Next time we have a pint.Quote:
Originally Posted by pablo42
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Next time we have a pint.Quote:
Originally Posted by pablo42
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:handclap:
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,Quote:
Originally Posted by brian daley
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.
Quote:
Originally Posted by brian daley
Ha, and I thought you weren't like that.Quote:
Originally Posted by kevin
Leave nowt out Brian. This is as close as some of us get to sex...Quote:
Originally Posted by brian daley
At 27 I got married and then behaved myself.Quote:
Originally Posted by pablo42
Honest.
Ha, not how Ruth tells it...Quote:
Originally Posted by kevin
Ruth is really Roger - and he's very discrete.Quote:
Originally Posted by pablo42
Bangkok 2
I was brought into consciousness by a fat little lady wearing a plastic brace on her neck ,she was bawling at me in Thai, pointing at the brace on her neck. I noticed Oy standing beside her ,trying to pull her away from my bunk. My head was throbbing ,I had a massive hangover ,throat was dry and cracked and I was feverishly hot. Oy fetched a bowl of cold water and a flannel and began mopping my brow, and all the while this mad old lady jabbered ,pointing to her brace.
Joe appeared and told me that when I had blacked out I fell on top of the old lady and she had dislocated her neck, hence the brace. I gave her some money and that seemed to mollify her. The sultry heat seemed to be making head throb even more and Oys gentle efforts to cool me were not having any effect. I got up and went to the chief stewards cabin for some painkillers ,it was only about 1.00a.m. and he was a night owl. I tapped his door and went in and was amazed at the scene in front of me. The Italian honeymooners were there, she was in bed with the chief steward and her husband was in bed with the chief steward “fairy”. I thought I was unshockable , but I was thrown aback when the husband invited me to have a threesome. The steward was amused by my provincialism, my Scouse morals would not let me venture that far.
By the time I got back to Oy my headache had disappeared.
The whole crew succumbed to lax attitudes that seemed to obtain in that steamy port. There was not a man aboard who spent his nights alone, oy ministered to my every need ,my clothes were washed afresh everyday and the cabin was kept spotless and she took me to places that I had never been to when we were abed at night.
The HMS Kent came in while were we there..She moored just astern of us and it made us proud to see her, she was painted in tropical blue and her brightwork gleamed. The ratings in their tropic whites were immaculate,the king and queen of Thailand, Bhumipol and Sirikit, came to visit her and the crew were lined up in their stations, her booms were swung out and a rating was stood to attention at the far end of each one. Sadly,one of them fell in and was swept to his death by the fast flow of the river. That tragedy cast a pall over the visit and the crew were not allowed the freedom to go ashore for some recreation.
We were so close to her that we could shout to the lads on board her,we found out that they were allowed to go ashore within the docks and invited some aboard our ship. Only a hand full took us up on our offer, the ones that did were swiftly accommodated by the Mama san and some of the lads allowed them to use their cabins to have some “recreation”
The old bosun had a non stop stream of small boys going to his cabin,when one of the lads questioned the morality of it the bosun spluttered,” I’m only sending them on messages” Maybe he was ,but a big question mark hung over his head thereafter.
Jim seemed to run us while we were there,the bosun spent near the whole time in his cabin, not that we cared. Jim would give us “job and finishes” which meant that we could get ashore as soon as work was over.One day ,the job and finish was the funnel, quite large but with enough lads on stages we could crack that off in half a day. Pete, the Sarfender, was playing silly buggers,he would’nt go at the rate the rest of us were doing, “ I’m too tired was his lame excuse. All the lads would be held up by this slow coach , he had run out of friends long before Bangkok and was getting up everyone’s nose, more especially ,he was getting up my nose. We were about 25 foot up off the deck and he was on the stage next to me. I leaned across to him and told him to pull his finger out ,we could finish until he did. He gave me two fingers and I grabbed hold of his gantline,pulling him toward me.”Sunshine, you can go down the fast way if you don’t get a move on” As I said it ,I pulled out my knife and made as if to cut his ropes. He screeched ,and started painting like a man possessed. We never had anymore trouble from him again. The girls left our ship at the end of the first week, an American destroyer had come up river and the mama sans were after Yankee dollars. The atmosphere aboard was somewhat morose, after a week of carnivale it was back to sleeping alone.
On our last Saturday alongside, most of the lads went ashore for one last fling,we would be sailing on Monday and they wanted to suck everylast drop of goodness out of the place. I was broke and decided to stay aboard and write some letters. Young Eck was aboard too , we were sitting on the hatch outside our accommodation when two very smart young ladies came up the gangway. They looked like office workers ,dressed in two piece suits ,pencil skirts and neatly tailored jackets. They came up to Eck and me and asked if we would let them sit with us, I was really surprised, they were officer material ,not the type that used to go hairy arsed sailors. We got them some drinks and they asked us if we would like them to stay with us . The answer had to be yes,but I explained, we had no money. The lady who was sat with me was called Suni. “No want money, want round eyed baby” I thought I was hearing things. I did’nt ask why ,I was just happy to contribute to a good cause. Suni spent the last two days with me and I enjoyed her company immensely. The only thing she asked me for was a pair of my Fruit of the Loom boxer shorts. I’ve often wondered if she ever did have a little round eyed baby.
One of my lasting memories of the girls in Bangkok was the gracefulness, it seemed that every little girl wanted to be a temple dancer and our girls were no different. When we sat on deck we would watch as they practised their movements, moving with sylph like grace ,arms moving in delicately framed motion and hands curved back in seemingly impossible arcs. It was beautiful to see.
It was with a mixture of sadness and relief that we left that port, a man could be easily seduced by the lifestyle. We were headed out to sea ,clearing the detritus off our decks and making the ship ours once more. A good wash down and then it was back to normal. We had a cargo of rice and timber,where we were headed was anybody’s guess.
Amazing!!:PDT11:handclap:
Homeward Bound
The journey home, as any sailor will tell you , is a journey full of expectations, when you know you are going home your mind is full of plans for what you will be doing when you get there.
We were going home via Suez and the Med, it was spring and the weather was clement, no stormy seas marked our passage and our days were spent in prettifying the ship for her arrival home.
We had been together now for nearly 5 months, and we were more relaxed with each other, no need for pretensions ,we had found out who we were.
That is one of the things about living in such close proximity ,being together 24/7 gives you an intimacy that you would never get in an office/factory environment. The ship is your home for the time you spend aboard it,no need to put on airs and graces, just be yourself.
Without radio or t.v. to divert us ,we would talk, oh boy how we could talk; we played cards, monopoly, scrabble and domino’s, and while we played we talked. This way I learned about the lives my shipmates lived and the women they loved. Big Jim would regale us with his tales of Findhorn, he made it sound like Llareggub, Dylan Thomas’s fictional village in under Milk Wood.
Jim was involved with a lady from a very distinguished family that lived with her husband ,who was also from a titled family. These two were living in a kind of exile there, they received a princely income in return for staying from the family business. Jim was a bit like Mellors in Lady Chatterleys Lover. He serviced her ladyship ,with her husbands permission! He , the husband, was an overgrown school given to “enthusiasms”. Once, he purchased a JBC and proceeded to go around Findhorn digging great big holes at random. Jim said no one ever complained , they thought of him as a harmless eccentric.
I learned that the folk of Findhorn loved a cailiedh , he said that the fisherfolk would dance with their seaboots on and as the amber nectar flowed the dances would get faster and the fiddlers would scrape out some great tunes. The most popular dance being the”Kick in the Arse” waltz. In this dance the traditional waltz steps were followed but the male had to kick another male in the arse when they were doing a twirl. I could’nt see that one catching on at the Locarno. And that is where my plans we being set for,the Locarno , palace of dreams.
Saturday nights back then were great, guys still wore suits and the girls wore whatever was the latest fashion. I don’t know how many that dance hall held but it was always packed ; and very soon I would be back in there..
We learned that we would be paying off in Manchester, I was pleased, no long trudge home.
Good weather followed us all the way up to Salford, no prams or old mattresses were thrown down off the bridges, Little kids used to try and drop stuff down our funnels as we passed under them. Could be very dangerous ,all we got this time were cheery hello’s.
I remember sitting on the hatch outside our messroom , when Sandy ,who had up to this time always been quite amiable, raised the issue of Terry. I was shocked, to me that episode was past. But here it was ,still very much an issue with Sandy. He practically called me out, his bull neck clenched and his fists balled ,he was looking to have fight. I told him it was a bit late to rake over old coals and I walked away. Sad really, had he harboured that resentment all the voyage? I said my good byes to the lads ,sorrowfully, they had been a good crowd. Joe and I caught the train for the ‘Pool and we were soon home.
Apart from Jock Duddy, I never saw any of them again; I heard about Jimmy Murdoch through Clancy on this site ,that was in 2008 and sadly Jim died before he got to read this part.
However, I was home. I went back to Mum and Dads and got a hell of a welcome ,it was a Monday, I had nearly a week to get ready for the weekend.
