Merry Christmas folks! It’s miserably damp out there today! Oh, just the one barman, just the one. I must get home early today.
Yes Sir! I certainly do recall many a Christmas Day at sea. Very well indeed, thank you. Not that I retain many fond memories of such a day, mind you. Christmas is for the family, not for a bunch of seasoned seafarers and definitely not for seasoned captains like I. Days like that are not for those with the responsibilities of all on board weighing heavily on their shoulders. Oh, don't get me wrong. It's not the occasion that I find hard to navigate. It’s all those ‘bells and whistles’ that such occasion washes up. Doesn't do much for me at all! Christmas is for the youngsters, for a good old bout of joyful spirit! I'm just a simple captain who has spent most of his life riding on the ocean waves and Santa is as far removed from my life here as is my ex-wife, god bless her misguided ways.
I'm also getting on in years as you may have noticed. I’m still sprightly but no longer with my sea-legs working as they used to. Christmas for me is just another day in the year. The younger guys on board like to celebrate, so if we happened to be in port I always stayed behind. I kept the ‘flag flying’ if you know what I mean.
Most people at sea would rather be in port on the actual day, including myself. When everybody else traipses ashore in festive spirit and determined to drink themselves daft ‘under the table’, I can ‘batten down the hatches’ back home. I can hide in my cabin and partake in small libation with a book to read until sleep takes over! Then on Boxing Day I can wake up and it’s all over - for another 364 days - the lads back on board and recovering with their sore heads.
Mind you, often as not and as bad luck would have it we are at sea, churning the water on some passage or other. Then, I have to turnout for the meal, a captain’s duty to start the festivities off.
Why yes, I do recall one particular Christmas Day as if it was only yesterday. The day turned out to be a disaster. Not a disaster of my own making, my dear friends, but a series of mishaps and mistaken words of no small proportion and an occasion that left me with no other option but to leave that vessel far earlier than I and my employers had planned for.
A certain event tumbled into play, like an unstoppable wave rolling up a beach. The event rolled right on up with the tide egging it further, well before I, the officers or the crew had even thought about hanging up the decorations, before the cook had started to grease the baking tray and well before the usual office Christmas hamper had arrived on board.
The trouble began in November when some officer or other happened to mention to me in passing that he had sailed with me before. That is all well and good but then he said that he had heard my Christmas speech on a previous occasion.
Well, ‘blow me down’.
Oh yes please barman, just the one, I don’t want to overdo it now.
Yes, as I was saying I was shocked. The officer, who I can no longer remember, had upset the apple cart. Year after year I had used that same speech and I had used it well. That speech was riveted inside my brain, never once had I given it any thought but when required it rolled out of me, done and dusted without hiccup or pause for breath. I had a speech that served its purpose but I couldn't very well repeat the one that had been heard before. That was unthinkable. That officer’s lone remembrance, a conversational gambit I suppose, drove me unwillingly to prepare a new speech for the upcoming occasion and ‘come hell or high water’ I had to have that speech ready.
Whilst the cook ordered cranberry sauce and worked overtime on his mince pies, as the crew searched desperately for and eventually located the rusty Christmas tree stand I started to prepare for the day. Whilst the crew resurrected the dusty decorations I took to spending greater time in my cabin. I became a hermit with purpose. I had to complete the task thrown at me, to write a new Christmas speech with less than a month to go before its maiden launch! I can navigate ships from one end of the world to the other with my eyes closed but on that occasion my required speech was wallowing in a watery grave.
The calm seas upon which I had been sailing suddenly became choppy, the wind behind us turned and my happily beating engine had lost its rhythm and started to backfire.
Oh I tried hard. I tried very hard indeed to put one word after another in suitable order. I worked overtime to construct flowing sentences but my output was continually stemmed by shifting dams, my thoughts pushed aside by floating debris and my creative filters became blocked by barnacles. My cabins waste-paper bin took the brunt of my failure, a completed speech looking as if it was going to go down with me.
The strange thing was that my head was bursting with free-flowing sentences and ideas. The usual prose of a ‘call-to-duty’, the passed down ‘thank you’ from the company for hard work done and the toasts to everyman jack and his dog were all scrabbling to get out. A potential speech was all there in my head, all ready to flow to the tip of the pen. But then, once at the tip, the sentences were not forming on the paper and the output was nonsensical to say the least.
