Hullo Old Home

New York Again

I had got myself into a crazy situation, this girl, that Chris had warned me off ,seemed slightly off centre. Beautiful, erotic and always ready for action,she did seem a few sandwiches short of a picnic. She never wanted to go out for a meal or a drink, never liked dancing or walking through the park. The only time we went out were to see her aunts and cousins ,who always seemed to think that I was her intended. At one afternoon tea at her aunts in Allerton ,her cousin sat next to J. and I was on J,s other side ,her cousin started stroking my arm behind J.s back and giving me little “come on” smiles. I could’nt get out of there quick enough.
I only ever saw J.s mum when she let me into their house, J. told me that her dad had been a British and Empire Light heavyweight boxing champion( Chris had told me that too) and that her two brothers were both in line for boxing honours. She told me more as threat than for information.
She had her own room on the front ground floor and it was there that we spent the most of our time,she never more wore more than a negligee and we spent our time making love to the sounds of Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra.
Come going home time she would claim another piece of clothing or my watch so that I would return the following night. You can have too much milk and honey, sometimes you need something plainer. As soon as the stitches were removed from my throat I was back down to the Pool to get signed on and away back to sea.
Fate smiled on me that day, when I got to the Pool ,the Ivernia ,the Saxonia’s sister ship was a man short and I was lucky enough to get the job. She was sailing the next day and so I tried to extricate myself from my erotic entanglement with J that night;this time she took my wallet. “You’ve got to come back for that “ she said. I did’nt have time to write Lisa a letter to tell her I was on my way back to New York, I’d surprise her when I got there.
Apart from the name ,I could’nt see any differences between the Ivernia and the Sax and time has erased most of the guys that I sailed with. It must have been a good trip because there is nothing untoward that I can recall.
But I remember New York. On the afternoon of our arrival ,my curiosity was piqueing me , what did she look like ,was she as nice as her letters and phone calls. She was so different from J, she read good books ,had the same taste in music and like walks and seeing new things. I had to meet this girl.
When I wrote to her ,it was always to her office in central New York that I sent the letters. She worked at the M.O.N.Y. building and I knew she finished at 5-00p.m. I called her from a phone box at the foot of her building. She gave a little cry when I was put through “This must be costing you a fortune” she said. “ Five cents so far” I replied. She shrieked “ You’re in New York!!”
“Right outside your door” I replied. We neither of us knew what the other looked like and I stood inside the atrium as countless hundreds came cascading down the escalators and out of the many lifts too. I stood in the middle of the exit doors so that she might see who I was . I saw her first.
Blonde with her hair in a Grace Kelly roll ,Rubenesque,and such a lovely face. She was at the top of the escalator and I smiled up at her ,a look of recognition crossed her face and she beamed right back.
We walked up to each other and gently embraced, she was glowing with happiness. I walked with her to the station, she lived out a Long Island in a place called Oyster Bay. I knew nothing about the place ,or how far it was ,but we talked and walked and the next thing I knew was that I was on board her homeward train. Oblivious to the rest of the world we poured out our souls to each other. She told me to get of at Holland Fields or that I might spend most of the night travelling.
We met each other every lunch time after that, she would tell me of her dreams and hopes and I told her of my stalled marital situation .
It was her earnest wish to go to London and study at the Guildhall College of Music and Dramatic Art. Well,she was a dreamer, a little clerk working at the M.O.N.Y. building hoping to go to London to study for the stage. I had told her of my secret yen to write and she said the only person to stop me doing that would be myself .
Two days before we due to leave for Liverpool ,Lisa met me carrying a large leather bound tome.. I thought she was giving it to me, she handed it to me and said “ Can you take this over for me,you can give it back to me in London”
I must have looked puzzled,”What do you mean?” I asked. “Pop’s paid for a place for me at the Guildhall college, I’m going to be a student”
I found this very hard to take in, she was going to London, her Pop’s friend in England,Lord Denning would be her guardian and we could be together ,me writing and she studying. My mind began to crumble at the edges, the only money I had was what I earned this trip, I had maintenance to pay and I certainly could’nt afford to live in London. Lisa could see my anxiety “you can do it, you can do any thing you want if you put your mind to it!”
She pressed the book of poetry into my hands. “Bring that to me in London!”
She then asked if I would go with her while she went to pick up some clothes her mother had purchased for her at Bergdorff Goodman for her stay in London. I was in my working clothes but I went with her in the Yellow Cab. When we got to the store I saw that it was like an upmarket Harrods,she told the cabbie to wait and I sat with him while she went to pick up her clothes. The cabbie, a real New Yorker,said ,as soon as Lisa had got out “Say Buddy,where did a bum like you pick up wid a bit o’ class like dat!” I asked him what he meant, “ I heard her say she lived in Oyster Bay,only class live there ,da Kennedy’s ,Sargent Shriver an ‘ all dem guys. An’ shoppin’ at Bergdorf Goodman, you don’t know?!!”
It began to fall into place ,maybe that is why she never let me take her home.
On the way back to the docks I had a lot of things going on in my head, I could’nt see myself as a striving writer ,living on the dole in a cold water flat, nor could I see myself chained to a sex only beauty who thought of nothing but new positions. I took Lisa’s book, like most of my life ,I was going to put myself in Fortunes hands.

Hello Brian

Enjoying your narrative. Fine work, mate.

Chris

Nice one Brian. Keep 'em coming.

