Anchors Aweigh

Song of my returning  

Phil Ochs

I am packed. My alarm is set, and a mate of mine, Mark,  who drives a Taxi, is picking me up at 8 am. Tomorrow I leave for my first ship. A combination of trains, boats, and auto-mobiles will deliver me to my vessel in Northern France.  I don't know where it's going, or how long I'll be gone. "A while" my training officer told me. I will miss my Daughters 6th Birthday, and Cheltenham, and the Grand National. It's hard to write out what I'm feeling at the moment. It's quite surreal.  I'd say emotional. Listening to Phil Ochs is probably amplifying things ten fold; especially that song up there.   I fucking love Phil Ochs. I've said all my goodbyes today; and it was actually harder than I thought it would be. I'm becoming more emotional the older I get. Evelyn, my daughter is at that age, where she acts up; and at our meal last night she said she didn't care that I was going away . . . she's six in three weeks; and I won't be there for her Birthday. Kids....This is the hand I've been dealt.  My family have been immense with me over the years; I was the Black sheep for a while; but I think deep down, they knew I had the potential, even when I didn't. Lookin' back is a bad habit! I hope to repay their support, and make them all proud of me.

Here I go . . . . .

Welcome to phase 2

I'm not far off a month into my "sea phase" and I have heard little from my training company about going to sea.  Many of my fellow Cadets have; so I'm sitting around, feeling frustrated, and generally not liking things.  The word is, that the beginning of April is a likely date for a birth to become available.   Don't be fooled, it's not all been sitting around moping- two weeks ago, I impulsively booked a two night trip to Krakow in Poland.

 It's funny that I said I wouldn't go there again, on the count of so many rude people there; in hindsight, that's not really the problem. I'd rather people act how they really are, than put up a charade of pseudo-friendliness, like here in the UK. For the second consecutive year, I gave up my seat on the bus for an elder, only to be scowled at. I'm beginning to think that manners are quintessentially a British custom. I was pretty inebriated in a bar, in the Jewish district, and I ended up playing some Mercury Rev, and Echo and the Bunnymen songs on a Piano; which was a particular highlight. The low point, being on the first night; my 'beer compass' must have needed recalibrating, as I didn't get back to the hotel til'  5am; after walking up and down in the snow for what seemed like eternity. I wanted to go and see inside the churches; and there was a few orchestral concerts on; I hinted to my mate about going, but I think he was just interested in the beer. Which wasn't a bad thing; but next time, I'm going to go for longer, and do what I want to do, as two nights wasn't enough.

This week I've been attempting to keep busy.  I've done 30 miles on the bike so far; and I'm intending on doing another 70 before the weeks out. 100 lousy miles; Considering last year I'd do 100 in one day; this isn't really acceptable.  Yesterday I took my dog across to Hilbre Island, which is a small group of three Islands off the coast of the Wirral; which you can walk over to at low water.  The intention was to test out my new (ish) camera by photographing the Seal colony; but they were not there; they must have been frolicking on some sandbank somewhere. So I just took some of the Island.

Lifeboat Launch (1849) - Last used in WW11

I made my way across through the morning mist; and when I got there, it was beautiful.  I was the only one there. For a twenty minutes or so; I took my hat off to Tom Neale. I'm reading Tom's book at the moment "An Island to Oneself" in which he tells of his 6 year stay on a tropical Atoll in the south pacific.  Just as I was beginning to appreciate the solitude; a family arrived, running amok; and a group of young hoodlums, one of which was a 'brummie'- he was louder than the American woman on the bus in Poland. Forgot to tell you about her, didn't I?   Anyway...back to the concrete jungle I went.

I bought my self a concert ukulele to take to sea with me; which over the past week, I've managed to master. I've been working on all different types of fancy strumming techniques, and I have to say that I love it. I don't go near my guitar any more!  

Another 6 weeks or so, of PHD level procrastination awaits me, before I finally go to sea.  I suppose I'll get stuck into to some rule of the road; and go over all the academic stuff from phase 1. 

Remember when I nearly died?

Oh death, won't you spare me over, til' another year . .

I was rummaging around in my parents house yesterday, when I came across a local newspaper article dating back to the year 2000. It was funny to read, and reminisce about that time that I came close to meeting my maker; which triggered me off thinking about all the other times that I thought I might have died. Here are those moments, catalogued in all their glory. 

#1 Aniseed Ball

Seven, maybe eight years of age; bouncing up and down the hall, not caring, eating a hard boiled aniseed ball; when suddenly, one of them got lodged in my throat. For thirty seconds or so, I couldn't breath, and I was panicking; until  I realized I could just swallow it. Hardly close to death; but for those thirty seconds, it felt like it was, let me tell you! I've never had an aniseed ball since. 

