Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 5 'The Gold Diggers'

The Gold Diggers

“Uncle Billy, tell us a far-fetched story please”

“I’ve told you before boys, my stories are not far-fetched, they are just fetched from afar!”

“What is your favourite story Uncle?”

“Ah! Let me see now! Aye, that must have been the time when I set sail with eight companions to search for the fabled Island of Gold,” replied Uncle Billy with a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes.

“Did you find gold? Did it make you rich?” we asked excitedly.

“The answer to your first question is ‘yes!’, but the answer to the second is ‘no!’”, he replied mysteriously.

“What happened? Tell us, do!”

“Well, ‘tis a long sad tale and those of us who survived to tell it made up a song about it.”

Picking up his guitar, Uncle Billy began to strum a strong, driving, rhythmical accompaniment and then in his deep baritone voice, he sang the song which he called:

From Drop Box

Out of the night, came forth the morn,

Birds sang in chorus to welcome the dawn.

Birds sang in chorus to welcome the dawn,

As we set sail on adventure borne.

White waves crashing, red was the sky.

Sails set, wind-blown, reaching on high.

Sails set, wind-blown, reaching on high,

As out of the harbour, our ship sailed by.

Onward we sailed till we came to a land,

Hidden for years, as we understand.

Hidden for years, as we understand.

And on it we landed, our gallant band.

Nine of us came to this promised land.

Red gold, white gold we held in our hand.

Red gold, white gold we held in our hand,

But this unleashed wrath upon our sorry band.

A guardian came forth, a serpent of fear,

Black as the night, death in its leer.

Black as the night, death in its leer,

Attacking our band because we were here.

Ruby red eyes stared out of its head.

A flash of light and three men lay dead.

A flash of light and three men lay dead,

As into the forest, the rest of us fled.

Gathering gold, we now did at night.

Hearts filled with fear, we avoided the light.

Hearts filled with fear, we avoided the light,

Yet we knew to survive, the beast we must fight.

Weapons we fashioned from gold with our hands,

To fight ‘gainst the serpent, we’d now take our stand.

To fight ‘gainst the serpent, we’d now take our stand,

For kill it we must to escape from this land.

Out of the forest at twilight we ran,

To hunt down the serpent, to kill if we can.

To hunt down the serpent, to kill if we can.

Though frightened, yet desperate we were to a man.

The serpent lay sleeping on his mountain of gold.

We hacked out his eyes and there he lay cold.

We hacked out his eyes and there he lay cold.

Now we could return on our ship to our fold.

But as we prepared with our fortune to board,

From the serpent’s lair, something rumbled and roared.

From the serpent’s lair, something rumbled and roared,

So we fled form that land without our gold hoard.

And as on our ship, we fled on that day,

The sky around us with smoke turned grey.

The sky around us with smoke turned grey.

A volcano erupted! Our gold blew away!

And so we returned once more to our home,

With memories of friends. Never more we would roam.

With memories of friends. Never more we would roam,

Nor dream about gold now sunk below foam.

After this last verse, Uncle  Billy continued to strum the chords on the guitar, gradually allowing them to fade away to nothing.

“Did that really happen?” we asked. Uncle Billy just grinned a broad grin and slowly shook his head from side to side.

Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 4 'A Christmas Story'

A Christmas Story

It was nearly Christmas. We were sitting in front of a roaring, red-hot, roasting fire. Outside, it was dark and cold, but in our living room, we were as snug as bugs in a rug, or so Uncle Billy said. Once  more he was staying with us and in the mood to tell a story.

“What shall it be tonight?” he asked.

“It’s almost Christmas,” Rod said, “so how about a Christmas story?”

“Very well,” answered Uncle Billy, settling himself more comfortably in his chair and beginning:

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It was nice and warm inside the stable, if a little crowded. Normally, there was only one somewhat grumpy old donkey called ‘Ahab’ and a pair of oxen housed here. Tonight, however, there were three more donkeys, four camels and a fine white stallion filling up the stable. When Ahab, the old donkey, asked them what they were doing here, one of the camels had deigned  to reply in a rather surly voice, “We are here for the census if it is any of your business!”

“Humph!” said Ahab crossly, “Of course it is my business!  After all, this is my home…….”

“And ours,” interrupted one of the oxen.

“Humph! Yes and theirs,” continued the donkey. “So what is this census thing when it’s at home then?”

“Oh, I can’t be bothered explaining something as complicated as that to the likes of you!” said the camel very rudely. Turning away from the donkey and taking a mouthful of hay from a manger, he began to chew on it very thoroughly, apparently deep in thought.

“Humph!” said Ahab to himself. “What a rude and snooty animal that camel is.”

Just then, the stallion looked over at him with a kind smile on his face, winking his eye in a friendly manner.

“Take no noticed of our cud-chewing, hump-backed friend there,” he said, “he probably doesn’t know himself if the truth be known! Let me explain.

As you probably know, your master and mine and all the  humans who are natives of this country are what they call Jews. However, these Jews are themselves ruled over by people from another country. These people are called Romans and they for some reason best known to themselves, wish to know how many Jews they have under their rule. Therefore, they have ordered them to gather at their place of birth where on a particular day, they will be counted. That day is tomorrow.

Your master was born here in Bethlehem, as was mine, but yours has lived here all his life and now runs the inn next door as well as this stable, so he does not have to travel, for this census. My master, however and the masters of these other animals, whilst having been born here, did not stay, but moved elsewhere to make a living. Therefore, to be counted in the census, we have had to travel back here to Bethlehem from wherever we have been living.”

“Humph! So that’s why we’re so very busy and crowded,” said the donkey. “Thank you for being so kind as to explain it to me.”

“That’s alright,” replied the stallion. “Yes, it is rather crowded, isn’t it?” he observed.

“Humph! Yes! I heard my master turn a number of travellers away this afternoon, saying he was full up and there was no room for any more to stay at the inn. We should not be crowded out any more tonight I am glad to say.”

Oh dear! How wrong could he be?

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There was a loud knocking at the door.

