Next time we have a pint.Originally Posted by pablo42
Next time we have a pint.
The Crew
The Rowanmore had an all British crew, this is not to sound racist,but unlike an awful lot of company’s at that time , we did not carry different engine or catering crews. The engine room crowd shared the same mess as the deck crowd and it was a happy mix. The catering crew had accommodation on the deck above ours and we never had the same opportunity to socialise with them as we did with the rest of the crowd.
We did’nt have television or radio, although some men had their own radio sets and record players ,what we did have though were board games ,chess,draughts, scrabble and monopoly. I carried a grip full of books ,so there would be no moments of real boredom.
Messroom chatter was always lively and ,because there was a great age range,we used to hear some interesting tales as we played our games. I can remember a lot of the deck crowd, we had a good sprinkling of Scotsmen aboard, among them were three guys by the name of Alexander. To avoid confusion we dubbed them thus, Alec, that was the guy with the high pitched voice from Aberdeen. Sandy, a stockily built man in his late thirties, quiet and unassuming ,he had a strong face and was very brawny and always seemed even tempered. And then Eck, I seem to recall he was from Leith,an EDH, he was a blond skinny kid, blue eyed and always on the verge of a smile.
I admired him because he would go on holidays when on leave, staying in little pensions in the middle of Spain and seeking out places of historical interest. There was a lad from Jersey, he had a very French name and was quite witty ,almost to the point of sarcasm. Then we had Peter, a guy from “Sarf End” spoke with a slurring Estuary accent ,never held eye contact with you when he spoke ,and,when he did speak ,it was always to make disparaging remarks about the rest of the crew,in their absence of course. I avoided him like the plague. Big Jim, as I’ve already mentioned, was a huge man from a little place called Findhorn which lies at the western end of the Moray Firth, almost at the top of Scotland. Little Joe Tilman ,my cabin mate, and then Sam ,the deck boy. Our bosun was an old man from Southern Ireland , looked a bit like W.C. Fields, but lacked a sense of humour ,in fact he lacked any sense at all, it would be a kindness just to label him thick. He was often the source of unconscious humour,his loose fitting dentures and his western Irish accent sometimes made his pronouncement of words sound a little baffling. Sending us off to do our chores he would sometimes say” Yowse two go forrard an’ take sandwiches “ which we deciphered as meaning “take Sam with you” Jim would always say “Another picnic is it Bos’” The bosun never twigged. Another time ,there were five of us working down in the forepeak, the Bosun shouts down “Ow many of yiz are down dere?” “ Five” we call back. “Well half of yiz cum up den”
Last among the deck crowd ,was Terry, I thought of him as my closest oppo on the deck crowd, we seemed clued into each others sense of humour and had spent a few good nights ashore together.
Among the engine room crew there are only two that I remember clearly, a little fellow from Greenock called Jock Duddy and a Maltese guy called George. I said it was an all British crew and Joe was a British as they come, he was from Valetta but had been sailing on British ships since the 1930’s . He’d been a stoker and was now a greaser and had the muscles to show for it, he was always laughing ,like his Island home ,he was sunny natured. Jock Duddy though, he was ,well ,different, again he was another old timer , had been at sea with Noah and must have been 70 at least ,but he could do something I had never heard anyone do before,or since. He could whistle and hum a tune ,at the same time! The first time I heard him do it I looked around for the other guy ,he was smiling as he did it,and it took a while before I realised it was him. Weird!
Among the officers ,my memory of the captain is clearest, a tall handsome man, Captain Fisher
was the image of young Lord Louis Mountbatten, and he knew it. He affected an upper class drawl and dressed as though he was on the bridge of a Royal Naval vessel, but he was okay in that he did’nt bother us with too much bullshine. And here he was ,taking us into Bremen.
We had discharged all of our cargo now and were beginning to load for our outward journey,we learned that we had been chartered by Volkswagen and were going to take ,almost, a ship load of Beetle to the USA. There was some heavy engineering equipment to be loaded into the main lower hold first and this meant breaking out our Jumbo ,or heavy lift derrick. The bosun had’nt a clue how to organise this and, after a few bumbling attempts ,left it to Jim Murdoch to organise things. The shore boss wanted our crew to operate the derrick for the loading and Sandy and I were selected as winchmen, a cushy number indeed. The job took most of the day and when we had stowed things away ,Sandy and I were called to the shore bosses offices. There we were paid in Marks for doing our job. We must have looked baffled ,but he assured us it was right ,we had done the jobs that some of his own men should have done ,but could’nt. We got the equivalent of about £50 in todays money, enough for a good night out then. And that is exactly what I planned to do with mine, get ashore and taste the delights of Bremen. I seem to remember the Beatles had a hit record that was played on most juke boxes ashore then “8 days a Week” I hear it playing in my mind when I think of that time.
When I got cleaned up ready to shoot ashore ,I knocked Terry’s cabin and asked if he wanted to come, I had’nt seen him all day as he had been working with Peter and the Lad from Jersey and did’nt know of my windfall. He was very stand offish when I asked him, mumbled that he was going to have a quiet night and get his head down early. Well with the noise of the welders fitting the ship out with fixtures for holding the Beetles firmly in place ,the ship was positively ringing with clatters and bangs. I could’nt persuade him but Jim heard me asking and said he would be glad of a run ashore. It was freezing that night and we both put on our warmest clothing , I had my big thigh length ,fur lined jacket and hunting cap on and Jim, well ,he had on his oilskins ,thigh length sea boots and a big black Russian fur hat with a big red star on the front of it .At 6 foot 3 inches in height ,plus that hat, he presented a pretty fearsome sight. The Germans looked at us as though we were part of a Russian invasion. They sell some fine beer in Bremen and the night passed very merrily . At evenings end ,we would make our way back to the ship ,but see if we could get a bag of fish and chips or something to warm us on our way. We nearly back at the docks before we saw something that resembled a chippy, brightly lit and clean tiled ,with pictures of dishes on the walls ,it looked like we had hit pay dirt
. In we went to see what was on the menu, ………………….a cold winters night and all they had was salad! We got some potato’s and mayonnaise, it was bloody awful ,but we were tipsy ,cold and hungry,so we ate them It struck me as being one of the reasons Germany never won any wars, you’ve got to have something hot after a night on the tiles.
