On Sunday, the Mission to Seafarers (Scotland) will mark the sinking of mv Cemfjord with a special service at St John's Episcopal Church, Wick.

She went down almost two weeks ago with the loss of all eight crew: seven Poles and one Philippino.

A cargo ship is an industrialised workplace with limited space for living accommodation that floats on a hostile element, the sea. Things happen. But, these days and in these waters, my first concern is not for the physical safety of "those in peril on the sea".

I am more concerned for their personal wellbeing. They are isolated at sea and the ports are often restricted areas far from shops and amenities. They can arrive early in the morning, work all day, and leave in the evening. Meanwhile, things happen at home, too.

More than 90 per cent of what we buy in this country is brought by sea. Of the hundreds of merchant seafarers I come across in Leith in a year, barely one dozen are British. We depend heavily on a non-British merchant maritime workforce. There was nothing remarkable about the nationalities of the crew of Cemfjord.

If I thought about seafarers before I began this work 10 years ago (which I didn't, much), I imagined hard-drinking men with a girl in every port. That was the first preconception to die. The seafarers who keep us warm and fed and in business with our trading partners beyond these small islands are hard-working family men, many from the poorest countries of the world, who send every dollar home for their children's education. They are working their people out of poverty.

Long gone are the days when seafarers needed a safe, dry bed on shore. Leith's former Sailors' Home is now a swanky hotel. Today's chaplains and ship visitors need to be responsive, flexible and mobile. We carry top-ups for the phone networks we know they like, and I carry a wifi hot-spot, which is very popular.

And we have time: time for a wee personal conversation and time for a run into town, perhaps to buy something or just to get off the ship. After the confines of a ship, the grass underfoot on Calton Hill or Arthur's Seat is exhilarating.

When they are with me, they don't need local knowledge, to speak the language or have the currency. They know I will take them places they would never find for themselves, that they won't get into any bother and that they will be back at the ship on time. Such trips live long in the heart and memory.

Some ships become familiar in some ports. Others are strangers wherever they go. In either case, the value of a friendly, trustworthy, useful person, who is outside officialdom, is inestimable. And, you might say, it's the least we can do, to support them and show them gratitude for all their hard work so far from home. We are in their debt.

There is a string of port chaplains and volunteer ship visitors round the coast of Scotland. When we heard of a sinking in the Pentland Firth we immediately wanted more details. Maybe it was some of "our boys" who went down.

We are mostly accredited by either Mission to Seafarers (Episcopalian), Apostleship of the Sea (Catholic) or Sailors' Society (Reformed churches). As you would hope and expect, we actively collaborate.

For example, as an elder of the Church of Scotland, I am well known for taking seafarers to Sunday evening Mass at St Mary's RC Cathedral. And the priests and people at Leith's Stella Maris parish are more than helpful.

We need more ship visitors. We should have one in every port and harbour in Scotland. Some training and induction is necessary, and ongoing support is part of the package. It's an engaging and rewarding thing in which to get involved. For more information, see Seafarers in Scotland facebook page or visit www.sailors-society.org

Tim Bell is port chaplain in Leith and is supported by the Sailors' Society and Leith Churches Together.