Hullo Old Home

OOPS !!!!

Aah but it was good to be alive that summer, the voyage back to home waters was peaceful, the seas were calm and the summer weather stayed with us through the Med and up to Northern France. We were not going back to Liiverpool ,we were going to Two ports in France and then to Ghent ,in Belgium, and then on to the Surrey Commercial Dock in London.
We were halfway down the Med when the most amazing thing happened in the sky above. I was on the twelve to four watch and was doing my trick at the wheel when the 2nd Mate started to become very animated. It was about half past one in the morning and it was a velvety black night, a lilac tinge appeared at the top of the sky and was spreading throughout the heavens, lilac turned to pink and then an almighty tearing sound began to be heard. The 2nd told me to look as I most probably never see anything like it again. Oh, I looked alright, impossible not to, the sky was full of wonderful colours heliotrope ,pink ,purple and red. The tearing sound turned to a roar and then ,down from the heavens highest point there appeared a flaming mass ,streaking across the sky, the waters were ablaze with colour as the passed across the western horizon. And then it was gone and the sea and the engine were the only sound to be heard. I never found out what it was ,the 2nd mate opined that it might be a satellite falling to earth, whatever it was ,it was spectacular.

Le Havre was our next port of call, apart from seeing the liner France ,there is hardly anything else that I can recall about the place ,excepting for the ridiculous prices that they charged for drinks at Le Disco, it was worth it because I had the pleasure of a French ladies company in my bunk that night..
The next day was Sunday and the docks were filling up with family’s out looking at the ships. I was standing by the gangway and a family of four were looking at our ship with a keen interest. The father hailed me and asked where we were from ,in answer I asked him if he would like to come aboard and have a look around. They were more than happy to do so and made their way up the gangway . I took them up to the bridge and answered most of their questions, their English was impeccable, they took photographs of each other on the wheel and then I showed them the lifeboats and the decks from the bridge. They were aboard for about a half hour and then I escorted them back to the gangway ,they thanked me profusely and the father shook my hands and I felt something being pressed into my palm, he winked and touched his forehead in salute. When they had gone I looked at what was in my hand and found a bundle of Francs. I forget how much it was ,but I remember that it was more than enough for spending money in our next port, Dunkirk.

Roger ,the eternal fiancé, came ashore with me in Dunkirk, he turned out to be good company ,we did a round of the bars and ended up in a little estaminet not far from the docks. There was a wedding party in there ,they were simple folk and very welcoming they were too. There was a little dance floor and an accordianist and an acoustic guitarist and a drummer were making music that seemed ageless. It was very French . Roger and I were quaffing our lagers enjoying the sight , several generations of the family were on the floor jigging away to the Gallic refrains. At length a young lady appeared at our table and made signs that she would like us to join them. We did and enjoyed ourselves immensely. We danced with several ladies and they were very forgiving for the amount of times were stood on their toes. It was a lovely, innocent night.

From Dunkirk we sailed to Ghent, I had never been there before and was really surprised at how good the place looked. We arrived on a Sunday ,a very sunny Sunday ,I was to be night watchman and we would only be here a couple of days.
The ship was alongside , made fast and the derricks and hatches were made ready for work ,all before lunchtime. As soon as the last item of labour was completed I showered and changed into my go ashores so that I could have look around the town and maybe sample some of the famous Belgian beers.
I had a hurried lunch and failed to persuade any of the lads to accompany me in to town, they were going to do some bronzying and go to town later that night. The town centre was only a little walk from the ship and it was very picturesque too, lots of mediaeval buildings crowded amongst the baroque and 18th century. Nearly every lamppost and building were festooned with flags and bunting and a lot of people were dressed in 14th or 15th century clothes; I saw a tall building that looked like an old gaol ,the walls tall and forbidding, pierced from the ground up with heavily barred windows. There was a bas relief on one of it’s walls showing a young maiden offering one of her breast’s through the bars to an old man imprisoned within. I later learned that she was the old mans daughter and she kept him nourished by breast feeding him. He survived and went on to become one of Flanders leaders. The decorations were in celebration of that time.
I found a little jewel of a pub just off the main square, it was about 500 hundred years old ,half timbered with leaded glass windows. I entered and found that it was just a single room ,unchanged since it was first opened , the walls had blackened oak panels and the ceiling was a masterpiece of the plasterers art. There was a tiny half circular servery behind which sat a lady who looked like she had just come out of a Brueghel painting, her strawberry blonde hair and her ruddy complexion made her look like a Dutch serving wench.
She had absolutely no English and I had to point to what I wanted, a dark beer. I sat sipping my beer and people watched through the leaded windows , it was quite fascinating, there was every manner of attire being worn out there, it was almost like watching a walk through time. I’d had about three large glasses of this wondrous brew when I felt the call of nature, but where was the W.C. ?
The room was a perfect square, ,there was the door I came in off the street,
I could’nt see another door anywhere. I went across to the lady behind the bar and said in my fractured French, ”Where is the toilet please? ” She ,being Flemish, a fact I was unaware of, smiled and said “Ja,ja” and came around the bar and put her arms up for a dance, there was a little polka playing on a tape.
So there we were ,me bursting for a pee and she almost leading me around the floor. As we were thus engaged I noticed one of the locals push one of the blackened oak panels through which he walked. Noted!!
When the music stopped I headed through the same door to relieve myself, I was shocked to find the urinal set into the wall of a courtyard in which there children playing. I need’nt have worried ,it was an accepted custom.
When I went back to my table ,the barlady was sat there and there was a litre of blond beer too. Close up she was pretty, not beautiful but easy on the eye. She took a sheaf of photographs out of her purse and showed me them ,on one there was a big blonde man with two toddlers, she pointed to her wedding ring and then to the man in the picture ,I understood. The children were hers and he was her husband. The other pictures were variations of the first one. She had pulled her chair close to mine as she showed the photos and I was very aware of her womanhood. We danced awhile and held each other a little closer, time seemed suspended and then her husband came in. He was very happy to see her dancing and rattled away in Flemish, he took some money out of the till and waved us all good bye. He was obviously a popular man because all the customers were smiling and waving good bye at him.
I learned that the lady’s name was Janine and she was feeding me the best of her beers and we danced nearly every dance, our clinches becoming more heated with every dance. I was twirling her around the floor when three of our lads came through the door, I waved and pointed to my seat and they sat there while waiting for me. Roger told me that I had blown the night watch job ,someone else was doing it because I was’nt there at the appointed time. I was too caught up in what was happening to worry. Janine was letting me take liberty’s when we danced, and she was reciprocating, where was this leading too?, her husband was a big man, I was still sober enough to worry about little things like that. And then some one put on a slow ,sexy dance and we near made love on the floor.
I whispered the old word for sex in her lovely Flemish ear and her response was amazing. “Ooh Jaaa!” she crooned into my ear and then she turned to the girl who was acting as bar maid and said something to her. The girl handed Janine some money and her coat and then Janine pulled me toward the door. I yelled goodbye to the boys and stepped out into the darkness. Janine hugged and kissed me and pulled me toward a little hotel………….there was no room at the inn. Back in the street we stood and mauled each other and then tried another hotel……..it was the same story. I forget how many hotel we tried ,we were desperate. I was feeling like an unexploded bomb and Jane was as taut as a violin string. As we walked through those cobbled alleyways, looking for somewhere to slake our lust, the street lights were out and we could barely see were we where we going. At length we came to an opening in the old mediaeval wall ,it was stygian, we could barely see each other in the blackness. Janine stopped and we started making foreplay, I thought she would explode, trembling with passion she bent forward ,her back toward me ,she pulled her skirt up and stepped out of her panties , I was aching for her,I moved toward that special place and then…………………. The world exploded!!! The black hole where we had felt so safe was illuminated by an incredible light and the voice of God was thundering through the sky. I shrivelled and turned around and there sat an audience who had come to see Son et Lumiere. Our hidey hole looked like a castle entrance and the massed gasps of the audience led me to taking a very sharp exit stage left. My last sight of Janine was of her still bent over and waiting ,her face looking toward the audience, a mask of sheer horror. Some uniformed men made to chase after me, they never stood a chance ,footwear was smoking and I did’nt stop running until I reached the ship.

The next night I ventured ashore in a different direction ,I did’nt want to be recognised , I found a fairly modern pub and went in for a pint. When I walked through the door a hush fell over the drinkers and I knew that they were talking about me. It turned out that they were rugby players and one of them came over to me. He told me that the whole town was talking about last nights spectacle, some of them had actually seen me and invited me to join them on a pub crawl. Little did I know it but the object of the crawl was to show me to as many people as possible. The chap who had welcomed me turned out to be a surgeon and he was a personal friend of Janines husband. This was getting a bit too rich. Pretty soon we landed back at Janines pub ,both she and her husband were behind the bar. I was petrified. She caught sight of me and came round and gave me a real back hander, my head was ringing. Her husband shouted something to her and she left the bar. He smiled at me and poured me a beer. Through his English speaking friend , he told me how last night had given the town one of the funniest sights ever, he said hundreds of people were sorry to have missed it.
I was very ,very drunk by the time they put me in a taxi to go back to the ship.
Forty odd years have passed by since that night and the events are deeply engrained in my consciousness , I was truly sorry for the distress that I had caused Janine but I could still see what people saw as comic. I had to learn not to be so lascivious.

We learned that we were to be chartered by Cunard and the ship would be renamed Aurania and she would be going up the Great Lakes. I was’nt going to miss that for the world. We had a weeks leave ahead of us ,we would catch the train home and enjoy our short stay ,we were all coming back for the next voyage, all that is, excepting the bosun,he had had enough of her.

The Great Lakes

The Kypros docked in Tilbury and we were signed off and departed for our seven days leave. I spent my time off in Liverpool and it was the usual round of pubs and dances, it was’nt a very memorable leave. It was good to see the family and to get a bit of Mums home cooking but apart from one incident on my first full night at home it was boring.
I usually went out with mum and Dad for a drink at the KTA club on our estate, on this particular Saturday Mum wanted to stay at home to watch something on t.v. and so Dad asked if I would like to have a pint with some of his mates, I did’nt want to spend the entire evening with them but said I would have a few jars and then slope off to Liverpool and go clubbing.
Instead of going to the Railway as usual the five of us went off to the 12/5 club in the far side of Kirkby. It was owned by the Transport and General Workers Union and was quite nice. There was a dance advertised for later that night in the ballroom upstairs. I had noticed a few nice looking girls going through to the back room and thought that I might stay for the dancing, save a journey to town.
One of Dads mates was a truck driver who lived across the road from us ,he had a nice family and a good looking wife, but he was a terrible womaniser. We five were sitting in the lounge bar and there was a group of ladies sitting on the banquette against the rear wall . The truck driver sat nearest to them and was eyeing them up. The ladies husbands were stood at the bar and took a very dim view of this. Dad suggested that they leave me there and they go back to the Carters Arms ,a pub at the top of our estate. They sank their pints and all but the trucker ,let’s call him B, made to leave. “I’ll stay with your Brian, Bill” said B “Keep him out of trouble” So Dad and the other two left and I was stuck with B.
He started asking the ladies if he could buy them a drink ,they were shaking their heads and were studiously avoiding eye contact with him. The men at the bar were glowering at me…..what the hell was I doing here? I felt the call of nature and went out to the Gents W.C.. As I was standing at the ****oir on of the husbands came in and growled at me “Leave our wives alone or yer fackin’ dead” He was huge, built like a Russian tank. I told him that I had no interest in their wives, it was the prat sitting next to me that was making the nuisance of himself. “Well fackin’ stop ‘im or we’ll do yer anyway !” he said.
I went back to B and told what had happened . “Take no notice of them gob****es” he said, and carried on womanising. Why is it that your body lets you down at the worst moments!? I needed another pee , badly. The husbands were giving me the hard stare; I was between a rock and a very hard place. Nature forced me back to the gents, and two big husbands followed me in there!!
I never got chance to open my fly, a huge hand grasped my lapels and drew me toward its owner . This guy had sparks coming off his teeth “ I fackin’ warned you” he yelled his other hand balling into a fist. “I’m dead” I thought . The the door opened and in stepped Tommy Molloy, the bosun’s mate off the Empress of Britain. “Hey lads” he said ,pulling the guys fist back . “ I’ve been piping what’s going on and yer barkin’up the wrong tree. Leave him alone!” My lapels were freed and they told Tom that it was really the b*st*rd who was with me that they wanted. Just then B walked in ,whistling a merry tune. They turned on him and Tommy told them to take it outside. One of them gripped B’s arm and propelled him through the doors into the carpark. The second husband did’nt intervene but stood and watched events. B was looking a bit sick and just stood there. “ Yer wudden lissin t’yer mate ,yer stupid tw*t, ‘ave some o’ this!” so saying ,he smashed his fist into B’s face. There was a crunching sound and B’s left eye was surrounded by exposed bone. One punch, that was enough. “gerrim the f*ck outta here” the big guy said ,wiping his knuckles on B’s handkerchief.
I led B home, on the way there he was muttering that we should go back there and give that fellow what for. “ I coulda done ‘im”
It was’nt quite the night I had expected, but it was interesting,what story would B tell his missus?
While I was still on leave I saw a “ghost”. I was walking along Kirkby brow when I saw the young kid who had fallen into the Thames while attempting to scull back ashore after dropping us off at the Adroity back in 1963. We thought he had drowned and mourned for him then. I had left the Thames and Everards and so thought for these past few years that he was no more. It was great to see him as large as life. I showered him with questions and learned what had happened that terrible night. The tide was on the ebb when he fell overboard he managed to grab hold of he gunwhale but could climb back aboard the jolly boat. He had no idea where he was going and he could’nt see any lights. He drifted right down to Thameshaven, were the boat fetched up against the pilings of a jetty. The tide was out and he let go of the boat and proceeded to climb up one of the pilings. There were barnacles on the piling and he cut himself on them as he made his way upward ;by the time he reached the top he was very bloody and very,very muddy. There was a watchman’s hut on the Jetty and it was lit up . Exhausted he dragged his body toward the light. When he got there he saw an old watchman sitting in a chair dozing, our mate tapped the window to attract the watchman’s attention . The old man looked up from his slumbers and near passed out ,he thought it was a ghost . When the old man recovered from shock he called the police and ambulance and the young man was taken to hospital, and here he was now, working ashore, no more jolly boats for him!

When we returned to Tilbury we found the Aurania had a Cunard funnel and ,on the afterdeck , something that rang a warning for the future……..a container.
Pillar box red and corrugated, little did we know that our time was passing and that we sailors would be consigned to history . But that was in the future, we were still enjoying the present.

Nice one Brian. Keep 'em comin'.

The Great Lakes 2

When we rejoined our vessel we found that she was being loaded with the very best of everything that Britain could offer to the American market. This was in the days of the loose stow, seems incredible that we carried our cargoes like that. The only nod to modernity was that some of the cargo was palletised, this still meant the the only thing that stood between the goods and the thieves, was a polythene cover. We, all of were a little larcenous in that were felt that anything was fair game. I can imagine some people will feel outraged by that statement ,but it was an accepted fact ,we always helped ourselves to some of the cargo. I got a superb pair of hand made shoes, They were part of a loose stow and the pallet was damaged during the loading, they were already written off. The holds were like Alladins caves, camera equipment was loaded side by side with all manner of British biscuits, Scotch whisky ,motor cycle wear was next to rolls of steel, pig skin jackets were on open stow adjacent engineering equipment and shortbread and fruit cakes. We were not stupid, we would not dream of broaching personal property, in fact we nearly got into fisticuffs with some French dockers when we some them attempting to prise open a passengers luggage that had been stowed in the fore peak. Our deck boy help himself to a load of chocolate creams and was very proud of the fact that he could get the entire contents of a box into his mouth, he looked like a very large hamster when he had fitted in the last chocolate. We sailed from London and went to Dunkirk ,where we loaded fine wines and brandy, lots of it. Billy, my cabin mate, and I got a few bottles of Hennesy 5 star which we would use as a nightcap when we had finished our
watch.
We certainly never felt like thieves, we never stole to sell stuff and our captain never expressed any thoughts on the matter. Captain Cooney had been at since since the early 1940’s and knew which way was up ,so he did’nt feel we were like the 40 thieves. But Mr Cooney, our lord and master had never sailed in American waters and was as straight as a die, oh poor Mr Cooney was in for the shock of his life. To give you an idea of what our captain was like, picture this image ,Alfred Hitchcock wearing a captains uniform and peaked cap. He had never come up against organised crime; starting with Quebec ,he would be subjected to non stop coercion at every port, Canadian or American ,on the whole of our outward journey.
When we got into Quebec ,the shore agents paid for security men to sit in each of the holds to watch out for pilfering. We saw mass pilfering taking place and the guards kept their faces averted from it. We learned , from one of the junior officers ,that some very heavy duty characters had tried to interest the captain into taking out “insurance” against the broaching of cargo. Mr Cooney was British and could not countenance doing business with “gangsters”. An awful lot of cargo never got to the end user there. Montreal was the second chapter in the same story. And we were there for quite some time !
While we were in Montreal ,Roger and I went to see Expo ’67, it was marvellous.
A huge area had been developed into a gigantic exhibition centre, all the great nations, and a lot of small ones too, had built pavilions which were filled with the products that were the best that that country could make. ,there were huge queues at each pavilion and the biggest pof them all was outside the British pavilion.
This was when all things British were highly prized and respected, the Beatles, the Mini and the Mini skirt, the E type Jaguar and the Rolls Royce, James Bond and the Aston Martin. Winklepicker shoes and long hair. The North Americans could’nt get enough of them. Roger and I spent the whole day and a big chunk of the night looking around ,but we barely scratched the surface. Some of my most lasting memories are of things that we going to come in the future, the T.V. telephone, it is here now, but back then they did’nt have lcd screens but somehow they had a working system that were local on the site. You sat in a booth and there was a telephone on a desk and a very small t.v. screen on the wall above the phone.. There six booths, three at either side of the pavilion. You picked up the phone and pressed one the buttons ,marked 1 to 3 ,and this connected you to the booths over the other side of the pavilion. The booths were crammed with teen agers trying to make dates over the phone. I got a teenager from Buffalo and she squealed with delight because I sounded like a Beatle and my hair was like theirs too.
When Roger and I were queuing up to get into the British pavilion we were joined by two young ladies from Iowa, they had herd us talking and freaked out because we sounded like you know who. They were nice, but Roger was engaged to be wed and he could’nt possibly play around.
One exhibit we went to was called Circlorama. This was a film system ,based on a Russian invention ,that gave you a 360 degree picture. I had seen the Russian film at a cinema in Piccadilly Circus in 1963. I was impressed then, it was embryonic, you could see the separate screens, about eleven of them ,but the effect was not lost. You had to stand for the performance, there were no seats ,just a series of hand rails. We saw a charge by Cossack horsemen which was breath taking,and there were other similar sights. Here, in Montreal, Disney had bought the rights and the auditorium was huge, there were hand rails ,as in London, here we really needed them. The film began with red curtains right around the auditorium , they looked real, they began to open and a shot of the ocean appeared as the curtains opened and then disappeared. We were in a plane and were flying toward the land on the horizon, Canada; as the plane banked and turned you could hear the audience gasp and sway with the movement. Everyone was gripping the hand rails. You could not see where the screens were joined, it was a seamless 360 degree picture and was marvellous. The Plane flew right toward a Mountie , who saluted us and said “Welcome to Canada” and the film went on to show us the greatest spectacles that were to be seen in that country. I often wonder what happened to that system, it made the Imax screens look puny by comparison.

