Hullo Old Home

[brian daley]

Red China
Darkness had fallen by the time we had left our moorings, the shore lights of Victoria and Kowloon setting the harbour ablaze with colourful reflections. We were leaving the bright lights and heading for Tsientsin, Smiffy's old home town. The pilot was still aboard and we had to negotiate the great harbour ,filled with the many busy little vessels chugging to and fro across the now choppy waters. A fast launch was coming up astern of us ,it's klaxon blaring and a searchlight focussed on our bridgedeck ,flashing on and off. The engine slowed and then stopped and we lowered the gangway to receive our important visitor. Who the hell could be so important to prevent our passage to China? We gathered along the railing to gain sight of the V.I.P.. As soon as the launch came alongside the gangway a spritely little Chinaman in a lounge suit ran up to the head of the gangway and ,upon sighting our name board ,muttered drunkenly "Not Demodocus ?" and fled back down to the launch. Ah, those drunken orientals ,all Blue Funnel ships look alike to them.
We had to sail north ,through the Straits of Formosa ,now called Taiwan, and the Nationalist Chinese and the Red Chinese were in a state of constant warfare. Ships that passed through the Straits had to display a clear identification of where they were from and their name. We had great wooden signs that had on our name and a huge Union Flag. These were hung amidships on the port and starboard sides so that they would be visible to both sets of Chinese. Not that either side particularly liked us, the Korean war was still a recent memory and the Yangste incident had only happened ten years previously. We would be sailing through waters that were filled with a clear and present danger. Quemoy was the main target, this little island was subject to constant bombardment and we had to pass it . The signs hanging over the side were floodlit to ensure that our ID was visible at every hour of the day.
The balmy weather of southern China soon changed into a cold and rainy clime ,grey skies and grey seas, it was time for sou'westers and oilskins. I saw my first waterspouts as we sailed north , quite a bizarre sight ,there were dozens of them spread from horizon to horizon. In the grey light they too were grey, spinning towers of water that reached from the heaven to the stormy seas ,one of the wonders of the deep.
Our Chinese crew ,who had been very western in their attire and attitude ,started to wear the apparel that we were accustomed to seeing the Reds wearing , pictures of Chiang Kai Chek were being replaced on the cabin walls with those of Mao Tse Tung. We too were told to remove any nude pinups and to keep cameras out of sight and any binoculars were to be locked away in the Mates cabin. We were going to experience the delights of Red Chinese democracy. We anchored off Tsientsin on the morning of Good Friday, we could'nt go in because we were told that it was a holiday. Smiffy reckoned that they were being sarcastic and were taking a rise out of us by saying that it was a Peoples holiday ,showing their contempt for our effete Christian culture. Whatever, we were going to be stuck out side the harbour until Saturday morning. We had a big job to do anyway; the Antenor was carrying an enormous drill head ,reputedly the largest one yet made , and we had to get the Jumbo derrick ready, this was a very heavy lifting derrick ,capable of lifting 150 ton and that is why we were chosen to carry the drill head..
We spent the best part of the morning "breaking" it out and getting it guyed up. Just after we had turned to after lunch a young "middy" came tearing up the foredeck, his eye wide with panic and fear, mouth open in a silent scream. Lampy grabbed hold of him and tried to ask him what the matter was. The boy just gibbered and pointed aft, "N, number 5,n,number 5 " was all he could say. Lampy dashed off aft to number 5 hatch ,quickly followed by the rest of us. There we found another "middy" standing by the hatch ,a look of horror on his face. Looking over the coamings we saw the 2nd mate laying at the bottom of the empty hatch ,body like that of a broken marionette. The "middy" told us that the 2nd had slipped off the top rung of the ladder and had hit the propeller shaft housing before smashing to the lower deck.
A hatch board was lowered and the doctor and two deckhands went down with it to bring the poor man up. I never saw such care and tenderness displayed as I witnessed that day. Billy and Johnno gently lifted him to the board and the doctor set to work in assessing his wounds. He was taken to the bosuns mess and laid upon the table, barely alive ,his body being a broken mess. Signals were hoisted and radio messages despatched but the shore authorities insisted that nothing could be done until the holiday was over. That was still many hours away. The mood in our messroom at dinner was pretty murderous ,just next door a poor mans life was ebbing away because he needed the skills of a surgeon . I went into to see him when I had finished my meal, he was just about conscious, face bloated with bruising ,he managed a little smile and I felt a burning in my eyes, we were helpless and there ,not more than a mile away was a city with a hospital and doctors. I grinned weakly and muttered something encouraging.
We were roused from our bunks at midnight ,the Peoples holiday was over and they were graciously allowing us to enter port immediately for humanitarian purposes. We were alongside and moored up before the clock struck one, an old American army ambulance stood on the quay, the back doors open and a couple of squat faced attendants standing ready to take our 2nd to hospital. After Hong Kong and Singapore ,this place looked like hell.

We awoke to the sound of martial music being played over loudspeakers ,the tune was ,I later found out ,"The East is Red". A very heavy piece, sounding like something by Mussorgsky rather than a Chinaman. We were to hear this music night and day during the length of our stay, and there was no escaping it ,there were loud speakers everywhere. We had to parade on the prom deck as soon as we were up, the PLA were there to inspect us ,and our cabins too.
Inspection over ,we had to attend to the job we were there for, get the drill head ashore.
A railway wagon stood on the quay awaiting its cargo ,cameramen were stationed to film the proceedings, this would be on their newsreels. Everyone ashore was dressed in kapok lined jackets and wore trousers to match, atop every head was the familiar Mao peaked cloth cap. Although the style of dress was universal the cloth it was made of differed with the rank of the wearer. The dockers wore cloth of the lowest quality ,checkers and tallymen wore something a little better ,policemen and and PLA men wore better still ,later that day we would see what the party bosses wore.

The drill head emerged fro the hatch like some monster rising from the deep,it was huge and you could hear the steel cables straining at its weight, slowly it rose until it was clear of the sides and then it was guyed out over the quay and then lowered into the cradle awaiting it on the railcar. Massive applause broke out from the assembled throng that viewed the spectacle ashore..
As the railcar pulled away an enormous parade took place,this was headed by a current model open topped Cadillac Eldorado, green and fawn two tone ,and seated atop the back seat like some presidential hopeful in a ticker tape parade ,was the local cadre dressed in the same style as his workers but in a suit of the finest cashmere. George Orwell saw it all many years before,wrote a book called Animal Farm and we were now in it.
The things that remain vivid in my mind are the lack of colour and the dinginess. There was an air of desolation and trampled hopes, no one was starving and everyone was clothed and shod, but you only saw the blue of their clothing ,the Brown of the PLA (Peoples Liberation Army) and the grey of the buildings, there were violent splashes of red ,these were the propaganda posters decrying the American Imperialists and their running dog lackeys ,us !
All the radio stations were jammed so the only music we heard was that mournful dirge The East is Red. We were glad to shake the dust of that place off our heels as we sailed for the Phillipines

Whilst on passage to Manila ,we were painting the deckhead on the promenade deck and I was standing athwart the taffrail to reach up with my brush when I slipped and landed heavily on that broad wooden rail. My coccyx took the full force of the impact and within a couple of days I developed a lump the size of a tennis ball there. The doctor said it was a combination of heavy bruising and the growth of a sebaceous cyst. Whatever it was, it was bloody painful and prevented me from working . The Bosun was none too happy because he could'nt find any light work for me to do. I was'nt too happy either because when we got to Manila I could'nt go ashore ,and this was reputed to be better than Singapore ,almost like the wild west the lads said ,and Silver City was supposed to be the wildest place this side of Panama. And all I could do was look from the taffrail. A doctor came aboard and made a prognosis about my predicament; it would require an operation but they could'nt do it because the hospital was not air conditioned and the perspiration would cause infection. I would have to wait until we were back up north. In the meantime the Bosun and me would have to live with it. We were in Manila for a couple of days and from what I heard ,from the local radio ,this was little America,all the DJ's had American accents and they played a lot of Elvis and other Rock greats. One of the lads brought some Manila rum aboard and gave me a few glasses of it ,by the third glass I was up and bopping to the King,
And as I was giving it large with the legs I noticed the doctor looking through the porthole. The bosun turned me to with a vengeance next morning,but it was pretty soon apparent that he would have to feed me some Manila Rum if I was going to be of any use.
Joe and me started to fall out with each other,it was a mutual dislike ,he thought I was malingering and I thought he was an incompetent tosser. But he was the boss.
When we got to Masinlok ,a beautiful little place of gleaming white sand, turquoise sea and swaying palms he made me get up and work while we docked. It was obvious I was incapable of doing any physical work and the gang I was working with let me be winchman. It was a Sunday and so would be overtime ,but I was'nt interested in that fact at that moment, all I wanted to do was keep alert and not make any foul ups,the pain was blinding and I was having a job to hold on. Billy saw the pain I was in and as soon as he could ,he let me go back to my cabin. That was another port I missed . We went up to Borneo after Masinlok,we were going to load the hardwoods of Sarawak. The lump started to shrink and I was able to work freely and without pain. The river Reyjang was where we were bound and our wharfingers were going to be Dayaks,famed for beheading their enemies and keeping their skulls in their long huts. They lived on a floating dormitory, a three decker with louvred wooden windows. They were skilled at their job and put those giant logs in places that you would have thought impossible. The Reyjang had a great rise and fall and was fast flowing,we moored out in the river and never got ashore,but what we could see from the ship was right out of Conrad, the dense jungle and the sounds of the wild creatures that dwelt within that green mass. The fishermen in their long prowed craft casting nets and the smoke rising above the trees gave the place a timeless air. Soon we were loaded and on our way back down the river ,as we were navigating the waterway we heard the sound of muffled thumping at number 6 hatch, as we got nearer we could hear a voice wailing ,plaintively. Opening the hatch we found a Dayak,all hot and sweaty,he must have had a catnap and missed all the palaver that accompanies the battening down and squaring away. A passing fisherman was hailed and our little Dayak docker was taken away by him.
Belawan next stop and then Singapore,we were on the homeward stretch,I never heard any more about the 2nd mate,all I knew was that he lived.

[brian daley]

Goodbye and Farewell?.

There was a curfew in force when we got Belawan, Sukharno was facing some military uprising and foreigners were not welcome. We were only going to be here a couple of days so we were not too worried. The wharves were nearly empty, the only other vessel alongside was a Norwegian ,which was tied up astern of us. On the first night ,I made the mistake of going ashore by myself ,the police on the gate subjected me to a full body search before they would let me through the gate ,they also made it quite clear that they wanted my the shirt off my back quite literally .I had bought it in Singapore when we were outward bound ,it was a lightweight white cotton with a gold thread woven in a window pane pattern ,very nice ,but the wrong thing to wear here. They fingered the material and made gestures for me to take it off, threatening me with their guns. Luckily some of the Norwegians came along and took me with them. The looks those policemen gave me as we left for the bars let me know that it was a matter that had not been concluded.
The curfew was due to start at 10 ?00p.m. so I made my way back a bit earlier, I went into the next gate along so that I would not meet up with the same guys who had given me so much grief on the way ashore. When I walked through the gate I knew that they had been briefed by their oppo?s on the other gate. They started pawing the shirt, ?You give me Johnny? they were saying ,pointing their rifles and sneering, they were having a great time giving me sh*t..
I ran back to other gate and got there just as our crowd were going back through, one of the cops spotted me and pointed two fingers at me ,miming a shot. I wore an old T shirt when we went ashore the next night ,and I made sure that I was with our lads ,I passed through the gate without incident.
The dockside bar was full of Norwegians celebrating Norwegian Independence Day.
They were well in to their cups, as boisterous as Vikings and they insisted that we join them in their celebrations, we did?nt take much coaxing, pretty soon we were all a little pie eyed. At ten o?clock the bar owner put the shutters up and told us to go ,the Vikings were having none of it, and they were not going to let us go either. They roared at the barmen to bring more beer and the poor little buggers were too scared not to, they passed it out through the windows ,closing them after each refill ,and there we sat ,on the verandah singing along with the Vikings as they gave voice to some of the worst sounds (you could?nt call them songs) I have ever heard. Pretty soon those sounds of carousing reached the ears of an Indonesian soldier on curfew patrol ; he came around the corner and used his rifle to motion us toward the dock gates , a few of us started out of our seats ,the Vikings pulled us back down. They yelled at the squaddie to go away and hurled a few cans at him. He walked a few paces away and then turned ,dropping to one knee he shouldered his rifle and took aim???my bowels moved uneasily and the Vikings gave him the Finger. There was an explosion and a big chunk of plaster sprayed out of the wall behind our heads, mentally I was taking ten foot strides toward the gate ,physically ,I had a big Skowegians hand on the back of my shirt pulling me back into my seat. The soldier stood up and walked off , shouting a few epithets in Tagalog. We were just getting our teeth into the next round when a big half track full of soldiers pulled up, they piled out of the back and an officer got out of the cab. He spoke perfect English and ordered us out of the verandah ,the troops behind him aiming their rifles at us as he did so. The Vikings must have known that this would happen because they had a carry out ready and they stood up and made a line , getting us to join in, and, with cases of ale on their heads , they started a conga line back through the gates. The soldiers had a job to keep in step as we danced back through the gates ?Ay Ay Yah Yah Conga ,Ay Ay Yah Yah Conga?.? We all ended up on the Norwegian and drank ourselves into oblivion.
In the morning it was time to leave for Singapore ,we looked forward to getting back to civlisation ,clean streets ,plenty of bars and no corrupt policemen.
I did a bit more buying for the lads when we got here, I had so much swag now I had to get another suitcase to hold it all. I got a letter off my cousin Willie when we were there, I wish I had kept it because it was posted on our outward leg and had been sent to every port that we had visited and had missed us and then been forwarded on, there were eight different stamps and postmarks on it ,be a collectors item now ,but I sent the envelope back to Willie to show him how well travelled his letter was.
And we were travelling now to Ceylon to pick up some tea. Our destination was Trincomalee, I had read about this port in an American magazine, there was a sunken admiralty drydock which was ,according to the article, home to the biggest grouper in existence, so big that a man could stand in its mouth. How did they know, did a man stand in its mouth? And ,if he did ,did the grouper take advantage and have a free meal ? when you are 18 questions like that come easily to the mind. Before we left the Malayan peninsular we had occasion to see what a wealth of sea life there was about us , we had a stop in a small harbour while the engineers effected some repairs. It was a beautiful unspoiled place, no human habitation spoiled the vista ,just densely forested hills and a deep,deep harbour. The anchor was lowered , engines were stopped and all was silence save for the animal cries amidst the trees and the crash of surf upon the shore. The Chinese crowd had their fishing lines out at the first opportunity and, looking over the side ,we were amazed to see dozens of hammerhead sharks, sea snakes by the hundreds ,like lots of multi coloured ribbons ,turtles and the silvery flashes of all manner of fish. The Chinese were pulling in sea snakes with every line dropped , they were so brightly coloured it was hard to believe that they were deadly,as soon as they hit the deck they were battered with a great big fid. They all went into the pot.

