Nautical Tales
Need to be an ex-matelote to appreciate this one...

At the tender age of seventeen I was on watch on the flagdeck of the good
ship Bulwark.
I had strict instructions from the Chief Yeoman that in the event I saw
black smoke coming out the funnel, I was to inform the bridge immediately.
Unfortunately, the Chief Yeoman failed to point out that there were actually
two funnels within the only big one that I could see.

For days my eyes were transfixed on this funnel, just waiting for one bit of
black smoke to appear and inform all Russian submarines within 100 miles our
position. Suddenly, my dreams were realised. A mass of thick black smoke
billowed out and I lunged for the microphone to report this breach of
national security. The report was as follows:

"Bridge - Flag deck?"

"Bridge!"

"We're making black smoke"

"Which end signalman?"

"The fucking top end."

"Signalman report to the bridge."


I legged it down to the bridge wondering, in my moment of triumph, why
something had gone sadly wrong.

The Navigating Officer, to whom I had been speaking unknowingly, because it
should have been another signalman at the end of the microphone left me in
no doubt what had gone sadly wrong.

1. Swearing at an officer
2. Not being aware that the reason the apparently stupid question had been
asked was that they needed to know which funnel the smoke was coming from to
inform the appropriate engine room.

It was only the skipper rolling around the bridge holding his ribs that
stopped me ending up on Jimmy's report.

  ¶ 12/16/2004 09:51:00 PM