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  1. #226
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Rosario

    There was nothing rosy about River Rosario, I think the Spanish settlers were like estate agents ,they gave the grandest sounding names to the most ordinary places . Perhaps it was the weather that coloured my opinion of it.
    The skies were grey and overcast for days, although it was not very cold it had that feel of late autumn about it ,but we were well south of the Tropic of Capricorn. It was nearly Christmas , and ,as I write this, I am mindful that the events I am now relating occurred almost 48 years ago to the day. We docked the day before Christmas Eve, the workers were all over that ship like a rash, I have never seen cargo moved so fast, it was obvious the holiday was nigh. We were not a fridge boat and so would not be carrying the sides of beef and lambs that the Argentine was famous for,we would be carrying meat though??..canned meat. Rosario was full of meat packing plants,Vesteys practically owned the town and there were a few blue Star boats that we had passed ,the Cap Norte was in port too so we would be having a drink or two with the lads off her.
    Most of the deck crowd went aboard the German vessel that night , the Cap Norte crew proved wonderful hosts ,there was plenty of good lager and lots of bratwurst and other sausages ,ideal ballast when you are having a serious drink. There was no unpleasantness, this was still only 15 year after the war, and we said we would return the honours when we got back to B.A.



    Christmas Eve was not a holiday there, it had the feeling of being just another day , Two of the catering staff that I had befriended Sandy ,an Essex lad and a blonde guy from Newcastle ,whose name has slipped from memory, asked if I fancied having a look for a good time in downtown Rosario . ?Being Roman Catholics, these Argies will be having parties and we just might cop off ? reasoned Sandy. Seemed like a good idea to me and Geordie so that night ,which was cold, very cold, we had to wear our overcoats, we set off to find a good time. None of us had been there before and none of the other lads seemed to know much about the place either. We walked through the gloomy dockside ,past the various meat boats ,as we neared the dock gates we saw one of the biggest rats ever. It was the size of a Jack Russell terrier, it was scavenging on some piece of carrion and as we neared it ,it looked up from its feast and glared at us. We gave it a wide berth.
    I had heard tales of the rats in meat ports ,we never saw any in Australia , here there were millions of them. I heard tales of the legendary fridge rats that some of the older hands swore existed. These creatures were said to live in the fridges of the meat boats and had developed thick white fur coats to beat the freezing temperatures ,is it legend? I never saw any.
    We left the dock area expecting to see neon lights outside of sailor bars, all was in darkness. There seemed to be miles of 2 storey blocks of dwellings on the side facing the docks ,a set of train and tram lines ran the length of the road between the docks and the ?town?. We walked for ages ,as we passed the streets that led off the dock road ,we saw no signs of life down them either. The dwellings were in blocks of courtyards, no doors led off the street ,instead there were large gates into the courtyards and we could see some life through the windows that were visible within the courtyards.
    The whole place was eerily quiet; were heard the sound of a tram coming down the road and agreed to get on it when it arrived. It was bound to pass through a town centre ,or near a lively place, we were such optimists.
    The conductor looked at us as though we were visitors from outer space ,?Que pasa?? he asked ,?Centro , cerveza ,tango!? we replied ,handing him a wedge of peso?s for the fare. He shook his head and muttered something ,gave us our tickets and left us alone as he went to chat to the driver. We were the only people on board. The three of us stood on the platform scanning the streets as we sped by ,the road was long and straight and the side streets were a monotonous blur of greying murk ,not a bar sign anywhere. We came to a grinding halt at a terminus many miles from where we had embarked, we were now off the road that had run the length of the river and where there were still faceless blocks of dwellings. We did?nt have a clue where we were. But we were British seamen and we were determined to have a good time, there had to be some bars somewhere ,surely?
    Walking away from the terminus looking for what now seemed like El dorado, we came upon 2 policemen who were on patrol. They looked like regular lifesavers to us. We went up to them and asked ?Hable Inglese?, The answered with a shake of the head. We must have looked despairing for one of them smiled and beckoned us to follow him. He led us to a police station , where he spoke to the guy on the desk who listened intently to what he said ,The man nodded and made a phone call. He chatted to someone on the line and then ,handed me the handset, saying ?Muy Oncle? His uncle. I said ?Hullo, hable Inglese?? A voice , thickened with much alcohol ,replied ?Mairee Crizmiz!? ?Do you speak English?? I asked again, ?Si, si. Izz Mairee Crizmiz Si?? After three such fruitless attempts ,we thanked the policemen and returned to the cold ,dark street. Heading in what we thought might be the right direction ,we came upon a Gents W.C.. It was a grand marble affair,
    The ceiling about 12 foot high , bizarre, not the sort of thing you would expect in a suburban situation. As we were relieving ourselves I noticed on the wall next to the pissoir , the word ?Help?. I was astounded, where we near civilisation at last? A line was drawn upwards from the word and disappeared into the gloom near the ceiling. We could see some words at the top of the line but could?nt read them as they were too high .
    Geordie being the strongest of the three of us bent down so that I could stand on his shoulders, Sandy giving him support ,I stood and read out the words at the top of the line???..?We?re lost too! ? I nearly fell off I was laughing so much.
    We found our way back to the tramway and rode tiredly back to the docks. We had just learned the hard way that the Spanish celebrate the birth of infant Jesus in a much more reverent way than we British do.

  2. #227
    paddy Paddy's Avatar
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    Default Rats in minks.

    If I met a rat in a fur coat I would do a runner Anyway the biggest rat ever found was in Mount Pleasant it was three foot from head to tail it probably resided at the YMCA and got lost coming home from the wine lodge.
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
    Time held me green and dying
    Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

    Dylan Thomas

  3. #228
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Back to B.A.