“Who is it at this time of night?” The innkeeper’s wife grumbled, angry at having been woken up so soon after falling asleep. 

“I suppose I’ll have to go and see,” growled her husband, “or we’ll have our guests and our neighbours complaining about the noise!”

As he was saying this, he was pulling his robe around himself to keep out the cold night air, for even though Bethlehem is in one of the warmer regions of the world, it still got very cold at night.

“All right! All right! I’m coming! There’s no need to knock the door down!” he shouted to whomever it was persistently hammering on said door. 

“What do you want?” he asked abruptly as soon as he had the door opened.

A tall bearded man with a kind, but weary face, stood outside in the cold night air. Just behind him stood a donkey on which sat a young woman who was obviously heavily pregnant and near to her time for giving birth. What struck the innkeeper as being most odd about the scene that confronted him, however, was the fact that even though it was only just about midnight, he could see everything as clear as day.

“Where is this strange light coming from?” he wondered.

Before he could answer this question, however, he was aware that the man was answering him.

“My wife is very tired after our long journey,” spoke the man in a soft weary voice. “Have you a room or a space anywhere we can stay? We are here for the census. We have travelled a long way, which has been very hard on my wife as she is about to have our first child. In fact, I think the birth is imminent. We must find shelter!”

The innkeeper had had to turn away a number of potential customers that day and was about to say he had no room for the man and his wife, when his own wife arrived by his side putting her hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying anything more.

“Poor dear!” she said softly, immediately taking pity on the young pregnant woman she saw before her in the strange clear light.

“Jacob! Make room for them in the stable!” she ordered forcefully.

“I am afraid there’s no room in the inn,” she continued, speaking to the man, “and I know that there’s not a room to  be found anywhere in Bethlehem tonight, but we’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible in our stable if that is satisfactory to you and your dear wife.”

“Indeed, that is very kind of you,” he replied. “We have tried just about everywhere else I could think of with no success and we shall be grateful to have a roof over our heads, even if it is a stable roof.”

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The old donkey could not understand it! Surely he had not been asleep all night yet! He was certain it could not be much more than the middle of the night, yet there was what appeared to be daylight outside the stable. In addition, he could hear voices, which had disturbed his sleep. Then he heard footsteps approaching the stable door. These he recognised as belonging to his master. The man opened the door and entered, whereupon, he began to clear a space near the back of the stable.

“Humph! There’s no room for any more animals in here tonight, if indeed it is still night!” thought old Ahab indignantly as his master spread a generous layer of fresh straw on the floor of the stable.

“Humph! Now what’s he up to?” he mused, as the man placed a couple of old milking stools on the fresh straw in the space he had just cleared.

As Ahab was wondering about this, some more people entered the stable. He recognised the innkeeper’s wife, but she was accompanied by two people whom he did not recognise. There was a tall, rather weary looking man who was supporting a young pregnant woman. She settled gratefully on the straw with the help of her husband and the innkeeper’s wife. The latter told her husband to go back into the inn and fetch a bowl of hot water and something in which to wrap the baby when it arrived, which she said was going to be at any moment now.

Just outside the door stood a nervous looking young donkey.

“Humph! Are you with these people?” asked Ahab of the  newcomer.

“Yes sir!” came the weary, nervous reply.

“Humph! Then you had better come in as well and join the party,” grumbled the older donkey. “Although there is little enough room as it is!” he continued. “Come and join me in my stall,” he said more kindly, moving over to one side of his stall to make room for the newcomer.

“Humph! Have you come far?” he asked.

“All the way from Nazareth,” replied his new companion. “We have been travelling……..”

Just then, they were startled by the  sound of a baby crying.

“What on earth is all that racket?” grumbled one of the camels that had been asleep up to this moment and was none too pleased at being awoken so rudely.

“My mistress, Mary, has just given birth to her first child,” the young donkey said proudly. “Her husband Joseph the carpenter and I have got her here just in time!”

“Jacob……”, called the innkeeper’s wife to her harassed husband as he returned with the bowl of water and some swaddling clothes in which they had wrapped their own baby when he had been born a few years before. They had kept these for sentimental reasons, for they had not had any more children.

“Jacob, what are we to do? There is nowhere for the baby to lie except on the straw on the floor!”

Jacob scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he could not think of anything suitable in which the baby could lie.

“Humph!” snorted the old donkey. “Typical of him! No brains at all in his stupid head! If there were any, he’d be dangerous!”

He carefully eased himself backwards out of  his crowded stall and made his way to the manger full of hay, from which the camels had earlier been feeding. He lowered his head so that his forehead was against the middle of the manger and gently pushed it towards the place where the mother and child lay.

“Well you clever old thing, you!” said the innkeeper’s wife. “Look, Jacob! Ahab is showing us just the very thing to make a crib for the baby. Empty out that old hay and put some more fresh straw in it.”

When this had been done to her satisfaction, she lay her own shawl on top of the straw and having bathed, dried and wrapped the child in the swaddling clothes, she placed him carefully into the manger and smiled at the now sweetly sleeping baby boy.

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The shepherd boy looked round in awe.

This was the first time he had been in the town of Bethlehem at night. Usually, at night, he  would have been with the rest of the shepherds on the hillsides making sure their sheep were not troubled by wild animals, but tonight was the strangest night of their lives.

Timothy, which was the boy’s name, had been dozing in front of the fire with his father and uncles, while other shepherds took their turn to keep watch over the flock. Suddenly, they became aware of a strange glow in the sky and they could hear sweet voices singing in chorus all around them.

“Wh-what can it be?” asked his uncle Ruben in a shaky voice.

Timothy’s father and the  rest of the uncles did not know and were frightened. They would have faced ferocious lions or wolves with far less fear, but this was something they could not understand and like many people before and since, they were afraid of the unknown.

The glow became brighter as it approached the now cowering group.

They became aware that the glow concealed the figure of a man.

This, however, did not calm their fears, for rather than a man carrying  a light, which they could have understood, this man was the light, or the light was the man, they could not decide which.

