Hullo Old Home

Brilliant once again Brian. The rash sounded horrible. Especially being pinned down for the treatment. Ouch!
Fantastic stuff Brian.
Our friend Richie said you had a brilliant memory (he also told me the x rated exploits too) and how right he was..:handclap:

The East Indies

Sailing from Singapore ,through the Straits of Malacca, is a magical experience.
On the port side ,when you are heading north west ,is Sumatera ,or as we knew it then ,Sumatra ,one of the larger Indonesian islands. When you are in the narrows of the strait you have land either side of you ,Malaya being to starboard. The palm fringed mountains provide a wonderful backdrop to the scene about you and the dawns and sunsets are nothing less than spectacular. The straits are always busy ,ocean liners and fishing boats vie with each for sea room. During the day there is so much to see with the ever changing back ground . The air is filled with the scents of the strange flowers and plants that grow on the plantations that abound on the verdant slopes of the passing mountains. The stiff breeze created by the ships passage through the green waters helps cool us against the tropic heat. Sea birds glide lazily above the myriad fishing craft that lay scattered across seaway. And so our journey to Belawan proceeds. There was talk in the mess room of what a violent place Indonesia was, there was an "insurgency" taking place ,rebels were seeking to overthrow the government of President Sukharno ,who was head of the resistance against the Japanese,was now fighting against a motley grouping who were backed by ,some said, ,the Dutch and the Americans. What it meant to us was that white people were considered potential enemies ;tales were told of crew who had been attacked ,and sometimes killed ,by the local militias. And so it was with trepidation that I entered the port of Belawan. The Dutch had colonised it for a few centuries and the evidence of that was before your eyes as you sailed into the harbour ,the buildings that could be seen beyond the wharves were gabled in the Dutch manner and were once red tiled ,now they were decaying and the colours were long faded .there were many ships
alongside the quays ,their bright paintwork standing in sharp relief against the crumbling warehouses .
There were lots of soldiers in evidence on the dockside ,dressed in olive drab ,their uniforms were very well turned out ,blouson and trousers starched and replete with razor sharp creases ,they wore their G.I helmets like every Hollywood soldier you ever saw. They were toting automatic rifles and squatted on the bales of cargo that littered the quay. Their presence seemed intimidating as they sat smoking , eyes on our every move. A whistle shrilled and they started to shuffle along the quay and our dockworkers started coming aboard. The natives wore mostly sarongs and ragged T shirts with a cloth wrapped around the head in the manner of a turban. They were small but powerfully built and seemed to have a contemptuous air about them,there was also an undercurrent of anger. The Bosun warned us not to upset them because it could cause trouble. Pre warned ,we kept our heads down and got on with the job.
After the cool sea breezes ,working alongside in Belawan was like being in a steam bath ,it was so humid.

The shower after work was over was so bracing ,the cold jets almost hissed as they hit my parched skin, a good scrubbing and then some dinner and soon I was on my ashore.
I was told it was safest if we stayed within the port area and so went to the nearest bar ,this was right outside the dock gate. There were linen suited Dutch businessmen seated in the main bar ,I was the first of our crew to get there ,and so apart from the Dutchmen ,I was on my own. I was an inexperienced drinker and had been told to avoid drinking native hooch ,bearing this in mind ,I ordered a Heineken and then kept them coming until I looked for something different. Scanning the bottles behind the bar my eyes alighted on what seemed like a bottle of Spanish wine. I pointed it out to the barman and proceeded to work my way through it. In a little while I began to feel very mellow, the room took on a roseate glow ,this was lovely stuff. "The lads'll love this " I thought. "Should be ashore soon" A glass or two later one of the lads seemed to appear before me, I could'nt understand a word he was saying and the room seemed to be on the move. I'd passed mellow and was starting to feel queasy,"I wish this bloody bar would stop moving" I could'nt form any words properly and got up from my stool to head for the toilet. Weaving my way through the tables I lurched forward towards the Dutchmen ,pink suits ,pale green suit and nice cream suit......?..A Niagara of vomit burst forth from me and drenched the pastel coloured Dutchmen. Strong arms gripped me and hustled me to the lavatory. I don't know how long I knelt there, eventually I got to my feet and went back in the bar. It was Joey who had helped me and he had something to settle my stomach for me when I got back to the bar. The Dutchmen were waiting for me too and I had to pay them enough money to get their suits cleaned. Joey pointed out to me that I had been drinking native wine. What I had thought had been a bottle of Malaga was a bottle of Malacca. Never again.

We just had the one night in Belawan and it was no hardship to leave ,there had been very little to do there and there was very little evidence of there being any women there too. Tanjung Priok in Java was our next stop and the lads said it was a bit like the wild west, lots of bars ,women and wild men. We were soon squared away and got the ship cleared of all the debris that littered the decks ,it was our home and we did'nt like the mess that shore wallahs caused. The journey back down the straits was no less magical than our journey up ,this time we would be going on past Singapore, by islands with exotic names ,PulauLingga, Pulau Bangka ,Belitung and then into the Java sea .The heat was terrific ,we were stripped down to sarongs and flip flops and we were showering twice a day. At night the sea was scattered with twinkling white lights shimmering in the blackness ,these were the fleets of fisherman little outriggers each with their oil lamps to tell us they were there. Great clouds of phosphorous boiled and glowed in the midnight depths and shooting stars were streaking across the heavens.
Java night ,velvet black and strewn with jewels of light.
The dawn appeared as a violet streak upon the eastern horizon , the mountains on the islands silhouetted black ,slowly the violet turns pink as it moves up the sky and then is tinged with gold , the sea is a sheet of silk reflecting the colour of the heavens and the silhouettes of the islands .As we stand looking at the mornings glory ,a black shape detaches itself from the island outline and soon we see it take the shape of a bird, a large bird. The upper sky is now pastel pink and the bird looks so beautiful as it flies gracefully towards us. We are nonplussed when it seems to collapse and falls slowly on to our foredeck. It is a flamingo as pink as the lightening sky and as dead as yesterday. The moment is so poignantly beautiful that my heart was filled with wonder ,life and death ,dark and light ,and now the dawning.
Tanjung Priok lived up to the reputation the lads had given it, we were still tying up when we saw our first shooting. A wiry little fellow was haring along the quayside ,from what we never knew, but he had passed us and was heading the gate when a shot rang out and we saw him stumble forwards ,he was dead.
Some soldiers strolled up to him and nudged him with their boots, satisfied ,they squatted by him pulled out a pack of cigarettes and sat smoking until a truck came.
Welcome to Tanjung Priok!!.
Inflation was rife in Indonesia ,officially ,the rate of exchange was 150 rupiah to a pound sterling. We used to pay 7/6d for a carton of 200 State Express 555 cigarettes in the ships duty free slop chest(35p in decimal). If they were in flat tins of 20 we would get 1000 rupiah for them ,and we did just that ,we had stored them up for our arrival there. The only drawback was that you were only allowed to take 150 rupiahs ashore with you. A big drawback, the cost of a nights entertainment with a lady was a hundred rupiahs ,you would'nt have much left over if you relied on 50 rupiahs. There were two ways to overcome this ,you could try and bribe the customs man at the gate ,this was risky because he might take your bribe ,and you as well ,or you could secrete in the rear luggage space........up your bum!!
And that is what most of us did ,you could live like a millionaire on a 1000 roops. The favourite place for jack ashore was the Radio Bar ,this was run by a little guy called Maas, he looked after us sailors and was never known to cheat anyone ,his beer was good and he played the latest American records ,English pop music had’nt made it abroad yet.
The girls who frequented the Radio Bar were good lookers and did'nt have a bad reputation either. The bar was a straw roofed affair ,open at the sides and lit up like Blackpool ,there were other little bars and eating shacks about and intermingling with them all were the little straw roofed rooms where the girls would take you to mik mok.
Oh the testosterone that powered that little settlement, you could have lit up New York with it . We where there for three nights and I made use of everyone of them to sate my myself ,the food was excellent ,Nasi Goureng being the main dish ;one night I saw a bowl full of golden fried chicken legs and purchased a pot full. They were absolutely delicious, but they were'nt chicken ,turned out they were frogs legs and I've loved them ever since that time.
Some of the lads turned up as I was finishing the bowl and started a bit of horse play ,they totally trashed the place until I was left sitting there ,no roof ,no walls just the table chair and me. They gave the owner a wad of roops and he started putting things back together,mad happy days. Our next port had a beautiful name ,Tjirebon,you say it Cherrybon,it was as pretty as it sounded.

Going Native

Tjirebon was a Muslim port, there were mosques and the men nearly all wore the little black caps that people who had been on the Hadj wore .Whereas Tanjung Priok had been brash and full of bars this ,then little, town was far more subdued. It was here that I first heard a proper gamelan orchestra and saw a Javanese puppet show.
The town was a mixture of Dutch colonial buildings ,native huts and Islamic temples; there was a market place where all manner of fish and spices were on sale as well as beautiful batik sarongs. As I strolled through the winding streets I got a greater feeling of what Java was really like than I had at Balewan or Tanjung Priok . I was'nt hassled as I meandered past the houses and shops and, as I walked into one of the little squares, I saw a crowd of people sitting watching an entertainment .This was the puppet show, There was a large rice paper screen which was backlit and the puppets were elaborately carved figures which were manipulated by sticks . I don’t what the story was but it was marvellous just to see, the gamelan players provided the music as the puppeteers played out scenes of love and death . The screen was illuminated by oil lamps and the villagers and setting were timeless. I was the only anachronism ,in my T shirt and jeans I was wildly out of place. But I was welcomed into their presence, children made room for me on the benches and sat casting shy glances at this stranger in their midst. I had left the lads down by the dockside and wanted to see what Tjirebon was like. When the show was finished , the puppeteer let me see the puppets which hitherto had only been seen as silhouettes upon the rice paper screen, they were painted in brilliant colours, reds, greens and gold and I've often wondered why the audience were never shown them that way.
On the way back to the ship I saw a poor young man who was like a wild boar,he was snorting and grunting and scrabbling bout on the ground, the people around him behaved as though this was normal.

As we journeyed around the islands most of the lads abandoned the shorts and jeans for sarongs, some of the regular crew had a variety of them ,big Albert looked like a Serang ,or head man, with his neat little beard and his huge girth ,he would'nt have looked out of place on a pirate vessel.
At that time I was a doodler, when at school I had developed a knack for cartooning and I used to do caricatures of people. Not that I would ever show them to the people I had done. One night Albert came to my cabin and asked if he could borrow my writing pad ,it was on the table so I passed it up to him. I realised too late that the back pages were filled with sketches of Albert , as Bluto. An almighty yell filled the alleyway, "ANDEE !!!"? a shiver of fear ran through me ,"?Get Your Arse Down Here NOWWWW!! " I walked slowly to my doom, Albert sat at his writing table , looking at the sketches . "Is that supposed to be me?" he asked ,I was afraid to speak."It's bloody brilliant" he laughed. "You'll have to do one I can send to the missus" he said. Phew !

After we left Tjirebon we went on to Semarang ,we were getting higher out of the water now as we discharged our cargo ,only a couple of more ports and then we would start the loading. I have vague memories of Semarang ,we did'nt go ashore ,we were told it was too dangerous. When we stayed aboard the lads made their own entertainment , the two brothers ,I think they were called Terry and Jimmy ,used to get their guitars out and we would sit on the afterdeck singing songs old and new. Most of us would sit sucking on cans of lager but those two boys never touched a drop. Even when we went ashore they only drank pop or coke, I was impressed. Terry always said that you did'nt have to be half cut to have a good time and judging by how happy they always were it seemed to be true.

Surabaya came after Semarang, this was a pretty bleak place after the previous ports ,we were tied up a long way from the dock gates and the favoured bar was a fair distance from the gates. One of the Blue Funnel officers was reputed to have been killed here by the dockers ,from the attitude that these dockers displayed you could feel that to be true. They were surly and aggressive, we had to do cargo watch down the hatches to see that no cargo was broached ,most of the dockers seemed to be very young men and a couple of them used to masturbate openly ,daring you to say something. I have since sailed to many places but nowhere did I experience such open contempt towards us .It was even worse ashore. We went ashore in a group ,safety in numbers, there were a lot of trishaw men outside the gate ,all touting for business, Flashing smiles and making friendly gestures they competed with each other for our business. They would'nt let anyone share and so we all went alone with one of them.
When we got to the fabled bar it turned out be a let down ,no girls, a couple of bolshy barmen and only old records on the juke box and some rubbish beer. A bit like Liverpool really.! After a few beers we decided it would be best if we went back to the ship ,there was no fun to be had here. Accordingly ,I went outside to see if the trishaws were there, as soon as I stepped out there I was surrounded by an angry crowd of them. They wanted all of my money or they would "Kil "me.? One of them brandished a knife and I had an out of body experience. I told them that I had left my money inside and went back to get it. When I told the lads what happened they decided to go out together, Oxo and Taff decided to stay put , I thought that they were pushing their luck. When the trishaw boys saw how many of us there were they went back to being their servile selves and we made the journey without incident .
Back on board ,we got the beer out and sat and had a few cans before going off to our bunks. Around about an hour later we heard a commotion at the gangway and Oxo and Taff came roaring aboard, Oxo was wearing the dock militia mans peaked cap,he had whipped it off his head as he was running past the gatehouse, talk about balls of steel.! We sailed next morning and Oxo still had the cap.

Balikpapan ,our next destination ,was on the Island of Borneo in Kalamantan, it was a huge waterfront with lots of oil tanks and cargo jettys. There was an Eagle oil Tanker in the middle of the harbou ,it had been there for more than a year,and could be there still for all I know. It had been bombed by the rebels during the Insurgency and was split into two halves, the after part was stern down ,the funnel and superstructure just showing above the water. The bow section and center castle were still afloat and would swing around on her anchor with both parts meeting up when the tide was right. I am sure she was called the San Flavinio. I don't know what happened to the crew ,but it was supposed to have been an American mercenary bomber pilot who was in the pay of the rebels who had finally done for her.
It was Sunday when we got to Balikpapan and there was hardly anyone about ,after mooring and making things ready for unloading we heard the sound of a truck coming down the dock, we were the only ship alongside so it must be coming to us. It came to a halt just by our bow and we saw that it was full of soldiers, they clambered down, rifles in hands and then formed themselves into marching order. There was a civilian with them , a ragged little fellow in chains ,an officer barked out some commands and some of the soldiers gripped the prisoner by the arms and marched him over to the warehouse wall. He stood facing the soldiers who were now lined up with their rifles pointing toward him. The officer flourished his baton ,looking at us as though he was a circus master and this was the next act, turning to his men he cried out and raised his baton, dropping his arm ,the rifles thundered and the little guy crumpled in a bloody heap. Four men stepped forward and took a limb each and then toted him back to the truck ,when they had slung him aboard the rest of the troop climbed up and they roared back down the quay. A pool of blood by the warehouse wall reminding us that this was not a good place to be. It was pretty quiet in the mess room that night.
We made our way back to Tanjung Priok by way of a few anchoring ports too small to be of note and each one looking the same.. Getting back to Tanjung was almost like going home, our trishaw boys were glad to see us ,we always used the same one, they would stay with us for the night and keep us out of trouble, it was the same with the girls ,nearly all of the lads stayed with the same girl, if they went back on the same ship those girls would be waiting for him when he got back. The girls all called me Joe Butterfly, I never had the same girl twice, I was like a kid in a sweet shop, they were all so pretty that I wanted them all. We were there for about four days and it felt like paradise to a young Lothario . I remember one night when I had imbibed just a little too much and flaked out in my seat by the dance floor, it was like a small settee and I was at full stretch. I don't know how long I was out but I was awakened by the sound of girlish laughter, I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on but could'nt raise the lids,there was something standing on them! Groping towards them I felt a huge insect there............it was a stag beetle, a huge thing the size of my hand, with antlers just like a reindeers. It sobered me up tout suite.
The mate on the Machaon was a bit of an entomologist and he used to ask us to fetch him any specimens that we came across, I never got to giving him that one but a few days later I came across one sitting on top of the windlass .They are fearsome looking creatures and I was'nt sure if they bit you or not so I whacked with my marlin spike. It did'nt splatter or crack but just lay still and I picked it up and carried it up to the mates cabin. When he came to the door I opened my hand to reveal the creature and it unfolded it's wings and took off ,making a sound like a B52 bomber as it did so.
I don't know who was more surprised ,me or the mate.
The captain had arranged with the agent a day trip up to a lido that was on the top of an extinct volcano, this was a good few hours journey from the capitol Djakarta and nearly all the crew wanted to go, we had’nt been close to civilisation for weeks and weeks ,just to see proper pavements and streets would be wonderful.
On Sunday an army truck came to collect us ,this was just like the one I had travelled to London in from Sharpness. Cases of Tennants were loaded first and then we sat where we could, the canvas sides were rolled up so that we could all see where we were going. As we entered the city we followed the riverbank for a good part of the way. The banks were thronged with people, some bathing ,some doing the laundry and others squatting as they emptied the contents of their bowels, all within yards of each other. As we left the city and entered the suburbs we passed the colonial houses, beautiful gardens surrounding them ,so gracious after the stews we had become used to . In the distance we could see a range of purple mountains ,our lido was up here ,we went through acres and acres of tea plantations ,the fragrant aromas scenting the air ,everything was clean and fresh and there was a riot of colour from the many flowering shrubs and trees. The locals waved as we passed by and motorists honked there horns and waved ,this was so different from Surabaya.
The lido was huge, there was an Olympic sized pool and a plunge plus a kiddie pool. The place was full of Dutch people, hundreds of them ,this was their weekend retreat. We dropped our cases of beer in the deep end of the pool and went off to get changed.
After a finding a space to "camp"? by the pool we decided to have a beer so one of the lads dived in to get a can. He came shooting up out of it like a rocket !! It was bloody freezing, very few of us spent long in the pool ,just enough to get a beer , the Dutch kids did'nt seem to be affected by the cold ,they frolicked about as though it was warm. Still, it was a good break and the views were marvellous ,from the diving board you could see the plains below stretching out for miles. We stopped at a plantation on the way back and we purchased small chests of tea to take home. I took a chest of Sukabumi and it was very aromatic ,Mum did'nt like it at first but by the time she was half way through it she was hooked.
On the way back to the ship the beer flowed freely now that you did'nt risk freezing to death to get it. The lads were slowly getting sloshed; the locals who had been to the pool were following behind us and I was sitting in the tail end and a young Javanese couple on a motor bike rode close in to us and started a conversation ,they were happy to meet English people visiting their country and we were having an erratic converstion ,the flow broken by the twists and bends in the road. We lost them at point but they caught us up and handed me a load of branches which were full of lychees, they were gorgeous, fresh and sweet. One of the lads rewarded them by stepping up to the tail and dropping his shorts .revealing a very hairy, fifty year old arsehole. The young couple looked as though they had been scalded and overtook us . I sat there feeling ashamed. Lager louts are nothing new.

