Nicole Gardner

In this time of Covid-19, millions of people around the world are subject to restrictions. Those in lockdown need food and medical equipment. Without seafarers, none of us will survive for long.

Most working people are familiar with the safety triangle in some form:
In an unsafe work culture, unsafe acts and conditions become normal. People hardly notice them any more. Occasionally, there’s a near miss. Since no-one was hurt, it’s not taken seriously; it’s just something to joke about at lunchtime. And then someone is injured. It doesn’t happen often, so people just shrug it off. It was a one-off, it’s a dangerous industry, it’s obviously their own fault, these things happen. And the...

The lights flicker on the modem. Once, twice. Blackness again. Another blink. Then a steady flickering. The internet signal is back. It’s surprising how, at that instant, it feels as if I’m not alone. Even without actually connecting a device to the internet, without actually doing anything other than watching those lights flicker, I know that I could, if I wanted to, connect with a friend, connect with the outside world. Confirm that I exist.
Friendships, family ties, connections, they exist...

I gritted my teeth as the company training officer showed yet another “funny” video, this time about a woman who removed the lock-out from an electric breaker so that the could use her hairdryer, and the electrician was electrocuted.
My company had sent this person on board to run a week of refresher training while the ship was at sea. This was day three, and I’d lost track of the number of “funny ice-breaker” videos that showed either a scantily-dressed woman doing something stupid and being...

The staring was starting to become awkward. I glanced down, checking that my clothing was in order: faded orange boilersuit, covered in grease and cargo, and a pair of scuffed steel-capped boots. I reached to my waist and confirmed that I’d remembered to leave my belt knife on board. I shrugged, pushed a few euros across the counter to the shop assistant, collected my snacks, and turned to leave.
The little girl couldn’t have been more than six. Rather than staring at me from across the shop,...