“Fear not!” the angel commanded, for angel was what the apparition was.

“I bring you glad tidings of good joy.”

“Make your way into Bethlehem tonight, where you will find a newborn child who is to be ‘The Light of the World’.

You will not find Him in a palace, nor even in a rich man’s house. No! ‘The Prince of Peace’ you will find lying in a manger in a stable that is lit by a star. Go and worship Him, for He is The Son of God. Leave your flocks, for I promise you no harm shall befall them this holy night!”

With these words, the angel rose up, once more becoming a glowing light in the sky. This light was joined by more lights and there was the sound of beautiful music all around.

The shepherds arose and without question, along with the others who had been attracted back to the fire by the strange light, they had set off for Bethlehem.

“Where to now, Josiah?” Ruben asked of Timothy’s father.

“I am not sure!” replied the elder brother.

“I know where, father!” stated Timothy confidently.

“You do?” scoffed Ruben. “You have only been in Bethlehem once before and that was in the daylight, so how do you think you can find the place where the child is born?”

Timothy laughed. “That’s easy!” he stated, “ By following the star as the angel said,” he continued. “See! Over there!” He pointed to where the light glowed over the roof of a stable standing next to an inn.

“Timothy is right!” laughed his father. “Come on! Follow me!”

“You are sure we have not been followed?”

The question was asked for the umpteenth time by the dark-skinned man called Balthazar.

“I am certain!” replied his friend, Melchior. “I am sure the angel who warned us of the treachery of King Herod would have warned us again if there was any further danger.”

They had been travelling for a long time, having met far to the east of this land many months before.

Balthazar and Melchior were both wealthy men and very wise. They each studied the heavens at night and had become excited when they each, separately, discovered a new star, which they determined indicated a momentous event was about to happen in a land far to the west of their own.

With their servants, they had set out in a caravan to discover the location and nature of this event.

“Before you ask,” explained Uncle Billy, “a caravan was what they called a party of travellers with their camels and their transport such as ox carts etc. not a vehicle pulled behind a car!!”

Shortly after meeting on their own journeys, they were joined by a third learnèd  man and his caravan, also travelling to find this wondrous event. This man’s name was Gaspar.

Between them, they pooled their findings and knowledge. They determined that they were to attend the birth of a great king. To find his place of birth, they were to follow the bright star which had just appeared in the heavens. This they continued to do until the star led them to a city called Jerusalem in the land of Judea. 

“This must be the place!” they thought and so they set out to find the king’s palace which they surmised would be the most likely place for a great king to be born.

The king of Judea at that time was a man called Herod. When he heard that a group of wealthy travellers had arrived at his palace and wished to speak with him, he was intrigued to know what they wanted, so he granted them an audience.

“No!” said Herod, “There is no prince here and neither is there going to be as far as my wife and I are concerned!”

“That is very strange,” Gaspar mused, “for the star has been getting brighter as we neared your fine city and we were sure it had stopped here to indicate that this is the place.”

“When you do find the child, be sure to return to tell me where he is to be found so that I may also go and worship him!” Herod had said. The three wise men did not notice the scheming glint in his eyes as he said this, but later that night, as they lay in their beds, each had been visited by an angel who had confirmed that they were nearing the birthplace. However, king Herod, far from wishing to worship the child, was really going to have him killed, for he saw Him as a threat to his own kingship.

“You see,” said the angel, “Herod believes that a new king would overthrow him and rule in his place. Leave now in the night instead of the morning as you had planned, for Herod intends to have you followed when you set off. After you have left the city, head north to begin with, so the guards on the city walls will think that is where you have gone. Herod’s men will try to find you in that direction when they discover you have already left. I will send a sand storm to cover your tracks. You of course, will continue west once you see the sand storm approaching you from behind and when you have seen ‘The Prince of Peace’, you will return to your own lands by a route which bypasses Jerusalem by a goodly distance.

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“Humph! Now who is coming in?” thought Ahab in wonder.

Five men and a boy entered the stable uncertainly and gathered round where the baby lay. 

The child’s parents, Joseph and Mary, were now sitting on the stools side by side, Joseph’s arm supporting his weakened wife. They smiled lovingly at the baby lying on the straw in the manger before them.

The small shepherd boy stepped forward and explained:

“An angel told us to come and see your baby. We are but poor shepherds who have little to give, but we hope you will accept this small gift for the baby?”

With these words, Timothy offered to Mary a sheepskin.

“It will keep him warm on these cold nights,” he explained.

Mary smiled at him and thanked them for the lovely and thoughtful gift, which she spread carefully over the sleeping child who seemed to appreciate the extra warmth it provided, for He smiled if His sleep.

There was a commotion at the door which attracted everybody’s attention.

“Humph! Oh my goodness, not more!” thought Ahab, regretting his earlier prediction that they would not be further disturbed that night.

Into the stable came three richly dressed men.

The innkeeper and his wife, the shepherds and the animals in the stable all moved to one side in awe as each of these newcomers in turn stepped up and knelt before the baby in His manger.

“We have travelled from afar to find this child,” said Gaspar. “We were led here by a star and an angel,” he continued. “The angel told us your son is to be ‘The Prince of Peace’, so we have brought Him gifts. The gift I bring is Gold to signify kingship!” he concluded, laying a small yet heavy chest before the manger.

“My gift is Frankincense!” said Balthazar. “It signifies deity, for He is surely ‘The Son of God’.”

“Myrrh is the gift I bring,” stated Melchior somewhat sadly. “You see, eventually, when He becomes a man, your son must die to show the world the way of love. When that time comes, embalm His body with this myrrh.”

Mary and Joseph accepted the gifts with meek gratitude but did not yet fully understand all that these strange happenings meant.

Ahab and the other animals continued to look on in wonder. Even when a few days later, everyone had been counted in the census and had left to go about their own business, Ahab remembered that strange night with a feeling of pleasure. He would recount the story of that night to any visiting animals that stayed in his stable and the pair of oxen who shared the stable with him never tired of  hearing the story no matter how many times he told it.

