I enjoyed that Brian.
I enjoyed that Brian.
Africa
Climbing up the gangway to my new berth felt a bit like going home, I felt I had more affinity to shipboard life than I had with that ashore. My new ship was an Elder Dempster Liner and we would be running to the West coast of Africa ,calling first at Las Palmas in the Canary Islands..
The Sulima was her name and she was a good looking vessel, she had a white deck crowd and African catering and engine room crew. Our accommodation was adequate,this was not the Ritz; we were two to a cabin and there was plenty of space for our gear. She had four hatches and was going to carry a lot of deck cargo . When we ,the deck crowd, were signed on all the stowing of deck cargo had been completed by Elders own shore gang. I can?t remember who the bosun was ,simply because he left us very early on the voyage,he was flown home ill from Las Palmas. The lads were regular West Coast men , most of their names are long gone from my memory but the things we did are still fresh in my mind.
As on every ship ,the first week or so is spent getting to know who your mates are., it was a three on a watch job so we had nine watchmen and there were a few daymen too. One in particular who have never forgotten was a guy called Monsie, He was a Bootle man and one of his forename was Mons,so called after the First World War Battle. He was a real character and had been on a few E.D boats. My cabinmate was a guy called Dave Cook, he was a Yorkshireman who had become a naturalised Scouser, things happened to Dave,more of which later,but he always saw the funny side of everything. One of the daymen was a big guy called Bobby, his mouth was so full of teeth that it looked like he had swallowed a piano. Good sailor though!
One of the ordinary seamen was always good for a giggle but ,alas ,his name has gone with time.
The outward journey was spent overhauling the running gear, it was still summer and the weather was quite clement so we were not too many days away before we got into our shorts. Once we were past the Bay of Biscay we started to wear less clothing,by the time we got to the Canaries it was shorts and flip flops plus a hat to keep the sun off your head. We never dreamed of such things as skin cancer back then, we?d have our shirts off at the first sign of sun.
Getting around the decks was quite a task ,we had a great big diesel loco on the port side of the after hatch and a couple off Scammell artics on the starboard side, .There were huge wooden crates just in frot of the midships accommodation so you had to be careful as you picked your way in the dark to go on lookout on the foc?sle head.
Las Palmas was not yet a tourist resort, it was visited by passengers off the cruise ships and was frequented by the crews off the many cargo boats that went there. There were lots of little bars along the dockside and in those little bars were lots of old *****s who would have been in the flower of their youth during the ?39 to ?45 war, now they were just faded old jades.
We went ashore en masse, when we were all together we had a tarpaulin muster ( we each put in a couple of pounds) and I was given the task of holding the kitty. We were drinking rum and cokes and the night took on a magical feeling,we were warm, well fed and just steaming along looking at the sights in the different bars and cafes. I was a pipe smoker back then and as we were strolling from one bar to the next, I realised I had left my meerschaum in one of the places we had just vacated. Without another thought I doubled back to see if my pipe was still there, lucky for me it was .I stood outside and filled it up and got a good head of steam on it and then started to make my way back to the lads. I had no need to look for them ,they were looking for me! There was a lynch party walking toward me, they thought I had done a runner with the kitty and were about to skin me alive. Lucky for me they saw the funny side of it ,but every time we left a bar they used to check if Daley had his pipe.
We left Las Palmas the following morning and set a course for The Gambia, where we would dock in Bathurst ; it was still a British colony then and everything was well painted ,neatly trimmed lawns and colourful gardens gave the place a cared for look, there were white people there ,so obviously British with their fulsome shorts,solar topees and lobster complexions.
The crew had to go to the town hospital for their yellow fever and anti malaria jabs. The hospital was a great tin roofed affair,well cared for but very old fashioned. We were taken to a huge ,circular waiting room ,around which there were screened cubicles. There would be about twenty of us ,including some midshipmen and engineers. I was the first one to be called for treatment; the doctor was a huge African with a deep bass voice. When he closed the curtain behind me ,he said ,in a loud ,clear voice ? Ah Mr, Daley, please drop your trousers? This led to a few ribald remarks being made by the lads in the waiting room. When I had dropped them, he then said ? Please bend over while I stick a small ***** in your bottom? The look on his face when he heard the screams of laughter erupting in the waiting room was a picture to behold.
We had a film show when we were in Bathurst,it was a black and white affair and the captain had invited the agent and his family to see it. It was a Hayley Mills film where she was playing a southern moppet. Any way.as the film got going our audience was swelled by crowds of Africans who were taking advantage of a free show. We noticed that a few of them had huge beetles twined in their hair, they were Stag and Goliath beetles; fearsome looking creatures but they seemed harmless the way the Africans were playing with them. Bobby got one in exchange for a couple of cigarettes. There was a mouthy junior engineer sitting in the row in front of us and Bobby gently placed the beetle on the back of this guys white shirt. He fidgeted a bit a first ,not knowing what was tickling him, he then reached his hand round and felt it. He let out the most blood curdling scream you ever heard and jumped to his feet, pushing his way through the audience,.chairs and people tumbling like ninepins .He ran off screaming down the deck trying to run away from his own back. The projectionist stopped the film ,the live entertainment was so much better . The night air was full of howls and imprecations as he tried to get rid of the beast. Bobby went to him and pulled it off ,not telling him it was he who put it on there. Bobby later tied the beetle to the handle of one of the officers cabin door. Every time the guy tried to get hold of the handle the beetle took off like a B29 bomber flew around trying to get away...
Next morning we left Bathurst and headed for Sierra Leone,where we would call at Freetown. From the little I had read of Freetown I had learned that it was founded by Anti Slavery people in the late 18th century. When slavery was finally abolished in the U.K the abolitionists had gathered together a host of the newly freed slaves and took them to Sierra Leone to found a colony along the lines of that other slave republic Liberia.
Most of the freed were men and the elders of the anti slavery society gathered hundreds of Scottish prostitutes and despatched them to the new colony to become wives of the new settlers. So Sierra Leone had a marked British stamp to its beginning. Sadly it never succeeded, petilence and didseae ravaged the colonists ,so much so that it became known as the whitemans grave. It was?nt a very prepossessing town. My memories of it are of a town in the grip of decay, the squalid corrugated roofed buildings were rust streaked and the walls looked as though they had?nt seen a lick of paint in decades. It rained for most of our stay there and the place ,and people ,had a tattered and bedraggled appearance.
We never ventured ashore, our next port of call would be in Ghana but first we had to pick our Kroo men. The Kroo tribe hailed from Monrovia and E.D's used to call in to the coast just off Monrovia and pick a crew up. These men would work the ship up and down the coast ,leaving the deck crew to do the maintenance and painting. It was a good arrangement and the Kroo men were more than happy to have the work. What was really amusing was the names these men had ; Ever Happy, Jack on the Wheel, More Steam on Deck, Mothers Fright, to name just a few. When I asked Mothers Fright how he got his name he replied ?Me Mammy go for look at me when I was borned and she go scream, dat?s when I got call Mothers Fright?
It was usual to make ?friends ? with these guys because when you when drinking in some of the creek ports they would see that you came to no harm.
There was a laundryman /tailor amongst the Kroo men , for a few shilling he would take care of your washing and make you a decent set of whites. I got myself two sets of whites and they lasted for years. When he did your laundry they were returned to you crisp and stiff with starch. He was about the busiest man on the ship
Ghana was our next stop, the surf port of Accra,Iwas much looking forward to this place.
About 8 of us went ashore in Bremen and a junior engineer, Dave, was elected to hold the kitty. He was new to our group and what we didn't know was then when he decided he'd had enough booze, he'd head back to the ship regardless of everyone else.Originally Posted by brian daley
About 10.00, Dave disappeared. He had our money so we were looking for him. Just before we'd left home there'd been a woman on the Generation Game who'd told Bruce Forsyth she had a deaf cat. He was joking around pretending to call it, shouting HERE, KITTY, KITTY.
We remembered this so we were walking around Bremen shouting HERE, KITTY, KITTY. Hoping to get our kitty back and have a few more beers. We got some very strange looks from the Germans.
We pooled the remainder of our resources for a last few beers and headed back to the ship. We found Dave in bed fast asleep, with our money still in his trousers on the floor.
For the rest of the trip he was know as Kitty - and hated it!
Africa 2
Accra was as different a port than any I had been to before ,to call it a port is a bit of a misnomer. It?s more of an anchorage ,right on the Atlantic shore. Big surf boats come out to you and the native dockers unload your cargo right on to the surf boats . These boats were huge affairs and took anything we had to give them. It was hair raising to watch the cargo being stowed on these vessels, The Atlantic waves kept both the ship and attendant surf boats in a state of perpetual motion, as we rolled with the waves the winchmen and the guys aboard the boats had to judge when to land the cargo on the boat. It was not an easy task and the ocean adjacent that beach is said to be littered with hundreds of lost cargos.
This was the old gold coast and,from a distance, it looked quite beautiful, the waters were a milky blue and the shore a white coral strand, we were too far away to make out any details, suffice to say that it was tropical and had lush greenery along the horizon.
Whilst the Kroo men and the Ghananian dockers took care of the cargo ,we deckhands we set to painting the ship. We were starting on the bridge and working our way down to the ships side,this was a task that would take up most of our time on the African coast.
Monsie was now our bosun and he seemed to be making heavy weather of the job; he was no longer one of the boys and he was having difficulty in adjusting to the change of job. I did?nt make life any easier for him because I had a natural antipathy for bull****. I could?nt get used to him giving out orders instead of taking them. As a consequence I ended up doing the jobs that were considered to be the rough end of the stick, and I did?nt mind doing them either.
Tema was our next destination, this was a modern harbour ,built while Nkrumah was president and considered one of his follies. He was?nt very popular at that time,he had been deposed and the succeeding government used to blame him for all of Ghanas ills. The dock was huge, and there were very few ships there. On the outside of the port was another of Nkrumahs follies,a motorway that went nowhere, there it was ,a four lane highway about 200 yards long. Tema and Accra were said to be full of such excesses.