When we arrived in Trincomalee harbour it was plain to see that the superlatives that had been used to describe its beauty had not been overstated, it was a huge perfectly formed basin that a whole fleet could have anchored in, the softly rounded mountain tops towered all around and the verdant hillsides were dotted with white bungalows ,gleaming in the sunshine. This had been an important British naval base and some of the installations were still to be seen, its main purpose now was a tea port, there were vast warehouses full of the soothing balm. Our Captain was not over keen on the work that the wharfies were doing and came down to the hatch and started to show them how to load the stuff, some of the older crowd, referring to his skin colour mockingly alluded to him as being good at it? ?cos he was only a coolie anyway? Good job he never heard them.
We were allowed to buy a box of tea to take home ,I never bothered, they were still working their way through the last lot I took home on the previous trip.
On our way across the Arabian sea ,Joe ,the bosun came to me to sign the month end sheet for my overtime, I looked at the sheet and saw that the Sunday I had worked at Masinlok in the Phillipines was missing .When I questioned him about it he said that I never worked then because I was off sick ,I protested and he blanked me, there was to be no overtime for me . I went to see Billy ,I had been his winchman ,he was?nt going to argue with the bosun ,young Pat also denied all knowledge. I realised that I was?nt a company man, they were and they were not going to rock the boat. I started to think about leaving Blue Flue, there were too many company men for my liking, the guys from the pool seemed to have more open minds and a greater sense of experience. This was beginning to feel like a village where everyone knew everyone elses business. Things came to head a few days later when I had knocked off work a few minutes early to get cleaned up for lunch, I was standing at a washbasin scrubbing my hands when Joe stuck his head through the porthole just above the sink. He started shouting at me ,telling me that I would be logged for sliding off early ,that horrible skull like trilby topped head ,like a tortoise in its shell was sticking through the porthole ,inches from my face. I grasped his throat in both my hands and started to strangle him ,I was yelling ?You Bast*8rd !! I knock off 2 minutes early an? yer wanna log me ,You steal a whole Sunday off me and I get shafted!!? He was going purple and started to go limp when the Lampy ran in the bathroom and pulled me off him.
I was shaking with anger when I sat down to eat, people just stared at their plates and talked in muffled tones. I was sitting in my cabin having a smoke prior to turning to for the afternoon session, Joe tapped the door ,he was holding a sheet of paper.
? I?ve found that bit of Sunday overtime, put your monicker there? I was gobsmacked, I really thought I was going to be up before the Captain, but that was the finish of it. Did?nt change my feelings though, I wanted to see what the rest of the Merchant Navy was like.
Gabby was going to have a big party when we got home ,it was his 21st and his family were pulling out all the stops ,it was just days away before we would be docking in KG5 in London and the Antenor was being given a final lick of paint so that we would be ship shape and Bristol fashion when we arrived. Painting was about the only thing Joe was good at and he could be seen at it long after everyone had knocked off, the evening before we docked in KG5 he was brushing away on the fo?csle head brightening up the windlass. The drum ends were still tacky as we nosed through the lockgates and Ray Mansel ,who was hauling in the head rope was struggling to handle it as it kept sticking on the tacky paint, the bow was veering and Ray tried to serve some slack ,but it would?nt take it and all of a sudden it whipped and hurled Ray right over the drum end ,sending him smashing face down on the steel deck. His face was badly broken and his jaw was smashed too. A terrible final curtain for what had been a fairly good voyage. It was a subdued crowd that took its payoff and headed for Euston Station, the sunny skies and thoughts of home started to ease some of the anger that we felt towards that halfwit ,lucky for him that he was not with us on the train.
And what a train journey that was, it was mid June, and it was scorching, Billy Graham was in London on his great crusade and the station was filled with home going pilgrims. Gabby, Tommy ,Johnno, Jimmy and I managed to find some seats in a compartment in which there were some Salvation Army women .Two of them were middle aged and there was a very pretty young lady of about 17 with them. The compartment was sweltering hot and Tommy and Jimmy had brought a couple of cases of beer on board, the trains bar had run out of soft drinks and these poor ladies were dehydrating. Tommy persuaded them that they would not be sinning if they sipped a little bit of Guinness, reluctantly they realised that it was a case of drink or die. Cans were opened and the ladies slaked their thirst, by the time we got to Crewe they were more than slaking their thirst ,this was a slow stopping train and they needed a lot of cooling down. After a while Gabby slopes of with the young one and gave her a good seeing to in the goods van. When we arrived in Runcorn, their home stop, they were well away and fell out of the train into the arms of their husbands and friends who were waiting to welcome them home. I see them still ,trying to stand upright ,bonnets askew ,while their menfolk look on this terrible sight ,bewildered no doubt at just what Billy Graham had done to them.
Soon we were in Lime Street , saying our goodbyes and looking forward to Gabbys party. I had a bit of a problem though, in the last letter I got from home ,Mum had written that we had a new house on the R.O.F. estate in Kirkby, she would be sending me the address in the next letter, it had?nt arrived yet. So , my first job was to find the R.O.F. estate and then find them .
It seemed strange to riding north out of the city instead of to Garston, I was going to miss Speke Road Gardens, goodbye and farewell?????????????


Flamin? June

On the way from Lime Street little details ,such as my new address,came to mind ;I knew we now lived in Old Kirkby ,in a road at the back of the Railway Pub ,near the Malayan Teacher Training college .It was on the R.O.F. estate and Dad got the house as part of his job. What mum had failed to put in her last letter to me was the house number and road! Taxi drivers appreciate information like that, homegoing sons appreciate them even more. I told the driver to drop me at the pub, it was evening opening time and I thought Dad was sure to drop in for a jar on his way home ,as was his usual custom.
The place was a bit basic ,some of the guys were already well into their cups and it was only 6.00 p.m. I ordered a pint and dropped my cases at the bar, it was?nt the kind of place that you got suntanned travellers with kitbags and cases in, the clientele was of the broken nosed kind and I could feel their eyes giving me the twice over. A crossed eyed guy ,with a nose like an old fashioned doorknocker sidled up to me ?Oo the f**k ar yew?? he enquired politely. I told him we had just moved into the neighbourhood and that I was looking for my old man. ?Wassisname?? he asked.
?Bill Daley? I replied. ?Old Billy,Yisss,I know Billy,smashin ?feller.always in ?ere ?e is? He looked round at the assembled cut throats ?Dis is Billy Daleys lad, he?ll be alright ?ere? turning to me ,he said ?Gerrus a pint ?o mixed lah,me an? yer ol? man are best o? mates? After his third pint somebody made a sound like a bell and Johnny,for that was his name, put his fists up and started sparring???????..I had just met Johnny the punch drunk wreck. The gaffer popped his head in from the snug ?Cum in ?ere lad, thats the ?ead cases bar!? The gaffer was called George Gavin and he turned out to be one of the best. He knew my Dad and he also knew that our family lived in South Park Road ,near the top end ,and he also knew that my Dad never ,ever ,drank in the ? ?ead cases bar?
I supped up ,grabbed my gear and marched down to our new house. It was a balmy June evening, the lane from the pub was alongside the railway line and to the right of the lane it was tree lined and full of flowering shrubs, halfway down the lane was a little Chinese takeaway . South Park road was unadopted and had an unpaved roadway, very rustic. The were a few bungalows and old Victorian houses at the very top and then you came upon the R.O.F estate. The houses had been built during the war and had flat roofs , they were in long terrace blocks and each had their own little front garden. It looked so neat and tidy and was so very quiet, everyone indoors ,this was so different from Garston.
It was pure accident that I knocked the right door first time, our Bette opened it and stood there gaping ,Chris came behind her and Mum called from the living room ?Who?s at the front door?? They both yelled ?Ar Brian!!?
Mum came into the hallway, eyes aglitter ,and a smile starting across her face, she was?nt big on cuddles and hugs , but I could feel the warmth of her welcome at ten paces. ? Come in Bri? I?ve got yer favourite for tea? Stuffed lambs hearts ,gravy and three veg," she knew the way to my heart !

After our evening meal I unpacked and gave my family the gifts I had brought back from Hong Kong and Singapore, there were all kinds of electronic toys and gizmos but there was the usual bottle of duty free for Dad and I shared out my cigarettes with both Mum and Dad. I still had a load of goodies left and I would take these down to Walton to give to some of my cousins. Dad cracked opened the scotch and we had a glass each and then went up to the Railway ,where he made proper introductions to the regulars in the snug.. This was Dads weekday watering hole ,Saturdays were spent down at the K.T.A., the Kirkby Tenants Association clubhouse. It was a wooden wartime structure,could have been on any military campsite , wooden walls ,with a coat of eau de nil,a rickety little stage and a wartime sound system. Dad was gaining a reputation as a vocalist there and he was backed by a piano and a drum kit, played by his workmates from the R.O.F
The ale was good and cheap ,so next night , Saturday night I went down there with Mum and Dad, they were a popular couple ,judging by their reception, by 9.00 the place was packed and there was a really friendly atmosphere, Joe Davis was M.C. and he fancied himself as a bit of a yank, like Jack Carson ,the film star. He was also the drummer and around half nine he went to the ?mike? and said ?Layeez an? Gennulmen, we are privileged to welcome back on stage Kirkbys own Bing Crosby??.lets hear it for Bill Daley.!? Dad ,looking impeccable in his black lounge suit,strolled on stage ,took the ?mike? in hand and said ? Thang yew Joe, and thank you too folks, I?m now going to do a little Crosby number??.It Happened in Monterey???.? It was?nt Vegas,but the folk there loved it.
Around about 10.30 I made my excuses and caught a cab to Liverpool, I wanted to be among the girls down in the burgeoning club scene, there were not as many as there are now but there was enough for me.. Next day, Sunday,it was off to the Grandparents and favourite aunties and Uncles, but it was going to be one of the last times I kept to the routines of my childhood, next Saturday was going to be Gabbys birthday ,his 21st, and his family were planning a giant hooley. During the week I went over to Birkenhead to see what the situation was and got to drinking over there ,and staying over there, Tommy and Jimmy were well organised ,they knew all the clubs that side of the water and we would spend hours and hours going from place to place ,it was as though we were still crew together. I did?nt realise that I was annoying my family by stopping out so much, I only went home for a bath and a change of clothes!
Come Saturday ,it was all hands to Grange Rd ; Gabby lived in a large old Victorian house, the rooms were three times the size of those at home and were just right for a big party.. There were only two of us who arrived without a girl on their arm ,me and a mate of Gabbys? from a previous voyage. He was a really smart guy ,bit of a poser, but witty with it., we sat and observed the proceedings ,him telling me who was who and me filling him in on our crew. Tommy turned up with a fabulous blonde and Jimmy was escorting one of his sisters mates ,me and Laddo just drooled with envy. By about half nine the room was packed when in came Running Bear and his fair young White Dove ,she was gorgeous. Laddo says to me ? See that bird?? pointing to Eddy?s fianc?e, ?she?s got some soft bleeder who sends her an allotment every month; she?s bought a 500 cc motorbike and she shags for England!!? I replied that he had got the wrong girl ,she and Eddy were going to be married .?Well someone better tell him,?cos my mate give ?er one a couple of weeks ago?
Now Eddy?s girl really was a looker,and it was?nt long before Tommy,he of the golden hair and bulging muscles ,he the owner of a brand new pastel coloured two tone sports coupe, went over to her and flashed his dazzling white teeth. ???.And then they were gone,. Vanished. It soon became apparent to Eddy ,and Tommys girl, that they would be going home on their own that night. Eddy departed with a look of grief on his face and Tommy?s girl came to me, to cry on my shoulder. We sat on the stairs ,she with her head nestling into my shoulder ,me with my arm around her shoulder wishing she was mine, stroking her hair as she sobbed the night away. Me wondering if I was in with a chance ,smelling her sweet scented hair and feeling her warm and tender body ,but no, I could?nt be a cad.
We got her eyes dried and one of the lads drove her home; then Mrs Davis came in to the living room , ?Holy mother of god ? she said ,?can one of you girls go out in the garden and get that girl off Jimmy? The girl Jimmy had brought to the party went out and shortly afterwards a young blackhaired girl came in and got her things and left. It did?nt take long for Laddo to find out the score, Jimmy was lying on the ground, unconscious,and the young lass had been straddling him . One of the lads went out for a pee and rushed back in , Jimmys rescuer was playing the Blue veined concerto and he was still out for the count. The night turned into a devils banquet and I passed into alcoholic oblivion. I had a nightmare that I was being crushed to death and awoke in a strange bed with some plaster cast leg across my chest. Wearily I shivered my drink shattered body towards D?olivieris caf? at Woodside for a cup of strong coffee and then got the Ferry for Liverpool. Having fun can be such hard work at times.

I contacted Jean ,my posh girlfriend ,and made a date for Friday ,money was going through my hands like water and I had to slow down a bit. So I spent a bit of time with the family; come Friday ,I had ?1 left ,just enough for a couple of drinks with Jean and my fares to and from Toxteth. At 4.00p.m. the doorknocker was rattled and there on the step stood cousin Willy ,his fianc?e and her beautiful sister. I was nonplussed ,great to see him but his timing was crap and I did?nt have enough cash to go out with them. Willy persuaded me to go up to the pub for a quick one, he was gagging to tell me something .We walked in as soon as the doors opened ,the four of us sat in the snug and Willy announced that they were going to be married ,I was chuffed, even more chuffed when the sister sat next to me and put her arm through mine. Why is it you wait ages for a bus and then two come together? I had to see Jean and here I was spending the last of my cash. Luckily they had arranged to catch the train back to Wigan and that left around 8.00 ,I had the time to see Jean ,but I only had 8 shillings.
Waving Willy and the girls off on the train ,I walked home and decided to ask Dad for a loan, he was so stingy that if he dropped a half crown it would hit him on the back of the neck as he bent to pick it up. He haggled me down from two quid to fifteen shillings ,it was?nt what I wanted but it would do.
Our date passed very pleasurably until Jean announced that if I did?nt pack the sea up ,she was going to join the WRNS. Gentle Jean ,so meek and mild become a Wren? I could?nt believe it . The weekend passed so slowly,I had enough money to get to the pool on Monday , I was leaving Blueys and going to look at what the rest of the Merchant Navy was like.


Footnote. On the next voyage I received the one and only letter that my father ever wrote me ,it said ?Dear Son, I hope that you are well and have?nt forgot that you owe me fifteen shillings,love,Dad ?Goodbye and Farewell?.