#2 Over the hedge

Eleven years old, out playing with my mates; when we spotted this rather large, and springy looking hedge. For hours and hours, we'd run at it, top speed, and then leap into it, and get sprang back onto the pavement. Without thinking what was over the other side, we went on and on. Until..... I leaped too far, and toppled head first over; and landed on my head from a 5ft or more drop; onto concrete.  I never blacked out, and ran home screaming; and after a 4 hour trip to A&E, head and neck scans- I haven't jumped aimlessly into a hedge since. 

#3 Tidal Drama

I was 15 years old, and I was interested in yachts (Not much has changed in 13 years) - I was out riding on my bike  along the promenade from, with a friend, from where I lived in Moreton, to Meols; which is the next town along the coast. I was going there with the sole purpose of looking at the yachts on the swing(tidal) moorings. We didn't bother to check the tides; because on initial inspection, it was miles out. We walked out with our bikes, and inspected all the yachts; I remember being dismissive of  the trawlers initially. After about 20 minutes of inspecting the sandbank stricken yachts, we made our way back to land, when it became apparent that we had been rather unexpectedly cut off by a torrent of water. My friend made a dart through the water with his mountain bike, with it's large wheels that he used to support him and managed to get across; I however, hesitated, due to the wheels on my racer sinking into sand, and offering little in the way of support. Just thirty seconds had passed, and the distance that needed crossing had doubled. I was fucked. I looked to my left, water was approaching, I looked behind me, and it was the same...however, on my right hand side, there was a fishing trawler, still lying on her side. I immediately ran to the side that was closest to the ground and managed to haul myself and my bike into the boat. Not even a minute had passed, and the boat was afloat.   "Ring the coast guard" I screamed at my friend. "I've got no credit" he replied. "It's fucking free you mong" I screamed back. "What's the number?" - "It's One...One...Two...you fucking spazz" - At this time there was a group of spectators watching and laughing at our little exchange of kind words. I was soon rescued by the RNLI; who informed me that the wash here, was one of the quickest in the country. I learnt to respect the sea. 

#In the car with shay

My brother had not long passed his driving test, and wanted Mc Donalds from the 'drive-thru', but didn't want to drive up; so, in his infinite wisdom, decided to charge his friend; who didn't have a licence with the task of driving up there. On the way back, his friend was keen to show off his none existent driving skills; and decided to take a detour down a rather bendy country lane, alas,  he lost control of car going around a sharp bend, and we smashed up a kerb, and into a ditch. I didn't have my belt on; and my head went through the passenger side window. Again, I was saved by that thick skull of mine- as I just collected my Big Mac, which was rather messy, and told my brothers mate to fuck him self; and walked 3 miles back to my house. I learnt that my brothers mate was a moron. 

#Dick head in white vauxhall astra

I finished work in Chester, where I was working for a Bank's call centre. The commute home involved the M53- I was approaching point on the road where cars join; so I moved into the fast lane, to allow for it. I was doing about 70mph, when I noticed a white Vauxhall Astra come thundering onto the road; in a split second, he's crossed the slow lane, and continued into my path. Only my quick braking, and taking immediate evasive action meant that I got home in one piece that evening. Had there been a wagon on the inside lane, who knows what would have happened. I learnt that the roads are not a safe place, and you should never get complacent. 

#Scrap yard

I needed a new starter motor for my A reg Ford Fiesta. I wasn't going to by a new one; so I went down to the local scrap yard to explain to the toothless simpleton working there what I wanted. I was standing near the end of a row of stacked cars, waiting for my part. For a reason that I can't explain; I felt compelled to move from where I was standing. Not long after moving away, a Volvo Estate, and an old Ford Sierra, as if in slow motion tumbled over and crashed right where I'd been standing just moments earlier. Why I felt the need to move, I'll never know- and I don't buy all that super natural Derek Acorah bull shit. I learnt not to stand close to stacked scrap cars. 

#Coming down a hill at 40mph on my bicycle

I had been to Wrexham for the first time on my Bike, and was making my way back home; I say making my way back, but really, I was lost. The gears on my bike were playing up, so I let my mate have a mess about with my rear dérailleur. It seemed like he'd fixed it. I set off down a very steep hill, I didn't know just how steep and long it was at the time, but in hindsight, and now knowing the climbs of North Wales like the back of my hand, it was 'The Steps'  - I was free wheeling at 35mph, so I decided to give it some pedal power, shortly after, I heard a massive clunk- my rear wheel had locked, and I was skidding into the other side of the road; I got myself on the right side of the road, when my mechanically minded friend came hauling past me, into a hedge.   He hadn't fixed my bike at all. He'd adjusted the rear mechanism, wrongly- and my rear mech was sucked into my rear wheel, writing the wheel off; and leaving me with a near £200.00 bill to fix my bike. Afterwards, thinking about the 'ifs' and 'buts' - I was pretty lucky to come out of it in one piece.  I learnt not to let amateurs near my bike. 

