ODYSSEY 2005

How should this little narrative end? I could write more about the people in this ship, how we spend our days. The past few days weren’t without drama, at 0215 on the 1st all the gas alarms went off big time; the one thing that we all dreaded (apart from running out of whisky) had happened, a leak in one of the raw alcohol tanks (metal with rubber outers – to my way of thinking it should be the other way around but evidently this stuff doesn’t like rubber). Clive took over my watch and I flew down with my DC team to see what the hell had happened. It didn’t take long to find the leak and by that time Clive had all doors, vents and AC shut down. The power to the galley was cut and all electrical instruments and accessories (apart from gyro) were shut off. The big blowers and extractors were cut in and we vented holds and bilges just as fast as we could. The leak was plugged with tape, marine bond; bondcrete, glue and anything else we could find. It seems to be holding but we put extra sensors in the area just to be on the safe side. It was a hectic half hour that got the old heart pumping, one spark and … However, that’s just ship stuff and that isn’t what this journey is all about.

Actually it’s a bit weird, I had expected to join this vessel as nuisance value and just try to be a bit helpful and keep mainly out of the way. Instead I ended up as a big part of this special family, surrounded by people (nay friends, not people) who I will remember for many years to come – it’s funny how things work out isn’t it?

No, these last words are not about the ship but what is past and what is yet to come – not just for me but for you all, I will be a happy man if some of my words get you looking and thinking about your own wonderful lives. The world may be tearing itself apart but we can still each keep faith in our own little section of it and make it all we possibly can – that’s the massive and unstoppable power of ‘us’, all you have to do is ‘believe’.
So, come and sit beside me as I finish this, the cabin seems so empty on this last night, with dawn still hours away

It’s now 0325 most of the ship is in darkness and very silent, my seabag sits on the bunk three quarters packed and from the cabin scuttle I can see the lights of the river banks so very silently sliding past, creating pale shadows of outside reality that cross the darkened cabin bulkhead. The pilot is aboard and we make our berth at around 0440. On the back of the cabin door hangs a dirty galley hand outfit, I will use it to leave the ship, carrying off some garbage to the wharf bins, which will in fact be my gear. As Big John knows, these old ladies arrive and depart berths with no fanfare; nobody takes the slightest bit of interest. I feel as if I should wear a sign round my neck that says ‘I am only here for a few days; leave me alone, I mean harm to nobody’. Germany is a strange country, they still love uniforms and recognisable humour is rare, actually they are quite scary but can be somewhat forgiven as they do make good beer, so there must be some good there somewhere.

Yesterday I was thrown a huge birthday party, a couple of days early but that doesn’t matter a dam, it was a very good bash, good food, much laughter, loads of people’s memories and sufficient drinks to keep us all very happy. With so many oldies in the crew the music was from the 60s/70s/80s. Clive made a very nice little speech (aided by a bottle and a half of single malt) and said that I if I ever got the urge, I could return at any time, that’s a good thing to know.
I don’t mind admitting that, for me, music IS the translator for life, it’s my Rosetta Stone. Since the days of the Ducks I have surrounded myself with music, used it as prop, shield, weapon, and medicine. I feel sorry for those without the ability to drown themselves in music (the type is unimportant) they miss so much of life’s colour. Funny as I wrote those words Dusty Springfield started singing My Colouring Book on the CD (one of Clive’s … he’s a huge music fan). I love the work of Dusty and was genuinely decimated when she died; she deserved a better hand in life than the one the dealer dealt her. Sally once said that her song ‘Goin Back’ summed up the life of Harry Drake… Oh well, maybe she’s right but there again, Sally analysed everything to death – take a tip from one who knows chaps, never and I mean never, get yourself a female who is also a psychiatrist, you end up a nervous wreck, everything you do gets an ‘interpretation’ put on it and none of it is good … trust me. (I know you watch the site Sal – you would have made the world’s greatest spy – you will probably try to have me committed after this saga).

