SCOTLAND ZEN and the art of SOCIAL WORK

by J.A. Skinner

  Chapter 31

  Still Tuesday 3rd June

  There are two forms of Huntington's disease. The most common is adult-onset Huntington's disease. Persons with this form usually develop symptoms in their mid 30s and 40s. An early-onset form of Huntington's disease accounts for a small number of cases and begins in childhood or adolescence. Symptoms may resemble those of Parkinson's disease with rigidity, slow movements, and tremor.

  Mickey has managed to entertain the children and Rosie and Theresa look like miniature Lolitas with my clothes on, old skirts and tops, scarves and high heels. Their makeup is overdone and their hair crimped and teased to candy floss. John is playing patience with an old deck of cards and is totally engrossed in it, what a stroke of genius for Mickey to teach him a solitary game.

  ‘Anything momentous to tell me sister? Was it really terrible? Was he very sad?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t so desperate, he just needed a bit of a lie down,’ I gave him raised eyebrows and an ‘I’ll tell you later look’. He smiles broadly and echoes just what I said earlier,

  ‘Cannae wait’.

  John suddenly finished his game, came to life and said,

  ‘When’s the story Uncle Mickey, we’ve had enough of this girly nonsense.’

  ‘As soon as we’re all fed, I’ll start the story if you Mother has the energy for it.’

  After tea we all settle in the girls’ room as Rosie is near to dream time and won’t last long. We will need to preserve this story carefully till she is old enough to stay awake to hear the whole thing. I look at the pages in Mickey’s hands and feel a rush of emotion like a sob low in my chest. I feel so touched that Dad took the time to write down the tale of the cabin boy, the one we loved the best, so that we could enjoy it again with his grandchildren. Mickey and I quickly read the first instalment and now we are all ready for the last part. I miss Dad so much, his lovely face and his quiet manner. Mickey picks up on my feelings and takes my hand as he begins to speak my Fathers words.

  ‘Twenty sixth day of the voyage, sailing the West Indian seas, through the Windward Passage, with fair weather and a good headwind. We should sight Virginia in four days at this rate. When the Captain found out we had lost two crew in Jamaica, we all thought he would be furious, but no, he just shrugged his shoulders and said two less mouths to feed on the homeward leg was not such a tragic thing.

  The remainder of the slaves were allowed out on the lower deck every day and given extra rations of food from all the good stuff we took on in Jamaica. We want them fat and healthy for the sales in Virginia. The Toffs are really getting on everyone’s nerves now; do this, fetch that, run my bath, pour me my Port. They seem to be practising to be the big important Virginian lords and we’re not even landed yet.

  Thirtieth day of the voyage. Portsmouth Virginia is hot with dry winds that suck the water right out of you eyes, an arid place and not too friendly. The slave market is right on the dock and the sales took place after the Toffs were taken away to their new life in fancy carriages pulled by trotting ponies, without a backward glance or a thank you to the Captain, or the lowly cabin boy who lit their cigars and mopped up their sick. Good riddance I say!

  The slaves were so upset and restless my heart was breaking for them. I have to harden my heart as we need the money to make the trades for tobacco and cotton, but who can be sure they will be treated well. The traders look a rough lot. Captain Moore shouts out to the buyers,

  ‘These slaves have been treated well and fed well and will work well,’ but they’re not listening, they’re prodding and examining them like horses at an auction, looking at their teeth and their feet. Before the end of the day the Captain did an amazing thing. He held back one of the young boy slaves and didn’t even try to sell him. He sent him back on board with the crew and set him to work loading the cargo for the return journey. He was not to be referred to as a slave now, but christened Soloman, as he had such a sad solemn look on his face. The sales went well but the weather was so hot we were desperate to get sailing and feel some fresh breezes. But we had work still to do. We all worked for two days cleaning the ship again, Captain says cleanliness is next to godliness, well at this rate we could sail straight to heaven. We loaded the tobacco, fiercely smelling stuff, and the cotton. Because the homeward cargo weighs less than the slaves we took on ballast of stones and shingle from the shore. It was back-breaking work but Soloman and I got to work together hauling buckets aboard till the Captain declared everything ship shape and set to sail for home.

