Glad That Didn't Happen to Me

 As the pipeline job outside Aberdeen went on the weather and working conditions worsened.  More and more the talk among the workers turned to when the job would shut down. 

“Why don’t they tell us the plan?” I asked.

“They don’t want us to quit,” the old man who loved rainbows and watched out for me explained.  “They tell us now the job is over Friday, and they won’t have enough men to finish out the week.”

“Where would we go to find better pay than this Paddy? I’m staying till the end.”

I’d taken to calling the old man Paddy.  He liked it.

“And then what Yankee?”  Scrabble around Aberdeen for weeks finding something else?  You’ll make nothing at all for two weeks and spend down your savings.  If you were smart, you’d have a line on your next job now.  And to think I once took you for a smart Yankee, if such a thing exists.”

“What are you going to do Paddy?”

“I miss my wife and her cooking.  The bones are creaking with the cold and there’s a peat fire back home waiting to warm me up.  I’ve tucked away enough money to get us through the winter nicely.  You won’t find me looking for work till spring.”

It sounded so good.  Paddy went on.

“You’re a long way from home Yankee, but I imagine you could get there if you wanted.   Will you be heading that way soon?”

“I’m not going home.  I’m planning to travel more come spring.”

“Would be a shame not to be with family at Christmas.  But Christmas is far bit away.  This job will never last that long.  You know that do ya Yankee?”

“Yeah, I know.”

I didn’t know what would happen next.  Usually, I love that feeling.  But that’s not how I felt walking to the hostel in the dark with my friends.  It was Friday, we’d gotten paid, but I was down.

My young Irish friends, who got me the job, were happy.  They could see the end of the job coming and the prospect of hometowns, family, and girlfriends.

“Come down to harbor with us Yankee.”

“I think I’ll skip it tonight.”

We’d been drinking near Aberdeen’s harbor, bustling with activity from the North Sea oil boom.   Our favorite pub was always crammed with sailors spending money.  It wasn’t the sailors that drew us there, so much as the girls that hung around the sailors. 

“Come on ya cheap laggard.  How many more nights will we be together?"

 

At the pub my mates got into a game of darts for serious money, and I stayed put on my bar stool.  An older man took a seat beside me and ordered a gill (say jill) of Dewars whisky and a Guiness back.  Then (1974) as many drank whisky in Scottish bars as pints.  Many drank both.   I was nursing a gill of White Horse whisky with a Newcastle Brown Ale chaser.

A gill is four ounces.  Never saw a shot (1.5 ounces) back then in Scotland.   Scots are serious drinkers.  And no “e” in Scotch whisky.  Whiskey is made in America or Ireland.  Whisky is Canadian, Scotch, or Japanese.  

At the dart board, my mates won their match and ordered themselves and me another round with the winnings.  They were laughing and happy, but then they would be home soon.  I didn’t know where I’d be.  Or what I’d be doing for work.

The stranger on the barstool next to me said something.

“Pardon me?”

“I say where you from?”

“The states.  Illinois.”

“Are you here working on the rigs?”

“No.  I tried to get on but couldn’t.  I’m working on a gas pipeline, goes from here to Peterhead.”

“I’m surprised the weather hasn’t shut them down.”

“I think it’s about to.”

“You going home when the job’s done then?”

“No.  I came to Europe in June.  I want to work through the winter, save money, and leave in the spring.  Maybe to North Africa.”

“So, what’s next after the pipeline?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

He had a sip of whisky, followed by a swallow of Guiness.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in working in a ship’s galley, would you?  My cook’s helper up and quit on me today, and we shove off on Monday at noon.  If I don’t fill that job, I’ll have to cook and feed 30 crew members myself.”

“What kind of ship?”

“Platform supply vessel.  We shuttle supplies from the harbor out to the rigs, and stand by in case of fire or other emergencies.  Jack of all trades like.  We can move but the platform can’t.  We act as their legs.  Monday we’re hauling out a big load of pipe. You never know what they’ll call on us to do.”

I took a drink.

“So, you know your way around a galley?”

“Never been in a galley before but I know kitchens.  Worked at a roast beef sandwich joint in college.  Learned cooking from my mom on the farm.”

“Not much to it.  Lots of cutting up vegetables and washing dishes.  I’ll teach you the recipes.”

“How’s the pay?”

When he told me what a week’s wages were, I tried to appear calm.  They were nearly twice what I was making on the pipeline.

“I’m interested.”

“Well, you’re in luck.  The skipper authorized me to do the hiring.   He’ll do the paperwork with you on the ship, get you signed up all legal like.”

“Just like that?  Can I see the ship?”

“Sure enough.  It’s tied up right down the dock outside.”

We were standing in front of it within minutes.  I let out a long whistle when I saw it.

“My God, it’s huge.”

“It’s built to take on heavy seas.  The North Sea gets rough out there.”

“So, I just show up Monday?

“Yeah.  Be there by noon.  I’ll likely be on ship.  Ask for Sig Larson.  I’ll give them your name.  Oh my gosh, I don’t even know your name.”

“Dave McClure.”

We shook hands.

McClure. That’s a Scottish name.”

“It is?  I thought it was Irish.  My great-grandfather sailed to America from Ireland.  He lived in Antrim County up North.”

“Well, if he was born in Ireland some McClure before him went there from Scotland.  McClure is an old clan name.”

We talked more, standing there on the pier by the huge ship.  He asked about our farm, told me about his family which was originally from Norway.

