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O’Gee was berthed at Rod Eyot, partly hidden under willows and reeds,
where the island had tried it’s best to hide her disgrace from the Henley
crowds. After all, what could such a down trodden craft be doing nestled in the
bossom of so many gleaming water craft? Even the afore mentioned slap of newish
paint couldn’t hide her fallen glory – an old tart amongst the well kept and
well healed girls of Henley.
But old tart or not, her price was right and having looked as far up her
skirts as we could, we knew that there was enough left, in those tired and worn
out old thighs to give us some much needed pleasure! She was big enough a girl
to quench Bob’s thirst for size and the shape of her upper works was not that
un-seamanlike!
Furthermore, she had not lost her shape, as old tarts of a certain
vintage are prone to do. Her main body, her hull, had no arthritic bends and
twists. Her sheer line was smart and curved gracefully up to bow and stern, so
her keel was still straight and she had not sagged or hogged in the middle and,
despite the grass growing from some of her more dirty little corners, she did
not look too bad. And, treading heavily on her decks did not cause any of her
structure to drop off – a definite plus!
No, she was ok, was O’Gee and the engine was already running without
too much smoke issuing from her exhaust, so, she was a goer. The rather fine
Fisherman’s anchor resting on the foredeck beside a hand windlass, which had
both a rope and a chain drum, was also a persuader. After all, what fine, well
found sea going boat did not have a proper Fisherman’s Anchor, big enough to
hold her in a gale, with a manful windlass to boot?
“I sees yer admirin’ the anchor! Roight proper that
is, with a good powerful ‘and windlass and plenty o’ three-eighths proof
tested chain down in the chain locker below – nothing scrimped, that’s real
proper sea goin’ kit that – an’ a good strong hawse pipe o’er the bow
fer when yer anchor ‘er in some remote island bay.”
He knew exactly the words needed to press our romantic buttons. Anchors,
chain, a proper windlass, a real hawse pipe! Words that were music to our ears
as we extended the list naturally to include, sandy beaches, palms, clear blue
water and of course, dusky maidens swaying in grass skirts and not a lot else!
The lustful glint came into our eyes, until, that is, our eyes rested on the
engine again.
“Just needs a regular spot o’ oil she does –
jus’ unscrew this and pop it in, see? She can be a bit difficult ta start when
she’s cold. The ol’ girl needs some work on ‘er electrics an’ a bit o’
ticklin’ ta tease ‘er into life, loike! But you’ll get the ‘ang o’ it,
l’m sure. You’s looks loike good sea engineers, the pair o’ yoo!”
What a mistake it was, not to try the boat out first on an extended trip.
This, error we found later! A ‘bit o’ ticklin’’ to get the engine going
could take two hours! And the regular ‘spot o’ oil’ was as regular as
every half an hour, otherwise the incredible cacophony of metal grinding on
metal would herald a complete and deathly seizure!
The one thing that the former owner was generous in, was a tank of
diesel, at least enough to get us well up river towards Reading and well away
from his mooring. He wanted no possibility of our returning, if we conked out
too soon!
So after agreeing the price and Bob having paid over the cash, the former
smiling owner waived us a cheery good bye as we cast off and headed away from
Henley towards Reading.
Just as we were leaving, we could here the words “Don’t bovver turnin’
orf the engine in the locks – no matter wot the lock keeper says – they
know’s the boat anyhow!” Hell, l thought, more arguments with lock keepers.
As we turned to wave, he had disappeared, gone to ground in the
undergrowth. But, what did we care? He may have had all of Bob’s cash, but we
were aboard a fine motorboat, with lots of potential for future improvement.
Under all that grime and peeling paint, she was a smart boat with fine
proportions and capable of taking us down river to London and the mouth of the
Thames and even across the Channel. After all, many of the famous “little
ships” that had done such sterling work to evacuate the troops from Dunkirk
during the early stages of the Second World War, were no bigger than O’Gee.
Ok, she needed some care, some manicuring and the liberal application of makeup,
but then that was our stock in trade. Hours sand papering, priming, filling,
painting and sanding again, were what Bob and l were all about!
“You know mate, she’s just as handy as those
Dunkirk ‘little ships’ wiv’ plenty o’ power to get us across the Channel
to Ostend or Rotterdam or wherever.”