I was night watchman for our stay in Tema , it was so quiet that I did not have very much to do. Some of the lads had gone ashore but the majority were saving their money for Lagos and Apapa.
I was wearing my new white while on the gang way,if you were going to be doing an important job you may as well look important ,and they did come in handy for an incident that occurred in the early hours of the morning . I was leaning on the rails near the gangway when a taxi came screeching to a halt at the foot of the gangway, its passenger door opened and a young engineer jumped out and ran up the gangway. When he reached the deck he gasped ?Scouse ,I?m in trouble, I owe the taxi driver more than I can pay him and he drove to the police station for help. A police inspector is in the cab and he wants ?30 . I hav?ent got it and it?s a rip off? I heard footsteps on the gangway and looked to see a huge Ghananian police man with two pips on his shoulders and silver braiding on his cap. He was just a quarter of the way up the gangway ,I told the engineer to vanish and went and stood at the top of the gangway .
? This is British territory , return to the quay and state your business? I announced with all the authority I could muster. He looked up and I pointed to the quay, ?State your business there sir? to my surprise he complied and went back down. He looked up at me and said ? Sah, you have a fellow aboard who owes this taxi man ?30, I want to ensure payment, he has a family to feed?
? A family to feed you say, very well then ,stay where you are? I then went to the mess room and got a box of Kellogs cornflakes. I went back to the gangway and threw them to the police man ? Here ,that will feed them for a week, goodbye to you sir? He touched his cap with his swagger stick and said ?Thank you sah? and got back into the taxi.
Sitting writing that 47 years later I am wracked with guilt of how we treated the Africans , we were racist as hell and were not aware of it.
There was an American ship in the dock,the only other ship, the African Pioneer. I went aboard her the next day, she was a Victory boat, utilitarian and not as ?homely? as the Sulima but she was?nt built for comfort ,she was built to meet the demands of warfare. I was swapping books and the purser of that ship was very hospitable, he loaded me up with books and we shared a coffee and yarned awhile. He took me on a tour of the ship and I was mightily impressed, she was so spick and span ,although the cabins were Spartan and the ?heads? (loos) were communal. They used to sail with their derricks topped because ,the purser told me, the deck crew were paid extra for raising and lowering them . The engineroom was almost as gleaming as those on the Blue Funnel Liners.
I was an avid reader of books back then, I always took half a dozen or so novels with me but they soon ran out,we would pass our books around and ,sometimes, there would be a library aboard , but swapping was the main way of getting a good fresh read. I was really fortunate on the Sulima for I had befriended the chief engineer. He was a sandy haired Liverpudlian and was on permanent loan to E.D.?s from Blue Funnel. We got talking one day as we were passing a Bluey when he said to me ?I was on that one ? It was the Ixion, I mentioned that I was an ex Blue Flue man and it was the beginning of a friendship that lasted the whole voyage. Very unusual. One day he asked me if I liked reading and I answered in the affirmative. ? Come up to my cabin when you are finished working ? he said .. Seven o?clock that night I gave his door a knock and I went in and he showed me his bookcase, it was full of hardbacks, mostly classics ,modern and old. He said I could take my pick, I looked at him to see if he was serious, ?Go on son ? he said ? Get stuck in!?
I picked up about four and he said ,?You don?t have to bring?em back? He then poured me a glass of whiskey and motioned me to sit down. I was there until 10 0?clock talking Blueys, he was a marvellous old guy. As our trip progressed he asked me why I was?nt an officer; it was a question I had no ready answers for.
Apapa was our next port, this was a river port and sat opposite Lagos the then capital of Nigeria. It was a very busy river ,with tugs and barges ,ships and canoes bustling and throbbing with life. I liked the Nigerians , they had a zest for life and music was everywhere. The market place was so colourful ,the large ladies wrapped in their mammy cloths ,patterned with the most vivid colours , the stalls laden with fruits and spices and all manner of pots ,pans and sundry utensils. The mad clamour of voices and the honking of buses ,cars and wagons was mixed with sound of music coming from the speakers on the various stalls . Witch doctors sat amidst the fray ,advertising their cures for everything from love sickness to heart disease and poisonous vapours.
I went swimming in Apapa ,there was a pool in the mission on the quay, it was filthy, you could?nt see the bottom ,but when you touched pool bottom with your feet you could feel squidgy thing s underfoot. We did?nt stay overlong there. On the way back to our ship we were accosted by Peanut Johnson. I had heard about him from my uncles and here he was in front of us. I don?t know what Peanut did for a living but he carried a bag load of notebooks in which there were testimonials from various people over the years. He charged a few coins for a look and it was well worth the money. It was Milliganesque , here were hundreds of sailors scrawls ,?This man is a feckin eedjit, signed Joseph Stalin?
? Peanut Johnson ,a legend ,signed Winston Churchill? ? I would?nt trust this man as far as I could throw him signed the Duke of Edinburgh? There were obscene remarks and humorous insults ,hundreds of them ,the notebooks were tattered from being handled so much over the years. Still ,he made a living out of them.
I never got to see much nightlife in Apapa , it was night watch for me again, and I was a married man. M. was quite a good letter writer, it was as though she was a different person when I read her letters, they were warm and loving and so different from the way it was when I was home. She told me that her dog had attacked the baby,just as I had warned her. One of her brothers was able to stop the dog before it injured the baby too much ,but that was the end of that dogs life in that house.
Africa 3
We sailed from Apapa and went into what we called the creeks, they were big enough for ocean going ships to traverse but were full of twists and turns.
There was dense jungle on either bank and you could hear all manner of animals calling. It seemed an odd juxtaposition, there we were ,on a modern liner with all manner of creature comforts and there ,just yards away on either side was the real Africa ,feral and full of lush vegetation exotic animal life. Every now and then we would pass a small village ,just a few huts and a jetty ,these were fisher folk and the children would wave and call out to us.
I had been told about the Mango flies, these creatures were supposed to give you a very nasty sting and deposit their eggs in you when doing so. I had heasrd blood curdling tales of men being driven half mad as the eggs incubated and the larvae ate their way out your body. I can remember painting the rails on the prom deck with Dave Cook when one of these monsters bit him on the shoulder. He yelped and then looked at me as though was doomed,.?What the feck am I gonna do now ?? he wailed ,?Go and see the mate, he might know? I answered pathetically. The first thing he asked Dave was whether he was bitten by a male or a female. You can guess what Daves answer was to that question. As it happens ,nothing gruesome occurred to Dave, well not yet.
Just a bit about the Mate, he was a nice man, in his middle thirties or so, he never sailed with a white deck crew before so he came to the Sulima with a head full of preconceived ideas. He let slip to someone that he had heard that we white crews were all sodomites and was quite chary when in our company. We compounded his beliefs about us being buggers by calling other the names of female characters out of Coronation Street ,the t.v. sit com. His adams apple would joggle up and down as big hairy arsed sailors would call out ?Elsie, slack that rope wouldja ? to be answered by ? O.K. luv?
We kept it up for ages and he was unsure of whether we were a cargo of canned goods or not. He had to do a fire inspection of the entire vessel every now and then,usually on the 4 to 8 watch after dinner. The crowd of us were in the showers having a good scrub when one of the Sos?s ran in ? The mates comin up the alley lads? We jumped out of the showers and formed a circle ,close up and tight as we sang ?Happy days are here again????.? The Mate stepped into the latrines and near fainted. We were screaming with laughter and he realised we had been spoofing him all along.At least I think he did !
Burutu was to be our first call in the creeks and Monsie put me in the punt with a Jos to start painting the ships side. We went at it all morning and then climbed back aboard for our midday meal . I had just fined eating when Monsie came in ,he was yelling at me so loud that I could?nt make out what he was shouting for. ?The punt ,you stupid basterd,the punt, yer?ve gone an lost it?
I was quite puzzled at this outburst and went with him to check. The river was tidal here and the punt was only fast at one end ,so the punt was about 30 foot away from she would have been had it been made fast at both ends. But there she was and Monsie looked so daft that I almost felt sorry for him. I went ashore that night with a couple of the lads, the heat was so intense, it was like being in a pressure cooker ,but we all wore long sleeved shirts because the mosquito?s swarmed about the place. It was a curious township, most;ly tin shacks and warehouses, I never got to see it in daylight so I never got a clear picture of the place. There were a couple of bars and there was a place of dancing. Not a dance hall , more of a compound, there was a corrugated iron wall that surrounded the place ,which was entered via a little wicket gate. We heard it before we saw it and decided to have a look see. There was a wonderful Hi-Life band blowing up a storm and the dancing area was full of couples who were dressed in their Sunday best.
There were no alcoholic drinks for sale ,just lemonades but there was an exuberance there that was so joyous. We were made welcome and were just happy to hear that band playing it?s music,it was like a cross between Ska and Calypso.
The banned stopped playing and a young girl came around selling whole fried pigeons ,which were delicious, and on stage some one had wheeled on a big old valve radio and was tuning it into ,with a mixture of whistle and static, the BBC Overseas programme, . The sound of violin and saxophone heralded Victor Sylvester and his orchestra. There was loud applause as the programme started and couples danced to every tune that was played. I had often heard the programme ,which was on a Sunday night on the light programme at home, but here were it?s most earnest listeners. We had a few more beers in the nearest bar and then made our way back to our bunks.. We would be going to Sapele in the morning.
If I thought Burutu was deepest darkest Africa Sapele made me think again, this really was a river that called for navigational skills, it is the only time I have ever seen the lead line used repeatedly, and it was not a river that you would choose to travel at night on. We had to use the kedge anchor at this place ;there were small bayous off the river and we would moor up bow first with stern stuck out in the river. We dropped our Kedge,which was on the stern so that we could haul ourselves out of the bayou when we were leaving. It was strange to travel through the jungle and then come upon a shoe factory right in the midst of that lush greenery. It was the Bata shoe factory and ,who knows we could have bought them in shoe shops at home. We had now finished unloading our cargo and it was time to start loading.
