Texas Size KILL ZONE

A sobering link, BillyDoc. Thanks for pointing us in that direction.

 

Well said BillyDoc, but don't go getting the wee Scotsman agreeing with ye too often tis a dangerous thing being in agreement with him and an American too (Ok so your ex Navy which part way cancels the colonial thing but you can't be to careful)
Not only that it's nice to see you back in harness, missed you for a while, well I got to have more than Bergaila and Bolton who'll talk to me!

 

Ah Walrus - I'll let you into a secret about BillyDoc. Not only is he ex-Navy but he is also dyslexic - and his real name is BillyMac (an adjustment of spelling) - a true Scot, so 10 out of 10 for that. The reverse use of the Mac in names denoted a clan which walked backwards to ensure the English couldn't sneak up and stab them in the rear. Unfortunately Billy's clan, being so intent on guarding their backs that they stepped off the cliffs near Aberdeen but kept on walking until they re-emerged on the east coast of America, where while pausing to wring-out their kilts they were adopted by the Cherokee native Americans. (Cherokee means 'hairy thighed beings emerging from the sea...)

Oh and Bolton says he's never going to talk to you again, ever... ::

 

The true history . . .

Ah, Bergalia,

You got it almost right . . . except for a detail or two.

As you no doubt remember those cliffs you speak of are somewhat high over the water and a man wearing a kilt does not have much protection over his, er, parts when so attired even though he be ready for immediate action at all times. And also, since this event you speak of took place in the winter of 1620 it was a bit chilly for bathing, and besides my Gra-Grandfather Robert did not hold with bathing at all . . . being true to the Celtic view of such things.

So Robert did not march directly to the Colonies after backing off the cliffs, but waded and pole-vaulted in the surf instead to a town where a ship could be rented on the cheap . . . that being in Plymouth near where Walrus once worked, I believe. Oh, but it was a cold winter in 1620, and Gra Grandpa having taken to the surf a bit un-prepared was a mite frozen about those parts normally used for thinking and this caused him to make a terrible mistake. In his defense, though, the prices were very reasonable, and this fact turned Gra Grandpa’s mind somewhat and he forgot about the “getting what you pay for” thing and hired an English captain and boat for his trip to the New World. The “MayFlower” was the boat, and the captain’s name shall be forgotten from this family forever because he was no much of a sailor. Y’see, Gra Grandpa paid hard coin that could a been used more productively on beer and rum for a trip to Virginia in the New World . . . but the captain of this MayFlower had a broken Backstaff and missed the latitude of his landing by a full five and a half degrees and landed him in what is now the State of Massachusetts. . . which navigation would be acceptable under British Standards even today, of course, but certainly not by Scots.

Oh, and Robert did meet Indians upon his arrival . . . and it was certainly true that his thighs were hairy (a family trait) . . . but this was not the thing that most impressed his new hosts. It was a cold winter in 1620 . . . but I mentioned that already. Anyway, Gra Grandpa left the Cliffs of Aberdeen a bit unprepared for his journey to the New World and was forced to do a bit of fishing for supplies along the way. But he had no tackle with him besides what was given him by his Ma and his Pa and was kept ever ready and accessible under his kilt. But Gra Grandpa, being resourceful, made a wager with the English sailors of the crew that he could take a fish with his parentally provided tackle if they would but provide him with a rope with which to retrieve it. These English sailors, like sailors everywhere were generous and kind to Gra Grandpa and loaned him his rope.

By the time Gra Grandpa arrived at Cape Cod he was well provided with a complete outfit of whale-skin kilts and shirts and came ashore with several bags of whale-teeth for barter, all decorated with scratched-on pictures of Mermaids and Gra-Grandpa’s own fishing exploits. The Indians, seeing the hair and the bags of teeth, and being besides downwind and caught unaware of the danger posed by the presence of an English vessel with a Scotsman aboard who had been fishing . . . feinted dead away!

Gra-Grandpa was a kind and generous man and was much taken aback by this reaction! But as chance would have it, he positioned himself to leeward of his victims and they did survive the experience, later giving him the name Cushma, which was derived from the sound they made as they gagged and swooned. This name was later Anglicized to Cushman.

I just thought you gentlemen would like to know the true version of this history, so I included it here. You were very close, Bergalia, but then I imagine your ancestors were smarter than mine and managed to not fall backwards off the damn cliffs, so you couldn’t have known how it really came out.

 

And you wonder why we "colonials" are somewhat strange. Coming from that kind of stock, how else could we be!

 

An excellent summary BillyDoc. This is the history as handed down around the smouldering peat fires late into the Highland nights. (After endless repeats of 'I love Lucy')
However, Bill, and much as I hate it - I must, if not spring to the defence, at least limp to the defence of the English Captain, a certain John Bunyon. You may remember this gentleman was somewhat 'visually impaired' and only recently released from a spell in Bedford Jail - (hence the landfall now known as 'New Bedford'.) It was the forementioned Englishman who was entrusted with the 'Pilgrim's Progress....'