    Rosario was even quieter on Christmas day than it had been on Christmas Eve; being a free day, some of us took a stroll after breakfast to see if there were any signs of life. Back home we would have seen children in the streets playing with their new bikes and scooters,here nary a child or adult was to be seen. After a short walk around the block it was back aboard and await Christmas dinner.
    The meal itself was fairly pedestrian, some of the ships I had been on the Captain had laid on a feast and we had been served by the officers. This time it was us and them ,as per usual! We were given an extra ration of beer and a couple of bottles of Four Bells rum was sent to be shared by the crew ,so Christmas Day was a fairly boozy affair. It still rankled that the officers got such different fare to us though, we were fed well enough but we never had instant coffee ,crackers, biscuits ,boiled ham ,things you took for granted at home but were for officers only on most ships then.
    Christmas night found me in Sandys? cabin ,drinking with him and Geordie, later ,when we were in our ?cups? we felt the need for some crackers and cheese, trouble was ,the said foodstuffs were locked safely away in the officers pantry. Strictly out of bounds for a deckhand. Geordie ,being on the cooking staff had access into the galley and Sandy ,being a steward had access to the pantry. There was a dumb waiter that lifted the food from the galley pantry to the officers pantry on the deck above, Sandy reckoned we could just about fit into the dumb waiter ,one person at a time, and we could pull each other up to the holy of holy?s and get us some cheese and crackers.
    We waited until all was quiet and then Geordie and I(Sandy was spark out by then) hauled each other up into the officers pantry. It was a wonderland of food ,a gourmet paradise, there were Stiltons,Wensleydale ,Cheddar and Danish Blue; Jacobs cream crackers and a whole variety of biscuits. There was a York ham and turkey breast and salad aplenty. Geordie and settled ourselves as comfortably as we could and started our way through the meats, I sat holding the leg of ham and Geordie the turkey breast. We were in Seventh heaven enjoying the forbidden goodies when in walked the 2nd mate. I don?t know who was the more shocked, his eyes stood out like organ stops and he stood baffled at the sight before him. ?How the hell didja get in here ?? he gasped. We must have looked terrified, mouths agape and hands full of ham and turkey. I cannot remember if we replied anything coherent ,but he burst out laughing . ?Get the f**k out of here ,and leave the meat where it is ? We fled back to our cabins.
    There were no repercussions ,but we had failed in our original objective,we never did get those cheese and crackers.
    Back in B.A. we moored at a different berth ,thankfully, I did?nt want to run into the guy I had covered in paint the last time we were here. I went to renew my acquaintance with Rosa, I must have been a masochist , she was someone who I would never stand a chance with normally ,but I was like a moth to flame and I was happy to be burned.

    We had a galley boy who was a Punk long before the Sex Pistols were ever
    thought of. Ginger haired , weighing about 5 stone ringing wet ,and just about 5 feet tall. Little Ginger used to wear spiked wrist bands ,big hobnailed boots , well scrubbed denims and tartan shirts. His language was full of eff words delivered in a cockney accent. In his own words he was ?Effin ?ard? But you never saw him without a smile on his face.
    Some of the older hands hated him for his cheek and when we were back in B.A. they were going to bring him down a peg or two. ?Only for a laugh like?
    The manner of Gingers taking down was achieved in a way that most people would find obscene, to this day I sometimes wonder how he was affected by it ,if indeed it did affect him.
    There was an American prostitute called Kelly who used to hang around the dock gates. She had been battered by life ,down in the gutter now ,she would do anything for a drink. She might have been pretty once upon a time , now ,she was broken nosed , bloated and her hair was bedraggled, her clothes were ragged and it was only her Chicago accent that identified as being a gringo.. I felt sorry for her the first time I laid eyes on her. How do you get so low? Some of the lads arranged for her to come on board on Saturday afternoon ; she was going to be the device which took little Ginger down.
    Kelly had made a deal with some of the guys ,she was going to take Gingers virginity ?????in the recreation room in front of an audience. All the crew and some of the crew on another Houlder boat that was astern of us knew of what was to happen , Kelly was going to be paid by the audience and the star turn ,little Ginger ,was totally ignorant of what was about to befall him. I went along because I knew no better then, the room was packed to the rafters, Kelly lay like a great white whale upon one the banquettes ,awaiting her victim. Little Ginger was carried in ,laughing and giggling ,unaware of what was afoot. He blinked uncomprehendingly at the assembled men and then looked across to Kelly . ?Wassfeckingoinon? he yammered as he was stripped and lowered between the waiting thighs of the old W***e. I?ll never forget the look on Gingers face, one of great puzzlement and shame. The lads were screaming with laughter, I wonder what they think now/

    New Years Eve in B.A. was fantastic, I met Rosa down La Boca at about 10.30 p.m. and we went for the final asado of 1960, this was one of the finest steak dinners I had ever tasted, the restaurant was crowded and the air was filled with expectations. Soon after we had finished dining the clocks struck 12 and the restaurant exploded into vibrant life ,poppers and streamers filled the air and outside a band struck up the conga and people poured out of the bars and cafes and joined the line of dances as it snaked its way along the avenidas, other bands and lines of dancers crossed and criss crossed their way through line. It was a magic start to 1961. It was also goodbye to my troubled love Rosa for we were off to Montevideo very soon.