# 

I'm back with scars to show, back with the streets I know, will never take me anywhere but here...

My city's still breathing (but barely it's true)

through buildings gone missing like teeth.

The sidewalks are watching me think about you,

sparkled with broken glass.

I'm back with scars to show.

Back with the streets I know

Will never take me anywhere but here.

The stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand,

the strangers whose faces I know.

We meet here for our dress-rehearsal to say "I wanted it this way"

Wait for the year to drown.

Spring forward, fall back down.

I'm trying not to wonder where you are.

All this time lingers, undefined.

Someone choose who's left and who's leaving.

Memory will rust and erode into lists of all that you gave me:

a blanket, some matches, this pain in my chest,

the best parts of Lonely, duct-tape and soldered wires,

new words for old desires,

and every birthday card I threw away.

I wait in 4/4 time,

Count yellow highway lines that you're relying on to lead you home.

It's 21.16, and I'm sitting confined in my room at Nautical college. The pistachio/baby sick walls that initially depressed me, when I first arrived  are now imprinted on my retinas when I close my eyes. My room is empty now, all my worldly possessions have been loaded into the car. I'll miss the confinement; I've become used to it though.  I'm obviously sitting here, reflecting on the happenings of the past few months, whilst listening to some whingy music; I'm reliving my teens- talking shit and listening to music that stirs my soul; and boy does the track I posted there do that! I've changed, in a good way since September; I'd like to think. From being very 'anti-people'-I've tried to embrace my class mates here; and I'm glad that I did.  I've made some solid friendships while I've been here, and I am thoroughly looking forward to coming back in September to press on with my studies here.  

Academically this college phase has been good- challenging, but good- 0% in my first maths exam; leading up to my end of phase bumper exam, with a cool 91%- It feels great that this improvement has come about and I'm now looking forward to next year, when things get harder. Bring it on. I am ready!

Personally, there's been some dark places visited; places I don't want to go; I can't even speak about them on the public domain- but they have made me appreciate what I've got, and how lucky I am to be here and even more excited about where I'm going. 

What's next?  I don't know really. I head home tomorrow; and I'll spend some quality time with my nearest and dearest. I know that by Monday morning, I'll be wanting away again. My social circle on the Wirral, other than my cycling club, is rather non  existent; one, maybe two people I can call up for a beer.   I suppose that's not a bad thing really. I don't know anything about my first sea phase. My company have not found me a birth on a ship; so I'm literally in the doldrums, unable to plan anything. I've been toying with the idea of going to Krakow, or another Eastern European city, for a few days. Knowing my luck I'll book it, and they'll send for me. 

I'm going to the bar now, to say my goodbyes to my friends; to wish them all the best for their sea phases.

I guess you'll next hear from me when I've got news of my first ship; or when I've had enough of waiting, and decided to fuck off to Kiev or something. 

2012

In all, 2012 was a good year for me.  I went from being a 27 year old, retaking his GCSE's; to a 28 year old Deck Officer cadet in the Merchant Navy. Joining the Merchant Navy to train as an Officer has been a goal of mine- for a number of years, and very proud of myself I am. In fact- I initially was happy to be a rating, so to be here now, training as an officer, I have transcended my ambitions.  Lookin' back is a bad habit, but, with one year ending, and another beginning; a little reflection wouldn't be the acme of foolishness.

  High points of the year for me, was firstly beginning my new life as a cadet. A big transition for me. Moving away again. . . . living in halls again . . . . in a really really small room with a single bed- I like to starfish when I sleep; this is not possible in Fleetwood Nautical College's campus beds; especially not for a fuller figured chap like myself. I suppose I should get accustomed to this? The course has been thoroughly enjoyable, and it's baffling to think that, there's only 3 weeks left of my first phase!  It's been a relief that the group of people I am training with are all good seeds; and I mean that. I usually hate everyone! Everything! What's happening here?  If I'd have done this cadetship at the age of 18, I would have probably been sacked by now. This is the right time. This is the right place.  It's all going great, and I'm getting ever closer to fulfilling my ambitions. Sure there's been times where I've been angry about things, and there's about 4 unpublished rants about incidents that have riled me. I decided not to share them with the world, in an attempt to let negativity wash over me. I had a pretty traumatic time in my second month of training. 12 weeks of, well, a living hell. Pure character building stuff- maybe I'll talk about it in years to come. Chapter closed.