The Great Escape

When I got home to our house in Kirkby ,mum told me that a policeman had called during the week, he was trying to serve a summons for some reason or other. I went hot foot to the solicitors in Dale Street, the one’s who had ben acting for me throughout my separation . Everytime I visited it cost £7-10s.,not much now ,but a hefty whack then. The solicitor who had been acting for me for the past 18 months had left the practise and one of the older partners took me into his office and informed me of the worst. The man who had been supposed to be helping me had been negligent in his handling of the brief and I had been pursued by my ex for more money. I had had no information ,other than the attempted serving of a summons for a court appearance ,and for the wilful ignoring of other summonses. I had known nothing at all about this and being ignorant of all things legal ,did not realise how serious at fault the solicitor had been. The old solicitor was apologetic and said that ( and even today I still find this advice incredible) I should leave Liverpool and perhaps stay away for awhile. I now know I could have sued the practise for malfeasance ,but I was still wet behind the ears then.
Meanwhile I had to get my wallet back from J. before I took my leave of Liverpool.
When I got to her house that night I was welcomed into the parlour with the news that we were to be married! No, she was’nt pregnant but her family,who I had’nt met except for her mother when she let me in, thought we should get hitched. I played along with her game ,long enough to get my wallet back.She had’nt touched the contents ,it was’nt much but it was needed. I feigned a headache and said that I would make it up tomorrow. She wanted another keepsake to ensure that I would be back and I gave her the panama I had just bought in New York ,I had two other hats and could afford to lose that one.
As we said goodbye at her door she said that if Idid’nt turn up the next night she would send her brothers to sort me out. What kind of start to married life would that be.
I got home and picked up my bags ,kissed Mum goodbye and gave Dad a hug ,the kid sisters were abed ,and I made my way to Lime Street station to catch the night train to London.
Lisa was already there and was going to meet me on the 10 0’clock train in the morning. I would be a few hours early.
I did’nt have a very auspicious start to my time in London, though not exactly poverty stricken, every penny I had was needed, I had no spare cash for frivolity’s. Stepping of the train at Euston ,I caught my toe on a broken paving slab and ripped the sole off my shoe. I was fuming, luckily there was a shoe repairers around the corner and ,when it opened at 9-00a.m ,I got him to glue it back on. I could have bought a new pair of shoes in Liverpool for what he charged me. But, come 10 0’clock,I was there at the station to meet Lisa.
She had been there three days and had been looking for somewhere that I could stay while we got things sorted, she was staying not far from Earls Court and told me that there where a lot of flats to let around there. We humped my cases across London on the tube and fetched up at the Cromwell Road. She was right, there were loads of flats to let, it took no more than an hour before we settled on one in Nevern Terrace. It was an attic flat , with a double bed ,sink and a gas ring ,not exactly home from home ,just somewhere to lay my head while I sought work.
I had to give a weeks rent in advance and, as I paid it, I realised that I was going to have to get a job fast before next weeks rent was due. As I was paying my rent, the landlord drew my attention to the house rules, no consumption of alcohol in the rooms, no visitors allowed , all heating to be paid for via a meter in the room, no more than two baths per week.
Lisa went out and bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate our new life, I asked the landlord if he had some glasses and he looked very dubious ,but he gave me them.
There ,in that cold little room , we popped the cork and drank to our future.
We must have been exhausted ,because we fell asleep in each others arms and were awakened by the maid who had come to clean the room next morning. I thought I would be given my marching orders ,but no mention was made of Lisa’s overnight stay. I got washed and shaved and made my way to the local Labour Exchange to seek some sort of job while Lisa went back to wherever it was she was staying.
I spent the whole day going from agency to agency trying to find a job that would cover my outgoings, all I was offered were portering jobs or dishwashing work. It was’nt looking bright. When we met at the flat that evening Lisa suggested we go to the cinema; she wanted to see the Brendan Behan film ,”The Quare Feller”. I tried to dissuade her ,money was the problem but I did’nt like to mention the ugly word. “ Let it be my treat Brian ,I can afford it” She opened her bag and produced a roll of ten pound notes that was more than I seen in one go. I must have flinched for she laughed and told me not to be silly. “it’s only spending money” I could’nt help but feel this was’nt right, I did’nt want to be a kept man. We sat through the film in silence, it was quite a bleak film anyway and later we stopped for a sandwich at a late night café. She could see I was unhappy and told me not to worry ,she was sure I’d get a job and then we could start doing what we had set out to do. I could not help thinking of what her father would say if he knew his daughter was being sponged on by some English bum.
She slept with me again that night and we found comfort in each other but I still had those uncertainties. I’d never leeched off anyone ,and I was’nt about to do so now . Next morning we split up again, she of to god knew where, and me pounding the pavements looking fo a proper job. If I could drive I had the chance of few jobs ,but I had only driven dodgems at the fair so that was out.
When we met that night ,she threw me completely, “ I’ve got the answer to your problem” she said, handing me an agreement. I read it slowly, it was for an apartment in Hampstead Heath . “It’s yours Brian, no more worrying about your silly old rent, it’s covered for six months now and you can move in next week” I was shattered, this was worse than I feared. I could’nt tell her what I was feeling because she had no idea of my old fashioned working class morality. I was supposed to be the bread winner, it was’nt her money ,it was her father’s, and I was sure he would’nt be too happy about some Limey waster living off his cash.
We slept together again but I knew that this was to be our last night.
Next morning ,we went our different ways again, me job hunting, supposedly , and Lisa back to wherever. I went down to the local post office in Earls Court. There, I draughted a telegram which was to be delivered to me at Nevern Terrace. I wrote it as though it was from the Shipping Federation ,ordering me to report to Dock Street Pool in Aldgate where I was to sign on a foreign going vessel.
I waited at the end of the terrace when it was time for Lisa to appear and we entered the lodgings together. The landlords wife gave me the telegram when we got in .”This came this afternoon ,hope it’s not bad news” she said . I opened it in front of Lisa and let her see the contents. “But they can’t do this Brian ,it’s not like it’s the military” I told her that I was a contract seaman which was true, and that they could take legal proceedings if I did’nt obey . We had a tearful last night and next morning I got my kit together and headed down to Aldgate East. I booked into the Red Ensign Hotel and went down to Dock Street Pool. They had ships galore and I got myself a berth on a Gulf tanker, the S.S Ceuta, we would have to join her in Antwerp and there was a whole crew going there and we would be travelling together via the Hook of Holland Ferry ,seemed like old times again.

Nice one Brian.