Merry Christmas Gentlemen

We were nearly through with the Java coast, we just had a consignment of tobacco to load and then we were going back to Singapore.
The tobacco was packed in foil and then covered in straw matting which was sewn very tight with a kind of twine. The deck of the hold where it was stowed was covered in straw matting and when it was loaded the top of the cargo was also covered in this manner. It gave off a wonderfully aromatic scent. We also loaded copra in some of the holds, this carried with it hoards of copra bugs,a little like ladybirds ,but not so bright ,a kind of dull iridescent green. They got everywhere ,they were not harmful but it was'nt nice having them in your bedding and lockers. They completed the voyage home with us.
Our homeward cargo was made up of raw materials ,teak and mahogany logs, spices, palm oil ,tobacco ,copra ,rice ,latex and a myriad other products from the islands.
We topped up the hatches at Singapore ,where we had a whale of a time just walking on proper pavements and enjoying ourselves without the ever present danger of violence.
We picked up just one passenger for the homeward trip, a beautiful young Malayan woman who was going to study at the Malayan College in Kirkby.
It must have been a strange experience for her, being the only female amongst about 60 or so men, but she was always treated with the greatest of respect.
Our next destination was Colombo , in what was then Ceylon ,we had to load some tea ,and we would be able to buy some for our families as well.
I had heard a lot about Colombo, it was reputed to be the cleanest city in the East ,not counting Japan, and the Singhalese had a reputation for friendliness.
Britain still had vestiges of Empire and Colombo still had a British Naval base there ,some of the lads reckoned you could have a great time in the NAAFI bar.
So we headed for Colombo with the anticipation of a good time ahead.
Christmas Day came a day before we arrived in Ceylon and the catering staff laid on a great feast ,the mess room and the dining and recreation rooms were festooned with decorations ;Oxo made a special Christmas tree for his cabin, instead of baubles and tinsel ,he adorned it with old sausages and chops ,cooked of course!
After our Christmas dinner the captain invited the deck and catering crew for drinks in the dining room, and here I must tell you of how beautiful that was. The bulkheads (walls) were of silkwood and were inlaid with marquetry designs of a contemporary nature, there were mirrors which were engraved with nautical and mythical maritime scenes and in the centre of the deckhead was a wonderful crystal chandelier. It was a very gracious setting. The Master ,Captain Readshaw ,was very old school , he had to be in his late 60's ,or even 70's,hosted the Christmas drinks and let us sit where we liked; a novel experience for a JOS. Spirits flowed like water and when everyone was settled and warmed by Christmas spirit , Captain rose to make a little speech prior to giving the toast. He was standing in front of the sideboard at the head of the dining room and we sat facing him, that is all of us except Oxo, he quietly climbed aboard the sideboard and got himself behind Captain Readshaws head. When the Captain called upon us to raise our glasses to goodfellowship and kindness , Oxo dropped his pants and mooned ,the cheeks of his behind showing behind the captains head like a sacrilegious halo.
Old Readshaw was bemused by our laughter ,unsure as to whether we had found his little speech witty ,but nevertheless proud of his delivery. He never found out about the "spreader", even the young Malayan lady laughed!
Next morning ,Boxing Day ,we tied up in Colombo. Above the dock walls we could see that there was a covered market across the dock road ,this had a giant Father Christmas sat upon its roof ,it seemed bizarre, most of the Singhalese were in sarongs and saris and there above their heads was the spirit of winter.
We were only going to be there for the day ,we were sailing that night ,because it was a holiday the bosun let us go ashore .I was getting changed when one of the Tally men came knocking at my cabin door. He was after any foreign coins or notes we might have for his sons collection. I had a roll of Indonesian banknotes ,they were totally worthless now ,so I let him have them.
Freshly washed and dressed we three ,the JOSSES ,made our way to the British Naval base.. The streets were clean ,so different from anywhere we had been lately ,even cleaner than Singapore.
The NAAFI was closed though ;when we got to the base some of the bootnecks told us there was no bar until the next day but that there was a bar that they used just outside the base ,the White Horse bar .That was where they drank ,so off the three of us trooped .We were the only customers and the staff made us very welcome, it was Christmas and they filled us full of the Christmas spirit...........................for a price of course.
Soon we were out of funds but just getting a taste for the local brew, we were just about to leave when the Tally man I had given some money to walked into the bar, he waved to us as he was sinking his beer; I called to him and asked if he could buy us a Christmas drink. No problem he said ,finishing his beer ,he told the barman to give us what we wanted ,throwing a roll of notes on our table ,he waved us goodbye and wished us a Merry Christmas. Anther round of drinks was brought to the table and we gave the barman most of the roll of money. He went off to the bar and gave it to the boss who roared with anger, It was the Indonesian money !
Shaking with rage ,he came to our table carrying a scimitar ,he whacked it down sending the glasses smashing to the floor. "Christian *******s!!" he shrieked " I vant my monies Thwack went the scimitar again. My bowels were on the point of opening when a little Babu entered the bar ,he was wearing a dhoti and an English blazer with a shirt and tie.. He was carrying a rolled umbrella and had a pair of black oxfords on his feet ,every inch the caricature of the Indian Lawyer. Seeing the disturbance ,he told the manager to calm down ,this was the English festival of Christmas ,it should be peace on earth and goodwill to all men. The manager turned the full force of his ferocity on the little Babu and we three exited stage left at a great rate of knots. We were greyhounds then and just managed to keep ahead of the barman, a little Morris Oxford taxi stood on the corner and we dived in and gave the driver orders for the docks.
There was a rosary hanging from his rear view mirror and a sacred heart of Jesus on the dashboard. "Merry Christmas Gentlemen" he greeted us ,"I am Roman Catholic" This very happy Time. You are enjoying this holy time?"
We had been, and he was'nt going to like what happened next.
Arriving at the Dock gates amidst a stream of felicitations to us and our crew, I handed him the rest of the notes and raced through the gates with a torrent of imprecations hurled at the back of my retreating head. Of course I felt bad about it but there was little else I could do then.
And so we left Colombo ,with some Singhalese left with an image of the English that was not very good.

The weeks went by very quickly after that ,New Year was spent in the Arabian Sea and I stayed up for the of the New Year ,the 50's were ending and a new decade was about to commence.
The sea was as black as ink and the heavens above were exploding with light from the stars ,the warm night was cooled by a gentle breeze and only the steady beat of the engine pierced the silence. The poignant sound of the bell tolling out the decade broke the stillness ,sixteen times it rang ,eight for the ending of the old and eight for the new.

Up through the Red Sea and then on through the Suez Canal ,places that were now becoming familiar and places that heralded the passage home. I was getting excited now, I would have a good pay off this time, I wanted a new wardrobe and would spend my spare time planning the things I would do and dream of the girls that I might meet, and best of all I had a new niece to meet, Jeanette was her name and she was a little blonde bombshell , or so the letters from home told me.
As you near the British coast a frisson of excitement enlivens the crew , no one is immune from it ,it's called the channels ,and the nearer you get to your home port the greater the feeling becomes. We'd be docking in the Gladstone on the Sunday but would'nt be paying off until the Monday. This was awkward for Joe and Fred because they could'nt go home until after payoff and that was in Birkenhead come midday Monday. I invited them to stop the night at our flat, it would be a shakedown on the settee but it was better than nothing.
We got a taxi home and as were neared the tenements Joe said “You don' really live here d'you Andy?" Fred was goggle eyed as we entered the square " Erm, it looks a bit rough mate" he said. And for the first time since we had lived there I saw that they were right , my once demi paradise was now a slum. The walls were full of graffiti and the pavements were full of litter. I felt so sad ,it took the edge off my homecoming . But not for long ,soon we were in our little abode where Mum had a homecoming tea ready and my sisters were busy unpacking my cases.
After dinner Dad took the three of us to Walton to meet some of his brothers, we went to Tims in Westminster Road ,a quiet little place that had a good pint and a human juke box.
There was a little old man ,wearing a shabby mac ,battered brown trilby and a nicotine stained walrus moustache. Dad bought him a gill of mild and this inanimate little man sprang to life and sang "I know a Millionaire" when he finished the song ,he lapsed into silence and supped his drink,Joe bought him a gill and he gave forth with "Swanee"and then silence,we got about four songs out of him and moved on.
This was'nt how we really envisaged our first night home, but we had'nt paid off yet!
We crawled home just after closing time, ready for bed and eager for tomorrow. I would'nt be going back on the Machaon,I could'nt stand the thought of Bob's gallows humour and chapel ways. I was still a kid and wanted laughter and enjoyment, so it was goodbye Machaon!
.

On Leave

When Fred and Joe departed for home I decided to go over to Llandudno to catch up with Cousin Willie, there was’nt very much going on in Garston ;it was the middle of winter so I thought I would get a bit of a holiday at the seaside . Looking back ,I find it amazing at how forbearing my aunty Dolly was ,I would turn up without so much as a by your leave, and a bed was always made ready .Not to mention my free board!
But it was great to see the Llandudno mob, they were all working ,and were still bachelors ,but Willy was smitten with a girl from Wigan. Her family had stayed as paying guests and Willy had been writing to her since she left, he had even been up to Wigan to see her ,this was serious, was this the end of “our gang” ?
Being winter ,we never got further than the pubs ,I spent two days on what appeared to be a massive pub crawl, it was good fun though.
I was at a bit of a loose end when I got back home I had a pocketful of tin and not very much to do all day. You become a bit of a fish out of water when you are on leave ,you lose touch with your schoolmates, most of the girls you would want to date are working and so you have to get through the day so that you could enjoy the night.
Our family was much bigger now , Jess and her husband ,Graham would come up on a Sunday they would bring my new niece ,Jeanette, she was delightful, 4 months old and full of curiosity. Jess was now living down near the Flat Iron pub, they had a landlady who looked like something out of a Hammer Horror. But they seemed to be happy.
Betty and Chris were zipping up ,it is amazing how quickly people grow and when you see them only every four month or so, it is like watching a tape on fast forward.
Gradually you lose the closeness that you once had and become more of a visitor .
It was soon time to be off again. This time I got a coastwise passage on a ship called the Anchises. This ship had a bit of a war record, she had become entangled in the fighting between the Nationalists and the Communists in 1949. The Chinese nationalists bombed her when she was sailing down the Wangpoo river. Her engine room was flooded and she had to be towed upriver to discharge her cargo when she was bombed again. It says something for the strength of those Blueys ,bombed twice and here she was nearly 12 years later, and still going strong. She was pretty much like my first ship, the Eumaeus, the crew was something else though. They were mostly coastal only men ,they had given up going away for long stretches and were content to work away for just two or three weeks. We joined her in Amsterdam after she had returned from the Spice islands. To get to Amsterdam we had to go to Harwich on the night train and the get the overnight ferry to Ostend and thence a train to Amsterdam. It was quite an exciting journey, there were about 18 of us deck crew ,mostly strangers to each other and a long journey like that is a good way to get to know people. Most of the senior hands were either married or engaged ,hence their liking for short trips, the junior ratings ,like me were filling in time awaiting a deep sea trip.
The long journey was fuelled by an unending flow of amber nectar, some one had one those newfangled transistor radios that he had bought in Japan and we had music as well as booze. I don’t think we were too rowdy, there was no trouble during the whole journey.
When we got to Amsterdam we were met by an agent who had arranged for us to get to the Anchises via a bateaux, a nice glass topped tourist barge. We had to await its arrival on the canal steps by the railway station. Among our crew were two old salts ,Harry ? and Joe Patino. They were both old enough to have sailed in the 1914 to 18; Harry was a fastidious old timer and Joe was just the opposite, a scruffy little man ,flatulent and very short sighted. They had both sailed together before and were like an old ,argumentative, married couple . Some of the AB’s and EDH’s knew them and were not very nice to them; age was not revered at sea.
Old Joe became the victim of one the EDH’s pranks as we were leaving the station on the bateaux; he pointed to a battered old suitcase on the canal steps “I’ve got one like that” he said………It was his ! some one told the helmsman and we went back for it. That set the tenor of the trip. Pranks and tricks, some funny ,some malicious, I was glad I was’nt going deep sea with this shower. They treated the peggy like ****, I can remember one evening when he had cleaned up and was getting ready to go ashore .Two of the EDH’s came in and ordered him to make some tea, it was his time off and he protested that he had finished. These two characters laid slices of bread the whole length of one table, buttered them ,poured sauce and salad cream on them and then tipped the lot onto the table and deck ,”You’re not finished now you fat ******* ,get that lot cleaned up” I was only a JOS and had to keep my mouth shut.
One of the other JOS’s was a youth called Brian Munro –Smith, a very handsome but scruffy person, he never had any seagoing gear and was a real greenhorn , to the point of being dangerous. He could’nt do his bends and hitches and we all wondered how he ever got to be a JOS. I forget who the other JOS was , but we had a newly made SOS who was a bit of an enigma. Sober , he was a good deckhand, quite funny and was very much aware of the pecking order. I like sitting with him at smoko and mealtimes, he had a fund of stories about Japan and Hong Kong, both of which I wanted to go to ,he knew all the best bars in Amsterdam, Antwerp and Hamburg . He would be the ideal shore companion, would’nt he ?
We went to a little bar just off the city centre , it was full of professional ladies and they seemed to know Johnny ,we did’nt seem to be buying anything ,these friendly folk were hosting our evening…..good old Johnny! I vaguely remember being told that we would be making a film, a porno film!! I was too drunk to take part in it ,thank God.
On the way back to the Anchises ,Johnny was in a terrible mood ,I had messed his plans up ,as well as the front of my suit. He got into an argument with some Boers, and they were arguing in Dutch!! As drunk as I was, I was still very surprised that he could sprechen sie Hollandaise so fluently.. They exchanged a few sharp punches ,with Johnny coming off best ,and we sped back aboard.
Next morning he denied being able to speak a word of dutch and was his usual affable self. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde.! On our second night ashore it was like a rerun of the first ,but without the porno bit this time, half a dozen Stella’s down his neck and he’s talking Dutch again ,only this time he wants to fight me……..I was a pretty good runner then.
When I was awakened by the nigh****chman for breakfast next morning, he gasped as he looked at me, “You’ve copped out for something Andy “ he said making a quick exit from the cabin. Apart from the usual morning after feeling I seemed to be O.K..
I got up and as I got my toothbrush from the holder beside our mirror I got a glimpse of my face. It was covered in red spots. I went up to the doctors cabin and he sat me down and started to give me check out . He was looking worried ,he left the cabin and came back with the Mate ,I could hear words like “hospital” “isolation” etc. He got me to open my shirt ,my chest was covered in them ,blotches everywhere, As he lifted my arm to take my pulse, one of the blotches smeared ,it was lipstick ,some bleeder had caught me out in a practical joke. I don’t know who was more embarrassed ,me or the doctor.
Later that day I would need his services for real, some of the lads had been ashore for a dinner time session and ,when we resumed work ,thought it would be a good idea to run at me with a large piece of dunnage ,held just like a battering ram. They cracked three of my ribs……oh they were such jokers ,the *******s!
There was’nt one of them that I would have chosen to do a deep sea trip with ,perhaps I had been spoiled. Poor old Harry had it worse than any of us though. His cabinmate ,old Joe, was incontinent, when he had to go ,he had to go…….in Harrys drawers ,shoes ,suitcase ,bunk, you name it ,Joe crapped in it . He wore Long Johns ,which were a nasty shade of grey , when they were hanging in the drying room there was always a large brown star shaped stain on the bottom part. Someone said that a famous African politician saw it once and was inspired enough to design his newly independent countries flag by it.
On our last morning in Amsterdam when the men were making the ship ready for sea ,the Lamptrimmer asked me to pop ashore and purchase a jar of Brylcreem
and a pair of leather boot laces for him. He gave me a couple of guilders and off I went the ladies were already on the streets touting for business and I was greatly attracted toward them ,but I had an errand to run and no money excepting that for the Lampys’ gear. Purchase completed, I meandered slowly through the red light district ,taking a lingering ,lustful last look at the ladies. They were so pretty.
As I was passing one stationed by a lamppost ,just like Lili Marlene , she whispered “Make love to Me Johnny” like a lamb to the slaughter ,my hormones had me nodding yes and I followed in her wake back to her rooms.
I was out of my kit in a blink and she was half way through undressing when she mentioned money. “Money ? I haven’t got any money.” Said I .She pointed to the Woolworths bag which held Lampys Brylcreem and Laces. “I take” she said ,and disappeared into a backroom . I heard a muffled conversation and then she returned and got down beside me.
Lampy did’nt half give me a clout when I got back!! But I heard he laughed about it later.
We got back to Birkenhead on the 21st of February, I wanted to get out East again,to Japan and Hong Kong, but I had ten days leave to get through first.

