The Arms of Morpheus
I am a heavy sleeper. In the mornings, that is. Very pleasant. But it does give rise to unintended consequences such as missed appointments with the person who visits us to cut my toenails.
I was having one of these very deep and lovely sleeps one morning and woke to see a bearded man sitting on the bed next to mine and smiling broadly. This was disturbing on two counts; first, I have only one bed in my room. Second, this chap was a stranger.
But within seconds all was clear. I was not in my own room. I was in a West Midlands hotel and, for reasons I cannot remember, I was sharing the room with the Botanist David Bellamy, OBE. And having told you that I’d better tell you why or you'll be worrying. A magazine had commissioned me to take photographs of a ballet rehearsal in progress and David was there because the ballet was based on his book, The Queen’s Hidden Garden. Sir Malcolm Williamson was composing the music and, the following week, I drove down to his home and did a portrait.
Waking with a fright seems to be a habit of mine. It was entirely my own fault when it happened on board ship. I was sailing home from India on the SS Circassia. I discovered that
one could relax very comfortably indeed up on the open deck by sitting on the ship’s rail and leaning back against a stanchion and sideways against the ship’s hull. With the lifejacket as a pillow it was possible to slide the bottom forward slightly, lean back and find perfect bliss. Head and shoulder were prevented from falling overboard, as seen in the illustration. From the thighs down, however, there was no protection; they could slip sideways and turn one into a brief mention in the local paper. One evening I made the mistake of closing my eyes as the sun was setting over the Red Sea. When I woke it was dead of night. With the Red Sea some sixty feet below me, that was not to my taste.
The other on-board experience was not caused by any such stupidity and for that reason was more worrying. This time I was travelling in the opposite direction and on my way to some unknown RAF station in India. I had found a nice corner on the open deck where, in my sleeping-bag, I could comfortably sleep for the night. Something like sixty other men had chosen the same option. By late evening they were scattered everywhere, snoring happily. I slid down into my sleeping bag and went to sleep.
I woke in the morning to a glorious day of cloudless azure sky and a gentle breeze. It had been a wonderful sleep and I was ready for anything, especially the bacon and eggs. Then I sat up. What I discovered was just beyond reason: I was at the opposite end of the deck.
I must have sleep-walked my way there, stepping with astonishing precision between sleeping bodies. How I had avoided them I shall never know.
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Text and illustration ©Paul Wigmore 2010