I was put back to work in the punt, I must have been good at it because he ,Monsie, would?nt give me a workmate. I was on my own. He also thought it would be a good idea to rig up a trestle in the punt so that I could reach higher up the shipside. Two eight foot trestles were put in the punt and a painting stage was put on the second rung from the top. As soon as I climbed down there I had the feeling that it would?nt go well, and besides ,there were reputed to be crocodiles in this river??????I made sure that I moored her as tight as I could , she was?nt going anywhere. I had two colours to apply, red boot topping and black paint for walls. I started with the boot topping first ,I could do that with a hand roller while standing in the punt. When I had done all I could reach to from the punts deck I then took the black roller ,which was on a ten foot bamboo pole , and then ascended the trestle to commence the main body of work. As I started rollering above me I perceived the punt being pushed out from the ships side. I immediately shortened my range and was able to manage it safely without pushing myself away from the side. All would have been well if that tug pulling a raft of mahogany logs had?nt come by while I was still on top of the trestle. I had the roller up above me when I felt the punt move away from the side ,the roller slid down the steel plates and then punt started to tip over ?????.over she went and in I went and all I could think was crocodiles! The stage had come crashing down with me and the horn at one end it some how went down the front of my shirt and trapped me there. I was frantic ,I could?nt free myself and had not brought my knife with me. The surface above me was darkened with the paint that had spilled over with me. .It is amazing what you can do when you are really afraid ,I ripped the shirt front open and shot up to the surface; I was able to grasp the Jacobs ladder and climbed wearily back up on deck. I had come up through the red and black paint that lay on the surface of the water ,it was everywhere ,my chest was bloody from the stages horns. It was a long climb upward and no one had seen me fall. As I climbed over the bulwark one the harchmen turned around to see what was making the noise, it was me spitting and snorting. His eyes were like saucers and he yelled ?Aiiiyieaaa? Soon everyone on deck was looking my way and someone called ? It is Mistah Red and Black?
I could see the funny side of it too ;and that was the end of working in the punt single handed.
Africa 4
We left Sapele and sailed down to Port Harcourt ,where we loaded Palm Oil.
This is a product that can be put to a thousand uses ,a lot of our meals ,which were prepared by the African cooks, had palm oil in them ,and very tasty they were too. But that was just one of the many uses for this liquid gild. The cargo was pungent,you either loved the smell or hated it. I was in the group that liked the smell. We were also loading timber ,ebony and mahogany plus some teak. The African dockers were amazing in how they contrive to squeeze those logs in the most unlikely places. The timber smelled good too.
I can?t recall too much of Port Harcourt now ,this was before Nigeria became major player in the oil business so there was?nt that much to see,excepting palm trees,millions of them.
Our final creek port was Warri, another river port, there were a few bars adjacent the dock so we were able to get ashore for some cold beer.
When we were sitting having a quiet sup,we were joined by a very jolly looking policeman. He had scrambled egg on his peaked cap and a couple pips on his shoulders so we wondered what we were in for. He was ?nt on business , he had seen us in dock and came around to do a bit of socialising.
He was the most pro British African that I had ever met, first off ,he insisted on buying the first round,that won us over to him right away;and then he started to lament our (the British that is) leaving Africa. He had been a constable when it was a British colony and was nostalgic for the law and order that prevailed under the Queen. We never argued otherwise, he moved on to the Common Market, he was very worried that we would join it and then have no further use for Africa. ?We will be left alone and will have no guidance from you? he lamented ? I wish that you would stay in the Commonwealth so that we will be like a big family of Queen Elizabeth?
He was a lovely guy ,he stayed with us until it was closing time and was almost crying when we left. How very different from most Africans we met there, most of them wanted to come to England to marry our sisters.
After Warri we returned to Lagos and began the homeward run.
We picked up a ?passenger? in Lagos, he said he was a diamond prospector, he must?nt have been a very good because he was actually being deported.
He was?nt a criminal, more like an absented minded professor , and was being returned to his homeland because he was impoverished. He felt more at home with deck crowd than he did with the officers, they looked down at him whereas we used to listen to his yarns. He had been in Africa for over 10 years, he had had a series of ?wives?, all of them young and nubile , and was sad to be leaving them behind. We let him meander on through his stories, if they were true he had led an amazing life ,if they were fiction then he had a good imagination. But you see things in Africa which sometimes pass all understanding?????????..Bobby was an old hand on the West Coast of Africa,some men won?t sail anywhere else, and he could speak good pidgin English. He was always joking with the Kroo boys and dockers and they liked him too. Now I don?t how he discovered this fact, but he found that if you removed the striking strip on the safety match boxes and burned them, the ashes would glow in the dark if you rubbed them between your finger and thumb. It had an impressive effect in the dark.
Our messroom was right by the gangway and the Africans would crowd it?s portholes whenever we were having a meal ,it was useless trying to chase them away so you got used to all these black faces watching your every mouthful.?You dash me some chop eh!? would be the constant refrain,almost like muzak but not as annoying. One day there were aerosols of cream topping on the tables and this caused a commotion amongst our audience ?Dash me some pleeze ? came the squeals of delight as we sprayed it on to our dessert. Bobby picked up the aerosol and went to the port hole and squeezed directly into the begging mouth , the man was ecstatic. ?Good juju ? cried his mates and Bobby gave them all a blast until the can was empty. One of the guys came around to our messroom door. ? You got good juju? he said to Bobby ,?you go belong ?im doctor? What all of us could not miss on this man was the lump on his solar plexus. It looked like a turks head knot. Bobby asked him ,in Pidgin ,what the lump was . ?Bad juju? the man replied. ? You come here eight o? clock ,we do good juju and fix? said Bobby. The mans face lit up and he pointed to the clock ,touching the 8 he said ?I be here den?.
We raided the rag bag in the bosuns stores to see if we could find anything that could be used as ?surgical? material ,there was enough stuff there to use as surgical masks and headwear, for the rest we used our bed lined to put across the tables. With the lights down low we just passed muster . Bang on the appointed hour the ?patient ? turned up .He four of his mates with him but we made them stand outside and look at the operation through the porthole. Bobby had done enough safety match boxes to make a bowlful of the ?magic? ash, we put the patient up on the table and laid him flat. We put all the lights off and Bobby began to jabber away in tongues, the rest of us would be muttering away ,saying juju regularly. Bobby then dipped his hand into the ash and rubbed his finger and thumb, all we could see was the green glow moving up and down as he waved his hand . The guys looking through the porthole gave low moans, they were really frightened ; the patient lay back silent, his eyes straining at the sockets. Bobby then sprinkled the ash on the patients stomach ,around and over the lump, Explosions of phosphorescence glowed and slowly faded as they streaked across his flesh, little whimpers escaped the patients lips while his mates were groaning at the portholes.
With a flourish ,Bobby ordered the lights back on and then raised the patient. He was feeling the ash marks on his skin and was whispering ?good juju, juju good? He stumbled back to his mates and we went aft for a can of beer........
????..Next morning we were greeted by the? patient? ? Hey boss, look ? he called to us ,pointing at his stomach ? Good juju eh! Heyyeeh? ?The lump was no longer there??????????????!
We were nonplussed, but that was Africa!
I forget which port the next event occurred at, we were alongside a jetty and we were still working on the hulls paintwork. Dave Cook was my partner in the punt and we were working around the stern, she was still fairly light in the water so we were doing the red boot topping and black hull paint .When we arrived at the position of the toilet outflows we went aboard and made sure that both ours and the African crews toilets were locked to prevent use of them while we were beneath them. We went to the Headman of the firemen and took him to their toilet to make sure it was locked. He even tied some rope yarn across the door to make it perfectly clear that the toilets were now out of use. I must tell you here that both Dave and I were wearing company issue solar topees , the only other items of clothing we had on were shorts and pumps. We climbed down the Jacobs ladder to get back in the punt,I went first and Dave followed. He was just level with the toilet out flow when there was a flushing sound and huge (at least ten pound) African chod thumped him on the back of the head. Dave come out with more obscene words than I had ever heard before. He had the presence of mind not to let go and stormed back up the ladder to give whoever what for. We found out that we had locked a fireman in while he was doing his business. Cleaned up and back in the punt, it was my turn to become a victim of an Africans Urinary needs. It was afternoon smoko and we stayed in the punt for a smoke,as we were sitting there I felt a tapping sound on my topee, it then became a drumming sound and Dave looked up to see this huge docker aiming his ?hosepipe? at me. I could?nt move, the topee saved me from most of it and the sun dried out the rest. So both Dave and I had been victims that day.
After dropping our Kroo Boys off Monrovia we made haste back to British waters, but we had a call at Dublin before going to Liverpool, we would be there a couple of days so we would have time to look at the town properly.
It was really poor in Ireland back then, most of the dock transport was horse drawn , beautiful big draught horses ,it was like being in Liverpool ten years before. There were crowds of little ragamuffins at the gate begging ? ?Ave yer gotta penny Mistur?? were the cries from their lips. Up town was more impressive, there were lots of Georgian houses,some falling into dereliction, streets of them looking like badly decaying teeth in rotten mouths; the people though,they were lovely,we were welcomed wherever we went. There was a seamans strike on that time and I saw a march taking place. Having been on the ?stones? the year beforer ,I had every sympathy with them. And then I saw a guy who had been a JOS on the Jason with me. ?Paddy? I yelled and a thousand heads turned toward me, luckily Joe, for that was his name, looked too. He gave his placard to someone next to him and came smiling toward me , ? Jayzus, its der peggy? he shouts and then shakes my hand .?Are yiz aff fer a jar ? ? he asked ? Yes ? I said ? are you coming??