This trip I had brought a 100% proof bottle of Dimple Haig home among the presents. This would be for Dad ,he must have been on a few days off work because I can remember us sitting in the garden next day and he was contemplating the lawn and whether he should cut it , his neighbour, two doors away, was in his garden cutting his grass . He waved to me and welcomed me home. Dad called to him and asked him to come and have a glass of the overproof scotch. It was a big bottle and Dad gave him a tumbler of it. His eyes lit up and he sipped away. I have never in my life seen anyone get so drunk so quick. First of all he became verbose, and then giggly ,the words became more slurred as the glass got emptied ,it was like watching a film on fast forward. He was gurgling like a newborn when he drained his glass ,and then he slid off his chair . He was quite happily P*ssed . Small and very rotund ,we had a hell of a job to carry him back home. His wife was very, very, angry, and she had every right to be, it was two in the afternoon and he was right out of it. It was a long time before she ever spoke to me again.
Midweek my cousin Tommy and his Mum called up, I had’nt seen him for a few years and he was now full grown. I asked him if he fancied going to town on Saturday to see what was cooking and he agreed. I was unaware that it was Cup Final day and that Liverpool were in that final , I was right out of touch. Come Saturday night we did the round of pubs and ended up in Reeces dance hall. It was a real grab a granny night and we never pulled, we left and were going to a club but when we got outside we found the street was packed. There was a sea of humanity the like of which I had never seen before. They were singing “You’ll Never walk Alone” I asked Tommy what was going on ,being an Evertonian he muttered “Liverpool won the Cup”
The crowd was ecstatic , we waded through it and got to the steps at St Georges Hall. Standing at the top of the steps you could see that the crowd filled Lime Street and St Georges Plateau right up to William Brown Street, swaying and singing ,it was a glorious feeling of joyfulness. And then I saw her! There amidst the thousands, her dark tresses coiled atop her head, a little diamante tiara glittering above her fringe, kohl black eyelashes enhanced her emerald green eyes, her white coat with it’s soft white fur collar made her skin look olive. I could feel my heart near bursting out of my chest. I found myself forging toward her ,not caring who was in the way. And here she was before me , smiling up at me as I took her into my arms a kissed her. My whole life changed in that moment.
Nice one Brian.
Salad Days
We walked along the Plateau as though in a dream. She was petite and very warm to me. Her friend tagged along with Tommy but we were oblivious of them,stars seemed to fall around us. I asked if I could see her home and she yes. We caught a taxi in London Road and she told the driver where to go, Anfield , in one of the streets facing the Kop. There was some waste ground at the back of her house and we embraced , kissing endlessly , feeling the excitement in each others bodies. It was then I noticed the solitaire on her ring finger; I stepped back and asked if she was engaged to someone, the answer was yes. He ,like me, was a deckhand ,he was away some where down Australia and would’nt be home soon. I felt like a real lizard, playing with another mans fiancé, but she was lovely,all the things I could ever wish for in a girl. I wanted her to be mine. I told her that I had a months leave and would love to see her again , I would understand if she did’nt want to see me. .She said she would like to and we made arrangement to see each the next day. We would meet outside NEMS at midday on the morrow, at twelve noon if it was sunny ,we could go to New Brighton, or at half past six if it was raining. We kissed goodnight and I floated home on cloud nine.
Next morning I was awakened by the pattering of rain on my bedroom window, I would’nt be seeing her until the evening. I was like a cat on hot bricks all day and mum asked me what was up, I told her about the girl I had met and she seemed very happy.
I was on the bus for town that night , it should get me to NEMS bang on time ,would she be there? I was standing on the platform waiting to alight when I saw her and my heart went into overdrive, she looked stunning,last night was’nt a dream.
We approached each shyly and we held hands, just drinking in each others faces. Then she asked me why I had’nt come at midday as promised,she had waited at the stop for half an hour. When I told her it had been pouring down in Kirkby she did not believe me. She would’nt have it that it could be sunny in Liverpool and raining in Kirkby. Although she thought I was fibbing, she allowed me to link arms with her as though we were lovers. She had a terrific dress sense, that day she was wearing a Mary Quant outfit and her hair was done in bangs and near reached her shoulders. I felt like a million dollars as we strolled along. We spoke of what a situation had, me locked in a catholic marriage ,and she affianced to a young sailor. I told her that I would like to be with her for my leave and, if she wanted to go back to her fiancé I would understand.
We did a tour of the town centre pubs and we talked and talked of our dreams for the future, she sat next to me nestling in my arms, would I be strong enough to walk away, would she refuse to see me again?
I had no doubts when she was by my side . We seemed made for each other.
There was a moment of Goonesque humour when we were in the Spanish House. Back then you would have wino’s come around the pubs selling magic painting books and other tatty ephemera. They nearly always got a sale, the things were only about a shilling. Well, one little rat faced man came around ,”Buy a magic painting book,only a bob” I bought one as did a few others. There was a big blonde fellow sitting on his own supping his pint of lager.
When the wino reached him and asked if he would buy one the guy shrugged his shoulders in blank incomprehension. It was clear he could’nt speak English, the wino was extolling the special features of the tat and the big man shook his head .The wino headed for the door and ,as he stood in the exit he turned around and shouted at the blonde “We won the war ,ye German bastid” Well it was funny at the time.
When we parted that night we had to wrench our way from each others arms , this was feeling serious. We saw each other five night a week, and gradually we became enmeshed . On the days I was’nt with her I could hardly breathe, she had become such a part of me. Soon ,all too soon ,my leave was at an end . I got a little boat out of Whitehaven, I’d been on her sister ship in the summer of 61’ and knew that she would gone for less than a fortnight .:unibrow: I stuck to my promise that I would’nt ask her to see me again but I did ask her to write to me if she wanted me back. When I kissed her goodbye that night I hoped that it was’nt forever.
The Marchon Venturer was the name of the ship I was joining ,I learned that she had been held up by one of the many strikes in Casablanca and would be a day late. The company had booked me into a cosy little hotel on the quayside, I would only be spending the night there for the Venturer would be docking on tomorrows tide.
My hotel room was exquisite, there was a half tester bed that looked so comfortable that I felt like getting my head down there and then Instead I went down to the bar to have a few scoops; standing at the bar was Billy,the docker who had looked after so well when I was on the Trader.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, he came over and shook my hand “ This is my marrer” he announced to the pub . I was sucked in gently ,the ale was nice and Billy was good fun. When closing time approached Billy asked me where I was staying and I told him I had a room upstairs. He asked to go home with him for some supper, his wife was doing ham shank with carrots and lentils. “ Put hairs on your chest marrer” he said. Off I went with him and supper was good ,and there was plenty of ale.
His wife and daughters were wonderful host’s and soon it was midnight, I told them I jad better get back to the hotel,I was looking forward to trying that big old bed. Billy’s wife insisted I stay and Billy said “ I wudna sleep if I thought a marrer of mine was in a lonely hotel room” I did’nt want to cause offence and I was a bit tiddley so I agreed to stop with them. Bed was a small two seater settee. They got me some blankets and I slept with my legs over one end and my neck near to snapping at the other end. It was ,without doubt, the lousiest sleep I have ever had.
Next morning I felt like I had been in a bad car crash, spine felt twisted and my neck was painful. I stole out of the house next morning and made my way to the hotel,the half tester bed seemed to look scornful at me.
The hotel staff seemed to think I had been away tom catting ,if only !
The Venturer was in and I went and joined her, she was bound for Casablanca and we would sailing in a day or so. It was great to back aboard ship, there were a good crowd of lads in the deck crew; it was going to be a good berth, but would my hearts desire write to me? I was full of anxiety ,to have been so close to heaven and then to lose it all. A Roy Orbison song played endlessly in my head………..”Just running Scared” . I would have to wait until we arrived back in Whitehaven to find out.
Home is where……………
There was a letter waiting for me when we arrived back at Whitehaven, it was from her and she wanted me to come home. I can still recall the emotion I felt reading her words, I was elated and near ecstatic. She wanted me!
I paid off the Venturer and caught the first train home,it was a milk train and stopped at every little halt and cutting picking up the milk churns as she went. I was willing the engine to go faster ,I wanted to be with my love again.
It was early in the morning by the time I reached home, too late to see her and neither of us had a phone, I would have to wait until she finished work . She worked at a large bakery near Tuebrook and I stood outside that evening waiting for the exodus. Hundreds of girls started pouring out of doors bang on five o’clock, I was scanning the crowds for sight of her and there she was, walking slowly toward me with that same beautiful smile she had when first I saw her. My heart was hammering in my chest as I held her again , she held me as no one had done before. She was shuddering as she pressed against me and kissed each other again. We strolled down to the bus stop gazing deeply into each others eyes ,was this real or was it a dream?
She wanted me to meet her mother and father, she had broken off her engagement and wanted to marry me. My heart was flipping over and over, what I had dreamed of was becoming a reality. She loved me as much as I loved her.
