Sailing as 2nd Mate
on board the 73ft OYC ketch
Taikoo on a weekend cruise, on
the Saturday night we ended up
at the old pier at Kilmun , at
the north end of the Holy Loch.
With all the main
chores completed and the vessel
being neat and tidy, the skipper
and crew abandoned ship for the
meagre night life of Kilmun.
That left myself to have a look
at the appropriate charts and
tide tables, ready for places
that we might sail to the next
day. And the bosun, who had
some stitching on a sail to
finish off.
After about an hour
the bosun called to me from the
cockpit, where she had had been
working –“ I’m just finishing
now.”. From the chart table in
the dog-house, I called back
that I was ready to go ashore
and getting my oily jacket from
the after cabin. A couple of
minutes later our blonde and
very presentable bosun was
standing beside me at the cabin
door. “All set?” – I asked,
pulling my oily anorak over my
head. “Yes – let’s go and catch
up on the others.” –she said.
As I switched the
lights out and turned to go
through the door into the
doghouse – the bosun turned and
said – “ By the way - I’ve got
something interesting to tell
you.”
She came closer and inclined
her head towards me. The huge
ears of the un-nautical Mickey
Mouse woollen hat she insisted
wearing at all times – tickled
my face. She smelled very
pleasant. Kind of – fresh air,
salt water and a gentle bottled
fragrance.
She spoke very
slowly. Even her breath was
acceptable. Putting her hands
near the collar of my anorak she
spoke very quietly.– “ The thing
is – not many people know about
this – but I think you should
know- but – perhaps I really
shouldn’t tell you. –“. With
that she gave me a friendly peck
on the cheek and said quickly
–“See you at the pub.” –and
darted up onto the deck.
I went to follow her
but couldn’t. I could hardly
move my head. While talking to
me, our bosun had deftly tied
the lacing of my oily hood to
the brass ring handle of the
door and left me there.
Try it. It is extremely
difficult in those circumstances
and feeling like a right nanny,
to untie the thin, tight,
multi-knotted lacing without
tearing your jacket, pulling
your ears off or choking
yourself. The thought of what
was being said in the pub didn’t
help.
After a long time
struggling in the dark I managed
to get all the taut little
ligatures undone and stormed up
the road to find the pub.
As I barged through
the door a mighty cheer went up
from the rear of the lounge.
The skipper, the crew of twelve
and that bloody bosun.
The skipper called over to me
–“Over here Bill – we all said
you could get out of that
tangle- well done. Come on, you
have a lot of catching up to
do.” He waved his hand towards
the bar – where a small group of
drams and pints awaited me.
The dreadful bosun
came up to me with a glass in
her hand –“ And that triple malt
is from me.” She gave me a
rather nice kiss.”
Between the kiss and
the malt my anger quickly
subsided and I turned to the
serious matter of catching up on
the others.
Bill Mills
