They agreed that the happiest time in
their lives was as youngsters in good ships, with no care in the world
but not to lose a watch below when at sea and not a moment's time in
going ashore after work hours when in harbour. They agreed also as to
the proudest moment they had known in that calling which is never
embraced on rational and practical grounds, because of the glamour of its
romantic associations. It was the moment when they had passed
successfully their first examination and left the seamanship Examiner
with the little precious slip of blue paper in their hands.
"That day I wouldn't have called the Queen my cousin," declared our new
acquaintance enthusiastically.
At that time the Marine Board examinations took place at the St.
Katherine's Dock House on Tower Hill, and he informed us that he had a
special affection for the view of that historic locality, with the
Gardens to the left, the front of the Mint to the right, the miserable
tumble-down little houses farther away, a cabstand, boot-blacks squatting
on the edge of the pavement and a pair of big policemen gazing with an
air of superiority at the doors of the Black Horse public-house across
the road.
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