The Barn

As soon as the Pride of Lamond entered port, the spirits of Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt fell. They had had a reasonably successful trip. It had been a long one, two weeks, and tiring also, but the catch had been immense. Baskets full of fat, juicy, pink prawns, cases upon cases of north Atlantic cod and pots of lobsters and crabs, all of which they were expecting to make a handsome profit at auction. The sea air was peppered with salt and the smell of vinegar, which Deck Hand Chris was using to clean the rails, whistling a merry tune to himself as he did. They were looking forward to a couple of pints in The Lady's Head and a slap-up meal. Well, Skipper Bruce, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt were looking forward to a slap-up meal, First Mate Glen was looking forward to a couple of mouthfuls of curry, which would do him for a month. Skipper Bruce was planning to spend the evening moonlighting as his alter-ego, DJ Vector, at a Dundee club, First Mate Glen was ready to enjoy a good argument with Heather, Deck Hand Chris had a game of Risk with Harbour Master Gamble in mind and Cabin Boy Matt was going to really splash out on Elaine and take her for two-for-one pizzas. Life was good.

Until the Pride of Lamond entered port and four pairs of eyes spotted something the crew had hoped not to see for a long while.

The Grey Friar towered above them, gleaming in the early morning sun, its radar twirling, its darkened windows threatening. All signs of damage from the previous autumn's fire had gone. It was as good as new and was giving out a grumble of high quality from its engine. When the four men had climbed onto the quay from their vessel they were met by the presence of something else unexpected. The old, grey block of flats which stood at the dockside had been gutted like a north Atlantic cod, painted an array of dazzling colours and fitted with a state-of-the-art refrigeration mechanism.

Captain Cambell was stood at the large door the size of an Eddie Stobart lorry supervising the fitting of a sign reading The Barn to the wall.

"Hey," he said, seeing them and smiling sympathetically. "How are you?"

"Alright," replied Skipper Bruce, but Captain Campbell hadn't waited for a reply.

"This is our new million pound storage facility," Captain Campbell said making a grand, sweeping gesture towards the building with his arm. "We estimate that we'll be bringing in around seventy thousand units a day now The Grey Friar's up and running again, so we'll be needing somewhere to store all that fish."

Skipper Bruce just nodded.

"We decided to make it fit in with the humble surroundings," Captain Campbell looked meaningfully at the Pride of Lamond, "so we've named it The Barn. A nice touch."

The Pride of Lamond's crew stared at the building. Deck Hand Chris let out a long, low, tuneful whistle.

"We're chuffin' screwed," said Cabin Boy Matt, optimistically. "I need a pint."

And so the four of them, along with Steven Seagull, headed up the hill towards The Lady's Head, where First Mate Glen purchased the full back catalogue of his favourite band, the highly acclaimed Wee Frees, called One Hundred and Forty-Nine Psalms.

* * *

After a few days of rest Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt returned to the Pride of Lamond, where they prepared for their next voyage. As they sat mending nets they watched as Jim the Navigator drove a yellow fork-lift piled high with cases of fresh fish into The Barn. First Mate Fraser bounced around, her curly hair rising and falling gaily, waving yellow table tennis bats to direct her colleague. Meanwhile, Louisa the Technician lifted the cases of fish from the fork-lift while Cabin Boy Henry tried to decide where they should be stored.

The Pride of Lamond's crew sat mending nets late into the afternoon and still Jim the Navigator drove back and forth between The Barn and The Grey Friar. With each trip the hearts of Skipper Bruce and his men sank a little further. Prices of fish would fall immensely now.

Eventually, First Mate Glen could take it no more.

"Come on," he said, "let's get out of here. I can't stand to watch them any longer."

Skipper Bruce nodded his agreement. "Aye," he said. "Let's go catch some fash."

But the crew could tell that their Skipper's usual enthusiasm was lacking.

* * *

The trip was another success, but the men didn't feel happy, for they new their catch could never match that of The Grey Friar. It played particularly heavily on the mind of Skipper Bruce. His DJing would keep him afloat. His tunes were reasonably popular amongst the middle aged at some of Dundee's less refined establishments, but he felt responsible for the others, who had nothing upon which to fall back. Cabin Boy Matt had suggested he and DJ Vector team up, but Skipper Bruce didn't think there was much call for a Yorkshire rapper in Fife and Tayside, or anywhere, for that matter. He flicked on the demo cassette with which Cabin Boy Matt had proudly presented him. The words filled the little hut from where Skipper Bruce steered the vessel.

All you Christian ladies know thee want to get wi' Matt,

'Cause thee knows 'at life wi' me would be reet phat,

Ah'm not sayin' that tha's big, nay tha spells it wi' "P.H.",

If tha wants to get wi' me tha can come an' be me... lady.

Ooh, aye, ooh, wotcha!