    When I got back on board I went along to wish some of the lads a happy new year and found Sandy and Geordie having a quiet beer ,Sandy was in a petty sombre mood, he was having aggro with one of the other stewards and was going to sort him out soon. He?d been ashore and bought an open razor to do just that. I was horrified. Trying not to show my horror I asked to see the razor and he handed it to me ;it was a very well made razor, pearl handled and a long gleaming blade. I remembered the face on Johnny the gang leader in Glasgow. His gruesome features were caused by something like this. I stuck the blade in a drawer and snapped it off. ?That will save you getting jailed kid? I said as Sandy looked on shocked. I threw the broken pieces through the port hole and went off to my bunk.

    I had said my goodbyes to Rosa in the early hours of New Years morning, she was going back to her family in La Plata, I was a free agent for my last night in B.A. It?s a great city for walking , all over the town are little plazas filled with statues and fountains, the main street uptown is great for watching the evening paseo ,when the young men paraded in their finery ,hoping to catch the eye of one of the young ,chaperoned, ladies . I wonder if that custom is still carried out today.
    Families start to come out around about ten in the evening and the pavement cafes are filled with diners .On the street where Harrods was there were some wonderful cinemas and I went to one of them that night and saw Ben Hur. The auditorium was huge and when the lights went down and the curtains were drawn back, I heard the sounds of a live orchestra playing the overture to a stage show. I had?nt expected anything like this but I enjoyed it ,it reminded me of the Pavilion when I was little .There were singers ,jugglers ,acrobats ,just as you would get on any variety show back home. There was an interval when refreshments were sold and then I heard this tremendous noise above my head and looked up to see the ceiling opening and there up above was the velvet black sky, sprinkled with stars. This was air conditioning Argentine style. The lights went down and then the movie show took over.
    Leaving the cinema ,I took a slow stroll down through the main drag ,most of the bars were closed and ,as I crossed the square in front of the station I heard mt name being called in the distance. I stopped and saw little Bonzo weaving his way toward me, :?Are yer gonna ?ave a bife before we go ?? he asked.
    I had just enough to get a bife lomo and there was a little bife van still open outside the station. Bonzo and I tucked into those scrumptious little feasts as we meandered back to the ship. More than forty years were to pass before I had another bife lomo.


    We left B.A. and sailed down to Montevideo, on the way we heard that the National Service conscription had ended and some of the older lads were cock a hoop, they could pack the sea in now. I had?nt thought of them as army dodgers before, but if you were in the M.N. you could?nt be called up. Some of the lads were married and had to stay at sea else they would have called up to do two years in one of the services and would have been paid about 5 quid a week.
    So there were going to,be one or two celebrations when we got back to Monte.
    The German lads off the Cap Norde were there when we arrived and we fell into drinking with them again, the Reina Del Mar was also in port and the bars were full of the ?queens? off her. I went ashore with the deck lads this time and we had a great night ,no fights ,just singing and dancing and doing a bit of flirting with the ladies. One of the lads got so out of it that we had to carry him back, we put him on his daybed ,which was leatherette, just in case he was sick or worse, much easier to clean. He was so drunk that we could?nt rouse him and one of the lads had the crazy idea of playing the best prank I ever saw. Now the ceilings (deckheads) of our cabins had stringers running along them, (the underside of the steel beams) these were pierced every few feet and you could tie things up their. So ,all the movable furniture in Teddy?s cabin was suspended upside down from the ceiling, bunk was unbolted ,as was the desk and chair ,and all was hanging there as though the ceiling was the deck and vice versa. They let Teddy sleep on and woke him by making the loudest noises possible a couple of hours later. We were thronged at the door and portholes to watch the effect as he groped his way out of sleep and when he opened his eyes he screamed and gripped the sides of his daybed for dear life. He heard our screams of laughter and relaxed shouting obscenities ,he jumped up and said that it ?was Effin great!?
    Next morning I went along to Sandys? cabin to ask what kind of a night he had had ,he was laying on his bunk when I walked in. His eyebrows had been plucked and he had the remains of make up on his face. I must have looked shocked ,he smiled and said ? I?m no longer Sandy Brian, just call me Sandra from now on?
    I felt poleaxed, I had no words.
    ?I went on board the Reina last night , I was shown what I really am?
    ?Yer wot !!? I yelled, he just wiggled beneath the sheet.
    ?I?m a woman trapped in a mans body?. I felt something last night and I know who I am now?
    I got out of there as fast as I could. I could?nt hack it then and I still can?t now.
    I was thrown sideways by that event and I seem to have erased the rest of our time in Monte out of my memory cells. The Canaries would be our next stop and then it would be back to Liverpool.

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    paddy Paddy's Avatar
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    Default worse things happen at sea.

    A good read
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
    Time held me green and dying
    Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

    Dylan Thomas

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    Senior Member M6AJJ's Avatar
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    Couldn't agree more, really enjoying it, keep going Brian!

  6. #231
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Winter North Atlantic

    So it was goodbye ,adios and via con Dios, we were leaving the sun kissed shores of South America and heading for a wintry England. Las Palmas would bring us our last taste of a warm weather port and then we would be heading up through the northern latitudes.
    We were picking up some deck cargo in the Canaries, never liked deck cargo, it was not only something that you stumbled over in the dark but it came with its own built in hazards. It was on the deck ,not down below in the hold and it was exposed to the elements. It was the masters decision as to whether or not the cargo was carried ,he was paid extra and the responsibility for its carriage fell on his shoulders and ,consequently ,we were all responsible for its safe passage. No bonus for us though!