Another strange thing happened to Ahab, though he himself never noticed it. After that night, he was never grumpy again and he never began speaking with the complaining moan: “Humph!”

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Uncle Billy picked up his guitar then and began to play and sing. The song that he sang was not as you might have expected the carol ‘Away in a Manger’, but one which he told us was his own composition called:

Hear the angels singing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Shepherds and kings, their gifts are bringing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Now on Earth the church bells ringing. 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

‘Twas early on Christmas morning, the cattle were lowing,

The angels were singing, “The Lord Christ is born!”

The shepherds on the hillside, the kings in the valley,

The stars up in the heavens sang “Praise on this morn!”

For they all came to Bethl’em on that first Christmas dawn,

And met in the stable where the Lord Christ was born.

Hear the angels singing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Shepherds and kings, their gifts are bringing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Now on Earth the church bells ringing. 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Over Joseph and Mary and their holy baby,

The beasts of the stable kept vigil that morn.

With the donkeys and oxen, proud camels were watching

The wonderful scene where Lord Jesus was born.

For they all came to Bethl’em on that first Christmas dawn,

And met in the stable where the Lord Christ was born.

Hear the angels singing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Shepherds and kings, their gifts are bringing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Now on Earth the church bells ringing. 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Now let us remember on the twenty-fifth of December

The reason we celebrate this glorious morn.

For The Lord sent His son to the Earth to protect us

And show us the way that Salvation is born.

And we’ll all go to Bethl’em like that first Christmas dawn

And meet in the stable where The Lord Christ was born.

Hear the angels singing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Shepherds and kings, their gifts are bringing, 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

Now on Earth the church bells ringing. 

“Come! Come! The Lord Christ is born!”

After singing this song, the chorus of which we had picked up very quickly, we sang other carols in front of the still blazing fire, including ‘Away in a Manger’. We drank ginger wine which gave my stomach a lovely warm glow and ate hot chestnuts that we roasted in front of the fire.

Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 3 'Around Cape Horn'

Around Cape Horn

The rain was lashing against the glass panes of the windows. It sounded just as if some giant hand was picking up pebbles and throwing them at the house. The wind howled and whistled through the wires of the overhead cables that carried the electricity to our house and to those of our neighbours.

In those days, all electricity cables were above ground. They were well above the height of even the tallest vehicles such as buses and furniture vans. This kept them well out of the way of us humans, but they were vulnerable to weather damage and were frequently breaking, thus causing power cuts. These were a great inconvenience to us, as it often took the repair crews a long time to find the break and fix it. As these breakdowns usually occurred during the worst weather conditions, the men of the repair crews, known as linesmen, were the unsung heroes of our time.

Intermittently, the windows would light up from the glow of flashes of lightning, accompanied by the loud crash and rumble of thunder. This could be heard over and above the noise of the wind in the wires,

Suddenly, the light in our room dimmed and then went out altogether. The radio programme we were listening to stopped without anyone switching off the set. The light from the valves in the radio quickly died away and momentarily the only light in the room was that from the fire in front of which we were huddled. The overhead wires must have broken somewhere causing a blackout, a much more common event then than nowadays.

Transistor radios had not yet been invented. As television was not yet readily available to any but the rich, valve radios, powered by mains electricity, was the main entertainment of the time. The valves in the radios had to warm up when switched on and glowed until switched off. The glow continued until the valves had cooled down again.

"Where are the candles, Glad?" dad asked of my mum. (Mum's name was Gladys, but dad always shortened it to 'Glad'. Dad's name was Cecil and that is what mum usually called him. Uncle Billy and dad's mates however tended to call him by a nickname, that being 'Swees'.)

"In the top drawer of the kitchen dresser," mum replied.

Dad opened the living room door. He then struck a match from a box he carried in his pocket. He used this light to negotiate his way into the kitchen and find the drawer containing the candles.

We heard him strike another match and then saw a steadier light appear as he came back in, carrying one lit candle and five others that he then lit from it one by one. There were two candleholders on the mantelpiece and into these, dad fixed two of the longest candles. The other four were placed on saucers which he had also collected from the kitchen. A little hot wax was allowed to drip into a saucer and then the bottom of a candle was pressed into this soft wax. The wax quickly hardened sufficiently to hold the candle firmly in place. These, dad then placed at various strategic points around the room where they were unlikely to be knocked over by any of the family, including the cat.

Fortunately for us, although we had electricity, we were also supplied by gas. This powered our cooker and oven. Consequently, despite the interruption to the electric power, mum was still able to boil the water in the kettle on one of the gas rings and make a pot of tea. She took one of the lit candles on a saucer to light her way to and in the kitchen. While she was waiting for the kettle to boil, she cut a cottage loaf into thick slices and brought them into the living room.

"Here you are boys," she said, presenting my brother and myself with a long-handled brass toasting fork each, "Toast some bread for us all."

Dad poked the coals in the fire so that they glowed bright red rather than burning with yellow flames. We each held a piece of bread close to the glowing coals with the toasting forks. As soon as one side of the bread turned brown, we removed it, affixed the toasting fork to the other side and held the untoasted side to the glowing coals until it too was toasted. Dad then spread generous pats of butter onto the freshly made toast and we tucked in with relish.

Mmm, there is nothing quite as good as buttered toast made in this way!

"Were you ever at sea in a storm as bad as this, Uncle Billy?" Rod asked, winking at me with a grin on his face.

(We knew from other stories he had told us that Uncle Billy had been in many storms and the howling wind blowing outside was really no more than a severe gale, not really a storm.)

"As bad as this?" he laughed. "Why, this is only a breeze compared to some of the storms I've been through!

Cape Horn! Now there's a place for storms. Real storms!

Yes, I well remember the first time I sailed round The Horn."

"I was sixteen at the time. Although I had been at sea for more than two years by then, I had never before crossed the Atlantic Ocean, let alone gone round The Horn to the Pacific Ocean.

We had taken a cargo of wool and textiles from Liverpool to Boston, Massachusetts in the United States of America. There we picked up a cargo of mining equipment, machinery and tools all of which we were to deliver to Valparaiso in Chile."

