Ted’s Letter To Jim

Excerpt from Red Jewel

Ted’s letter to Jim – Part One

He collected his papers and Nigel’s and placed them into a side
pocket inside of his duff el bag. He found the sextant on the chart table
and discovered that it was still in good operating condition. He decided
to take that as well. Nothing else though. The publications and manuals
were of no use to him now. He looked around. Anything else? That was
it. But there was something else. “Yes. A letter,” he thought. A letter that
Ted had written to him and had asked him not to open or to read until
he had reached Saipan.

“Cripes Ted. I almost forgot about that. But where did I put it?” He
rifled through some of the pockets of his shorts that he remembered
wearing in Hawaii. It was not there. “Where damn it, where did I put
it? Oh shit, I almost forgot.” He opened the small panel that contained
books that he and Nigel kept for their own personal use. It was secured
to the port bulkhead just aft of the shitter…or head in mariner’s parlance.
Two books were of note to Jim: Hawaii and Tales of the South Pacifi c.
Th ere, in the jacket of Hawaii, was the letter from Ted. He grabbed it,
sat down on the starboard settee, which had been his berth and began
to read.

Dear Jim

If you are reading this then you made it to Saipan safely.
Congratulations. That is quite the accomplishment. You should be
proud of yourself. Enjoy your stay there. I hope you can get out and
enjoy all that Saipan has to offer you and Nigel, especially after such a
long sail from Honolulu. Good luck with your continued adventures.

“Thanks Ted.” Jim said aloud.

I hope that you have a chance to see this small island nation for what
it truly is. In my mind Saipan is a paradox of our creator.

“I will Ted. Paradox? How?”

On the one hand you will see the island as a tropical paradise or at
least an oasis for the modern times that we live in, not unlike Hawaii,
while on the other hand it was the scene of atrocities and a tragedy
that were committed on a scale that is impossible for me to describe
or to comprehend. I do not mean to say that to undermine the horror
and the atrocities that were committed in Europe during World War
Two. No, but the terror that was the Battle of Saipan, as part of the
America’s war in the Pacific, was more in your face war fighting. It
was up close and personal. Its impact affected every one of us who
were involved in it…differently and personally. It was traumatic in
every sense of the word. It was a shock. It belied our beliefs and sense
of righteousness. It became a nightmarish facet of our existence. The
tragedy that was Saipan was the extent to which the human condition
can fall when evil is allowed to set its course. Even to this day, Jim,
some thirty years on, it galls me and plays on my conscience. I have
nightmares just thinking about it.

“Jeez Ted, what are you getting at here?”

For me Jim, Saipan represents not just a loss of my youthful exuberance
and innocence but also a loss of confidence and faith in the human
condition. Added to all of that, I lost some very good friends there,
one in particular. I almost lost the love of my life too, indirectly. You
see Jim, sadly, tragically, at such a young age, with the loss of my leg,
I became cynical about life itself, human nature and the limitless
capacity of my fellow human beings to inflict untold misery, cruelty
and suffering on one another. My heart became hardened.

“Mother of God Ted, I am so sorry.”

It is probably difficult for you to see this now but Saipan in those days
was a world of military fanaticism, of martial madness and of sheer
dread. At its very core life on Saipan was underscored by an oppressor
who ruled with the mindful and purposeful contempt for all that
was good and sacred in this world of ours. Honor, above all else, was
sacrosanct to them. Arrogance was a welcomed trait. Cruelty was
commonplace. Life was cheap. The military rulers of Saipan could
not understand compliance. Surrender was not in their lexicon. They
had no respect for a defeated or conquered people. Surrendering
without death was cowardice to them and was an anathema to their
code of conduct: their Bushido Code – or Bullshit Code as I called it.
Thus, the citizenry of Saipan, by their mere survival, had no human
rights in the eyes of their conquerors. They lived their lives under a
yoke of military oppression and disgust. They were considered lowlife
and dogs by their military masters. Yet unquestionable loyalty to a
foreign deity was demanded of them. Allegiance and devotion were
expected to this foreign icon that was not of the spiritual form in the
traditional supernatural sense but of a human physical stature and
nature…in other words, their Emperor was considered a living gawd.