    It was a load of 40 gallon drums of volatile chemicals, these were to be stowed either side of No 4 hatch aft of the midships accommodation. The Spanish dockers made them fast with a series of wire ropes and bottle screws,when all was made fast ,the mate checked it out and gave it the nod. Whilst all this was going on most of the deck crowd went ashore for a last few jars before the homeward leg. It was lunchtime and I decided to stay aboard and have my food while it was still fresh and warm,only one other person decided to do the same ,Mr X. So there we were just the two of us ,sharing a big empty messroom. He, one side of the room and me on the other.
    I always avoided this guy whenever possible ,he had a permanent scowl and used to talk to himself in his cabin,he never joined in with the craic,never went ashore and ,if spoken to ,answered with a nod or a shake of the head. Being a fairly junior rating, a first trip EDH, I was not held in very high esteem by him. What little discourse we had ever had consisted of him telling me how much of a greenhorn I was .
    I tried to engage him in conversation this lunchtime and was rewarded by him stonewalling me,I attended to my food, I was looking down at my platter and slicing my meat when I was grasped by the throat . Mr X had stolen up on me and was strangling me; my mouth being full of food made it impossible for me to cry out. There were only the two of us and I was helpless. He spewed forth a torrent of expletives ,interspersed with ?smartarse loverboy? and ?effin? punk kid? .I felt myself going and he flung me back in my seat and rushed out the mess room.
    I was terrified ,the man was mad ,certifiably insane. I had looked into his eyes and seen a terrible rage as he throttled me.
    I sat nursing my throat as the lads came back on board, I?d be safer now at least ,but what had I done to earn his anger. I was?nt the flippest of kids, Teddy and Alec had far wickeder wits than mine. I said nothing and pretty soon the bosun turned us to, to make ready for sailing. As we were lowering the derricks ,I found myself tidying away the block and tackle of the guy ropes,standing atop of N0 4 hatch ,and there on the deck below me was Mr X. I shouted to him,?Hey B*****k chops, ? He looked up, and I swung the guy block in my hand ? I could crush your effin? skull with this you ba****d???.Are yer feelin?hard now then!!!? His eyes were bright with fear and he fled the deck. One of the lads looked across and asked what was that all about and I shrugged and let it pass.

    As we left Las Palmas we plunged into those great rolling swells that characterise the Atlantic, pleasant enough when there is just a light breeze, that gentle roll can help you have a great sleep when you?re in your bunk. But if the wind stiffens and those swells develop white horses things can turn rough.
    We passed the isles of Madeira with the weather gradually worsening, we were making good headway and would be home in a week ,but this was near Januarys? end and the air was getting chillier by the day .
    Just south of Finisterre the weather turned nasty and we heard that gales were forecast.The sky was slate grey and the seas were boiling , the waves, spume topped mountains that came roaring toward us and shook us like a terrier shakes a rat. It was Sunday and we sat in the messroom looking out on the afterdeck as great green waves crashed across the hatches.
    The mess room door was flung open and the bosun stood there in his heavy weather gear,?Get yer gear on Lads, the deck cargo?s goin?!!? he shouted. I almost had an out of body experience ,?Go out into that!!!?? We put our gear on and followed him out. The barrels were bouncing about like ninepins, the wire ropes had given way and it was our job to make it secure again. I just did as I was told, I was too frightened to do anything else, we were moving every which way and those barrels were like stampeding cattle and DANGEROUS!! . The AB.?s were magnificent, with the bosun in charge and the lads putting their years of experience into practise ,we had them barrels corralled and secured within just a couple of hours. No one was injured, just a few grazes and bruises and an experience that would be re-told in many a messroom and bar for years to come.
    Although it was Sunday we did not get a penny piece for saving that cargo. There was a section of the Merchant Shipping Act that covered that little escapade ,it was called Safety of the Ship. Any work required to make the ship safe was not regarded as work for profit, but the captain still got his bunce for delivering that deck cargo. It was things like that which made Bolsheviks of us all.

    After passing the Scilly?s there was an excitement growing within the ship ,this was the ?channels? .Just days away from home and we were excited at the things we would be doing in a few days time. One or two of the lads would not be going to sea
    again, with conscriptions ending they would be able to go on shore and get ?proper? jobs , 9 to 5 and and no more watchkeeping .Those of us who were single were imagining the delights that awaited us in the way of feminine company. Me ? I was going to go and see cousin Willie in Llandudno and see what young Welsh ladies there were to keep a warm sailor company on cold winters night. I was going to get some new clothes too,I had put a few inches on my frame and needed something that fitted.
    I was?nt going to lose touch with some of these lads either ,Eddy Clark from Bootle was a nice guy ,my age , he liked the same things and we promised to meet up for a few nights out. It would be great to see the family again too ,I?d bought a few gifts for them and a bottle of Scotch and some duty free fags for Dad.
    February the 2nd saw us safely in back in Liverpool, with a pocketful of tin I caught a taxi home to Kirkby??????I was really looking forward to this leave.

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    paddy Paddy's Avatar
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    Default Dead Nuts

    I always find that there is always someone who takes a dislike to you wherever you go. I have had problems very similar to the one you related Brian. The account of your voyage is very good. I have a copy of sea wolf somewhere, it's a good yarn. You should put your'e stuff together and publish.
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
    Time held me green and dying
    Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

    Dylan Thomas

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    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Hi Paddy,thank you for your kind remarks. You tell a good tale yourself, a bit like a modern day Cobbett,instead of a horse you've got the inter city and old transit vans. Why don't I get my stuff together and publish? The answer is that I have'nt got the energy to face all that rejection,there are a million tales like mine,my bookshelf is testimony to that. At the moment I'm writing for me ,and if folk like what I'm writing that's a bonus. My tale is only starting, in time I'm just about 19 and life stretches out ahead,there are many paths that I will travel,and many different jobs that I will do along the way. For a few years the place I call home will be a suitcase and I will lose my heart to many a lady before it finds its true home. If people are happy to hear tales of my sojourns ,I'll be more than happy to write them.
    Happy New Year,
    BrianD