I just finished reading a motivational book. Yes, I know, it makes me sound like a weak minded fool, who needs guidance from some greater mind. Reading it has just made me feel better about the way I've conducted myself over the past few years. It was looking bleak for me at 24; but I set long term goals, and I set short term ones, and I've slowly been getting over each hurdle accordingly. The book is by the great American athlete Michael Johnson. It's called "Slaying the dragon" - the ethos?  What do you want to do? How are you going to do that? - Methodical. I like it! That box was already ticked Michael my friend, but it's good to know that I'm on the right track. Some parts of it have given me a fresh approach to getting over these trials and tribulations. Why a motivational book by Michael Johnson though? Well- I was watching the Olympics this year, and he was on there as a pundit, as he usually is.  I have a massive amount of respect for him. He knows his sport. He is clear, concise, intelligent, humble, and there isn't an ounce of national self righteousness about him; a trait that can often be found in Americans. I remember him giving his summary about Usain Bolts qualifying run. He went into so much detail; and analysed it beyond repair. The presenter then asked Kelly Holmes what she thought, and she just muttered timidly "I agree with what Michael said" - I laughed to myself, and then looked up Michael on Google, noticed he had a motivational book, and thought to myself, "I'll have me some of that..this Sun Tzu puddle is drying out"


I've been watching a considerable amount of David Attenborough documentaries over the past few days; prompted by the "60 years in the wild" thing on the BBC. I think if I could live any one life lived by any Human, I'd live his. A truly remarkable man. I mean Hugh Heffner comes a close second! I hope he continues to make programmes despite his old age.  A highlight for me was this Cargo Cult documentary, made in the 60's! Being a long time follower of the John Frum movement (not an actual follower, just someone interested) I was aware this documentary existed, and for years longed to see it. A highlight of Christmas was watching it for the first time. I paid tribute to John Frum in my power pop band, writing a song on the subject- it can be heard here- John Frum - The HardSocks - ignore my scrappy vocals!! On the subject of music. I'm thinking of getting myself a decent UKELE to take to sea with me. I left my guitar in Fleetwood, when I came home for Christmas and I miss it. I'd miss not being able to play something when I join my first ship.

I guess I'll be back in a few days with some resolutions.

RIP Sir Patrick Moore

The Sky at night for me, was a big part of my adolescent years. I'd stay up late, down in the back room and  watch the sky at night.  It would utterly fascinate me. Just thinking about how vast the universe was; and how meagre Earth was in comparison; and how inconsequential I was in the grand scheme of things.  After my fix of astronomy....feeling all knowledgeable and  inconsequential; I'd  access the German channels through our old analogue Sky box; which were laden with borderline hard-core porn dramas.  Say what you like about the Germans; their watershed level was much more palatable to a 12 year old me, than that of the UK watershed, which to be frank was a bit shit!  Blame Mary fucking Whitehouse! It didn't matter that I didn't understand. There was bush, and bush in abundance.  Occasionally, I'd get the two mixed up. . . .  You try banging one off, to the post impact analysis reports pertaining to the  Shoemaker-levy incident on Jupiter.

Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes....

It's finally begun. My stint as an Officer Cadet in the Merchant Navy. I'm a Monday into my second week; and I think I can honestly say; I'm in the right place. The first week was spent predominately filling in loads of paperwork, and meeting various members of the college staff. I have to say, that what I have seen so far has impressed me; staff, facilities, and the food in the canteen isn't bad either!  The first day we arrived, we were informed by a third year cadet that they were taking us all out, into Fleetwood. I tagged along, and had about 3 pints; but the place that we went to sort of put me off going out EVER AGAIN. Let's just say; if Jeremy Kyle was doing referral fees, one could profit by befriending some of the locals in there- and bare in mind, I'm from Birkenhead- possibly one of the biggest dumps out there! The girl who's gig it was  apparently woke up the next morning on a bench. Awesome.   

   I was sent on a 'cadet development course' which sounded more annoying than it actually was. In all honesty, I wasn't looking forward to it; but I'd say that say some barriers were knocked down during the whole experience- and much needed!  Lots of climbing and assault course type shit; think 'the krypton factor' only you don't get a go of the flight simulator at the end; you just get beans, and more beans. I was lucky to be with a cracking gang of chaps. I was worried about being the oldest; but despite certain aspects of my personality being rather mature; in the sense that I think I'm well older than my years; this 3 days showed me that I can still clown around and enjoy it, if I want to- so it's nice to have that option.

