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...