A few years ago, a job came up during Summer to work in a beer tent at the Navy Days event in Portsmouth’s Historic Dockyard. Being the history-obsessed jobless student that I was, this naturally seemed perfect for me. I got the job, and ended up working on the bar alongside two very proud lesbian girls around my age and a shy foreign girl,who I would only now recognise if there was a mobile phone being held no more than two inches from her face.
I originally thought our beer tent was in the best position out of all the beer tents at the dockyard. It was just a stone’s throw from the local radio station’s stall, where songs were being blasted so loudly I could sing along and no one would notice. Unfortunately, we were also a stone’s throw in the other direction from the parade ground, where the Royal Marines marching band and a bagpipe band were taking it in turns to perform. As I result, I spent three days listening to interesting remixes of Lady Gaga and bagpipes, or Rihanna and Trombones, and was left trying to decide if it was either someone deaf or someone 'not all there' had organised the layout of the stalls.
At the intervals, I must admit I was relieved to get my hearing (and sanity) back. As the bagpipe band swarmed into the tent like a horde of overweight school girls, I discovered this wasn't going to happen. It turns out that when Scotsmen have an ale or two, they become both prouder and rowdier, if that is at all possible.
“Ach, Bonny-“
“My name’s Jenni,” I repeatedly corrected them.
“-Ah bit Ah can play Amazin’ Grace quicker than ye can poor me a pint!”
“But, it’s almost don-“
But he was off. He played Amazing Grace like a child proudly telling his uninterested mum the alphabet for the hundredth time, while his band members sat on park benches in the corner banging their drums and feet in accompaniment with one hand, and downing a pint of Spitfire with the other. The first time it was thoroughly enjoyable. I stress the word first. By the end of the day, I was in half a mind to write a letter to the descendants of John Newton and get them to change the title of the song to ‘Extremely Annoying Grace’.
On the second day, things drastically improved. Two of the young Royal Navy boys who I had spotted walking outside the tent on duty the day before eventually came in to have a chat and escape the noise outside (honestly, I don’t blame them). As I was the only one working on the bar that could hold a decent conversation without stopping halfway through a sentence and shouting ‘cor, she’s well fit!’ or giggling like a Japanese school girl at a text I’d just received, they repeatedly came and spoke to me.
Their names were Phil and Rob. They carried themselves with a sense of masculine superiority, as if wearing the uniforms suddenly transformed them into heathen sexual gods. In any case, it worked, because I found myself wanting to talk to them more and more, and not only as an excuse to save me from the slurring flirtatious passes from the Scotsmen. Rob was a relatively new recruit at 23, having waited a year to be enrolled in the Navy after deciding he wanted a career change from a decorator, while Phil, 28, had been in the navy for five years as a scuba diver. It was his job to dive down under the sea to mend the damage to the ships. This, he told me, meant he got paid an extra two £2000 a month, which, I’m going to admit, made me suddenly find him slightly more attractive than I had previously thought (What? A girl needs shoes...)
Unfortunately, they weren't around to save me, when the Scotsmen insisted I come out from behind the bar and have a go with their bagpipes (I ignored the obvious innuendo here), while the other 3 girls had a go on some of the drums.
It took a while, but apparently I’m 'quite the natural blower' (cue more hearty Scottish laughing and my face turning scarlet). I was then suddenly left in a state of confusion when I realised I had somehow just agreed to join their bagpipe band and would be along to their meeting next Tuesday at 7pm in Gosport and no, I really can’t wait either. Well... I guess that would be one thing that would give my CV a bit of sparkle.
My new friendships worked to my advantage as at the end of the three days, as all the staff working at the Navy Days celebrated at the dockyards local pub, the Ship Anson, where, conveniently, Navy personnel get twenty per cent discount on all drinks (I liked my new friends even more). Everyone was there, and the bagpipe band were now sprawled out in the middle of the pub, using their drums as tables and challenging each other to arm wrestles. I quickly went outside with Phil and Rob as I could imagine the inside of the pub soon resembling a Western brawl with the locals (“Ah bit Ah can plee Amazin’ Grace looder than ye can tell me tae piss aff!”).
As I was outside making small talk with the boys , I noticed a plaque on the wall (I do love a good fact). It turns out that The Ship Anson’s beer garden was once the site of a pub named The London Tavern, famous for originating the expression ‘to take the King’s Shilling’. The pub’s owner in the 1600s, Louise Walcott, used to drop coins into her unwary customer’s tankards, and, traditionally, once they drank, they had taken the King’s shilling and were thus recruited unwillingly into the Navy. Some 26,000 men were reported to have been recruited by Louise in this way.
As we went back inside for another drink (“Ah bit mah pipe is bigger than yoors!”) I rummaged inside my purse for some coins, but unfortunately only had notes, and somehow didn’t think taking the Queen’s soggy fiver would have the same effect.
I thought about going to the bagpipe rehearsals, but changed my mind, on account of wanting to keep my hearing.
0 comments:
Post a Comment