To the Seas Again
By A. K. QUILTER
IT is one of the hardships of this life that, when one has sufficient knowledge to enjoy a particular sort of existence, the oppor- tunity has invariably passed. Thus it is with regret that I look back at the four years of my life which I spent, or misspent, in the Merchant Service. Now any admirer of Mr. W. W. Jacobs or Mr. Norman Mansbridge will have to admit that there is a certain unique quality about this Service. But this unique quality is not only evident when the Service is regarded from without as an object of amusement ; it is also seen in the endless opportunities which it offers to the aesthete and seeker after beauty. The sea has always had a romantic quality, which art, literature and even Mendelssohn have been quick to realise. But unfortunately its servants have been slower, like Peter Bell, to appreciate " the witchery of the soft blue sky " and sea. It is this defect in appreciation which I regret ; for I have been at Cambridge now nearly two years and am alme,st ready to receive a soul. Soon I shall be endowed with all the gifts of discrimination and good taste ; if only I could go back to sea for another four years, what uses I could make of them.
The middle watch would be an experience to which I should look forward ; the joy of solitude alid restful peace would at last be mine. In the right longitude I should be able to tune in the radio
telephone to The Third Programme. It would add to my reverie. Oh, " dull would he be of soul " who could not be enthralled by Scarlatti in the moonlit wheelhouse of an outward-bound tramp ; let us forget Masefield and his tin trays.
Now that I have taste I should arrange my watch in advance. After I had taken over from the third mate at midnight, we would read together one of Edward Young's " Night Thoughts " and indulge in a short critical analysis. This would be done over a bottle of Tio Peppi in the chart-room, which is always the best place for entertaining. I should obviously have to redecorate the interior. Charts, as even a layman will agree, are important, but the Admiralty usually show remarkable lack of taste in their production. It is really scandalous when you consider the infinite possibilities which there are. The Middle Ages showed a great deal more enterprise in this sphere. They sometimes, for instance, started with Jerusalem at the centre, which gives a far greater sense of uniformity to the whole. I am left with two alternatives, either complete re-equipment with good copies or originals of mediaeval cartographers, or the indulgence of my own particular taste on the existing charts. This could be done either in the form of transfers or by employing my own pen to produce those beautiful little eighteenth-century dolphins or cherubs marked " North Wind " and blowing accordingly.
- In any chart-room or wheelhouse there are many little frames containing certificates of various sorts. Nobody ever takes very much notice of them. How much more pleasant it would make the bridge if these were exchanged for moderately-priced small reproductions from the Uffizi or the Louvre. Even an occasional Henry Moore or Picasso might be appropriate on " Monkey Island." At,any rate I could use my taste in redecorating the bridge.
At about half-past twelve I feel that a sonnet of Campion's might sharpen my sensibility, and there might be some sherry left. Campion would keep me absorbed for at least half an hour ; that brings me to one o'clock. It would be time to start illuminating the Log. I feel that perhaps an early Renaissance Italian script would be the best.' There are many arguments in favour of this form, and, though it might lead to controversy with the third mate, who not being a purist might be using late Victorian copper-plate, this could be overcome by starting a fresh page. The " distance- sailed " column should be ignored, for I feel that a tally of notches on the edge of the chart-table would combine beauty with utility.
At two o'clock ;the hamper would be opened and a bottle of Graves or Burgundy. I would round this off with Turkish coffee and liqueurs at three. After my man had cleared away, -I should definitely be feeling in the mood for Wordsworth. I should be fortified with a solid basis of good food and in the direct presence of Nature. Apart from this, the quartermaster would be able to help me in any interpretations of the ordinary language of men. Wordsworth might cause me to have some natural impulse which I should be forced to obey, and this might lead to going in closer to the shore to hear the waves on the rocks, or describing circles over the ocean so as to watch the phosphorescence. The compass binnacle could be transformed into a ruined tower with ivy, and the look-out could have an owl chained to his wrist. This would serve the double purpose of keeping him awake and providing atmosphere for me. By now it would be nearly four o'clock and time for port and nuts with the mate. The arms of Morpheus would be stretching out to embrace me, and in my cabin amidst the soft aroma of burning sandalwood I would relax upon my Persian couch, a copy of Sleep and Poetry still in my hand.
I would not always carry out the same programme and might one night concentrate on a Shakespearean tragedy or a Dostoevsky novel. But, above all, I should preserve and keep that perfect and exquisite taste which the Ministry of Education is subsidising. I should be fitted for my duties as second mate as I never was before. Somehow I fear that the opportunity has been lost, and that art and the Merchant Service are the poorer for it. But I live in hope, and who knows whether I may not yet live to set up my easel on the foredeck, to install my spinet in the saloon, and tread the boat-deck with T. S. Eliot in split calf ?
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