Complete New Tales of Para Handy (32 page)

Before too many harsh words could be said, fortunately, Para Handy was seen coming back down the quayside towards the puffer with the usual yellow telegram in his hands, and speculation replaced altercation on deck.

“Knowin' oor luck,” said Macphail, “the office'll be sendin' us tae Glenarm for lime.” That Northern Ireland port, serving a nearby limestone quarry, was the crew's most hated destination of all, for working that particular cargo was an especially foul job. “Whit Macfarlane has done tae offend them a' up at the Gleska office I dinna ken,” continued the engineer: “but if there's ever ony dirty work tae be done it's aye the
Vital Spark
that gets tae dae it!

“I doot it's that, or even worse, by the look of the man,” he concluded. And sure enough there was a puzzled frown on Para Handy's face as he jumped down onto the deck.

“Don't tell us it's Glenarm again,” said Dougie disgustedly. Para Handy shook his head.

“Whateffer it iss, it's a misprint,” he said. “There hass been some sort of a stoorie on the telegraph line and the message hass come oot wrong at this end. Listen to this, lads, and see if you can mak' ony sense of it. ‘Rendezvous with puffer
Saxon
at Bowling and proceed together to Bridge Wharf to load cargo of trams for Rothesay.' Trams?
Trams??
Whit are they on aboot?”

“It should maybe be
Drams
, Captain,” suggested Sunny Jim with some enthusiasm. “We're tae tak' a cargo o' whusky for the Rothesay Inns maybe?”

“Naw, Jum,” said the Mate. “They aalways get their supplies wi' the
Texa
effery second Thursday. And even at the Fair Fortnight you wudna need a pair o' puffers tae tak' the necessary supplies for the visiting Glaswegians doon tae Bute.

“Could it no' be
Rams
they mean, Peter? Or
Lambs
maybe? For there's a wheen sheep on the island already.”

“Aye Dougie,” said the Captain, “but they're usually bein' sent oot, no' brocht in! It's beyond me.
Prams?
— there's no that mony weans in Bute.
Hams?
— they cure their ain.

“Cot knows whit it iss — but there's only wan way to find oot! Mr Macphail! If you can get your lang face oot o' that trash and get some steam up, we can maybe get awa' tae Bowling and see if Wullie Jardine on the
Saxon
kens ony mair aboot this than we do!”

The two puffers met up at Bowling harbour the following morning when the
Saxon
came in from completing a run up the Forth and Clyde Canal to Grangemouth, collecting timber which she had then delivered to McGregor's yard at Kirkintilloch.

“It's gobbledegook tae me tae, Peter,” volunteered Jardine when the two Captains met. “We'd best get up there and fin' oot the worst. Ah wush Ah cud think whit way they're wantin' the twa boats thegither: that's the real mystery.”

They found out soon enough.

Standing on the quayside at Bridge Wharf there were indeed two
trams
: two of the newly perfected electrical variety: and their destination was indeed to be Bute, as replacements on the 20-year-old Rothesay to Port Bannatyne tramway for the smaller horse-drawn vehicles which had served it till now.

The only means of getting them to their destination was by the use of a pair of puffers, lashed together to form a broad square platform onto which the two trams could then be lowered gently by crane, laid transversely across the cargo hatchways of the boats, and secured with wire hawsers and ropes to cleats and eye-bolts on the decks and gunwales.

The delicate operation took the most of the day to complete and the two crews went ashore in the late afternoon for a badly needed refreshment at the Auld Toll Vaults.

Para Handy and Jardine looked back at the strange silhouette at the quayside.

“Skoosh-caurs!” exclaimed Para Handy. “Skoosh-caurs! I do not believe it, Wullie, I neffer, neffer in aal my born days thocht to see the smertest boat in the coasting tred (no offence meant Wullie, you understand) aal higgledy-piggledy wi' a cargo the like of yon. It looks chust like a tinker's flittin', it iss makin' a fool o' the shup!”

He changed his mind half-an-hour later when a raincoated figure with a snap-brim hat put a head round the doorway of the snug at the Auld Toll to enquire: “Is there a Captain MacFarlane here?”

“Aye, that's me,” said Para Handy.

“Ah, Captain: my name is Farquharson. I'm a reporter from the
Glasgow News
. Your friend Mr Neil Munro sent me to see you, he thought I might find you here. You see we would like to write a piece about you — and about you too of course, Captain Jardine,” he added hastily as Wullie swung round to give him a long hard look, “since you're both in the news, as it were, on account of the cargo you're taking down to Rothesay. The first of the new electric trams for the island! The first cargo of its kind ever on the Clyde, and carried by steam lighters! Our readers will be very interested to read all about it in tomorrow morning's paper.”