S.S. Ceuta
Whilst I was staying at the Red Ensign ,I met one of the men who would be joining the Ceuta in Antwerp. His name was Ralph Horseman and he was a real Yorkshireman from the town of Scarborough. Ralph was my age and had the same sense of humour that I had and he had worked at a quite a few jobs. I knew I was going to get along with him.
On the Sunday before we left the Red Ensign, I bought a Sunday Times, I liked the new magazine and liked doing the crossword. There was an article in the magazine about Rover’s new P6 ,I was never a car buff ,but this item caught my attention because the design seemed so radically different from the usual old fashioned looking cars that Rover used to produce. I kept the article and read it later when we were at sea.
Getting to Antwerp involved travelling to Harwich ,then the Hook of Holland and then by Belgian Rail to Antwerp itself. The Pool official who accompanied us got pie eyed and we had to nursemaid him the ship.
While on the ferry I made acquaintance with some of the other crew members, two that standout are a pleasant Ulsterman ,called, what else, Paddy ,and a man from Birmingham called Joe Aston. The four of us became drinking partners for the trip and how long that trip was going to be was anyones guess, oil tankers go where there cargo will fetch the highest price.
The homecoming crew were still in their cabins when we got there, busy packing and waiting to pay off ,we learned they had been away for over 12 months, there would be some tidy pay offs there.

By tea time that day ,we had the ship to ourselves, she was’nt too old nor too big ,her gross tonnage being less than 21,000 tons. She had single berth accommodation and the mess and recreation rooms were large ,bright, and air conditioned . She seemed very American in appearance ,with iced water machines in the mess and a refrigerator too ,something that I suppose would be standard now but was very much the exception to the rule .
She was in the process of discharging her cargo and would be having a tank wash before leaving and so we had some time to enjoy the delights of the old sailortown in Skipper Straat. Ralph and Joe had never been their before and I did’nt enlighten them as to what they might expect when we got to Danny’s bar.
The old “queen” still held court behind the bar and there one or two very beautiful “girls” awaiting some unsuspecting sailors. Joe’s eyes near popped out of his head when he saw the talent and Ralph was quite appreciative of the company too. . So ,there we where ,the three of us, sat at the bar ,me in the midd.le and Ralph and Joe on either side ,both with a young “queen” sat on his knee . A bar photographer came in and I got him to take a picture of the five of us, Ralph and Joe holding their “ladies” tight and me grinning like a Cheshire cat.
It was a Polaroid camera and I had the picture paid for and in my wallet before either of the other two realised they had been had.
We pub crawled around the red light district ,watching the hustlers and *****s making their moves and then decided to have a “Chinese” before going back aboard. Joe, being a Brummie ,persuaded us to go for an Indian instead ;he told us that Birmingham was full of curry houses and that we should try one ,they could be delicious.
We same across a little Indian restaurant in Canal Street and went in to look at the menu, Joe and Ralph settled on a Chicken Madras, Joe reckoned it would’nt be as hot as he had them in Small Heath,”Them’re experts there mite” he said. I had a steak, I was’nt much of a curry lover then. We sat and listened to Joe as we waited for our meal to arrive,he elaborated at length on Tindaloos ,Vindaloos and Pindaloos,some being so hot that you almost needed the fire brigade to douse the flames. We had got down two beers before the meal arrived; Ralph sampled a forkful and declared it adequate, Joe said it was very mild.
There was a bowl of chilli sauce on our table and I tipped the wink to Ralph and he picked up on my meaning right away .Joe was sat facing the window ,alongside Ralph ,and he nudged Joe ,” Cor,look at her out there “ he said. Joe looked out and I dolloped a spoonful of chilli sauce on his curry.
He did’nt seem to notice and kept eating, Ralph and I finished our beers and started to used the water in the carafe. Another “Cor look at the ….” Joe looked and I dolloped some chilli on his curry. Sweat started to break upon Joe’s brow and Ralph started saying how the curry was so much milder than he had had in Yorkshire . Joe mumbled about it not being as hot as a Brummie curry ,sweat now running freely down his fore head. One more nudge from Ralph succeeded in my getting great dollop of chilli on Joes plate. He was gasping now ,and Ralph and I had finished the water, the table was dry. Joe was slowing down ,you could almost feel the heat coming from his mouth. A window cleaner was outside washing down the restaurant window with a hose ,Joe took another forkful and let out a yelp and ran outside and grabbed the hose off the cleaner and stuck it down his throat. By the time he came back in we had three beers on the table and were splitting our sides with laughter. When his throat had cooled down he saw the funny side of it too.
Next morning we learned that we were off to Maracaibo in Venezuela ,I’d never been there before and looked forward to seeing somewhere new.

Our mess boy was very androgynous and had very nice legs, any woman would have been glad of a pair like he had. He always wore shorts, far too short ,and feminine jumpers and t shirts. He always had a little necklace on too ,it did’nt bother me, you are what you are. Trouble was he fancied me. I would get served first and would take every opportunity to sit by me , I tolerated it and took the ribbing from the lads in good part. But the kid got serious, I was sitting having my midday meal when I felt my crotch being massaged by his foot. He was sat opposite me with as smile that near cracked his face when he felt the effect he was having. I stood up and gave him a mouthful ,he was seventeen ,still a boy. He saw that I was angry and never did it again. But word gets round and I was teased something rotten, especially by Ralph and Joe. I settled matters with them by pinning the Polaroid of them , with the two Queens, to the notice board in the mess. Result!!!
The master of the Ceuta was a man called Frank Anson, he made an impression on me because he was an avowed socialist. On one of my turns at the wheel , there were just the two of us on the bridge and he asked me if I ever thought about politics. A most unusual question for a captain to ask a rating; I answered that apart from paying my union dues and hating the Tories, no, I was’nt what you would call political. He then informed me that there was going to be an election and asked if I would be voting. “I’m never at home to do that cap’n “ I replied. “Would you like to vote?” he asked. “ How” I asked him. “By proxy. If I get the forms would you vote?” I nodded and then he went into almost a lecture of how Britain was crying out for a change. This was’nt some barroom fire brand, this was the master of my ship and he was putting into words things that I had long felt. Next day he called a meeting of the crew in the recreation room and got the agreement of most of them to vote by proxy.
I like to think that our votes helped bring that change about.
Politically I was to the left ,but I had no political grounding; I was still working my way through Henry Williamsons massive work ,A Chronicle of Ancient Sunlight. It was a work of faction, the main character was based on the author and detailed his service in the trenches in World War One.
Real people filled the pages and you could feel his anger at the governments betrayal of the men who had fought in the trenches, the homes fit for heroes which never materialised , the unemployment and the means test. Much of what I was reading I had heard from my grandparents and mum and dad.
I was slowly sucked into the ethos of the work, the hatred for the profiteers and the upper class idiots that were in charge of things. A fictional war hero appears in the books about the twenties, Boy Birkin. A much decorated officer from an old landed family, he is naturally given a safe Tory seat and a place in Government and then becomes disenchanted with the uncaring attitude toward the old sweats, he then resigns from the party and crosses the floor to become a star in the Labour Party. I did’nt realise it but the books were shaping my politics, how much so I was’nt to realise until the 1970’s.