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    Default Oral Tradition

    Well I think you have the ability to hold peoples interest and that is a gift. When I was a lad the oral tradition of tale telling was very important. Sailors fireside tales were treated as gospel. One guy had a girl in Dingle mount who would shout after her seafaring boyfriend 'I'll dance on your grave', the retort being 'Thats good I'm getting burried at sea.'
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
    Time held me green and dying
    Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

    Dylan Thomas

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    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Home Again

    Getting home after Christmas meant receiving all those presents that I would have got had I been there on the day. Mum had pushed the boat out this year, I received a Philishave and a nice dress shirt ;she had also saved me some Christmas cake. Mums cakes were special, made a month or so before the holiday ,she fed them with a drop of brandy to keep them moist ,stuffed full of dried fruit and coated with marzipan and frosted icing ,they were fit for kings.
    It had become a tradition that I spent the first Saturday evening of my leave with my parents. This meant going to the K.T.A. their club ,so called after the Kirkby Tenants Association. The estate we lived on had been built during the war by the Royal Ordinance Factory for its employees . Dad worked there and had thus got the house. The people on the estate never considered themselves to be a part of the Kirkby overspill and were a little bit snobbish. Not too much, but enough for me ,an ex Garston lad ,to notice.
    The estate also had two pubs nearby, the Railway Inn and the Carters Arms. At that time the bar of the Railway was the province of the people from the council estate and the snug belonged to the people from the ROF estate. The Carters Arms was more upmarket then and was the province of the old Kirkbyites. There was a Conservative club at the top of our road and my Dad ,a near Bolshevik ,was a regular there.! His excuse was that the beer was better.
    The K.T.A. clubhouse was a wartime wooden structure, an old barrack room ,it was ramshackle ,had a battered upright piano ,a worn out drum kit and a sound system that was long past its sell by date. But every Saturday night the place would be packed out. Families would come ,when I came home on leave my uncles and their wives would come up from Walton and we would fill a few tables. Mum would put on a big pan of pea soup with a sheet of spare ribs in as well as a little ham shank. This would simmer away during the evening while we were down at the club. Nin ,Granddad ,Uncle George and wife Frances, Uncle Gerry and his wife Lily would come up on the bus and we would have a hooley down at the club. Come closing time there would be ?jars out? with my uncles and me carrying cases of brown ale up the road ,singing as we went. Mum would leave the club a little earlier and get the supper ready. By the time we all arrived ,there would be bowls of thick pea soup ready for us, the spare ribs were so thoroughly cooked that even the bones were edible, soft and gently crunchy. She always did more than enough to satisfy the hungriest appetite and as we sat there mopping up the remains of that fabulous feast with our doorsteps of bread, some one would start to sing.
    Each of my uncles had their own songs, Dad sang like Bing Crosby, before the war he won a Bing Crosby sound alike contest at the Co op hall on Walton Road; he also sang Al Bowley songs, Georgie had a voice like Perry Como and earned good money doing gigs around the pubs and clubs in the north end of town. Uncle Gerry had a lousy voice but could do Jimmy Durante impressions and so those Saturday evenings had a magic about them that will stay with me for all of my life. Nin would usually end up singing Nellie Dean and we would all join in, soon after that someone would phone for a taxi and the revellers would depart ,pockets stuffed with bottles of brown.

    From Sunday onwards I started out on my own. First thing Monday I was down in town getting a new outfit ,it was still winter so I got myself an new light grey overcoat with raglan sleeves; to match I got a pearl grey drape suit from John Colliers and a pair of grey loafers from Lennards, over to Dunhills where I got a beaut of tie , grey with a silver thread. I was now set to knock the girls dead in the Locarno.
    I called up to see Eddy in Bootle and arranged to go out with him to a club in Marsh Lane, I think it was St James?s. It was a good night , they had a comedian and a singer and there was dancing too.
    I met a very pretty girl from Aintree and promised to take her out on Valentines night (I was off to spend a few days in Llandudno first)

    I caught the boat to Llandudno, I think it was the St. Tudno , it was something I had always wanted to do ,considering the time of year the passage was very smooth. I got a great welcome from Great Aunty Dolly, Uncle Owen had gone on to the happy hunting ground now, and the girls were now ladies ,Elizabeth was married but Eleanor was still at home. Willy was at work when I arrived and so I had to wait for him to get home ,get fed and get changed before we ventured out. Gordon and Hughie were at home ,Mike was in the Army ,and so the four of us went out and hit the pubs. It was lovely being together with these lads, they were the ones who had been there for me those many years before when I had had the accident and here we were now laughing our way round town. Youthful friendship is a precious thing ,too feel at ease amongst your peers and to make each other happy is a wonderful thing. Life moves you on and you look back at those times and rejoice that you had them. Soon our little group would get broken up, Willy would be marrying in the summer, but we still had some time to go.
    As we were sauntering back home to Willys? we saw a caf? that was still open and went in for a coffee; there were two young ladies in there ,one of whom had the most glorious head of strawberry blonde hair. I sat down beside her and immediately told her that she was the most beautiful girl I had seen that night. She blushed and giggled into her friends shoulder, she was very ,very Welsh. She looked as though she had stepped out of a Rossetti painting ,with her gorgeous coils of hair atop her perfect little head. Willy got up and said ?Brian ,I?ve work in the morning , here?s me key .you let yourself in and don?t wake me when you get in ? and with that I was left alone with the two young ladies.
    Gwyneth was her name ,she was from Mid Wales but was living with her aunty in Llandudno. We were now holding hands and her friend decided to go home too. Gwyn had the greenest of green eyes and I just sat drowning in them ;we finished our drinks and went for a walk along the promenade ,shivering cold we huddled together in the bus shelter, and the huddle became a cuddle as our lips found each others.
    We strolled slowly back to her auntys? where we stood having a long goodnight kiss, who knows what might have happened had she not accidentally banged the great big door knocker with her shoulder ,and brought her aunt to the door ,giving me hell for keeping her niece out so late.
    With Willy working ,I cut my trip short and got the train back to Liverpool next day, I went down to Eddys and spent a boozy night with him. I had a memento from Llandudno though, Gwyn had given me a supersize lovebite just above the collar line on my neck ,I put a boil plaster on it.

