The Bothnia Star
This relatively long free verse poem is loosely based on my autobiographical short story ‘Mayday’.
It describes the events surrounding a ship with a timber cargo on one October night
in the English Channel. For artistic reasons some details have been changed or omitted from the poem.
Any resemblance to any events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Listen to: The Bothnia Star
Part 1 - A Warning
The letter and photos lay on my desk,
sent from Archangelsk in Russia,
by a frightened, but courageous young seaman
with no one to turn to for help.
The pictures were of two of our ships
loaded at Baltic Sea ports,
full and deep-laden with packs of sawn timber
bound for the African coast.
The sunlit waters of the western Med
glittered and lapped at their main decks
as they anchored after ten days at sea;
then, I saw why he was pleading with me.
Both ships were laden too deep in the water;
their captains had risked
their lives and those of their crews
—for a bribe.
They were but two of three of our ships
that worked in that lucrative trade;
this is the tale of another,
the ill-fated Bothnia Star.
Part 2 - The Captain
Today, when the BBC forecast warns
of gales in Fitzroy and Sole
in the Western Approaches,
I think of the captain of Bothnia Star.
The Russian captains were reticent men,
trained in the old days, the Soviet days,
afraid of their leaders, though not of the sea,
and shy in command.
The captain came from Murmansk,
and spent his life in the north,
trading in the ice
and storm-frequented seas.
He knew his job, I had no doubt,
and I'd like to paint him as brave,
guilty only of misjudgement, perhaps;
but owe it to the seamen to open my eyes.
Corruption breeds like bacteria,
so I’ve damned him as guilty
and doubt that I’m wrong,
but corruption sows uncertainty too.
It describes the events surrounding a ship with a timber cargo on one October night
in the English Channel. For artistic reasons some details have been changed or omitted from the poem.
Any resemblance to any events or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Listen to: The Bothnia Star
Part 1 - A Warning
The letter and photos lay on my desk,
sent from Archangelsk in Russia,
by a frightened, but courageous young seaman
with no one to turn to for help.
The pictures were of two of our ships
loaded at Baltic Sea ports,
full and deep-laden with packs of sawn timber
bound for the African coast.
The sunlit waters of the western Med
glittered and lapped at their main decks
as they anchored after ten days at sea;
then, I saw why he was pleading with me.
Both ships were laden too deep in the water;
their captains had risked
their lives and those of their crews
—for a bribe.
They were but two of three of our ships
that worked in that lucrative trade;
this is the tale of another,
the ill-fated Bothnia Star.
Part 2 - The Captain
Today, when the BBC forecast warns
of gales in Fitzroy and Sole
in the Western Approaches,
I think of the captain of Bothnia Star.
The Russian captains were reticent men,
trained in the old days, the Soviet days,
afraid of their leaders, though not of the sea,
and shy in command.
The captain came from Murmansk,
and spent his life in the north,
trading in the ice
and storm-frequented seas.
He knew his job, I had no doubt,
and I'd like to paint him as brave,
guilty only of misjudgement, perhaps;
but owe it to the seamen to open my eyes.
Corruption breeds like bacteria,
so I’ve damned him as guilty
and doubt that I’m wrong,
but corruption sows uncertainty too.
Venality’s insidious legacy lurks
unseen for years to bring
catastrophe to ships and reputations,
as easily as any biting rock or uncharted shoal.
Oh, some of the Russians whispered
in their guarded and sinister way,
of the bribes they knew others had taken,
While they—of course, stayed clean.
Some argue the captain was innocent,
merely worn by the strain of command;
though his men were scared to report
how cheaply he held their lives.
Part 3 - Loading Cargo
In the October gloom
of the northern winter
in Kemi on the Finnish coast,
heavy snow swirled and eddied
in light southerly winds,
and settled in drifts on the ship.
The ship’s cranes slewed and dipped,
like arctic wading birds foraging for food,
as stevedores, muffled against the cold,
loaded the last two thousand cubic metres
of softwood packs of pine, spruce, and fir
in tier upon tier on the exposed main deck.