Ralph was a very interesting watchmate, as we sat and drank our nightcaps ,he would talk of some of the jobs that he had done. The one that interested me most was erecting grain silo’s. He worked all over the country ,on contract to the company that sold the units ,and he could make £200 .00d a week. He slept in hay lofts ,barns and ,sometimes in a farmhouse. There would be just him and a mate ,the bosses truck and he worked outdoors all summer; went back to sea for the winter. A job like that really appealed to me, when we got home he was going to see how the land lay, if it was possible ,he’d get me fixed up with him.

By now we were in Maracaibo, or, near Maracaibo, we were buoyed off with no chance of getting ashore so I never got to see Maracaibo.
We were there two days and we learned that our cargo was for Thameshaven, so no long trip for us then. We were all paid off at the Estuary and a group of us ,Ralph, Paddy ,Joe and me ,decided to have a pub crawl in the West End before going home. Well I was’nt going home, it was the Red Ensign for me.
We traipsed about Soho and the fringes of the West End, the three of them had trains to catch after closing time and we kept a watchful eye on the clock.
We were in a little bar by the French House when Paddy looked out the window and saw a gleaming white car parked at the opposite kerb. It’s lines were long and sleek and the car buffs began to make suggestions as to what it was. “Italian, gotta be, Pinin Farina I bet” said Paddy. Joe disagreed, ”Looks French to me; they know how to do style” I looked at ir,it was the car in the Sunday Times magazine .” It’s a Rover mate” I said. They fell about laughing, “ A Rover, Britain could’nt make a car like that “ said Ralph. “ It’s a Rover, and this fiver says it is “ I said putting a blue one on the counter. Joe was despatched to check the badge. He came back, awed that I had known ”It’s a bleedin’ Rover” he said and Paddy and Ralph went out to check for themselves. When Ralph got back he asked how I had known, I told him the truth and did’nt take his money.
Later on we were in the bar next door to the Empire ,Leicester Square ,when Ralph said that he had better phone his sister to leave the key under the front door mat so that he could get in the early hours. He came back to the bar flummoxed, ”They’ve changed the phone system and I can’t understand how it works” I had used the STD system shortly after it came out and asked him
to give the number and I would call it for him. I was a bit tiddly, I got into one of the phone boxes by the cinema and pulled up one of the books that were hanging by the phone. I opened it ,laid out the papers I had in my inside pocket ,wherein I had put Ralph’s phone number, and made the call. I never had a wallet on me, it was locked away in one of my bags ,but I did have my months pay, loose, and among the paperwork I had just laid out on the telephone book. I closed the book and let it hang back in the rack. Leicester Square was quite full now and there was quite a queue outside the phone boxes; a James Bond film was having it’s premiere in the Empire and the place was heaving.
When I got back to the bar I gave Ralph the good news and we finished our drinks and got a taxi to Kings Cross station. I told Ralph that I would pay the fare as I would keep the cab to go back to Aldgate, I was given no argument and felt in my pocket for the notes. It was empty! I had closed the bloody money in that phone book!
I was penniless. I told the lads what had happened and Paddy said “Let’s go back ,it could still be there” I told him about the queues of people who were waiting for the phone. “ You gotta try” he said and ordered the cabbie to get back to Leicester Square pronto.
The taxi pulled up alongside the phone boxes and I rushed to the one I had been in ,there was a young man on the phone and I leaned in, excusing myself, lifted the phone book out its rack and opened it, my pay of was still there. A mixture of tens ,five s and singles. The young man let out an expletive that would have brought a blush to an old salts face and said “Is this Candid Camera?” the crowd outside straining to see the cause of the commotion. Very much relieved ,I got back into the cab and we dropped the lads of in good time to catch their trains. Ralph said that he would back down the following week so that we could ship out together. Saying goodbye, I went back to the Red Ensign to start my weeks leave in London.

London

London is a hell of a place for Jack ashore, yes ,there are plenty of ale houses and dance halls ,but there are theatres and great museums and art galleries too.
In those days admission was free to most galleries and I would spend my days doing the tourist thing, and worthwhile it was too. The Imperial War museum and the Greenwich Naval museum would require at week at each place to do them any justice; as it was I spent a day at each ,plus a day at the Victoria and Albert too.
Some lunchtimes I would frequent pubs for a ploughmans or some such,back then you could get a good meal for a pound at lunch time ;I fouled up once though. I was in Kensington High Street, having spent the morning in the V&A and I was looking for somewhere plain and simple to have a bite to eat. Most of the places seemed a bit posh ,and then I espied a plain fronted establishment bearing the name ,Peter Jones , restaurant. I thought it looked down to earth enough to risk a pound and entered its door. Wrong move. It was a full blown first class restaurant, a maitre d’ met me at the entrance and summoned a waiter to escort me to a table. In the middle of the dining room sat a baron of beef on a carving table and a chef was slicing portions on to the waiters platters. I shrivelled inside. I would’nt get much for a quid here.
The waiter brandished the menu and I scanned the dishes for something that would’nt break the bank. And there it was ,steak tartare , I had never had it before ,but it was affordable and it was a beef steak. After the waiter took my order ,a foreign looking chef arrived at my table bearing a beautiful looking piece of raw sirloin on a silver platter, he flourished it at me, his face a question mark. I nodded and thought he would disappear back to the kitchen and cook it. No; he had brought a little trolley with him on which there were some knives ,a cutting board and some condiments and sauces. Smiling ,he placed the steak on the board and took up a knife and minced the steak, looking at me for approbation at each stage of the process. He added sauces and salt and pepper ,the knife flashing furiously. He then produced a silver mould an a scooped the mixture into it. I thought” Well ,it’s off to be cooked now” and looked as he turned the mould upside down onto a dinner plate and then garnished it with some salad leaves. “Voila” he said ,laying the plate before me.
Lunch was served! I like my meat rare , raw was different, and not something I would eat again by choice.

