the ship” replied the ship’s doctor. “No, I think it may be someone in the pocket of the Icelandic owners or someone who works at the piggery. We need to keep a sharp eye for the culprit. Have you guys got any idea who it might be?”
Able seaman Old Stokie picked up his oar and gestured to his one legged sea mate to do the same. They both began to row back to the ship which was just visible across the swell. After some moments, OS chuckled. “I think I know who it might be Mr. Rawlins. I think it’s those shifty looking characters we signed up as we docked in Yarmouth off the east coast. They had come up from Norwich if I remember right. One was a reet weird guy called Winger and the other was a bloke who is daft about birds. I know for a fact that the weird guy is hell bent on derailing the smooth journey and his hoppo will follow him cus he’s a bit dim upstairs.”
“I don’t think so” said Teltooyoo… “ I think it’s that funny guy we picked up when we docked at Guernsey for water. No matter, we will have to keep our eyes peeled for anyone who doesn’t like our captain and will try anything to stop us surviving in this sea.”
[At this point, OS turned away from the other occupants of the small boat and sniggered.]
The lifeboat banged repeatedly against the sides of the mighty warship as ready hands hauled the three men on board. Captain Pulis and Mr. Rudge grabbed Mr. Rawlins and took him below. [There had been rumours but we shall leave it at that. Life on the ocean wave can be lonely and frustrating to fit and healthy men. Others had often wondered why Mr. Rawlins was such an avid supporter of both these men too…especially OS who had wondered for a while what the hell they saw in this captain!]
Mr Scroop [AGSF to his mates who were thin on the ground because they lacked his intellectuality and didn’t have two degrees as he did] snarled at all around him and shouted through the howling wind….”You’re all wankers, the lot of you. I knew I shouldn’t have signed on for this voyage. I like an easy passage I do. I’m off to Italy away from you all when we dock.”
“Well f­uck off then echoed the crew in unison” and they all began to sing…….
“Fifteen men on a dead
man's chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
AGSF was fixed by the boson's pike
The bosun brained with a marlinspike
Captain Pulis’s throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o'day in a boozing ken
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.”
The motley crew roared with laughter too as Peter, the Dutch cabin boy danced a pretty jig on the wet decking. He was sight to behold as his fancy footwork dazzled and whirled.
Captain Pulis, Mr. Rudge and Mr. Rawlins returned to the deck. They looked exhausted. Also, at that very moment, there was a loud cry from the young deckhand, Matinseventytwo up the crow’s nest. “Sheep ahoi of the straboard bough!”
All hands raced to the side and looked out across the murky waters. Through the mist appeared a fearsome vessel flying the skull and crossbones beneath the Red Dragon ensign. It was the pirate ship ‘Cardiff’ and all its guns were ready! The crew of the ‘Cardiff’ were singing in a strange tongue. But, all of the crew of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ were well aware of the words….
“Where are me goats, me noggin', noggin'
goats,
They're all gone for beer and tobacco.
For the horns they are worn out and its arse is kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather.
Where is me sheep, me noggin', noggin' sheep,
It's all gone for beer and tobacco,
For its fleece is all worn, and its arse is all torn,
And the tail is looking out for better weather.”
“Right me hearties”…shouted Captain Pulis to his men, “we have a battle to win!”… and the good ship ‘Stoke City’ turned to face the dreaded foe with all its guns bristling.
To be continued………
continued............
As the two men 'o war drew near, the fearsome looking crew of the 'Cardiff' were
clearly visible to the gallant men of the good ship 'Stoke City'. Smeegs,
another cabin boy [we seem to have loads of them on board!] turned to the crew
and said..."Hark, what's that noise I can hear?"
Across the heaving waves came the faint sound of sheep bleating uncontrollably.
The first mate, Mr. Fuller, put his glass to his eye and peered through the
mist. "Hey, me hearties" he yelled, "looks like their captain has
given them a few moments recreation duty. They're shagging sheep and drinking
grog. They must think we're going to be an easy bounty if they can act like that
before a battle. C'mon lads, lets show 'em what we can do."
The two men 'o war drew ever closer and an eerie silence descended upon the
cruel sea. It was always like this before a fierce battle. Once upon a time,
this situation would have had the seas resounding to battle cries hours before
combat, but that was in the past when brigands were brigands and anyone could
sign up for a season on the high seas without having to carry a seaman's good
conduct card.
The inevitable dance of death neared its premiere act. The two ships almost
collided head on but, miraculously, the 'Cardiff' veered to port and the good
ship 'Stoke city' turned a' starboard.
There was only a few yards between them as they drew level and Captain Pulis
shouted his singular order......."FIRE!"
Flames belched from the gun ports of both ships as they opened fire
simultaneously. The silence of the day was shattered by a deafening roar
and.............
To be continued....
Continued……
Flames belched from the gun ports of both ships as they opened fire simultaneously. A deafening roar shattered the silence of the day, but at that critical moment, a great swell came between the boats and the shot from both vessels passed harmlessly through the rigging. They both turned and came again but this time it was obvious that the pirate crew were not set on sinking the good ship ‘Stoke City’, they were intent on boarding her and carrying off her bounty – three of her chests of treasure which were needed to see her through another season at sea in the First Division Ocean. As the ‘Stoke City’ tried to turn broadside onto the ‘Cardiff’, the Welsh pirates thwarted her maneuver and she came alongside. So near were they that they almost collided. It was only the poor seamanship of the crew of the ‘Cardiff’ that stopped their first assault being successful. Their leading hand, able seaman Earnshaw, made an attempt to breach the ‘Stoke City’s’ defences but Midshipman De Gooey parried his feeble effort. The two ships locked together and both crews battled to keep the other at bay.
The battle raged for ninety minutes, each crew trying to better the other. There was no doubt that the pirates knew their stuff and Lootenant Thorne, formerly of the good ship ‘Stoke City’, was outstanding in his contribution. Indeed, it was his seamanship that won the day for the Welsh pirates as they eventually managed to board the good ship ‘Stoke City’ and steal the three vital chests of treasure. Although the first time they took the treasure was redressed by able seaman Eustace regaining it on a particularly daring foray onto the seething deck of the ‘Cardiff’, and a splendid effort from one of the gunners, Mr. Akinbye, also almost dragged it back onto the ship, the superior seamanship of Lootenant Thorne ensured the outcome was against them as he sowed up their victory by his outstanding ability to strike just when the ‘Stoke City’s’ defences were lax.
At the end of ninety minutes, and as both crews were tiring, the ‘Cardiff’ swiftly broke away and made off with her bounty. Quickly, the mists swallowed her up and all that was left was the sound of their singing and the bleating of sheep.
“Where are me goats, me noggin', noggin'
goats,
They're all gone for beer and tobacco.
For the horns they are worn out and its arse is kicked about
And the soles are looking out for better weather.
Where is me sheep, me
noggin', noggin' sheep,
It's all gone for beer and tobacco,
For its fleece is all worn, and its arse is all torn,
And the tail is looking out for better weather.”
Even that receded as two bells struck on the deck of the ‘Stoke City’.
And the sound of their laughter and singing receded in the cold night air.
The crew of the ‘Stoke City’ were devastated and angry. As two bells rang, many of the crew sat in the poop deck [affectionately known to them as ‘Delilah’s Bar’] drinking grog and swapping tales of the battle. Much of the talk was tantamount to mutiny and they spoke in whispers. Blame was apportioned and much was made of the actions of able seaman Eustace who had ignored his captain in his glorious attempt to get back the valuable treasure. There was talk that this was because Captain Pulis had sent his friend, Mr Hall, to the brig for being too outspoken. There was talk of desertion and many of the younger crew members were devastated at the defeat at the hands of the pirates. Even some of the older hands declared that they were deeply affected by the situation and lack of support from the owners.
The old seadog, the one legged Teltooyoo, was particularly affected and not best pleased because his wooden leg was waterlogged and he was finding it very difficult to drag it around. At this point, Admiral Atkins and Midshipman Friff joined them. The Admiral, a man of rotund stature, was most distressed and he shook his head in disgust. This had been a bad day for him and he could foresee a bleak future ahead. The Admiral was a devout supporter of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ and had written many shanties and sagas about her. Her demise was particularly depressing to him for he had invested much of his estate in her welfare. This was not a good time to be part of the ‘Stoke City’.
To be continued…….OS. [;)]
Continued……
The good ship ‘Stoke City’ limped away from the scene of the battle with the ‘Cardiff’, her decks awash with discarded Oatcakes and Season Passes. The crew were so demoralized that they had no thought for celebrations and just wanted to get drunk. Many of them did and their lamentations lasted long into the night and through the following day. Indeed, on the Monday following their skirmish, there was little heart for another battle but the ship had to be made ready and it was all hands to the deck by the forenoon watch, mustered by the ship’s six bells call.
