80's -  Part 2

Many a time, over the years, we had some nice rough trips. Either out to Bishop Rock Lighthouse, around the outer islands or even just in between the islands. I loved it when it was rough. Always exciting and cause for some fun with the passengers, Although, some passengers found it far from funny, especially when their breakfast or lunch made an unexpected re-appearance. Sometimes even both.  

It was always entertaining to stop the boat in a very rough patch and regale the passengers with a story or two, such as Bert and Jim out fishing on the Southern Queen with Frank or Flo & Ethel on a trip around the Bishop with Lloyd. They always raised a smile. Well, from a few anyway! 

Bert & Jim 

Many times, when ploughing through a heavy sea, with the boat tossing and rolling like a stuck pig, I would cut the engine, turn & face the passengers with a frightened look on my face but a glistening glint in my eye and would regale them with the story of the Disappearing Dentures. 

I would start off with “Blimey, this is rough, I hope we make it to ..... (Wherever we were heading)  These rough seas remind me of the time that two old boys, Jim & Bob, were out fishing on the Southern Queen one rough day. Jim was fine but the wallowing soon got to Bob and his breakfast and he suddenly lost the lot over the side, Eggs, Bacon, Beans, tomatoes and mushrooms, the lot, straight over the side. 

Unfortunately, it happened so suddenly that he didn’t have time to take his false teeth out and so lost them as well.

He turned around to Jim with a very gummy and startled look on his face and told him that he’d lost his teeth over the side.

Well, Jim not being one to let an opportunity go by, decided to have some fun, so he took his own false teeth out, tied them to his fishing line and dropped them over the side a little way. He then shouted to Bob to come and see what he’d caught.

Bob loooked over the side and with great glee pulled the teeth back on board, he grabbed and untied them, shoved them in his mouth and then much to Jim’s horror, Bob took them out, said “They’re not mine!” and tossed them over his shoulder, back into the sea.  

Flo and Ethel 

Flo and Ethel were out on the swordfish with Dad, going around the Bishop Rock Lighthouse.

The sea was rather choppy and Ethel wasn’t feeling too bright when suddenly her breakfast made an appearance and shot over the side of the boat.

This of course was seen by Flo, who found it rather triggering and two seconds later her breakfast was also jettisoned to feed the fish.

Ethel, looked at Flo and said 

“Well you haven’t got a very strong stomach, Flo!”

 to which Flo retorted “

Not very strong, what are you talking about? I’m throwing it twice as far as you!” 

The Tumble Dryer!

It wasn’t always convenient or wise to stop in some rough spots, such as the day I was heading for Gorregan, in the Western Rocks. It was a lovely day, calm and pleasant and as I approached Luitreath ledges, the tide was running up against the breeze and so was rather bubbly on top. I had considered going around the rough bit but as it was only a short bit I decided it would be more fun to shoot through it. The passengers seemed like they were a very game bunch and would enjoy a bit of a bounce.  

Just as we were approaching it a rather large passenger decided that she needed the Loo!  I suggested that she just sit down for the next two minutes as we were going to do a bit of bouncing around and she might not be too happy down in the loo at that time.  With a panicked look on her face, she said she really couldn’t wait and needed to go immediately. After further explanations as to why it would be better if she waited, I very reluctantly had to let her go and told her “When you get down there, sit down and hang on for dear life”  

She disappeared just as we entered the rough stuff. Well, She squeaked, she groaned, she banged and she yelled. 

In less than 2 minutes, we were back in the calm again with no sounds emanating from below. I leant forward and spoke to her through the grill in the toilet door, 

“Are you Okay Mary?”

There was a gentle groaning noise.

“Everything alright down there Mary” I asked again.

More quiet groaning and mumbling. 

I was getting rather concerned so asked again, if she was OK but still there were only very quiet moaning noises. 

So, I asked if I should come down there to help.

Suddenly shrieks and screams of "NO! NO! Stay where you are!" 

By this time her husband had come up from the stern and asked if she was ok I said,

“Going by the noises she was making she’s probably going to look like a milk shake when she comes up.” 

