Sitting in the canteen one Friday with my fellow Maritime technology group I noticed a number of plain clothes heavies trying to be unobtrusive. They should get training for this, in the early 70's it did not work, at least with those of us from a military zone (N.Ireland). Pointed them out to my mates and commented that there must be affa imp person coming to visit. Never thought any more about it.
Next morning, in a partial alcoholic stupor, realized I had left some important notes in class. Quick brekkie, jumped in Landrover, down North road, screeched into King Edward V avenue. Braked, jumped out of car and ran across the lawn to doors of Maritime Department. Halfway across lawn suddenly found myself decked on grass with a very heavy person on top of me. At this stage of my career I was 12 stone of bronzed whipcord and a karate expert so this was rather embarassing rather than frightening.
Made the mistake of opening my trap and shouting (in a heavy Belfast accent), "what the F..k do you think you are doing!? Immediately assailed by three other gentlemen and handcuffed and taken inside the department building. Three hours later and only after we found my notes and compared hand writing was I allowed to leave. No explanation, no sorry for your trouble tax paying student. Made a few descrete inquiries with the uni management on Monday and found it was a visit by the boy wonder Prince Charles, only a month older than yours truly. Never did find out which branch they were from, probably 5 or special branch, given that their spoken english was quite good, which would rule plods and soldiers.
Reflecting on this these years later I have come to admire the professional expertise of our military and security classes. However, keep the old head below the parapet, you don't want these birds to be taking an interest in you. Vandals and muggers and even ter....s (do the security programs pick up partially spelt red flag words, comments please) fade in comparision to these gentlemen. God bless them all, really I mean that. We all need licenced thugs and gunmen to keep us safe these days and ours are the best in the world.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
Wednesday, 14 November 2012
University V
Some reflections on life at University. Some of the lecturers were frankly a waste of space, gentlemen who had graduated from technical colleges and should never have been allowed through the doors of the University. They read from well thumbed and worn jotters, their lecturing notes from 20 years before. When asked a serious question they floundered and exhibited their dearth of real knowledge of the subject, something this bunch of mature students picked up on straight away. It became a game, baiting the poor sods with outfield esoteric questions on modern innovations in their field.
However, and this was the joy of university life, the really good ones stretched us until we twanged. As soon as their lecture ended we bunched together and exchanged what notes we had made to insure that we had understood all the wisdom he had literally blasted at us during the lecture. It was as clear as crystal during the class but unless we had our conference immediately afterwards a lot of it was lost. One in particular, Professor who took us for Control Engineering, was what we had all invisaged as a true university professor. What ever question we threw at him, he would explain it in a number of ways so that even the slowest in the class would understand. Non of us ever dosed off in his class, a sort of zen like awareness was required in order to understand the gems he was imparting in every class.
In later years I attended Aberdeen University to take an MBA. In general the lecturers were first class with the exception of our Accountancy lecturer. Woeful. I got quite ratty with him as I particularly wanted to understand this subject. We had six accountants on the course and they all agreed he had not got a clue. However, it all became clear in our second year. We had a choice of elective subjects and I choose business ethics as one of my electives. Who should walk in for the first morning lecture but our useless accountancy lecturer. I walked out, him chasing after me. The poor guy explained that he was a philosophy lecturer who had been roped in as Accountancy lecturer at the last minute when the actual accountancy lecturer resigned suddenly. Returned to class and we found him a splendid lecturer in business ethics. I complained to the University management about our treatment and I suspect as a result of this all the non accountants on the course scraped through the final accountancy examination!
Aberdeen, like most successful universities, takes large numbers of foreign students. Some of these students, especially the chinese students in the 90's, had little or no english. How they were supposed to complete the courses successfully was beyond me....but they did? What has changed today, not a lot.