And off he takes us on fine waltz around the alehouses, it was a good start for the weekend. At teatime we headed back to the Sulima and Joe headed back to his mates, he told us of a good singing house on the south side ,the beer was good and the crac was great ,according to Joe that is.
Well we got glammed up after dinner and went in search of Duignans,for that was the name of it; it had an upstairs room the length of the pub,and it was full but silent when we arrived. After getting a round in ,I took a good look about the room. The were a lot of people who had come ready to perform, there were evening suits and long dreses ,the old, the young , the beautiful and ,well let?s not go there. I noticed one man had a ventriloquists dummy on his knee. This was going to be like a talent show! An old man came and sat at the piano and the M.C. walked to the microphone,
? Welcome to the Music Hall folks? he said in a md atlantic accent, ? ahh, the stars are here tonight now; who?se gonna start us off tonight? He asked ,his eyes scanning the audience. Nobody moved ?c?mon now let?s get the show started. I stood up and walked to the stage, my mates were looking puzzled, I?d never done this before. I went on stage and the M.C., asked? and what?s yer name then? ?Brian Daley? I answered, ? And wid an accent like that ,where would you be from?? he asked. ?Liverpool ? I answered.
?By Jayzus de boys come home ? he roared and the audience gave a round of applause. He then asked me what I was going to do and I answered ?Sing ,the Bell are ringing? I had?nt a drink in me, but those Saturday sessions in our house brought it all back and I belted out that old standard. It did?nt matter if I was slightly out of tune ,the ball had started rolling and a queue formed offstage. The night was as good as Joe had said it would be, it was like the club at home ,everyone knew each other and they made us very welcome. After the singing ended we shot up to O?Connell street in time to get a few more in. I bumped into the engineer who had the beetle stuck on his back . He was on his own and asked if he could tag along , there was?nt much time left so we said O.K. . We should?nt have...... after two sherbets ,he started ranting on about how the Irish had caused their chippy to be bombed, we were looking puzzled , and he looked around and said ? because these *******s left their lights in so the German bombers could see which way Preston was? Harrummph. The people sat around us started to listen to his rantings and it started to feel a little scary. This guy was plainly out of control ,we could?nt shut him up ,our calls for him to stop only made him worse. Luckily ,there was a priest sitting by us ,he calmed the engineer down and helped us get out of the pub alive. By the time we left to go back to the ship he and the priest were like old friends. When we got back aboard some of the lads who had gone elsewhere that night, told us of an incident that they were involved in at Fortes Restaurant in O?Connell street. They were walking past it when the diamond prospector called them inside. He said he was about to dine and would they like to be his guests, do donkeys like carrots? They followed him in and ordered the best, after one of their best meals in months they got ready to leave while the D.B paid the bill . There was an animated discussion taking place at the pay desk. The lads went over to see what the matter was and found the D.B. trying to pay the bill with some pebbles. The manageress told the lads that the D.B. was saying they were uncut diamonds and that they were worth a fortune. They had to stump up because the D.B. was penniless . Poor deluded old man.
I found out next morning just how friendly the young engineer had been with the priest. I was sunk in a deep sleep when I was aroused by a vigorous shake. It was the young priest. ? C?mon now or ye?ll miss mass? He was smoking a pipe and stood over me while I washed and dressed. The engineer was with him.He was a practising catholic and had agreed that the priest pick us up this morning to go to mass at the pro cathedral. I was able to grab acup of tea and a bacon butty before we left in the priests Morris Minor saloon. I was bemused that there was a protestant cathedral in this most catholic of towns ,but no catholic cathedral,only a pro cathedral. But what a cathedral it was , outside of a cinema it was the busiest place I had ever seen , there were queues of people waiting to get in and there were three masses being said simultaneously, the left hand altar was nearly finished it?s mass ,the main altar was halfway through and the right hand altar was just starting. There were plenty of priests on hand to keep the momentum going and the good father said the last service would finish just in time for the pubs to open. After mass the priest took us out of Dublin and into the countryside, and what beautiful countryside there was, so green and hilly , it was a crisp July morning and the blue sky had but a few ragged clouds in it ,the sun being free to bring out the colours in all their magnificent glory. We went past the Hell Fire caves, which local legend had it that the Devil himself came several nights of the year. On we went through the gently rolling hills until we came to the most amazing sight ,the Electric Hill. There were a lot of people gathered there to watch the procession of cars and bicycles negotiating its slopes.. The priest stopped at the bottom of the hill and took the car out of gear, he was holding the handbrake and ,as he released it , we started to roll up hill, she rolled gently to the top when he engaged the gear again . As we were going uphill we noticed the cyclists pedalling hard to go down ,it was the same for pedestrians, run freely up it and plod down it. A wonderful thing to see. Someday I?ll go back to it.
Come Monday afternoon we were setting sail for home; how would the 7 weeks seperation have been for our marriage?
Austility
After a couple of decades ,I still find it hard to talk about my first marriage ,so I will keep to matters maritime,much safer that way.
My next vessel was a coaster ,the M.V. Austility, she belonged to F.T.Everards and was on the Manchester ship Canal awaiting a new crew member ?.me!
She was small compared to most vessels I had been on and she was a tanker carrying all kinds of specialist oils,as well as gas oil, petrol and paraffin.
She had seen better days, looked like she was in need of a good scrub down and a lick of fresh paint. Although she was only small , she had an awful lot of cabins ,there were only four of us on deck beside the bo?sun, and we took only about a third of the cabins on the port side of the stern castle. The Arab engine room crew took up the starboard side of the stern castle.
They were two men cabins but we used them as single berths. We were in the middle of the Manchester ship canal, tied up at a jetty belonging to one of the petrochemical refineries. The place reeked ,you could almost see what you were breathing.. She was completing loading and we would be sailing that night. We were two on a watch and did turn about on the watches. I had done it before and did?nt like it , I hoped things would be different this time.
There were two very old men who were on the deck crowd, Big Frank ,a Kinsale man ,and Old John from Drogheda. The fourth man ,well that was a position that was not very permanent. Men used to come and go with a terrible regularity.It seemed that most men did?nt like sailing in her. It was not hard to see why,Big Frank was a hard man,in his 70?s ,he was over six foot tall and was as strong as an ox. Old John was not much younger but he was of a slighter build. They had both been at sea for near 50 years,knew no other life.They had been crew on this ship for longer than anyone could remember and neither of them had a family.
At first sight you would think them a couple of sourpusses, they seemed to see the bad side of everything . Big Frank never trusted a soul, being a weekly boat we had to pay for our own meals, this meant giving the cook a regular slice of your pay.Big Frank would not countenance that, he bought his own stores and gave them to cook for preparation. He used to stow his food in one of the lifeboats and would watch like a hawk if anyone so much as looked at the lifeboats. Both John and Frank had a mutual hate, each other!
Frank used to call John the new feller, because he had only been aboard for 10 years or so. Strangely, I got on with both of them,but that took awhile to achieve. The captain was a man called Dermot O?Donnell, a garrulous Irishman who had a perpetual twinkle in his eye. He never wore a uniform, only a battered peaked cap, he was in his early forties and had spent most of his life at sea. The Mate was a Scot who had spent plenty of time in Canada and had erased all trace of his original accent. He fancied himself as being ?cool ?and always wore a uniform.
The second mate was a young South African, a likeable youth but he was haunted by his own devils, he was an alcoholic, had cirrhosis of the liver and was bent on leaving a good looking corpse.
The chief Engineer was from Newry ,a quietly spoken man, with dark good looks, he was amiable and would engage you in a conversation ,not like a lot of officers. One of his junior engineers was a lad of 18, from South Wales he was on his way to becoming rich. His mum would post him details of auctions and he would send her to the best one?s to buy what he thought would sell. When I met him he owned half of a street of houses in one of the mining valleys. A very astute young man.
The cook would be replaced regularly, the galley was small and cramped and it had an oil stove,an evil old thing, I know because it was our job to light it on the 4 to 8 watch.
So, we set sail from the canal and our first call was to Carrickfergus in Northern Ireland , a beautiful spot and ,as yet ,still unspoiled by the troubles it was to be a regular run for us and I got to liking the place very much, it had a little harbour and at the end of quay nearest the town had a few little bars that were very hospitable.
The place was the home of the Black Lodge, proper name ,The Royal Black Institution. This was supposed. to be the oldest and most authoritarian of the Orange Orders Lodges ,but I never saw any evidence of its existence while I was there. Carrickfergus Castle dominated the little township and was over 800 years old, it was used as a military castle right up into the 20th century. So ,there we were,battling our way through a nor?westerly gale on our way to old Ulster.. She was a noisy little boat ,she had Newbury engines and they provided the background of sound while we were at sea. A reassuring sound,that steady engine noise was the heartbeat of our ships life. I was settled into my bunk on our second day, a moderate wind and we should make landfall early in the morning. I had just finished the 12 to 4 watch, downed the last dregs from my cup of cocoa as I read the last chapter of my war novel. I put my bunk light out and snuggled down beneath my blankets for a well earned rest when the sound of the engines stopped and my cabin was filled with a pale grey light. The temperature had plummeted and I was locked ,quite literally locked, in position. I was facing the bulkhead (wall) and could not move a muscle but I knew that behind me was an old Hindu . He was clothed in only a dhoti, a dishevelled turban sat atop his head and he had his hands clasped together as though in prayer. He was uttering a low wailing sound,as though imploring me to do something. I wanted to scream such was the horror I felt. How long it lasted was like a lifetime. What coils had held me bound to my bunk? Why was the engine stopped.. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead when, in a trice ,the room went dark and the sound of the engine resumed and all fear left me. I switched on my bunk light and the cabin was as it was before I attempted sleep..