My nightlife consisted of going dancing in the West End, I used to alternate between the Lyceum in the Strand and the Empire in Leicester Square. The bands were first class, the Lyceum had Cyril Stapleton and the Don Lang Five and the Empire featured Ken Mackintosh and some other group which I forget.
You could’nt fail to get a dance partner at either of them and ,on my second night ,I met a lovely young Danish girl at the Lyceum. She was with her friend, who was very glamorous, but I liked Astrid, she was pretty rather than glamorous and I had noticed that she could dance.. I spent the whole time with them until it was goodnight sweetheart ,I danced with both ,but Astrid was interesting. She liked most of the novelists I was into ,she also liked classical music and art and we got on like a house on fire I walked her to the Tube but she declined my offer to see her home she was with her friend and they lived in the same apartment block in Putney. She gave me her work number and asked me to call her next day, yes ,she would like to see me again.
I went up to the West End next day and had a look around the theatres, there was an American Ballet company on at the Royal Court, the Alvin Ailey dance group performing modern dance. She had said she liked ballet so I got two tickets. Then I went to a little Italian restaurant in Greek Street and inquired if he had a table for two in the early evening. Yes ,they had ;I told the head waiter that I was bringing a rather special lady and would be pleased if they could make a bit of a fuss for her. They were more than happy to do so.
I phoned Astrid and gave her the news, “Don’t go home first, meet me by the Empire” She sounded excited and I went back to Red Ensign for a shower and a change of clothing.
The meal went swimmingly, the staff treated me like an old customer and Astrid loved the warmth and familiarity . We then strolled on to the Royal Court where we were treated to a marvellous ballet with some wonderful music. It was’nt Swan Lake, one of the pieces was “The House of the Rising Sun” the music was by an acoustic rhythm and blues group which had a black singer with the most haunting voice. There were pieces by Gershwin ,Aaron Copeland and other American greats and the whole ensemble was black. It was magic.
We took the Tube back to Putney and she invited me up to her apartment, the block was owned by the Danish Embassy and was used for housing their staff.
I was impressed by her décor, the walls were done in a mahogany veneer and there were little silver wall lights ,the furniture was in the same wood ,and the settee was an enormous black leather affair. Her drinks cabinet was full of the wines and spirits you would find in most good hotel bars and she poured me a glass of Canadian Club while she had a spritzer. There was a silver candleabra on the dining table, Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata was playing softly in the background and we were talking about some French author. She gave a little shiver and said ”So cold” hugging herself. I drew her to me and said “ Shall we make love and get warm” She nodded and I scooped her up into my arms and headed for a door ,the only door ,apart from the front door, and carried her through it. She was shaking with laughter, it was the bathroom!
The big black leather couch was a put u up. In no time we were bedded and were each as hungry for the other. I awoke with the dawn chorus and slid out of bed to wash and dress. Astrid was awake when I came out of the bathroom and I promised that I would see her again that night .As I stepped into the hallway ,there were other young men leaving from other flats, aah ,those Danish girls.

I went down to Dock Street when I returned to the East End,my leave was due up and I did’nt want to run out of pennies before it was time to sail. It was the day that Ralph was due to meet me too and so I hung around the Pool in case I bumped into him. There was still no sign of him by afternoon ,I did’nt have his number to call and see if he was on the way so I chickened out and took a ship that I would have to join in Rotterdam the next day.
I got two tickets for the Prince Charles theatre and booked our table at the Italian in Greek Street, I wanted my last night with Astrid to be a special night. It was; the restaurant staff were marvellous and we could have headed straight to Putney after our meal ,but I had those tickets for the Prince Charles. It was’nt much of a show ,English variety at its very worst. Astrid fell asleep against my shoulder and I had to wake her gently for the journey to her place.
I ordered a taxi to call for me at her apartment next morning,six o’clock sharp. We were being picked up by coach to be taken to Heath Row for a flight to Schidaam.
Although we had only known each other for little more than two days, Astrid and I were as in tune with each other as it can take some couples a lifetime to get it together. We hardly spoke, the music played as we moved each other until we fell asleep, clasped in each others arms. The phone awoke us ,it was the taxi company giving me ten minutes notice. I had just time for a black coffee and a wash before the door bell rang. Our parting was not one of sorrow , we had enjoyed what we had had, life would go on and we would both meet others along the way ;but it was sweet while it lasted.

I had to get back to the Red Ensign, pick up my kit ,and then get down to Dock Street Pool, where the rest of the crew would be meeting to join the coach. As I was paying my bill , the receptionist at the Red Ensign gave me a message,Ralph had arrived last night. I just had time to see him as he went for breakfast. I felt awful ,I felt like I had let him down in the worst way. I lost track of him over the years, and if by some stroke of good fortune he should read this. I’d love to catch up with him again. It could happen, the next chapter was requested by a man I met later on that day in Heathrow airport. One of the lads I met through this site was his brothers best friend and when we were talking about his friend ,who lived in a tiny village up in Scotland , I recognised the name of the village and asked Clancy his friends surname. It was the same as the guy I had sailed with. When Clancy went up to Scotland ,my shipmate ,on hearing that I was still breathing ,told Clancy that he should ask me to write of what happened on the Rowanmore. 46 years have passed since those events, but the memory of it is etched into my brain . I just hope that I have the ability to to set things down as they happened.