Skipper Bruce flicked the tape player off again with a shudder. No way could DJ Vector team up with the Yorkshire Rapper.

* * *

On returning to port, the crew of the Pride of Lamond were met with a guiltily pleasant surprise. Captain Campbell, Jim the Navigator, Louisa the Technician and Cabin Boy Henry were all sat forlornly on the lobster baskets looking incredibly sad. The only member of The Grey Friar's crew who didn't look sad was First Mate Fraser, who was jumping around with a big smile on her face as usual, though she assured Skipper Bruce that she was devastated.

Apparently The Barn had suffered a number of disasters. Firstly, cats had crept under the door and eaten a large proportion of the north Atlantic cod which had been stored there. Then a notorious gang of thieves, the Prawn Again Fellowship, had broken in and stolen the entire catch of molluscs that had been stored within. Finally, the warehouse's refrigeration unit had failed and the fish that had been left in the barn had become as rotten as Fife Council.

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt stifled their smiles and offered their commiserations before deciding to celebrate their now valuable catch with an evening watching BBC Alba.

The Man with the Arabic Dictionary

Cabin Boy Matt was fed up. The Pride of Lamond had been at sea for two days heading towards the Norwegian coast in search of much prized North Atlantic Cod and food supplies were already running low. The Yorkshireman had no idea where the multiple tins of beans he had stocked in the cupboards before leaving port might have gone. Having scoured the small boat's kitchenette he began looking in the bedroom and began chuntering in Spanish when he failed to find anything.

"What's Cabin Boy Matt giving off about now?" asked First Mate Glen as the familiar sound of Castilian expletives drifted on the sea air from below deck.

Skipper Bruce sighed and shook his head. "Go and see what's wrong," he said.

First Mate Glen descended the steps into the bedroom where Cabin Boy Matt was on his hands and knees looking in one of the lockers beside his bunk.

"What are you doing?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Lookin' for t' beans 'at 'ave gone missin'," replied Cabin Boy Matt in frustration. "Ah must o' bought forty tins o' t' chuffin' things, but none on 'em a' 'ere."

"They can't have gone far," answered First Mate Glen.

"Well they're not 'ere, are they?" snapped Cabin Boy Matt.

"It's so dark, though, you're never going to find them. Where's your torch?"

"Under t' bed," said Cabin Boy Matt, gesturing towards Deck Hand Chris' bunk.

"Under the bed?" asked First Mate Glen, getting on his knees and peering under. "Where?"

"It's under t' bowl, o' course," Cabin Boy Matt said as though this were obvious.

First Mate Glen lifted a large orange plastic bowl to find a Maglite switched on beneath it.

"Why on earth is it under there?" asked First Mate Glen.

Cabin Boy Matt just tutted in response to such a ridiculous question and First Mate Glen decided to leave him to his search.

As soon as he returned to the deck First Mate Glen realised something was wrong. A game of Risk had been abandoned mid-turn, the dice motionless in the middle of Kamchatka among the little blue men that had been scattered before it, and a can of Pledge rolled across the wooden floor having been abandoned by Deck Hand Chris before the dust had been properly shifted from the rail. A sudden change in engine tone and the way the vessel lurched towards the starboard side brought First Mate Glen's attention to the wheelhouse, where three people appeared to be stood. Two of them were quite clearly Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris, but the other was unrecognisable.

The sailor crept around towards the wheelhouse's entrance, from where he could get a better view of the situation. Facing the doorway was a middle-aged man wearing trainers, jeans and a green hoodie on which the words Andrew Melville had been embroidered below the crest of some unknown provincial university. In his hands he was holding a huge Arabic dictionary with which he appeared to be threatening Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris, who were stood at the controls with their backs to the entrance as they directed the boat under his command. The situation was grave; one blow with the tome in the newcomer's hands would undoubtedly have any one of them on the floor. First Mate Glen would be in full view of the hijacker as soon as he emerged from his hiding place, but he reckoned that he had the element of surprise and that with a quick attack he could knock the dictionary from the stranger's hands, thus disarming him and freeing his companions. At that moment, however, the theme from Star Trek trilled from the mobile in his pocket, forcing him to emerge sheepishly and stand before the newcomer, who merely asked him why he wasn't answering his phone.

First Mate Glen obediently held it to his ear and listened to the caller.

"I'm sorry, Heth," he said into the receiver. "No, I couldn't... Because I was hiding... What do you mean from who? ...From an attacker... Yes, on the boat... He's holding Deck Hand Chris and the Skipper hostage... With an Arabic dictionary... Yes, I was going to help them... I was... I was going to surprise him, but then you rang and gave me away... No, Heth, I'm not blaming you... I'm not... No, I didn't say it was your fault, I said you rang and then... No, that's not saying it's your fault... It's not... What? ...No... OK... OK... I'm sorry... Yes... I love you too... Bye, Heth... Yes, bye."