Flamin? July

I caught the 92 to the Pier Head and strolled along to Mann Island ,it had been 18 months since I had been to the Pool ,that had been when I came home from the Vindi?;
I had?nt dealt with the clerks who ran this place .Clerks, they were all dressed like officers, you never saw a uniform at the Odyssey works, even the big man Capt. ,always wore civvies. I was about to learn who was who in this place ,to my cost.
Charlie Repp, a little guy ,dressed like a Spanish admiral ,mealy mouthed ,gave me a welcome ,?What are you looking for son?? he asked with his undertakers smile. ?This is great ? I thought ,?just like Thomas Cooks? Holding out my discharge book, I looked at the board and said ?Something goin? the States ? He sighed ,?All the Yankee boats ?ave gone lad, I?ve gorra smashing little Med boat ?ere ;signing on today??..Patrician, in the Alex? Signing on today ,that would be my financial trouble put to rest. ?I?ll take it? The deal was done and I caught the bus home to get my gear, she was signing just after dinner ,so I?d be on my way by tonight and I would?nt have to borrow off Dad again.
I was shocked when I saw her for the first time ,she seemed half the size of the Blueys I?d been on ,and old fashioned too ,all steam winches. After signing on in the saloon ,I got an even bigger shock ,she was?nt sailing until next Monday, I had another week in Liverpool ,and not a penny to my name. My depression deepened when I went to find my cabin, it was down aft, in a gloomy hole, and the cabin itself was as basic as could be. Bare steel framed bunk ,with a stained mattress, pillows that had had the life slept out of them, and little caged bulb on the deckhead casting a weak glow, mercifully hiding the awfulness of that grubby little room. Well ,I had better make the most of it, there was no going back home. I had said my good byes and they thought I would be heading down the Irish Sea tonight.
My cabin mate was a kid called Macca, he was the same age as me and came from Blackburn, he had just left a Federal boat that had done a long voyage, New Zealand and the States ,been away nearly a year. He was getting ready to go ashore that night, doing the rounds ,the Yankee Bar ,Ma Egertons ,Yates?s and then find a club.
He asked if I was going and I was honest with him and told him I was brassick.
?Come on ? he said ,?I don?t know Liverpool ,and I?ve got enough for two?
Macca was a good lad ,we did?nt go wild just a few gills and a couple of schooners of Australian white and then a big bag of chips while we walked to the number 1 bus stop.
I got another surprise when we got back aboard ,the dockers were working nights and there was a steam winch directly above our cabin. When it was running ,which was all night, it sounded like a jack hammer. I had never heard a noise like it in my life ,oh for those electric winches in Blueys, they just whined. I was absolutely knackered next morning. Breakfast was good , not as exotic as I had been used to but bacon, eggs and fried bread give you a good start to the day. There was?nt much for us to do while we were alongside ,stow a few stores, splice a few lizards and the odd bit of tidying up. The shore gang did most of the graft ,but I could?nt complain, I was getting three square a day ,a place to sleep and I was on pay too! Macca subbed me to the movies one night ,and we had a pint too. I was slowly getting used to the old girl, what had at first seemed like a nightmare was ,slowly becoming a home. I managed to rustle up a book and would spend my idle hours laying on my bunk being transported by Frank Yerby to some Southern Plantation where the pale skinned beauty?s yearned for a young muscular body to thrill them ,it passed the time. I was enwrapt in one such chapter on the Friday before sailing when the cabin door burst open and this big guy ,with an even bigger mate, came in and jerked his thumb saying ?Yer out! Get yer bags ,we?re on strike!!? I was dumbfounded ?Who are you?? I demanded ?The strike committee ,now gerra ashore! There?ll be no scabbin? ?ere? Macca and I slung a few thing in our kitbags ?Leave the rest? he shouted ?this ship won?t be goin? anywhere?
I did?nt have the bus fare home so I went up to the masters cabin and saw Captain Rigby, he already knew what had happened and ,although he was unhappy ,knew that there was not much we could do about it. He loaned me a weeks pay, I had enough in the ship because I had?nt had an advance ,so I had enough to get home and to pay for some of my keep if we were out for a few days.
I was not welcomed back home with the usual alacrity, Mum was worried how long I would be out for ,Dad was moaning about how much I owed him already.
I would have to husband my resources as skilfully as I could. No one knew how long this was going to go on for.
I went down to Kingston House on the Monday, there I was signed up in to the National Seamens Reform Movement, it was a heady period ,for the first time in years ,rank and file members were demanding an end to Union corruption and for a fairer wage. Sir Tom Yates was a bosses man and had become corrupt ,he was in the pay of the bosses and forced our wages down. Boy ,I was learning new thing everyday, I did?nt even know who Tom Yates was last week. Like thousands of other young men ,all I was interested in was having a good time , all the rest was propaganda. I did learn some other things though ,I learned how quickly the press can turn people into public enemies. MacMillan was in power then and he seemed a decent man,(I was na?ve ) ,we believed he would intervene and force some changes ,it was wishful thinking. The strike seemed to drag on and each day brought stories of outrage in the press , we were holding the country to ransom ,a lot of us were army dodgers and could?nt do a proper job. .Reds , Commies, traitors. Day after day the papers ran stories portraying us as villains. The worst story that appeared turned even my Mum against us. The Daily Mirror had a columnist who I had always respected ,William Connors ,or Cassandra,he was known ?a man of the people? fearless and truthful ,always ready to fight a cause. That was until he penned a vicious little tale in the final week of the strike. Since no ships were sailing, some docks were idle , Heysham was once such, and a man and his wife took their three year old boy for a walk around the idle dock. Somehow , the little lad escaped his Daddy?s grip and ran across the jetty and fell into the dock. The poor little babe drowned. Cassandra wrote that the fault could be laid directly at the striking seamens door. Had they been working , the family could not have walked around the dock, thus out of lies are hatreds born. I never read a story that man wrote after that. I thought our cause was just, I felt that we were led by men who had our welfare at heart. But when the strike was over , life was never the same again, we had been up against it and had been depicted as threats to the nation. Worst of all my family had believed some of the lies.
It was with a mixture of sorrow and joy that the strike ended, we had a few extra pound in our pockets, but a lot of trust had been lost. We were not Reds under the bed, we were not in the pay of Moscow, a lot of the men who were on the stones had risked life and limb in the wartime convoys ,lost mates and kin to bring in the supplies when they were needed ,now they were cast as villains. I learned that we were only villains for the moment, the dockers would be next ,and the car workers after them. Villains today ,Heroes tomorrow.

The Strike was set to end at a certain time on a morning at the beginning in the third week of July. I got the 92 to the Pier Head and , as I stood on the platform as we passed Kingston House .I saw thousands of men on the pavements opposite the Pool, there was an air of jollity about them, laughing and joking ,it was ten past nine and the Pool was open ,why were?nt they moving? I skipped of the platform as it passed the pavement on Mann Island side and pushed my way into the empty offices. A cheer broke out behind me and the mighty throng surged across the road. I had broken the strike????.. by 5 minutes . Did?nt do me any good though?????..


The S. S. Kenuta

Being 5 minutes ahead of the crowd did me no favours,there was a host of ships to choose from but I was prey to Charley Repp. I still was?nt wise to him. ??Ere y?are son, there?s a Sos?s job on the Kenuta, a beautiful P.S.N.C. boat ,great run ,west coast of South America..etc..etc..etc? I was like a lamb to the slaughter. She was signing on that morning and sailing that night. That would do for me, I owed my dad 15 shillings and so I?d get an advance note and pay him off ,give me Mum a few bob too,I?d been living for free few a few weeks now.. A quick trip down to where the Kenuta was berthed ,she looked sleek ,nicely raked bow and streamlined forepart ,should be O.K????..Never judge anything by looks alone !
I got an advance note and shot down to Canning Place ,you could cash them at the outfitters there ,half a crown in the he charged still ,it was only money. Walking back to the Pier Head I bumped into Bernie ,a kid I should have sailed with on the Patrician; he was on his way to cash his advance note ,it was opening time ,why not have a jar before we sail ? I forget what he was sailing on , but he was off somewhere exotic. So we began a tour around the local hostelry?s ,The Queens, Slaughterhouse, up to Ma Egertons, the Yankee Bar ,Yates?s ??..I was stocious and have limited memories of the bus ride home to get my gear. I fell into the house and my mother was very tearful when she saw me , I shoved some money into her hand and staggered back up to the 92 bus stop. The journey to the Pier Head was dreadful ,I was dizzy and kept fading in and out of consciousness, I was sitting on the long seat at the back and kept on falling against some old lady who sat next to me, why she never moved I don?t know. As we came down toward the town , I staggered on to the platform and released the contents of my stomach in the bus?s wake. I was too far gone to be embarrassed.
Somehow I made it on board ,that was when I learned where our accommodation was, down aft ,and as I made my way into the top of the companionway I missed my footing and went head over heels down to the bottom ,my kit bag broke my fall. A Mancunian voice exclaimed ? That?s a right good way to join a boat?
I was sobering up fast, sitting there , I looked around and was shocked at the dismal sight.. Dark and pokey, the cabins were stark ,the bulkheads were uninsulated and the bunks were made of cheap angle iron with chain bed?springs?. Two drawers and a narrow half length locker for your gear. A prisoner in the worst of British ?nicks? would have better quarters than this. I got changed and went up to the messroom to meet the lads, we were a right motley crew. The peggy was a first tripper from Swansea ,the other O.S.was a kid from Accrington ,his accent was so strong that I had to really listen to what he was saying ,he was a good seaman though. There was big Don ,an A.B. , open faced and a ready smile ,Jimmy, ginger haired ,slightly chubby, a joker with a short fuse, Alan the Manc ,a S.O.S like me, looked Italian ,Tony Curtis hairstyle and an easy way with him. Terry ,from Bradford, West Indian origin and so very cool, he had just paid off an 18 monther and was loaded. Nick ,redheaded ,broken nosed and mean looking ,his smile never reached his eyes ,such men are dangerous. Jock, scrawny ,his deck clothes looked two sizes too big ,he looked out of place ,pleasant but a bag of nerves. My cabin mate, Kenny, saturnine and eloquent as Welshmen are wont to be, from the Valleys ,full of fire and brimstone.And, finally, there was old Tommy, I never found out how old he was ,he looked ancient ,slightly built with a nice scouse accent, he was the oldest man on deck and had been at sea since well before the War, a family man; he had two of them ,one in Liverpool and one in Santiago in Chile ,he never sailed anywhere else. The bosun had a famous seafaring name, George Ungi ,he was great guy, firm but fair and a great accordion player too ,he could play the tango like an Argentine. These were just some of the deck crowd ,time has erased the others. We shared the messroom with the firemen and greasers ,this was a new experience for me ,they were all Chinese in Blueys. Some of those guys were quite memorable, there was Vic ,in his 60?s ,built like a brick outhouse ,sailed with them all ,fists like ten pound hammers, hardly a tooth in his head. Norman ,a strange one ,he was an anthropologist ,doing a spell at sea to widen his experience cut glass accent ,looked every inch a professor and never appeared to get dirty. His cabinmate was a grubby little guy who was not above pilfering Normans cigarettes ,more of which later. Our mess room made Stan Waters caf? look like the Ritz, it was years since it had had a coat of paint ,the tables were covered in cheap lino and there were long wooden benches either side ,there were no backs on the benches so you had to keep yourself from falling backwards when the sea was rough.
The toilets ,bogs would be better word, they were originally fitted out for an Arab crew when the Kenuta was under the Clan Line house flag. The lavatories had been ?squatters? , a hole with a pedestals either side, P.S.N.C. had westernised them by putting proper toilets?????on top of the ?squatters ?!!! This meant that when you were sitting down your feet were about 12 inches from the deck, dangling!
The one thing you need on a loo in a rolling and pitching vessel is stability ,you could hold yourself in place with your feet firmly on the deck. Not on this boat folks, the amount of times I went for a burton does?nt bear thinking about , you often heard the shriek of some poor soul as he went sliding to the deck.

The officers and catering staff all lived amidships ,as did the passengers, theirs was different world to ours. Air conditioning and insulated bulkheads, silverware and white napery. They were a strange bunch though ,from the Captain down they were flawed. John Jones was the Master , a short ,flabby Welshman ,wore a big hat on a small head so that it rested on his ears ,his mouth had a weak ,wet lower lip and he had a receding chin .His jacket was too long in the sleeves so that you saw just his fingers sticking out from under the 4 gold stripes, Chilean naval stripes too.
He had been Mate on that ship the previous trip and so his outfit was painfully new. His chief officer, a stocky little bulldog of a man ,had been master on the ship on the previous trip. How such a thing could happen I was never to find out ,it did?nt make for good relations though ,the Mate never accepted his lower position ,a situation I will enlarge upon as we progress. The 2nd mate was a Jack Armstrong type ,clean cut ,with cropped blonde hair and eyes that could see right through you , he turned out to about the only honest one among the lot of them. The real power broker midships seemed to be the Chief engineer , he had a fierce visage, I never once saw him smile the whole trip long and all the officers seemed to defer to him, I was to find out why when we reached Buonoventura.
The chief steward and the cook were in collusion in robbing our bellies and feeding us swill in order to line their own pockets, apart from a few minor players like the baker ,who was a pederast and Eddy ,a commis waiter ,there are no more characters to relate. The Kenuta is getting up steam and we are now ready to sail???


The S.S.Kenuta 2

As the years pass by you find your memory sometimes plays peek a boo, about an hour after finishing off those last few words,another crew mate came into my mind, Joe Murphy. Joe was of an indeterminate age,old enough to have done some sea time during the war, but young enough not to appear to be an old man. A dyed in the wool Scouser,with an accent you could slice with a knife, Joe was much given to the use of hyperbole; he would sprinkle his conversation with such gems as ?dis black Maria pulled up an? a ?undred scuffers jumped out wid about 2 ?undred police dogs?
With Nick and Jock, Joe would form part of the Kenuta?s Alcoholics club,but only as a junior member. He was a tall slim guy, with a full head of greying brown curly hair.
Nervous and always slightly jumpy, as though expecting some past misdeed to catch up with him, Joe would always seek validation from the listener that he believed what he had just said by looking for your acceptance. From what he told us ,he had a tough life in the Dingle ,no arse in his pants ,and crusts for breakfast,he was a character.
The ship of fools is now at sea,first port of call Antwerp??????..

[brian daley]

Outward Bound

The voyage was but a few days old when the shortcomings began to manifest themselves ,first was the food; brought from amidships in dixies and aluminium food boxes, it was put in a hot press and left to the peggy to dish up. many of the crew were used to this situation ,but it was a shock to the system to me. The crockery ,or rather ,the lack of crockery made the issue worse. We had tin enamelled plates and for cutlery ,cast aluminium eating irons. Very soon the plates became chipped and the eating irons were bent and broken. We had muggin cups and as these were lost through breakages we were reduced to using tin cans. I am not exaggerating the story, as we ran out of knives and forks ,we were reduced to sharing ,waiting for another to finish cutting his food before you could use the knife. Using a spoon to eat because there were no forks. Soon we were using our deck knives to eat with ;not that there was much to eat. Our meals were minute and when we complained to the cook he just laughed in our faces. The chief steward was worse, he said that we were animals and deserved no better. Complaints to the mate met with no response and the morale amongst the men sank lower with every passing day. One of the firemen fashioned a soup ladle that had a handle about ten foot long. I saw him putting it through the galley windows ,they were open but barred and faced onto the after hatch. It was just before the 8 to 12 evening watch was finishing and he thought he would not be seen, he was ,by me! So ,his watchmate and my two watchmates,were able to enjoy illicit dips into the soup pot that used to simmer overnight. We could?nt take too much else our activities would be exposed.
And thus it was that the good ship Kenuta journeyed to South America. We stopped for bunkers at Las Palmas and had an explosive night ashore, my cabinmate ,the Welsh firebrand ,practised his oratorical skills in denouncing the capitalist pirates who ran our ship,?We should wake up and rebel, not live like animals? he ranted ,we got stuck into the cervezas and made the world look a brighter in our own way.
Now we were nearing the temperate zones , the mate ordered us to erect the swimming pool, a big wood and canvas affair, on the port side of the afterdeck immediately outside our accommodation. This was going to be great, not having air conditioning , we would be able to cool down in the pool?..how wrong can you be?
The aftercrowd ,firemen and sailors, were forbidden to enter the pool at any time.
We had a couple of passengers, a headmaster and his wife who were off to Peru to take over a public school in Lima, and a very nice lady who was off to join her husband in the Bahamas . The headmaster had a Dandy Dimont terrier with him ,which was kennelled on the promenade deck ,and the other lady had three sheepdogs which were housed away from the terrier on the far side of the prom deck.
We used to have our smoko?s on the hatchway adjacent the pool ,where we would watch the headmasters dog splashing merrily about as we sweltered. The lady with the sheepdogs would not let her dogs swim while we were banned from doing so.
We grew to hate the terrier, poor dumb animal suffered for his masters sins. When we hosed the decks down before breakfast , the hoseman would put the hose into the terriers kennel and give it a full blasting, pretty soon the dog grew to fear salt water. Before we got to Cuba it became a half crazed wreck, and his owners had no idea what was happening. It never came out of its kennel again. It would snap and snarl as soon as it heard footsteps approaching. But it never got the aftercrowd into the pool.

I had never sailed in American waters before and, as we got closer to the Americas, we began to pick up their radio stations. This was 1960 and radio in Britain consisted of the BBC Light, Home and Third Programmes, straitlaced and not a disc jockey in sight. If you wanted to hear rock and roll you had to tune into Radio Luxemburg, and reception from that was so erratic. The only time you got records on the Beeb was on request programmes like Family Favourites ,Forces Request or Housewives Choice ,all very refined ,but it was?nt rock and roll. Across the Atlantic the airwaves were alive with music of every kind and we would sit on the after hatch with Terrys Japanese transistor blasting out the latest in the American hit parade.