“Unbelievable Ted. I never knew this.”

The military presence that ruled Saipan in those days ruled by fear.
They were fanatical in their beliefs and demanded the same from the
Chamorro people and the Korean slave labor. To do otherwise meant
untold suffering or certain death. Not surprisingly Jim, over time, the
oppressed people of Saipan adapted and became dependent upon the
military dictatorship for their subsistence, for their security, for their
survival. Ultimately, they were brainwashed. They were brainwashed
into thinking that their military masters had their best interests at
heart. But they were also brainwashed against the very people who
were committed to their liberation and freedom. Us! Consequently Jim,
it was very difficult for us as liberators to undermine their mistrust of
us and of everything that America stood for.

Sitting with you, drinking Oly’s and chit chatting on those
numerous afternoons at the Ala Wai, was very enjoyable for me Jim
and I do not begrudge those moments for a minute.

Jim smiled at that memory.

I thank you for giving me the time of day. In a lot of respects, I saw
myself in you. I was jealous of your youth but for my lost youth. Your
exuberance, your wonderful naivety and your boundless energy took
me back to a time where my own innocence and sense of invincibility
fostered. I possessed some sensitivity in those days Jim and a
vulnerability that many would perceive as a weakness, especially as a
Marine. I didn’t look at it that way. I viewed these traits as strength
for I saw the beauty in all living things and had empathy in spades to
do what I thought was right. I possessed faith in a higher power. I had
faith in God. I guess I was a sensitive soul.



Read about the Battle of Saipan in my book Kurofune, or Jim’s adventure in Red Jewel. For more information on these and other books see the links at the top of the page. They are all available through Amazon.com or Amazon.ca

                                      www.johnmorrisonauthor.com

 

 

I’m A (Self Deprecating) Loser!

My wife calls me little Joe. You know, that guy from Li’l Abner who walks around all the time with a cloud over his head:

Joe Btfsplk - Alchetron, The Free Social Encyclopedia                 Joe…I can’t pronounce his last name…Joe Btfsplk

I am not sure this is a correct description of me but consider this:

When I drive somewhere I hit almost every red light. It gets worse if I am late for something or I am in a hurry;

If things are bad, when I am around, they are really bad;

If I pick the shortest line at a checkout it is sure to be the longest wait;

I always get stuck beside an elderly woman who is trying to make change with the cashier with pennies that she has trouble finding in her change purse;

I always seem to find the cashier who cannot count or make change without a calculator;

When I want to go golfing it is sure to rain. But when I realize this and I prepare for rain, it is always sunny – and I am sweating in my rain gear;

When I go sailing there is no wind. When I try to flash up the outboard engine because there is no wind, it never starts. When I take down the sails, the wind pipes up;

My lawn mower won’t start. So, I take it in for repairs and when the technician pulls the cord, it starts immediately;

When I go into the passing lane with my car, the inside lane, curb side, goes faster;

I always get stuck behind the guy doing 10 miles below the speed in the inside lane. When I try to go around him in the passing lane…well…the inside lane starts to pass me…again, as the guy going below the speed limits turns at the next exit!;

When I go to the pool after not being there for some time, it is down for  annual maintenance. When it finally opens and I do go, some dumb little shyte, drops a “sweet marie” in the shallow end. Out of the pool everyone;

People do things in moderation so I can do them in excess;

In accordance with my law of physics whenever I do some action there is always an opposite and equal reaction;

I am put on hold all of the time;

When I go into a line for (insert service here) there is always a group of people ahead of me. Yet when it is finally my turn for service, there is never anyone behind me and then the clerk puts up her “closed” sign. So I stand in line, get to the front…it is my turn…then closed…repeat!;

Whenever I have a group BBQ over at my home, rest assured that the propane tank will be empty. And if I preplan and ensure that the tank has enough gas rest assured assured (again), that the regulator will be tits up;

When I put on a tee shirt it is always backward. And, when I know this and take precautions by turning the tee around before I put it on it will always be put on backwards;

No matter how I take precautions I always spill some food on my clean tee or on my clean shirt. If I take precautions by wearing a bib it will bite my ass by spilling something onto my tee or shirt when I take the bib off;

I remember playing roulette. I observed at first: red, then red, red and then red again. So I played red and it came up black. I played black even and it came up red odd. What are the odds of that?;

Theory is the bane of my learning experience, practically speaking in my case;

Last November I went to Oktoberfest. Nevertheless, it was great….no lineups. I showed them!;

In spite of everything, people say that I am a wise fool. I other words, I am an oxy moron!;

I went into an organic health food store the other day and picked up a case of shingles; and

In that same health food store I also got sick to my stomach.