Each pack weighed five tonnes, or more,
but the Bothnia Star was built for the ice
with a crew accustomed to the trade.
As loading neared completion,
they lashed and secured the cargo
with steel wire ropes and chains.
The captain loaded Bothnia Star
for her maximum intake
and his customer’s profit.
He had orders to load deep, to the timber marks,
and knew to load deeper was foolish—and dangerous,
but he knew the customer too.
When Bothnia Star sailed
from Kemi, fully laden,
the wind worsened, veered westerly,
and increased to twenty knots,
The captain knew he’d meet forty knots
in the frigid North Sea.
As Bothnia Star butted through the Baltic,
the short steep seas broke against the hull,
sending sheets of drenching,
icy spray
curling
high over the foredeck.
The landsman might take fright
at the ice, the snow, the dark, the wind and sea,
but the captain lived his life in the North,
and knew what to do;
but had he, like the others, sold his integrity
for some stained and crumpled dollars?
Part 4 - Unwelcome Shipmates
The captain and mate,
worked together by the dim chartroom light,
to review the weather reports
and adjust their courses through the Kattegat,
before pushing out
into the grey North Sea.
Once clear of the Baltic
Bothnia Star met the full force of the gale,
but the captain knew to find shelter, if needed.
He steamed on, southwest
for the English Channel
before turning southwards at Ushant for the Med.
The ship heeled at an angle
by the press of the blasting wind
against the high timber deck cargo,
and rolled sickeningly,
with her decks awash,
in the lumping grey-green seas.
The gusting cold wind bullied the ship.
Surging grey waves broke over the decks,
knee-deep water cascaded,
swirling and foaming
through scuppers and ports.
We don’t know when Fate took command,
but his officers worried
that three unwelcome shipmates,
Fear, Doubt and Indecision had boarded
and clouded his mind.
Did he fear the lashings had loosened?
or had he loaded too deep?
Should he find shelter and run for Dover,
Hamburg or Tees?
Or the Tyne?
His emotions toyed with his mind,
argued and cheated
as if playing at cards,
and the prize
was his conscience.
Part 5 - Mayday!
Those fickle rogues played on,
dealing his cards in his mind
until, forty miles south of Torquay,
Fate threw in her hand,
and the deck cargo
shifted to port!
The timber skewed
and sagged overboard,
held by a few broken wires and chains,
The weight of the cargo
held her at thirty degrees,
and the list still increased.
The ship was in peril.
The captain ordered the crew
to jettison the cargo,
but the deck was awash,
submerged by the seas,
and timber blocked their way,
The crew struggled and failed.
The men grabbed axes,
bolt-cutters and crowbars
to hack, chop and cut,
and fifteen hundred cubic metres of timber,
slowly, at first,
reluctantly,
then it rushed overboard.
The sliding timber
tore and ripped at the steel,
carrying away wires and chains,
rails, stanchions and bitts,
crushing and hurling their fragments
like shrapnel,
across the deck.
Deck pipes and vents,
were torn away
exposing ragged holes in the deck;
cargo spaces,
ballast and fuel tanks,
below
were open to the sea.
The crew ran
stumbling back.
Each thundering wave broke
and surging tonnes,
of seawater poured
into the ship.
The weight of water
cascading below
caused the ship to list further,
the movement of water
was capsizing the ship,
the captain radioed for help
‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday…’
Volunteers in lifeboats
from Plymouth, Alderney, and Guernsey responded,
putting to sea
in that fearful weather,
risking their lives,
to save the stricken ship's crew,
and from Culdrose, a helicopter scrambled to face the fury.
Part 6 - A Close Run Thing
The captain then ordered the crew
to jettison all
the timber on deck,
in a final attempt
to reduce the dragging weight,
but yet more seawater poured down below.
Bothnia Star stayed listing
at an hideous angle;
the oil in the fuel tanks was churned
and fouled by the sea pouring in.
