I guess there has to come a time when you must face up to being ‘irrelevant’, no matter what the past has included, one morning you wake up and realise that nobody would notice, or give a dam, if you hadn’t bothered.
Plus, once the irrelevance sets in, you increasingly experience the waves of grief, despair and frustration that come with the flooding arrival of old memories, not the good ones, rather all the bad stuff which had been safely locked away for a thousand years. When I wrote the short story “Captain (D)” I was starting to understand what the old chap was, at times, going through; now I am living the same thing myself. You get an inkling that it’s coming, there is a feeling as if you can actually feel the approach of heavy grey/black clouds, ready to block out everything bright. Then it hits like some vast wave engulfing a ship, you hang on, pinned to the deck until the wave passes and the again vessel breaks free into the sunshine. As time passes the waves become more frequent, more dark, more heavy and the temptation arises to just let go of the deck and let the wave take you over the side, it’s very peaceful in the water surrounding you ship … no more waves.
Yesterday I again got released from hospital it was only a shortish visit but it was the 11th in 4 years and didn’t really achieve much. After a bit of patching to help for the immediate moment I was advised that there were two options. The first included some self administration (no details here) that would involve a level of pain for about 10 minutes every day. The second was more major surgery that, with my heart, I had only a 50/50 chance of surviving … actually I think there is a third option – do nothing and I confess that is the way I am presently leaning, sometimes it’s simply time to say “enough is enough”.
My friends have all departed and on returning home I found that I hadn’t had one email for three weeks, struth, I used to get 60 a day, when I saw how empty the inbox was the word ‘Irrelevance” sprang freely to mind and there it has found a home. I think you have to weigh up the value of life, evaluate purpose or reason for continuance. I can no longer: -
· No good food
· No good booze
· No bad women
· Walk for more than ten minutes
· Breath without oxygen close by – just in case
· Dance – I was never good at it but it’s coupled to bad women
· Sit with friends over a good meal that lasts for hours – The friends are DEAD and the food and wine has slipped into the past.
I do lament the loss of women, there have been so many over the years (that is not an ego thing it’s just the way we were). I guess a hundred would be a conservative estimate and that includes the 12 years when Red was around and I stayed faithful to her alone. The thing is I can’t really remember names and faces; they are just a confusion of bodies, at the time that was sufficient, it was all short term and just for the hell of it. I do remember one lady quite well; it was during my time in the Royal Navy. Strangely it all started in the port of Stockholm, how odd that that city keep rearing its head in my past. With other officers from my ship I attended a dinner at the British Embassy (or Consul) I can’t remember which it was but we are going back about 40 years. It was there I met ‘Katya’ (not Katia) and she was also a lieutenant - but in the Russian Navy. The port had kept a distance between our ships but over dinner things got very close. By 0200 we were in bed together with the uniforms that should have kept us apart also entangled on the floor. Katya was blonde, about 5’8” and very stunning. She was also the strongest woman I have ever known and could even pick me up without strain – which was very disconcerting. We actually stayed in touch for a while and even had an unforgettable two weeks in a place called (I think) Vaxholm. We thought it would be far enough away from ‘Official’ eyes, we should have known better. Anyway, at least I can say that I had a romance that it took two governments to break up.
But on to other things – the trouble is that there are no new things, it’s all the past rehashed and rehashed, memory is great but there is nothing fresh about it, no surprises and life needs surprises. Music becomes pastel, the intended emotion diluted from overuse; there is nothing unexpected in any verse. How shocking to become one of those old bores that drives people away by telling stories of the past over and over again.
At one time I sailed endless oceans, had a tribe of good friends around me, we ate drank, fought, lived, died and generally squeezed every bit of life out of each and every day. The bill was always paid with a grin and it was then on to the next escapade with no regrets.
Now it’s just an empty inbox. There is no reason for anybody to contact me, I have nothing new to say and am only getting crankier with age and physical condition. Except, perhaps, as a visitor, I shall never again man the bridge of a ship, never utter the words ‘Let go all’, no, this little vessel isn’t steaming anywhere again but ‘oh brother’! you should have seen where we have been … so much strangeness, so much unfamiliarity, so many new places just waiting like new dishes to be tasted, Oh well, I just hope there are still others enjoying the meal but I doubt it, there are no real characters left, people have been regimented into extreme blandness.
I had started on book 2 of The Mucky Ducks but that inbox has shown that the stories made no lasting impact – there again book one was only penned as a memorial to the old crew so, perhaps, there is no need for a book 2. I hope book 1 stays around; I would like to think that, from time to time, somebody will still pick it up and take a wander through those great years and spare a thought for the guys. It never sold big but there again it was never at any time given any advertising; still I am told it has a cult following so some must have understood the underlying message.
So, what now … for the first time ever I confess to having no idea about the future. For some reason I had always thought the story wasn’t over, that we were just in an extended intermission – guess I was wrong, I think the curtains have been sown closed.
I think life is rather like one of those old English country houses like the one my family had. To be home and have value to the owners a house requires young things to be living within it and when they grow old, their young things keep the house alive with the zest for life and a deal of laughter and tears. However, again like a house there comes a time when there are no new young things, young thoughts, young ideals and dreams and when that happens the house starts to decay.
As in the book, perhaps it’s time to ring down ‘Finnish with engines’ and for the last time slip quietly ashore.
