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Thread: Hullo Old Home

  1. #196
    chippie
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    Hello Brian, I,m sure I know you from somewhere!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!haha

    I can,t continue with my story for some reason I think I,ve been censored but I keep trying my friend.....and getting frustrated..............and trying again.



    keep at it Bri, great stuff.

  2. #197
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Chippie,great to hear from you,don't self censor,Gerrit down!!! You have got a story to tell and we are waiting to read it! Like your web name ,keep chippin' away,
    Cheers,
    BrianD

  3. #198
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    The Ordinary Seaman

    My long leave gave me the chance to go places that I had'nt been to for a long time,
    Llandudno ,and to do things that I had'nt done in Liverpool before, dancing at the Locarno and Grafton Rooms. My mother was responsible for my going ballroom dancing ,she did'nt like to see me spend all my time in the pub and persuaded me to get up to West Derby Road and get dancing ,they say mother knows best and that was very true in this case. This was so very different from the dance halls in the ports we had been to ,the whole scene was fabulous, the girls in all their finery, the red plush and the glitter balls and most of all the music. Looking back it seems incredible that we danced to 20 piece bands with an array of vocalists that were top line. The rotating stage would spin and the big band would disappear and there in its place would be a rock band or a jazz group; we took it all for granted ,our few shillings gave us the chance to dance in style and cop off with some of the best looking girls in the world .
    You had to have a good dress sense when you went there, young men used to wear tailor made suits from Britains finest ,Burtons ,Hepworths ,Weaver to Wearer etc.
    After paying your entrance fee it was down to the toilets to check the hair and tie ,practise a few moves and then up to the bar to see what the talent was like.
    You only had to be able to dance to pull, I nearly always went alone but I never left alone, I saw girls home to every part of Merseyside during my dancing days.
    Just before my leave was up I decided to go and see cousin Willie in Llandudno.
    I had'nt been there since my accident those many years ago, I had seen Willie and his family at my Aunt Bettys'wedding just three years ago ,but they came to Liverpool for that; I fancied going back to see some of my old haunts. I got a travel warrant because I was a merchant seaman so the faret cost me practically nothing. The journey was a rerun of that taken back then with my family ,I had'nt told anyone I was going just thought I'd pop over for the day.
    Aunty Dolly would'nt hear of my going back so soon ,and Willie, Eleanor and Elisabeth were just as strong in urging me to stay. It turned out to be a wonderful few days, Willie rousted up the members of his old gang and we went out on the town and had a great time. We found ourselves on the seafront in the early hours of the morning, me with a gorgeous young girl from the west Coast of Ireland, she was a chambermaid in the Hydro. Her hair was glossy black ,hanging in silky bangs and her eyes were emerald green ,she wore no make up and her skin was the purest alabaster .But her voice, the sheer delight of her gentle brogue was music to my ears. We sat in the shelter by the promenade ,watching the night turn to dawn ,touching each others very souls. We parted as innocent as we met , loth to leave each other, hoping we might meet again. Alas we never did. She was confined to"barracks" the next night and I was back home the night after that.
    On my last night there we went to the cinema to see some forgettable British comedy ,whilst I was in there I unknowlingly, dropped my discharge book ,without which I would never get a ship. I discovered the loss when I got back home. Blue Funnel had sent me a letter asking me to report to the Odyssey Works ,they must want me for another trip ,better take the discharge book'............................that is when I found it was missing.
    It was two days since I had left Llandudno,I'd only taken the book so that I could show my cousin. What the hell was I going to do now? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the mail coming through our letter box, looking at the envelopes I could see one addressed to me ,from Wales. Upon opening it I found my discharge with a letter attached to it. It was from the cinema manager, his cleaner had found it and sent it to me that very day. When I was back at sea I wrote him a letter of thanks for he had saved me an awful lot of trouble.
    Thus armed, I was able to report to blue Funnel at the appointed time.
    I was met by the personnel officer, a very nice lady, she said that I was now able to sail as a Junior Ordinary Seaman and a berth was available for me on a ship that had just completed its maiden voyage. It was called the Machaon and was sailing to the far east ,my cup was overflowing. When I expressed a wish to join her she filled a form in and asked me what books I liked to read and what kind of music I liked.
    I was quite bemused but she told me to report the following day for a medical ,after which I would go on board to sign articles.
    Did I tell you of Blue Funnels medical officer? No?.Well,he was a very dapper man he wore chalk striped suits with silk ties and matching handkerchiefs and he had a patent leather haircut a la George Raft....,until you looked closer and saw that every hair was skilfully drawn on with an eyebrow pencil. Ah vanity.
    On joining the Machaon I missed another important family occasion ,the birth of my sisters first child ,she came into the world two days after we sailed ,she would be four months old before I clapped eyes on her.

    The Machaon was built in the traditional Blue Funnel style a three island ship ,meaning she had a forecastle ,upon which was the windlass for the anchors the winches for the mooring lines and under which were the rope lockers ,chain lockers and deck stores. Then came the forward well deck in which there were two hatches and the main mast and housing ,above the well deck was winch housing and Sampson posts for the fore hatch on the main deck ,and then another winch and Sampson post island for the hatch in front the the centre castle .The centre castle was where the accommodation and bridge and engine room were situated and then came the after well deck in which there were another two hatches and the after mast and housing.
    Aft of this was the lazaret, the name originating from the time that lepers were kept isolated from the crew but now it was where extra cargo could be stored. The after castle was where the Chinese crew lived ,and where crew men with a taste for real oriental cooking could be found when the Chinese cook was feeling generous.
    The sailors accommodation was air conditioned which was a very rare thing at that time, our cabins were superior to anything that I had seen and the architects had seemed to anticipate a sailors needs. She promised to be a comfortable berth.

    The Bosun was radically different from old Wilf on the Jason,this man always wore a neatly iron dungaree jacket and trousers, a white peaked cap ,polished boots and gloves. Today ,he would be dressed as though he was going out ,then he was just ultra smart. He was stocky and had a bullneck, cauliflower ears and a very broken nose. This was a genuine hard man, he was very much in charge. His Lamptrimmer was the same one who was on the Eumaeus ,Big Bob, we had a mutual antipathy ,I had'nt liked him on the Eumaeus and the indications were that that was going to remain the same here. The leading hand was a guy who Elzie Seagar modelled Popeyes arch enemy on. Big Albert was a dead ringer for Bluto ,I was going to have to start eating spinach if I was going to survive this trip.
    My cabin mate was a very dour Welsh youth from the west coast of North Wales, grim and unsmiling he spent as little time with me as possible . The other junior ordinary seaman was a great character from Chorley, Joe Preston was his name and he had a wry sense of humour. Joe more than made up for my cabin mate. There were only two peggies, one was north Liverpool and the other was a very open faced lad from south Devon, his name was Fred and he was ever cheerful.
    One of the nasty *******s from the Jason was in this crew,the Irish guy who had thrown a flannel over Wally Skeggs' dinner . I was going to have to watch him.
    On the plus side we had a guy called Joey Snelgrove ,he was a Cunard Yank in the making ,he had'nt yet been to the States ,but coming from Bootle it was essential that he complete his growth pattern and get to New York.
    There were also two brothers, non drinkers ,but very musical ,both played guitars
    And they could perform as a duo, they were also photographers and carried all the equipment required for the processing films. This ship was the only one I ever sailed on that had a hobbies room on and this was utilised by the photographers.
    Socially this could be a good trip.
    .

  4. #199
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    The Machaon called in to the continent before heading out east ,this time it was to Amsterdam ,Antwerp and Dunkirk ;although I had been at sea less than a year,these ports were becoming familiar to me. I loved Amsterdam because of its wonderful mix of sin and saintliness .The canals lined with brothels, where the ladies sat in open display in their little windows ,beneath them ,on the canal pavements ,children played and sailors and tourists milled about .Sometimes there would be a Salvation Army Band playing hymns ,the churches towering over everything ,with the bell booming out to signal matins or the angelus ,the barges tied up alongside the quays ,some selling flowers and produce and others being homes for the families that sat about the decks.
    The garish bars and restaurants sat cheek by jowl amongst the brothels ,and family life went on as normal amidst this festival of carnality. Somehow it never seemed seedy.
    Another thing I liked about Amsterdam was the food ,little cafes abounded in the centre, McDonalds had not yet arrived and so the delights of Dutch cooking were freely available. Nothing could be nicer after a night in one the bars than a bag of hot croquettes and fries, I can just about taste them now.

    Soon we were cleared of Europe and heading for the Med it was strange not having to serve the meals, I was now in the mess room pecking order. You had to use the same position at the mess room table everyday, every meal .There, the pecking order was rigidly adhered to. Senior ratings had the best seats ,there were two long tables that were in line ,with a break in the middle ,wide enough for people to access through to get to the places that were adjacent the bulkhead. The positions at the middle end of both tables ,adjacent the bulkhead and thus facing the door ,were reserved for the leading hands; they were at the centre of things and seemed to orchestrate the conversations that took place. Woe betide a junior rating who tried to usurp their positions. Being a very junior ordinary seaman my place was at the furthest end of the table with my back to the hot press.
    The food on the Machaon was no less than excellent ,she did'nt carry as many passengers as the Jason ,but she still had the same high standards .
    Two of the cooks were solid gold nutters, Oxo was the second cook, a roly poly little guy who sported a Van dyke beard ,and his mate Taff a hulking great thing who was totally subservient to Oxo in every way, I was reminded of John Steinbecks novel "Of Mice and Of Men". But they had a great sense of the ridiculous, as we will see anon.
    There was a young galleyboy on his first trip who was just like Ananias ,he could'nt help lying ,every time he opened his mouth out came a porky ,and they were'nt even good lies .But he was good for entertainments sake.

    Although I had only been on a very short trip with Bob, the lamptrimmer, he remembered me very well ;I was not a Blue Funnel boy ,worse, I was from the Pool ,a Federation boy. I was given every job that was filthy or boring, he had me on my knees for nearly a week ,using a wire brush to strip the after well deck down to the metal, the other ordinary seamen had the pleasure of painting it,I was given the job of Stockholm tarring the mast stays,fore and aft stay too.My fingers were ingrained for weeks.
    Big Albert ,being Bobs number 2 usually oversaw me carrying out my tasks, we hardly ever had direct contact with the Bosun ,he would be there on deck when we were working, but he never spoke to us junior ratings ,excepting in anger.
    Another special task that I got landed with was greasing the running gear on the derricks. Most ships I ever sailed on would see all the gear lowered from the mast tables and Sampson posts so that the work was carried out on the deck. Not so on the Machaon ;some bright spark had the idea of send the Jos (me) up aloft with a bucket of oily grease and a big wad ,the idea being that we would reach out ,or up, and grease the blocks in situ from the mast tables or Sampson post spider bands. This meant leaning out from the spider band and stretching as far as you could reach to dollop on the oily mix. You needed one hand to hold on with and the other to work with.
    Not a good idea ,especially you and the post are slippery with grease.
    I managed to do the mast running gear, the Sampson posts were something else, I was reaching out as far as I could but the Holy Trinity (The Bosun, Lampy and Big Albert) were shouting at me to reach further ,any further would mean letting go of the spider band. There was no way I was going to do that, "Hold on to the block and grease under it" yelled Big A. The block was heavy with grease,I'd just greased it "Eff Off!!" I replied. The Bosun grinned, he looked like an undertaker ,Lampy leaned forward and said something to Albert. " If I 'ave to come up there and show you ,you'll really be sorry boy!!" "No way" I shouted back. Albert grimaced and his face clouded over with thunder,"You can always go back peggying boy!!!" he roared. Looking at his big red ,angry face ,I dipped my wad in the bucket ,and then hurled it down on to his physog. It hit him square on ,the image lives with me still ,all hands frozen ,heads turned toward Albert, Albert tearing the wad from his face ,howling with inchoate rage.
    "YOU'RE EFFIN DEAD BOY!!!" He raced to the post ladder and scrambled upwards ,20 stone of raging hell .The Sampson post trembled as he thundered his way upward, "Where was that feckin' spinach?" All heads were now looking aloft ,not a soul stirred ,only my bowels. Albert had his knife between his teeth, he was still climbing, muttering imprecations through his clamped teeth. Suddenly he was here ,climbing on to the spider band! As he stepped toward me I slid around the post and literally slid down the ladder as he went around the post after me. I hit the deck running and shot down aft to the Chinese quarters. He never came after me ,the Bosun saw that things had got a little out of hand. There were no repercussions ,Albert was not that kind of man...........and then we started lowering the gear to the deck to overhaul it.
    Oxo was always playing little pranks, he could'nt help himself , he told the galleyboy that he could do hairdressing ,and the galleyboy ,being the possessor of a very fine Tony Curtis wanted it trimming ."No Problem" says Oxo ,and they agree that he should do it that evening .I was sitting in my cabin when the galleyboy appears at my door, "Andy" he wails "look at me 'ead" He was as bald as a coot. I went down to see Oxo ,he was lying on his bunk ,nudie magazine in hand ,doing some serious reading.
    " Yer made a right mess of the kids head" I said. "I got me film stars mixed up, I thought he said 'e wanted a Yul Brynner" Oxo said smiling. All of a sudden I was clamped from behind ,it was Taff the Hulk. "You need a bit of a trim yourself Andy" Oxo grinned. Within a trice I was pinioned to the chair ,held fast by Taff and the Galleyboy whilst Oxo laid waste to my wavy black locks. I left that cabin sheared to the wood. When we arrived in Port Said next day I purchased a gob cap and a ten gallon hat .He had left my sideburns so it did'nt look too bad in a hat.
    There was another thing that Oxo was "good" at ,"spreading" or mooning as it is known as today. When we were sailing through the canal we were passing the ex British military hospital ,which was now used by Egytian and Russian military personnel. The nurses and patients were waving at us from the balconies and suddenly their waves turned to shrieks as hands covered their eyes and the men shook their fists .Looking to see what could have brought this about ,we heard obscene yells coming from below and ,looking over the side I saw a line of bottoms sticking out of the catering cabin portholes. It was an Oxo production ,the first of many!!

