Gimmee a beer and one for the Niggah

Johnny ‘The Skull’ was not a handsome man. He pushed his way through a crowded bar at Aberdeen Airport and caught the barman’s eye. “Bartender, gimmee a beer,” he said in a southern-states drawl. Then, without looking, he pointed to his left and said: “And one for the Niggah.” The barman looked confused and said: “Sir there’s nobody there.” The noise in the crowded bar dropped a little. Johnny looked to his left and then behind him. At the back of the room stood a large dark-skinned man.

Johnny called him over: “Hey Niggah come on over here”. Turning back to the barman he added: “And bring them bags.” The large man with two large bags moved through a hushed room to take his appointed place at the bar. Johnny said: “Siddown and drink yo beer”, without looking at his compatriot. The dark man said nothing as his middle-class English accent would have spoiled the whole charade. Needless to say The Skull was as Scottish as Alex Harvey or Niall MacKenzie.

The Skull and his dark-skinned conspirator were casing-hands from the noC2ruf side of the drilling world. A genuine southern gentleman may have inspired the Airport Bar charade. The southern boss was standing next to the younger and much larger dark-man and explaining to him why he was not welcome on that rig at that time. The dark-man listened politely and then said in his English middle-class voice: “I uthed to a pawatwoopah. I know how to bwake eveway bone in youah boday.”

I never met the dark-man but I will never forget The Skull. Johnny’s appearance with a casing-crew was a guarantee that you were going to be working with professionals. Same job, same pay with less risk and frustration and probably a few moments of comedy.

At one time the high price of accommodation in Aberdeen prompted The Skull and some of his pals to rent a first-floor flat in Montrose. They soon noticed that the net-curtain in the ground-floor window twitched every time they came or went. Thus it came to pass that one of them came out to a car in an over-acted drama and opened the boot while furtively looking around. They then motioned to the second actor who came out cradling across his arms a (perfectly legal at the time) replica sten-gun. After much furtive looking about the sten-gun went into the boot of the car and they drove off. Please don’t try this in the sad world we now live in.

On the Aladdin the casing stabbing-board was above the Driller’s shack. It was the best place for it and the only disadvantage was that it was virtually impossible for the Driller to see the stabbing-board. Johnny was on the stabbing-board one day and little puffs of smoke were occasionally being whipped away from the drill-floor in the prevailing moderate breeze.

The Driller on this occasion was a large man who was both younger and much more handsome than The Skull. Nothing unusual there. What upset Johnny’s low-risk (considering the breeze) breach of rules was the Driller’s unusually powerful sense of smell. The Driller tried to look out and back from the dog-house window. “Is that cocksucker smoking?” he enquired of the Roughnecks, who were in a position to see. “Oh no!” they sang out, like a well-rehearsed pantomime chorus. Johnny was popular.

The upshot was that the Driller caught up with Johnny and challenged him about the possibility that he might have been smoking in a Zone 1 area. Johnny looked up at the Driller and challenged him to a bare-knuckle contest in the sack-room. His words were frequently quoted in the following weeks as the story was re-told for the benefit of anyone who wasn’t there.

If you were running a tight operation in those days you got to work with the top service-hands who were able to influence which rigs they went to work on. The best drilling-rigs attracted the best service-hands and we made it look easy. The no-hoper rigs got (as they deserved) the suction and family ‘experts’. ‘x’ is an unknown quantity and ‘spurt’ is a drip under pressure.