# Old Charlie, from the Sally. R.I.P.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

One evening while I was working at Lyndon House, the Salvation Army hostel in Fore Street, Ipswich, Old Charlie came to see me. He would often stop off on his way from the dining room on the ground floor, to the lifts. He was in his late seventies, and lived up on the third floor, where all the elderly pensioners had their rooms. The younger residence called it Death Valley, because the only way you generally left that floor was in a coffin.
Old Charlie sucked on his false teeth inside his mouth, trying to get at the crumbs from his sandwich he'd eaten for supper. He was also having trouble with the icing-balls that had decorated his chocolate donut.
"How are you, Richard?" he asked me. "I see you're getting your feed."
I looked up from eating my dinner. "How's it going, Charlie?" I greeted him. "Did you enjoy your supper? There were some really nice sandwiches there, tonight, weren't there?"
He nodded at me. "Did you have any, yet?" he asked.
"I'm saving one for supper, when everything has quietened down. I've scored a slice of that chocolate cake for afters."
"Yea, that was a treat!" He looked at me as I was eating my dinner on the main reception desk, in front of the television set.
"You were on the trawlers, yourself, weren't you Richard?" he enquired. "I was a cook on board them for all of my working life."
"I owned a couple of them, but not for fishing." I looked up at him as I ate my dinner. "I bought the Dauntless Star from Putford Enterprises, in Lowestoft, and converted her into a dive-support ship, then took her out to the Persian Gulf to see what I could get up to."
"She belonged to Freddy Catchpole," he chipped in.
"He was one of the directors of the company, along with Mr Hashim," I told him. "After the war, he built two fleets of drifter-trawler class vessels. His was the 'Star' fleet, and his wife's was the 'Waters' fleet. I believe Dauntless Star was originally the Sunlit Waters. When he sold his wife's fleet, he wanted to keep her for himself, and renamed her Dauntless Star. She was the first diesel-powered trawler working out of Hull."
"You seem to know what you're talking about, Richard." He grinned at me. "What was your other trawler called?"
"When I bought her from Helier's, in Hull, she was the Ross Resolution," I told him. "But I had to change her name... because she had a company name. I had to submit three names to the Registrar of Shipping, and they allowed me to have the name Debut."
"So you bought the old Ressy, did you?" he laughed. "I went for a couple of trips on her, out of Grimsby, in the late fifties. She was the Renovia, back then."
"She was the first of the 'Renovia' class of trawlers," I told him. "She was built for the Renovia Fishing Company out of Grimsby, in 1948, at Cochrane Shipbuilders of Selby... further up the Humber."
"You really know your ships, Richard. I think she was called Ross Stalker after Helier's bought her."
"Yea, but they later wanted that name for a new build, so changed her name again to Ross Resolution." I looked up at him as I ate. "Did you know that she was the first oil-fired trawler out of Grimsby, and the first trawler ever to be fitted with a Radar set?" I smiled at his intrigue. "I took her on a twelve year voyage around the Tropical World."
"You sure know your stuff!" he laughed. "Where is she now?"
"I was shipwrecked in the Coral Sea, and spent three years castaway on Emily Reef, off the Australian coast." I looked at his surprise. "She's still there now... safe and sound right up on the reef, where I winched her to keep her safe. She's a monument to freedom, liberty and adventure, and is the home for hundreds of terns and boobies that roost on her decks."
"You have been around!" He shook his head in amazement. "Listen, Richard, did you know I used to be a cross-dresser?"
"Go on!" I encouraged him, a little taken aback.
"Well, we used to go out fishing for twenty eight days in a row. We couldn't stay out any longer than that, or the fish would start going off. As you know, we were only ice-trawlers back then. We'd load a hundred and fifty tons of crushed ice before we left, and sprinkle it over the boxes of cleaned fish before stacking them in the hold. We couldn't make any more ice in those days, so when it was almost used up we had to return to port."
