Short stories from My Red Book by Henry Macey (e novels for free .txt) 📕

taken on the flight deck. It is of me playing with Pussy; the ship's cat." I said it loud enough for all to hear, and the police officer's face went bright red as the whole of the pub burst out laughing. I got that photo blown up into a large print, and the pub owner hung it behind the bar, so everybody could see Harry (Joe Macey) in his uniform playing with Pussy.

 

Onboard H M S Eagle a fleet carrier sister ship of Ark Royal in 1958.

 

Malta

Malta

 

The grand harbour in Malta was the Mediterranean home of the British Navy for many years. Many sailors have landed on the shores of this island, and they had created a Maltese culture all its own. The sailors gave different names to many things, that I don't know if I am using the right name for the thing I want to describe. The word diso refers to a boat used to ferry people and goods on the water in the grand harbour. It was like the gondola's in Venice, with one oarsman with one oar to propel it. A Garry cart was a horse-drawn open carriage to carry four people.

 

 One run ashore in Malta always brings a smile to my face when I remember it. Four of us had just stepped off the liberty boat. When a lone marine enquired if it would be possible for him to share a gharry cart with us. I looked up at him because he towered above me, saying I had no objection but could the poor old horse pull our combined weight. All five of us climbed in and gave the driver our destination, ‘The Gut’. On the way there I asked the marine, why he was a lone ranger. He told us he wasn’t going to go ashore, and his friends had left an hour ago. He was not sure if he could find them, they could be anywhere between Valletta and Gozo.

 

As we alighted from the cart I asked this fine guardian of the quarterdeck, if he would accompany us on a mission that some had said imposable. The Brylcreem boy of the R A F hadn’t been able to do it. And the pongo’s even with the help of El duchy, and his blockade of this island had failed to achieve it. But tonight I was confident that the men of the fighting Eagle would succeed, in our quest to drink the gut dry.

 

In the true fighting spirit of this noble breed, he snapped to attention, and gave a solute and pillaged his allegiance to our cause. He smiled and said he would be honoured, to join such a fine body of men such as us. And so it was after a few stops to test the quality of the wears, of a couple of the many hostelries along the street.

 

We stumbled through the two half wagon wheel doors, of the Bing Crosby club. Lucky we found a table to sit the five of us and ordered a round of their finest brew. Our marine was hypnotized, by the songstress performing on the stage. He couldn’t take his eyes off the shapely leg that was visible through the long slit in her dress, or her ample bosom that overflowed her bodice. And there was the hint of far eastern promise, in the dusky hue of her skin. 

 

She also had not missed the entrance of this tall handsome stranger, with the high boot neck collar. When she had finished serenading him, she stepped down from the stage and swung her hip in our direction. Looking at only one of us, she said in velvet breathless voice. “Is there anyone at this table; willing to buy me a drink.” The marines arm shot into the air, and he snapped his fingers, then to the waiter that materialized beside him said. “Find nectar worthy to present to this goddess of loveliness. Then as there were no chairs for her to sit, he offered her his knee to sit upon.

 

She sat fluttering her eyelashes and giggled girlishly, as he showered her with praises to her beauty. When her scarlet lips whispered sweet nothings into his shell-like, he downed his drink, and they rose as one. We wished them both a happy bon voyage and him a very pleasant voyage of discovery. As he steered her loveliness from the building, with his arm around her tiny waist.

 

Barely five minutes had past when we all turned as one, on hearing a thunderous crash from the front of the club. There was our marine striding towards us, the doors he had crashed though still swinging. As he sat in his chair he announced he needed refreshment, so I pushed my half-empty glass to him; which he downed in a single gulp. Then I ventured the question that was on everybody’s lips.

“What’s up royal.” He uttered two words of profanity I can’t repeat, but the second began with a ‘B’ the first an ‘F’.

 

Then he began his tale of woe, “I got the ‘B’ in the bedroom, and got my hand in her ‘F’ knickers. I came up with an ‘F’ toggle and two, so I punched the ‘B’ lights out and left the ‘F’ in a heap on the floor. He should be out for an hour or two.” We were shocked 'Nay' stunned, for all at the table thought it had been the genuine article. There was only one thing I could say at such a revelation, “five beers waiter and make them tall ones.”

 

Epilogue.

 

The Garry cart drivers and disso oarsmen, of Malta, took a lot of stick from the men of her majesty’s royal navy. Quite unfairly I might add, as they did a great job in ferrying the men about. Late one night five very merry mariners, arrived at the quayside in the grand harbour. They instructed the disso oarsmen, to propel them to their ship. The oarsmen quite rightly informed them, that the disso could only legally carry five men one being himself. To keep within the law, the oarsman was tossed into the harbour and the five rowed themselves to their ship.

 

Imprint

Publication Date: 11-15-2017

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
My adventures in Australia