From Montreal we entered the Saint Lawrence Seaway, a wonderful piece of marine engineering, this gave ships access to all the great cities that lay on the shores of those great lakes and we were scheduled to go a lot of them.
The only drawback to going up the Seaway is the lack of sleep; you are on call the whole of the time you are in the seaway, you have to take your ship through all the locks and I remember being exhausted by the time we cleared the last lock and entered into Lake Ontario, and what an entrance that is . Here you pass through an area known as One Thousand Islands, there are Islands and Islets, .Eyots and just small lumps of rock, and on nearly everyone of them someone has built a house. Some are huge mansions, some like castles in Spain ,there are log cabins and Victorian brownstone ,each one unique, and all of them envied. A fantasy waterland that is shared by America and Canada.
Our first call in Lake Ontario was to Rochester in New York state; this was a company town ,and the company was Kodak. It was everywhere, it’s effects were seemingly benign, we did’nt see the usual poverty that was common in most American ports, the town had a neatly clipped appearance and the streets were almost empty during the day ,everyone was at work. I found myself sat in an almost empty bar one afternoon. There was one other customer, a grizzled old man. He came and sat down beside me and introduced himself. He was an English immigrant ,had been there since before WW2, sounded like Alastair Cooke with his mid Atlantic accent. He told me about Kodak City ,as he called Rochester. The company looked after it’s own ,he said that the workers had pensions and hospital care, all owned by Kodak, as were the cinema and theatre .He reckoned it was like Cadbury’s in Britain, all the workers had a house, the only thing they did’nt do was pay for your burial. He had already taken care of that side of things and he asked me if I would like to see his grave. I must have looked shocked, but he told me that it was on the route back to my ship and he could give me a ride and show me the grave en-route. I wished that I had brought my camera with me, for his grave was something else! It was a monumental affair ,done in terra cotta, it had angels and cherubim adorning each side of the headstone ,they were all looking at the redstone plate in the centre which had engraved upon it “ Here lie the last mortal remains of ……………/………..
Born 1893 died……,The date and epitaph would be put on when he had shaken off his mortal coil. I told him that it was rather unusual to be so well prepared and he told me that the city fathers had passed an ordinance forbidding the buidilng of upright monumental head stones from December 1967, and then he pointed to the other new and unoccupied plots that were nearby.
From Rochester we went to Toronto a vast sprawling town that looked very American, it was here that Roger and I discovered Canada’s dark secret , the gravy sandwich! I kid you not. We had been out and about sampling the different brews and felt the need for a bit of supper on the way back to the ship, there was a nice clean short order café not far from the docks and we entered to see what was on the menu ,and there it was ,amongst the sandwiches ,Gravy Sandwich . I forget the price ,but we ordered two, after a short wait the counter hand brought us two soup plates in each of which there were two rounds of buttered bred ,almost covered by a rich ham gravy. It was bloody marvellous!!
The thing I did’nt like about Toronto and the other big Lake ports were the pubs, they were nearly all full of striptease artists, pole dancing was yet to come and it was so tiresome to sit and watch some poor girl grind away at the top of a bar counter to whatever tunes were on the juke box.
One night I got talking to a Toronto policeman who was a Londoner, I told him about the not stop strip joints that seemed to pass as pubs ,and asked him if he knew any English type pubs. “Go to the Jolly Friar in York Street, you can have a nice quiet drink there” I thanked him and made my way to that establishment . It was quite gloomy when I walked in ,low lights , very murky. I went to the counter and held up my money to show I wanted service, a barmaid appeared from the murk and asked what I would like…………..she was totally naked ,and so were the waitresses. He obviously had a sense of humour ,that British Bobby.

Shown below are the new Bosun and Joe,an A.B.,my cabinmate Billy Leatherbarrow and a view of the St Lawrence Seaway as we head west.

Niagara
The theft of cargo continued in the ports we were visiting . We heard, on the grapevine , that Captain Cooney was adamant against dealing with the gangsters, he thought there must be some honest men North America . Sadly for him ,we had’nt met them yet ,Toledo was our next stop ,totally unmemorable but for two things, first I was asked for proof of identity in every bar I went to and ,secondly, one of the bars we were in had an 18 stone stripper performing on the top of the bar counter, the punters were crying “Keep ‘em on, for God’s sake keep ‘em on”
We next went to Hamolton, still the pilfering continued; security guards read newspapers ,refusing to see what was going on in front of them. We had stopped our little bit of larceny, what was going on was way above our heads. Whilst we were in Hamilton ,the Mate organised a coach trip to Niagara Falls, it was a Sunday and everyone who was off duty booked a place on the coach .
The journey to Niagara was very nice, we travelled through farmland , it was summer and the fields were ablaze with colour, the pumpkins and squashes were ripening and the heads of Indian corn were rich and heavy with seed.
Every so often we would come across a roadside stall where the farmers were selling their produce, the coach driver stopped at one such stall and we bought an assortment of apples and plums, they were so succulent that they were consumed before we got our destination. Roger and I paired up to go sight seeing, it was hard to decide where to go first ,we were on the Canadian side and could get close to the Horseshoe falls, the were crowds of tourists everywhere ,so we got in where we could.
The waterfalls are beyond description, to stand by the cascade at the Horseshoe is so exhilarating, the roar and crash is awesome, it is hard to pull yourself away, to watch the little Maid of the Mist navigate through boiling waters until she gets almost beneath the raging torrents ,keeps the watcher enthralled. To get a bigger picture ,you can take a funicular and stand at the bottom of the Seagram tower and see the mist rising, perhaps, two hundred feet above the falls.
The rest of sights included a cable ride above the rapids , the queue was too long for us to take a ride and we wandered through a little park that was nearby. It was quite placid after the spectacles of the roaring waters and it led us into the main area of Niagara town. This was tawdry compared to the show mother nature had put on with the falls. There were the sideshows and gift shops as at Blackpool or Margate, but they seemed so tacky. We noticed a sign that pointed the way to an “original English pub”. We made our way toward it and found a non descript building that was no older than its neighbours, it was only on entering that we found out that it was a bar. The original English pub bit consisted of furniture and fittings that had been brought over from the U.K., from the look of them they had been taken from a pub that had been bombed in the Blitz ! There was a dart board that was so badly damaged that it was beyond use and the counter looked like it had been used as a sawhorse. Or maybe the English pub that they were taken from was one used by Millwall supporters.
After a walk around the town, we returned to the falls again and sat people watching, whilst thus engaged we met a young who had overheard us talking and he asked if we were from Liverpool. I nodded to him and told him that Roger was from Shropshire. He told us that he was from Walton but his boyfriend was from Vancouver. He must have seen from our faces that we thought he was gay; he told us that people in Vancouver talked of men friends and girl friends, and no , he was’nt gay! He stayed with us awhile because our accents reminded him of his childhood.
It was a tired and weary crew that boarded the bus for “home” that night, the journey back was quiet as we were left with our own thoughts of what we had seen and heard.
Our next call was at Detroit ,Motown! It was’nt a happy place at that time, full scale rioting was taking place and we were cautioned about going ashore. Roger and I took a stroll to see if we could find nice place for a drink, what we saw on our up from the waterfront was terrible, this was’nt just a riot ,it was war. Street after street was filled with shells of burnt out storefronts, hawkers stood in alleyways their car boot facing the street ,they called out “ Hey, c’mon see, we got good stuff for you!” The peddlers were not poor people ,they were mostly middle aged men who looked like your average shopkeeper ,their car boots were full of looted goods. We saw fur coats, watches of every kind , T.V. sets, all manner of goods could be had for peanuts. We turned and headed back to the docks, that was a sad time for America.

I am going to post some pictures I took of our day out in Niagara, the first picture is of the park,then we have the cable car ride over the rapids,next is a picture of the Niagara falls on the American side. There are two pictures of the Maid of the Mist ,passing the American falls and then heading into the Horseshoe.looking down from the foot of the Seagram tower we see the pavilion at the side of the Horseshoe and the mist rising way above the Falls. The Seagram Tower is next ,and then last,but not least ,is Roger ,standing at the side of the Horseshore ,with Niagara providing a backdrop.
BrianD

Please note,in the last posting I had a memory lapse, the port we where in
when we went to Niagara was Hamilton ,in Ontario,I have amended the posting


The Great Lakes 3
We departed from Detroit and went to a Canadian town called Windsor, a fairly small town by Detroit, my only recollection of that place was that it was neat and tidy and seemed to be full of Ulstermen. I never went ashore. From there we crossed Lake St Clair and entered into the canal that would take us into Lake Huron. It was fascinating to pass through this canal ,it seemed to cut through some towns. The bridges were raised as we neared each settlement and we could see the traffic held up on either side ,awaiting the the lowering of the bridge so that they could continue their journeys. We quite often saw the Lakers as we navigated these waterways, they were huge and had a very distinctive design. These ships had their bridge and officers accommodation ,forward ,almost on top of the bows. The crewmen and engines were aft ,so the cargo hatches were clear and unimpeded. They were mostly grain carriers ,for the Lakes were adjacent the great prairies of North America and these ships could handle tens of thousands of tons at time.
Sarnia was the last call before entering Lake Huron, we would not see another town until we sailed north to the top of the State of Michigan where would pass Macinaw Island and then enter Lake Michigan
.
Roger and I managed to get ashore in Sarnia,it was a homely little place but we went inappropriately dressed. We wore collars and ties! The few bars that we found were like their cousins in Australia ,men only! Imagine, if you will,
Two fops entering a very macho barroom ,filled with lumberjack types, bearded and garbed in tartan hunting gear. Jaws could be heard hitting the floor as we walked to the counter. Our after shave set noses twitching and we could feel the resentment building up there. As we took charge of our beers two lumberjacketted fellows called us to their table. They were English immigrants, we sat down and we could feel the eyes of the rest of the bar upon us. The English blokes said that the Canadians thought we were very effeminate ,it was’nt done to enter those bars wearing aftershave and smart gear Gradually ,as we got more beer inside us ,the atmosphere seemed to relax. We stayed until closing time and they offered to show us around Sarnia before we went back to the ship. We were impressed when we saw his auto, it was a big Chevy estate, and not very old.. We were driven to a lookout point where we could the port and the surrounding area, and very nice too it was..
As we made our way back down to the town , the car juddered to a halt, We had run out of fuel, Roger and I helped the other guy to push it along when we reached a gradient and then jumped in the back when we were heading downwards. We eventually made it to the second guys house and he got his car out and pulled it up behind the estate. The rear window was opened on the estate and a thick blanket was lowered out through it to cover the rear of the car. The window was then raised ,trapping the blanket ,and we set off with the second car pushing the first. It was a weird experience, being shoved along at speed. We got to a garage without any mishaps and then we were driven back to our ship.
Our next call was Chicago, where the first American skyscrapers were built.
The race riots were still in full swing here , state troopers and the National Guard were out in force ,going ashore was not an option. The docker’s that came aboard there were entirely black. There was a terrible atmosphere down in the holds and there was mostly wines and spirits from France that was to be discharged here. The captain was still refusing to buy protection, the dockers had a party ,a massive party, the only thing that came out of the hatches were empty brandy bottles, hurled at anyone who dared look into the hatch.
On our second day in Chicago ,the powers that be ,Cunard, instructed the captain to make the necessary arrangements to facilitate the safe discharge of the cargo . The police came aboard and took away the drunk dockers at gunpoint and a fresh crew of white dockers came aboard and unloaded the cargo with due despatch.
In spite of the warnings of going ashore I went anyway, I had seen the Windy city in so many movies that I wanted to get a glimpse of it for myself.
I did’nt get far , I wanted to go to the stockyards to sample their Porterhouse steaks. I ended up having a burger in a hash house just by the Loop . I went into a little bar just by the business district there were a couple of guys playing pool, the game had’nt made it to the UK as yet and I stood watching the play. Now I’m not a pool player, but those fellows played it differently to the way I see it played here. Over there they “called the shots”, i.e. they would name the ball and the pocket they would put it in, I thought that lent a bit of skill to the game. When they had finished playing , one of them asked me if I would like a game. I nodded yes and we got stuck in. I won! His mate asked if I would like to play him, again ,I won!
The first man then said “ How about we make this interesting?“ and then I exited stage left ,seen too many pictures about hustlers.
When we had finished discharging what was left of our cargo , we started loading cargo for the UK. Grain and Apples made up the bulk of load ,and we made our way back the way we had come. Travelling through those locks on the Seaway is not all “cakes and ale” you are always tired as you have to be on standby for passing through the locking systems; the thought of doing on another trip stopped me from signing on again. I left the Aurania /Kypros in London on the 20th of September, I was going back to Liverpool to spend some time with my family.
Below ,we have one of the Lakers ,passing us in the Seaway. Then we can see one of the small towns we passed through , and then we can see the sailors graffiti on the lock entrance to the seaway.

Back to Canada
After a nice relaxing bit of leave I found myself back at the Pool looking for another ship,I was’nt particular about where it would go ,or whose ship it was; I just wanted to get back where I seemed to belong.
I was offered a bulk carrier, she was called the Pennyworth and was from Newcastle, she had a full Liverpool crowd. The last crew had paid off and would not be coming back, I did wonder why at the time ,never did find out though.
When you join a new ship ,with a new crew, there is a settling in period , you weigh up what each man is like and learn to know where the lines are drawn with each one. This was a Scouse crowd, football would be a conversation item high on everyone’s list ,me self, I knew sod all about the Blue’s and the Red’s save for the divisions that had existed within my larger family for as long as I could remember. I would’nt be taking sides in any football debates. There was a little guy from Garston who knew a lot of people from Speke Road Gardens, there was some common ground there. What seemed to interest most of them ,was my not shipping out of Liverpool all the time. I was finding out that the deck crowd did not like people who were different. Each night ,most of the older guy’s, including the 2nd cook ,used to gather in my cabin to hear my tales of life on the London river and tramping. Gradually ,the coolness began to thaw and we could laugh and joke ,we were all of an age, we’d been out on the stone’s during the strike in ’60 and had a lot in common.
I had a slide viewer, which had come into my possession on the Aurania ,it was great for showing your transparencies ,of which I had quite a few. So the lads would take it in turn holding the viewer to look at the slides. All went well until the third night ,when the 2nd cook was looking at some pictures of my old crew mates. There was one of Terry and me,standing by a juke box in an Antwerp bar.
“Oose the coon then Brian” said the cook. I told him it was my mate off the Kenuta. “ Yer mean ter say yer a n*gg*r lover then?” There were a few s******s and the cook was waiting for my answer. I told him that I did’nt “love” anybody,that I judged people for who they were not for what they were.
Wrong answer……. “So what yer sayin’ is you’d rather ‘ave a coon fer a mate than a white bloke?” This was getting a bit awkward, I told him I judged everyone by their merits, people were people ,no matter their race or religion. You get good and bad in every race. “ I don’t feckin believe yew” the cook growled, “yore sayin’ a n*gg*r is as good as a whiteman?” I was on very thin ice now. Some more lads were standing in the cabin now. I was being had on toast !
“Orl rite den, wud yew let yer sister marry a coon?” I could’nt believe how quickly things were falling apart. I told him that my sister was free and adult enough to do what she pleased and that if she wished to marry someone then that was her prerogative , skin colour did not enter into it. The cabin went very quiet, and then one of the deckhands stood up and shouted “It’s *******s like yew oo ruin der race!!” They got up and left the cabin, a few threw me hostile glances.
From that moment on I was sent to Coventry, not a very happy state of affairs. When I walked into the mess ,conversations would cease and snide remarks would be made,never to my face ,but always within earshot. Thank god I had a load of books and had penpals, I spent my free time aboard writing and reading, this voyage would not last for long. The smallest deckhand was the one who made the most cracks, like a court jester ,he would herald my approach to a work party by saying things like “Watch it lad’s , n*gg*r Luvvas ‘ere”
I ignored it all, life was too short for that sort of thing. Our only port of call in Canada was Montreal ,and it was a short one as well. We were laden down with iron ore and sailed back to Newport in Wales ,all within a space of 24 days.
We paid off as soon as the ship arrived and we were all given passes for the journey home to Liverpool. While we were stood on the platform at Newport station, the whole crew stood about 10 yards away from me, you would have thought that I had a bad case of B.O. Some black students ,wearing their college scarves came on to the platform across the track from us, the Little Jester stepped forward and called out “Hey Daley, why doncher go over dere wid yer mates?”
I just shook my head in bewilderment.
The train journey to Liverpool was quite boozey, the duty frees were cracked open and things got mellow as we headed homeward. A few of the lads came and said that they were sorry for not talking to me, I never said a word. I was never more thankful than when that train reached home.

I had six days at home and then got an E.D boat down to the West Coast of Africa.

The Oti
I joined the Oti in Liverpool, she was going down to the West Coast for a couple of weeks, and,if she was anything like the Sulima ,we could be in for an enjoyable voyage.
The first thing I noticed ,as I joined her, was the amount of deck cargo she was carrying ; she had a loco, some carriages and some Scammell trucks, the deck was like an obstacle course ,we would have to be very careful when making our way along the afterdeck.
She was very similar to the Sulima , but I will stand to be corrected on that ,memory can play tricks on you as you get older.
The bosun was a fairly young guy ,a Yorkshireman, he had returned to sea after spending a deal of time ashore in the Fire Service. A lot of the senior men in the deck crowd were returnees to the M.N. after spending some time ashore, broken marriages and the inability to hold down a shore job were the reasons for their coming back to sea. This marked them out as different from the usual crowd, they drank a lot!! Whether it was from loneliness ,or heartache , I never found out, but the consequences for the watchkeeper’s ( the drinkers were daymen)we having to try and sleep through the racket they made as they drank themselves into a stupor. The recreation room was above our cabins and they would stomp their feet as they yelled out their boozey songs. In the morning’s they looked like death warmed up and seemed top be full of remorse. There were just the three of them , a middle aged man, a guy in his thirties and a failed midshipman, the latter was sailing as a SOS because he never cut it as an officer cadet. The rest of the crowd were O.K. the lampy was fairly young and was hardly ever without a smile on his face, there was a day worker called Lemmy ,short for Lemuel, and he was a no nonsense sailor of the old school, knew his stuff and had sailed with the best of them. He kept his own counsel, drank moderately ,and was quietly confident. I liked him.

Our first port of call was Funchal on the isle of Madeira, I had never been there before and thought it a lovely place, as you approach it ,it seems to be one solid mass, the mountain slopes down to the sea and is covered by wonderful red tiled rooved houses ,the gardens of which were full of the most colourful blooms .Poinsettias ,bright splashes of scarlet , orange estrelitzas, and clematis of every hue ,made the place a dazzle of colour. There was not time enough for a run ashore ,which was very disappointing ; it would be nearly seventeen years before I returned again.