As we rode home I told her that I was never going back to sea, I would get a job and start pushing my solicitor to get a divorce action moving ,I wanted no shadow hanging over us.
Her mother was very reserved at our first meeting, I was a sailor and a separated man, not a good prospect as a future husband. Her dad was an ex seaman and was very understanding , but her mum was saying we only had my word that I was the injured party . She wanted some proof that the tale I had told was true.
When I went to see my solicitor I asked if I could have a transcript of the separation proceedings and he gave me a copy ………for a price.
It was like a Harold Robbins novel , near ten hours of transcription ,but it was enough for her mum. I left it with her so she could have a good read. It served its purpose .
I got a job the same week at Fisher Ludlows in Kirkby ,I had worked there for a little while in ’62 and was taken on again with no bother. It was a shock to the system, in those three years the factory had grown more than somewhat and I soon realised that the place was not going to be there forever. I was put back into the spray shop ,there seemed to be an excess of people in that department ,if every booth was working the conveyors taking the sprayed goods to the furnace would become clogged and a sprayer would have to wait until the line cleared before he could hang his goods upon it . Consequently , there was a lot of hanging about. Some of the lads had created a gym and they used to pump iron in works time, other men used to do foreigners, you would see oven tops and bike frames coming down the line. Management turned a blind eye to these practises, anything to keep the workers happy.
The Soviet leader Kosygin was coming on a visit with some British cabinet minister and a few days before he was due the whole factory was given a spring cleaning. The works manager came down to the spray shop and asked if we would wear our clean overalls on the day of the visit and make sure that we had some work to do when the Russian came around. If it had been written as a situation comedy people would have thought it was too far fetched. I was moved from the spray shop onto inspection and the corruption was ten times worse than in the spray shop. We were given small meters which could measure the thickness of vitreous enamel that covered the sinks we did . If it was too thick or too thin we had to reject them. The rejected items outnumbered the good ones and were stored in the yard for stripping . None of us ever saw any of them going to be stripped and yet every Monday morning the rejects were gone. The story of their disappearance made the national press in ’65. Some of the managers and foremen had a scam going ,the meters had been calibrated to give false readings hence the great amount of rejects and these “rejects” were packed and carried off to a warehouse that the ring had rented . There they were stored and one of their number had won a contract with the housing department to supply sinks for new council properties. Somebody rumbled them and one of the foremen committed suicide.
Sometimes it felt so unreal; one night we turned up for work in our department and were told that as there was nothing ready for us we could go and work in the press shop as they were stacked out with orders. We were utility workers which meant we could be utilised by any department as the need arose. This was on the night shift and our shop steward ,who was an ill educated lump, told the supervisor that we would not be going to the press shop as we were ,by custom and practise , paint sprayers. The supervisor advised him that we would be in breach of our contract if we walked out and that could have repercussions for everyone. The shop steward said that we would be going home and that was his final word on the matter. I then asked the shop steward why he had’nt consulted us ,the workers, as to whether we wanted to down tools or not. He was non plussed. I then took the bull by the horns and asked the lads if they wanted to follow the shop steward by walking out , and may be get strike pay from the union or go down to the press shop and get our full nights pay. I moved the vote and we went down to the press shop. The convenor became a friend of mine ,I don’t know what became of the shop steward..
There were a couple of memorable characters on the nightshift, one was called Joe, he must have been in his sixties, he was ex army ,ex RAF and ex Palestine police. He always wore bike clips ,I suppose they reminded him of gaiters, a collar and ties and a fair isle jumper which never quite covered his huge belly. He used to reminisce about the time when you could “wave the flag and flog the wogs” He hated long hair and pansies. His bete noir was a nice guy called Arthur ,he had a very soft voice and was as camp as a jamboree,but he was happily married with two lovely kids. He never lost his temper but had a wicked sense of humour. He was the ideal foil for Joe. Everynight was showtime for those two. Arthur would act camp and trigger an insane rage in Joe who would then chase Arthur around the plant. Work would stop as Arthur ran shrieking from Joe, it was like watching the Road Runner and Wiley Coyote.
One night Joe was chasing Arthur across the space in front of the furnace and was slowly losing ground ,the heavy control box for the furnace doors hung down from the roof beams so that it was about 5 foot from the floor. Joe seized hold of it and swung it at Arthur who was about 20 foot ahead of Joe, the steel box swung in an arc on its cable and Joe turned to us and gave us a Wiley Coyote grin “ That’ll gerrim he said . The box swung up above Arthurs head ,missing it by inches ,and then returned back ,smashing Joe on the back of his head. As I write this I am laughing at the memory of that idiots face when the box hit him, all that was missing was the word splat .
There was another gold brick there too , named George, he was so easy to take the mickey out of ,he practically begged for it and I used to feel so sorry for him because he just never had a clue. I’ll give you an example; one of the lads saw George walking down the main footway in the factory and he told the man with him to jump into the waste bin ,which was empty , and to grab hold of the handles at the sides and make it look like he was trying to lift himself up. In he jumps and by the time George reaches them he is straining away. George pauses and looks at them, he then asks what the man in the bin is trying to do, lift himself up my friend replied. George said that the other fellow was a wimp and told him to get out while he showed him how it should be done. George near gave himself a double hernia as he huffed and puffed trying to pull himself up. When the works manager came out into the factory everyone had melted away leaving George grunting and heaving while the manager looked on.
I left there at Christmas and got a job in Fords, the atmosphere there was radically different. The wages were better but you earned every penny you made. I lost two stone in weight and have never been as fit in my life. I would have happily worked in hell as long as I could be by my girl, she was all that mattered to me . I lived and breathed her, but my divorce seemed a long way off and we so wanted to be married. I used to watch her when we were with her married friends ,her yearning to be in the same state as them almost hurt. I was still paying maintenance and saving was hard , this was a time when men in my position were buying there first car and planning continental holidays.
She settled for Southport and the cinema once a week , I bought her an engagement ring which made her very happy,we spent everyday together and we hated having to say goodnight ,but it seemed as though we were on a treadmill at times.
In the summer of ’66 we had a weeks holiday in the Isle of Man, we booked in a guest house right on the front , Mr and Mrs Daley our booking said and we had a honeymoon event though there had been no wedding. We both had fiery tempers and one night I felt murderous after a row , I left our room and went down to the lavatory at the end of the corridor ,there was a fire escape outside the window and I sat on it and had a smoke. Some woman came into the loo and closed the window locking me out. I tried to open it but failed ,I then tried the windows on the upper floors ,no luck there either. I had to jump down into the rear alley and walk round to the front ,our room was right over the front door ,it was a warm summer evening and our window was open and so I called up for her to let me in . All was silent, I then threw some little pebbles at the window, still no answer. There was a bench on the porch in front of the door so I laid myself down and tried to get some shut eye. I did succeed in falling asleep and was awakened from my slumbers by two lovely young ladies, they we wearing white trouser suits and one was blonde and the other was black. They asked me why I was sleeping there and I told them I was locked out. The blonde said that I could go and sleep with them if I wanted to; at that moment my sweetheart stuck her head out of the window and said she was on the way down!
We laughed about it afterwards.
On the night before the World Cup Final we went up to a pub on the hill overlooking Douglas, there was a terrific atmosphere, the Beatles Yellow Submarine was being sung everywhere and England had made it to the final. The air practically sparkled .
There was a group of deaf and dumb people in the pub and they were a little worse for wear , the Beatles number one came on the juke box and all of a sudden the group became rather animated ,they were grunting and groaning along with the record ,the bodily actions were getting very lively when the manager and his crew threw them out “No singing allowed here” he was shouting, it was a Monty Python moment.
You may wonder why I have not mentioned my sweethearts name , the reason is that I would not want to hurt her. My divorce never came through so that we could wed and the pain and anguish that that was causing was more than I could bear. At Christmas in ’66 I slipped away in the night and went back to sea. My life was smashed and I knew that I was hurting the one I loved most but I could not stand the uncertainty. It was like having half a life.
I was infected by her ,her scent was forever with me ,the curl of her smile and the lovely crinkle of her eyes when she smiled . Hers was the face I saw as I fell asleep every night, my empty arms ached for her as I struggled for sleep . I kept on writing letters that never got sent, I would be walking down a street in Durban ,or Fremantle and think I saw her just ahead . I found myself dating girls that looked like her but it was never right, sometimes I could hear her voice in a crowd and look to see if it was her. I had it bad and was no good for another woman while I was still not over her.
I was now on another tramp steamer, the King Alexander, the world lay ahead of us and I was hopelessly out of place here.
Nice one Brian.
Tramp
I joined the King Alexander in Birkenhead, she was an old cargo boat, a tramp steamer. She would ply her trade in the four quarters of the globe. The deck crowd seemed terribly young ,nearly all teenagers ,excepting for two old guys ,Tommy and Paddy. Both not a day under 65 of both close companions of the bottle.. The kids seemed a bit unruly, they had no respect for authority and were scathing about old timers. I was an in between, older than all of them but a full generation younger than Tommy and Paddy. The bosun was a Hull man, had a nose on him like an old fashioned door knocker ,looked like a real bruiser ,but appearances can be deceptive, he was a quiet and gentle man.