A couple of days later, when we were on our way back down the Irish Sea, I was taking my turn at the helm and Captain O?Donnell was doing watch duty ,he asked me what I thought of the ship and I told him I was still trying to figure it out. There was accommodation for six times our number down aft,why such a large accommodation? He told me that she had been built during the 2nd World War for the Indian Navy ,then she had had a crew of 54. She was originally a water carrier, keeping the warships replenished with fresh water while out on operation.He asked me which cabin I had taken and I told him,he then asked why I had chosen that one and I answered that it was the furthest away from the engine room entrance ,it was quieter than the others. He then told me that the cabin I had chosen was reputedly haunted. An Indian deckhand had been murdered in it during the war. I never changed cabins, and I only had that one visitation. I never really believed in ghosts up until then.
But ,getting back to Carrickfergus, it was a delightful little town, it was ancient and had hardly any heavy industry then. There were fishermen and farmers and they seemed to be predominant in the town. I hardly ventured beyond the quayside and so frequented the little one room bar that sat at the end of the jetty. The landlord was a young man and he could make a mean hot toddy which was wonderful to have as a nightcap because the bar was only a 100 or so yards from the ship.. We had loaded a cargo of paraffin in the canal and tankers from Aladdin Pink and Esso Blue came to unload our cargo,the tanker men brought dyes aboard and dyed the paraffin either pink or blue. It was all the same paraffin.
When we left Carrickfergus we were making for Avonmouth, we had to wash the tanks out so that we could carry a different oil. The method we used was dreadful, pumped all the waste over the side ,leaving an oil slick in our wake.
Even then I felt we were damaging our ecology and I still feel a sense of remorse for what we did. But that was the way of it then.
The cook we had on board was a big old gay, much given to tantrums and mood swings ,when he was on form the food was great ,should something have upset him we were served up crap . One day we were sailing toward Belfast Lough with a load of aviation fuel ,it was 6.30 in the morning and I was on the helm. The cabin/galley boy slipped into the wheelhouse and sidled up to me ?Mr Scouse? he whispered ?The galleys on fire? The captain was in the charteoom and I gave him a yell.he ran out and I blurted out ?The galleys on fire ,take the helm? He stepped into my place and I ran aft along the flying bridge.,we had a following wind and there huge glowing embers coming out of the galleys smoke stack. They were blowing forrard and were just above the gas haze that was visible around the tanktops,if one should fall into that gas we would be the first British entry into space.
I got to the galley and there was our cook ,flat out on the deck ,a bottle of whisky firmly grasped in his drunken hand , the oil pipe to the stove was almost glowing and the oil was spurting into the stove. God only knew when the smokestack had last been cleaned but that was glowing red too. I pulled the cook out of the galley and the closed the oil tap . .Dermot had turned the ship into the wind so that the sparks were blowing away from the deck .Soon the stove cooled down and the young galleyboy had to make breakfast that day.
The cook.who was Swiss was sacked when we returned to Avonmouth..
Last edited by brian daley; 09-09-2009 at 01:06 PM.
Austility 2
When we berthed at Avonmouth the newspapers and radio were abuzz with doom and gloom. America and Russia were locked in confrontation over the building of missile sites in Cuba. The headlines were screaming out that we were about to be engulfed in a nuclear war. Not having a radio or access to newspapers everyday,we were a little bit out of touch on that old tanker..
Big Frank was only worried about which horse had won what race and old John just about knew what time of day it was. The mate was a different proposition,he was so frightened that we were all about to disappear in a giant mushroom cloud. The news was scary, but Mr Macmillan( our prime minister) seemed a bit relaxed about it all. The trouble was all done and dusted within a fortnight and the world went on as usual. Our major problem was that we had no cook. Dermott soon sorted that one out, just as we were singling up ready to leave,a young man about my age come running down the quay. He was carrying a battered suitcase and called out for us to let him aboard. He was the new cook.
The skipper had recruited him during a lunchtime session in the dockside pub.
He looked clean and was bright eyed and bushy tailed??..but could he cook?
He was a very amiable young man, had been in the army for 3 years ,in the Royal Engineers, he never got abroad and was so pleased to be offered a job on a ship. I asked him where he had trained as a cook. Laughing ,he replied ?I ain?t been a cook mate ,but it ain?t rocket science is it??
Dermott had recruited a navvy ! To be perfectly truthful, he was a willing soul,but he had to learn how to cook with us as his judges. If he was?nt such a nice person he?d have been dumped over the side, those first few weeks were dreadful. We ran back and forth between Carrickfergus, Avonmouth and the Manchester Ship Canal, for quite a while. Big Frank used to give one the dockers in Irlam his money for bets in certain races. He never won anything ,excepting for one trip, he?d seen in the paper that one of the horses that he had backed at 33 to 1 had romped home. So he was expecting a small fortune when we got back to Irlam. The docker gave him his stake money back saying that he had missed the chance to get to the betting shop. Frank was mortified, he had been putting bets on through that chap for years, had he been getting ripped off the whole time?
When we were in Carrickfergus ,a family would come aboard to see old Frank, I thought they were relatives of his ,until old John told me otherwise. They were tinkers who had latched on to John some years back and were always begging money off him. Frank could never say no. The next time they tried to come aboard I gave them the sailors farewell and warned them that I would inform the police about their activities. We never saw hide nor hair of them after that.
After a few trips to Carrickfergus I started to feel quite at home there, I was called the Dublin man by the regulars at the quayside bar. They thought I sounded Irish, I got to know some of the shopkeepers too,especially the ladies at the newsagents. They sold books and had a load of Fontana paperbacks; the manageress told me that they were discontinuing selling them and had to get rid of them. I had bought one everytime I went on previous occasions so she asked me if I would like to make an offer for the remaining stock. There were about 40 of them left on the shelf so I offered her a tenner for the lot, she took me up on my offer and I became book rich. They provided with the basis for setting up a swap library which I kept up until my last days at sea.
We docked in Carrickfergus on Christmas Eve and Dermott told us would not be going anywhere until the day after Boxing Day so if we wanted to go home we could. I had spent nearly every Christmas at sea and jumped at the chance to go home. I went up to Belfast and got some presents to take home, a silver bangle for the baby , lingerie for M and present for my family too.
I was full of the Christmas spirit when I boarded the ferry and made my way down to the accommodation, it was full of people retching and groaning ,not a very nice atmosphere. I went up on deck for some fresh air and got talking to one of the crewmen;I told him about the smell in the accommodation and he said that there was a spare bunk in his cabin. I accepted his offer with grateful thanks and went and got my head down. I awoke when we were alongside in Liverpool , it was a lovely clear day and I made my way home. Nobody knew I was coming, telephones were still a mainly middle class thing then , I was at our house for around 11.00a.m. and was able to give my present to M and the baby, I then told her I was going to go round and see my family and that did?nt go down too well. I had to go on my own because she had somehow taken against my family. I had a terrific welcome at my parents house and Mum said that Dad was down at Walton ,why did?nt I go and see him and the Grandparents as well. So off I shot, it was a very fast visit but I managed to see both sets of grandparents and get back to Kirkby in time for dinner.
I had two dinners ,one with my parents and sisters and the other with M. She still could?nt cook. The atmosphere was such that I went back down to the Ferry and slept in the waiting room, I wanted out of the situation I was in.
The run back to Belfast was dreadful, the Irish Sea was really stormy and you had to grip the side of your bunk to save yourself being flung across the cabin. The deck was awash with vomit and the stench was almost unbearable, but somehow ,I got a good nights sleep. The revellers of yester eve looked fit for an undertaker next morning.
I was glad that I had missed Christmas day aboard the ship for the cook had roasted three huge turkeys for the crews Christmas dinner and had forgotten to take the giblets out of them!. They had corned beef ,roast potatoes ,carrots, peas gravy and cabbage,while the turkeys were fed to the fishes.
Dermott had a wonderful girl friend,her name was Maggie ,she was Irish and she was as mad as him. Everytime we went to Carrickfergus she would be waiting for him on the quayside, she had a little MG roadster with a soft top and as soon as Dermott had done his duties ,he would put on his cheese cutter and take off with her ,she would let him drive and they would disappear in a cloud of exhaust and a deep throated growl . I envied him. Still, you can?t cry over spilt milk.
I went ashore one night,just for a drink or two at the quayside bar. As I walked into the bar I was confronted by the most wonderfully comic scene. Old John was stocious, he was leaning with his chin on the huge belly of the local gamekeeper, a man of about 50 years and 20 stone,he had on his deerstalker cap, a Norfolk jacket and a pair of tweed breeches. He was staring down at old John ,listening to a litany of obscene insults. I walked in as he ,John that is, was saying ? Yer feckin lily livered yeller bastid!? All eyes were now on me, a double barrelled shotgun was resting against the bar,just inches from the gamekeepers hand. ?Ya snot gobblin? Cromwellian swine???..? Old John was in fine insulting form. The gamekeeper nodded to me,?Dublin ,get y?mon back on board before he does himself a bit of harm? I pulled old John away and led him back on board. How tolerant they were then.
It was a good job I took John back on board then ,when we got back to the Austility we found her swinging loose on her moorings. Somehow her stern mooring had been slacked off and she was banging against the quayside. You never saw a man sober up as quick as John did ; the gangway was still o.k. as it was amidships so we were able to board her and we went aft and pulled the slack in everytime she came into the quay. It took awhile ,but we managed it , the rear stern plates had taken a hammering though.She had a big dent in her about 8 foot across.. The 2nd mate would have some questions to answer when Dermott came back. We left Belfast Lough and sailed to Avonmouth, we dumped the cook when we got there and were lucky in getting a proper ships cook,there had to be something wrong with him taking this ship!
Everards never liked spending money on navigational aids, this ship had a Decca navigator,but no radar. We had to see and hear what was about when we were in fog,and January was a foggy month. We were sailing up the St Georges Channel ,it was about 6.00p.m. and the fog came down like a thick blanket. It was almost zero visibility. Dermot reckoned we should be near Camarthen Bay and should be able to anchor close to the shore out of the main shipping lane. We could?nt see any lights and only had the Decca to get our positions from.