I mentioned earlier that I felt I was in 'the right place' - pretty much every academic or professional endeavour of mine has resulted in me talking enthusiastically about something that I'm interested in; and usually....some complete fuckwit thinks that I'm weird because I 'don't watch telly' or that I  'like weird things' - here, I can talk about the Antipodes, The HM Thetis/Thunderbolt, Sailing, weather patterns in the Atlantic  etc without being ostracised.    We were told Ofsted were coming in, and also that we were going on a trip...to Birkenhead (my home town-ish) of all places; to act as passengers on a ship they are going to set on fire...safety drills. Anyway; in my school days; when Ofsted came in, I was put in a room, out of the way and I certainly wasn't allowed on school trips; especially towards the last three years of secondary school. That was 11 years ago....how things have changed, and where does the time go? I was made the class representative by a vote; 

Bit of a 'prison' vibe going on; but it's got everything one needs

 In the past week, I've had a viral infection, and last night I had an acute attack of food poisoning; which everyone in the cricket club heard; thankfully it subsided; and as I write this now, I am in pain, because I went out on my bike earlier in the pissing down rain, and rather stupidly got my wheel caught in a tram-line....my first ever intimate experience with the road. I am not happy. Woe is officially me. They say it comes in the threes; so-  1)viral infection 2) shits 3)bike crash. Can you please leave me alone now? 

On that note; I bid you good day.

The City of Ragusa

A few years ago, I got my hands on "A Speck on the sea" by William H Longyard; a book of sea crossing accounts that have occurred over the past 400 years; particularly voyages made in tiny crafts.  Anyway.... I was captivated by a particular story; the story of a vessel called 'The City of Ragusa' - which sailed from Liverpool to New York in 1871 and back in 1872 (Primoraz & Hayter); piloted by Captain John Buckley, and his mate Nicholas Primoraz (who possibly financed the voyage) who was also known as Nicholas Di Costa; the reason for the name change is not really known, but Longyard assumed that it was to do with the political turmoil in Primoraz's homeland of Croatia, at least that's what the area is known as now. Being a resident of Birkenhead; and interested in Maritime history; I decided to get on the case.  

Edward T.W Hayter (left) and Primoraz(right) The dog that travelled on the outbound trip, was a Labrador; which died en route. This is obviously bull terrier type breed; possibly an Irish staff' 

The " Ragusa " had been a life-boat, and was refitted by an active seaman, whose days had been passed fighting in the Indian wars, and to whom quiet retirement was punishment. The boat measured only twenty-one feet in length, and three feet six inches in width; her build was "lap-streak," and the only alteration made in her for the ocean passage was the addition of a yawl-rig, and a deck running from stem to stern. She had been on the water eighty days, having left Liverpool June 1st, and safely ridden through a terrific storm in which many large ships were sunk. Her quarter-inch planks withstood seas which crushed in the thick iron-plates of a mail steamer, and her miniature compass unerringly guided her to the desired port. Extremes of heat and cold caused a leakage once, but this was ingeniously mended with soap. Heavy seas deluged her and almost swamped her, but by skill and courage Captain Buckley and his mate, Nicholas Primoraz, (and their dog) won the laurels of a most wonderful undertaking. Primoraz, crossed the Atlantic again the following year, with a New Zealander, by the name of Edward T.W Hayter,making the passage from New York to Liverpool in thirty days. 

 I wanted to know what became of the vessel- in 'A speck on the sea' - Longyard  reported that it was put on display at the Royal Rock hotel in Rock Ferry, but another report stated that it was used on Birkenhead park's lake as an attraction, where it eventually rotted, and sank;  so I wrote into my local newspaper (my letter to the globe) - but that fell on deaf ears. This line of enquiry essentially came to an end. I was not surprised, as the Wirral Globe, and the Wallasey News; are shocking publications on all levels in my opinion. 

A few years went by, and I was at college in Liverpool; and with an abundance of 'time to burn' - I decided to contact William Longyard to let him know that I was on the case again (after previously notifying him I was digging for information). I had found a snippet of information on google (shame) about what actually became of Primoraz. So I headed over to the  Liverpool library archives, on a grey miserable Thursday, in January 2012, and spent a few hours trawling through news reels from well over a hundred years ago.  Here's what I unearthed.