My cabin mate was a young man from Blackburn, an EDH, he was about 18 years of age ,well built and a good deck hand . There was a young EDH from Birkenhead , he seemed a bit of a firebrand and was violently opposed to the Labour government, Harold Wilsons gibes about the seamens strike being organised by politically motivated men had caused most of the anger. Further down the alleyway we had to mates sharing a cabin, both about 19 or twenty, they were just out for a good time and were not bothered about politics
Our peggy was a young Welsh lad, he took his lead from the two mates I’ve just mentioned , tall and gangly, he was easily led but basically nice.
Old Paddy was a drinking man, a day worker ,he spent most of his night getting drunk out of his head and wanting to fight the world. He would start imbibing about eight o’clock of an evening and around about ten he would start reciting Irish sagas. He would declaim about the great Brian Borhu and how he won the Battle of Clontarf, a marvellous bit of Irish folklore ,but you could do without it being yelled down the alleyway when you were on the 12 ‘til 4 watch and you were trying to sleep through the hundredth rendition of it.
We lived down aft and the accommodation was shared between us and the firemen /greasers. The regime was very lax, you could buy as much booze as you could afford and,.consequently ,everynight was party night and the watchkeepers had to go without sleep. It was’nt a happy situation.
I injured my foot and was taken off watch and put on daywork, there was an old jolly boat on the boat deck; it was in a disgusting state, must have been used for painting the ships side ,it was thick with paint splashes. Captain Wallace asked if I would like to have a bash at cleaning her up and making it look like a captains gig. I jumped at the chance and spent the whole of our outward journey stripping her back to bare wood and then restoring her to her former glory.
You hardly ever get the opportunity top do something like that and I was very pleased to be able to do so. Captain Wallace would often come and sit on the gunwhale and watch as I laboured away. I spent the best part of two months getting her back to something like her original condition.
I felt so much older than the rest of the deck crowd, my sojourn ashore seemed to have knocked some of the wildness out of me, I could’nt find enjoyment in drinking everynight and conversations seemed so facile. Did any of these guys ever read a book? One of them, a priapic little guy, used to write short story’s of such a hardcore nature that the authors of the Port Said novellas would have looked upon as a master. He would write the story and then bind it up , roughly , but serviceable for his needs. Then he would read it and become aroused and gain hand relief as he read it. Old Bootsie , my first trip companion, was no where near as priapic as this kid..
Our first port of call was Port Said in Egypt, nothing seemed to have changed since my last visit here two years previously, there were more ships, and the wrecks from the 56 war had been removed from the harbour. What was very apparent was the presence of the Egyptian military. The Sinai side of the canal was humming with military traffic ,little did we know what would happen later that year.
Our journey through the Suez went off without incident and we sailed on down the Red Sea to Aden, there was plenty of military activity in the Crater district. We had a panoramic view of RAF Canberra’s bombing the mountains outside Crater, the FLOSY guerrillas were reputed to be up there and we had a ringside seat as we watched the missiles smashing into the mountain side. Some of us went ashore to buy some duty free goods,it was an eerie sensation. The pavements were full of tourists off the various ships in the harbour, we were there to but cheap cameras and transistor radios. British soldiers were patrolling the streets in full battle gear,armed to the teeth and nervously alert,ever watchful for the assassins bullet. The shoppers oblivious to the life and death struggle that was going on all around them.
I purchased a Zeiss Ikon 35 mm camera and some colour film, I was now free of the old box Brownie.
The shop keeper loaded the camera for me and I started clicking away.
We sailed from Aden to Bombay ,a glorious passage, we enjoyed real flying fish weather all the way. On our way there I gained an unwanted reputation ,it happened like this; I was sitting in my cabin writing a letter home, there was a tap on my door, it was Taffs cabinmate “ Hey Scouse, oo wuz Lord Mayor of London 3 times?” Automatically I replied “Dick Whittington” He ran off and a moment or two later he returned asking “Oo wuz the first man to Swim the English Channel” “ Captain Webb “ I answered. I continued scribing and was interrupted by another knock. “ Er, what was the name of the only British Prime minister to be assassinated ?” “Spencer Percival” I answered . As he returned down the alleyway I heard him exclaim “ Ee bleedin’ knew it”
Curiosity got the better of me and I went own to his cabin, there were a group of them sat there with copies of the Wizard on the top of the pages there were one line questions and on the opposite page there was the answer. Brian became Brain, cheeky beggars!
Soon we arrived in Bombay, a city you smelled long before you saw it. It was now high summer and it was positively melting. We adopted the siesta, rising early ,we worked throughout the morning and then had lunch, we then showered and spent the afternoon resting or sight seeing. We discovered Breach Kandy, a huge swimming complex , it was about a twenty minute taxi ride from the docks and was a little piece of paradise. Very few Indians used when we were there, they went in the cooler parts of the day. We met up with some lads off a Watts Watts cargo boat when we were there. They had been away for just over a year and were quite mad,in a funny way. . We used to meet up with them everyday after that and very enjoyable company they were too..
We had to register as alcoholics to get a beer there( in Bombay that is) we were issued with ration cards which entitled us to 2 quarts of beer a day. It was easy getting hold of another ration card, a few rupees usually sufficed. The Watts Watts lads took us to a brothel ,not to enjoy the female company , there was unrationed beer for sale there. The prostitutes were nearly all very young girls, teenagers. I felt so sorry for them, thinking of my sisters and the girl I had left behind in Liverpool, there was no way I could have indulged myself, guilt played a big part in my celibacy. I was growing up.The girls would come and sit with us and try to get us to spend some money on jig a jig, I just tipped them a few bob and left it that. Just down the road from where that brothel was were the infamous cages at Grant Road. This was prostitution in its rawest form. The girls were behind full length grilles, like cages, an they tried to call customers in. Even the most hardened of old salts used to quail at the site of them, completely degrading. There were so many bizarre sights on the streets of that city, fabulous wealth was sat cheek by jowl horrendous poverty. Some holy men ,Sadhus, provided some of the most bizarre sites. Covered only in wood ash they would stride naked through the streets , glaring at you ,making you feel as though you were somehow at fault. I saw on such holy man with Chubb padlock bolted through his prepuce ,I was crossing my legs all night after seeing that.
The Cunard cruise liner ,the Caronia docked while we where there, some of her passengers were going on an excursion to Mount Everest. We met up with some Scousers off her and they invited us aboard the next night for a party in the Pig and Whistle. I’d been to a party on the Carinthia in ’61 and looked forward to it. The Caronia’s party was something else.; she was overloaded with talent. There were a lot of gay catering staff and they each had their party pieces,it was like being in a very swish nightclub. The queens were dressed like million dollar babes and could they sing, Ethel Merman, Judy Garland ,Doris Day ,they were fabulous. When I was at that party I was told a story about Guy Fawkes night, a big party had been organised and there were prizes for the best Guy. An old billionaire had died a short while before the party and his body was in the ships freezer until he could be sent off for burial in the States. Some got got the corpse and made it up to look like Guy Fawkes. It won the competition and spent the night propped up against the grand piano in the Pig and Whistle. Below are some shots of Breach Kandy in Bombay and one shot of the evening Bacchanalia on the King Alexander.
Tramp 2
Some of the memories I have of Bombay are tinged with a feeling of sadness for the women I saw there. Their lot was a hard one ,to earn enough to keep body and soul together they had to undergo some terrible labours. .
At Breach Kandy ,that luxurious swimming complex, we saw high rise buildings under construction, they looked like new hotels or up market apartment blocks. The concrete floors that were being laid ,used female labour to carry the liquid concrete up the many floors,some were about twenty storey’s high, the women carried the concrete in little bowls atop their heads. It was an incongruous sight, delicate little ladies in brightly coloured sari’s climbing up the rickety scaffolding in a non stop stream to deliver their heavy load to constructors, up one set of bamboo ladders and back down another. No matter how hard those ladies worked they would never ,ever be able to use that pool or know what life could be like had they have been born elsewhere. Our lot as sailors was not a life of sybaritic luxury but it was so much easier than theirs.
I was glad to leave Bombay and set sail for Karachi, it was further to the north and should be a little cooler. It was more than a little cooler, it seemed positively wintry. The port itself did not seem half so chaotic as Bombay , the culture was totally different , Whereas the Indians were content to leave things until “tomorrow” the Pakistanis seemed to bristle with energy.