Decks were scrubbed and cleaned, rigging repaired and shot replaced. The captain appeared on the poop deck and called his men to order. By his side was a tall, ungainly looking guy. “This is your new Captain at Arms” he declared “and he will be organizing things from now on. You will address him as Mr. McTaggart and see that his commands are obeyed. He arrived in the night from the loanee ship which was anchored off the coast of Liester. Most of you were too drunk and morose to pay attention to his arrival but he will get you all ship shape and Bristol fashion. I’ll not have young cabin boys doing men’s jobs. All that bullshite that if you’re good enough, you’re old enough is just that….bullshite! I believe in experience and by God you’ll do it my way or we’ll sink to Davy Jones’ Locker if you don’t!”
The ex-pirate, Paymac, dipped his head and whispered to the cabin boy Smeegs, who he had just averted from jumping ship….. “This bugger will see us all in Davy Jones’ Locker if I know anything about seamanship. The last time I saw him at sea, he was sent to the brig for fighting.”
“Yeah…I remember him” said Smeegs, “he was as slow as an ox and as thick as one too if I remember right. That was the day we locked horns with that tea clipper which ditched all its cargo to save itself from being wrecked on administration point. They were a bunch of vagabonds if ever I saw one.”
“Stand to there!” screamed the captain, glaring menacingly at the pathetic bunch of bedraggled hands. “I’ll not have mutiny on my ship! I’ve sailed the Seven Seas and never been sunk yet and I’m not about to start now!” His voice reached a crescendo as he continued…. “Tonight, we attack the ‘Westham’, a 26 gunner out of London. They have three chests of treasure which I want. You bloody lot have just lost me three casks of the finest so you will have to redress that situation tonight or……”
His voice trailed off and his eyes became bloodshot. He looked like a man who had lost it and the pallor of his skin matched the greyness of the sea.
They were still in rough waters and the outlook was not good. That old and demented seadog, able seaman Oldstokie [who had sailed the seven seas long before this captain had stopped shitting yellow] had forecast rough waters ahead if they continued on this course. He had little time for this captain or his antics in battle. Indeed, he had openly voiced his opinions and been lambasted by others who were not as wise or as experienced in the ways of the cruel sea. Many had not lived through the good times when he had served under the finest captain of them all, Admiral Waddington. Nor had they seen true sailors like Mr. Hudson who could dance a jig better than any other, or Mr. Smith who could wield a cutlass and cut down the strongest attacker. Others too were etched in his memory and he was saddened to be serving under such a man as this. But, Oldstokie was not a man to desert a sinking ship, nor was he a man who would knuckle to threats from a Welsh sheep shagger who didn’t know his harse from his elbow.
“Mr. Oldstokie” called the captain, “take the wheel and steer a course for the ‘Westham’.”
“Aye, aye Cap’n” replied Oldstokie and he touched his cap to the captain. Under his tunic, he had a large bottle of rum which he had stolen out of Ebay. He took the wheel and turned the ship into the wind. The sails filled and the good ship ‘Stoke City’ crashed its way through the heavy seas. He took the bottle from his tunic and poured a liberal dose into his old throat. The liquor bit deep into his senses and he grinned in ecstatic agony. And he began to sing.
A captain bold from Halifax
Once left his captain quarters,
Seduced a maid who hanged herself
One morning in her garters.
His wicked conscience smitted him,
He lost his stomach daily,
He took to drinking turpentine
And thought upon Miss Bailey.
One night while sleeping on
his ship,
The captain heard a banging,
He left his bed and went on deck,
And saw Miss Bailey hanging.
His timepiece stopped at Midnight
And his candle burned quite palely.
And from the mast a ghost stepped down,
Behold it was Miss Bailey.
Away, Miss Bailey, he
implored,
You don't affright me, really,
Dear Captain Smith, the ghost replied,
You've used me ungenteely.
The coroner was hard on me,
Because I acted fraily,
The Parson would not bury me,
Though I'm a dead Miss Bailey.
You won't believe me when I
say,
The captain got soft-hearted.
He gave the ghost a five-pound note,
With which she then departed.
'Twill bribe the sexton for my grave,
And so I leave thee gaily,
Oh bless you, wicked Captain Smith,
For rescuing Miss Bailey.
When the crew of the ship heard him, they all joined in and the ship became a happy one – for now.
As the second dog watch approached, OldStokie was well and truly drunk. Only the fact that he was tied to the wheel in the heavy seas saved him from falling to the deck. Miraculously, he kept the ship on an even keel and on course.
The sun had set long ago and all hands were on deck. The ship was closed down and all lights extinguished. Silence was the order and eyes were peeled for the foe. Suddenly, out of the darkness appeared a vessel……………..
To be continued…..OS. [;)]
Continued…….
Suddenly, out of the darkness appeared a vessel. “Lootenant Rawlins has the deck” said Captain Pulis in a hushed voice, “make ready to come about”.
Oldstokie was asleep at the wheel. He was a drunk as a skunk but, because he had slid down onto his knees and his dead weight was keeping the ship on a straight course, Captain Pulis thought he was in control. It was the boatswain, Mr. Grayman who saved the day for Oldstokie. Mr. Grayman was renowned for saving Oldstokie from many a difficult situation. On this occasion, he kicked OS and snarled at him….. “Gerrup you blithering idiot! If Captain Penis sees you like this, he’ll put you in irons and have you flogged!” He turned to the nearest sailors, able seamen Chorley, Hillingdon and Lesterpotter. “Cut him down”, he whispered, “or, at the very least, sobre him up!”
OS was so tangled in the rope that it was almost an impossibility to cut him free so they drew water from the sea and threw it over him.
“Make ready to come about” repeated the captain. He sounded a little agitated.
“Aye, aye sir” said Mr. Paymac (who had joined the others in an attempt to help them) in a voice that was the spitting image of OS’s voice - and the captain looked away. Finally, the trio saw that they could not cut OS free and his mumblings were not the ones of a man who could sensibly steer a ship so Mr. Paymac told the others to go about their business and he would pretend to be OS.
“It’s the ‘Westham’ sir” said Lootenant Rawlins, “I don’t think she seen us yet. Shall we go to larboard?”
“Do that!”. Captain Pulis was watching the heavily armed ship closely and saw that they had not made ready for battle. Perhaps he could catch them unawares. His lips began to twitch and his throat dried up. He dreamed of being famous one day but whatever he did, something always seemed to get in the way. For him, this was very probably that last chance he would get as master of a ship with so much potential and he didn’t want to blow it. He would do or say anything to achieve that end. Yes, he was a slippery customer was Captain Pulis!
“Go to larboard” said Lootenant Rawlins to OS. There was no response. The Lootenant repeated his order thinking that OS was sulking because only yesterday they had drawn the dead horse and OS was skint. “Go to bleeding larboard OS!”… he muttered softly.
Mr. Paymac was in a quandary. OS was tied inextricably to the wheel and the only way he could steer the ship was…… He heaved on the wheel and turned it. OS went with it. He rotated the wheel three and a half turns and OS went with it. Now, OS’s legs were at the top and his head was resting on the deck. OS heaved and spewed on the deck.
“Straighten up” ordered the Captain.
Back the wheel went three and a half turns and OS went with it. He was upright now but looking ashen. A bucket of water hit him in his face and another washed the spew off him. He was a sorry sight but at least he was awake. “Woshtimeisheet?” he asked his mates. Another bucket of water hit him in the face and he spluttered.
Just at that moment, the good ship ‘Stoke City’ drew alongside the ‘Westham’, catching them completely unawares. All hands jumped from the deck and boarded the 26 gunner out of London. Cutlasses glinting in the moonlight, the swarthy crew of the ‘Stoke City’ marauded throughout the vessel at will. Even when their crew tried to fight back, they could not breach the defences of the gallant crew of the good ship ‘Stoke City’. Even the Cannon Cocker, Dennis the Codplacer, joined them in their foraging. At last they found three chests of treasure. They were hidden in the captain’s cabin and were quickly stowed about the ‘Stoke City’. At this point, Captain Pulis shouted his orders….
“Cut loose and go hard about!”
Poor old OS was again sent on a circular journey as Mr. Paymac set a course away from the battle and the good ship ‘Stoke City’ melted away into the night with its three priceless chests.
On the morrow, the ship’s crew were in a happy mood and the whole ship reverberated to their reverie.
Behold upon the swelling
seas
With streaming pennants gay,
Our gallant ship invites the waves,
While glory leads the way.
See Pulis’ flag once more
displayed,
Upon the deck he stands;
Britannia's glory ne'er can fade,
Or tarnish in his hands.
“Yo f­ucking ho and a bottle of rum” mumbled OS as he lay in his hammock.
Just at that moment, the Coxswain, Mr. Refrex who hailed from Essex, yelled an order…. “Captain on the deck!” and all hands stood to attention. OS fell out of his hammock and scrambled unsteadily to his feet. The captain approached him.