    At Port Tewfik we embarked some pilgrims who would be making the Haj
    We had to rig up awnings over the midship hatches for that was to be their home for he next few days. They were going to Mecca and as it was Ramadan, these pilgrims would not eat or drink between dawn and dusk and we were entering Gods oven ,the Red Sea. They were a picturesque crowd ,nearly all men ,and nearly all old men at that ,their pristine white beards and crisp white galabayas ,gave them a biblical look, and our surroundings heightened that effect, the far off mountains of Sinai recalling tales of Moses and that other biblical journey. We found our travellers to be polite and respectful and we ,in turn ,respected them.
    The journey to Djeddah was but a few days ,the weather was so hot that the sweat was drying to salt on my forehead, even with a sweatband and a Stetson .
    Entering Djeddah was a journey back in time ,most of the buildings
    were still low rise ,and nearly all were a startling white ,the only signs of modernity were the dock machinery and the motor vehicles. All of the men were thin and wiry ,for the most part draped in galabayas and tarbooshes, they were timeless. On the quayside were Cadillacs and Lincolns ,amongst them were caged trucks ,and in those trucks were the labourers.........chained together! They were using prisoners to unload us!
    They were unshackled and hustled aboard ,barefoot with the steel anklets still on them ,they went to their allotted tasks ,the overseers carried thin sticks with which they would flick at the dockers ,encouraging them in their labours.
    Our steel decks were so hot that you could feel the intense heat through the soles of you shoes ,the dockers were all barefooted ,they must have had hooves instead of feet.
    They did have a sharp turn of wit, Joey was leaning across a winch to do something when he let rip with a sonorous fart. The old Arab winch man standing nearby retorted " Don't speak to me of love when there is work to be done!!"
    A lot of American servicemen came aboard and were whisked off up to the bridge ,we thought they were on an official visit ,but they were just waiting for us to sail, Saudi Arabia was ,and still is ,an alcohol free country. The penaltys' for possession are very severe ,the Americans would be sailing with us to beyond the three mile limit when they would get stuck into Scotlands finest. Meanwhile ,it was Friday ,the Islamic Sabbath and the local agent invited us to go and see the Friday executions and amputations in the main square ,we all passed on that one.
    As the day passed we saw all manner of traffic on the quay ,military jeeps with Arab personnel ,coloured burnooses instead of caps or berets, block long limousines with darkened windows ,behind which we sometimes glimpsed yashmacked beautys with kohl blackened eyes ,the stuff of Arabian nights. In the harbour were magnificent Dhows ,some reminiscent of those great Elizabethan galleons that once circumnavigated the globe. The nearby shipyard had a half dozen under construction,and they would sail to the very reaches of the Indian Ocean and Africa.
    As the sun set we let go our lines and headed into a fiery sea ,and the Yanks made for the bar. A U.S navy launch followed in our wake ,waiting to pick up the imbibers.

    Another benefit of being a JOS was that I was now allowed to have a beer ration, there was no drunkenness at sea ,but you could save your ration and have a pleasant ,sup or three after sundown when all labours had ceased .We were well down the Red Sea one such evening ,three of us Junior ratings and half a case of cold Guinness. The night was as cool and black as our drinks ,the lights of distant Araby twinkling in the distance ,overhead glowed a crescent moon and there ,high in the sky ,shone Venus ,the symbol of Ramadan. The ship was ours again now ,the faithful had departed at Djeddah and we were a day away from Aden where we would load up on the duty free swag. I shouted to Joe to throw me another bottle from the bucket and as he did so ,it exploded in mid air. It was quite spectacular ,like a liquid supernova. He passed me another one and we resumed our rambling conversation when I felt my foot sliding in my flip flop. I looked down and saw a gaping wound on my instep. Blood was pumping out like a gushing fountain . The lads helped me up to the nurses room and put my foot in a blue plastic bowl while they went to fetch the nurse. I sat watching ,fascinated as the blood started to cover the bottom of the bowl and then slowly rise up the back of my heel. The nurse bustled in ,he was a big man, very camp, but capable. He threw up his hands when he saw the amount of blood in the bowl. One of the A.B.s came in to the room ,by this time the blood had reached the top of my ankle and then something very strange happened. I was looking at what was happening..........from a position high above everyones head, I felt as though I was bobbing about on the deckhead (ceiling) and I could clearly see myself sitting there with Alan ,the A.B. and the nurse attempting to stifle the bloodflow.
    Of a sudden I was free and flying high up in the sky ,below was the Machaon ,the bow wave and wake glowing luminous against the wine dark sea ,above me were the stars
    And over yonder lay the whole of Araby and then all was blackness.
    I came to encased in a bamboo stretcher ,they had put a tourniquet on my thigh and given me some morphine. When the nurse heard me groaning ,he told me that the RAF were sending a fast launch for me ,I was to be taken to the military hospital in Aden.
    The sun was well up by the time the launch came alongside, I was gently lowered onto the launch and watched as anxious faces looked over the proceedings. I was passing in and out of consciousness and have scattered memories of what came next ,it was a bumpy ride ,I can remember the attendants being solicitous ,wiping my brow ,soothing my fears. Soon we were bumping alongside a quay and I was lifted ashore and laid to rest on a stone paved quayside. The sun was a boiling yellow orb in the sky and I was fortunate that someone had remembered to put my hat on, I would have burnt to a crisp without it
    I was only able to move my head a little as the bamboo stretcher had me tightly bound, I was drowsy and kept fading in and out of consciousness. An old Arab was squatting by a wall about 20 yards from where I lay. At length he rose and came toward me ,he took hold of my chin and turned my head left and right ,I felt him feeling about the outside of the stretcher ,muttering who knows what as he did so. I faded again ,when I opened my eyes he was still sat against the wall .Where was the ambulance? How long had I been here? Sleep claimed me again and then I felt myself being lifted ,waking fast ,I saw that a veritable giant of a man was carrying me ,like a suit case! He smiled and told me not to be afraid ,the old man had called them,them being the Red Cross. He carried me out to a Singer Gazelle estate painted in the Red Cross colours .The man was a local and could speak perfect English ;he said that the old mans call was the first notification they had had, I would still be lying there if he had'nt called .I was resting with the stretcher in the passenger footwell ,the passenger seat was folded down and the back of the stretcher was resting against the rear passenger seat .This position afforded me a good view of where we were going , out through the town and then into some military installation ,there ,over on a patio type area were some British military types ,in dressing gowns ,some in wheelchairs other on crutches and some just sitting. This was the hospital ,but we were not slowing down, we passed through a barrier and went off into the mountains ,stark and grey, they looked ominous. I must have looked frightened because my driver pointed to the logo on his badge "Not Military,Red Cross ,is okay?" I nodded ,we were really climbing now ,a little chapel appeared on one of the peaks "There is hospital" my driver smiled. We pulled up in front of a prefabricated building and a Nun appeared accompanied by a smiling, tubby character ,with a florid complexion and a drinkers nose. He had bushy black eyebrows and was wearing a bush hat ,calico shirt ,khaki shorts ,green wellingtons and a brown rubber apron. He was the surgeon and both he and the sister were from southern Ireland. With the assistance of some huge Arab orderlys they had me off that that stretcher and on to a gurney in double quick time. I had been half a day on that stretcher ,the Machaon had been due in Aden that very morning and I told him that it would be sailing early afternoon. The good doctor knew naught of this and he informed me that if he were to operate ,and get me back to the ship on time ,then an anaesthetic was out of the question , he left me to make the decision. "Just do it Doc" I answered. "Good man yerself",he said "I'll give you an Arab anaesthetic."
    I was wheeled to a theatre that looked for all the world like a fairground booth,it was circular,had a conical roof in which the lights were set and the was a low rise wall all around beneath the canopy .There was an opening for the passage of trolleys. Patients and visitors leaned on the half wall viewing the proceedings ,the doctor gave a whistle and four big orderlys' came in,"Here's your Arab anaesthetic" says he as each one sits on my shoulders and thighs. "Don't let these fellers see yer afright" he smiled "Remember yer British!!" I had severed the main artery in my instep ,it required much pain and many stitches to put it right. He was fast and he had me back in that ambulance and speeding back to harbour within minutes. The Machaon was ready to sail by the time we got to the harbour ,the Doctor had called the agents and there was a launch at the quay waiting to take me out there.
    I was half carried back on board and taken straight to the hospital, a two berth cabin near the nurses cabin. The nurse came in to see me settled and later on Fred the peggy brought me my dinner. This was the life kid!
    The nurse gave me a sedative to help me sleep that night and I was awakened by Fred with a cooked breakfast ,he had even brought me a magazine. This was turning out to be a cruise. Just after nine the Bosun came in with a coil of rope "We don't carry effin passengers ,get stuck into that lot ,I wanna see a load of Lizards when I get back,an' if yer want to eat,get off yer arse an' get down the mess room!!" and with a growl he was gone. That was his form of TLC.