"What on earth were you talking about?" asked Deck Hand Chris. "We're not being held hostage, we're helping Special Agent Warwick get to another ship."

"Another ship? Why?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Special Agent Warwick works for MI6 and needs access to it, so we're helping him get there."

"So why the dictionary?"

"I was just explaining verb lengthening patterns using Arabic to provide examples of morphological and lexographical change over a prescribed period of time," Special Agent Warwick replied.

Skipper Bruce and Deck Hand Chris just shrugged at First Mate Glen, who asked if Warwick was his real name.

"Of course not," replied the secret agent. "All operatives are named after universities. It was actually Anglia Ruskin who was supposed to be doing this job, but he resigned out of embarrassment, though we're not sure whether that was due to him being linked to a naf establishment or because, being dyslexic, he objected to being given a girl's name."

"So it must be you that's been eating all Cabin Boy Matt's beans?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Ah, yes, that would have been me, I needed to eat something while hiding on here," replied Special Agent Warwick.

"He's pretty annoyed," chuckled First Mate Glen.

"Yes, I can tell, I can basically speak Spanish, which is why I've been sent on this mission. I need to take a coded dossier from a Spanish transport vessel passing through these waters detailing plans for a military attack on Gibraltar. I'm going to replace it with information on the red squirrel, which should keep Spanish agents entertained and perhaps more than a little confused. Speaking of which, I think that vessel over there might be the one."

Special Agent Warwick took a pair of binoculars from his pocket and lifted them to eyes. He nodded as he squinted into the distance. "That's the one," he said. "Don't go any closer, I'll swim from here."

With that, the agent leapt from the bow into the sea and swam with awe inspiring speed into the distance.

"Well," said Skipper Bruce, putting on his sunglasses and turning up the volume so that the trance music pumping through the attached earphones caused his heart rate to increase, "this spot is as good as any I suppose. Do you want to catch some fash?"

Before either First Mate Glen or Deck Hand Chris could respond the attention of all three was caught by a slopping sound coming from the boat's stern. Cabin Boy Matt could be seen emptying tins of beans into the sea.

"What are you doing?" whistled Deck Hand Chris.

"Gettin' rid o' these chuffin' beans 'at Ah've managed to fahd, which i'n't all on 'em," replied Cabin Boy Matt. "Campo Largo issued a statement sayin' they've been contaminated with a chemical which causes seizures, which is probably a bit dangerous if we're w'rkin', so Ah'm tryin' ter get rid on 'em all."

"Seizures?" asked First Mate Glen, stunned.

"Aye," replied Cabin Boy Matt.

"How long have you known about this?"

"A couple o' days, that's why Ah'm so keen ter find the missin' beans, so that none o' you eat 'em."

"But why didn't you just tell us? Special Agent Warwick... You not telling us might have killed him!"

As Cabin Boy Matt tried to work out who on earth Special Agent Warwick was, Skipper Bruce, without saying a word, pushed the throttle forward and the Pride of Lamond surged in the direction of the distant ship. The rickety lilac tub bumped over the waves as the crew scoured the surface for signs of a struggling figure. Steven Seagull circled overhead ready to swoop in the direction of any sign of life. Eventually Deck Hand Chris spotted thrashing in the water and dived in to rescue the ailing spy, pulling him towards the vessel. First Mate Glen and Cabin Boy Matt lowered one of the nets, which Deck Hand Chris wrapped around Special Agent Warwick, allowing him to be pulled aboard the boat, where he coughed and spluttered for a few tense moments before beginning to mutter something about direct objects, allowing the crew to assume that he was safe from immediate danger.

Skipper Bruce turned the Pride of Lamond towards home so that Special Agent Warwick could be given professional medical treatment, but when the boat reached port the secret agent was nowhere to be seen, though a number of Happy Shopper yogurts had been removed and replaced with a note on the use of split infinitives.

It thus seemed that Special Agent Warwick had returned to his mission safely, though Cabin Boy Matt's failure to share the knowledge he had had almost cost him his life.

The Grey Friar - Part 2

On return from their unfortunate trip the crew of the Pride of Lamond had visited their favourite café only to discover that, during their absence, the recently installed and rather more liberal minister at the church which owned and ran the establishment had converted The Ladyhead into The Lady's Head, a sportsbar serving cheap larger and hamburgers in order to reach out to the town's youth. Each took their seats below a plasma screen showing cringe-worthy Christian hard rock music videos while tentatively sipping from pint glasses of what tasted like ice cold fizzy urine. The glum looks upon the faces of Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt perfectly illustrated their situation.

"Those scoundrels!" raged First Mate Glen. "They wreck our ship, nearly kill us, ignore our maydays and then undercut us at market!"

