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I have been very fortunate to have travelled the world extensively as both child and adult. I was born in Trinidad and sailed back to the Channel Islands via the UK at the age of about 6 weeks. Shortly after that we sailed out to Kenya via the Suez Canal. I remained in East Africa for Three years before returning to Britain via the Cape of Good Hope. By the time I was four I had crossed the Atlantic and circumnavigated Africa on board 3 liners.

My parents knew that if I continued to live with them I would be constantly changing school and in order that I had a stable education they sent me to boarding school whilst they continued to Globe Trot. By this time Airliners had become the normal means of travel and so my school Holidays were full of trips to exotic countries such as; Ascension Island, Mauritius, Hong Kong, Grand Cayman and Gibraltar, to name a few.

This nomadic lifestyle continued when I joined the Army on leaving school. I moved regularly sometimes for a few weeks and other times for months or years. By the time I left the Army the longest I had lived in one place was three years.

I have now lived in Guernsey for eight years and I am still enjoying the stability that has come with remaining in one place. I was thinking about this about a year ago and thought that it might be fun to pen some verse on the different forms of accommodation I have lived in over the years. I hope you enjoy the results of this endeavour;

Home

I boarded at school
along with my brother,
spending our holls.
with Father and Mother.

I’ve lived in the tropics,
the Far East and near,
a while in the US,
I even lived here.

I spent years in barracks
surrounded by wire,
with guards on the gate
ready to fire.

I’ve lived in a trench,
in all kinds of weather,
wrapped in a poncho
surrounded by heather.

I lived in a port
in a bombed out warehouse.
In Hong Kong I lived in
a parquet floored penthouse.

I spent six months
In a far off region,
sharing a camp
with the Foreign Legion.

Now refugee camps
are not “state of the art”;
they have to be uncomfortable
so people depart.

While a shipping container’s
a ready made shelter
it’s freezing in winter,
and in summer you swelter.

The heat of a jungle
the cold of the snow
these are the things
I’ve come to know

I’ve lived in buildings
as tall as the sky
and down in the cuds
but these I decry;

For all of these places
have become part of me,
but none were a home
without my family.

John Carré Buchanan
25 September 2010

Image: NASA/Via the Daily Mail

The Reward

I was chatting with a friend of mine who is working in Uganda at the moment. He had just finished a hard day flying and was settling down to a nice cold Nile. His description of the beer; “Cold and sweet amber nectar, moisture is running gently down the bottles exterior. One takes a thoughtful look into a distant horizon, as it gently flows across ones lips. Ahhhhh” reminded me of a similar occasion 20 years ago when I served in Belize. I was responsible for discharging two “Maintenance ships”. These vessels bought all the heavy equipment the forces required to operate, and returned equipment that was damaged or not required to the UK.

Unloading these ships was both challenging and rewarding. The equipment available to us for the discharge was basic, and on both occasions there was a rain storm which made everything that bit more treacherous and difficult.

Two things I remember most about that job, were this sign on the Port gate;

and the tradition of retiring to the beautiful colonial veranda of number 4 Fort Street after the job was done. There the exhausted Ops team sat and drank ice cold Pina Coladas served in what I can only describe as a glass the size of a small goldfish bowl.

The seed for the following poem had been sown;

The Maint. Ship

Harsh dockside lights illuminate the pier sparkling in the heavy tropical rain.
Stevedores wait patiently as Pilot and Master bring her alongside,
scuppers spewing rainwater.

Heaving lines are thrown and caught, hawsers drawn in and made fast,
the Gangway’s lowered. As the Pilot disembarks he shouts greetings
to boarding Customs and Ship Agents.

The Radio crackles, sparking a flurry of activity as stevedores spring into action.
Hatch covers are raised as chain gangs descend on the cargo to un-lash.
High above crane operators peer through the rain - waiting.

The hold reverberates with the rattles and clangs of shackles, chains, strops, hooks,
As they compete with the incessant drum of the torrential downpour.
A torch summons the hook from above.

The hours pass in a flurry of activity, hooks dip into the hold, their chains dangling
Stevedores clamber over the vehicles and ammunition pallets readying each lift
and vital equipment emerges from the hold.

Shore side, high-viz vests and flashing lights dance an intricate two-step
as vehicles are unlashed and driven off, and stores are loaded on trucks
and all the while the rain pours.

The light changes as dawn passes unnoticed and the crews change shift,
tired grease and rust stained bodies exchanged for fresh eager faces.
But the discharge doesn’t pause.

Tween decks are cleared and the hold’s vertical walls disappear into the depths,
The chain gang finishes un-lashing, in the boot deep rain water,
As they clear the dunnage, the last load emerges.

Down on the pier dented, broken or redundant equipment starts to arrive.
and with hardly a pause the re-load commences, equipment bound for home.
And still it pours.

Finally the job is done, formalities complete, customs and ships agents down.
As the pier’s cleared of debris the vessel slips its berth and heads for home.
Suddenly the rain stops.

The troops head back to camp, exhausted but proud of the job they’ve done.
The boss and his ops team retire to the cool veranda at Four, Ford Street
to savour a ‘Pina Colada’ like no other.

John Carré Buchanan
30 July 2011