  5. #200
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    There was only one problem with having to keep the dressing on my foot dry, I could'nt have a shower or a bath and we were now in the Indian Ocean where a body needs bathing at least once a day. I was having to make do with an all over wash and it was proving to be none too successful. Within a couple of days I had contracted *****ley heat. This was a dreadful affliction which caused the sweat glands to block up and the surface of the skin became brittle and very itchy. I was already being treated by the nurse for my foot and he took great delight in administering his treatment for my affliction. The rash first appeared across my shoulders and he painted the affected area with salysilic acid............................................. have you ever had a spot of acid ,caustic soda or some such ,burn your skin? Well imagine it burning the whole of your shoulders.
    4.00p.m.everyday I had to go for the treatment ,it spread to my armpits ,chest and stomach and the treatment was unrelenting ,the nurse said it was essential to burn off the epidermis in order to unblock my sweat glands. I used to watch with horror as the rash slowly reached down to my meat and two veg ,when it did ,the nurse enlisted the aid of one of the stronger A.B.s to pin me to the table. To para phrase Martin Luther King Jr. " I have been to the mountain top !!"
    Happily ,both my foot and the rash were cured by the time we got to Penang on the Malayan peninsular.
    This was my first sight of the mystic east and it did'nt let me down ,the sea was a dark green and was full of jelly fish ,millions of them bobbing along just beneath the surface, in the distance we could see a green covered peak that rose above the red tiled roofs of the shining white buildings. The waters in front of the port were carpeted by a vast array of ships ,liners, freighters, dhows ,sampans, fishing vessels and all manner of small craft . We anchored off the port and an army of barges and launches came bustling towards us, our passengers were going to spend the day ashore and we could follow them after our work was finished. The shore wallahs came aboard and they were a mixture of all the races that had been a part of the recently deceased British Empire ;there were Sikhs ,Chinese ,Malays ,Hindus,
    Tamils and the British too. Malaya was not yet independent.
    I had heard of the delights to be enjoyed ashore in this old port, there was the food ,the beer ,the sights but most of all ,a certain house of ill repute where the ladies taught boys to be men.
    After a light meal and a few beers ,I was led by the hand to paradise.
    This was not like the seedy haunts of north Europe ,nor the clinical milieu of Amsterdam ,it was sensuous ,the atmosphere was relaxed and the sounds of Indian music, low and melodic telling of old romances filled your ears and your senses.
    I met a young Malay woman, she was clothed only in a diaphonous sari, her pert young breasts ,like lush pomegrenates, longe to be be touched and suckled. Her smooth bare midriff rose above her beautiful mound of Venus and I was made as Adam and she was Eve and we were driven to the wilder shores of ecstasy. It was paid for love ,but how else was a young sailor to enjoy the bodily pleasures when in port for such a short time?
    After an evening of earthly delights we progressed to the godown where we would get the launch to our ship. There were four launches tied abreast of each other and ours was the outermost one ,to reach it we had to cross three large passenger launches which were from some of the big liners in the harbour. Our boatman had a list of who was ashore and had ticked everyone off except Taff and Oxo. We had to make everyone wait until those two reprobates were back. And then we saw them ,silhouetted by the lights of the town, weaving an unsteady passage to the godown. Some of the crew started to yell encouragement to spur them on.................big mistake. Little Oxo ,hearing his name, staggered on to the godown, followed by a teetering Taff, he stopped beneath one of the lights and waited for Taff to catch up ,he said something to Taff and they both turned their backs ,dropping their trousers as they did so ,and treated the passengers of all the launches to an almighty spreader. Sounds of applause mingled with screams filled the Malayan night and the two malefactors then proceeded to make their way across the launches. They were bulletproof ,impervious to the looks of outrage from the passengers ,and the lustful glances of the crew of a Greek liner; on reaching our launch,Oxo made his way to the wheelhouse ,where a little chinaman in a starched fore and aft rig stood at the helm. He seized him by the scruff of the neck and slung him overboard ,leaned out the wheelhouse window and yelled "Mr Mate, let go forrard ,let go aft ,Taff steer for feckin Yokohama!!!!"The boatman was safely recovered and we made our way back to the Machaon in an embarrassed silence. Just before we reached the gangway ,one of the passengers, a bearded geologist, called for everyones attention ,he said that what we had just seen was nothing more than a display of very high spirits and that he personally would not like to see this matter go any further ,he felt sure that if the helmsman was paid some recompense that would end the matter for all concerned, We crew were astounded ,we thought they would have wanted them both flogged. He passed his hat around and all ended happily . Well nearly all. Next morning I was passing the recreation room and saw Oxo and Taff asleep on the banquettes ,they were each lying down one length of a corner piece ,their heads touching at the corner. They had vomited over each others head and were stuck together. Not a pretty picture.

    Port Swettenham,or as the Americans called it ,Port Sweatingham ,was our next stop.
    This was reached by passing islands of mangrove swamps and is on the Sengui River,the rise and fall of which is about 30 feet. The speed of its flow was quite awesome and it required great skill on the part of the pilot to get us safely to our moorings. It is a very industrial port ,most of the rubber from the plantations is processed there and it is not a sailortown. We ventured to the seamens mission for a dip in the pool but found it closed, a hapless Skowegian had taken a dive from the top board into to the deep end when the pool was empty!

    We were off to Singapore after Sweatingham.
    Nothing can prepare you for the vista of the Grand Harbour, all else is prologue.
    Imagine if you can, a scene stretching from horizon to horizon and the whole of that scene filled with hundreds upon hundreds of vessels of every shape and size, a vast tapestry of sail and steam ,pirogues and gleaming white liners ,sampans and river steamers ,ocean greyhounds and junks, a multi coloured display of mercantile history passing by ,each vessel an argosy ,row boats and launches ,pinnaces and tugs ,there is no point that eye can look and not wonder. The town beyond this armada was still a low rise one, the tallest building being the clock tower on the harbour front ,beyond that there is a jumble of red tiled rooves and the skyline is dotted with minarets ,
    steeples,onion domed mandhirs and gold tipped bhuddist temples all vying for the allmightys' attention. From the town there is a concatenation of sound that bodes a very busy place. We can't wait to get ashore; we're tied up close to Anson Road ,a proper sailor town. Work over ,best T shirt and a clean pair of jeans ,a pocket full of Singapore dollars ,we are off to sample the delights.
    There was a massive market strung all along the waterfront where stalls sell everything that the Orient has to offer, silks and calicos, perfumes and spices, herbs and dried snakes ,ointments for every ill, battery powered toys from renascent Japan, cameras,radios and all manner of things you never knew existed .The dollars burned holes in my pockets as I loaded up on shirts and sarongs .We were close enough to the ship for me to drop my packages off before I went dancing, and I was going to Tobys' Paradise to start the night off ,along the street it was on were dance halls where you could get a taxi dancer; the dancers were not *****'s, just nice young ladies out to earn a few bob ,and some of them were lovely and very good company. But there was so much else to see and do that it was a job to squeeze everything in. Boogie street was another must see place ,this came alive after dark and was a street full of open air restaurants, a quite spectacular sight then ,lots and lots of cooking ranges with seats adjacent ,all lit up by Tilley lamps with each wok tempting you toward it by its' marvellous aroma. In the background was the parade of fabulous lady boys ,famous here before the Bangkok ones and even more exotic traps for the drunken jolly jacks.
    After a night of kaleidoscopic wonders it was off to bed , tomorrow was Sunday and we could get some sight seeing done.
    The scene in the Sunday morning mess room was one of alcoholic remorse, faces that looked as though they had been to hell and back grappled with breakfasts that were beating them, a round of toast and they were back off to their bunks.
    I'd been told that the Tiger Balm Gardens were one of the must see sights of Singapore and so I walked along the front to view them for myself.
    The gardens had been put together by Aw Boon Haw ,one the founders of the tiger Palm company and were meant to depict the spirit of Chinese religion and show the meaning of good and evil. When you entered the gardens you walked through series of beautifully created tableaux showing the pantheon of Chinese gods ,the creation of the world, and the evils that lie within it and the rewards that are for those that lead good and pure lives.....................all with the aid of Tiger Balm of course.
    I went down to the toy stalls in the evening and learned to haggle ,the stallholders liked it when you engaged in a bargaining session ,drinks would be poured and you had to be patient ,they did'nt like to be rushed, your "bargain" would be shown to you as though it were some prized possession and a price would be set for its purchase, you would be expected to disapprove and slowly but surely you would arrive at its real price. They trained me well for I did'nt buy anything that day ,I had heard of the "Kumshaw" that deal that could be struck when you bought in bulk. I asked how much Kumshaw they would give if I came back and ordered a case load ,they laughed and said come tomorrow and see. When I got back on board and told the lads what I could get ,four of them asked me to get them some as well. What were they? Things that would fetch a fortune now but were considered gimmicks then ,a model of the earth sat upon a pedestal that had dials and switches ,between the pedestal and the globe was a little blower with a nozzle on top .When you switched the gizmo on the earth would rotate and the blower would send up a jet of air on which you sat a model of the sputnik, a bleep, bleep sound was made ,and there you had a model of the worlds first satellite. Another was a model of a rickshaw in which there was a drunken sailor rum bottle in one hand and Chinese cheongsammed dolly bird at his side ,at the front was a rickshaw boy and when you flicked the switch of he would go, little legs flying ,crying "Lickshaw, lickshaw" .And there where police cars with sirens ,707 jets with screaming engines plus robots galore. When I went the next night ,I bought so many toys my Kumshaw covered the cost of the toys I wanted plus a beautiful leather wardrobe case to put them in.
    The night before we left, I went to the White Horse Bar and had the misfortune to run into some "freedom fighters" ,they were Chinese and they hated my white arse. I did'nt realise they were serious when they started accusing me of being an aggressor ,me the kid from Garston! I tried to walk away but one of them stood in front of me ,stabbing me in the chest with his finger and ranting away. Another Chinaman took my arm and told them to behave themselves leading me out of the bar, he shook his head and told me to go home where I would be safe. For now my ship was my home and we still had a lot of travelling to do. We were leaving for Balewan
    in the morning and that was in the East Indies.

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    Brilliant once again Brian. The rash sounded horrible. Especially being pinned down for the treatment. Ouch!
    Fantastic stuff Brian.
    Our friend Richie said you had a brilliant memory (he also told me the x rated exploits too) and how right he was..

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    The East Indies

    Sailing from Singapore ,through the Straits of Malacca, is a magical experience.
    On the port side ,when you are heading north west ,is Sumatera ,or as we knew it then ,Sumatra ,one of the larger Indonesian islands. When you are in the narrows of the strait you have land either side of you ,Malaya being to starboard. The palm fringed mountains provide a wonderful backdrop to the scene about you and the dawns and sunsets are nothing less than spectacular. The straits are always busy ,ocean liners and fishing boats vie with each for sea room. During the day there is so much to see with the ever changing back ground . The air is filled with the scents of the strange flowers and plants that grow on the plantations that abound on the verdant slopes of the passing mountains. The stiff breeze created by the ships passage through the green waters helps cool us against the tropic heat. Sea birds glide lazily above the myriad fishing craft that lay scattered across seaway. And so our journey to Belawan proceeds. There was talk in the mess room of what a violent place Indonesia was, there was an "insurgency" taking place ,rebels were seeking to overthrow the government of President Sukharno ,who was head of the resistance against the Japanese,was now fighting against a motley grouping who were backed by ,some said, ,the Dutch and the Americans. What it meant to us was that white people were considered potential enemies ;tales were told of crew who had been attacked ,and sometimes killed ,by the local militias. And so it was with trepidation that I entered the port of Belawan. The Dutch had colonised it for a few centuries and the evidence of that was before your eyes as you sailed into the harbour ,the buildings that could be seen beyond the wharves were gabled in the Dutch manner and were once red tiled ,now they were decaying and the colours were long faded .there were many ships
    alongside the quays ,their bright paintwork standing in sharp relief against the crumbling warehouses .
    There were lots of soldiers in evidence on the dockside ,dressed in olive drab ,their uniforms were very well turned out ,blouson and trousers starched and replete with razor sharp creases ,they wore their G.I helmets like every Hollywood soldier you ever saw. They were toting automatic rifles and squatted on the bales of cargo that littered the quay. Their presence seemed intimidating as they sat smoking , eyes on our every move. A whistle shrilled and they started to shuffle along the quay and our dockworkers started coming aboard. The natives wore mostly sarongs and ragged T shirts with a cloth wrapped around the head in the manner of a turban. They were small but powerfully built and seemed to have a contemptuous air about them,there was also an undercurrent of anger. The Bosun warned us not to upset them because it could cause trouble. Pre warned ,we kept our heads down and got on with the job.
    After the cool sea breezes ,working alongside in Belawan was like being in a steam bath ,it was so humid.

    The shower after work was over was so bracing ,the cold jets almost hissed as they hit my parched skin, a good scrubbing and then some dinner and soon I was on my ashore.
    I was told it was safest if we stayed within the port area and so went to the nearest bar ,this was right outside the dock gate. There were linen suited Dutch businessmen seated in the main bar ,I was the first of our crew to get there ,and so apart from the Dutchmen ,I was on my own. I was an inexperienced drinker and had been told to avoid drinking native hooch ,bearing this in mind ,I ordered a Heineken and then kept them coming until I looked for something different. Scanning the bottles behind the bar my eyes alighted on what seemed like a bottle of Spanish wine. I pointed it out to the barman and proceeded to work my way through it. In a little while I began to feel very mellow, the room took on a roseate glow ,this was lovely stuff. "The lads'll love this " I thought. "Should be ashore soon" A glass or two later one of the lads seemed to appear before me, I could'nt understand a word he was saying and the room seemed to be on the move. I'd passed mellow and was starting to feel queasy,"I wish this bloody bar would stop moving" I could'nt form any words properly and got up from my stool to head for the toilet. Weaving my way through the tables I lurched forward towards the Dutchmen ,pink suits ,pale green suit and nice cream suit......?..A Niagara of vomit burst forth from me and drenched the pastel coloured Dutchmen. Strong arms gripped me and hustled me to the lavatory. I don't know how long I knelt there, eventually I got to my feet and went back in the bar. It was Joey who had helped me and he had something to settle my stomach for me when I got back to the bar. The Dutchmen were waiting for me too and I had to pay them enough money to get their suits cleaned. Joey pointed out to me that I had been drinking native wine. What I had thought had been a bottle of Malaga was a bottle of Malacca. Never again.