Our first port of call in the Americas was Freeport in the Bahamas, this was a picture perfect place, The blue sky and azure sea split by a strip of land with golden beaches overhung with swaying green palm trees, buildings showed white amidst the greenery and though it looked so inviting ,we would not be going ashore, we moored to some buoys to discharge some cargo and disembark the lady and her sheepdogs.
As we were unloading our cargo into the lighters alongside us , the sea started to get a little choppy and a long black line appeared on the horizon ,a stiff breeze was strengthening and the lightermen began to cast off and head for the shore, That black line was creeping up the sky. The captain came on the port side of the bridge and shouted at us to drop the derricks; the mate came on the starboard wing of the bridge and countermandered the order ,?Let her go? he yelled. And thus began a slanging match between master and mate while the second mate split us onto to two parties ,one to single up and make ready to leave and the other to drop the derricks and square up. And all the while the sky was blackening and the waves were getting higher. This was a hurricane.!
Within an hour the seas were in turmoil and the wind was screaming with rage ,lightning flashes jagged across the blackness giving glimpses of a watery hell.
I was at the helm and could see the mountainous white topped waves roaring toward us as we bucked and reeled through that sea. The captain was a forlorn figure standing by the wheelhouse door .He was learning what those four stripes on his sleeve meant now , sooner him than me. The was a metallic clanging that could be heard up here in the wheelhouse , the second mate came in off the wing of the bridge and took the wheel ? The weather door on the starboard forepart is?nt secure ,go down and make it fast while I take the wheel ? I was too young to appreciate the danger involved, I just fled down there and took the full brunt of the storm as I fought to clip back the door ,it was swinging and crashing in to its architrave with a thunderous crash, you had to be quick and snap the dogs on(clips) when it was in the closed position . I earned my cup of cocoa that night. Come the dawn and the sea was placid once more, we were entering the Caribbean Sea.

As the nights became really sultry ,Don would get his guitar out and we would sit on the poop deck singing all the songs that we knew the words to, and even to those that we did?nt. We may have had lousy accommodation , bum rations and stinking hot cabins, but those nights on the poopdeck remain in my memory as some of the really good times .
We knew we were nearly at Cuba when the U.S Navy Coast Guard plane buzzed us ,coming in so low you could the pilots face. We were carrying a load of Leyland Buses for Havana because America had put an embargo on trade with Cuba.
As we entered the near empty port we were given a tremendous welcome, tugs blew their horns and police and dockers waved to us ,we were good gringos.
We were given an even greater welcome ashore ,now that the Yanquis had gone, so had the greatest source of revenue for the bar owners and ?ladies?
As we went from bar to bar we were pursued by some of the most beautiful ?ladies ? that I had ever seen. Their rich Yanqui clients were never coming back ,and these girls who just months ago would have been plying their trade in the 5 star hotels, were
now having to make do with ragged arsed sailors from the U.K. It was eerie,to be sitting at a bar and to see beautiful women at every door and window begging you to invite them in, they were not allowed to enter without a male companion.
We all succumbed to temptation and my young lady led me to the portals of a hotel on the Corniche, where we took a room with a balcony overlooking that wonderful harbour with Morro Castle as a back drop. One year previously I would not have got past the doorman ,never mind taking a full suite with a mirrored ceiling. I was eighteen and full of testosterone and the politically correct world had not encroached upon my horizons, reality was left outside the room as I lost myself to the wonders of pure carnality. She taught me more in that one night than I had learned in all my days .
Later ,we strolled through the gardens and squares as she led me back to my ship, god I loved that senhorita, Rosalita, a Cuban rose.
On the way back to the ship I saw Taffy the galleyboy being shoved toward a policewagon. He looked shattered and was scared and drunk. I told Rosalita that the boy was off my ship and we went across to the police wagon and asked what he had done. The stupid boy had torn down a Cuban flag that was on display in the gardens ,the police were angry with the insult shown to their flag and wanted him to face a court. I said that Taffy was so proud to be here in Havana that he wanted to take back the flag to show to his people in Wales. Rosalita was translating and the police let him go, and allowed him to keep the flag! Truth was , he was just a bloody vandal.

None of the lads returned that night, the town had too much to offer a poor sailor and the rum was very cheap. Come breakfast ,there were only four of us in the messroom, Don , the Peggy ,the JOS from Accrington and me.
We were sailing at midday and the morning passed without any of our lads making a show. The three of us , plus the Midshipmen ,of which there were three ,were put to work dropping the derricks and squaring up, George Ungi, the bosun, rounded the drunks up, and boy were they ever drunk. He got them to the top of the gangway and they fell in a heap in the alley adjacent the gangway and sank into a drunken stupor. They were literally piled one atop another and stayed that way for hours. The six of us,plus the bosun ,put that ship to sea , Panama was next.

[brian daley]

To The Pacific

It was a blissful run down to the Panama Canal, the sea was like a pond and the fair weather gave us the opportunity to overhaul the running gear ,our feet hardly touched the deck between Havana and Colon. The food was no better and the eating situation was unchanged regards tableware ,but it is amazing how fair weather can take your mind off things. That plus the fact we were heading for one of the great sailortowns of the world, Colon at the Atlantic end of the canal.
As we sat on the poop in the evening ,some of the older hands who had been on the run a time or time ,would tell of the bars and bordellos in Cristobal. The consensus was that this place was pretty wild and had all the ingredients that a Jack ashore could wish for. We younger lads could?nt wait to get there.
By this time in the voyage friendships had been formed and your run ashore mates were teamed. The guys I favoured going ashore with were Jimmy, the ginger headed A.B. and Terry the kid from Bradford. Jimmy was from Bootle , about the four years older than me ,and had a wry sense of humour. Terry ,he was 2 years older than me and was a very good seaman ,we were on the same watch and he would spend his spare time teaching me how to do wire splicing and rigging. He was pushing me to taking my EDH?s ticket when we got back home.
As we neared Panama the seas got busier with shipping ,there was every type of deep sea ship heading there ,and coming away from there too. They were mostly British ,but there were plenty of German and Yankee boats too. It was great at smoko ,sitting on the hatch with your fag and a cuppa watching the variety of ships ,liners, tramps and tall passenger boats of every type. This was one busy sea lane.
We would have just the one night in Colon and we did?nt want to waste any time ,the consensus of opinion was that Dog House Bar was the place to spend your hard earned. There were plenty of girls ,good music and the beer was cheap too. The Dog House it was then! But first we had to get docked and ready for discharging.
The docks were modern and most of the dockers were from Barbados , huge black guys, nearly all wearing yellow safety helmets ,they were quite friendly and worked very hard.
As soon as we were showered , the three of us shot ashore. We made straight for the Dog House Bar and we were not disappointed, the place was heaving , full of every nationality and girls galore. All the latest American hit records were on the juke box and the dance floor was full of jivers. I stood watching enviously as a black guy made the most incredible moves ,he was so fluid. I took a turn with a senhorita and the black guy came over to me and said that I was a nice dancer but that I needed to loosen up.
He was from New York and was a deck hand like me. I watched for a while as he had a few more dances and I copied him as best I could . I would?nt have got better tuition at Arthur Murray. The bar itself was full of interesting things to look at, pennants and banknotes adorned the walls and mementos that had been ?liberated? from various ships stood on shelves or hung from the walls. I went for a pee and in the cubicle was a wooden flap which bore the legend ?do not lift? I lifted it and a klaxon sounded in the bar, it was funny at the time. And the time sped by, soon we three were broke and the night was only just getting started. Terry said that he had some Yankee dollars in his cabin and that we should go back and get some .
It was now nearing midnight and the streets were still busy,Terry suggested that Jimmy and take our time walking and he would run back aboard because he would be quicker. As he shot ahead toward the dock gates Jimmy and I were accosted by a very wrinkled little old black lady. She was carrying a little wooden tray upon which there was a solitary banana. ?Hey Johnee? she cried ?You buy banana eh!? Jimmy and I did?nt have a red cent between us , and besides the banana looked a bit past it. We were just outside the dock gates now and this old lady was determined that we should buy her banana. She came alongside me and said that I would be ?powerful Man? as she stuck the banana in front of my crotch and waggled it suggestively.
I took the banana from her hand and put it back on her tray.?Noooo ? she shrieked and pulled a piece of crumpled paper from out of her filthy blouse. Unfolding it she declared that I had ..?broken de U.S. sanitation and hygiene law, yew cain,t handle de food boy less?n yew buy ,gimme 10 cents !? I laughed and turned my pockets out
?I?m broke Mary ? .She screamed to a little girl who was now at her side ?Go get de Vigi? and grasped my wrist. ?Yew is gwanna pay boy? she shouted as her girl ran off. Jimmy looked worried and said that he would run and get an American policeman from the dock gate ?If the Vigis take yer .they?ll batter yer ? he said. The Vigis being Panamanian policemen ,no lovers of ?gringos? I stood patiently waiting for Terry to arrive so that I could give this old hag her ten cents and then get back to having a good time. A hooter sounded within the docks and a river of bodies surged out through the gate ;it was knocking off time for the dockers. As the wave of yellow helmeted black guys came toward us Mary started pulling me about and crying pitifully. I felt a hundred pair of eyes turn toward me. Cries of ?White *******? and ,bizarrely, ?Remember Notting Hill? filled the air. Within moments I was surrounded by a mob of angry blackmen , they had seen a whiteman attacking a defenceless old black lady and were incensed. I protested that I had done nothing wrong but the crowd was winding itself up ?You come down here and screw our women ,and you kill our brothers ,white pig? I was thinking it was curtains for me when there was a commotion at the back of the crowd ? Let me troo!!? bellowed a deep bass voice, suddenly this huge helmeted black guy parts the mob and comes and stands beside me. He put his arm around my shoulder, took Marys hand off my wrist and shouted?
?Diss could be your boy in America, would yew like de Americans go treat him like dis ?? The mob edged away and ,still holding me by the shoulders ,he took me to a little bar opposite the dock ,bought me a beer and told me to stay put until my friends came back. My saviour then departed and I sat stock still afraid to move. Minutes later Jimmy came in he was red faced and very angry, he punched me in the mouth. ?You ******* ,I turn up with two Yankee coppers and there?s no bleeder there; they were gonna arrest me for being drunk !!? Terry turned up and defused the moment with a wad of greenbacks.
It was back to The Dog House Bar ;we walked in to a surreal scene, there ,seated at the tables ,were half a dozen of our sailors and firemen reciting the Dog House poem just as we did at school ,only it would have been Wordsworth ,not ?Everytime I have a shave my wife decides to s**t???..? Deathless poetry.
The bar was really popping now and there was a really beautiful woman sitting with some friends, she was wearing a powder blue outfit and was really stacked. Jimmy Jones was singing ?Let the Little Girl Dance ? and I took her on the floor and did just that. I was in terpsichorean heaven ,she moved like an angel ,felt so good in my arms,
and she wanted to have another dance when that song ended. We sat together and I fell deeper and deeper in love with her. ?I would like to marry you ? she said.. I was thinking of enjoying some of the things that married people do and nodded agreement.
?Yew get papers and we marry now yes ?? She said???all I could see was that marriage bed..?Yes,Yes!? I said. ?Hold on there honey ? an American voice called out. I looked around and there stood a bow tied ?queen? she looked daggers at him as he told me that the bar girls were always trying to get an American husband so that they could go on the game in the States. ?go back to your friends ,you?ll be safer with them ? he said. He came over to our crowd and told them to make sure I did?nt go back to the girl. Turned out he was from Liverpool, had gone to the States over 30 years ago and was a waiter on an American passenger boat. After that the night became hazier as the cerveza and aguardiente took effect. I cannot remember how I got back on board . Tomorrow we would enter the canal.

[lindylou]

Brian, when are you going to get this book printed !?

It would certainly be popular.

[brian daley]

Hey Lindy,I think it would bore the pants off most people, I'm just grateful to Kevin for indulging an old salt in elating his story. I enjoy writing it ,and I hope you keep enjoying it. I look forward to Saturday mornings when I sit down at the keyboard and let those memories come flooding back. I don't what I'm going to write before I sit down, I press that first letter and it just starts to flow.
Thanks for saying nice things,it helps me to keep going ,
BrianD

[brian daley]

To The Pacific

We sailed from Cristobal and made our way to the first set of locks that would give us entry into the fabled Panama Canal. I had learned of the building of this wonder whilst a schoolboy,of how many hundreds of men had died of the fever during the course of its construction ,many facts and figures had been taught me , the man who oversaw the creation of the Suez Canal, that other great waterway that cut through continents ,was the man who developed the idea for this canal. The knowledge gleaned from history books and encyclopaedias cannot prepare you for the grandeur of the real thing. Everything about it is huge. It needs to be because this canal was built to take ,in 1914, the worlds largest ships.
.You enter the canal through Gatun Locks and have to be raised 85 feet above sea level to get onto Gatun Lake, an vast artificial lake of 163.4 square miles.To do this you have go through six locks ,each one being a 1000 foot long and 110 foot wide by 75 foot deep. Little locomotives called mules take your ropes and help guide you through the locking system It is arduous manoeuvring through the locks, not much time for rubbernecking but fascinating in watching those little locos ,diesel powered they are enormously strong. As you leave the last lock and enter Gatun Lake you confronted by a vision of lush tropical splendour, the shores rise steeply and are filled with dense green vegetation, the lake itself is filled with shipping heading both east and west ,there are seemingly hundreds of islands dotting the horizon and the air is filled with birds and flying insects. Insects of disproportionate sizes too; I had been out to the East Indies and seen the beetles and other winged creatures ,they were exotic to an English boys eyes but here , the hornets and mosquitos ,beetles and moths ,were all magnified in size and aggressive . As we sailed across the lake during the night hours ,I had to go and do a turn at the wheel. Climbing up the companion way in our accommodation I was assailed by what looked like a housefly , but it was as big as my hand. Really scary, it was sitting on the deckhead and as I hove into view it dive bombed me. Its buzz sounded like a B52 bomber and it was?nt to be deflected. I ran back to the cabin and got a magazine to swat it away ,it was?nt to be killed ,I hit it and it just shrugged and flew off. When I came down off the wheel two hours later, it was waiting for me ! I had a kind of duel with it and fought it off until I made it to the messroom. The fireman who looked like a professor came in off his watch and I asked him if he had seen the fly, he had?nt so I took him out to have a look at it.
It was still there but it was?nt moving , was it asleep? Anyway the Prof. Went off and came back with a big tobacco tin, he took the lid off and placed the empty tin over the beast. It made a hell of a row in there and old Prof quickly slipped the lid back on. He was going to take it back to Liverpool and show it to someone in the museum. He put the can on top of his bookshelf and there it should have rested until we got back
home. Not everything goes to the way we plan it though???..the Prof and I were sitting in the messroom having a cup of cocoa before turning in when we heard a blood curdling scream. It came from his cabin. We raced over to it and found his cabinmate trembling in the corner, the beast was buzzing round his head and he was nursing his hand. The Prof opened the porthole and ushered the fly through with a rolled up magazine. He then turned to his trembling cabinmate and said ?So you?re the ******* who?s been helping himself to my baccy?, by the bitemark on the back of his hand he really was caught redhanded.

We passed Gamboa in darkness ,this was not far from where ,

?Or like Stout Cortez , when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific ?and all his men
Look?d at each other with a wild surmise ?
Silent upon a peak in Darien?

