We lost our Pops, James Wastell, this week. At 92, he had a lifetime of stories and tales to tell us, which he would love to do – with gusto – as often as he could find a willing audience. A few years ago I started writing them down for posterity. This is one of my favourites.
And so it is that I find myself once again sipping wine with my dear old Grandfather and conversation turns to his Naval exploits as a young man.
Today, we are sat in his sitting room, where the chairs are more comfortable than any I have ever known. My Grandmother keeps the sitting room immaculate at all times, I suppose in case important guests should descend at any moment. How often this happens, I cannot be sure, but the sitting room always looks as if some dignitary or other is about to step through the door. The rest of the house is equally beautiful, of course, but the sitting room particularly so.
My favourite feature (apart from the elaborate and well-stocked drinks cabinet, of course) is the fireplace. It is not lit today as it is hardly the weather for it, but it is striking nonetheless. My Grandmother makes excellent fires and is something of a pyromaniac. I think this is why my Grandfather has always ensured that every house they have ever lived in has had a fireplace, lest she should turn her arsonist tendencies to other, less suitable, parts of the family home.
So as I snuggle contentedly in the armchair and sip my wine, my Grandfather says to me
“Did I ever tell you about my brief sideline in smuggling when I was in the Navy?”
He has told me this, of course he has. But it is a super story so I say
“I don’t think so, Pops. Tell me!”
“I will,” he beams, taking a substantial glug of wine to prepare himself. “When we were in the Navy, we were issued with a monthly ration of rum and tobacco. Being a sportsman, I wasn’t interested in the tobacco, although I was quite appreciative of the rum!”
My mind wanders to another of his stories, which involved far too much rum, which I will recount at another time.
“The chaps that didn’t smoke would often exchange their tobacco with their smoking ship mates for rum or money or other things. I, however, was all together more enterprising than those chaps.”
“Really?” I ask. “In what way?”
“Did you know your Nan’s father used to own a sweet shop in Putney in South London?”
“Yes, I remember Nan telling me about the shop”
“Well, he also sold tobacco in the shop, as was common at the time. I used to bring him my tobacco rations and he would mix it in with the tobacco he sold there. He gave me some money for it, of course, and that paid for my train fare home. This was when I based at Devonport, in Plymouth, so it was a four hour train journey from my home in London. Quite an expensive journey, at that.”
“But how did you get the tobacco off the ship?” I ask. “Surely Customs would have stopped you!”
My Grandfather’s eyes twinkle with delight as he recalls his ingenious method.
“I used to take my tobacco and flatten it all out in my soap bag. I would then put it under my mattress and leave it there for about a month. By the time I came to go ashore, it was quite flat. I would strap it to my body before getting on the Liberty Boat.”
“What was the Liberty Boat?”
“The ship was about two hundred yards from the shore, so you had to get on a little boat to take you to the dock. That was the Liberty Boat. Anyway, once I got to the shore I would try and keep as far away from the Customs men as possible, but they watched everyone and I got patted down several times. But they could never detect my tobacco, as I had flattened it out so well!” At this, my Grandfather laughs out loud and slaps the arm of his chair. I cannot help but join him in his laughter, and praise his entrepreneurial endeavours.
This is one of my very favourites of my Grandfather’s stories and was a little surprising to me as he has always been a man of such upstanding honesty and integrity. To imagine him undertaking such a devious and underhanded activity is quite difficult, but I must admit to feeling the greatest of admiration. Should I ever consider a career in smuggling, he will be the first person I turn to for advice.
Lucy Brazier 