The Lakes
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There were no riots or dock strikes this time, the captain was able to maintain a very tight schedule and we negotiated our way through the St Lawrence Seaway and four of the Great Lakes.
Our first port on Lake Ontario was in the US, Rochester. Toronto ,in Canada, followed .We called at Hamilton and then went through the canal to Lake Erie where we docked at Toledo. Windsor ,in Canada, was our next port of call just up from here we were back in the US ,at the port city of Motown , Detroit. .Detroit is in Lake Saint Clair and we crossed it to go through another section of the Seaway ,w2hich took us to Sarnia ,on the Canadian side of Lake Huron
After Sarnia ,we were able to catch up on some sleep ,because we were going non-stop to Chicago, which is at the southern end of Lake Michigan.
The “Windy City “ was the end of the line ,there we would discharge the last of our imported goods and then start loading for home.
All the while on our outward journey, that little blonde, from Birmingham, had been replying to my many letters. That song from the King and I ,"Getting to Know You" She was 5 years younger than me but seemed a lot more mature.
She had been in a drama group and had done stage management ,as well as painting the sets. Her love of literature was evident in the books she read and her skill with a pencil was such that she could sketch portraits which seemed to catch the essence of the person ,making them more alive.
On our homeward run ,I raised the possibility of meeting her. I knew what she looked like, her voice was clear and strong and her sense of humour was second to none.
By the time we got back to Montreal we had arranged to meet up at her aunt’s place in Oswestry, just for the day………………………I was really looking forward to that day, it could’nt come soon enough.
While we were in Montreal the crew were put to work painting the hull and the accommodation. We started off at the bow and would be painting right down the length of her. I was put on the stage with another guy who was about the same age as me .We were working on the port bow and, facing us were two Sos’s on the starboard bow. Because of the rake of her stem the two of us at the bow end of both stages were visible to each other and could see how we were working. I ,and my stage mate, had learned over the years how to work smart.
The stages were,in essence ,planks of wood with a cross piece at either end,we called the cross piece “ horns”. We would tie a gantline at the horned ends and then pass the ends of the line through a piece of rope called a lizard .This had a metal eyelet spliced into one end while the other end would be made fast to a rail or stanchion.When the gantline was put through the eyelet it was wound around the end of the stage, this would hold the stage in place. Two turns would hold it tight ,but the more nervous amongst us would put as many turns as they could on the end. So, there we were, me and my stage mate with just two turns on the horns ,and the young ‘uns opposite with about six turns. To lower ourselves down to another “fleet” we would grip the gantline and throw of the turns and lower ourselves simply by loosing our hold on falls. Simply closing your grip would halt the drop and we would put a couple of turns around the horns . The kid opposite me had never seen this done before and told his stagemate what he had seen. They tried copying us ,gripping the gantline,but not tight enough! The stage fell away beneath them and by the time they had gripped them tight enough, they were hanging there ,in mid air. The guy opposite me looked like Wil.e Coyote.There was only one way for them to go….DOWN!!!!
They hit the water together and were pulled into the punt ,which was being used for painting the boot topping.
Their misadventure was the source of great merriment amongst the lads,me and my oppo nearly had a stroke we laughed that much.
The days flew by and soon we were back in Liverpool for the weekend; I spent Friday and Saturday at home and ventured to Oswestry on Sunday.
It was a fresh autumn day and the countryside was turning brown and gold, Shropshire is a wonderful county, full of hills and dales, ineffably English.
I made my own way from the station to Park Avenue and the town looked fresh and clean in the sunlight . When I reached Rogers I was welcomed like a long lost son, and sitting in the front room was that little Brummie. I caught my breath when I saw her, her flaxen hair had golden flecks in it and her little black dress with its white cuffs and collar, so simple and elegant made her look enchanting. My eyes were filled with her simple beauty and I hoped that my heart would not betray me because it was thumping within my chest. We had Sunday lunch and then went for a drive in Rogers fathers car. It was all passing in a haze,I only had eyes for her,my little blonde. Time sped by and it was soon time for Blondie to go back to Brum. She had to go to Shrewsbury for the train and her Uncle was driving her. I asked if I could see her off and we all drove to the station. I wanted to be with her so much,to leave her now would be madness. When we got to the station I bought a one way ticket to Birmingham, I was going to see her to her door. She seemed delighted that I had done so and when sat on the train ,oblivious to the world around us, holding hands and devouring each other with our eyes. By the time we reached New Street in Birmingham I knew I was falling for this lady in a big,big way.
Her parents were quite surprised when they saw the two of us ,they were nice gentle folk and were very shy. She was their only child and I could see that they were worried about me, a sailor ,big and hairy,and their little daughter, so frail and vulnerable.
It was about 9 in the evening and she took me to see a bit of Birmingham nightlife, it was petty much the same as Liverpool ,small ,smoke filled cellars ,with psychodelic lights and music systems blasting at 128 decibels. She had to work next morning and so we went back to her house about midnight. Her parents were still up, she thought they would have been in bed. Her mum had made me a bed in Blondies room and Blondie was sleeping in the spare room.
When she showed me my bed, we kissed and near scalded each other, all of my senses were inflamed . We pulled way from each other, knowing we were adrift in dangerous waters. I bade her goodnight and settled in her bed, it smelled of a subtle perfume, gentle like herself. Some of her sketches hung on the walls and I took enjoyment in just looking at them.
I was awakened next morning with the aroma of bacon and eggs, it was about 7-0clock. The door burst open and in came Blondie she came to me and kissed me fully awake
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I had not been dreaming, she was real and she was kissing me. Oh that morning was so bright, but she was off to work, she was a telephonist at the GPO. She had gone by the time I was up and dressed, he mum cooked me a scrumptious breakfast and I ventured out to have a look at Birmingham town.
It was a town of great contrasts, lots of beautiful old Victorian building cheek by jowl with terrible post war concrete monstrosities .It was as though some crank had put the city into a faulty time machine and spewed out this dreadful mess.
But there was so much to see and do that time had slipped by and it was near time for Blondie to finish work. I went to the exchange where she worked and stood on the pavement opposite. Soon enough ,she was there and we enfolded ourselves into each other.
Her mother had dinner ready for us when arrived, the clock seemed to be working at double speed and it was time for me to make my departure. She came down town with me and we had a drink or two in a pub near the station. She seemed quiet and contemplative s we sat there, I was soon to be off to faraway, she would be here,waiting?
A teardrop slipped down her cheek and she was gripping my hand. I pulled her to me,” When I come home again ,I will marry you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I could feel her cheeks ,wet against mine and I knew that my heart had found its home.
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