“Yep, an’ l bet she’s good in a choppy sea –
real good amount o’ topside on her which’ll keep out any sea. Generous beam
so she’ll be real stable an’ bags o’ room down below for supplies an’
stores.”
“Yeah, an’ l bet she could take a rig too –
nothin’ too large, but a nice gaff main, mast in a tabernacle fer easy lowerin’
under bridges. Hey, maybe even a generous bowsprit – keep the height of the
rig low so’s we don’t ‘ave to add too much ballast.”
“Get rid o’ that rickety ol’ skylight and’
replace it wiv somethin’ proper. One sea over that, an it would go over the
side – by the board!”
“Yeah, we could do that when we repay the deck seams
– get her good an’ tight – no more fuggin’ drips o’er the bunks –
need them nice an cosy fer the birds!”
“Yeah, definitely!!”
We continued our future speculation, covering all areas from her smelly
bilges and the desperate requiremeant for ‘a lick o’ paint’ on her hull,
to the need to replace her ‘bucket and chuck-it’ chemical toilet with a
‘proper’ Simpson and Lawrence sea toilet ‘wiv one o’ them proper pump
out handles’ we had seen in the adverts of yachting magazines, which really
looked the part and gave ‘the finishing touch’, to a well found sea boat.
It was just a pity that, whilst exploring O’Gee’s future in our
capable and daydreamy hands, we did not look behind us. If we had, we would have
seen her big advantage over the Dunkirk Little Ships that had so bravely rescued
the troops from those open and exposed beaches, long ago. O’Gee would have
been wonderful in a surreptitious clandestine battle, seeing as she was more
than capable of laying down her own very dense, filthy black smoke screen!
When l did look aft, the Thames towards Henley was almost completely
obscured by the smoking exhaust cloud.
“Jeesus!”
“Oh, she’ll jus’ burn a bit o’ oil until she
gets hot – it’ll be fine in a mo’”
“You don’t think we should return and ask the guy
about it? I mean, the cloud is covering the entire width of the Thames!”
But then, if we had turned back, we would probably never have been able to find the island again, not amidst all that smoke!
.....................................................
We reached the area just before the bend where the waters widened and Bob
cut the throttle back to slow us down. I stood on the foredeck, feet braced
apart having hefted the anchor to the deck edge. I was really not too sure
whether l could throw it over the side without doing my back in, or catching it
on the side of the boat and doing damage to O’Gee! The anchor was a good deal
heavier than l had reckoned on.
“Hey mate, we need a lead an’ line!”
“Why?”
“Ta find out wot depth of water we have.”
“But we’ve got more than enough chain for this
depth of water. It’s only a river an’ there’s enough chain for a sea!”
“Yeah, but if we don’t know what depth o’ water
we’re in, we can’t gauge how much chain to let out. We need four times the
depth of water in length o’ chain so’s we don’t drag the anchor, accordin’
to that book l wos readin’.”
“Roight – bugger me Bob, w’ere not goin’ to
drag chain or anchor ‘ere, there’s no wind and’ no tide!”
“Yeah, but we might as well practice fer when we do
go to sea!”
“Ok. Lead an’ line. I don’t think we have that
onboard.”
“Use some string an’ tie it to an ‘eavy object to
throw over…..and we need to mark the line in fathoms wiv’ bits o’
leather!”
“Fathoms? Every six feet! Bob the water ‘ere is
less than four feet deep anyway!”
“Ok, just find some string!”
I didn’t mind doing things properly, especially if it was practice for
something bigger, but this seemed a little over the top. But l humoured him as
Bob was obviously getting into the role of ocean navigator. He would ask me to
take sights next with our non existent sextant!
In the stern locker l found some old sisal string, otherwise known as
‘hairy string’ and a brass bolt to use as a weight. Hardly ideal as lead and
line, but beggars can’t be choosers, so they say!
“You know don’t you, that the lead, should actually
be lead and should ‘ave a hollow in the bottom wiv’ wax or somethin’ in it
so that yer can pick up sand or stones and sea what the bottom is like, not that
the river ‘ere abouts ‘as anything other than a bottom covered in turds.
“Why?”
“So’s yoo can compare it against wot it says on the
chart, not that we ‘ave a chart!”
