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.