I felt embarrassed as I crawled around on my hands and knees. My head was neither pointing towards Mecca nor Rome. I was in the hold of a Greek caíque (fishing boat) looking for an escaped lobster.

There was no sign of it. I lifted boards to see into the bilge! Where had the lobster gone?  I was surprised but it was tinged with grudging admiration.

I was fishing in Greece in the Aegean sea, not far from the island of Paros. I was on a fishing boat called Maria. This was not fishing for pleasure. I was trying to make a living-not a particularly good one-as a fisherman.

 Maria was also the name of Yurgo’s wife. Yurgo was my captain and the owner of the boat. There were just the two of us, Yurgo being such a difficult man that none of the young men of Paros would work for him. After working for him for a couple of weeks I could perfectly understand the reason why.

Sometimes we would go out fishing for just one night, sometimes for two or three. Three nights was a maximum. The boat was small (12 metres long) and the hold for ice was also small. If we went for one night we simply ate what Maria prepared, usually spaghetti or macaroni. Other nights we ate what we caught. This was a second night and Yurgo gave me a lobster to cook.

I was surprised. We were looking for the fish called ‘Barbounia’ in Greek, red mullet in English. It was an expensive fish, a delicious one, and the same price as lobster.. But, sometimes, things came up in the net which we were not fishing for. A lobster or an octopus now and then.

We sorted the fish and the good ones were put in fish boxes, iced and packed off to Piraeus when we got back to port.

The lobster must have been damaged, otherwise I would not be cooking it. I had never eaten lobster before, I knew nothing about lobster, did not know how to cook one.

Yurgo told me to fill up a saucepan with sea water and put it on the little gas stove which we had in the hold. Then, when the water was boiling, I was to put in the lobster and put on the lid. This I did though unwillingly. Obviously, the lobster was alive and did seem to protest – with a small squeal – as it was thrown into the boiling water. I felt bad about doing it but had little choice.

 Yurgo was a brute. There is no other word for it. I was shocked by the way he treated his father who came fishing with us the first two times we went out. Yurgo was obliged to take him as I knew nothing about handling nets, not how to put them out, not how to bring them in, not how to extricate the fish, not how to clean the nets.

The father was an old mild man and I was shocked by the way his son spoke to him and ordered him about. Yurgo also had two pretty young daughters maybe 7 and 10. They often came to play on the boat after we arrived back in port in Parakia. I saw him several times lash out with his heavy boots and kick them, making them cry – after they got into some childish mischief. He was obviously annoyed with not having a son. Two girls were going to cost him a fortune given the Greek dowry system.

But he also taught me much. He may have been a brute but he knew the sea, the currents, the stars, the moon, and their effect on fishing habits. My Greek was poor but we managed kinds of small conversations. After dinner and before sleeping, we would look at the stars and he would point them out naming them in Greek. I loved hearing him say the name – pronouncing the four syllables –  for the evening star, always the first one visible: Aphrodite.

He taught me how to distinguish between female and male sea urchins. The female you could eat and with a little bread and a sprinkling of lemon juice and it was delicious. He taught me how to make fish soup and the best fish to use. He me how and where to fish for squid.

He taught me how to kill an octopus. Sometimes they came in our nets and had to be killed quickly as they crawled about and tangled everything up. We kept a long bladed sharp knife to do that. The octopus had to be pierced through the eye. Once we had an octopus on board and could not find the knife. I did not know what to do. Yugo took the octopus in his big hand looked it straight in the eye and bit savagely through it, killing it. The image has remained in my mind.

But to get back to the lobster, after some time Yurgo told me to check the state of the cooking. There, I found the lid of the saucepan knocked to one side; the lobster had disappeared. No sign of it. Amazed, I had to search on my hand and knees, lifting boards to find it where it was hiding in the bilge. Finding it eventually, I apologised as I returned it to the boiling water.

I thought that it might deserve to be returned to his sea-home for his brave but fruitless escape attempt but I know Yurgo would have laughed at the suggestion. Fishing for a living has little place for delicate feelings of that nature.

I was the first and last in my life I ate lobster. However, I still enjoy grilled octopus, hoping it died a decent death.