Those lines of poetry ,learned by rote in a dusty schoolroom ,came alive here in Panama . Soon we were across the lake and heading through the Miraflores Locks, they were just as magnificent as Gatun ,but they were the gateway to the Pacific.
We dropped off the pilot at Balboa and headed into a different world.
The sea was calm and not a breath of wind stirred the air as we sailed down the Colombian coast ,Buenoventura was our next port of call , I?d heard it was a bit of a hole ,not much to see and even less to do so I took the night watch on the gangway when it was offered. We were going to be here two days ,and like the lads had said ,it looked a bit grim, there were plenty of policemen in evidence on the docks, looked more like soldiers in their helmets and khaki. The dockers looked like extras from a spaghetti western and the view through the chain link fence was pretty depressing too.
A few decrepit buildings ,no bars or neon lights ,just a queue of trucks waiting for freight.. There was a road that led up a hill that rose away from the dockside, that was where the town lay ,over the hill. The road was cut out of the rock and trucks were parked along one side of the cut for as far as the eye could see. I would have liked to have seen the town but I was night watch man and so I settled down with a book at the top of the gangway. It got dark early and there was no nightshift on the docks , the only lights ashore were those in the dock area, the road up out of the town and the surrounding hills were lost in darkness. All the boys were ashore and the only signs of life were the white helmeted policemen making an occasional patrol along the inside of the fence. The only sounds were those of the ships gennies and the insects buzzing and chirruping, the night passed slowly and silently. Towards eleven the first stragglers started drifting into the loom of the docklights ,it must have been strong stuff they?d been supping, they were steering a wonky course toward the gangway.
This was?nt the boisterous crew that had gone ashore, they were glum and taciturn, what had gone wrong?
The last person aboard was Nick, he wasn?t too drunk, unusual for him, just a bit tipsy. ?Hey scouse? he said ?I forgot to get a bottle of Aguadiente , I?ll give you a drink if you slip up the hill and fetch us one? he smiled. ?I?ll watch the gangway for you, and your legs are younger than mine? I never questioned why he had?nt bought one while ashore, the rain had stopped and I could do with a quick drink, so yes ,I?ll go and get him his drink. I had on my donkey jacket and seaboots because it was very wet and muddy and , thus attired, I made my way out of the docks.
The pool of light ended just outside the gate and the road ahead was in pitch darkness, as I was walking across the road toward the hill I heard a voice calling ?Hey Johnnie ,got any American cigarettes?? Out of the darkness came two of the raggedeyst people I had ever seen, black as coal and barefooted they looked like escaped slaves. They were smiling and had their hands held out in anticipation of a free smoke. I took out my Players and gave them one each, ?Not American? they asked. ?No ,Inglese ? I replied. ?You got some dollars for us ? they begged. ?No ,mucho poor,like you ? I laughed. I started up the hill ,by now my eyes were accustomed to the darkness ,there was a sheer cliff face to one side and a line of trucks ,stretching to the top of the hill on the other. In the silence the only sounds to be heard was the splashing of my seabooted feet and the plashing sound of two sets of barefeet. They were following me! I stopped and looked back, I could the distant lights of the docks but not the beggars. They were coming up on the other side of the trucks. I turned and walked faster and still they came on , matching my speed. The sound of music came faintly through the air and I began to make out the lights of a bar near the top of the hill.
Pretty soon I was stood at the counter of a truly low dive, there was only one customer sat there, a Norwegian ,he asked me what ship I was off and he told me he was on the one astern of us. He was well drunk and would?nt be getting back to his ship tonight.
I bought Nicks bottle of Aguardiente and asked the barman if he had an empty bottle I could have, he could?nt understand why I would want an empty bottle. I was going to need some protection on the way back!
After very protracted negotiations , he let me have an empty spirits bottle ,calling me ?Mucho loco? .With Nicks bottle in my pocket and the empty bottle gripped firmly in my right hand , I stepped out into the darkness.
Immediately I started walking ,the splash of barefeet sounded behind me, it was downhill now ,about 300 yards to the light of the docks . I was running and the sound of splashing grew nearer, I could hear them grunting and gasping for breath as they closed in on me. 200 yards now and I could almost feel their breath on the back of my neck, the lights were nearer now ,my heels were getting chafed by the rubbing of my sea boots ,I had to make it???.and hand gripped my left shoulder. I swung round ,smashing the bottle in the guys face , blood showered everywhere and I tore down the hill as his screams rent the night air. The policeman at the gate unholstered his gun and waved me past him as he looked into the darkness. I stopped running and then heard the sound of wailing up the hill. I felt really bad about what I had just done, I did?nt have time to get too maudlin about it ,what awaited me aboard ship was far worse.

[brian daley]

Down South America Way

When I climbed back aboard the Kenuta the gangway was unguarded ,Nick had promised to stand watch for me but was nowhere in sight. I could hear raised voices coming from the afterdeck and went down to see what was afoot. The lads were gathered about the after hatch and they seemed none too happy ,they were drunk ,angrily drunk, and as I approached, Nick spotted me and came forward asking for his hooch. He was staggering drunk ,as were the rest of the crowd ; my cabinmate jumped on the hatch and started to harangue the lads about the terrible conditions in which we were living. His oratory was drink fuelled and he gave full vent to the simmering hatred that we had all felt these past weeks. Being sober I watched in amazement as his words gripped the bleary eyed crowd and galvanized them into a mob. Pointing to the midships accommodation ,he roared ?There?s a man down that alleyway that is the cause of our hunger ,a man who is robbing our bellies and lining his pockets with the proceeds!? heads nodded in agreement and Nick was passing the fresh bottle of firewater around , further stoking the fires of anger. ?Violence is the only language these people understand ? cried our demagogue, ?We should show them that we are men not mice !! ? The Manc SOS rigged up a noose, throwing over the aftermast table ?Let?s hang the f****r that?ll teach ?em!!?
Kenny pointed to Nick and Joe Murphy ,?Go and get the *******, he won?t starve us anymore?
Joe and Nick set off for the Chief Stewards cabin while the rest of the crowd started cheering and singing. I was frightened ,never in my life had I felt such an inchoate anger ,it was almost like the lynch mob I had seen when I was a child. I ran after Nick and Joe , following them down the alleyway to the Chief Stewards cabin. There, everything was quiet and peaceful ,it was 2-00 in the morning and the only sound here was the air conditioning. When they reached the Stewards cabin ,Joe kicked the door in and one of them flicked on the light, the Steward ,a ginger haired man with a balding pate ,came groggily awake ,blinking myopically ?Worrisit .?? he mumbling ,trying to understand what had disturbed his slumbers. Joe and Nick jumped forward and dragged him from his bunk, his pale scrawny body clothed in a singlet and greying skiddies..?Wossgoinon, fer fecks sake wossup?? he yelped as they dragged him across the cabin ,each one holding him by the armpits his knees scraping along the deck.
?We?re gonna f***in? ?ang yer ,yer c**t? said Nick ,smashing him across the cheek.
Though they were very drunk I thought they might still have a bit of ingrained sense of justice? Taking a chance I said to them that they should tell the Mate of what they were about to do and then that would make it ?legal?. Joe and Nick looked blearily at each other and then Nick nodded ??E?s right ,let?s tell the Mate ? and then they proceeded to drag the Steward up the companionways to the Mates cabin. I got to the Mates door just ahead of them and hammered it ,by the time Joe and Nick arrived with the Steward, his knees and shins raw and bleeding , the Mate was standing in his doorway clad only in his boxer shorts. He stood there rubbing the sleep out of his eyes ,trying to take in the scene before him. Two very drunk seamen, holding the slumped form of a gibbering wreck by the upper arms while said seaman were gabbling about injustice and revenge. I nodded to the mate and making gestures with both eyebrows and hands ,said ?Chief the lads have held a kangaroo court and have sentenced the Chief steward to death ,they?re going to hang him now? The Mate ,being more than quick on the uptake ,said ?Very good lads..but leave it until the morning and then we can all watch? closing his door as he said so. Joe and Nick let the Steward drop, hitting the deck with his forehead ,and ran aft to tell the lads the good news.
There was cheering all round and then they gradually drifted off to their bunks.

As day broke over Buenaventura ,bodies emerged from cabins to greet the morning sun. All was silent down aft, the hatchway was littered with empty bottles and the noose hung lazily from the mast table. The Mate called down from the prom deck, ?Daley ,get the deck crowd up here now? beside him stood the Captain ,Purser and Chief Steward.
They were a sorry looking bunch when I rounded them up, death warmed up. Groaning and muttering ,they shambled their way up to the prom deck. There, the mate made them stand in a line and ,surprisingly ,did not read the riot act, but instead started off by saying that what had happened the night before must have some deep and underlying reason,that he had never in all his days at sea witnessed such a thing and he wanted to know why it had happened.
This is just a bald summary of what he said and ,while he was saying it, you could see that the Steward was far from happy with what he was saying. He wanted blood ,and he looked like he was?nt going to get it. ?Orl right? said the Mate ? What?s yer beef, why did yer try an? ang?im?? he said jerking his thumb toward the steward. Silence?.?C?mon, yer don?t go toppin? a man fer nuthin?, what?? The men shuffled uncomfortably, shivering in the cold morning light. The Captain squeaked ?Some of you could got to jail for this ? and the Steward smiled gleefully, ?Now tell us why you did this terrible thing ? Joe stepped forward, his voice choking with fear ??E won?t sell us any yankee fags ? he said ,nodding toward the steward. That was enough for the dam to break and other lads started to tell of the short rations ,the lack of cutlery , the cups and crockery and the way that the food was dished up.
The purser was writing like fury getting down all the contributions and the steward was looking very angry ,he was not going to get any revenge here. We were dismissed and shortly afterwards were notified that we would be going to be put on to Board of Trade rations. This meant that each man would collect from the Steward his daily allowance of food ,meat ,flour ,sugar salt etc.etc., which we would then give to the cook for preparing our meals. We soon had a surplus of dry goods which we kept in our cabins, some guys had a regular little grocery store before long. But that was in the weeks ahead. We now had to leave Equador and sail to the most corrupt port in the Americas ,Guayaquil.
The Officers in P.S.N.C. had diagonal gold braid stripes on their sleeves ,different from all other officers in the British Merchant Navy, this was a legacy of some period in Chile?s history when the company assisted Chile in the fight for liberation from Spain,as thanks Chile made all officers of the company honorary members of the Chilean Navy. Honorary does not mean that a person so titled is honorable. Far from it ,we witnessed the smuggling activities which the officers were engaged in ,and on such a large scale too. The Colombian government had outlawed the importation of all Yardley cosmetics in to that country. Number 4 hatch was full of Yardley products ,specifically for the Colombian market. This was the booty of the officers and they worked hand in glove with the Colombian Police and Customs in smuggling it into the port. It was sold direct to the public ,the police organised the queue of people coming to buy it and the Customs officers oversaw the sale of it in the saloon . The proceeds of the scam being split four ways ,the company ,the officers ,the police and customs. Like pigs in a trough. We ,the men who had to fetch and carry the contraband ,never even got a thank you, in fact ,one of the lads who sold a tin of jam to one of the people in the queue, a tin which was legally part of his rations, was arrested and fined a months wages. The causes of resentment still ran deep.

[brian daley]

Peru

?They heaved the log for fifty days,
And on the fifty first,
The greasy cargo went ablaze,
And then the hatches burst.
?Twas man the pumps,all hands to the pumps,
And curse ye as ye go,
A broken ship, a burning ship,
Bound out to Callao?
With Coal to Callao by E.J.Brady

You enter Callao round the headland of San Lorenzo, the port is well sheltered from the south winds and is old. The place grew up in the time of the square riggers and the stories about are the stuff of legend.
Fiddlers Green ,that name given by sailing shipmen in the days of yore to good Sailortowns ,was a faint shadow of its former self. The fabled **** Street, the Calle Marina ,was depleted of the many bars and bag shanties that had lined its thoroughfare, now there were a few neon lit bars, wild ,but not so wild as yesteryear and Jack ashore could still get his drink ,his women and a fight or two if he was so minded.
Terry ,Eddy and I ,went ashore a few times, we got plenty of the first two items on our list ,but being congenital cowards, we did?nt go looking for the third. I was struck at just how different this part of the world was, so far ,my ports had been dominated by British shipping, here there were Yankee ships aplenty, form both the west and east coasts. The German ensign was much in evidence too, whenever we saw a fight it was usually some English and German lads replaying world war two. I can only remember a few bar names ,Smokey Joes , The London Bar, the Cape Horn and some whose names are gone from my memory. In one of the bars there some quotations on the walls ,one read ? A woman is only a woman ,but a good cigarette is a smoke ?Anon ,and another was ?There a three kinds of men, the living ,the dead??and those who go to sea? Homer. On board our ship things were still a bit fraught , Nick was proving to be a bit of a pain, he was drunk most of the time and was becoming more aggressive with it. He would roar and rant when in his cups and spoke very offensively about his wife and daughter. Now we were not easily offended individuals, we?d all done our bit of dallying around the seedy parts of town ,blue jokes and four letter words were part of vocabulary, but we never thought it right that a man should describe his wifes sexual attributes or express desires for deflowering his daughter. Although we were repelled by his chatter ,none of us were brave enough to tackle him. It was in Callao that he and his cabinmate Jock went on their biggest bender.
They started it on Friday night ,going from bar to bar, they were not merry, they were on a serious drunk, morose ,dead eyed they sank spirits and beer like it was going out of fashion. We steered well clear of them , come Saturday morning ,Nick staggered aboard and collected an armful of his clothes and went back ashore. Around teatime ,Jock came rolling aboard, eyes out of focus ,grey faced and staggering. He disappeared down to his cabin and got into his bunk where he went into a dead sleep. Nick came back aboard around
8.00p.m. and he was clad only in his vest and dungarees. He had flogged all his clothes for booze. He tried borrowing money off the rest of us but we made ourselves scarce as he was in a belligerent mood
We saw him going down the gang way wearing Jocks best brown suit ,carrying some more clothes over his arm.
We went down to the bars shortly after and had ourselves a good time.
Next morning ,a very shaky Jock came into the mess room, he was all of a jitter, spilling his tea as tried to raise it to his lips. He asked us if we knew when he had got back and was amazed to learn that he had been asleep for 12 hours,he told us that Nick was flaked out starkers on his bunk, he could?nt rouse him so he?d left him snoring. He then said that he could?nt recall ever being as drunk as he must have been on Saturday. ? I cannae unnerston? it , Ah?ve nivver shat mesel? before, nivver. But ye ken it?s awfie strange ,ah nivver shat in ma Y fronts? We left him to puzzle that one out himself.

We left Callao a little while later ,heading out into the enormous swells that roll in from the west of the Pacific. Sailing down the western coast you see a constant line of birds heading south, birds in their millions , the source of Chile?s great wealth ; these are the birds who nest on the rocks of Chiles coast ,their droppings ,eons old forming the guano from which nitrate is obtained. From dawn to dusk the parade is unending, after a while you don?t bother looking ,they are always there .
We called in to Mollendo further down the Peruvian coast and there we loaded a little German circus that was going to Valparaiso in Chile. The wharfies had a hell of task on their hands with the lone elephant ; old Jumbo did not like the idea of going into a crate and just kicked off his chain and with a loud trumpet went bowling down the wharf. There was panic amongst the dockers and the mahout was sticking that goad into Jumbo but that just made him all the madder. We all lined the bulwarks roaring encouragement to Jumbo and then the armed police arrived. You could see them pale with fright as the elephant ran toward their white helmeted forms , they fled and gradually Jumbo was enticed with fresh greens and fruits . You can see him being loaded aboard below. We also took on some Bactrian camels , a few Dromedarys ,lions ,horses and performing dogs ,plus the performers. Jumbo was kept in his crate on the starboard side of the afterdeck and the lions were stored opposite him ,the camels and horses were put in stalls on the port side. And the dogs were kennelled at the foot of the aftermast.
Going on the amidships was hazardous , if you went via jJumbo and Lions ,he would try grabbing you with his trunk and they would snarl and roar as they tried to paw you through their cages.
It was a little better the other side ,save for the camels spitting their slobber at you.
They were going to be with us for quite awhile so we had to get used to them.