With the engine drawing water
the ship lost power
and stopped.
My telephone rang
and shattered the peace of my evening at home
with my family, unaware of the horror at sea.
The on-scene commander
flying in the chopper above
the wallowing ship
called me.
The pilot was calm
but frustrated,
he needed my help.
He wanted to winch
the crew to safety,
but the captain was gripped
by doubt and refused,
and wanted permission
to abandon the Bothnia Star!
Then the ship broached,
and lay across the driving wind and seas,
waves still pounded and tore at the ship,
submerging
the exposed upper deck.
No captain should wait for such orders;
I ordered him
to do as he must
and abandon the ship,
and cursed him
for awaiting my command.
Part 7 - The Seaman's Plea
Fear, Indecision and Doubt
still argued and raged,
when Fate dealt her hand once more.
The crew got fuel to the engine,
enough to run,
for the lee
of Start Point,
and shelter from the teeth of the storm.
By pumping, pumping, endlessly,
the crew stopped the list
increasing overnight,
they laboured on
throughout the day;
and when the weather abated,
the ship was saved.
I returned to my office uneasy,
unconvinced of the captain’s corruption,
for I wanted to believe he was brave.
But I was angry at the lives he’d risked
while Fear, Indecision and Doubt
had played with his mind
and he dithered
for permission to be saved.
I watched the harrowing film
taken from the chopper,
and shown on the BBC news;
had he,
like the others,
taken cash
to carry more timber?
He was lucky that no one had died.
The letter and photos lay on my desk,
sent from Archangelsk in Russia,
by a frightened, but courageous young seaman
not knowing who’d help him;
help I could give and I gave.
unseen for years to bring
catastrophe to ships and reputations,
as easily as any biting rock or uncharted shoal.
Oh, some of the Russians whispered
in their guarded and sinister way,
of the bribes they knew others had taken,
While they—of course, stayed clean.
Some argue the captain was innocent,
merely worn by the strain of command;
though his men were scared to report
how cheaply he held their lives.
Part 3 - Loading Cargo
In the October gloom
of the northern winter
in Kemi on the Finnish coast,
heavy snow swirled and eddied
in light southerly winds,
and settled in drifts on the ship.
The ship’s cranes slewed and dipped,
like arctic wading birds foraging for food,
as stevedores, muffled against the cold,
loaded the last two thousand cubic metres
of softwood packs of pine, spruce, and fir
in tier upon tier on the exposed main deck.
Each pack weighed five tonnes, or more,
but the Bothnia Star was built for the ice
with a crew accustomed to the trade.
As loading neared completion,
they lashed and secured the cargo
with steel wire ropes and chains.
The captain loaded Bothnia Star
for her maximum intake
and his customer’s profit.
He had orders to load deep, to the timber marks,
and knew to load deeper was foolish—and dangerous,
but he knew the customer too.
When Bothnia Star sailed
from Kemi, fully laden,
the wind worsened, veered westerly,
and increased to twenty knots,
The captain knew he’d meet forty knots
in the frigid North Sea.
As Bothnia Star butted through the Baltic,
the short steep seas broke against the hull,
sending sheets of drenching,
icy spray
curling
high over the foredeck.
The landsman might take fright
at the ice, the snow, the dark, the wind and sea,
but the captain lived his life in the North,
and knew what to do;
but had he, like the others, sold his integrity
for some stained and crumpled dollars?
Part 4 - Unwelcome Shipmates
The captain and mate,
worked together by the dim chartroom light,
to review the weather reports
and adjust their courses through the Kattegat,
before pushing out
into the grey North Sea.
Once clear of the Baltic
Bothnia Star met the full force of the gale,
but the captain knew to find shelter, if needed.
He steamed on, southwest
for the English Channel
before turning southwards at Ushant for the Med.
The ship heeled at an angle
by the press of the blasting wind
against the high timber deck cargo,
and rolled sickeningly,
with her decks awash,
in the lumping grey-green seas.
The gusting cold wind bullied the ship.