On our journey southwards we heard ,on the BBC Overseas service, that the Pound was to be devalued, the full import of this did not hit home until we got to Dakar ,in Senegal. This had been a French colony and the town centre was very smart, lots of new buildings, pavement cafes ,bars and bistros, all accentuating it’s Frenchness. I forget who it was I went ashore with that night, he had been there before and knew his way about. He took me to an Alsatian bar, no not for dogs!
It was very Germanic and there was not a black face in sight, we had gone there for the local delicacy (local in Alsace that is),smoked sausage and sauerkraut. We ordered two glasses of absinthe and offered an English five pound note; the barmen looked at it as though it was something offensive, lifted it up with his fingertips ,and waved it to some of the “colonials”.
He sneered something and flicked it back at us. We told him to stuff his sausages where the monkey stuffed his nuts and stormed out. We made our way to the “Rags”, the old sailor town. We found a suitably down at heel bar, straw roof and oil lamps . It was full of Brits and Australians . We were invited to join them and learned that they had suffered the same indignity that we had just undergone. One of the Aussies was from a little place called Subiaco ,which was near Perth. He was going home after spending a year hitchhiking round the globe, a nice lad ,he was taking with him a girl from Leeds ,who he had met while in his walkabout.
After a very nice night of drinking and singing we made our way back aboard and found all was quiet, the only sounds to be heard were the gentle snores of the lads.
We made our way down the coast, calling at Freetown in Sierra Leone, then to Liberia ,where we picked up our Kroo Boys; then on to Takoradi, Accra and Tema in Ghana and then to Nigeria,the halfway mark. We berthed in Apapa , at ED’s wharf and proceeded to have a very good time. The Biafran war was at it’s height at this time and the soldiers on guard duty at the dock gates were very edgy. They were not averse to giving you a thump with the butt of their rifles. Once through the dock gates though, all seemed normal. We caught a minibus over to Lagos and had a mooch around the town, it was the time of the High Life, a name applied to a style of dancing and the young women who frequented the bars and disco’s. They wore western clothes and wigs and seemed to favour looking like Diana Ross ,of the Supremes. Very pretty they were too !
My oppo and I found ourselves in a kind of shopping centre, you could’nt have called it a Mall.
It had a few fashion shops ,a cinema and ,an open air bar. We were supping on a couple of cold beers ,watching the High Life girls strutting their stuff, the film on the cinema was called Upper Seven. It was an Italian rip off James Bond, more of which later.
I had to answer a call of nature and made my way inside to seek out the W.C ., as I was heading toward it ,a voice called out behind me “Heyyyyy,You!!”
I turned around and saw a sassy young woman dressed in a smart white blouse and a pencil skirt, she was wearing stiletto heels and was standing with one hand on her hip. “You calling me?”
I asked. “ Yes” she answered “ I like your back, I want to see the front “ I laughed and waved as I walked on to the loo. When I got back to my table, she was sat where my oppo had been. I asked where he had gone to and she told me he had gone back to the ship. This was how I made the acquaintance of Miss Rosie Akorudu from Senegal. She told me to drink up and to take her to the cinema , that was where I saw Upper Seven ,Special Agent. What little I saw of the film was uproariously funny. It was’nt meant to be ,the reels were shown in the wrong order and the scenery ,while supposed to be London, looked suspiciously like Rome; and all the men wore bowler hats.
Rosie was a very affectionate lady, she took me to places that I had never been to in a cinema before. The most remarkable thing about her was that she was not a business girl. Her father owned a transport company in Dakar and it had a big depot in Lagos , in England she would have been a Sloan Ranger, in Africa Lagos was “the” place to be at that time. I could’nt keep up with the lifestyle, it was shopping of a daytime and disco’s and club’s at night. I was honest with her and she winked and told me not to worry ,she bankrolled me !
She favoured the Diana Ross style , but I thought she would look great if she dressed in the African style, I put it to her, and she seemed pleased that I asked. The next night ,our last night ,she dressed in a mammy cloth (that’s what they called them) which was striped like a zebra, she wore a turban to match and she looked fantastic. When we went to her regular nightclub all heads turned to see her as she walked in ,it was wonderful . That night she said she would like someone like me to be the father of her children ,a nice way of proposing . Sadly it was not to be ,I was still locked into a marriage that was going nowhere.
Rosie was the highlight of my time on the Oti ,she brought warmth and colour to an otherwise ordinary voyage.
After journeying up the creeks for palm oil and timber, we made our back up the coast ,dropped off our Kroo Boys and sailed for Avonmouth where we paid off.
We had to get the train home to Liverpool, which meant changing at Birmingham, New street. One of the lads had bought a paper in Avonmouth and there was a story of a little girl who lost a limb on the escalators in a Tube station . It made very sad reading . When we got off the train at New Street ,we had to use the escalators to get up to our platform . No sooner had we got on to the escalator to go up ,we heard the most dreadful screams coming from the top of the escalator. You could see the bodies piling up and there general pandemonium up there. Lemmy jumped over on to the down elevator and raced to the top, some of us followed him ,and within moments he was picking people up and pulling them clear from the panicking scrum. A little old lady had fallen over and the people following had panicked ,causing the pile up. God knows what would have happened if Lemmy had’nt taken charge. A good man to have in an emergency.

Pic 1/ The Oti ,early morning ,outward bound
Pic2/ The Bosun and Leading hand ,heading into Funchal Madeira
Pic 3/ Dawn on the river at Lagos
Pic 4/ Witch Doctor ,Apapa
Pic5 The brothers three ( look for the little foot )
Pic 6/ Apapa market
Pic 7/ Soft drinks stand Apapa
BrianD

Demeterton

I did’nt stay in Liverpool for too long, there was still an unanswered summons hanging over my head and the solicitor, who had taken over my case since the man who was supposed to be looking after me had gone off somewhere else, well ,the new man advised me to disappear!
I hightailed it down to Canning Town and got a room at the Stella Maris . It was more upmarket than The Red Ensign , all the rooms were en-suite and they had a more than adequate cook. I liked it for two reasons, it was handy for the bus routes and tube , and it offered you a measure of privacy, it was more a hotel than a sailors mission. I would get up and do my toilet , and then go and have a full breakfast ,after which I would go down to Dock Street Pool to see what ships were on offer. I’d have a few beers in ,I think it was called ,The Princess of Prussia, and go back for an afternoon nap ,get showered and changed and then have some dinner and then go up West. One day I was walking into the foyer ,which had bench seats at either side of the entrance, At lunch time ,the priest would fill the foyer up with derelicts( wino’s and inadequates, drugs were not too wide spread then) These would be given nourishing soup and a chunk of bread, the soup was the same as we were served and the bread was fresh. The priest was a good Christian . Anyway,there I was ,just cruising through foyer when a very hoarse voice croaked “Brian.. is that you lad?” I turned to see who had spoken and saw one of the wino’s rising from his seat. The priest told him to sit down, they were not allowed to panhandle guests. I looked at the dishevelled wreck standing before me ,and then began to realise it was my dad’s missing brother Joe. My Nin , his mother ,thought that he was dead. It had been three years since anyone had seen him , and now here he was before me, his face blackened with filth, the clothes torn and bedraggled and a scruffy beard ,filled with the detritus of many missed mouthfuls. His eyes were the same, my Nin always said I was the image of him. I turned to the priest and quickly told him who this man was and asked if I could take him to my room and get him bathed and dressed. He nodded yes and I took Joe up to my room and began the task of making him look human again. I took him into the bathroom and made him strip off completely, I got him into the shower and hosed him down, the water was black as it ran down the plug hole. I left him showering and then went and got an old plastic sack from the kitchen. All his clothes, including his shoes and socks were put in the bag and then binned. I got a toothbrush and razor and made him scrub his teeth and shave off the beard. While he was doing that I got one of my suits, a cream shirt and a nice blue silk tie, I had a pair of black oxfords and some socks, plus a pair of boxers. I put them all in the bathroom and told him to get in them.
The uncle Joe I knew before ,came out of the bathroom. Spotlessly clean ,hair slicked back ,and the clothes looking like they had been made for him. I then took him to Euston Station and bought him a single ticket for home. I hoped that I had not wasted my gear ,or money, when I waved him goodbye. Some weeks later ,my mum wrote and told me that he had been received back into the family like the prodigal son. I have often wondered what may have happened if I had not been walking through the foyer at that particular time. Could start a whole thread on thoughts philosophical.
I got to like my London existence, I would spend lot’s of time mooching through the galleries and museums. Lunch I would take wherever I happened to be, and it was marvellous for people watching. Conversations that were overheard and eccentric behaviour that one observed were grist to the mill. I was having a pie for lunch while visiting the Imperial War Museum, I had popped out to a pub nearby. The place was empty and it was a little chilly so I got my pie and pint and sat in the inglenook to warm myself by the fire. I was soon joined by another customer, he looked like an army officer in civvies. Ramrod straight ,bearing a clipped military moustache and neatly knotted regimental tie. He had’nt noticed me in the ingle , with his beer gripped tight in his hand ,he proceeded to march up and down the room, face lost in a brown study, he began declaiming. “It was you,don’t deny it !” He would swing around sharply as he reached the full length of the room, beer slurping over the top of the “It would’nt have happened if I had been there………….” I shrank back into the ingle. What was it that would’nt have happened?. He was gesticulating wildly, his empty fist punching the air “ If I‘ve told them once, I’ve told them a hundred times!!!” Swinging round to come back again ,his head was turned in my direction and he saw me ;he swallowed his beer and made a hurried exit . I made my way back to the museum and wondered if I would ever end up like that. Mind you ,the museum stands on the site of Bedlam,the old asylum for the insane,,was he possessed?

I was lucky when I went down to Dock Street Pool, they were looking for a crew to join a bulk carrier that had just completed her maiden voyage, nearly all the old crew were leaving her because she had been away for a long time. She was berthed in Amsterdam and we would be going there by boat train. I had a day to get myself ready and then we would meet at Dock Street to travel as a crew to old Amsterdam.
The deck crowd were a wonderful mix, Geordies, Scots ,Irish , Scouse(me), Gloucestershire, Wiltshire, Essex, London and Holland. It was just the right mix, and, to be honest it was one of the happiest ships it had been my privilege to sail on. The Captain ,2nd Mate and engineers were all from the North East, as were a lot of the catering crowd. The chief officer was from the Home counties and was not very worldly wise, he could take a ribbing though. But, there we were, the deck crowd en masse, meeting for the first time in Dock Street as we boarded the coach for the station. Our bosun was a lovely guy, just a couple of years older than me and very sure of himself, not overbearing ,or the great I am, but he knew his job and he knew how to get the best out of people too. It was our deck boy’s first trip, and he was so young looking that he seemed to exude an air of innocence. The Junior Ordinary Seaman was a lad who earned the nickname Boffin, I cannot for the life of me remember his proper name. He was bright eyed and very sharp witted, he got called Boffin because he sole reading matter was practical engineering magazines. He did’nt have much conversation other than mechanics. These were things we would find out as our voyage progressed, for now, we have got to join the ship.
We got to Amsterdam in time to meet the home going crew, they were as excited as dogs with two tails, but they took the time to show us around the ship. The Demerton was ultra modern, she had McGregor hatches ( no Tarpaulins) self tensioning mooring gear, there would be no hard graft for the watchmen in port ,having to watch out for the mooring ropes as the tide rose and fell. The cabins we really roomy , with day beds as well as the bunk. She was an all aft ship and seemed fairly large, we learned that she was a happy ship and that the maiden voyage had been great. She still had the same officers but there a lot of new engineers. One of the old crew showed me something that was rather “juicy” ,for those who like a bit of scandal that is. While we were on the poop ,looking at the self tensioning winches ,he called me across to some portholes that looked out onto the poop. This was the hospital, I looked in through the porthole and could see two hospital bunks ,the mattresses still had their polythene wrappers on. The man then drew my attention to one of the mattresses, it’s cover was tattered on either side at the bottom end . I looked at him and wondered what he was showing me. “ Look closer” he said “ They are holes that were made by stiletto heels” “How “ I asked. One of the engineers brought his new wife away for a honeymoon”
I was still puzzled. “ Well all the lads were sniffing round her because she was quite tasty, and this is where she brought them when she fancied a bit on the side” He could see my puzzlement. “Turns out she was a nympho, had half the crew in there.. There, the hospital , was slap bang against the engine room entrance . “She always wore stilettos when she was ‘avin’ it away,seemed more sexy like” I asked what had happened and he told me she was so open about it and took the pee out of her husband for being “not man enough for her” The captain found out and she had been given another cabin . She had been sent home the day before we joined ,however, her husband was going to stay on for the next voyage. I felt really sorry for that engineer.

Brian I love reading your posts, they are brilliant. Thank you for sharing.

Thank you for reading them Burkhilly, it is only when someone like makes a comment that I know I'm doing it right. I am off for my first holiday in two years on Saturday so I will not be posting another chapter until I get back. Please bear with me, I write these from scratch the day you see them appear on here. The Demeterton was by far the most interesting ship I was on, I hope I can relate it's tale as honestly as I can,
BrianD

Voyage to Where?
So there we were, gathering a crew together , we spent very little time in Amsterdam ,just enough to squeeze a visit to the red light district and catch up with some of the old haunts. Nowadays The drug scene has become so open in that old city that it has changed the nature of the place. Back then, in the 60’s, it was a proper sailortown. The streets of the red light area would be full of sailors from the world over, looking for a good time. The beer was fine and the surroundings convivial. There was a mix of bars and brothels, it sounds seedy now but it was far from the case. Sex for sale was quite legal and the ladies who were in the “business” ,used to sit at the window of their establishment, clothed in their best fancy underwear, and knitting ,or crocheting ,as they waited for their next client. Children would be playing, with nary at glance at those painted ladies ,and, on most night’s there would be a Salvation Army band playing robust hymn’s. And Jack Ashore could be seen ,eyeing up the ladies in their frilly finery. If Lowry had of visited there he would have had some marvellous material. There were canal barges moored along side the pavements, little floating homes, they would be immaculately clean ,bedecked with house plants and the barge dog; there was always a bicycle or two parked just aft of the wheelhouse. I envied the bargee’s lifestyle, sailing along the inner waters of Europe, along with your wife and family.
We traversed the bars and finished the evening off by getting some piping hot croquette’s from one of the vending machines that were dotted around the walls of Canaal Straat.
Next day we sailed to Rotterdam, then on it’s way to becoming the major port it is today. We had a new deckhand join us there, a Londoner, Bob Rayner. Bob was a seeming innocent abroad , he listened avidly to whoever was speaking ,taking it all in and then he would tell someone else what he had just heard. Like ,when we were leaving Rotterdam,he was in the stern party with me; in one quiet moment ,I showed him the hospital ,and related the tale of the torn mattress covers. His eyes were like saucers as he heard of the marital misfortune. “Coo,” he said, “an’ she was ‘avin’ away wiv everyone?” We had set off down the river when an engineer came up on deck; we were tidying up and Bob, seeing the engineer,went over and told him the story of the torn mattress covers, he had embellished it in the retelling ,which was all the more unfortunate as the man he was telling was the cuckold. We stood there ,biting our tongues to stop our bursting out laughing. The engineer just nodded in a ****ed off way and went back down to the engine room. When Bob was told who he had been talking to he nearly had an out of body experience.

Dunkirk was our next port of call, we were to load grain for Red China, an interesting prospect. The Cultural Revolution was being played out there and we had heard some grim stories about the treatment meted out to crews of Soviet ships because of the “Wrong Roaders” ,people like Kruschev were considered the enemy of Socialism. Britain was a “Running Dog lackey” of the US Imperialists. We hoped we were going to get better treatment than that which the Russians were getting .
It did’nt take long to get loaded to the brim with the grain,shifting boards were fitted in each hatch to prevent the grain from moving, we posted off our mail and then set sail for far off Cathay.
Our route took us down to the Mediterranean and on through the Suez, I could never tire of that route, the gradual change in time and temperature helps to prepare you for the torrid zones. Port Said and the canal were abuzz with military activity.All down the Sinai side of the canal were cut outs in the canal bank. Steel roadways were laid and tanks sat there pointing east,ready for the next confrontation. Our passage through passed off peacefully.
Leaving Suez ,we headed down to Aden, it was now a place torn by military conflict. FLOSY, an Arab terrorist group was now in open warfare with the British, we had thousands of troops there, engaged in a war that could not be won by us. When we arrived at Steamer Point we could see the military in action. It was better than any newsreel. Up in the sky were Hawker Hunter jets , they were screaming toward the mountains that surround the port, Great bursts of flame gouted out of their wings as they fired rockets into the mountains, When the missiles struck their targets ,there would be a crump and then a blaze of flame as the explosions tore through the rock. Nearby ,on the dockside ,squaddies were patrolling, like angry cats, they crouched as they walked, eyes swivelling to spot likely attackers. Somehow, amidst all that we felt safe ,we were not a target.
Leaving Aden and entering the Arabian Sea, we entered a world of dry furnace like heat, thanks to Denholms’, we all had air conditioning . The sea itself was alive with activity, porpoise and flying fish were our constant companions but every now and then we would see the occasional turtle, magnificently serene, following routes that led them on journeys of thousands of miles. There were sharks aplenty out there. Night times would be filled by the most fantastic natural light shows. When all was blackness, the sea would be illuminated by phophoruos, porpoise would streak through it ,leaving starburst trails in their wake . Many’s the lookout man ,alone on the foc’sle head, found himself being lured to those starry green waters. The Rapture’s of the Deep.
Our little crew was now rubbing along nicely; Dave ,our bosun,was a west countryman,there was no Lamptrimmer,the nearest we had to a leading hand was Jimmy, Dave’s Irish mate. Then we had an old Dutchman, called Gus, he looked like the ancient mariner,big bellied , a bearded face ,above which were a million wrinkles. One of the watchmen was called Kenny Musto, a very funny man, he was from Cirencester and was about the same age as me. On our long sea journeys, Kenny would ,in his madcap way, add a little lightness to our long ,long days.
At weekends and evenings we would play board games ,such as Monopoly or Scrabble, an Oxford dictionary was essential for the latter, only to be used in extremis when a dodgy word was placed on the board. Another diversion was Just a Minute , this was like the radio show of the same name. Contestants were given one minute to talk on a subject ,without deviating from the topic ,no repetition or hesitation was allowed. Both Kenny and I became masters of the art, something that stood me in good stead later in life.
Our carpenter was a Geordie and he had an interesting experience that I had seen at a cinema in Texas. He was shipwrecked in a storm off the American coast, the cinema newsreel showed the crew huddled on the fore deck of the sinking vessel and their subsequent rescue by the US Coastguard. It was a very near thing for all of them ,the ship sank just after the last man was taken off.
The Midshipmen used to frequent our recreation room, the 2nd mate,Kenny Barwick , was also a regular player,being a Geordie too,he had no time for airs and graces. The Mate was very home counties and took a little time to learn to chill out. He was’nt a snob, just felt a little awkward mixing with the deck crowd.
One night in the rec room the conversation got around to the most outrageous thing we had ever heard of. The carpenter related the following tale about a ships cat , it is outrageous ,so I will share it with you. He was on a tanker which had an old cat that was beloved of all the crew, she had been on that vessel for years. Her favourite place in good weather was the lid of a winter tank on the weather side . There she would lie ,in clement weather, hoping to catch one of the stray flying fish that might find itself aboard. She never did manage it . One day,when they were lightship (empty) the cat was going to occupy the winter tank but the lid was open. As she went to jump up the ship rolled and the steel lid crashed down ,just as puss was trying to board it. Her leg was so badly damaged that it had to be amputated. She never left her bed for weeks ,and when she did ,she had great difficulty in getting about. The carpenter, together with the bosun , fashioned a little wooden leg with a leather harness. After a few modifications ,the leg fitted her perfectly, she was able to get about again and the clunk of her wooden leg began to be heard all over the ship.
She was a clever cat ,she no longer sat on the winter tank lid but took up station by the deck railing. Whenever a flying fish came aboard, she would pounce and brain it with her wooden leg. Result , one contented and well fed cat.

Below are photo's I took on our China Sea crossing, first we have the Bosun ,silhouetted by the setting sun.Next is one of our constant SouthSea companions,the Albatross ,then we have the old Dutchman Gus,with his ever present pipe.And last of all we hve the 2nd Mate Kenny Barwick ,at work on his charts.

South China Sea

On our way from the Arabian Sea ,the weather was torpid, and the air so heavy, that you could almost slice it. Across the Indian Ocean and into the Straits of Malacca , the heat became more oppressive and a sense of ennui seemed to settle on the crew “Bloody heat” was the usual cry. The air conditioning made life bearable in the accommodation, but venture outside and it was like a Turkish bath. We were heading for Singapore, just for bunkers (fuel and water), our ship would be anchored off in the grand harbour so there would be time to get ashore.
It had been weeks since we had sight of a woman and the deck boy had started to look attractive, thank heaven for Singapore!
The captain had a niece who was staying there and we first knew of her when the agents launch came alongside .She was seated in the stern, her long blonde hair and peach like complexion marked her an English girl ,even at a distance. She was dressed in a mini skirt and a halter top which made her look like a fantasy female. She was bare legged and the entire crew looked and longed for her. Once safely aboard she vanished into officer country and stayed with her granddad until it was time for the launch to return to shore. The mate asked me to go down into the launch with her to make sure she did’nt come a cropper.
I was just below her on the Jacob’s ladder, having to look up to guide her down. The view I had was very distracting and it took great self control not to be effected by it. But my , she was pretty. She shook hands with me as I bade her good bye and her very touch made the blood rush to my head.
We idolised women to the point of fantasy. Maybe we would act out some of those fantasies when we went ashore that evening.
A boat load departed the Demeterton just after dinner time. We were in our best go ashores ,Singapore was now a super modern town ,skyscrapers were growing and the old thoroughfares were disappearing. I had last been here in ’63 and the skyline was radically different; the old sailortown had practically disappeared and there lots of smart bars and restaurants.The place was very pricey too, my wallet groaned as I paid for a round of drinks………..we were the peasants now.!!
I ended up in a discotheque, where I found a nice Chinese girl to dance with, she was not a business girl, she was out with her friends just having a good time. The time of British garrisons had long passed, the men who frequented the bars and dance halls were mostly tourists from Australia and South Africa, with the odd smattering of Britishers. There were plenty of American servicemen ,but jack ashore was a bit out of place in modern Singapore. I had a pleasant enough evening, but it was strictly platonic.