Our journey down the coast took us into a really godforsaken little place called Puerto do Ilo, it was a brown town set against a backdrop of bare brown mountains. It was a copper port , we were still unloading ,it was a very uninviting place and no one ventured ashore.
As we sailed along the animals were kept secure in the cages ,all except for the performing dogs, mostly poodles, they were trained in a way that made you want to hit the trainer. They were all dogs ,no *****es ,and to get them to walk on their hind legs ,the trainer had a steel tipped bamboo cane, very thin and springy, and if a dog failed to walk so many steps ,or wavered, he would flick the cane at its testicles. The sounds of the little dogs yelps of pain used to go right through. I cannot look at performing dogs to this day, it was very cruel.

We passed into Chilean waters when we sailed past Arica, there you could see a huge flag ,visible from well offshore .It was mounted atop the highest mountain and was flown in memory of the last great war between the Southern Nations, we did?nt go into the port ,our next destination was Antofagasta, this was another port I gave a miss to ,but only because I was saving my money for Valparaiso. Terry went ashore , as did Jock and Nick, the terrible two came back ,blotto as usual ,Terry did?nt ; we sailed without him and the bosun said that he would be taken to Valpo by the police and it would cost him a months wages because P.S.N.C. had an agreement with the Chilean police .
As we docked in Valpo ,the dockers swarmed aboard as we were still tying up. I was on the winch on the poop hauling in the stern rope and I was watching as the dockers started to lift a lions cage on our derricks . I noticed what I thought was a splash of white paint on the black goose neck of the port derrick and wondered how someone could have dripped white paint on to it. As the lions cage lifted higher ,the ?paint ? splash widened ,and then light dawned upon me ,the goose neck was cracking open and I was seeing bright steel. I screamed to the second mate ?The derricks going to fall ? and he yelled for the dockers to stop . They did just that and the docker who was sitting beneath the goose neck looked up and shouted something in Spanish and within seconds there was?nt a Chilean docker on that ship, they had vamoosed down the gangway ,leaving the lion suspended in mid air. We made fast the ship and then went to the derrick and lowered the cage to the deck V e r y , V e r y c a r e f u l l y. I can still recall the tension today ,if that derrick collapsed ,the cage would fall ,crack open and ,well you can imagine it yourself.
I have hazy reflections of Valpo, I can remember it was cold and wet, old Tommy spent the time there with his family . Terry had come back under his own steam and was waiting for us ,he had paid a driver to bring him from Antofagasta. No police were involved, but the captain fined him a months wages anyway. One more resentment added to the growing mountain.
The three of us spent our time there drinking and womanising ,but that fine had taken the gloss off thing.
On top of all that Nick and Jock got totally palatic, they had to be dragged back aboard and were unconscious for almost 24 hours. We altered the calender and , when they resurfaced ,we were back at sea, and we let them think they had been out of it for three days. It shocked Jock but Nick was a basket case.
We heading north now ,all the joy had gone out of the trip, we could?nt wait to get home. Terry started training me to take my EDH?s ticket when we got back. Night times and Sundays we would be practising my wire splices and rigging three fold blocks, I learned to do a Turks head and a monkeys fist. When we got home I was going to take the ticket then we would have a week at a holiday camp. Terry reckoned it was fabulous for getting the girls. So ,with something to look forward the homeward run took on a different tenor.
One of our last homeward ports on the coast was a place called Pieta, a town named after the Virgin mourning for her crucified son,it looked like a hole! We anchored off and the mate thought it was a good place to paint the ships side , he was wrong of course. The great Pacific rollers caused us to roll more than somewhat, somehow had Nick ,Kenny ,Joe and some others had purchased some neat Pietan rum from the guys off the lighters,with the result that a lot of guys got on to the painting stages in a very drunken state. We started at the bow ,three stages in a line , bowsed in by a wire rope ,the rake had us at an angle of almost twenty degrees, daft ,drunken Joe was in charge of the bowsing lime and it was slacked off and tightened erratically ,his head bobbing over the side as he asked drunkenly if we were okay. We were anything but okay,this was the days before Health and Safety regulations,no safety harnesses here, just a plank of wood ,some old gantlines and a drunk in charge of your safety. As we lowered ourselves down the rake became greater and we needed bowsing tighter. She had swung into the rollers now and was pitching alarmingly. Trying to stand up and use a paint roller on a striker was very difficult but the mate insisted that we finish the job . The bowsing line was slacking and we yelled to Joe to tighten up ,he did ,oh how he did . The wire became taut and then started to bite into the paintwork, it stared singing hat awful song that precedes a break , we were bowsed in at an angle of 30 degrees when CracK!! The wire parted and we were sent flying ,luckily we had been warned by the sound and we all held to the falls . We lost the rollers and trays the paint sprayed everywhere and we said ?Enough? we swarmed up those ropes and told the bosun in no uncertain terms what the mate could do with his bow. I went back to our cabin and got stuck into a bottle of rum.
Panama was passed through and we were into the Atlantic , we should be home in a fortnight ,the weather was fine , I had a holiday to look forward after taking my ticket ,we soon be off this bucket.
The best laid plans often go astray, as we came within spitting distance of England ,we were given the news that there was a major dock strike , we would?nt be going to Liverpool but to Antwerp instead. Great ,just bloody great, our plans started to melt away ,when would we we get Home?

[brian daley]

To Hull and Back

It was misgivings that we sailed into Antwerp,instead of paying off in the morning we were going to be here for an indeterminate time. Our Butlins adventure was looking well and truly scuppered. Still ,Antwerp was a lively old sailortown,could have some fun here. As soon as we were able ,Terry ,Eddy and I headed off down to Skipper Street to have a couple of jars and a gander round the bars. We hove to in Dannys? Bar, that place where Bootsie ,Billo and me had the shock of our lives. I was a little bit older now and a lot less innocent, those ?girls? in Dannys would?nt bother me none , live and let live was my motto. As the three of us sat quaffing there ,we were joined by a tall blonde ?lady? ,?she? was very pretty and she had eyes only for Terry. Eddy and I were having a s****** because we did?nt think Terry realised that ?she? was really a ?he?.
They had a couple of smoochy dances ,chewing the faces off each other and when Terry sat down next to me I told him about he/she. ?Ah knaw? he said in broad Yorkshire ?But she awreet? We did?nt want to leave him there ,nor did we wish to stay ,so I kept on dropping hints that it was time to go and see some real women. Terry was oblivious to our concerns and they sat holding hands and cuddling. ?She? kept on calling me a spoilsport, saying that she and Terry were O.K. and only wanted a bit of fun. At length I got up to go and leave them to it when ?She? called out something to Danny behind the bar , he laughed and then called me over. ?You ?ave some drinks on the house ?he giggled girlishly. He poured two glasses of Stella and told me to take them to Terry and Eddy, ?You come back for your drink dahlink? he laughed. When I got back to the bar I found he had poured me a liqueur, ?Is very special?, he smiled handing it to me. ?drink quickly for best taste ? he said. I knocked it back and it slid down my throat like a Drambuie ,and I slid down the bar to the floor. I was conscious ,but I had lost the use of my limbs and could?nt speak or see. I could hear the howls of laughter from the ?girls? and felt myself being grabbed by the arms and legs and being carried. I was terrified,my body,eyes and voice were useless . I could hear Terry and Eddy laughing that I had been ?Mickeyed? and there were other voices too. I felt myself being carried up some stairs and placed on a bed and some got into bed beside me. I frozen stiff with fear as to what was to happen but I soon slipped into a deep slumber. I was awakened by movement in the room and found that I could see and speak, my head felt as though it had been hit with a ten pound hammer and I found that I was still fully dressed. Beside me lay one of the ?ladies? from the bar, I shook him roughly ,wanting to know what had happened to me and he looked a little afraid. He shook his head ?Nothing happen to you? he said, ?Your fren? he make love with my fren? ? I felt sick and tired as it was but I near threw up when I heard that. I shouted for Terry and Eddy and they appeared from different rooms ,both looking shamefaced. We walked back to town to get some breakfast and I was angry with them both for letting that happen to me but they both pleaded innocence.
We went back aboard to change and show our faces and then returned to the old town. We found a bar that was not full of *****s ,gays or sharks and settled there for a few drinks ,there was a billiard table and a juke box that the latest American records and the two most beautiful barmaids ever. The bar was owned by their father and he presided over things from a high backed chair at the back of the bar. One girl was blonde and Nordic looking and the other was dark and looked very Gallic. I chatted up the blonde and Terry the brunette, poor old Eddy was playing gooseberry but did?nt seem to mind. We spent the next two days with the girls, nothing untoward happened, they were just sweet girls who had never met English sailors before ,they were good company and seemed to like us too.
I got to liking my girl so much that I did?nt want to leave Antwerp ,and thus was born the idea of jumping ship. I had never thought of doing anything like that before, but Terry was a persuasive so and so. He said that if we pretended to miss the ship ,with proof that we had missed it ,the British consul would send us home by ferry.
It?s amazing what you will believe when you are half cut. The Kenuta was due to sail that night at 11.00p.m. ,Terrys plan was that we would take a taxi back to the dock after midnight, the taxi driver would then have to take us to the Consulate and he would affirm our story that we had tried to get to the ship. We would?nt be sent back straight away and could thus spend some more time with our girls. It seemed a great plan after half a dozen Stella. So there we where after midnight ,riding in a taxi ,which none of us had the fare for, on the way back to an empty berth. When we got back to the dock ,there she was, still unloading ,not remotely ready to sail. What do we do now? RUN!! The thing was ,the driver was faster than us ,he was hot on our heels and threatened to call the police if he did?nt get his fare . Terry practically kicked down the pursers door and demanded some money to pay the driver, I think the purser thought he might be candidate for hanging for he thrust a wad of money at Terry and the cab driver went away happy. We went tour beds and grabbed a bit of shuteye. Come morning the three of us were taken , separately, into the Captains cabin . The Captain ,the Mate .the Purser and Chief Electrician were there sat like judges at a court martial. We had been adrift three days , during the drift I had apparently met the mate and had been very abusive , calling him a series of foul names ,something that I had absolutely no recollection of, upon our return we had offered violence to the purser and practically robbed .him.
I could see me ending up in Walton Jail, was my sea career coming to an end here. My head was hanging in shame as the offences were read out, I had no defence, excepting for the abuse at the mate ,everything was true. How the hell was I going to explain this to my parents?. A mixture of thoughts were swirling around in my head as I stood there ,and then I became aware of what the captain was now saying to me, ?In view of your being one of the few crewmen who were able to get the ship out of port in Havana ,that and the action you took in Buenaventura in saving the Chief Steward an injury ,or worse, we have decided that you will be logged a pound. Nevertheless you must not think that we condone what you have done, consider yourself lucky boy!?
So they were human after all!
Terry and Eddy were not so lucky though ,they were logged and fined ,heavily.
We still were?nt going to Liverpool though, we were going to Hull. I was past caring where she went to be honest, I realised that I had been very lucky and just wanted to get home without any blemishes in my discharge book.
Hull has a lot in common with Liverpool, its people do not think of themselves as Yorkshiremen as we Liverpudlians never think of ourselves as Lancashiremen. They have a great seagoing tradition and her waterfront in some ways resembles ours ,with its domed Customs House and cobbled dock road. The dockers worked differently to anywhere else that I had been to, instead of using the wire runners on our derricks they used ropes ,or warps as they called them. Whereas our runners were on the drum of a winch , secured by a shackle, their warp was on the drum end and the winch was left running constantly ,they would throw a few turns of rope on the drum when they wanted to lift and throw it off when waiting for the next lift. Whether it was better I could?nt say.
We were going to pay of in Hull ,but not yet, we had to stay with her for another three days .Terry suggested that I take my EDH?s ticket while we were in Hull, you sat your exam and got your ticket immediately ,if you passed. I saw the captain and he agreed to let me have a go , the mate and purser made all the arrangements and at ten o?clock next morning I was down at the training school in Hull to see if I could cut it. There was an examination of young officers taking their second mates tickets in progress when I got there. Yhe examiner came out of that class and gave me a piece of wire rope ,?Put an eye in that ? he said disappearing back into the classroom . There were marlin spikes and rope yarns so I got stuck and then he was back again ,he took me to a model derrick on which there was a three fold block, there was another laying beside it and some cord .?rig that up? was all he said ,When he came back he stayed and took me through bends and hitches ,all the while throwing questions at random, pretty soon two hours had passed when he shook my hands and then signed my ticket.
I went back to the ship feeling like a million dollars. That night we all went to the Sportsmans pub and had a good old session. Whilst we were drinking two very Italian looking girls came and sat beside us . They were very outgoing and asked if we would like to go to an orgy. I had never been asked that question before ,it is something nearly every young sailor dreams of . ?Would I like to go to an orgy? Do donkeys eat carrots?? Their language was saltier than any sailors, and then they brought out some photographs ,they were box Brownie black and whites and were far raunchier than any you would buy in Port Said. Remember this was 1960 a long time before pornography was freely available. And here were these two women showing us the most graphic pictures imaginable of their last orgy. Turned out they were professionals and our interest soon waned. We were tipped out at closing time and made our merry way back to our ship ,this was the very last night aboard .
We were nearly home ,no more shocks or escapades ,pay off in the morning ,back home in Kirkby at tea time.
But there were still a few surprises before then .
When we got back aboard we found a full scale party going on in the stewards quarters ,Eddy took me and Terry down there to have a few drinks before turning in . While I was sitting having a sup ,one of the stewards whispered that my cabinmate was spark out in the bakers bunk and it did?nt look good., I shot round there and found Kenny being attended to by the Baker. Kenny was?nt conscious enough to know what was going on and the Baker was mightily upset when I ripped him off Kennys? sleeping form. Eddy helped me drag Kenny away. When I got back to the stewards alleyway, Eddy pulled me into his cabin and asked me to do him !!! I thought he was joking and goosed him ,but the look on his face was something awful ,he was serious! It fell into place ,it was always him who was without a girl,he did?nt fancy them ,he fancied me!!!

Paying off was an anti climax after all that, D.R.?s ,the worst thing a seaman can be given in his discharge book, were given to all the offenders in Buenoventura , very few of us escaped with the two V.G.?s that are expected every trip. I did?nt have much cash to pick up and so it was going to be a short leave.
So ,I left the Kenuta on the 13th of October 1960, kitbag and suitcase in hand ,I made my way to Hull Station to catch the train to Liverpool. As I was walking toward the station ,in my best bib and tucker ,I was nearing the station approaches when I heard ?Cooee, now Brian, don?t you want to know us? There, at the end of the street stood the two orgeists? .I froze, and then shot into the Kardomah. Caf?. It was filled with ladies doing lunch,all flowery hats and pastel coloured frocks. I cowered at the back hoping they had?nt seen me . They came through the door pointing and laughing raucously ?There?s the dirty little f++++r ? one shouted and a hundred saucers rattled. I wanted to fall through the floor as they came and sat beside me, ? Yer still want to go to bed wi? us dirty a**e?? they crowed. They were playing to the audience and the audience were riveted to the spot. I crept out of there with my ears burning and my face red with shame. What a way to end a trip.