    We just had the one night in Belawan and it was no hardship to leave ,there had been very little to do there and there was very little evidence of there being any women there too. Tanjung Priok in Java was our next stop and the lads said it was a bit like the wild west, lots of bars ,women and wild men. We were soon squared away and got the ship cleared of all the debris that littered the decks ,it was our home and we did'nt like the mess that shore wallahs caused. The journey back down the straits was no less magical than our journey up ,this time we would be going on past Singapore, by islands with exotic names ,PulauLingga, Pulau Bangka ,Belitung and then into the Java sea .The heat was terrific ,we were stripped down to sarongs and flip flops and we were showering twice a day. At night the sea was scattered with twinkling white lights shimmering in the blackness ,these were the fleets of fisherman little outriggers each with their oil lamps to tell us they were there. Great clouds of phosphorous boiled and glowed in the midnight depths and shooting stars were streaking across the heavens.
    Java night ,velvet black and strewn with jewels of light.
    The dawn appeared as a violet streak upon the eastern horizon , the mountains on the islands silhouetted black ,slowly the violet turns pink as it moves up the sky and then is tinged with gold , the sea is a sheet of silk reflecting the colour of the heavens and the silhouettes of the islands .As we stand looking at the mornings glory ,a black shape detaches itself from the island outline and soon we see it take the shape of a bird, a large bird. The upper sky is now pastel pink and the bird looks so beautiful as it flies gracefully towards us. We are nonplussed when it seems to collapse and falls slowly on to our foredeck. It is a flamingo as pink as the lightening sky and as dead as yesterday. The moment is so poignantly beautiful that my heart was filled with wonder ,life and death ,dark and light ,and now the dawning.
    Tanjung Priok lived up to the reputation the lads had given it, we were still tying up when we saw our first shooting. A wiry little fellow was haring along the quayside ,from what we never knew, but he had passed us and was heading the gate when a shot rang out and we saw him stumble forwards ,he was dead.
    Some soldiers strolled up to him and nudged him with their boots, satisfied ,they squatted by him pulled out a pack of cigarettes and sat smoking until a truck came.
    Welcome to Tanjung Priok!!.
    Inflation was rife in Indonesia ,officially ,the rate of exchange was 150 rupiah to a pound sterling. We used to pay 7/6d for a carton of 200 State Express 555 cigarettes in the ships duty free slop chest(35p in decimal). If they were in flat tins of 20 we would get 1000 rupiah for them ,and we did just that ,we had stored them up for our arrival there. The only drawback was that you were only allowed to take 150 rupiahs ashore with you. A big drawback, the cost of a nights entertainment with a lady was a hundred rupiahs ,you would'nt have much left over if you relied on 50 rupiahs. There were two ways to overcome this ,you could try and bribe the customs man at the gate ,this was risky because he might take your bribe ,and you as well ,or you could secrete in the rear luggage space........up your bum!!
    And that is what most of us did ,you could live like a millionaire on a 1000 roops. The favourite place for jack ashore was the Radio Bar ,this was run by a little guy called Maas, he looked after us sailors and was never known to cheat anyone ,his beer was good and he played the latest American records ,English pop music had’nt made it abroad yet.
    The girls who frequented the Radio Bar were good lookers and did'nt have a bad reputation either. The bar was a straw roofed affair ,open at the sides and lit up like Blackpool ,there were other little bars and eating shacks about and intermingling with them all were the little straw roofed rooms where the girls would take you to mik mok.
    Oh the testosterone that powered that little settlement, you could have lit up New York with it . We where there for three nights and I made use of everyone of them to sate my myself ,the food was excellent ,Nasi Goureng being the main dish ;one night I saw a bowl full of golden fried chicken legs and purchased a pot full. They were absolutely delicious, but they were'nt chicken ,turned out they were frogs legs and I've loved them ever since that time.
    Some of the lads turned up as I was finishing the bowl and started a bit of horse play ,they totally trashed the place until I was left sitting there ,no roof ,no walls just the table chair and me. They gave the owner a wad of roops and he started putting things back together,mad happy days. Our next port had a beautiful name ,Tjirebon,you say it Cherrybon,it was as pretty as it sounded.

  8. #203
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    Going Native

    Tjirebon was a Muslim port, there were mosques and the men nearly all wore the little black caps that people who had been on the Hadj wore .Whereas Tanjung Priok had been brash and full of bars this ,then little, town was far more subdued. It was here that I first heard a proper gamelan orchestra and saw a Javanese puppet show.
    The town was a mixture of Dutch colonial buildings ,native huts and Islamic temples; there was a market place where all manner of fish and spices were on sale as well as beautiful batik sarongs. As I strolled through the winding streets I got a greater feeling of what Java was really like than I had at Balewan or Tanjung Priok . I was'nt hassled as I meandered past the houses and shops and, as I walked into one of the little squares, I saw a crowd of people sitting watching an entertainment .This was the puppet show, There was a large rice paper screen which was backlit and the puppets were elaborately carved figures which were manipulated by sticks . I don’t what the story was but it was marvellous just to see, the gamelan players provided the music as the puppeteers played out scenes of love and death . The screen was illuminated by oil lamps and the villagers and setting were timeless. I was the only anachronism ,in my T shirt and jeans I was wildly out of place. But I was welcomed into their presence, children made room for me on the benches and sat casting shy glances at this stranger in their midst. I had left the lads down by the dockside and wanted to see what Tjirebon was like. When the show was finished , the puppeteer let me see the puppets which hitherto had only been seen as silhouettes upon the rice paper screen, they were painted in brilliant colours, reds, greens and gold and I've often wondered why the audience were never shown them that way.
    On the way back to the ship I saw a poor young man who was like a wild boar,he was snorting and grunting and scrabbling bout on the ground, the people around him behaved as though this was normal.

    As we journeyed around the islands most of the lads abandoned the shorts and jeans for sarongs, some of the regular crew had a variety of them ,big Albert looked like a Serang ,or head man, with his neat little beard and his huge girth ,he would'nt have looked out of place on a pirate vessel.
    At that time I was a doodler, when at school I had developed a knack for cartooning and I used to do caricatures of people. Not that I would ever show them to the people I had done. One night Albert came to my cabin and asked if he could borrow my writing pad ,it was on the table so I passed it up to him. I realised too late that the back pages were filled with sketches of Albert , as Bluto. An almighty yell filled the alleyway, "ANDEE !!!"? a shiver of fear ran through me ,"?Get Your Arse Down Here NOWWWW!! " I walked slowly to my doom, Albert sat at his writing table , looking at the sketches . "Is that supposed to be me?" he asked ,I was afraid to speak."It's bloody brilliant" he laughed. "You'll have to do one I can send to the missus" he said. Phew !

    After we left Tjirebon we went on to Semarang ,we were getting higher out of the water now as we discharged our cargo ,only a couple of more ports and then we would start the loading. I have vague memories of Semarang ,we did'nt go ashore ,we were told it was too dangerous. When we stayed aboard the lads made their own entertainment , the two brothers ,I think they were called Terry and Jimmy ,used to get their guitars out and we would sit on the afterdeck singing songs old and new. Most of us would sit sucking on cans of lager but those two boys never touched a drop. Even when we went ashore they only drank pop or coke, I was impressed. Terry always said that you did'nt have to be half cut to have a good time and judging by how happy they always were it seemed to be true.

    Surabaya came after Semarang, this was a pretty bleak place after the previous ports ,we were tied up a long way from the dock gates and the favoured bar was a fair distance from the gates. One of the Blue Funnel officers was reputed to have been killed here by the dockers ,from the attitude that these dockers displayed you could feel that to be true. They were surly and aggressive, we had to do cargo watch down the hatches to see that no cargo was broached ,most of the dockers seemed to be very young men and a couple of them used to masturbate openly ,daring you to say something. I have since sailed to many places but nowhere did I experience such open contempt towards us .It was even worse ashore. We went ashore in a group ,safety in numbers, there were a lot of trishaw men outside the gate ,all touting for business, Flashing smiles and making friendly gestures they competed with each other for our business. They would'nt let anyone share and so we all went alone with one of them.
    When we got to the fabled bar it turned out be a let down ,no girls, a couple of bolshy barmen and only old records on the juke box and some rubbish beer. A bit like Liverpool really.! After a few beers we decided it would be best if we went back to the ship ,there was no fun to be had here. Accordingly ,I went outside to see if the trishaws were there, as soon as I stepped out there I was surrounded by an angry crowd of them. They wanted all of my money or they would "Kil "me.? One of them brandished a knife and I had an out of body experience. I told them that I had left my money inside and went back to get it. When I told the lads what happened they decided to go out together, Oxo and Taff decided to stay put , I thought that they were pushing their luck. When the trishaw boys saw how many of us there were they went back to being their servile selves and we made the journey without incident .
    Back on board ,we got the beer out and sat and had a few cans before going off to our bunks. Around about an hour later we heard a commotion at the gangway and Oxo and Taff came roaring aboard, Oxo was wearing the dock militia mans peaked cap,he had whipped it off his head as he was running past the gatehouse, talk about balls of steel.! We sailed next morning and Oxo still had the cap.

    Balikpapan ,our next destination ,was on the Island of Borneo in Kalamantan, it was a huge waterfront with lots of oil tanks and cargo jettys. There was an Eagle oil Tanker in the middle of the harbou ,it had been there for more than a year,and could be there still for all I know. It had been bombed by the rebels during the Insurgency and was split into two halves, the after part was stern down ,the funnel and superstructure just showing above the water. The bow section and center castle were still afloat and would swing around on her anchor with both parts meeting up when the tide was right. I am sure she was called the San Flavinio. I don't know what happened to the crew ,but it was supposed to have been an American mercenary bomber pilot who was in the pay of the rebels who had finally done for her.
    It was Sunday when we got to Balikpapan and there was hardly anyone about ,after mooring and making things ready for unloading we heard the sound of a truck coming down the dock, we were the only ship alongside so it must be coming to us. It came to a halt just by our bow and we saw that it was full of soldiers, they clambered down, rifles in hands and then formed themselves into marching order. There was a civilian with them , a ragged little fellow in chains ,an officer barked out some commands and some of the soldiers gripped the prisoner by the arms and marched him over to the warehouse wall. He stood facing the soldiers who were now lined up with their rifles pointing toward him. The officer flourished his baton ,looking at us as though he was a circus master and this was the next act, turning to his men he cried out and raised his baton, dropping his arm ,the rifles thundered and the little guy crumpled in a bloody heap. Four men stepped forward and took a limb each and then toted him back to the truck ,when they had slung him aboard the rest of the troop climbed up and they roared back down the quay. A pool of blood by the warehouse wall reminding us that this was not a good place to be. It was pretty quiet in the mess room that night.
    We made our way back to Tanjung Priok by way of a few anchoring ports too small to be of note and each one looking the same.. Getting back to Tanjung was almost like going home, our trishaw boys were glad to see us ,we always used the same one, they would stay with us for the night and keep us out of trouble, it was the same with the girls ,nearly all of the lads stayed with the same girl, if they went back on the same ship those girls would be waiting for him when he got back. The girls all called me Joe Butterfly, I never had the same girl twice, I was like a kid in a sweet shop, they were all so pretty that I wanted them all. We were there for about four days and it felt like paradise to a young Lothario . I remember one night when I had imbibed just a little too much and flaked out in my seat by the dance floor, it was like a small settee and I was at full stretch. I don't know how long I was out but I was awakened by the sound of girlish laughter, I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on but could'nt raise the lids,there was something standing on them! Groping towards them I felt a huge insect there............it was a stag beetle, a huge thing the size of my hand, with antlers just like a reindeers. It sobered me up tout suite.
    The mate on the Machaon was a bit of an entomologist and he used to ask us to fetch him any specimens that we came across, I never got to giving him that one but a few days later I came across one sitting on top of the windlass .They are fearsome looking creatures and I was'nt sure if they bit you or not so I whacked with my marlin spike. It did'nt splatter or crack but just lay still and I picked it up and carried it up to the mates cabin. When he came to the door I opened my hand to reveal the creature and it unfolded it's wings and took off ,making a sound like a B52 bomber as it did so.
    I don't know who was more surprised ,me or the mate.
    The captain had arranged with the agent a day trip up to a lido that was on the top of an extinct volcano, this was a good few hours journey from the capitol Djakarta and nearly all the crew wanted to go, we had’nt been close to civilisation for weeks and weeks ,just to see proper pavements and streets would be wonderful.
    On Sunday an army truck came to collect us ,this was just like the one I had travelled to London in from Sharpness. Cases of Tennants were loaded first and then we sat where we could, the canvas sides were rolled up so that we could all see where we were going. As we entered the city we followed the riverbank for a good part of the way. The banks were thronged with people, some bathing ,some doing the laundry and others squatting as they emptied the contents of their bowels, all within yards of each other. As we left the city and entered the suburbs we passed the colonial houses, beautiful gardens surrounding them ,so gracious after the stews we had become used to . In the distance we could see a range of purple mountains ,our lido was up here ,we went through acres and acres of tea plantations ,the fragrant aromas scenting the air ,everything was clean and fresh and there was a riot of colour from the many flowering shrubs and trees. The locals waved as we passed by and motorists honked there horns and waved ,this was so different from Surabaya.
    The lido was huge, there was an Olympic sized pool and a plunge plus a kiddie pool. The place was full of Dutch people, hundreds of them ,this was their weekend retreat. We dropped our cases of beer in the deep end of the pool and went off to get changed.
    After a finding a space to "camp"? by the pool we decided to have a beer so one of the lads dived in to get a can. He came shooting up out of it like a rocket !! It was bloody freezing, very few of us spent long in the pool ,just enough to get a beer , the Dutch kids did'nt seem to be affected by the cold ,they frolicked about as though it was warm. Still, it was a good break and the views were marvellous ,from the diving board you could see the plains below stretching out for miles. We stopped at a plantation on the way back and we purchased small chests of tea to take home. I took a chest of Sukabumi and it was very aromatic ,Mum did'nt like it at first but by the time she was half way through it she was hooked.
    On the way back to the ship the beer flowed freely now that you did'nt risk freezing to death to get it. The lads were slowly getting sloshed; the locals who had been to the pool were following behind us and I was sitting in the tail end and a young Javanese couple on a motor bike rode close in to us and started a conversation ,they were happy to meet English people visiting their country and we were having an erratic converstion ,the flow broken by the twists and bends in the road. We lost them at point but they caught us up and handed me a load of branches which were full of lychees, they were gorgeous, fresh and sweet. One of the lads rewarded them by stepping up to the tail and dropping his shorts .revealing a very hairy, fifty year old arsehole. The young couple looked as though they had been scalded and overtook us . I sat there feeling ashamed. Lager louts are nothing new.
    Last edited by brian daley; 07-12-2008 at 06:25 PM.

