Chapter 4
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     As far as women were concerned, the old men in the yard were “past it” anyway, although they would occasionally drop in a few stories of past romantic clinches to enliven their banter. But the confusing thing was, that the women of their lives were often referred to in the same manner as they referred to a tool or a boat building process.

“Naw, ya see, when yoo’s need to recaulk the plank seams o’ a boat, rake out the ol’ stuff wiv the tang o’ a file, bent o’er like a’ hook see, like this. Jus’ right it is fer getting’ to the back o’ the seam. Yoo got ta get all the ol’ stuff out loike – don’t go leavin’ nuffin in there – keep rakin’ it back like this, so’s ya really scrap the wood so’s it looks like new in the seam. Then i’s make up me mix – a concoctshun o’ turps an’red lead which i’s paint in quite liberal loike. Use plenty of it and do several coats, so’s it soaks right in afore yoos think about recaulkin’ the seam wiv new cotton.”

“See this boat o’er ‘ere, l primed those seams yesterday and their lookin’ good so’s they’re ready for recaulkin’ – see how l’ve prepared the cotton – teezed it out o’ the bundle and twisted it into a thin rope. Now i’s put a small amount o’ mastic in wiv me knife and then snake the caulkin’ in and tap it inta place wiv’ me mallet.”

Tap, tap, tap went Ol’ Bill as he hit the caulking cotton into place with a special iron and mallet. “Sees ‘ow it goes, yer got ter get up a good steady rhythm – not too ‘ard and not too soft – jus’ like when yer servin’ a bitch – take ‘er from behind wiv’ yer tool, press well ‘ome, toight in there me lads and then a nice steady rhythm in an’ out like! See ‘ow neat it looks, only comes with a steady tap an’ the right force. Perfectshun. Just loike you get when yer set up a steady rhythm wiv a bitch! Yoos get it right wiv a bitch and yoos’ll ‘ave ‘er moanin’ right and proper in no time!”

     He chuckled at his own crude comparison whilst he went on along the seam, paying in the cotton and tapping it deftly into place. “Mind yoo, this ol’ bitch’ll never moan, she’ll just look all smart an’ dandy when l’m finished.” And he chuckled some more as he went happily on with his work, with a glint in his eyes, remembering past forays with his bitches in the long grass at the back “o’ me billet.”

     Each day ended at the yard with our heads full of the knowledge we were given about maintaining boats and, our expectations of, hopefully not too distant adventures to come, with girls.

     Another time, Ol’ Bill was fitting a new shaft bearing.

“Naw ‘old this bearin’ up whilst l grease it wiv some jollip – that’s it.” Ol’ Bill slipped his paws into a tub of golden brown grease and transferred the oily smelling gunge on to the outside of the shaft bearing l held for him. “There’s no need fer too much mind, we’s jus’ won’a get it in the stern tube wiv’ no bovver like. Right let’s ‘ave er’ then an l’ll line ‘er up – yoos get that piece o’ ‘ard wood there and pass it o’er when l says loike. There she goes look, a nice tight fit – right lets ‘ave the wood an’ pass me that ‘ammer.”

     Old Bill placed the wood against the end of the bearing and gently tapped it with the hammer, forcing the bearing down into the stern-tube where it would eventually support the forward end of the propeller shaft.

“There yoos go, me mates, a nice fit an’ tighter than a nun’s pussy, l reckon!  Nuffin loike a tight one ta give yer pleasure!”

     Ol’ Bill always expected us to understand what he meant, and we did in the main. Well sort of, although l wasn’t too sure that the little snippets of sexual knowledge falling our way, were really “healthy” for us!

“But why a nun?”

“Cos they as the tightest one’s, on account that they’re supposed to be virgins – or near virgins, least ways, little used, loike – no need for a rebore there!”

Bob and l looked at each other, still slightly mystified and not sure whether, in our future sexual forays, we needed to avoid nuns or not!

     We walked home that night, along the canal, thoughtful. Our heads had been filled with knowledge. We understood all that we had been taught about recaulking the plank seams of a boat and fitting a new shaft bearing, but l wasn’t too sure about the depth of our understanding with reference to sex and a nun’s pussy!

“So why would you want to do it with a nun’s pussy?”

“Wot d’ya mean!?”

“I understand the nun bit, l mean a nun is a woman right?!”

“Of course. Yup, a nun’s a woman alright, at least they wos the last time l looked!”

“So why do it with a nun’s cat?!”

“Wot?!”

“A nun’s cat!”

“Bugger me mate, you wouldn’t do it wiv’ ‘er cat, you’d do it wiv’ ‘er pussy!”

“Look, l’m never goin’ to do it with her pussy cat – l mean, that’s terrible – anyway, how could you, the bluddy thing’d rip yer balls off with it’s claws if you tried!”