“Able seaman Oldstokie, I
want to congratulate you on your seamanship last night. The way you steered the
ship was beyond reproach. As of this moment, you are promoted to the rank of Chief Petty Officer Artificer and will join Mr. Portsmouthpotter.
Able
seaman Towkrate puffed up his lips and began to whistle. Mr. Towkrate knew and
old headed bugger when he saw one…..after all…he’d worked with a good
many. [J]
To
be continued. [;)]
Continued……
The
good ship ‘Stoke City’ was a happy ship. All it had taken to make it so was
a victory and they don’t come much better than a resounding victory against a
top class vessel like the 26 gunner, ‘Westham’. The atmosphere on the deck
was electric and sailors dressed in red and white almost danced their way to
their duties. Even able seaman Teltooyoo was playing a tune with his wooden leg
as he went about his various tasks. ‘Rat-a-tat…rat-a-tat…..rat-a-tat-tat-ta-tat’….it
tapped on the now well scrubbed decking. The ‘holystone’ had been busy
during the night in the hands of the ship’s youngest member, Stoker Carl, who
hailed out of the London suburbs. Poor Carl had been up most of the night
scrubbing and he was worn out. Unfortunately, he had caught a virus some time
ago and was confined to menial duties. Not for him the glory of boarding and
skirmishing, his fortune lay in the hands of other older members of the crew who
always tried to lead him along the straight and narrow. Unfortunately for Carl,
he was often [wrongly] accused of pinching and this had a demeaning affect on
the young man. He would learn but it would take many years to mould him into a
seaman capable of holding his own on the high seas. Most members of the crew
really liked the lad but his incessant questions grated the nerves sometimes.
With Carl…it was always… “how…why….what…where…when?”
Black
clouds of smoke billowed from the ‘Charlie noble’ and the smell of fried
oatcakes drifted through the ship. The recent visit by the Bumboat had brought
new provisions. A plentiful supply of the ship’s favourite delicacy was
paramount amongst the various stores that had been loaded in the night. Whole
sides of bacon and four hundredweights of chayze had accompanied the five
hundred dozen oatcakes plus half a ton of beef and pork sausages and five
barrels of tomatoes. Pogey bait was oodles of apple pie and custard. Yes, this
was a happy ship today and the prospect of taking on the ‘Redding’, a fast
schooner of some repute, was not viewed with trepidation. No, the crew were up
for this one after their magnificent victory over the ‘Westham’.
Jack-of-the-dust,
the Yank, able seaman Tirtytree, emerged from the galley with a plate of
oatcakes filled with bacon, chayze, sausage and tomatoes. By his side were
his hoppos, Mr Links and Mr Beebeedee who also hailed from the land of
the free. “Jeez fellas, yo cummin ter fetch dase vittals? It am rayly ‘ot an
yo bedder get dem diiiiine yer afo ar ates ‘em meseeeeeeeeeen.”
Mr
Links looked at him and shook his head. “Yo sho yo god enuff dem viddals Mr
Tirtytree?”
“Ah
sho ‘ave Misterrrr Links…ah sho ‘ave,” and he proceeded to pass around
the delicacy to the hungry crew. Mr
Beebeedee was a crafty old hand. Four of the oatcakes slid under his tunic
before Admiral Atkins got there. Admiral Atkins was renowned for his ability to
eat a dozen in one gollop. Behind his back, and when the crew were merry and
well into the grog ration, they often sang that famous old sea shanty with
reference to him.
Who
ate all the fries?
Who
ate all the fries?
You
fat brastad,
You
fat Brastad,
You
ate all the pies.
The
crew filled their bellies and sluggishly, but merrily, returned to their duties.
Petty Officer Artificer Mr Portsmouthpotter was at the helm. [He had been
demoted from ‘Chief’ when Mr Oldstokie had been promoted.] He gazed aloft
and watched the sails billowing in the wind. The good ship ‘Stoke City’ was
making good headway and the wash of the vessel was straight and true. He looked
around him at the now miraculous sight of a ship that was all ship shape and
Bristol fashion – a far cry from the chaos that existed before their battle
with the ‘Westham’. It was surprising how morale could so quickly change.
The guns were tied down and all hatches were well battened against the
occasional wave that washed over the gunwales. The ship ploughed on, creating a
furrow in the ocean towards their next foe.
The
darkness came on the first dog watch. By three bells, most of the crew were half
drunk as they sang their favourite shanties. The final one before they retired
to their hammocks was an old one and a melancholy one too.
A wet sheet and a flowing
sea,
A wind that follows fast,
And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast,
And bends the gallant mast, my boys!
While like an eagle free,
Away the good ship flies,
And leaves Britannia on our lee.
Oh, for a soft and gentle
wind,
I heard a fair one cry,
But give to me the roaring breeze,
And the white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys!
The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.
There's a tempest in yon
horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud,
And hard the music, mariners,
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys!
The lightning flashes free,
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.
As they retired, a faint sound of sobbing was just discernible. It was Mr Jayar who had lost his silver spoon that very day. Someone had pinched it and was now sleeping with it under his pillow. Mr Peenantwich sniggered at he drifted off to sleep to dream of that beautiful place, Ebay, which basked in the warmth of the tropics and the wonderful recorded songs which emanated from that haven of nostalgia.
To be continued….
Continued…….
It was a cold grey day as dawn broke and one bell rang in the forenoon watch. All hands were mustered on deck by Admiral Atkins. His stomach protruded from beneath his jacket, a sure sign that he had overdosed on oatcakes again. He burped loudly and cleared his throat. “Stand by men” he said, “The Captain needs to have a few words.”
Captain Pulis stood on the poop deck and looked down at his merrie band of swashbuckling cut-throats. Not a cutlass was out of place and each swarthy face was brushed clean. This was a great improvement and he felt the pride in him rising. “Right men, our last battle showed what we can do if we try and, although you are the underdogs in the battle to come, we shall overcome the ‘Redding’ if all hands give of their best. As Nelson once said…. ‘only those who have plumbed the depths of Davy Jones’ locker’ can understand the pleasures of a bountiful foray’. Today, we shall do one or the other – I prefer we do the latter. Any questions?”
“Aye sir” piped up Oldstokie, “are we fitting square pegs in round holes today or are we fitting round pegs in square holes?”
Before the captain had time to reply, all eyes turned to the crow’s nest where the young deckhand, Martinseventytwo called out the words…. “ Sheep ahoi of the prot bough. It’s a skooner flying the collars of roil bloo”.
All hands raced to the port bow and saw the fast schooner, the ‘Redding’. It ploughed through the waves in a direct line for the good ship ‘Stoke City’.
“Battle stations” cried the captain and the two vessels closed…….
To be continued. [;)]
Continued…..
A great spout of water erupted in front of the good ship ‘Stoke City’s’ bows as the ‘Redding’ fired off her first shot.
“Take the helm Chief
Petty Officer Artificer Old Stokie” yelled Captain Pulis “and show us all
what a great seaman you are. If you steer us as you did against the ‘Westham’,
their bounty will be our reward. As for you Mr. Grayman, I didn’t see you
doing too much on the last foray! You best look up lad or you’ll be joining
young Stoker Carl with the holystone!”
Grayman
walked past OS and snarled at him “See, you senile old fart, I spend so much
time keeping you out of trouble I get in hot water and on the wrong side of the
captain. If you don’t look up, I’ll leave you to the wiles of Cabin Boy
Albert of Twatlock and his affection for you! Best you keep your breeches tied
up lad!”
“Ooarrrrr,
an oil wroit a fable about yer which’ll make yers the loffin’ stock o’ the
seven seas” sniggered Winger the ship’s Scribe out of Norwich as he walked
past to enter today’s events in the ship’s log. His hoppo, the strange guy
who was always watching seagulls, able seaman Etherington, giggled too. He was
always giggling and most of the crew thought he was a bit ‘tapped upstairs’.
They were both accompanied by a wee fella called Jack. Jack was the son of the
scribe and they were inseparable. Jack was renowned for always picking the wrong
guys for his heroes. His latest choice was a sailor named Russell. Need I say
more!
The
timbers of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ shuddered under their feet as the
first salvo was fired. Shot whistled through the rigging of the ‘Redding’
and it began to flounder.
“Bring
her in close” yelled the captain “and all hands make ready to board her.
Free grog for all if we can relieve her of three chests of treasure.”
The
crew were up for this one! They had tasted the sweetness of success against the
‘Westham’ and wanted more. What a battle it turned out to be! They drove
through the waves more like a cutter than a galleon – swift and sure. There
are moments in history that are more memorable than others and this was to
become an epic in the annals of the good ship ‘Stoke City’s’ history. The
whole crew fought like tigers and none more so than the swarthy ex pirate
Akinbye. Dressed in his red and white tunic, he harried and parried with his
cutlass, driving the ‘Redding’s’ defenders back against the bulwarks. His
was a contribution that would sew the seeds of a resounding victory. However,
the real star of the battle was the Dutchman, the nimble footed First Mate, Mr
Hookstrar. It was he who gathered the three chests of treasure from the hold of
the ‘Redding’ with a display of seamanship that Lord Mathews would have
admired. He danced and jigged his way through the motley crew of the
‘Redding’, tormenting them with his lightening speed and power. His was a
feat that would live long in the memories of all that were aboard that day.