Jim and I were almost sober by the time we got back aboard, you could hear our ship about a mile of the hammering a smashing ,the rattle of the running gear and whining of the electric cranes had a music of their own ,but it was going to be hard to get some kip among that lot ,and we were supposed to be sailing in the morning. When we descended to our ally ,all was quiet except for one cabin ,the one next to mine,Terry’s. It sounded like they were having a party in there , the noise was so great it would be useless to try sleeping ,so, why not join them.? It was the wrongest decision I ever made in my life .
A Bad Night
I got my smokes and lighter and headed out to Terry’s cabin, when I stepped out into the alley ,I saw that Jim had the same idea. They seemed to be having a field day in there and it would be better joining in than lying in your bunk being grumpy.
When I opened Terry’s door I saw Sandy ,Peter, Terry and the lad from Jersey, the laughter died as soon as I entered and an awkward silence descended on the room. Jim walked in behind me and I asked if there was any beer going. Terry nodded toward a case on the deck ,it was still silent. By the look on Peters face I sensed that the recent cause of laughter might have been me. I felt awkward and sat down between Terry and Pete ,I could be imagining things . I looked around Terry’s cabin ,he had put up his boxing trophies and pinned some pictures up of him in various sparring poses .All reminders that he was not a guy to cross ,and I had’nt crossed him ,as far as I was aware.
The silence persisted and I foolishly asked “ Have I done something wrong fellers?” Terry erupted from his seat next to me “ Wrong, wrong!!” his face contorted with rage “It’s you, yer bastid, yer all feckin’ wrong” I was stunned , I looked to Sandy and he lowered his gaze to the deck, I turned to Peter and saw that his face had a spiteful grin. “feckin moneybags Malone” shouted Terry. Looking at Jim, he said “ An ye wiz tryin’ ta buy another mate ternite !!” I was mortified and could not find the words to answer such a charge. What the hell was happening here? They were all very drunk and I knew I could only make things worse so I got up to leave and go back to my bunk. Terry barred my way to the door “ You and me have some sortin’ out to do Sunshine” he said ,he was stripped to the waist and took up a sparring position. I almost fainted, I’m a coward, from along line of cowards. I’d rather run than fight , I did’nt know how to fight! I had the odd scrap ,but never fought a boxing champ. My guts turning to water, I tried to push past him to leave the cabin. His fist slammed into my shoulder ,making me spin backwards. I bounced off his locker and caught him around his waist , locking him in my arms. I did’nt know what to do and so tried to crush him. His body was firm and hard and his arms were free and he was pummelling my back and the side of my head. The pain was excruciating. The rest of the lads just sat and watched , I thought they would intervene ,maybe they wanted me trashed . He delivered a particularly nasty blow by my kidneys and the pain seared through me . I did the only thing I could do at that moment, I bit into his neck!
He jumped back screaming, blood spurting through his fingers. The other three looked shocked and remained motionless. I shot down to the mess room , shaking with fear for what I had just done. Little Jock Duddy was in there, “I’ve a pot o’ tea on, jiz want wan?” he asked. I nodded ,hands shaking ,trying to light a cigarette. ”What the hell have I done?” My mind was racing and the commotion down the alley seemed to die down. Big Jim came into the mess. “Whit ye did was wrang Brian” I looked at him. I knew it was wrong but what else could I have done in that situation. “Ye’ve got to fight him, properly….. Tonight!” I looked at him as though he were mad. “He’ll bloody cripple me Jim; I’m not a fighter” “ Brian” he said “ we’re just about to sail ,if we leave this business unfinished you life won’t be worth ****. Ye’ll be known as a coward forever more and even the deck boy will treat you like ****e. Fight him, if it gets too bad ,I’ll stop it ,but at least ye’ll have tried” I sucked on my cigarette. What Jim was saying was true, I’d seen it happen before and there was no way I could face being treated with the contempt that I had seen other men endure. I nodded my assent .Jim told me to go up on deck and wait for them to come up. ”I’ll keep it between you two, I’ll not let the others come up” so saying ,he went back to Terry’s cabin and I went up on deck to await my beating.
It seemed ever so strange, standing by the open hatch coaming, watching the docker’s loading the cars, knowing they would be going home to nice warm houses and loved ones while I could be going to hospital. I was shaking with both cold and fear when Jim came tearing up through the companionway door. “ Brian lad ,he’s put on his steel tipped boots and has got his knife…….” Terry pushed past Jim and stood there, his arms spread wide ,the Green River knife blade glinted in the deck light. Something snapped inside me, to this day I do not know how it happened and I only have Jims words to explain what he saw happen. I roared with rage and rushed at him, kicking his legs from beneath him ,I turned him over and gripped him by the arse of his pants with one hand and the scruff of his neck with the other. Raising him above my head I smashed him to the deck and then pulled him up by the throat and punched and punched until he fell limp to the deck. All I could feel was a raw ,raging anger ,I had unleashed something terrible from within and just wanted to kill him .I was about to deliver some kicks, when I felt myself being pulled away . Some dockers had seen what was happening and came over to help Jim to stop me. I was blinded with rage and Jim bundled me down to the mess room “ Calm down man, calm down, Jock .get some tea into this feller,” he went out and got some help to get Terry back to his cabin. It took ages for the shaking to stop, I had flashing images of what had just happened , it seemed so unreal. I had been totally out of control. My fists were covered in blood and I could’nt smoke for shaking. I could hear curses in the alley way outside , was this thing going to get worse.? Jim came back in the mess room . “ I think you’d better come and see Terry “ he said. I followed him slowly to Terry’s cabin , the lads in there left silently as I entered ,there was only Terry’s bunklight on and what it illuminated was nauseating to see. He was battered to a pulp. Both eyes almost closed .nose shattered and jaw crumpled. I sat on the bunk beside him, my eyes blinded with tears. “I had done that!!?” I was filled with revulsion . I took his broken hand and held it gently. “God forgive me Terry “ I said .He looked up at me and said , speaking painfully though broken teeth “ I picked the wrong feller there Brian” Jim pulled me away. The ambulance men had arrived and began the task of taking Terry to hospital. I slunk away in shame to my bunk.
