Sailor's Monologue

I like make-a-mend - it’s an afternoon off, well closest we get.  We have time to make our uniform or mend it as needed. This is why many sailors learn to sew on machines as well as by hand, I’m not very good at sewing yet, but I’m getting better.

But best of all, it gives me time to read my letter from my mum, I like letters from home, helps pass the days, not that I get much free time.

It’s nice to sit on the deck get away from the noise, it's so loud down there my head hurts, and I’m sure I’m getting a bit deaf like the old chief.

Dear Henry,

Hope my letter finds you well.

Well! where does she think I am? I’m a stoker on one of His Majesty’s finest somewhere in the North Sea.

We are all well at home, your sister’s baby grows bigger by the day as you will see from the photograph I have enclosed. We are all praying for news of her husband who is still missing in action.

Poor little bugger growing up without his soldier father.  

Like our James, I always said the Navy has got to be safer than the Army, that’s why I followed him to Sea.

I remember that first day I saw him in his uniform, knew then that one day I would wear the same uniform, So I enlisted as soon as I could, maybe a little sooner than I should have.

Who know’s one day we might both get a medal before this war is over, that’ll make mum proud.

I love this part.

Make sure you wear your vest and wash behind your ears every night.

How old does she think I am? I mean I’m almost 16 not 6, not that anyone here knows that, had to lie about my age to get in, they all think I’m 19 next birthday.

I’m glad I joined, doing my bit for King and country, but sometimes I miss my old life, miss my own bed, miss our dog, I even miss my sisters, never thought I’d say that.

My mum would be in for a shock if she saw my vest, it's a long time since it's been white, a bit like me really.

The problem with letters is what do I write back, I mean my mother loves me but I’m her baby, the youngest, so I guess I’ll always be her baby.

She’d hate to know what I do day to day.

It's hot down in the engine and boiler compartments, so hot, over 120 degrees.

That's hotter than it was when we went to the seaside for that day trip, I’ve got a photo of that day, it was the last day all us had out together before James joined up, before the war that was too.

The job I hate most is bilge cleaning, do you know what the bilge is?

It’s the lowest part of the ship, below the engine room, and boiler compartments, deep in the ship, it's always wet down there, well ships leak, no really they do.

The thing is some of the other stokers, use the bilge as a toilet while they are working, so it always stinks,

worse than being on the farm.

We pump it out, but the pump often gets blocked, normally with poo, and it's not nice having to clean that out.

It’s not just the bilge that needs cleaning, every 4 weeks or so.

We have to get inside the boilers as well, when they have cooled of course, not that's it's ever really cool down there.

It’s horrible hot work, like being down the pit I rekon, least I only have to do it every few weeks and not every day, wouldn’t want that job. We come out covered in soot, all sweaty and stinky.

That soot and the coal dust get into you skin, comes out in your sweat.

I used to cry at night, I was so scared, no terrified.

Why?

Mines a dangerous job, probably the most dangerous one on board, I’m sure.

Because I’m the smallest it's always me who has to scramble between the boilers to open and close valves, do you know the boilers move, like hearts pulsating as if they are alive, I’m sure I could be crushed if I wasn’t careful.

They tell me men have died doing my job, the old chief is always spinning dits.

Leaks and Fires scare me most, not sure which is worse, both can come without warning, I should know I’ve seen both, only small ones thankfully.

Pipes work loose through vibration and occasionally part at flanges.

If the pipe is carrying 'cold' steam like white stuff comes from kettles, it quickly fills the compartment, making it hard to see as well as making it very hot, and of cause whatever was waiting for that steam to fail.

If it’s 'hot' steam, hotter than normal steam, superheated, well that is invisible.  It expel‘s itself from a pipe so powerfully, it could slice a body in two, really.

If it’s carrying oil, that’s really bad. It invariably finds a hot surface and ignites, causing a fire,sometimes a major compartment fire.

If the fire doesn’t kill you, the act of flooding the space with superheated steam to kill the fire will definitely kill you! Not a nice way to go, odd saying can’t think of a nice way to go.

If it’s carrying salt water, straight out of the sea this rapidly causes flooding and the loss of the ship if it were large enough or left unchecked. We have to learn how to fix leaks.

One thing that is fun is called Scuttle running - It’s an illegal race between shipmates, a sailor scrambles out of a scuttle that’s a porthole to you, claw their way to the upper deck, run across the deck, down the other side and into another scuttle. Fastest wins.

It’s dangerous of course, you can fall into the sea and get lost, I’ve not seen that happen yet, but the older hands have told me stories.

I suppose I should be grateful, at least I don’t get sea sick, well not anymore. Dusty does, just can’t seem to stop, he has to nibble on Hard Tak, its vile.

