One blustery morning Nik and I boarded the Admiral 11 at Kingstown to cross the channel, and noticed a coffin on the cargo deck surrounded by funeral wreaths. It was Jolly (Jerome) Joseph’s coffin, and that day’s crossing to Bequia would be his last. The atmosphere on board was somber, the island was still in shock from the manner in which he had died, and seeing the coffin served as an ugly reminder of the shooting incident that had taken his life.
Nik and I made our way up to the Admiral’s bridge (it’s where all sea captains gather), and I settled in my usual spot as the ramp was raised. My mind had been so focused on the coffin in the hold I hadn’t noticed how miserable the weather was, but once we ventured into the channel it became quite obvious we were in for a rough ride. VERY rough. Afterwards, many who had been on board that day claimed Jerome had kicked up the seas for his last ride, and who could possible blame him!?
Sweet Jaysus, I will NEVER forget that crossing, it was downright terrifying! The waves were huge, tossing the ferry about like a cork as they beat at the stern. I admit that I am not a good sailor, but anyone would have been frightened that day. The squalls were non-stop, and the rain so heavy that visibility was totally obscured, obscured to the point that the ferry’s radar couldn’t pick up land masses. The bridge fell silent with tension when the captain announced that he couldn’t tell how close to Bequia the ship was without the help of the radar. When sweat breaks out on a captain’s brow you just KNOW there’s cause for alarm! My anxiety was heightened when the purser appeared on the bridge wearing a life jacket, his eyes big and rounded with fright. I was shaking with fear and, although Nik did his best to reassure me, I broke down and cried.
I didn’t stop shaking until the Admiral had rounded the point into the shelter of Admiralty Bay, at which point the men on the bridge began to tease me unmercifully for having cried. The purser (no longer wearing a life-jacket) laughed the hardest, telling me that my two daughters were a lot braver than I, and he was going to tell them their mother had cried because of a few waves. I made a deal with the crew; I would treat them all to pizza as long as they didn’t tell my children what a coward I had been during the crossing! We shook hands on the deal, and I duly ordered take-out pizzas for the entire crew on the VHF radio.
Nik and I went to Jerome’s funeral in Hamilton. The church was packed; Jerome had been extremely popular, and many had turned out to pay their respects. I was saddened when the Priest talked about the sins of the deceased at a time when friends and family were mourning his loss, and it served as a reminder why I rarely attend funerals. The service for a loved one being laid to rest should be filled with comfort and solace, not with visions of the deceased burning in Hell! Why add more pain to an already painful occasion?
When I collected Vanessa and Rachel from the ferry at 5:30 I was still somewhat shaken by the day, between the rough crossing and Jerome’s heart-breaking funeral I wasn’t in the cheeriest of moods. My mood wasn’t improved when Nik’s first words on seeing the girls were;
“Hey gurls – you’ll never guess what your mother did today! She cried like a baby up on the bridge because the sea was rough!”
What a colossal waste of pizza; it never once occurred to me that I needed to bribe my husband as well as the crew!
I hear you loud and clear. I been through the rough seas in my youth, I know how bad it can get. I never cried though. In those days we didn’t have big ferries, we had small sail boats, which took you to a pinnacle of a wave, and not an idea how you going to get down in the valley and up on the next wave. I glad you survived.
You are okay. The purser, whomever, probably laughed when he heard Capt Marsh had offloaded his passengers from the Fantome to go ride out the storm-hurricane Katrina. Nuff said. You should be paid double for any pizzas handed out free. R Barr
Well said.