However, and this was the joy of university life, the really good ones stretched us until we twanged. As soon as their lecture ended we bunched together and exchanged what notes we had made to insure that we had understood all the wisdom he had literally blasted at us during the lecture. It was as clear as crystal during the class but unless we had our conference immediately afterwards a lot of it was lost. One in particular, Professor who took us for Control Engineering, was what we had all invisaged as a true university professor. What ever question we threw at him, he would explain it in a number of ways so that even the slowest in the class would understand. Non of us ever dosed off in his class, a sort of zen like awareness was required in order to understand the gems he was imparting in every class.
In later years I attended Aberdeen University to take an MBA. In general the lecturers were first class with the exception of our Accountancy lecturer. Woeful. I got quite ratty with him as I particularly wanted to understand this subject. We had six accountants on the course and they all agreed he had not got a clue. However, it all became clear in our second year. We had a choice of elective subjects and I choose business ethics as one of my electives. Who should walk in for the first morning lecture but our useless accountancy lecturer. I walked out, him chasing after me. The poor guy explained that he was a philosophy lecturer who had been roped in as Accountancy lecturer at the last minute when the actual accountancy lecturer resigned suddenly. Returned to class and we found him a splendid lecturer in business ethics. I complained to the University management about our treatment and I suspect as a result of this all the non accountants on the course scraped through the final accountancy examination!
Aberdeen, like most successful universities, takes large numbers of foreign students. Some of these students, especially the chinese students in the 90's, had little or no english. How they were supposed to complete the courses successfully was beyond me....but they did? What has changed today, not a lot.
University IV
There was an extremely attractive librarian at the main Uwist
library. However, she was always surrounded by an assortment of the
more colourful students, the guys who thought hippies were cool in the
70's, the rasta hair styles, army surplus clothing. You get the
picture. This lovely lass was also the one who kept chasing me for
overdue books. I made the mistake of replying to her exasperated
request for me to show a little responsibility by uttering a mild
Belfast rebuke, "how would you like a smack on the kisser", this in
front of her older senior librarian. This lady, of German extract, was
heard to say, in a heavy German accent, "zat yung men is a rough
diamond". This would come back to haunt her in later years.
I realized I could not compete with her youthful following so resorted to my old backup. I started bringing her in food parcels and sliding them over the library desk then scuttling off stage right. The break through came at one of our parties. She came with an equally attractive librarian friend who already knew some of our guys. I zeroed in and as luck would have it she was a fan of D H Lawrence. Talked the night away about his books and poetry. Definitely some learning points for you young bucks out there. What works with intelligent women in no apparent order:
Food
Talking about Food
Poetry
Talking about Poetry (the hard bit is knowing what you are talking about)
Music
Talking about Music (ditto above)
Ballet or Opera
Talking about Ballet or Opera (again ditto above)
And if all this fails, my personal favourite, get yourself a little west highland terrier, preferably white, and plant yourself outside an M& S shop. Before long you will be talking to a multitude of extremely attractive ladies. The beauty of this approach is that it cuts out the uncomfortable first 15 mins of what to say, they approach you and want to talk about and touch your dog. No more chat up lines such as "got any Welsh in you.....like a bit or like a bit more, ugh!! Both you and the lady feel safe, which then allows an introduction and perhaps much more. This is tried and tested, believe me.
As a consequence of meeting my librarian beauty I only got a 2/2, spent most of that final year in bed. The 2/2 was later and wisely demoted to a 3rd class by the external examiner from Liverpool University. One of the guys was demoted from a pass to a fail, four years wasted some would say but hey, what fun.
I realized I could not compete with her youthful following so resorted to my old backup. I started bringing her in food parcels and sliding them over the library desk then scuttling off stage right. The break through came at one of our parties. She came with an equally attractive librarian friend who already knew some of our guys. I zeroed in and as luck would have it she was a fan of D H Lawrence. Talked the night away about his books and poetry. Definitely some learning points for you young bucks out there. What works with intelligent women in no apparent order:
Food
Talking about Food
Poetry
Talking about Poetry (the hard bit is knowing what you are talking about)
Music
Talking about Music (ditto above)
Ballet or Opera
Talking about Ballet or Opera (again ditto above)
And if all this fails, my personal favourite, get yourself a little west highland terrier, preferably white, and plant yourself outside an M& S shop. Before long you will be talking to a multitude of extremely attractive ladies. The beauty of this approach is that it cuts out the uncomfortable first 15 mins of what to say, they approach you and want to talk about and touch your dog. No more chat up lines such as "got any Welsh in you.....like a bit or like a bit more, ugh!! Both you and the lady feel safe, which then allows an introduction and perhaps much more. This is tried and tested, believe me.