I had to visit the dentists while in Karachi, the surgery was situated in the old sahib’s quarter, big art deco houses sited within sumptuous gardens. It must have been quite idyllic during the Raj. The dentist looked ,and sounded , like Peter Sellers when he played an Indian doctor. The surgery was the dirtiest one I had ever been in and he had Heath Robinson type gadgets with dials and buttons for god knows what. . He chattered away in his sing song accent ,probing each of my teeth, he was determined to find more cavities than I was aware of. I told him that I wanted an extraction, one of my molars was giving me real stick. He produced a syringe that looked as though it was a vets, for use on horses, and numbed my gum. He then got some pliers and started to wrench out the tooth. He was almost kneeling on my chest to gain purchase as he pulled on the offending molar. After what seemed an age ,he held up the tooth for me to see. “ It is strange is it not Mr Daley, it seems like a perfectly healthy tooth” It was ,he’d pulled out the wrong one! I escaped from that lunatics surgery before he set to again!
A day or so later ,a group of us went for a swim at one of the seamens mission. It was a good pool but the water was one degree above freezing. All those who had been foolhardy enough to swim ended up with very bad colds.
Some images that remain with me from Karachi are of different forms of transport; walking along the pavement you would see garishly coloured trucks and buses, painted in the manner that we see traditional gypsy caravans painted here,a riot of colour. Big Bactrian camels harnessed into the shafts of huge carts pulling enormous loads that towered over the driver. Groups of men harnessed to huge overloaded carts , bent forward straining to pull their burden, mixed with the traffic flow were modern heavy goods wagons ,all bright paintwork and chrome, prewar Austins and Morris and many others from the old mother country. The air was filled with a mad cacophony of horns and sirens that was unceasing, the drivers thought that their horns must be sounded regularly in order to make progress.
It was with some relief that we bade goodbye to Karachi ,we were now off to pastures new, Mozambique.
Our first port of call in Mozambique was a place called Beira which is on the east side of Africa and is at the end of the rail line that comes from Zimbabwe ,which at that time was still called Rhodesia. I mention this because the Rhodesians had declared Unilateral Independence ( a bit like the Americans did in 1776) and we, the British ,had put an embargo on all trade with the Smith regime. Ian Smith was the leader of the UDI rebels.
Why am I mentioning this? Well the Royal Navy had ships on permanent station just off the Mozambique coast and all ships heading for the port there were stopped and searched to ensure that the embargo remained solid. The Navy lads who boarded us did not like what they were doing, they had more in common with the Rhodesians than they had with the so called freedom fighters.
Beira was a real eye opener, it was first settled by the Portugese in the 16th century and had a very civilised air about it. So very different from the British Colony’s, this was a place that was well settled and lived in by the Portugese themselves ,however ,their attitude to the natives was somewhat lacking in humanity. The white overseers on the docks were little more than slave drivers, they all wore uniforms very similar to the military and they roared non stop at the dockers. The dockers were very poorly clothed and seemed cowed, I often wondered what they felt about their “masters”. Would they revolt ,Frelimo was in existence at that time but for the moment the blacks were firmly at the bottom of class system.
We only had had a short stay in Beira, we were able to have a night ashore and we found that the town centre was smart, it was almost like any European town centre, modern shops and restaurants lined the city streets and there were night clubs and discothques too., nary a black face was to be seen in any of them.
Laurenco Marques was our next stop, this was very cosmopolitan, it had impressive boulevards and lots of tall modern buildings,it could have been a European city ,there seemed to be a preponderance of whites there. We learned that the city was a favourite with the South African and Rhodesian males who wanted sex with black girls, there were scores of bars and disco’s full of Boers and Rhodesians who were trawling for sex; they felt like meat markets. Those of us who ventured ashore stuck to the “rags” we did’nt want any bust ups with the Yarpies or Rhodesians, that happened later in South Africa. I heard the nicest use of the English language in LM. We were sitting supping our beer when a black girl came across to our table and said to one of the young EDH’s “ I would like to sit with you because you are nice to my eyes” A lovely way of saying “ Hey good looking”
Our trip ashore that night caused us to contract a bug so virulent that it near put paid to some of us. I was cleaning under the lifeboats when I had my attack, it felt as though I had a blade spinning around in my gut, my whole body went into a spasm and I near blacked out. A doctor was called to see us and we were pumped full of drugs for a couple of days . Our tongues had a thick brown coating on them that tasted of excreta and we were dehydrated. We pulled through and everything was O.K. by the time we reached our next port, Durban in Natal.
Durban was a beautiful place to arrive at, the long waves of the Indian Ocean come rolling up to it’s shores ,making it a surfers paradise. As well as being a port it was also a holiday resort favoured by White South Africans and Rhodesians alike. The beaches were crowded and there were lots of good quality holiday hotels and apartments. The town itself had a very British feel , much like Melbourne . Broad avenues and lots of British names amongst the store fronts , British cars abounded there too but the Japanese were entering the market place at that time too. Apartheid was very visible there ,uncomfortably so ,the Boers were really hard on the blacks and we were told to keep off the subject , it was hard not to. It seemed repellant the way they treated the blacks, calling full grown men boy! It was a racist’s paradise.
When we arrived in Durban the first people to come aboard were the police. They were looking for subversive literature, honestly! We had to go to our cabins and stand there while these policemen ferreted through our drawers and suitcases looking for banned literature; books like “Catch 22”,any Henry Miller novels and political writings of a left wing bent . These were all contraband and liable to confiscation. The young police officer searching my cabin was surprised at the books I had and expressed a wish to have some of them. He became a friend and we found that we shared similar tastes in literature and music. Dick Schaeffer was his name ,same age as me but our lifestyles could’nt have been more different. His father was the Chief Magistrate in Pietermaritzburg and he was from an Boer family. He was a rare human being for a Boer ,he was an Anglophile and his greatest wish was to visit England. He invited me to Durban Rugby Club where he introduced me to some of his close friends, they were nearly all of English extraction and they all had goods jobs. I was treated very cordially and as the drinks went down so their tongues were loosened . What I gleaned from them was their detestation of the Apartheid laws. Dick showed me forms that the police were issued with, they could have come from Hitlers Germany. They were A4 sheets filled with drawings of racial stereo types graded from full white through all the variations to full Negroid. It was quite shocking to see, if you were so many degrees different from full Aryan then you could not go into certain areas at certain times. There was full on censorship in operation at that time too, all imported newspapers and magazines had items cut out ,or blacked out , if they showed blacks and whites together in social situations. Just think of the labour that must have involved, thousands of censors going through the many papers and magazines ,everyday to black out the truth. There was no television there then, Dick said that it was because the Broederbond were against too much foreign influence dominating the network.
While we were in the Rugby club a bunch of Rhodesian tourists came in, real rednecks, some one told them that there was an Englishman in the bar,me, and they came over and started hurling insults ,calling me a commy and a n*gg*r lover. Harold Wilson was a dumb little sh*t etc. etc. I said that I thought I had seen them the week before in a black brothel in Laurenco Marques and that was when the fight started. It was amazing ,the South Africans got stuck into the Rhodesians and I sat back and watched it all. Quite the funniest thing I had seen. The Rhodesians came off it worst of all.
There was a little café on the promenade in Durban where you could get a really decent steak and kidney pie and gravy, it was always full of surfies, mainly South African, but there were Australians ,Americans and some Englishmen as well. Some of them were real beach bums, living from hand to mouth while they sought out the perfect wave. On the Saturday I went there was an Australian who had put the word out that he would eat a turd(his own) if enough people paid to see him do it. He raised about 50 Rand and then went to the W.C . with a plate and came back with a very healthy stool. It was verified genuine ,he then smothered it with tomato sauce and ate it all within seconds flat. He was wise to collect the money before hand because a lot of the audience had to leave before they were sick.
That same day I was sitting on a bench on the promenade and there was a camper van parked below us on the sand, and young girl in a pink polka dot bikini got into the back and a line of young men formed up the door,word went round that it was a “geng beng”. I could’nt believe my ears, that young girl was on her own and nearly every young boy on the beach went through her. That made me feel sick!
One Saturday Dick and his friends invited me to go to a jazz concert at the Hilton hotel,it was an afternoon session and the place was really packed. It was an open air theatre which was on the side of the hotel overlooking it’s gardens, the audience was mostly male and theJazz ensemble was a visiting American troupe,all white. They were brilliant , it was magic sitting there listening to the very best of contemporary music. During one of the breaks a buzz went around the audience, like a secret signal there were nods and winks and the walls ,which had been folded away ,slid back into place and a roof rolled over the top of us ,the doors and windows were closed and then two young black singers came on stage. The audience cheered them to the echo and the American Jazz band led off with “Bye Bye Blackbird” These two guys were skat singers and they threw the lines of that song to each other ,it was a magical experience , they did a half hour set and then had to disappear. They would have been arrested if the police had found them there. The audience raised a huge collection for them.
Dick said that in any other country those two guys would have been topliners. One of the guy’s Dick introduced me to was called Peter Hurley, he was a first generation South African, his parents were from the home counties , he was slightly built and quite and gentle of manner. He ,and most of those in that afternoons audience would have liked to have seen the end of apartheid but were frightened of Black rule. A strange situation ,being a liberal in a very illiberal society.