Joe, who had been made aware of events by Jim , told me I had done what had to be done “Now get your head down and get some shuteye”.
I learned next morning that Jim, and the docker’s who had witnessed Terry’s knife attack had concocted a tale about Terry falling down the companionway. The ambulancemen had written that down as the cause of his injuries and Jim swore the rest of the lads to stick to that tale. We left Bremen before mid morning and were passing the Friesian Islands that evening , when the Captain summoned us all to the boat deck. He had a thunderous look on his face. “ I’ve had a wire from our people in Bremen. The German police do not believe that our man sustained those injuries in a fall. In fact, so great are those injuries that there could be a charge of attempted murder made against whoever was responsible!” I was blushing to my roots; was anybody going to grass on me?
Both of my fists were badly swollen and I had them stuffed deep into my jacket pockets so they could not be seen. The captain walked slowly along our line “ Is there no one going to tell me what really happened?” Silence reigned. “Right, as you were, it’s a bloody good job we’re leaving German waters or we might have been called back” We shuffled back down to our cabins.
A strange thing happened after that night, I lost my position as joker and wag and gained the reputation of a hard man. Nothing could have been further from the truth . I still live with the events of that night, there is hardly a season goes by when I don’t think of what happened .
About two years later I bumped into Jock Duddy outside Kingston House; we went in for a cup of tea and a pie. We sat chatting about where we had been in the while we had been apart. “ I bumped into that Terry last year” I put my cup down “ How was he?” I asked. “He’d just come out of hospital, been in for eleven months , poor ******* looked like and old man” I felt awful, and have done ever since when I think back on it. Still , the tale is told, too late for Jim to read ,but perhaps I will be delivered of it now.
got there at last brian
Winter North Atlantic
So ,there we were , bound for Newark New Jersey. We had so many Volkswagens loaded that the after decks were crammed tight with them. There were Karmann Ghia’s ,Beetles and Passats, some new ,some old. They were the property of American servicemen who were sending them to their homes. All the new stock was stowed below decks out of the weather. And ,boy ,did we have weather. I had been on this route for the whole of the summer and had seen the Atlantic at its mildest, now the skies were leaden and the seas were grey and angry, white horses creamed across the top of the mountainous waves and the foredeck seemed to be forever under water. We still had to do the overhauling and we worked in our heavy weather gear, making movement cumbersome.
I say we worked in our heavy weather gear, Jim Murdoch never wore more than his sheepskin waistcoat, jeans ,seaboots and a so’wester. His body seemed impervious to the elements, his bare arms and slab like chest ,bereft of body hair, were like finely tanned leather. You could’nt help but feel wimpish in his presence. He was a first class sailor and it was he ,rather than the bosun ,who gave us our lead on what to be doing everyday. Old Paddy kept safely to his cabin.
That journey across to the states came as healing balm to me, the emotions that I had experienced in Bremen were gradually eased from my system, the weather, work and watchkeeping ,all combined to act as a kind of therapy.
The monastic quiet of the wheelhouse when the doors were closed to the weather, the gently blinking lights on the various meters and machines ,and the old fashioned magnetic compass, afloat on its gimbels , all exuded a kind of calm. With one eye on the oncoming seas and the other on the compass needle ,time seemed to be suspended and the only thing that mattered was to keep the ship on course. You did two hours on the wheel ,one hour on stand by and another hour on the lookout. In this weather ,lookout was done on the monkey island above the bridge. You knew you were alive then, the howling winds raging through the rigging ,the salt spray reaching up and over the bridge and lashing your face as you scanned the horizon for another lonely light . My mind would be racing with thoughts of all the things that I would do when we reached port, the people I might meet and the places I might see.
Best of all ,is finishing your watch and sitting in the mess with your mates, having a cup of cocoa and a cigarette before catching a few hours shut eye. On this trip though we had other distractions; someone found that the cars that were stowed on deck were unlocked. Some of us would sit in them and listen to the car radios. The nearer we got to the States ,the more programmes we would pick up and we would hear some great music. We took good care not to cause any damaged to the cars, never got in them in dirty clothes and never thought of taking any souvenir’s from them, they belonged to ordinary working stiffs like us; we did run the batteries a bit flat though.
Winter had well and truly arrived by the time we got to New Jersey, we were only going to be there a few days and we were going to completely discharge our cargo. She would be up for chartering and we did’nt have the foggiest what we would be doing next.
When we were safely berthed, our dock was adjacent the U.S. Navy dockyard, the men from the sailors stores came aboard. They had stocks of tough working clothes, denims that almost stood up on their own, work shirts that would last a lifetime, gloves boots, belts ,caps of every kind. And, because of the competition , the prices were just right. Two of the salesmen were from the shop by the Diner in New York and they recognised me, I needed some gear and bought it from them . I asked them if the Sax or Ivernia were at Pier 52 and they said the Ivernia was ;they were headed back there ,would I like a ride over? Would I not!! I got the afternoon off and rode back with them ; it was a great ride , crossing the Hudson on that huge multi level bridge was an experience.
They took me to the bus station ,which was on the waterfront next to the Automat ,and made sure that I had a ticket to get back to Jersey dockyard. I walked along to the Diner and got there smack in the middle of an afternoon session. All the old faces were there and they gave me a hero’s welcome. There was even a kid who I was at the Vindicatrix with, a Londoner, the one who I nearly had a fight with ,but both being cowards ,made friends instead.