"I just got the figures through," said Skipper Bruce unhappily. "Our catch made less than a quarter of what it would usually fetch. The Grey Friar caught so much fash that it sold at rock bottom prices."

"Can we even cover the repairs to the boat?" asked Deck Hand Chris.

"No, we can't even do that," answered Skipper Bruce angrily. "I don't what we're going to do."

The crew sat in silence as they slowly drank from their tall glasses, each one of which had a cross and the words from John 3:16 etched onto the side, and listened to the heavy metal version of There is a Place of Quiet Rest which was being pumped through the loud speakers.

"Phew!" exclaimed First Mate Glen after a few minutes, putting his almost full glass onto the table. "I'd better not drink any more, I can feel myself getting a bit tipsy."

"Your face is quite red," Deck Hand Chris warned him.

"No, no, that's just from the sulphates," replied First Mate Glen.

"But there are no sulphates in... well, I don't really went to call this beer," answered Deck Hand Chris.

"Yes, there are," said First Mate Glen. "Aren't there? There are, I'm sure of it. Heth says so."

"What's 'appened to 'er anyway?" asked Cabin Boy Matt. "You 'aven't been on t' phone to 'er for ages. What's up?"

"Oh, she lost her phone," replied First Mate Glen. "In fact, I'd better check to make sure she hasn't left me a message on facebook." And with that he quickly took his own mobile from his pocket and began walking around the room with it held above his head in an attempt to find a wireless connection.

"Never mind all this," said Skipper Bruce. "What are we going to do about our livelihoods?"

"I guess we'll just have to keep fishing and hope for the best," answered Deck Hand Chris. "If we pray about it it should be OK. I'm sometimes surprised how God answers prayers about even the most mundane of things."

Ethel, The Lady's Head's grey-haired chief waitress, who, wearing her pinny on which a yellow smiley-face was framed with the words JESUS LOVES YOU, happened to hobble past at that moment as she carried a precarious tray of sambucas towards a table of roudy students having a pre-exam party, smiled at the young trawlerman's wisdom and decided that her vicar's slightly unorthodox methods might be having an effect after all.

* * *

The Pride of Lamond left port a few days later with an optimistic crew. The sun glinted off the tops of the waves as Skipper Bruce guided his vessel to what he knew to be an area with abundant stocks of North Atlantic Cod. He knew that however much they caught The Grey Friar's infinitely larger catches would always undercut them, but he had to share in the hope of Deck Hand Chris. The Lord had provided for Steven Seagull, who was currently eating from Cabin Boy Matt's hand despite not having sown or reaped, thus he would care for his crew, who were much more valuable than Steven, who, though much loved, was nevertheless a mere bird.

"'Ere, Skipper," called Cabin Boy Matt, standing up and pointing into the distance. "What's that ovver theare?"

First Mate Glen took a pair of binoculars and looked towards the horizon. "It's smoke," he said.

"It must be a ship," said Deck Hand Chris. "It's in the middle of the ocean."

"We've got to go and help," said Skipper Bruce.

Skipper Bruce returned to the wheelhouse and directed his vessel at full speed towards the column of thick, black smoke which rose before them. As they got closer the gravity of the situation revealed itself to them. The Grey Friar had become an inferno. Her crew stood on the deck waving as the Pride of Lamond approached her bows.

"A loose connection in our computer equipment caught fire," shouted Louisa.

"Quick, throw across some fire extinguishers so we can put it out," called Captain Campbell.

First Mate Glen grabbed one of the two extinguishers aboard the Pride of Lamond and threw it across, but it fell short, landing with a splash in the water below.

"Come closer," shouted Captain Campbell.

Skipper Bruce maneuvered his vessel as close to The Grey Friar as he dare, but the flames from the huge ship leapt across and charred the wooden hull of the Pride of Lamond.

"If we go any closer we'll be a goner," he advised his crew.

"There's nothing we can do, then," replied Deck Hand Chris solemnly.

"Throw us another fire extinguisher!" cried Captain Campbell.

"We can't," Deck Hand Chris shouted back. "There's a great chasm between our two boats, it'll just fall into the sea."

Captain Campbell just nodded sadly and watched as the Pride of Lamond pulled away, leaving The Grey Friar's crew to their fate.

As the flames disappeared into the distance the radio in the wheelhouse crackled and Captain Campbell's voice could be heard.

"Please, Skipper, warn our families," it said. "We took up all the room we had with computer equipment and didn't bother with fire extinguishers. Warn our families to think of their futures and the consequences of their actions."

But before Skipper Bruce could answer, The Grey Friar's radio failed.

* * *

"Good morning, boys," Harbour Master Gamble's voice floated on the early morning air towards the crew of the Pride of Lamond as they approached their vessel. "How are you today?"

"Alright," answered Skipper Bruce.

"Here, Harbour Master, have you any news on The Grey Friar?" asked First Mate Glen.