One o the favourite places our crew used to frequent was the Pirates Cove, it was a pleasant place and they had groups as well as a disco. There was a lot of very pretty young ladies who frequented that place ,not *****s ,just girls who liked good music and dancing, we spent most nights there .After midnight ,the doors were secured and then a black singer came on stage. He was incredible, he sang Delilah like he meant every word, again ,the only money he got was from a collection by the audience. He never went home short handed.
One weekend Peter asked me if I would like to go to a party at a friends apartment,I was quite happy to do so.everyone was meeting at a bar in the town centre and then would be taking taxis to the party. Peter and I got into company with a young couple and we realised that we would have to take some drinks as this was a bottle party. We took a taxi into the black area where there was a shebeen where could purchase the strong stuff. The place was full and I was surprised to see some white men there, blonde and blue eyed;Peter said that they were coloured and could not frequent a white bar. I could’nt tell the difference.
On the way to the party this young couple revealed that they had just been divorced that very week but as they were friends with the party givers they thought they should go together. They sat in the back ,holding hands, and they were singing “I wish you flowers in the Spring……………..” It seemed so poignant.
I was a bit drunk by the time we reached the flat , the atmosphere was great and there was plenty of room for dancing ,there was also a balcony and I ended up there ,sitting on the railing and singing away with the music . A young lady then made me aware of the precariousness of my perch; We were about 25 storey’s high and the ground seemed a long way down. It had a truly sobering effect.
We left the flat in the wee small hours and proceeded to make our way home. Peter said he needed a pee and stopped against the nearside wheel of a parked car,he mumbled something about it being legal to do so under an old carters law. As he started to relieve himself an old African night watchman came over and asked him not to do that. Peter waved him away ,finished his pee and then zipped himself up. We the recommenced our journey and were nearing the main road when I received a massive blow to the side of my head. I was knocked to the ground and saw two huge Yarpies standing over me shouting in Afrikaans. I knew well enough to stay lying doggo until they walked away. . I got to my feet feeling very groggy and looked around for Peter. He was laying on an embankment about ten foot up off the pavement . He had a huge bruise on his face and told me he had been flung up there by the men. It was no more than he deserved really, that was a dirty habit that I saw more than once while I was there.
Below are some more shots of the King Alexanders crew,the first picture is of some of the lads at the poolside in Breach Kandy,the second is of Eddy ,an AB , and yours truly on the poop and ,finally we have some of the lads foolinng around as usual.
Briand
Hi Brian
Great - loved your story I think it demonstrates you can take the feller out of Liverpool but you can't take Liverpool out of the feller!
Peter
Tramp 3
The next port after Durban was Cape Town, right at the southern most tip of Africa. Our passage from Durban was smooth but we rode the huge waves that came right across the Indian Ocean and met with the Atlantic at the Cape of Good Hope. We rolled somewhat, not an altogether unpleasant experience, but you feel the awesome power of those waves.
Cape Town has to be numbered amongst the most beautiful of cities seen from the sea. The Table Mountain provides a wonderful backdrop for the old Dutch town, it is 52 years since I laid eyes on the place and a lot of changes must have taken place since then ,but I remember the red tiled roofs atop the gleaming white Dutch colonial buildings that reached up the mountainsides, the port area was very British looking and the commercial centre was indistinct from most major European cities, but lifting your eyes above the city ,the sight of that flat topped range fair takes your breath away.
We had read that Cape town could be a dangerous place for the unwary, young black guys ,called Tsostis were reputed to attack lone white folk . We all put this matter to the back of our minds because we had also heard that Cape Town had dance halls and lively bars, the most popular was supposed to be Delmonicos. We wasted very little time in getting ready to go ashore, it was Saturday night and we wanted to make the most of it. I could’nt get right off with the lads, the bosun had collared me and wanted help with a bit of rigging. Consequently ,by the time I was ready to go everyone had gone so I started walking to the dock gates myself. It was very quiet and there were no taxis outside the gate. Looking round I could see that I was in the non white area, I never thought anything of it at the time and continued my way up toward the main town. When I was passing the British Legion Club a tall black guy came down the steps of the club and approached me. “Where are you going man?” he asked. “Delmonicos “ I replied .”Well let me walk with you to a cab rank ,it is far too dangerous for you to walk alone” He was about 60 and had served in the British Army in an African regiment during WW11. He was kindness itself and he waited until I got a cab before leaving me.
I met up with the lads and four of us decided to go to a funfair, we’d been told it was O.K. It was a whites only funfair but the attendants were either black or Asian. One of the most popular rides was a go kart track, we got a kart each and a couple of Afrikaaners got karts at the same time. We ,naturally , raced each other and the Afrikaaners could’nt get past us, they were big fat fellows. They were getting angry and were shouting at the young Asian attendant. When the ride was over the two Yarpies beat the attendant for giving them bad karts. I felt sickened ,there was a policeman looking on and he ignored them.
Back on board we saw racism at it’s worst, there was a carpenter who was hired to make timber supports for stowing the cargo, he was from Londons East End. He had a black assistant and he boasted to us about how he made the “nig nog”
earn his bread. The assistant had to stand and listen while this foul mouthed racist told us how he worked this feller ‘til he dropped. I have often wondered if this cockney came back to England when apartheid ended.
The camera I had bought in Aden had reached the end of the reel and I needed to buy a new reel, I took the camera to a chemists in Cape Town and asked if he could take the film out and develop it and stick a new reel in as well. I had taken pictures in the Indian Ocean, Bombay, Beira , Laurenco Marques, Durban and Cape Town, I was looking forward to see how much better than my Brownie they would be.. When I went to the chemist’s to pick my pictures up I found out that I had only actually taken one picture, that of an Indian aircraft carrier we had see shortly after leaving Aden. The film had come off the sprocket and I was clicking away at nothing ,I was choked. The chemist put me a new film and checked that it was O.K. It was a black and white film and the photo’s on here are the one s I took with it.
We left Durban and headed up the African coast for home ,it was late April and the weather was fine, we had a lot of deck cargo by the after hatches and we had to be careful when picking our way forrard . With the fine weather we started tidying up the Alex for getting home. We painted everything from the topmast’s right down to the decks ,our days were spent in peaceful labour, there is something infinitely satisfying as you paint away, keeping the rust at bay and restoring the ship to it’s former glory.
I had my birthday on the way up the West Coast and the Captain gave me a bottle of Bundaberg rum as a present. I got a case of Tennants off the steward and invited the lads to share a drink with me ,I was now 25.
That Bundaberg rum, it was like the potion Dr Jekyll drank……….it changed your personality. The deck boy ,who had grown somewhat since he joined us ,in stature but not in intelligence, he had had a sherbet or two and he started to mention what he would like to do to my younger sister. I lost it and found myself pulling the tripes out of him. It took more than a few guys to pull me off him. He went off to bed and could’nt remember a thing next day. I sat and finshed the bottle and woke up full of remorse.
We had a fireman who was from the Dingle ,he was a “cool dude” by his own reckoning, early on in the trip he asked me if I could cut hair, I don’t know why, I had never said that I could ,but I did’nt want an opportunity to slip by. So I said yes, I could cut hair. I borrowed some scissors and set to on his head, he favoured a Tony Curtis, I gave him a Yul Brynner. He was mortified, we found that it was’nt his hair that was wavy but his skull that was lumpy. I did two more ,by request ,but I would’nt let anyone but a proper barber cut my hair.
This fireman, he was a dedicated follower of fashion, he was always immaculately turned out, shirts had to have nice cuffs and collars, shoes gleamed and he always sported a handkerchief in his top pocket. Every time he passed a mirror he would check himself out ,he raised vanity to new heights.
Now I had a heavy weather coat that I had bought four years previously when I was on the Athekcrest, it was very careworn and had served me well but the outside was getting threadbare and looked scruffy. The lining though was still in good condition. It was coney fur and it had multi sleeve linings. I cut the lining out with the intention of fitting it into a donkey jacket. The Lining hung on the back of my cabin door for quite some time. It looked rather like the fur coat that Sonny Bono wore when he sang with Cher. The deck boy asked me where I had bought it and I kidded him that it was from Carnaby Street ,the latest style.!
It was’nt too long before our friend the fireman came to have a look at this trendy garb. “ Yeah Bri, er, it looks de gear, jus’ like Sonny N’ Cher eh!”
One of the lads told me that the fire man was telling the mess that I was a noodle, spending all that money on a piece of sh*te. I never enlightened him until the night before we docked in the U.K. I had him and the deckboy in the cabin and I told him that I had heard he thought my coat was crap. He blushed so red that you could almost feel the heat across the cabin. I then asked the deck boy what he thought of it and he said that he was going to look for one when he got home. I then told them the truth and gave it to the deck boy who wore it to go home in.
We docked in Avonmouth on the 27th of May and we scattered to the four winds, I made my way back to Liverpool, wondering how the land lay. I was still desolate, my love for the girl from Anfield was still strong but I knew things were hopeless. There was still no movement with regards to a divorce, I felt like a fly trapped in amber.