I knew we would be in for a heavy drinking session and showed them my bus ticket and told them what time I had to be at the station for. Everyone nodded in drunken agreement that they would make sure that I made it there on time.
It was great to be back among friends , the beer flowed in cataracts and the laughing and joking was non stop; before I knew ,I was newted, absolutely bladdered. But those good old boys helped me back to the bus station just in time for my journey. Drunk as I was ,I can remember that we had a hostess, she looked like an airline hostess in her smart uniform. I asked her if she would wake me before my stop ,next to the Naval dockyard. “No problem sir” she said and gave me a little pillow so that I could be more comfortable. As soon as we left the station I was off to the Land Of Nod..
I was awakened by the hostess gently shaking my shoulder “ End of the line sir” she said. I came awake with a start “ Is this the Dockyard?” I asked . She blushed and said “My gosh I’m sorry, I plain forgot” “Well. Where am I ? “ She said I was just a few mile away and ,just then the driver came back and pointed to some telephones on sticks. “Just pick up one of those and a cab will be here in no time….g’bye now” I looked in my pocket , I had less than a dollar fifty. I was in the middle of nowhere ,the bus had gone to it’s garage and the place was totally dark outside the pool of light by the telephones. I could get a taxi to the docks and then either A/ do a runner when we got to the dock gate,but if the guy was young and fit ,he could catch me and give me a beating, or the dock policeman could give me some grief; or B/ Get him to take me back to the ship and see if I could get some money off the Chief Steward, he was from Bromborough and was almost a scouser! It was with these thoughts that I lifted the first phone. Immediately a voice in the earpiece said “We’ll be there in five!!” I leant against the wall of the bus stop and had a cigarette, I was barely half way down it when a cab crunched to a halt on the cinder surface. “Where to bud?” rasped the driver, short guy with a badly broken nose and a bull neck .” New Jersey docks”
“ Get right in sir” he says and just then we hear a voice in the darkness calling “Hey, wait for me!”
A white suited Gob came running into the light, one hand on his head ,holding onto to his cap.
“ Ya off to the Navy yard ?” he shouts . Yes, I tell him. “ Mind if we share?” he asked. I nodded and he got into the back with me. “Ya saved my life, I woulda been late for duty go ,hot damm!”
We were miles from the docks and I sat with my eyes glued to the meter, soon the gob shouted “Drop me here driver,I’ll walk from here” We could se the navy ships just a few hundred yards away. He gave me a note, this should cover my share he said and got out. I looked, it was a 5 dollar bill.
We only drove about 300 yards and I could see the Rowanmore . There was just under 5 dollars on the clock ;I gave the driver the 5 plus the dollar fifty I had and he said “Boy , dat’s great, tanks pal!” and he drove very away happy.
It was just coming up to six in the morning by the time I was back aboard , no one was about and so I slipped into my cabin. Joe was sawing logs, deep steady snores and so I slipped beneath my bunk ,with my pillow ,draped my blankets over the sides to hide my appearance and fell into a deep sleep. Joe left me there when everyone was turned to and woke me in time for morning smoko. Luckily my absence had passed unnoticed..
Rumours started flying around the ship about our next job. Someone had sen a young Greek looking guy looking around the ship’s hold with the Mate. It was believed he was a budding tycoon seeking to make his bones in the shipping market. He was seen again the following day,this tine he had someone else with him, they were checking out everything, but what for? We left Newark lightship, we were bound for Texas, Galveston to be exact. Oh ,the rumours that began flowing as we sailed down to the Gulf. And because she was empty ,we bounced around like a cork, the weather was still rough out there.
Texas and Mississippi
I was sailing into Galveston once more, memories of the old lady from Pasadena came, I hoped to god I would’nt find myself in that situation again. I did’nt go ashore! Well ,you never can tell ,besides we were going on to Houston and I wanted to have a look around there.
The young New York Greek was there to greet us ,he had arranged a charter with the U.S Aid organisation for us to carry a full cargo of grain to famine struck East Pakistan (now called Bangladesh). We were in Galveston for a good clean out and would then be heading to Houston to start loading some of the grain. We would be going to Pascagoula and Baton Rouge to complete our load.
I was quite surprised by Houston ,so big and modern, the one way system baffled me, I had never seen it in operation before and it seemed so strange just to see vehicles travelling endlessly in one direction. A crowd of us went to the cinema to see the Victors, a remarkable war film ,but what struck us most was how orderly the audience were ,no rowdies, no hecklers, they took their amusement seriously in Texas.
Back on board, the lads were clearing out one of the forward hatches and the bosun sent me along to give them a hand. As I was climbing down the hatch ladder I could hear the lads giving my cabin mate Joe some grief. The Jersey kid was telling Joe he should get back in the Jungle where he belonged. The rest of the lads were leaning on their brooms , excepting for Peter,they were all Scots . When I got down to the lower hold I saw Joe , sweeping away quietly, his face like stone ,while the Jersey lad spewed out his racist filth. Peter had a slimy smirk on his face, did he start this ?
I asked the Jersey lad what his full name was,he looked puzzled. “Come on ,tell us your full name!” I shouted. He said it, it was a full blooded French name. I pointed to Joe,” His name is an old English one ,means tiller of the field. His family have been in Liverpool for longer than mine, or yours!!” he looked shocked , I was very angry. Here we were in Redneck country and they were starting to act like Ku Kluxers. “Son, if any one should go back home ,it should be you!” Not a word was spoken and the sweeping began in earnest.
I went ashore on my own that night, walked around a bit and found a bar not far from the docks that was really lively. It was a real Mc Coy western bar ,with batwing doors and a great cowboy band on the stage. I was the only man without a Stetson on his head and the only man sitting alone. I had one beer and went back aboard to see if I could rustle up some company. Big Jjim was the only one who would come ashore, I think some of them thought I might start fighting again. Little did they know what a natural born coward I was .