Again, pinched from the book, where it was pinched from Longfellow: -
"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing;
Plus, once the irrelevance sets in, you increasingly experience the waves of grief, despair and frustration that come with the flooding arrival of old memories, not the good ones, rather all the bad stuff which had been safely locked away for a thousand years. When I wrote the short story “Captain (D)” I was starting to understand what the old chap was, at times, going through; now I am living the same thing myself. You get an inkling that it’s coming, there is a feeling as if you can actually feel the approach of heavy grey/black clouds, ready to block out everything bright. Then it hits like some vast wave engulfing a ship, you hang on, pinned to the deck until the wave passes and the again vessel breaks free into the sunshine. As time passes the waves become more frequent, more dark, more heavy and the temptation arises to just let go of the deck and let the wave take you over the side, it’s very peaceful in the water surrounding you ship … no more waves.
Yesterday I again got released from hospital it was only a shortish visit but it was the 11th in 4 years and didn’t really achieve much. After a bit of patching to help for the immediate moment I was advised that there were two options. The first included some self administration (no details here) that would involve a level of pain for about 10 minutes every day. The second was more major surgery that, with my heart, I had only a 50/50 chance of surviving … actually I think there is a third option – do nothing and I confess that is the way I am presently leaning, sometimes it’s simply time to say “enough is enough”.
My friends have all departed and on returning home I found that I hadn’t had one email for three weeks, struth, I used to get 60 a day, when I saw how empty the inbox was the word ‘Irrelevance” sprang freely to mind and there it has found a home. I think you have to weigh up the value of life, evaluate purpose or reason for continuance. I can no longer: -
· No good food
· No good booze
· No bad women
· Walk for more than ten minutes
· Breath without oxygen close by – just in case
· Dance – I was never good at it but it’s coupled to bad women
· Sit with friends over a good meal that lasts for hours – The friends are DEAD and the food and wine has slipped into the past.
I do lament the loss of women, there have been so many over the years (that is not an ego thing it’s just the way we were). I guess a hundred would be a conservative estimate and that includes the 12 years when Red was around and I stayed faithful to her alone. The thing is I can’t really remember names and faces; they are just a confusion of bodies, at the time that was sufficient, it was all short term and just for the hell of it. I do remember one lady quite well; it was during my time in the Royal Navy. Strangely it all started in the port of Stockholm, how odd that that city keep rearing its head in my past. With other officers from my ship I attended a dinner at the British Embassy (or Consul) I can’t remember which it was but we are going back about 40 years. It was there I met ‘Katya’ (not Katia) and she was also a lieutenant - but in the Russian Navy. The port had kept a distance between our ships but over dinner things got very close. By 0200 we were in bed together with the uniforms that should have kept us apart also entangled on the floor. Katya was blonde, about 5’8” and very stunning. She was also the strongest woman I have ever known and could even pick me up without strain – which was very disconcerting. We actually stayed in touch for a while and even had an unforgettable two weeks in a place called (I think) Vaxholm. We thought it would be far enough away from ‘Official’ eyes, we should have known better. Anyway, at least I can say that I had a romance that it took two governments to break up.
But on to other things – the trouble is that there are no new things, it’s all the past rehashed and rehashed, memory is great but there is nothing fresh about it, no surprises and life needs surprises. Music becomes pastel, the intended emotion diluted from overuse; there is nothing unexpected in any verse. How shocking to become one of those old bores that drives people away by telling stories of the past over and over again.
At one time I sailed endless oceans, had a tribe of good friends around me, we ate drank, fought, lived, died and generally squeezed every bit of life out of each and every day. The bill was always paid with a grin and it was then on to the next escapade with no regrets.
Now it’s just an empty inbox. There is no reason for anybody to contact me, I have nothing new to say and am only getting crankier with age and physical condition. Except, perhaps, as a visitor, I shall never again man the bridge of a ship, never utter the words ‘Let go all’, no, this little vessel isn’t steaming anywhere again but ‘oh brother’! you should have seen where we have been … so much strangeness, so much unfamiliarity, so many new places just waiting like new dishes to be tasted, Oh well, I just hope there are still others enjoying the meal but I doubt it, there are no real characters left, people have been regimented into extreme blandness.
I had started on book 2 of The Mucky Ducks but that inbox has shown that the stories made no lasting impact – there again book one was only penned as a memorial to the old crew so, perhaps, there is no need for a book 2. I hope book 1 stays around; I would like to think that, from time to time, somebody will still pick it up and take a wander through those great years and spare a thought for the guys. It never sold big but there again it was never at any time given any advertising; still I am told it has a cult following so some must have understood the underlying message.
So, what now … for the first time ever I confess to having no idea about the future. For some reason I had always thought the story wasn’t over, that we were just in an extended intermission – guess I was wrong, I think the curtains have been sown closed.
I think life is rather like one of those old English country houses like the one my family had. To be home and have value to the owners a house requires young things to be living within it and when they grow old, their young things keep the house alive with the zest for life and a deal of laughter and tears. However, again like a house there comes a time when there are no new young things, young thoughts, young ideals and dreams and when that happens the house starts to decay.
As in the book, perhaps it’s time to ring down ‘Finnish with engines’ and for the last time slip quietly ashore.
Again, pinched from the book, where it was pinched from Longfellow: -
"Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing;
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence."
I think that just about sums up the whole thing … don’t you?
Time for a good malt whisky … or ten
I think that just about sums up the whole thing … don’t you?
Time for a good malt whisky … or ten
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