Bob frowned at my cynicism. I was not playing the game, but then he
wasn’t the one having to dance about on the foredeck with a more than heavy
anchor. An anchor which, l would rapidly follow over the side if l got the
throwing all wrong! If not, l would probably end up giving myself a hernia or
taking a chunk out of the boat, in the attempt!
I mounted the deck again and strode forward coiling the hairy string in
my left hand and swinging the bolt, er lead, in the other. True seaman fashion!
I turned and looked at Bob for his signal to caste the lead.
“Go on then!”
“But…..!” And we suddenly hit the bottom! I fell
to my knees and almost went right overboard grasping a stanchion just in time.
The stanchion immediately gave way as the screws holding it in place pulled out
of the deck! Bob looked confused.
..................................Bob put the boat into reverse again so
that we did not ride over the chain and to help in bringing it up through the
pipe.
“It’s goin’ ok mate, l think that’s more than
enough, we only need twelve feet or so under the water”.
Bob agreed with a nod and l turned towards the chain.
“How do yer stop it mate!?”
“Not sure – tread on it.”
“Wot!?”
“Tread on it, that’ll stop it.”
“No it bluddy well wont! If l do that it’ll take me
over the side wiv it!”
But there was no need to worry. The chain obviously had reached it’s
end and came to a temporary halt in the chain pipe as the eyebolt it was
attached too, took up the strain………... and then pulled out of the frame it
was bolted through and came up through the chain pipe to follow the entire chain
over the side!
“Bugger!” I turned to Bob for his comment.
“Fuck!”.................................................
..............................................Bob fetched me a small bottle from which l took a slug
and coughed.
“Bluudy ‘ell mate wots this!?”
“Whisky”.
“No it’s not!”
“Yeah, it’s some o’ Dewey’s stash. Keeps it
under that pile o’ American comics he has at the back o’ the shed”.
“How come you got it?”
“He gave it too me, fer not tellin’ ‘is missus
where ‘e wos, when she came down to the yard the other week, lookin’ fer ‘im”.
“I didn’t know that!”
“Forgot to tell you, l came down early an’ found
Dewey comatose round the back o’ the shed. Reckon he’d been there all night.
Fair reeked e’ did o’ booze. Must ‘ave been on a real bender the night
before, an’ just fell asleep. Anyway, l left ‘im where ‘e wos an went
round the front to find ‘is missus on the prowl. Where’s that bastard Dewey,
she says, loud enough to raise the dead. I told ‘er l didn’t know,
‘adn’t seen ‘im. She says, she’s goin ta rip ‘is balls off after
she’s ‘ad a go at that little French tart down the Ship Inn! She fair pushed
me up against the wall an’ wos threatening me wiv the same end! Christ, she
said if l didn’t tell ‘er where Dewey wos, she would bite me manhood off!
God she’s a big titted bitch that one! You could suffocate ‘tween those
breasts!”
“That big, eh?”
“Anyway, l wanted Dewey to look o’er the engine, so
l didn’t want to dump ‘im in it, so l told ‘er l ‘ad’nt seen ‘im fer
ages! Anyway, she goes off, an when l turned round l could see Dewey cowering
down in the shed. Gawd, ‘e wos fair afraid! What you done now Dewey? I said,
‘E says, nothin’, just spent some time sortin’ some problems wiv a nice
girl ‘e met down the Ship – all innocent loike”.
“Innocent! Dewey?”
....................................I poked it with my finger, the planking gave way
without much resistance and with a shock my finger disappeared right through the
hull!
“Bob, BOB, where are you?”
“I’m workin’ on the starboard side bilges under
the berth mate.”
“Ok, have you worked on the PORT side yet?!”
“No, wot’s the matter?” He detected the note of
hysteria in my voice.
“Well, come to the PORT side and look at the bilge
area just above where the waterline would be, near amidships!”
“Wot’s the matter?”
“JUST DO IT!!”
“Ok, l’m lifting the bunk bottom now”.
“See anything?”
“No, wot?”
“Anything moving, wiggling!”
“No, can’t see nothing mate – you found a snake
or somethin’? COR, fuggin’ ‘ell, wot’s THAT!?”
“MY FINGER!!”
...........................................
But the old man could see the look of guilt in my eyes.
“Only, you sold ‘er just in the nick o’ time!
Lucky that, weren’t it!?”
With that, he left us to ponder over the remains of O’Gee, an old
friend and the inspiration for many good dreams, now sadly gone forever.