At length ,Dermott rang stop engines and called out to the mate to drop anchor. I went up to the foc?sle to hoist up our anchor light and heard some Irish guys talking about the pubs in Milford Haven. They sounded just yards away. I ran to the bridge and told Dermott and he had that anchor up and we sailed until we could hear no more conversations.
When we got to Carrickfergus this time it was bitterly cold and the quayside and pavements were covered in deadly black ice. We piled on the blankets that night. Next day was Saturday and I made my way to town for a sup or two. People were skating along rather than walking and as I was sitting by the fire in the Quayside bar I saw this old gent walking very carefully past the pub windows( they were clear glass). I saw him fall face downwards and could feel the impact where I was sitting. I hurried outside and helped him to his feet, he was in a shocking state so I took him into the bar. The land lord fetched a bowl and some clean cloths and I got him a glass of brandy. Soon the colour returned to his cheeks and then his wife came in, someone had told her what had happened. I got her a brandy and she sat sipping it while she warmed herself by the fire.
Not long after a young woman came in and came up and hugged the old gent , it was her ?Daddy? .When her mother told her that I had picked her Daddy up and got him treated ,she came and kissed me on the cheek. God, she was beautiful, like a young Jennifer Jones and with a voice like tinkling silver. ?Daddy? was worrying about getting his Saturday double on at the betting shop but he was in no fit state to go . I said that I would put it on for him and took his slip and money and set off for the betting shop.. I was walking up the side alley to cut through to the high street when I heard a voice behind me shouting "stop". It was her, she came up to me and said ?I don?t want you getting lost now do I?? I was a bit tongue tied, I just nodded ,she then slipped her hand into mine and we walked on air to the shops. My god , the guilt that raged through me ,this was wrong ,but she was so lovely,and we were only holding hands,were?nt we?
Just before we reached the high street ,she spun around and kissed me full on the lips. I was lost.
We hurried to the betting shop and got back to the pub ?Mummy ,you must ask Brian to come dinner now? The old lady looked at me in a quizzical manner, did she see the guilt that was written on my brow? ?Sure ,an? he?s welcome enough now? was her reply.
Get out now Brian, get out before your immortal soul is ****ed forever. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I went along with the flow.
?Ello Mr Scouse? yelled a little Bolton voice. It was Bobby the Galleyboy.. I introduced him to the family and Eileen,that was her name, asked him if he would like to come to dinner too. He was thrilled , We got a carry out from behind the bar and caught a taxi back to their house. It was a very neat little terrace house , the street was as clean and graffiti free. When we got in to the living room there were photos of Daddy in his Orange regalia, there was also a photograph of a handsome young man in a naval officers uniform, I asked the old lady if it was her son and she told me that it was Eileens fianc?, who was in the Royal Navy. What was going on here.? While the old lady went and prepared the dinner Eileen Bobby and I watched television,there was a Pop programme on and they were playing some great bands ,Telstar was all the rage then and I saw it here for the first time.. Eileen had moved Bobby to a more comfortable chair and then sat down beside me. She was touching me in a way that affianced young ladies should not, her Mum knew something was afoot, she gave me the hard stare, what could I do.? After dinner ,which had been scrumptious after the alcoholic fare we had been served on board, the Daddy asked if we would like to go down to the Orange Hall for a couple of halves, ?Me lad ?ll be wid us an? he?ll introduce yer to some nice people? Eileen made signs for me not to go. I told him that I?d like to give it a miss because I had been on the late watch last night ,but he could take Bobby if he wanted. So off the two of them went and that left the three of us. The dinner table was full of unwashed crocks so I got up and started to clear up, Eileen joined me and we took all the dishes to the sink to strap up. I was standing at the sink washing the plates and Eileen was standing by ready to dry, we were having a bit of banter and the next thing I knew was that Eileen slipped her hands around my waist and she starting crooning an Irish song. It felt so lovely and so very,very wrong. I turned to say something ,anything but she shushed me and pulled me to her. I was burning with passion and she knew it, then the hatchway above the sink to the dining room opened and her mothers angry face appeared in the hatchway, Eileen had stepped back just in time but I was ablaze. The old woman looked at me ,her eyes drilling into my very soul ?Ye?ll not be long out there will ye?? ?just waiting for the water Mommy? said Eileen. I scorched through the crocks and Eileen dried them up in record time. When we had finished Eileen put her fingers to her lips and took me in to the wash house, there was an old stone sink and a mangle, not the most seductive of places, but Eileen sat on the wooden draining board of the mangle and pulled me into her. The door exploded open and the old lady screamed,?That?s my washhouse!!? and stormed off . We returned to the living room , burning with shame. Gradually things started to relax and we reached a stage where we could talk. Her mother asked where I was from and I told her Kirkby near Liverpool. ?Sure ,the lady two doors down comes from Liverpool, she?s a catholic, but a nice lady an?all? I dare?nt tell her that I was half catholic in view of what had gone on so far. We only had to wait until her Dad brought Bobby back from the club and then We could get a cab back to the ship. They came back just after 11.0 clock, their son was with them and he invited Bobby to go and have a look at his house, He also said that we had better stop the night now because it was foggy and icy and we?d not get a taxi. It seemed as though the fates were conspiring to get me to sin tonight; Eileen and her mum rigged up a bed on the parlour floor,a nice double mattress and a couple of blankets and pillows. By this time the old lady was dead on her feet and she bid us goodnight. Eilleen went up and changed into her nightie and came down and slipped under the covers with me. I was so tense I felt that I would explode, we were just about to make love when Bobby came in through the kitchen , being a little the worse for wear he cried out ? Can I ?ve a go too Mr Scouse ?? Eileen fled upstairs and I got dressed. When I was ready I took Bobby by the arm and marched him back to the ship. I had?nt committed the ultimate sin, but I had committed it in my heart. Life was never the same again for me
.
Austility 3
We sailed to Irlam from Carrickfergus, just a sprint across the Irish sea, the sea was quite calm, just a stiff breeze blowing from the north. As we neared the mouth of the Mersey the fog came down heavily, Big Frank was stuck on the foc'sle head with a bucket and a stick ,making as much noise as he could ; you could hear fog horns sounding in all the compass points, not on the Austility though. Just a galvanised bucket and a sawn off broom handle, I was at the wheel and Dermot and the Mate were on the bridge. In a momentary silence we heard a voice ,speaking Hindi and it was above our heads. Through the dense fog we saw the stern of a Brocklebank liner just off our starboard side, about 3 yards off our starboard side! There was a shrill cry from her stern end ?What ship, what ship? We never said a word as we slipped past her back into the shroud of fog.We were very quiet from thereonwards to the Manchester Ship Canal entrance.
At Irlam we loaded domestic heating oil for a place called Malpas . This was in Cornwall ,in a bay off the River Fal. The journey down the coast was fair going until we got near Lands End, there was the mother and father of a gale blowing on the approaches to the English Channel. Thankfully we missed the most of it and were making safe harbour on a fine January morning .
Malpas was a little jewel of a place, it is situated just past the bend in the Fal that leads to Truro. All the way up the river we saw lines of ships ,ships of every size and type ,ocean going liners ,tankers, old tramps and little coasters .This was part of Britain?s auxiliary merchant fleet ,kept in readiness for any emergency, to me ,it looked as though they were laid up. There was a small jetty at the foot of a very hilly bay.. The hillsides were dotted with beautiful cottages and the bay was home to many yachts of all shapes and sizes. Just off the quay was an old inn ,it looked very welcoming, and so it proved to be.
Malpas was subject to neap tides ,these occur when the water is at its lowest point and can mean a ship being unable to leave until there is sufficient water to float her. We had arrived just in time to be neaped. We discharged our cargo within the half day ,but we would be stuck here for a few more days until we could leave. Not that anyone was complaining, that pub was right out of an Ealing comedy. Most of the inhabitants of this lovely place were bohemian, it was like an artists colony. The landlord of the pub was an ex Fleet Air Arm pilot and looked very piratical with a shock of blonde hair and a luxuriant great beard. He could?nt get into a fighter plane now ; his wife?s marvellous cooking had certainly expanded his girth. She , the landlady was a beautiful , buxom wench, black haired and black eyed, she had every man jack lusting after her. And she could cook , oh how she could cook. We had breakfast ,lunch and dinner there. Just thinking of her cooked breakfast makes my juices flow. Big ,chuckly pork sausages ,cooked fit to bursting, bacon crisp but not dry, black pudding with juicy big chunks of fat, fried bread ,thick and and crisp, fried tomatoes ,bursting with juice and two eggs, turned so that the beautiful yellow yolk lay inside ,awaiting the toast that you would dunk in it.
The pub was the centre of village life and never closed, no policeman ever ventured near, excepting to have a late night pint.
The pub regulars were a motley crowd, a lot of artists ,some grockles, one or two fishermen, Malpas was on the road to nowhere, we took their fuel oil because the road was too small for a heavy goods lorry or bus.
The landlord was also mayor of Malpas and his chain of office was a genuine lavatory chain . His most regular customer was a dashing looking man ; he wore immaculate 3 piece suits, he could have stepped out of the pages of an Agatha Christie novel, he too had wavy blonde hair and sported a RAF type moustache. Every night he propped up the mantlepiece and joined in the chat. He made our crew so welcome, one night he took me and one of the mates up to Truro just so that we could say we had been their. One night ,shortly before we left, the conversation got around to accents, the regulars tasked us to guess were they were from, there were not many true Cornish people among thier number. We guessed some and were wildly out with others. At length ,our golden haired friend with the handle bar moustache asked us to guess his place of origin. He had a cut glass accent ,reminiscent of Terry Thomas, ?Poland ? I said and everybody laughed, everybody that is, except our blonde haired boy. He stood looking shocked and the room went very quiet. ?How did you guess? he asked ,still looking puzzled. ?I don?t know ? I replied, ?it was just a guess?