I pull into a gas station with 16 pumps, half of which are available. I pick one, get out of my car only to find out that the pump I selected is out of service. By the time I got back in my car to move, all of the other available pumps are taken;

A local college asked me to take an aptitude and skills test. I agreed and took the test. The results came back and indicated that I was “good for nothing.” I wasn’t fussed about it at all, as all of my teachers in school said the same thing about me. I thrive on consistency. In my case…BAD;

One time I had to go really, really bad. I rushed into the men’s room and there before me were four stalls. I picked one but…yes…you guessed it…it was out of service and two others were plugged.  Just as I was about to enter the last one some dude beat me to it; 

Her glass is half full, his is half empty. But mine? Well, it broke into a million shards; and

But that’s ok for if it wasn’t for bad luck I would have no luck at all;

L-Loser-Forehead - Relationship Development

It’s not so bad being me in my self deprecating style!

By the way, Li’l Abner was launched in 1909 and continued until 1979. It survived two world wars, the great depression, dust bowl and many other catastrophes. In that regard I don’t seem to have it all that bad.


Out!

 

                                      www.johnmorrisonauthor.com

 

All available through Amazon.com or Amazon.ca. Support a struggling Canadian author. Real cheap but great reads. Check out the links at the top of the page for more information about these books.

We’re All Going To Die

 

                                      www.johnmorrisonauthor.com

 

All available through Amazon.com or Amazon.ca. Support a struggling Canadian author. Real cheap but great reads. Check out the links at the top of the page for more information about these books.


This was taken from a Canadian immigration website!

Image for article: UK Police Release Updated Chart Showing Who You’re Allowed To Be Racist Against

Hey, we’re here for ya Canada.


Weather map of Lake Erie: Alert…warning! Lake Erie is warming. It is like bathwater.

Lake Huron Weather © - Lake Erie Water Temperatures

Warning! Alert. Soon Lake Erie will be like a Hot Tub if we don’t stop using fossil fuels! So say our climate ex…pervs.

Car parked by Lake Erie is completely frozen - CNN Video

Oops, wrong photo. Lake Erie in winter.

It is getting warmer and hotter, Lake Erie is. So say our weather witches.

Lava Flow | Iceland | Timm Chapman Photography

Wow! Can you believe these guys? Not me.

Or how about this from our weather fanatics:

Image

It used to be red. Now its ashen grey to illustrate the deadly effects of climate change.

Not scared enough. Well, how about those deadly nor’easters?

Cambridge weather: Storm Dennis explodes into 'bomb cyclone' - this is what that means ...

It’s Armageddon and were all going to die. Yes we are Virginia but not from the brew of the weather witches.


Univershity?….no thanks.
“There is a clear and present freakout going on right now. I’ve heard from six governors in the last six months. I’ve heard from the heads of major companies.”

And it gets weirder!
“Suspected YVR (Vancouver Airport) hijacker claimed to be ‘messenger of Allah’ sent to ‘save humanity from climate change,’” (Jarryd Jäger, Western Standard, July 17, 2025):
But…but…but
Wouldn’t it be “Islamophobic” to doubt him? Canadian authorities under the authority of “Islamophobia” czar Amira Elghawaby should order the relevant officials to apologize for arresting this hero.
Given that this is Canada, they will!
And in  related elbows up and we’re not the 51st state here in Canada news because were not American BS comes this:
American fighter planes scramble to intercept the hijacker over Vancouver – Canadian airspace.
The Canadian Airforce was busy pressing their new sky-blue uniforms for their new planes.
Meme Maker - Canadian Airforce Meme Generator!
And….they could not get their fighters off the ground…


June is over!