At this point of the story, Uncle Billy asked mum to fetch him an encyclopaedia with a map of the world in it. On getting it, he showed us on the map the places about which he was talking.

" I thought you could not read," said Rod in surprise.

"That is true to some extent," he explained, "for I could not read at all when I was young, but now I can read most of the names on the map. You see, I know where the places are in the world, having visited them on many occasions. Over the years, I saw many maps and was shown the places on them by captains and officers on the ships on which I served."

"Now although work had been underway for a number of years on the Panama Canal, it was a long way from being completed. In fact, it was not opened until 1914, but that is another story and not one of mine, so if you want to know more about it, look it up yourselves. The only way to get from Boston to Valparaiso by sea was to sail down the East coast of South America, round cape Horn into the Pacific Ocean and then up the West coast to Chile. That was a journey of more than twelve thousand miles calling in at various ports on the way for water and provisions.

It was early spring when we left Boston and the journey was pleasant and uneventful as we passed by the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea and continued south towards the Equator. Of course, it took us many weeks to get to the Equator as we were only powered by the wind in our sails and while we might be able to get up to possibly ten to twelve knots, mostly we only averaged eight to ten. Naturally, it was fine weather and very warm near the Equator and further south, but as we approached the southern tip of the continent, the weather deteriorated. While it was still summer in the northern hemisphere, here near the dreaded Cape Horn it was winter and we were being hit more frequently by squalls and sleety showers of increasing ferocity.

One morning, as I came up on deck to take my turn on watch, the ship’s bosun called to me:

“Billy! Take a turn up aloft in the crow’s nest!”

The crow’s nest was a platform set high up on the mainmast surrounded by planks of wood which made it look rather like a barrel stuck up on the mast. It was manned by a lookout whose job it was to look for danger ahead of the ship and to report it through a trumpet-like loudhailer to the officer on duty below.

To climb up to the crow’s nest was no easy task, especially in rough weather. Firstly, you had to climb the rigging, known as ratlines. These were attached from the sides of the ship to points high up on the masts where the yardarms carried the sails. Then, standing on top of the highest yardarm, you dragged yourself up through a hole in the floor of the platform into the crow’s nest itself. I had climbed the rigging on many occasions, but this was the first time I had been as high as the crow’s nest and on a stormy day such as this, I felt it was almost impossible for me to do.

“What’s the matter with you?” shouted the bosun, seeing me hesitate.

“I can’t climb up there in this rough weather!” I replied uncertainly.

“Rough? This isn’t rough!” the bosun chuckled. “D’ you see the button on top of the mast above the nest?” he asked.

I craned my head back to look up to where he was pointing and nodded. On the very top of the mast, there was a round block of wood, called ‘the button’, which reminded me of the head of a pin, for that was what it looked like from this distance below it.

“When that touches the water, then it’s rough!”

He grinned at me to show that he was only joking. Then he continued,

“Now, if you don’t want to feel the sting of my lash on your backside, get up there and relieve Tomkins. He will tell you what to do before he comes down.”

With that, he applied his boot to my backside, just to encourage me to start climbing.

I was wearing oilskin trousers and cape, with a sou’wester hat on my head. This was all intended to keep me as dry as possible in the lashing rain. However, they were cumbersome to wear and made climbing even harder than normal. Added to this difficulty was the wind, which seemed to be trying to rip me off the ratlines. In addition, in the driving wind, the rain seemed to be coming straight at my face, making the sou’wester useless.

At last, I reached the top of the highest yardarm and clung tightly to the mast as I paused to get my breath back and to assess how I was doing.

Looking straight down to the deck, I got quite a shock. Instead of the deck, I was looking at the white-capped waves of the frothing sea directly below me!

I closed my eyes in terror, but then opened them a slit to make sure I was not hallucinating. Momentarily, to my relief, I saw the deck exactly where it should have been, directly below me.

I opened my eyes fully with a sigh of relief. As I did so, however, the view below me changed again. I was once again looking straight down at the raging sea! This time though, I kept my eyes open and looked down the mast itself. Instead of going straight down, it seemed to be at an angle of about 30 degrees from the vertical.

Now I understood why it was that the sea appeared to be below me instead of the deck. The rolling motion of the ship was greatly exaggerated that high u near the top of the mast and I was being whipped through an arc of a circle perhaps as much as 40 degrees either side of the vertical. I looked up at the hole in the floor of the platform and concentrated on that for a few minutes while I plucked up the courage to continue the climb. Even though I knew that the mast was swinging so much, the hole appeared quite steady above me. I managed somehow to drag myself up to it and get my head and shoulders through. Then I felt two hands grip me under the arms. Tomkins, a man who originated from a small village called Skeffling near the port of Hull in Yorkshire, helped me through and onto the platform.

“First time in t’ nest, eh lad?” he said in his broad Yorkshire accent.

I nodded agreement as I was still trying to catch my breath after the strenuous and terrifying climb.

“Don’t worry! Thee ‘ave got ‘ere safely. T’ first time is always t’ worst! Thee wain’t fall out, even though thee do get thrown about a bit up ‘ere. Still, just to be doubly sure, tie this line around t’ waist.”

With these words, Tomkins untied a strong line that was attached round his own waist and handed it to me. I did as he said and tied it round my own waist. The other end of the line was attached to a metal ring that in turn was looped on to a strong line tied round the mast. This arrangement allowed you to move around the mast without tangling the safety line attached to your waist.

Having done this I asked Tomkins,

“What do I have to do now? Bosun said you’d tell me.”

“Keep th’ eyes peeled all around us, but in particular, straight ahead. If thee sight anything unusual, use t’ loudhailer to inform th’ officer on watch.”

“What do you mean by unusual?” I asked, even though I felt I already knew the answer. Still I wanted it confirming.

“Other ships; waves breaking on rocks or other signs of land; growlers……”

“What are growlers?” I asked curiously.

“Growlers are small icebergs, he replied.