"Oh, yes, as a matter of fact I heard from the coastguard this morning," answered Harbour Master Gamble. "Yes, they're all alright, a little bit shocked, as you would expect, well, I would expect that you would expect them to be a little bit shocked, after all, they nearly died, and dying's not a particularly pleasant experience, not that I've ever had the experience, that is, I've heard that it isn't very nice, well, I've not heard that it isn't very nice, obviously, but, well, I just expected that it's not. Well, you do, don't you?"

"Err... Yeah," replied First Mate Glen.

"Anyway, they're been checked over and seem to be alright, but that marvellous vessel's had to be taken to Toronto of all places to be fixed, so she'll be out of action for a good wee while."

"So they won't be undercutting our prices," asked Deck Hand Chris, hopefully.

"No, I wouldn't expect so," said Harbour Master Gamble. "Still, that fire, all that smoke going into the environment, terribly bad for the ozone layer, they'll have to do some offsetting to remedy that..."

Luke 16:19-31

* * *

A NOTE ON THE GREY FRIAR'S CREW

The crew of The Grey Friar are not particularly nice people. However, Captain Campbell, First Mate Fraser, Jim, Louisa and Cabin Boy Henry do have real life counter parts. The characterization of The Grey Friar's crew is not intended as a true representation of them, nor is it meant with any malice or hate. Indeed, in real life they are wonderful people, true beacons for the Lord for whom I have a great deal of time, respect and appreciation.

Kirk

The Grey Friar

Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris, Cabin Boy Matt and Steven Seagull stood, open-mouthed, or, in one case, open-beaked, at the sight that met them as they approached the quay early that morning. The cheerful chatter regarding the previous day's edition of Doctors ceased as one by one each noted the scene before them. The Pride of Lamond creaked in the breeze, her lilac paint looking grubby as usual in the dawn light. Nothing different there. The amazement was caused by her new neighbour, for beside the creaking, second-hand trawler which belonged to the four men floated a towering ship with gleaming windows, tall gantries from which nets of undoubtable quality hung and spotless bows which reflected the shimmering water. On the roof of the bridge, for the vessel, indeed, had a bridge, a far cry from the small wooden hut which served as the Pride of Lamond's wheelhouse, whirled a radar, while radio masts of varying heights sprung up from the deck itself. On the bow was painted, in thick, black letters The Grey Friar.

"We're doomed, lads," moaned Skipper Bruce. "There's no way we can compete with that. She'll catch four times as much as us, undercut our prices at market, drive us into disrepair."

"We can't, how can I provide Heth with her material needs if we can't sell fash?" worried First Mate Glen.

"Pah, Ah bet they drink chuffin' loose leaf tea an' all, bloomin' posh beggars!" exclaimed Cabin Boy Matt. "What's wrong wi' Yorkshire Tea, eh? Tell me! Nowt, tha's what!"

Deck Hand Chris just let out a long, low, though tuneful, whistle of amazement.

Skipper Bruce saw Harbour Master Gamble strolling along the quay and beckoned him to join the group.

"Good morning, boys," Harbour Master Gamble greeted them. "How are you today?"

"What's this?" asked Skipper Bruce.

"What's what?" replied Harbour Master Gamble.

"This ship," answered Skipper Bruce, gesturing towards The Grey Friar.

"Oh, that? That's The Grey Friar," said Harbour Master Gamble, without a hint of irony.

"Aye, I know that, but what's it doing here?"

"It's moored, by the look of things, though it's possible that I may be wrong, perhaps it's merely floating close to the dock and those ropes which appear to be tethering it are actually just laid coincidentally around the mooring rigs."

"Aye, I know that, but where did it come from?" asked Skipper Bruce in exasperation.

"Well, I'm not sure I can tell you that, you know, confidentiality and the like, don't misunderstand me, I mean, it's not because I don't like you, that is, I don't intend to insult you, it's just that, you're my friends and all, but, well, you know, procedure and data protection and CRB forms mean that I can't, tell you, that is, I mean, tell you where it comes from or who the crew are, in fact I'm not even sure I'm allowed to tell you it has a crew, but, oh! Look! Here comes the crew now, isn't that a coincidence? Or perhaps it's not, perhaps it was preordained from the very beginning."

Sure enough, a group of five, three men and two women, were moving down the quay towards them. At their head swaggered a broad-shouldered chap wearing jeans that looked just a little bit too tight. He marched right up to the crew of the Pride of Lamond and held out his hand to each of them, gripping each in turn tightly and smiling sympathetically.

"Morning," he said, "I'm Captain Campbell and this is my crew."

Each of the crew stepped forward in turn.

"First Mate Fraser." A ridiculously cheery girl with ridiculously curly hair and a ridiculously large smile held out her hand.

A slightly round figure with bright red cheeks was next to offer his palm. "Jim, just call me Jim, navigator."