As a consequence of meeting my librarian beauty I only got a 2/2, spent most of that final year in bed. The 2/2 was later and wisely demoted to a 3rd class by the external examiner from Liverpool University. One of the guys was demoted from a pass to a fail, four years wasted some would say but hey, what fun.
Friday, 9 November 2012
University III
At university we averaged at least one party per week, sometimes two. Most of us on the course could cook up a party meal for 30-50 out of supermarket scraps, one of my favourites was sweet and sour ham (actually ham hock) and of course as mature students and ex merchant navy officers we could afford to buy the booze. Personally, I had an account at Victoria wine which they delivered every friday in a rather large box, rum martini and gin mostly with mixers, had'nt developed my taste for real ale then. In fact during the 70's Red Barrel was the beer of choice, pretty disgusting stuff. This was also an era where drink/drive was not socially unacceptable...except perhaps to my neighbour who lived in a flat above on the Whitchurch road!!
This poor unfortunate had just bought a new mini and parked it outside the side entrance to our flats. The street was a dead end off the main Whitchurch road. It was my usual practice to swing into this dead end in my, very old, A Series landy and assist the dreadful brakes by bumping my chassis into the cement post holding up the wire fence at the dead end. Over my stay the cement post had collapsed slightly but was still serviceable as an auxiliary braking system. Getting to the chase, I came home this night, after the midnight hour, well oiled and slow to react. Turned into the unlit dead end cul de sac and drove into my usual parking space. The landy behaved as usual and came to a stop. It was only when I got out that I realized we were not in our usual spot. Further examination revealed a lovely new Mini car, now about half its original size neatly buried on my cement post 'brake'. Backed off and parked up a bit. Not a scratch on landy. Found a bit of paper and left my name and address on windscreen.
Next morning woken up by bell, opened door to an assault, verbal and fisticuff's from my neighbour. Despite my plea that I had insurance he continued to try and batter me until he ran out of puff. After the first punch I had woken up so blocked most of the rest of his onslaught as it was rage more than clinical harm he was throwing at me. Finally got him settled enough to give him my insurance but the poor chap still left uttering threats and bad language. People do take their cars very personally I have found over the intervening years, something I regard with some bemusement.
This poor unfortunate had just bought a new mini and parked it outside the side entrance to our flats. The street was a dead end off the main Whitchurch road. It was my usual practice to swing into this dead end in my, very old, A Series landy and assist the dreadful brakes by bumping my chassis into the cement post holding up the wire fence at the dead end. Over my stay the cement post had collapsed slightly but was still serviceable as an auxiliary braking system. Getting to the chase, I came home this night, after the midnight hour, well oiled and slow to react. Turned into the unlit dead end cul de sac and drove into my usual parking space. The landy behaved as usual and came to a stop. It was only when I got out that I realized we were not in our usual spot. Further examination revealed a lovely new Mini car, now about half its original size neatly buried on my cement post 'brake'. Backed off and parked up a bit. Not a scratch on landy. Found a bit of paper and left my name and address on windscreen.
Next morning woken up by bell, opened door to an assault, verbal and fisticuff's from my neighbour. Despite my plea that I had insurance he continued to try and batter me until he ran out of puff. After the first punch I had woken up so blocked most of the rest of his onslaught as it was rage more than clinical harm he was throwing at me. Finally got him settled enough to give him my insurance but the poor chap still left uttering threats and bad language. People do take their cars very personally I have found over the intervening years, something I regard with some bemusement.
