SCOTLAND ZEN and the art of SOCIAL WORK

by J.A. Skinner

Granny, can we watch television after tea?’ Asks John,

  ‘Yes, can we please? Theresa joins in.

  ‘No, we’re not even switching it on because I have a big surprise for you.’ John and Theresa look sceptical because Granny’s surprises sometimes include praying and a walk in the grotto, but little Rosie is her happy self as usual, she hasn’t had time to become a telly addict yet.

  ‘Yes, I have a nice surprise. It’s a story that your Grandpa told to your Mum and Aunty Kathleen and Uncle Michael when they were little, just like you. He made it up and wrote it down so you could hear it too, even though he has been in heaven since you were a baby John,’ they perk up and look interested now, ‘wasn’t that a nice thing for him to do?’

  We all settle down on the couch and get comfy, the dishes can wait for once. I think I’m looking forward to this more than the children.

  As I start to read Peters words I feel transported back in time. I can see Margaret in the bottom bunk and Kathleen in the top one, with Michael tucked in beside Margaret their faces are shining clean and they look eager and smiling. I can hear Peter’s voice quiet and patient, telling the story;

  The story actually belongs to a little Glasgow lad who was born in 1777 and sailed as a cabin boy in a ship from the Clyde to Africa then to the West Indies and America. He sailed to Liverpool to sell tools and steel and take on crew, then to Africa so that the Captain could pick up African slaves, then he sailed to Jamaica and Virginia to trade the slaves for sugar and tobacco. They brought these goods back to Glasgow to sell, repaired the ship and started all over again. It was a very hard life for the cabin boy, but sometimes very exciting. He was thirteen in1790 and he was tall and slim with black curly hair and blue eyes. His clothes were raggedy and he never wore shoes, shoes were for rich people. We’ll let him tell his story.

  This Captain’s not so bad, I’ve known worse. This will be my third voyage, the first was to Holland on the coal boat, the second was to Ireland and Spain to do some trading but this will be the longest and the best so far. We’ll be at sea a long time, maybe three months, stopping in Liverpool, Africa then Jamaica and Virginia. My Mam cried and made a right fool of herself this leave-taking, but I know I’m all she’s got now that my old man didn’t come back from his last voyage. He might be drowned or he might have scarpered, who knows, but I can look out for my Mam now, I’m thirteen, nearly a man.

  The captain’s given me a good deep shelf for a bed beside the sailors and I get food and rum every day, so my life is good. Better that the poor Africans, but of course worse that the Toffs, the paying passengers, up on the top decks.

  It’s a much divided ship, the Toffs don’t like to see the Africans, it’s as if they might get a disease or some blackness, just by catching sight of them. I think I would be more likely to catch something off the Toffs with their coughing and hacking and pushing snuff up their noses, and smoking pipes that smell like dead dogs. They drink Gin most nights till they have to be ‘helped’ to their cabins, and they throw up at the slightest swell. Not like me, my stomach is like the ships compass, it tilts whichever way the ship does. I’m going to be a famous Glasgow Captain one day, with my own ship which I’ll call Caledonian Star, and tars and toffs’ll be begging to sail with me all over the world. I’ve even started my own log, only a small notebook I stole off an old lady in a shop in Belfast last month when we were docked there. She used it to keep the tally of her punters debts, but left it on her counter when I was in the shop picking up supplies. I hope she forgot some of the debts in the book, she looked rich enough to give some poor souls a break. I write in my log every day but I’m so busy some days not much gets written down. The first ten days were very hard, running after everybody, learning all the Captains rules and dodging the crew when they’re in a foul mood.

  Tonight my log reads; Tenth day of a probable twenty-five fine days at sea, outward journey, fifteen remaining. Weather misty and calm, one African baby born, a boy, healthy thanks be to God. This is in the style of my Captain Mr. Moore. When he learned from one of the crew that I could read and write, he called me to his cabin. I thought I was in trouble for getting above my station but no, he’s a grand man and he let me read a few pages of his log. He records numbers like 26.33 la, 50.31n, which are a complete mystery to me, I have so much to learn. He says these numbers mean that he knows where we are in the world all the time. Hope I’m as clever as that some day. He says I should thank God every night for my Mothers good sense and teaching as she was the one who made me work and work to learn my letters.