Indeed, after ninety minutes of battle, the ‘Redding’ hove to and made
about. She was in no fit state to withstand more pounding from the good ship
‘Stoke City’ and she quickly retreated into the night, less the three vital
chests of treasure that were now firmly secured in the hold of the good ship
‘Stoke City’.
The
crew of the good ship ‘Stoke city’ lay in their hammocks as the first watch
passed. By six bells, most of them were drunk and in truly high spirits. At the
helm, Mr. Scroop [AGSF to his few mates] snarled in typical fashion.
“Brastards! Brastards! Brastards! I always miss out on the fun! Nobody likes
me.” And he burst into tears. “I’m just a clever person” he said to
himself “and they hate me because
of it. I studies hard for my master’s ticket, even moved to Italy at one time.
I’m really clever I am and they should listen to me. I’ve got two degrees of
nautical knowledge but still they scorn me. I always miss out on the fun.
Brastards! Brastard! Brastards!” As he sobbed, he listened to the sound of the
drunken revelry below. “Why should people be happy?” he asked himself. I’m
happy in my own way, especially when I’m snarling at people. I can’t help it
if I snarl!” And the sound of the singing grew louder….
When I was a youngster I
sailed with the rest
On a Liverpool packet bound out for the West.
We anchored one day in the harbour of Cork,
Then we put out for the port of New York.
For forty two days we was
hungry and sore.
Oh, the winds was again'us, the gales, they did roar.
But off Battery Point we did anchor at last
With our jib'boom hove to and the canvas all fast.
The boardinghouse masters was off in a trice
A'shouting and promising all that was nice,
And one fat old crimp took a fancy to me.
Says he, ``You're a fool, lad, to follow the sea.''
Says he, ``There's a job as is waiting for
you,
With lashings o'liquor and bugger'all to do.''
Says he, ``Wha'd'yer say, lad, will you jump her too?''
Says I, ``You old brastard, I'm damned if I do.''
But the best of intentions, they never goes
far.
After thirty two days at the door of a bar
I tossed off me liquor and what do you think?
That rotten old brastard had drugs in me drink.
The next I remember, I woke in the morn
On a three skys'l yarder bound south round Cape Horn.
With an old suit of oilskins and two pairs of socks
And a bloomin' great head and a dose of the pox.
Now all you young sailors take a warnin' by
me.
Keep an eye on yer drinks when the liquor is free.
And pay no attention to runner or whore
When your hat's on your head and your feet's on the shore.
Poor old able seaman Teltooyoo lay in his sickbed. He had missed this battle. ‘Why does it always happen to me?” he asked himself as he sobbed in his bunk. “Right….where’s me f­ucking wooden leg? I’ve had enough of this!”
To be continued….. [;)]
Continued…..
The good ship Stoke city lay at anchor. The wind was fair out of the west and the sea was calm as Teltooyoo climbed out of his sick bed. He strapped on his renovated wooden leg. It had been burnished and stained the same colour as the decking, a deep dark oak, and he polished it with a snotty sleeve of his tunic. That left a mark so he spat on it and rubbed it with the other sleeve. That, too, left a snotty mark so he gave up. “Bollicks to this flu” he mumbled and stumbled up the gangway onto the deck. The first person he saw was Senor LesAlanos, the brigand out of Los Alanos which is the twinned town to Cheadle.
“Hi there Teltooyoo” called Senor
LesAlanos in his walk on part… “how are you feeling? I think your hoppo,
Chief Petty Officer Artificer Old
Stokie, is aft eating sea pie. He’s a bit low cus you’ve been laid low. You
know how he misses your company!”
“Thanks
LA” replied Teltooyoo, “yes, I’m after the bugger and he’s in trouble
when I see him!”
Teltooyoo made his way aft, stumbling only
once as he snagged his renovated wooden leg on a baggy wrinkle protruding from
one of the scuppers. “Bollicks agin ter that” he uttered and tapped his way
to the stern. “Hey up Teltooyou” called stoker Woore who was sitting on a
hatch-coaming carefully splicing a halyard with a neat square knot. “You
looking for your hoppo, Chief Petty
Officer Artificer Old Stokie?”
“Yes, I am looking for him! He’s had this bloody leg done up for me and fitted a bloody rubber heel to the bloody thing. I sound like a bloody pooftah pirate now and I just know that he’s done it on purpose cus he’s a brastad to me.” Teltooyoo softly tapped his way abaft, his face as black as thunder and five days extra growth on his grey beard.
OS was sitting on a keg filled with marmalade, which had been shipped in from the Bumboat. Spotted bandana around his old and wrinkled head, he was playing an accordion and singing softly in his mellow rich voice. Teltooyoo arrived as he was just ending the sad song of the sea called Proud Sally.
Oh Sally, dearest Sally, oh Sally dear, said
he
Don't you remember when you first slighted me?
You mocked me with cruelty and slighted me with scorn
And now I'll reward you for what you have done.
Oh Willie, dearest Willie, forget and forgive
And grant me a little while longer to live.
O no, dearest Sally, as long as I breathe
I'll dance on your tomb while you lie underneath.
Now Sally's dead and got buried at last,
And Willie's lamenting for all that is past
Saying, Sally, lovely Sally, if you were yet alive
It's you I would wed and all others deprive.
OldStokie wiped a tear from his eye, put one finger to a nostril and blew his nose over the side. He repeated it with the other nostril but the wind caught it and blew it back in his face. He wiped it off with the sleeve of tunic. Just then, he glanced up and saw his mate. Teltooyou. A big grin lit up his wizened face as he greeted Teltooyoo. “Hey up me old mucka. How are yer terday?”
“You brasted! Is it you wots put this bloody rubber on me leg?” and Teltooyoo lifted the wooden appendage and shoved it in OldStokie’s face.
OldStokie pushed it aside and laughed. “Trust me Tel me owd mate, I've done it ter save thee from that moanin’ old git, able seaman Mark Wulstatoon. He’s reported thee to the captain for wakin’ eem up after he’s done the middle watch. He says every tarm you take the morning watch after he’s finished his watch, he conna gerroff sleep because of thee tappin’. Leave it ter me, ar’ll fix him fer thee” and OldStokie winked. Oh, by the way, have I got some news fer thee! You’ve missed it all while you’ve been in sick bay. I’d best tell thee.”
Teltooyoo sat down next to OS and placed his wooden leg on a beam.
“There’s bin hell up aboard! Thee knowst that fella wha left the ship, you know, him wot did all the publicity an all that stuff, wots his name, Dick Knowles. Well him and Rex have had a reet bust up! They’ve been faytin’ and Rex is in the brig.” OldStokie grinned at his mate.
“Ay anner bin put in the brig just fer that surely!” exclaimed Teltooyoo.
“Oh no” answered OldStokie with a big smirk on his face, “Rex has had a goo at the First Mate, Tim de Gallimore, for jumping ship.”
“He anner!” said Teltooyoo in surprise.
“Well, he anner really jumped ship, he’s gone over to join the owners to try an see if he con make things better for all of us. You know, sort of Liason Officer t’ween us an them that own us.” Oldstokie’s face took on a serious look.
“Where does Rex come in with this lot then?” asked Teltooyoo.
“Welle, Rex said he’d bin sleepin’ with Dr Rawlins behind us backs and he’d sold us out. Gray mon towd him ter give the bloke a chance but you know wot Rex is like, he’s like a bull in a china shop when he’s gorra bee in ees bonnet! Both him and Dave out of Ilford was haning a go but it’s all quietened down now. Mind thee, it will have done, cus Rex is in the brig!” Oldstokie pulled on his accordion at that moment and it let out a eerie wail as if to emphasize the points he was making - and he laughed.
“Well, I’ll be buggered! Trust me ter get sick an miss all the fun!” said Teltooyoo and he lit his old clay pipe. When it was lit, he joined Oldstokie as he began to sing.
A Yankee ship comes down the
river,
Blow, boys, blow!
A Yankee ship with a Yankee skipper,
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
How do you know she's a Yankee clipper;
Blow, boys, blow!
Because her masts and yards shine like silver.
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
Who do you think is captain of her?
Blow, boys, blow!
Old Holy Joe, the darky lover.
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
What do you think she's got
for cargo?
Blow, boys, blow!
Why, "black sheep" that have run the embargo.
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
What do you think they'll have for dinner?
Blow, boys, blow!
Why, monkeys' tails and bullocks' liver.
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
O, blow today and blow tomorrow,
Blow, boys, blow!
O, blow me down to the Congo River!
Blow, my bully boys, blow!
“Where are we heading now?” asked Teltooyoo.