On leaving Singapore ,we set a course for Dairien in Red China; the news about that place was none too uplifting. It was during the period known as the “Cultural Revolution”, and we had seen film of a Russian merchant ship that had been visited by the Red Guard( this was filled mostly by young students who were totally brainwashed) . The Red Guards had smashed up the merchantman and near killed the chief officer for being a “capitalist roader”
Our Arab engine room crew had been given a load of Red Chinese propaganda when we were in Singapore. They believed we were going to Utopia, they were in for a rude awakening.

Our route north took us up past Hong Kong and the south of the island of Taiwan, the Taiwanese and the Reds were lobbing shell at each other in the Straits of Taiwan so we steered clear. We did’nt look forward with as much anticipation as we had when we went to Singapore. Western radio broadcasts were being jammed by both North Korea and China. We could only get one good station and that was Tiger Radio in South Korea. The played western pop music and had plenty of news spots. The Chinese and North Koreans were forever jamming that station but within hours ,Tiger Radio was back on a new frequency. I seem to remember that it was run by the Americans and was used to transmit anti communist propaganda. The news items were full of the new uprisings that were occurring in China. Bob ,our own communist, used to tell us how great it was in China (he’d never been there) and how his professor friend said that one day soon the Chinese would be the greatest power in the Pacific Basin. We thought both he and his professor friend were looney, and ,as a consequence we crossed swords many a time in the mess room.
Looking back ,I was the looney, Bob had proved right about Vietnam ,I had argued that American firepower would crush the Viet Cong ,and we can see his prognostication proved true about China. But this was then and America looked the winner at that time.

The further north we progressed the cooler the weather became, gone were the humid ,steamy days ,now the air was fresher, like an English spring. The mate told us that we would have to put our camera’s away and that we should not do anything that might be construed as provocative or hostile. In fact things were the same as the first time I was here in 1960.
We were soon in the Yellow Sea heading due north to the waters off Dairien.
There was something timeless about our surroundings, lateen sailed junks and sampans were dotted around us ,the sails a glaring red and their hulls bedaubed with quotations from the Little Red Book, the most popular book in the world at that time, it contained the Thought’s of Chairman Mao. This book was supposed to be more popular than the Bible and the Koran. The Arab engine room crew had all got one, from the conversations I had with one of them ,they believed it was the future of mankind.
We could now see the coast quite clearly and it looked pretty mountainous, in the waters before us ,we began to see ships at anchor, dozens of them ,each anchored at least a half a mile from the others, the port was just a distant sliver across the horizon. This was to be our place for the next month or more. The captain explained that our manifest had to be checked out by the port officials, when they were satisfied that all was in order , our papers were then sent to Beijing for further checking and were then returned to Dairien for the officials there to allocate us a berth. The communist’s may have been in power,but the Madarins were in control.
We had dropped anchor in mid afternoon and all was quiet, the only things moving were the junks and sampans plus little American Jeeps, the latter looking like Baltic traders;they four hatch vessels with the masts at the break of the foc’sle head and at the break of the poop. They had been built for vittling the US battle fleet back in the 2nd World War
They emitted thick black smoke and were only seen at daybreak and dusk, they were operating to strict time tables and were to be seen leaving and entering at the same times everyday.
We were also given political lectures everyday. Every morning launches would leave port and travel around the anchored vessels. They each had a battery of huge loud speakers which boomed out the tune “The East is Red”, interspersed with quotations from the Little Red book. It was like being in a nautical madhouse, there were usually two launches and the sounds merged into one mad threnody. Our Geordie captain rigged up his Akai sound system with his giant hi fi speakers hung over the port and starboard wings of the bridge. As soon as the propaganda launches started out of a morning ,he would put on a Herb Alpert LP with the sound at full blast, you’ve never really heard Tijuana Taxi until you hear like that. As soon as the Red Guards boarded our ship they would hasten up to the bridge to get the hi fi switched off. Once aboard ,they would have the entire crew mustered and would proceed to give us a reading from the thoughts of the Great Helmsman.
They always brought a blacboard and easel , the thought they were explaining was on the board, a work of art in itself. The calligraphy was expert and the saying was surrounded by beautifully drawn flowers. The lecture itself was nearly impossible to follow. It was delivered in fractured English and it made the content hard to understand. Bob was the only one who gave the lecture his full attention, the rest of us viewed it as an unnecessary distraction .
And then one day Bob committed a cardinal sin. As the little Red Guard was straining to explain the meaning of the saying “Political Power Grows out of the Barrel of a Gun” Bob coughed and then said “Excuse me comrade, I think you’ll find that is a misinterpretation” Everything went very quiet, the Red Guards eyes became like saucers as he gaped at Bob. He then growled something at the armed guards who had accompanied him. They stepped forward and took Bob by the arms ,the blackboard was taken down ,and so was Bob! We stood and watched as the launch sped off for the shore ,what the hell was going to happen now?
Attachment 16654

Attachment 16761On The Hook

When the Red Guards launch returned next morning Bob was standing in the stern. He did’nt look any the worse for wear.
The crew was mustered as before and we had another of Mao’s thoughts read out to us, aigain in fractured English, and the explanation afterwards was delivered without any interruptions by Bob.
He never talked much about his experience, all he would say was that they had tried to make him see the error of his ways. It must have done him some good, he is now a senior officer in Unison. I met him again in 1982 when we were on the People’s March for Jobs.

Fortunately for us, the weather was fine as we lay at anchor. We were too far off the shore to hear the sounds of industry ,or the traffic noise, once the Red Guards had done their rounds ,the only sound was the hum of the ships gennies.
Night time was a different matter. When darkness fell the air was filled with the sound of firecrackers, the Chinese set them off at birthday party’s ,and any other form of celebrations. Those sounds were heard every night and were giving us the impression that this port was one happy place, we could’nt wait to get ashore.
Slowly ,the day’s turned to weeks and we were floating in a kind of suspended animation. We were just beginning our fifth week at anchor when we were given permission to go to our berth.
My memories of that place consist mainly of colours, drab grey, lurid red ,and glaring white. Gliding into the harbour we could see that all the buildings where painted military grey and were covered in banners and posters, which were red, upon which were slogans written in bold white letters.
From those posters we learned that we were “U.S Imperialist running dog lackey’s ,Great Britain” There were clusters of loudspeakers, sited at regular intervals all around the godowns. From these there poured a non stop diatribe of verbal diarrhea, interspersed with doom laden sounds of “The East is Red”
There was no escaping these sounds, they started at first light and went on until midnight. After about a week they just became part of the background.
The dockers all wore kapok filled jackets and trouses and had little Mao caps on their heads. All personnel wore the same type of outfit but you could see by the cut and quality of their clothing ,that some were more equal than others. The labourer’s wore blue cotton outfits ,the tally men and dock officials wore blue woollen clothing., The commissars and party officials wore black, alpaca or fine spun wool. The crane operators were nearly all women, and were all in blue too.
The godowns had all the first floor windows ,which ran the whole length of the quay, painted over with same drab grey as the brickwork. There was an air of human misery all over the place, nobody smiled or responded to a smile. There were party officials standing by every hatch, there faces were like mask’s,sullen and suspicious. Never letting us forget that we were Running Dog Lackeys.

The Bosun put a notice in the messroom, it told us that we could go ashore,but had to be within the dock gates by 5.00 p,m. Anyone found ashore after that time would be arrested .Movement within the dock area was allowed but you had to back aboard your own ship by midnight ,no exceptions allowed..
There was a Friendship Store in the town and that was the only place we were allowed to go. We drew our subs in Yuan , it was’nt the same money that the Chinese used ,this special currency issued to visitors. The notes were printed in several languages and the amount given to us was logged and when we went to the Friendship store, the amount we spent was also logged. Any unspent yuan had to be handed in before we left that port. This was to prevent black marketing.It was an eerie place, no sound of laughter ,no sight of children playing and no sign of human habitation. The town began across the huge carriage that ran along the dock road. I think the Americans had this place before WW11, There were fine big office blocks and huge department stores, excepting that now they were dormitory’s for the worker’s. That same grey paint covered all the windows and those same posters and banners covered most of the walls. We were destined to be here another month, the loose stow grain was being bagged aboard ship and we had thousands and thousands of tons of it.
We came across another form of red Guard here; there were group’s of Stakhanovite’s ( named after a Hero of the Soviet Union ,Georgy Stakhanova. He was a worker who exceeded his work quota's and was now revered as a saint ,albeit a Red saint) These Stakhanovites were students who worked in groups of about twenty, they wore the blue cotton outfits and would march around the docks , swinging their arms across their chests and singing “The Great Helmsman” as they stormed along. Everyone stood well clear of them ;they would go aboard any ship and make the workers stand aside while they picked up their shovels and worked like fury for about twenty minutes. They would cuff the workers about the head ,shouting at them as they did so. Then off they would go and cause havoc somewhere else.
Those firecrackers could still be heard everynight,who the heck was letting them off ? there no visible signs of happiness of a daytime.
It would be about our third day in port when a Van Ommeren bulk carrier was berthing on the quay opposite ours, she was bow on and her hull was diagonal to the quay .Two little tugs were assisting her when, the fire crackers started up, it was mid morning and we all wondered what kind of shindig there would be ashore. Those thoughts were soon dispelled when the sounds ricocheting of bullets were heard as they hit the Van Ommerren boat. There were snipers atop one of the buildings in town .We stood stunned by what we could see; the guy’s on the bulk carrier fled there posts and little black holes were being opened all over the white work and the funnel. The little tugs puffed away from her and soldiers piled aboard our ship and herded us below. One of our lads had a big short wave marine radio and started going around the dial looking to see if he could get an unjammed station. He managed to get a snatch of a news item from an American forces station. The gist of it was that an uprising was taking place in Darien Province and that MaoTse Tung and Lin Bao were coming to stamp it out.
We were in the middle of it!
The shooting petered out and ,apart from some shouting, the sounds of winch motors could be heard again. By the time we were let out of our accommodation it was too late to go ashore.
Another night was spent playing board games ,drinking beer and talking about the day's events. Come hell,or high water, I was going ashore tomorrow.

Dairien

I got the chance to go ashore a little earlier than I planned. Some of the Arab engine room crew had to go to the dentists and the Mate asked me if I would escort them. I did’nt ask why, the chance of seeing the city from the seat of a taxi seemed to good to miss.
When the taxi arrived it looked remarkably like a Skoda,I asked the driver,who could speak some English , what make it was and he answered “East Wind” .
He was quite taciturn, “yes” and “No” were all he uttered afterwards.
The Arabs were very chatty though, they were going to get free dental work ,they had read, in the propaganda magazines, that all medical treatment was free ,and they were going to get new teeth. “Not like shoreside England, here everything free!” I felt a little angry at this statement, were they saying that England treated them badly?
Travelling through the city was an odd experience ,there was hardly any traffic and we saw very few people, just mile after mile of anonymous grey buildings covered in propaganda posters.
The hospital was a pre-war building ,and this too was covered in political graffiti.
Going through the front entrance door’s we noticed that the entrance mat had been taken from it’s niche in the floor;light switches had had their covers removed and the elevator had had the front plate of the control panel removed. There were holes all over the hospital walls, the junction boxes and fuse boxes were open because the covers had been removed. There was no smell of disinfectant ,or antiseptics. Just a dry ,arid dusty smell.
When we got to the dental department ,we were met by a middle aged Chinaman ,who had an American accent. He was expecting us and bade me sit down. I noticed that the dental chairs had had holes cut into the steps and the light switches were coverless too. The dentist followed my gaze and said ,quietly,that the Red Guards had removed every trace of Americana , Otis signs were taken out of the lifts, General Electric signs on the light switch covers and fuse boxes were also ripped out. The dental chairs suffered the same damage, Made In USA was now anathema.!

When the Arabs were done, we were driven back to the ship and I listened to the litany of praise for Chairman Mao. I was biting my tongue, I’m not a jingoist,but it was’nt nice to hear these Arabs biting the hands that fed them
The teeth were delivered the next day. There was no second fitting like there was at home, four sealed brown paper bags ,each with a name tag, werebrought by taxi in the afternoon.
The Arabs were cock a hoop; “Take two weeks in England “ they said.

Later that day,I saw the Arabs sitting on the poop ,their faces pictures of misery.
I asked one of what the matter was and he said “ New teeth, getting used to them, is okay”. The next day they were even worse, the steward told me that they’d been asking him for painkillers. It was hard to feel any sympathy for them ,they had been praising Mao’s health service ever since Singapore! That afternoon ,the dentist arrived from the hospital, he wanted the teeth back, they'd been sent the wrong ones by mistake! I was laughing so much that I’m sure the lads thought I was having a turn.

The docker’s who worked in the hatch nearest our accommodation began to become more friendly toward us as time wore on. The lads would surreptitiously slip them a cigarette or two, always when the security was looking away. We gave the security man cigarettes too, we were trying to get him to loosen up,it was a hard job but he was scowling less.
I heard that the restaurant in the friendship store was quite good and decided to give it a go. Some of the lads had already been and I had the day off so I got dressed and started to make my way ashore. I was’nt aware that I was dressed any differently from usual, I had on my blazer and tie, grey slacks and my little peaked black cap. The dockers were staring at me and I checked to see if my flies were o.k. When I left the dock entrance I was besieged by young lads, they were pressing their Mao badges at me and were very excited. What the hell was up? Coming along the Dock road was a huge procession , people were carrying posters of Mao,Marx ,Lenin……LENIN!! I had a Vandyke beard and looked a like a dead ringer of the old Bolshevik. I was on my own ,surrounded by an ever growing circle of local lads and could’nt get across the road until the marchers had gone by. All of the marchers looked at me as they passed,it was as though I was taking the salute! So I stood to attention and raised my hand in a wave now and then . I was stood there for about three quarters of an hour before the marchers had passed. I ended up with my lapels full of Mao badges.
Some of the marchers carried placards with the picture of a white man on them and others carried white gladioli. I wandered what it was all about and when I got to the Friendship store I asked one of the English speaking staff what the march was about. He told me it was Norman Bethune Day, I was no wiser and he told me that he was a Canadian Doctor who joined Mao on his famous Long March across China ,in the 1930’s. Bethune trained the barefoot doctors who helped stave off ,and treat, the diseases that were rampant during that epic march. To this day ,Norman Bethune is remembered as the man who helped save the marchers from almost certain death on that long and terrible march.

When I made it to the Store ,I joined the lads in the restaurant ,they were full of praise for the food and recommended the “Happy Balls” I ordered a bowl full and they were absolutely wonderful. They were little marble like balls which consisted of egg ,spices ,herbs and pork. They melted in your mouth ,crisp on the outside ,and when your teeth crunched through the surface a golden taste exploded upon your tongue. I have never succeeded in getting them here in the U.K. All I get is strange looks when I ask the waiters if they have got “Happy Balls”.
When we were in the restaurant ,we met up with the lads off a tramp steamer,they were mostly Liverpudlians and the ship was named something like the Belvoir Park ,if I remember it properly. They had been away a lot longer than us and had become slightly mad,in a good way, nothing phased them. We quaffed quite a few of litre bottles of Great Wall lager with them and pretty soon became the best of friends. It was decided that we would break the monotony of curfews by having parties on our ships. Some wag mentioned a fancy dress party.
It was decided that that was what we would do. We would toss for who would host the first one ,the loser of the toss would have to walk round to the other ship in their fancy dress outfits. We lost. How would the Chinese take to a load of westerners marching along their docks in fancy dress? We would soon find out.

Brian that story is brilliant - I was laughing me head off at your description of the visit to the dentist and the aftermath! You have led such an interesting life compared to most, including myself.

Dairien 2

It is amazing how the weird can become the norm; let me explain………
There we were in a far off place ,where all the rules of a civilised society had been scrapped and a new society was being forged before our very eyes. Young Red Guards seemed to running the show. It was like having 6th form pupils running the country. Sitting at my pc in 2010 ,it seems incredible that we were in a vortex back then, we saw it , we even felt it at times,but it never touched us personally. We watched as the Red Guards stormed up and down the waterfront, we sat and listened to the gunfire of a night time ,and we saw the hopelessness and despair that seemed to be the lot of the Chinese worker.
We were now letting some the dockers come into our cabins, it had to be done covertly ,if the guard on the hatch caught them it could be very bad for them.
They did’nt come in for food ‘just for a quick smoke and a look at the Embassy gift catalogue. They would sit on my sofa ,drooling over the gifts that were available, toasters, radio’s,bicycles, things that were part of our everyday life at home ,seemed like treasures to them. One day the guard caught two and they were arrested ,nothing happened to us; the guard was quite happy to have his free cigarettes. From that day forward ,we vowed revenge on that man, we could’nt show our distaste for him; we were setting him up for a massive fall.
One of the consequences of having no radio to listen too meant that we listened to records, there were three of them aboard ship, apart from the captains collection, and the three records were long players, The Magical Mystery Tour, Sergeant Peppers Lonely Heart’s Club Band and One of Jimi Hendrix ,the name of which I have long forgotten. These records ,and the music centre belonged to the Midshipman ,but as he drank with us ,and he let us have the use of the kit while we were in port. We would need them for the party when it was on our ship, in the meantime we had the party on their ship to worry about, how would the guards react to our parading about the docks in fancy dress? We worried it about so much that our get ups were rather muted. Kenny Musto was the only one of us who looked outrageous, he went as a Scotsman (see picture) I went as a spy, I was dressed in black and wore a beret, original it was not! We looked boring, but we got aboard their ship without incident. A brilliant night followed , all the pent up energy was released as we sang our hearts out ,there was a great folk singer amongst their crew, he belted out Clancy Brothers songs with great gusto and interspersed his songs with marvellous jokes, he could have been a professional, he was that good
The beer flowed like water, we’d had a tarpaulin muster between the crews and had the van from the Friendship store deliver it to our ship, it was sagging on it’s springs because we had that much.
Just before midnight, we made our way back to the ship, very drunk ,but very happy. As we walked down the quay to our ship,we saw one of the little “Jeeps” tied up astern of us . There were some arc lights illuminating the gangway and we could see a stream of people being hastened up the gangway by armed guards. Each person had a bundle of something in their arms and the only sounds that could be heard was the shuffling of their feet. Were they prisoners? And two Jeeps per day were coming and going from that berth, regular as clockwork..
On Sunday morning ,Kenny and I were sitting having a quiet smoke on deck ,we were looking idly about us when Kenny tugged me and said “Look up there , by the loudspeaker” I looked and saw that one of the painted over panes of glass had been broken . A pair of eyes were looking at us ,then a another pair quickly replaced them. Were these another load of human traffic waiting to be loaded on to the Jeeps?
The weirdest incident happened in our last week there. The Chinese navy had some old US Navy tank landing craft which had been converted into gunships. One of them arrived in dock ,just astern of the Van Ommeren vessel berthed opposite. She was heavily armed, her foredeck bristled with big guns. About an hour later another warship came into the dock and tied up astern of the Jeep which was moored at the rear of us. These warships were full of Maost graffiti , even the funnels were covered in in badly painted posters. Try imagining a Royal Navy ship being plastered with BNP posters. All was quiet that afternoon, the Jeep behind us left with another boatload of humanity at some time around midnight and we nightowls sloped off to our bunks.
I had no trouble sleeping and I was off in dreamland when I was awakened by by the sound of gunfire. Lots of gunfire, our ship was reverberating with the sounds. We were running to get out on deck when armed guards ran into our alley and motioned us back to our cabins. The whole dock area was illuminated by explosions,we were not a target. It must have been going for about half an hour when all fell silent. Not a peep. Just the sound of engines of a ship ,or ships, manouvering about the dock. We could’nt get out on deck and so got our heads down again.
Next morning we arose to a bright sunny day and went up on deck to see what was going on. Nothing was going on, the warships had gone and labourers were busy sweeping up on both quays. What kind of Alice in Wonderland world were we in?