It turned out he came to England in 1939 and flew with the Polish Air force.
He looked at me a time or two that night and shook his head. I don?t know how I guessed , but it led to a good end of the night. Turned out that he was a fighter ace and he had never once let anyone know.
We were all a little bit worse for wear that night, the Irish chief engineer had drunk rather more than was good for him and there was only Dermott and myself fit enough to carry him back aboard. I took his top half ,gripping under the arms, and Dermott took his legs. We staggered across the jetty to the gangway ,jeez, but he was heavy. Dermott got aboard the gangway and I was shuffling my way after him when our boyo stirred in his slumbers. He roared upwards and I lost my grip on him. He fell to the ground with an earth shaking thud. ?C?mon on now Scouse, stop friggin about there, let?s get him to his bunk? I looked down and saw there was a big puddle of blood on the gang way. Dermott noticed it too , ?Get him along to my cabin? he said? ?We?ve got a bit of patching up to do?
Oh that poor man. When he had twisted ,he had fallen on to his face and had opened the flesh in his eyebrow,the bone of his eye socket showing like a mirthless grin. Considering we were both three sheets to the wind ,we did a grand job on him. We cleaned him up and put him in his bunk and then went off to our own bunks.
Next morning ,the chief engineer asked me why we had attacked him the night before, he saw the funny side of it when I explained the full circumstances.
When we sailed back to Avonmouth ,I called it a day and decided to go home to see how the land lay.
Winter ?63
The coldness of winter was magnified by the coldness within my heart, try as I might to accept the state of marriage so many things transpired to make it fail. To be called another mans name when making love did?nt help, I felt so foolish; I could not confide in my parents, or sister ,of the hell that I was in. I did what most Englishmen did then, I tried to muddle through. I had made my bed and now I must lay on it. The baby girl was lovely, carroty haired and with an angelic smile ,I felt a great affection for her and could?nt leave her to an uncertain future. I endeavoured to make a go of it. We searched around for a place of our own ,being part of another family was?nt working, we needed our own space. Every night we would pore over the pages of the Echo, we saw loads of flats, furnished and unfurnished but none were ever right. It seemed she did?nt want to leave her family home.
My leave was soon over and I resolved to get a berth on a ship that was on a regular run so that I could get home more often, I have never been a quitter..
My luck was in when I went to the Pool, there was a job going on the Empress of Britain, she was away for 16 days doing summer cruises to the Canaries ,Madeira ,Casablanca and Lisbon. Plenty of overtime and lots of good grub. Just up my street.
She was a nice looking ship, not as big as the Carinthia, but she?d do for me.
She was making her second trip for Max Wilsons Travel Cruise Club and it would be good to back to the sunshine.
I was put on a watch , but we did not man the helm, they had full time quartermasters for that. I would be on the lookout or doing paintwork or overhauling the running gear. I reality ,I was a deep sea char, forever sujying, she was all white, and had to be kept in pristine condition. If I was?nt sujying I?d painting , I was happy with whatever job I was given, excepting one????.
The wings of her bridge stood out about four yards from her superstructure.
The undersides of those wings were white , like the rest of her. They had to be stripped clean and repainted. The way it was done would never be allowed now.
A painting stage was slung over the bridge from the rear side two painters(ropes) were slung over the front of the bridge approximately opposite painters on the stage. We ,there were two of us , had to slide down the stage painters and then get ourselves aboard the stage and then get a bit of swing on her so that we could catch the ropes on the forepart. Once we got hold of them we would then make the fast to the stage and then use them to get the stage hanging centrally beneath the bridge. We had no safety harnesses just the skill and dexterity of our hands and bodies. When were in position we would have our tools passed down to us and get stripping the old paintwork and then get tidied up and get painting. After a little while you relaxed into the work and could stand on the stage so that you could work freely. Cardinal rule was ?......never look down! Especially when you were working over the quayside those Granite wharves did not make for soft landings!
Those cruises were very low in price and people could save up for them on a weekly basis, hence the Club part of the name. This had taking ordinary people out of the simple package tour type holiday into ,what used to be, a rich persons holiday.
We had a lot of mill girls on that trip , and mill men too, and it was lovely to hear Lancashire accents on the promenade deck. We also had a uniformed City of Liverpool Policeman aboard , he looked incongruous in his helmet ,thank god we never saw much of him. He was there because there had been a robbery on the previous trip , the steward in charge of the first class bar had bagged the nights takings and was taking them to the pursers office to be put in the safe.
when he needed to answer a call of nature and went into a crew w.c. .He put the bag on the deck and sat down to do his business when a hand came under the partition and grabbed the money bag. The culprit was never found and now there was a policeman on board to track down the robber.
The man in charge of the watch I was in was called Tommy Molloy, a giant of a man and a champion boxer to boot. Although he looked fearsome he was a great Bosuns mate, always bright and cheery and never the bully. We also had another champion boxer aboard, an engineering officer called Neil McAteer..They were both from old Liverpool boxing families and some of the guys used to wonder how they would get on if they were put in the ring with each other. I never gave the matter any thought at all.
We had a really smooth run down to Tenerife, I had never been there before and I was looking forward to seeing what it was like. One of my watchmates was a guy called Louey, a big chubby guy with curly black hair and a very Italianate look. His appetite was huge, of comic strip proportion, always looking for an extra bite. One day we were painting the whitework on the prom deck and we got near the kennels, Louey asked me to watch out for any officers or Master at arms, and then climbed through the kennel porthole. There was a snarling and barking as he entered and then there were yelps; Louey clambered out with half a turkey in his mouth. He was unbelievable.
When we arrived in Tenerife we were met by huge old Packards, Cadillacs, and Oldsmobiles as well as an Hispano Suiza. This place was a motor museum , they were all open topped and were touting for business. This was in the days of Franco and Spain was a very poor country.
I could?nt get ashore right away because we still had a few chores to do ,but ,as soon as I had my evening meal and was washed and shaved I put my shore gear on and was ready to get off. I took a short cut down the passenger gangway ,crew were not supposed to use the passenger facilities. ,it was a big two lane affair and a distinguished looking gent was on the other side of the gangway. I thought he was a passenger and broke the ice by asking him if he was enjoying the cruise. ? I bloody well hope so lad, I?m working on it? I blushed a bit but he was in the mood for a conversation.
The jetty we were on seemed miles long and we walked it together, he telling me of his job, he was chief engine room store keeper. The equivalent of a petty officer. He had been on it for years, he could see I was a deckhand and asked me where I was from ,I told him my family were from Walton and Kirkdale, ?My neck of the Woods? he said. We came to the steps that led up to the town and he asked me where I was going, I told him I did;nt know because I had never been there before. ?Well if you fancy having a jar with some of the older guys you can come with me? I gratefully accepted his invitation and we went just a few yard from the top of the steps and entered a little bar. There was a crowd of middle aged men, nearly all potbellied and ruddy faced .?Oo?ve yer got there George ? asked one nodding toward me. ? It?s a new young deckie? answered George ?What did yer say yer name was lad? asked George ,?Brian ? I replied. ?Yer won?t ferget dat one in a ?urry? said another of the men . I looked at George and asked why. ?That?s my lads name ? He answered. ? My names Brian Daley? I said , just to clarify matters. ? Oo?se put you up to this ? asked George with a puzzled look on his face. I told him no one had put me up to anything and pulled out my I.D. card. I handed it to and he smiled , ?It?s the same, he?s got the same second name as well!!? There then began an exhaustive investigation of my progeny, turned out he was my fathers first cousin, and they had?nt seen each other for years. I was accepted into this august company and what company it was. There was the chef, baker, and various other bodies that it was useful to know aboard a ship of that size. How useful was made clear the next day. We had to queue up at the galley hatchway to be served our meals , when it came to my turn ,the cook said ? D?ya like Lobster Brian?? Everyone else had been served pea soup. I nodded affirmative and he told me to go round to the bakers flat ( not living quarters) I shot round there and the baker was waiting for me ?There yar Brian? he said pointing to a large tray of lobsters.! Asked him if he had a plate, ?Take the bleedin? tray? he laughed. There was about twenty lobster halves on it. When I walked into the messroom all eyes turned to look at the tray. I put it down on the table and immediately became Louey?s best friend. From that day onwards I ate first class fare, I shared when I could but it was not always possible.
I did?nt get ashore much after Tenerife, I?d been to Las Palmas and Casablanca and wangled the night watch job when we were in those ports. I think it was in Las Palmas when our two boxing champions got together for a drink, it was inevitable I suppose. Most of the deck crowd were either ashore or asleep in the wee small hours of the morning. I was sitting in the main working alleyway ,just outside the galley. They had a load of wash boilers ,just like my Mums at home, only they used these as stock pots. There were hams in one and chickens in another, then beef ,lamb ,turkeys etc, I think there were about seven or eight of them. Full of juicy carcases or joints .Night watchmen would get their supper from them and you would always be sure of a treat. I was sitting ,chewing on a leg of pork when I heard this terrible hullabaloo. The main alley was the length of the ship and because it curved horizontally you could?nt see very far. I did?nt have to wait long to see what the cause of the disturbance was. It was Tommy Molloy;he was being manhandled by three Master at Arms and they had a job on their hands to hold him. His face was badly bruised and there was blood on shirt. When the group came level with me ,Tommy forced them to a halt, ?Ya see this? he growled ,turning his face so that I could see the full extent of the damage.? That ******* McAteer did this. Came up behind me when I was sitting their and smashed me !!? It was a terrible sight. He leaned toward me ?Yer?ve gotta avenge me, yer a deckhand!!? The M.A.?s dragged him away. I then got up to go and knock ten kinds of crap out of McAteer??not really. I got stuck into the leg of pork again. I?d find out what happened in the morning.
.
