Sell The Pig And Buy Me Out by Ben Aldiss.
Category: Fiction
Paperback: 296 pages
Language: English
ISBN: 184753788X

"Stepping off the ladder onto the deck of the ‘Plantagenet Breed’, kitbag slung over his shoulder, the giddy thirtyfive foot climb up from the wharf, somehow managed, James looked around his first ship wondering where he should go next. A face appeared at a deckhouse porthole and addressed him with seeming respect. "Mister Midshipman."

The formality was more than James had expected. "Yes?" "Our shithouse is bunged up." The face disappeared back into the porthole; a moment later it reappeared, laughing. "If it’s the Old Man you want, you’ll find him up for’ard. He came back aboard a couple of hours ago."

The face went, leaving James alone, confronted by the wilderness of dirt and neglect that was the ship’s after deck, heaps of ashes, pools of stagnant water, rusting wire pennants, cargo runners, heel chains, empty oil drums, guy ropes and other gear strewn haphazardly about, a filthy industrial junk heap. In the warm afternoon sun, the after deck stank of garbage and decay. Was this the sea he had so carelessly selected to follow as a career?

Hitching his kitbag over his shoulder, and adjusting his shiny new uniform cap, James went in search of his commanding officer, to report. Back home, his Guardian’s old friend, the doctor, had emphasised the importance of reporting to his commander, ‘As promptly as possible, create a good first impression.’ To get forward, James scrambled over pile after pile of ashes and cinders. At the midships house, he had to bend almost double to get under the deck head, so high were the ashes piled. Past there, and outside the galley, refuse had been added to the heap. The squelching pile of refuse rotted in the summer’s warmth. The stench here was worse, it gripped the throat. The decks were empty of people. No one was about. James paused, bewildered by this strange new world he had pitch forked himself into. His kitbag still on his shoulder he turned and looked out over the rusted scabby bulwark at the blackened coal conveyer alongside the ship: Canada Coal tips, and over that, the grey lonely glimpses of dockside Liverpool.

James’ decision to go to sea was little over a week old. It was the summer of 1945, he was almost seventeen years old that late afternoon as he stood on the decks of his first ship wondering, for the first time, what he had done. This wasn’t what he had bargained for. Seven days before, back home in the familiar rural Midlands, going to sea had sounded romantic, a life of adventure. The unexpected decision, when announced, disappointed his Guardian. There had been argument, and questioning. Did he really know what was involved?"