“Captain Pulis says there’s a merchantman out of Watford with some treasure on board and we should meet her in three or four days. That should be fun!”
To be continued. [;)]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Continued……
Ozzie Joe, the barbarian out of Brisbane who had been with the good ship ‘Stoke City’ for many years, made his way down to the heads by the forecastle deck. From his ditty bag, he took out a book called ‘An Anorak’s Guide to All Things Nautical’, dropped his breeches and squatted down. The wind blew up through the gratings and caused goose bumps on his hairy harse. Joe ignored it, squeezed, grunted, dropped a good ‘nine incher’ through the grating and peered into the well-worn volume. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be missed for a couple of hours and he could catch up on the intricacies of life aboard various seagoing vessels and their layout. Joe was just turning to page 343 when a cannon ball screamed past his head and dislodged a knee knocker, the coaming of a watertight door. It flew up into the air and went over the lee side of the ship. “Bollicks” said Ozzie Joe and he hurriedly pulled up his breeches. A number of ratings rushed past him including able seaman Tirtytree in his skunk hat, able seamen Chorley, Hillingdon and Lesterpotter and the ship’s Midshipman, Mr Friff.
One man stopped. He was able seaman Merkin out of Foulmouth who was the apprentice scribe to Mr Winger, the ship’s Scribe out of Norwich. He yelled to Ozzie Joe…… “Get thee f*****g trousers on Joe, the c***s from the ‘Watford’ have snuck up on us and scored a f*****g direct t******g hit! Thees ‘ell up on the windward side! Mr de Goey is goin f*****g crackers and bollickin’ all his c******g mates. We’re shippin’ f*****g water from all f*****g sides! Cap’n f*****g Penis is doing his f*****g nut and poor old Teltooyoo has lost his new f*****g leg!
The ‘Watford’ stood off and took aim again. This time, CPOA Oldstokie was ready. He spun the wheel and the good ship ‘Stoke City’ went hard to port and broadside on to the ‘Watford’. “Fire” yelled the Captain at arms, Mr Rudge.
It was a pretty one-sided affair once the good ship ‘Stoke City’ had sorted herself out. She was a 64 gunner and the ‘Watford’ carried nowhere near her firepower. Three times the crew of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ had her floundering in the water and each time, ably led by the ex-pirate Akinbye and the Midshipman, Mr Eustace, they took a chest of treasure and shipped it back to the good ship ‘Stoke City’. When the three chests were almost secured and the good ship ‘Stoke City’ was about to pull away in victory, one of the stoutest defenders, Mr Halls, in his frustration at seeing one his comrades writhing on the deck, grabbed a seaman from the ‘Watford’ and knocked him overboard. He would face the wrath of the captain for this because the battle was already won when he lost his cool.
The two stokers, young Carl and Mr. Woore, carried Teltooyoo across the beam of the ship and sat him on a barrel. Although he had lost his new wooden leg, he was in high spirits and partaking liberally of extra grog rations. The spotted red and white scarf he wore around his head was grimy and sweat laden. Not a pretty sight was the one legged one after a battle and on extra grog rations. CPOA Oldstokie was sitting on a beam and playing his accordion. Most of the crew who were not on the Middle Watch were gathered about. They had all dined on Oatcakes, bacon and chayze and all were semi inebriated. One of the young deckhands, able seaman Onewaybiggins, an ex soldier who had shipped aboard to escape the clutches of a pregnant wench, took to the deck and began to dance a hornpipe. As he did so, he led the crew in an ancient sea shanty where they all joined in with the chorus.
“My Bonny is over the
ocean,
My Bonny is over the sea.
My Bonny is over the ocean.
Oh bring back my Bonny to me.
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me
Last night as I laid at my
pillow,
Last night as I laid in my bed.
Last night as I laid on my pillow
I dreamed that my Bonny was dead.
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me.
Oh, blow, ye winds, over the
ocean!
Oh, blow, ye winds, over the sea!
Oh, blow, ye winds, over the ocean,
And bring back my Bonnie to me!
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back,
Oh bring back my Bonny to me.
The winds have gone over the ocean,
The winds have gone over the sea.
The winds have gone over the ocean,
And brought back my Bonny to me.
Brought back, brought back,
Oh brought back my Bonny to me, to me.
Brought back, brought back,
Oh brought back my Bonny to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”
Their singing echoed across the waves and vanished into the emptiness of the vast ocean. Pewter tankards were clashed against one another as the revelry continued long into the night. Extra grog was brought from below and consumed. Eventually, they all fell into a drunken stupor, rocked to sleep by the gentle heave of the ship. The sound of wind rushing through the sails was their lullaby. Teltooyoo was the last to succumb. He fell backwards off the barrel and landed in a heap on the deck. All that could be seen of him was a single sea boot sticking up into the air. His last words before he joined the rest of the crew were…. “ Where’sh me fookin’ leg?”
Gareth the Cooper was on watch as eight bells rang. He looked down from the poop deck at the unwashed hordes below who were sprawled about like piles of dirty rags. “Jeez” he said, “I’m supposed to do profiles on this load of garbage. Gawd ‘elp me!”.
To be continued… [;)]
Continued….
The good ship ‘Stoke City’ headed back to port. Most of the crew were due a rest. They would dock on Christmas Eve. The prow of the Privateer cut a deep swathe through the swell as the ship sped on under full sail. She was a beautiful sight in her full glory. Night was enveloping them as they passed The Needles and the lookout, AB Harshair, was keeping a wary eye for other vessels that may be in the vicinity. It was a clear frosty night and a full moon illuminated the seas around her, making his job so much easier. He could see breakers dashing against the rocks to port as they headed NNE past the Cornish coast. His cry from the crow’s nest of “Ship ahoy off the port bow” caused a flurry amongst the first watch. Most of them rushed to the bulwarks amidships and peered into the night.
“WTF and Jeezus” muttered Petty
Officer Artificer Mr Portsmouthpotter. He lifted his glass and peered into the
night. Slowly, he read out the name of the approaching vessel, a dark blot on
the water. “U…….N……P……C” He whistled through his teeth.
“It’s that bunch of has-beens out of Guernsey. Just watch out when they tack
in this wind, they might come close!”
Many of
the deckhands backed away in horror. They had heard of this vessel but most of
them avoided it like the plague. It flew the dreaded skull and crossbones and
was commanded by a Pirate of enormous girth. Cap’n Lumpy was his name and his
crew of self proclaimed pseudo intellectuals were infamous both in name and
reputation. Many sea tales had been told and retold about these characters and
their inability to conform. No wonder they had all joined the UNPC for they were
old hands at intrigue, corruption and subversion. They even had a pig on board
who was dressed in the colours. She was the infamous Bonkolina originally out of
The Black Country. She was the sex goddess of the seven seas and it was rumoured
that she had even seduced the good Ship ‘Stoke City’s’ CPOA Oldstokie. He
always denied it of course.
The
UNPC tacked across the wind and to her port. As she did so, she neared the good
ship ‘Stoke City’ on her port side. The characters on the UNPC were now
clearly visible in the bright moonlight. The ship itself was filthy. She was
unclean and black tar oozed from her barnacle-clad sides. She left an oily film
in her wake as slime dripped from her rear quarters. “Oh my GOD! Look at
that!” yelled stoker Carl and he backed away shielding his eyes and holding
his nose. The stench was abominable!
The
UNPC Cox’n, the scourge of the Spanish Main, Guernseydayve, was holding
Bonkolina by her back legs and was shafting her in full view of the crew of the
good ship ‘Stoke City’. “Gooaaaaarrrrnnnn Doivid, yo know yo loike it,”
grunted Bonkolina, and she pushed back on her haunches. As she did so, the UNPC
Cox’n slipped on the greasy deck and fell backwards. Bonkolina landed full on
him and he puked all over her pink back. Bonkolina squealed in rage. “Yo’m a
waste o’ fookin toime yo fookin pooftah. Gimme that owdstokoi any toim. Now he
roilly am a good fook!”
OS
drifted away and hid behind the main mast.
Guernseydayve
slipped into a semi-unconscious stupor – his normal mode of seamanship. Behind
him sat another of the UNPC crew, Dayfale. He was sat upon a barrel, supping out
of a large jug filled with ale. As the UNPC heaved on the swell, so did Dayfale.
The jug, in his unsteady hands kept bashing him in the mouth and the ale
sploshed all over him. He ignored it and repeatedly raised the jug to his
swollen lips. When the jug was empty, he dipped it in a barrel next to him and
repeated the process.
Sat
high on the poopdeck of the UNPC was the Bo-s’n, an old hand out of the
southern hemisphere. He was reputed to be 143 but that he denied. However, with
a grey beard down to his midriff and a mop of grey hair protruding from beneath
his three cornered hat, he was probably lying. He was also reputed to have been
worse than any of the current crew in his hey-day but he had mellowed a little
and was now just a normal ancient mariner who was not quite as bad as the dross
he served with.