A cheery girl, a little less cheery than First Mate Fraser though nevertheless still way too happy for the likes of the Pride of Lamond's crew, stepped forward. "Louisa," she said, curtsying, "technician."

Finally a tall, gangly lad with glasses nervously stepped forward. "Cabin Boy Henry," he said. "I was supposed to be technician, but spent too long deciding if I really wanted the job and ended up doing this. But it's alright, I guess, means I don't have to make any decisions."

"Aye," said Skipper Bruce, not bothering to introduce his crew to the upper class comers-in.

"Can I ask, why do you need a technician?" asked First Mate Glen in attempt to form friendly relations with them.

"We have five-hundred thousand pounds-worth of computer equipment on board," answered Captain Campbell, "which helps us to locate the best and most valuable fish. We need someone to monitor it and make sure it works to the standard we expect."

The Pride of Lamond's crew looked at each other in horror. There was no way that they could compete with this.

"Where's your vessel by the way?" asked Captain Campbell.

Skipper Bruce merely nodded towards the Pride of Lamond.

First Mate Fraser giggled, Louisa mouthed an embarrassed "Oh!", Cabin Boy Henry proudly stated that it wasn't a particularly nice vessel and Jim told them not to feel bad about having such a meagre ship because "from those who have been given much, much will be expected."

Cabin Boy Matt was on the verge of punching each of the crew squarely in the jaw, though he was later reminded that the only one he could have hurt in doing so was himself, when Ali, photographer for the St Andrews Citizen, introduced herself to Captain Campbell and asked if his crew could arrange themselves in front of The Grey Friar for a photograph which would, she assured them, make the front page of the local newspaper. The Grey Friar, after all, was expected to revive the local economy by bringing in more fish than the small town's other fishing vessels combined.

"Alright for them, it'll put us out of business," muttered First Mate Glen, indignantly, his earlier willingness to be friendly evaporated.

Having arranged Captain Campbell, First Mate Fraser, Louisa, Jim and Cabin Boy Henry as she liked, Ali positioned her camera and tripod, stooped to look through the viewfinder and then stood straight shaking her head and gesturing unhappily at the Pride of Lamond.

"What's that?" she exclaimed. "We can't have that in the photograph, it'll make our town's fishing fleet look decrepit. Somebody move it, please!"

Skipper Bruce gestured to his crew to board the ship.

"Let's go catch some fash," he said, dejectedly, "before that gets them all."

Having prayed, as usual, that they would bring glory to God on their voyage, the crew started the vessel's engines and the Pride of Lamond chugged from the small harbour out into the calm seas in search of prized, and very valuable, North Atlantic Cod.

The trip went well. The rickety old tub sailed happily, Steven Seagull limped around the deck squarking as he was fed titbits from the very reasonable catch they had made during the four day voyage and the crew had turned for home when they heard a loud roar in the distance. Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deck Hand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt assembled at the vessel's stern and saw, in the distance, The Grey Friar speeding towards them.

"She's coming straight for us!" cried Deck Hand Chris.

"They'll kill us!" shouted First Mate Glen. "And then Heth'll kill me for not getting home safely!"

The Grey Friar got closer and closer until, within no time at all, it was upon them. The gigantic ship passed within an inch of the Pride of Lamond at great speed. Waves from its wake towered above the trawler, knocking it sideways, almost causing it to capsize.

"All hands on deck!" cried Skipper Bruce. "We're being swamped."

First Mate Glen and Deck Hand Chris grabbed buckets and tried to throw the water that had landed on deck back into the sea from which it had come while Cabin Boy Matt hurried down below to make tea with which to refresh the crew in their toils. Skipper Bruce grappled with the wheel in an attempt to bring his boat under control but knew that he had failed when a deafening crash was heard.

Deck Hand Chris ran to the side and saw, in horror, a large rock emerge from the waves below them upon which the Pride of Lamond had become impaled.

"Skipper! Skipper!" he shouted, running to the wheelhouse. "We've run aground, Skipper, we're going down!"

Skipper Bruce grabbed the radio.

"Mayday! Mayday!" he bellowed sternly. "Any ships in the vicinity! Mayday! Mayday!"

But no reply came.

To be continued...

A Bird in the Hand

The wind whistled through the hair of the crew stood on the deck of Pride of Lamond. Well, through the hair of all but First Mate Glen, who didn't have enough hair to have the wind whistle through it, though he did feel a very slight ripple effect. The vessel had been at sea for five days, the lilac wood creaking as the salty water crashed against her wooden sides. The faces of the men were sullen, and none more so than that of Skipper Bruce. He had a responsibility to feed his crew and their families and so far he had let them down. After nearly a week of trawling the North Sea a mere box had been filled with cheap mackerel and another with prawns, not enough even to finance the expedition, let alone feed First Mate Glen, Deckhand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt.

