Thank goodness for the foolhardy

MICHAEL COX

"Foolhardy" is such a demeaning word. Laura Dekker, the 16-year-old around the world yachts woman, was called foolhardy by Dutch officials as she started her amazing voyage. On her successful return, the same zealous, interfering, busybody public servants could only complain that she'd missed too much schooling; what planet are they from?

For goodness' sake, Neil Armstrong was "foolhardy" as he blasted off for the moon; Captain Robert Falconer Scott was just as "foolhardy" as he sailed into the Antarctic's ice en route for the South Pole. Columbus was probably thought of as extremely "foolhardy" as he sailed from Spain into the Atlantic, it being a dead certainty that he and his crew would fall off the edge of the world.

Thank goodness for "foolhardy" people, they make the world a far more exciting place.

Some associate foolhardiness with a total lack of fear, and in my experience that can be true. Such people are hard to live with, but they make the space around them fizz.

My cabin mate Tony, 17 years old, was one of this breed. He proved it to me on our first night aboard as, despite strict orders not to leave the vessel, he wriggled out of our porthole and down the mooring lines en route for the nearest pub.

He had a thing about officialdom, and being a cadet on a training ship in the 1950s was not the best place for that attitude. He always seemed to be in trouble and would return to our cabin with a smirky smile after every dressing down from on high. Once he was caught doing handstands on the taffrail of the bridge as we steamed at 15 knots across the Pacific.

His reason for this death defying antic? "I was bored, Sir."

Another event saw both of us disobeying the edict that one should wear full uniform ashore. To insure we complied, we were inspected prior to our departure from the vessel. Once down the gangway we grabbed the bag thrown to us by a complicit mate on board, hid behind some cargo cases on the wharf and began changing into jeans and our best Marks and Sparks shirts and pullovers – far more suitable gear for a visit to "Dirty Dicks", a hard case tavern just up the road in West Ham. A beam of light from the local wharf cop shone on us at the critical moment when our trousers were down, but had not yet been replaced. "Allo allo allo," he boomed. "What's all this then, a spot of sodomy?"

In those days such nefarious activities were punishable with a prison sentence.

"No, Sir," we both said. "We were just changing from our uniform to go up the road a bit."

Didn't want to let on that we were going to the pub, as we were both under age and had signed the Companies Indentures stipulating that "we would not visit ale houses, nor houses of ill repute", and Dirties was probably a bit of both. He took pity on us young heterosexuals and swung his boot in our general direction, dismissing us with a "gerroff wid ya".

I only learnt of Tony's background when visiting Galveston in Texas, after a night trying to see how much Budweiser beer we could drink.

Tony decided he wanted a tattoo. He awoke the next morning with a map of Texas and the words "Texas 1958" tattooed over his left shoulder. The fear of my mother's appalled reaction had stopped me an inch away from the needle and getting an anchor emblazoned on top of my hand. When Tony realised that his tat was permanent, I saw the only trace of fear ever to cross his face. "Jeepers, my old man is going to hit the roof over this."

I asked why.

"My old man is Vice Admiral in the Royal Navy, and doesn't approve."

We parted after our four-year apprenticeship. Many years later I'd heard that Tony had been delivering a yacht from San Francisco to Auckland and had piled it up on the reef surrounding Rarotonga. I saw its remains still there several years later.

Apparently he came to a sad end. He was first mate on one of Jardine's vessels in the China Navigation Company. They paid good money, but it was a risky area of the world to be plying one's trade. Apparently Tony was killed either by boarding pirates or mutinying crew, it was never clear.

I always suspected Tony would never live out his natural years. He may have been foolhardy, but I surely valued our friendship.

- © Fairfax NZ News