Finders Keepers and the Red Jacket

As I walked towards the crest of a hill on the path my view of the bay gradually opened up to its full panorama.  The sky was clear to the far horizon and the ocean was calm unlike the scene three days ago when a horrendous storm unleashed its full force on the south coast of England.  In the centre of the bay with its prow pointing directly at the beach was the stricken vessel.  It was wallowing on the shallow ocean floor about a mile away from the beach without putting any resistance up against the waves that washed along its side and over the decks on the lowest side of the ship.  A few containers could be seen semi-submerged drifting in the current towards the shore.

More people were walking towards me carrying what they had found on the beach almost unable to walk under the weight of what they were carrying. There were boxes of clothes from fashion houses, accessories for cars and bikes, pictures and cases of wine along with less valuable items such as nappies and toilet paper.

My walk started to go down hill and from the path I had a clear view of the beach.  The beach itself looked like a municipal rubbish dump with plastic bags, cardboard and broken pallets spread all over it and being washed out to sea.  Where the now gentle waves broke on the shore there were containers half in and half out of the water with their doors flung open and being moved about by the sea.

About half way along the beach from where I was now standing I could see a line of men in fluorescent jackets walking towards me and herding people ahead of them in an attempt to clear the beach.

On the beach itself I was able to interview one of the Customs officers and a couple of the people scavenging what they could before they were forced away.  The general impression I got was of a free for all.

The bar of the Salty Monk was dimly lit, crowded and full of smoke from the fire and people smoking.  This was my first visit to this area of the coast and the first time I had been in this pub.  There was an atmosphere of high excitement in the bar. My seat was tucked away in the corner of the bar. From where I was I could see everyone who came in, everyone in the bar and everyone who left.  Each time someone new came in there was a great shout from the ensconced customers.

“What you managed to pick up from the wreck then?”

The answer would usually be something mumbled and at best something along the lines of “I got there too late to get anything decent.”

Sitting at the next table was a young man probably in his twenties wearing a red jacket that looked out of character when compared with the dark grubby clothes of the other customers.  Jimmy, as I was to soon learn his name was a full grown man but had the look of child lost in a grown up world.  The red jacket looked brand new and was definitely not made in England looking at the cut of it.

Over the general noise of the bar I could hear the occasional full sentence.

“I got some decent wine” one gruff deep Devon accent called.

“We found some bloody good brandy” called another voice in attempt to outdo the first one with the wine.

“The lad and I picked up some rum” shouted over the heads and through the smoke in another bid for superiority.

Near the fire was an old boy sitting holding his beer glass looking into the flames.

“No good’ll come of this. You mark my words.  No good’ll come of this.  You wait until the Customs gets ‘ere.”

The banter continued.

“Ere look at Jimmy over there.”

“E looks like he done alright with that posh new jacket.”

All eyes turned towards the young man on the next table.  He quietly supped his beer from his tankard.  He put his tankard down.

“I found it fair and square.  It were on the beach along with the rest of stuff from the wreck.  It’s mine!”

“Alright Jimmy, we don’t want to take it from you but think of all the stuff you could have had like brandy and wine and you goes and takes a jacket.”

Above the noise of the customers in the bar I could hear what I thought were horse’s hooves.  The sound got louder and louder and then seemed to stop right outside the pub.The door to the bar opened with a crash and a rush of wind that put out a few of the candles.  All the men at the bar looked around at the six men who had broken in on their evening.

“Bloody hell!  It’s the Excise.  Don’t you buggers ever sleep?” shouted the gruff Devon voice.

Their officer stood in the centre of the bar.

“We’re here on behalf of the King looking for contraband from the wreck in the bay and with the power invested in His Majesty’s Customs and Excise we will search these premises at once,” he commanded.

The customers of the pub muttered and mumbled amongst themselves while the search was carried out.  Tables were overturned, drinks thrown on the floor,  cupboards opened and the contents ripped out.  Two Excise men came up from the cellar and reported that they had not found anything.

“I know you lot have got contraband.  That was the King’s ship and everything in it belonged to him.  Steal from the ship and you steal from the King and get a trip to the gallows,” he finished.

As the Excise men got ready to leave they noticed the young man in the red jacket.

“Where’d you get that from?” the top man asked.

“Found it on the beach today” Jimmy replied “But, honest I wasn’t stealing.  It was finder’s keepers.”

“No such thing with the King’s property,” the Excise man said.

The young man went white against the red of his jacket.

“Looks like we’ve got one for the gallows ‘ere” the Excise man continued. “Take ‘im away.”

Three Excise men grabbed the young man by the scruff of his red jacket from his seat dragging him out of the door desperately shouting “It was finder’s keepers. Honest it was.”