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Sandy and John

Author: Rob Molan

Please note: this piece contains descriptions of loss that some readers may find upsetting.

Aye, Sandy was right, as he often was. There were shoals of herring waiting for us when we got out to sea. The catch should get a good price when we get back to Fisherrow though no doubt Tommy Bryce will want to haggle as usual.

The radio crackles and the harbourmaster’s voice comes through.

'Hello again, John. Can you hear me?'

'Aye, loud and clear,' I reply.

'What time do you estimate you will arrive at the harbour?'

'In about half an hour.'

'Okay, John, we’ll be waiting.'

'Fine.'

I’m not in the mood for conversation right now. We’ll deal with matters once the boat is docked.

I grip the helm tightly, concentrating hard as I need to steer the “Morning Mist” back safely. Dark clouds start to gather above, casting a giant shadow over the sea ahead, setting a path for the remainder of the passage home.

To raise my spirits, I think back to Sandy’s best man’s speech at our wedding which still makes me smile thirty years later. He was nervous as hell at the start but with the help of a nip or two he gained confidence and stood tall and dispensed advice to Jessie about how to put up with me, complimented Mary and Agnes on their bridesmaid dresses, and regaled the gathering with several anecdotes at my expense. Boy, was I red faced when he shared the story about the evening I got drunk at Musselburgh racecourse and went up to one of the horses in the paddocks and asked for a tip for the next race.

He was a handsome lad in those days with smooth skin and a thatch of blonde hair. The sea winds later roughened his face, as they have mine, and his hair greyed from the hard life we live at sea. Defiantly, my mane has remained jet black.

A strong wind starts to build up and the trawler is buffeted by the waves. I turn the boat slightly downwind to outrun the gale, before eventually getting it back on course. A rough sea always takes me back to the night when Sandy saved my life. The storm was ferocious and winds were blowing from all four corners of heaven. I was stupid and slithered down the deck of the boat to try and prevent some baskets going overboard. He was shouting at me, telling me to stay put in the cabin. Idiot that I was, I went over the side and was left hanging on for dear life by one hand. He rushed over and, at great risk to himself, pulled me up and over the side to safety.

It wasnae the first time he saved my bacon. I have little head for heights and when I was eight years old I climbed up a tree for a dare and found myself too frightened to climb down. The other boys jeered and threw stones but Sandy climbed up alongside me and helped me down slowly. That was Sandy for you. Always ready to put the other person first. No man could have had a better friend or companion than him.

I can now see the lights at Fisherrow and so I start to reduce the speed of the boat. The old girl has seen a lot in her time, providing a stage for Sandy and me to grow from men into boys as we pursued the silver darlings in all sorts of weather, hunters of the sea gathering foodstuff for our ain folk and others further afield.

As the trawler approaches the harbour, I can see in the fading light a police car and an ambulance and a small group of people standing by them. Screeching seagulls fly above the boat providing a cortege as I slow it down and guide it through the mouth of the harbour. As the boat is tied to the mooring, I see the policeman taking off his cap and standing to attention. Doctor Lawrie jumps down onto the boat, his longish white hair blowing in the wind, and he strides towards me.

'Where is he, John?' His steel grey eyes study me carefully.

'He is down below with the tarpaulin draped over him. He fell clutching his chest as if he was having a heart attack. God rest his soul.' I bow my head as I speak.

'You get yourself onshore, John and we’ll sort things out here.' As I walk past, he grips my right shoulder and squeezes it.

I clamber up and steady myself and see Jessie walking slowly over, wrapped in a shawl and wearing a rain hat. She reaches out her arms to me and I stumble over and fall into them sobbing.

'Let it out, John,' she whispers to me. 'There’s no shame in greeting.' She slowly rocks me back and forth.

After a moment, I lift up my head and look at her. 'That’s the last time I’m taking out the “Morning Mist”, Jessie. It’s done us proud but its best days are behind us.' I could feel my shoulders sag as I said this.

'Aye, I understand, John. Let’s go home now. The fire is lit and I’ve made some vegetable soup.'

The wind behind us is strong and we cling to each other as we make our way down the path. Already though my mind has turned to the task which I must start on tomorrow. Sandy never found a lass to marry and have a family with, so it will fall to me to write a funeral oratory which does him proud. Burns’ words immediately come to mind here:

'We two have paddled in the stream,

from morning sun till dine;

But seas between us broad have roared

since days of long ago.'