When Jim and I walked into the cowboy bar all heads turned toward us. Jim was wearing his big black Russian bearskin hat with the red star on it, he never had a shirt on ,just his sheepskin waistcoat ,jeans and seaboots. We sat down and ordered some beer and a big cowboy came over to our table “ Say, you guys mind iffen I sit a spell with you?” We said yes and as he sat down he said “ I always like to be on the winning side when the fighting starts” A young lady joined us , she was very good looking, hair piled atop her head , cowboy boots and a short leather skirt and a western style blouse completed her ensemble. The four of got along just fine, but for one thing ,they did’nt think Jim spoke English, so they addressed all their questions to him through me. They thought he was Russian and Jim played along. Beer kept arriving from other tables and the night passed into a golden mellow haze.. The cowboy and cowgirl came back aboard with us and I honestly cannot remember what happened after that We all flaked out. Woke up in the messroom when the deckboy started getting breakfast ,our Texan friends gone, never did find out if Jim had bedded her, he never kissed and told.
My memories of our next port Pascagoula are one of disappointment. We sailed upriver to it in the dark and the place looked like Blackpool from downriver. Neon Lights blazed, the flashing blinking signs seemed to go on for miles. Even New Orleans had looked that lively ,we could’nt wait to get ashore. As soon as we were finished making fast Jim ,Alec and I got our shore gear on and made for the lights. There was’nt a bar amongst them ,they were all gas stations and short stay hotels. This was like a huge service area for Jackson County Highway . We meandered through some housing estate until we saw a Schlitz neon sign. It was on a little clapboard building that looked like a good puff of wind would blow down. But we could see the open sign blinking, we entered and found we were in the poor black area. The few people in their looked so frightened at our appearance, were we trouble? Alec asked for three beers and the bar owner told us that we should’nt be there , “White folk never come here” he said . We told him we were British and thirsty. “ Okay, but please ,don’t go makin’ trouble now” Sadly ,such was the attitude down in the South then that they never lost their fear of us and an atmosphere of tension remained until we left and headed back to the ship. There were no street lights , we just headed for the neon glow and found our way back that way.
Peter loved it down there, he adopted the Southern drawl and played to his Redneck audience of docker’s. In Baton Rouge ,KKK attitudes were even more entrenched , the docker’s called Joe “Boy” and Peter joined in with their racist chorus.
I had a look around Baton Rouge , it was very old world, looked like the kind of towns you see in American films, verandahed store fronts, lots of clapboard building ,the firehouse and town hall and big bellied cops. The word “niggah” was used quite frequently and we never felt quite comfortable. This was the time of the Freedom Riders and the “good ole’ boys” did’nt take kindly to strangers. We kept our noses clean and stayed out of any arguments. It would have been useless to do otherwise ,we were just passing through. They had recently killed three men from New York and it had been in all the news magazines.
It was the week before Christmas when we finally pulled free from the Land of the Free. We had an ocean to cross ,and winter was never the best time to do so.
I can remember that Christmas at sea ,clearer than any other, I awoke to a bright clear morning, we had been through some heavy seas for two days ,but this morning all was peaceful. I showered and went up on deck for a walk, the wind was blowing form the southwest and was quite warming, the decks were clear and fresh in the morning sun and I walked alone ,thinking of how thing would be at home today. My sisters would be at Mums , along with the grandchildren and brother in law Graham. They would most probably have a goose for their dinner and they would watch later as the kids played with their new toys. I felt a little homesick then. Turning to go back to the mess room I noticed something golden glinting in the scuppers by the bulwarks. I walked over to have a closer look .You don’t get litter on the deck when you are at sea ,the morning hose down keeps the ship spotless. It was a crucifix, quite a big one, and ebony cross with a gilt figure of Christ crucified upon it. What the hell was it doing here? I bent and picked it up and walked over to the galley. The cook was in the galley doorway, I showed him the crucifix and asked if he knew who it belonged to. He took it off me and stepped out on to the deck. He looked back at the galley where the galley boy sat peeling potatoes. “It’s his” he said, nodding toward him.
“ poor little sod tried to throw himself overboard last night!” I must have looked horrified and he said further. “ He’s a good catholic lad and Christmas is special to him” He shook his head “ The 2nd steward has been shagging him ,little bleeder never told anyone coz he was frightened that the 2nd would harm him. Last night was the final straw and he ran screaming from the 2nd’s cabin , the baker heard him and caught him as he was climbing over the side“ looking at the cross
he said “ he must have lost this in the struggle.” I felt sick to the pit of my stomach, memories of the cook on the Eumaeus came back and I thanked god that I had’nt been raped like this kid had.
The 2nd steward was sent to Coventry by everyone after that. He was lucky he did’nt suffer the fate that was handed out to another 2nd steward on a Banana boat in Liverpool. He had been sodomising the boy ratings and was killed in his bunk by some one who shoved a broom handle right up his rectum.
We had a bit of engine trouble as we were making the crossing ,we were stopped for hours at a time, lucky for us that the weather was’nt too bad. She needed the attention of some good repairmen, our engineers could only fix her temporarily. We were going to have to call into port before long.