Going home was different this time, life had moved on for my sisters , I felt like an interloper, I should have my own place ,I was just a lodger here. I endeavoured to get my solicitor to move things forward ,I was unsuccessful.
I went out to the Locarno on my first weekend and I met a very nice woman, turned out she was a distant relative on my Dads side. She was a model for Littlewoods Catalogue, did the underwear. She was good company and I made a date with her for Tuesday night. On the Monday I went down town to Lewis’s , I wanted some aftershave .As I was walking through the cosmetic area I heard someone call my name, I was shocked ,it was my Lady from Anfields sister. I thought she was going to tear a strip off me, far from it, she had an understanding of what I felt and she told me that her sister was broken hearted but had gotten over it and was seeing someone else. I felt gutted but that was the way of it ,nothing stays on hold, life is about forward movement. I bade her goodbye and went and had a few drinks. Now the mother of my ex girl friend was a lady afflicted by agoraphobia, she was petrified of going outside. Early Tuesday morning I was still in bed when the front door was being knocked. Everyone else was out and the person who was knocking would not go away. I threw on some clothes and went down to see what was up. I opened the door to see my lady’s mother. She pushed past me and seemed to be shaking with anger. “What have you come back for” she demanded “She’s over you now and got a proper fiancé, leave her alone!” I could’nt speak. “ She’s engaged to a nice lad, he’s got his own business and he has got a nice house too. Leave her alone or I’ll kill you!!” She was really upset. I told her “that I had no intention of raking over old coals, I was’nt in a position to marry anyone ,nor would I do anything to hurt her” I made her a cup of tea and she went off ,somewhat mollified.
I got through the day as best as I could, I had a date tonight, that was something to look forward to.
My kid sister came home first and life seemed to regain some semblance of stability. Then Mum arrived home and started to make dinner, I was ironing a shirt ready for my date when the front door was knocked, I went and answered it and my world went topsy turvy. There was my lady, she tore into me pushing and punching calling me some choice names. Mum called out “Who is it?” and I answered “ It’s >>.” She pushed me into the front room and buried her face into my shoulder ,clawing at my clothes. She turned her face to mine and her eyes were a glitter with tears. Our lips met and I felt the floodgates of my heart burst open. We made love in a frenzy, caring for naught but each other, down all the days I can still feel the heat of that moment ,molten, we burned each other. When the storm passed I told her of her mothers visit that morning, I also told her that I was still in limbo as regards a divorce ; I knew she was engaged and I had promised her mother that I would’nt foul things up.
She had some dinner with us and then helped me get ready for my date. I wanted her ,not some model , but she was set on marrying her business man.
We walked to the bus stop, a walk we had taken so many times as lovers ,and I could feel my heart bleeding for that which was lost. As my bus appeared ,she clung to me and asked me to meet her tomorrow. “ I’ll come to you” she said.
“Where ?“ I asked, “Your house,” she replied. And thus began a period of deceit and illicit love. I felt so guilty but I could no more resist the temptation of making love to her than I could stop breathing. She did’nt go to work while I was on leave, everyday we met for about 4 hours ,we made love and went out to Southport or New Brighton, each knowing that soon, all too soon ,all this would end. I last saw her on the 11th of June 1967. Walking away from her was the hardest thing I had ever done . The torch burned on and I thought it would never go out but life has a way of surprising you. Little did I know it but the next ship I sailed on would bring the chance of meeting the true love of my life .
Shown below are some moe lads off the King Alexander
Nice one Brian. Just caught up with this, I shall read it later. Keep 'em coming.
Deffo worth a re-read.
Kypros
World events took a hand in deciding what fate had in store for me. In the first week of June the Middle East exploded into the headlines when the Arab nations around Israel were making plans for the invasion of the Jewish state. The television and press were putting out news items on the situation and things began to look perilous for the Israelis. I was’nt too bothered about what was afoot , the Holy Land was a long way away and I had enough problems of my own.
In the first week of June I took the lingerie model to the Shakespeare night spot, the top of the bill were Ronnie Dukes and Rikki Lee, a husband and wife act. They were accompanied on the piano by the mother in law. It was a very funny show. As we were coming up to the end of the show , Ronnie received a note from someone in the wings. He read it and then stopped the show. We thought it was all part of the act. He came to the front of the stage and said “Ladies and Gentlemen, I have great news………Israel has invaded Egypt and Syria” There was silence while we waited for the punch line. He read on, detachments of paratroops have landed on the Golan Heights and in Sinai !!” Light began to dawn in the audience. “ It’s the biggest bloody Jew drop in the world!!!” Applause began to ripple in the audience and he shouted to the waiters “ Tell the Boss ,no one’s going home just yet, it’s party time!!” His mother in law started playing “Havan agila” and the jubilations went on until the wee small hours of the morning.
I was in the Legs Of Mann a couple of days later and the news was on the little TV behind the bar, a tall , rangy American was apoplectic. He was ranting about the Jewish conspiracy and Americas support for the Fascist Israelis. I sunk my beer and made a quick exit.
Down at the Pool I was given the Moss Hutchison liner, the Kypros. Her destination was …….Beirut, Haifa, Alexandria and Cyprus. An interesting itinerary, given the situation obtaining in those lands.
My family and friends thought I was mad to even thinking of sailing, but I was just glad to get away.
I joined the ship on the 12 th of June, I had said my good byes to everyone and kissed a final goodbye to my lady from Anfield. This ship would be a new start. I forget how old she was ,she looked smart and she was medium sized and a lot of her crew had been on her the previous trip ,that was usually a sign of a happy ship. There were two Welsh lads from the Valleys, one of the ,Jimmy was always singing ,he had a good tenor voice, his cabin mate was from the same village but was much quieter than Jim. The deck boy was new too and I seem to remember it was his first trip,called Owen ,he was a nice young man.
There was a new AB ,he was called Joe and he was a very experienced sailor. He was big, had jug ears and a broken nose, he was a veteran of Korea and was not the kind of man you would give lip to. His cabin mate was an Ulsterman who had a choleric temper and was to be avoided when he had had a few drinks. He was as Orange as they come and made Ian Paisley seem a cuddly little person by comparison. It was best to steer clear of religion when he was around. The bosun was a man from Malta, Brinkat was his name, the lads called him fingers and those who had sailed with him before called him Fingers, I never found out why. My cabinmate was a young man from Bootle called Billy Leatherbarrow. , he was a tall ,well built man with an easy going disposition. We would get along just fine.
If my memory serves me right ,the Kypros had four hatches, there was nothing that I had’nt handled before and this voyage was going to be a milk run, excepting for the war that is!
We were nearly down to the Mediterranean when we had our first change of port, we were going into Casablanca, it was near two years since I had been there, there were very few changes to be seen, it still looked pristine and a lot of us went ashore to the USO for a drink and a dance or two.
There was one deckhand who hardly ever went ashore, his name was Roger and he came from Oswestry in Shropshire. His accent was almost Welsh and I asked him why it was so ,in answer to my question he showed me where Oswetry was, almost in Wales. The reason Roger hardly ever went ashore was that he had a fiancée in his home town and was saving to get married. He was quite humorous and did a good job on deck but he was’nt a proper mate.
When we left Casablanca we were told that the ports in Lebanon ,Israel and Egypt were considered unsafe and that we would be going to Limassol and Famagusta in Cyprus to discharge the cargo. A collective sigh of relief went up in the mess, and some of the old Cyprus hands were looking forward to Famagusta. The last time I had been there it was’nt very pleasant . When we got to Limassol we found that the Greek Army were in charge, there army checkpoints everywhere and the Turkish Cypriots were hemmed into ghetto’s in Famagusta and Limassol. Speaking to some English squaddies that came aboard to unload some military stores ,we learned that the Colonels Junta in Athens had sent the Greek Army in to bolster its claim to the island. I would’nt have liked to be a Turk there at that time.
It must have been the height of summer when we were there, the temperatures were in the 90’s and the beach at Famagusta became our favourite place. The bosun used to let us have job and finishes so that we could get some beach time in. I met a young woman from Hackney when we were there. She had narural flame red hair ,freckles and emerald green eyes. She was hiking around the world in her gap year and we paired up just for the time I was there. She was working in a bar owned by a woman from Lancashire, she ,the Lancashire lady, was well known to sailors, she had been there all through the troubles and always gave a warm welcome to lads from Britain. She always let me stay behind with the girl from Hackney when she closed for the night.
One night she came into the girls room distraught , her budgie has just fell off it’s perch .Dead , she could touch it and would’nt go into her room while the corpse was there. She asked me if I could take it away and give it a decent burial. I wrapped it in a serviette and dropped it into the dock on my way back to the ship. Just as I stepped away from the edge of the quay the earth started to move. It was a weird experience, I had had a couple of Brandy sours but I was far from drunk. It was like being on a cakewalk at the funfair, the ground shuddered and then all was still. I had just enjoyed my first earthquake!
