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After breakfast at Cardiff Missions to Seafarers, I dial for a taxi to bear me and my gear to the Cardiff shipping office to sign aboard the new ship. I lug my bags outside and wait on the pavement for the taxi. The rough crowd of boozers from last night is also on the pavement, with their motley array of bags. Their taxi pulls into the gutter. They load up and drive off.
My taxi is next in line – but my bags have vanished! The rough crowd has taken them. I jump into the taxi and shout, 'Follow that cab!'
We pursue it into Cardiff dockland, past coal wharves and warehouses. We lose them once when a long coal train trundles through and we must halt at a level-crossing. But my driver does an intuitive three-point turn over more railway lines, dodges between some sheds, and spots our quarry in the distance. It's pulling away from a filthy old ship.
Her white superstructure is yellowed and chipped. The plates of her black hull carry vertical streaks of rust. She sports a buff funnel, with black top and a red Neptune's crown just below. She has a list and leans against the dock like an old whore at a bar.
I run up the gangway to discover a pile of bags stacked on the empty deck. I rummage among them until I retrieve my own.
There are footfalls on the rust-flaked steel plates. 'Now then! What are you up to?'
It's a huge man. He reminds me of the mate of the Dunera. A sense of grievance and injustice hits me. 'You clowns went off with my gear back at the Mission. I've had to chase you all the way through Cardiff bloody docks.' My protest becomes louder. 'I don't suppose you buggers will pay the extra taxi fare!'
He says nothing, but steps forward with menace. I grab my bags and scurry down the gangway.
We weave our way to Cardiff Shipping Office, where I put my signature to ship's articles for a berth on the motor vessel Hughli, presently in Cardiff. We return through the cobbled streets of Cardiff's famous Tiger Bay area – me watching the taxi meter – and onto the docks. We dodge more coal trains and wind our way between sheds and cranes until we draw up alongside the MV Hughli. Horror fills me when I realise it's the same noxious tramp on which I'd recently had that altercation.
The big man is on deck again. He glowers down at me as I creep up the gangway. He looks even bigger than before. 'You again! What the bloody hell do you want this time?'
'I'm your new radio officer,' I mutter.
'And I'm first mate,' he growls. 'I can see we're in for an interesting trip!'
I shrink back, but catch a twinkle in the man's blue eyes and note how his lips fight back a touch of mirth.
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