"HOT NUTS IN MONTREAL"       

                                                                     

                                                                      

I used to enjoy Montreal back in the late '40's. We were having a real ball there till devaluation of the Pound Sterling in '49 took us down a peg, socially speaking. But there was always ' The Roxy ' Theatre to provide satisfaction with its Burlesque Strip Show and a full length Hollywood movie to follow. We could always afford that venue.  Oh! those big strapping Amazon type birds. Fantastic!  They WERE the "real thing"... no siliconed boobs back in those halcyon days.  My eyes would stick out like dog's balls - or organ stops ... take yer pick!  If the mates couldn't make it I'd go on me tod ... a front row heavy breather !!!  Great Stuff !

What my Chapel mates back home would have given to change places?!!  At 18 I still had to "crack my duck-egg"  (O)  but I was light years nearer doing that than my old "hometown mates".  If the bloody place had ever caught fire while the birds were strutting their stuff & stripping there'd be no show of me getting out walking upright !!! Bowed over like a banana more like. 

And then there was football.  Remember the Montreal Ships' Football League?

I played in it when I was on the 'Manchester Shipper' back in 1949. We were all Manchester lads aboard her and in true Manchester fashion we played ... well, just like Man United have done for years ... like bloody champions! 

We were the top of the League, undefeated for ages.  Until, that is, a mob of "cloggers" came along off an Anchor Line boat out of Glasgow, 'Circassia' or 'Celicia', one or the other !  We didn't meet up with 'em for some time.  We'd generally pass each other up by Inishtrahull Island at the top of Ireland.  'Shipper' had been in dry-dock so the schedules changed for that Summer.  Thus, we met up with these "porridge gobblers" off the tub out of Glasgee !  Hearing of the football skills of the Lancashire Lads it wasn't long before a guy from off the much bigger Caledonian vessel came aboard seeking to fix a date for a match.  No bugger could understand him and it wasn't any different till he'd had some proper "Lancysheer grub" like tripe & onions, pig's trotters and cow-heel to follow, plus 4 bottles of Groves & Whitnalls decent ale ... all of which slowed him down, somewhat, in chat. 

That enabled us to compree this North of the Border "Haggis Muncher". 

Everything arranged re the match, we were picked up on the day of the contest by coach. The team and a fair few of our crew who were going to do the spectator bit all clambered aboard and then off we all went - some few miles out of Montreal to the sports fields. We took along some local players & supporters who always attended these matches to "learn" and at the same time "hiss & boo", if necessary!       

 

We'd not been to this particular "sports complex" before and boy, talk about conditions.  Something akin to the normal grandeur of a London-Greek "ocean greyhound" tramp.  Rough as hell was it !

The changing sheds had no showers, the kahzee was a tin hut with the normal wooden furniture you'd expect in such a structure. God help any poor sod who had to go in there for a "pony & trap", a sit down job ... the busted wooden seat was likely to tear parts off and give you the appearance of an opposite gender member. 

The receptacle had handles and obviously was attended to by "The Night Man" ... on occasion ! 

They'd, without doubt, heard we were playing some very deprived Highland hooligans and thus catered for us accordingly.  However ... I digress.  To the game. 

We scored first and by half time were really showing the "Renfrewshire ratbags" just how to play football.

We were 4 - 1 up, one of which I, at outside left, had scored.  But they were starting to show some promise, in the area of off the ball stuff that is, giving us more than a smidgin of "aggro".  This carry on, prevailed in the 2nd half also and stone me if they didn't beat us by a single goal.  All because of their "clogging" tactics of course, all the usual dirty moves that are employed when the ref's eyes are elsewhere.  Why they didn't all get a red card type sending off, I don't for the life of me know - the bloody goalie 'n all !

We were absolutely "Donald Ducked" at the end of it all and trooped off to rest up in the shed, each of us very definitely battered and bruised ... and very disconsolate what's more. 

"Yahee's & Yahoos" and other jubilation, mostly unintelligible oratory and piss taking, issued from the Gorbals Maritime Glee Club in the next shed. Thank Christ they'd not brought bag-pipes! 

Now during the game, when I'd gone to retrieve the odd, into touch ball, I'd noticed that a Pony Club had the premises next door.  Its members were out on their nags on the adjoining field trotting about and doing little "up & overs" on the obstacle course. Almost all of the riders were birds and "very select" some of 'em were, I might add.

All in their sexy jodphurs & nipped in waisted jackets, boots and "skid lids".  Very tasty! 

I'd also noticed, close by the Club-rooms, a shiny thing about 6 feet long standing on legs and about 3 feet off the deck. Nags would glide up to it and stick their snouts into it. A drinking trough of course. Unfortunately none of the out of play balls ever rolled over far enough for me to get within cooee of the mounted birds for a quick " 'er G'day, how are ya? My word - you do look smart !"  I'd wave to 'em however, and get a wave back. 

Back in the "tumble down shack" the lads, me included, were all bemoaning our downfall at the hands, or feet, I should say, of these gits from the Gorbals.  Most of us were all aches & pains and I was getting some sort of indication that I was going to be as stiff as a bloody board come next morning. The local authority always had a St. John Ambulance type or two in attendance at these games and SHE was busy in our shed with the Elastoplast and ointment caper.  HE, her SJA mate was tending "The Highland Brigade". 

Our Florence Nightingale asked how I was and when told she produced this tin of ointment and gave me a nice rub down of my right leg to way up inside, above my knee.  She had a lovely touch and I'm thankful the lads were there . I could've got carried away !!! 

