My life story - Henry J Macey (best books for 20 year olds .TXT) 📗

County Hotel.”  Turning to my two accusers, I now had the confidence that my uniform gave me, and the knowledge that I had the might of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy to prove my innocence.  “I cannot tell you where I was last night, as I was aboard my ship at sea, and where that was I cannot say even if I knew we only docked at six this morning. I have just ridden up from Plymouth; I haven’t been home for three months”

 

They looked at each other, and then one of them said, “can you prove that?”  What a question! The duty roster would prove me right, as they should have known.  So I just smiled at them and said, “why don't you ring up my captain, and ask him?  There are only twenty-two hundred men on board, I’m sure he knows all of us by name!”  That's just what they did.  They did not get to the captain of course, but the duty officer put them right.

 

On my eighteenth birthday, we were in the Med.  I had my birthday run ashore in Malta, where we worked the ‘gut’ from one end to the other, not missing a single bar.  (The ‘gut’ was Straight Street.  It was half a mile long and every door, on both sides was a bar).  In the morning, I awoke in the shower, fully clothed with the water running.  When I undressed, I found a patch of tissue on my arm, and pulling it off I was shocked to find a tattoo under it.  I have no idea how it got there; I don't remember anything about the previous night.

 

On the same trip, the ship was moored off Naples, we could not get in close to shore, as it was too shallow for Eagle’s draft.  There were sightseeing trips for those who wanted them; I went on one to the petrified town of Pompeii.  Funny place! the whole town was devastated by Vesuvius, the only building left in good shape was the brothel with its mosaic wall art. Some of us bought little booklets of the artwork inside the building and the necklace of the effigy that was above the door. These were confiscated, when we returned to the ship.

 

We had some M. F. V’s from Malta to ferry us from ship to shore.  The last boat leaving the jetty to get back to the ship was at the eleven-o clock at night.  As shore leave was only until midnight, some of the lads and I made the most of our last run ashore.  We got back to the jetty at about ten, in plenty of time to catch the boat.  Having been ashore since four in the evening, we were all drunk to a degree as we climbed onto the boat and fell asleep.

 

Next morning at six we were awoken by several irate Italian fishermen trying to tell us, in broken English to get offer their boat.  Needless to say, we were in big trouble with the Navy, as Eagle was due to sail at eight o clock that morning.  Luckily the shore patrol scooped us up; they had been ashore liberating some sailors who had been thrown into the local caboose.  But to be fair the first lieutenant saw the funny side of it and gave the four of us sleeping beauties six days stoppage of leave. “Punishment will start immediately” he ordered.  We were at sea for the next two weeks.

 

When I had reported myself to them as absent without leave, and therefore putting myself on report. My Divisional Officer and Chef Stoker; had smiled as I told them of our mishap. They could do no other than put me and my companions on the first lieutenant's defaulters list, and the chef marched us in to face him. My Divisional Officer was standing beside the first lieutenant, as he sat at his desk when we entered his office. When the Chef marched us out, he told me to report to the divisional office and wait. When my officer returned I knew I wasn’t in too much trouble when he sat smiling and shaking his head then said to me.

 

“Henry you seem too slid from one shit pit to another, without too much effort on your part. One day you’re going to slip in so far, even I won’t be able to pull you out.” This officer was a gem I liked him a lot, he was the sort of man you would follow through hell and high water. Some officers I wouldn’t follow into a pub, even if they were buying the drinks. I owned him some big favours, both him and the chef. To be honest it wasn’t always my fault; I mean I was a likeable lad; I just got lead astray too easy.

 

Onboard Eagle, there was a sailmaker, and yes I asked the same question. What’s a sailmaker doing on a modern warship?  And the answer I got was who do you think makes the boat and winch covers. And what about the awnings that keep the officers and their guests cool, and in the shade on hot days.  Then there are wind dodgers for the gangplank, shocks for the gun barrels.  And all manner of covers, for this and that.

 

I met him when I was sent to him with a boat canvas engine cover in need of repair.  His workspace was a large compartment in the forward part of the ship.  As I entered it, it was like stepping into an Aladdin’s cave.  All around the bulkheads, there was a vast array of items, from small wooden carved ship figureheads to ships in bottles.  This was not just his working area, he lived here too.

