Work Party

Whistled up I was, to help out and slap some primer on the workboat. And then, out of the blue and under the bluest of skies, Robin arrived, barrowed in by his son. I knew he’d had a bit of bad news just three short months ago, and it’s not good at all for him. He still doesn’t quite believe his bad luck, cursing it, and wondering where it came from just like that. He’s been one of the friendliest and most helpful people I’ve ever met. A real font of knowledge. A man who started his working life as an apprentice on the steering gear of the Britannia in the early fifties, if there’s something he doesn’t know about marine engineering, it probably isn’t worth knowing. 
I talked to his wife Mary as she waited in the sunshine over by the gate. Robin of course had been pressed into action, diagnosing the larger Dumbo’s stern gland fittings. And then Denis arrived to give him an update on his Perkins and its troubles. 
And eventually it was time for him to go. 
I waved them off, promising to come up and visit. I walked, lost in thought back to the workboat, and the few others I had been with were standing in a circle chatting and enjoying the sunshine, their painting finished for the day.