The Adventures of Wee Jim: Book 2 the Captain’s Heart Was Roasted

By Captain Jim Currie

In part one, we left a lovely wee Jim and his entirely world possessions, on a dessert quayside on South Wales. It was a miserable dark nights, and the rain was coming down in torrents.

In part two, we rejoin him and share the initial moment of misery. From then on, the wee lad takes us on his adventures across the world up until he meets the love of his life.

We may think life is hard... think again - then think again for the sense of humour.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781728379487

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© 2023 Captain Jim Currie. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/09/2022

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7947-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7948-7 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Foreword

Chapter 1: New Boy

Chapter 2: Voyage Number One

Chapter 3: The Learning Curve

Chapter 4: Onward - Southward

Chapter 5: A first Time for Everything

Chapter 6: Gibraltar

Chapter 7: North Africa

Chapter 8: Fun, Games & a Funeral

Chapter 9: ‘Loaded’ for the First Time

Chapter 10: The Wanderer Returns

Chapter 11: Here we go Again!

Chapter 12: Home is The Sailor

Chapter 13: MV Norscot

Chapter 14: SS ‘Wellpark’

Chapter 15: Australia

Chapter 16: South Seas Supplies

Chapter 17: An Unplanned Stop-over

Chapter 18: Back to Work

Chapter 19: MV Dunadd

Chapter 20: The SS Mountpark

Chapter 21: To Gleddoch and Back

Chapter 22: Failure and Fun

Chapter 23: Rust Bucket

Chapter 24: Exams and a Proposal

Chapter 25: Wedding Bells

FOREWORD

T hose of you who were blessed with patience and perseverance in equal amounts and who have survived the first part my story, will remember that I finally arrived at the Welsh Town of Port Talbot after a train journey of 17 hours.

I have to say that I found Wales a very strange place indeed. That evening was to be the first of many traumatic firsts.

For a start-off, I‘d never seen a town with a railway running across its main street. Nor, before that time, had I ever seen a level crossing I later learned that the crossing in question divided Port Talbot from its neighbouring town – Aberavon.

I hired a taxi on my own for the very first time; a taxi driven by an enormous lad with a thick Welsh accent and the unlikely name of Clarence. He too was a first… the very first man of African descent with whom I had ever had a single word of conversation.

It all felt very strange indeed. Not frightening, but more of a mixture of apprehension and loneliness blended with delicious anticipation.

I instructed Clarence to take me to my destination. He was used to transporting Scots seamen to and from the docks, and clearly understood my request of "Ormsary please – she’s at the Ore terminal." because within five minutes, I and my baggage were being deposited at the foot of the gangway of that very vessel.

image1.jpg

The Good Ship Ormsary.

Author’s ollection.

If it is of any interest to you; the SS Ormsary was a first generation, purpose-built bulk cargo carrier, built to carry ten thousand tons of mineral ore – mainly Iron Ore in four equal sized cargo holds. A hold is simply a big box in which things and stuff are held. There was a fifth, smaller hold up at the sharp end. This was called the ‘Dry Cargo’ hold although it never was filled with cargo...wet or dry. In fact, it was used to stow the spare propeller.

From the above photograph, you can see that unlike conventional vessels at that time which had their funnels in the middle, the Ormsary had her funnel at the back end.

The Owner’s and Captain’s cabins as well as the Navigating Officers’ accommodation were situated in the bit in the middle. The Engineering Officers, Apprentices and other ranks were situated - like the funnel - in the bit at the back.

When the ship was at sea and the hatches closed, a temporary walkway was rigged across the tops of the steel hatch covers, This was for safer passage of personnel in heavy weather. Since the dining saloon was also at the back end, eating was a problem for the navigating officers during stormy conditions. It wasn’t too clever either during loading and unloading operations.

In port, the gangway was rigged at the stern and here I was at last! At the bottom of that very gangway.