  Sixteenth day of the voyage, eleven remaining. There has been a storm and very rough seas for two watches. The Toffs have taken to their cabins and probably their beds. The Africans are suffering badly because of the smell of their puke and the hatches having to be battened against the storm. The Captain says the weather will last for another two days, but its not a worry, this is normal for a crossing to the new world, storms, heat, calm, swells, it’s a big ocean with lots of weather. I’m run ragged, my duties have been non stop, helping in the galley with food that will not likely be eaten by anyone except the crew, swabbing up sick everywhere, running about with clean linen and listening to the terrible crying of the African children and babies, needing a breath of fresh air and room to run about. Two African women died of sickness and their bodies are lashed to the deck till the weather clears enough for a funeral. The captain went into a rage when he was told the women had died. He needs all the human cargo to be sold as slaves for a high price and women are worth a lot. He would prefer them all to be pregnant when we arrive in the new world, as this brings in extra, but any crew interfering with the African women get the cat.

  We started out with a hold full of copper then loaded some brass and guns in Liverpool. What a godless place that was, give me Glasgow anytime, at least we know who’s in charge of the city, the Lords of Tobacco. Liverpool is governed by rogues. From there we took leave of the grey skies and headed south to trade the cargo for Africans. This is the first time I’ve seen Africans, they seem like fine healthy people. They are handsome, and they are all shades of black and brown, and they have a musical sounding language. They also have a permanently confused look in the eye. They can’t fight their fate any more than I can mine. They don’t know this yet but they will be traded as slaves to work in the Islands and Virginia and we will go home, God willing, with a hold full of tobacco and cotton.

  Nineteenth day of the voyage, the weather is dry and blustery, we are making good headway. All the Africans were up top today, not before time, the lower hold smelled something awful. To keep the cargo healthy and worth a good trade the Captain has ordered more rations and fresh air for the remainder of the journey. We had the funerals of the two women today and three men who passed yesterday in a fierce fight with the crew. This has been a good crossing so far the captain said, not much wastage of the Africans. The Chaplin of the Toffs, reverend Wilburton, said a few prayers for the deceased, at the request of the captain. He had his nose pointed into the air and looked as if he was struggling with a bad smell. The prayers were short and dull, God would have been embarrassed by the reverend. As the bodies were sent to the deep, some of the Africans began to sing a dirge. Not a dirge like you’ve ever heard before, but a musical keening that rumbled in your chest and would break your heart by just listening. The below decks were cleaned to within an inch of their lives and we all worked hard and long, taking advantage of the good weather, and got generous tots of rum to round off the day.

  The Toffs had amused themselves during the funerals and the cleaning by playing cards in the stateroom They only have interest now in gambling and alcohol, the voyage has become a bore to them and they are starting to bicker amongst themselves. I’ve heard talk that some of them will be rich as lords in Virginia, landowners and slave-owners.

  You wouldn’t think so to see them now, you wouldn’t give tuppence for them, thin white pinched faces, moaning about everything, complaining to the Captain about
the crew, the weather, the food, the smell, and the length of the journey. Silly Buggers!

  Twenty-third day of the voyage, the Lord has sent us strong windy weather, only two or three days and we should spy land. The captain is in a right good mood. Things are going his way. The cargo is surviving well, and the Toffs are getting some fresh breezes. The Africans are out on the lower deck every day and they are still a fascination to me. They are of such rich colours, comparing to us Scots, with our white skins, burnt red and blistered in places at the first wink of sun. I know their blood is red like mine, I’ve seen them bleed from beatings from the crew and fights between themselves, and so they can’t surely be very different to me. The children look sturdy and happy now that they are used to the sailing. The poor little blighters don’t know where they are, but the adults are deeply sad. Yesterday I sat close to some little boys when I had a free minute, and said my name was Archie, pointing to my chest and saying it over and over. Eventually one of the boys pointed to himself and said Mora and then pointed to me and said Archie. We all laughed with delight and I learned more names now than I can remember.