Thursday, 8 November 2012
University II
The weather on the route across to Wales was pretty decent and I enjoyed bouncing along in my new command. Picked up The Smalls lighthouse and sailed my way into the Bristol Channel. Now, a word to the wise from an old seadog. Entering an estuary like the Bristol Channel without a serviceable engine is going to be hard work. It becomes even more problematic if the wind happens to be in your face so to speak. The text book answer is to tack up with the tide and anchor somewhere safe while the tide is against you. Simples as the Mercat advert goes.
However, this was in my youth, early 20's and I have already mentioned my youthful short temper. This combined with a stubborn streak from way back saw me plugging my way up the Bristol Channel for three days, sail only no engine. During these three days with no sleep I contrived to see all the local landmarks pass me bye one way then the other way. King Canute had nothing on your Belfast thicko.
I have always been convinced that at some point during this losing battle against one of the strongest tides in the world I saw a family of killer whales. My memory is crystal clear that it was mum and dad and a baby orca. They came up to the boat, eyed me for a bit, swam around me once or twice and then disappeared. Later when I asked someone at the university my memory was pooh poohed as a probable hallucination. To this day I am not convinced that it was an hallucination.
Sometime during the fourth day without sleep, and on my fourth or fifth passing of Barry harbour an RNLI launch came out alongside me. "Are you the Irish guy from Newcastle, Co Down". Yes, I could hardly deny it. "Take a line, we are taking you in, your mum has been on the phone for days". He did sound a little exasperated. Line on, towed into Barry. These gentlemen were salt of the earth, got me through to worried mum and then got me a temporary berth until I could get yacht up to Cardiff, where I had already arranged a berth. Embarrassed of Belfast got himself to Cardiff and to the University accomodation officer forthwith, Woodvale road, near the Woodvale pub, somewhere I would spend a lot of time.
Accomodation officer gives me the bad news, "we thought you were not coming, I do'nt know if I can arrange accomodation, better get yourself across to the maritime department and see what the course lecturer thinks". Worried now, I get across to the department and see the Course tutor. He is not sure I can catch up on three weeks work but does me a great favour and asks the class. They vote in my favour and I am on the course. Funny thing life. I think it was not long after this that the class voted me in as Maritime Entertainment Officer for the course! Life at uni was about to begin.
However, this was in my youth, early 20's and I have already mentioned my youthful short temper. This combined with a stubborn streak from way back saw me plugging my way up the Bristol Channel for three days, sail only no engine. During these three days with no sleep I contrived to see all the local landmarks pass me bye one way then the other way. King Canute had nothing on your Belfast thicko.
I have always been convinced that at some point during this losing battle against one of the strongest tides in the world I saw a family of killer whales. My memory is crystal clear that it was mum and dad and a baby orca. They came up to the boat, eyed me for a bit, swam around me once or twice and then disappeared. Later when I asked someone at the university my memory was pooh poohed as a probable hallucination. To this day I am not convinced that it was an hallucination.
Sometime during the fourth day without sleep, and on my fourth or fifth passing of Barry harbour an RNLI launch came out alongside me. "Are you the Irish guy from Newcastle, Co Down". Yes, I could hardly deny it. "Take a line, we are taking you in, your mum has been on the phone for days". He did sound a little exasperated. Line on, towed into Barry. These gentlemen were salt of the earth, got me through to worried mum and then got me a temporary berth until I could get yacht up to Cardiff, where I had already arranged a berth. Embarrassed of Belfast got himself to Cardiff and to the University accomodation officer forthwith, Woodvale road, near the Woodvale pub, somewhere I would spend a lot of time.
Accomodation officer gives me the bad news, "we thought you were not coming, I do'nt know if I can arrange accomodation, better get yourself across to the maritime department and see what the course lecturer thinks". Worried now, I get across to the department and see the Course tutor. He is not sure I can catch up on three weeks work but does me a great favour and asks the class. They vote in my favour and I am on the course. Funny thing life. I think it was not long after this that the class voted me in as Maritime Entertainment Officer for the course! Life at uni was about to begin.