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    Merry Christmas Gentlemen

    We were nearly through with the Java coast, we just had a consignment of tobacco to load and then we were going back to Singapore.
    The tobacco was packed in foil and then covered in straw matting which was sewn very tight with a kind of twine. The deck of the hold where it was stowed was covered in straw matting and when it was loaded the top of the cargo was also covered in this manner. It gave off a wonderfully aromatic scent. We also loaded copra in some of the holds, this carried with it hoards of copra bugs,a little like ladybirds ,but not so bright ,a kind of dull iridescent green. They got everywhere ,they were not harmful but it was'nt nice having them in your bedding and lockers. They completed the voyage home with us.
    Our homeward cargo was made up of raw materials ,teak and mahogany logs, spices, palm oil ,tobacco ,copra ,rice ,latex and a myriad other products from the islands.
    We topped up the hatches at Singapore ,where we had a whale of a time just walking on proper pavements and enjoying ourselves without the ever present danger of violence.
    We picked up just one passenger for the homeward trip, a beautiful young Malayan woman who was going to study at the Malayan College in Kirkby.
    It must have been a strange experience for her, being the only female amongst about 60 or so men, but she was always treated with the greatest of respect.
    Our next destination was Colombo , in what was then Ceylon ,we had to load some tea ,and we would be able to buy some for our families as well.
    I had heard a lot about Colombo, it was reputed to be the cleanest city in the East ,not counting Japan, and the Singhalese had a reputation for friendliness.
    Britain still had vestiges of Empire and Colombo still had a British Naval base there ,some of the lads reckoned you could have a great time in the NAAFI bar.
    So we headed for Colombo with the anticipation of a good time ahead.
    Christmas Day came a day before we arrived in Ceylon and the catering staff laid on a great feast ,the mess room and the dining and recreation rooms were festooned with decorations ;Oxo made a special Christmas tree for his cabin, instead of baubles and tinsel ,he adorned it with old sausages and chops ,cooked of course!
    After our Christmas dinner the captain invited the deck and catering crew for drinks in the dining room, and here I must tell you of how beautiful that was. The bulkheads (walls) were of silkwood and were inlaid with marquetry designs of a contemporary nature, there were mirrors which were engraved with nautical and mythical maritime scenes and in the centre of the deckhead was a wonderful crystal chandelier. It was a very gracious setting. The Master ,Captain Readshaw ,was very old school , he had to be in his late 60's ,or even 70's,hosted the Christmas drinks and let us sit where we liked; a novel experience for a JOS. Spirits flowed like water and when everyone was settled and warmed by Christmas spirit , Captain rose to make a little speech prior to giving the toast. He was standing in front of the sideboard at the head of the dining room and we sat facing him, that is all of us except Oxo, he quietly climbed aboard the sideboard and got himself behind Captain Readshaws head. When the Captain called upon us to raise our glasses to goodfellowship and kindness , Oxo dropped his pants and mooned ,the cheeks of his behind showing behind the captains head like a sacrilegious halo.
    Old Readshaw was bemused by our laughter ,unsure as to whether we had found his little speech witty ,but nevertheless proud of his delivery. He never found out about the "spreader", even the young Malayan lady laughed!
    Next morning ,Boxing Day ,we tied up in Colombo. Above the dock walls we could see that there was a covered market across the dock road ,this had a giant Father Christmas sat upon its roof ,it seemed bizarre, most of the Singhalese were in sarongs and saris and there above their heads was the spirit of winter.
    We were only going to be there for the day ,we were sailing that night ,because it was a holiday the bosun let us go ashore .I was getting changed when one of the Tally men came knocking at my cabin door. He was after any foreign coins or notes we might have for his sons collection. I had a roll of Indonesian banknotes ,they were totally worthless now ,so I let him have them.
    Freshly washed and dressed we three ,the JOSSES ,made our way to the British Naval base.. The streets were clean ,so different from anywhere we had been lately ,even cleaner than Singapore.
    The NAAFI was closed though ;when we got to the base some of the bootnecks told us there was no bar until the next day but that there was a bar that they used just outside the base ,the White Horse bar .That was where they drank ,so off the three of us trooped .We were the only customers and the staff made us very welcome, it was Christmas and they filled us full of the Christmas spirit...........................for a price of course.
    Soon we were out of funds but just getting a taste for the local brew, we were just about to leave when the Tally man I had given some money to walked into the bar, he waved to us as he was sinking his beer; I called to him and asked if he could buy us a Christmas drink. No problem he said ,finishing his beer ,he told the barman to give us what we wanted ,throwing a roll of notes on our table ,he waved us goodbye and wished us a Merry Christmas. Anther round of drinks was brought to the table and we gave the barman most of the roll of money. He went off to the bar and gave it to the boss who roared with anger, It was the Indonesian money !
    Shaking with rage ,he came to our table carrying a scimitar ,he whacked it down sending the glasses smashing to the floor. "Christian *******s!!" he shrieked " I vant my monies Thwack went the scimitar again. My bowels were on the point of opening when a little Babu entered the bar ,he was wearing a dhoti and an English blazer with a shirt and tie.. He was carrying a rolled umbrella and had a pair of black oxfords on his feet ,every inch the caricature of the Indian Lawyer. Seeing the disturbance ,he told the manager to calm down ,this was the English festival of Christmas ,it should be peace on earth and goodwill to all men. The manager turned the full force of his ferocity on the little Babu and we three exited stage left at a great rate of knots. We were greyhounds then and just managed to keep ahead of the barman, a little Morris Oxford taxi stood on the corner and we dived in and gave the driver orders for the docks.
    There was a rosary hanging from his rear view mirror and a sacred heart of Jesus on the dashboard. "Merry Christmas Gentlemen" he greeted us ,"I am Roman Catholic" This very happy Time. You are enjoying this holy time?"
    We had been, and he was'nt going to like what happened next.
    Arriving at the Dock gates amidst a stream of felicitations to us and our crew, I handed him the rest of the notes and raced through the gates with a torrent of imprecations hurled at the back of my retreating head. Of course I felt bad about it but there was little else I could do then.
    And so we left Colombo ,with some Singhalese left with an image of the English that was not very good.

    The weeks went by very quickly after that ,New Year was spent in the Arabian Sea and I stayed up for the of the New Year ,the 50's were ending and a new decade was about to commence.
    The sea was as black as ink and the heavens above were exploding with light from the stars ,the warm night was cooled by a gentle breeze and only the steady beat of the engine pierced the silence. The poignant sound of the bell tolling out the decade broke the stillness ,sixteen times it rang ,eight for the ending of the old and eight for the new.

    Up through the Red Sea and then on through the Suez Canal ,places that were now becoming familiar and places that heralded the passage home. I was getting excited now, I would have a good pay off this time, I wanted a new wardrobe and would spend my spare time planning the things I would do and dream of the girls that I might meet, and best of all I had a new niece to meet, Jeanette was her name and she was a little blonde bombshell , or so the letters from home told me.
    As you near the British coast a frisson of excitement enlivens the crew , no one is immune from it ,it's called the channels ,and the nearer you get to your home port the greater the feeling becomes. We'd be docking in the Gladstone on the Sunday but would'nt be paying off until the Monday. This was awkward for Joe and Fred because they could'nt go home until after payoff and that was in Birkenhead come midday Monday. I invited them to stop the night at our flat, it would be a shakedown on the settee but it was better than nothing.
    We got a taxi home and as were neared the tenements Joe said “You don' really live here d'you Andy?" Fred was goggle eyed as we entered the square " Erm, it looks a bit rough mate" he said. And for the first time since we had lived there I saw that they were right , my once demi paradise was now a slum. The walls were full of graffiti and the pavements were full of litter. I felt so sad ,it took the edge off my homecoming . But not for long ,soon we were in our little abode where Mum had a homecoming tea ready and my sisters were busy unpacking my cases.
    After dinner Dad took the three of us to Walton to meet some of his brothers, we went to Tims in Westminster Road ,a quiet little place that had a good pint and a human juke box.
    There was a little old man ,wearing a shabby mac ,battered brown trilby and a nicotine stained walrus moustache. Dad bought him a gill of mild and this inanimate little man sprang to life and sang "I know a Millionaire" when he finished the song ,he lapsed into silence and supped his drink,Joe bought him a gill and he gave forth with "Swanee"and then silence,we got about four songs out of him and moved on.
    This was'nt how we really envisaged our first night home, but we had'nt paid off yet!
    We crawled home just after closing time, ready for bed and eager for tomorrow. I would'nt be going back on the Machaon,I could'nt stand the thought of Bob's gallows humour and chapel ways. I was still a kid and wanted laughter and enjoyment, so it was goodbye Machaon!
    .