Chapter 1

NEW BOY

T he rain was coming down in torrents and it was very dark and windy. However, the gangway was lit by what I later learned was a ‘cluster’. This consisted of what might be described as a dustbin lid containing a cluster of six - sixty watt electric light bulbs. In this case, it was rigged to cause the utmost frustration to anyone attempting to ascend the gangway because it was placed at the top of the gangway shining directly into the eyes of on-coming...or in my case...up-coming, human traffic.

The gangway itself, was a very long, narrow affair made from aluminium which is pronounced as Ah-Loo-minum by partly-educated non-Scots from across The Pond. Those using it were prevented from falling off the thing by ropes chauvinistically named man-ropes. Come to think of it, I wonder if it politically correct to name them as such in this present day? To add to my woes, the thing was in the process of morphing into a vertical ladder. This was because most of the ship’s cargo had been discharged and she was then high out of the water.

I say ‘most’ of the cargo had been discharged because to my amateur eyes, it seemed that at least half of it was still on board the ship, clinging to every surface in sight including the gangway and it’s fittings. Every part of it - including the side ropes were covered in a thick coat of dark red-brown coloured paste -very much like, and of the consistency, of ‘Bisto’ gravy. It had started out as dust but the rain had soon changed that!

Having paid off the taxi driver who left me with a cheery good luck boy-oh! I commenced the climb upward, lugging my enormous suitcase and desperately trying not to fall backward under the influence of gravity acting on the equally enormous kitbag slung over my shoulder.

At last! I got to the top and stepped off the gangway onto the deck of my first ship – what a feeling!

Well, to tell the truth, I was knackered, covered in slimy red paste and sodden, almost to the skin. The ordeal had been even more so because of the forty-odd gallons of rain absorbed by my great coat during the process. I was lonely, tired and without sight of another, friendly human being in fact not any human being at all – the decks were deserted. I later learned that the ship was due to sail on the morning tide and that apart from a watchmen who was fast asleep - the Captain who was also asleep, and the duty officer; the entire crew were ashore for a last fling.

So there I was, having arrived at my destination without an admiring welcoming party to ‘pipe’ me aboard, and no earthly idea where I was suppose to go or what to do next.

I put my gear down and made my way to the accommodation housing at the back end. There, I found a wooden door with a porthole and a very high door step (for me anyway). I stood there and knocked. There was no reply so I tried standing on the step an looking through the port hole - I was too wee. Next I tried the handle which incidentally was a brass ring. It turned easily and the door opened outward to reveal a set of stairs going upward on my left and a long corridor stretching out before me. Five doors were situated on the right hand bulkhead (that’s a nautical term for wall). I walked toward the first one. A small sign above it revealed it was the lair of someone called a Calorifier.

The next door was designated Cadets Study. The next three were ‘Cadets 1’, 2 and ‘Cadet’s Washroom’. All the doors except ‘Cadet 2’ and the Washroom were locked. ‘Cadet 2’ was open and empty. I therefore deduced this was to be my abode. Accordingly I retrieved my gear and stowed it in that place.

Readers should take note that the ‘Ormsary’ was somewhat ahead of her time relative to crew accommodation. Most vessels built before her sported multi-occupancy cabins for the crew and cadets or apprentices. Indeed, it was fairly normal for a cabin to accommodate four or six souls – usually hot, sweaty, smelly ones. Eight or twelve if you include the bottoms of feet!

On ‘Ormsary’ every member of the crew from cabin boy to captain had his own room, cabin or in modern parlance ‘space’. The Captain and Chief Engineer had even more luxurious pads. Each of them had a day room, night room and another one which was usually described as rhyming with the ‘night’ one!

Cadet cabin 2 was a warm, brown, cosy womb of a place. It was furnished in dark oak with a red carpet. The same colour of red was used for the curtains, seat and settee covers. There was a bunk against the bulkhead on the left, behind the door, with a wardrobe at its other end. Beneath the bunk were three full length drawers for stowing gear. A built-in desk occupied the aft (back end) bulkhead and there was a round, brass lined port-hole on the outboard side. The settee or day-bed was situated immediately below the porthole. I would be glad of this in the tropics as air-conditioning was an absent luxury.

