Lawwell's Lepanto

Conditions were calm and the sea flat which made the explosions all the more violent as they erupted around us in a fury of flame, spray and burning hot shrapnel.  And to think it all seemed the most remarkable coincidence that two great sea battles should clash and combine into one here in the Kyles of Bute but it was no coincidence; there is no such thing when you're dealing with the most Machiavellian man since old Niccolo himself, Peter Lawwell.

Lawwell was at the head of the Port Glasgow Fenian Navy, laying into the remnants of what was once a proud fleet of Rangers with Richard Gough at the helm of the Nautilus barking orders at the Rangers 90s Squad Navy as they struggled to prevent old HMS Ibrox taking a battering.  Then from the south hove into view another struggle as two more fleets popped away against each other and we were joined by the Roman Catholic Church in Scotland as it continued its attack on HMS Secularism.

I of course, was on board the LS Bismarck, Lawwell's of course - well what do you expect from a man whose country house is called Schonhausen - and I stood with Lawwell, both of us looking through binoculars at the action when we noticed a change in the sounds around us.  The heavy ordnance from a navy ship's guns make a deep mournful sound as they approach or pass above you so the high pitched buzzing noise attracted our attention immediately and as we looked up we saw a plane passing by.  I peered through my glasses and exclaimed, 'It's Peter Kearney, by Jove and he's heading straight for the Secularism - pull up, Kearney, pull up man!' but of course he didn't hear me and to our astonishment his plane rammed the great ship just above the water line.

'She's still sitting,' I cried.  'Kearney's suicidal attack was absolutely bloody pointless!'

'Just wait,' said Lawwell, his face impassive as ever as he held his own glasses up to those half shut eyes.  Then I saw what he meant as a torpedo boat went screaming past us, at its wheel, Tom Devine who waved a bottle of port at us as he passed, sloshing its contents all over the brig of his own personal yacht, the Voice of Reason.  Devine went straight for the smoking part of the Secularism and launched a couple of torpedoes at it before pulling away as they detonated slap bang where Kearney's previous attack had already caused some damage - it was the most amazing twin pronged attack and no doubt the papers the next day would be full of Devine's Voice of Reason while at the same time recording the damage to the Secularism.

Lawwell's sailors cheered and threw their hats in the air when Devine returned and the Secularism limped off, then we turned our sights to the attack on the HMS Ibrox as Gough tried in vain to slap away the constant nips and bites from the combined forces of the Scottish Press but it was all seeming too much for him until something extraordinary happened and the Traynor appeared from nowhere and climbed into the big guns and let off a barrage so violent and loud that the Scottish Press turned about and headed back to port where they gathered on Twitter and mocked and laughed at Traynor from a safe distance, claiming they had never been scared of him in the first place.

I was just edging out of horsewhipping range of Lawwell after this new turn of events when the most amazing thing yet happened: every boat stopped firing and turned and went home as if some giant referee had just blown his whistle for full time and sailors who'd only minutes before had been screaming hatred at each other docked and repaired to pubs where they mingled and drank and laughed about the day's events.  Personally I fetched up in Rothesay and while lurking at the end of the bar in the Golfers, I overheard some of these sailors talking and it went something like this.

'Aye well, a draw suits everybody I suppose but wait till we get a haud ae youse the next time.'

'You couldnae get a haud ae yer ain dick wi' the big light oan.'

'Did you see big Tam loading that six pounder and having his hat knocked off by wan ae your bams? 

I've never seen anything like it, it was hilarious!'

'That wis wee Shuggy fae ma street did that!  Wait till I tell him it wis his ain cousin he nearly took the heed aff!'

And so it went on, previously mortal enemies drinking together in the pub and discussing their ninety minutes of madness in the afternoon when they were allowed to vent their tribal allegiances.  I suppose no one got hurt, the whole battle was one of thunder and bluster and although perhaps a few idiots around the country had a little too much to drink later and got into the odd fight, that happens every weekend anyway and couldn't possibly be blamed solely on the Battle of the Kyles.  Then one of my bar room orators said something that stuck with me.

'Mind you,' he said.  'We'd better hope the papers don't make a big thing about it as the last thing we need is for it to be all over the front pages and for Alex Salmond to think he should be seen to be doing something about it and before ye know it, it'll be illegal to have a full scale naval battle off the west coast of Scotland.'