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    On Leave

    When Fred and Joe departed for home I decided to go over to Llandudno to catch up with Cousin Willie, there was’nt very much going on in Garston ;it was the middle of winter so I thought I would get a bit of a holiday at the seaside . Looking back ,I find it amazing at how forbearing my aunty Dolly was ,I would turn up without so much as a by your leave, and a bed was always made ready .Not to mention my free board!
    But it was great to see the Llandudno mob, they were all working ,and were still bachelors ,but Willy was smitten with a girl from Wigan. Her family had stayed as paying guests and Willy had been writing to her since she left, he had even been up to Wigan to see her ,this was serious, was this the end of “our gang” ?
    Being winter ,we never got further than the pubs ,I spent two days on what appeared to be a massive pub crawl, it was good fun though.
    I was at a bit of a loose end when I got back home I had a pocketful of tin and not very much to do all day. You become a bit of a fish out of water when you are on leave ,you lose touch with your schoolmates, most of the girls you would want to date are working and so you have to get through the day so that you could enjoy the night.
    Our family was much bigger now , Jess and her husband ,Graham would come up on a Sunday they would bring my new niece ,Jeanette, she was delightful, 4 months old and full of curiosity. Jess was now living down near the Flat Iron pub, they had a landlady who looked like something out of a Hammer Horror. But they seemed to be happy.
    Betty and Chris were zipping up ,it is amazing how quickly people grow and when you see them only every four month or so, it is like watching a tape on fast forward.
    Gradually you lose the closeness that you once had and become more of a visitor .
    It was soon time to be off again. This time I got a coastwise passage on a ship called the Anchises. This ship had a bit of a war record, she had become entangled in the fighting between the Nationalists and the Communists in 1949. The Chinese nationalists bombed her when she was sailing down the Wangpoo river. Her engine room was flooded and she had to be towed upriver to discharge her cargo when she was bombed again. It says something for the strength of those Blueys ,bombed twice and here she was nearly 12 years later, and still going strong. She was pretty much like my first ship, the Eumaeus, the crew was something else though. They were mostly coastal only men ,they had given up going away for long stretches and were content to work away for just two or three weeks. We joined her in Amsterdam after she had returned from the Spice islands. To get to Amsterdam we had to go to Harwich on the night train and the get the overnight ferry to Ostend and thence a train to Amsterdam. It was quite an exciting journey, there were about 18 of us deck crew ,mostly strangers to each other and a long journey like that is a good way to get to know people. Most of the senior hands were either married or engaged ,hence their liking for short trips, the junior ratings ,like me were filling in time awaiting a deep sea trip.
    The long journey was fuelled by an unending flow of amber nectar, some one had one those newfangled transistor radios that he had bought in Japan and we had music as well as booze. I don’t think we were too rowdy, there was no trouble during the whole journey.
    When we got to Amsterdam we were met by an agent who had arranged for us to get to the Anchises via a bateaux, a nice glass topped tourist barge. We had to await its arrival on the canal steps by the railway station. Among our crew were two old salts ,Harry ? and Joe Patino. They were both old enough to have sailed in the 1914 to 18; Harry was a fastidious old timer and Joe was just the opposite, a scruffy little man ,flatulent and very short sighted. They had both sailed together before and were like an old ,argumentative, married couple . Some of the AB’s and EDH’s knew them and were not very nice to them; age was not revered at sea.
    Old Joe became the victim of one the EDH’s pranks as we were leaving the station on the bateaux; he pointed to a battered old suitcase on the canal steps “I’ve got one like that” he said………It was his ! some one told the helmsman and we went back for it. That set the tenor of the trip. Pranks and tricks, some funny ,some malicious, I was glad I was’nt going deep sea with this shower. They treated the peggy like ****, I can remember one evening when he had cleaned up and was getting ready to go ashore .Two of the EDH’s came in and ordered him to make some tea, it was his time off and he protested that he had finished. These two characters laid slices of bread the whole length of one table, buttered them ,poured sauce and salad cream on them and then tipped the lot onto the table and deck ,”You’re not finished now you fat ******* ,get that lot cleaned up” I was only a JOS and had to keep my mouth shut.
    One of the other JOS’s was a youth called Brian Munro –Smith, a very handsome but scruffy person, he never had any seagoing gear and was a real greenhorn , to the point of being dangerous. He could’nt do his bends and hitches and we all wondered how he ever got to be a JOS. I forget who the other JOS was , but we had a newly made SOS who was a bit of an enigma. Sober , he was a good deckhand, quite funny and was very much aware of the pecking order. I like sitting with him at smoko and mealtimes, he had a fund of stories about Japan and Hong Kong, both of which I wanted to go to ,he knew all the best bars in Amsterdam, Antwerp and Hamburg . He would be the ideal shore companion, would’nt he ?
    We went to a little bar just off the city centre , it was full of professional ladies and they seemed to know Johnny ,we did’nt seem to be buying anything ,these friendly folk were hosting our evening…..good old Johnny! I vaguely remember being told that we would be making a film, a porno film!! I was too drunk to take part in it ,thank God.
    On the way back to the Anchises ,Johnny was in a terrible mood ,I had messed his plans up ,as well as the front of my suit. He got into an argument with some Boers, and they were arguing in Dutch!! As drunk as I was, I was still very surprised that he could sprechen sie Hollandaise so fluently.. They exchanged a few sharp punches ,with Johnny coming off best ,and we sped back aboard.
    Next morning he denied being able to speak a word of dutch and was his usual affable self. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde.! On our second night ashore it was like a rerun of the first ,but without the porno bit this time, half a dozen Stella’s down his neck and he’s talking Dutch again ,only this time he wants to fight me……..I was a pretty good runner then.
    When I was awakened by the nigh****chman for breakfast next morning, he gasped as he looked at me, “You’ve copped out for something Andy “ he said making a quick exit from the cabin. Apart from the usual morning after feeling I seemed to be O.K..
    I got up and as I got my toothbrush from the holder beside our mirror I got a glimpse of my face. It was covered in red spots. I went up to the doctors cabin and he sat me down and started to give me check out . He was looking worried ,he left the cabin and came back with the Mate ,I could hear words like “hospital” “isolation” etc. He got me to open my shirt ,my chest was covered in them ,blotches everywhere, As he lifted my arm to take my pulse, one of the blotches smeared ,it was lipstick ,some bleeder had caught me out in a practical joke. I don’t know who was more embarrassed ,me or the doctor.
    Later that day I would need his services for real, some of the lads had been ashore for a dinner time session and ,when we resumed work ,thought it would be a good idea to run at me with a large piece of dunnage ,held just like a battering ram. They cracked three of my ribs……oh they were such jokers ,the *******s!
    There was’nt one of them that I would have chosen to do a deep sea trip with ,perhaps I had been spoiled. Poor old Harry had it worse than any of us though. His cabinmate ,old Joe, was incontinent, when he had to go ,he had to go…….in Harrys drawers ,shoes ,suitcase ,bunk, you name it ,Joe crapped in it . He wore Long Johns ,which were a nasty shade of grey , when they were hanging in the drying room there was always a large brown star shaped stain on the bottom part. Someone said that a famous African politician saw it once and was inspired enough to design his newly independent countries flag by it.
    On our last morning in Amsterdam when the men were making the ship ready for sea ,the Lamptrimmer asked me to pop ashore and purchase a jar of Brylcreem
    and a pair of leather boot laces for him. He gave me a couple of guilders and off I went the ladies were already on the streets touting for business and I was greatly attracted toward them ,but I had an errand to run and no money excepting that for the Lampys’ gear. Purchase completed, I meandered slowly through the red light district ,taking a lingering ,lustful last look at the ladies. They were so pretty.
    As I was passing one stationed by a lamppost ,just like Lili Marlene , she whispered “Make love to Me Johnny” like a lamb to the slaughter ,my hormones had me nodding yes and I followed in her wake back to her rooms.
    I was out of my kit in a blink and she was half way through undressing when she mentioned money. “Money ? I haven’t got any money.” Said I .She pointed to the Woolworths bag which held Lampys Brylcreem and Laces. “I take” she said ,and disappeared into a backroom . I heard a muffled conversation and then she returned and got down beside me.
    Lampy did’nt half give me a clout when I got back!! But I heard he laughed about it later.
    We got back to Birkenhead on the 21st of February, I wanted to get out East again,to Japan and Hong Kong, but I had ten days leave to get through first.

  11. #206
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    The Antenor

    The ten days leave passed speedily by and I was soon boarding the good ship Antenor in the docks at Birkenhead ; she was pretty much like my first ship the Eumaeus,she was launched in 1957,for years after the Eumaeus and had those extra touches of modernity. I did'nt realise it at the time,but I was sailing on a ship that represented the peak of British shipbuilding. Only the ships of the Ben line came near to the perfection of strength and symettery of the Blue Funnel liners.
    This was going to be another voyage to the Far East,calling in to the continent on the way to pick up cargoes from Holland ,Belgium and France. I was getting to know those European ports as well as I knew Liverpool.
    The crew was a good mix ,we had two deck boys ,both from the same village in Southern Ireland , a place called Termafechin, and a place that I had a family connection, my mums mother had a cousin who lived there. Joe and Pat were the deck boys, cousins , they were as different as chalk and cheese. Joe was a well set dark haired youth ,about my size, skinny, and Pat was a six footer and about 19 stone.
    Joe was quick witted and Pat somewhat slower, but a nice pair of guys.
    The Jos's were me and Smiffy ,yes that same Smiffy of the Anchises,the one who I had vowed never to sail with again, he was my cabinmate too! Ray Mansell made up the trio.
    The Sos's were Georgie Dodd and Brian(Gabby) Davis, the AB's and EDH's,were Tommy Austin and his mate Jimmy, Joey Snelgrove ,Johnno from North Wales.
    There was Billy Trippier and a poor guy whose names eludes me but whose feet are imprinted firmly in my memory, he had the worst case of foot rot that I have ever seen and perhaps would like to remain nameless , There were others ,but the sands of time have scoured them from my memory..
    The bosun was named Joe and I think his surname was B*s**ard ,but that could be just my memory of him ,a wiry little man ,always wore a trilby and had a nose like Mr Punch and a mouth like a hatchet slash ,never smiled and was'nt really a good seaman as events would prove during the course of the voyage.
    The Captain was an Anglo African, Mr McDavid ,ultra smart and very punctilious.
    His chief officer was seemed to have stepped out of one of those wartime British movies ,behaved like Noel Coward and dressed similarly.A fop, but a good man.
    The chief cook was a man called Paul ,he looked like a French chef and cooked like an angel ,his second cook was the one off the Machaon and we had a baker who had served his time on the Cunard liners ,our stomachs were in for journey of gastronomic delights. The stewards were a great crowd, Alan off the Machaon was there as was the senior steward Phil, a real character who reminded me of Sergeant Bilko.
    We had a supernumerary aboard, a chief steward who was travelling to Singapore where he was to join a ship on the MANS run ,a fabled voyage that took you away for over a year and to places like the Far East , New Zealand ,Australia, the West coast of America, through the Panama and up the East Coast of the U,S and many ,many more places. He was a really interesting person ,he was openly homosexual, honest and very ,very funny. A bit like Ned Sherrin ,he had a vast collection of films and slides and would put on shows for us in the recreation room . He was a motor cyclist and had travelled all over Europe on his machine and had captured his journeys on cine film, this was years before continental travel had become available for the masses and his shots of the mountain passes in Switzerland and Italy were breathtaking.
    He used to slip in gay movies amongst the travelogues and the lads laughed uproariously at them ,there was no outright porn, just allusions and comical ones at that. I'm sure that Annie Proulx must have based her short story "Brokeback Mountain" on one of those little gay westerns.

    This then was the main crew who would make or break this voyage ,most of them were regular Bluey men and had done the trip many times,the deck boys were first trippers and I had yet to get to Japan.
    Smiffy was a bit of an enigma. The bosun did'nt like him at all and the deck crowd were very wary of him ,but he was my cabin mate and I began to feel very protective of him. He was'nt a sailor ,definitely middle class but with not a penny to his name, little and by degree ,as the voyage progressed Smiffy began to reveal his story to me.
    Meantime we had a ship to spruce up and Captain McDavids ideas of fighting the old enemy ,rust, were quite unique . He would never allow the use of a chipping hammer and was overly cautious on the use of scrapers too. He mustered all the deck labourers on the midships hatch and expounded his method of work. You had to use a sharpened scraper to strip off the old layers of paint ,making sure that the surface of steel was never abraded ,a gentle shoving on the scraper was all that he wanted and he demonstrated how it was done. He had had this ship from new and it was rust free. No sound of hammering ever disturbed the air aboard her, every trip she was scraped to her, still pristine, steelwork which was then steel brushed and coated with boiled oil. This seeped into the little pits on the surface and sealed the "skin". Red lead paint was then applied ,then an undercoat and, finally , a top coat. That ship looked nigh on perfect when she was done.

    Fire drill and life boat drill were carried out to the book and the captain made sure that we were expert in what we were doing. No warning was given as to when lifeboat drill was taking place ,it could be anytime during the working day and on any day. Every other ship I was on it took place on a Friday and at the same time each week.
    Captain McDavid engendered a spirit of competition in the exercise , two crews were set up and we had to see who could get a boat in the water first. From the sounding of the alarm to letting go the falls , we got it down to 2 minutes. And you could be any where when that whistle sounded ,up a mast or down the hatch ,it did'nt matter ,if you were late on your station your mates would let you know about it.
    I used to love the evenings on number 4 hatch ,the one that separated the deck crowds accommodation from the centre castle. Yarns would be spun as we sipped our Tennants , the stewards would come and join us and the evenings ,while being fun ,never disturbed the watch below (those men who were asleep and would be doing the night watches). Smiffy would never sit out on the hatch ,the lads thought him odd and were always pumping me for info about him ,I did'nt have any to give ,Smiffy was very shy.
    As we sailed down the Red Sea Smiffy started to tell me his story, he had joined the Merchant Navy with but one aim in mind ,to see his father ,a man who he had last seen nearly 9 years ago, and when you're, seventeen that is a long ,long time .
    I learned this story over the time it took to sail from Egypt to Singapore , and I found it very hard to believe at first for it was as different a tale from any that I had heard before.
    Smiffy was born in China ,where his father was a Taipan, a businessman, and a successful business man at that. They had a chemical factory in Tsientsin, before Smiffy was born they had to leave it because the Japanese occupied that part of China.
    They moved back at the end of the war and Smiffy had an Amah (nanny) from whom he learned to speak Cantonese ,he could also speak Mandarin and told me many stories of the time he lived there. The communists forced them to leave mainland China in 1949 and his family then settled down in Hong Kong and rebuilt the business there.
    Sadly for Smiffy ,his parents split up and his mother took him ,and his sibling to England ,where she took a job in nursing. She struggled to bring up her children but she managed to get them a very good education and Smiffy was proof of that. He was cultured in a way that I would never be ,proficient in Latin and elegant of speech ,he had all the makings of an English gentleman, all that is, except money. He was as poor as a churchmouse. I could never tell any of the lads his story ,who would have believed it ?
    He was eccentric too, I was laid up for a bit with something or other ,as I lay abed ,I heard Smiffy come into the cabin ,my bunk curtains were closed .and I could hear him giggling ,prolongedly, I peeked through the curtains to see what he was doing. He standing in front of the mirror eating a tabnab (cake) ,as he munched it he looked at himself and broke into giggles. "What the heck are you doing Smiff ?" I asked.
    " I'm just looking at how ridiculous I look when I'm eating ;I never realised I looked so silly" he replied as he carried on eating. I was learning something new about him everyday.