EXTRAORDINARY SCENE IN DUKE STREET

A strange scene was witnessed yesterday in Duke-street shortly after noon yesterday. Nicholas Primorz, a tobacconist and stationer residing at 56 in that thoroughfare, was seen walking about there with gun in his hand, shooting recklessly at the persons who passed along. He fired three times, but fortunately, only shot a dog, which fell down wounded. He then went into his shop, brought a dagger out, and knelt down as if to prey, after which he went to his house again, returning with an axe. Two police officers were attracted to the spot, and as he was in the act of flourishing the the axe, they seized him from behind and took him to the Main Bridewell, where it was found that his mind was affected. It appears from another account, that he shot at a man on the corner of York Street, and Duke Street, who narrowly escaped being hit.  It is said that unfortunate person who caused all this consternation is the individual who came from New York some time ago in an open boat- the Ragusa- with a dog as his only companion. Attention was first directed to the extraordinary  conduct of Primoraz by two little children ran up Duke street crying, and exclaiming "There's a man going to shoot everybody." The man was removed during the course of the day to the Liverpool workhouse asylum.   

Newspaper:   Liverpool Daily Courier

Date: 27th December 1878

The second one I found was a carbon copy of the first but with the following added to the end of it....

EXTRAORDINARY SCENE IN DUKE STREET

...He shot at the man  on the corner of York street and Duke-street, and the man says he does not know how he escaped. this same man is now in possession of the shop, whilst the prisoner is being conveyed to  Bridewell. The dog was shot in the mouth, but does not appear to be dead yet. Great consternation was caused amongst the pedestrians going up Duke-street, and the people were highly satisfied when the man was cleverly secured by the two policemen. The prisoner came from New York some time ago in an open boat- the Ragusa- with the dog as the only "passenger"

Newspaper: Liverpool Albion

Date: Friday 27th December 1878

They failed to mention that he actually went to New York from Liverpool in the first place, and the boat was actually called "The City of Ragusa", not "Ragusa" - so how plausible the actual account is remains questionable. Shoddy journalism is plentiful in today's Liverpool Echo reports; so it wouldn't be the acme of foolishness to presume that reporting back could have been similarly poor. 

The third and final article I found was a little upsetting; for me personally as a bit of an animal lover. 

SENSATIONAL  "SCENE" IN DUKE-STREET

Yesterday forenoon, the inhabitants in the neighbourhood immediately adjoining the sailor's home, were rather startled by seeing a man rushing  about the streets with a loaded firearm, evidently intent upon shooting someone. His name was found to be Nicholas Primoraz, tobacconist and stationer, carrying on business at 56 Duke-street, and with considerable difficulty he was secured and locked up.  As he is evidently out of his mind, he will be taken  to a lunatic asylum. Primoraz is the man who a few years ago sailed across the Atlantic in a tiny boat named the City of Ragusa, his only companion being the dog. This dog yesterday attempted to bite a police constable who snatched a pistol from its master and was afterwards shot with the same weapon .The faithful animal was not killed by the shot, but was afterwards drowned at the Jordan street pinfold. 

Newspaper: Liverpool Mercury

Date 27th December 1878

I was saddened when I read the last article; knowing the eventual fate of Primoraz; a work asylum. One can only imagine how his life ended, and in what barbaric circumstances(There is a registered death of a Nicola Primoraz, age 43, in 1886)  His loyal companion, the dog, pictured above, obviously defending his owner from the police officers' advances, loyal to the end; getting shot, and then brutally drowned!  I had thought of investigating where Primoraz ended up, but this is where my amateur interest had got me, and I wasn't going any further. I remember at the time being overcome with emotions at what I'd found. I felt a little guilty as well...kind of like I was one of them pathetic anorak sporting trainspotters, buzzing off something so trivial.  It was special though, because I was probably the only person alive at that point in time, who knew the fate of Nicholas Primoraz, and his dog- anyone else with that knowledge was probably long dead. I thought it would have been amazing if I was an out and out narcissist. I guess now that I've put this on the internet, more people are going to know; and I'm glad that I've been able to unearth a small piece of the puzzle; of an event that happened over 130 years ago.  I can definitely see how a career in history, and research could be rewarding; but- at the same time, how much of the time is spent reading through none relevant stuff? I was sitting there for hours reading tonnes of brutal stories- multitudes of suicides, acid baths, strangled babies, to name a few stories.   I found my stint as a Maritime Research assistant thoroughly rewarding, and I feel lucky to have been involved with it. As with many stories from the past, questions will always remain. What happened to City of Ragusa? Did it end up sinking at Birkenhead park? What became of Nicholas Primoraz? What became of Captain John Charles Buckley? Why didn't he come back Liverpool on the return journey?  Why did the man that Primoraz was shooting at take over his shop when he was incarcerated ? Why did they drown the dog?    I'm guessing that we'll never know.  

