Hullo Old Home

[brian daley]

I went back to the Pool 14 days later, I?ve drawn a veil over my leave ,nothing was changing.
Charlie Repp gave me another banana boat , I did?nt care how long the trip would be ,the longer the better as far as I was concerned..
The Chirripo was her name ,I had sailed on one of her sisters ,the Chuscal and had an aborted voyage on the Chicanoa, if I had stayed on her I would?nt have been in the pickle I was now in. Unfortunately I was not gifted with foresight and could not have foreseen what was happening to us.
Our voyage was to be the same as the one on the Chuscal, to Tiko in the Cameroons, there was no heavy mauling to do , just clean up the detritus of her previous load and then, as soon as we hit warmer weather, start repainting her. We were like Hollywood sailors, suntan oil and a comb were our essential tools for this job, no overhauling of heavy lift gear, no splicing ,we could have been casual labourers, excepting for watch duties. My cabin mate on this trip was a kid called George, I can?t remember his surname; he was about my age and size ,and ,like me ,was newly married.
We got on like a house on fire and used to spend a lot of time musing over married life, I was envious of him , he had married the girl of his dreams and they were looking forward to their first child. George was also an organiser and it was not long before he organised a sweep, I seem to remember it was for the Grand National, we would know who was the winner on the way home.
We had a trouble free run to Tiko, the ship was sparkling and we could take things easy day for a day or two. Some of the deck crowd were regular runners on this ship and knew a lot of the shore gang , They had played the locals football in the past and ,as the following day was Saturday, had organised another game of footie for tomorrow. We had all the gear, and come Saturday afternoon the crowd of us were sat on the little train chugging through the plantation .
Some of the local team were at the other end of the line waiting to take us to the pitch. There was quite a lot of spectators waiting at the pitch , we got ready ,and went out to play the game. They were far too good for us, barefooted , they were not afraid to tackle us and we had the old leather boots on. George was our goalie and let in more goals than was reasonable, they were just to quick. He dived to save a ball and slightly misjudged things and crashed into the metal goalpost , hurting his knee and thigh. He could have been a professional the way he rolled in agony. After a humiliating defeat, the boys from the home team invited us all for a cold beer at their local. The atmosphere was great, the juke box had a lot of Hi life records and the music was just right, tinny horns and a deep bass beat, very infectious music ,you could?nt stop your feet moving to the music. George was?nt enjoying things much, he was still rubbing his leg and grimacing. We mocked him ,telling him that we were losing before he hurt his leg and not to go blaming the result on it. I don?t know how long we had been in the bar when this small tallyman came over to me. ?Your fren? is very hurt, he must see doctor? We just laughed and told him that George was playing the old soldier, ?Eeze very bad ,no joke? Some one said ?If he?s that bad ,why don?t you take him to the doctor!? The little tallyman went over to George and gave him a piggy .back, he looked so incongruous, a huge whiteman being carried by someone near half his size.
We finished off in the bar an hour or so later and the captain of the shore team asked me if I would like to go to his home for some dinner. He lived in a conical straw hut and ,just in front of it was a fire ,there was a lady standing by it and a couple of little black cherubs playing nearby. This was home,and it was very welcoming, I was invited to squat on the ground just inside the hut and my new friend sat squatted opposite me. His wife brought two cold beers, which had been in a bucket, as we were supping the chilled nectar his wife pulled some big earthen balls from the fire. She brushed off the ashes and ,with a machete, cleaved open the balls inside of which was a perfectly baked fish. She dissected one and gave her husband and me half each, served up on a palm leaf. It was delicious , the pure white flesh flaked into your fingers and was so tasty. I think it was carp, but I have?nt tasted anything like it since. It was pitch dark when the husband walked me back to the little railway, the trains were still working but I was the only passenger on the way home.
Next morning we were making ready to sail, George?s bunk had?nt been slept in and when I asked the lads if they had seen him since last night everyone said no. And then we remembered the Tallyman; the hospital, he said he would take him to hospital , ?more likely took him home and ate him ? someone said unkindly.
I told the bosun what had happened and he took me to see the mate. When he heard our story ,the mate told me to take the train to the hospital, it was the stop beyond town ,and check if he was there. It did?nt take long for the train to get there, the hospital was a single storey building and was right by the line. When I walked in, I was greeted by a smartly dressed doctor, in an immaculately starched white coat. When I asked after George he looked grave and said ?It was a very close thing, he is sedated now but must not be moved for some hours? I asked him what the matter was , and he replied ?He had a very bad thrombosis, if it had been left for an hour longer I am afraid he would have died? I left the hospital thinking how we smart assed whitemen could have killed him ,while one small native had been wiser than all of us. I?ve often wondered if George knew just how lucky he was and who he truly owes his life to.
It was odd having noone to talk to all the way home.