"I don't know what we're going to do, lads," said Skipper Bruce. "In all my years of fishing, all two weeks of them, I've never had such a poor trawl. If this continues we're finished before we've even begun."

"It's OK, don't worry, everything'll be fine," said First Mate Glen. The crew turned to look at him, flabbergasted. Their very livelihoods were at stake and First Mate Glen was telling them not to worry? "No, everything will be fine," he continued.

"I'm glad you have such optimism," grumbled Cabin Boy Matt. "Us pickin's today won't even gerr us a cuppa at t' Lady'ead."

"Wine's fine," replied First Mate Glen, "but I don't really like Rosé."

The crew continued to stare at First Mate Glen with their mouths hanging open. What ludicrous comments.

"OK, OK, I'm sorry," he said, looking confused at their open mouths. "I didn't mean to be selfish, no Heath, I didn't, Rosé's fine."

Only then did the crew realise that First Mate Glen had his mobile clasped to the ear that was out of their view and was not taking part in their conversation but was, in fact, speaking to Heather, his 'significant other'.

Skipper Bruce and Cabin Boy Matt shared a meaningful look and rolled their eyes. Girls would be death of the Pride of Lamond.

"Could we, perhaps, deal with the situation at hand?" asked Skipper Bruce.

The long-suffering First Mate turned his back and wandered down the deck away from the small group, continuing to placate the woman on the other end of the phone.

Skipper Bruce sighed and continued speaking to the remainder of the crew. "What shall we do, lads? We can't return to port with our catch so far."

"We'll just have to keep fishing," whistled Deckhand Chris optimistically, the voice of reason as always.

"I second that, as long as we c'n 'ave a cuppa before we bung t' nets out again," added Cabin Boy Matt.

"Right, put the kettle on, then. Let's lock and load," commanded the Skipper.

"Err, what are we doing?" asked First Mate Glen, having returned to the assembled crew with his phone safely stored, for the moment, in his jacket pocket.

Skipper Bruce rolled his eyes once more and was about to explain the plan to his colleague when a loud commotion broke out on the roof of the wheelhouse. Three large seagulls were attacking a much smaller bird which carried, in its mouth, a portion of fish. The smaller seagull put up quite a fight, hitting its assailants with its beak, beating them with its wings and jabbing at them with its feet, bobbing left and ducking right, jumping over the thrusts of the beaks of the others like a martial arts expert, but all to no avail. As the small bird grew tired one of the bigger ones pecked viciously at a proffered leg kicking out, the crew hearing the crack as the bone within was broken. The victim let out a loud squawk, dropped the fish and fell from the roof of the wheelhouse as the others flew from the scene with their ill-gotten prize hanging from the mouth of the biggest.

The crew rushed over to the bird, which lay motionless on the deck.

"Did you see that?" asked Skipper Bruce, excitedly. "What a fight, almost like Arnie."

"Or Steven Segall," added First Mate Glen.

Deckhand Chris gathered up the bird in the CMaD apron which he always wore in place of his overalls and carried it carefully below deck, where he lay it on a table and tended to its wounds, bandaging its broken leg and rubbing Detoll into the bloody patches where feathers had been viciously plucked from its body.

Meanwhile, the others let out the nets once more, hoping against hope that they would make a catch big enough to allow them to return home. All three of the men needed to turn back; Cabin Boy Matt feared that the vessel was running low on supplies of Yorkshire Tea and that the dreaded Tetley might have to be broken open if a return did not take place, First Mate Glen desperately needed to placate Heather and Skipper Bruce needed to complete the next level of Navy Seal Shoot 'Em. Secretly he liked to pretend, whilst at the helm of Pride of Lamond, that he was, in fact, a US marine and that his decrepit trawler was a state of the art assault craft making war on small tubs packed full of innocent Cuban immigrants hoping for a better life in the United States which he would blow to smithereens with his sub-machine gun, leaving whole families floating face down in the reddened water, good for nothing but shark food. Oh, to be in the US navy and leave behind his simple life of fishing!

After a few hours Deckhand Chris emerged from the cabin with the seagull, looking a little worse for wear but decidedly chirpier having been fed a few of the precious prawns, nestled happily in the pocket of his apron. The crew gathered round, pleased to see the bird, for which they had gained an affection, looking well.

"He's not well enough to fly," Deckhand Chris told his friends. "I think we'll have to keep him and look after him for a while."

"Yeah," replied First Mate Glen, "sounds good. But he needs a name. How about Rocky? The way he fought... wow."

"I know," said Skipper Bruce, "Steven Seagull."

"You mean like Steven Segall?" asked Deckhand Chris.

"Yeah," answered Skipper Bruce.

Thus Pride of Lamond gained its mascot.