"What's that stuff" says I, "dunnit pong?" "Wintergreen" says she, "you'll get some real benefit from that,  ... 's good for horses too!"  I can bleedin' believe it!  I'd never come across Wintergreen before, all I knew from back home was good old Zambuk, and Germalene ointment. 

This Wintergreen stuff was strong and all kinds of real heat was permeating the flesh of my right "Ginger Megg".

Boy, it felt good !  I rubbed the sore part of my thigh with my right hand, had a sniff of the hand and boy ... the fumes !  You could practically see the fumes rising to the tin roof.  Bit like a desert mirage ! 

Gradually humour & general chat began to flow amongst our lads.  There being no shower,  we'd tub back aboard. 

"Florence" and her SJA mate departed, their job "well jobbed", as we say in Manchester ... "Garden City of the North West and cultural centre personified" too, I might add !  

I was standing idly with the lads waiting for the coach to return and take us back to the ship and you know how you unconsciously scratch your nuts when there's a bit of an itch, pure delight sometimes innit ... well, that's just what I did, inside of the shorts . Oh, the pleasure of it !!!  If I'd had my wits about me I'd have scratched away using my left hand, but I didn't, did I ? 

Within a very short space of time my "sphericals" felt as if they'd ignited.  I started twitching and leaping about like some bleedin' dancing dervish.  I flew out of the shed and round about looking for a stand pipe to get water from, to splash my fiery nuts.  Nothing!  Christ, what to do?  "Anybody got a bottle of water I can have?"  With everyone dry-throated after the game there was none. The sun had shone and it had been hot tear-arse'ing about all over the muddy pitch. 

Suddenly .  inspiration!  The water trough.

At the speed of light I shot across the paddock and plonked my khyber in the stainless steel trough and the lovely cool water in it.  Like everybody eIse I was unshowered - as mentioned there weren't any showers, so I was still in my muddy playing gear - but at a time like that who gives a "Donald Duck" ?!!!  Any port in a storm eh?! 

With my arms outstretched across the top of the trough I was luxuriating in the delicious cool water, eyes closed - humming away, the sphericals cooling beautifully, when I heard a bird's stentorian tones demanding, "What do you think you are doing ... this water is for the horses ... to drink!"  I opened my eyes to see a darlin' in horsey garb sitting on this gynormous chestnut gee-gee.  Very impressive, the nag ... and her 'n all ! 

Her eyes were slits ... she was angry!  Blind Freddie could've seen that. 

Now, I've always believed in telling it like it is.  What's the bloody point in waffling, going all round the houses to explain.  So I tell this bird ... and stone me - she fell off the gee-gee, in hysterics !!!   I had to get out of the trough smartly and do the gentlemanly act and help her up.  She could have hurt herself but fortunately hadn't.  I dusted her down and I was suddenly aware the wet through clinging shorts were outlining and advertising my parts.

Hand to her mouth she was convulsed again.  

The next thing a posse of her mates rode up under the impression I'd had something to do with her coming to grief with terra firma, all looking as if they were going to alight and give me some "swisho" and deck me. 

She explained to them and there were smiles, some guffaws, screeches even.  Whilst all this was going on I was plucking my wet shorts out to the front to lessen the advertising bit, re the parts. 

The old slogan, "It pays to advertise" had escaped me completely.  Am I a dummy or what??!  

The nuts felt much better.  External temperature of 'em down by about 200 degrees Fahrenheit!!! 

The coach with all the lads aboard drove round and you can imagine the hoots of laughter when they heard 

all about it.  We were all invited for a cuppa and a chocolate wheaten in the Club-rooms. They weren't at all bothered by all the lads' fast drying muddy clobber but I was given the luxury of the shower facility there and changed into my good mocker. 

Boy, did I cop some "michael taking" on the way back to the ship.

"Gizza demo of 'em then" said one comedian. "Yeah ... gerrum down Robbo, gizza squizz " they chanted.

And . being an escapee from Actors Equity ... the theatrical that I am ... I did!  It was a riotous trip back.   

God knows what the Canadian lady driver thought at the sight of my "stern bitts" in her rear vision mirror".

(how apt that is, I just realised)   She hadn't been offended obviously - she had a nice whimsical smile for me as we disembarked back at the dock. 

We were all invited to a Pony Club Tea Dance the following weekend.  The mob of Caledonians couldn't make it as they'd sailed back to the Clyde.  But of our crew of 54 about 35 made it and everybody enjoyed the occasion. 

We invited the club down to the ship for a look around. They enjoyed that and the "Rosie Lea and tabnabs" in the sun, up on the boat deck.  Some of 'em even ventured below to the Engine Room to have a look at the giant  "Mixmaster" which drove the ship. Only one I remember, baulked at the ladders and all the expanded metal gratings. 

The club and ship shared more socializing events that trip and the next. Halcyon days they sure were. 

Finale.

The darlin' on the chestnut nag I saw quite a bit of, more particularly on our next trip to Montreal.

Under the stars, on the top of Mount Royal.  Boy, she was some view.  The city looked good 'n all !!                                                                                                                                                                    

And then ... it was 'Ice Time' on the St. Lawrence, the river froze and Halifax NS became the terminal port. 

High time I buggered off back on a "sun run".  You know what the North Atlantic is like lads, between November and April. 

It was OZ, Sydo & Bondi for me.  "Stuff the pay-off, lets go home brown !!" 

Deborah & I wrote for some 5 years. My wanderings took me everywhere but Montreal.

Alas - I never saw her again. 

I wonder if she ever thinks of me now ... and my "Hot nuts in Montreal".

I hope she does and gets a laugh ...  it's for sure I do.