The Antenor

The ten days leave passed speedily by and I was soon boarding the good ship Antenor in the docks at Birkenhead ; she was pretty much like my first ship the Eumaeus,she was launched in 1957,for years after the Eumaeus and had those extra touches of modernity. I did'nt realise it at the time,but I was sailing on a ship that represented the peak of British shipbuilding. Only the ships of the Ben line came near to the perfection of strength and symettery of the Blue Funnel liners.
This was going to be another voyage to the Far East,calling in to the continent on the way to pick up cargoes from Holland ,Belgium and France. I was getting to know those European ports as well as I knew Liverpool.
The crew was a good mix ,we had two deck boys ,both from the same village in Southern Ireland , a place called Termafechin, and a place that I had a family connection, my mums mother had a cousin who lived there. Joe and Pat were the deck boys, cousins , they were as different as chalk and cheese. Joe was a well set dark haired youth ,about my size, skinny, and Pat was a six footer and about 19 stone.
Joe was quick witted and Pat somewhat slower, but a nice pair of guys.
The Jos's were me and Smiffy ,yes that same Smiffy of the Anchises,the one who I had vowed never to sail with again, he was my cabinmate too! Ray Mansell made up the trio.
The Sos's were Georgie Dodd and Brian(Gabby) Davis, the AB's and EDH's,were Tommy Austin and his mate Jimmy, Joey Snelgrove ,Johnno from North Wales.
There was Billy Trippier and a poor guy whose names eludes me but whose feet are imprinted firmly in my memory, he had the worst case of foot rot that I have ever seen and perhaps would like to remain nameless , There were others ,but the sands of time have scoured them from my memory..
The bosun was named Joe and I think his surname was B*s**ard ,but that could be just my memory of him ,a wiry little man ,always wore a trilby and had a nose like Mr Punch and a mouth like a hatchet slash ,never smiled and was'nt really a good seaman as events would prove during the course of the voyage.
The Captain was an Anglo African, Mr McDavid ,ultra smart and very punctilious.
His chief officer was seemed to have stepped out of one of those wartime British movies ,behaved like Noel Coward and dressed similarly.A fop, but a good man.
The chief cook was a man called Paul ,he looked like a French chef and cooked like an angel ,his second cook was the one off the Machaon and we had a baker who had served his time on the Cunard liners ,our stomachs were in for journey of gastronomic delights. The stewards were a great crowd, Alan off the Machaon was there as was the senior steward Phil, a real character who reminded me of Sergeant Bilko.
We had a supernumerary aboard, a chief steward who was travelling to Singapore where he was to join a ship on the MANS run ,a fabled voyage that took you away for over a year and to places like the Far East , New Zealand ,Australia, the West coast of America, through the Panama and up the East Coast of the U,S and many ,many more places. He was a really interesting person ,he was openly homosexual, honest and very ,very funny. A bit like Ned Sherrin ,he had a vast collection of films and slides and would put on shows for us in the recreation room . He was a motor cyclist and had travelled all over Europe on his machine and had captured his journeys on cine film, this was years before continental travel had become available for the masses and his shots of the mountain passes in Switzerland and Italy were breathtaking.
He used to slip in gay movies amongst the travelogues and the lads laughed uproariously at them ,there was no outright porn, just allusions and comical ones at that. I'm sure that Annie Proulx must have based her short story "Brokeback Mountain" on one of those little gay westerns.

This then was the main crew who would make or break this voyage ,most of them were regular Bluey men and had done the trip many times,the deck boys were first trippers and I had yet to get to Japan.
Smiffy was a bit of an enigma. The bosun did'nt like him at all and the deck crowd were very wary of him ,but he was my cabin mate and I began to feel very protective of him. He was'nt a sailor ,definitely middle class but with not a penny to his name, little and by degree ,as the voyage progressed Smiffy began to reveal his story to me.
Meantime we had a ship to spruce up and Captain McDavids ideas of fighting the old enemy ,rust, were quite unique . He would never allow the use of a chipping hammer and was overly cautious on the use of scrapers too. He mustered all the deck labourers on the midships hatch and expounded his method of work. You had to use a sharpened scraper to strip off the old layers of paint ,making sure that the surface of steel was never abraded ,a gentle shoving on the scraper was all that he wanted and he demonstrated how it was done. He had had this ship from new and it was rust free. No sound of hammering ever disturbed the air aboard her, every trip she was scraped to her, still pristine, steelwork which was then steel brushed and coated with boiled oil. This seeped into the little pits on the surface and sealed the "skin". Red lead paint was then applied ,then an undercoat and, finally , a top coat. That ship looked nigh on perfect when she was done.

Fire drill and life boat drill were carried out to the book and the captain made sure that we were expert in what we were doing. No warning was given as to when lifeboat drill was taking place ,it could be anytime during the working day and on any day. Every other ship I was on it took place on a Friday and at the same time each week.
Captain McDavid engendered a spirit of competition in the exercise , two crews were set up and we had to see who could get a boat in the water first. From the sounding of the alarm to letting go the falls , we got it down to 2 minutes. And you could be any where when that whistle sounded ,up a mast or down the hatch ,it did'nt matter ,if you were late on your station your mates would let you know about it.
I used to love the evenings on number 4 hatch ,the one that separated the deck crowds accommodation from the centre castle. Yarns would be spun as we sipped our Tennants , the stewards would come and join us and the evenings ,while being fun ,never disturbed the watch below (those men who were asleep and would be doing the night watches). Smiffy would never sit out on the hatch ,the lads thought him odd and were always pumping me for info about him ,I did'nt have any to give ,Smiffy was very shy.
As we sailed down the Red Sea Smiffy started to tell me his story, he had joined the Merchant Navy with but one aim in mind ,to see his father ,a man who he had last seen nearly 9 years ago, and when you're, seventeen that is a long ,long time .
I learned this story over the time it took to sail from Egypt to Singapore , and I found it very hard to believe at first for it was as different a tale from any that I had heard before.
Smiffy was born in China ,where his father was a Taipan, a businessman, and a successful business man at that. They had a chemical factory in Tsientsin, before Smiffy was born they had to leave it because the Japanese occupied that part of China.
They moved back at the end of the war and Smiffy had an Amah (nanny) from whom he learned to speak Cantonese ,he could also speak Mandarin and told me many stories of the time he lived there. The communists forced them to leave mainland China in 1949 and his family then settled down in Hong Kong and rebuilt the business there.
Sadly for Smiffy ,his parents split up and his mother took him ,and his sibling to England ,where she took a job in nursing. She struggled to bring up her children but she managed to get them a very good education and Smiffy was proof of that. He was cultured in a way that I would never be ,proficient in Latin and elegant of speech ,he had all the makings of an English gentleman, all that is, except money. He was as poor as a churchmouse. I could never tell any of the lads his story ,who would have believed it ?
He was eccentric too, I was laid up for a bit with something or other ,as I lay abed ,I heard Smiffy come into the cabin ,my bunk curtains were closed .and I could hear him giggling ,prolongedly, I peeked through the curtains to see what he was doing. He standing in front of the mirror eating a tabnab (cake) ,as he munched it he looked at himself and broke into giggles. "What the heck are you doing Smiff ?" I asked.
" I'm just looking at how ridiculous I look when I'm eating ;I never realised I looked so silly" he replied as he carried on eating. I was learning something new about him everyday.

Our first unloading point was Port Swettenham, we were moored to buoys as on the Machaon and we used the motor lifeboat to ferry the crew ashore, the midshipmen were in charge of the boat and it needed a bit of skill navigating that fast flowing river. Smiffy and I did a couple of trips ,acting as linesmen ,tying up and letting go.
Somehow ,and I cannot remember the circumstances, we two were left in charge of it for one trip. I still blush when I think of it ; we had to pick some of the crew up from ashore and I was on the tiller and Smiffy was amidships in charge of the engine. The tide was on the flood and we were fairly zipping along .When we were about 200 yards from the quay I called to Smiffy to stop engines," Don't be silly Andy,we're miles away yet" he said as we almost surfed toward the dock wall. "Just f*ck**g stop engines !" I yelled. He shook his head ,almost in exasperation,"We're miles off"he answered. "Full astern!! Full af**ck**g stern !!" I screamed. He smiled at me as though I was a half wit. The quay was looming large ahead of us.............I unshipped the tiller and beat him across the shoulders . "Full ast......."CRUNCH !!!!! The lifeboat collided with a barge ,sideways on, and the flood tide was pushing us under it. Some Malayan dockers could see our plight and jumped aboard and helped push us off the barge and , taking our lines made us fast to a bollard and helped get us tied up properly. The boat was in a terrible state, the starboard side was almost straight from stem to stern, what the hell was I going to do? Smiffy just kept apologising," I did'nt realise.....etc.etc." There was only one thing to do, all my training had prepared me for this moment..We took the boat back to the ship ,empty of course ,moored her alongside and then just forgot about it. IT WORKED!!
Questions were asked of everyone excepting the two Jossers, the Captain was furious ,but not furious enough to suspect we two.
We adopted very low profiles for a day or three.
Singapore was next and we would be going to Hong Kong after that, my cabinmate was getting more excited by the day, it would'nt be long before he was back with his Dad. Question was ,would his Dad be glad to see him?







Me at Smoko on the Antenor


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Since writing those last words some memory cells have popped open and brought to mind a member of the crew who loomed large in my life at Tiber Street Junior School and was now part of it again on the Antenor. I shall not give him his full name,not for anything that he should be ashamed of ,but for the shameful thing that was done to him. For the sake of this piece I will call him Eddy. When we were at Tiber street I was envious of Eddy,he was bigger than me, active in all the sports teams and a favourite of the teachers. We were prefects together but he was more suited to the position than I was, he had an overbearing character, I was a wimp.
So there we were, eight years later,he was now a full grown young man, handsome, muscular and senior to me. But his nature had changed dramatically...............he was nice! He never joined in the usual banter ,never bullied the junior ratings ,was always attentive to the other speaker when in conversation . He remembered me too , and never once told a story against me. When all the younger ratings went ashore ,Eddy would remain aboard writing letters home. The poor guy was in love, and the girl he loved was picture perfect, her face adorned the space around his mirror and was stuck on the bulkhead by his pillow. At every mail call there would be thick envelopes for Eddy, with the usual SWALKS and other acronyms written on the back. He was saving to get married and he never spent a penny on himself having fun,he was happy and contented as any man could be.
There was a record in the hit parade at that time called Running Bear, that was their song and Eddy hummed it all day long. He was a rarity ,a young man going to the wildest flesh pots on earth and remaining above it all. Would that I had the motivation to act the same way, I was a slave to carnality...........and loved being one too!!

Another member of the crew I failed to mention was Braddock, she was the Bosuns only love, the care and attention her lavished on her was awesome, if he found any of us whispering endearments to her ,or giving her titbits ,he was not best pleased. She was a bit of a Wh*r* though. At every port she was the first one down the gangway, and she never returned until minutes before sailing; how she knew that the time was right I never found out ,but just as the gangway was being made ready for taking aboard ,Braddock would rush past the crew ,looking dissolute after an orgiastic sojourn ashore. She had a voracious sexual appetite and was always up for it. Some of the lads would tickle her butt with a rope end and she would present herself ,ready for a feast of priapic splendour, as you pulled the rope end away from her she would whine and back on to it ,almost begging for consummation. But woe betide the man caught in the act by the Bosun, Joe did not like his cat being treated as anything other than a Lady.
Joe, some called him the Screaming Skull ,but that sobriquet belonged to someone else. It suited him though, he never tried to run the A.B.'s , he left that job to the Lampy, but he treated the deckboys and junior ratings very shabbily ,everyone was,"You",never a name,or nickname ,surname at best,but nearly always "You" He was as incompetent on deck as he was with his communication skills. One day we were all up the masts and Samson posts giving them a fresh coat of paint, Joe had the the two deck boys with him and they were painting the derricks,which were resting in their fastenings, to paint the parts that were resting on the fastenings and that hidden on the places where they crossed over other derricks, Joe had them raised a few feet to allow the painting to be done. This was not an easy job and should have had more than an old man and two boys to do it..They succeeded in raising the derricks and Joe put the peggies to work painting the hidden parts. Georgie Dodd who was working on the Samson post above them noticed the Big Pat was slowly being crushed by the derrick he was working under, you could hear the strangulated cries all around the ship. Luckily for the lad , Billy Trippier and others were quickly on the scene and the derrick was raised clear to allow Pat to escape without further injury to the bruising that he had suffered. Joe............he would nearly kill some one with paint.

We arrived in Singapore with gleaming paintwork and bulging pockets, Anson road awaited our pleasure and those of us who were young and unattached made our way to the fleshpots.
It was the rainy season now ,the skies would blacken and the heavens would open ,pouring down rain in Biblical proportions. It helped to cool things down though, the humidity was stifling at times, you needed to shower at least three times a day . One evening I was caught in one such deluge and was soaked to the skin, literally. I went into a clothes shop opposite Toby's Paradise and bought a complete new outfit ,the shopkeeper loaned me a towel and I stripped off ,dried off and put on the new outfit.
With the damp clothes parcelled up I stood under the arches waiting for the rain to stop so that I could cross over to Toby's ,I wanted to get amongst the girls.
Just a few steps away from stood a young woman, she was a Malay and she had the most beautifully aromatic scent about her, musky and sensual, I turned to take a closer look at her and was astounded by her beauty, her skin was so dark it glistened in the burgeoning moonlight. Her hair ,black and lustrous ,sprinkled with a gossamer of raindrops, added to her enchantment. She was dressed western style,with a black lace wrap about her shoulders,this was no dockside floozy. I had to speak to her. " Does it always rain this heavy?" I asked, she turned to me ,the whites of her eyes and teeth in sharp relief against her velvet dark skin "Yes" she smiled " This is the Monsoon season" "Are you going somewhere special ?" I queried. "I'm on my way home" she answered "And you?" I told her that I was about to go dancing and she laughed and said that that was what all the sailorboys said. I asked her if she would like a drink and she looked at me ,sizing me up,I could see that she was wearing an engagement ring and was about to apologise and walk away ,when to my surprise she said yes,she would like a drink.
We did'nt go to Toby's ,instead she took me to a quiet little bar where she had a tonic water while I sipped on a beer. She asked me about England and the ship I was on, did I have girlfriend etc.etc. I pointed to her ring and she told me about her love. He was Dutchman called Jim,he had been working on the building of the new harbour and was a sailor like me ,he had worked there for 3 years but his contract was finished and he had to go back to Holland. They loved each other very much and were going to be married,she would join him in Rotterdam sometime in the future. They corresponded with tape messages,he did'nt write good English and she could'nt write good Dutch but they could communicate very easily via the tape. The rain eased off and we bade each other goodbye, her heart was with a lucky Dutchman ,my lusts were elsewhere.

The second cook on the Antenor had bought a Greenheart fishing rod when we were on the Machaon;everytime we were tied up somewhere he would jam it through the railings outside the galley ,bait the hook and hope that he might catch a fish . He had put that rod out so many times now and had never had so much as a tiddler. And here we were,tied up against the quayside in Singapore ,day two of our stay, when the fishing rod started to twitch. The rattle of the rod against the railing soon brought the 2nd running. The rod was now bowed in a perfect arc and looked fit to break such was the strain on it. What the hell had he caught? Pretty soon the news spread throught the ship "Cookie had caught a big one!" Crew men and dockers lined the rail to see what was on the other end of the line. A Shark, a bloody great shark!!! All worked ceased as we watched the shark thrash and turn,the cook was almost exhausted by the strain of holding on to the line "Why did'nt it break?" It was only a Greenheart not a shark fishing rod.! Advice was hurled at the cook from all quarters ,the officers became interested and ,pretty soon ,so did the Captain. The fishermen amongst us took spells at holding the rod ,it was best to play her ,don't try to haul her in ,fish with a silken thread,all the old adages about fishing filled the air as the hours passed by. Captain McDavid ordered a barge to be brought around to the galley side. The lads could get down closer to the catch, slowly and by degrees the shark got tireder and did'nt thrash about so much, the line was slowly reeled in and the thrashing became weaker and weaker. Joey Snelgrove got a boat hook to try and gaff it. As soon as the shark was close enough he shoved it down the sharks mouth and pulled.......only to bring up a load of intestines! Still the shark fought on , the light began to fade and this made the lads more determined to land this beast. Joey had nigh hollowed the thing out with his gaffing .As the moon rose in the sky ,the shark ceased its struggling and a cargo hook was lowered to helped lift it aboard. The prize was taken to the fridge to be kept there until morning.
As soon as the sun was up next day the shark was brought out and hung from a cargo hook whilst nearly every member of the team who had helped to catch it had their photograph taken ,singly, standing there ,rod in hand ,to show the folks at home how they had caught a shark single handedly.
Photo session over, the shark was dumped over the side and work was recommenced as normal. About two hours later ,a large Mercedes drew up alongside the gangway and a Chinese gentlemen came aboard. He had heard about the shark and wanted to buy it,he was willing to pay good money.....did that poor cook ever feel gutted? Almost as badly as the shark!!

Brian.. You write so well..I really enjoy reading your journals.

Ya looked like a right good sailor on the Antenor.. :handclap: Those were the days!!

