The air was still, a misty rain surround the lifeless hulk of the, Manchester registered, Mayceleste. As we approached, our oars dipping uneasily in the swell, the creak of rowlocks in their seats, the dull plunk of our oars, the hard breaths of the oarsmen, the quiet voice of the coxswain and the splash, splash, splash of the waves against the Mayceleste's hull was all there was to be heard in the deepening gloom.
"Port side oars give way and in board", called the coxswain in his muted voice as he brought us alongside the silent vessel. In the bows a seaman caught the chains and we bumped against the hull to leewards. There was no challenge from anyone aboard, only an oppressive silence, so dark, so evil, a silence foretelling doom, a silence that bares no breaking nor challenge.
We crept onto the main deck and in the dim light of our lantern saw scenes no sane man or woman should suffer. At first we believed we had stumbled on a ship of zombies but those before us were beyond any ability to act on their own volition or move without any call of authority. They appeared to be living in a world far torn from this dimension of earthly experience, signalling to each other by the waving of champagne flutes and calling gull like to one another "I'm OK, yah." It was not they did not see us but looked through us as if we were not there, as if we were some creature which had crawled from the ocean's depth.
Occasionally one would stoop to speaking in English to us but little of what they said made much sense. Take, as an instance, one obese sandy haired individual telling us just how they had beaten the European Union at every turn and how the collapsing UK economy was good for Britain.
Another was speaking to himself, apparently unsurprised no one wanted to listened to him, declaiming into his beard how much better Britain would be if only everyone was English and voted Tory rather than being Scottish, Welsh or Irish.
We searched high and low for the captain or first mate of the Mayceleste but of them there was no sign. Some of the crew said they had already jumped overboard, others said they were hiding on the orlop deck as they feared a mutiny, a few were certain they did not exist in anything but their own imagination.
The goats in the pen below the quarter deck seemed to be bleating "SNP Baad" at anyone who came near them.
Yet as we searched we found not one who could understand just how dangerously the Mayceleste was bearing onto the rocks of ignorance, bigotry and arrogance bringing with it the ship's inevitable destruction. Nor was there any concern for any of the ordinary people their stupidity and lack of concern would drag beneath the waves to their inevitable death and destruction of their families. They would be alright with their Cayman Island tax exempt life rafts, so hard luck for the 'little people" it was their own fault the little people were poor, was it not?
We returned to our row boat and cast off, relieved to get off the tawdry and lifeless decks of the Mayceleste. We left feeling unclean, our humanity stripped from us - just a little, the stench of unearned privilege in our nostrils and the fear if we also held on such a course as the Mayceleste, we too were doomed.
Our hearts lifted only once we tucked under the stern of the Scotia and being safe home. We had tales to tell of what we had seen and heard but who would believe any of our tales of our experience aboard the Mayceleste, they were to far fetched; surely?
"Port side oars give way and in board", called the coxswain in his muted voice as he brought us alongside the silent vessel. In the bows a seaman caught the chains and we bumped against the hull to leewards. There was no challenge from anyone aboard, only an oppressive silence, so dark, so evil, a silence foretelling doom, a silence that bares no breaking nor challenge.
We crept onto the main deck and in the dim light of our lantern saw scenes no sane man or woman should suffer. At first we believed we had stumbled on a ship of zombies but those before us were beyond any ability to act on their own volition or move without any call of authority. They appeared to be living in a world far torn from this dimension of earthly experience, signalling to each other by the waving of champagne flutes and calling gull like to one another "I'm OK, yah." It was not they did not see us but looked through us as if we were not there, as if we were some creature which had crawled from the ocean's depth.
Occasionally one would stoop to speaking in English to us but little of what they said made much sense. Take, as an instance, one obese sandy haired individual telling us just how they had beaten the European Union at every turn and how the collapsing UK economy was good for Britain.
Another was speaking to himself, apparently unsurprised no one wanted to listened to him, declaiming into his beard how much better Britain would be if only everyone was English and voted Tory rather than being Scottish, Welsh or Irish.
We searched high and low for the captain or first mate of the Mayceleste but of them there was no sign. Some of the crew said they had already jumped overboard, others said they were hiding on the orlop deck as they feared a mutiny, a few were certain they did not exist in anything but their own imagination.
The goats in the pen below the quarter deck seemed to be bleating "SNP Baad" at anyone who came near them.
Yet as we searched we found not one who could understand just how dangerously the Mayceleste was bearing onto the rocks of ignorance, bigotry and arrogance bringing with it the ship's inevitable destruction. Nor was there any concern for any of the ordinary people their stupidity and lack of concern would drag beneath the waves to their inevitable death and destruction of their families. They would be alright with their Cayman Island tax exempt life rafts, so hard luck for the 'little people" it was their own fault the little people were poor, was it not?
We returned to our row boat and cast off, relieved to get off the tawdry and lifeless decks of the Mayceleste. We left feeling unclean, our humanity stripped from us - just a little, the stench of unearned privilege in our nostrils and the fear if we also held on such a course as the Mayceleste, we too were doomed.
Our hearts lifted only once we tucked under the stern of the Scotia and being safe home. We had tales to tell of what we had seen and heard but who would believe any of our tales of our experience aboard the Mayceleste, they were to far fetched; surely?
Thank goodness you avoided the SS Trumptanic on its head on collision course with the iceberg of the rest of the world.
ReplyDeleteVery good thanks. Certianly seems like what was far fetched, is becoming reality now. On the brink of madness, with a few extremely rich, corrupt as hell gits actually ruling the world, pulling the strings, while ensuring misery and destruction for the rest.
ReplyDeleteThe humans of earth have sunk so low, what happens next is another story, a frightening, dark, apocalyptic one. Not to be too doom n gloom, but who really will inherit the earth. The wrong people have too much power, the future looks grim. Sad indeed.