Don’t ya just love them Liberals, especially Chrystia Freelunch.

I’m so proud! Give me a kiss!

I am not a whatever-phobe but why oh why do we have to be reminded that we have to support or tolerate this lifestyle for a whole month (the entire summer in Canada). Be whoever you are, be proud of it, but leave the rest of us who are not LGBTQ out of it. Just go your own way, and like the rest of us, be quiet about your nature.

Shakeyjay is out of here.

Red Jewel: The Dart

 

Red Jewel

 

An excerpt from “Red Jewel.” It is available on Amazon.com or Amazon.ca.

Classic sailing yacht

 

“Ruth and I grew closer and closer as the months turned into years. Often times we would go out on the Dart in “Lilly” and explore the area stopping from time to time on a bank of cool grass upriver a way. We talked…erm…she talked of many things.  She was a young woman now. Gone were the boyish locks. Her hair now fell to her shoulders, fashionably coifed with natural curls that were interspersed and intertwined within wave upon wave of strawberry blond tresses that were particularly radiant in the afterglow of a late afternoon sun. Her complexion was flawless and was all the more exotic and welcoming by just a hint of makeup. She was naturally beautiful. Well proportioned, athletic, strong. Her breasts were mature and full, not large, just perfect for her physical size.  She had her mother’s eyes I was told. Hazel green for the most part with the slightest touch of grey and an intimation of violet if the sunlight graced her features just so. You could almost detect the coloured hint of violet in a surprise reflective measure of sunlight only to lose sight of it on closer inspection.

“Whaaaat” she would say, teasingly, as my gaze burrowed into her eyes.

“Your eyes Ruth.” I thought they to be green, hazel perhaps, but just then I could detect some violet. Violet, for heaven’s sake?”

“My eyes are green Nigel Filtness.” she laughed as if she needed to scold me, turn me straight. “Maybe a tad hazel but green predominantly.”

Predominantly…predominantly? She had a better way with words than I will ever have. Her diction and enunciation were precise, flawless really, unlike the guttural slang that came out of my mouth. I was intimidated by her yet she never belittled me.

“I like you Nigel Filtness.” she would announce, as if she was my queen and I her peon…jester. “King….Nigel”, never the Queen. I may be female but I would be KING of all of England, and Wales, maybe Scotland, Ireland perhaps. No, no never Scotland as I can never understand the brogue there.” She giggled. “But Ireland? Ah, the land of song, poetry, romance and tragedy. Oh forlorn and suffering, tragic Ireland be: the Emerald Isle.

“Ireland?” I would ask of her as I lay on my back, my eyes closed, the sun high in the sky but on with its western slide.

“Yes Ireland Nigel” she sat there, smiling, as if pleased with her own insight, sitting as she was with her legs flat out across the grass in front of her with her arms back and to her sides holding her up. “Yes Ireland Nigel, the land of Yeats, of Shaw, of Oscar Wilde…”

“Oh the “poofter” I interjected.

Not saying a word she looked down at me with a scorn that could mortally wound.

“Of Oscar Wilde, Joyce, Michael Collins…” she paused and sighed a long passionate sounding sigh…of the revolutionaries, 1916 Ireland with Padraigh Pearse…”

“Who?” I countered.

“Padraigh Pearse Nigel. Padraigh was an Irish romantic: a poet, scholar, barrister, revolutionary of the 1916 Irish Rebellion. He was a tragic figure – a naive Irish ideologue hero. He was executed as one of the Irish rebels of the Easter Riots.”

“Oh, you don’t say” was about all I could say. I felt extremely low intellectually whenever I was with Ruth.

Nevertheless Ruth and I became inseparable. “Lilly” and “Lillian” were our common thread; our common bond; and our common love for sailing. Soon, the intricacies of Lillian’s unique gaff rig configuration became second nature to both of us. We knew “Lillian’s” quirks like the backs of our palms. It was not long before Mr Sommers had full confidence in both of us. And before long it was not an unusual sight for the Dartmouth and Kingswear sailing community to recognize us both for what we were: respected local seafarers. “Lillian,” and us, became synonymous with the regulars of the sailing community, particularly those members of the Royal Dartmouth Yacht Club, of which Mr Sommers was a lifetime member, as an icon of the Dart maritime environment. Even the Royal Naval College took note of us, particularly Petty Officer Brand.”

