Memories of yesteryear.
Memories of `Yesteryear`
One evening in a foreign port many years ago, I was sitting alone in the foc`sle of an old cargo ship in which I was serving at that time. All that day we had been discharging iron ore under it`s all enveloping clouds of `red dust` which coated practically anyone and everything around.
After the evening meal my shipmates had cleaned themselves up and all departed shoreside. Being `flat broke` left me with little option but to remain aboard with no one`s company but my own. I had not even bothered to clean myself up and was still wearing my iron ore stained denim shirt and jeans. I was simply still sitting there on the old wooden bench upon which I had partaken of my meal. I was sitting right at the end of that old bench close by the old iron stove and basking in the stoves warmth.
Suddenly hearing a noise in the alleyway outside, I looked up to see the door to the foc`sle slowly opening. Then in stepped the most elegant and beautiful woman I had ever seen. She really was absolutely `stunning` in every respect. She came over and stood just looking down at me in silence, whilst I must have appeared to be frozen solidly to the bench. She seemed to be simply quietly appraising me for what seemed like an eternity. Then she sat down beside me on that bench and began speaking.
She said “ I am English living among strangers in a foreign land. I lost my dear husband some time ago and I now feel so desperately lonely. I would so very much appreciate your companionship even if just for a little while. Would you perhaps care to come home with me” ?
I stammered and mumbled that I would of course care to go home with her, but that perhaps I should firstly clean myself up. She followed me to our rather primitive bathing facility which was no more than a narrow steel recess with a plank across it at waist level, the plank having a hole in it in which to place your bucket of [usually cold] water. “No no no” she cried pulling at my arm, “That will never do. Don`t bother with that, just come with me”.
I followed her off the ship to where a very expensive motor car stood waiting for us on the quay. She drove me for several miles to the outskirts of the town and into the driveway of a large and imposing house. She ushered me into the house and to the foot of a wide and very grand staircase. She said “At the top of this staircase you will find a bathroom. Please take as long as you like to enjoy a bath or a shower whichever may please you. After which you will find hanging on the door a bathrobe which I am sure will fit you. Please feel free to use it. If you would then step through the adjoining doorway you will find yourself in a bed room. Please make yourself comfortable there where I shall eventually join you”.
I made my way to the bathroom, a place of beautiful marble surfaces and gold taps and fittings [well gold in colour anyway] and a liberal selection of expensive toiletries. I enjoyed a wonderful hot bath which was absolute luxury in comparison to my more usual bucket of cold water. I then donned the bathrobe and stepped through to the bedroom. It was a room of magnificence, of satin drapes all around, of elegant furniture and silken cushions, of sumptious carpeting and a large luxurious and comfortable looking bed. I cast off the bathrobe and climbed into the bed where I then lay in breathless anticipation of what was yet to come, and thinking that if I played my cards right I could maybe be `made for life` here.
After a little while she stepped into the room wearing a lovely sheer negligee. What a vision of stunning beauty and lovlieness she was ! I could hardly breathe for my admiration of her. She came over to the bed and once again she stood looking down at me in silence. Once again she appeared to be silently appraising me for what seemed to be an eternity. Then she said “My word, you do appear to be even more handsome without your coating of iron ore” ! She then reached down taking hold of the bed covers and saying “Well come on then, move over to make room for me” ! I obeyed her immediately, quickly `moving over`, and in so doing I fell right off the end of that old wooden bench, banging my head against that old iron stove, and returning instantly to the sad reality of that lonely foc`sle with no one but myself for company. [ I hope you have enjoyed this seamans tale. I have greatly enjoyed the telling of it. Such imagination ! Ho ho ho ! ].
Came fourth...now what?
I was rooting for you right up to the point where your dream-lady knew a little too much about your days work. At least she had you drive away from the quay side and not fly up to the mother ship.
Keep eating the cheese last thing at night...you never know.
Its a good job you wern't in a lighthouse.
Mart has confided in me that he was reading this on his laptop in the toilet
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