Sincerest thanks go out to William Longyard and Mr Nenad Goll

Ten 'nautical' Songs

Here's my list, in no particular order; of my favourite  maritime or nautical; if you like, related songs.....by that, I mean there's some sort of literal link within the songs gist.   Don't worry; I've omitted Crosby, Stills, and Nash from the selection as well as Rod fucking Stewart AND Enya in the spirit of not being an obvious tool.

 Styx. I love this song; and if I'm ever in the vicinity of  alcohol, and a guitar, I usually play it. It sounds abysmal when I do it, obviously, as you need a piano really.....

The Doors, Ship of fools....I could have maybe put 'land ho' but, I like this song a little more...

 Sloop John B, While I've posted the Beach Boys version, I do prefer the Kingston Trio's version, but they'll be appearing later in this list, and quite frankly, I think that Brian Wilson is a genius! I went to see him in Liverpool a few years ago, and he was laden with session musicians. I'm not sure if it was awesome, but I am sure that Pet Sounds is one of the greatest records- ever. 

 Ship to Shore- Chris De Burgh. I know what you're thinking. Just click play, and try and block out the abysmal 80's synth sound; it's a decent song, promise. 

Reuben James by The Kingston Trio- I love a good story song. This song pays tribute to the men who lost their lives aboard the USS Reuben James(U-boat casualty). I did want to post "Oh, sail away" by the Kingston Trio, but there's not a suitable version, that I can find, and the lyrics are a little bit questionable, by today's ultra PC standards.

  Luka Bloom - My sunny sailor boy.  Some of Luka's music is amazing, he's also got a fair chunk of abysmal shit released. If you can sift through the shit stuff, he's a worthwhile artist to follow.  

Split Enz - Six months in a leaky boat, by default, any music project with Neil Finn involved is amazing, or at least, that's what I think. 

Surely no Nautical 'mix tape',  would be complete with out a Jimmy Buffet song? Changes in Latitude

Shadows Fall - The Coral = This is the EP version.

God Knows - The Coral - "We go out, we come in, but god knows where we've been" Taken from their second EP 'The oldest path'  

That's it. My top ten nautical or maritime themed songs, in no particular order. I hope it has bored you as much as compiling it bored me. 

My little trip to Kos

Above us only sky 

Why do airports seem to bring out the worst in people? I made a school boy error, by putting my aftershave in the hand luggage. My bag was put to one side on the machine to be checked. I had no idea that I'd made the mistake, but I was about to find out. I was waiting patiently for my bag to be checked, when a very large bearded, overly zealous security official made me move about 3 centre meters, over some sort of line;  think Metallica fan/biker...vroooooooooom!  After he'd got me to move the minuscule amount that appeased him; I began to think about what a sterling job he'd done; and I was wondering if he was going to finish work that evening, safe in the knowledge that he'd done his job to best of his abilities, not counting good old fashioned customer service...obviously; maybe sitting off in wetherspoons telling his mates about his ace day? I'm sure he had lots of friends, I'm sure of it.   Just as I was winding myself up about people of this stamp; I was immediately confronted by an Asian couple; who had failed to realise that their bag was being thwarted because it needed to be searched; and that it was in a que, and ques in their very essence, have fundamentals...such as an order; usually chronological. They were sure that waving their boarding passes frantically in the security ladies face was going to get them seen quicker. There were sure of it.  Just as I was awaiting a light house in the proverbial fog, to redeem humanity for me, I struck a concealed iceberg of cunt-ness. There was a vile, freckled, narcissistic, ginger Irish woman, with an exhausted look on her face sighing very deliberately...about as deliberate as one could sigh; even more deliberate than the sighs that I was throwing out, in my head, at the beardo loon, '"I've got a plane to catch!" she said.......


Then I boarded the plane, and as usual, I was a little nervous, as I am scared of flying.  You know when you arrive at the airport, and you see a gang of tit heads at the bar? You think 'I hope they're not getting on my plane'  - well, they did, and they sat right in front of me. The "G-star raw" T shirts are an instant indicator of moronary.   If you wear one of these, chances are, you're a moron; or possibly a middle aged man trying hopelessly to to appear fashionable...in which case, you're also a moron. They were chatting up a few young damsels, one of which was wearing a shockingly terrible wig; which was so bang on, it was funny. The lads were also aware of her tragic hair-cumstance; and were silently communicating via a series of raised eyebrows and smirks. I knew what they were thinking. They were total dick heads. Loud, football chanting, obnoxious little shits, with little spatial awareness- they were ignoring the seatbelt light, sitting four on a three row. At this point, we were well into the flight, and I was hardly even aware that I was in air- the fear was replaced by G-star raw rage; thanks to a gaggle of yorkshire nitwits (one had a Leeds United tattoo). I've always wanted to go abroad, on a 'lads' holiday, but the company I have kept over the years has been a little skeletal to say the least, and has dictated that such embarkings' have been restricted. If, I ever did though, I'm sure I'd be liable to slap someone in my party for  any of that sort of behaviour. I had exhausted all avenues of thought, pertaining to my moronic fellow travellers. I drifted off into a day dream, only to be snapped out of it by a blue bottle, buzzing energetically around the cabin; 'how lucky is he?' I said to myself. 'Was he a Greek fly? Was he Liverpudlian? Perhaps he was from elsewhere? Was he missing his brothers back home, to busy to even send a post card back?' Personifying and flying. That's how it's done.