Soon it was time for us to host the Fancy dress party. I thought I would go as Twiggy, instead of a cleavage I had a very hairy chest; I got a sheepcloth for a dress, it had been washed and it fitted me like a boob tube ,just covering my meat and two veg. We had Kenny’s Scotsman, some pirates, and some cannibals, nothing outrageous, but pleasantly funny
We had the recreation room decorated and a truckload of Great Wall lager, all we needed was the other crew . At ten minutes to eight we saw the first group marching down the quay towards us……………………………………
BrianD.

Attachment 16813

The Fancy Dress Party
Most of the lads were dressed in their outfits by 7.30 pm. We were standing by the gangway awaiting the arrival of the crowd from the tramp. The dock workers were looking at us as though were mad, all manner of costumes had been created from the odds and ends that we had salvaged from the rag bag. I was looking sleek and sexy in my sheep cloth mini dress, I had eye shadow and lipstick on, I had bought them at the Friendship store. I had longish hair then so I did’nt need a wig. I had shaved so that I at least looked like a woman ,but the hairy chest was a give away.
We heard the sound of a drumbeat and kazoo , the tune we heard playing was Yankee Doodle, we could see the people on shore looking in the direction of the sound and we soon saw where the music was coming from. Three of the lads from the tramp were done up like the main characters in that famous American painting, “The Spirit of ’76 “ (see picture below ) behind them came a group of lads ,all dressed in blue with little Mao caps on and carrying air rifles like soldiers. At their head marched another ,dressed just the same ,carrying the flag, Old Glory . The Chinese were stupefied. These were the US Imperialist’s marching through China. From above our heads we heard our skipper mouthing a load of expletives . When the “Yankees” had come aboard, things quietened down a little, both ashore and up top . And then we heard another commotion , both ashore and up top. We went back to the gangway and saw Jesus Christ struggling along the quay, his huge crucifix weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was garbed in burlap and wore a crown of thorns ,with red paint simulating the blood running down from his head. I thought the skipper was going to have a heart attack . There were others but none so outrageous as the forerunners. One man, I’m sure his name was Lenny, had had a suit made especially at the Friendship store ,it cost all of £4.00p, It was a black two piece and he wore it with a black shirt ,which he wore back to front and he put a piece of white cardboard over the collar so that it looked like a priest’s outfit. He carried a large bible to complete the illusion. He was on his way to our ship when he was waylaid by some crew members off a Greek tramp that was just around the corner of the dock from us. They took him by the arms and led him aboard their ship where they asked him to say mass. He cobbled some ritual together and told us that they thanked him afterwards. He was a star nutter.
And so our party got under way, my outfit was a roaring success, I had a queue of lads wanting to dance with me , I felt a bit like Jack Lemmon in “Some Like it Hot” these fellers were horny as hell. It was one of the best ships parties I’ve ever had ,but come the midnight hour they had to go back to their own ship.
They went in formation, Jesus marched at the head and the Spirit of ’76 followed ,the troops behind them ,and Lenny and the rest bringing up the rear. They sang “Onward Christian Soldiers” as they marched back home. I shall never forget those lads,they brightened what could have been a gloomy stay in that awful place.

That guard who had been rotten toward the dockers ,got his reward on the day we left. We invited him into the mess for a good bye drink, were loaded him with Tennants and let him have tumblerfuls of whisky and rum. It did’nt take too long before he was palatic. When he was out of it,we shaved off his Fu Manchu whiskers, lashed him with Old Spiced aftershave ,and stuffed his pockets with hard core porn magazines. Just minutes before sailing ,we assisted him to the gangway ,where we handed him over to some very bemused militia men. The last we saw of him was when he was being manhandled into a militia jeep.

We left shortly after that night, Nauru was to be our next port of call, this was a little speck that lay between Micronesia and Melanesia deep in the heart of the Pacific. It would take a little while to reach it ,but time was not really a factor, when you are in the heart of an ocean time seems meaningless.
Sailing south through the China Sea we had fairly good weather ,there was some rain ,which was welcome as the heat was sometimes oppressive. I can remember when we were just north of Guam , seeing many waterspouts ,they were right across the ocean as far as the eye could see, and they looked like strange grey animals as they spun sinuously ,the 3rd mate was on watch and he was fearful of them and called the captain to the bridge so that he would bear responsibility for anything that might occur. The skipper was furious and gave him a terrific bollocking “Were not a F*****g clipper ship” he roared. It was hard to feel sorry for the 3rd mate, he did’nt have a sense of humour ,never joined in any of the fun and was always telling us tales of his terrible childhood. And he told his tales in a mournful Lancashire accent. No matter what the weather ,he always wore a full uniform, the poor man could never relax and was perpetually afraid that he would cause some foul up . If we had been ship wrecked I am sure that he would have been eaten first, just to shut him up.
As we passed Guam we entered into the most beautiful sea it has been my pleasure to sail across, the only breeze was that created by our movement, we were surrounded by a sea so flat that it was like painted glass,the sunrises and sunsets were so spectacular that they elevated your senses into the to the mystical. The bliss of such calmness soothes the breast and we were so relaxed that all our troubles seemed so trite. We never listened to the news , the sound of the sea and the rhythm of the engines set the tenor of our days. There was only one trouble ,the peggy was starting to look attractive again. We needed some female company. Maybe this south sea island would be our salvation.

Shown below 1/ Kenny Musto posing as we sail along at 15 knots, note the sea,flat as a pancake. 2/ the painting "Spirit of '76. 3/Chippy walking forward to sound the deep tanks, Guam is in the background
Attachment 16858Attachment 16856Attachment 16857

Nauru

As we progressed toward Nauru I gleaned some knowledge about our destination from an old American magazine. The article gave a thumbnail sketch of two similar islands, Nauru and Banaba. Both islands were rich in guano and this had been extracted for a century or more. A British phosphate company had the mining rights and, to ensure it’s successful exploitation of the stuff ,had dumped all the Banabans in Australia and New Guinea. The natives of Nauru fared better, they still lived on their island and, after a World Court ruling, now had ownership of the island ,receiving monies from past exploitation and a percentage of all profits from present extraction. This had made them very rich and the present inhabitants had a very luxurious lifestyle. This we were soon to find out. Australia now managed the islands industrial affairs, leaving Nauru's government to manage the rest of everyday affairs. We read that Nauru had purchased a small passenger ship so that they could see the rest of the world. It seemed idyllic . The island of Banaba ,the world Court had ruled that the island should be handed back to the natives and that they should be paid a percentage of all past profits,which amounted to zillions. At the time of reading that article ,no Banaban had come forward to stake their claim, even after extensive advertising throughout the southern hemisphere.
We were really curious to have a look at this South Sea Paradise..
Meanwhile, our lack of female company was having it’s effect on our crew, I put up pin up pictures on my cabin bulkhead(wall) .They were to remind me of what I was missing. The poor deck boy was living among rapacious wolves and we all watched out for him, knowing full well of how we felt ourselves.
Just before we started howling at the moon ,our island appeared on the horizon. Jeez ,it was’nt a moment too soon . It was’nt a picture postcard island, the phosphate plant dominated it. The officials came aboard and posted a lot of prohibition notices ,we crowded around the notice board and read the devastating news,………………….we were not allowed ashore, nor were we allowed contact with the females. The dock workers were Chinese and the managers and police were Australian. Heavy fines, and, even imprisonment could imposed on anyone breaking these conditions. So much for Bali Hai!!
We could see a great deal of the island from our top deck. The houses were very luxurious and they had concrete cinema screens at the bottom of their gardens. One of the Australians told us that television had not yet reached the island so they rented cinema films which they projected on to those concrete ,white washed walls. They nearly all of them owned motor cars, even though there was nowhere to go. They also had boats and dinghy’s ,as we found out when some of them came paddling round our stern. The girls were giggly and pretty and set our hormones singing. But it was look ,don’t touch.

It was a tantalising time, there seemed to be more females than males who came down by the waters edge. After our time in Dairien all women looked attractive to us and it seemed most unfair that we could’nt even have a conversation.
One afternoon a dinghy with some very pretty girls in it came paddling round our stern, we crowded the rails to have a good look at them. One of the deckhands lost it and dived overboard , I don’t think he had actually hit the water before a police launch arrived and picked him up. He said he had been pushed overboard so no action was taken. It gave us something to talk about for an hour or so.
We did.nt spend too long in that place, the loading was very speedy and, after two,or three, days we were back on our way across the Pacific again. Fremantle was to be our destination…………………………….those Australian girls had no idea what was on it’s way to them, three months of celibacy . The good ship Demterton was like an unexploded bomb.

The voyage from Nauru took us down by the Solomons, past Vanuatu,down through the Coral Sea and back into the South Pacific. If we had been beguiled by that wonderful ocean on our way to Nauru ,we were enraptured by these waters. Our world was one of startling colours, from the first light of dawn to the breathtaking sunsets. The beauty of this was so overwhelming,a kind of calm seemed to settle over the ship, there was not one part of the day that was without beauty. Inside my head resounded with music,if only I had the talent, or the wherewithal to capture those nature borne sounds..
Soon we were in the Tasman Sea,heading west to Fremantle. Our course was set to take us through the Bass Straits ,sailing between the Southern Ocean and the Great Australian Bight. The excitement was growing as each passing day brought us to our destination. Would we find what we were looking for?


Here are some of the crew,from the left of the picture we have ,the peggy,and then the Geordie deckhand who dived overboard at Nauru,to his left is a boy called Alanhe was in the catering side.Standing at the back is my mate Kenny,being his Goonish self.The tall blonde kid was a steward and the guy on the far right was a deckhand. The guns were all purchased at the freindship store in Dairien.
The picture on the left shows the Demeterton being loaded at Nauru.
Attachment 16963Attachment 16964

Please note,the contents of this episode are adult. Please be aware of this before reading.
Fremantle
And then came the dawn ,and with the first light, we could see Fremantle appearing out of the horizon. I had first sighted this vista in February 1959 ,and here I was ,9 years later sailing towards that same old port. It was a Sunday,apart from tying up, we had no other labours this day. We would be going ashore to make up for lost time.
One of the wharfie’s told us that the pubs would’nt be open until much later in the day, and so we took things a little slower. We wanted to look our best and we paid a great deal of attention to our appearance. My clothes were pressed to perfection, I showered and shaved and polished my shoes. I ,we , had been so long away from civilised society that we did’nt want to do anything that might spoil our chances. After our evening meal ,I had another shower and slathered myself in Brut and deodorant. At about 6.30.pm we hit the gangway to make our way to town, we were Exocets, primed for coupling. What walked ashore was testosterone in a suit. There were two of us who walked together, sadly I cannot remember my companions name, but I can remember our first pub.
It was the first one on the left going into town, the two of us entered. It was very quiet, two cattlemen stood at the far end of the bar,big rangy blokes with skin coloured like mahogany. There jaws dropped when they saw us, and one of the said to the other “Jees blue, kin yer see wot’s just walked in?” the other guy replied “Naw ,but I kin smell ’em, I reckon they’s a couple of horses mate” My mate went very red, with anger and I said just ignore them. I called down to them and asked where the females were. The first guy called back “At home watchin’ tv “ The barman came over to us and gave the bad news, women were not allowed in the pubs on a Sunday..Feeling choked ,we set off to see if we could find a livelier pub, our search took us to a lot of bars,but they were all as dead as that first place. We did’nt see any women, outside or inside of any bar. It was almost like Wales on a Sunday, only you could get drunk here. We came upon one bar that looked lively from the outside ,it was just like a wild west saloon, the only person in sight was the barman, we had just the one there and I needed the toilet. The barman told me I had to go through the beer garden. Walking across the garden ,I heard a familiar voice chatting quietly to someone. I stopped and looked toward the sound and I saw my watchmate cuddling a little gay guy who looked just like Marc Bolan. I asked him what the hell he was doing and he looked me straight in the eye and said “Any port in a storm Bri”. I was heaving with laughter when I left them. In the next bar we came across our two midshipmen, trainee officers and gentle men. One of the had a tampon in his beer , I had been around a fair bit ,but I had never seen anything as filthy or demeaning as that. We moved on.
At closing time I fancied a snack and decided to see if there was a fast food place open; my mate did’nt fancy walking without knowing where we were headed for and so set off back to the ship. I did’nt find anything and turned my head back toward the ship. It was late and there were very few people about. I was within sight of the docks when, passing an alleyway not far from the gate, I saw a man giving a woman a smacking. I was outraged, there was a feminine woman, with all the right bumps ,being given a thumping. I found myself going full steam at the guy . I pulled him off her and I was shocked to seeit was one of the lads. He was stocious ,could hardly see straight and barely stand up. I never laid a hand on him and left him where I found him. The girl was’nt badly hurt and I asked her what had happened. She told me that she did’nt have any money and had tapped him up for some dollars so that she could get a room for the night. I was fast sobering up now . Why did she need a room? Where did she live? She told me that she had just been let out of jail and was desperate. I stopped and looked at her in the lamplight, she was quite a nice looker, her hair was bobbed and she wore a white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. I could feel my hormones working overtime. I asked her if she fancied sleeping in my bunk for the night. She smiled as though to split her face and threw her arms round my neck and near sucked my tongue out. This girl was as randy as I was . We clung to each other as we made our way through the gates, just before we got to the gangway we had such a heavy petting session that we nearly made love on the gangway itself. We hurried back to my room passing the other silent cabins , I was so excited I could barely get the key in the door. Once inside we stripped hurriedly and went at it like tigers, she bit and scratched and I thrust away, releasing months of pent up lust. We carried on until we seemed spent, I took her to the showers ,it was about 2.0 in the morning, we soaped each other and we awoke those feeling again. She was holding on to the handrail in the shower and I was holding her hips, just then Kenny came into the toilets and stood there ,mesmerised. You could see he was very excited and I whispered to her, asking if she fancied giving Kenny a moment or two of her time. She answered that she would ,but she wanted me to hold her hand while they were doing it. Kenny could’nt believe his luck. When she had finished her shower she said that she was having the time of her life “ D’ya think any one else want’s a go?” She asked. I could think of two so she said “Let’s go an’ give it a go” We were both starkers and I took her to Paddy’s cabin, she slipped into bed beside him and he woke pretty **** quick and let nature take it’s course. She washed again and I took her to the Boffins cabin, he was a gold plated virgin and I left her to it. Next morning at breakfast ,she and Boffin came to the messroom like a pair of newlyweda.
This day was a working day and it was great to be among the hustle and bustle of a lively dock. Talking to one of the wharfies during smoko , I told him of the disastrous time we had had last night. He told us that all the young people went to Perth , “Good as anywhere there mate ,plenty of sheila’s too” We’d been looking in the wrong place.

Brian,
I've got a photo somewhere of me dressed as Shirley Bassey for a fancy dress night on a ship. My dress was a roll of mutton cloth. The Chief Steward's wife (he was later made redundant and joined Bibby's as a second steward and went down on the Derbyshire) did my hair with her Carmen rollers. I'll see if I can find the photo and I'll scan it.

Hi Kevin, Were you beautiful and did you get in touch with your feminine side?Did any of the sailors try to get fresh with you ? We must be told. I await your reply and pictures agog with excitement,
BrianD

The eye shadow Anne applied was gorgeous. I've never been able to find that shade again.

My false boobs were blown up marigolds - each boob looked like an udder!

Fremantle

We were in for a long stay and that suited most of us, we wanted to get back to “Normal”. The first weekends debauchery was over and we now looked forward to seeing where we where.
Fremantle itself had barely changed since 1959 ,there were still no skyscrapers or vast condominiums, it had a Victorian flavour, and was none the worse for that. Not far from the docks was the Flying Angel ,the seamen’s mission. It was a cosy place, you could get a cake and a cuppa and read the old magazines, on Saturday’s ,the padre would organize a dance at which there were female members of the local Anglican church. They were lovely girl’s, they would dance with you and ,usually , asked you all about your home and your ship. My memory’s of those girls are nice, they were not out for anything but your company. The padre made sure that no one gave any trouble and I never saw any all the time I went there.. There were games ,like dart’s ,snooker and table tennis, a young man could enjoy himself without getting drunk.

Boffin was besotted with the girl I had brought aboard, he even took her to the Flying Angel dance on the second weekend . Trouble was she never had any suitable clothes and wore one of the Boffins sea jerseys. Now she would’nt have looked out of place in a Soho club, but in a mission dance hall she was way out . She was’nt wearing any knickers and the hem of the jersey barely covered her crotch. The padre hustled them both out ,holding his coat over her backside so that none of the lads could get an eyeful.

One night the 4th engineer and I took a trip up to Perth, the train service was excellent , and we got there early in the evening. It was quite spectacular, they call it the City of Light and it is easy to see why. The street and road lighting was very bright, they had seemed to conquer darkness. All the street's were bright and airy and the whole place seemed brand new. . The place was also very English, this was a town favoured by the immigrants from the UK.
Geordie and I had a good stroll around the town centre to get a feel of the place, it was spotless, no litter or graffiti, it was almost like a film set. We had a couple of beers and got talking to a man who had come down in the early fifties. He said it had been hard to start with , but the Government had made things easier as time went on and he now had his own house and all of his family were here with him. He impressed me ,and I gave thought to the idea of doing the same…………but life has a way making you miss a turn.
We found out from some guy’s that the best place to go for a good time was a club quite near to where we were. You had to take your own drinks ,which you had to put behind the bar,your bottle was labelled with your name ,and you went to the bar and asked for your drinks as ,and when, you needed them. They sold soft drinks and mixers so it seemed like an ordinary pub.
The place was packed and you could hardly move at the bar,it was about six deep around it and ,as I was making way ,slowly, to the counter, I had to give way to a man coming from the bar with an armful of glasses. We looked at each other and shook our heads in disbelief. This was a man I had shared a drink with in Dakar last November. He had been in one of the native bars that we had resorted to after the snotty reception we had got in one of the swish town centre bars.
Lloyd Warrilow was his name ,he invited Geordie and me to come to his table when we were served. The night turned out to be golden. There was Beatles tribute band on stage and they were quite good, one of the men at our table was their manager, a young Greek guy, he had a beautiful young English girlfriend who was from Dagenham. She was very chatty and came and sat by Geordie and me. We were someone from “home” and she was so full of questions. Her parent’s had brought her here just 10 months ago and she was more than homesick. She had’nt settled down here. She was a beauty, as was her sister, and Geordie and I felt so awkward ,because her conversation was all about her boy friend back in Dagenham; his name was Brian too. It was hard to engage her Greek boyfriend in conversation because he was forever getting up to greet people, he seemed a very popular guy. Conversation with Lloyd was useless because of the noise, a good noise, but bad for general conversation. Soon it was time to head back to Fremantle and the girls said that they would like to see our ship, the boyfriend had to see to the band and said he would run us down there if we could wait while he wrapped things up. He had a nice big car, American of course, but he seemed as though he had a tad too much to drink.
He got us back to the Demeterton without any mishaps, but the girls were a bit tiddly. We went up to Geordies cabin because he had some cold beers in his fridge. Geordie took them up to the bow’s and into the engine room and then came back to his cabin . We were sitting around supping some beer when the Greeks girl whispered to me that she would like to see my cabin. We slipped away at the first opportunity and went to my lonely room. When we got there she pulled me to her and gave me a deep and lingering kiss ,and then burst out crying. I was’nt her Brian, he was 12 thousand miles away in Dagenham. She was inconsolable and very,very drunk. She wanted to stay in my cabin and I was beginning to get concerned for her. I was trying to get her on to her feet when her sister arrived. With her help ,I managed to get her walking towards the gangway;her boysfriend was standing at the top of the gangway with Geordie ,when we hove into view he made his way down to the car. Very unsteadily. When the sister and I managed to get the homesick one near the gangway ,she threw herself down on the deck and started screaming “ I want my Brian”, not me ,the guy in Dagenham. She was threshing about so much that she had almost uncovered herself and it was all we could do to preserve what modesty she had left. Her sister spoke softly to her and she gradually calmed down enough for us to take her to the quay. Her Greek boyfriend was looking none too happy with life when they drove off.