    Our first unloading point was Port Swettenham, we were moored to buoys as on the Machaon and we used the motor lifeboat to ferry the crew ashore, the midshipmen were in charge of the boat and it needed a bit of skill navigating that fast flowing river. Smiffy and I did a couple of trips ,acting as linesmen ,tying up and letting go.
    Somehow ,and I cannot remember the circumstances, we two were left in charge of it for one trip. I still blush when I think of it ; we had to pick some of the crew up from ashore and I was on the tiller and Smiffy was amidships in charge of the engine. The tide was on the flood and we were fairly zipping along .When we were about 200 yards from the quay I called to Smiffy to stop engines," Don't be silly Andy,we're miles away yet" he said as we almost surfed toward the dock wall. "Just f*ck**g stop engines !" I yelled. He shook his head ,almost in exasperation,"We're miles off"he answered. "Full astern!! Full af**ck**g stern !!" I screamed. He smiled at me as though I was a half wit. The quay was looming large ahead of us.............I unshipped the tiller and beat him across the shoulders . "Full ast......."CRUNCH !!!!! The lifeboat collided with a barge ,sideways on, and the flood tide was pushing us under it. Some Malayan dockers could see our plight and jumped aboard and helped push us off the barge and , taking our lines made us fast to a bollard and helped get us tied up properly. The boat was in a terrible state, the starboard side was almost straight from stem to stern, what the hell was I going to do? Smiffy just kept apologising," I did'nt realise.....etc.etc." There was only one thing to do, all my training had prepared me for this moment..We took the boat back to the ship ,empty of course ,moored her alongside and then just forgot about it. IT WORKED!!
    Questions were asked of everyone excepting the two Jossers, the Captain was furious ,but not furious enough to suspect we two.
    We adopted very low profiles for a day or three.
    Singapore was next and we would be going to Hong Kong after that, my cabinmate was getting more excited by the day, it would'nt be long before he was back with his Dad. Question was ,would his Dad be glad to see him?







    Me at Smoko on the Antenor



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    Since writing those last words some memory cells have popped open and brought to mind a member of the crew who loomed large in my life at Tiber Street Junior School and was now part of it again on the Antenor. I shall not give him his full name,not for anything that he should be ashamed of ,but for the shameful thing that was done to him. For the sake of this piece I will call him Eddy. When we were at Tiber street I was envious of Eddy,he was bigger than me, active in all the sports teams and a favourite of the teachers. We were prefects together but he was more suited to the position than I was, he had an overbearing character, I was a wimp.
    So there we were, eight years later,he was now a full grown young man, handsome, muscular and senior to me. But his nature had changed dramatically...............he was nice! He never joined in the usual banter ,never bullied the junior ratings ,was always attentive to the other speaker when in conversation . He remembered me too , and never once told a story against me. When all the younger ratings went ashore ,Eddy would remain aboard writing letters home. The poor guy was in love, and the girl he loved was picture perfect, her face adorned the space around his mirror and was stuck on the bulkhead by his pillow. At every mail call there would be thick envelopes for Eddy, with the usual SWALKS and other acronyms written on the back. He was saving to get married and he never spent a penny on himself having fun,he was happy and contented as any man could be.
    There was a record in the hit parade at that time called Running Bear, that was their song and Eddy hummed it all day long. He was a rarity ,a young man going to the wildest flesh pots on earth and remaining above it all. Would that I had the motivation to act the same way, I was a slave to carnality...........and loved being one too!!

    Another member of the crew I failed to mention was Braddock, she was the Bosuns only love, the care and attention her lavished on her was awesome, if he found any of us whispering endearments to her ,or giving her titbits ,he was not best pleased. She was a bit of a Wh*r* though. At every port she was the first one down the gangway, and she never returned until minutes before sailing; how she knew that the time was right I never found out ,but just as the gangway was being made ready for taking aboard ,Braddock would rush past the crew ,looking dissolute after an orgiastic sojourn ashore. She had a voracious sexual appetite and was always up for it. Some of the lads would tickle her butt with a rope end and she would present herself ,ready for a feast of priapic splendour, as you pulled the rope end away from her she would whine and back on to it ,almost begging for consummation. But woe betide the man caught in the act by the Bosun, Joe did not like his cat being treated as anything other than a Lady.
    Joe, some called him the Screaming Skull ,but that sobriquet belonged to someone else. It suited him though, he never tried to run the A.B.'s , he left that job to the Lampy, but he treated the deckboys and junior ratings very shabbily ,everyone was,"You",never a name,or nickname ,surname at best,but nearly always "You" He was as incompetent on deck as he was with his communication skills. One day we were all up the masts and Samson posts giving them a fresh coat of paint, Joe had the the two deck boys with him and they were painting the derricks,which were resting in their fastenings, to paint the parts that were resting on the fastenings and that hidden on the places where they crossed over other derricks, Joe had them raised a few feet to allow the painting to be done. This was not an easy job and should have had more than an old man and two boys to do it..They succeeded in raising the derricks and Joe put the peggies to work painting the hidden parts. Georgie Dodd who was working on the Samson post above them noticed the Big Pat was slowly being crushed by the derrick he was working under, you could hear the strangulated cries all around the ship. Luckily for the lad , Billy Trippier and others were quickly on the scene and the derrick was raised clear to allow Pat to escape without further injury to the bruising that he had suffered. Joe............he would nearly kill some one with paint.

    We arrived in Singapore with gleaming paintwork and bulging pockets, Anson road awaited our pleasure and those of us who were young and unattached made our way to the fleshpots.
    It was the rainy season now ,the skies would blacken and the heavens would open ,pouring down rain in Biblical proportions. It helped to cool things down though, the humidity was stifling at times, you needed to shower at least three times a day . One evening I was caught in one such deluge and was soaked to the skin, literally. I went into a clothes shop opposite Toby's Paradise and bought a complete new outfit ,the shopkeeper loaned me a towel and I stripped off ,dried off and put on the new outfit.
    With the damp clothes parcelled up I stood under the arches waiting for the rain to stop so that I could cross over to Toby's ,I wanted to get amongst the girls.
    Just a few steps away from stood a young woman, she was a Malay and she had the most beautifully aromatic scent about her, musky and sensual, I turned to take a closer look at her and was astounded by her beauty, her skin was so dark it glistened in the burgeoning moonlight. Her hair ,black and lustrous ,sprinkled with a gossamer of raindrops, added to her enchantment. She was dressed western style,with a black lace wrap about her shoulders,this was no dockside floozy. I had to speak to her. " Does it always rain this heavy?" I asked, she turned to me ,the whites of her eyes and teeth in sharp relief against her velvet dark skin "Yes" she smiled " This is the Monsoon season" "Are you going somewhere special ?" I queried. "I'm on my way home" she answered "And you?" I told her that I was about to go dancing and she laughed and said that that was what all the sailorboys said. I asked her if she would like a drink and she looked at me ,sizing me up,I could see that she was wearing an engagement ring and was about to apologise and walk away ,when to my surprise she said yes,she would like a drink.
    We did'nt go to Toby's ,instead she took me to a quiet little bar where she had a tonic water while I sipped on a beer. She asked me about England and the ship I was on, did I have girlfriend etc.etc. I pointed to her ring and she told me about her love. He was Dutchman called Jim,he had been working on the building of the new harbour and was a sailor like me ,he had worked there for 3 years but his contract was finished and he had to go back to Holland. They loved each other very much and were going to be married,she would join him in Rotterdam sometime in the future. They corresponded with tape messages,he did'nt write good English and she could'nt write good Dutch but they could communicate very easily via the tape. The rain eased off and we bade each other goodbye, her heart was with a lucky Dutchman ,my lusts were elsewhere.

    The second cook on the Antenor had bought a Greenheart fishing rod when we were on the Machaon;everytime we were tied up somewhere he would jam it through the railings outside the galley ,bait the hook and hope that he might catch a fish . He had put that rod out so many times now and had never had so much as a tiddler. And here we were,tied up against the quayside in Singapore ,day two of our stay, when the fishing rod started to twitch. The rattle of the rod against the railing soon brought the 2nd running. The rod was now bowed in a perfect arc and looked fit to break such was the strain on it. What the hell had he caught? Pretty soon the news spread throught the ship "Cookie had caught a big one!" Crew men and dockers lined the rail to see what was on the other end of the line. A Shark, a bloody great shark!!! All worked ceased as we watched the shark thrash and turn,the cook was almost exhausted by the strain of holding on to the line "Why did'nt it break?" It was only a Greenheart not a shark fishing rod.! Advice was hurled at the cook from all quarters ,the officers became interested and ,pretty soon ,so did the Captain. The fishermen amongst us took spells at holding the rod ,it was best to play her ,don't try to haul her in ,fish with a silken thread,all the old adages about fishing filled the air as the hours passed by. Captain McDavid ordered a barge to be brought around to the galley side. The lads could get down closer to the catch, slowly and by degrees the shark got tireder and did'nt thrash about so much, the line was slowly reeled in and the thrashing became weaker and weaker. Joey Snelgrove got a boat hook to try and gaff it. As soon as the shark was close enough he shoved it down the sharks mouth and pulled.......only to bring up a load of intestines! Still the shark fought on , the light began to fade and this made the lads more determined to land this beast. Joey had nigh hollowed the thing out with his gaffing .As the moon rose in the sky ,the shark ceased its struggling and a cargo hook was lowered to helped lift it aboard. The prize was taken to the fridge to be kept there until morning.
    As soon as the sun was up next day the shark was brought out and hung from a cargo hook whilst nearly every member of the team who had helped to catch it had their photograph taken ,singly, standing there ,rod in hand ,to show the folks at home how they had caught a shark single handedly.
    Photo session over, the shark was dumped over the side and work was recommenced as normal. About two hours later ,a large Mercedes drew up alongside the gangway and a Chinese gentlemen came aboard. He had heard about the shark and wanted to buy it,he was willing to pay good money.....did that poor cook ever feel gutted? Almost as badly as the shark!!

  13. #208
    Senior Member naked lilac's Avatar
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    Brian.. You write so well..I really enjoy reading your journals.

    Ya looked like a right good sailor on the Antenor.. Those were the days!!