So what do I write?

Dear Mother, Thank you for your letter. Hope you are well, I am.

Something Blue - Wedding Poetry

Something Blue

The  dress  hangs  ready, lingerie unpacked

Her  hair   in  rollers nails  freshly   painted  

The  full  English  cooked   breakfast  lays  untouched  

Tense   times   as  girls are  dressed,  clothes   packed   away  

Her stays pulled  tight,  white  stockings  well   fastened  

The  fine   blue  silk gown slipped  on,  exciting  

Photographers  here   now, the  days  begun

Camera clicks, girls  giggle,  nerves   building  

Where’s the  carriage, I  need  a  wee.  what   now?

There  it is  now,  white   horses  how  lovely  

Come   on   all   climb   aboard,  sit   down  Rosie

Trit  trot  trit  trot, it is not  too   far   now  

There  she is  there 's the  ship   tall   and   handsome  

Empty   stomach  churning, I  don't   know  why

Jamie  waiting   fetching   yet   embarrassed  

All   climb  down  and   smile   for  the camera

Her  bonnet   fastened, the gown smothered  down  

Rosie stroking ponies  with   white   gloves,  no!  

Flowers   carried, Henry's  crying   but  why

Carefully   walk   up  the  gangway,  mind  your  head  

Holding  Jamie's  arm, Susan wipes a  tear  

The  music  starts  up,  we   begin   to   walk  

The  great  doors  swing   open   our   guests   waiting  

Andy stands  so   handsome   by  the  window  

We   smile   at   each   other  my  veil  lifted

Our   guests  are welcomed  no   going   back   now  

Any  objections a  hand  shoots  up, Who?

Oh  it’s  Henry, weddings  make  him  cry

The Ballet Dancer - Dramatic Dialogue

So you want me to tell you about my job, about my life, that’s not easy. I’m not good at talking about me, I guess I’m a bit shy really, no I am, I know in my job thats a surprise but its true.

I was asked asked once would I want my children to follow in my foot steps, of course as i don’t have children that's hard to answer. But I suppose I would say yes and no, I know that's sitting on the fence, sorry.

Yes because at times well all the time it's amazing the highs, and high, higher than anything you could ever imagine. It’s amazing it really is so rewarding, most of the time anyway, but I suppose any job is like that.

It's not easy far from it, it takes a lot of work, an awful lot of hard work. The fitness involved is immense, not to mention the discipline and commitment involved, it’s not what I imagined as a child when I dreamed of this life. My days start early around seven, it was closer to five when I was training, but of course we got to bed earlier then as well, now I’m working I rarely see my bed before one am. We train most of the day, or have fittings, the public don’t see most of what we do, they think it’s easy. They don’t show you the dark side in the books on the television, I certainly had no idea how tough it would be, a lot don’t make it, can’t hack it, you need to be something special to do this job.

I have had my fair share of injuries too, it's an occupational hazard in this job, outsiders don’t realise, don’t see the pain, the disfigurement, oh yes permanent disfigurement is common. People don’t see that, they just see the glamour, the pomp and ceremony.

I can’t remember the last time I had a night out, not sure I ever had, least not the sort most people have. Do you know what I crave most, cream cakes, really cream cakes, I was …. let me think god how old was I last time I felt an eclair brush against my lips, the cream squirting out into my mouth, oh god I can taste it now, least I think I can but it's hard to remember what it was like, it must be over 10 years since I last had one. When I first moved away to join the company I used to have to walk past a patissier every day, it was torture, the smell, the gorgeous cakes in the window, It was hell. But I guess I am one of the lucky ones, for many food has become a real issue, a killer in some cases. What do I mean, well I shared a room with a girl when I first started. She was so pretty, so skinny, so lucky we all thought, took us a while to realise we never saw her eat, ever, I mean a lot of the girls don’t eat a lot, nibble on food like a squirrel, but Beth she was never seen letting food anywhere near her mouth. The one day I came home and found her, it was awful. She was on the bathroom lying on the floor in a pool of blood, I called an ambulance. She was still alive, just. I went to see her in the hospital, she was different, hooked up to wires and tubes, still refusing food. Turns out she was anorexic, the day I had found her they think she had fainted and banged her her head. They said she was lucky I found her when I did, I never saw her again, they took her away to a special home to try and fatten her up, she said. She was there for months before it happened, the disease won, Beth died, she was only 19, such a loss. We all went to the funeral, said our goodbyes, her mother blamed us, she said we had pressured her daughter, it was all lies of course, grief I guess. I’ve never forgotten Beth, I never will.

She wasn’t the only one with anorexia, I guess like the pain and disfigurement it's another occupational hazard.