“Do icebergs get this far south?” I interrupted. “I thought they only occurred in the Arctic regions round the North Pole..”

“Well, actually, they don’t get this far south as much as get this far north! You see, these come from t’ Antarctic, not t’ Arctic. By that I mean th’ area around t’ South Pole. We’re probably a bit too far north for ’em yet, but ’tis very important if thee ever do see one, to give plenty of warning so ‘t ship’s course can be altered to gi’ it a really wide berth.”

“Why is that?” I asked naively .

“T’ part of an iceberg thee can see above t’ water is only a small portion of the entire thing. Under t’ water, it may be as much as eight times t’ size of t’ part thee can see. That in itself can be up to three hundred foot high and two hundred to three hundred foot across. That means that under t’ water, there could be a mile of ice we cannot see! If we were unfortunate enough to ‘it that, t’ would rip out t’ bottom of t’ whip and we would be food for t’ fish. So we gi’ icebergs a wide berth!”

“Did you see any growlers uncle?” I asked, picturing the frightened young sailor on lookout.

“Not on that occasion,” he replied, “but I did see some at other times. Fortunately though, always at a great distance, never close up.

I am not sure why, but this answer rather disappointed me.

“Why are they called growlers?” Rod asked.

“I believe it has something to do with the sound they make when they first break away from the ice of the Arctic or Antarctic,” Uncle Billy replied.

There was something else I wanted to know.

“Did you ever see the button on the top of the mast touch the water like the bosun said?”

“Truthfully and thankfully, that I never did see,” he chuckled. “If I had, then I would have been observing the ship capsizing and I might not have been here to tell you the tale of it!”

“Anyway, a few weeks after this occasion, I was again on lookout in the crows nest in another severe storm. The ship heeled over so far that I felt I could almost reach out my hand and touch the top of the waves. I couldn’t really, but the spray being whipped off the waves by the wind was hitting me in the face even in the crow’s nest!

Yes, around Cape Horn, you really know what a storm is. This little blow outside tonight is but a breeze compared to a Cape Horn storm.”

Just as Uncle Billy said this, the light came on again and a few seconds later, having warmed up sufficiently, the radio too came back on.

Uncle Billy had another dup of tea and gazing into the red coals of the fire, was lost in memory for a few moments.

“There’s a capstan shanty which always reminds me of that trip,” he said a few minutes later. He picked up his guitar and began to strum on it. “It’s called ‘Paddy Lay Back’,” he continued, “and would have been sung to help the crew keep time with each other when pulling up the anchor using a capstan. The capstan was a device a bit like a very large cotton reel with holes cut into it at equal intervals. Into these holes were slotted long solid bars of timber on which two or three men heaved to turn the capstan round thus pulling up a cable or chain attached to it by winding it round the capstan like cotton round a cotton reel. To stop the weight of the cable or anchor chain from spinning the capstan round the wrong way, there would be a ratchet which was a toothed device with a locking bar called a pawl. This pawl would engage behind each tooth of the ratchet as the capstan made one turn. It could be knocked out of place when the cable or anchor chain was to be dropped at a future time, allowing the capstan to turn freely in the opposite direction.

Mum switched off the radio so that we could listen and join in with the amusing, bouncy song.

‘Twas a cold and dreary morning in December,

And all of my money it was spent!

Where it went to, Lord! I can’t remember,

So down to the shipping office I went.

Paddy lay back, take in the slack!

Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!

To your station sailor boys be handy,

For we’re bound for Valaparaiso# round The Horn.

That day there was a great demand for sailors,

For the Colonies and for ‘Frisco and for France.

So I shipped upon a Limey barque, ‘The Hotspur’,

And got paralytic drunk on my advance.

Paddy lay back, take in the slack!

Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!

To your station sailor boys be handy,

For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.

I woke up in the morning sick and so-er,

I knew that I was outward bound again,

When I heard a voice a-bawling at the do-or,

“Lay aloft men and answer to your name!”

Paddy lay back, take in the slack!

Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!

To your station sailor boys be handy,

For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.

Well I wished that I was in the ‘Jolly Sailor’,

Along with Irish Kate a-drinking beer.

And I thought to meself, “What jolly chaps are sailors.”

And with me flipper I wiped away a tear.

Paddy lay back, take in the slack!

Take a turn around the capstan, heave a pawl!

To your station sailor boys be handy,

For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.

Up aloft in the crow’s nest I was stationed,

A-looking our for dangers up ahead.

While behind lay the fading hills of Eng-er-land,

And I wished that I was far back there instead.

Paddy lay back, take in the slack!

Take a turn around the capstan, heave aboard!

To your station sailor boys be handy,

For we’re bound for Valaparaiso round The Horn.#

When the song had finished, Rod and I went to bed. The howling wind and the rain lashing against the window held no fears for us now, for after all, it was but a little blow! We drifted off to sleep and I dreamed of being at sea on a sailing ship.

Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 2 'The Ballad of Mad Dog Magee'

The Ballad of Mad Dog Magee

"Uncle Billy, tell us one of your far-fetched tales please."

"I've told you before boys, my tales are not far-fetched, they are just fetched from afar!!!

This one was fetched from the Caribbean a long time ago, so it is fetched from afar in time and in distance. 

At the time of this story, there were Spanish galleons sailing to the New World looking for gold and other treasures. There were pirates too. They were to be feared. Men like Henry Morgan, Edward Teach (also known as Blackbeard) and perhaps the most feared of all, Mad Dog Magee!!"

At this point in the story, Uncle Billy took out his guitar and announced that he was going to sing. He began to pluck out a bouncy accompaniment using his thumb and three fingers to play the instrument and then began to sing:

The Ballad of Mad Dog Magee

The invincible crew of the Good Ship Maroo were sailing out over the sea,

When who should they spy on a raft floating by, but the pirate called Mad Dog Magee.

Now Magee was renowned for the terrible sound he would make when blowing his nose,

And his skill with a sword, which often was gored by the blood of his deadliest foes.

Cried Magee to the crew of the Good Ship Maroo, "Come about now and take me on board.