I had just finished posting that last piece when I noticed I had some new e.mail.I opened it to find it was from Clancy, he told me that Jim,my old shipmate who requested I write about the Rowanmore, passed away and had just been buried. I am still finding it hard to take in.........
BrianD

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Originally Posted by brian daley

I had just finished posting that last piece when I noticed I had some new e.mail.I opened it to find it was from Clancy, he told me that Jim,my old shipmate who requested I write about the Rowanmore, passed away and had just been buried. I am still finding it hard to take in.........
BrianD

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Sad news, Brian.
Commiserations.
Kevin

M.V. Rowanmore

As we assembled in Dock Street on that smutty ,East end morning, I noticed a familiar face among the crowd. It was a fellow scouser, Joe Tilman ,and he had been a day worker on the Ceuta with me. He was a quiet man ,with a ready smile. Joe was from the south end of Liverpool ,a black man who came from a family that had been in Liverpool for many ,many generations. He was a stocky little guy who looked like an American, he always wore a hat when in his civvies,and a button topped panelled ,white seaman’s cap when working. He looked ageless,his face was unwrinkled, but his curly hair was iron grey ,tipped with white. We sat together on the coach and chatted away as we made our way to Heathrow. I was quite excited , the nearest I had been to a plane before was the balcony at old Speke Airport ,to be actually flying was something that I had never dreamed of.
Life was a lot slower back then, we were gently moved from book in through to departures in a very unhurried manner. Standing in the queue I got to looking at who my future shipmates might be ,there were an awful lot of Scots accents to be heard, and I could’nt distinguish who was deck catering or down below ,the whole crew was British. The guy standing next to me as we queued ,was a fresh faced Irishman about my age and build. Terry was his name and he seemed quite sociable ,we swapped a few tales about our last ship and we were soon through to the departure lounge. It was near midday and I asked Terry if he fancied a jar before we boarded ,he blushed and said that he was strapped, I said we’ll only have time for one and I had enough for both of us.
There only the two of sat at the bar and the talk quickly got around to who we were and what we liked. Terry was from the south of Ireland and had a lovely soft brogue, he had clean cut features but his nose was a little bit bent, a legacy ,he said of his boxing days. He had been an All Ireland light heavyweight amateur boxing champ. He had a very pleasant manner and we spent a relaxed half hour before we were called to take our flight.
We were going by Dan Air and our plane had been chartered just for the ships crew. I was amazed at how roomy it was, the seating was arranged like train seating ,four seats to a table, large square windows ,overhead wings ,giving passengers a good view out the windows. We had three stewardesses, all Danish and tanned with honey blonde hair. There was no shortage of ribald remarks from some of the lads but the ladies took it all in good fun.
I was seated among some of the Scottish contingent, opposite me was a giant of a man, Jim Murdoch was his name, alongside Jim sat Alec,an EDH ,from Aberdeen ,he had a high pitched voice and looked very Italian with black curly. Terry sat next to me and we were soon on our way. I was really excited when the propellers started to turn and the plane taxied to the take off area. It was Alec’s first trip in the air too and he was as excited as me. We could see the turbo prop engines just above our windows and I was amazed at the speed we seemed to be going at. As soon as we reached our flying height, the stewardesses brought china teacups and plates of biscuits and arranged them on our tables. The biscuit were coconut rings, and I’ll tell you why I remember . Alec and I were busy looking out the windows as the tea was served and had’nt yet noticed the biscuits. Jim, sitting in the window seat, quickly grabbed a coconut ring , hit his teacup with the teaspoon making a tinging sound, then threw the biscuit at Alec, and then threw the biscuit at Alec shouting “By Gawd ,dats jist fell off the engine!! Alec shrieked and near fainted while we near choked with laughter.
I learned two things just then, Alec was good for a laugh and Jim had a wicked sense of humour.
Jim, he had an accent quite different from the rest of the Scots lads, it was almost Scandinavian, his spade beard and bushy eyebrows gave him the look of a Viking. About 6 foot 3 inches and maybe 30 ish years old. He had eyes that had a thousand yard stare ,which could suddenly crinkle and twinkle with impish laughter.
I air trip seemed to take no time at all before we arrived in Schidaam, we had no drunken pool official with us this time and were taken up to the restaurant for our lunch. It was a grand meal which none of us had expected, the full monty, three courses , with a prime steak cooked to order as the main course. The young deck boy was sat opposite me,it was going to be his first trip to sea and his eyes were popping like saucers at the dishes laid before us, a bit different to sea school tucker. As he started to cut into his steak his knife slipped and he pulled his plate on to his lap. His shirt front and trousers were covered in gravy and sat stunned looking at the mess. The Dutch waiter ,who was still serving ,walked over to the kid and said “ Oh, does sir prefer his meals that way?” You had to be there, it was so funny. The waiter brought him a fresh plate and got him cleaned up ,but later, as he served coffee, when he got to the deck boy ,he held the pot over his lap and said “Would sir like his coffee there too?”