The
UNPC tacked away. Just as she was about to be lost in the darkness of the night,
another figure appeared. He was dressed all in black and had shifty eyes that
almost glowed in the light. This was the dreaded Nooglenhay. Known throughout
the land as a subversive and hater of the realm, he was feared by ‘The
Establishment’ and had been ostracized by the monarchy for his treachery.
There was an enormous bounty upon his head but he was a clever fellow with a
photographic memory. He wasn’t always right because he thought Mr Scroop had
only one degree when he had two. [;)]
The
UNPC vanished into the blackness. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream emerged from
the deck of the good ship ‘Stoke City’. It was Dr. Moorlander and he rushed
to the ship’s side crying… “You bunch of traitors. You bunch of fookin’
traitors. Don’t you dare besmirch the name of my King. I’ll see you all in
hell!”
Unfortunately,
the poor Dr Moorlander forgot to stop as he rushed to the side and he went
headlong overboard. He was never seen again!
The
good ship ‘Stoke City’ headed up through Sole, Lundy, Fastnet and into port.
The crew had some celebrating to do.
To be
continued. [;)]
Continued….the
good ship Stoke City’s’ Xmas Party.
There was a table set out under a tree in front of Dresden Mansions, and Oldstokie and Teltooyoo were having tea at it: Mr Tirtytree attired in his skunk hat was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over his head. `Very uncomfortable for Mr Tirtytree,' thought Oldstokie; `only, as he’s asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one corner of it: `No room! No room!' they cried out when they saw Captain Pulis coming. `There's plenty of room!' said the captain indignantly, and he sat down in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
`Have some wine,' Oldstokie said in an encouraging tone.
Captain Pulis looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. `I don't see any wine,' he remarked.
`There isn't any,' said Oldstokie.
`Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Captain Pulis angrily.
`It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said Oldstokie.
`I didn't know it was your table,' said Captain Pulis; `it's laid for a great many more than three.'
`Your hair wants cutting,' said Teltooyoo. He had been looking at Captain Pulis for some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
`You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Captain Pulis said with some severity; `it's very rude.'
Oldstokie opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he said was, `Why do you keep making tactical errors?'
`Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Captain Pulis. `I'm glad they've begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,' he added aloud.
`Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?' said Oldstokie.
`Exactly so,' said Captain Pulis.
`Then you should say what you mean,' Oldstokie went on.
`I do,' Captain Pulis hastily replied; `at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the same thing, you know.'
`Not the same thing a bit!' said the Oldstokie. `You might just as well say that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see"!'
`You might just as well say,' added Teltooyoo, `that "I like what I get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!'
`You might just as well say,' added Mr Tirtytree, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!'
`It is the same thing with you,' said Oldstokie, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Captain Pulis thought over all he could remember about centre forwards and defenders, which wasn't much.
Oldstokie was the first to break the silence. `What day of the month is it?' he said, turning to Captain Pulis: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.
Captain Pulis considered a little, and then said `The fourth.'
`Two days wrong!' sighed Oldstokie. `I told you marmalade wouldn't suit the works!' he added looking angrily at the Teltooyoo.
`It was the best marmalade,' Teltooyoo meekly replied.
`Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' Oldstokie grumbled: `you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.'
Teltooyoo took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, `It was the best marmalade, you know.'
Captain Pulis had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. `What a funny watch!' he remarked. `It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'
`Why should it?' muttered Oldstokie. `Does your watch tell you what tactics to use?'
`Of course not,' Captain Pulis replied very readily: `but that's because my tactics are muddled for such a long time together.'
`Which is just the case with mine,' said Teltooyoo thinking of Loz.
Captain Pulis felt dreadfully puzzled. Oldstokie’s remark seemed to have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English. `I don't quite understand you,' he said, as politely as he could.
Mr Tirtytree is asleep again,' said Oldstokie, and he poured a little hot tea upon his skunk hat.
Mr Tirtytree shook his head impatiently, and said, without opening his eyes, `Of course, of course; just what I was going to remark myself.'
`Have you guessed the riddle yet?' Oldstokie said, turning to Captain Pulis again.
`No, I give it up,' Captain Pulis replied: `what's the answer?'
`I haven't the slightest idea,' said Oldstokie.
`Nor I,' said Teltooyoo.
Captain Pulis sighed wearily. `I think you might do something better with tactics,' he said, `than waste them in asking riddles that have no answers.'
`If you knew tactics as well as I do,' said Oldstokie, `you wouldn't talk about wasting it. It's him.'
`I don't know what you mean,' said Captain Pulis.
`Of course you don't!' Oldstokie said, tossing his head contemptuously. `I dare say you never even spoke to Tactic!'
`Perhaps not,' Captain Pulis cautiously replied: `but I know I have to use tactics when I learn nogger.'
`Ah! that accounts for it,' said Oldstokie. Nogger won't stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the tactics. For instance, suppose it were 4-4-3 in the morning, just time to begin lessons: you'd only have to whisper a hint to Nogger, and round goes the clock in a twinkling! 4-4-2, time for dinner!'
(`I only wish it was,' Teltooyoo said to himself in a whisper.)
`That would be grand, certainly,' said Captain Pulis thoughtfully: `but then--I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know.'
`Not at first, perhaps,' said Oldstokie: `but you could keep it to half-past 5-3-2 as long as you liked.'
`Is that the way you manage?' Captain Pulis asked.
Oldstokie shook his head mournfully. `Not I!' he replied. `We quarrelled last March--just before he lost his wooden leg for the 23rd time, you know--' (pointing with his tea spoon at Teltooyoo,) `--it was at the great concert given by Mr Gislason, and I had to sing
“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little prat! How I wonder what you’re at!”
You know the song, perhaps?'
`I've heard something like it,' said Captain Pulis.
`It goes on, you know,' Oldstokie continued, `in this way:-
“Up above the world you fly, like Jon Fuller in the sky”
Here, Mr Tirtytree shook himself, and began singing in his sleep `Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle--' and went on so long that they had to pinch him to make him stop.
`Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse,' said Oldstokie, `when Dr Rawlins jumped up and bawled out, "He's murdering the tactics! Off with his head!"'
`How dreadfully savage!' exclaimed Captain Pulis.
`And ever since that,' Oldstokie went on in a mournful tone, `he won't do a thing I ask! It's always 4-4-2 now.'
A bright idea came into Captain Pulis’s head. `Is that the reason so many tactics are used here?' he asked.
`Yes, that's it,' said Oldstokie with a sigh: `it's always tactic-time, and we've no time to practice the things between 4-4-2’s, 5-3-1’s or all back for corners.'
`Then you keep moving them around, I suppose?' said Captain Pulis.
`Exactly so,' said Oldstokie: `as the things get used up.'
`But what happens when you come to the beginning again?' Captain Pulis ventured to ask.
`Suppose we change the subject,' Teltooyoo interrupted, yawning. `I'm getting tired of this. I vote Captain Pulis tells us about tactics.'
`I'm afraid I don't know any,' said Captain Pulis, rather alarmed at the proposal.
`Then Mr Tirtytree shall!' they both cried. `Wake up, Mr Tirtytree!' And they pinched him on both sides at once.
Mr Tirtytree slowly opened his eyes and peered from under his skunk hat. `I wasn't asleep,' he said in a hoarse, feeble voice: `I heard every word you fellows were saying.'
`Tell us about tactics!' said Teltooyoo.
`Yes, please do!' pleaded Captain Pulis.
`And be quick about it,' added Oldstokie, `or you'll be asleep again before it's done.'
`Once upon a time there were three tactics,' Mr Tirtytree began in a great hurry; `and they were 4-4-2, 4-3-3, and 5-4-1; and they played at the bottom of a well--'
`How did they play?' said Captain Pulis, who always took a great interest in questions of tactics.
`They played at the bottom of a well in a great circle. Well, a small circle actually,' said Mr Tirtytree, after thinking a minute or two.
`They couldn't have done that, you know,' Captain Pulis gently remarked; `they'd have been ill.'
`So they were,' said Mr Tirtytree; `very ill.'
Captain Pulis tried to fancy to himself what such an extraordinary ways of tactics would be like, but it puzzled him too much, so he went on: `But why did they play at the bottom of a well?'
`Take some more tea,' Teltooyoo said to Captain Pulis, very earnestly.
`I've had nothing yet,' Captain Pulis replied in an offended tone, `so I can't take more.'
`You mean you can't take less,' said Oldstokie: `it's very easy to take more than nothing.'
`Nobody asked your opinion,' said Captain Pulis.
`And that’s why you lose so often?' Oldstokie asked triumphantly.
Captain Pulis did not quite know what to say to this: so he helped himself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to Mr Tirtytree and his skunk hat, and repeated his question. `Why did they play at the bottom of a well?'
Mr Tirtytree again took a minute or two to think about it, and then said, `It was a tactic-well.'