She did eventually appear. The door opened, she stuck her head out of the forepeak, looking decidedly rattled, shaken and otherwise tumbled about.  Her first utterance was

“Bloody Hell, now I know what it’s like in a tumble dryer!”

She spun around, sat down and didn’t move for the rest of the trip and spent the next 2 days in bed.

I learnt later, that at the time of asking whether she wanted me to come down and help, she was upside down with her knickers in the air. Ooh er, Mrs! 

D&CPCMVC 

One year in the mid-eighties, on very windy but bright and sunny Sunday in May, the Devon & Cornwall Police Constabulary Male Voice Choir were due to visit St Martin’s for their annual concert at the Methodist Chapel. At 8.30a.m. the boatmen gathered in the “office” to discuss what trips—if any—would be on that day. The NE wind was fierce, and it was agreed that just a boat to Tresco would suffice. 

 “But what about the Police to St Martin’s at midday? Who is going to take them up?” I asked. 

 My question fell on deaf ears. No one was keen to volunteer. So, because I’ve always loved rough seas, I said, “I’ll take them.” 

 At the allotted time, about forty souls—policemen and a few spouses—ventured down to the quay, boarded the Swordfish, and off we went. The first five minutes of the trip were comparatively calm, as we were sheltered by St Mary’s. But as soon as we passed Carn Morval, it was a different story. 

 The wind was blowing (and I use that word very advisedly) from the north-east. As we turned towards St Martin’s, it was right on the nose. Perfect! “At least it shouldn’t be too wet,” I thought to myself. 

 There was, however, one big problem. Before leaving St Mary’s, I had tried—without success—to convince this merry band of singers not to huddle right up under the windscreens in the bow. 

 “If you all sit up front, we’re going to get very wet,” I warned. “Please spread out, with most of you in the stern.” 

 But “deaf ear syndrome” seemed to be catching. Not one of them moved. Some sniggered and some giggled, thinking I was joking and a couple looked at me with wide eyes full of fear and doubt—as if I’d lost my marbles. So off we went, bow down, stern up! 

 As soon as we rounded the Crebe and lost the shelter of the land, we met the first wave and instead of riding up and over with the spray flying down each side of the boat, the bow dug into it and green water came straight over the bows, over the windscreens, and flopped down on the lot of us. The second wave, and the third, did the same, but would anyone move further aft to lift the bows up, not bloomin’ likely. 

 Within two minutes they were like drowned rats—water running down their necks and out through their knickers. Drenched to the skin, “wet as tripe,” but oddly cheerful. I was loving it! 

 Arnold Oates was standing near the engine box in a brand new, beautiful sheepskin coat, enjoying every wave but I’m sure I heard it bleating at one point. 

The seas were short and sharp, so every wave that struck flew high and straight over. A journey that usually took twenty minutes lasted nearly an hour. It was fun, exhilarating, and very, very wet. But we made it. With the waves getting smaller as we approached the lea of St Martins. 

 The police held their concert, and I understand they even changed the opening song to William Whiting’s hymn Eternal Father, Strong to Save. 

 Eventually, fed and watered, they returned to the Swordfish for the trip back home, the wind had dropped a little and with the weather now slightly abated we ran “downhill.” The return was much calmer — no waves, no splashing. 

 When I got home, I rang the coastguards to ask about the midday wind speed. Gusting up to eighty-two mph,” they told me. 

 (For reference: forty is gale force!) 

 No wonder it had been such an exciting trip. 

Rice!

All this talk about rough seas and seasick reminds me of one beautifully calm day when I was on the Tresco run, coming back from New Grimsby at 4p.m. to catch the Scillonian with day trippers. 

The sea was quite calm but even so, one poor lady had decided to regurgitate her lunch and instead of depositing it over the side, she'd stowed it away quite neatly between the knees of the midship thwart.  

When we reached St Marys her husband came up and told me that she had been sick, was sorry and should he clear it up  

I told him I would and went back to do so. As I glanced at it I observed that they had had their lunch in the Mermaid, earlier. The man looked at me, gasped and said,

“How on earth do you know that?”  

“I can tell by the rice” I said, “No one makes rice like the Mermaid!”