Life at University
Early 70's I left the sea to go to University, Cardiff Institute of Technology, Marine science degree. Used my Chief Officer Certificate as my entrance key. Quite a lot of the guys had A levels, old type, but we were all mature students so we started in February. The idea was that we would do an intensive 6 month course and be examined on the science, maths and english to ensure that we were up to university standard before the start, proper of the academic year. Four year honours course. Hilarious really when you hear about the standard of english and maths of graduates and teachers nowadays.
Yours truly did not start in February, arrived about three weeks late. I had purchased an old folk boat, a thing of beauty, hardwood timbers, gaff rigged on a wooden mast, watermoto engine with controllable pitch propellor (never did get it to work), even the rudder was made of lignum vitae...very very expensive. I only found out the latter when I later tried to chip the paint off the rudder, until then I thought it was iron or steel it was so hard. Decided to get it ready for voyage across to Wales. My mum asked me at the time how I was going to get my A series landy onto the deck of the boat. My mum also assumed that when I went to sea that we stopped every night, god love her and may she rest in peace. Told her would come back for landy, thought it better not to explain that the ships travelled all day and night, she would have worried.
Sailed out of Newcastle harbour, Newcastle N.Ireland that is, on a reasonable February morning. Single handed on a gaff rigged vessel is not for the faint hearted, especialy when you do not have a working engine. Most especially when you arrive outside Dun Laoghaire with a Force 8 gale blowing. Could not see much of inner harbour because of high harbour walls and did not have a radio or VHS, but definately wanted to get a bit of kip for the night. Could not take the sail down completely, had lowered it about half way but every time I left the helm we were in danger of broaching. Decided to go for it, full steam ahead through the harbour entrance. Well, its been a while since I have been to Dun Laoghaire but in the 70's the inner harbour was filled with very smart yachts moored underneath the lighted lounge of the Dun Laoghaire yacht club house on the heights above.
As I came through the entrance at a fair old lick, I could see the members looking down on me. I have not mentioned that my old girl, "Sweet Afton" by the way, had a bloody great bowsprite. A round balk of oak that took the forward halyard and projected about a yard in front of the bow. I could not leave the cockpit as I would lose control of the yacht so the sail stayed up and we carried on our way. The next few minutes must have caused the millonaires in the club house a few anxious moments, as I dodged amongst those very expensive yachts, bowsprite looking like an old fashioned cannon. It would have had a similar effect if I had hit any of them. Finally got my intransigent lady under control and into wind, ran up and dropped my anchor over side. By the time I was lowering the sail the club had sent a launch out to tow me to a safe mooring. Great bunch, allowed me a shower, would not take a penny and bought me drinks all night. Took me back to yacht about midnight.
Next morning, lovely fresh day, rigged sail, let go mooring and sailed out of Dun Laoghaire a lot more sedately than I had entered. Pointed her to the Welsh coast with a nice prevailing wind and felt life was good, apart from a sore head that is. More to follow.
Yours truly did not start in February, arrived about three weeks late. I had purchased an old folk boat, a thing of beauty, hardwood timbers, gaff rigged on a wooden mast, watermoto engine with controllable pitch propellor (never did get it to work), even the rudder was made of lignum vitae...very very expensive. I only found out the latter when I later tried to chip the paint off the rudder, until then I thought it was iron or steel it was so hard. Decided to get it ready for voyage across to Wales. My mum asked me at the time how I was going to get my A series landy onto the deck of the boat. My mum also assumed that when I went to sea that we stopped every night, god love her and may she rest in peace. Told her would come back for landy, thought it better not to explain that the ships travelled all day and night, she would have worried.