    I got in touch with Norma , the girl from Aintree and told her I was back early and asked if she would like to got to the movies. She was happy to and I met her in town and we went off to the Futurist, I think we saw the world of Suzie Wong , did?nt look at the screen much , I was a smoker then too. I remember stubbing a cigarette out in what I thought was the ashtray in front of me ,I was looking at Norma when I did it, watching the screen I saw smoking curling up in front of me and saw the guy in the seat beneath me had a little blaze going on his sleeve. I never moved so fast in my life ,Norma never knew why we had to change seats then, most probably never knew later.
    Our next date was the St Valentines dance at the Locarno, I had?nt sent her a card because I did?nt know her address ,but I did buy her a box of chocolates. When we met at the bus stop she kissed me and thanked me for my card, which I let pass ,she gave me her card and I gave her the chocs and in we went to the dance. It was a mistake taking her there , I felt that I was?nt ready for a steady relationship, I was still Joe Butterfly and she seemed ready for a ring. When she told me her Mum and Dad wanted to me I felt that that was a step too far, there was no way I was packing the sea in.
    Two things happened that night that brought this relationship to an end, the first was when the boil plaster peeled off with the perspiration ,the love bite was revealed in all its gory glory, I had a hell of a job explaining of how it was?nt what it appeared . Later when I was seeing her home , I kissed her goodnight and called her Gwyn by mistake, well ,you can guess the rest. It was time I shipped out anyway.
    The 18th of February saw me signing on the Catanian for a trip down to the Med, or so I thought.

  11. #236
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Springtime in Portugal

    The Catanian was an Ellerman cargo vessel ,known as a market boat because it brought back produce from the Iberian Peninsular and the Spanish ports on the Med. Such ships were usually hard to get on because of the shortness of the trips and the potential to earn a lot of overtime. I did?nt join her for the overtime , she was going to Portugal and Spain, two countries that I had not yet visited and had long wanted to do so.
    She was a trim little craft and at just over 1400 gross tonnage was the smallest ship I had set foot on. It seemed to be a happy ship ,one of the old firemen had been on her since her maiden voyage and another one had been on her for 15 years. The older man always called him the ?new feller?
    There was an old A.B. who looked like the original old man of the sea , his face had more lines on it than Crewe junction and his walrus moustache heightened his salty appearance. The were not many deck crew, just three men per watch ,and only two watches ;you worked four hours on and four hours off. You were expected to work on deck during the daytime off watch.
    You were lucky if you got four hours sleep a day! I did?nt fully understand the ramifications of what ?watch and watch meant? I was soon to learn the hard way what the reality was.
    My two watch mates were about four or five years older than me, I seem to remember that they were married ,or about to be married. Sitting in the mess room during smokoe just before we sailed ,the conversation turned to women and doing what comes natural when in their company. The old man of the sea sat at the back of the mess listening to the chat. These guys were describing their feats of amazing sexual athleticism,? 9 times without stopping? one said, ?only 9 times? riposted the other ?11 times ,mate and without unshackling !!? The O.M of the sea puffed away through his whiskers. ? Eh Wally? wisecracked the younger one ?D?you still use a condom?? laughing as he said it. The O.M. pulled out his fag and answered ?Yuss, an? yer should smell the burnin? rubber? We all cracked up then.
    So ,I knew I was going to like it here, laughter is a great bonding agent and it was here aplenty. We were sailing soon and our new bosun came into the mess to give us the gen, We three would be on watch as we left, there were three day workers ,of which the O.M. was one, so, including the bosun ,there were just ten of us on deck, the smallest ship and the smallest crowd.
    It was all new stuff to me.

    The weather was foul as we headed down the Irish Sea and this little boat had moves that I had never experienced, when you were in your bunk (which was?nt often) you were tossed about as though you were in a spin dryer. Sleep was hard to come by, if you were on the 4 to 8 in the morning watch you stayed up to work on deck until noon and then you were on the 12 to 4 watch after which you could have dinner (at 5.00p.m) get some sleep and then be ready for the 8 til midnight watch. Your diurnal clock broke it?s spring. Within two days I was reduced to a zombie like state ,to eat or to sleep ? Be tired or be hungry? My days became a muddled mess , but the bosun , well his was an altogether worse story??????????.

    He was a nice looking guy, Irish to look at with his curly black hair ,roguish smile and twinkling eyes, that was ,when he was sober. The man was the biggest lush I had sailed with so far ,made Nick and Jock on the Kenuta look like members of the Temperance Society.
    From the moment we dropped the pilot the man was permanently kalied.

    It was during my first 8 to 12 watch that I first noticed how bad he was, I was making my watchmates supper just before midnight ,we were way down the St Georges Channel and he comes into the mess and asks me to call him a cab. ?A whaaat !!??
    ?A cab lad ,youse know whut a cab is fer jeezis sake,call me a cab!!?
    ?Bose, we?re in the middle of the sea? I said .
    ? I?ve got to get back to me mammy? he said ?Jis? call a bleddy cab?
    The 12 til 4 watch lads came in the and the bosun got up and stumbled out.