"They didn't bring in reefer-trawlers until they introduced the stern-trawler factory-ships," I said, and pushed my empty plate out of the way, so I could lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the table. "I bet you were glad you couldn't stay out longer than twenty eight days, anyway. Those big American super-seiners stay out for a couple of months, and the Korean long-liners up to six months at a time."
"Bugger that for a game of silly-buggers!" he laughed. "Twenty eight days was bad enough. Anyway, when we used to have our run-ashore, I'd be dressed up to the nines in my best. Danny Larue had nothing on me, when it came to frocks. And white gloves, too!" He grinned at me. "And high-heeled shoes! And the most expensive designer-handbags you could imagine!"
He coughed his dry cough, of someone who'd been smoking role-ups all of his life. "If anyone started messing me about, my boys would give them a good hiding."
"Were they also that way inclined?" I enquired.
"No way! My boys were as straight as a die." He gave me a limp-wristed wave like the fruit-boys of the South Seas. "I used to cook them such good food, especially the cakes and afters. I looked after them so well that they really looked after me. At Christmas, I really outdid myself for them," he told me. "I used to prepare the most lavish spreads you ever saw, without anyone suspecting what I was up to. Then, wallah!" he clapped his hands. "Out on the table, I would bring a veritable feast, to everyone's surprise."
I noticed Bert entering the outer lobby on the CCTV monitor, and pressed the release-catch for the lobby door just as he pressed the buzzer. "Here we go, Bertie-Boy," I greeted him with a laugh, as I slipped him his master-key under the hatch. "Eyes down, look in for another night shift."
"See you, Richard," old Charlie said with a smile. "It was nice having a chat with you. I'll see you tomorrow evening." He waved as he turned and headed for the lift. 
Good old Charlie passed away in his sleep, a couple of years later, when he was nearly eighty. He had no family that anyone knew about, so the Salvation Army held a service for him at their Citadel in Woodridge Road. Good on you, Charlie, may you rest in peace. Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

One evening while I was working at Lyndon House, the Salvation Army hostel in Fore Street, Ipswich, Old Charlie came to see me. He would often stop off on his way from the dining room on the ground floor, to the lifts. He was in his late seventies, and lived up on the third floor, where all the elderly pensioners had their rooms. The younger residence called it Death Valley, because the only way you generally left that floor was in a coffin.
Old Charlie sucked on his false teeth inside his mouth, trying to get at the crumbs from his sandwich he'd eaten for supper. He was also having trouble with the icing-balls that had decorated his chocolate donut.
"How are you, Richard?" he asked me. "I see you're getting your feed."
I looked up from eating my dinner. "How's it going, Charlie?" I greeted him. "Did you enjoy your supper? There were some really nice sandwiches there, tonight, weren't there?"
He nodded at me. "Did you have any, yet?" he asked.
"I'm saving one for supper, when everything has quietened down. I've scored a slice of that chocolate cake for afters."
"Yea, that was a treat!" He looked at me as I was eating my dinner on the main reception desk, in front of the television set.
"You were on the trawlers, yourself, weren't you Richard?" he enquired. "I was a cook on board them for all of my working life."
"I owned a couple of them, but not for fishing." I looked up at him as I ate my dinner. "I bought the Dauntless Star from Putford Enterprises, in Lowestoft, and converted her into a dive-support ship, then took her out to the Persian Gulf to see what I could get up to."
"She belonged to Freddy Catchpole," he chipped in.
"He was one of the directors of the company, along with Mr Hashim," I told him. "After the war, he built two fleets of drifter-trawler class vessels. His was the 'Star' fleet, and his wife's was the 'Waters' fleet. I believe Dauntless Star was originally the Sunlit Waters. When he sold his wife's fleet, he wanted to keep her for himself, and renamed her Dauntless Star. She was the first diesel-powered trawler working out of Hull."
"You seem to know what you're talking about, Richard." He grinned at me. "What was your other trawler called?"
