# Home is the Sailor.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

It was two days after I'd boarded my coach at Mossman, and I was sitting in my seat at the coach station in Brisbane that I heard it over the news. Some hundred people were arrested in Far North Queensland during a major drugs swoop. Over a hundred and forty police officers were involved in the case, and several had been under-cover for years. A large amount of cash and drugs had been seized, including a large shipment of cocaine and heroin in transit from South East Asia.
I caught my breath at the implications. All this had just happened, and I was the only one to have walked away. For a moment, I sat in silence, thinking about what had just been said over the radio on the coach's public address system. I sat in my seat and slowly looked around.
There, half a dozen seats behind me, were two men with unnaturally short hair. I looked at their eyes, and they quickly looked away. 'So they were tailing me, hoping I'd lead them to bigger fish to fry,' I thought. 'Well, they'd have a long wait!'
When I got off the coach at the coach station in Ballina, Wayne was waiting for me with his car. He took me to his house for supper, then onto his local pub to introduce me to his friends. He could hardly believe the story I told him about the drugs bust at Robbie's house, until his telephone started making funny noises when he was on the line.
I spent three nights with them, and was able to catch up on my sleep. The Deluxe coaches may be air-conditioned with airline-style seats, but there just wasn't enough room to relax for someone of my size.
They threw a special dinner party so I could meet all their friends, and Wayne took me to the stables in which he kept his three race horses. For my last day with them, he took me for a day at the races to see his own horse win at the nearby Lismore track. It was a strange experience for me... to be among so many people after being alone for so long... and I caused quite a stir in my full serge captain's uniform.
After another twenty hours cramped on the Deluxe coach, I finally arrived at the bus station in Sydney. A short taxi ride over the famous Sydney Harbour Bridge took me to the main International Airport, where I spent the rest of the day relaxing in the Transit Lounge. I would have liked to look around the city, but was far too exhausted after my journey, and I had to look after every penny I had. With only Aus $9,000 to my name, I still had a long way to go.
As I was travelling with a seaman's ticket, it allowed me double the luggage normally permitted. My two holdalls contained forty kilograms of clothing, including a complete set of cold-weather gear for Mariana and the children. Even though it would be summer in England, it could still get very cold at night... and there was no way to buy warm clothing in Western Samoa.
My flight-bag weighed over twenty five kilograms alone, containing all my ship's logbooks, photograph albums and the three manuscripts of my books that I'd written while castaway on Emily Reef. When it was passed through the radar scanner at the boarding gate, it showed up blank because of the density. The Customs Officer stepped forward to intercept me, then recognised my face from the many press and television interviews I'd given. He shook my hand and said it was nice to meet walking history.
My adjacent fellow passenger on this once weekly Polynesian Airways flight to Apia from Sydney was a jovial Samoan official for the Ministry of Agriculture, who was just returning home after attending a conference in Singapore. As we were both large men, we were seated in the seats with extra leg-room by the rear emergency exit door. My travelling companion was well known to the young hostesses, who kept us well supplied with beer and spirits throughout the four thousand mile flight. 
Because my flight-bag was too large to fit in the cramped overhead locker-space provided on this ancient Boeing 727, it had to be taken to a separate storeroom on the plane. After all the other passengers had left the aircraft at Faleolo Airport in Apia, I was still trying to get the pretty stewardess to remember where she had stowed it. I was, therefore, the last person by several minutes to leave the plane.
Mariana had been waiting for several hours at the airport, as regular public transport finishes before midnight, and it was now 5 o'clock in the morning. Her heart had been in her mouth as she watched the last passenger descend the companion-way without seeing me. When she'd seen my photograph sent out to Western Samoa from England by a friend... she had cried her eyes out at my loss of weight. But her tears changed to happiness when she saw my chubby figure struggling into the Arrivals Hall with the heavy flight-bag and my precious Plath sextant. 
She was in my arms as soon as I pushed my trolley past the Immigration desk, after having my passport stamped. Her tears were flowing freely while I held her in my arms. I tasted the saltines as I kissed her mouth and face over and over again. We were soon in a taxi on our way into Apia town centre. 
Even at 6 o'clock in the morning, Dirty Mike had his small restaurant open at the market. It was smaller than his earlier one, which had been blown away in Cyclone Ufa. He placed a bottle of cold Vailima beer into my hand and toasted my safe arrival, while Aseta cooked us a hot breakfast in the nearby kitchen.
He'd simmered right down since my earlier days in Apia, now that he'd become a grandfather. His son was now living with a native girl at their small shop out on the coastal road to the airport, and they'd had a little girl between them.
After being driven to his wooden, clapboard house in his new dilapidated pickup truck, Mariana and I spent the rest of the day in bed, getting to know each other all over again.
The next day, we met Mariana's mother in town, with Zyanya and baby Robbie in tow. He wasn't a baby anymore, but a very active three year old. Pauna had brought them from her village on the other side of the island, catching the early morning bus.
Zyanya was over the moon at being with me again, although she was far too young to remember me from when I was in Western Samoa with my ship. Every time Mariana had written a letter to me out on Emily Reef, Zyanya had included one from herself in the envelope, written in her own child-like hand. She ran towards me to be picked up, and I cuddled her whenever I could.
That night, we all went to stay at Big Bill's new house, out in the suburbs of Apia. Little Kuini was now a ten year old, with a full figure and budding young breasts of her own. She was very excited to see me again, after being away for so long. She took to Zyanya right way, and they became good friends, sleeping together in her bed that night.
Pauna took Zyanya and Robbie back to her village, so Mariana and I could complete the complex paperwork for them to leave Western Samoa. As we were flying via the United States to England, both Mariana and Zyanya had to have American visas. Little Robbie had a British passport... being born in Australia... and was therefore, like me, exempt. It took over a week to complete this messy business, before we were ready to leave.
The forty four hour journey to London was long and tiring, especially with two small children... flying on three separate aeroplanes. By the time we arrived at Heathrow Airport at 7 o'clock in the morning of 10th August, 1990, we were totally exhausted. The air fares had been twice as much as I'd allowed for. By the time we arrived at Ipswich railway station, I was down to Aus $200... not a very big margin out of Aus $9,000 to travel 18,000 miles around the world. 
May you all enjoy a very salubrious Christmas, and view the coming New Year through a haze of plonk... in your cups. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## tsell (Apr 29, 2008)

