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...