"When I bought her from Helier's, in Hull, she was the Ross Resolution," I told him. "But I had to change her name... because she had a company name. I had to submit three names to the Registrar of Shipping, and they allowed me to have the name Debut."
"So you bought the old Ressy, did you?" he laughed. "I went for a couple of trips on her, out of Grimsby, in the late fifties. She was the Renovia, back then."
"She was the first of the 'Renovia' class of trawlers," I told him. "She was built for the Renovia Fishing Company out of Grimsby, in 1948, at Cochrane Shipbuilders of Selby... further up the Humber."
"You really know your ships, Richard. I think she was called Ross Stalker after Helier's bought her."
"Yea, but they later wanted that name for a new build, so changed her name again to Ross Resolution." I looked up at him as I ate. "Did you know that she was the first oil-fired trawler out of Grimsby, and the first trawler ever to be fitted with a Radar set?" I smiled at his intrigue. "I took her on a twelve year voyage around the Tropical World."
"You sure know your stuff!" he laughed. "Where is she now?"
"I was shipwrecked in the Coral Sea, and spent three years castaway on Emily Reef, off the Australian coast." I looked at his surprise. "She's still there now... safe and sound right up on the reef, where I winched her to keep her safe. She's a monument to freedom, liberty and adventure, and is the home for hundreds of terns and boobies that roost on her decks."
"You have been around!" He shook his head in amazement. "Listen, Richard, did you know I used to be a cross-dresser?"
"Go on!" I encouraged him, a little taken aback.
"Well, we used to go out fishing for twenty eight days in a row. We couldn't stay out any longer than that, or the fish would start going off. As you know, we were only ice-trawlers back then. We'd load a hundred and fifty tons of crushed ice before we left, and sprinkle it over the boxes of cleaned fish before stacking them in the hold. We couldn't make any more ice in those days, so when it was almost used up we had to return to port."
"They didn't bring in reefer-trawlers until they introduced the stern-trawler factory-ships," I said, and pushed my empty plate out of the way, so I could lean back in my chair and put my feet up on the table. "I bet you were glad you couldn't stay out longer than twenty eight days, anyway. Those big American super-seiners stay out for a couple of months, and the Korean long-liners up to six months at a time."
"Bugger that for a game of silly-buggers!" he laughed. "Twenty eight days was bad enough. Anyway, when we used to have our run-ashore, I'd be dressed up to the nines in my best. Danny Larue had nothing on me, when it came to frocks. And white gloves, too!" He grinned at me. "And high-heeled shoes! And the most expensive designer-handbags you could imagine!"
He coughed his dry cough, of someone who'd been smoking role-ups all of his life. "If anyone started messing me about, my boys would give them a good hiding."
"Were they also that way inclined?" I enquired.
"No way! My boys were as straight as a die." He gave me a limp-wristed wave like the fruit-boys of the South Seas. "I used to cook them such good food, especially the cakes and afters. I looked after them so well that they really looked after me. At Christmas, I really outdid myself for them," he told me. "I used to prepare the most lavish spreads you ever saw, without anyone suspecting what I was up to. Then, wallah!" he clapped his hands. "Out on the table, I would bring a veritable feast, to everyone's surprise."
I noticed Bert entering the outer lobby on the CCTV monitor, and pressed the release-catch for the lobby door just as he pressed the buzzer. "Here we go, Bertie-Boy," I greeted him with a laugh, as I slipped him his master-key under the hatch. "Eyes down, look in for another night shift."
"See you, Richard," old Charlie said with a smile. "It was nice having a chat with you. I'll see you tomorrow evening." He waved as he turned and headed for the lift. 
Good old Charlie passed away in his sleep, a couple of years later, when he was nearly eighty. He had no family that anyone knew about, so the Salvation Army held a service for him at their Citadel in Woodridge Road. Good on you, Charlie, may you rest in peace. Cpt Dick Brooks.


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