"Ahh knows whit yoo’re thinkin'…it’s been asked a lot. ‘Hoo did ye meet yer guidwife Sally May? Weel, it’s anither story mates…let’s git tae it!
After graduatin' th' academy o’ th' Royal Scottish Navy, Ahh did me first toor in th' sooth o’ Boornemouth, in th' Sassenach Channel.
Noo Ahh was jist a Petty Officer, green as Aspen wood, an' me best mucker Richard was th' same. On uir third day a thick fog came upon th' brine, rollin' oot o’ th' sooth-east. We tucked uir mainsails an' headed sooth-west tae try an' roond it oot. 'Att’s when aw hell broke loose!
Uir keptin was yoong an' hud nae bin oot o’ th' North Atlantic yet. He sailed oan slowly, nae wantin' tae dampen uir mission o’ patrollin' th' channel. Suddenly, a blast o’ orange-yellaw lit up th' fog jist sooth o’ us!
Afair we even coold come in th' way tae face it, a huge French Man-O-War appeared oot o’ th' mirk fog! It’s second volley off its forecastle foond its mark, tearin' oot th’ portside rails an' burstin' uir foresail boom!
Now Ahh don’t knows if ye hav ever seen an eighteen-poond baa’ blow throogh solid oak, but once ye hav, yoo’ll nae forgit it! Puir Richard...destiny caught up wi' heem as a large shard cut heem near in half jist puckle feet awa' from whaur Ahh stood! Th' guid Lord spared me thes awful sight however as a three-inch shard caught me squaur in me reit eyebrow, injurin' me reit yak👁️ (Yoo may hav noticed). Ahh fell ontae me back an' tried tae wipe th' brine water off o’ me face. That’s when Ahh realized... it wasn’t water…my sleeve shoon bright red in th' dim light.
Some credit is due fur uir yoong Keptin hooevers- he ordered uir portside guns tae be primed an' loaded afair makin' a stoaner tack tae th' north.
We fired in return wi' as many guns as we had ready an' wi' th' luck o’ a dandy, blew aff baith o’ th' French Man-O-War’s forecastle guns an' downed 'er foremast!
Aye, someain was definitely lookin' oot fur us from above…
Uir frigate was fast, especially efter settin' aw uir sails an' coorsin' north loch a bat oot o’ hell! 🦇 Thes was th' smartest thing mah Keptin coods hav dain. Tae stand an' fight a Man-O-War woods hav bin th' destruction o’ aw’ o’ us an' we’d hav bin sleepin' 'att night in Davey Jone’s locker fur certains!
Ahh don’t remembers much o' 'att day. A baroochie o' enlisted men carried me doon tae sick-bay whaur a Warrant Officer Surgeon named “Hack” pulled oot th' piece o' oak near me yak an' sewed me up as best as he coods.
Ahh hav ne'er had foo vision oot o' 'att yak since, but if ye hav ever worn an yak-patch fur a time (as Ahh did) ye woods knows 'att th' remainin' yak grows stronger an' diz it’s best tae compensate.
Ahh was confined tae th' officers bunkhoose fur thee days. That’s when Ahh learned o' Richard’s demise. It burst me loch a sack o' bricks, squaur in th' gut! Me best mate…gain!
“Bloody hell!”, Ahh thooght, “Uir first toor!”
Ahh asked tae see Richard's body an' was tauld by uir Chief Petty Officer 'att it had bin buried at brine tois days pest. He 'en tauld me 'att Ahh woods nae hav wanted tae see whit was left o' heem anyway. Puir Richard...
There’s nae shame in me tellin' ye 'att Ahh cried a waterfaa o' tears 'att night wi' me face buried in th' pillaw o' me bunk. Losin' a mukker 'att ye spent yer whole childhuid wi' was nae easy thing.
Another day foond us at port in th' Sassenach town o' Poole, jus sooth o' Boornemooth. Ahh had a fever, an' me face was a mess. Ahh had nae strength an' cooldn’t find me balance. Ahh was carried aff th' ship intae th' naval hospital froms th' stoatin wharf sooth o' toon.
Th' next thing ye knows Ahh’m layin' in a hospital scratcher 🛌, wearin' a white nappy-gown an' a heid foo o' bandages. Though Ahh didn’t see 'er clearly at first, a slender yoong nurse came up tae me scratcher an' pit 'er hain oan me shoolder…
“Joshua Gavin Slane?” She asked in a heavenly voice.
Ahh looked up at 'er an' slowly tried tae focus me sight. Nae angel froms heaven coods hav ever matched th' beauty o' 'att yoong face!
“Joshua Slane?” she repeated.
Ahh blinked twice afair answerin', me injured yak waterin' loch a coontry brook!
“Aye…Joshua...” Ahh answered.
“Weel Joshua…” she said in 'att melodic voice, “Ahh’ll be takin' caur o' ye while yoo’re haur.”
Ahh swallowed hard…”Whaur is…haur?”
“Why th' naval hospital in Poole Sairrr.”
Ahh nodded slowin' as it aw dawned oan me. Ahh was one toor in an' noo lay in a scratcher in a naval hospital in a town Ahh had ne'er heard o'.
“Whaur is…Poole?” Ahh asked slowly.
“Poole? Why it’s oan th' soothern coast o' Englain Sairrr, nae mair than fifty miles sooth-west o' London.”
Me mind went through th' geography loch lightnin'. Ahh was in th' lowlands, ne'er bin tae th' lowlands afair, ne'er bin tae London... ne'er heard o' Poole.
“Ahh see.” Ahh said as Ahh noticed 'er lookin' at me bandages…”Will Ahh lose me yak?”
She looked back at me wi' a tenderness 'att Ahh will ne'er forget…
“Not if Ahh hav anythin' tae say aboot it!” She said wi' a smile, “But first we hav tae git yer fever doon. Ye hav a slight infection an' 'att has tae be attended tae.”
Ahh glanced awa' a moment as Ahh pondered th' situation. Hoo coods thes hav happened oan me first toor oot tae brine?! Blast an' cattertails! Ahh guess it was me destiny, an' puir Richard’s tay...
As th' pain pulsed in me head Ahh foond meself driftin' back in time tae 'att day in geometry class when Mr. Geese raised his pantleg an' bair 'att awful, wrigglin' scar 'att trailed doon his leg.
Mah woonds waur naethin' loch whit he hud endured an' Ahh conjured up a whole-hearted respect fur th' auld cheil!
Noo ye might think 'att thes was th' warst day o' me life, an' in some ways it was, but it was also th' best day tay. Little did Ahh knows at th' time 'att thes yoong nurse woods steal me heart an' change th' rest o' me life!
“What is... yer nam?” Ahh asked as she wrote somethin' doon oan her writin' board. She glanced up an' said,
“Sally….Sally May... Sairrr.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Weel, it's gettin' late, an' th' oil in me lamp is nearly gone mates. We'll continue uir chat anither days!" 😉 -Keptin