One day ,when we were a day away from the Straits of Gibraltat, I was working on the foredeck oiling the running gear when the mate’s head appeared over the bridge above me. “Daley, get up here quick!” he shouted. I wondered what trouble I was in now . I was out of breath when I got to the wheelhouse and I saw him speaking into the radio telephone. I was filled with dread. He looked at me and said into the mouth piece” Here he is now miss” and handed the phone to me. I was amazed. I put the phone to my ear to hear Lisa gushing “Oh my Darling I have found you at last!!” I could’nt speak for the shock. She told me that she had made enquiries through the shipping Federation, got the details of the company I was with and ,through Marconi , was making this phone call to me. I was in a daze . I thought that I had gotten out of that tangle but here I was right back in it. The captain came up on the bridge and was looking at me with new respect, I had a rich girlfriend!! I listened for the most part while Lisa told me of her adventures in London. She still wanted me and would wait forever if need be. She had told her parents of my situation and they were happy to have as part of their family ,if she loved me ,then they would love me. Her dad was even prepared to provide some legal help with my divorce. Trouble was ,I did’nt love her, I could’nt love her ,the thought of all that money frightened me. But I could’nt bring myself to hurt her. So I told her that I would write to her as soon as we reached port. Saying goodbye ,I put the phone down and went back to work. When Jim heard about the phone call he told me of his rich lady. She was married to the son of a very famous shipbuilding and armaments manufacturer. He was still a little boy mentally, and physically , he would rather play with cars and machines than play with her. He was happy for Jim to keep her satisfied ,and everyone in the village knew of the odd relationship and no one was offended by it either. Although her husband could an upset or two. They received an allowance of £5,000.00d a month, huge amount in those days and the hubby would sometime buy a nice new toy. Jim told me of the Jim the scion bought a JCB digger ,and then proceeded to dig up the local countryside, there were holes all over the place. When he had had enough he just left it by the last hole while Jim took good care of his wife’s………….
Our port of repair turned out to be Oran in Algeria, we would be there a few days so a bit of shore leave was called for. A few of the men who had been here before said that it could be risky ashore , they remembered the trouble that had occurred between the FLN and the OAS during the fight for independence. It had been a bitter fight, some French families ,the pied noires ,as they were known, had never lived in France proper, for them Algeria was France and was ,indeed ,at that time a department of France. But it was now independent and the docker’s we met ,who could speak English, assured us that we would not have any trouble ashore.
I was surprised at how very French the place looked and felt. There were smart shops and boulevards, bistros and bars lined the pavements and we were urged to frequent a brothel which was very French. The three of us, Jim, Alec and I went along to see what it was all about. From the outside it was like a cinema, big wide steps led up to a double doored front in the middle of which was a kiosk ,just like the ticket booth at the cinema. You had to purchase a ticket there for whatever it was you were have , long time or short. We got three shorts and went through the double doors. It was just like the Foyer of a once grand hotel. The art deco was fading and the carpets were threadbare ,but the girls were pretty ,they were dressed for business ,in silk basques and fishnet stockings ,they were the stuff of schoolboy fantasies. I chose a pretty one and went to her room ,I felt so bad, this was awful. It was production line sex and I could’nt hack it
. I sat with the girl and smoked a cigarette with her. I could’nt do it ,I gave her the ticket and wished her well and went back down to the foyer to wait for the lads. I never did tell them about my refusal to perform, they would’nt have understood.
I had a telephone call from Lisa when I was working next day, she told me that she had written to me and would be going up to Liverpool to see my folks. ( she was also going up to see Richie Bradshaws folks ,but I did’nt know that until 2009; she was determined to snare one of us then)
We left Oran with our engines fixed and made passage through the Suez Canal and down the Red Sea to Aden. Being a duty free port we loaded up on everything from underwear to cameras ,it was a fabulous place in those days. After Bunkering we made our way into the furnace of the Indian Ocean to begin the long voyage to the Bay of Bengal. This was real flying fish weather , the deep blue sea would be rippled by hundreds of silvery blades that cut up through the surface and took wing ,skimming along the crest of the waves before disappearing ,momentarily and then resurfacing again. We had passed the isle of Socotra when we espied what appeared at a distance to be a fleet of Galleons. They were becalmed and were flying distress flags. The captain slowed down and sailed toward them ,the watch officer and midshipmen scanning them through binoculars. I was on the wheel and could see the sails hanging slack from their jibs, their decks were lined with men in gellabayas and turbans or tarbooshes. They were calling to us and the captain hove us to. They had been without water for days and were in desperate straits, the captain got us loading barrels with fresh water which were lowered down to them. The look of joy and relief on their faces was wonderful to see. With the blessings of our Allah called down upon us, we set sail once more ,leaving those men from a bygone age to recommence their journey from Araby to India . I daresay a modern captain could not risk his ship to carry out an act of mercy in those waters today.
.
Nice one Brian. You couldn't stop in those waters today.
Often used to go to Houston on the Linguist. We always had a good time courtesy of a guy Called Jack Steel (from Birkenhead) who had a bar there.
Got to Baton Rouge once - also on the Linguist. My main memory is the breakdown we had as we were due to leave and working round the clock to get things fixed.
brian iv been told many storys about jim and his brother billy and they are much the same as you have told about him im very glad that i met them both
Chittagong
We had a good run around the Indian coast and up into the Bay of Bengal, it was flying fish weather all the way. Everything aboard seemed peaceful too, we did’nt go in for wild boozing sessions, our pursuits were far more pedestrian, we played Scrabble and Monopoly or dominoo’s or draughts. Our days were spent in fighting against the encroachment of rust and keeping the running gear well oiled and greased . Sundays at sea were particularly pleasant,these were the times when we spent making and mending our own gear, we would sit on the hatch at the rear of our accommodation and get the needle and thread ,plus what patches we could gather from the waste bag and fix up our working clothes, some of us would spread out our bath towels and do a bit of sun bathing while we read our books, others would get out their writing pads and spin a letter, or two, to girl friends and families. The steady throb of the engines and the crush and hiss of the waves made for a calming atmosphere, as midday neared you could hear the clatter of pots and pans in the galley as the cooks prepared our next meal ; soon the smells of cooking would tell you that it was time to go and prepare for your meal.
After dining you would go back out to the hatch for a snooze and top up your tan, I never saw anyone use sun creams in those days, and you hardly ever saw anyone sunburnt,except for first trippers.
Chittagong is in the north east corner of the Bay of Bengal, it is 20 degrees north of the Equator and is very ,very, humid. It was still part of Pakistan in those days,East Pakistan it was known as back then and very little had changed since the days of the Raj.