Keep the writings coming.. Aloha

Hong Kong

Singapore slowly sank beneath the horizon as we steamed our way to our next destination, a port so fabled amongst sailors that there was a general air of excitement through the ship. In those days the must see ports were Kobe ,Yokohama, Osaka, all in Japan, and then Hong Kong ,followed by Singapore. I had been excited by the latter and was thus looking forward to getting to Hong Kong, or more properly speaking ,Kowloon, we would not be tying up on the island but on the mainland.
If the crew were in a state of excitement , Smiffy could be said to be in a state of hysteria. He was just days away from finding the father whom he had been missing for so long. As we lay in our bunks ,he would talk endlessly of the things he had done ,the schools he had attended ,the respect in which his father had been held by the locals .It was a whole different world from the one I had lived in I let him spin his tales for they gave me a peek at a world fast disappearing.
Joe ,the bosun had a down on Smiffy,he gave him all the mucky jobs, and between Singapore and Hong Kong he gave him the worst. Stockholm tarring the mast stays.
One of the special qualities of Stockholm Tar is that it is hard wearing ,it has to protect the steel cables against the corrosive actions of salt water ,it is thinner than paint and seeps into every pore. You cannot wear gloves when you are coming down a forestay in a bosuns chair ,you need to feel the cables ,you have to execute a manoeuvre when passing the block for the anchor light halyard that requires skill and bare hands. So gloves are a no no ,and your hands remain resistant to all the turpentine and other cleaners. Nails, and skin look filthy black and not at all like a young gentlemans should look like. And , as we arrived in Hong Kong Harbour ,that was just how Smiffy's mitts looked ; to add insult to injury, he had spent the morning greasing the cargo blocks before we were sent to docking stations and looked in a right old state.
But that harbour.............................nothing had prepared me for the majestic splendour of it, the towering heights of the island itself, and the buildings that lined its waterfront ,fingers of glass and concrete reaching for the sky. The sampans and junks scurrying amidst the great white ocean liners that were disgorging tourists into pristine white launches as they set out to sample the delights of this enchanted place.
Kowloon rose before us , the wharfs crowded with Blueys and Ben Boats, Straits Liners, the P.& O liners and the black funnelled ships of Buttersfield and Swire.
There was a busyness here that I had never experienced before ,all manner of vessels on the move like an expertly choreographed display ,ferry boats danced a gavotte with sampans and tugs and stately liners minuetted with old steamers and all the while the whistles and horns of the myriad craft provided the musical background of the port.
We slowly warped the Antenor into her berth, I was on gangway duty, swinging it out and lowering it to the quay ,we had to erect the rails and put in the ropework ,last of all put our name sign at the bottom of the rails and then make her fast.
As I was putting the finishing touches to this task I noticed a silver coloured Rolls Royce parked just across the quay from us,a very smart chauffer stood at attention by its near side, peaked cap ,double buttoned tunic ,jodhpurs and highly polished boots, he could have been a driver for a crowned head or statesman. As soon as the name board was up, he opened the passenger door and a tall man emerged ,he reminded me of the Duke of Edinburgh. Wearing a pearl grey suit and silk shirt and matching tie he looked so elegant; he strode toward me and asked "Is Brian Munro Smith aboard this ship?" Speechless, I just nodded an affirmative. He stood smiling ,the next question unasked ,I ran off to get Smiffy while his father ascended the gangway .I found Smiffy on the foredeck reeling in the oily backspring , oil stained and covered in tar ,he listened while I told him his Dad was here. He fled toward the gangway and his father ,not caring about the state of him, clasped him to his breast whilst Smiffy let go a dam that had been building all those lost years, I looked away, overcome by the emotion of that scene. Mr Smith took his son by the hand and went up to the Captains quarters ,when they came down Smiffy said that his Dad had got him off duty for the whole time we would be in Hong Kong. They did'nt waste anytime ,his father whisked him away as he was, covered in oil and muck. This could'nt have been more than twenty minutes after we had docked and the lads lined the railings ,staring in disbelief as the Rolls Royce sped away along the quay.
I had very mixed feelings at that particular time , envy and excitement: how could he have a Dad so rich ? and what action was there going to be ashore tonight?
We had docked just after breakfast and at afternoon smoko I was sitting on number 4 hatch sucking on a Pall Mall when this image appeared before my eyes , a young fair haired man ,with a beautifully tonsured head ,wearing a sea Island cotton sports shirt ,sharkskin trousers and pair of loafers that would have cost me a months wages, his carefully manicured hands were fiddling with a gold braceleted watch and he was saying something to me. I was tongue tied , this was Smiffy!!? His Dad had spent the morning getting him the very best of Hong Kongs attentions,manicured,tonsured ,massaged and scrubbed ,all the while being measured for the outfits that would become the son of one of Hong Kongs Taipans.
But Smiffy was still that wonderfully shy person he had always been. "Daddy wants me to have a party for the crew tonight Andy" he said ,my ears cropped open "Great ,smashing" was all I could think of to say. "He would like you all to come to the Peninsular Hotel at about eight o'clock tonight,is that alright ?" The rest of the lads had gathered around by this time and we all said "yes we'd be there." Smiffy smiled shyly and went back to his Dad. The atmosphere in the alleyway was incredible,a millionaire was inviting all the deck crowd to a party at the Peninsular Hotel; The very best hotel in the whole eastern world. We'd better make sure that we had our best dungarees on ,no scruffs were allowed in there!!..

Peninsular Hotel

Thus it was in a great state of excitement that the crewmen of the Antenor made their way to the portals of the greatest hotel in the orient. In sparkling white T shirts, bright tartan shirts with rolled up sleeves and well scrubbed denims they strode past the doormen and maitre de who lost some of their inscrutability at the sight of us. We were guests of the Taipan Mr Smith and they had to stifle their inclination to hurl us down the steps. Flunkeys ushered us into a ballroom where Brian and his Dad awaited.
The table , a huge oval thing ,more used to having statesmen around it than a hoard of jolly jacks, was filled with cold beers and numerous bottles of spirits, I doubt that the great crystal chandelier hanging above our heads had ever illumined such a scene before. Mr Smith did not stand on ceremony , he ordered the waiters to refresh any glasses that were emptying and saw that a steady flow of ale was ferried to the table.
Tommy Austin , sitting at one end of the table ,called for order and said that we could'nt let Smiffy's Dad buy all the rounds and called for a tarpaulin muster.
A pint glass was soon chock full of Hong Kong dollars and Tommy gave it to Mr Smith who only accepted it for fear of causing us offence. I was seated by Smiffy and his Dad and they were still catching up on each others lives , it was hard not to eavesdrop as they revealed the missing bits of each others lives. Mr smith involved me in the discussion by asking what kind of seaman his son was, I could'nt tell him the truth, I said that he was a great deckmate ,and so he was. Even I blushed though when his Dad asked if he was still a virgin, Smiffy blushed enough to warm the coldest of rooms, he was a very gentle and innocent youth. His Dad chortled and winked that he would soon alter that, I was very envious of Smiffy at that moment.
The night moved into a beery haze and some of the lads skinned out to go to the fleshpots, pretty soon there were just a handful of us left and Mr Smith took his son to catch up with life. No sooner had the Smiths left than the flunkeys slung the rest of us out. Still having a pocketful of dollars ,I too left and made my way to the Red light district ,getting there was a visual adventure . The narrow streets were filled with all manner of humanity, little workshops sat cheek by jowl alongside jewellers ,tailors , pastry shops ,woodworkers, ivory carvers and every kind of huckster. Old men squatting at workbenches carving exquisite scenes of Chinese life upon ivory , young boys hammering patterns into copper pots,the click clack of Mah Jong tiles competing with the sounds of a Chinese orchestra coming from an old radio, the street cries and firecrackers weaving a pattern of sound that is ineffably Hong Kong. I reached the 5 Sisters bar ,thirsty and in need of a dance ,both needs were sated in a trice and the night soon eased into morning.
With a thick tongue and a head full of the evenings splendour , I turned to with the lads to do a spot of sailor work, the harbour is too distracting to stop looking at it for long and I spent most of the morning idly pretending to work whilst I watched the massive parade that is Hong Kong .
Smiffy came on board at lunchtime , he took me aside and told me that his Dad was organising a China Chilo for him and asked him to bring 2 friends. A China Chilo was some kind of feast and I was all for that , problem was that Smiffy's shyness had prevented him from making any close friends aboard the Antenor, I was the nearest thing he had for a mate ,so he asked me to pick someone and bring him along . We were to meet in the bar at the Peninsular at 7 that evening and then we would go on to a restaurant were a room was booked for the exclusive use of our party.
There was only one guy I could ask ,he was a poser, last night he was the only one to wear a suit and tie and he had the gift of the gab. Step forward Brian "Gabby" Davies.
He was well pleased when I asked him and at seven o'clock , there were the two of us ,best suits and ties on ,sitting in the lounge bar of the Peninsular waiting for the Smiths. Gabby's use of a suit the previous evening was bearing fruit as we sat there, some JAL hostesses waved to him ,he had sat at the bar when the rest of us had been slung out and chatted them up. Some Australian Navy officers said hello, they had been subjected to Gabbys bonhomie last night too. Some Pan American pilots called out to him and pretty soon our party of two was now ten in number. The drinks flowed freely and a middle aged American lady came over to us , she had seen us there last night and thought we were so nice, she looked like a million dollars ,but was worth ten times that. We were now eleven in number and Smiffy was late. They turned up at 8 and Mr Smith, eyeing the party , immediately invited them all to the China Chilo. As we sat finishing our drinks in readiness for the off ,one of Mr Smiths business colleagues turned up and had a drink with us ;he had known Smiffy in his China years and wanted to join the party but he had promised his wife that he would be having dinner with her that night. Of a sudden, he slapped me on the shoulder and asked me to go with him so that his wife could see that he was not fibbing about the party,"She'll believe you"? he said as we made our way out to his chauffer driven limousine . We drove out through Kowloon and up into the hills where the houses became mansions, this was Taipan territory. As we cruised along his drive he warned me that his wife had a bit of a temper, "Keep close beside me ,she won't shout at you".
A servant opened the door and a torrent of Chinese abuse was hurled down the grand stairway ,followed by a beautiful ,but angry Chinese lady. His wife. The shouting stopped when she saw me and she flashed a welcoming smile. Tex, that was he, quickly explained about the party and she went up to change, she was'nt going to miss this.
Minutes later she reappeared looking gorgeous in a silk cheongsam,slit to the thigh and an orchid in her coiled black locks. As I sat beside her in the limousine I realised that this was a totally different world from one that I would ever live in.
The Chilo was fabulous ,all manner of exotic dishes were served ,and I had Tex's wife beside me to show how they were eaten . We sat for hours as dish after dish was put before us ,rice wine flowed liberally and the conversation was fascinating, rich businessmen and sailors ,petite Japanese hostesses and Australian naval officers, Yankee Airline pilots and us, plus Mrs B. the lonely multi millionaires wife(Her husband was back home in Texas sucking black gold out of the ground)
The dining over ,we were taken out to open topped cars and driven to a nightclub, I sat in the Smith mobile with Mrs B beside me, it's amazing how beautiful money makes a woman, I was becoming attracted to her ,perfectly coiffed and painted ,clothes by the best French designers ,and a body that was testimonial to the corsetieres art ,she was a fanciable lady ,plus her musky perfume would drive any male wild. As we drove we sang the theme song from the Wizard of Oz, it had been a film that the Smiths had enjoyed together in pre revolutionary China and the song seemed to capture the tone of the evening for we were off to see a wizard ,one called Al Koran, who was an international magician and a star of T.V. in the days of black and white T.V .
The nightclub had been primed of our visit and all the entertainers made a fuss of our party ,with the greatest attention being made to Smiffy.
When the dancing started , Mrs B made clear her intentions as we waltzed ,she practically ate me as we smooched around the dance floor ,her well armoured chest pressed near through to my backbone and my groin took a bit of a bashing too.
I had been sitting next to a Brigadiers daughter who lived on the Wirrall, she was lovely and we had a few dances but there was no way that you could have a short lived affair with a girl like her ,so I set my cap at Mrs B. Sometime in the early hours ,I found the party had been reduced to Gabby ,the Japanese hostesses ,the PAA pilots and me, plus Mrs B.
We got outside and caught a big Buick taxi which took the lot of us ,there were fold down seats and we set off for the pilots hotel. Mrs B sat between Gabby and me and I began to make my first move by placing my hand beneath her skirt, only to find Gabby had got there before me! He who hesitates...........
I ended up drinking bourbon out of a plastic cup in the pilots room while Gabby took a well primed Mrs B back to her room at the Peninsular.
To say I was peed off would be an understatement ,I had done a lot of first fixing with that lady and was disappointed not to see it through.
The next day was to be our last full day there ,we would be sailing the morning after and our destination was Tsientsin ,Smiffy's old home town, now in communist China.
I never had any money left to go ashore for one last night ,it looked like I would be stuck aboard in the liveliest place in the world. Gabby could'nt go ashore either ,it was his turn to be night watchman and he was disappointed too. Just after our evening meal ,he took me to one side and showed me a roll of American dollars that Mrs B. had paid him for services rendered .He peeled off 40 dollars and asked me to go to Scabby Heads (no kidding ) shop and buy a big chest for his Mum ,he described it in detail and said that if I told Scabby Head it was for Gabby he would know which one I meant. There was a bit of change that would be left over so I could get myself a drink out of it. "That's great Gabby, I'll take Ray with me and we can carry it back between us", so saying I collected Ray and proceeded in an easterly direction to the 5 Sisters bar. We had a riotous time ,40 bucks was riches indeed and we put it to good use.. In the wee small hours of the morning I made sure that Gabby would not be disappointed, we stooped off at a bakery and I bought him a ham roll ; not quite a lacquered chest but tasty.............and yes ,he did see the funny side of it.

Red China
Darkness had fallen by the time we had left our moorings, the shore lights of Victoria and Kowloon setting the harbour ablaze with colourful reflections. We were leaving the bright lights and heading for Tsientsin, Smiffy's old home town. The pilot was still aboard and we had to negotiate the great harbour ,filled with the many busy little vessels chugging to and fro across the now choppy waters. A fast launch was coming up astern of us ,it's klaxon blaring and a searchlight focussed on our bridgedeck ,flashing on and off. The engine slowed and then stopped and we lowered the gangway to receive our important visitor. Who the hell could be so important to prevent our passage to China? We gathered along the railing to gain sight of the V.I.P.. As soon as the launch came alongside the gangway a spritely little Chinaman in a lounge suit ran up to the head of the gangway and ,upon sighting our name board ,muttered drunkenly "Not Demodocus ?" and fled back down to the launch. Ah, those drunken orientals ,all Blue Funnel ships look alike to them.
We had to sail north ,through the Straits of Formosa ,now called Taiwan, and the Nationalist Chinese and the Red Chinese were in a state of constant warfare. Ships that passed through the Straits had to display a clear identification of where they were from and their name. We had great wooden signs that had on our name and a huge Union Flag. These were hung amidships on the port and starboard sides so that they would be visible to both sets of Chinese. Not that either side particularly liked us, the Korean war was still a recent memory and the Yangste incident had only happened ten years previously. We would be sailing through waters that were filled with a clear and present danger. Quemoy was the main target, this little island was subject to constant bombardment and we had to pass it . The signs hanging over the side were floodlit to ensure that our ID was visible at every hour of the day.
The balmy weather of southern China soon changed into a cold and rainy clime ,grey skies and grey seas, it was time for sou'westers and oilskins. I saw my first waterspouts as we sailed north , quite a bizarre sight ,there were dozens of them spread from horizon to horizon. In the grey light they too were grey, spinning towers of water that reached from the heaven to the stormy seas ,one of the wonders of the deep.
Our Chinese crew ,who had been very western in their attire and attitude ,started to wear the apparel that we were accustomed to seeing the Reds wearing , pictures of Chiang Kai Chek were being replaced on the cabin walls with those of Mao Tse Tung. We too were told to remove any nude pinups and to keep cameras out of sight and any binoculars were to be locked away in the Mates cabin. We were going to experience the delights of Red Chinese democracy. We anchored off Tsientsin on the morning of Good Friday, we could'nt go in because we were told that it was a holiday. Smiffy reckoned that they were being sarcastic and were taking a rise out of us by saying that it was a Peoples holiday ,showing their contempt for our effete Christian culture. Whatever, we were going to be stuck out side the harbour until Saturday morning. We had a big job to do anyway; the Antenor was carrying an enormous drill head ,reputedly the largest one yet made , and we had to get the Jumbo derrick ready, this was a very heavy lifting derrick ,capable of lifting 150 ton and that is why we were chosen to carry the drill head..
We spent the best part of the morning "breaking" it out and getting it guyed up. Just after we had turned to after lunch a young "middy" came tearing up the foredeck, his eye wide with panic and fear, mouth open in a silent scream. Lampy grabbed hold of him and tried to ask him what the matter was. The boy just gibbered and pointed aft, "N, number 5,n,number 5 " was all he could say. Lampy dashed off aft to number 5 hatch ,quickly followed by the rest of us. There we found another "middy" standing by the hatch ,a look of horror on his face. Looking over the coamings we saw the 2nd mate laying at the bottom of the empty hatch ,body like that of a broken marionette. The "middy" told us that the 2nd had slipped off the top rung of the ladder and had hit the propeller shaft housing before smashing to the lower deck.
A hatch board was lowered and the doctor and two deckhands went down with it to bring the poor man up. I never saw such care and tenderness displayed as I witnessed that day. Billy and Johnno gently lifted him to the board and the doctor set to work in assessing his wounds. He was taken to the bosuns mess and laid upon the table, barely alive ,his body being a broken mess. Signals were hoisted and radio messages despatched but the shore authorities insisted that nothing could be done until the holiday was over. That was still many hours away. The mood in our messroom at dinner was pretty murderous ,just next door a poor mans life was ebbing away because he needed the skills of a surgeon . I went into to see him when I had finished my meal, he was just about conscious, face bloated with bruising ,he managed a little smile and I felt a burning in my eyes, we were helpless and there ,not more than a mile away was a city with a hospital and doctors. I grinned weakly and muttered something encouraging.
We were roused from our bunks at midnight ,the Peoples holiday was over and they were graciously allowing us to enter port immediately for humanitarian purposes. We were alongside and moored up before the clock struck one, an old American army ambulance stood on the quay, the back doors open and a couple of squat faced attendants standing ready to take our 2nd to hospital. After Hong Kong and Singapore ,this place looked like hell.

We awoke to the sound of martial music being played over loudspeakers ,the tune was ,I later found out ,"The East is Red". A very heavy piece, sounding like something by Mussorgsky rather than a Chinaman. We were to hear this music night and day during the length of our stay, and there was no escaping it ,there were loud speakers everywhere. We had to parade on the prom deck as soon as we were up, the PLA were there to inspect us ,and our cabins too.
Inspection over ,we had to attend to the job we were there for, get the drill head ashore.
A railway wagon stood on the quay awaiting its cargo ,cameramen were stationed to film the proceedings, this would be on their newsreels. Everyone ashore was dressed in kapok lined jackets and wore trousers to match, atop every head was the familiar Mao peaked cloth cap. Although the style of dress was universal the cloth it was made of differed with the rank of the wearer. The dockers wore cloth of the lowest quality ,checkers and tallymen wore something a little better ,policemen and and PLA men wore better still ,later that day we would see what the party bosses wore.

