The Ghost in the Fite Seemit

Skipper Bob McTurk 'The Turk' had suffered a major defeat at the hands of his better half.

For years she had begged him to change into lighter clothing when the bonny days came round, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

Now, her patience finally exhausted, she sailed in with all guns blazing.

'Ye great greasy clort that ye are! Ilkie time I wash yer shift the claes-tow braks wi the wecht.

'Ye should ging up to Jimmy Reid's an get a horse then get a soord an a battle axe fae the museum. I'll gie ye my ain coal-pail for a helmet but ye winna need armour! Nae wi a shift like that! Then ye can flee the hills like Sir Lancelot'

Under such an onslaught, the poor Turk wilted. But on one point he was adamant. He would on no account wear shorts.

'They micht dee for liftin a het kettle but they wid nivver hap me!'

Neither would he visit a shop. So, in view of his enormous girth, nothing would suffice but to get a sicht o drawers an seemits fae the shop so that he could wale among them at his leisure.

But still there was one great problem. Any drawers that fitted his middle would need a fathom cut from the legs: if they fitted his legs they would need a yard of elastic at the top! No seemit would fit him athoot a great muckle gushet shued into the front.

Fit a maneer! Claes aa ower the place, like a stallie on the Broadgate!

It took a long time to reach a happy compromise but at last the mannie wis riggit oot and the unwanted garments were baled in readiness for their return to the shop.

On the Monday morning our gallant hero left the house to go to the harbour.

Oh boys this wis fine! Pure fresh air wis circulating where fresh air had seldom been afore.

This wis life, this wis freedom as if a door had been opened!

Then in one blinding second panic filled his breast.

There couldna possibly be such a free flow of air unless there wis a doorie open!

Good grief! Had he forgotten to fasten certain vital buttons?

A quick downward glance would reassure him, but his washin-hoose biler o a belly decreed that this wis impossible.

He could hardly ficher wi buttons in the street so he would turn back.

Turn back on a Monday? Never! All the bad luck in Scotland would be his if he did that.

He could stop a passing boy with a question, 'Hey my loon! Is my shoppie door open?' but he didna like.

Were he to venture up a close for a quick check, some wifie would be sure to doubt his intentions and would chase him wi a broom bidding him, 'Ging an dee that at yer ain gate en'!'

The situation was critical but not entirely out of hand.

The Turk's mither wit led him to the nearest shop window where his own reflection assured him that all was well.

So the gentle breezes were part and parcel of his new found freedom? Great!

Thus, in a happier mood, he reached the pier where his own darling  Meadowsweet awaited him.

Oh, fit a steer! Horses an cairts by the score.

At least a hunner crews busy at their nets.

Coal-heavers walking the precarious planks with ten stone bags of coal on their backs, just like black ballet dancers on a heaving stage, dropping their load with unerring aim into the pit of the drifter's bunker.

Message boys with their baskets and watermen with their hoses; it was all go, for the armada was preparing to sail in the afternoon.

Fit a bonny day it wis! Half the toon wis on the pier to see the shippies gaan oot.

Since it wis Monday, the guttin quines half day, scores of them were doon to wave cheerio to their lads and husbands.

Even Mrs McTurk wis there, wi twaa bairns at her tail an twaa in the coach (Pram).

As the  Meadowsweet rounded the jetty, the Turk stuck his arm out of the house window to wave to his excited offspring and in so doing he got a welcome blast of fresh air aneth his oxter.

Late that evening the Meadowsweet lay at her nets some forty miles east-by-north off Peterhead. She lay head to wind at the leeward end of a mile of nets which hung like a great curtain two fathoms below the surface. The shippie was tethered by a thick tarry rope which ran the whole length of the nets and on this rope she would be heaved ahead in the morning when the process of hauling would begin.

It was a lovely evening with the sun sinking behind a low bank of dark cloud, a sure sign of westerly wind to come.

Close astern a great white carpet of birds had settled on the calm waters to await their breakfast from the nets. Now and then the silence was gently broken by the soft 'Whoo-oof' of a herring whale.

Monday night meant that there was no back-log of sleep to catch up on so the crew were rather slower than usual to turn in. They sat for a while behind the wheelhouse discussing the past weekend and vying with each other in identifying the vessels nearest to them.

As far as the eye could see, there were ships on the same errand as themselves. Each one had her mizzen sail set and her two paraffin dig lights becoming more readily visible in the gathering dark.

Then, as if by common consent, all hands went below to turn in, leaving one man to keep watch.

There would be three one-hour watches and the last man would make tay at 1 am.

In the cabin there was a shocked silence as the skipper removed his briks afore turning in.

'This is something new, boys! Here's a man gaan in ower athoot 'is briks!'

'The days o miracles is surely nae past efter aa' An fit's this he's wearin?'

'Surely nae fite drawers an a fite seemit? Ye never saw the like afore, did ye?'

'Nivver! It's a mercy we're aa spared!'

Of course Jeemsie the cook started to snicker and when he whispered 'Moby Dick, the great white whale!' the dam burst and the crew laughed themselves silly.

'Folk'll nivver believe this!' But the amusement faded rapidly when the Turk disappeared into his bunk, treating his men with silent contempt.

The man on watch in the wheelhouse knew nothing of this. Nor was he aware that about eleven o'clock the Turk had come on deck in his new outfit to hae a look at the nicht an to listen intently for the quiet 'plop' o herrin loupin.

The watchman came aft at his appointed time to call his relief. Then suddenly his hair stood on end for there on the starboard quarter stood a ghostly figure, 'clothed in white samite; mystic, wonderful'.

The poor deckie gave one piercing yell of terror and bolted!

'Od, there maun be something wrang wi that loon!' says the Turk and he ambled forrard in the wake of the terror stricken youth, whose yell had brought three of his mates on deck in a state of alarm.

But when these fellas got on deck, the sound of running feet was away in the fore part of the vessel, so they set off to investigate.

At the end ofthe first lap, the thunder of feet brought the rest of the crew on deck in a hurry and they too joined in the hunt.

Towards the end of the fourth lap, the Turk tripped on a pond board and fell clyte on his belly.

His crew promptly fell on top of him and there was a great stramash.

The sole survivor had scooted down to the cabin and into his bunk like a frightened rabbit.

It was a gey sheepish and tired crew who silently took their tay at 1 am. The skipper, for all his bulk, was the fittest of the lot.

'Now, lads,' says he, 'if ye're gaan t' run a marathon ye're better t' weir the richt gear for't. Ye'll nivver see the winnin post wi hairback briks an worsit drawers on!'

'That's fit I had on,' says the watchman, 'an I bate the hale lot o ye!'