Bob’s reply came in exasperation – “”Wot the fuggin’ ‘ell are you talking about! Nun’s don’t usually ‘ave cats, they ‘ave pussys, like all women!”

“Wot?!”..................................................

..................................................... Joey was a nice man, slightly simple if the truth were told, with a gangly walk and arms that seemed to stretch closer to the ground than they should. He was always attired in chequed shirt and blue dungarees. These were nearly always clean and ironed, as if some over indulgent mother had just dressed him, before sending him out to play. He was often in the yard working on his never ending project, the restoration of an old plywood cruiser.

     The joke was, that he was taking so much time over it, that once he had the rot removed from one end of the hull and replaced with good wood, by the time he got to the other end, the first repair work would be rotten again! So, Joey was a permanent feature of the yard, which made the yard owner happy because he knew that he would always have at least one paying customer, for life!

“Hi Joey, you ok?”

“Oh yes boys, just sweepin’ out the foc’stle before l start gluing down those bunk panels.”

“You wos doin’ that last month mate!”

“Oh yes, l know, but you know me, just got to get it right. Time doesn’t matter when you want perfection – always remember that boys!”

“Ok. Mind if we use yer dinghy?”

“Of course not, go right ahead. You fishing for wood again?”

“Yup, we’ve designed our boat and decided we need more wood for the planking.”

“Good, let me see your design sometime.”

“Ok, see yer.”

     And off we went once again, to use Joey’s dinghy and row out to the other side of the Thames and go up river a bit, in our search for more scraps of wood. We knew of several little creeks and hollows in the river bank at obscure places where wood would get caught. So we headed for these, fruitful fishing grounds. Heavy rain had washed a lot of water down river and with it had come more planks from higher up the Thames. Heavy rain always did this, so just after bad weather was a good time to go wood fishing.

     We rowed over to a bend in the river where we had found wood before and saw a large baulk of timber with one end sticking imperiously out of the water just right for capture.

“Look, there’s a bit o’ wood nailed to it, we can get a rope round that and tow it out.”

     I got the rope we had brought with us and prepared to lasso the timber as Bob rowed expertly up beside it. A deftly tied knot secured the rope to the timber and claimed it as our own and a nod to Bob sent him pulling on the oars to shift the timber out of it’s resting place. But, when the tow rope snapped taut, nothing happened and the baulk of timber just lent slightly over and stuck fast.

“Bugger, this is goin’ ta take some doin’ by the looks of it mate. Lets see if we can pull it side ways, maybe it’s other end is trapped under somethin’.”

     Bob turned the dinghy so that we were side on to the timber and then rowed fast to try to wrestle the wood out of it’s hole. But the dinghy came to a sudden stop with the tow rope bar taught again. The wood didn’t shift and the sudden stop almost had me over the side. To regain my position l had to lean forward over Bob which sent the stern up, unbalancing the dinghy. This sudden shift in trim with the bow down, allowed a bottle which had been hidden under the stern seat to roll forward between our feet.

“Hey, look wot just made an appearance – looks like sustainance!”

“Yup, wot is it?”

Picking it up, l read the label. “Haig whisky by the looks of it mate!”

“You ever had it before?”

“Wot whisky. No, never tasted it. But the Scots seem ta like it an both you an’ me are half Scots mate, so there’s a fare chance we’ll have a taste fer it!”

“Yup, an’ l don’t think that timber’s goin’ ta shift fer us today, so, seein’ as we’re already tied up to it, why don’t we jus’ sit back, relax and ‘ave a wee drink as they say in the ‘ighlands!”

     Bob took the bottle, unscrewed the top put his head back like the best bar room cowpoke he’d seen in a John Wayne movie and swallowed deeply, only to spend the next two minutes chocking, coughing and spluttering. Thumping him on the back didn’t seem to help but eventually he looked up at me through tear reddened eyes and exclaimed “Jeesus, that was good!”

“Wot, you nearly died you maniac!”

“Oh but it tasted good, just burnt me throat out that’s all! ‘Ere you ‘ave a swig.”

“Ok, but l’m not going to do it like you!” And with that, l took a rather genteel sip from the bottle. “Phew, that’s a bit strong, not sure whether l like that!”

“Christ mate, you’re drinkin’ it like a woman! Give it ‘ere.”

     Bob took another swig, but with slightly less vigour this time and sat back, a mellow smile crossing his lips. “Hmm, not bad at all!”

I took another swig and another and then a third, just to keep up, doing what l would much later in life, regret! The sun came out from behind a grayish cloud and a gull flew overhead and gave a light squawk as it turned it’s head to observe us, the dinghy rocked gently to a slight swell and everything became fuzzy......................................

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