The drill head emerged fro the hatch like some monster rising from the deep,it was huge and you could hear the steel cables straining at its weight, slowly it rose until it was clear of the sides and then it was guyed out over the quay and then lowered into the cradle awaiting it on the railcar. Massive applause broke out from the assembled throng that viewed the spectacle ashore..
As the railcar pulled away an enormous parade took place,this was headed by a current model open topped Cadillac Eldorado, green and fawn two tone ,and seated atop the back seat like some presidential hopeful in a ticker tape parade ,was the local cadre dressed in the same style as his workers but in a suit of the finest cashmere. George Orwell saw it all many years before,wrote a book called Animal Farm and we were now in it.
The things that remain vivid in my mind are the lack of colour and the dinginess. There was an air of desolation and trampled hopes, no one was starving and everyone was clothed and shod, but you only saw the blue of their clothing ,the Brown of the PLA (Peoples Liberation Army) and the grey of the buildings, there were violent splashes of red ,these were the propaganda posters decrying the American Imperialists and their running dog lackeys ,us !
All the radio stations were jammed so the only music we heard was that mournful dirge The East is Red. We were glad to shake the dust of that place off our heels as we sailed for the Phillipines

Whilst on passage to Manila ,we were painting the deckhead on the promenade deck and I was standing athwart the taffrail to reach up with my brush when I slipped and landed heavily on that broad wooden rail. My coccyx took the full force of the impact and within a couple of days I developed a lump the size of a tennis ball there. The doctor said it was a combination of heavy bruising and the growth of a sebaceous cyst. Whatever it was, it was bloody painful and prevented me from working . The Bosun was none too happy because he could'nt find any light work for me to do. I was'nt too happy either because when we got to Manila I could'nt go ashore ,and this was reputed to be better than Singapore ,almost like the wild west the lads said ,and Silver City was supposed to be the wildest place this side of Panama. And all I could do was look from the taffrail. A doctor came aboard and made a prognosis about my predicament; it would require an operation but they could'nt do it because the hospital was not air conditioned and the perspiration would cause infection. I would have to wait until we were back up north. In the meantime the Bosun and me would have to live with it. We were in Manila for a couple of days and from what I heard ,from the local radio ,this was little America,all the DJ's had American accents and they played a lot of Elvis and other Rock greats. One of the lads brought some Manila rum aboard and gave me a few glasses of it ,by the third glass I was up and bopping to the King,
And as I was giving it large with the legs I noticed the doctor looking through the porthole. The bosun turned me to with a vengeance next morning,but it was pretty soon apparent that he would have to feed me some Manila Rum if I was going to be of any use.
Joe and me started to fall out with each other,it was a mutual dislike ,he thought I was malingering and I thought he was an incompetent tosser. But he was the boss.
When we got to Masinlok ,a beautiful little place of gleaming white sand, turquoise sea and swaying palms he made me get up and work while we docked. It was obvious I was incapable of doing any physical work and the gang I was working with let me be winchman. It was a Sunday and so would be overtime ,but I was'nt interested in that fact at that moment, all I wanted to do was keep alert and not make any foul ups,the pain was blinding and I was having a job to hold on. Billy saw the pain I was in and as soon as he could ,he let me go back to my cabin. That was another port I missed . We went up to Borneo after Masinlok,we were going to load the hardwoods of Sarawak. The lump started to shrink and I was able to work freely and without pain. The river Reyjang was where we were bound and our wharfingers were going to be Dayaks,famed for beheading their enemies and keeping their skulls in their long huts. They lived on a floating dormitory, a three decker with louvred wooden windows. They were skilled at their job and put those giant logs in places that you would have thought impossible. The Reyjang had a great rise and fall and was fast flowing,we moored out in the river and never got ashore,but what we could see from the ship was right out of Conrad, the dense jungle and the sounds of the wild creatures that dwelt within that green mass. The fishermen in their long prowed craft casting nets and the smoke rising above the trees gave the place a timeless air. Soon we were loaded and on our way back down the river ,as we were navigating the waterway we heard the sound of muffled thumping at number 6 hatch, as we got nearer we could hear a voice wailing ,plaintively. Opening the hatch we found a Dayak,all hot and sweaty,he must have had a catnap and missed all the palaver that accompanies the battening down and squaring away. A passing fisherman was hailed and our little Dayak docker was taken away by him.
Belawan next stop and then Singapore,we were on the homeward stretch,I never heard any more about the 2nd mate,all I knew was that he lived.

Goodbye and Farewell?.

There was a curfew in force when we got Belawan, Sukharno was facing some military uprising and foreigners were not welcome. We were only going to be here a couple of days so we were not too worried. The wharves were nearly empty, the only other vessel alongside was a Norwegian ,which was tied up astern of us. On the first night ,I made the mistake of going ashore by myself ,the police on the gate subjected me to a full body search before they would let me through the gate ,they also made it quite clear that they wanted my the shirt off my back quite literally .I had bought it in Singapore when we were outward bound ,it was a lightweight white cotton with a gold thread woven in a window pane pattern ,very nice ,but the wrong thing to wear here. They fingered the material and made gestures for me to take it off, threatening me with their guns. Luckily some of the Norwegians came along and took me with them. The looks those policemen gave me as we left for the bars let me know that it was a matter that had not been concluded.
The curfew was due to start at 10 ?00p.m. so I made my way back a bit earlier, I went into the next gate along so that I would not meet up with the same guys who had given me so much grief on the way ashore. When I walked through the gate I knew that they had been briefed by their oppo?s on the other gate. They started pawing the shirt, ?You give me Johnny? they were saying ,pointing their rifles and sneering, they were having a great time giving me sh*t..
I ran back to other gate and got there just as our crowd were going back through, one of the cops spotted me and pointed two fingers at me ,miming a shot. I wore an old T shirt when we went ashore the next night ,and I made sure that I was with our lads ,I passed through the gate without incident.
The dockside bar was full of Norwegians celebrating Norwegian Independence Day.
They were well in to their cups, as boisterous as Vikings and they insisted that we join them in their celebrations, we did?nt take much coaxing, pretty soon we were all a little pie eyed. At ten o?clock the bar owner put the shutters up and told us to go ,the Vikings were having none of it, and they were not going to let us go either. They roared at the barmen to bring more beer and the poor little buggers were too scared not to, they passed it out through the windows ,closing them after each refill ,and there we sat ,on the verandah singing along with the Vikings as they gave voice to some of the worst sounds (you could?nt call them songs) I have ever heard. Pretty soon those sounds of carousing reached the ears of an Indonesian soldier on curfew patrol ; he came around the corner and used his rifle to motion us toward the dock gates , a few of us started out of our seats ,the Vikings pulled us back down. They yelled at the squaddie to go away and hurled a few cans at him. He walked a few paces away and then turned ,dropping to one knee he shouldered his rifle and took aim???my bowels moved uneasily and the Vikings gave him the Finger. There was an explosion and a big chunk of plaster sprayed out of the wall behind our heads, mentally I was taking ten foot strides toward the gate ,physically ,I had a big Skowegians hand on the back of my shirt pulling me back into my seat. The soldier stood up and walked off , shouting a few epithets in Tagalog. We were just getting our teeth into the next round when a big half track full of soldiers pulled up, they piled out of the back and an officer got out of the cab. He spoke perfect English and ordered us out of the verandah ,the troops behind him aiming their rifles at us as he did so. The Vikings must have known that this would happen because they had a carry out ready and they stood up and made a line , getting us to join in, and, with cases of ale on their heads , they started a conga line back through the gates. The soldiers had a job to keep in step as we danced back through the gates ?Ay Ay Yah Yah Conga ,Ay Ay Yah Yah Conga?.? We all ended up on the Norwegian and drank ourselves into oblivion.
In the morning it was time to leave for Singapore ,we looked forward to getting back to civlisation ,clean streets ,plenty of bars and no corrupt policemen.
I did a bit more buying for the lads when we got here, I had so much swag now I had to get another suitcase to hold it all. I got a letter off my cousin Willie when we were there, I wish I had kept it because it was posted on our outward leg and had been sent to every port that we had visited and had missed us and then been forwarded on, there were eight different stamps and postmarks on it ,be a collectors item now ,but I sent the envelope back to Willie to show him how well travelled his letter was.
And we were travelling now to Ceylon to pick up some tea. Our destination was Trincomalee, I had read about this port in an American magazine, there was a sunken admiralty drydock which was ,according to the article, home to the biggest grouper in existence, so big that a man could stand in its mouth. How did they know, did a man stand in its mouth? And ,if he did ,did the grouper take advantage and have a free meal ? when you are 18 questions like that come easily to the mind. Before we left the Malayan peninsular we had occasion to see what a wealth of sea life there was about us , we had a stop in a small harbour while the engineers effected some repairs. It was a beautiful unspoiled place, no human habitation spoiled the vista ,just densely forested hills and a deep,deep harbour. The anchor was lowered , engines were stopped and all was silence save for the animal cries amidst the trees and the crash of surf upon the shore. The Chinese crowd had their fishing lines out at the first opportunity and, looking over the side ,we were amazed to see dozens of hammerhead sharks, sea snakes by the hundreds ,like lots of multi coloured ribbons ,turtles and the silvery flashes of all manner of fish. The Chinese were pulling in sea snakes with every line dropped , they were so brightly coloured it was hard to believe that they were deadly,as soon as they hit the deck they were battered with a great big fid. They all went into the pot.

When we arrived in Trincomalee harbour it was plain to see that the superlatives that had been used to describe its beauty had not been overstated, it was a huge perfectly formed basin that a whole fleet could have anchored in, the softly rounded mountain tops towered all around and the verdant hillsides were dotted with white bungalows ,gleaming in the sunshine. This had been an important British naval base and some of the installations were still to be seen, its main purpose now was a tea port, there were vast warehouses full of the soothing balm. Our Captain was not over keen on the work that the wharfies were doing and came down to the hatch and started to show them how to load the stuff, some of the older crowd, referring to his skin colour mockingly alluded to him as being good at it? ?cos he was only a coolie anyway? Good job he never heard them.
We were allowed to buy a box of tea to take home ,I never bothered, they were still working their way through the last lot I took home on the previous trip.
On our way across the Arabian sea ,Joe ,the bosun came to me to sign the month end sheet for my overtime, I looked at the sheet and saw that the Sunday I had worked at Masinlok in the Phillipines was missing .When I questioned him about it he said that I never worked then because I was off sick ,I protested and he blanked me, there was to be no overtime for me . I went to see Billy ,I had been his winchman ,he was?nt going to argue with the bosun ,young Pat also denied all knowledge. I realised that I was?nt a company man, they were and they were not going to rock the boat. I started to think about leaving Blue Flue, there were too many company men for my liking, the guys from the pool seemed to have more open minds and a greater sense of experience. This was beginning to feel like a village where everyone knew everyone elses business. Things came to head a few days later when I had knocked off work a few minutes early to get cleaned up for lunch, I was standing at a washbasin scrubbing my hands when Joe stuck his head through the porthole just above the sink. He started shouting at me ,telling me that I would be logged for sliding off early ,that horrible skull like trilby topped head ,like a tortoise in its shell was sticking through the porthole ,inches from my face. I grasped his throat in both my hands and started to strangle him ,I was yelling ?You Bast*8rd !! I knock off 2 minutes early an? yer wanna log me ,You steal a whole Sunday off me and I get shafted!!? He was going purple and started to go limp when the Lampy ran in the bathroom and pulled me off him.
I was shaking with anger when I sat down to eat, people just stared at their plates and talked in muffled tones. I was sitting in my cabin having a smoke prior to turning to for the afternoon session, Joe tapped the door ,he was holding a sheet of paper.
? I?ve found that bit of Sunday overtime, put your monicker there? I was gobsmacked, I really thought I was going to be up before the Captain, but that was the finish of it. Did?nt change my feelings though, I wanted to see what the rest of the Merchant Navy was like.
Gabby was going to have a big party when we got home ,it was his 21st and his family were pulling out all the stops ,it was just days away before we would be docking in KG5 in London and the Antenor was being given a final lick of paint so that we would be ship shape and Bristol fashion when we arrived. Painting was about the only thing Joe was good at and he could be seen at it long after everyone had knocked off, the evening before we docked in KG5 he was brushing away on the fo?csle head brightening up the windlass. The drum ends were still tacky as we nosed through the lockgates and Ray Mansel ,who was hauling in the head rope was struggling to handle it as it kept sticking on the tacky paint, the bow was veering and Ray tried to serve some slack ,but it would?nt take it and all of a sudden it whipped and hurled Ray right over the drum end ,sending him smashing face down on the steel deck. His face was badly broken and his jaw was smashed too. A terrible final curtain for what had been a fairly good voyage. It was a subdued crowd that took its payoff and headed for Euston Station, the sunny skies and thoughts of home started to ease some of the anger that we felt towards that halfwit ,lucky for him that he was not with us on the train.
And what a train journey that was, it was mid June, and it was scorching, Billy Graham was in London on his great crusade and the station was filled with home going pilgrims. Gabby, Tommy ,Johnno, Jimmy and I managed to find some seats in a compartment in which there were some Salvation Army women .Two of them were middle aged and there was a very pretty young lady of about 17 with them. The compartment was sweltering hot and Tommy and Jimmy had brought a couple of cases of beer on board, the trains bar had run out of soft drinks and these poor ladies were dehydrating. Tommy persuaded them that they would not be sinning if they sipped a little bit of Guinness, reluctantly they realised that it was a case of drink or die. Cans were opened and the ladies slaked their thirst, by the time we got to Crewe they were more than slaking their thirst ,this was a slow stopping train and they needed a lot of cooling down. After a while Gabby slopes of with the young one and gave her a good seeing to in the goods van. When we arrived in Runcorn, their home stop, they were well away and fell out of the train into the arms of their husbands and friends who were waiting to welcome them home. I see them still ,trying to stand upright ,bonnets askew ,while their menfolk look on this terrible sight ,bewildered no doubt at just what Billy Graham had done to them.
Soon we were in Lime Street , saying our goodbyes and looking forward to Gabbys party. I had a bit of a problem though, in the last letter I got from home ,Mum had written that we had a new house on the R.O.F. estate in Kirkby, she would be sending me the address in the next letter, it had?nt arrived yet. So , my first job was to find the R.O.F. estate and then find them .
It seemed strange to riding north out of the city instead of to Garston, I was going to miss Speke Road Gardens, goodbye and farewell?????????????


Flamin? June

On the way from Lime Street little details ,such as my new address,came to mind ;I knew we now lived in Old Kirkby ,in a road at the back of the Railway Pub ,near the Malayan Teacher Training college .It was on the R.O.F. estate and Dad got the house as part of his job. What mum had failed to put in her last letter to me was the house number and road! Taxi drivers appreciate information like that, homegoing sons appreciate them even more. I told the driver to drop me at the pub, it was evening opening time and I thought Dad was sure to drop in for a jar on his way home ,as was his usual custom.
The place was a bit basic ,some of the guys were already well into their cups and it was only 6.00 p.m. I ordered a pint and dropped my cases at the bar, it was?nt the kind of place that you got suntanned travellers with kitbags and cases in, the clientele was of the broken nosed kind and I could feel their eyes giving me the twice over. A crossed eyed guy ,with a nose like an old fashioned doorknocker sidled up to me ?Oo the f**k ar yew?? he enquired politely. I told him we had just moved into the neighbourhood and that I was looking for my old man. ?Wassisname?? he asked.
?Bill Daley? I replied. ?Old Billy,Yisss,I know Billy,smashin ?feller.always in ?ere ?e is? He looked round at the assembled cut throats ?Dis is Billy Daleys lad, he?ll be alright ?ere? turning to me ,he said ?Gerrus a pint ?o mixed lah,me an? yer ol? man are best o? mates? After his third pint somebody made a sound like a bell and Johnny,for that was his name, put his fists up and started sparring???????..I had just met Johnny the punch drunk wreck. The gaffer popped his head in from the snug ?Cum in ?ere lad, thats the ?ead cases bar!? The gaffer was called George Gavin and he turned out to be one of the best. He knew my Dad and he also knew that our family lived in South Park Road ,near the top end ,and he also knew that my Dad never ,ever ,drank in the ? ?ead cases bar?
I supped up ,grabbed my gear and marched down to our new house. It was a balmy June evening, the lane from the pub was alongside the railway line and to the right of the lane it was tree lined and full of flowering shrubs, halfway down the lane was a little Chinese takeaway . South Park road was unadopted and had an unpaved roadway, very rustic. The were a few bungalows and old Victorian houses at the very top and then you came upon the R.O.F estate. The houses had been built during the war and had flat roofs , they were in long terrace blocks and each had their own little front garden. It looked so neat and tidy and was so very quiet, everyone indoors ,this was so different from Garston.
It was pure accident that I knocked the right door first time, our Bette opened it and stood there gaping ,Chris came behind her and Mum called from the living room ?Who?s at the front door?? They both yelled ?Ar Brian!!?
Mum came into the hallway, eyes aglitter ,and a smile starting across her face, she was?nt big on cuddles and hugs , but I could feel the warmth of her welcome at ten paces. ? Come in Bri? I?ve got yer favourite for tea? Stuffed lambs hearts ,gravy and three veg," she knew the way to my heart !

After our evening meal I unpacked and gave my family the gifts I had brought back from Hong Kong and Singapore, there were all kinds of electronic toys and gizmos but there was the usual bottle of duty free for Dad and I shared out my cigarettes with both Mum and Dad. I still had a load of goodies left and I would take these down to Walton to give to some of my cousins. Dad cracked opened the scotch and we had a glass each and then went up to the Railway ,where he made proper introductions to the regulars in the snug.. This was Dads weekday watering hole ,Saturdays were spent down at the K.T.A., the Kirkby Tenants Association clubhouse. It was a wooden wartime structure,could have been on any military campsite , wooden walls ,with a coat of eau de nil,a rickety little stage and a wartime sound system. Dad was gaining a reputation as a vocalist there and he was backed by a piano and a drum kit, played by his workmates from the R.O.F
The ale was good and cheap ,so next night , Saturday night I went down there with Mum and Dad, they were a popular couple ,judging by their reception, by 9.00 the place was packed and there was a really friendly atmosphere, Joe Davis was M.C. and he fancied himself as a bit of a yank, like Jack Carson ,the film star. He was also the drummer and around half nine he went to the ?mike? and said ?Layeez an? Gennulmen, we are privileged to welcome back on stage Kirkbys own Bing Crosby??.lets hear it for Bill Daley.!? Dad ,looking impeccable in his black lounge suit,strolled on stage ,took the ?mike? in hand and said ? Thang yew Joe, and thank you too folks, I?m now going to do a little Crosby number??.It Happened in Monterey???.? It was?nt Vegas,but the folk there loved it.
Around about 10.30 I made my excuses and caught a cab to Liverpool, I wanted to be among the girls down in the burgeoning club scene, there were not as many as there are now but there was enough for me.. Next day, Sunday,it was off to the Grandparents and favourite aunties and Uncles, but it was going to be one of the last times I kept to the routines of my childhood, next Saturday was going to be Gabbys birthday ,his 21st, and his family were planning a giant hooley. During the week I went over to Birkenhead to see what the situation was and got to drinking over there ,and staying over there, Tommy and Jimmy were well organised ,they knew all the clubs that side of the water and we would spend hours and hours going from place to place ,it was as though we were still crew together. I did?nt realise that I was annoying my family by stopping out so much, I only went home for a bath and a change of clothes!
Come Saturday ,it was all hands to Grange Rd ; Gabby lived in a large old Victorian house, the rooms were three times the size of those at home and were just right for a big party.. There were only two of us who arrived without a girl on their arm ,me and a mate of Gabbys? from a previous voyage. He was a really smart guy ,bit of a poser, but witty with it., we sat and observed the proceedings ,him telling me who was who and me filling him in on our crew. Tommy turned up with a fabulous blonde and Jimmy was escorting one of his sisters mates ,me and Laddo just drooled with envy. By about half nine the room was packed when in came Running Bear and his fair young White Dove ,she was gorgeous. Laddo says to me ? See that bird?? pointing to Eddy?s fianc?e, ?she?s got some soft bleeder who sends her an allotment every month; she?s bought a 500 cc motorbike and she shags for England!!? I replied that he had got the wrong girl ,she and Eddy were going to be married .?Well someone better tell him,?cos my mate give ?er one a couple of weeks ago?
Now Eddy?s girl really was a looker,and it was?nt long before Tommy,he of the golden hair and bulging muscles ,he the owner of a brand new pastel coloured two tone sports coupe, went over to her and flashed his dazzling white teeth. ???.And then they were gone,. Vanished. It soon became apparent to Eddy ,and Tommys girl, that they would be going home on their own that night. Eddy departed with a look of grief on his face and Tommy?s girl came to me, to cry on my shoulder. We sat on the stairs ,she with her head nestling into my shoulder ,me with my arm around her shoulder wishing she was mine, stroking her hair as she sobbed the night away. Me wondering if I was in with a chance ,smelling her sweet scented hair and feeling her warm and tender body ,but no, I could?nt be a cad.
We got her eyes dried and one of the lads drove her home; then Mrs Davis came in to the living room , ?Holy mother of god ? she said ,?can one of you girls go out in the garden and get that girl off Jimmy? The girl Jimmy had brought to the party went out and shortly afterwards a young blackhaired girl came in and got her things and left. It did?nt take long for Laddo to find out the score, Jimmy was lying on the ground, unconscious,and the young lass had been straddling him . One of the lads went out for a pee and rushed back in , Jimmys rescuer was playing the Blue veined concerto and he was still out for the count. The night turned into a devils banquet and I passed into alcoholic oblivion. I had a nightmare that I was being crushed to death and awoke in a strange bed with some plaster cast leg across my chest. Wearily I shivered my drink shattered body towards D?olivieris caf? at Woodside for a cup of strong coffee and then got the Ferry for Liverpool. Having fun can be such hard work at times.