This was a place where the Ben Line came for jute,which was it’s main export. It was a river port and the quays lined both banks with a lot of British companies having their own warehouse and dock facilities. The quays were wide and generous telling of a great past, now there were few ships and the whole place had a decadent air. Once colourful buildings were now faded with age, weeds sprang up through the cracked concrete jetty’s and most of the transport was horse drawn.
Our cargo of wheat was pack in US Aid sacks, showing two hands shaking above an American shield. When the Bengalese wharfies came aboard they were tasked with emptying these sack and putting the grain into sacks with a local companies name on them . It seemed that a massive fraud was being perpetrated , we were there for some time and we saw different companies sacks being used to replace the US Aid ones. There was a famine up country and it looked like someone was making big bucks out of it. But what did we know? We were only deckhands.
When we went ashore I thought there had been a bloody riot, there big red splashes on the walls and pavements all through the town, there had been riots,we had heard about the Awami League who were stirring up action for independence from West Pakistan, but that was minor league stuff at the moment. What we were looking at looked like there had been carnage. It turned out to be spit stains! These people chewed Betel nuts non stop and spat out the juice in fierce great streams, it looked bizarre,every building and wall was stained to a height of about 2 feet. When we got into the main town area we saw a pitiful collection of beggars, beggars who had been deliberately malformed as infants to make them more pathetic. One beggar we saw staggered us, he looked like a bodyless head! He glided along the pavement, his pugrah covering his head and what there was of his body,there was’nt much, there was no torso to look at, nor hands and legs,just a head ,swaddled in a turban ,somehow making it’s way toward us to beg for money.
We dropped a few coins and made our way further into town. This was a dry state,being an Islamic country you could not get any alcohol, excepting in a brothel ,and that is where we ended up. There was a cloying atmosphere in there, aromas of sandalwood and patchouli were melded with bleach and caustic soda. The girls ,they were little more than juveniles, could serve our every need,but there were no takers in our crowd ; we had about four beers each and made our way back aboard. Poverty causes people to do some distressing things. Walking back through those mean streets we were constantly besieged for backsheesh. Children and adults had their hands stretched out in a permanent begging posture. We stopped at the railway station and got a Gharri, a horse drawn carriage, this lifted us up out of the reach of those poor beggar children.
While we were at the station we noted the old signs above the different waiting rooms; they were in gilt letters and betokened who could use which waiting room . There we saw those signs from the day’s of the Raj, “This waiting room is for Officers,Gentlemen and their Ladies” “This waiting room is for Non Commissioned Officers and their Wives” “ This waiting room is for Servicemen and their Women” “ This waiting room is for Natives” It seemed right out of Kipling.
When we got back aboard the ship we found a very exotic pair of Italian newlyweds there. They were on their honeymoon and were flying around the world in a twin engined plane which one of their parents had given them as a wedding present. They had met some of our crowd in another brothel and were invited back aboard for a proper drink.. He was very handsome and she was drop dead beautiful, they were very much at ease amongst us and met up with our boys the whole time we were in Chittagong. They became especially friendly with our Chief Steward , he was a much travelled man of the world, but he also had a great drinks cupboard. It was through him that we learned their story, they were both from rich industrial families and never needed to work. They were travelling to wherever they fancied and asked where we were headed next. They said they would meet us where ever we were going ;we did’nt know that yet ,bets were being taken on where our destination might be.
I must tell you of an act of kindness that I was treated while in Chittagong; it happened like this. I was working on the quayside ,chipping away at some rust spots on the ships side. It was filthy work, I was covered in dust and the sun blazing overhead, my throat was parched and I could have murdered for a drink. Along the quay came a fruit vendor, he had slices of water melon, pineapple and guavas, they sat on his tray cooling on blocks of ice. I did’nt have a brass farthing on me and it was’nt time for smoko yet. I stood and looked longingly at that delicious looking fruit, almost drooling at the thought of its taste. A little talleyman, whose wages were but a fraction of mine, saw me and said “ Sahib, you must have some cold fruit” I pulled my pockets out to show they were empty. “ Oh Sahib, you must have some “ he said as he stopped the vendor and spent his own hard earned money on slaking my thirst. I learned the true meaning of humility then. Would we have done the same for him?
It was a slow process unloading ,the re bagging took forever but the longshoremen were in no hurry to see us leave. Consequently we spent most time aboard ship, the town was’nt very tourist friendly and the non stop parade of pitiful beggars did not endear the place to us. When we did go ashore ,we went by gharri, it was cheap and there was less hassle. There was hardly anything to buy there, a bit of native artwork and some sarongs. Three of us bought the hats worn by pilgrims who been on the Hadj, mine was in astrakhan and some of the others were in velvet . They looked a bit like forage caps but,when we were returning to our ship by gharri, we were salaamed by people on the pavement. We salaamed back lest we caused offence. At night we stuck to our accommodation in port, the river was plagued with mosquito’s and it was imposible to sit on deck without being almost eaten alive.
We all of near cheered when the Mate informed us of our next port of call, Bangkok. It was notorious among sailors for having the most beautiful *****s in the world and the wildest bars in the east. I had never been there before and was quite excited about seeing the place, lads I had sailed with had shown me photo’s of the wonderful temples and of the temple dancers. I had heard tales from old salts about the sexual mores and the wonderful food. I was agog. The Italian honeymooners said that they would meet us there and continue to have some fun with us there.
I thought , all that money and they just want to knock about with us. I did’nt know how depraved they were then.
Bangkok
Bangkok lies at the top of the Gulf of Thailand, I remember the mouth of the river being wide and fast flowing as ships of every nation steamed to and from it. As the river narrowed we saw lines of American warships moored to buoys , they stood as though as at a regatta but were there because, at that time, Bangkok was an R & R place for troops from the Vietnam war.
I was on the wheel during our pilotage and had a first class view of the countryside on either bank of the river. Everywhere there were lush paddy fields with small hamlets adjacent,and every little settlement had a temple in its midst. The style of them was uniquely Siamese, the roofs being complex and colourful with splashes of reds ,greens and gold picking out the delicate tracery of the gable ends. The river was alive with small craft, long nosed canoes ,each with huge Evinrude outboard engines and filled with passengers and livestock ,seemed to fly across the water cutting a huge bow wave as they skimmed to their destinations. There was so much to see that I had to remind myself that I was’nt sightseeing but following the Pilots instructions.
