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