I contacted Jean ,my posh girlfriend ,and made a date for Friday ,money was going through my hands like water and I had to slow down a bit. So I spent a bit of time with the family; come Friday ,I had ?1 left ,just enough for a couple of drinks with Jean and my fares to and from Toxteth. At 4.00p.m. the doorknocker was rattled and there on the step stood cousin Willy ,his fianc?e and her beautiful sister. I was nonplussed ,great to see him but his timing was crap and I did?nt have enough cash to go out with them. Willy persuaded me to go up to the pub for a quick one, he was gagging to tell me something .We walked in as soon as the doors opened ,the four of us sat in the snug and Willy announced that they were going to be married ,I was chuffed, even more chuffed when the sister sat next to me and put her arm through mine. Why is it you wait ages for a bus and then two come together? I had to see Jean and here I was spending the last of my cash. Luckily they had arranged to catch the train back to Wigan and that left around 8.00 ,I had the time to see Jean ,but I only had 8 shillings.
Waving Willy and the girls off on the train ,I walked home and decided to ask Dad for a loan, he was so stingy that if he dropped a half crown it would hit him on the back of the neck as he bent to pick it up. He haggled me down from two quid to fifteen shillings ,it was?nt what I wanted but it would do.
Our date passed very pleasurably until Jean announced that if I did?nt pack the sea up ,she was going to join the WRNS. Gentle Jean ,so meek and mild become a Wren? I could?nt believe it . The weekend passed so slowly,I had enough money to get to the pool on Monday , I was leaving Blueys and going to look at what the rest of the Merchant Navy was like.


Footnote. On the next voyage I received the one and only letter that my father ever wrote me ,it said ?Dear Son, I hope that you are well and have?nt forgot that you owe me fifteen shillings,love,Dad ?Goodbye and Farewell?.

Flamin? July

I caught the 92 to the Pier Head and strolled along to Mann Island ,it had been 18 months since I had been to the Pool ,that had been when I came home from the Vindi?;
I had?nt dealt with the clerks who ran this place .Clerks, they were all dressed like officers, you never saw a uniform at the Odyssey works, even the big man Capt. ,always wore civvies. I was about to learn who was who in this place ,to my cost.
Charlie Repp, a little guy ,dressed like a Spanish admiral ,mealy mouthed ,gave me a welcome ,?What are you looking for son?? he asked with his undertakers smile. ?This is great ? I thought ,?just like Thomas Cooks? Holding out my discharge book, I looked at the board and said ?Something goin? the States ? He sighed ,?All the Yankee boats ?ave gone lad, I?ve gorra smashing little Med boat ?ere ;signing on today??..Patrician, in the Alex? Signing on today ,that would be my financial trouble put to rest. ?I?ll take it? The deal was done and I caught the bus home to get my gear, she was signing just after dinner ,so I?d be on my way by tonight and I would?nt have to borrow off Dad again.
I was shocked when I saw her for the first time ,she seemed half the size of the Blueys I?d been on ,and old fashioned too ,all steam winches. After signing on in the saloon ,I got an even bigger shock ,she was?nt sailing until next Monday, I had another week in Liverpool ,and not a penny to my name. My depression deepened when I went to find my cabin, it was down aft, in a gloomy hole, and the cabin itself was as basic as could be. Bare steel framed bunk ,with a stained mattress, pillows that had had the life slept out of them, and little caged bulb on the deckhead casting a weak glow, mercifully hiding the awfulness of that grubby little room. Well ,I had better make the most of it, there was no going back home. I had said my good byes and they thought I would be heading down the Irish Sea tonight.
My cabin mate was a kid called Macca, he was the same age as me and came from Blackburn, he had just left a Federal boat that had done a long voyage, New Zealand and the States ,been away nearly a year. He was getting ready to go ashore that night, doing the rounds ,the Yankee Bar ,Ma Egertons ,Yates?s and then find a club.
He asked if I was going and I was honest with him and told him I was brassick.
?Come on ? he said ,?I don?t know Liverpool ,and I?ve got enough for two?
Macca was a good lad ,we did?nt go wild just a few gills and a couple of schooners of Australian white and then a big bag of chips while we walked to the number 1 bus stop.
I got another surprise when we got back aboard ,the dockers were working nights and there was a steam winch directly above our cabin. When it was running ,which was all night, it sounded like a jack hammer. I had never heard a noise like it in my life ,oh for those electric winches in Blueys, they just whined. I was absolutely knackered next morning. Breakfast was good , not as exotic as I had been used to but bacon, eggs and fried bread give you a good start to the day. There was?nt much for us to do while we were alongside ,stow a few stores, splice a few lizards and the odd bit of tidying up. The shore gang did most of the graft ,but I could?nt complain, I was getting three square a day ,a place to sleep and I was on pay too! Macca subbed me to the movies one night ,and we had a pint too. I was slowly getting used to the old girl, what had at first seemed like a nightmare was ,slowly becoming a home. I managed to rustle up a book and would spend my idle hours laying on my bunk being transported by Frank Yerby to some Southern Plantation where the pale skinned beauty?s yearned for a young muscular body to thrill them ,it passed the time. I was enwrapt in one such chapter on the Friday before sailing when the cabin door burst open and this big guy ,with an even bigger mate, came in and jerked his thumb saying ?Yer out! Get yer bags ,we?re on strike!!? I was dumbfounded ?Who are you?? I demanded ?The strike committee ,now gerra ashore! There?ll be no scabbin? ?ere? Macca and I slung a few thing in our kitbags ?Leave the rest? he shouted ?this ship won?t be goin? anywhere?
I did?nt have the bus fare home so I went up to the masters cabin and saw Captain Rigby, he already knew what had happened and ,although he was unhappy ,knew that there was not much we could do about it. He loaned me a weeks pay, I had enough in the ship because I had?nt had an advance ,so I had enough to get home and to pay for some of my keep if we were out for a few days.
I was not welcomed back home with the usual alacrity, Mum was worried how long I would be out for ,Dad was moaning about how much I owed him already.
I would have to husband my resources as skilfully as I could. No one knew how long this was going to go on for.
I went down to Kingston House on the Monday, there I was signed up in to the National Seamens Reform Movement, it was a heady period ,for the first time in years ,rank and file members were demanding an end to Union corruption and for a fairer wage. Sir Tom Yates was a bosses man and had become corrupt ,he was in the pay of the bosses and forced our wages down. Boy ,I was learning new thing everyday, I did?nt even know who Tom Yates was last week. Like thousands of other young men ,all I was interested in was having a good time , all the rest was propaganda. I did learn some other things though ,I learned how quickly the press can turn people into public enemies. MacMillan was in power then and he seemed a decent man,(I was na?ve ) ,we believed he would intervene and force some changes ,it was wishful thinking. The strike seemed to drag on and each day brought stories of outrage in the press , we were holding the country to ransom ,a lot of us were army dodgers and could?nt do a proper job. .Reds , Commies, traitors. Day after day the papers ran stories portraying us as villains. The worst story that appeared turned even my Mum against us. The Daily Mirror had a columnist who I had always respected ,William Connors ,or Cassandra,he was known ?a man of the people? fearless and truthful ,always ready to fight a cause. That was until he penned a vicious little tale in the final week of the strike. Since no ships were sailing, some docks were idle , Heysham was once such, and a man and his wife took their three year old boy for a walk around the idle dock. Somehow , the little lad escaped his Daddy?s grip and ran across the jetty and fell into the dock. The poor little babe drowned. Cassandra wrote that the fault could be laid directly at the striking seamens door. Had they been working , the family could not have walked around the dock, thus out of lies are hatreds born. I never read a story that man wrote after that. I thought our cause was just, I felt that we were led by men who had our welfare at heart. But when the strike was over , life was never the same again, we had been up against it and had been depicted as threats to the nation. Worst of all my family had believed some of the lies.
It was with a mixture of sorrow and joy that the strike ended, we had a few extra pound in our pockets, but a lot of trust had been lost. We were not Reds under the bed, we were not in the pay of Moscow, a lot of the men who were on the stones had risked life and limb in the wartime convoys ,lost mates and kin to bring in the supplies when they were needed ,now they were cast as villains. I learned that we were only villains for the moment, the dockers would be next ,and the car workers after them. Villains today ,Heroes tomorrow.

The Strike was set to end at a certain time on a morning at the beginning in the third week of July. I got the 92 to the Pier Head and , as I stood on the platform as we passed Kingston House .I saw thousands of men on the pavements opposite the Pool, there was an air of jollity about them, laughing and joking ,it was ten past nine and the Pool was open ,why were?nt they moving? I skipped of the platform as it passed the pavement on Mann Island side and pushed my way into the empty offices. A cheer broke out behind me and the mighty throng surged across the road. I had broken the strike????.. by 5 minutes . Did?nt do me any good though?????..


The S. S. Kenuta

Being 5 minutes ahead of the crowd did me no favours,there was a host of ships to choose from but I was prey to Charley Repp. I still was?nt wise to him. ??Ere y?are son, there?s a Sos?s job on the Kenuta, a beautiful P.S.N.C. boat ,great run ,west coast of South America..etc..etc..etc? I was like a lamb to the slaughter. She was signing on that morning and sailing that night. That would do for me, I owed my dad 15 shillings and so I?d get an advance note and pay him off ,give me Mum a few bob too,I?d been living for free few a few weeks now.. A quick trip down to where the Kenuta was berthed ,she looked sleek ,nicely raked bow and streamlined forepart ,should be O.K????..Never judge anything by looks alone !
I got an advance note and shot down to Canning Place ,you could cash them at the outfitters there ,half a crown in the he charged still ,it was only money. Walking back to the Pier Head I bumped into Bernie ,a kid I should have sailed with on the Patrician; he was on his way to cash his advance note ,it was opening time ,why not have a jar before we sail ? I forget what he was sailing on , but he was off somewhere exotic. So we began a tour around the local hostelry?s ,The Queens, Slaughterhouse, up to Ma Egertons, the Yankee Bar ,Yates?s ??..I was stocious and have limited memories of the bus ride home to get my gear. I fell into the house and my mother was very tearful when she saw me , I shoved some money into her hand and staggered back up to the 92 bus stop. The journey to the Pier Head was dreadful ,I was dizzy and kept fading in and out of consciousness, I was sitting on the long seat at the back and kept on falling against some old lady who sat next to me, why she never moved I don?t know. As we came down toward the town , I staggered on to the platform and released the contents of my stomach in the bus?s wake. I was too far gone to be embarrassed.
Somehow I made it on board ,that was when I learned where our accommodation was, down aft ,and as I made my way into the top of the companionway I missed my footing and went head over heels down to the bottom ,my kit bag broke my fall. A Mancunian voice exclaimed ? That?s a right good way to join a boat?
I was sobering up fast, sitting there , I looked around and was shocked at the dismal sight.. Dark and pokey, the cabins were stark ,the bulkheads were uninsulated and the bunks were made of cheap angle iron with chain bed?springs?. Two drawers and a narrow half length locker for your gear. A prisoner in the worst of British ?nicks? would have better quarters than this. I got changed and went up to the messroom to meet the lads, we were a right motley crew. The peggy was a first tripper from Swansea ,the other O.S.was a kid from Accrington ,his accent was so strong that I had to really listen to what he was saying ,he was a good seaman though. There was big Don ,an A.B. , open faced and a ready smile ,Jimmy, ginger haired ,slightly chubby, a joker with a short fuse, Alan the Manc ,a S.O.S like me, looked Italian ,Tony Curtis hairstyle and an easy way with him. Terry ,from Bradford, West Indian origin and so very cool, he had just paid off an 18 monther and was loaded. Nick ,redheaded ,broken nosed and mean looking ,his smile never reached his eyes ,such men are dangerous. Jock, scrawny ,his deck clothes looked two sizes too big ,he looked out of place ,pleasant but a bag of nerves. My cabin mate, Kenny, saturnine and eloquent as Welshmen are wont to be, from the Valleys ,full of fire and brimstone.And, finally, there was old Tommy, I never found out how old he was ,he looked ancient ,slightly built with a nice scouse accent, he was the oldest man on deck and had been at sea since well before the War, a family man; he had two of them ,one in Liverpool and one in Santiago in Chile ,he never sailed anywhere else. The bosun had a famous seafaring name, George Ungi ,he was great guy, firm but fair and a great accordion player too ,he could play the tango like an Argentine. These were just some of the deck crowd ,time has erased the others. We shared the messroom with the firemen and greasers ,this was a new experience for me ,they were all Chinese in Blueys. Some of those guys were quite memorable, there was Vic ,in his 60?s ,built like a brick outhouse ,sailed with them all ,fists like ten pound hammers, hardly a tooth in his head. Norman ,a strange one ,he was an anthropologist ,doing a spell at sea to widen his experience cut glass accent ,looked every inch a professor and never appeared to get dirty. His cabinmate was a grubby little guy who was not above pilfering Normans cigarettes ,more of which later. Our mess room made Stan Waters caf? look like the Ritz, it was years since it had had a coat of paint ,the tables were covered in cheap lino and there were long wooden benches either side ,there were no backs on the benches so you had to keep yourself from falling backwards when the sea was rough.
The toilets ,bogs would be better word, they were originally fitted out for an Arab crew when the Kenuta was under the Clan Line house flag. The lavatories had been ?squatters? , a hole with a pedestals either side, P.S.N.C. had westernised them by putting proper toilets?????on top of the ?squatters ?!!! This meant that when you were sitting down your feet were about 12 inches from the deck, dangling!
The one thing you need on a loo in a rolling and pitching vessel is stability ,you could hold yourself in place with your feet firmly on the deck. Not on this boat folks, the amount of times I went for a burton does?nt bear thinking about , you often heard the shriek of some poor soul as he went sliding to the deck.

The officers and catering staff all lived amidships ,as did the passengers, theirs was different world to ours. Air conditioning and insulated bulkheads, silverware and white napery. They were a strange bunch though ,from the Captain down they were flawed. John Jones was the Master , a short ,flabby Welshman ,wore a big hat on a small head so that it rested on his ears ,his mouth had a weak ,wet lower lip and he had a receding chin .His jacket was too long in the sleeves so that you saw just his fingers sticking out from under the 4 gold stripes, Chilean naval stripes too.
He had been Mate on that ship the previous trip and so his outfit was painfully new. His chief officer, a stocky little bulldog of a man ,had been master on the ship on the previous trip. How such a thing could happen I was never to find out ,it did?nt make for good relations though ,the Mate never accepted his lower position ,a situation I will enlarge upon as we progress. The 2nd mate was a Jack Armstrong type ,clean cut ,with cropped blonde hair and eyes that could see right through you , he turned out to about the only honest one among the lot of them. The real power broker midships seemed to be the Chief engineer , he had a fierce visage, I never once saw him smile the whole trip long and all the officers seemed to defer to him, I was to find out why when we reached Buonoventura.
The chief steward and the cook were in collusion in robbing our bellies and feeding us swill in order to line their own pockets, apart from a few minor players like the baker ,who was a pederast and Eddy ,a commis waiter ,there are no more characters to relate. The Kenuta is getting up steam and we are now ready to sail???


The S.S.Kenuta 2

As the years pass by you find your memory sometimes plays peek a boo, about an hour after finishing off those last few words,another crew mate came into my mind, Joe Murphy. Joe was of an indeterminate age,old enough to have done some sea time during the war, but young enough not to appear to be an old man. A dyed in the wool Scouser,with an accent you could slice with a knife, Joe was much given to the use of hyperbole; he would sprinkle his conversation with such gems as ?dis black Maria pulled up an? a ?undred scuffers jumped out wid about 2 ?undred police dogs?
With Nick and Jock, Joe would form part of the Kenuta?s Alcoholics club,but only as a junior member. He was a tall slim guy, with a full head of greying brown curly hair.
Nervous and always slightly jumpy, as though expecting some past misdeed to catch up with him, Joe would always seek validation from the listener that he believed what he had just said by looking for your acceptance. From what he told us ,he had a tough life in the Dingle ,no arse in his pants ,and crusts for breakfast,he was a character.
The ship of fools is now at sea,first port of call Antwerp??????..