    When my watchmates came in for their supper the wheelman said the bosun had been climbing up the funnel screaming for a taxi. He was wrestled back to his cabin before we turned in.

    About 24 hours before we got to Lisbon my body was giving up on me, I had never treated it so badly and it was rebelling, ?feed me or rest me? it seemed to be saying. I was literally staggering about like a drunk. The master ,Captain Whittle ,a big beefy guy said that I would harden up , the mate would?nt allow me to have my free time off. ?Ye?ll get used to it lad? was all he said.
    I was on the helm as we were being piloted into Lisbon, I could?nt see properly ,I kept on losing focus , I could?nt make out what the pilot was saying and I had this big red angry face in front of me telling me to shape up and I was shivering ,I was boiling ???.and then the lights when out and all was darkness.

    I was awakened by a prod in my stomach, I was hurting everywhere and had no idea where I was, in the glow of my bunklight I could see a huge fat
    man with a cigar in his mouth ,his head covered with a homburg and he was wearing a huge overcoat with an astrakhan collar. He was holding a glove in one gloved hand and ,with his bare hand, he was prodding my stomach.
    The pain was tremendous and he uttered something which I did not understand and then I saw a little man beside him, a notebook in his hand, writing whatever it was that the big man was saying. I did?nt know if I were dreaming this , I was dizzy and fading in and out of consciousness. For a moment I thought that I was in the Maltese Falcon and that Sydney Greenstreet and Elisha J. Cooke were at my bedside..

    I became aware of some movement and surfaced to see myself being stretchered into an ambulance after which the darkness fell again. I was hallucinating, I was gripping on to the sides of a slippery pit ,my hands were greasy and I could not hold on, below I could feel that there was void and that I must not fall into it. My grip was loosening as the weight of my body was pulling me downwards , I was screaming for my mother ,for my sister Jess, I did?nt want to go down to that dark, dark pit. And then shafts of white light filtered through my eyelids; blinking ,I saw the kindest face I had ever seen. ?Brian ? it said ? Brian ,look at me , I am your doctor? the man was foreign, his head was as covered in white and there was a mask hanging from his ear ? you have been very ill and we are going to help you? I moved my head and saw other white clothed people ,their eyes the only visible features. ?please breathe into this ? he said placing a mask over my nose and mouth. Total darkness enfolded me .

    Sometime later I awoke ,fully conscious, my bladder screaming for relief; I was in a bed,lovely crisp linen sheets,but which bed and where?
    I tried to sit up to go to have a pee and the effort sent my abdomen in a raging fit of hot searing pain. I must have yelped for out of the darkness came a womans voice, a beautiful southern Irish accent, ?Lay down now man or ye?ll tear the stitches out? Her cool hands took my shoulders and gently lowered me back down. ?I?m desperate for a pee ? I pleaded,
    ?and ye?ll have one ? she answered .Doing it for me as I lay there. She was just one of many angels who ministered to my every need in the next few days. She moistened my mouth with some cold water and hushed me off to sleep.

    Next morning I was awakened by a nurse who had the deepest brown eyes ever,her generous mouth was graced by the loveliest lips and her smile was electrifying .This was Nurse O?hara, known by all and sundry as Scarlett.

    She stood over me holding a little glass tube in which there seemed to an enormous fleshy caterpillar, my face must have been a question mark for ,unasked ,she said ?This is your appendix, it?s healthy, you can take it home with you? I was amazed ,?Why ,did you take it out ?? I pondered.
    ? Language difficulties ? she laughed and hurried off.

    I learned that I was now a patient in the ?Hospidale Britannico? the British Hospital. An establishment that had been founded in the 19th century to look after the needs of British subjects, all the nurses were from the British Isles or the Irish Republic ,the Surgeons and Doctors were all Portugese ,as were the maids and the catering staff. This was to be my home for longer than I could have realised.
    I would see the Spring come to Portugal.

  12. #237
    Senior Member kevin's Avatar
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    Typical.
    Work to be done but Daley finds a cushy berth.

  13. #238
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    The expression Kalied is one I heard as a lad in Liverpool, do you know anything of it's history. You never hear it now. When you have new barrels of ale you put in Sturgeons bladder as a preservative I sometimes wonder if the term bladdered comes out of that.
    Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
    Time held me green and dying
    Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

    Dylan Thomas

  14. #239
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Hi Paddy,according to the dictionary of slang Kalied is of an unknown origin and first appeared in common usage about 1922. The lexicographers attribute it to being a Scouse expression which was given official recognition in the huge Oxford complete dictionary in 1966,quite simply it means DRUNK!!

  15. #240
    Senior Member brian daley's Avatar
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    Lisbon

    In the afternoon of my first day on the ward I was able to take stock of my fellow patients, in the bed to my right was an Irishman, about 45 years old, he had been there for about a week. To my left was a Dane, who looked like a Viking, face was cut out of granite, high cheek bones and deep set grey eyes; his broken nose bore testament to the many scrapes he had been in in his long life. Opposite me was a young Egyptian ,a couple of years older than me, looked like a young Omar Sharif and was a member of the Nasser family. Together ,we were all merchant seamen. The Irishman was an engineer who had been sailing on German ships and was domiciled in Germany (I was always afraid to ask what he did in the war, he often spoke about how things were in Germany during the war and it was only15 years ago ), the Dane was a bosun and was off a Maersk boat, young Gamal was a third officer off an Egyptian ship and like the rest of them had been there a week or more.
    The Dane had a big Hohner accordian and would sometimes entertain us to a medley of tunes, I loved those moments, the Nurses and maids, who could spare the time, would come on to the ward while big Erik played
    Paddy was ,like most Irishmen it has been my pleasure to meet, a great storyteller; he told brilliant jokes too, only trouble was ,it hurt like hell to laugh..