Replete ,we boarded our new coach and set off for the Docks at Rotterdam ,where the Rowanmore was discharging her cargo and old crew.
She was a Furness Withy liner, five hatch job with a jumbo derrick too, from across the dock she looked smart, typical mid 50’s cargo boat, all midship accommodation . She was’nt so smart when you got aboard though.
The sailors accommodation was very Spartan, after a series of modern ships where we had grade A cabins ,we were now back in the boondocks. We were two to a cabin, three draws and a locker apiece, no writing desk and no air conditioning. But,it is amazing how quickly we adapt and make the place your home. I bunked in with Joe, I knew he was’nt a drinker, and he was a good cabinmate in that he never felt he had to talk incessantly. We were both readers and I was content with that. We were put on the same watch and that made things easier in that we would be getting our heads down at the same time.
We had a night in Rotterdam and I subbed Terry so that he could come ashore with me. We went down to the sailortown ,but it was cold and did’nt sem too lively so we had an early night back aboard.
Next day we sailed to Emden, a place that was completely unmemorable, the docks seemed miles from anywhere and so we stayed on board .
November the third found us Poland,at a place called Gydnia. It was a slate grey day when we docked , the only visible colours in the docks were grey and red. The drabness being off set by the Red flags and communist propaganda.
The first person aboard was a policeman,he had an American accent and his first words to us,the men rigging the gangway ,were “Welcome to the People paradise of Poland“ his face a picture of sarcasm. Later,in the mess room, wewere having a cup of tea and he joined us. He told me that he was actually born in Chicago and that his mum and dad were old Polish communists who had emigrated to the states after the First World War. When the 2nd World War was finished and the Reds took power in Poland ,his parents thought that it would be wonderful to go home to help set up the Workers State . Nursing his cup of tea he said ,in such a world weary voice “Boy ,were they ever wrong” For a policeman he was a great guy, he told us what to expect when we tried to get ashore, he was our policeman, he would remain aboard and check our passes as we went ashore. There was another policeman,from adifferent division ,at the bottom of the gangway,he would also check our documents. And then, finally ,there was the policeman at the dock gate, he was the real *******. “ Best take a few packs of cigarettes and piece them off as you pass them ,they’ll nod you through” The black market was another thing he put us wise to, the official rate of exchange was 150 zlotys to the pound. “If you take your sterling ashore ,you’ll get at least 1,200 zlotys for a pound.” He warned us that there were plenty of rip off merchants and the best place to do a deal was in a place where there were other people. “ No one wants trouble ,too many police” He even told us the best bars to go to and how much a woman might charge if we wanted to spend the night with her.
I persuaded Terry to come ashore ,he was very good company, and it would’nt cost too much ,if we changed our money ashore. He was still broke but Ihad enough for a good night for both of us.
Our journey ashore went right to plan, we gave each of the policemen a pack of cigarettes and we got through without any hassle. It was a dark November night and there were not many street lights , the only bright spots were the twinkling neon light of a few bars down the street. We hauled up at a place called the Hotel Bristol, a place that had seen better days, before the Germans had occupied it . It had an air of faded grandeur ,a palm court quartet played out some Chopin and the waiters wore penguin suits. In the middle of the dance floor a nicotine stained chandelier hung down from an old rococo ceiling. There were lots of tables ,set as though for a banquet but there were only some military men,officers, who were sat with two very nice looking girls across the room. The waiter informed us we had to fill out a visitors ration card before we could order any drinks and that we were restricted as to how many drinks we could order. Our policeman friend had warned us about this , a few zlotys would purchase a new ration card. We made contact with a black marketer,the waiter was obviously on commission, and we went to the W.C. and did the deal. I got top rate and was loaded!! Like a Polish millionare!. As I walked back to our table, one of the girls who was with the military man called me to her table “Are you English ?” she asked. I nodded “ Can my friend and I sit with you?” she questioned . I asked her what the soldiers would think ,she snorted ”them,they are nothing, we like you”
I knew they were business girls ,but they were pretty and they were the only one’s there. I gsve the soldiers an apologetic shrug and the two girls came over to our table. They were excellent linguists and proved to be good table companions. After a few drinks they asked us if we would like to go to a nightclub, we were’nt supposed to leave the city limits but the place they could take us to was for the Party apparatchiks. “very special, good drinks and American music” We put ourselves in their hands and let them lead the way. They told us that this was a special night ,all the Party comrades were celebrating President Johnsons win in the American election.” No Goldwater,no war, everybody in Poland is happy” It looked like we were in for a good night.

