GOOD OLD BILL
The waves crashed against the side of EchoStar 5, an oilrig
out in the lonely North Sea. Men struggled to
attach equipment which would ultimately be lowered down the hole and connect
with the long tube which would bring oil to the surface to be harvested.
A cry went up, “Number 3’s broke loose!”
Number 3 was the mighty manifold that handled all the oil
streams and delivered them to various valves. Its weight was about four tons
and could make a lot of damage if it got loose and it had got loose!
“Watch your heads!” someone screamed and about five
roughnecks dived to the deck. Hard hats were rolling all over the operations
deck as men tried to avoid the swinging metal behemoth.
The rain decided to increase falling at that exact time and
cables and ropes suddenly became wet and greasy. Men tried to pull on them but
failed to gain any purchase.
All seemed lost and damage to the superstructure was
imminent when help arrived in the form of William Faulkner or as his mates and
colleagues referred to him, ‘Good Old Bill’.
Weighing twenty five stone and built like a brick outhouse,
Bill always seemed to be there at a crisis time…and save the day! His huge
meaty hand stretched up and grabbed the errant piece of machinery and with a
flexing of his muscles he had Number 3 under control. Attachments were made and
the massive manifold slid meekly into its housing.
A few weeks earlier one of the big valves had ruptured and
the escaping gout of oil had connected with a spark and a hundred foot high
burst of flame had erupted from the welldeck. Medics had carried the burnt and
injured from the scene as the bosses had wrestled with the conflagration. All
had seemed lost until a large figure could be seen approaching. Bill had been
asleep on his bunk when the emergency siren had gone off. Grabbing his safety
gear and hard hat, Bill had, rather than heading for a lifeboat station, made
for the source of the problem.
After a quick reconnaissance, Bill had given the bosses his
suggestion and volunteered to put it into action.
Gripping the explosive container and protecting himself with
a heat shield, Bill had lobbed the dynamite into the holocaust and then thrown
himself flat on the deck as the explosion robbed the fire of its oxygen and it
regained its liquid form.
The air resounded with congratulations from his colleagues
and superiors.
“Good old Bill!” “Saviour of the moment!” “What a man!”
“Daydreaming again, Mr Faulkner?” came a voice from behind
him and with the fireside blaze replacing Bill’s memory of the oil fire, he
realised that he had been back again in the ‘old days’.
It had been an exciting time to be alive, but now he was in
an old folk’s home and alone. All he had were his memories and as he grew
older, they seemed to grow more real.
“Yes,” replied Bill, with a little laugh. “You’re right
Sally; I was back in my young days again. It was a good time, with my mates and
Elly…”
Elly and Bill had met in Oldsburgh’s country park. She had
been feeding the ducks in the pond when a large dog had run up and started to
bark at the birds. Elly had tried to shoo the animal away, but it had turned on
her and began to snap aggressively. Bill had been out for a walk when he had
espied the deteriorating situation. Heedless of his own safety, he had stepped
between Elly and the hound and with a mighty slap from his meaty fist had sent
the dog yelping off with its tail between its legs.
Well, after that Elly only had eyes for her big hero. They
went out together for several months and one year later, married. Bill bought
Elly a little cottage on the outskirts of Oldsburgh and they lived there for
many years with Bill returning to the oil rig on a two months on and two months
off schedule.
When Bill was home he would hold his wife in his arms and
tell all about what had been happening on Echostar 5. Elly would laugh when she
heard about the harmless practical jokes that Bill and his work colleagues
would play on each other, but she would look scared and become tearful when
Bill described some of the near accidents that happened and how Bill often came
to the rescue.
“You mustn’t always be the hero, Bill,” she would whisper.
“You must look after yourself … for me.”
On one of his trips home, Bill had bought Elly a bottle of
lavender perfume and she promised that it would be her perfume for ever after. Bill thought the scent reminded him of the
walks that he and Elly would take when they were courting. The lavender smell
would permeate the woodland air and lent a nostalgic note to their love.
One night, Bill had been taken from the rig during his shift
and flown back to the mainland. Sadly, Elly had taken ill and the doctor was
concerned for her as it appeared that her condition was worsening. By the time
Bill reached the hospital Elly was very ill and was lapsing into a coma. Bill
rushed to her side and taking hold of his wife’s hand knelt next to her bed.
“Come on, dearest,” whispered Bill with tears in his eyes.
“Don’t leave me, please.”
Elly’s eyes fluttered open and she gave a very sad smile.
“I will never leave you, Bill,” she managed to say. “I will
be waiting for you…”
Bill put his head down on his wife’s now still breast and
began to weep quietly.
“Wakey, wakey Mr Faulkner,” A nurse said as she entered the
room. “Matron wants us to take some of you down into the town, to get some
fresh air.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go out,” grunted Bill, wiping a tear
from his eye. “I’m quite happy here.”
“No arguments, please,” laughed the nurse, pushing Bill’s
wheelchair away from the fire. “We have to get your coat and scarf on.”
There was a lot of traffic going up and down the road as
Bill and some of his colleagues from the home were pushed along the pavement
into town. The nurses were chattering away as they pushed the wheelchairs and
Bill felt quite content with the sun shining down on him. It was a lovely day
and he was glad the matron had insisted that they go out.
Nearing the town, as they were passing a small newsagent,
one of the nurses said that she had promised that she would pick up some
cigarettes for a patient back at the home. The other nurses put the brakes on
their charges’ wheelchairs and stood waiting. The newsagent was at the head of
a small hill at the bottom of which four little girls were standing on the
pavement. At the side of the pavement behind the girls was a large brick wall.
Several posters had been stuck on the surface of the wall and the girls had
been drawing their names on the posters with crayons.
Suddenly Bill’s attention was drawn to an incident occurring
on a road behind the wall. A lorry had slipped its brakes and was beginning to
career down the road towards the wall. The lorry looked heavy and Bill was sure
that it would smash through the wall or at least knock part of it down. The
little girls would be injured if not killed.
All at once Bill smelt lavender and a gentle voice whispered
in his ear.
“Time to be a hero, Bill.”
Releasing the brake on his wheelchair Bill began rolling
down the hill towards the girls. He was shouting as loud as he could for them
to run away, but like rabbits in a car’s headlights they were frozen to the
spot.
Just as he neared the girls, Bill tipped his wheelchair and
fell to the ground. He crawled over to the wall and just as he reached it he
heard an enormous crash and the wall began to tip forwards.
“Go! Quickly!” screamed Bill, forcing himself upright
against the bricks. The girls all ran away screaming as the big man spread his
muscular arms and for a few seconds held the collapsing wall on his back.
Reaching safety, one of the little girls stopped and turned
round towards a flagging Bill. Bricks had begun breaking loose and falling all
around him, burying him slowly.
“Thank you,” mouthed the little girl and Bill managed a
smile before the darkness fell, when he saw who was standing waiting for him,
behind her.
…………………………………….+…………………………………………..
28/09/2014
Cairniehill
Arbroath
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