Outward Bound

The voyage was but a few days old when the shortcomings began to manifest themselves ,first was the food; brought from amidships in dixies and aluminium food boxes, it was put in a hot press and left to the peggy to dish up. many of the crew were used to this situation ,but it was a shock to the system to me. The crockery ,or rather ,the lack of crockery made the issue worse. We had tin enamelled plates and for cutlery ,cast aluminium eating irons. Very soon the plates became chipped and the eating irons were bent and broken. We had muggin cups and as these were lost through breakages we were reduced to using tin cans. I am not exaggerating the story, as we ran out of knives and forks ,we were reduced to sharing ,waiting for another to finish cutting his food before you could use the knife. Using a spoon to eat because there were no forks. Soon we were using our deck knives to eat with ;not that there was much to eat. Our meals were minute and when we complained to the cook he just laughed in our faces. The chief steward was worse, he said that we were animals and deserved no better. Complaints to the mate met with no response and the morale amongst the men sank lower with every passing day. One of the firemen fashioned a soup ladle that had a handle about ten foot long. I saw him putting it through the galley windows ,they were open but barred and faced onto the after hatch. It was just before the 8 to 12 evening watch was finishing and he thought he would not be seen, he was ,by me! So ,his watchmate and my two watchmates,were able to enjoy illicit dips into the soup pot that used to simmer overnight. We could?nt take too much else our activities would be exposed.
And thus it was that the good ship Kenuta journeyed to South America. We stopped for bunkers at Las Palmas and had an explosive night ashore, my cabinmate ,the Welsh firebrand ,practised his oratorical skills in denouncing the capitalist pirates who ran our ship,?We should wake up and rebel, not live like animals? he ranted ,we got stuck into the cervezas and made the world look a brighter in our own way.
Now we were nearing the temperate zones , the mate ordered us to erect the swimming pool, a big wood and canvas affair, on the port side of the afterdeck immediately outside our accommodation. This was going to be great, not having air conditioning , we would be able to cool down in the pool?..how wrong can you be?
The aftercrowd ,firemen and sailors, were forbidden to enter the pool at any time.
We had a couple of passengers, a headmaster and his wife who were off to Peru to take over a public school in Lima, and a very nice lady who was off to join her husband in the Bahamas . The headmaster had a Dandy Dimont terrier with him ,which was kennelled on the promenade deck ,and the other lady had three sheepdogs which were housed away from the terrier on the far side of the prom deck.
We used to have our smoko?s on the hatchway adjacent the pool ,where we would watch the headmasters dog splashing merrily about as we sweltered. The lady with the sheepdogs would not let her dogs swim while we were banned from doing so.
We grew to hate the terrier, poor dumb animal suffered for his masters sins. When we hosed the decks down before breakfast , the hoseman would put the hose into the terriers kennel and give it a full blasting, pretty soon the dog grew to fear salt water. Before we got to Cuba it became a half crazed wreck, and his owners had no idea what was happening. It never came out of its kennel again. It would snap and snarl as soon as it heard footsteps approaching. But it never got the aftercrowd into the pool.

I had never sailed in American waters before and, as we got closer to the Americas, we began to pick up their radio stations. This was 1960 and radio in Britain consisted of the BBC Light, Home and Third Programmes, straitlaced and not a disc jockey in sight. If you wanted to hear rock and roll you had to tune into Radio Luxemburg, and reception from that was so erratic. The only time you got records on the Beeb was on request programmes like Family Favourites ,Forces Request or Housewives Choice ,all very refined ,but it was?nt rock and roll. Across the Atlantic the airwaves were alive with music of every kind and we would sit on the after hatch with Terrys Japanese transistor blasting out the latest in the American hit parade.

Our first port of call in the Americas was Freeport in the Bahamas, this was a picture perfect place, The blue sky and azure sea split by a strip of land with golden beaches overhung with swaying green palm trees, buildings showed white amidst the greenery and though it looked so inviting ,we would not be going ashore, we moored to some buoys to discharge some cargo and disembark the lady and her sheepdogs.
As we were unloading our cargo into the lighters alongside us , the sea started to get a little choppy and a long black line appeared on the horizon ,a stiff breeze was strengthening and the lightermen began to cast off and head for the shore, That black line was creeping up the sky. The captain came on the port side of the bridge and shouted at us to drop the derricks; the mate came on the starboard wing of the bridge and countermandered the order ,?Let her go? he yelled. And thus began a slanging match between master and mate while the second mate split us onto to two parties ,one to single up and make ready to leave and the other to drop the derricks and square up. And all the while the sky was blackening and the waves were getting higher. This was a hurricane.!
Within an hour the seas were in turmoil and the wind was screaming with rage ,lightning flashes jagged across the blackness giving glimpses of a watery hell.
I was at the helm and could see the mountainous white topped waves roaring toward us as we bucked and reeled through that sea. The captain was a forlorn figure standing by the wheelhouse door .He was learning what those four stripes on his sleeve meant now , sooner him than me. The was a metallic clanging that could be heard up here in the wheelhouse , the second mate came in off the wing of the bridge and took the wheel ? The weather door on the starboard forepart is?nt secure ,go down and make it fast while I take the wheel ? I was too young to appreciate the danger involved, I just fled down there and took the full brunt of the storm as I fought to clip back the door ,it was swinging and crashing in to its architrave with a thunderous crash, you had to be quick and snap the dogs on(clips) when it was in the closed position . I earned my cup of cocoa that night. Come the dawn and the sea was placid once more, we were entering the Caribbean Sea.

As the nights became really sultry ,Don would get his guitar out and we would sit on the poop deck singing all the songs that we knew the words to, and even to those that we did?nt. We may have had lousy accommodation , bum rations and stinking hot cabins, but those nights on the poopdeck remain in my memory as some of the really good times .
We knew we were nearly at Cuba when the U.S Navy Coast Guard plane buzzed us ,coming in so low you could the pilots face. We were carrying a load of Leyland Buses for Havana because America had put an embargo on trade with Cuba.
As we entered the near empty port we were given a tremendous welcome, tugs blew their horns and police and dockers waved to us ,we were good gringos.
We were given an even greater welcome ashore ,now that the Yanquis had gone, so had the greatest source of revenue for the bar owners and ?ladies?
As we went from bar to bar we were pursued by some of the most beautiful ?ladies ? that I had ever seen. Their rich Yanqui clients were never coming back ,and these girls who just months ago would have been plying their trade in the 5 star hotels, were
now having to make do with ragged arsed sailors from the U.K. It was eerie,to be sitting at a bar and to see beautiful women at every door and window begging you to invite them in, they were not allowed to enter without a male companion.
We all succumbed to temptation and my young lady led me to the portals of a hotel on the Corniche, where we took a room with a balcony overlooking that wonderful harbour with Morro Castle as a back drop. One year previously I would not have got past the doorman ,never mind taking a full suite with a mirrored ceiling. I was eighteen and full of testosterone and the politically correct world had not encroached upon my horizons, reality was left outside the room as I lost myself to the wonders of pure carnality. She taught me more in that one night than I had learned in all my days .
Later ,we strolled through the gardens and squares as she led me back to my ship, god I loved that senhorita, Rosalita, a Cuban rose.
On the way back to the ship I saw Taffy the galleyboy being shoved toward a policewagon. He looked shattered and was scared and drunk. I told Rosalita that the boy was off my ship and we went across to the police wagon and asked what he had done. The stupid boy had torn down a Cuban flag that was on display in the gardens ,the police were angry with the insult shown to their flag and wanted him to face a court. I said that Taffy was so proud to be here in Havana that he wanted to take back the flag to show to his people in Wales. Rosalita was translating and the police let him go, and allowed him to keep the flag! Truth was , he was just a bloody vandal.

None of the lads returned that night, the town had too much to offer a poor sailor and the rum was very cheap. Come breakfast ,there were only four of us in the messroom, Don , the Peggy ,the JOS from Accrington and me.
We were sailing at midday and the morning passed without any of our lads making a show. The three of us , plus the Midshipmen ,of which there were three ,were put to work dropping the derricks and squaring up, George Ungi, the bosun, rounded the drunks up, and boy were they ever drunk. He got them to the top of the gangway and they fell in a heap in the alley adjacent the gangway and sank into a drunken stupor. They were literally piled one atop another and stayed that way for hours. The six of us,plus the bosun ,put that ship to sea , Panama was next.

To The Pacific

It was a blissful run down to the Panama Canal, the sea was like a pond and the fair weather gave us the opportunity to overhaul the running gear ,our feet hardly touched the deck between Havana and Colon. The food was no better and the eating situation was unchanged regards tableware ,but it is amazing how fair weather can take your mind off things. That plus the fact we were heading for one of the great sailortowns of the world, Colon at the Atlantic end of the canal.
As we sat on the poop in the evening ,some of the older hands who had been on the run a time or time ,would tell of the bars and bordellos in Cristobal. The consensus was that this place was pretty wild and had all the ingredients that a Jack ashore could wish for. We younger lads could?nt wait to get there.
By this time in the voyage friendships had been formed and your run ashore mates were teamed. The guys I favoured going ashore with were Jimmy, the ginger headed A.B. and Terry the kid from Bradford. Jimmy was from Bootle , about the four years older than me ,and had a wry sense of humour. Terry ,he was 2 years older than me and was a very good seaman ,we were on the same watch and he would spend his spare time teaching me how to do wire splicing and rigging. He was pushing me to taking my EDH?s ticket when we got back home.
As we neared Panama the seas got busier with shipping ,there was every type of deep sea ship heading there ,and coming away from there too. They were mostly British ,but there were plenty of German and Yankee boats too. It was great at smoko ,sitting on the hatch with your fag and a cuppa watching the variety of ships ,liners, tramps and tall passenger boats of every type. This was one busy sea lane.
We would have just the one night in Colon and we did?nt want to waste any time ,the consensus of opinion was that Dog House Bar was the place to spend your hard earned. There were plenty of girls ,good music and the beer was cheap too. The Dog House it was then! But first we had to get docked and ready for discharging.
The docks were modern and most of the dockers were from Barbados , huge black guys, nearly all wearing yellow safety helmets ,they were quite friendly and worked very hard.
As soon as we were showered , the three of us shot ashore. We made straight for the Dog House Bar and we were not disappointed, the place was heaving , full of every nationality and girls galore. All the latest American hit records were on the juke box and the dance floor was full of jivers. I stood watching enviously as a black guy made the most incredible moves ,he was so fluid. I took a turn with a senhorita and the black guy came over to me and said that I was a nice dancer but that I needed to loosen up.
He was from New York and was a deck hand like me. I watched for a while as he had a few more dances and I copied him as best I could . I would?nt have got better tuition at Arthur Murray. The bar itself was full of interesting things to look at, pennants and banknotes adorned the walls and mementos that had been ?liberated? from various ships stood on shelves or hung from the walls. I went for a pee and in the cubicle was a wooden flap which bore the legend ?do not lift? I lifted it and a klaxon sounded in the bar, it was funny at the time. And the time sped by, soon we three were broke and the night was only just getting started. Terry said that he had some Yankee dollars in his cabin and that we should go back and get some .
It was now nearing midnight and the streets were still busy,Terry suggested that Jimmy and take our time walking and he would run back aboard because he would be quicker. As he shot ahead toward the dock gates Jimmy and I were accosted by a very wrinkled little old black lady. She was carrying a little wooden tray upon which there was a solitary banana. ?Hey Johnee? she cried ?You buy banana eh!? Jimmy and I did?nt have a red cent between us , and besides the banana looked a bit past it. We were just outside the dock gates now and this old lady was determined that we should buy her banana. She came alongside me and said that I would be ?powerful Man? as she stuck the banana in front of my crotch and waggled it suggestively.
I took the banana from her hand and put it back on her tray.?Noooo ? she shrieked and pulled a piece of crumpled paper from out of her filthy blouse. Unfolding it she declared that I had ..?broken de U.S. sanitation and hygiene law, yew cain,t handle de food boy less?n yew buy ,gimme 10 cents !? I laughed and turned my pockets out
?I?m broke Mary ? .She screamed to a little girl who was now at her side ?Go get de Vigi? and grasped my wrist. ?Yew is gwanna pay boy? she shouted as her girl ran off. Jimmy looked worried and said that he would run and get an American policeman from the dock gate ?If the Vigis take yer .they?ll batter yer ? he said. The Vigis being Panamanian policemen ,no lovers of ?gringos? I stood patiently waiting for Terry to arrive so that I could give this old hag her ten cents and then get back to having a good time. A hooter sounded within the docks and a river of bodies surged out through the gate ;it was knocking off time for the dockers. As the wave of yellow helmeted black guys came toward us Mary started pulling me about and crying pitifully. I felt a hundred pair of eyes turn toward me. Cries of ?White *******? and ,bizarrely, ?Remember Notting Hill? filled the air. Within moments I was surrounded by a mob of angry blackmen , they had seen a whiteman attacking a defenceless old black lady and were incensed. I protested that I had done nothing wrong but the crowd was winding itself up ?You come down here and screw our women ,and you kill our brothers ,white pig? I was thinking it was curtains for me when there was a commotion at the back of the crowd ? Let me troo!!? bellowed a deep bass voice, suddenly this huge helmeted black guy parts the mob and comes and stands beside me. He put his arm around my shoulder, took Marys hand off my wrist and shouted?
?Diss could be your boy in America, would yew like de Americans go treat him like dis ?? The mob edged away and ,still holding me by the shoulders ,he took me to a little bar opposite the dock ,bought me a beer and told me to stay put until my friends came back. My saviour then departed and I sat stock still afraid to move. Minutes later Jimmy came in he was red faced and very angry, he punched me in the mouth. ?You ******* ,I turn up with two Yankee coppers and there?s no bleeder there; they were gonna arrest me for being drunk !!? Terry turned up and defused the moment with a wad of greenbacks.
It was back to The Dog House Bar ;we walked in to a surreal scene, there ,seated at the tables ,were half a dozen of our sailors and firemen reciting the Dog House poem just as we did at school ,only it would have been Wordsworth ,not ?Everytime I have a shave my wife decides to s**t???..? Deathless poetry.
The bar was really popping now and there was a really beautiful woman sitting with some friends, she was wearing a powder blue outfit and was really stacked. Jimmy Jones was singing ?Let the Little Girl Dance ? and I took her on the floor and did just that. I was in terpsichorean heaven ,she moved like an angel ,felt so good in my arms,
and she wanted to have another dance when that song ended. We sat together and I fell deeper and deeper in love with her. ?I would like to marry you ? she said.. I was thinking of enjoying some of the things that married people do and nodded agreement.
?Yew get papers and we marry now yes ?? She said???all I could see was that marriage bed..?Yes,Yes!? I said. ?Hold on there honey ? an American voice called out. I looked around and there stood a bow tied ?queen? she looked daggers at him as he told me that the bar girls were always trying to get an American husband so that they could go on the game in the States. ?go back to your friends ,you?ll be safer with them ? he said. He came over to our crowd and told them to make sure I did?nt go back to the girl. Turned out he was from Liverpool, had gone to the States over 30 years ago and was a waiter on an American passenger boat. After that the night became hazier as the cerveza and aguardiente took effect. I cannot remember how I got back on board . Tomorrow we would enter the canal.

Brian, when are you going to get this book printed !? :) :)

It would certainly be popular.

Hey Lindy,I think it would bore the pants off most people, I'm just grateful to Kevin for indulging an old salt in elating his story. I enjoy writing it ,and I hope you keep enjoying it. I look forward to Saturday mornings when I sit down at the keyboard and let those memories come flooding back. I don't what I'm going to write before I sit down, I press that first letter and it just starts to flow.
Thanks for saying nice things,it helps me to keep going ,
BrianD

To The Pacific

We sailed from Cristobal and made our way to the first set of locks that would give us entry into the fabled Panama Canal. I had learned of the building of this wonder whilst a schoolboy,of how many hundreds of men had died of the fever during the course of its construction ,many facts and figures had been taught me , the man who oversaw the creation of the Suez Canal, that other great waterway that cut through continents ,was the man who developed the idea for this canal. The knowledge gleaned from history books and encyclopaedias cannot prepare you for the grandeur of the real thing. Everything about it is huge. It needs to be because this canal was built to take ,in 1914, the worlds largest ships.
.You enter the canal through Gatun Locks and have to be raised 85 feet above sea level to get onto Gatun Lake, an vast artificial lake of 163.4 square miles.To do this you have go through six locks ,each one being a 1000 foot long and 110 foot wide by 75 foot deep. Little locomotives called mules take your ropes and help guide you through the locking system It is arduous manoeuvring through the locks, not much time for rubbernecking but fascinating in watching those little locos ,diesel powered they are enormously strong. As you leave the last lock and enter Gatun Lake you confronted by a vision of lush tropical splendour, the shores rise steeply and are filled with dense green vegetation, the lake itself is filled with shipping heading both east and west ,there are seemingly hundreds of islands dotting the horizon and the air is filled with birds and flying insects. Insects of disproportionate sizes too; I had been out to the East Indies and seen the beetles and other winged creatures ,they were exotic to an English boys eyes but here , the hornets and mosquitos ,beetles and moths ,were all magnified in size and aggressive . As we sailed across the lake during the night hours ,I had to go and do a turn at the wheel. Climbing up the companion way in our accommodation I was assailed by what looked like a housefly , but it was as big as my hand. Really scary, it was sitting on the deckhead and as I hove into view it dive bombed me. Its buzz sounded like a B52 bomber and it was?nt to be deflected. I ran back to the cabin and got a magazine to swat it away ,it was?nt to be killed ,I hit it and it just shrugged and flew off. When I came down off the wheel two hours later, it was waiting for me ! I had a kind of duel with it and fought it off until I made it to the messroom. The fireman who looked like a professor came in off his watch and I asked him if he had seen the fly, he had?nt so I took him out to have a look at it.
It was still there but it was?nt moving , was it asleep? Anyway the Prof. Went off and came back with a big tobacco tin, he took the lid off and placed the empty tin over the beast. It made a hell of a row in there and old Prof quickly slipped the lid back on. He was going to take it back to Liverpool and show it to someone in the museum. He put the can on top of his bookshelf and there it should have rested until we got back
home. Not everything goes to the way we plan it though???..the Prof and I were sitting in the messroom having a cup of cocoa before turning in when we heard a blood curdling scream. It came from his cabin. We raced over to it and found his cabinmate trembling in the corner, the beast was buzzing round his head and he was nursing his hand. The Prof opened the porthole and ushered the fly through with a rolled up magazine. He then turned to his trembling cabinmate and said ?So you?re the ******* who?s been helping himself to my baccy?, by the bitemark on the back of his hand he really was caught redhanded.

We passed Gamboa in darkness ,this was not far from where ,

?Or like Stout Cortez , when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific ?and all his men
Look?d at each other with a wild surmise ?
Silent upon a peak in Darien?

