 I told Oliver more than once, however, being young and dumb, like most his age, Oliver did not listen to the warning. Now he has nothing. At 34 years old, Oliver had everything most people his age would want. A loving wife, three beautiful children, a spacious home and a great job. All Oliver had to do was keep it together and live the perfect dream. Oliver was a bit of a follower, so he spent more than one evening with the rest of the boys after work. Call them boys because men go home to help take care of the family. These boys did not even try. They had drinks until dark, then stumble home to wives that happened to give up or secretly found something else. Oliver spent a few years repeating the same boyish steps. Pay time was the worse time. Sometimes he di not make it home and never gave it a second thought. It all changed when Oliver went up north to work for six long, labour weeks. Extra monies to be sent home except it never made it there. Up north, work was known for its drinking play time and that is exactly what Oliver did for six weeks until it was time to head home. Walking up the driveway Oliver was met by stacked boxes, a staring, soon to be ex-wife, who never said a word. Standing beside her was Oliver’s replacement just in case Oliver made a scene. She had taken so much, waited so long for him to grow. She had enough. This was three years ago and today, Oliver is the same. The drinking elder is now teaching the others to be boys. Oliver truly did not learn. He never sees his children, blaming this on others as well as his empty wallet. All other’s fault, never his. Oliver was warned about all of this however, did not listen and made his excuses to be one of the boys. One of the alone boys. June 10, 2026 @Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2026
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 Travesty In Truro
Gather around my children. There is much tingling terror in today’s world but let Daddy tell you of the ultimate. A story that is embedded in my memories. The travesty of Truro. The time started so calm. Air, skies were clean, refreshing. A team together, preparing for combat, arriving to our simple lodgings. Smiling, laughing to see each other. The aura of band unity. A relaxing, early night the games began for all warriors, gracing the battlefields with integrity. Each one person showing dedication to each one, members held each other up. All for one and one for all. An end of the day festive feast to celebrate victories was held. There was talk and laughter, a strengthening bond to those looking on. The longer we stayed you could feel the shift. People getting louder, rowdier with each drink of toxic elixir. Some did not know when to stop, making them unrecognizable. When we made it back to our night shelter the animal bombast was really coming forward in some. The party before the full victory had begun. Sleep was hard for some of us as the party goers were loud and robust. Nothing was going to turn out their fire for night-time activities that went until the morning light. When the battle fiend was taken half of our crew had their eyes shut, running around aimlessly, driven by no sleep, strong ale or addictive white powder. Several of them tried to be the prime shooter, pitching cannonballs that never hit the target causing several slow blows to our defence. The sight to the eyes was turning embarrassing. Could not look anymore. Teammates started turning on each other, yelling insults of anger. The goodwill of the day before, gone. One of our leaders stopped instructing, screaming at everyone like a madman letting syphilis seep into their brain. Veins bulging in his eyes. The opposition had to hold him back with warnings. The team of sisters was tearing apart, beaten, tattered, bloodied with scars that would never vanish as they lay in defeat crawling to their retreat. Not one was the same after. The images of teammates beating each other mentally. Blood bruised inside the skin. Telling you all of this now makes the heartache. Reliving how the only colour in the end was rage. The tale should only live where the bloodshed occurred. Shake involuntarily anytime I think of the travesty in Truro July 20, 2025 ©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2025  Not Alone
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