I fell hook, line and stinker in the drink

DURiNG the early 1960s, i was starting out in the Merchant Navy as a cabin boy on a ship that was due to sail from Falmouth deep water docks in Cornwall to Australia and New Zealand for 18 months. i was invited ashore to join a shipmate who was celebrating his 21st birthday, even though i wasn’t old enough to enter a pub. Needless to say, several hours later we were the worse for wear.

We staggered back to the docks munching tiddy oggies — Cornish pasties — from a lady selling them in a wicker basket outside the pub. We were playing football with an empty milk carton when i took several paces backwards intending to kick it as far as possible. Next thing i knew, i was falling at least 20 ft into the icy water of the dock. even though i was wearing a brand new suit, i managed to swim 100 yards to the bank at the end of the dock. Just as i managed to scramble up the slimy, oily, muddy bank, my shipmate stretched out an arm to help me — and disappeared past me into the dock. He eventually managed to swim back to the bank.

We were staggering along the dock road covered head to food in black, oily mud, feet squelching, teeth chattering and laughing hysterically, when a taxi came along. We flagged him down and jumped in. He started to pull away, then immediately stopped and chucked us out when he saw the mess we were making of his seats. then the taxi driver suddenly recognised me. i was going out with his daughter and we were at the holding hands stage of our relationship. He told me in no uncertain terms that my romance was over.

Micky Green, Chelmsford, Essex.