As I said – I was alone in an alien place. The only sounds were the soft, deep hum of a distant engine – way down in the bowels of the ship; accompanied by a thin hissing sound reminiscent of a kettle about halfway to boiling point which I later learned was the hot air heating system circulating all round the accommodation. I had to find someone to report to- but who? I decided to explore!

After wandering up and down stairs, along ally-ways and across numerous grills and wooden decks, I came to what seemed to be a mess-room of some sorts. I looked in and was about to continue on my way when I heard a snorting grunt coming from a pile of old coveralls in the far corner of the room. The pile of old coveralls gave a sudden, convulsive jerk and the snorting grunt turned into a wizened, walnut-coloured individual with very little hair and a long, thin, pointed nose; from which, hung a glistening blob of ‘something’. His eyes were still glued shut so I thought he would not see me. I was about to slowly withdraw from his sight but – too late! One of his eyelids un-pealed itself from its mate, allowing him to fix me with a very, surprisingly bright stare.

He then asked in a surprisingly strong voice something that sounded like "jay ha-toll? I was completely struck dumb. When I didn’t respond, he swung his legs to the floor and repeated his question in an even louder voice – this time, tinged with a morsel of menace. By this time, I was thinking I had boarded the wrong ship – it seemed I was on a foreign vessel. I had completely relied on the taxi driver to deliver me to the right destination. I hadn’t even bothered to go to the bow or stern to check the name. I was about to make a hasty retreat when the ‘foreigner’ switched to English and very clearly and in a soft, lilting accent asked me what’s doing laddie? How can I help you? I almost fainted with relief. If he was a foreigner, he at least could speak English and would point me in the right direction. Although I had heard it spoken at home, I am ashamed to say; I had failed to recognise my own native language - Gaelic... me - the descendent of two ancient Gaelic clans.

By tradition, the owners of the Ormsary recruited men from the inner and outer Hebrides of the west coast of Scotland – the last bastions of Gaeldom where Gaelic was the first language.

It turned out that my very first ‘shipmate’ was an Able Seaman from Stornaway on the island of Lewis. He had drawn the short straw and was - believe it or not – the ship’s Watchman. Some Watchman!

Anyway, once we had made the necessary introductions, he showed me how to contact the duty officer – in this instance the Third Mate – Mr. McRae.

I found the Third Mate in his cabin in the mid-ship section. His door was open but a curtain was pulled across to keep-in the heat. I knocked the open door and when being told to ‘come in’, pulled the curtain aside. He was sitting on his settee with his feet up reading a book. He put down the book, swung his feet to the deck and stood up. To me he looked pretty old.

In actual fact, he was in his late twenties; medium height and pretty thin, with dark hair and complexion. His facial skin was badly marked. I later learned this was the result of an encounter with Israeli terrorist in Palestine a few years earlier.

Although I subsequently got on fairly well with Willie McRae; this meeting was another of what were becoming all too regular incidents in my life. By previous and later standards - this one merited 1 on the 1 to 10 scale, but it must have been important enough for me to remember it as if it happened yesterday.

I had divested myself of my greatcoat and left it in my cabin. I was therefore in battledress when I met the Third Mate. Unfortunately for me, I did not notice that during my long journey south, I had dribbled soup or some other sticky, noxious substance down the front of the battledress blouse. This had dried to form a yellow, brown and cream crust, decoratively arranged between the vertical line of brass buttons. It had even managed to form a sort of anchor shaped crest on my black tie. Mr. McRae was not a devotee of Art and design and did not appreciate what he was seeing. Being ex Royal Navy, he called upon all the past experience gained, no doubt, from a procession of sadistic Chief Petty Officers and subjected me to the first and dare I say it last dressing downs I have ever had. I can only thank my lucky stars that keel-hauling had been given-up as part of the accepted punishment programme of the day. I’m not sure that he did not include it as a remote possibility! As a matter of fact, when I think about it now; only my pride was hurt. I do remember