Empress Of Britain
Tommy appeared on deck next morning wearing a pair of sunglasses; seamen ,never, ever wore them, they were thought effeminate or poseurish . Tommy had to wear them though ,one side of his face looked like summer pudding.
The story of the previous nights to do I learned, second hand, Tommy was tight lipped about it , But something like this occurred????????.Neil invited Tommy to his cabin to have a few scoops, all went well until they got to talking about the fight game. They had downed quite a few cans and Tommy was well relaxed, talk then turned to their own abilities, what was said no one knows, but in Toms words Neil got up to do some refills while he lay back on the coach/divan. Next thing he knows is that a haymaker come crashing into the side of his face ,totally surprising him. What happened then is a matter of conjecture. Neil was locked up in the brig and that is how things remained until we got home.
Our last port of call was Lisbon, I had to go ashore there ,if only to visit the places that had been so hospitable to me when I was a DBS.
We tied up right in the town, just before the Plaza Comercio, you could almost touch the bars from the ship. We were there for just 24 hours ,and what a 24 hours that turned out to be. It was the start of Mardi Gras. Portugal was still a catholic dictatorship then ,Salazar had been in power since the 1930?s and still held the country in an iron grip ,so Mardi Gras was a welcome few days for everyone ,rich or poor. They had a carnivale in the truest sense of the word.
I had heard about Brazils? fabulous carnivals, Lisbon had no Samba schools ,but she knew how to party nevertheless. When we went ashore at about 8.0?clock the bars were fairly quiet ,I met a couple of barmen who treated me well just two years ago, there were a couple of girls who remembered me too. One of them asked me why I was?nt masked. I did?nt understand the question , she then explained about Mardi Gras, husbands and wives would wear masques and masquerade .I must have looked puzzled ,she then told me the masquerade allowed husbands and wives to dally with other partners ,just for one night. The lads with me were excited as hell, ?When does all this happen then?? one of them asked ?tonight ,later? was all she said. It would be about midnight when the carnivale kicked off, a conga line came snaking into the bar, there were smartly dressed men and women sashaying round the tables ,all of them wearing masques, not the ones you buy in a joke shop but ones that were made by craftsmen . They were like miniature beaded curtains, strung across the forehead the beads hung down over their eyes and nose so that they hid the faces. They were all the colours of the rainbow and some were exquisite. Some ladies had black diamente and had such air of sexual mystery. The conga line broke up as the men and women sought fresh partners from the tables. I saw such scenes of sexual activity that had me almost speechless. Some of our lads were taken where they sat as these ladies straddled them , one of our lads had two women take him. It was unbelievable, the professionals were at it too, the men, presumably the ladies husbands, were making love too. And all the while the barmen kept serving, they had seen it all before. I tried to imagine a similar thing happening in the Queens Head, but my imagination could?nt stretch that far.
Next morning we left Lisbon ,the streets littered with last night streamers, it would be decades before I walked those pavements again.
The Empress of Britains living quarters for us sailors were quite basic, it was 8 to a cabin and no port holes either, I found that a bit claustrophobic at first , it was very fuggy, you can imagine the amount of gas 8 bodies can generate, you could almost slice the air in there. I don?t know whether I got my sore throat from the lack of fresh in that cabin, but it did?nt help it. On the morning we were due to dock in Liverpool I went along to see the ships doctor, he gave me the once over and then examined my throat. By this time we were anchored off the Pier Head awaiting o go alongside the passenger terminal. The doctor told me he would have to discharge me and he called someone on the ships phone , after he had finished chatting he told me to go and see the purser, he would pay me off and arrange for my signing off . I went along to the purser,he had my money ready and waiting;it was then off to see the Bosun to show him my discharge and then it was off to pack my gear and then go ashore in the launch. They were not letting me stay for docking at the Pier Head. I went to the cabin and put my money in my coat. I was the only one in the cabin , I was the only one in the accommodation! I went and cleaned myself up and then went back to the cabin to change into my shore gear. It was when I putting my jacket on that I noticed something was amiss, my wallet, my wallet was missing. I searched everywhere it could have been ,nothing. I then ran to the Bosun and he sent a couple of lads with me to see if they could find it . They emptied my case, went through my pockets, there was nothing ,zero. I was shattered. The robber had struck again. Word soon got round and the whole crew had a whip round, I was overwhelmed when they brought it to me, there was more there than I could possibly have earned in a month. As I was leaving ,Big Georgie Macklin , him off the ship I came home DBS on , shouted, ?Eeze always doin? that, e? was the same on the Patrician? Even I had to laugh.
I found out why my services were terminated , the company was afraid I might infect the passengers, still it got me home earlier than expected.
I went back to the Pool 14 days later, I?ve drawn a veil over my leave ,nothing was changing.
Charlie Repp gave me another banana boat , I did?nt care how long the trip would be ,the longer the better as far as I was concerned..
The Chirripo was her name ,I had sailed on one of her sisters ,the Chuscal and had an aborted voyage on the Chicanoa, if I had stayed on her I would?nt have been in the pickle I was now in. Unfortunately I was not gifted with foresight and could not have foreseen what was happening to us.
Our voyage was to be the same as the one on the Chuscal, to Tiko in the Cameroons, there was no heavy mauling to do , just clean up the detritus of her previous load and then, as soon as we hit warmer weather, start repainting her. We were like Hollywood sailors, suntan oil and a comb were our essential tools for this job, no overhauling of heavy lift gear, no splicing ,we could have been casual labourers, excepting for watch duties. My cabin mate on this trip was a kid called George, I can?t remember his surname; he was about my age and size ,and ,like me ,was newly married.
We got on like a house on fire and used to spend a lot of time musing over married life, I was envious of him , he had married the girl of his dreams and they were looking forward to their first child. George was also an organiser and it was not long before he organised a sweep, I seem to remember it was for the Grand National, we would know who was the winner on the way home.
We had a trouble free run to Tiko, the ship was sparkling and we could take things easy day for a day or two. Some of the deck crowd were regular runners on this ship and knew a lot of the shore gang , They had played the locals football in the past and ,as the following day was Saturday, had organised another game of footie for tomorrow. We had all the gear, and come Saturday afternoon the crowd of us were sat on the little train chugging through the plantation .
Some of the local team were at the other end of the line waiting to take us to the pitch. There was quite a lot of spectators waiting at the pitch , we got ready ,and went out to play the game. They were far too good for us, barefooted , they were not afraid to tackle us and we had the old leather boots on. George was our goalie and let in more goals than was reasonable, they were just to quick. He dived to save a ball and slightly misjudged things and crashed into the metal goalpost , hurting his knee and thigh. He could have been a professional the way he rolled in agony. After a humiliating defeat, the boys from the home team invited us all for a cold beer at their local. The atmosphere was great, the juke box had a lot of Hi life records and the music was just right, tinny horns and a deep bass beat, very infectious music ,you could?nt stop your feet moving to the music. George was?nt enjoying things much, he was still rubbing his leg and grimacing. We mocked him ,telling him that we were losing before he hurt his leg and not to go blaming the result on it. I don?t know how long we had been in the bar when this small tallyman came over to me. ?Your fren? is very hurt, he must see doctor? We just laughed and told him that George was playing the old soldier, ?Eeze very bad ,no joke? Some one said ?If he?s that bad ,why don?t you take him to the doctor!? The little tallyman went over to George and gave him a piggy .back, he looked so incongruous, a huge whiteman being carried by someone near half his size.
We finished off in the bar an hour or so later and the captain of the shore team asked me if I would like to go to his home for some dinner. He lived in a conical straw hut and ,just in front of it was a fire ,there was a lady standing by it and a couple of little black cherubs playing nearby. This was home,and it was very welcoming, I was invited to squat on the ground just inside the hut and my new friend sat squatted opposite me. His wife brought two cold beers, which had been in a bucket, as we were supping the chilled nectar his wife pulled some big earthen balls from the fire. She brushed off the ashes and ,with a machete, cleaved open the balls inside of which was a perfectly baked fish. She dissected one and gave her husband and me half each, served up on a palm leaf. It was delicious , the pure white flesh flaked into your fingers and was so tasty. I think it was carp, but I have?nt tasted anything like it since. It was pitch dark when the husband walked me back to the little railway, the trains were still working but I was the only passenger on the way home.
Next morning we were making ready to sail, George?s bunk had?nt been slept in and when I asked the lads if they had seen him since last night everyone said no. And then we remembered the Tallyman; the hospital, he said he would take him to hospital , ?more likely took him home and ate him ? someone said unkindly.
I told the bosun what had happened and he took me to see the mate. When he heard our story ,the mate told me to take the train to the hospital, it was the stop beyond town ,and check if he was there. It did?nt take long for the train to get there, the hospital was a single storey building and was right by the line. When I walked in, I was greeted by a smartly dressed doctor, in an immaculately starched white coat. When I asked after George he looked grave and said ?It was a very close thing, he is sedated now but must not be moved for some hours? I asked him what the matter was , and he replied ?He had a very bad thrombosis, if it had been left for an hour longer I am afraid he would have died? I left the hospital thinking how we smart assed whitemen could have killed him ,while one small native had been wiser than all of us. I?ve often wondered if George knew just how lucky he was and who he truly owes his life to.
It was odd having noone to talk to all the way home.
Nice one Brian.
Thank you Pablo,I am writing about a very difficult period of my life at this juncture, I don't want to come across as a whinger or bleeding heart. This is about what I was doing all those years ago ,there are good times to come ,and some heartache too.But I am trying to keep it real; I hope you have got patience out there,there is still a great deal more to write about.. Those two pics on my last page? they were taken on the Banana boat, she was like an ocean cruise liner,I'd love to be on her now.........but I can dream eh!
BrianD
Keep going Brian, really interesting, in fact fascinating! I wish I could recall as much of my life as you can. Certainly does not come across as whinging, just true to life as we all experience it. Did you keep notes, or a diary that you are recalling from?
Many thanks, and keep it up.
Tony
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