Thanks for another great read, Dick. All the best for Christmas and the New Year to you and to Mariana when you call her.

Cheers

Taff


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

*For tsell.*

Hi, Taff, good to hear from you, and that you enjoyed my short story. There is much more to come... I promise you. I'm off for a family get-together with my adult children. I won't have to worry about the grandchildren this year when they are scurrying about under my feet... especially when I'm in my cups... having all been taken to Samoa for a family gathering out in the South Seas by Mariana.
I hope you had a merry Christmas, out in the Land of Oz, and that you are now all aglow from imbibing Christmas cheer. I'm on my first whisky to kick off this time of merriment, and look forward to getting on the outside of the rest of the bottle. All the best to you, Roy, and your missus, and a happy New Year to you both. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## 216289 (Jan 4, 2018)

Cpt Dick Brooks Cpt Dick Brooks is offline 
Senior Member

Join Date: May 2013
Posts: 395
Home is the Sailor.


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## Samsette (Sep 3, 2005)

That first video must have been of a funeral for a very highly ranked sailor; say First Sea Lord or Lord of the Admiralty. A funeral cortege of that size would rarely be seen outside of London and, it would be interesting to find out more about it. Somebody will come up with an answer I am sure.


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## Samsette (Sep 3, 2005)

That first video must have been of a funeral for a very highly ranked sailor; say First Sea Lord or Lord of the Admiralty; definitely not a common Jack Tar. A funeral cortege/ceremony of that size would rarely be seen outside of London and, it would be interesting to find out more about it. Somebody will come up with an answer I am sure.


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## 216289 (Jan 4, 2018)

Samsette said:


> That first video must have been of a funeral for a very highly ranked sailor; say First Sea Lord or Lord of the Admiralty; definitely not a common Jack Tar. A funeral cortege/ceremony of that size would rarely be seen outside of London and, it would be interesting to find out more about it. Somebody will come up with an answer I am sure.


I just watched it and it looks as if at least 7 coffins are in this funeral - WW one???


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## 216289 (Jan 4, 2018)

Samsette said:


> That first video must have been of a funeral for a very highly ranked sailor; say First Sea Lord or Lord of the Admiralty; definitely not a common Jack Tar. A funeral cortege/ceremony of that size would rarely be seen outside of London and, it would be interesting to find out more about it. Somebody will come up with an answer I am sure.


First Sea Lord or Lord of the Admiralty






Could it be the crew and The Ruler of the Queens Navy from HMS Pinafore??? Rule Britannia


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

*For TheNavigator.*

G'day, TheNavigator, it's good to hear from you, and I thank you for the selection of really good music that you sent me. Tomorrow I'll listen to them all, as this is the music I like to listen to. 
If you would like to read the final outcome of these events, please download, 'Cairns Supreme Court... Parts One to Six.' Enjoy the read. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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