That day the vessel made it's biggest haul to date. When the nets were dragged from the depths they were fit to burst with big, juicy North Atlantic Cod, of which Steven Seagull had his fill, and when the boat returned to port its catch gained the envy of all who saw it.

Proverbs 19:17

Pride of Lamond

The sun was beginning to rise above the clouds on the horizon as Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deckhand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt boarded The Pride of Lamond, their newly purchased but slightly decrepit second-hand trawler, painted lilac by Glen after he had won a game of perudo intended to decide who would choose the colour of the vessel.  Skipper Bruce was uncertain about including Glen on his crew, his choice of colour and inability to eat man-sized portions at dinner made him doubt his real gender, but he liked action films, so he must be OK.  Or so reasoned Skipper Bruce.

Today was to be the first time The Pride of Lamond left port for her first fishing expedition.  Most of the holes in the second-hand nets had been fixed by Deckhand Chris' mum and were stored and ready for use, the floors had been swept and the wheel house cleaned by Deckhand Chris himself and the crew stood on deck as Harbour Master Gamble approached the ship.

"Hello there, boys," he said.  "Are you all alright?"

"Aye," replied Skipper Bruce.

"Ready for the maiden voyage?"

"Aye."

"Well," said Harbour Master Gamble, handing a clipboard to Skipper Bruce, "could I ask you, if you don't mind, I mean, please don't feel offended that I ask you this, it's just procedure really, but it would be really helpful if you could, but don't go out of your way, to sign this.  It's just that I can't let you leave if you don't."

"Aye," replied Bruce, taking the proffered biro, writing his vessel's name under the relevant column and signing his name after it.

"That's wonderful," said Harbour Master Gamble, taking back the clipboard.  "Yes, that's grand.  What are you hoping to catch today?"

"Fash," replied Skipper Bruce.

"Oh right, that's very interesting, yes, of course fish would be a very wise thing to catch with a fishing boat, very useful, you know.  There's a lot of demand for fish at the moment."

"Aye."

"Right, well, I'll let you boys go then.  Have a good trip."

"Thanks," replied Skipper Bruce before turning to his crew of three lined up on deck.  "Right, lads," he said to them.  "Shall we go and catch some fash?"

"Yes, Skipper," barked the crew.

"Right," said Skipper Bruce, placing a pair of sunglasses with built in headphones over his eyes, "let's lock and load."

The crew burst into action.  Deckhand Chris removed the ropes which tethered the trawler to the quayside, First Mate Glen descended to the engine room, Cabin Boy Matt put the kettle on and Skipper Bruce took hold of the wheel and fired up the engine.

But nothing happened.

He turned the key again and again, but the Pride of Lamond merely creaked in the breeze.  

"Oh no," moaned Skipper Bruce.  This was not a good start to his career as a trawlerman.

"What's up, Skipper?" asked First Mate Glen.  "Let's go!"

"We can't, the engine won't start."

"Oh," said Deckhand Chris as he entered, "I wonder why that is.  Let me get my tool box."

Deckhand Chris worked away in the engine room until the sun had risen above the horizon and the other fishing boats had left the port, chuckling at the Pride of Lamond's misfortune.  Meanwhile, Skipper Bruce and the rest of his crew sat on deck playing Risk.

"What are you boys still doing here?" Came the voice of Harbour Master Gamble, still carrying his clipboard as he approached the quayside.  "I thought you were supposed to have left hours ago."

"We were, " explained First Mate Glen, "but we can't get the engine to start.  Chris is down there now trying to get it fixed."

"Oh, I know why that is," replied Harbour Master Gamble.  "I took the liberty of replacing your diesel engine with solar panels.  Diesel's very bad for the environment, you know, burns a lot of fossil fuels, makes a lot of smoke.  Solar power's much greener, so it is."

"But we need to leave before the sun rises," said Skipper Bruce, clearly trying to remain calm when faced with losing a days fishing because of the global warming myth.  

"Oh really?  Yes, well, I could see how that could be a problem.  Solar panels need sun, so I guess you would have to wait."

"But we need to leave before light."

"Yes, well, you could always wait until the sun's risen before you leave, then you can make sure you have a good eight hours sleep as well."

"But we need to leave early to get the fash," replied Skipper Bruce in frustration.

"Ah, right, I see, yes.  I could replace the solar panels with a wind turbine, that would, I think, give you the power you need, and there's always wind at sea, though not always in port.  You'd have to leave only on windy days."

"But we need to leave in all weather."

"Ah, right, well, yes, that would be a problem."

"Look," interupted First Mate Glen, "why don't you put the diesel engine back in?"

"Yes, "replied Harbour Master Gamble, "that would seem the best option.  Then you'd be able to leave whenever you liked, so you would.  Yes, I'll do that then."

Thus Skipper Bruce, First Mate Glen, Deckhand Chris and Cabin Boy Matt left the Pride of Lamond without having set sail.