“We should have another drink to celebrate.  How about one for the road back at the pub?  I’ll buy.”

He reached into his pocket.

“God help me, I left me money clip on the bar.”

He dug in all his pockets.

“I don’t have it.  I had nearly a hundred quid on me.”

“Let’s get back quick then.”

We went back to where we were sitting and flagged down the bartender.

“We were here not twenty minutes ago, and I left a money clip full of pound notes on the bar.  And it sure as hell wasn’t a tip.  Did you happen to pick it up did ya?”

“Sorry mate.  I don’t see many tips in here and I’ve not seen a money clip loaded with pound notes I can assure you.  That I’d remember.”

My soon-to-be boss pounded his fist on the bar and spun away facing the crowd.

“SOME LIMMER MADE OFF WITH MY MONEY AND I WANT IT BACK!”

The bartender was quick to respond. 

“Look here, mate.  Let’s not be yelling and scolding the customers.  You made a mistake and your money’s gone.  Now either have a drink or move on.”

“I’ll buy us a drink,” I said.

“No, let’s get outa here.”

I followed him outside as he stomped angrily out the door.

“I can’t believe I’ve gone and done that.  Here I am on a Friday night, with the banks not open till Monday, and I’ve let all my cash be blown to the wind.”

“I can lend you some till Monday.”

“No.  Lord, I’ve got a dinner date tomorrow night at a steak house that’ll cost me a bundle.”

“It’s OK.  I just got paid.”

The week’s pay was in my left pocket.

“What will you need?”

“Forty pounds or so.  But I couldna ask you for it.”

“No really.  It’s OK.  You can pay me back on Monday.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Forty pounds was almost a hundred dollars in 1974.  That was a whole lot of money to me then.  Still is.  But after all, the guy was getting me a job.  I took my week’s pay out of my pocket, counted out forty pounds, and put it in his hand. 

“I hate taking this from you.  But, I‘ll have it ready for you Monday when I see you on ship.  Noon, right?”

“Right.”

He shook my hand hard and gave me a big smile.  We parted ways, me up the hill to the hostel, and he down the street towards the ship. 

I had a lot to do.  I packed up my backpack for the first time in months.  Said goodbye to my Irish mates and asked them to say goodbye to Paddy and the foreman and the guys on the pipeline job.  I gave them the Wellingtons to return to the English foreman’s man. 

I checked out of the YMCA hostel and said goodbye to the old men.  They were happy for me and amazed I could get a job so easily as a seaman.   Archie, one of my favorites, was especially pleased. 

“I mean you have a way about you, getting these good jobs.  I’m proud of you for making your way through the world so well.”

Archie was from the isle of Jura, the least populated of the Hebrides Islands then, with somewhere around 200 people.  He was a simple man, and from what I could gather had lived a very simple life.  He talked slowly, laughed easily in a deep voice, and occasionally slipped into speaking Gaelic.  His most frequent expression was wide-eyed wonder, as if the world outside Jura was hard to fathom.  I’d always wanted to make it to Jura, where George Orwell lived for a time, and see firsthand its wild beauty.  Still hasn’t happened.

“By golly, Yankee I don’t know that I’ve ever met a man as lucky as you.  Who knows what you’ll be doing next?  I wouldn’t be surprised if you were elected to Parliament.”

Archie wore the same sweater every day and was always fiddling with his tobacco tin, worn and dented, filled with Old Holburn, which was cheap and rough to smoke.   He always offered me a rollup and I only took him up on it once.  Unlike the rest of the old boys Archie didn’t drink, although he may have in his youth.  Archie had a blank look about him at times.   How he ended up in that flophouse and what he lived on I don’t know.

“I’m proud of you Yankee, and I wish you all the luck in the world, though I don’t think you need it, what with talking your way overnight into a job as an able-bodied seaman.”

I checked out of the hostel after breakfast, took my time saying goodbye to the fellas, and killed time till about 11:00.  Archie walked me down to the door and shook my hand before I headed to the docks.  It was a sunny day, rare for Aberdeen.  I was excited to be going to sea.

When I got to the slip where the boat had been tied it was empty.  There were a crew of men working on the boat next to the gaping hole where it had been docked. I yelled out to them.

“What do you about the supply ship that was docked here over the weekend?”

A man yelled back.

”It left at first light.”

I closed my eyes and felt a rush of heat go from my head to my stomach.

“Who owns that ship?”

They gave me the name of a company and how to get to its office near the water.  I walked there straightaway and inquired of a desk clerk about Sig Larson.  The clerk stopped me and brought an older man from an office in the back.  I told him the story.

“I know most of the crew members by name and have never heard of him, but I’ll check the list to make sure.  Give me a minute.”

He came back quickly.

“As I suspected, no one with that name works for us.”

I just stood there.

“I hope you didn’t lend him any money.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Have you ever worked on a ship at sea lad?”

“No.”

“We’d never put you out there with no experience, even in this labor market.  You’d likely be flat on your back seasick for a week.  Sorry son.  I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”

I walked back to the YMCA hostel and climbed the stairs in a fog.  When I entered the room where the old guys hung out during the day, the few they let stay looked up at me in surprise.

“What are you doing back here Yankee?”

I told them all the story.  There was no job.  I lent him money.  The ship had sailed.

Archie was sitting there and looked at me with a long face.  In his slow low voice, he said…

“I’m glad that didn’t happen to me.”

With that Archie picked up his tobacco tin, walked past me, and went to his room.