[brian daley]

A Different Kind of Leave

I met Terry at the station in Hull after escaping the clutches of those two Harpies in the Kardomah.
The holiday we had hoped to have in Butlins had now disappeared over the horizon and Mum had agreed that Terry could stay with us at home with me for the leave period.
I did?nt know what kind of a reception Terry would receive at home , black was a colour little seen in Kirkby in those days, my parents were no different from any other working class people and colour had never been an issue in our house.
My worries were needless, the whole family welcomed him with open arms and as soon as we had unpacked Dad took us both to the Railway pub for a drink. The regulars were taken a little aback when he walked in but within minutes he was the centre of attraction. His Yorkshire accent and ready wit won most of the people over within a few minutes .When we got back home ,Mum had supper ready and then she and Terry retired to the kitchen to talk about financial affairs, he was going to pay his way. He would have been staying in the Sailors Home or Gordon Smiths and it had been Mums idea to invite him to stay with us as a lodger .Terry was all for it, three square a day, laundry thrown in and a family to stay with, he was all for it. As for Terrys? own family, well details were a bit sketchy ,he had mentioned that his Dad was ?Sarf American? but never spoke of his mum or other kin .Home was Bradford but other than that I never knew ,or had needed to know. We spent most of our time drinking and dancing, the Locarno and Grafton became our favourite haunts and Terry was a hit with the girls. We went home from a different direction every night. Never made any dates, just one night stands. After the first few days Terry announced that he wanted me to go to Bradford with him to meet his Dad and family, this surprised me because he had never spoken more than a few words about him before then. So it was back to Yorkshire ,we took a couple of days clean clothing and our toilet bags ,we were not going to be too long . Bradford was a revelation to me, a smoky mill town full of Victorian buildings. The woollen mills were working at full blast and most of the millworkers were from Pakistan. This was in the days before full immigration was allowed and the immigrant population was mostly male. Terry took me to a Pakistani boarding house, we were staying there and not with his family, the place was clean but very Spartan, two single beds and a sink, there was a shared bathroom on the landing. Terry had brought his transistor radio and that was our sole form of entertainment.
When we had stowed our gear Terry took us to see his Dad, he was a wiry little Jamaican, his bedsit was very poorly furnished and his sole possession ,apart from the few sticks of furniture was an old black and white T.V. set. I was really embarrassed when I discovered that the purpose of our visit was to divest his father of that ,Terry had bought it for him on a previous leave and was going to take it away so that he could give it to his elder brother, one I was hearing about for the first time. After a short and bitter conversation ,Terry pulled the plug and we left the house with the t.v. set. My mind was becoming very confused, this guy had been kindness itself at sea ,taught me more than anyone else about seamanship and had helped me take my ticket. Money had never been problem ,he had been generous as hell, but here he was taking away this old cripples only form of entertainment. He must have seen my confusion and, by way of an explanation ,told me that his dad had been extremely cruel to him and his brother ? it was no more the ?e deserved? The brother ,who shall remain nameless ,was of a lighter skin colour than Terry ,small and stocky ,he lived in a one bedroomed flat with his very pregnant wife. She was due anyday now..He was a regular Andy Capp ,out of work living on benefits and a little bit of larceny. After we dropped off the t.v. Terry took me into town to see the high spots, one of which was Farmer Giles coffee bar ,that was the place to pull nice young ladies and Bradford was full of them. This was in the days before disco?s, juke boxes and coffee was the most you could hope for here ,the bars were for men and the beer was Hammonds, a good strong brew. Two mornings later we made our exit from the boarding house , via the toilet window on the first floor, not my idea ,Terry was a racist! ?Ahm not gonna a gi a Paki any brass mate? was his excuse. I was to learn more of his philosophy later.
Back home ,I was getting a bit short on the money front, we had been hard at it and Terry was earning considerably more than me and I could?nt keep up with his spending rate. We went to the movies ,saw a Cliff Richard musical, embarrassing, Cliff was no Gene Kelly. I had to pass up going to town on Saturday night , I was so stretched for cash that I just could?nt afford it. Terry then had the bright idea of going back to Bradford ,it was cheaper and he had?nt shown me half the things we could do,
Reluctantly, I agreed to go and got a sub off Mum. I was amazed when we went back to the Pakistani boarding house ,the landlord remonstrated with Terry and he smiled back at him and said that he had come to pay what we owed and would be staying for another week. We went to his brothers to see how his wife was getting along ,she was overdue now and then I was taken on a bus journey to Cleckheaton. Having a deep tan at that time of the year was very exotic and in a place like Cleckheaton it made you an object of wonder. Even the clippie on the bus tried to pick me up, I was very flattered when she gave me my change and then leant down and whispered into my ear ?Ahh could do things to you Lad ? I was still young enough to blush. We went to a nice old pub in Cleckheaton,the landlady knew Terry and she made us both very welcome, this was lunchtime and it was?nt very busy and the few regulars crowded around us plying us with questions about ?abroad? They had a genuine curiosity ,?were the skies as blue as they saw at the pictures?, ?was South America full of jungles? ?We acted up to their expectations and stretched the truth a little to make it more colourful . We were well rewarded for our yarns, we never had to put our hands in our pockets at all . One of the things that they were taken with were our stories about American fast food, hot dogs in particular ,they were tickled pink at the thought . The landlady made us promise that we would come back that night, ?let the other folk hear your tales? she said. At seven thirty that night we were back ,the place was packed and our reception was such that you would have thought that we were polar explorers or some such other adventurers. We were sat down at a table that had been reserved for us and , as we were supping our first pint , the landlady came in carrying aloft a big meat plate full of ?hot dogs?, Cleckheaton style. Big fat juicy Yorkshire sausages in soft breadrolls garnished with fried onions,. They were delicious and they vanished in minutes. Next morning we departed from our boarding house in exactly the same manner as before ,via the toilet window. I was?nt proud of doing it ,I was following Terry?s lead. We went round to his brothers flat and he persuaded us to stay the night there ,problem was ,they only had the one bed ,and no settee.!
We went back to Cleckheaton that night and we were told that there was a dance at a pub in Heckmond wike just down the road. Heckmondwike was a farm village then, nice little place and the George was where the ?hop? was taking place. The dance was in what had been the stable in a previous age ,now whitewashed and furnished with tables and benches along the walls ,it had a Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner and a big log fire on the on the far side of the room. The Locarno it was was?nt. All of the village girls sat on one side of the room ,they were pretty girls ,but were dressed in a style all of their own ,still very 1950?s. The music was what was in the current hit parade and no one was dancing, I went and asked various girls if they wanted to dance, there were only a dozen or so, and each time I asked I got an embarrassed refusal. A shake of the head , blushing cheeks and a giggle., no ! On my sixth or seventh attempt I asked them if they were all Lesbians (this was pre P.C.) they looked puzzled ,they obviously had?nt heard the word before. I went and sat down , again, and just then a very sophisticated looking young lady came in ,the girls huddled around her, all chattering at once ,glancing at me as they spoke. Another good record came on and I made my way across the floor again .?Anyone want to dance?? I asked ,and half a dozen jumped up to take up my offer. The ice broken, we had a great time ,one of the girls wanted me to take her back to Bradford, she wanted to sleep with me ,in my haste to comply I had forgotten about the sleeping arrangements. When we got to the flat she was devastated and asked to be taken home. Not an easy thing to do when the buses have stopped and you haven?t got a car or the taxi fare . Terrys brother said not to worry as he would sort the problem and promptly disappeared, He was back pretty soon and took the young lady ,his wife and me down to an old Jowett Bradford van that had been converted to an estate. I was impressed ,unemployed and a car owner. We set off for Heckmondwike at great speed, the brothers driving seemed somewhat erratic, traffic lights were ignored and roundabouts were negotiated by driving over them . It became increasingly clear that this guy was both drunk and a non driver. Luckily for us all we dropped the girl off at her farm and made it back to Bradford alive. I asked him, when fear had relaxed its grip on my throat, how long he had owned he car. ?Oh it?s not mine , I nicked it just before? Thank god we were home when I asked that question. Terry was waiting for us at the flat when we got back ,he had had his wicked way with one of the other farm girls. It was now the early hours of the morning and my body was wanting to sleep ,but where, the unasked question was answered by the brother when he motioned for us to join him and his wife in their double bed .He and his wife were to sleep at the top of the bed and Terry and I slept at the bottom .
It was gruesome, neither of them wore any nightwear and I spent most of the night finding my feet in places where feet should?nt ought to go.

After a very restless night ,we departed for home and I slept for most of the train journey, my relationship with Terry was under strain, I did?nt like the way we had been behaving and I did?nt like the wayhe treated his Dad. On top of that I found that his brother was a housebreaker and that they both enjoyed a bit of ?Paki bashing? But Terry also had a charm about him that could disarm most people. When we got back to the ?Pool ,we went and saw that nice Mr Repp down at the shipping federation and he sorted us out a couple of berths on the Swan River ,one of Houlders ,we would be joining her in two days time. Our last night at home was a Wednesday and we decided to go to the Locarno, midweek dances were nearly always ?grab a Granny nights? but this was promising to be different ;the posters stated that it was to be a ?carnival night? with extended opening hours. So in we went with the greatest of high hopes?.it was still a grab a granny night ,most of the women were older than us ,some of them middle aged and most of the men were either lounge lizards or Mr Lonelys. We managed to find two young ?unhappily? married women ,or so they said . We had a good time because they were very good dancers and offered us both a promising end to the night. The place started to empty around about 10-30 p.m. and the floor began to take on deserted appearance, Terry insisted that we must keep dancing otherwise the band would go home as well . Come 11.00 we were the only people left ,some of the musicians had left and some were playing in their overcoats. Giant sized hints were being dropped that it was time to go but Terry steadfastly ignored them .?We?ve paid to stay late and we bloody well will? he said. The bouncers made a circle around our table and the band was just vamping ,it really was time to go but the Lad was not having it. At length ,one of the biggest bouncers growled ?D?ja like ?ospital food mate,?cos if yew don?t shift yer bleedin? arse that?s wot you?ll be ?avin? termorrer? The girls were frightened now and I stood up ?C?mon stop acting the prat mate, these girls have got a home to go to?
We left rather hurriedly and saw the ladies to their houses before spending the last few hours at home.

Next morning ,as Mum was kissing me goodbye ,she asked me if Terry had given me any money ,I asked her why and she told me that she had said to Terry that she did?nt want any money off him but that he should give that money to me so that I could keep up with him. Terry had been giving me a few pounds ,purely as a loan he said.
We began our voyage on the Swan River as ex-friends.

[naked lilac]

awww Brian.. another good tale of your youth.. ...

Funny how we really try and like some people.. thinking them such charismatic and good friends.. and then,after a bit of time, ones friendship becomes foiled by their cunning deceipt..

Their loss.. yet, do they ever understand the meaning?

waiting for another story Brian..

[brian daley]

Down Argentina Way

Old Charley Repp must have been in a good mood on Bonfire day for he gave us a good berth on Motor Vessel Swan River. She was one of the Houlder Line ships and was making her second trip to
the west coast of South America .I could barely contain my excitement , a practically new ship and going to somewhere I had always wanted to visit.
We sailed shortly after signing on ,which suited me fine, it was single berth accommodation and each cabin was well furnished, we had a writing desk with a swivel chair ,proper wardrobe and plenty of drawer, a day bed and a good bunk with a spring interior mattress. There was also a sink, the first I had ever seen outside of officer territory. The toilet block had a wet weather room attached to it ,we had lockers in there in which we could keep our work clothes and heavy weather gear. Each locker had a heavy duty padlock which was painted in armorial colours and we each had key rings on which there was a tag painted with the same colours. This was a step up in the world after the Kenuta. The sailors mess was fitted out in melamine and was softly coloured . We hoped the food would live up to the rest of things.
The crew were a good mix it seemed, Terry was there of course but I was keeping my distance from him, I was a first trip E.D.H and was the youngest of the senior ratings, the others I remember were Teddy Woods from Kirkby, Eddy Clark and his brother in law Alec McNab, Taffy ,another E.D.H. a bit older than me ,he was a tankerman making his first trip on a cargo boat. There was Old Taffy, a middle aged balding guy with a terrible comb over, and there was Mr X , a weirdo ,middle aged he looked like a psycho and ,as events were to prove ,was deserving of that sobriquet.
The bosun was a big bluff man from Hull, he was in his 50?s and was very even tempered. We seemed set fair to have a decent trip, if anything ,I was the seemingly unsociable one , my unwillingness to expand on my relationship with Terry marked me out as a no mark and ,when we got to Cardiff ,my refusal to join the lads on a run ashore because Terry was with them, marked my book even more. I was?nt going to tell tales out of school ,they would have to take Terry as they found him. I did?nt stop aboard ,far from it with Alan ,another E.D.H. ,we made our way to the town centre to see what was going on, it was a market day and the centre was fairly busy, pubs were full of farmers who had come down from the hills ,after a couple of pints we made our way to the Mecca ballroom. That, too was crowded and most of the girls had partners, there were hardly any spare girls, but I wanted to dance . There was a very pretty lady sitting with her partner and she was looking wistfully at the dancers, I stepped forward and asked if she would like to dance, she looked at her partner questioningly and he smiled and nodded his assent and we took to the floor. She was a marvellous dancer, responsive to my every movement. As we glided around the floor I could not help but notice the wedding and engagement rings on her finger and I asked her if she was with her husband ? Oh yes!? she smiled ?He brings me here every market day; can?t dance for toffee,but ?e likes to watch me at the dancin? boyo? I spent the rest of the night with them, her husband was a sheep farmer and they had a couple of young children , they were still very much in love and he was?nt jealous of her dancing with other men ?Warms ?er up for me later boy? he laughed.
I walked back to the ship alone ,but I had had a good time.
When I got back, Old Taff was in the mess room having a cocoa, he was looking flustered , I asked if if he was O.K. and he said that he had nearly been arrested. I asked him why and he replied that he had gone up to the house where his first wife lived to see if there was any chance of a bit of nookey. When she opened the door to him she screamed or help and the neighbours piled out of their doors to see what was up. She was shouting for them to call the police, apparently he was about 5 years behind with his alimony payments. I was to learn that old Taff was a prodigious story teller.
We headed for Las Palmas after leaving South Wales ,just prior to leaving we picked up a passenger, a tall distinguished looking gent , looked like a colonel, clipped moustache, tweed cap and jacket ,cavalry twill trousers and expensive looking brogues. The captains wife joined us there too , she was a bit like the Queen Mother ,gracious and always friendly ,her husband Captain Potts was one of the best masters it had been my pleasure to sail with.
During the trip across to the Canaries I got to know some of the lads better , they were beginning to realise that I was?nt as bad as they first thought, I just did?nt want to open up about Terry. I had in the meanwhile made friends with the baker and a couple of stewards who were in my age bracket. There was a little fireman from Kirkby ,Bonzo was his nickname , of indeterminate age, he had great big saucer eyes set in a thin sallow face with a mouth that had hardly a tooth in it. His clothes were three or four sizes too big for him which made him look like a cartoon character, he seemed to take a shine to me though and there was never an unkind word that ever left his lips.
We went ashore in a big group in Las Palmas, it felt great to be in such company , not rowdy or drunk yet!!!
As we were strolling along past the bars I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of one of my uncles sitting at the bar. I was stunned, I had known him all my life but had never learned that he was a seaman. He got the bigger shock when I walked over to him ,(he had?nt recognised me yet ), and
tapped him on the shoulder saying ?Hullo, uncle Matty? He nearly fell off his chair ,turns out he was down below on the Reina Del Mar. It was a very happy reunion and provided my Dads family with a topic of conversation for many years .
Soon we were sailing westward to Uruguay, the sea was fairly rough all the way across but the Swan River was a good vessel, she rode out those storms with equanimity, nothing untoward occurred all the way across. Our passenger used to like standing on the wing of the bridge watching the waves hurtle towards us like a charge of white horses.
Soon we were entering the River Plate, on our way to Montevideo, I?ve always thought that a wonderful name, where the famous battle took place between the German pocket battleship Graf Spee and the British cruisers HMS Ajax, HMS Exeter and HMS Achilles ,which was part of the Royal New Zealand Navy. It was not too long since I had read the story and I was thrilled to be actually there where it all happened.
I was surprised at how European Uruguay looked, the docks looked as old as Liverpools? ,but they were cleaner, and there was a statue in the main entrance to the docks, erected in honour of the Trabajadores, a wonderful name for a docker ; I tried to imagine what kind of a statue might be erected in the Gladstone????? I still have?nt succeeded.
Everyone who had done the run before told me to save my money for Buenos Aires across the river ,I did?nt listen , I wanted to see things for myself. What I saw was a sailor town that had once seen better days, the amount of bars and clubs along the side streets told that story, lots of them were closed , there were an awful lot of souvenirs for sale, caps and hat bands ,neckerchiefs and daggers, all purporting to have come from the Graf Spee. This was nearly 29 years after the battle ,it did?nt take much mental arithmetic to work out that they must have had a crew numbering in millions for there to have been so many mementos.
We met up with a crew of a German ship ,.the Cap Norte, a very smart looking vessel , all white with a raked bow and steamlined superstructure, an ocean greyhound. The lads seemed friendly enough and we got by without the third world war breaking out. I slipped away a little while later for I had seen a lady who looked just like Marilyn Monroe, we had a few drinks and a dance or two and then ended up at her place. She was wonderful and we hardly slept a wink.
Next day , as we were preparing to leave, Mrs Potts came looking for me,?Your young lady has come to see you off ?she smiled ,? Go and say goodbye to her? I blushed to my roots, everyone but Mrs Potts knew what the ?young Lady? was, a *****. I made my way along the quayside , and yes ,she did look every inch lady, she a had a blossom in her hair which she took off and gave to me ,she did?nt act like a ***** and my heart warmed to her as she embraced me and whispered ?Adios Muy Amore ? I kissed her goodbye as though she were the love of my life.
The distance between Monte and B.A. is not very great and the river has to be one of the busiest places in South America. There seemed to be a lot of beachcombers in Monte, there were two in particular, English lads who claimed to have missed their ship many moons ago and now got by on the generosity of visiting British vessels. They were fed and watered by us for the whole time we were there, but their outfits were getting a bit threadbare, they were beginning to look like a couple of hobo?s. Another memory that lingers of Monte is the seaplane service, there were a couple of flights a day from there to B.A., it looked like a Sunderland flying boat and I always wish I could have taken that journey. But here we were ,about to sail to the place that had the largest British population in the Southern American continent ,the place of good air ,Buenos Aires.