`There's no such thing!' Captain Pulis was getting very angry, but Oldstokie and Teltooyoo went `Sh! sh!' and Mr Tirtytree sulkily remarked, `If you can't be civil, you'd better talk about tactics yourself.'
`No, please go on!' Captain Pulis said very humbly; `I won't interrupt again. I dare say there may be one.'
`One, indeed!' said the Mr Tirtytree indignantly. What would that be? All 11 back for corners! However, he consented to go on. `And so these three tactics were tried you know.
`How did they work?' said Captain Pulis, quite forgetting his promise.
`Like treacle,' said Mr Tirtytree, without considering at all this time.
`I want a clean cup,' interrupted Oldstokie: `let's all move one place on.'
He moved on as he spoke, and Mr Tirtytree followed him: Teltooyoo moved into Mr Tirtytree’s place, and Captain Pulis rather unwillingly took the place of Teltooyoo. Oldstokie was the only one who got any advantage from the change: and Captain Pulis was a good deal worse off than before, as Teltooyoo had just upset the milk-jug into his plate.
Captain Pulis did not wish to offend Mr Tirtytree again, so he began very cautiously: `But I don't understand. Where did they learn the tactics from?'
`You can get tactics out of a tactic-well,' said Oldstokie; `so I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh, stupid?'
`But they were in the well,' Captain Pulis said to the Mr Tirtytree, not choosing to notice this last remark.
`Of course they were', said Mr Tirtytree; `--well in.'
This answer so confused poor Captain Pulis, that he let Mr Tirtytree go on for some time without interrupting him.
`They were learning to tactic,' Mr Tirtytree went on, yawning and rubbing his eyes, for he was getting very sleepy; `and they tactic’d all manner of things--everything that begins with an O--'
`Why with an O?' said Captain Pulis.
`Why not?' said Oldstokie.
Captain Pulis was silent.
Mr Tirtytree had closed his eyes by this time, and was going off into a doze; but, on being pinched by Oldstokie, he woke up again with a little shriek, and went on: `--that begins with an O, such as Onions, and Oatcakes, and Orifices, and Ordinary-- you know you say things are "OK if they are OK"--did you ever see such a thing as a drawing of an Oatcake?'
`Really, now you ask me,' said Captain Pulis, very much confused, `I don't think--'
`Then you shouldn't talk,' said Oldstokie.
This piece of rudeness was more than Captain Pulis could bear: he got up in great disgust, and walked off; Mr Tirtytree fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of him going, though he looked back once or twice, half hoping that they would call after him: the last time he saw them, they were trying to put Mr Tirtytree’s skunk hat into the teapot.
`At any rate I'll never go there again!' said Captain Pulis as he picked his way through his tactics. `It's the stupidest tactic-party I ever was at in all my life!'
And that was the good ship Stoke City’s Christmas party.
After the party, the ship set out from port again. It had some new hands on board and they set out to intercept the ‘Preston’, a 64 gunner out of the north west.
To be continued…[;)]Continued…
The wind was blowing a nor’easter and squalls were lashing the oaken decks of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ as she made her way into Britannia bay. All hands were on deck as they steered a course to intercept the 64 gunner, the ‘Preston’. The ships sails were fully rigged and she fairly danced her way across the deepening swells. To the older crew members who’s memories lay in the distant past when she was a ship to be feared by all comers, this was heart stopping stuff. There is no finer sight than this once great and proud ship in full rig and sailing into battle with her colours streaming in the wind from her mainmast. Sea shanties were written for her in her hey days and one of them was resounding around her timbers now.
That varmint of the high seas, the old salt himself, ZiggerZagger, led the crew in his gravely voice and the rest of the crew joined in.
“We'll
be with you, be with you, be with you, every step along the way
We'll be with you, be with you, be with you, by your side we'll always stay.
City...City...tell
the boys in red and white, everything will be alright.
City...City...you’re the pride and joy of us today.
We'll be with you, be with you, be with you every step along the way.
We'll be with you, be with you, be with you. By your side we'll always
staaaaaaaaaaaay”
The
crew prolonged the last word of the famous ditty and then let out a fearsome
roar. The atmosphere was electric and all hands went briskly about their tasks.
Even Captain Pulis felt a deep throbbing in his groin. It wasn’t due to a lack
of sex for he had spent the weekend with Mr Rudge. Dr Rawlins came up to the
poop deck and knelt down. He licked the captain’s boots so that they shone
like burnished jet stone. When he had finished, he got up, tipped his three
cornered hat and bowed low to the captain. Cap’n Pulis dismissed him with a
flippant wave of his wrinkled hand. Dr Rawlins went below to seek out other
company and bumped into Chief Petty Officer Artificer Old Stokie. Hurriedly, he
did a quick turnabout and ducked into the cabin of the new Admin officer, Mr
Gallimore. OS walked past the door and kicked it as he did so. Mr Rawlins had
his ear to the door and he heard OS muttering….”Something bloody fishy going
on between them two buggers. I’ll keep a beady eye on ‘em and tell Tel to do
the same.”
“Ship
ahoi of the prot bough”. It was the inimitable Able seaman Martin Seventytwo
again up in the crows nest.
Before
the ship could be made ready, a broadside from the ‘Preston’ went skimming
by across the waves.
A
new deckhand was at the wheel. It was Mr Morgan, the brastard son of the Earl of
Shrewsbury. He quickly turned the wheel and set course for the ‘Preston’.
The two ships came about broadside on and the battle commenced. Despite the
advantage of positioning herself first, the ‘Preston’ soon came under heavy
fire from the ‘Stoke City’. In appalling weather conditions, the battle
raged on and at one point, the ‘Preston’ gained the advantage by coming in
close while her attackers boarded the good ship ‘Stoke City’ and hauled away
three vital casks of treasure. Still the valiant crew of the good ship ‘Stoke
City’ battled and just before darkness fell, she veered in close enough for
Able seaman Eustace to fight his way onto the ‘Preston’ and take back two of
the chests. Before any more attacks could be formulated, darkness enveloped them
and they drifted apart. It had been a hard fought battle of two equally armed
ships and none had won the day. However, because of the nature of the final
outcome in the way that Able seaman Eustace had retrieved an almost lost cause,
the crew were exhilarated because they felt they had secured a moral victory, if
not a comprehensive one.
The
ship was secured and the crew stood down. Captain Pulis walked amongst his men
telling them how proud he was of their efforts and he ordered Able
seaman Fernando Kavernargi to dish out extra grog rations.
Fernando loved this task and promptly helped himself to a large flagon of Mr
Morgan’s rum, which was hidden in his hammock. He wasn’t called ‘Light
Fingered Kavenargi’ for nothing! Mr Morgan was still at the wheel and cursing
because he was missing his rations. He also thought that because his father was
a nobleman that he should be entitled to certain privileges.
Served him right for being a brastard!
Just
as the crew were settling down, a cry went up from midships. “Stowaway! We
‘ave a bleedin’ stowaway on board Cap’n!” It was Mr Jayar who made the
discovery. He had a nose for these sort of things. In fact, Mr Jayar had a nose
for a lot of things, especially who would be joining the ship. “’He’s in
this lifeboat Cap’n!”
A
number of the crew rushed to the lifeboat and peeled off the tarpaulin to reveal
a weaselly looking character. His face was ashen as he was dragged
unceremoniously from the boat.
“Who
are you?” yelled the immaculately dressed customs man, Colonel Plumpton, who
was directing smuggling operations out of unmanned coastal areas. “Let me
search him. I’m an expert on these things.”
“Yo’m
an expert on a lot ‘o things” muttered Johnnyeff, and he spit on the
colonel’s highly polished boots which were topped with red squirrel fur. He
was a natty dresser was the colonel!
“Belay
that man and bring him to the captain” ordered the man from HM Huff and Puff
as he was affectionately known. The stowaway was quickly tied with rope and led
sobbing to the captain’s cabin by Johnnyeff who, if the stowaway stumbled,
would kick him up the butt and yank him back to his feet. He was a cruel bugger
was Johnnyeff!
They
entered the captain’s cabin and the stowaway was seated in a wooden chair
opposite the captain. This was necessary because his legs refused to keep him
upright. There was also a distinct smell emanating from him, which was
noticeable by Johnnyeff, but the captain and Mr Rudge (who was sat very close to
Captain Pulis) didn’t seem to notice it. Perhaps familiarity was the reason.
“Who
are you and what are you doing on MY ship?” asked the captain.
“Oh
sir, please forgive me. I am a friend of Mr Morgan and I am named Mr
Stokieseagull. I love and worship him sir because he is of noble birth.”
“Noble
birth! He’s just a brastard out of Blurton!” yelled the captain. “Take him
out, put him in irons and prepare the plank Mr Johnnyeff.”
“Aye,
aye sir,” said Johnnyeff, and he yanked poor Stokieseagull through the door.
Orders
were given and hands went about the task of setting up the plank for the
evening’s entertainment. Most of the crew were legless but the prospect of
watching someone walking the plank was enough to get them onto the main deck.