Then take orders from me, or else you will see I will run you all through with my sword!"

But the invincible crew of the Good Ship Maroo was captained by Phineas Smee,

Who came up on deck and shouted, "By heck! You are one Sir and we're Twenty-three!"

"Do you think we're afraid, 'cos a name you have made wi' your sword and enormous old hooter?

Come aboard if you must, but surrender up fust yonder blade, or I'll use my shooter!"

With these words then did Smee point straight at Magee, his pistol and 'pon my word,

Though this may sound weird, the pirate appeared to concede, for he laid down his sword.

Then he paddled his raft right up to the craft and took out his handkerchief blue,

But on blowing his nose, a great wind arose, which shattered the ship quite in two!!

And as the ship sank, clinging tight to a plank, a lone survivor there be

Of the Good Ship Maroo and her invincible crew, 'twas her captain, Bold Phineas Smee.

Now Magee sailed away and the very next day found an island on which he did land,

But on stepping ashore, with wonder he saw someone's footprints impressed in the sand.

Well who could this be? Was it Phineas Smee, the survivor of the Good Ship Maroo?

No! 'Twas Black-hearted Tate, the one-eyed first mate of Mad Dog's very own crew!

"What a very queer fate," cried Black-hearted Tate, "has brought us together again,

For I ne'er thought this eye would ever espy your ugly old hooter again!"

Then up jumped Magee and danced round with glee and embraced his crusty old friend.

"I thought all was lost when in the sea I was tossed. On that raft, I thought life would end!"

Said Tate to Magee, "Come with me and you'll see what became of your ship, 'The Black Hound',

For in that wild storm that took you, we were borne to this island and here ran aground.

Then the crew of 'The Hound' all gathered around their long lost captain to greet.

"Now all we are short for some rollicking sport is some booty, let's go find a fleet!"

So Magee and his crew, they all did set to to repair their ship, 'The Black Hound',

Then set out on their way in search of some prey, which they very soon found.

For sailing The Main, with gold, bound for Spain, was the galleon, 'The Santa Lucee',

That three days before had rescued the poor half-starved captain Bold Phineas Smee.

Upon sighting a craft approaching from aft, the galleon's captain hailed,

"Come aboard, fine Grandee!" for he could not see that under false colours she sailed.

For 'The Hound' sailed The Main, with the gold flag of Spain on her jack staff boldly displayed,

So Smee was surprised when he recognised Mad Dog's hooter and he was dismayed.

"Don Alvaro Martee!" cried Phineas Smee to the captain of 'The Santa Lucee',

"Do not fall for his lies, for he is in disguise! He's the pirate called Mad Dog Magee!"

Cried Alvaro to Smee, "I have heard of Magee, the infamous pirate and looter.

He's a swordsman I hear, yet that I don't fear, but what of his enormous old hooter?"

"For rumours abound that a terrible sound emerges from that facial feature,

And ships break in two and lose all their crew and their treasures to that awful creature!"

"This is true," agreed Smee, "for that's how you found me alone in such terrible throes,

For my 'Good Ship Maroo' was shattered in two when Magee blew his overgrown nose."

"But suppose we should scatter, with pepper, the latter before on our deck he can stand,

Then perhaps he will sneeze, thus creating a breeze that will blow his ship back to the land."

So without further ado, Alvaro ordered his crew to throw pepper at Mad Dog Magee,

But from out of his nose, A HURRICANE arose which sank both 'The Hound' and 'The Santa Lucee!!!

So fear not ye sailors of galleons or whalers, the pirate called Mad Dog Magee,

For with Davey Jones lie his skeleton bones, way down deep on the bed of the sea.

But beware when you sail, the unusual gale that arises from nowhere, you see

It might be a breeze, brought on by a sneeze from the hooter of Mad Dog Magee!!

He continued with the accompaniment for a few more bars, letting the volume drop away to nothing.

"Was there really a pirate called Mad Dog Magee, Uncle?"

"No, boys. Him I made up," Uncle Billy said laughing. "The others I mentioned were real though. Perhaps you might see if you can find anything out about them."

"How would we do that?" Rod asked.

"Look them up in an encyclopaedia," interrupted mum. "We have a very good one upstairs. I will help you tomorrow."

True to her word, she did so next day and we found that Uncle Billy had been correct about Morgan and Teach, but that is something I leave up to you to find for yourselves. Nowadays, of course, you simply have to put the names into Google Search on your computer and click. No doubt you will find out far more than we were able to do back in our 1950s encyclopaedia.

Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales Chapter 1 'Uncle Billy'

Uncle Billy

My earliest recollection of my Uncle Billy dates back to when I was about five years old. 

He used to visit us fairly often, staying in a spare room in which mum had made up a folding bed for him to sleep on.  After a short stay, he would disappear for months at a time, only to reappear again and take up residence as if nothing had happened. I learned that during these periods of absence, he was at sea, for he was a sailor on a coaster based in Liverpool.

My brother, Rod, who is six years my senior and would have been eleven at that time, said that Uncle Billy was very old to be still at sea. Uncle Billy, however, would laugh and pooh-pooh such a suggestion.

"Old age is in the mind," he said. "As long as you feel young, you are young. When I feel old, I shall give up work, but until then, I will continue doing the things I have enjoyed doing all my life."

From this, you will understand that he was one of those people who loved the job he did and even though others might not have found it to their liking for whatever reason, he was happy.

Strictly speaking, he was not our Uncle, but mum's. That made him our 'great uncle', but it was easier just to call him: 'uncle'.

He was quite a big man, standing about one meter eighty tall, but he called it six feet. We did too, because this was around about 1950 and we worked in the Imperial System of weights and measures. (Decimalisation did not happen for another twenty years or so.)

He had a round, jolly, weather-beaten face, with white hair that came half way down his back. The top of his head, however, was bald and he loved having it scratched. He would sit for ages while mum brushed his long silky hair, letting me scratch his bald patch.

