It is my birthday today dear folks. I’m eighty-five years and still as fit as a fiddle. I do tend to spend more time these days thinking about the past, the future is hard to mull over when tomorrow I could drop dead, so I am prone to living the past these days.

I recall one time when I used to live for the future. I was in my cabin supping on a light malt whilst dreaming of buying a bar for my retirement, a nice little local pub where I could tend bar, when the Chief Officer called down to say that there was ‘land ahoy’. Everybody was excited about getting ashore; a recent win on the football pools had ensured that a large meal with drinks would be comfortably accounted for. As banker for the enterprise I kept the money in the ships safe. I would also go ashore with them to ensure that all partook equally in the handout but first we had to get the ship alongside, complete the paperwork and to wait for sundown before hitting the road for a night to remember. I recall the day clearly and I allowed myself to join in their excitement, their vivid enthusiasm taking root.

Kids eh?

We were berthing in Taichung in Taiwan with a cargo of coal to discharge, a decent enough place if there ever is one, with pretty woman, reasonably priced alcohol and food to enjoy, all in plentiful amounts. The ship itself was an intact tin-can, not old but no spring chicken either and perhaps I could say the same about the crew. They were a haphazard bunch, not a uniform amongst them to my chagrin but the chief engineer maintained a good engine room and the chief officer had good control of the bridge and his crew so I could not complain. Not much can be said for the cook, an erstwhile rogue who ate half the provisions himself but he produced meals on time and the cockroaches were kept at bay so we tolerated each other for the most part. As we berthed the excitement was palpable; some of the crew already dolled-up in their best shorts and T-shirts with still three hours or more before lift-off was to be rung.

I kept the winnings in a brown envelope in the safe. A non-descriptive envelope amongst the other items of importance like passports and there it lay for safety until its soon to be ultimate demise at the hands of a bunch of seafarers enjoying the delights of a foreign port.

As soon as the ship was berthed and the gangway down I prepared my paperwork for the immigration officers who would board along with the agent. They’re very efficient in Taiwan, not like some ports I could mention and certainly nothing like the port of Samarinda, Indonesia, where we had loaded the coal and so I expected things to go smoothly. And whilst we waited I prepared myself a glass of whisky, a luxury after a hard voyage that whilst it was devoid of major hiccups had progressed slowly and painfully forwards. Being at sea isn’t like it used to be you know! It’s not often that I have this space of time, without the ever constant pressure of ship matters to attend to, so I sipped from my glass slowly and savoured the flavours as it worked down into my system. Just one glass mind you as it’s not every day that I get to do this. I still have to remain clear headed and ready for the unexpected at all times. Thinking back it was perhaps two glasses as I remember feeling that perhaps the opportunity may not rise again and that the officials were taking an abnormally long time to board.

The Immigration officers eventually came on-board and with due formality we entered into the documentation, form-filling and signage that goes with every arrival. I must admit that perhaps I should have put the bottle away and sucked on a mint or two but these officials know the score, they’ve been on thousands of ships and understand the rigours of a Master and so I maintained the bottles presence and continued to enjoy the essence whilst they rummaged through the crews passports. I noticed after refilling my glass with an intended last shot that two of the officials were quietly discussing the cook’s passport. I did not interrupt as god only knows what they were muttering about and simply waited until they were ready to impart the details whilst eyeing up the bottle for a possible final swifter. Eventually it transpired that the cook’s passport was out-of-date and so, after much discussion he was called to my cabin to explain himself. Up he came, sweating like the fool that he was and with relief he informed us that they held his old passport and that I should have his new one. Wow, was I glad at that moment. Crisis past and so with a quick swig of the remaining whisky in my glass I went back to the safe to locate it. I remembered then where it was. When he first joined he had given me a scruffy brown envelope, the one that he had received it in from home and I had never managed to take it out and put it with the others. I don’t blame myself for forgetting such a small item. It is hard work being a master and the responsibilities are high so a slight slip here or there is forgiveable.

