My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
70
“I’m sorry, sir,” Chief Collier of the Royal Navy said, wiping his
hands on a towel, as he and his inspection team approached Chip and me in the
Observation Nose,(which had a spectacular view of the dry dock’s insides, hah
hah), “nothing yet...still, we have a long way to go...with your permission
Captain Morton, my team will take a tea break now.”
“Oh, er, yes. Chief Sharkey will show you to the Crew’s Mess.”
“Um,” Chip warned, “we might not have the kind of tea you prefer. Only
have the plain ordinary kind, in teabags. But might be limited. We tend to
prefer coffee….”
“Sacrilege,” he laughed, “teabags are fine. Coffee is too. Add
some biscuits and we’ll be happy enough.”
“Biscuits?” I asked, momentarily
forgetting that here a biscuit meant a cookie. “I’m sure we can handle that,” I
added, and nodded to Sharkey to escort them aft.
“Hangover gone, sir?” Chip asked as he rubbed his head.
“Yes, you?”
“Well, if it’s not a hangover, it’s a headache because we still can’t
find the problem. I wish Lee was back...I wonder what he’s doing....”
“Well, according to the updated itinerary, they checked into the
Hayfield Manor Inn last night and will enjoy a ‘rustic lunch at the Fish Wife
Pub today before visiting various landmarks in Cork County and beyond.”
“You think they had to have had that god awful Black Pudding for
breakfast?”
“Well, knowing Lee, he’d at least try it, if only to please Mrs. P.”
“The engineers won’t be back for about ten minutes or so,” Chips
said, then whispered, “want to spy on him?”
“Close the pleats.”
“Anything?” I asked a few minutes later, after Chip had tuned in
to the the videophone.
“No signal from Joe’s laptop, but there’s a BBC morning news
program....want to watch? They might have something in a while.”
“Go for it. Ten to one, Lee’s still big news.”
And indeed he was. After the world news, the newscast turned to a small
crowd (protected from the drizzle by
assorted umbrellas) gathered in front of a rustic castle, the female reporter
in a bright yellow raincoat, yellow boots, and hat.
“Here we are at the famous Blarney Castle in Cork County, the
Republic of Ireland,” the reporter said. “What makes today so special is that
Captain Nelson-Crane will attempt to kiss the Blarney Stone. The original
wooden fortress that was Blarney Castle in 1210, was replaced by a stone
structure, torn down and rebuilt in 144 6 by Dermot McCarthy, King of Munster. Only the Keep remains today.
“There are many theories regarding the Blarney Stone and its
origins. How it got here to be placed in the battlements of the castle, and
just why it’s supposed to give one the gift of gab. Suffice it to say, even
with modern guard rails, it can still be dangerous especially on a slippery day
like today.
“One of our cameramen is up on the battlements with the captain to
bring you live coverage of his attempt....”
The image changed to show Lee, Joe, and a tour guide atop the
ancient edifice.
“Joe, help me off with this raincoat...I think I’d have better
traction without it.”
Joe did as asked, and helped Lee to lie down on his back,
partially over an open expanse to the ground far far below. There were
railings, as the reporter had said, but
only to hold onto, not to prevent a fall.
“My God,” Chip hissed.
“Here goes,” Lee said, as he bent over backwards, and leaned way
over the crevasse, his face disappearing.
The minutes passed.
“Aggghhh!”he groaned.
“Lee? Lee?” Joe called out, kneeling down, holding to one of the
railings for dear life. “Lee? Answer me! What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine...just got a mouth full of stagnant water. Bird
droppings and lichen too. At least I managed to kiss the damn silly thing. Help me
up, will you?”
After a moment, emerging from under the battlement, with a little
help, he added, “Thanks. Gymnastics was never my strong point...got a bit
dizzy. Your turn, Joe.”
“I changed my mind.”
“It was your idea in the first place wasn’t it? I’ll even hold
onto your legs.”
“Oh, all right, but if I fall and break my neck I’ll hold you
personally responsible.”
As Lee had, Joe discarded his raincoat and lay down, bending over
backwards to kiss the stone.
“Ptwooy!” we heard Joe say as he presumably accomplished his deed. Lee
helped him up and the two clapped each other on their backs, and began the
climb back down to the ground, neither bothering to don their raincoats.
They touched terra firma to a round of polite applause as an
official handed them certificates that they’d done the deed.
“Thanks,” Lee said, smiling and waved the certificate in hand
toward the reporter, “Washington, look out. Now I have the gift of the gab,
too!”
“Congratulations, Captain, Commander. I’m sure our viewers would
be interested to know what’s next on your agenda.”
“Well, considering what we’ve just earned,” Lee said, “I think
we’d best go visit someplace appropriate, like Limerick, pun intended.”
“Won’t you miss some of the Mrs. Piccadilly’s planned
stops?”
“Yes,” Joe said, “but we have her blessing if we do. And we did
have breakfast with her this morning.”
“Ah, and what do you think of Irish cuisine?”
“It’s a bit different from what we’re used to,” Joe answered.
“It’s that first bite of something new that’s the hard part...but that Black or
Blood Pudding was really very tasty.”
“We still don’t know why it’s called pudding, though,” Lee said,
finally putting his raincoat back on over his soiled T-shirt and jeans, “It’s
sure not Jell-O. We’d better get going...have to get a cab to take us to the
nearest bus station going to Limerick.”
“You’re serious about going there, then?” the reporter asked.
“It’s as good a place as any,” Joe said, “but I’m thinking we
might like to visit Dronbeg Stone Circle first, or go kayaking on the Lee
River...maybe they named it after you, bro,” he guffawed.
“Very funny...tell you what, let’s get some post cards from the
gift shop here, and then we’ll toss for it....”
With that the two headed away with one of the Blarney Castle guides
to the Visitor’s Center, followed by the gaggle of people, though some had
remained to wave to the camera and mouth ‘hi mom’, not to mention beginning
their own climb up to kiss the stone.
“And so,” the reporter said, “we say goodbye to Captain Nelson-Crane
and Commander Jackson, and wish them well for their next adventure, wherever it
may be.”
It was late afternoon before I knew it and the engineers still hadn’t
found anything and
will try again tomorrow.
Sharkey recommended a local pub he’d visited, but I settled for a
ham salad sandwich in the nearly vacated Wardroom.
Chip went ashore with O’Brien to scout the local eateries.
Will sat down across from me, his face stern.
“Can you believe it, he kissed the Blarney Stone? Bird droppings,
lichen, rodent hairs, spiders, human germs from decaying saliva permeating the
damn thing all this time? I hope he had the sense to rinse his mouth out with
Listerine afterwards, but I doubt it. Now he might go kayaking in that damn rain, well,
all right, drizzle or light showers. Even so, I hope to God that he doesn’t
catch cold.”
“Thanks for caring, Will,” I said.
“My job.”
I merely raised an eyebrow.
“All right, all right. I miss him too.”
It was late and I gave up
on Chip or Frank getting back to the boat to conduct Operation Sneaky Spy. And there
weren’t any updates on the local newscasts from the duty Sparks. Well, no news
is good news, so they say.
As I prepared for bed, brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth with
Listerine, I had to laugh, imagining a new advertisement for the dental hygiene
product. ‘Kills germs and bad breath due to bird droppings, lichen and the
occasional rodent or spider.’
I couldn’t fall asleep, so I grabbed my robe and walked the boat
for awhile, passing by the temporary quarters that Lee had so recently vacated.
The homemade sign was still on door. Waiting for his return.
And I’m waiting too, son, for you to come to your senses.