Now ,the guy who jumped overboard in Nauru,was another Geordie, he could pull the girls,well not really,they flocked to him. He asked me if I fancied a double date, his girl had a car and wanted to go to a drive in movie; she had a mate and wanted me to make up a foursome. I told him to book me in.
Next night we arrived at our rendezvous and were picked up……the girls were in a Riley Elf, a sort of tarted up Mini. I had to sit in the back with this huge farmers daughter. She had frizzy ginger hair and a mass of freckles. Her hands were like great big hams and her arms were very muscular. She had a very nice voice and was very attentive to my needs. We got to the drive in ,got speakered up and tried to watch the movie. I say tried ,but ,as soon as the film rolled ,big ginger got me in a Boston Crab and proceeded to suck the mouth off me . She had opened her blouse and got my arms around her back ,which was lumpy and had the texture of weathered leather. I was very grateful that we were in a mini car, gawd knows what might have happened if she had had an ordinary saloon.
I did meet a lovely girl there before we sailed, she was a nurse and had a very pleasant nature. She would have made an ideal girl friend but time was not on our side ,we were bound for South Africa and pastures new.

Below is Terry ,the Nurse from Fremantle
Attachment 17151

Goodbye and Hello
Just before we took our leave of Fremantle we did a little bit of mailing, besides letters to the family and pen friends. Knowing we were going to Durban, I sent a postcard to Peter Hurley in Durban to let him know I would be calling there and to tell the rest of the men I drank with when I was there on the King Alexander. I used one of the cards that I had bought in Red China; it was showing Chairman Mao's birthplace. I wrote a very tongue in cheek note , telling him that this photo was of the Glorious Leader’s house as well as the new’s of my impending arrival. The second thing I did ,was to send a request to the Perth FM station requesting a record for our new made friends (the girls who came aboard with the Greek lad)
I said it was from Scouse and Geordie. They p[ayed it O.K. but the DJ mispronounced our nicknames; he called us Skoyuse and Gerrydee.

It was a lazy run across to Durban, the weather was fine for most of the way ,but as we neared the African continent the seas started get more active, there was a swell ,which got heavier with each passing day. We were driving into the waves and the decks were constantly awash with green ‘uns. Just a few days out of Durban the seas got heavier and ,as we forged ahead, the bows were hitting the oncoming waves with such force that it felt like we were hitting a brick wall. There would be a Whumpf! as our bow slammed in the wave and then we shook as she struggled to recover. When you were in your bunk you could feel every movement ,the rise and fall of the pitching meant that you would be forced down into your bunk as the stern came up and then you were almost weightless as the stern plummeted back down. I preferred the pitching to the rolling, when she rolled you could get flung from your bunk. The night before we got into Durban we encountered some really rough weather, we were getting thrown all over the place. When we entered calmer waters the carpenter and the bosun were doing an assessment of damages and found that the windlass on the foc’sle head had been forced backwards by about 3 inches.
It was great to get out of that lot for awhile, and Durban was a nice place to be if you could over look the rigours of apartheid.

I made the Pirates Cove my first call, that was where Peter ,Dick and the rest of the crowd went. It was crowded as usual but I did’nt see any of the lads I knew. Most of our deck crowd were here and we were having a good old time. I spotted one the blokes who drank with me at the Hilton Hotel when I was here last time. I went and shook hands and asked about the rest of that crowd. Dick had moved back to Pietermaritzburg and Peter was confined to house arrest under the 90 day law . He had received mail that came within the list of subversive materials, my Chinese postcard !!! I felt dreadful about it but kept my mouth shut.
Durban was a nice place to be, if you were the right colour. There are beautiful beaches and lot’s of lovely ladies. This was a major holiday resort for whitefolk from Rhodesia and the rest of the Southern African continent. There were some great tourist attractions ,the Slang Park, or Snake Park , was a very popular place. They have most known species of snake there, the attendants were all black,their job was to go into the enclosures and handle the snakes, bring them out of nooks and cranny’s so that the visitors might see them. The attendants were all in uniform and had calf length leather gaiters to protect them from snake bites. The most venomous snakes were kept in glass fronted enclosures, floor to ceiling height. My abiding memory of that part of the park ,is of standing behind a boy of about ten, an enormous cobra was uncoiled and was level with the boy’s face. It’s hood was displayed and it leaned back and then struck the glass ,the poison fron it’s fangs running down the glass. It did this about three times and the hairs on the back of the boy’s head were bristling. I could not help feeling a primitive fear as I looked on.
Next door to the Snake Park is a wonderful aquarium. It looks like a smaller version of the Rotunda in Birmingham. It has an external staircase which winds itself up to the top of the building. You can see all sorts of species there, it is not a place you can view in a rush ,there is so much to see . A diver goes in and feeds them and it is fascinating to watch. Adjacent the tower is a huge pool ,this is where the shark’s are kept. There were great bottom feeding sharks so smooth and sleek ,and there were some mako sharks. These were fed in the most unusual way, there was a catenary across the pool ,and hanging from it was a bosun’s chair. There was a horizontal pulley for pulling it across the pool and an attendant sat in this and threw portions of fish to the sharks below. I can think of better jobs than that one.

Most of the crew made the Pirate’s Cove their drinking hole, it always had lot’s of nice girls there and the music and beer was good too. One night I ended up with an unusual trio. There was a middle aged man, silvery haired an mahogany skin, he was very expensively dressed, at his side sat a beautiful red haired lady .She was wearing an emerald green evening dress which was very low cut. Sat on the other side of him was a small blonde girl, she wore a chiffon dress and looked very like Twiggy. I sauntered over to their table and complimented the gent on his female companions. He was very nice,and told me the red head was his lady and that the blonde was his daughter. I asked him if minded if I asked his daughter for a dance ; he smiled and said “Certainly, I thought nobody would ever ask. When we were dancing the young lady told me that the redhead was her father’s lover,her mother was back home on the farm. I spent the rest of the night there with them and saw them off in their car in the wee small hours.

Twice though I picked the wrong lady when I was there. One was in her 30’s ,freshly divorced from her professional footballer husband. The evening was going well and I was invited back to her apartment for some “supper “. When we were there ,she poured some drinks and started to tell me of what her likes and dislikes where. The list was long and predictable, it amounted to a paranoid hatred of anything that was’nt pure Aryan. She asked me if I had ever made love to a black woman and I answered in the affirmative. She shrieked and said I was unclean, I gave her the sailors farewell.
The other wrong ‘un was a really beautiful girl, she was sitting on her own in a bar on Water Street , I was sitting with a couple of the lads and our Captain joined us. He remarked on this young lady, expressing surprise that no one had attempted to pull her. The truth was ,we were broke. I asked the skipper if he had any spare cash so that I could attempt to pull her. He pulled a roll of notes out and peeled a few off. “There yar Daley, go and do yer stuff” I went and asked if she would like to meet some of our crew, she looked over at them and nodded yes.
I took her back to the table and introduced her to the skipper and the rest of the crowd, She looked even more beautiful close up and I really fancied her. It was not long before we went back to her flat. Once we entered her living room her whole personality seemed to change. She was worried that people might think she was a black. And in that living room light I could discern that she had some features that looked faintly Negroid; but she worked in a white job ,had been brought up as white ,and looked very white. I spent one exhausting night ,constantly telling her that she was beautiful. In the dawning light, I gave in
Apartheid mucked up an awful lot of lives, when I got back on board the skipper asked how it went ,I could’nt tell him.
Attachment 17174

Home is the Sailor……..

Orders came through to us to head for Boulogne,where we would be paying off; god willing we would get there at the height of summer. I could’nt go home …..yet.
My thoughts turned to London, maybe this time I could do it different ,with a bit more poke in my pocket ,I could spend a very relaxing ,and educational, time there. Sometimes I would talk of the times ,and the places, that I had been to when I worked on the river. One of the engineers ,a slim built Geordie, always seemed to be present when I was expounding on the delights of riverine London,the wonderful restaurants and dance halls ,the theatre’s,art galleries and museums. London was food for the mind , body and soul. The Geordie engineer,Arthur by name,was always asking interesting questions,Where ,When,Why, and How? I had never thought anyone would find my view of life interesting.

Just before we sailed from Durban I had a letter from Roger, the man from Oswestry ,who I sailed with on the Kypros ,12 months ago . He asked if I would be his best man at his wedding in September. My first thought was “ He must be hard up” and then I thought “What a nice thing to be asked” I replied in the affirmative .Now I had something to look forward to.
Our trip home was most unmemorable, the days merged one into the other,the only break in our routine was the passage through Suez ,time seems suspended as you watch the fellayaheen go about their ancient labours. Once through the canal the weather has a fresher breeze and autums cooling breeze presage winters ice and snow.. Soon we are passing Gibraltar and heading north ,up through the great Atlantic, me not knowing that it will be the last time I will pass this way as a sailor.
I have no memories of Boulogne, this is most probably due to the fact that I had drank rather more than was good for me.. I had received a lovely letter from home, Mum had told me that the group my youngest sister was in ,The Swindlefolk, had signed a record deal with Decca and were making lots of appearances at big venues, they were going to Germany ………………..Nearly everyone aboard had a drink to their success.
It was a fairly subdued crowd that sailed on the Dover ferry that day, friendships forged over a six month period were now being torn asunder. I was old enough to know that I would most probably never see these guys again , that was part of the job , you kid yourself it did’nt mean much ,but it did ,oh it did. I suppose that is one of the many reasons I wrote this tale, maybe one of them will read it and say “I know him, I was on the……..”

When we got to Waterloo Station, H.M. Customs had a few trestle tables set up to inspect our kit ,they knew we had been away for 6 months and just ticked our cases ,smiling as they nodded us through. We got our cases loaded aboard and were driving to the gate when a very young customs man stood in the middle of the exit and called for the driver to halt. We were furious, we were stillin sight of the customs tables and the officers there were looking shocked.
This was Young Jobsworth and he had tickled my angry bone, I got out of my seat and asked what he was playing at. He had a brand new uniform ,no stripes on the sleeve. I pointed out the £ ringer at the trestle tables “He has just cleared us , are you questioning his ability?” His expression remained blank “ I never cleared you” he squeaked
“So are you saying you are senior to the man over there?” “As an HM Customs officer I can do what I like” The lads started to shout at me to shut up ,and now I am sober I can’t blame them, but this git had to be taken down a peg or two. “ How long have you been at this lad?” I asked . He went crimson . “A Year, six months , a fortnight..?” He went on the offensive, “ I want to see your case …now” The driver and I pulled my case out and I opened it ,on the top were a bundle of letters from Harold Wilson, 8 in total. I flourished them at the boy wonder and told him that I would be contacting my personal friend Harold( He was in No 10 at the time). I never saw a customs man back off so fast. We got my case back aboard and made our way into the Great Wen




>

A late summer leave
I had a letter from my mother awaiting me in London, she warned me that the police had been to her house requesting my whereabouts ,it was something to do with an outstanding summons. As much as she wanted me home ,she did’nt want me to get nicked. So I would be staying in London until things sorted them selves ,or until I got another ship. I had dropped my cases in the left luggage at Kings Cross ,saw most of the lads off there ,and then sorted out a hotel.
I opted for a newish sailors hotel in Canning Town, the Stellar Maris. It was run by the Catholic church and was very upmarket ,all the rooms were en-suite and they were reputed to have a good kitchen. I did all this by phone in Kings Cross. I retrieved my cases and was about to get into a taxi when I heard someone calling my name,well he was shouting “ Brian” and then “Scouse” so there was no doubt it was me they were calling. Through the crowd I could make out the figure of one of our engineers,Arthur;he was a Geordie and he was almost running toward me. I told the driver to hang on a moment and waited while Arthur hurried toward me. He was breathless and so I waited until he got his breath back. Just then ,Robbie ,a chubby little engineer cadet appeared beside Athur ,” Wot’s ‘e say ? Will ‘e do it?” he asked Arthur.”do what I asked?” Arthur gave an embarrassed cough and seemed to struggle for words. The gist of it was they wanted me to show them the good parts of the Smoke. I told Arthur that I would love to but was a bit short of the readies. “Don’t worry Bri,” said Arthur “ I have just been sent a cheque by my aunts solicitor, she ‘s left me ten grand” I was non plussed. That was a lot of money.
“I’ll put to you straight Brian, Robbies train is in the wee small hours, he’s got to get that. I’m not going ,I’ve listened to your yarns all trip. Show us a good time tonight and you won’t have to put your hands in your pocket”
That seemed a reasonable proposition to me ,so I nodded my assent.
We dropped Bobby’s gear off at Kings Cross and drove off to the Stella Maris we we both,Arthur and I ,went and stowed our gear. I showered and shaved and put on some fresh gear and went down to the lobby where I found the two of them having . Arthur had kept the taxi waiting and we headed off for the bright lights of the West End
We decided to eat first ,just to put a bit of something to soak the ale up. Back then there was a little restaurant just by Leicester Square,it was called the Guinea and the Piggy. I’d eaten there before and it was always packed,the food was good and the surroundings seemed very upmarket. It was a buffet,not like todays pub buffets ,this was the real Mc Coy. They had a proper doorman, dressed like a Spanish Admiral, and all of the waiters were tail coated . When you entered the main dining area ,just beyond the seating area there were two large banqueting tables. One was a hot table and the other cold. Behind each one were about 4 chefs in crisp white linen.There was every kind of meat, poultry, and fish, all laid out as at a banquet. The name told you what you were in for; for one pound and a shilling,you could eat yourself dead.
Arthur and I filled our plates with a hefty portion each. Robbie had built a replica of Snowdon on his plate ,he had multiples of everything.All that was missing was a Union Jack at the peak. He certainly caught the attention of the waiters and diners. He was oblivious of the stares and soon the three of us were working like trenchermen. When Arthur and I were halfway through our maincourse Robbie was making the rounds of the buffet again. He certainly set the tables talking. Talk about hollow legs. He finished his seconds before Arthur and finished our first’s.
When the dessert trolley was brought to our table ,the dining room went quiet all eyes were on Robbie as he directed the waiter as to the size of each portion he wanted,he had a bit of everything and, if his main course was a bit like Snowdon ,his dessert was more like Mount Everest. As he was sucking the morsels from his plate a round of applause broke as waiters ,chef’s and customer’s clapped his magnificent achievement. When I was in London a little while later in the year I saw that the restaurant was no longer there. I did wonder whether Robbie had paid them another visit . We strolled around to the London Casino after leaving the restaurant, it was full of lounge lizards and hookers,we did’nt stop long. Robbie wanted to see a strip show, I never told them that I had never been to one in London, they seemed so seedy. Well, that night we went to one of the big ones,and it confirmed my assumption,it was seedy; full of spotty kids, old perves and stag parties. The girls were lovely but were totally naked acting out sado-masochistic fantasies. There was an air of embarrassment as the girls toiled at there trade. I’ve never been to another one since, I felt like having a shower when we came out.
We got Robbie aboard his train and then made our way back to Canning Town.
Before getting ourselves off to our room ,Arthur asked me if I would mind him spending a week with me, same conditions would apply. I had found him to be a very shy man. He wanted to be like James Bond, well tailored and have his teeth fixed and hair style changed. . Could I show him where to get things done?
The answer was yes,and a girl friend too? Yes again. We were in for a busy six days.

Attachment 17331Attachment 17333Attachment 17334Attachment 17332Transformation
We got a nice early start next morning, first stop was a gentlemens hairdresser in Leadenhall Street. Arthur wanted a hairstyle similar to Paul Newmans. I had used this barber a few times and entrusted Arthur to his tonsorial expertise. Whilst the barber was busy with his barnet ,a manicurist set to work on his hands;he was a job and a half. .By the time they were finished with him I had read the Guardian and nearly completed the crossword. The result was remarkable;now we had to sort his mouth out. His teeth were quite bad,years of neglect had left him with a smile like a row of broken tomb stones, The barber recommended a dental practise in Argyle Street,he was supposed to be fast ,but he was expansive. Arthur gave us the nod and we went there immediately. The place was small but very upmarket, the nursing assistants looked like they had stepped from the pages of Vogue. The dentist said he would need to lose three teeth, have a load of fillings and he would have a denture ready for at around tea time.. With a mouth full of fillings ,and minus three teeth, we set off for the Kings Road, that was where he was going to get his new wardrobe.We had a whirl of a time looking at all the latest in menswear, I cautioned him not to buy anything that would look out of place in Gateshead.
We came back to the West End ,where we each bought ourselves new footwear and I treated my self to a summer outfit at Simpsons. We then went to the Newsreel cinema on the corner by Piccadilly and then went back to the dentists for Arthurs new denture. They were a perfect fit and the transformation was complete, that old adage was proved true “ Clothes maketh the man” new teeth and a haircut help too. That night we went off to the Lyceum Ballroom to give his new image a run out. We hit the bulls eye first time. A couple of women from Plaistow were up in the west end on a girls night out, they worked in a typing pool and were game for a good time. I explained that we had a weeks leave and intended to tick all the “tourist must do boxes" they were game to spend each night with us. We gave them no pressure ,we just wanted female company and would enjoy whatever happened. Our days settled in to a routine, Arthur and I would do the sightseeing bit of a daytime, we would have pub lunches in the likes of the Cheshire cheese , or the Blind Beggar . We were aware that time was finite. Everynight we would meet the girls and go for a meal ,and a show,or a dance never the same restaurant, or ballroom twice.
Arthur was picking up the tabs and money was no object. But these girls were not gold diggers,like us ,they were enjoying while it lasted. .Six days later, I was up in Kings Cross ,saying good bye to Arthur. As I shook hands and said good bye, I wondered what his family would say when the new Arthur turned up on their doorstep.
I spent another three days down there, I kept my dancing partners works telephone number and had another night out with her before my leave was up.
The next ship I got was really brand new, she was still in the shipyard in Goole and was still being fitted out. Acclivity was her name and she was just a bit bigger than a pressure cooker.

Above are some of the places we ticked off on must do boxes, that is my summer outfit from Simpsons.

Great story, as ever.

Well Brian what a memory you have,you also have a talent in the way you write about them i have realy enjoyed reading them,i see that you are a ''Sandy Back'' now... i dont think so once a ''Scouse'' always a scouse

Mossy......Brummie

Attachment 17870Acclivity

I count myself very lucky to have been the first seaman to be signed aboard this tiny little ship. She had power on, the cabins were finished but ,she still had quite a bit of equipment to be fitted and she had non stick-tanks in which there were heating coils. Everyone but me was a dockyard employee. The galley had all mod cons but there was no food in the fridges nor milk tea sugar or coffee.
I made way ashore to find the local supermarket and got a few days stores in; surely they would be sending more crew up soon ?
I was not a cook, oh, I’d cooked meat when I was at the butchers back in the ‘50’s but I’d never tackled proper meals ,meat and three veg etc. Well the one thing I had was time. There was absolutely nothing I could do in the way of deck work. The shore boss told me to keep well out of the way, expressing surprise that they had sent me up from London. I’d never been this far up the river before ,and found Goole to be a very busy little port ,Selby was quite near and so I spent a bit of time getting to know the places. The main thing I remember ,is how friendly everyone was.I never met a disagreeable person the whole time I was there. There was one sad occasion ,just opposite the shipyard was a coal shute where the colliers where loaded. It was a real Heath Robinson affair, the coal trucks were lifted off the rails by an antique affair, it enclosed the truck and lifted it into the air ,where it turned it upside down so that its contents were dropped into the hatch below. On this day ,one of the dockers was still on truck when the operation took place. He fell and was crushed by the trucks load, I kept hearing his scream for months afterward.
At the end of my first week in Goole I thought I would go and see if I could get a date with someone, it was’nt like home . There was a very macho atmosphere, there were no single girls to be seen, and I never found a dance hall. I’d put my summer outfit on, it looked a bit out of place in Goole, a lovely cotton jacket with a cream background to a two tone window pane pattern ,Sea Island cotton pants and a peach coloured shirt with a matching silk tie and hankie. I felt a bit overdressed at the bar of the docker’s club but, they served a very decent pint. As I was supping this chap came up to me ,he was about my age and was very soberly dressed. “ Ey mate, my mates think you look luvverly” I sprayed beer all over the bar. It really touched my funny bone. He asked where I was from and I told him. “we’re off to Selby now” he said “ would ya like to join us?” I accepted with alacrity .His two mates asked where I had got my clobber, they actually liked the outfit .They had an old Morris Oxford and ,as I squeezed in ,I realised that perhaps I should’nt have got in. They were all 3 sheets to the wind ,especially the driver. After a few miles I wished that I had been drunk too .