I’ve not really told you about that side of it yet, but again I suppose I’m lucky, I have a high pain threshold, but still only gets you so far. Some days I sit and cry as I ease my feet into a bowl of hot salty water. The first time your nails fall off is pretty shocking but I’m used to it now. I don’t cry as often a I did, I accept it's all part of the job, my feet aren’t as bad as some, poor Emma, she went on for weeks, with a broken foot, we all told her to get it fixed, but she wouldn’t, too scared of losing her place she was. I suppose I would have been in her situation, it's hard to say.

It is hard, but for some it becomes obsessional, their cures and preventions are worse than the actual injury. One girl I know, no it's awful I can’t tell you, put it this way, whilst some just paint their feet in glue, she takes razor blades to hers. I can’t watch so I don’t really know what she does, but she says it prevents injury, I’m sure it doesn’t, I mean cutting yourself how can it. Shoes filled with blood are common place, but you get used to it, hardened to it.

A lot of the girls have issues, or a relationship they call it with painkillers, most take too many far too many, I don’t like taking them and of course as I told you I’m lucky with pain. But some seem to pop them like normal people do sweets, mmm sweets, Do you know, at christ I ate a whole box of chocolates. I prefer to just use ice on my feet, we must get through tonnes of ice between us, on feet and legs, backs and necks, some of the lads even fill baths with it. I shouldn’t tell you this, My brother is a Royal Marine, says he doesn’t know how we do, reckons he couldn’t.

But it's worth it it really is, all the pain disappears when you pull on your tights, get fastened into that costume, wedge your feet into those shoes, walk onto the stage and the lights come on, and then, the pain stops, nothing matters. The only thing that's important is the ballet. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.

The Old Teapot

The Old Teapot

I sit upon the dusty shelf so high
Mu spout is cracked, my lid beyond repair
No one loves me, I am used no more
Now dust engulfs me as I sit alone

My Life

“After all, I had been getting away with it for ages”

You may wonder how I got here, ended up in this place. I know I often do, I mean I know of course but I still look back and wonder. To be honest this place isn’t that bad, in fact if you tow the line and play by the rules it's pretty comfortable. We get clothed, 3 meals a day (all hot) and a bed. Television, well DVD’s, we even have an X-Box.

I used to work in a supermarket, started out on the trolleys at 16, moved on to produce and then finally the tills, there was talk if management training programme. But it was being on the tills that was the beginning of the end, what got me into all this. I know what your thinking, people always do.

Life went on, I dropped into a routine, I suppose you do. I went to work, went to my mums every Sunday for lunch (taking my washing of course). I even had a girlfriend, Shelly, it was a proper grown up relationship, we even talked about marriage, well looking back she did. Life was good, well okay, could have carried on like this forever I guess. After all, I had been getting away with it for ages. But you can only live a lie for so long, I should know, eventually temptation gets the better of you.

I was on the till one day when I guy came in wearing uniform. Standing at my till he smiled at me, I didn’t recognise him at first, but then I realised we had been classmates, what now seemed like many years before. Simon was tanned and muscular, absolutely glowing with health. I on the other hand was pale, pasty, developing a beer belly and generally aging quickly. We arranged to meet at my local for a beer.

That night as we sat in the Red Lion, telling each other about our lives, it got my thinking. I told Simon about my work, my flat and Shelley of course. Simon regaled me, and half the pub with his tales of distant lands and adventures, far more interesting than my own sotty stories. Simon has joined the Royal Marines at 16 after completing his training he had down tors of Iraq, Afghanistan and more. He had his own house, drove a nice car, and hadn’t got himself tied down with a girlfriend, life's too short for that at the moment. To me he had the dream life, something clicked, I know I needed more from life, needed to travel, needed more.

Next day I stood outside the simple shop front in town in a suit and tie, no going back now. After ringing the bell, I waited before being greeted by a young lad in  uniform. That was it my new life had started.

The next few months flew by, tests, medicals and fitness assessments, all before a week in Scotland a taste of what was to come. But I didn’t need to wait long, 6 months after that first visit I walked through the main gates of HMS Raleigh. My mobile peeped “Good Luck Mate, see you in 10 weeks” it read, I texted back “Cheers Simon, thanks for everything.” Simon had been a huge support really couldn’t have done it without him, helping me with my fitness.

Shelly and I split up two weeks later, as I read her message I was thrilled free to enjoy my new life. Training was a breeze thanks to all the advice from Simon. 10 weeks after walking through the gates I stood proudly in uniform, as my mum wept, and Simon clapped.

A year later here I am halfway through my first deployment, reading a 60 word message from my mum, Shelley has just got married, poor sod. Where am I, who knows, I don’t. All I know is I am somewhere under the ocean, sat in a submarine.