Boatman's dream 8

Merlin parked the jeep in front of the yard’s toilet block.  He reached over to the dashboard and recovered his cigarettes and lighter, opened the door, paused, lit one and sat deep in thought for a moment looking at the four men.

“Morning Merlin!  Brought us anything nice back from sunny Milford?”

“Just a sore head, Ronnie.”

He opened the back door of the jeep and took out some gear to dry on the porch.  I passed him the oars I’d carried up from the beach.   Around us was the familiar sound of rigging ringing in the breeze.  He threw the oars in the back. 

“That him?”

“Yes.”

“Morning boys.”  Merlin strode over to where the four stood between two raised hulls.  One was being sanded down ready for painting by Rhys.

Eddie raised his tea mug gently in the direction of Arthur.  “This is Arthur.”

Merlin held out his hand.  Arthur shook it.

“One of us?” Merlin asked rhetorically, then spoke a short phrase in Welsh to Arthur.  Rhys had stopped sanding the hull to listen.

Arthur moved his lips then stopped, perplexed.

Merlin seemed to try a different tack.

Arthur smiled, snorting gently.

He spoke to Merlin in a strong, melodious voice. 

Merlin screwed up one eye, thought for a while, and responded, stopped, and began again.

Arthur nodded.

Merlin seemed to be asking something.

Arthur paused for a moment before replying.  As he spoke, he pointed at me.  I heard my name.  Merlin guffawed.

“He says he didn’t trust your seamanship.”

General laughter erupted at my expense.  What can you do, but laugh along?  He had a point.

Merlin spoke to Arthur again, this time with the universal gesture for a drink.

The answer was a smile and a nod.

“Eddie, get that bloody kettle of yours on.  There’s thirsty men here.”

Eddie grinned.  “Aye, Aye, Cap’n!”

The six of us crowded into Eddie’s motorhome.  It was a big old Dutch one.  The boatyard would probably be its final resting place.  Along one side was a cluttered bench with a vice clamping what looked like part of a water pump.

“Just move them bits aside.” Eddie pointed at the buckets of seals and nuts and bolts.  There was the rubber impellor from an outboard engine on one of the seats.  Eddie batted it into a corner.

“Are you still interested in that little Yamaha, Kev?  It’s a good motor for your tender.  Easier than rowing against that wind. You’ll thank me one day.”

The outboard was propped up in the corner.

“Once I’ve seen it start, maybe, Eddie.”

Ronnie laughed.  “It used to be mine.”

“Mine before that.” added Dennis.

“It’s been round half the yard.” joked Rhys.

“Well, it’s up to you, Kev.  I can soon sell it on…  Now then, who’s having tea?  There’s only powdered milk.”

 “What’s in the bags, Kev?”  asked Ronnie.  “Did you get them clothes for Arthur?”

I’d left the bags leaning against the wheel of the motorhome.

“Yes.  It’s a bit of a mix.  Whatever the church had.  I’ve guessed the sizes a bit.  There’s an old coat of mine and some shoes.”

“Do you think he’ll wear them?” Eddie handed round the cups of tea.  The powdered milk was floating in lumps.

“Have you asked him?”  Merlin stepped outside and looked in the bags.  “Bloody hell.  You’ll get him arrested for vagrancy.  He can have some of my boy’s stuff from the houseboat for now.  We’ll go and have a sort through when we’ve had this.”

Arthur was picking the lumps of milk out of his tea.

“No complaints mind.” said Eddie.  “Or I’ll start charging.”

“I thought you already were!" Rhys shouted.  "Adding it into your maintenance charges!"

The motorhome rocked on its chocks.

“Right.  That’s it.  Drink up and fuck off, the lot of you.”

We tumbled out of the door onto the gravel. 

Merlin spoke to Arthur. 

Arthur furrowed his brow, trying to understand. 

Merlin tried again. 

Arthur clapped his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and they walked down the pontoon to the houseboat.