The only woman I met up there who was “ available “ was a young married woman who was getting her own back on her husband , as much as I wanted female company I was’nt in the market for complications. The Young lady who acted as a companion while I was in London succeeded in writing to me.I did’nt know her surname up until I got that letter, it was incredible. Her forename was very old fashioned, her surname sounded like it was out of a Goon show script. I am not going to divulge it because she was a nice girl, but whenever anyone saw one of her letters they thought it was a joke. However we wrote to each other while I was on the Acclivity and I promised her that should I ever find myself on the Thames again, we would have another night out.

Monday morning ,an engineer came aboard, he was going to be the chief engineer. By now I was quite accomplished with the the cooking and ,the newbie asked if I would cook for him too. Next aboard was a Scots A.B. ;
he, likewise he asked to be catered for too. The Mate and the skipper came aboard ,but no cook. The skipper offered to pay me double if I took the cooks job too, I said there was no chance of that happening, they could’nt complain when I was doing it voluntarily, it would be a different story if I was a paid hand.

At the start of the third week we were ready for sea, our destination was Holland where we would pick up a full load of liquid cooking fat for Van Den Berghs in London.
She was the smallest vessel I had ever sailed on 248 GRT. I’d been on ships ith bigger lifeboats. And, for a new vessel ,she looked curiously old fashioned. She was robust and had a traditional bridge/wheelhouse. She would be watch on watch off and the watches would be shared by the mate and skipper. We would be getting buckets of overtime .
We worked long and exhausting hours ,but there were no overly long runs,Holland and Belgium were the furthest foreign ports and London and the East Coast would be our main U.K destinations
Because we were carrying foodstuff the inspections we had to undergo were quite rigorous, chemist’s used to examine every inch of the tanks before they would clear them for loading. And the heat coils kept the fat simmering all the way across the North Sea. Our first unloading point was up the Pool of London at a place called Galleon’s Reach, what a super name ,not far from the famous Prospect of Whitby pub. We got there spot on the appointed hour, only trouble ,the wharf was closed. We could’nt go any where else because all the adjacent wharfs were closed too. We could see people in the street through the wharf gates but none of them heeded our call. The skipper got on the VHF and tried to raise someone ,to no avail. The tide was on the ebb and we were having to sail at slow speed just to stay in position near the wharf. A police launch noticed our predicament and came along side. The skipper explained our plight and the river police took hold of the situation and climbed up the wharf and took our ropes. When the bobbies found out we had just come from the contintent they asked if we had any American cigarettes. They offered to taxi us ashore ,and make sure we got back( the wharf was locked and we could 'nt leave)We struck a deal, 20 cigarettes I way ,and no less than two men at a time . That suited us down to the ground. When I was being taxied ashore ,the police pilot picked up on my Liverpool accent.” You’ve gotta meet our super’ mate’ eeze from your neck of the woods” Like me ,he lived in Kirkby.I left my oppo and told him I’d see him in the Prospect of Whitby later. On arriving at Wapping Police HQ I was taken through to meet the super’ . He was nearing retirement and gave me a great welcome. He gave me a little tour of the station and then took me through to the police side of the reception desk. The first thing I noticed was the beer pump handles beneath the counter ,there was mild ,bitter and lager. He asked me if I would like something to wet my whistle so I had a pint of bitter. He was very interested in our ship, wanted to know where we would be sailing and if we would be regulars up in the Pool . I answered as best as I could and I had another pint and a large whisky chaser. One of the full length lockers had a row of optics in it and it was all good stuff. By this time we were quite chummy and he asked me if I would be interested in doing a little “errand” for him. He said it would pay well and I would’nt have any problems with the customs.. My brain was going like a train,was it drugs? He told me not to worry, it would be a nice little earner and there would be no complications. I said that we often got the customs aboard when we down in the lower reaches. He assured me that he would know when we where in the Estuary and he could have a launch to meet us be fore we entered the river. I shook his hand and,in the time honoured expression of the New’s of the World reporters ,made my excuses and left. I never took up his offer of wealth and riches,it seemed to much like a “sting”

Woolwich

Working on a liquid lard carrier is about as far removed from the romantic image of life at sea as it is possible to be. Having to do such long hours meant that we suffered badly from sleep deprivation. When discharging our cargo we could spend up to 36 hours working non stop. The lard was liquid and had to be kept very hot,as soon as discharging began the fat against the side of the tank would begin to harden as the level dropped. To prevent this happening we had to put a hose on the discharging manifold and run it back into the tank.There would be a nozzle on the end of the hose,just like a fire hose,and the unlucky man on watch would have to go down in the tank. There ,he would stand on a platform above the hot bubbling fat and play the hose on to the sides of the tank to melt off the hardening fat. This was a long and exhausting process, you become soaked in hot fat ,and , you would be naked excepting for a pair of boxer shorts. You had to spend the whole of the discharging time in that tank,to do otherwise would mean the lard solidifying and that would be disastrous. When we were berthed near Swanage ,I actually spent a day and a half down the tank ,non stop, playing the hot fat on the tanksides and bottom. Food and drink was lowered to me and I ate and drank as I played the hose on the sides. When we were finished discharging ,I had a hot shower to clean every last bit of lard off me and went and crashed out in my bunk. I immediately sank into much needed slumber. I was awakened by the new Mate who told me to get up on deck to start work. I looked at my watch and saw that it was just 30 minutes since I had crashed out. I went to attack him ,calling him a silly young bastid. He fled my cabin and left me well alone.
We did manage some time off while we were down there and I went to Woolwich and caught the ferry to the north side. I arranged to meet the lady from Plaistow. I cannot remember what we did ,I was too tired for dancing ,that much I do remember. It was after midnight that I left her in Plaistow. I did’nt have enough for a taxi to Swanage and the buses had stopped running,so I had to walk the journey to the ferry. As I was strolling along I heard the sound of a bus coming. It slowed down as it neared me and I hopped aboard the platform. I got seated near the stairway and noticed two things,the bus was in total darkness, and it was full of busmen.They were all in uniform ,discernable only by their outline,pealed capped heads atop mackintoshed bodies.And they were silent.
I asked if the bus went near Woolwich ferry and was answered with a low growl “ this is a feckin service bus ,git orrff !”
It was a bizarre scene, scripted by a madman.
It took forever to reach the ferry ,and it was closed !. Luckily there is a foot tunnel and I decended into it . It was a spooky experience,early hours of the morning and alone,not the best time to be making the crossing. I don’t know how far I descended, I do know that I could hear a conversation that sounded very close, as though people were just feet away. The tunnel arcs in a gent curve giving you a foreshortened view. The sound of my own footsteps echoed around the walls and the two man conversation seemed loud and clear, quite close. I never saw them the entire way under the Thames . I was so glad to get back to the surface on the south side , there were a couple of taxis parked nearby and I had just enough change to get me back to the ship.

We did one run up to Selby,it was a weekend and I decided to get the train across the Pennines to Liverpool ,it had been a long time since I had seen my folks and I could’nt be so close and not go home. Mum did’nt have a telephone so could’nt warn her of my arrival. I got a very early train which had me at home for lunch. It was a wonderful homecoming , Jess and her family were up for a visit and that meant I had all of my immediate family together for a joyful reunion. The children had shot up since I last saw them. Jess now had three offspring and Bette had a little boy. My young sister Chris was now very much the young lady, her puppy fat had now melted and she was a sylph like young maiden. I felt so old at seeing them all so changed.
Mum had some wonderful news,I was now a free man. The divorce had been undertaken in my absence but I was free at last.
I had to get a train back to Selby, there was one train scheduled to leave Lime Street about 9.00pm. I left my family with a firm promise that I would be back soon and set off for the station.
The train was at the platform when I arrived, I boarded in plenty of time and sat with the Sunday paper, reading yesterdays happening whilst I awaited the whistle signalling our departure. It never came, instead we were informed that there would be a delay whilst they exchanged locomotives, The new departure would be 10.30pm. I was allowed to leave the train and went to the Golden Egg café in Lime Street. My cousin Dot worked there and the hour whizzed by as we caught up with each other At ten thirty I was seated back aboard the train but she still was’nt moving . I was allowed to disembark and made it back to the Golden Egg. It was 2.15 am before we left Lime Street, I made the crossing in a half conscious state. I got back near the wharf where the Acclivity was discharging and found that there was a flurry of activity around her, she had broken away from her moorings ,the discharge manifold was broken and hot fat was spilling everywhere. I was dressed in my best gear. I did’nt think twice………I walked away from the docks until I found somewhere I could get a bit of shut eye. When I returned three hours later all was cleaned up and shipshape. I never told them that I knew what had happened. That company never paid you for ruining your gear.
My opposite number on that ship was a great guy, he was 20 years older than me and was a Scot. He had fought in Korea and was captured by the Chinese who held him for two years. He told me of the brainwashing classes that the UN prisoners were forced to attend . You never hear tales of the brutality meted out to the Allies by the Chinese ;according to Jock it was a daily occurrence.
He had suffered at their hands ,he developed appendicitis and they would not treat him. A fellow prisoner ,who had been a first aid man, operated on him with some scissors and a razor blade. . It was successful but he was left with the most horrendous scars. His swollen lower abdomen looked like the top of a cottage loaf. The crossed scar was deep and jagged ,and this was 15 years later.
He was an enjoyable companion and held no bitterness for his former foes.

Below are a view of the bridge with the Skipper looking out at the sea and,secondly yours truly ,with Jock coming up behind me as we wash the old girl down,
BrianD

Acclivity 2

The cabins on the Acclivity were rather cramped, every available inch was utilised and in the crew cabins the space was at a premium. I had brought the whole of my gear, which included some curios that I had purchased at the Friendship store in Dairen . When we left that far off port I had a huge amount of cork carvings ,decorated eggs, paintings and other artefacts. When we were in Fremantle I was persuaded to sell some items to a couple of wharfies . They paid far more than I did for them. And in Durban I sold a few more. Now, on the Acclivity, I still had a case full. I had some out on display and the skipper, Brian Lamkin , had never been beyond the Channel ports and was mightily impressed by the exquisite workmanship of the cork carvings. The carvings were traditional Chinese Willow Pattern type scenes, enclosed in glass cases about 8 by 6 by 4. I had fallen in love with them and used to buy them whenever I went ashore in Dairen ,apart from the curios and gifts and the restaurant, there was nought that you could do ,except play a game of table tennis.
I let Brian have a few ,for a price ,and I sold some to other crew members too ,remembering to save some for Mum.

As with other Everard boats, the cook's position was the job that had the shortest tenure. I suppose working in such cramped conditions helped speed each cooks exit.
One day a Scouser turned up to replace the latest departure. He looked ,at first sight, like a bohemian art student. He had an Afro (he was white) which had a bald spot on the top. His beard was like the hair on his head, wild and electric. Looked face on ,he had the appearance of a hamster looking out of a bundle of straw . His clothes were more suited to a navvy ,fraying sleeves on his cuffs, and his trousers had the crotch frayed!.
He was a mess, but he could cook. Kenny was his name and today he would be a tv chef such was his gastronomic skill. But ,he is more likely to be in Jail. I went ashore with him when we were in Felixstowe. He was dressed in the same outfit, most probably his only outfit. He was as unkempt as ever ,but was so self assured that he could have been in a white tie and tails, such was his demeanour.
We caught a bus to Great Yarmouth ,this was the height of the holiday season and Ken wanted to pull a holidaymaker. We stopped on the prom at Yarmouth and dived into the nearest pub to have a swift half and assess the lay of the Land. It was the beginning of the Newcastle holiday fortnight and the place was full of lads and lasses ,all out for a good time. It was one of those balmy summer eves, a warming wind was blowing in from the sea and the girls were looking lovely. Kenny had been a few times and knew where the best places to “click” were situated.
As we were sipping our ale, we were sat on high stools at the bar, I noticed one of Kenny’s “plums” hanging out of his very frayed crotch. I leaned forward and told him. “Dat’s okay Bri’ ” he said “ Dat’s ‘ow I pull der class judies” What the hell had I come ashore with ?
He drank up and said we should go to the dance hall on the prom.
He was right ,the place was heaving and the girls seemed to outnumber the boys. We pulled as soon as we sat down. The two Geordie lasses in the seats next us responded to Kenny’s overtures and came and sat between us ,we were on the front row adjacent the dance floor .Soon we were up and dancing and the young lady and I were chatting ten to the dozen . I told her I was a deckhand on a little coaster and she told me she worked in a factory as typist.When we finished dancing ,we returned to our seats and the girls excused themselves and went to the loo. Kenny leaned over from his seat and said “Bri’ I’ve told ‘er that you’re the captain an’ I’m de mate on a cargo boat,we’ll be on der pal” We never saw the again.
There were so many girls there that it was’nt long before we pulled again. Kenny had chatted up a petite young blonde girl from Newcastle ,her mate looked like Peggy Mount ,but protocol demanded that I was obligated to partner her ,buying her drinks and dancing with her. Ugly as he was ,Kenny soon had the petite young thing getting all romantic on him. This time I went along with his fiction, we were skipper and mate. After the last dance ,we all went to the beach ,sitting at the waters edge ,we listened to the waves crunching on the shore. There was a candy striped marquee close by and Kenny trailed over there with his girl. I was pulled up by her mate and she lay down just around the corner from Kenny and Co. Laying there we could here everything ,Kenny cozening ,she ooohing and aahing ,and then Kenny said “hold tight luv, I’m just gonna shove your kidneys to one side” I just fell apart, the big one had to shove her scarf into her mouth to stop herself guffawing. Kenny was a master of the romantic word.
I left the Acclivity shortly after that, autumn was upon us and it would soon be time for Roger and Pearls wedding in Oswestry. His parents had invited me down for the week and I was really looking forward to it.

Below is a shot of the bridge ,as seen from the foredeck ,and Tower Bridge as seen from the dock by Galleons Reach.

Attachment 17506Attachment 17507

love your writing...

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by jacky gunnion

love your writing...

---

Same here. But what's happened to you Jacky ? Where the devil are you?

Attachment 17882
The Wedding
I left the Acclivity on the 4th of September 1968, I still had the bulk of my pay off from the Demeterton, plus my pay off from the lard boat, so I was going home like jolly jack ,a kit bag full of presents and a pocketful of tin.
I spent a couple of days at home with the folks and got to see most of my relatives in the short time I spent there. I could’nt wait to get down to Oswestry, Roger, the guy I sailed with just 12 months ago, had asked me to be his best man and I wanted to find out just what was expected of me.
I took the train from Central Station ,it was pulled by a diesel engine, dirty and smelly ,you felt you were really travelling on them. I had to change at Birkenhead, and then it was off down through Cheshire and parts of Wales. I was fascinated by how little the countryside had changed ,it was harvest time and we could see the combine harvesters reaping the corn ,leaving the fields looking like carpets of gold.
I forget how long the journey took ,but it was relaxing just watching the different
fields and the hive of activity taking place within them.
Roger met me at the station in Oswestry and we walked to his house .
I was situated in Park Avenue ,which was full of tall ,three storey houses. They were late Victorian and seemed very spacious. It was one of the last roads in the town and the road we walked from the town on, led on past the avenue up into the countryside.
Rogers family were all at home when we arrived and I was given a very warm welcome. His dad seemed a lot older than his mum and his younger sister ,who was about 15 was very pleasant. I was shown to my room ,up on the third floor and I had a good wash and unpacked before going down to join the family for dinner.
The meal was most agreeable, we were sat at a large old fashioned table with plenty of room. The napery was perfect and the whole room was filled with gifts that had been brought home by the sailor son, the dining room window faced west ,and it was very soothing to watch the sky change from blue to gold as the sun got lower in the western horizon.
After dinner ,Roger, his dad ,and I strolled down to the town to visit their favourite watering holes where I was introduced to lots of different people. There was a warmth amongst those people for strangers and it made for a lovely night.
Closing time found us being tipped out at 10.30pm and we made our way back to Park Avenue beneath the light of a Harvest Moon.
Rogers mum had a fine spread ready for when we got in ,and Roger had a surprise for me too. As we sat eating our supper, he handed me a little booklet. It’s cover bore the legend ,”The Duties of a Best Man”. He pointed out my duties, the best man paid for the wedding service, the hire of the morning suits for the groom ,father and ushers and the wedding limousines. At first I thought it was a joke, how wrong could I be. Roger had me scheduled to go to the hire shop and organise the suits , and then to the wedding car place to hire three big Humber Super Snipes, and then, finally, to the little church in Gobowen were I paid for the service. Thank god I’d had a good pay off.
Apart from the expenses, I was having a great time down there ,Roger had left the Merchant Navy and had trained up as a refrigeration engineer with Prestcold. He now had a van and was doing servicing on the commercial side ,shops and factories , he said he was making a fortune on the side because he quite often condemned fridges and sold the owner a new one, he would take the old one away, no charge, he would take it to a lock up garage ,where he would fix it and then sell it on to another shop for a good price.
His parents were ignorant of that little racket ,but he was putting his ill gotten gains to good use, he was buying a beautiful little house in Shrewsbury on a new estate right by the River Severn.
As the days passed by I got to like Oswestry and the surrounding areas ,Roger would borrow his dads little Austin A40 and chauffeur me around the hills and dales of Shropshire. The farm roads were nowhere as busy as they are today and we could stop almost where we liked to get out and enjoy the scenery.
We had a wedding rehearsal in the middle of the week and I met Pearl and her maid of honour for the first time. The church was ancient,11th century I think . It had ,originally, a thatched roof ,but now had large lichen covered grey tiles. Inside there were whitewashed walls and a few wall mounted tablets honouring the dead of both world wars. The altar was a very simple affair ,a brass crucifix and two large brass candlesticks gleamed in the light from the side windows.
The rehearsal went off fine and we all retired to a pub nearby. This little inn was a curiosity, it lay across the border of England and Wales, and on a Sunday the door on the Welsh side had to remain locked and the bar that side could not serve anything ,needless to say the bar on the English side would be filled to bursting with locals, and tourist’s.
Saturday soon dawned and then it was a case of getting all the strings drawn together, suits to be collected from hire shop, check that the limo’s were all o.k., make sure that I had the ring, and, finally, to see that Roger was turned out immaculately.
The whole thing went with the precision of a finely made Swiss watch, I felt ripped off about the limo’s though, they were Humber Super Snipes,but they had seen much better days. The only thing that held the body’s together was the paint. The upholstery was tattered and torn and the springs in the seats were knackered.. They were at least 30 years old and were showing signs of rust on the bonnet and mud guards. The wedding ceremony passed without a hitch and,after the photographer had taken all the usual shots, it was off to the barracks at Oswestry Depot for the wedding feast. Pearls father had done the catering, he was a caterer to the Army and the spread was excellent. The drink flowed steadily and soon it was time for the speeches, I was a bit short of material on Roger, he had’nt told me much about himself when we sailed together and had been busily occupied with getting his new house ready to move into in the run up to the big day,so I hoofed it ,made it seem like he was an old buddy;it went down well.
The meal was over and the pubs were just opening, most people had come some miles to be at this “do” and it seemed a shame to split up just when things were warming up. I suggested that we retire to a pub in the centre of Oswestry to have a few drinks before setting off home. Most of the guests were family but there some who had come up from Warwickshire, Birmingham and Swindon ,as well as other places. We filled the pub to overflowing and I had had a tarpaulin muster of all the guests that were there, £2-10.s. for the men and £1-00p for the ladies, it was more than enough and by the time the clock struck 8 pm someone suggested we go back to Rogers house for a bite to eat. There was a lot of money left in the kitty, enough to buy more than 3 crates of ale and a case Babycham . I was still dressed in my hire suit and felt terribly old fashioned, if we went to Roger’s I could at least get changed.
There were three reception rooms on the ground floor at Rogers, and there were ,roughly speaking ,three sets of age groups. We parked the Mums and dads and grandparents in the front room , the over thirties in the middle room ,and then the singles took control of the back room . There were so many girls there that I felt like a kid in a candy shop. I was acting as DJ and Roger (who was by now heading off with his new wife to their honeymoon hotel) had a fairly decent collection of records. You could feel the evening start to swing and I could see that there were more than a few beauties that I could chance my arm with, first of all I had to get changed. I put on Billy Rose’ “The Stripper” and started getting my kit off to the music, there was a blonde girl at the back of the room who showed her distaste by giving me a scathing look, the other girls were egging me on. One of the married women had joined us and she made it quite plain that she liked what she saw, that blonde though, she was like ice. I got out of the room with just my boxer shorts on and then went and put some jeans on. As time passed by more and more people had to leave to catch their trains home, soon there was just me and one of the ushers, guy called Barry ,and half a dozen girls. I was feeling well mellow and wanted to see if I could tempt any of the ladies. The night was warm and the sky velvet black so I suggested that we walk to the racecourse and see the stars at night. We were all squiffy and some of the girls were quite happy to be kissed ,if I kissed one then another would want a kiss too. When we got to the racecourse ,we had a game of hide and seek, I would get hidden with one of the girls and we would start cuddling , only for another girl to find us and say that it was her turn now. They loved it but it was a bit too wearing for me. Besides, that blonde girl was there and she was disgusted at our shenanigans. Realising that I was on a hiding to nothing, I threw the towel in and suggested that we go and have a nice cup of cocoa before going to bed.