He was always smartly dressed, usually wearing grey flannel trousers with sharp creases and a navy-blue blazer with gold buttons. It had a badge depicting a ship's anchor on the breast pocket. He said he wore it to show that he was proud of his life as a sailor from his earliest days serving before the mast to the present time as first mate on a coaster.

"Did you have a job as a waiter, then, Uncle?" I asked in all seriousness.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" he laughed.

"Well, you said that you served before the mast. Waiters serve you don't they?" At least that's what mum says!"

"No! Not that sort of serving. It means where I worked. For example, a soldier serves in the army, where his job is to fight for his country. A sailor does likewise in the navy on board of a ship. As the ships I sailed on were mostly powered by the wind in their sails and those sails were held up by masts, it was known as serving before the mast. Do you understand?"

"Oh! Right you are Uncle!” I said, nodding my head in agreement.

"To continue," said Uncle Billy, "I sailed on all the Seven Seas.

Now before you ask, that means that I sailed on all the oceans of the world.

I've sailed across the Atlantic Ocean; gone round the Horn into the Pacific Ocean; sailed in the Arctic Ocean and the Southern Ocean; I've sailed in the Indian Ocean; the Red Sea; the Black Sea; the White Sea and the Yellow Sea; the Mediterranean Sea; the Baltic Sea; the Caribbean;  the North Sea and of course, the Irish Sea........"

"Hold on Uncle!" Rod interrupted. "That's more than seven seas!"

I agreed with him, for I had counted eight seas and five oceans so far.

"The term 'Seven Seas' doesn't really mean that there are only seven of them. As I just told you, it means all the seas of the world. I have sailed on most of them at one time or other!"

Uncle Billy told us that like ourselves and mum and dad, he had been born in the Isle of Man and like many men of his age he first went to sea as a small boy. His father, (my maternal great-grandfather) was a crofter. That meant that he scraped a living from the land by farming his smallholding or croft all year round to provide food for his family. He supplemented this by fishing, mainly for herring, during the summer months. As soon as he was old enough, Uncle Billy helped his dad on the land and at sea, thus soon becoming adept at rowing the boat, steering it under sail, tying knots, mending nets etc. As well as giving him proficiency as a sailor, it also gave him a love for the sea and so it was no big surprise when he left home, still no more than a boy and went to earn his living at sea.

It was a dangerous life, but it was the only way for a young man with no education to see and learn about the world. However, as well as dangers, there were also many good times to be enjoyed and one of the things Uncle Billy had discovered he liked most, was story telling, both hearing them and telling them himself.

"You see lads, at certain times at sea, when you weren't on watch........."

"Why would you be standing on a watch?" I asked, imagining Uncle Billy trying to balance standing on his pocket watch!

"Not a pocket watch, my lad!" he explained, laughing as he realised what I must be imagining. "A watch in this case is a period of time spent on duty on board ship."

He continued to explain that when members of the crew were not on duty, they would sometimes entertain each other by telling tales and singing songs called shanties. The stories were sometimes true, but more often than not were made up. Sometimes they were rhymes and sometimes songs. If they were popular ones, they would be repeated often and so be remembered even if they were not written down.

(I don't think Uncle Billy could have written them down in his younger days because he had never been to school and so had not learnt how to read and write. He could scrawl a signature, which approximated to his name, William Harvey. However, he learnt how to read and write during his time at sea, when kindly officers of ships on which he sailed, took him under their wing and educated him sufficiently that later in his life, he himself was able to pass the tests necessary first to become a junior officer, then to rise to his present position.)

Uncle Billy could play some musical instruments such as: a penny whistle; a mouth organ; a banjo and a guitar. Of course, he didn't play them all at the same time, but did sometimes play the mouth organ and the guitar together, using a special sort of clamp to hold the mouth organ slung around his neck so that his hands were free to play the guitar. He also had a mellow baritone voice and we used to love to sit and listen to him play his guitar and sing to us, especially when the songs he sang were his own compositions.

At the time I am talking about, although television had been invented and had been transmitted for over ten years, not many people could afford to own a set and even if they could have, the signal to the Isle of Man was so weak as to be quite useless anyway. Consequently we found other ways to entertain ourselves. The following is a list of the sort of things we did for amusement:

We would listen to the radio most evenings. I enjoyed particularly a programme called 'The Goon Show', a programme starring such comedy greats as Spike Milligan, Peter Sellers, Michael Bentine and Harry Seacombe. It was full of loveable characters and each week there would be a story which was complete nonsense, but most amusing and enjoyable non-the-less.

We would read books and comics. Sometimes we did this for ourselves, but better still, we loved to have stories read to us. This was done mostly by mum, especially if we were ill in bed.     

We had toys to play with and board games such as Ludo; Snakes and Ladders; Chinese Chequers; Chess etc. and jigsaws which were a particular favourite of mine.

We played card games such as Snap; Patience and Strip Jack Naked. Mum taught us a game called Cribbage, a quite complicated adult card game at which I became quite expert even though I was only five years old.

We went to the local cinema which ran three programmes a week. We would go there on Monday, Thursday and Sunday as a family. Rod and I would go without our parents on a Saturday morning to the weekend children's matinee.

Whenever we could, we would play outside in local glens and especially on the beach.

The thing that we most looked forward to though was when Uncle Billy visited us and told us his stories and played his instruments.

We enjoyed Uncle Billy's stories so much at the time that I thought it would be a good idea to write them down. Being so young however and even though mum had taught me to read and write the letters of the alphabet, I could not take on such a task and promptly forgot all about it. However, unbeknownst to me, mum took the idea to heart and did write down some of his stories. 

Thirty-odd years later, after mum died, on going through her belongings, I was delighted to find a hard-backed notebook in which she had painstakingly written down what she could remember of 'Uncle Billy's Far-fetched Tales', this being the working title she had given the stories. Her reason for doing so became obvious to me when I began to read the first one, for it brought back the memory of him starting a story with a twinkle in his eye and the words: 

"My tales are not so much far-fetched, boys, as fetched from afar!"

The following tales then are those my mum could remember, along with a couple I have added from my own memory.