 

His hammock and locker were by the door, a table and chair in the corner.  The man himself was indeed the ancient mariner; he had spent his life at sea.  He had run away to sea as a boy and had sailed before the mast.  He had never taken a wife, so he had no home but the ships he had served on.  He was a master craftsman; there was nothing he could not do with needle and canvas.

 

And the story’s he could tell, I would sit for hours just listening and watching him work.  I was sure he was way past retirement age, and the navy just kept him on, as he had nowhere else to go.  He knew all the traditions of the navy, the way our uniform had evolved from the days when the men would make their own to the ones we wore now.

 

I had always thought the black silk we wore around the neck, was in remembrance of Nelson’s death.  He told me it was just a sweatband worn around the head, to keep the sweat out of your eyes. When not in use it would hang around the neck.  To stop it getting in the way a piece of ribbon was passed through two holes in the tunic to tie the band down; it became part of the modern uniform.  I made a canvas bucket under his supervision; he also showed me how to rig a three-mast ship in a bottle. And how to splice ropes, make rope mats and tie knots.

 

He was the only man I knew in the navy, who had his tobacco ration in the form of a leaf. He also had neat rum which he kept in a jar, to water down to his taste. He had a small metal locker; he kept his tobacco pricks in. There was a row of them hanging like salami sausages, each one getting blacker as they cured. He would take down the youngest one when he received his tobacco leaf. Taking a brush he kept for the job, he would pant the leaf with neat rum. Then wrapping the leaf around the prick, he would re-lash the prick as we lashed our hammocks and hang it again in his locker. He would shave off his daily ration with a cut-throat razor, from the oldest one which he smoked in an old clay pipe. Now you know the origin of Navy cut tobacco.

 

One run ashore in Malta always brings a smile to my face when I remember it. Four of us had just stepped off the liberty boat. When a lone marine enquired if it would be possible, for him to share a gharry cart with us. I looked up at him because he towered above me, saying I had no objection but could the poor old horse pull our combined weight. All five of us climbed in and gave the driver our destination, ‘The Gut’. On the way there I asked the marine, why he was a lone ranger. He told us he wasn’t going to go ashore, and his friends had left an hour ago. He was not sure if he could find them, they could be anywhere between Valetta and Gozo.

 

As we alighted from the cart I asked this fine guardian of the quarterdeck, if he wanted to accompany us in our quest to drink the gut dry. He smiled and said he would be honoured, to join such a fine body of men such as us. So after a few stops to test the quality of the wears, of a couple of the many hostelries. We stumbled through the two half wagon wheel doors, of the Bing Crosby club. Lucky we found a table to sit the five of us and ordered a round of their finest brew. Our marine was hypnotised, by the songstress performing on the stage. He couldn’t take his eyes off the shapely leg that was visible through the long slit in her dress, or her ample bosom that overflowed her bodice.

 

She also had not missed the entrance of this tall handsome stranger, with the high boot neck collar. When she had finished serenading him, she stepped down from the stage and swung her hip in our direction. Looking at only one of us, she said in velvet breathless voice. “Is there anyone at this table; willing to buy me a drink.” The marines arm shot into the air and he snapped his fingers, then to the waiter that materialised beside him said. “Find nectar worthy to present to this goddess of loveliness. Then as there were no chairs for her to sit, he offered her his knee to sit upon.

 

She sat fluttering her eyelashes and giggled girlishly, as he showered her with praises to her beauty. When her scarlet lips whispered sweet nothings into his shell-like, he downed his drink and they rose as one. We wished them both a bon voyage and him a very pleasant voyage of discovery. As he steered her from the building, with his arm around her waist.

 

Barely five minutes had past when we all turned as one, on hearing a thunderous crash from the front of the club. There was our marine striding towards us, the doors he had crashed though still swinging. As he sat in his chair he announced he needed a drink, so I pushed my half-empty glass to him; which he downed in a single gulp. Then I ventured the question that was on everybody’s lips, “What’s up royal.” He uttered two words of profanity I can’t repeat, but the second began with a ‘B’ the first an ‘F’.

 

Then he began his tale of woe, “I got the ‘B’ in the bedroom, and got my hand in her ‘F’ pants. I came up with an ‘F’ toggle and two, so I punched the ‘B’ lights out and left the ‘F’ in a heap on the floor. He should be out for an hour or two.” We were shocked nay stunned, for all at the table thought it had been the genuine article. There was only one thing I could say at such a revelation, “five beers waiter and make them tall ones.”

 

The gharry cart drivers and disso oarsmen, of