Hi.
2nd trip Cadet on the Beaverfir in 68, ship ducks in London Victoria Dock on the weekend and like a good boy at lunchtime I dashed ashore to phone home. Whilst in the phone box (remember them, red with broken glass, smelling of pee) the deck crowd (all great East Enders) went strolling past and invited me to the pub for drinks. Did not take much persusion, said my goodbyes to home and ended up in the Station Hotel opposite Silvertown Station, from there we moved onto the NEW GOG and started on the rum, after closing time ended up in one of the boys house with a very accommodating young lady. Next day back to the NEW GOG for liveners etc. Eventually got back to the ship some 32 hrs. later, made myself one of myfavourite sarnies (cheese and tomato ketchup) and went wandering into the Officers lounge (still in two day old work gear) to check with the Mate for jobs the next day. He did not take too kindly to his cadet going AWOL for nearly 2 days and coming back half nissed and scruffy, so he banned me from the Officers bar and stopped me tap. Did I care...not a lot. I had my new girlfriend who I spent each night with, new mates and a cracking range of pubs..who needed the Officers bar.
Every morning up at 6.30 with the girl, down the pub for pie and pint, buy morning papers and stroll on board at 7.30 to deliver papers to Officers messroom. Everyone thought I was great and wanted to know why they never saw me at nighttime, told them I was doing penance in my cabin!!!!.
The NEW GOG became my local when we were in London docks. After a couple of trips it came time for the deck crowd to change. Approaching sign on date, the night before I strolled into the NEW GOG only to find it wrecked. What happened here I asked the barman. Apparently a bunch of strange speaking guys had come in, styarted fighting amongst themselves and ended up wrecking the joint. He suddenly turned pale, "christ here they are again". A gang of roughty tuffty guys speaking in starnge tongues came strolling in a asked for drinks, with which the frightened barman served them, retireing to the rear quickly. I earwigged the bunch's conversation and realised they were talking in a very broad scots accent. Going over to them I asked them where they came from and what they did. They came from the outer Hebrides and were A.B's. They were due to sign on the next day. They told me they just went from ship to ship, sending their money home at sign off and only keeping enough for a two week drinking and fighting binge before signing onto there next ship. They only went home at harvest time, the rest of the year spent working, drinking and fighting.
Next day there I was signing on and who should be our next deck crowd but yes, all the crowd that wrecked my local.
They all signed on and off we went on our regular crossing with me expecting some real fun and games. However these guys gave absolutley no trouble throughout the voayage, beyond them having such broad accents making it almost impossible to understand. As they were all built like the proverbial outhouse we tended not to get on their wrong side. They only ever drunk coca cola and only went ashore in Canada to stretch their legs and do some sight seeing....very strange.
Mind you when they paid off in London and our regular guys came back, they soon reverted to type, getting absolutley pizzed and wrecking various bars around the Royal Docks.
Happy days eh!!
rgds
Capt. John Arton (ret'd)