Surging grey waves broke over the decks,
knee-deep water cascaded,
swirling and foaming
through scuppers and ports.
We don’t know when Fate took command,
but his officers worried
that three unwelcome shipmates,
Fear, Doubt and Indecision had boarded
and clouded his mind.
Did he fear the lashings had loosened?
or had he loaded too deep?
Should he find shelter and run for Dover,
Hamburg or Tees?
Or the Tyne?
His emotions toyed with his mind,
argued and cheated
as if playing at cards,
and the prize
was his conscience.
Part 5 - Mayday!
Those fickle rogues played on,
dealing his cards in his mind
until, forty miles south of Torquay,
Fate threw in her hand,
and the deck cargo
shifted to port!
The timber skewed
and sagged overboard,
held by a few broken wires and chains,
The weight of the cargo
held her at thirty degrees,
and the list still increased.
The ship was in peril.
The captain ordered the crew
to jettison the cargo,
but the deck was awash,
submerged by the seas,
and timber blocked their way,
The crew struggled and failed.
The men grabbed axes,
bolt-cutters and crowbars
to hack, chop and cut,
and fifteen hundred cubic metres of timber,
slowly, at first,
reluctantly,
then it rushed overboard.
The sliding timber
tore and ripped at the steel,
carrying away wires and chains,
rails, stanchions and bitts,
crushing and hurling their fragments
like shrapnel,
across the deck.
Deck pipes and vents,
were torn away
exposing ragged holes in the deck;
cargo spaces,
ballast and fuel tanks,
below
were open to the sea.
The crew ran
stumbling back.
Each thundering wave broke
and surging tonnes,
of seawater poured
into the ship.
The weight of water
cascading below
caused the ship to list further,
the movement of water
was capsizing the ship,
the captain radioed for help
‘Mayday, Mayday, Mayday…’
Volunteers in lifeboats
from Plymouth, Alderney, and Guernsey responded,
putting to sea
in that fearful weather,
risking their lives,
to save the stricken ship's crew,
and from Culdrose, a helicopter scrambled to face the fury.
Part 6 - A Close Run Thing
The captain then ordered the crew
to jettison all
the timber on deck,
in a final attempt
to reduce the dragging weight,
but yet more seawater poured down below.
Bothnia Star stayed listing
at an hideous angle;
the oil in the fuel tanks was churned
and fouled by the sea pouring in.
With the engine drawing water
the ship lost power
and stopped.
My telephone rang
and shattered the peace of my evening at home
with my family, unaware of the horror at sea.
The on-scene commander
flying in the chopper above
the wallowing ship
called me.
The pilot was calm
but frustrated,
he needed my help.
He wanted to winch
the crew to safety,
but the captain was gripped
by doubt and refused,
and wanted permission
to abandon the Bothnia Star!
Then the ship broached,
and lay across the driving wind and seas,
waves still pounded and tore at the ship,
submerging
the exposed upper deck.
No captain should wait for such orders;
I ordered him
to do as he must
and abandon the ship,
and cursed him
for awaiting my command.
Part 7 - The Seaman's Plea
Fear, Indecision and Doubt
still argued and raged,
when Fate dealt her hand once more.
The crew got fuel to the engine,
enough to run,
for the lee
of Start Point,
and shelter from the teeth of the storm.
By pumping, pumping, endlessly,
the crew stopped the list
increasing overnight,
they laboured on
throughout the day;
and when the weather abated,
the ship was saved.
I returned to my office uneasy,
unconvinced of the captain’s corruption,
for I wanted to believe he was brave.
But I was angry at the lives he’d risked
while Fear, Indecision and Doubt
had played with his mind
and he dithered
for permission to be saved.
I watched the harrowing film
taken from the chopper,
and shown on the BBC news;
had he,
like the others,
taken cash
to carry more timber?
He was lucky that no one had died.
The letter and photos lay on my desk,
sent from Archangelsk in Russia,
by a frightened, but courageous young seaman
not knowing who’d help him;
help I could give and I gave.
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