Early yesterday I saw the White Dover Cliffs pass distantly to port, so close to home but then they faded and another, foreign coast took their place - but on the other side of the ship. We all have regrets of one size or another, one of mine is that I never got home for a visit before everybody either died or moved far away.
My greatest regret, or rather, unfulfilled wish that I have and that probably is never going to happen is that I never got to sit down with Frida Lyngstad over a bottle or two of good wine and tell her the ‘Red’ story. Time permitting I will try to get to Sweden but even then it’s rather a long shot (about 6 billion to 1) still, I guess only having one outstanding wish is not bad going. Even if I could find the wretched woman she would have more security around her that the Queen of England. I know a chap who topped himself because of wrong decisions he made, that’s just plain stupid, we all make huge mistakes and wrong guesses nearly every day. Naturally, at some time or other one or more of these mistakes is going to cause grief or hurt but if it was without intent then you should learn to live with it, you don’t have to be happy with it but take it onboard as part of life’s hazardous cargo, something to be carried with caution.

With my cabin door open (it always is) I can hear the telegraphs responding on the bridge which is only a few steps down the passageway, crisp, important bells that tell you exactly what this old girl is doing. Ting, ting, ting – they sound so clear in these early hours, we are taking off revs and will now be at ‘slow ahead’, Large liners and newer ships no longer have telegraphs, another sound that is fading into history, as all things do. Two short blasts of the horn, we are making a port turn – the only signal you never want to hear is four or more blasts coz that means ‘Get out of my way I can’t get out of yours’, this is often followed by a loud tearing crashing sound and you know your whole day has just been ruined.
Dusty is now singing ‘Goodbye’ (struth that woman cuts through to your very soul) I guess she is trying to tell me it’s about time to get ready to leave. Strange how music mirrors and, at times, even guides the things we do.
Lenny just went past the door, heading for the bridge with hot drinks for the pilot and bridge crew, it’s freezing cold outside so I’m willing to bet that the ones for Clive and crew have a large dash of ‘something’ in them. How many times had he brought that same tray to me, at times just with coffee laced with brandy but on the 0600 run, with breakfasts that will forever (well until I curl up my toes) remain part of this last odyssey in my memory.
One short blast, we are turning to starboard, that means we have navigated the last lead before approach - naturally everybody has a radio but it’s still good to use sound signals so the tug is 100% certain what you are doing. We only have one tug in attendance; it’s a pretty easy approach. I can now just, in the distance, hear an electric motor whining under load, which means the hatch covers are being opened ready for discharge, such a hive of activity, a little oasis of light in the vast, chill darkness of the river Elbe.
One thing I do miss; when with the Ducks, every time we came alongside, no matter the time, Red would be waiting on the wharf for us. Every time we made port on this trip I caught myself looking for her, I will probably do the same here – as they say, no fool like an old fool.

Three short blasts, our engines are going astern, that means we are stopping for line-up prior to the final run to the berth (no transverse bow thrusters). The air is very still with no breeze, making manoeuvring quite easy and ensuring the air is frosty for my arrival. I can feel the rumble of the screws through the deck as they strain to take off ship’s way. Funny after all these years you can still tell what a ship doing by sounds and vibrations. Three more tings, dead slow ahead (I would imagine). Time to complete packing and get changed, although I won’t leave the old girl until it’s light.
Leaving isn’t going to be easy, for the first time in many years I have again had a real purpose, been part of the team, been engaged in something I was born to do, something, the only thing, I was ever good at, well, not exactly good, but not quite as bad as with everything else.
In the big picture of things this old lady isn’t at all important, but by simply existing she gives a home and reason to others, who, without her, may not have one; that makes her very important.
Dusty was born to sing, Orbison was born to sing, Frida Lyngstad was born to sing, Neil Diamond was born to sing and Harry Drake was born to have his feet on the deck of a ship, it’s the rightful way of things.
I had better start to end this ramble, it’s so full of mushy stuff, the bottle of whisky that was full but is now almost empty, and sitting on the desk beside me probably guided some of the words and the CD has replayed itself a dozen times times.
Why don’t you pour a stiff one for yourself, we may as well empty the bottle together because outside it’s colder than just the weather and there’s no rush. There will be no more narrative (OK - I can here you cheering from here) the public story has ended; what comes next is strictly personal.

With a bit of luck by this time tomorrow I shall be nearing the end of my journey and 59 years old, it’s taken 19 years to get here, just a few more hours …
Still, before then there is one half bottle of good malt whisky left in the cabinet, why don’t we put it to good use together … then it will be time to go and you can escort me to the brow. Let’s face it; I now have all the time in the world.
In the meantime let’s quietly drink and listen to Dusty … one last time.

Harry

0800: He’s safely away (Clive Robert Emin StJohn -Beresford)