Pretty soon we were almost empty of all outward cargo, we now began the task of loading for home. We loaded tons of Cyprus potato’s and would be going up to Kyrenia to load some carob nuts, I had’nt been there and I was told that it was beautiful, that gave us something to look forward to.
Shown below are two photo's of the Kypros alongside in Famagusta
Hi Brian! I enjoy reading all your stories, and pleased to see you are back to good health. I do have a request for you! maybe before your MN time but in 1951 I was serving in Cyprus, Farmagusta, and a merchant ship, the Porlock Hill, was wrecked on the rocks near the port, the army were called on to help search & pick-up survivers, we as medics set up an Aid Station in the camp nearby, Did you hear of this ship wreck? or do you know if there is a report and/or photograph of the event? just something I would like to add to my scrapbook if such does exist. Cheers mate:PDT_Aliboronz_24:
Hi Norm,
I could'nt get a photo but I have got a lead. Google www.wrecksite.eu. It has the location and details of the vessel, plus of course the time and date. Best of luck with it ,
BrianD
Cheers Bri! I'll have a look at that. Ta mate1
Nice one Brian.
Northern Cyprus
We sailed east along the coast and then turned west at the end of the panhandle. The scenery was quite breathtaking, this end of the island was known as the Karpaz and the very tip of it, Cape Apostolous was very near to Turkey. As you cruise along the northern coast the mountains rise up and seem to grow the further you go. There were crusader castles at the crest of some of the mountains ,the first we saw was Al Kantara , it looked very imposing and seemed to gleam in the sunlight, this was in a time before the package tours had reached that fractured island so there were no multi storey hotels or holiday parks. Kyrenia was a revelation, the little harbour nestled beneath the mountain range atop which stood more castles, St. Hilarion being the most prominent.
Adjacent the docks stood Kyrenia Castle, it was still in use as a military base then and was not open to the public.
The old Venetian harbour was on the western side of the castle and was like a little jewel, vessels entered the harbour on the eastern side of the castle and the outer harbour wall had a crenellated topl which would have had sentinels based upon it in olden times . The inner harbour was classically Venetian, semi circular with Merchants houses cum warehouses ranged along the landward side, all the vessels were saw there then were fishing boats and some yachts ,the main port was to the east ,where we were docked. The Greek army was much in evidence here and the Turks were living in barricaded ghettos , barbed wire fenced them in and the Greek soldiers manning machine guns at the Ghetto entrance were warning the Turkish Cypriots not to venture beyond them after nightfall . Our sympathy lay four square with the Turks ,they were well and truly the underdog then. We did’nt linger long in Kyrenia and were soon on our way to Morfou Bay where we would load a cargo of fools gold, iron pyrates.
We would be anchoring offshore and loading from barges, it would not be easy to get ashore , there was no launch available ,I did’nt have any money left so it would’nt be worth going anyway. The little town looked inviting , there were no high rise buildings the highest points were the church steeples and the minarets of the mosques. It would be nice just to have a roam around , and it was Saturday so there was no work to be done……………
The Ulster man provided the answer, while we had been in Famagusta that lady from Lancashire had told him he would knock years off his looks if he dyed his silvery locks black. He had heard that I was going to try and get ashore on one of the barges and asked if I would get him some hair dye from the chemists. He gave me three Cypriot pounds and told me I could have what was left if I bought some dye. I jumped at the chance and took his money. One of the bargees agreed to take me ashore in exchange for some cigarettes and I went and got changed into my go ashore gear. The two young Taffs and the peggy came and asked if they could go ashore with me ,I told them I only had a pound or so, I would’nt know how much until I had bought the dye. They said they did’nt mind ,they just wanted a walk around. So ,the barge had four passengers when it headed back to the jetty.
When we stepped ashore ,we arranged with the bargee to pick us up ,he told us that there would be no problem as they would be working until midnight .
As we walked up the ramp to the shore we were greeted by a chubby little taxi driver. “Allo Eenglish people” he said with a smile that went from ear to ear, “ I am George ,this my taxi” he said pointing to an old Austin Cambridge. “ Pliss ,I take you round Morfou“ I took the three pounds from my pocket and told him that that was all the money we possessed and out of that we had to get some black hair dye. “Iss no problems“ he said . “ I take you to pharmacy and then I show you Morfou”
We stepped into the old banger ,clean but ramshackle, he was very proud of his in car entertainment , and old disc player with a letterbox slot into which he would slip his 45’s. This was affixed to the underside of his dashboard and held in place by electrical tape. He told us that he had been in the 8th Army during WW2 and was Montgomery’s chauffeur during the desert campaign.
When he drove off he put some bouzouki music on and proceeded to wave his hands in time to the music, he was so full of life, you could have plugged him into the National Grid and he would have lit up Liverpool.
The chemist was closed but George shouted something through the letter box and the pharmacist came and opened up. He found it difficult to understand why four young dark haired men wanted to buy black hairdye. George said that he said that he thought we were odd, but we got what we came for . I had George do the deal and he had the money so we never knew what it cost. It was now mid afternoon and he said he would take us for a Meze. I thought we would’nt get much and agreed to his suggestion. The drive to the “restaurant” was marvellous , we took the coast road west of the town and it was empty, absolutely empty. The scenery was breathtaking The sky was devoid of clouds and was duck egg blue, the sea was ultramarine with white topped waves,the shoreline was of sun bleached rocks of a blue grey and we could hear the waves crunching upon the shore with only the sound of an occasional gull screeching lazily on the wing.
George pulled the car on to what appeared to be some waste ground just above the shore. There was a little wooden shack, it’s woodwork weathered to the same grey as the rocks so that it appeared to be a part of them. A little old lady was sat in the shade of the over hanging roof and she stirred awake as we came to a halt. George jumped out and pulled a table to the middle of the parking area. We fetched some chairs and the old lady brought out a calico table cloth; soon she and George had filled the table with little dishes ,each containing something different. George then brought out an old wind up gramaphone and a small table to put it on. A large bottle of Ouzo appeared ,the music began to play a we four had the most magical afternoon unfurl before us.
As the music played we could hear the surf rumbling below ,this was life at its very best. Each little dish was a revelation, stuffed olives, yorgthi, anchovies, marinated peppers, the colours of the food enhanced by the golden sunshine, as each dish was emptied it was replaced by others, the ouzo was drank with water,making it milky, and the steady refrain of the music seemed to release us into a Grecian idyll. George started to dance, as chubby as he was the music seemed to transform him, he was dancing in the style we now call the Zorba’s dance. He got us all to our feet and coached us dancing in the Greek manner.
There was no one to laugh at us and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.
The sun was low on the horizon when we left that magical little place and drove slowly back to Morfou ,we four thought we were going to the jetty to get a barge back ,but no, George wanted us to see more of his little town.
I can remember the little squares and narrow streets,all was quiet and empty. We asked George where everyone was ,he put his hands together and placed them beside his ear ,”sleepin’” he said.
We came upon a square that was decorated with flowers and bunting,at one end there was a stage upon which there we a drum kit and loud speakers, he told us that there was a wedding party going to be held there at nightfall. He then drove on some until we came to a larger square which had similar decorations but here there was a stage at either end ,it was a very large square.
George then told us that we would go to that wedding party , but first we would go and sit by the sea. We four thought he was mad, lord knows how much the Meze had cost, let alone the taxi fare. We sat watching the sun dip below the horizon ,our skin warmed by that marvellous afternoon sun ,now cooling in the evening breeze. The strains of music began to waft our way and George told us to get back aboard ,” Now we have some good time eh?” When we got back to the big square it was full, at a table on the far side of the square ,mid way between the stages ,stood the bride and groom. There was a queue of people lining up to shake the grooms hand and pin money on to the brides dress. George made us line up with him and I pointed to the bride, “We have no money” I told him.”Iss Okay” he replied. When it was our turn ,George pulled a pound out of his pocket and pointed to us , the groom shook our hands and the bride gave us a dazzling smile. We four were treated like superstars, obviously British sailors never got to this port. We found out what the two stages were for ,a rock band was on the one and a bouzouki band was on the other, they played at separate times and the whole evening went with a bang. There was a huge feast and the drink flowed freely, we put our newly taught dance lessons into practise with the ladies, not young ladies , you could’nt get near the young ladies ,they were ring fenced by chaperones.
Pretty soon the sands of time ran out and we had to head back to the jetty. George took us up to the bride and groom again to wish them well and we bade our hearfelt goodbyes. One of the men put a full crate of Coca Cola in my hands, it was so touching. That was the real Cyprus and we were sad to leave it.
We four took our farewells with George at the head of the jetty ,he was all that was good about Cyprus, he gave us one of the best days of our lives ;a bit like Zorba really.
,Below I have shown the beach at Famagusta and the Karpaz ,Kyrenia Castle , Al Kantara Castle, St Hilarion Castle , Bufavento Castle,Kyrenia from the sea and the shore line by Morfouplus some of the lads on the Kypros when in Famagusta..
Love it Brian.
Just started reading these Brian. They are very good. Well done.