 

No, no, Bergalia . . . too much Lucy! (You must be VERY careful about too much exposure to American TV re-runs) John Bunyon wrote the "Pilgrams Progress" but Christopher Jones was captain of the Mayflower. But you are quite right about John Bunyon being "visually impaired," that is, he suffered visions. Modern scholars claim he may have suffered from "religious/scrupulosity obsessive-compulsive disorder." Whatever THAT is.

Christopher Jones, on the other hand, was a good enough seaman (by English standards) when he wanted to be, it's just that the rumored 100 pounds he was paid to make a wee five and a half degree navigational error crossed his eyes somewhat and he couldn't read his Backstaff properly. Which is nothing more than a sextant of sorts after all, just big and clumsy. And backwards, of course so perfect for use “down under.”

Anyway, five and a half degrees of longitude is close to 330 nautical miles and would be even further if you were to do the calculation on land and have to take into consideration the statutes! I should think that any true Scots sailor could do better than that using the width of his thumbnail held at arm’s length as a measure for his degrees! And remember, the English in those days didn’t even bother with latitude, being content to just wander on down to whatever longitude they wanted and coast along it until they ran into something. It saved learning to do your sums, I suppose, and did mean you got to stay at sea longer - - - so maybe it wasn’t such a bad navigational practice after all.

It’s a good thing your ancestors took pity on their poor English neighbors and eventually taught them a little seamanship. Mine, of course, were busy in the New World at the time or we would have done it. It is, after all, a joint-stock company in all meridians and we do need to share these things. And you can be proud of your pupils because they do seem to have the basic principles down now . . . more or less.

Bill

 

A flaw in your argument, Bill...Surely the Statute of Liberty wasn't built in those days.....

 

Oh, Aye, Bergalia,

And the damn dyslexia struck me down again as well, as I see that I mixed me latitude with me longitude . . . and not for the first time.

It's because of me sister, and the worry of it. Y'see, she's a fine lass well into marriageable age (I can't tell you how much she's into that age for fear of me life) and has not yet found her man. She’s a fine lass, as I said, and proudly shows her True Scot heritage well, hairy thighs and all. But we find ourselves living here in the Colonies with a disproportionate portion of the English, and they have no appreciation of Scots beauty, or it may be that the dear girl’s strength frightens them. She did win the hammer throw at last summer’s games . . .

So if you know of a brave young Scotsman in need of a fine woman, send him around!

And by the way, have ye heard from the Walrus? I fear he may do himself harm from embarrassment at his countryman’s poor navigation, and that would make me sad indeed. I don’t hold him responsible for Christopher Jone’s work, that was way before he was born in any case. Walrus is a fine lad, for an Englishman, don’t you agree? And it's always good to hear his opinions.

Bill

 

No arguement with the hairy thighs bit if my wife is anything to go by Billy Doc, but surely not a fine Englishman!!!!!!!!!!

 

Ach, Paul,

If you had a sister like mine you would appreciate . . . desperation. It is not for no reason that we Celts traditionally have to pay a dowry to encourage someone to "take an interest" in our women.

And, though not common, I've known a few decent Englishmen in my time. Not very good sailors, mind, but decent enough for the job at hand . . . if they avoid the sea. Walrus comes to mind in this regard.

Walrus, do ye have a woman?

Bill

P.S. Paul, I see your wife doesn't read these yarns either. Or, rather, if I don't hear from you again . . . I'll know she does!

 

There we have it Bill. The link between: "Englishmen - Job in hand (though your dyslexia is showing again. I think you mean 'hand job' - and especially Walrus....)

In fact here in Australia those who indulge in what was once delicately known as 'self abuse' - (with AIDS in mind a growing number) - are now said to be practising 'Safe Walrus'.

 

Ah! Bergalia it’s genius you be showing to put it all together like that! And proud I am that it was me own dyslexia that provided the seed.

It all fits! Many has been the night sailing single-handed when nothing but a good SafeWalrus would provide comfort . . . even though safety was not at issue. And when in strange ports, like, for example, in the South of England where a poor sailor can get himself pregnant with little bugs if he should forget himself . . . why I remember visiting in a pub in Chichester where I may have had a wee dram or two too many and there was this fair lass very reminiscent of the lassies at home or maybe a Walrus in a kilt, (those attractive hairy thighs . . .) who rebuffed me and left me to the Safety of me own bunk. She was not unkind of course, said something like “take yer slobber off me buzzoms, Ducks, afore I has to deck yer skinny arse . . .” or was it “take yer gobber off me . . .” Hell, I can’t remember. But, ah, the sweet dreams. A Walrus in a kilt . . . and no worries. Safe.

I believe the English put a LOT of alcohol in their beer.

Which, mind, is one thing the English do do very well! Beer, that is. The American stuff tastes like it was filtered through a Mule.

 

BillyDoc - my wife has just told me a Safewalrus is all i will be getting from now on - she must have been looking over my shoulder to get my password - dash it all........................

 

Brianeiland - just come across project seahorse which I did not know about until 5 minutes ago - http://seahorsefisheries.ubc.ca/ - maybe you have heard of it, might be worth speaking to them although they are probably aware of it anyway.