It was fun researching and writing this book. Sailors and non sailors alike will enjoy this story.

Quote of the week!

What happens when banks lose your money?

They charge you a finder’s fee of course.

Shakeyjay is out.

The Rideau

From my book of poems:

Available on Amazon.com or Amazon.ca.

The Rideau Canal

 

A curtain does fall so majestic and proud

Such a natural wonder, so gracious a shroud

Like a powerful train of glory descends

As a continuous fall at the Outaouais end

 

A fire alights from the south it did spread

To the north like a plague through its heart it has bled

With a mawkish like cry for freedom and joy

But freedom’s best chance was a fraudulent ploy

 

From a flicker of flame to a firestorm bred

Death escalates through a life cycle of dread

And taming this shrew with its penchant for blood

Was a foolish man’s bait for poor Madison’s club

 

Yet a fire would spread in a harrowing scene

From a spark it would roar with a devilish scream

From Niagara on east, to a Forty Mile Creek

To a nondescript farm and a Chateauguay sneak

 

From Queenstown to Lundy, Detroit and the Thames

The Boxer and Enterprise, surrender of Maine

Through Ohio and Plattsburg, to a Moravian town

The war it did rage for Miss Liberty’s crown

 

Cities would fall and the towns they would burn

First Newark then York; it was Washington’s turn

War’s firebrand eyes thrust farther to yield

And finally burn in an Orleans field

 

What came but a draw in this foolish man’s quest?

For power and glory are such meaningless guests

Whatever the gain from the lives that were lost

For the hawkish bent men who lied at great cost

 

And the curtain still fell, so majestic and proud

As if sensing the chaos, so soothing its sound

Like the rapturous strains of a torrent, transcends

To emerge as a call at the Outaouais end

***

The years fell away and the anger did wane

Rush-Baggot had calmed such a petulant strain

An American age brought prosperity’s peace

As a confidant pace of change was unleashed

 

But the land to the north so upright and proud

Was paranoid still to the south’s freedom sound

A country that cried for security’s calm

Yet stands all alone ‘gainst a threatening psalm

 

But this land full of lakes and rivers and streams

Was a natural course for a military dream

For fear set in stride a magnificent quest

To build a canal that was strategically blessed

 

While the mighty St Laurence was a natural draw

It was fraught with real danger from its rapid rock falls

And upstream it ran with a thunderous roar

Too close to the south with its threatening core

 

The Ottawa ran to St Laurence’s call

To strike from the north and a western landfall

An historical route that opened the west

Where the traders would meet at the curtain for rest

 

Two rivers did run from a common high ground

To the south and the north from Lake Rideau their sound

From the shallows and falls through the marshes and swamps

From King’s town to Wright’s town, two rivers as one

 

To build a canal through this wilderness screams

Of a madness and curse of the military’s dream

A task so immense, so daunting and brash

That only the British could fathom this task

 

But the British did find a man of the Corp

A Wellington man from the Peninsular War

A man who had held the Canadian Shield

So right for this task with indefatigable zeal

 

John By was a Colonel and a leader of men

Ahead of his time and a genius, well bred

An engineer’s man with a passionate streak

For simplicity’s beauty with its functional tweaks

 

With orders to build a navigable path

From the Outaouais south to Ontario’s wrath

To rise from a bay named the Entrance – way crept

Up flight after flight, like some nautical step

 

A plan was developed and contracts were signed

Engineering so simple with symmetrical lines

Pure genius at work with a heavenly hand

To guide and instruct a magnanimous man

 

With Drummond and Redpath, Phillips, MacKay

Canadian contractors, strong men of their day

These artists of stone were men of their word

So forthright and loyal to the Colonel’s accord

 

The sappers and miners and mason’s stones lay

Stonecutters and woodmen, all of the trades

For comfort, their spirit; their love of the crown

Romantic and colourful, these men of the realm

 