The plane landed, and we went our separate ways from the fly, and the fuckwits. We made our way to the resort of Kefalos. I won't bore you with the details of it. It's a holiday resort at the end of the day. They're a pretty much a standard formula where ever you go. Junk for sale, half full with tourists, nice beaches, and loads of cars and quads to rent, pretty standard really. Ants galore!  The room we checked into was every bit of a prison cell that I imagined it to be- two tiny windows and a door. Maritsa studios, ran by a lady called Maritsa. We had about 10 feral cats outside who were very tame- although the black ones were much more sheepish than the brown or white ones- I'm not sure if this is just by chance, or maybe a scientific reason. There was one kitten in the clan, and she was very very cute.

View from our room

Breakfast time..

This is actually the flight home, as I never got a window seat on the outbound flight

My visit to Kos was one with ulterior motives, i.e, not just to holiday; but was somewhat of a recon' mission to weigh up any potential marinas to put my yacht, when I eventually get around to buying it. Unfortunately for me, when the Greeks misunderstand you, they do it on a colossal scale, and after asking a few different people, I downed tools on that plan. I basically got the impression there was a lot of forms to fill in, and taxes to pay.  I took a boat trip out to Nisyros, and fell for the place in a big way. I'm pretty sure that when I get my self a yacht, I will be mooring it in the vicinity of the Aegean. There was no sign of cap in hand begging, or anything like that; which our media, with it's own little sinister agenda would like us all to believe! I'd had "why are you going there?" "Greece? Isn't that place in the shit?" from various outlets, in the weeks prior to leaving. My advice to these people, so eager to lap up anything from the mainstream media mammary gland; would be to unplug your television, open your back door, and throw the thing to fuck. Stop reading tabloids as well. While we're there, stop reading magazines. Why do you need to be told what to think? I realize listening to me would make my initial request a paradox; but; I'll let you off, as long as from this point on you DO AS I SAY. 

A few shots from Nisyros

Me inside a crater, looking like a typical British Tourist. 

Christine, snooping for bargains.

I had a wonderful time, and the island of Kos won me over, granted, not as much as Nisyros did.  With friendly people, and fantastic food, if I ever do go on a holiday again, I'll be heading out to Greece..but in all honesty, it'll probably be in the boat rather than on a holiday! It was everything I imagined it would be, and more. 

Spot the cyclist.

The road up to the the highest point, I biked up, then rented a quad to get some photos. Was getting some strange looks off locals in cars and on bikes, as I hauled my fat ass to the top rep by rep. 

Photos do not do the gradient any justice. 

No, they still don't...

The view from the top

Quad biking!

Vroooooom. 

My faith in humanity was restored on the way home, and the 'G-star raw' pricks were not to be seen. I met an old guy, at the airport; I let him get in line before me, just after check-in opened, as we were waiting at the front. I got talking to him, and he told me that he'd flown out to Crete, and was simply going around all the different islands finding his own way, rather than booking anything. He instantly became my new hero!  I suspected that he was a widower, until he mentioned that his wife had booked him the flight home- he then told me that his wife was severely disabled, and that for 4 weeks of the year, his kids look after her and he goes on his travels. I said "I'm sure you're glad to be going back..." he jokingly looked in disapproval, as if to suggest he wanted to carry on island hopping forever;   "don't worry, I haven't got a camera, I'm not wearing a wire" I said- he laughed, and made a comment about 'Merseyside humour' - I spoke with him again twice; as he was offering to get us drinks- as the cafe wouldn't take card payments, we refused his kind offer obviously,  and again at the baggage collection place; where he told me of all the places he'd been over the years. He was a well travelled man, but I did wonder about what his life might have been like for the other 48 weeks of the year. I bid him farewell, and good luck and he did the same. It was one of those encounters which will hopefully stay with me for the rest of my life.