My uncle is in his 70s, and I was insulating under his bathroom floor recently - he's not too hot at climbing under floorspaces! We were using the expanded poly foam stuff that comes as sheets, and you cut it to size then wedge it up between the floor beams, makes the place a lot warmer.
Anyway, he was really being slow at cutting this stuff, so I popped my head up throught the hole in the floor and saw him using an ancient, beat-up old sheath knife. "Jesus, use this instead, would you?" I said, and gave him my pocket knife (A SOG-TAC Auto, just sharpened...
). He took it, said "There's a story behind that old knife, I'll tell you about it later".
So once we had finished, he told me the story. I had only heard vague fragments of it before.
My grandfather was a Doctor. So during the war, he was the doctor for all the battle/supply ships that came into Belfast. If someone was sick on the boat, they would radio through, and arrange to pick him up on the way past Groomsport, a tiny town around 18 miles from Belfast.
He would put on his greatcoat, go to the harbour, and be taken out to the boat, where he would be greeted by the Boatswain in his cabin with a large rum to warm him up, then treat the patient as needed.
One winter's night in foul, stormy weather he was called out. Arrived at the warship soaked to the skin, and went to the Boatswain's cabin. They had the customary large rum, then the patient was lead in - a Polish refugee sailor, who had been acting very oddly and complaining of headaches, poor vision, etc.
Grandad had a look over him and told the Boatswain that the guy had Syphilis, and there was no hope for him - it had got to his brain.
The Boatswain sat the sailor down on his side of the desk and translated this for the sailor.
At which point the sailor pulled a knife from down behind his neck, and lunged across the desk at my Grandfather. Quick as a flash, the Boatswain grabbed the rum bottle and cracked it over the sailor's head, leaving him stone dead. Then calmly as anything, picked up the knife, handed it to my grandfather, and said "You might want to keep that as a souvenir, Maurice".
After which the pair of them sat down and sank another large bottle of rum between them. Apparently the Boatswain had to "Retire to bed early" that night on Doctor's orders, as he appeared to be suffering from some unsteadiness caused by a virus.
My grandfather had to be carried to the tender, carried down a rope ladder into it, carried back onto the harbour at Groomsport - and then got on his motorbike and rode home.
The body of the sailor was never found by the way - mad dead guy must have jumped overboard or something.
I was amazed at the history, and the story behind that knife.
A few weeks ago, my Mother said "Oh Howard (my uncle) dropped something over for you, said I was to give it to you next time you called round"...
Yep, it was the knife. Now one of my most treasured possessions - had things turned out differently, had the Boatswain not been so fast reacting, I wouldn't be here today and nor would the rest of my family...
Here's the knife, slightly battered but still good!
