Brass Heart Melted

Life On The Big Pond

The Christmas That

Last of a series, by BILL DAME

The whole world loves a party, and trans-Pacific ship personnel are no exception. And when a birthday happens to be on Christmas day, the resulting party will indeed be a memorable affair. But when a Christmas-birthday party at sea is punctuated by a severe storm, watch your footing, don’t kiss your fiancee and don’t wear your best uniform!

Brass Heart was a high ranking officer in his early thirties, and was all spit and polish. As long as the men under his command worked well, he kept his peace.

But whenever something wasn’t quite up to standard, he would let the slacker know that the im perfection had been noticed and that it needed re-doing or com pletion. On top of that he’d threaten to fire the offender.

On the other side of the ledger, Brass Heart had the reputation of forgetting his fierce anger im mediately after the situation was corrected, so he was tolerated by the crew (though not loved).

He was a fastidious dresser and never appeared on deck unless he was resplendent from his neatly combed hair right down to his glistening shoes. There was never a stray hair on his collar nor a hint of lint anywhere on his uniform—much less a spot of coffee, sauce or cake icing. Until...

True love

A beautiful young woman boarded the ship at Sydney bound for San Francisco on Brass Heart’s last trip to sea. The word had spread among the officers and crew that he was engaged and had accepted a job ashore, and it only took a few days for his ship mates to learn that the beautiful new passenger was his fiancee.

They were circumspect in their conduct, and they were beautiful to behold. The nearness of his true love had an immediate effect upon Brass Heart. He began to smile at his men and to be jovial.

He also found less fault with their work, and in general became human.

The fiancee’s room steward learned from her that Brass Heart’s birthday was on Christ mas day.

In no time at all, a committee of party lovers had formed among the offcers and they decided that a combination Christmas-birthday farewell-to-the-sea party was essential.

A special menu was printed for the event, plenty of champagne was ordered, canapes were pre pared and the pastry chef was delighted to contribute a magnific ent triple-layer cake in the form of a ship with a bride and groom holding hands over the smoke stack.

On Chirstmas Eve the sea began to get rough. By the wee hours, the ship was being tossed about badly and no one got much sleep.

By Christmas morning the ship was in a full-sized gale near Pago Pago. By lunch time, more pas sengers and crew were gulping Marezine instead of food. By dinner time, only the stout hearted were still up.

But even though the storm raged outside, the party enthusiasts had no intention of cancelling the gala affair and it was held on schedule.

When everyone had finished toast ing the guest of honour and his brave, but pale, fiancee, the sumptious meal was served.

And what a feast it was! The waiters had wetted down the snowy white linen tablecloth to prevent the slipping of plates and condiments, but these still slid around and coffee sloshed out of cups into saucers.

When the meal was over and the harried waiters had cleared the dirty dishes away, the Number One waiter very carefully brought

the cake in.

An instinctive “Ah!” went up from everyone present as Brass Heart, at the end of the long table, said, “Gee, fellows. How can I . . . how can we ever thank you?’ He then pulled his beaming fiancee close to him and kissed her.

He shouldn’t have kissed her at that second or they shouldn’t have shut their eyes, because the ship lurched, the waiter lost his footing and was thrown violently onto the opposite end of the table.

The force of the lurch sent him sliding straight down the middle of the table.

The resplendent diners were plastered and sprayed from head to waist with a bewildering array of colours, tastes and smells. The waiter continued to hold the cake high and gathered the tablecloth under his chin like some weird accordion.

As the romantic kiss ended, the lovers turned to see what the commotion was about—and the still-intact cake caught them full m their faces. The bride doll stuck to her, the groom doll stuck to him, and the smokestack fell with a sticky thud on their clasped hands.

There was electric silence from the astonished diners as they stared in fascinated horror at fastidius Brass Heart and at his lovely, much sweeter, fiancee.

The forlorn waiter was the first to speak from his prone position in the middle of the table.

“Merry Christmas, Miss; Happy Birthday, Sir. Don’t bother to fire me; I just resigned”.

Brass Heart started shaking with silent laughter that quickly grew audible, followed by an explosion of guffaws as he gingerly wiped cake, icing and frosted decorations from his fiancee who also began to daintily remove the same from him, her laughter matching his as the other diners joined in the hilarity.

The reassured waiter, still prone, grabbed a napkin and helped to clean off the debris from Melted Brass Heart’s face, commenting, “Gee, what love won’t do to a man!”