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Originally Posted by brian daley

Next morning we learned that we were off to Maracaibo in Venezuela ,I’d never been there before and looked forward to seeing somewhere new.

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Went there on my very first trip and had an adventure that I'm not prepared to put on a forum - but I'll tell you over a pint sometime.

Look forward to it Kevin,perhaps we could have one in the pie house,
BrianD

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Originally Posted by brian daley

Look forward to it Kevin,perhaps we could have one in the pie house,
BrianD

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Anytime you fancy it just email me. Quite a way for you but only 5 minutes for me.

It's quite a story - expected to see myself one day in a porno film I hadn't known I'd be in!

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Originally Posted by kevin

Anytime you fancy it just email me. Quite a way for you but only 5 minutes for me.

It's quite a story - expected to see myself one day in a porno film I hadn't known I'd be in!

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Gotta hear this one Kevin...

M.V. Rowanmore
This chapter is dedicated to Jimmy Murdoch, a great Man

The girls ,Terry and I ,took a taxi ride out of the city,which was very dimly lit looked very foreboding. There seemed very few people on the streets and no lights on in the shops, the taxi was, by contrast ,very comfortable, like a pre war Buickbut it was Russian ,a Zil or a Zim. We left the confines of the town and entered what seemed like a farm road, the only lights were those from our car . Soon ,we could see a brightly lit building in the distance, it was like a stately home.
We went through some wrought iron gates and cruised down a long driveway to the house entrance. It must have been built for a rich or noble family ,a hundred or more years before. We got out at the bottom of a set of steps that led up to a grand entrance, classic pillars lined the the entrance and two uniformed militia men stood at either side of the huge entrance doors.
They knew the girls and ushered through to the foyer. This was a grand hallway with a double set of winding stairs that led to a balcony on the first floor. The stairs and landing were filled with people , there were streamers and party hats,this was a party and most of the guests were in some kind of uniform. And there were women, lots of beautiful women.. How different this was from that cold, dark world outside.
Our ladies seemed to be very well known, there were many hugs and hurried introductions as we were taken to our table in the ballroom.
There was a live band, not a pop group ,but a full blown big band ,on the stage an the music was as good as anything I’d heard from Kenton or Heath. Tail coated waiters flew around the tables and drinks were flowing with speed. So this was how the other half lived. The atmosphere was very happy, these people were overjoyed at Johnson’s win and we had a few slightly tipsy officers and party members come over and shake our hands. They must have mistaken us for Americans.
I knew that we would be spending the night with our table companions, the feeling was there and the shared intimacy at our table all pointed to it. I got fed up handling the zlotys every time we bought a round of drinks and I knew we would be giving the girls the rest of it before we went back to the ship ,so ,I gave my girl all the money and told her to take care of us. She smiled as she put the roll of notes in her bag “ Is safe here Brian” she said and kissed my cheek.
We danced and drank and ,pretty soon, she said ,as all ladies do at some during the dancing “ We are just going to powder our noses” Terry and I surveyed the scene as they went toward the powder room. It was the best night we had ever had, a grand ball ,in a stately home with two of the prettiest girls . How lucky could two sailors get?
As we sat there in our moment of quiet reflection, a black eyed beauty with the face of a Botticelli angel came to our table. She had a troubled look on her face and ,looking at the door way, she said “ Those ladies you came with, they are leaving the house now” I must have looked puzzled and she said “ they ask for taxi, I hear them, go!!”
I raced through the tables and out to the entrance where I saw the girls climbing into the back of a Skoda saloon. I shouted for them to stop and they screamed at the driver who looked up at me with a very worried face, They screamed again and he closed the doors and jumped into his seat. I dived from the steps and landed on his bonnet as he pulled away. He was cursing me through the windscreen and I managed to grab hold of his offside wing mirror and one of the windscreen wipers. He roared down the drive ,swerving left and right trying to throw me off. I could see the girls in the back seats, their faces twisted with hatred as they poured out non stop expletives. This guy was not going to stop. He did’nt look like a killer, he looked very ,very frightened, but not half as frightened as I felt. It was like having a tiger by the tail, if I let go I was done for We tore down the dark lanes ,the driver imploring me to let go, he was looking very uncertain now. Soon ,the wail of a siren could be heard in the distance; it was coming toward us. I managed to crane my head round and saw blazing headlights and a blue flashing light coming towards us ; of a sudden the lights seemed to slew around and halt. The lights of the taxi soon picked up the sight of a militia wagon ,troops were getting out and they were carrying rifles. What the hell was going on? The taxi pulled to a halt and the driver had a dreadful look on his face. I sat up and and saw an officer walking toward us, he was unholstering his pistol and speaking in Polish. He signalled the driver to get out and some of the troops pulled the girls out of the back. They were crying and saying “Sorry,Sorry ,was joke please tell them was joke” The taxi driver stood trembling with fear , I actually felt sorry for him. The office was snarling at the girls and he said something to the men holding them. They took the girls handbags and gave them to him , opening them ,he held them out toward me and said one word “Take!” it was command not a request. I took the money out the bag and he made me take the rest. The taxi driver and the girls were taken to the truck and one of the militia took me back to the stately home in the taxi.
There were crowds of people waiting at the entrance ,everyone had heard what had happened and some party official had summoned the militia.
Terry was sitting with two girls when I got back in the ballroom. One of the was the dark eyed angel. Her name was Anna and I thanked her profusely ,lord knows how we would have managed to get back to port without her. We danced and had some supper and I asked if Terry and I could take them home She nodded yes ,but they did’nt live in the same place . I got all the money I now had and gave it to Anna, it was much more than we had when we came ashore, I asked her to split it with her friend and make sure we all got home safely. We drove off in separate taxis ,Terry to who knew where and Anna and I to her home.. We wen in to the opposite direction of the port and seemed to drive for about half an hour. Soon we came to the weirdest place. It was a small hamlet and was an absolute jumble of houses, houses built of every kind of material, breeze blocks ,corrugated sheets, wooden planks . Like something out of Mad Max , each “house” was fenced in and had barbed wire and broken glass topping the fences or walls. Dogs howled and snarled as we passed and soon we were at Anna’s. It was a three storey house that seemed to lean like the tower of Pisa. A tall chain fence surrounded it and there was a heavy steel gate. But no dog ,thank god. They had one but it was chained up in the back and would be let out when the last one was home. That was us.
Entering the seemingly tottering pile was a revelation. Although the outside was rough looking ,inside it was a little palace ,warm and welcoming ; all the walls were white painted and covered with family photographs and holy pictures, a big stove ,covered in pretty tiles ,stood in the corner of the room and ,Anna told me it went up through the house so it warmed each floor.
She poured us a glass each of Polish vodka and then , putting the lights out ,took me to her bed. Her put her finger to my lips and whispered for me to be quiet and gentle, her parents where in the room above.
Although the night was near freezing outside ,we lay beneath a duvet ,filled with duck down and above a sheepskin fleece. It was the tenderest night I had spent in along time.
We were awakened by cocks crowing and the barking of dogs. The previous night seemed to have ended a long time ago, it was hard to believe in the cold light of day, but she was here and I was sad to,be leaving.. We went down to breakfast, her mother was at the table and greeted me very warmly, she had made honey sweetened black coffee and two rounds of thick toast smeared ,not with butter ,but rich beef dripping. She gave an apologetic shrug ,not knowing that I loved its very taste.
After breakfast Anna walked me through the Hamlet ,we stopped at a store while she bought some groceries and ,while we were in there some ladies came over and started to feel my over coat ,stroking the cloth and making little mewing sounds. I felt so sorry for them ,to me it was just a coat ,to them , a prince’s mantle.
We had to go to the local factory to use a phone to call a taxi. It was a cement works , a big drab grey installation, Red flags and Party slogans providing the only colours around there. When we went into the reception, Anna spoke to the girl at the desk and gave her some money. We were then taken into an old dusty office where there was a phone and a table. We were causing a fuss in the office because there was a press of people against the windows in the hall, they were looking at the “stranger”. It felt odd. Although I had been to China and Africa as well as other places, I had never felt such a stranger as I did here. It was the poverty, that made the difference, they ,who looked like me, were so much poorer. It did’nt seem right.
We went back to main road and soon we could see the dust cloud kicked by the approaching taxi. Anna gave the driver some money and we kissed goodbye. It was about midday when I got back,Terry had been back a few hours.
We sailed for Bremen that night, I had Anna’s address ,and I did write to her, but I never knew if she got my letter . And what events awaited in Bremen ……………………………………………..?