I handed over the passport to the officials and sat back in my chair. With a swig from my glass I was ready to finalise proceedings, glad that events would nearly be over. And then the cat hit the roof. I must admit I have never in my life seen such response before. The larger immigration official burst out of his chair and started shouting wildly at me in Chinese. It is not a language I understand, quite difficult to learn is their lingo, and of course I was at an immediate loss as to why he acting so. I therefore offered him a drink to calm him down whilst pouring myself one in the process. Quite a normal reaction you know, suggesting a drink to a visibly upset person, and even though they declined I poured myself a little swig to calm my now severely broken nerves down.

They are an excitable bunch these Taiwanese. Not quite on this planet if you know what I mean and the overweight cook, who was still standing there, was scratching his overly-bristled, scrubbing brush-like chin in chagrin. I mean there is no need to act like that (the officials I mean, not the cook), not on a foreign vessel and in front of the crew even if the cook looked like he had not bathed for three months or more.

The agent appeared then and after much discussion the situation seemed to calm itself down a little bit. Not that I was excitable, just those two blue shirted officials who seemed unable to grasp the situation in its full clarity. I say ‘situation’ but in fact there was no situation at all and to keep myself occupied during the pantomime I perhaps supped more than I should have from my glass – lovely malt it was too!

They took me ashore you know! They took me ashore to the Port Police station and proceeded to garble away to me and another ten or so officials, all to my utmost chagrin. The dopy agent hung around but his English was worse than my Chinese so the situation was never really explained properly. After three hours, where they plied me with an indecent amount of coffee, the two rogues came back to my cell-like waiting room and waved a pen and paper in front of my face. I gathered that they wanted me to sign the paper and so I did. I couldn’t read anything and not one of them deigned to translate it for me, not that I would have understood, and then they let me go! What a fuss about nothing! I never really did understand what it was all about and probably never will.

The agent drove me back to the ship and as we pulled up to the gangway I could see a row of faces peering over the bulwarks. An eager crew waiting to go ashore and I with the cash in my cabin! It was then that I remembered that I had gone ashore without locking the safe. I had also left my cabin open in the rush but then in all reality what could happen? I boarded the vessel and feeling slightly light-headed after the day’s events I eagerly headed to my cabin for a quick snifter to bring reality back to my door, a shower and a touch of after shave in readiness for the evening ahead.

I was a bit annoyed when I reached my cabin. My bottle of whisky was empty and I could only assume that the officials, whilst distracting me with their shouting and excitable hand-waving, had helped themselves to my prime malt. A glass I meant, not the whole bleeding bottle. Anyway, they can’t help themselves these guys and not to be put out by this poor show of internationalism I opted for a beer before my shower.

In an unfortunate twist of events it was with utmost sadness that I found out that the brown envelope containing the winnings for our intended evening ashore had gone missing! I had that shower, and very nice it was too but whilst gathering my effects for the evening ashore I noticed that the passports were all still laid out on the table and that the only item left in the safe was a little brown envelope. I thought at first that it was the envelope containing the winnings but it turned out that it was only the cook’s second passport, the one that had initiated all the excitement to begin with. Strange really, as why would those drunk officials have put the passport back into the safe and not the others but in retrospect I can only imagine that whilst intending to tidy up after their bad performance they saw the money and decided to steal it.

I had a right job of explaining to the still-eager crew that the evening had been cancelled and that all funds had been stolen by the immigration officials. They were very upset indeed as you can only imagine. This resultant ill-feeling was compounded by the fact that the cook had passed a story around that I had tried to bribe the officials with a large amount of cash in a brown envelope and I suspect that he was only spreading such evil in an attempt to discredit me for our mutual dislike of each other.

I left that ship soon after and will never forget that day for its complete showing of human failure both ashore and with the crew. I didn’t hold their ill-feelings to heart, I mean who can blame them for listening to the cook who was more a part of them than a master could ever be but it did leave a bitter pill for me to swallow.

And so life goes on and with it my memories good and bad! I never did manage to buy that local bar for retirement. I never seemed to be able to get together enough capital to put down for such an enterprise but now I look back from my bar stool, in somebody else’s bar, with no ill-feelings or ill-will to my fellow crew members and with a glass of malt to hand that not even the toughest of cooks could prize from my grasp with his lies and stories. Perhaps it wasn’t the officials who stole the money, perhaps it was the cook himself who saw and opportunity to grasp it. I have no proof though and so life goes on.