But the marvelous work that was soon to unfold

Was dependent upon the poor labourer’s code

The back wrenching work to clear out the land

And dig such a ditch with just spades in their hands

 

Such men from hard times, forever were cursed

To fight for survival and work through their thirst

Through backbreaking strains as their calloused hands scream

As they toiled and they toiled for this military dream

 

The Frenchmen held sway with their skill and savvy

So noble these men and their role as navvies

Independent of mind with a will to succeed

Just pride in their work and their songs and their deeds

 

But an Irishman’s fate to arrive at this place

To rescue one’s life from some wretched like fate

The scourge of the earth in the Englishman’s eye

Forgotten at home, they severed all ties

 

For a pestilence spread to drive them afar

From an emerald isle to this devil’s back yard

Though beauty may rest on the eye from beyond

A hellish nightmare was reality’s song

 

Just rags on their backs with their wives by their side

With children so weak from starvation and pride

A thousand would fall from a dengueish like hue

And die from this work’s laborious flu

 

Poor brothers would cry as their graves had been marked

So blind to the danger and the peril from sparks

As the powder was set with a magical link

Their lives were extinguished from the death blast’s cruel drink

 

Yet the lakes and the streams, swift water, rock falls

Were captured and tamed by this engineer’s call

Magnificent feats what By had achieved

In this harsh, hellish wilderness was hard to conceive

 

The entrance way blessed by a protestant prayer

The first stone was set by John Franklin with care

Not mindful as yet that his greatness was cast

To die in the Arctic from an arctic cold blast

 

The curse of Hog’s Back; an Isthmus scourge

The tranquility of Chaffey’s; Long Island was purged

At Burritt’s and Black, these rapids were tamed

And Merrickville’s beauty, a religious refrain

 

With names like Poonamalie, with its cedar incense

An Indian aura in a wilderness sense

Opinicon’s names and a Cranberry fog

The curse of the labourer to die in this bog

 

The dam at the falls known locally as Jones

Is a testament still to its magnificent stone

Block upon block in a crescent like stance

Like a rampart of genius or an engineer’s dance

 

The work underway, six years to progress

The locks were completed and the dams were well dressed

Through steamy hot summers, through sweat and death’s fear

Through winter’s ice jams; hell’s nightmare those years

 

The locks and the dams, wastewater and weirs

The cut at the entrance, eight steps to the piers

The breadth of this work remains unfathomable, sealed

As a masterpiece set in the Canadian Shield

***

The threat from the south was all but contained

For the status quo boundary was all that was gained

From the firestorm set in those years long ago

Extinguished for good as a friendship would grow

 

Poor tragedy’s mark on this cornerstone lay

On the heart of a man who held the Rideau at bay

Called back by a King who questioned his deed

A question of funds from some zealot to heed

 

An inquiry would set the tone through the years

To diminish By’s feats; he was ignored by his peers

His spirit would die from his countrymen’s chill

And not from the bog or the Isthmus ills

 

Yet his legacy flows for our nation to see

A wonderment still, a magnificent deed

To balance such beauty with a functional stream

Through a Canadian wilderness with just minimal means

 

But the jewel in the crown of this engineer’s quest

Was not the canal or a technical best

For a town had been born in the Outaouais scene

In this land full of lakes and rivers and streams

 

By the Barracks Hill shanty near the Sapper’s stone bend

A magnificent tower of peace would ascend

From a lower town swamp to an upper town’s view

A great city would grow with great values imbued

 

For this capital’s crown of achievement remains

From the peaceful green flow of the Rideau, contained

The seeds of a city and a national theme

To build a great country with the freedom to dream

 

And the curtain still falls, so majestic and proud

Like a sentinel’s call or a passionate bow

For the genius who toiled on the Outaouais scene

And left such a mark with this beautiful stream

 


Old British Admirals, by Al Stewart

Admiral John (Jackie) Fisher. Father of the Dreadnaught

When Britain had an empire, of which Colonel By was part of. Play this loud.

Old style marching brass band.

Have a great Navy day.

I am 74 today. Wow, it just seems like yesterday I was 73!

Shakeyjay…..out!