least George Alton was a shop assistant, not a sailor. If Ellen started bringing sailors in she, Biddy, would definitely move out!
The Jenny Bowdler was a coaster, carrying any cargo it could get up and down and around the coast of Britain. She was Dai’s first choice simply because she was needing a deckhand the day that he and Meirion visited the port of Amlwch, simply because he had applied to the Skipper and got the job, but he was not sorry. It was a good life, though the work was hard and time ashore brief.
And right now the Jenny was nosing her way into a small port on the west coast of Ireland. They had a load of timber to take ashore here and they would probably pick up bricks, or dressed stone, or – or cabbages and kings, Dai thought ruefully. And once they had exchanged cargoes they would be off again, with very little opportunity to take a look around, or do more than go into the village to send a postcard home, buy some fresh fruit or vegetables, and get back on board.
It was a fine, chilly morning, and very early. Mist curled round the hills, hiding their tops from inquisitive eyes, and on the long meadow which sloped down to the right of the harbour the dew, Dai knew from his own experience, would hang heavy. He sighed again; he liked the sea, he enjoyed the comradeship and the hard work aboard the Jenny , but he missed his own place, his friends, the exhausting, muscle-straining work on the fishing boats and then the pleasure to be had from tending your garden, watching the crops grow, the beasts begin to thrive.
‘Wharra you thinkin’ about, you dozy ’aporth?’ A hand, large and square, smote Dai right between the shoulder blades, making him choke like a cat with a fur-ball. ‘Are ya comin’ ashore, wack?’
Greasy O’Reilly was immediately identifiable by his nasal Liverpool accent. Dai swung his fist around his back and hit something softish; no part of Greasy was actually soft. He was a square, pugnacious young man of about Dai’s own age but he had been reared in a far rougher school.
‘Wait’ll we see dem Liver bairds come into view,’ he would say to Dai whenever home was mentioned. ‘Eh, Taff, dere’s no more beautiful sight I’m tellin’ yiz.’
‘Everyone’s home is special, see, Greasy,’ Dai assured him. ‘Amlwch isn’t my home, but it’s near enough for me. Tell you what, bach, when we get back to Anglesey you can come an’ stay wi’ me for a day or two. Then when we reach Heaven – Liverpool to the uninitiated – I’ll come home wi’ you.’
‘You’re on! We lives in a real posh slum, us O’Reillys do,’ Greasy said with relish. ‘An’ I gorra sister, she’s a smart judy, what’ll do anyt’ing for a mate o’ mine. ‘Ave you gorra sister, la?’
‘Yes; she’s married to a very strong man who ties seamen in knots and chucks ’em into the ’oggin at the least suspicion of a smile in my sister’s direction,’ Dai had said. ‘Nice try though, Greasy.’
But now, holding the stern rope and waiting to jump ashore and tie it round the nearest bollard, Dai had no time for chit-chat.
‘Yes, I’m coming ashore, if you haven’t split my adam’s apple in two, thumping me like that,’ he said. ‘Ah … she’s closing!’
He crouched on the rail, then sprang over the narrowing line of dark water and onto the cobbles below and in a couple of seconds the Jenny’s stern was secured, whilst ahead of him Mal Stretson followed suit with the bow rope.
The fenders bumped gently and the small ship cuddled up to the jetty like a lamb to the mother sheep. Men appeared on deck, the Skipper came down from the bridge and everyone began to scurry. They all knew that the sooner the cargo went ashore the sooner they would be able to follow suit, and the port was an attractive little place.
‘Irish gairls is gorgeous,’ Greasy said as he heaved at the first bulk of timber. ‘Gorgeous an’ willin’. Oh, will ye look at that little darlin’.’
Dai raised
The Jenny Bowdler was a coaster, carrying any cargo it could get up and down and around the coast of Britain. She was Dai’s first choice simply because she was needing a deckhand the day that he and Meirion visited the port of Amlwch, simply because he had applied to the Skipper and got the job, but he was not sorry. It was a good life, though the work was hard and time ashore brief.
And right now the Jenny was nosing her way into a small port on the west coast of Ireland. They had a load of timber to take ashore here and they would probably pick up bricks, or dressed stone, or – or cabbages and kings, Dai thought ruefully. And once they had exchanged cargoes they would be off again, with very little opportunity to take a look around, or do more than go into the village to send a postcard home, buy some fresh fruit or vegetables, and get back on board.
It was a fine, chilly morning, and very early. Mist curled round the hills, hiding their tops from inquisitive eyes, and on the long meadow which sloped down to the right of the harbour the dew, Dai knew from his own experience, would hang heavy. He sighed again; he liked the sea, he enjoyed the comradeship and the hard work aboard the Jenny , but he missed his own place, his friends, the exhausting, muscle-straining work on the fishing boats and then the pleasure to be had from tending your garden, watching the crops grow, the beasts begin to thrive.
‘Wharra you thinkin’ about, you dozy ’aporth?’ A hand, large and square, smote Dai right between the shoulder blades, making him choke like a cat with a fur-ball. ‘Are ya comin’ ashore, wack?’
Greasy O’Reilly was immediately identifiable by his nasal Liverpool accent. Dai swung his fist around his back and hit something softish; no part of Greasy was actually soft. He was a square, pugnacious young man of about Dai’s own age but he had been reared in a far rougher school.
‘Wait’ll we see dem Liver bairds come into view,’ he would say to Dai whenever home was mentioned. ‘Eh, Taff, dere’s no more beautiful sight I’m tellin’ yiz.’
‘Everyone’s home is special, see, Greasy,’ Dai assured him. ‘Amlwch isn’t my home, but it’s near enough for me. Tell you what, bach, when we get back to Anglesey you can come an’ stay wi’ me for a day or two. Then when we reach Heaven – Liverpool to the uninitiated – I’ll come home wi’ you.’
‘You’re on! We lives in a real posh slum, us O’Reillys do,’ Greasy said with relish. ‘An’ I gorra sister, she’s a smart judy, what’ll do anyt’ing for a mate o’ mine. ‘Ave you gorra sister, la?’
‘Yes; she’s married to a very strong man who ties seamen in knots and chucks ’em into the ’oggin at the least suspicion of a smile in my sister’s direction,’ Dai had said. ‘Nice try though, Greasy.’
But now, holding the stern rope and waiting to jump ashore and tie it round the nearest bollard, Dai had no time for chit-chat.
‘Yes, I’m coming ashore, if you haven’t split my adam’s apple in two, thumping me like that,’ he said. ‘Ah … she’s closing!’
He crouched on the rail, then sprang over the narrowing line of dark water and onto the cobbles below and in a couple of seconds the Jenny’s stern was secured, whilst ahead of him Mal Stretson followed suit with the bow rope.
The fenders bumped gently and the small ship cuddled up to the jetty like a lamb to the mother sheep. Men appeared on deck, the Skipper came down from the bridge and everyone began to scurry. They all knew that the sooner the cargo went ashore the sooner they would be able to follow suit, and the port was an attractive little place.
‘Irish gairls is gorgeous,’ Greasy said as he heaved at the first bulk of timber. ‘Gorgeous an’ willin’. Oh, will ye look at that little darlin’.’
Dai raised
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