Sailed out of Newcastle harbour, Newcastle N.Ireland that is, on a reasonable February morning. Single handed on a gaff rigged vessel is not for the faint hearted, especialy when you do not have a working engine. Most especially when you arrive outside Dun Laoghaire with a Force 8 gale blowing. Could not see much of inner harbour because of high harbour walls and did not have a radio or VHS, but definately wanted to get a bit of kip for the night. Could not take the sail down completely, had lowered it about half way but every time I left the helm we were in danger of broaching. Decided to go for it, full steam ahead through the harbour entrance. Well, its been a while since I have been to Dun Laoghaire but in the 70's the inner harbour was filled with very smart yachts moored underneath the lighted lounge of the Dun Laoghaire yacht club house on the heights above.
As I came through the entrance at a fair old lick, I could see the members looking down on me. I have not mentioned that my old girl, "Sweet Afton" by the way, had a bloody great bowsprite. A round balk of oak that took the forward halyard and projected about a yard in front of the bow. I could not leave the cockpit as I would lose control of the yacht so the sail stayed up and we carried on our way. The next few minutes must have caused the millonaires in the club house a few anxious moments, as I dodged amongst those very expensive yachts, bowsprite looking like an old fashioned cannon. It would have had a similar effect if I had hit any of them. Finally got my intransigent lady under control and into wind, ran up and dropped my anchor over side. By the time I was lowering the sail the club had sent a launch out to tow me to a safe mooring. Great bunch, allowed me a shower, would not take a penny and bought me drinks all night. Took me back to yacht about midnight.
Next morning, lovely fresh day, rigged sail, let go mooring and sailed out of Dun Laoghaire a lot more sedately than I had entered. Pointed her to the Welsh coast with a nice prevailing wind and felt life was good, apart from a sore head that is. More to follow.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Blyth Adventurer VI
Last one for the old lady. I have always had an aversion to rats, small or large. Spiders and snakes I can handle but rats, ugh! Now under the midships accomodation there was a store where we kept ropes and paints etc. When on cargo duty loading oil you had to walk from forward tanks to after tanks through this space. Now once or twice I had seen a rat the size of a rather large cat and at other times I had heard him, especially on night duty. To say my skin crawled is putting it mildly. Finally, one night I almost tripped over him as he sat chewing some food waste. Rather than running away scared the SOB just sat and looked at me and I ran away scared. That was it, final straw.
Next day I bought a case of whiskey from the ships bond and told the master my plan, faite accompli, did not care what he thought of it, if he wanted me to work on deck that was it. Got the chinese crew together in dining room, offered them case of whiskey if they could get me king rat. I think I also offered a few of the older gentlemen medical inducements from my medical officer stockpile.
Before you could say what rat all hell broke loss. The crew, armed to the teeth with knives, hammers and fire axes were under the midships accomodation pulling ropes and wires away from their stowed positions and screaming at sightings of the rat and rats plural. It took them about 15 mins of absolute chaos and mayhem but I was eventually presented with the huge king rat and numerous normal sized rats, who must have had to keep well clear of the monster. Some of the smaller rats who had escaped the attentions of the chinese had run out of the store and over the side with one or two of the crew after them. Who needs JRT's when you have a fearless chinese crew.
Next day I bought a case of whiskey from the ships bond and told the master my plan, faite accompli, did not care what he thought of it, if he wanted me to work on deck that was it. Got the chinese crew together in dining room, offered them case of whiskey if they could get me king rat. I think I also offered a few of the older gentlemen medical inducements from my medical officer stockpile.
Before you could say what rat all hell broke loss. The crew, armed to the teeth with knives, hammers and fire axes were under the midships accomodation pulling ropes and wires away from their stowed positions and screaming at sightings of the rat and rats plural. It took them about 15 mins of absolute chaos and mayhem but I was eventually presented with the huge king rat and numerous normal sized rats, who must have had to keep well clear of the monster. Some of the smaller rats who had escaped the attentions of the chinese had run out of the store and over the side with one or two of the crew after them. Who needs JRT's when you have a fearless chinese crew.
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