[brian daley]

Buenos Aires

I had heard so many tales about B.A. ,it was reputed to be a place of great contrasts, the city was picturesque ,the women beautiful and the police violent in the extreme. Thus it was with great expectations that we arrived at our berth, you could see the skyscrapers in the distance not quite New York but bigger than anything we had in Liverpool. The dockers were different from elsewhere they had a kind of class system ,the men who did the pulling and hauling were dressed in rough working clothes whilst the winch drivers and talleymen were dressed like small time gangsters. The latter strutted like peacocks and seemed very vain ,but ,as I was discovering ,that was the latino way.
We were going to be here for quite some time and we would have plenty of time to find out about the city ,one of the AB?s was a regular down this way and he gave the low down on the best places to go. He was keen to reacquaint himself with the 2 ?P?s ,porno movies and the Patchanga. I was amazed to learn that there were cinemas that showed porn in much the same way that the Tatler showed newsreels and cartoons non stop and with usherettes and ice cream. I did?nt get to finding out if that were true. I did find out about the Patchanga, it was a very risqu? dance that was all the rage in La Boca ,the older part of town. B.A. is colossal, and diverse, when we left the dock gates to get into town we had to walk up a road lined with the roughest shanties I had yet seen, dwellings made out of every conceivable kind of material, some were constructed out of old oil drums ,opened out and made into sheets and tacked on to wooden frames. They were the good ones, I saw one family that were living beneath an old dining table ,there were pieces of linoleum nailed to the edge of the table and hung down to provide shelter at the sides. A collection of upright refrigerators provided the wall of another house, and all this was in sight of the most opulent dwelling on the other side of the tracks. Poverty ,naturally brought with it other hazards, muggers! You had to be careful not to walk alone down that road ,once clear of it you were pretty safe, across the square from the station and you were into 25 de Mayo and all the bars that lay therein. There were literally dozens of places where Jolly Jack could go to slake his thirst and satisfy his carnal needs. One bar was favoured more than all of the dives though and that was the one run by a lady from Liverpool ,May Sullivan. Her bar was forbidden to the ladies of the night, there you would get a good beer in convivial surroundings .The d?cor owed more to New York than Latin America so it was favourite of Yankee sailors too. Being a young sailor with an itch that needed scratching ,I favoured the dives. I got to meet some beautiful women down there, not the flyblown old hags of yore, but ladies who were chic and wonderful dancers , there was bar after bar full of ladies who could dance and did?nt mind if you were just a kid.
I befriended a lovely lady ,she was a business girl ,but not out to business with me, she alerted me to the perils that could befall a young man in the fantastic old town and she told of the best places to see. Thanks to her I went to the fabulous cemetery where Eva Peron was interred ,the was the Recolecta , a necropolis full of the most ornate tombs in the world, there are streets lined all manner of buildings in which entire dynasties are interred. ,Evitas tomb was almost a place of pilgrimage, the bronze plaques upon its stonework polished bright by many thousands of lips.
Just down from the Recolecta was the American Catholic sailors mission. This was run by a crusty little priest from Boston, he looked like an older version of Hulme Cronin and had a club foot ,upon which he wore a very heavy circular boot. He used to run dances of a weekend and he would get his young female parishioners to volunteer to dance with the Jolly Jacks .
The mission was in a well to do area and his young ladies were well mannered daughters of B.A.?s affluent citizens. They were good to come and dance with what could be a very salty crowd of hairy arsed sailors.
Half way through the dance ,the band would take a break and the young ladies would serve soft drinks and cakes, strictly no alcohol!
One night the refreshments were being served when a youing lady squealed ,dropped her tray and rushed fro the room to the kitchen. Raucous laughter could be heard coming from a table where there sat a crowd off another English ship.. Next thing we knew was the peppery little priest was clumping across the stage carrying a baseball bat. Trembling with rage, he took hold of the microphone and with a voice choking with emotion he said ?If I find the man who told Miss Rosalba to shove the cakes up her feckin? ass , I ?ll shove this bat right up his feckin?ass!!? As he said it he blushed to his very roots and fled from the stage. The ballroom exploded with laughter, although we all felt sorry for Miss Rosalba.

Back onboard meanwhile, the cargo was being unloaded and the tween decks were cleared in the main hatch, we were given the task of cleaning up after the tween deck was empty. On Saturday ,which was overtime ,and very welcome too ! B.A. was?nt cheap. The whole crowd excepting old Taff turned to, he had gone off Tango?ing down in La Boca. The tween decks was where the strong rooms were situated, there were two sets of heavy duty double leaf doors which were secured by the same kind of padlocks that we had on our work gear lockers. These too had been painted in armorial colours . As we were sweeping up ,Terry said ,to no one in general ?Aye up, that lock is the same pattern as mine look? we smiled indulgently ,Twit ,did?nt he know they were Chubb locks? He got his key out and inserted it in the padlock, ?Click?!! It opened and you could hear the gasp of indrawn breath as the ten of us looked at the store of treasure stacked inside. Whisky???..tons of whisky. Johnnie Walker ,Glen Grant, Teachers, you name it, it was there.
The genie was well and truly out of the bottle.,this was?nt for drinking, this was given us by the gods ,this was our ticket for a fantastic time in B.A.
But how to do it? How d?you get the cargo up and ashore whilst the bosun ,the Talleyman and the police are all on watch?
With a little bit of graft and deception that?s how. The ringleaders, who shall remain nameless, went off to the bars to negotiate a deal ,they were back after lunch and told of how many cases would be required. My mind was racing ,how do we get the cases out of the hatch? Answer, you don?t ,you get the bottles out of the hatch. How do you stop the bosun seeing what we are up to,answer,you fill a carboy with whiskey and give it to him, he was off his head for a week. The polieman and Talleyman? You give them a percentage! We worked feverishly for the rest of the day, we smashed the boxes and filled cargo slings with the bottles and covered them with rubbish ,once the sling was on deck we took it down aft and the bottles were stored in our cabins ready for shipment ashore under the cover of darkness. The Talleyman and policeman stood rooted to their respective spots ,never once moving their heads ,one looking out to sea ,the other looking at the quay ,he must have counted every brick in the dock wall.
The strong room was emptied of everything but a crate of Benedictine, and by teatime Saturday we were all dockside millionaires.
We hit that town ,each in our own individual way ,and painted it red ,blue .yellow ??all the colours of the rainbow. Come Monday morning and time for the strong rooms to be un
unloaded of their expensive cargo ,there was general consternation on the upper decks ?Whodunnit?? They never figured it out ,the police were not called for had?nt there been a policeman on duty that very day, had?nt the Talleyman been present? Captain Potts put the case of Benedictine on top of the hatchway, nobody touched it ,He knew that we knew he knew ,but he did?nt know how.

Having the extra cash in my pocket I decided to go up town, it was really chic ,the main shopping street was just like Kensington ,in fact there was a Dunhill shop and a Harrods too ,very posh. It felt very cosmopolitan, pavement cafes ,theatres ,cinemas and nice restaurants too. Beef restaurants , the place was a carnivores delight, they had Asado?s these were restaurants which had a barbeque shaped rather like a hoopla stall ,the pole in the middle had spits ,like the spokes on an umbrella, whole sides of beef were impaled on these spits and they rotated on their own axis while the pole turned in a clockwork fashion around the booth which had woodburning grille in a circle . It looked like a gigantic vertical rotisserie. When you ordered your bife it was cut direct from the spit. I promise you ,you will never have a better steak. At the other end of the scale there were the small steakhouse were you could get a bife completo for the equivalent of 50p and he there was the Bife Lomo man ,a bit like Mr Whippy ,he had a van in which there was a charcoal stove and you could buy a Bife Lomo, a juicy rump steak with onions enclosed within a French roll ,25p ! No matter how we spent the night ,we always made sure that we had enough change left for a bife supper.

I was asked by one of the bar girls if I would like to take her young sister on a date, I jumped at the chance, she was my age, still at college ,could?nt speak English though .So it was duly arranged the I would meet young Amparo by the Recolecta ,which was not far from where they lived , I had brought a small posy and a box of chocolates in readiness. She was waiting there when I arrived ,blonde haired with pale blue eyes and olive skin ,she was devastatingly lovely. We smiled and shook hands ,where to go? We strolled along the boulevard until we came to a big cinema ,it was dark and the cinema looked inviting so in we went and got a seat in the stalls. The film was Italian with Spanish subtitles ,she liked it ,I know for I spent most of the show peeking at her, I could?nt believe I was out with such a beauty. I sat and held her hand ,afraid of being to forward ,after all I was on trust here. .After the show I walked her back to the foot of her apartment block and gently kissed her good night. Winged feet took me back to the bar. Her sister looked shocked to see me ?You no like Amparo?? she quizzed. ?Yes ,she?s lovely ? I replied. ?Then why you no make love to her?? I goggled at her?What!!? She looked at me as though I were simple. ? I tell Amparo I find nice English boy to take virginity ,and you?????? you loco!? I felt a right fool ,but I never got those signals off Amparo, to me she will always be that nice girl I dated in B.A.

A little while later that night I met a girl who nearly drove me crazy ; I went into a bar down near the station ,it was like a scene from an Edwin Hopper painting, dimly lit , the barkeeper with his head stuck in a book , the juke box playing a song by Carlos Gardel and a girl with hair as black as midnight and eyes to match. One look from her and I was lost.

[brian daley]

B.A

Her name was Rosa ,she was dressed in white which showed off her tan wonderfully ,she looked like a dancer ,her taut bust ,slim waist and beautifully curved legs perfect in form. She was sipping mate from a silver capped cup. I sat down in the booth and ordered a drink. She stopped sipping and looked at me quizzically. ?You English?? she asked.
I nodded in reply ,?Where from?? ,I told her. ?You name?? ?Brian? I answered. ?Brian??.what name is this?? she asked. ?My first name? I replied. ?No, is name English ?? ?Yes ,what is your name ?? And little and by degree I got to know Rosa; she was just getting over an affair and was not looking to start another one so we sat and verbally fenced for a while. The barman put a slow dance on the juke box and we stepped onto the floor. Holding her close ,the warmth of her body and her sweet perfume made the moment special and I sank into her. Thus began a time of enchantment , we would meet there everynight , we would dine ,dance and tell each other lies. Up until that moment I had never met anyone who could make so many sparks, I knew she could never be mine, she was from a different class to mine;hers was a world of high powered cars ,speedboats a villa at La Plata and a very rich dad. I just enjoyed being her toy for the time it lasted.

While we were in B.A. old Taff disappeared for the first weekend , when he came back on the Monday morning he regaled us in the messroom with a tale of tango passion. He had gone down the La Boca district and met with a lady of refinement who had a passion for the tango. Old Taff so impressed with his dancing that she took him home for the weekend and they had spent their time in a frenzy of lovemaking and tango. We felt so envious,how could that baldy old B. pull a stunt like that ? We soon found out.
At lunch time ,the two beachcombers who we had helped out in Montevideo came aboard. We were surprised to see them but let them have a meal anyway. When old Taff came into the messroom ,they both greeted him with ?What time did they let you out mate?? Taff blushed deep red and mumbled something. ? ?E told us you was ?ere ? said one of them ? ?E was wiv us shovellin? horse**** in the police barracks all weekend? Poor Taff, he was always getting caught out in his tall tales.

I went for a stroll down to the old docks with Rosa one afternoon and saw something that was right out of a comic book. The dock was like a ships graveyard, the were old warships ,tugs and freighters that were laid up there. Taking up most of the quayfront was an old Dreadnought, it had two huge conning towers ,everything seemed intact, and up there ,50 or so feet above the deck, were floral curtains on the windows and plant pots hanging beneath them.
All the rest of the vessels were occupied in a like manner and plant pots added a splash of colour everywhere. I often wondered if the families living in those tall conning towers had small children for they were reached by the smallest of steel steps set into the mast. But when compared to those poor people living outside the dock gates,these people were well housed.

When we were still in B.A. ,the bosun decided that we should give the masts a coat of paint,it is a job we usually do at sea ,not when we are still discharging cargo. But he was the man in charge of our labours so it was up the mast and painting we went. The job is usually accomplished by two guys in bosuns chairs ,one in font of the mast and the other at the rear. You tie your paint pot beneath the chair and you try not to splash too much paint. We had to be especially careful this time because we had some men working on the winches directly beneath us . The winchmen ,as befitted their status were wearing their nice clothes. As Eddy and I we painting away up the topmast we began to hear the angry shouting of an Argentinian docker, the sound was coming from directly beneath us. Looking below ,I could see a wildly gesticulating winchman who was glaring up at me pointing to a splash of yellow paint on his nice velvet waistcoat. There was nothing I could do and so I carried on brushing ; he was roaring now ,he had a new spot. So I gave him the finger. He was behaving like the Tasmanian Devil in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. All work stopped down below as the dockers watched to see what would happen next. I lowered myself to the mast table and looked down. The winchman was climbing the mast with a knife in his mouth , he was spitting flames. I shouted down to him ?Hola? he stopped and waved the knife, even angrier than before .He was half way up now ,I called again and he looked up just as I tipped the entire contents of my pot over his head. The dockers exploded with laughter and cheering and the George Raft lookalike slunk off home to clean himself up.
Luckily for me ,we sailed to Rosario that night.