For this, I must briefly tell the story that started 5 days ago when we were still in the vicinity of the lightship Borkum.
At night, it was very cold, very wet, and all hands were on deck. I shivered for hours, was tired for hours and for days damp through and through. Then there came the only solution to take into consideration. To vanish off without permission. Having some practice, like others, to hide myself in the potatoes cellaret where now only empty potato sacks could be found. I was looking for protection from the rigors of the gloomy world amongst these. Even before I fell sound asleep between the bags, a newcomer remarked “It smells much like perfume in here.” But that hardly entered my mind, being half asleep.
Three days ago, we had arrived in Brake on the Weser. The whole time was filled with work. The day before yesterday we still went ashore and in the whale-bar on the dike, where the hostess, no sooner had I responded to a question from her, where she told me strait in my face, “Listen, you greenhorn, can you do something else than serve us lies? ” After that I did not speak another word with her that evening because what I had said to the bar-lady was pure truth. Then one of the attending colleagues, that were there, asked whether we should sing our song to show what we have learned.
Only on the Weser, I woke up and smelled the perfume scent. As it dawned on me: the vessel’s command had spilled the stuff in quantities to identify quitter! That was shocking! How long would I remain undetected? But no one came and sniffed around me or others. Everyone was too distracted by the Weser ride and mooring at the port facility in Brake on the lower Weser-river.
So I went – along with a dozen colleagues – that evening after entering port to the wale-bar on the dike. Then suddenly the bar-lady stood in front of me, as she snapped at me right away: “Here you are spreading a terrible smell of violets, so I must ask with whom did you sleep?” Slightly irritated, I said something, stammering truthfully: “With potato sacks,” and that gave me the allegation of being a lying greenhorn, hence, the opportunity arrived to sing our “Pamir song” Don’t cry for me Argentina. Even after the second verse other guests sang with us during the evening, including the bar-lady. The song caught on really great.
Be it. The truth is sometimes cranky for landlubbers. I will have to remember this for my next days on vacation.