All hands were present as poor Stokieseagull, who had dared enter the good ship
‘Stoke City’ without permission, was led out weeping and crying his
innocence. “Tis only because I am possessed by the virtue of one of you that I
am in this predicament. Please spare me for was I not one of those who was
condemned last year to the second division ocean and your good selves were
spared that ignominy. Have pity on a poor Seagull.”
He
was still sobbing as he was led out onto the plank, which stretched beyond the
bulwarks of the ship and over the boiling ocean. The evil deed was being
orchestrated by that old Icelandic seadog, Mr Kristo, a close relative of the
Count. [Think about that one grandad. [;)]] Clad in clothes made from reindeer
skin and sporting a two horned helmet, Mr Kristo pushed his giant cutlass into
the back of the poor unfortunate stowaway. For all the world, it looked like
Odin was holding a morsel on his knife. Slowly but surely, Stokie Seagull was
pushed to the end of the plank. Mr Kristo gave a sudden sharp prod of his weapon
and poor Stokie Seagull fell into the sea. Mr Kristo let out a bloodcurdling
yell and sceamed into the night….”I love this job. Wait until I get my hands
on that Billie Bluebird!”.
The
loud splash that Stokieseagull made as he entered the water was the cue for a
rousing rendition of the famous ‘Stoke City’ song that sent fear into the
hearts of their enemies. It was led by a huge brute of a man who hailed from
Shleswig Holstein, and who spoke in a gutterel tongue. His name was GermanStokie.
I
saw ze light glowing as I passed by her vindow.
WHHHOOOAAARRR!
I zaw ze flickering shadow of luff on her blind.
WHHHOOOAAARRR!
She stood zere laughing
HAHAHAHA
I felt my dick in her hand, and she laughed no more.
WHHHOOOAAARRR!
Why, why, why, Delilah?
Why, why, why, Delilah?
So,
before you come to break down ze door,
Forgive
me Delilah I just couldn't take anymoooooooooooooooooooore.
WHHHOOOAAARRR
Why Why Why Delilah!
The
brastard son of the Earl of Shrewsbury made his was slowly back to his hammock
to get severely drunk. Mr Morgan was heartbroken when he found that his bottle
of Cap’n Morgans had been ‘appropriated’.
The
good ship ‘Stoke City’ continued into the night. They were in search of
another vessel out of the northwest. It was the ‘Burnley’ and they had a
score to settle.
To
be continued. [;)]
Continued……
“Weigh
the Sea Anchor Mr Daftburgher” called the new Bos’n, Mr Woore, who had been
promoted from his position as stoker. He had complained bitterly to the captain
that he was worthy of a higher position and had produced his sea papers to prove
his claim. Captain Pulis conferred with Mr Rudge and they agreed that Mr Woore
would make an ideal Bosun. Mr Woore hadn’t heard Cap’n Pulis’ words as he
left his cabin. They went something along the lines of ‘another square peg Mr
Rudge!’
The
wind had eased and the storm that prevailed when they met the ‘Preston’ had
blown itself out. The crew had slept the night through with a minimum of hands
at quarters. The good ship ‘Stoke City’ was bound for deeper waters where
they hoped to meet the ‘Burnley’, a sluggish schooner of little merit.
Mr
Daftburgher tried to turn the windlass but it was far too heavy for such a
lightweight. Able seaman
GermanStokie ambled up and lent a hand. “Vot a blooty lightveight you are!
Moof ofer and let me do it. Dis is a job for a real zailor”, and he turned the
windlass easily with one great hand. Mr Dafburgher stood back and smiled. Like
able seaman Towkrate, he was an old hand and wouldn’t dream of allowing the
big German to be disappointed. He also ambled away muttering under his
breath…’Fick in the arm and fick in the head’. He grinned and made his way
to the heads to meet Joe out of Brisbane. Joe was already there with his head
stuck in his anorak book and another ‘nine incher’ halfway out of his harse
and destined for the briny deep.
With
the sea anchor made fast and the sound of four bells signalling in the second
dog watch, the Wardroom quickly filled with officers. Many of the crew stood
down and made their way to their quarters below decks. One part of the mess-deck
was filled with five of the Colonials. This quintet were Jack o’ The Dust - Mr
Tirtytree, Mr Canardarstokie, Mr Fallon - known colloquially as ‘Beachbumdave’,
Mr Lavin and Mr. Hoostonmike.
Mr
Links had left the colonies at Christmas and was now back residing in England.
While the ship was at anchor over the Christmas period, he had earned a few
crusts of bread by selling his body down Nile Street in Burslem. He made a good
trade as a professional ‘cross dresser’ and, as most of his clients were out
of The Hamil, they couldn’t tell a pussy from a rectum. Yes, life had been
good to Mr Links during the festive period. However, he hadn’t lost his
Colonial brogue and the sound of him asking…”Harrrf a soverane for ma biiiig
aaaass?” had thrilled the natives of The Hamil and his leather purse was full
when he returned to his wattle home on the hill.
The
Colonials were throwing dice and gambling on the outcome. This motley set
often gambled their pay away. When Mr Links asked if he could join in
with the game, they saw his full purse and welcomed him to the table. It was to
be quite a night!
Mr
Tirtytree rubbed the dice on his skunk hat and kissed them. “Doooooble six”
he yelled and the rest of the players almost collapsed for he had thrown a gold
doubloon in as starter. They covered his bet and he took the pile of coins from
the table and stuffed them into his dirty tunic. He passed the dice to Mr
Fallon, the dandy out of the west coast. Dressed to the nines he was, although
of lowly birth. On his legs he wore a pair of highly polished black sea boots
that reached to his thighs. Over this was a tunic made from fine purple silk and
gold embroidered epaulets. Atop his head was a crimson hat adorned with eagle
feathers, and he wore it haughtily. Beneath the hat was a face that a bat would
have been proud of, except that he had a goatee that was trimmed to perfection.
He
threw in a gold full sovereign and yelled “Doooooble six!” They came up
three and five. He almost fell off his seat! “Dang and aaaarrrlll be blowed”
he muttered. “Aaaaarrllll dooooble uuuup” he cried and cast another gold
sovereign onto the table. He looked around him at the rest of the players.
Mr
Canardastokie was from up near the Yukon and he stunk like a sled dog. He wore a
raccoon hat and had three gold teeth which were honed to a point and spaced at
odd intervals in his upper jaw. When he smiled, he looked like a resident of
Transylvania but even more fearsome. Despite his roots, he was a well known and
trusted member of the good ship ‘Stoke City’ and not a man to be without in
a hand to hand battle.
Mr
Lavin was a cunning sod. He wore neither silk nor finery, just a motley set of
daggers around his leather waistband. No one messed with Mr Lavin for he had a
quicksilver tongue and was not averse to using it if the mood struck him.
Another devout Stokie crew member was Mr Lavin.
Making
up the quintet was Mr Hoostonstokie. Like everything out of the Lone Star State,
he was big in all departments! His boast was that he would chop off his penis if
anyone could beat it when it was proudly erected. No one had yet because it was
all of two feet long when aroused. All the girls flocked to him when the good
ship ‘Stoke City’ docked in foreign parts for he was renowned throughout the
seven seas for his appendage of pleasure.
And
so it was that this assortment of Colonials began this game of dice. As the
night wore on, most of the crew who were not on watch [and some of those that
were] gathered around to see the game. Doubloons, pieces of eight and sparkling
gold sovereigns were splashing about on the hard wooden table as the game
progressed. It was Mr Links who was winning most and the ethnic Colonials were
not happy about it. Finally, as Mr Links threw a double six on a stake of ten
pieces of silver which he had taken from Mr Lavin, the table was upturned and Mr
Fallon drew out his cutlass and planted it firmly on the throat of Mr Links.
“Yo
chaytin payees ‘o cheekin shayeet! Yo son of a bayitch. Yo Hamil hower!” The
dandy Mr Fallon was angry for he had lost his entire pay for two months.
Mr
Links didn’t flinch, for he was made of stern stuff. A seaman of impeccable
family and traditions, raised in the home town of his mother tongue and a
scholar of one of the finest schools with the motto ‘Renascor’ where they
dressed in gold and black tunics, despite his fetish for cross dressing, he was
not a coward. There was a loud click and very slowly, his right hand emerged
from beneath the table holding a flintlock pistol and it was pointing directly
at a point midway between Mr Fallon’s eyes. Mr Fallon’s eyes almost joined
as they stared down the barrel of the weapon. A bead of sweat ran down his brow.
One thrust of Mr Fallon’s glittering cutlass or the slight pressure on the
trigger of the pistol could bring an end to this ballet of terror. They had
reached a stand-off. Who would break first?
“Ship
ahoi of the straboard bough.” It was able seaman Martinseventwo again up in
the crows nest who had seen the wake of the vessel turning away from the good
ship ‘Stoke City’.