The cooks attitude and issues leant no assistance to my task! His constant echoes around the alleyways of the ship continually drawing my attention away from my task like a screaming jet at low altitude. Even before November had drawn to a close, he was continually spitting at all and sundry with accusations of missing cooking wine, of disappearing brandy, just about when he had been ready to make the Christmas cake. All a storm in a teacup, I thought then.
I’m not saying that he was blameless in his accusations. I may well have helped myself to a glass or two of his cooking ingredients, that much is true. A small glass of brandy here, a dash of wine there! All that we appeared to have to drink in the ships bar was beer, but honestly, for all the fuss and bother he was cooking up, it was only a little glass I took not the crates that he constantly added to his repertoire. Yes, a tiny wee glass to get the brain juices flowing was not worthy of his rants.
As November turned into December I was no further along in my task! My regular duties, as the master of the vessel, continually placed hurdles in the way of my creative spirit; ports to visit, cargo crisis and telexes to send. There were constant food and store orders to check and send out: little items like more brandy for the cook to add on: spirits for the ship’s bar: everything for everybody else and no respite for me! I also had to submit the order for various festive wines and liqueurs for the Christmas lunch otherwise the whole crew would have been on my back, never mind just the cook.
As the day approached I overheard the steward complaining to the cook that he was spending more time emptying my waste paper bin of bottles than doing his real job. I never really like these stewards. They tend to be uneducated louts with nothing better to do than to stir-up trouble just for the fun of it. I admit that my bin was unusually full of the discarded sheets of watery prose – bottles indeed – a troublemaker like him was a danger to all on board.
Looking back now I realise that I might have been creating a large mountain out of a very small mole hill, but believe me, the Christmas speech is an extremely important part of the festivities and it must ‘hold water’! The captain’s speech has been part of maritime tradition since time began; the expectation is for the serving of an upbeat humorous dialogue with cleverly crafted anecdotes, just before the wine is exchanged for something a bit stiffer and the turkey is cut.
And I could get absolutely nothing down onto paper for the occasion.
Barman, I don’t think you gave me that drink. Yes, please, all the way, thanks. ‘One for the passage ahead’, as they say.
I recall that as Christmas day grew closer I was getting myself in a right old tiz. I struggled ever harder and for longer hours. Often, well into the night I persevered to get something solid down onto paper.
I even asked the Chief Engineer if he had any ideas or thoughts on the matter but he gruffly replied, "Can’t you see I'm busy?" I approached the Chief Officer on the bridge one day and he muttered "humph." He never did say much, the miserable old goat! In fact, if being at sea was work for this guy, hell would have been his ideal holiday destination.
I also asked the third engineer but all he said was "if this carries on much longer we will need to order some more whisky and gin." I’m still not sure what he meant by that remark. There are certainly many characters at sea.
Well, the days rapidly passed me by and before I knew it, there I was, standing at the head of the officers table with a piece of paper in my hand. I remembering seeing the steaming turkey in front of me and the twenty-five expectant faces of the officers and crew. They were all looking at me, all expectant for the speech I was to deliver. Unfortunately, every time I opened my mouth only silence sailed forth and the sheet of paper I held appeared blank.
I must admit, that at the point of pushing my chair away with the back of my legs, to stand up to deliver, I might have had a couple of drinks inside me. Certainly, earlier, whilst I was preparing in my cabin I had fortified myself with some Dutch courage for the speech ahead – only a small sip or two though! No more than a glass I’m sure.
What occurred after I was in the vertical position remains blurred in my old noggin. I do recall suffering, for the first time in my life, what could have possibly been stage fright. I remember making a few attempts to talk, an attempt to kick-start the speech but the words soon became bogged down.
After some time of dramatic silence and throat clearance I decided to ‘wet my whistle’ with a quick gulp of the red wine in front of me. A delaying tactic perhaps in order to get my ‘ducks in a row’ and the speech steaming ahead. I do recall that the first gulp of wine had zero effect and the crew and officers were still staring at me as if I was a freak attraction at the circus. At some point, somebody thrust a glass of whisky into my hands and I remember the flood gates suddenly opening. I remember that I talked long and I talked hard, although I have no recollection of what I said that fine day. The usual I suppose.
