When it was announced that we were to be paid off and that the gulls
and porpoises that help to make the Dogger Bank the really jolly place
it is would know us no more, there was, I admit, a certain amount of
subdued jubilation on board. It is true that the Mate and the Second
Engineer fox-trotted twice round the deck and into the galley, where
they upset a ship's tin of gravy; and the story that the Trimmer, his
complexion liberally enriched with oil and coaldust, embraced the
Lieutenant and excitedly hailed the Skipper by his privy pseudonym
of "Plum-face," cannot be lightly discredited; but at the same time
I think each one of us felt a certain twinge of regret. Life in the
future apart from our trawler seemed impossible, almost absurd.
Pacificists must have known a similar feeling on Armistice day.
Although to the outsider one trawler may look very like another, to
us who know them personally they differ in character and have their
little idiosyncrasies no less than other people. Some are quite surly
and obstinate, others good-humoured and light-hearted; where one
exhibits all the stately dignity of a College head-porter another may
be as skittish and full of fun as a magistrate on the Bench. There was
one trawler at our base so vain that they could never get her to enter
the lockpits until her decks had been scrubbed and a string of bunting
hoisted at the foremast. It is surprising.
Taking her all in all our trawler was a good sort, one of the best.
When steaming head to wind in a heavy sea she certainly shipped an
amazing quantity of water, and even in a comparative calm she would
occasionally fling an odd bucketful or so of North Sea down the neck
or into the sea-boots of the unwary; but it was only her sense of fun.
She took particular delight in playing it on a new member of the crew;
it made him feel at home.
She was not what you would call a really clean ship--as the Skipper
said, if you washed your hands one day they were just as bad again
the next--but anyone who makes a fuss over a trifle like that is no
true-born sailorman. We all loved her and were proud of her speed,
for she could make nine knots at a push. Even the Second Engineer, who
had been a fireman in the Wilson line, was moved to admit in a moment
of admiration that she didn't do so badly for a floating pig-trough,
which was no meagre praise from a man with such a past.
She was a touchy ship, quick to resent and avenge a slight on her
good name. We had a strange Lieutenant one trip who came from a depot
ship at Southampton and wore a monocle. He was rather sore at having
to exchange a responsible harbour billet for the command of a mere
sea-going trawler, and expressed the opinion that there might be more
disgustingly dirty ships afloat than ours, but if so they were not
allowed out during official daylight; We felt her quiver from stem to
stern with rage. She took her revenge that evening as the Lieutenant
was coming aft for tea. It was a floppy sea and he unwisely ventured
along the windward side of the casing, and she seized her opportunity.
The Mate picked him up out of the scuppers and we dried his clothes
over the boilers, but the monocle was never seen again. The crew were
not so sympathetic as they might have been; they felt that he had
asked for it.
But, though her personal beauty would not have been unrivalled at a
Cowes Regatta and her somewhat erratic motions were not calculated to
bring balm to the soul of an unseasoned mariner, she was a faithful
ship, and no one could ever question her courage. At the sight of a
hostile periscope she used positively to see red, and she once steamed
across a mine-field without turning a hatch-cover. Throughout her
naval career she was a credit to the White Ensign and bravely upheld
the proud traditions of her ancestors.
She is to be handed back to her owners and will presumably return to
the more peaceful occupation of deep-sea fishing. It will be strange
to think of her still labouring away out there on the Nor'-East Rough
whilst we who have shared her trials so long are following once more
the less arduous ways of the land. If she prove as eager in the
pursuit of her undersea quarry as she was on the trail of the U-Boat I
would not change places with the cod and haddocks of the North Sea for
the prize-money of an Admiral. Good luck to her!
* * * * *
"[Printed upside-down: Pilot] fully qualified, wishes to obtain
appointment, with Flying School or Aircraft Firm."--_Technical
Paper_.
Judging by his advertisement he is an expert in looping.
* * * * *
"Station Officer R.D. Coleman, who has been for ten years in
charge of the Lewisham station of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade
(in which he has served 282 years), retired on Tuesday last.
Sub-officer Seadden was recently the medium of presenting to him
a marble-cased timepiece and ornaments from the officers and men
of the brigade."--_Local Paper_.
But what use will the clock be to a man for whom time obviously stands
still?
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE DAWN OF INTELLIGENCE IN BERLIN.
FIRST TEUTON. "AFTER ALL IT SEEMS THAT OUR EVER-VICTORIOUS ARMY WAS
BEATEN IN THE FIELD. ARE WE DOWN-HEARTED?"