  Twenty-fourth day, weather holding, sharks spotted in the seas. The captain sent for me last night. I thought I was in trouble for trying converse with the Africans, but he wanted to check my log, made some corrections to it and gave me some hints on recording the journey. He showed me his log which was magnificent and detailed, and he showed me on his map where we were in the world. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep for thinking I would learn and learn and one day be Captain of the grandest ship on the seven seas. I would pick the strongest crew and no Africans slaves to sadden the ship, but I would have spices, and coffee, and exotic fruits the likes of which me or Glasgow has never seen.

  Twenty- fifth day, land sighted, weather fair, God willing we have only half a days sail to Jamaica.

  The ship is scrubbed inside and out with captain Moore shouting orders all day,

  ‘Buck up men, this ship will sparkle into Spanish Town harbour or you’ll feel the cat tonight. Hose yourselves down and the Africans, I want you all smelling like roses.’

  The Toffs were near hysterical to see land although this is only a pause for them, on the way to Virginia, but they would get fresh food and top quality rum, so I’m told, and a walk on dry land for the first time in nearly a month.

  Everybody is on deck scrubbed and smart looking. The whole ship is shining in the Jamaican sun, I’m so proud to be on it. The Toffs are dressed in their best which is far too hot for the weather here, so they are sweating and flapping fans and parasols like mad.

  This is going to be an exciting day. The port is called Jugo de la Vega and the Captain divides the slaves into two groups, about a third will be sold here today and the rest in Virginia. All the little blighters are holding on to their mothers skirts, not having a clue what’s happening. God help them.

  The whole day passed in a blur of activity. Everybody needed my help for something, and all I wanted to do was take in this bustling town, with views to Kingston, and in the background, the blue haze of the highest mountains I’d ever seen in my life. Spanish Town was a bit like Glasgow, too many people, lots of noise and dust and dirt with the addition of course of hot sunshine and emerald green palm trees. After a while the heat and the crowds were exhausting and I was glad to get back on board the ship, get the Toffs settled and fall into my bed. Most of the little slave friends I made were sold today to landowners who need lots of workers for the sugar cane fields and the banana plantations. We took on a cargo of rum and fruit and vegetables, some which are strange to me, to add to our rations for the return journey. There were mangoes, sweet and slippery with all the juice running down our chins and bread fruit which the cook was putting in the oven to roast for supper. There were coconuts full of strange smelling milk and cassava which looked like a turnip with a shiny brown skin. I learn something new every day.

  Next stop America! The New World. My log is full to the gunnels and I look forward to reading it to my Ma when I get home, God willing. She’ll hardly believe the adventures I’ve had. For just a wee small moment today, I was tempted to jump ship and seek my fortune on this island. Two of our sailors already did but Captain Moore doesn’t realise it yet, he’ll find out in the morning. I would love to stay in a place like this, weather hot enough to cook your bones and exotic trees and food and plenty of work for strong, and willing men. Then I thought of my Ma and I couldn’t do it. She would cry enough tears to burst the banks of the Clyde and probably starve next winter if she didn’t have me to care for her. I also thought of my dream to have my own ship and be a famous navigator and in the end quite happily helped to ready the ship for sailing. I wouldn’t always be in grey Glasgow. I was going to travel the world.

  The front door rattles and Margaret and Kathleen walk in, home from the shopping marathon.

  ‘Have you been good for your Granny,’ asks Margaret.

  ‘Well of course they have’ I reply, ‘We’ve been reading Grandpa’s story of the cabin boy.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not fair Mam, we wanted to hear it too, you should have waited for us,’ said Kathleen, with too much melodrama which send the kids into a fit of giggles.

  ‘We had a fantastic time,’ said John, which is high praise from him, ‘It’s like a serial, we can get another episode next week.’

  ‘What did you buy, girls?’

  ‘Not much Mam a few vests and a steriliser,’ says Margaret, I’m sure her fingers are crossed behind her back.