  Captain Moore called us all on deck and explained to us that Soloman was now a permanent member of the crew, he reckoned that if the African people were treasured as strong hard workers why couldn’t they make good sailors. He gave me the task of speaking to Soloman as much as possible so that he could learn the language, but no swear words or blasphemy. What a laugh, if we were to turn him into a sailor he would swear just like the rest of us.

  Forty-eighth day of the voyage, this is our last full day of our sailing, and God willing we reach a safe port in Glasgow tomorrow. I have kept my log faithfully to the delight of the Captain. He has spent time helping me to read the stars and is teaching me navigation. It is all beginning to make sense and the back of my log is covered in drawings and calculations. Soloman’s English is fair, with a good Glasgow accent and he can understand most situations. He is my shadow and my friend. He is clever and hard working and we are so used to him now we hardly notice he is black. But he is black, very black, with ebony smooth skin, black eyes and curly hair, and his finger nails are like the polished hard wood of the rails of the ship. He will stand out a mile in Glasgow, but he’s nothing to be ashamed of. He has a good steady job, a great Captain and he has me as a friend for life. We only have one week shore leave then we are off adventuring again.

  Last morning of the voyage, sailing up the Clyde estuary. It is drizzling and bitter cold, the sunny days of the Islands are only a distant memory. There is an early morning haar and Soloman is shivering under a borrowed overcoat and a blanket, his curls are glistening with the mist. He uses all his new found swear words to describe the weather. As we sail up the Broomilaw a great cry goes before us as the lookouts alert the tobacco lords of the town that their cargo is coming. The houses of the rich lords come into view on the right bank of the great river and the lords and ladies, all done up to the nines are on the roofs waving their scarves and hankies in celebration. Soloman pretends they are welcoming him to the city, not their wealth that is in our holds, we have a good laugh at that. When we dock, we start the last haul of unloading the precious cargo and the ballast is dumped at the side of the river. I look over the rail at the tumbling stones and realise we have brought a wee bit of America home here to Glasgow. As I look at Soloman taking in all the sights, the great houses appearing out of the mists, the throng of people, the horses and carts the hawkers, I also realise we’ve brought a bit of Africa too. I notice other piles of stones along the river banks and wonder. Who knows where they came from, maybe Holland, Spain, Africa, China, maybe the whole world is here in Scotland. I tell Soloman what I’m thinking and his eyes go wide in wonder,

  ‘If these stones could only speak, if we could only hear and understand them we would know of the entire world,’ he says.

  ‘But we will know the world, Soloman we will be the best sailors ever known.’

  ‘Perhaps your grandchildren will pull a stone out of the Clyde and wonder where it came from.’ He said.

  ‘I think your imagination is running away with you, me with grandchildren? Never!’ As I leave the ship with Soloman I pick up one of the stones and put it in my pocket, a wee present from America for Ma, and won’t she be surprised by my new friend.

  Rosie is sleeping but John and Theresa have been amazed by the story. John is full of question but I manage to put him off by saying he now has the story and we can read it any time we want, and of course we have to eventually write the next adventure of Archie. When Mickey and I are alone I
tell him of my brief encounter, no details, that would spoil it, but he is delighted that it all worked out fine. I said I was a bit worried about jumping in to bed with Tommy when he had so recently lost his Mother but Mickey said it wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been right. I had one more thing to bring up with Mickey now,

  ‘I’ve had an invitation to Rena’s wedding as you know. I need a partner and I want you to go with me and the kids.’ I held my breath, was this too much to ask of him? Could he face seeing Ali get married? He was silent for a moment and looked at me as if I had gone mad, then he started to laugh and said,

  ‘Why not Mags, what a turn up, I would be delighted to partner you and let Ali squirm if he doesn’t like it. As you like to say, strange things happen, and this wedding could be one of the strangest.’

  ‘I am so pleased you’ll come with me but you must promise to remember to kiss the bride, not the groom.’