Para Handy positively swelled with pride. “In the news, eh? Well, what else wud you expect when dealing wi' the smertest …” Tactfully realising, just in time, that that particular line of thought was best left unspoken, he said no more.

“Well, well,” he smiled, “please sit doon and mak' yoursel' at hame, Mr Farquharson, and speir awa'. Jum! give the chentleman that seat, and get a stool for yoursel'.

“I am chust sorry I cannot offer you a refreshment, but we only came in for the wan wee gless of sherbet to clear oor throats and my money iss aal on the shup.”

The reporter, well forewarned by Neil Munro, took the hint with no further prompting.

Sunny Jim was sent ashore first thing next day to buy a copy of the paper before the strange hybrid creation set off on its journey down the Firth.

There was a long article on page two of the
News
congratulating the Directors of the Rothesay Tramway Company on their ‘brave investment in the remarkable new technology which would shortly revolutionise transport on both land and sea', as the writer put it: and complementing the shippers on their ingenuity in creating ‘the first set of nautical Siamese Twins ever to have been seen on the Firth' to accomplish the task of transporting the cargo safe to its destination.

Only Macphail remained jaundiced about the whole enterprise and scathingly critical of the indignities heaped on the puffer.

“It's just a shambles!” he protested. “Wud ye tak' a look at whit we look like for peety's sake! Jist a broken-doon penny ride frae Hengler's Circus and Carnival, jist makin' a richt bauchle o' the boat.”

Para Handy, on the other hand, once he had had the chance to study the piece in search of any hidden, unflattering innuendos (explaining to the mystified Sunny Jim, in the meantime, just what was meant by the allusion to Siamese Twins) and finding none that he could see, was quite delighted by the notice (or notoriety) which was, at last, attaching to his command — even if he had to share the glory with Wullie Jardine.

It was as well that the Captain of the
Saxon
was an old friend, for the actual passage down-river was fraught with considerable difficulty, and demanded considerable tact on the part of both Captains and both crews.

Which skipper was to be in overall command?

Which engineer and which set of engines was to dictate the speed at which the floating tangle of glass and steel should be progressed?

Which helmsman was to establish the headings to be steered, and how — when neither wheelhouse gave a view of anything other than the side of a tramcar three feet in front?

Para Handy was just about to broach these delicate questions with Wullie Jardine when the latter, following an earnest discussion with his engineer in the wheelhouse, approached the Captain of the
Vital Spark
with the unexpectedly generous suggestion that Para Handy, as the more experienced man, should have overall charge: that Macphail, as a former deep-sea engineer, should set the pace for the voyage: and that Dougie, being taller than the mate of the
Saxon
and therefore better able to see where they were all heading, should be navigator-in-chief.

“My Chove, that's very gracious of you, Wullie,” said Para Handy, and the two shook hands on the agreement, and gave orders for the lines to be cast off.

The twin-decked carrier moved slowly into the middle of the river.

The twin-decked carrier continued to move slowly, very slowly indeed, all the way down the Firth.

“I neffer thought it wud tak' so long,” said Para Handy with some exasperation as at last they came abreast of Toward Point and within sight of their destination. “The
Saxon
chust iss not in the same class ass we are for speed. I shall neffer, neffer be rude to Dan aboot the enchines again!”

The Directors of the Tramway Company, together with all the great and the good of Bute, were awaiting their arrival at Rothesay and for the first time in her long career the
Vital Spark
(and of course the
Saxon
) came alongside a flag-bedecked jetty to the cheers of a large crowd.

“My Chove, Wullie,” said Para Handy an hour later, as they sat in the bar of the Commercial Hotel, “I thocht we wass neffer goin' to get here. I chust hope we can make better progress back up river to Gleska!”

“I wudna bet on that, Peter,” said Jardine guiltily. “Ye see, ye'll hae tae gi'e us a piggie-back again.”

“A piggie-back? Again? Whit are you on aboot?”

“Well, it's like this. We cracked wir biler this mornin' jist as we were gettin' steam up at Bridge Wharf and had tae shut it doon. That's what the ingineer wis tellin' me aboot in the wheelhoose. But I wisnae goin' to miss the spree and the glory of it a' so I kept ma peace! The
Vital Spark
wis the only shup wi' ony power on the way doon river, and I'd be obleeged if ye'd just keep us lashed by ye for the trup back hame.

“We'd baith look awfu' schoopit if this got intae the papers Peter, wudn't we?”