    Later in the evening of that first day ,Nurse Scarlet came to my bed with a length of rubber hose ,a syringe of huge proportions ,a bedpan and a look of malicious glee on her face. I had?nt the foggiest of what was going on as she silently pulled the curtains about my bed. She seemed about to break out into laughter and I was wondering what the source of her mirth was .
    ?Come up? she said as she helped lift me on to the bed pan ? The earth is about to move for you? After she had she had administered the enema, more than the earth moved, I had a total out of body experience. She was a very funny and mischievous lady. Tickling things she should?nt and sending a young mans hormones rocketing up the Richter scale.
    I was able to have a solid meal for dinner after that, my first taste of proper Portugese food, a bit strange at first because it was cooked in olive oil, something that was rare to a young scouser in those days. It did?nt take long to get used to it and I soon came to enjoy it..

    Although this was a British hospital it was also used by middle class Portugese and other nationalities, the Portugese hospitals being at that time abysmal places, where the patients families were responsible for providing their food ,laundry and bathing. A bit like the NHS has become now. Back then the NHS were paying for my treatment and I was a ward of the British consul. That night ,the other three patients had visitors, Pat had an Irish priest visit him, Erik had the Danish consul at his bedside and Gamal had the Egyptian consul at his. I felt a little homesick then.
    I learned to love the mornings in that little ward, the sun used to come shafting through the sash windows and the temperature was just right, warmish; we were on the third floor and the street below was called the Rua Saraivia Du Carvalho. A beautiful name to speak. About half past seven every morning the sounds of the street sellers would begin to fill the air , they would come one at a time ,regular as clockwork, their cries almost a song as they called attention to their presence. The streets of our towns must have resounded to similar sounds in bygone ages. The milkman was first and then the baker, the produce seller and all the tradesmen men that made life so much easier for the maids and housewives. The most musical cries were those of the tinker , he would push his little cart on which he either sharpened knives or mended pots, this was before the throwaway age. I can still hear the sound of his grinding wheel as he used to sharpen the blades, a sort of raspy shriek as he pedalled at the flywheel.

    On the second night of my confinement there was a commotion on the ward some time after midnight. We were awakened out of our slumbers by the rattle of gurneys and the hushed voices of nurses. Two of the beds had screens around them and we could see the shadows moving on them. Tiredness took
    us back to sleep and we awakened next morning to find two new patients on the ward.
    They were Royal Navy personnel off the H.M.S. Ajax, she was on a courtesy visit to our oldest ally and Bob and Robin had urgent need of good medical facilities. Bob was a Petty officer and had suffered a badly broken jaw ,the result of disagreement and Robin ,like me ,had had his appendix extracted. Robin was put alongside me and he proved to be a very agreeable fellow,a Kentish lad ,he looked like a scrapper but was very shy with the nurses. Bob had his jaws wired up and could?nt manage a conversation at all ,he was a smiler though. Pat , our Irishman told some ripsnorting jokes and poor old Bob was in agony trying not to laugh.. That afternoon the commander of the Ajax came to visit his men.He was an archetypal Royal Naval officer, square jawed, ramrod straight and ruddy faced ,he exuded power and strength. He had a real hearty laugh and Robin must have told him that I was an English seaman for after sitting with them he came and chatted to me ,well I say chatted ,he bellowed!! ?Ya had any visitors yet Lad!!? he roared. I shook my head in reply.
    ?Lisbon has the biggest British population outside of the U.K. and yer haven?t had a visitor yet!!!? I looked up at his beefy red face, he was angry.
    ?Well ,we?ll soon put that right Lad!? he bellowed and, saluting his men ,spun around to the door with a cheery wave as he made his exit.
    After dinner that evening a horde of people thronged through the ward doors,
    men and women in very expensive clothing and wafting aromas of exotic perfumes and colognes came toward my bed .I felt like a zoo object, they were visitors ,not to comfort me but to LOOK at me. A little Scouse seaman .My accent was still pretty thick in those days ,not that I was ashamed of it , my accent was part of me ,and still is to this day. No ,they were here for entertainment. The men were those indolent foppy types ,pale faced and soft hands with accents that were right out of a 30?s British movie ,and their ladies were the kind that peopled our empire and kept the houseboys in full employment.
    I don?t know if it was pre arranged ,but within a very short while I was left with just the men around my bed. One of them leaned forward and asked ,lispingly ? Are yeow a weal sailor?? I answered yes .
    ?Well , could yeow say some swearwords for us?? I felt a surge of anger.
    ?Yiss ,now feck off? I shouted. They tittered merrily ? Awfy good what? one giggled. ? I mean it mate, Feck off, I?m not a fecking peepshow?
    My blood was roaring and the matron came and swept them away.
    One young lady stayed behind , dressed in a two piece outfit that would have cost a fortune ,cool in an elegant Grace Kelly way, this was Patricia, the daughter of the resident Anglican vicar of Lisbon.
    She came to me after the boors had gone and apologised on their behalf ,she said that they were so dissolute that they had forgotten what good manners were like. Apparently I had just met the members of the Port wine families ,Britains oldest exiled families.
    Patricia was in her early twenties and was working as an announcer on Portugese television , she was to become my regular visitor for the rest of my stay.
    I had another visitor that evening ,the British Consul ,he brought my kitbag ,discharge book and the news that I was now a Distressed British Seaman. I had a grand total of four days pay due and would not be in receipt of funds from anywhere. How wrong would that man be?

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