Next morning I was up with the lark and had a shower before going down to breakfast. When I arrived in the kitchen , that blonde was there, turned out she was Rogers cousin ,and very nice too. Her mum and dad were with her and she told me that she lived in Birmingam and had come back from her Spanish holiday just yesterday morning ,they would be leaving for home just after breakfast and she made it plain that she would be quite happy to see the back of me ,ah well, you can’t win them all. I travelled back on Monday and Rogers mum and dad made me promise that I would come and see them again when I was next at home. Barry the usher asked if I could show him some of the night life in Liverpool and we made a date for the following Friday. I would have a few days to recover from my sojourn, and then I must think in terms of getting another berth.

The Arcadian

I touched lucky when I got back to Liverpool, when I reported to the Pool there was a spare man wanted on an Ellerman boat running up to the Great Lakes. It was just on a year ago when I ran up there on the Kypros/Aurania,it would be good to see the Fall again on the Lakes. She was’nt signing for a few days so I got in touch with Barry,the usher, and invited him to an evening of pub crawling around the town. I also asked him if he could get the address of Rogers blonde cousin in Birmingham ,that girl intrigued me.
I met Barry in Central Station and we kicked off at Ma Egertons and then progressed up to Lime Street and had drinks in the Big house ,the Crown and the Yankee Bar,stopping off at Yates for a couple of Whites.We then meandered to the Philharmonic and the Crack and ended up in a very pseudy club which was full poets and actors. Barry was an actor and he pulled very quickly, I got lumbered with the girls friend,who had an unforgettable name ,Belle Star. She too was of the arty set and I got involved in a deep discussion about existentialism. It’s wonderful how a few glasses of White can send the tongue to heights of eloquence. We saw the girls back to their flat and then made sure that Barry caught his train back to Oswestry. The address of that little blonde was safe inside my wallet and when I got home I sat up until the wee small hours writing her a letter.

Ever since I left the Crosbian back in 62’ , whenever I sailed with a Liverpool crowd I always checked the crew list to see if B. the bully was on board. I had grown lax now ,6 years had passed and I had only glimpsed him once.
Just after I had appended my signature to the articles ,I saw ,with shock, his signature just above mine. My cowards heart went into overdrive “Run, leave this ship,go!!” I had been reminded of the bad blood just a few weeks before, one of my mates had sailed with him and B.was telling all and sundry that I was dead meat. With a panicky heart I set off for the sailors alleyway to find my new cabin. I had a single berth and it was’nt too bad. I slung my gear on the bunk and went along to the messroom. It was quite crowded and there was laughter in the air……would he be in there?
The whole deck crowd were there and sat in the middle of them was B.
The room fell silent as I entered, there was one empty seat so I parked myself there, right opposite the man himself. He looked at me.his eyes abrim with laughter, “So, you’re the new feller” He said to the mess “ I know this man, we were at the sea school together ,and we sailed on the Crosbian” He stuck his hand out, “put it there Brian” he said shaking my hand like an old friend well met. It certainly took the wind out of my sails..
It was a really mixed crew, there were a couple of young O.S.s ,B. seemed to be the senior man then there was a chubby A.B. ,an excellent model maker, and then a man of great age,Fred, I never did find out how old he was,but the sea was the only life he had.There were a couple of new EDH’s and they had spent the summer aboard her. All in all ,she seemed a very happy ship, she was only away for 5 weeks or so and she went to a lot of nice ports. After the solid graft of watch and watch on the Acclivity this would be like a holiday.

Our outward journey ran smoothly, the atmosphere seemed a little unreal, B. was deferential and I was uneasy about that, would he seek his revenge?
There was one incident that could have acted as a trigger, one of the junior rating was taking issue with some statement I had made and all eyes were on B., looking to see what he had to say on the matter. He looked at the JOS. And said “ You listen to what Brian tells you , he’s been around a bit and knows his onions !” I felt distinctly embarrassed by such fulsome praise..
Later that evening I was sitting in my cabin doing a few repairs on my working jeans,when one of the young EDH’s knocked on my door.I called him in and he sat on my daybed. I asked him what he wanted and he asked if he could borrow my short raincoat to go ashore in Montreal. I nodded OK and he lingered a while. I asked him if there was something else . He looked a little embarrassed. “ You and B., what’s goin’ on there? I asked him what he meant and he said that B. had been the top man in the deck crowd and used to dominate the lads. He practically lorded it over everyone and even the bosun deferred to him. “ you come aboard and the he’s as nice as pie. What’s the story?” I just said the B. was an old mate from way back and that’s the story.
I never let on about what had occurred on the Crosbian,let sleeping dogs lie !

Quebec was our first port this time, we tied up right beneath the Chateau Frontengnac, a very grand hotel that stood upon the heights above the St. Lawrence. There was no silly stuff with the dockers this trip,the protection money must have been paid and there was no leakage from the cargo
We were'nt alongside long enough to get ashore and then we headed for Montreal. The Expo site was still there but the national pavilions were all gone, it was now called “A Man and His World” and was just like a big theme park. Gone were the crowds that flooded Expo but there still some good rides there.
On Saturday night I went to a club that was open during Expo, it was called ”My Fathers Moustache” and was a very popular venue. There was a resident jazz band and they had guest groups too, it was a great place to take a girl to.
Pity I never had one. But I did get a letter from that blonde from Birmingham.
She was an excellent writer, her letter was like a narrative essay ,she described her everyday life and was very observant. I could picture the scenes she described. The library,where class A eccentrics seemed to lurk amongst the bookshelves, the market where the hucksters were as entertaining as street theatre. She had a group of girlfriends who were of a similar disposition, they had been at college together,and,indeed,had returned from a camping holiday in Spain the weekend of Rogers wedding. I wanted to know more of this girl and the world that she lived in. I set about replying to her mail ,detailing my foray ashore in Montreal and our journey upriver. I was hungry for more of her words.
Shown below are the Village designed for Expo by Le Corbousier,the Space and Volcano ride at A man and his world,A town on the Seaway that was split in two to let the ships through,
Grafitti on the entrance to the seaway, the grim welcome at the entrance to the St. Lawrence
Attachment 17822Attachment 17821Attachment 17820Attachment 17818Attachment 17819

The Lakes

There were no riots or dock strikes this time, the captain was able to maintain a very tight schedule and we negotiated our way through the St Lawrence Seaway and four of the Great Lakes.
Our first port on Lake Ontario was in the US, Rochester. Toronto ,in Canada, followed .We called at Hamilton and then went through the canal to Lake Erie where we docked at Toledo. Windsor ,in Canada, was our next port of call just up from here we were back in the US ,at the port city of Motown , Detroit. .Detroit is in Lake Saint Clair and we crossed it to go through another section of the Seaway ,w2hich took us to Sarnia ,on the Canadian side of Lake Huron
After Sarnia ,we were able to catch up on some sleep ,because we were going non-stop to Chicago, which is at the southern end of Lake Michigan.
The “Windy City “ was the end of the line ,there we would discharge the last of our imported goods and then start loading for home.
All the while on our outward journey, that little blonde, from Birmingham, had been replying to my many letters. That song from the King and I ,"Getting to Know You" She was 5 years younger than me but seemed a lot more mature.
She had been in a drama group and had done stage management ,as well as painting the sets. Her love of literature was evident in the books she read and her skill with a pencil was such that she could sketch portraits which seemed to catch the essence of the person ,making them more alive.
On our homeward run ,I raised the possibility of meeting her. I knew what she looked like, her voice was clear and strong and her sense of humour was second to none.
By the time we got back to Montreal we had arranged to meet up at her aunt’s place in Oswestry, just for the day………………………I was really looking forward to that day, it could’nt come soon enough.

While we were in Montreal the crew were put to work painting the hull and the accommodation. We started off at the bow and would be painting right down the length of her. I was put on the stage with another guy who was about the same age as me .We were working on the port bow and, facing us were two Sos’s on the starboard bow. Because of the rake of her stem the two of us at the bow end of both stages were visible to each other and could see how we were working. I ,and my stage mate, had learned over the years how to work smart.
The stages were,in essence ,planks of wood with a cross piece at either end,we called the cross piece “ horns”. We would tie a gantline at the horned ends and then pass the ends of the line through a piece of rope called a lizard .This had a metal eyelet spliced into one end while the other end would be made fast to a rail or stanchion.When the gantline was put through the eyelet it was wound around the end of the stage, this would hold the stage in place. Two turns would hold it tight ,but the more nervous amongst us would put as many turns as they could on the end. So, there we were, me and my stage mate with just two turns on the horns ,and the young ‘uns opposite with about six turns. To lower ourselves down to another “fleet” we would grip the gantline and throw of the turns and lower ourselves simply by loosing our hold on falls. Simply closing your grip would halt the drop and we would put a couple of turns around the horns . The kid opposite me had never seen this done before and told his stagemate what he had seen. They tried copying us ,gripping the gantline,but not tight enough! The stage fell away beneath them and by the time they had gripped them tight enough, they were hanging there ,in mid air. The guy opposite me looked like Wil.e Coyote.There was only one way for them to go….DOWN!!!!
They hit the water together and were pulled into the punt ,which was being used for painting the boot topping.
Their misadventure was the source of great merriment amongst the lads,me and my oppo nearly had a stroke we laughed that much.
The days flew by and soon we were back in Liverpool for the weekend; I spent Friday and Saturday at home and ventured to Oswestry on Sunday.
It was a fresh autumn day and the countryside was turning brown and gold, Shropshire is a wonderful county, full of hills and dales, ineffably English.
I made my own way from the station to Park Avenue and the town looked fresh and clean in the sunlight . When I reached Rogers I was welcomed like a long lost son, and sitting in the front room was that little Brummie. I caught my breath when I saw her, her flaxen hair had golden flecks in it and her little black dress with its white cuffs and collar, so simple and elegant made her look enchanting. My eyes were filled with her simple beauty and I hoped that my heart would not betray me because it was thumping within my chest. We had Sunday lunch and then went for a drive in Rogers fathers car. It was all passing in a haze,I only had eyes for her,my little blonde. Time sped by and it was soon time for Blondie to go back to Brum. She had to go to Shrewsbury for the train and her Uncle was driving her. I asked if I could see her off and we all drove to the station. I wanted to be with her so much,to leave her now would be madness. When we got to the station I bought a one way ticket to Birmingham, I was going to see her to her door. She seemed delighted that I had done so and when sat on the train ,oblivious to the world around us, holding hands and devouring each other with our eyes. By the time we reached New Street in Birmingham I knew I was falling for this lady in a big,big way.
Her parents were quite surprised when they saw the two of us ,they were nice gentle folk and were very shy. She was their only child and I could see that they were worried about me, a sailor ,big and hairy,and their little daughter, so frail and vulnerable.
It was about 9 in the evening and she took me to see a bit of Birmingham nightlife, it was petty much the same as Liverpool ,small ,smoke filled cellars ,with psychodelic lights and music systems blasting at 128 decibels. She had to work next morning and so we went back to her house about midnight. Her parents were still up, she thought they would have been in bed. Her mum had made me a bed in Blondies room and Blondie was sleeping in the spare room.
When she showed me my bed, we kissed and near scalded each other, all of my senses were inflamed . We pulled way from each other, knowing we were adrift in dangerous waters. I bade her goodnight and settled in her bed, it smelled of a subtle perfume, gentle like herself. Some of her sketches hung on the walls and I took enjoyment in just looking at them.
I was awakened next morning with the aroma of bacon and eggs, it was about 7-0clock. The door burst open and in came Blondie she came to me and kissed me fully awake
.
I had not been dreaming, she was real and she was kissing me. Oh that morning was so bright, but she was off to work, she was a telephonist at the GPO. She had gone by the time I was up and dressed, he mum cooked me a scrumptious breakfast and I ventured out to have a look at Birmingham town.
It was a town of great contrasts, lots of beautiful old Victorian building cheek by jowl with terrible post war concrete monstrosities .It was as though some crank had put the city into a faulty time machine and spewed out this dreadful mess.
But there was so much to see and do that time had slipped by and it was near time for Blondie to finish work. I went to the exchange where she worked and stood on the pavement opposite. Soon enough ,she was there and we enfolded ourselves into each other.
Her mother had dinner ready for us when arrived, the clock seemed to be working at double speed and it was time for me to make my departure. She came down town with me and we had a drink or two in a pub near the station. She seemed quiet and contemplative s we sat there, I was soon to be off to faraway, she would be here,waiting?
A teardrop slipped down her cheek and she was gripping my hand. I pulled her to me,” When I come home again ,I will marry you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I could feel her cheeks ,wet against mine and I knew that my heart had found its home.

“Home is the Sailor………….”

As the train pulled out of New Street station I knew that my life would change, Sue, she of the blonde hair, was so different from any girl I had known before. I was missing her already, this was no adolescent fancy,it was the real thing. Her parents knew that I was once married ,they had to be uneasy about that . But, I knew in my heart of hearts that Sue was the one that I had wanted,Sue was the one I could spend my life with.
I had signed on for another trip to the Great Lakes, we would be home for Christmas and I knew that I wanted to spend Christmas with Sue.
The journey across to Canada was much rougher than last time, it was early November and the sea and the sky were black and grey, the wind screamed through the rigging and the Arctic blasts were freezing cold. We could hardly move on deck to overhaul the running gear, the decks were constantly awash; winter north Atlantic was ever thus.
Sailing up to Quebec was so different from autumn, the hills to the north were now bereft of their fall coats of gold and were now stark and forbidding.
Our messroom had a member missing this trip, B. had left and I could sleep easy once more. The lads asked me why he had been so deferential to me and I kept my counsel, the atmosphere was now very relaxed. I planned to keep it that way.
I felt that something had changed in me, I felt unnatural, this was no life for a married man, living like a monk ,with a crowd of men. I came to realise that the Merchant Navy was a young mans game , see the world and sow the wild oats. Well I had seen an awful lot of this old globe ,and my wild oats were well and truly sown. It was time to live and enjoy life .
I poured my feelings into the letters I wrote to Sue; her letters to me were just as honest, we wanted to be together.
That trip to the Lakes was my swan song , I knew that whatever happened I would not join another ship. All of the ports we went to were covered in snow ,we were one of the last ships to clear the Seaway, it closed down in deep winter because everything iced up. Just before we left Canada ,we called in to Saguenay. It was absolutely freezing, the seaward bulkhead (wall) of my cabin had half an inch of ice on the inside.
We had an elderly deckhand among our lads, he had spent his entire working life at sea. He was well mannered and a good conversationalist ,but he was one of the reasons that confirmed me in my decision to get ashore,he had no one. No family ,no friends, a cabin in the sailors home was where he resided when home. His real life was being aboard ship, a bit like the Flying Dutchman ,I often wonder what became of Old Fred.
We got back to Liverpool on the 15th of December ,plenty of time to spend with my family and with Sue and her family. Mum was bit disappointed that I would’nt be at home for Christmas dinner, she was used to my flitting about and I had’nt yet told her of my plans . I thought it best to see Sue first ,see what her answer would be. With just a few days to go before the holiday I made my way to Birmingham. I met Sue from work and we caught the bus to Handsworth Wood. Sue’s parents were welcoming, but very shy. I can see that it had been a bit of a shock to their systems. Was this sailor for real?
After dinner ,Sue and I sat in the front room and I proposed to her.She was silent for a moment, and I explained that I would get a job in Birmingham and then get a flat so that we could be married. I was very aware of the amount of strokes against me; married with a kid that he says is’nt his.
My divorce had come through although I was still paying maintenance for the child. If anyone married me it would have to be for love,I did’nt have much else.
Sue came into my arms and put her head on my chest, “Yes, I would like to marry you“ she said, turning her face up to kiss me .
Late that night I asked Ted ,her father, if he would give me his daughters hand in marriage. He was a quiet man and I could see that he was torn, I told him that I was leaving the Merchant Navy and would look for a job in Birmingham. I asked if I could lodge with them until I found a flat for us to live in. I would pay them rent and housekeeping . His face was a picture of
bewilderment; we had a cigarette and sat silent while he formed an answer.
He nodded his assent and I went and told Sue. From then on events speeded up, we had to get our lives sorted and the first thing I did was write to my ex wife’s lawyers to inform them that I was about to marry ,I wanted to make sure that I was not going to pursued for any unpaid bills. Everything was ok in that sector. I went around the letting agency’s looking for furnished flats ,in those days there were hundreds. Sue went and sorted out the wedding date and banns and I started searching for a job. Luck plays a great part in your life ,I’ve learned that from experience, I bought the local evening paper and searched the situations vacant columns for a job that I could do. Most of them require the ownership of a license ,I did’nt have one. But there were plenty of others ;one that caught my eye was for an experienced paint sprayer. I had used a spray gun on an oil tanker ,huge thing ,the spray gun that is. I called the number and found that it was just a walk from the town centre .And this is where luck comes in, I was bearded and had my Merchant Navy tie and blazer on. You would’nt see many of them about in ’68. When I was shown into the MD’s office at the factory ,I found him to be bearded and wearing a Merchant Navy tie. On the wall behind his desk hung about half a dozen pictures of ships. He shot up out of his seat and shook my hand and then we talked ships and far off places. We never spoke of my ability ,he took me out on to the factory floor and introduced me the other sprayer, a little lady from Newcastle. I told her that I was a greenhorn but was packing the sea up to marry a local girl. Ina, for that was her name, told me that she would teach me because she thought it was so romantic, just two dates and getting married. The boss told me that I could start first thing in the NewYear.
Christmas Day went off beautifully and on Boxing Day we travelled up to Liverpool to tell them of our plans ,everyone fell in love with Sue ,my sisters thought she was great and mum and dad were very happy for us both.
On December the 26th Sue accompanied me to the Pool where I went through the process of leaving the MN. We went back up to mum and dads to bid them goodbye and took the train to Brum.
I was feeling so happy ,we would be married on the 8th of February,we had a beautiful apartment and I would be commencing work in the first week of the New Year. That was nearly 42 years ago, we were as poor as churchmice, poor, but very happy. I have had many jobs ,each one better than the last, our two children have provided us with three grandchildren ,with another due in February 2011. Our life together has been like a mosaic ,so many interesting things happened to us, good and bad, but always interesting. But love grows, and love is infinite. This is the end of my tale ,but not my life, I hope you have enjoyed it…………………………………………
Brian Daley ,23rd November 2010

Shown below are Sue and I on our wedding day,at the wedding breakfast and outside in the freezing snow.The third picture is of Fred, the old sailorman



Attachment 17885Attachment 17886Attachment 17887

Thought I'd bump this thread for any newby looking for a great read about growing up in Liverpool, you may be here a few hours at least !

Go to 1st page and enjoy Brian's true story, absolutely fascinating :PDT11

Mart