    Keep the writings coming.. Aloha

  14. #209
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Hong Kong

    Singapore slowly sank beneath the horizon as we steamed our way to our next destination, a port so fabled amongst sailors that there was a general air of excitement through the ship. In those days the must see ports were Kobe ,Yokohama, Osaka, all in Japan, and then Hong Kong ,followed by Singapore. I had been excited by the latter and was thus looking forward to getting to Hong Kong, or more properly speaking ,Kowloon, we would not be tying up on the island but on the mainland.
    If the crew were in a state of excitement , Smiffy could be said to be in a state of hysteria. He was just days away from finding the father whom he had been missing for so long. As we lay in our bunks ,he would talk endlessly of the things he had done ,the schools he had attended ,the respect in which his father had been held by the locals .It was a whole different world from the one I had lived in I let him spin his tales for they gave me a peek at a world fast disappearing.
    Joe ,the bosun had a down on Smiffy,he gave him all the mucky jobs, and between Singapore and Hong Kong he gave him the worst. Stockholm tarring the mast stays.
    One of the special qualities of Stockholm Tar is that it is hard wearing ,it has to protect the steel cables against the corrosive actions of salt water ,it is thinner than paint and seeps into every pore. You cannot wear gloves when you are coming down a forestay in a bosuns chair ,you need to feel the cables ,you have to execute a manoeuvre when passing the block for the anchor light halyard that requires skill and bare hands. So gloves are a no no ,and your hands remain resistant to all the turpentine and other cleaners. Nails, and skin look filthy black and not at all like a young gentlemans should look like. And , as we arrived in Hong Kong Harbour ,that was just how Smiffy's mitts looked ; to add insult to injury, he had spent the morning greasing the cargo blocks before we were sent to docking stations and looked in a right old state.
    But that harbour.............................nothing had prepared me for the majestic splendour of it, the towering heights of the island itself, and the buildings that lined its waterfront ,fingers of glass and concrete reaching for the sky. The sampans and junks scurrying amidst the great white ocean liners that were disgorging tourists into pristine white launches as they set out to sample the delights of this enchanted place.
    Kowloon rose before us , the wharfs crowded with Blueys and Ben Boats, Straits Liners, the P.& O liners and the black funnelled ships of Buttersfield and Swire.
    There was a busyness here that I had never experienced before ,all manner of vessels on the move like an expertly choreographed display ,ferry boats danced a gavotte with sampans and tugs and stately liners minuetted with old steamers and all the while the whistles and horns of the myriad craft provided the musical background of the port.
    We slowly warped the Antenor into her berth, I was on gangway duty, swinging it out and lowering it to the quay ,we had to erect the rails and put in the ropework ,last of all put our name sign at the bottom of the rails and then make her fast.
    As I was putting the finishing touches to this task I noticed a silver coloured Rolls Royce parked just across the quay from us,a very smart chauffer stood at attention by its near side, peaked cap ,double buttoned tunic ,jodhpurs and highly polished boots, he could have been a driver for a crowned head or statesman. As soon as the name board was up, he opened the passenger door and a tall man emerged ,he reminded me of the Duke of Edinburgh. Wearing a pearl grey suit and silk shirt and matching tie he looked so elegant; he strode toward me and asked "Is Brian Munro Smith aboard this ship?" Speechless, I just nodded an affirmative. He stood smiling ,the next question unasked ,I ran off to get Smiffy while his father ascended the gangway .I found Smiffy on the foredeck reeling in the oily backspring , oil stained and covered in tar ,he listened while I told him his Dad was here. He fled toward the gangway and his father ,not caring about the state of him, clasped him to his breast whilst Smiffy let go a dam that had been building all those lost years, I looked away, overcome by the emotion of that scene. Mr Smith took his son by the hand and went up to the Captains quarters ,when they came down Smiffy said that his Dad had got him off duty for the whole time we would be in Hong Kong. They did'nt waste anytime ,his father whisked him away as he was, covered in oil and muck. This could'nt have been more than twenty minutes after we had docked and the lads lined the railings ,staring in disbelief as the Rolls Royce sped away along the quay.
    I had very mixed feelings at that particular time , envy and excitement: how could he have a Dad so rich ? and what action was there going to be ashore tonight?
    We had docked just after breakfast and at afternoon smoko I was sitting on number 4 hatch sucking on a Pall Mall when this image appeared before my eyes , a young fair haired man ,with a beautifully tonsured head ,wearing a sea Island cotton sports shirt ,sharkskin trousers and pair of loafers that would have cost me a months wages, his carefully manicured hands were fiddling with a gold braceleted watch and he was saying something to me. I was tongue tied , this was Smiffy!!? His Dad had spent the morning getting him the very best of Hong Kongs attentions,manicured,tonsured ,massaged and scrubbed ,all the while being measured for the outfits that would become the son of one of Hong Kongs Taipans.
    But Smiffy was still that wonderfully shy person he had always been. "Daddy wants me to have a party for the crew tonight Andy" he said ,my ears cropped open "Great ,smashing" was all I could think of to say. "He would like you all to come to the Peninsular Hotel at about eight o'clock tonight,is that alright ?" The rest of the lads had gathered around by this time and we all said "yes we'd be there." Smiffy smiled shyly and went back to his Dad. The atmosphere in the alleyway was incredible,a millionaire was inviting all the deck crowd to a party at the Peninsular Hotel; The very best hotel in the whole eastern world. We'd better make sure that we had our best dungarees on ,no scruffs were allowed in there!!..

  15. #210
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Peninsular Hotel

    Thus it was in a great state of excitement that the crewmen of the Antenor made their way to the portals of the greatest hotel in the orient. In sparkling white T shirts, bright tartan shirts with rolled up sleeves and well scrubbed denims they strode past the doormen and maitre de who lost some of their inscrutability at the sight of us. We were guests of the Taipan Mr Smith and they had to stifle their inclination to hurl us down the steps. Flunkeys ushered us into a ballroom where Brian and his Dad awaited.
    The table , a huge oval thing ,more used to having statesmen around it than a hoard of jolly jacks, was filled with cold beers and numerous bottles of spirits, I doubt that the great crystal chandelier hanging above our heads had ever illumined such a scene before. Mr Smith did not stand on ceremony , he ordered the waiters to refresh any glasses that were emptying and saw that a steady flow of ale was ferried to the table.
    Tommy Austin , sitting at one end of the table ,called for order and said that we could'nt let Smiffy's Dad buy all the rounds and called for a tarpaulin muster.
    A pint glass was soon chock full of Hong Kong dollars and Tommy gave it to Mr Smith who only accepted it for fear of causing us offence. I was seated by Smiffy and his Dad and they were still catching up on each others lives , it was hard not to eavesdrop as they revealed the missing bits of each others lives. Mr smith involved me in the discussion by asking what kind of seaman his son was, I could'nt tell him the truth, I said that he was a great deckmate ,and so he was. Even I blushed though when his Dad asked if he was still a virgin, Smiffy blushed enough to warm the coldest of rooms, he was a very gentle and innocent youth. His Dad chortled and winked that he would soon alter that, I was very envious of Smiffy at that moment.
    The night moved into a beery haze and some of the lads skinned out to go to the fleshpots, pretty soon there were just a handful of us left and Mr Smith took his son to catch up with life. No sooner had the Smiths left than the flunkeys slung the rest of us out. Still having a pocketful of dollars ,I too left and made my way to the Red light district ,getting there was a visual adventure . The narrow streets were filled with all manner of humanity, little workshops sat cheek by jowl alongside jewellers ,tailors , pastry shops ,woodworkers, ivory carvers and every kind of huckster. Old men squatting at workbenches carving exquisite scenes of Chinese life upon ivory , young boys hammering patterns into copper pots,the click clack of Mah Jong tiles competing with the sounds of a Chinese orchestra coming from an old radio, the street cries and firecrackers weaving a pattern of sound that is ineffably Hong Kong. I reached the 5 Sisters bar ,thirsty and in need of a dance ,both needs were sated in a trice and the night soon eased into morning.
    With a thick tongue and a head full of the evenings splendour , I turned to with the lads to do a spot of sailor work, the harbour is too distracting to stop looking at it for long and I spent most of the morning idly pretending to work whilst I watched the massive parade that is Hong Kong .
    Smiffy came on board at lunchtime , he took me aside and told me that his Dad was organising a China Chilo for him and asked him to bring 2 friends. A China Chilo was some kind of feast and I was all for that , problem was that Smiffy's shyness had prevented him from making any close friends aboard the Antenor, I was the nearest thing he had for a mate ,so he asked me to pick someone and bring him along . We were to meet in the bar at the Peninsular at 7 that evening and then we would go on to a restaurant were a room was booked for the exclusive use of our party.
    There was only one guy I could ask ,he was a poser, last night he was the only one to wear a suit and tie and he had the gift of the gab. Step forward Brian "Gabby" Davies.
    He was well pleased when I asked him and at seven o'clock , there were the two of us ,best suits and ties on ,sitting in the lounge bar of the Peninsular waiting for the Smiths. Gabby's use of a suit the previous evening was bearing fruit as we sat there, some JAL hostesses waved to him ,he had sat at the bar when the rest of us had been slung out and chatted them up. Some Australian Navy officers said hello, they had been subjected to Gabbys bonhomie last night too. Some Pan American pilots called out to him and pretty soon our party of two was now ten in number. The drinks flowed freely and a middle aged American lady came over to us , she had seen us there last night and thought we were so nice, she looked like a million dollars ,but was worth ten times that. We were now eleven in number and Smiffy was late. They turned up at 8 and Mr Smith, eyeing the party , immediately invited them all to the China Chilo. As we sat finishing our drinks in readiness for the off ,one of Mr Smiths business colleagues turned up and had a drink with us ;he had known Smiffy in his China years and wanted to join the party but he had promised his wife that he would be having dinner with her that night. Of a sudden, he slapped me on the shoulder and asked me to go with him so that his wife could see that he was not fibbing about the party,"She'll believe you"? he said as we made our way out to his chauffer driven limousine . We drove out through Kowloon and up into the hills where the houses became mansions, this was Taipan territory. As we cruised along his drive he warned me that his wife had a bit of a temper, "Keep close beside me ,she won't shout at you".
    A servant opened the door and a torrent of Chinese abuse was hurled down the grand stairway ,followed by a beautiful ,but angry Chinese lady. His wife. The shouting stopped when she saw me and she flashed a welcoming smile. Tex, that was he, quickly explained about the party and she went up to change, she was'nt going to miss this.
    Minutes later she reappeared looking gorgeous in a silk cheongsam,slit to the thigh and an orchid in her coiled black locks. As I sat beside her in the limousine I realised that this was a totally different world from one that I would ever live in.
    The Chilo was fabulous ,all manner of exotic dishes were served ,and I had Tex's wife beside me to show how they were eaten . We sat for hours as dish after dish was put before us ,rice wine flowed liberally and the conversation was fascinating, rich businessmen and sailors ,petite Japanese hostesses and Australian naval officers, Yankee Airline pilots and us, plus Mrs B. the lonely multi millionaires wife(Her husband was back home in Texas sucking black gold out of the ground)
    The dining over ,we were taken out to open topped cars and driven to a nightclub, I sat in the Smith mobile with Mrs B beside me, it's amazing how beautiful money makes a woman, I was becoming attracted to her ,perfectly coiffed and painted ,clothes by the best French designers ,and a body that was testimonial to the corsetieres art ,she was a fanciable lady ,plus her musky perfume would drive any male wild. As we drove we sang the theme song from the Wizard of Oz, it had been a film that the Smiths had enjoyed together in pre revolutionary China and the song seemed to capture the tone of the evening for we were off to see a wizard ,one called Al Koran, who was an international magician and a star of T.V. in the days of black and white T.V .
    The nightclub had been primed of our visit and all the entertainers made a fuss of our party ,with the greatest attention being made to Smiffy.
    When the dancing started , Mrs B made clear her intentions as we waltzed ,she practically ate me as we smooched around the dance floor ,her well armoured chest pressed near through to my backbone and my groin took a bit of a bashing too.
    I had been sitting next to a Brigadiers daughter who lived on the Wirrall, she was lovely and we had a few dances but there was no way that you could have a short lived affair with a girl like her ,so I set my cap at Mrs B. Sometime in the early hours ,I found the party had been reduced to Gabby ,the Japanese hostesses ,the PAA pilots and me, plus Mrs B.
    We got outside and caught a big Buick taxi which took the lot of us ,there were fold down seats and we set off for the pilots hotel. Mrs B sat between Gabby and me and I began to make my first move by placing my hand beneath her skirt, only to find Gabby had got there before me! He who hesitates...........
    I ended up drinking bourbon out of a plastic cup in the pilots room while Gabby took a well primed Mrs B back to her room at the Peninsular.
    To say I was peed off would be an understatement ,I had done a lot of first fixing with that lady and was disappointed not to see it through.
    The next day was to be our last full day there ,we would be sailing the morning after and our destination was Tsientsin ,Smiffy's old home town, now in communist China.
    I never had any money left to go ashore for one last night ,it looked like I would be stuck aboard in the liveliest place in the world. Gabby could'nt go ashore either ,it was his turn to be night watchman and he was disappointed too. Just after our evening meal ,he took me to one side and showed me a roll of American dollars that Mrs B. had paid him for services rendered .He peeled off 40 dollars and asked me to go to Scabby Heads (no kidding ) shop and buy a big chest for his Mum ,he described it in detail and said that if I told Scabby Head it was for Gabby he would know which one I meant. There was a bit of change that would be left over so I could get myself a drink out of it. "That's great Gabby, I'll take Ray with me and we can carry it back between us", so saying I collected Ray and proceeded in an easterly direction to the 5 Sisters bar. We had a riotous time ,40 bucks was riches indeed and we put it to good use.. In the wee small hours of the morning I made sure that Gabby would not be disappointed, we stooped off at a bakery and I bought him a ham roll ; not quite a lacquered chest but tasty.............and yes ,he did see the funny side of it.

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