I can't remember much at all! I do recall the hearty cheers and wolf whistles, the claps and the encores when I finally stopped speaking. I have some hazy recollection of blood as the knife slipped whilst I attempted to carve the turkey, but the rest of that lunch passed in a blur of excitement as the panic of the last few days subsided, the trauma of writing a speech rapidly receding on an ebb tide.
I would suggest that the enormous effort that I had placed on the perfect speech had stressed me out, more than a fish in a vice, and on that singular occasion my brain shut down and I let life take me over! I think that I collapsed soon after the speech was made and the turkey was cut – I can’t recall anything after that.
It was a shame really, as I would have enjoyed a few drinks with my fellow officers, especially since the speech had been so well received.
I remember waking up a few hours later in my cabin! I clearly recall coming back to life after a nap that had given me my head back on the right way! I showered then and as it was only six in the evening I decided that a quick showing in the ships bar was in order.
When I stepped into the bar for a night cap the officers were the happiest bunch I had ever seen in my entire career. The Chief Officer was actually talking, rambling on animatedly about pay rises and new ships that the company were buying! The Third Engineer was nodding his head like a yoyo, up and down merrily whilst saying, "I will definitely get my promotion now and on a new vessel too." In fact it was like Santa Clause had come personally with individual gifts, everybody suffering a case of excess happiness, all smiles and laughter and multi-threaded conversations of increased wages and promotion being batted back and forth like a table tennis tournament final.
I shook my head in wonder. I assumed then that I must have missed a telex from the office whilst sleeping off the stress caused by my Christmas speech efforts of the last month.
I asked the Chief Officer what was going on! He 'harrumphed' and slapped his knee in apparent glee and said to me, "come on old man, have you forgotten the good news already?" And the Chief Engineer excitedly shouted out, "The best Christmas speech ever it was."
I suppose the happy officers must have noted my total miscomprehension. They started to tell me all about the pay-rises that the company were giving to all and sundry onboard. And as they talked I could their excitement slipping away faster than an ice-cube on a hot tin roof. They could obviously see that I knew nothing about the subject and perhaps they came to realise that pay-rises and new ships were as far away from them as the moon. At that point I was as confused as they.
One officer later muttered that even the whisky froze over that day but I think they might have been exaggerating a tiny bit! As time wore on, it transpired that one or more officers had mistakenly heard me to say some words that I could not possibly have said! You know how rumours are! They can be a bit like ‘Chinese Whispers’, say one thing and by the time it gets around the table it comes back totally skewed around. I’m certainly not one to blame anybody for this or any other incident that I was dragged unwittingly into, although this particular incident left my innocent self as the butt of their frustrations.
Indeed, I maintain today that what occurred was simply an unfortunate situation that arose through misunderstanding, one that was perhaps assisted in propensity by the amount of wine that they had been drinking that afternoon. But, if one officer or crew member were to have had a grudge against me I would suggest the cook! I certainly didn’t take his brandy or wine but he had maintained a grudge against me and I would not have put it past him to have instigated a bad rumour or two. But as I said before I don’t like to blame others, I only want to get my side of the story out.
Anyway, somebody twisted and sparked a rumour into life which three hours later appeared to suggest that everybody was getting a pay rise. And they all thought that it was I that had told them so.
Dear Sir, how much longer do I have to wait for my drink? Yes dear folks, only two drinks today – I need to get home soon.
Well, I admit that I can't remember precisely what I said in my speech. I have it written down on a piece of paper somewhere. I mean, a couple of drinks doesn’t make a man tell downright lies and not a Captain like I, secure in my own vessel.
Anyway, I don't want to dwell on the past, as I've said before I just want to tell my side of the story before I get too old to remember it all.
I left the ship soon after that particular incident. This was seen as necessary move to halt any further recriminations and bad feelings. After that day nobody was talking to me and trying to run a ship under such circumstance is not pleasurable or practical. In fact, every time I passed the galley the cook started to swing a meat cleaver as if he had a mammoth to cut. If I had not been so strong in my mind such atmosphere would have turned me to the bottle. But instead I decided that ‘greener grass’ or in this situation ‘bluer sea’ might be the best option! I asked the company for medical leave, an excuse of overwork with feeling of stress and before I knew it I was on a plane home.
Strangely, I never did find that piece of paper with my speech on it.
‘Shiver me timbers’ lads. What’s an old man got to do around here to get a drink? My fifth you say? Cheeky young lad!