As we neared the main port area boatloads of the most beautiful women came dashing from the banks , heading for our ship. The captain ,who was coming to Bangkok for the first time ,asked the pilot what they ,the ladies ,were up to. “Mama Sans try to make deal with ship, one Mama Ssn win contract to bring girls ,it is custom” The captain said “ Not on my ship pilot, not of that palaver here” He ordered the midshipman to go and tell the bosun to cut any lines that might be thrown aboard. ”Tell him there will be no *****s on my ship”
He looked so very British in his tropical whites, stiff upper lip and all that.
You could hear the howls of rage as the grappling hooks were flung back aboard the skiffs. And you could see from the slumped shoulders of the lads on the foredeck that they were none too happy with their task.
We were within sight of our moorings when the most exotic creature sidled into the wheelhouse,she was incredibly beautiful,wearing a sarong a la Dorothy Lamour ,with an hibiscus flower in her silky black tresses. The captain gaped at her and I could see that she was having the same effect on him as she had on me. Bold as brass ,she slid her arms about his neck and wrapped her legs around his thigh, kissing his ear and murmuring words I could only imagine. “Middy, er ,tell the bosun that this erm , young ladies boat can lay alongside” You could hear the cheers coming up from the main deck as the news was relayed to the lads.
I found out later ,when were fast on our moorings ,that George, the Maltese fireman ,had lowered a Jacobs ladder over the stern and let the ladies of that skiff come aboard. The girl on the bridge was a freebie for the captain(Lucky B!!)
When I was back on the main deck ,the Mama San had all her “fairies” ( as they were then known” lined up and she announced the deal. We could each have a fairy for a week ,plus a bottle of Bankok whisky and a choice of a sarong, the fairy would be our wife and would keep our cabin clean and do our dhobying ,all for the princely sum of five British pounds. Each and every man jack of us took her up on the offer, she took our names and cabin numbers and would get the money from the chief steward. My “ wife” was called Oy, she was lovely. She could speak some English and I found out that she was supporting her family who lived up country. There was nothing salacious or sleazy about the arrangment, she was, as I found out ,very strong minded and forthright in her views. We had docked on a Sunday and there was no money to be had until the next day when the banks were open. Fortunately I had some sterling left and decided to go ashore; I asked Eck and Alec if they wanted to tag along, we would’nt get up to much,our ladies would be waiting for us and we never had much to spend anyway. So,shortly after Sunday lunch we ventured ashore. We were moored offshore b ut there were some lighters that we could walk across to reach the shore. We were tied up right in the heart of Bangkoks sailortown, this was in the time before tourism and so it was still virtually unspoilt. We strolled through the side streets and had a look at some temples and shrines,the place was a wonderland, market stalls and little hot food stands vied for space with bars and holy places, saffron robed monks and sarong clad lovelies, straw hated labourers and Western military men thronged the streets, making a colourful tapestry. We went to the Seamens mission for a cold drink and bought some curios for home. The place grew on you, it was like Singapore on speed. We sauntered through the streets looking for a place to have a last drink before going back on board. There was one really lively bar ,just like a Wild west saloon, bat wing doors and pictures of cactus and wanted posters added to this effect. In we went ,it was full of servicemen, American, Australian and,to our complete surprise , some British artillery men. We sat down with them and asked what they were doing there,they told us that they were on attachment to an Australian army artillery unit and were doing a spell in Vietnam. We ordered a round of drinks( a bottle of Bangkok whiskey and a large litre bottle of Coca Cola) which cost very little indeed. The R.A lads had a glass with us and bade us good bye. We could hear the bar owner entertaining a group of G.I’s , he had a voice that could have drilled holes in steel. He told them he was from “Missouri, Mark Twains country” We were just finishing the lst of our bottle when the young G.I.’s left. Draining our glasses, we got up and made our way out, passing “ Missouri “ on the way. I called out “G’bye Missouri, one helluva bar y’got here boy!” He looked astonished,” You’re Limey’s aincha?” he asked. “You’re right on the button there Missouri!” I replied. “ How did ya know I was from Missouri?” “ Unmistakeable accent “ I lied. “ Well heeell boys, ya gotta have a drink with me,sit ya selves down now” We did and we got gloriously blotto. The whisky flowed like water and it was all free. Some time later ,he loaded us into his Cadillac El Dorado open top and took us back to our ship. God alone knows how I made it across those lighters and back up the gangway, but I did and so did Eck and Alec.
I can remember staggering back to my cabin and finding Joe sitting with his lady and Oy,whose countenance was not all welcoming, sat looking at me in dismay. And then everything went black!
Hi Brian,
When I was 'young, free and single' I used to take advantage of a similar system in Georgetown, Guyana. At 23, I was as happy as dog with two you-know-whats. There was no Mama San involved and you negotiated independently. More often than not, it involved an exchange of goods that were in short supply and could be sold at a high price. Apples, tinned sardines, and Pears soap were the most valuable.
My mum was always curious about what I was packing in my case before going back to sea. Didn't dare explain.
Hi Kevin, thanks for sharing that with me, there was a lot that I left out of the narrative because this is a family site;but I guess our experiences would have ben very similar.
Now that I am up and running again I find that I have lost an awful lot of data while swapping networks,namely all my e.mail contacts. I was'nt warned of this happening and have got to sort out how to recover them.Any ideas?
Cheers,
BrianD
You've changed your network? Is that why my mail box no longer gets frozen my a mass assault from you?
;-)
Sorry - no suggestions as to what to do but others may be of help. It's usually quite easy to save your address folder and import it to another system but if you've already left the other system I don't know. I'll send you my email again in a PM.
Ha, and I thought you weren't like that.
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