Those lines of poetry ,learned by rote in a dusty schoolroom ,came alive here in Panama . Soon we were across the lake and heading through the Miraflores Locks, they were just as magnificent as Gatun ,but they were the gateway to the Pacific.
We dropped off the pilot at Balboa and headed into a different world.
The sea was calm and not a breath of wind stirred the air as we sailed down the Colombian coast ,Buenoventura was our next port of call , I?d heard it was a bit of a hole ,not much to see and even less to do so I took the night watch on the gangway when it was offered. We were going to be here two days ,and like the lads had said ,it looked a bit grim, there were plenty of policemen in evidence on the docks, looked more like soldiers in their helmets and khaki. The dockers looked like extras from a spaghetti western and the view through the chain link fence was pretty depressing too.
A few decrepit buildings ,no bars or neon lights ,just a queue of trucks waiting for freight.. There was a road that led up a hill that rose away from the dockside, that was where the town lay ,over the hill. The road was cut out of the rock and trucks were parked along one side of the cut for as far as the eye could see. I would have liked to have seen the town but I was night watch man and so I settled down with a book at the top of the gangway. It got dark early and there was no nightshift on the docks , the only lights ashore were those in the dock area, the road up out of the town and the surrounding hills were lost in darkness. All the boys were ashore and the only signs of life were the white helmeted policemen making an occasional patrol along the inside of the fence. The only sounds were those of the ships gennies and the insects buzzing and chirruping, the night passed slowly and silently. Towards eleven the first stragglers started drifting into the loom of the docklights ,it must have been strong stuff they?d been supping, they were steering a wonky course toward the gangway.
This was?nt the boisterous crew that had gone ashore, they were glum and taciturn, what had gone wrong?
The last person aboard was Nick, he wasn?t too drunk, unusual for him, just a bit tipsy. ?Hey scouse? he said ?I forgot to get a bottle of Aguadiente , I?ll give you a drink if you slip up the hill and fetch us one? he smiled. ?I?ll watch the gangway for you, and your legs are younger than mine? I never questioned why he had?nt bought one while ashore, the rain had stopped and I could do with a quick drink, so yes ,I?ll go and get him his drink. I had on my donkey jacket and seaboots because it was very wet and muddy and , thus attired, I made my way out of the docks.
The pool of light ended just outside the gate and the road ahead was in pitch darkness, as I was walking across the road toward the hill I heard a voice calling ?Hey Johnnie ,got any American cigarettes?? Out of the darkness came two of the raggedeyst people I had ever seen, black as coal and barefooted they looked like escaped slaves. They were smiling and had their hands held out in anticipation of a free smoke. I took out my Players and gave them one each, ?Not American? they asked. ?No ,Inglese ? I replied. ?You got some dollars for us ? they begged. ?No ,mucho poor,like you ? I laughed. I started up the hill ,by now my eyes were accustomed to the darkness ,there was a sheer cliff face to one side and a line of trucks ,stretching to the top of the hill on the other. In the silence the only sounds to be heard was the splashing of my seabooted feet and the plashing sound of two sets of barefeet. They were following me! I stopped and looked back, I could the distant lights of the docks but not the beggars. They were coming up on the other side of the trucks. I turned and walked faster and still they came on , matching my speed. The sound of music came faintly through the air and I began to make out the lights of a bar near the top of the hill.
Pretty soon I was stood at the counter of a truly low dive, there was only one customer sat there, a Norwegian ,he asked me what ship I was off and he told me he was on the one astern of us. He was well drunk and would?nt be getting back to his ship tonight.
I bought Nicks bottle of Aguardiente and asked the barman if he had an empty bottle I could have, he could?nt understand why I would want an empty bottle. I was going to need some protection on the way back!
After very protracted negotiations , he let me have an empty spirits bottle ,calling me ?Mucho loco? .With Nicks bottle in my pocket and the empty bottle gripped firmly in my right hand , I stepped out into the darkness.
Immediately I started walking ,the splash of barefeet sounded behind me, it was downhill now ,about 300 yards to the light of the docks . I was running and the sound of splashing grew nearer, I could hear them grunting and gasping for breath as they closed in on me. 200 yards now and I could almost feel their breath on the back of my neck, the lights were nearer now ,my heels were getting chafed by the rubbing of my sea boots ,I had to make it???.and hand gripped my left shoulder. I swung round ,smashing the bottle in the guys face , blood showered everywhere and I tore down the hill as his screams rent the night air. The policeman at the gate unholstered his gun and waved me past him as he looked into the darkness. I stopped running and then heard the sound of wailing up the hill. I felt really bad about what I had just done, I did?nt have time to get too maudlin about it ,what awaited me aboard ship was far worse.

Down South America Way

When I climbed back aboard the Kenuta the gangway was unguarded ,Nick had promised to stand watch for me but was nowhere in sight. I could hear raised voices coming from the afterdeck and went down to see what was afoot. The lads were gathered about the after hatch and they seemed none too happy ,they were drunk ,angrily drunk, and as I approached, Nick spotted me and came forward asking for his hooch. He was staggering drunk ,as were the rest of the crowd ; my cabinmate jumped on the hatch and started to harangue the lads about the terrible conditions in which we were living. His oratory was drink fuelled and he gave full vent to the simmering hatred that we had all felt these past weeks. Being sober I watched in amazement as his words gripped the bleary eyed crowd and galvanized them into a mob. Pointing to the midships accommodation ,he roared ?There?s a man down that alleyway that is the cause of our hunger ,a man who is robbing our bellies and lining his pockets with the proceeds!? heads nodded in agreement and Nick was passing the fresh bottle of firewater around , further stoking the fires of anger. ?Violence is the only language these people understand ? cried our demagogue, ?We should show them that we are men not mice !! ? The Manc SOS rigged up a noose, throwing over the aftermast table ?Let?s hang the f****r that?ll teach ?em!!?
Kenny pointed to Nick and Joe Murphy ,?Go and get the *******, he won?t starve us anymore?
Joe and Nick set off for the Chief Stewards cabin while the rest of the crowd started cheering and singing. I was frightened ,never in my life had I felt such an inchoate anger ,it was almost like the lynch mob I had seen when I was a child. I ran after Nick and Joe , following them down the alleyway to the Chief Stewards cabin. There, everything was quiet and peaceful ,it was 2-00 in the morning and the only sound here was the air conditioning. When they reached the Stewards cabin ,Joe kicked the door in and one of them flicked on the light, the Steward ,a ginger haired man with a balding pate ,came groggily awake ,blinking myopically ?Worrisit .?? he mumbling ,trying to understand what had disturbed his slumbers. Joe and Nick jumped forward and dragged him from his bunk, his pale scrawny body clothed in a singlet and greying skiddies..?Wossgoinon, fer fecks sake wossup?? he yelped as they dragged him across the cabin ,each one holding him by the armpits his knees scraping along the deck.
?We?re gonna f***in? ?ang yer ,yer c**t? said Nick ,smashing him across the cheek.
Though they were very drunk I thought they might still have a bit of ingrained sense of justice? Taking a chance I said to them that they should tell the Mate of what they were about to do and then that would make it ?legal?. Joe and Nick looked blearily at each other and then Nick nodded ??E?s right ,let?s tell the Mate ? and then they proceeded to drag the Steward up the companionways to the Mates cabin. I got to the Mates door just ahead of them and hammered it ,by the time Joe and Nick arrived with the Steward, his knees and shins raw and bleeding , the Mate was standing in his doorway clad only in his boxer shorts. He stood there rubbing the sleep out of his eyes ,trying to take in the scene before him. Two very drunk seamen, holding the slumped form of a gibbering wreck by the upper arms while said seaman were gabbling about injustice and revenge. I nodded to the mate and making gestures with both eyebrows and hands ,said ?Chief the lads have held a kangaroo court and have sentenced the Chief steward to death ,they?re going to hang him now? The Mate ,being more than quick on the uptake ,said ?Very good lads..but leave it until the morning and then we can all watch? closing his door as he said so. Joe and Nick let the Steward drop, hitting the deck with his forehead ,and ran aft to tell the lads the good news.
There was cheering all round and then they gradually drifted off to their bunks.

As day broke over Buenaventura ,bodies emerged from cabins to greet the morning sun. All was silent down aft, the hatchway was littered with empty bottles and the noose hung lazily from the mast table. The Mate called down from the prom deck, ?Daley ,get the deck crowd up here now? beside him stood the Captain ,Purser and Chief Steward.
They were a sorry looking bunch when I rounded them up, death warmed up. Groaning and muttering ,they shambled their way up to the prom deck. There, the mate made them stand in a line and ,surprisingly ,did not read the riot act, but instead started off by saying that what had happened the night before must have some deep and underlying reason,that he had never in all his days at sea witnessed such a thing and he wanted to know why it had happened.
This is just a bald summary of what he said and ,while he was saying it, you could see that the Steward was far from happy with what he was saying. He wanted blood ,and he looked like he was?nt going to get it. ?Orl right? said the Mate ? What?s yer beef, why did yer try an? ang?im?? he said jerking his thumb toward the steward. Silence?.?C?mon, yer don?t go toppin? a man fer nuthin?, what?? The men shuffled uncomfortably, shivering in the cold morning light. The Captain squeaked ?Some of you could got to jail for this ? and the Steward smiled gleefully, ?Now tell us why you did this terrible thing ? Joe stepped forward, his voice choking with fear ??E won?t sell us any yankee fags ? he said ,nodding toward the steward. That was enough for the dam to break and other lads started to tell of the short rations ,the lack of cutlery , the cups and crockery and the way that the food was dished up.
The purser was writing like fury getting down all the contributions and the steward was looking very angry ,he was not going to get any revenge here. We were dismissed and shortly afterwards were notified that we would be going to be put on to Board of Trade rations. This meant that each man would collect from the Steward his daily allowance of food ,meat ,flour ,sugar salt etc.etc., which we would then give to the cook for preparing our meals. We soon had a surplus of dry goods which we kept in our cabins, some guys had a regular little grocery store before long. But that was in the weeks ahead. We now had to leave Equador and sail to the most corrupt port in the Americas ,Guayaquil.
The Officers in P.S.N.C. had diagonal gold braid stripes on their sleeves ,different from all other officers in the British Merchant Navy, this was a legacy of some period in Chile?s history when the company assisted Chile in the fight for liberation from Spain,as thanks Chile made all officers of the company honorary members of the Chilean Navy. Honorary does not mean that a person so titled is honorable. Far from it ,we witnessed the smuggling activities which the officers were engaged in ,and on such a large scale too. The Colombian government had outlawed the importation of all Yardley cosmetics in to that country. Number 4 hatch was full of Yardley products ,specifically for the Colombian market. This was the booty of the officers and they worked hand in glove with the Colombian Police and Customs in smuggling it into the port. It was sold direct to the public ,the police organised the queue of people coming to buy it and the Customs officers oversaw the sale of it in the saloon . The proceeds of the scam being split four ways ,the company ,the officers ,the police and customs. Like pigs in a trough. We ,the men who had to fetch and carry the contraband ,never even got a thank you, in fact ,one of the lads who sold a tin of jam to one of the people in the queue, a tin which was legally part of his rations, was arrested and fined a months wages. The causes of resentment still ran deep.

Peru

?They heaved the log for fifty days,
And on the fifty first,
The greasy cargo went ablaze,
And then the hatches burst.
?Twas man the pumps,all hands to the pumps,
And curse ye as ye go,
A broken ship, a burning ship,
Bound out to Callao?
With Coal to Callao by E.J.Brady

You enter Callao round the headland of San Lorenzo, the port is well sheltered from the south winds and is old. The place grew up in the time of the square riggers and the stories about are the stuff of legend.
Fiddlers Green ,that name given by sailing shipmen in the days of yore to good Sailortowns ,was a faint shadow of its former self. The fabled **** Street, the Calle Marina ,was depleted of the many bars and bag shanties that had lined its thoroughfare, now there were a few neon lit bars, wild ,but not so wild as yesteryear and Jack ashore could still get his drink ,his women and a fight or two if he was so minded.
Terry ,Eddy and I ,went ashore a few times, we got plenty of the first two items on our list ,but being congenital cowards, we did?nt go looking for the third. I was struck at just how different this part of the world was, so far ,my ports had been dominated by British shipping, here there were Yankee ships aplenty, form both the west and east coasts. The German ensign was much in evidence too, whenever we saw a fight it was usually some English and German lads replaying world war two. I can only remember a few bar names ,Smokey Joes , The London Bar, the Cape Horn and some whose names are gone from my memory. In one of the bars there some quotations on the walls ,one read ? A woman is only a woman ,but a good cigarette is a smoke ?Anon ,and another was ?There a three kinds of men, the living ,the dead??and those who go to sea? Homer. On board our ship things were still a bit fraught , Nick was proving to be a bit of a pain, he was drunk most of the time and was becoming more aggressive with it. He would roar and rant when in his cups and spoke very offensively about his wife and daughter. Now we were not easily offended individuals, we?d all done our bit of dallying around the seedy parts of town ,blue jokes and four letter words were part of vocabulary, but we never thought it right that a man should describe his wifes sexual attributes or express desires for deflowering his daughter. Although we were repelled by his chatter ,none of us were brave enough to tackle him. It was in Callao that he and his cabinmate Jock went on their biggest bender.
They started it on Friday night ,going from bar to bar, they were not merry, they were on a serious drunk, morose ,dead eyed they sank spirits and beer like it was going out of fashion. We steered well clear of them , come Saturday morning ,Nick staggered aboard and collected an armful of his clothes and went back ashore. Around teatime ,Jock came rolling aboard, eyes out of focus ,grey faced and staggering. He disappeared down to his cabin and got into his bunk where he went into a dead sleep. Nick came back aboard around
8.00p.m. and he was clad only in his vest and dungarees. He had flogged all his clothes for booze. He tried borrowing money off the rest of us but we made ourselves scarce as he was in a belligerent mood
We saw him going down the gang way wearing Jocks best brown suit ,carrying some more clothes over his arm.
We went down to the bars shortly after and had ourselves a good time.
Next morning ,a very shaky Jock came into the mess room, he was all of a jitter, spilling his tea as tried to raise it to his lips. He asked us if we knew when he had got back and was amazed to learn that he had been asleep for 12 hours,he told us that Nick was flaked out starkers on his bunk, he could?nt rouse him so he?d left him snoring. He then said that he could?nt recall ever being as drunk as he must have been on Saturday. ? I cannae unnerston? it , Ah?ve nivver shat mesel? before, nivver. But ye ken it?s awfie strange ,ah nivver shat in ma Y fronts? We left him to puzzle that one out himself.

We left Callao a little while later ,heading out into the enormous swells that roll in from the west of the Pacific. Sailing down the western coast you see a constant line of birds heading south, birds in their millions , the source of Chile?s great wealth ; these are the birds who nest on the rocks of Chiles coast ,their droppings ,eons old forming the guano from which nitrate is obtained. From dawn to dusk the parade is unending, after a while you don?t bother looking ,they are always there .
We called in to Mollendo further down the Peruvian coast and there we loaded a little German circus that was going to Valparaiso in Chile. The wharfies had a hell of task on their hands with the lone elephant ; old Jumbo did not like the idea of going into a crate and just kicked off his chain and with a loud trumpet went bowling down the wharf. There was panic amongst the dockers and the mahout was sticking that goad into Jumbo but that just made him all the madder. We all lined the bulwarks roaring encouragement to Jumbo and then the armed police arrived. You could see them pale with fright as the elephant ran toward their white helmeted forms , they fled and gradually Jumbo was enticed with fresh greens and fruits . You can see him being loaded aboard below. We also took on some Bactrian camels , a few Dromedarys ,lions ,horses and performing dogs ,plus the performers. Jumbo was kept in his crate on the starboard side of the afterdeck and the lions were stored opposite him ,the camels and horses were put in stalls on the port side. And the dogs were kennelled at the foot of the aftermast.
Going on the amidships was hazardous , if you went via jJumbo and Lions ,he would try grabbing you with his trunk and they would snarl and roar as they tried to paw you through their cages.
It was a little better the other side ,save for the camels spitting their slobber at you.
They were going to be with us for quite awhile so we had to get used to them.

Our journey down the coast took us into a really godforsaken little place called Puerto do Ilo, it was a brown town set against a backdrop of bare brown mountains. It was a copper port , we were still unloading ,it was a very uninviting place and no one ventured ashore.
As we sailed along the animals were kept secure in the cages ,all except for the performing dogs, mostly poodles, they were trained in a way that made you want to hit the trainer. They were all dogs ,no *****es ,and to get them to walk on their hind legs ,the trainer had a steel tipped bamboo cane, very thin and springy, and if a dog failed to walk so many steps ,or wavered, he would flick the cane at its testicles. The sounds of the little dogs yelps of pain used to go right through. I cannot look at performing dogs to this day, it was very cruel.

We passed into Chilean waters when we sailed past Arica, there you could see a huge flag ,visible from well offshore .It was mounted atop the highest mountain and was flown in memory of the last great war between the Southern Nations, we did?nt go into the port ,our next destination was Antofagasta, this was another port I gave a miss to ,but only because I was saving my money for Valparaiso. Terry went ashore , as did Jock and Nick, the terrible two came back ,blotto as usual ,Terry did?nt ; we sailed without him and the bosun said that he would be taken to Valpo by the police and it would cost him a months wages because P.S.N.C. had an agreement with the Chilean police .
As we docked in Valpo ,the dockers swarmed aboard as we were still tying up. I was on the winch on the poop hauling in the stern rope and I was watching as the dockers started to lift a lions cage on our derricks . I noticed what I thought was a splash of white paint on the black goose neck of the port derrick and wondered how someone could have dripped white paint on to it. As the lions cage lifted higher ,the ?paint ? splash widened ,and then light dawned upon me ,the goose neck was cracking open and I was seeing bright steel. I screamed to the second mate ?The derricks going to fall ? and he yelled for the dockers to stop . They did just that and the docker who was sitting beneath the goose neck looked up and shouted something in Spanish and within seconds there was?nt a Chilean docker on that ship, they had vamoosed down the gangway ,leaving the lion suspended in mid air. We made fast the ship and then went to the derrick and lowered the cage to the deck V e r y , V e r y c a r e f u l l y. I can still recall the tension today ,if that derrick collapsed ,the cage would fall ,crack open and ,well you can imagine it yourself.
I have hazy reflections of Valpo, I can remember it was cold and wet, old Tommy spent the time there with his family . Terry had come back under his own steam and was waiting for us ,he had paid a driver to bring him from Antofagasta. No police were involved, but the captain fined him a months wages anyway. One more resentment added to the growing mountain.
The three of us spent our time there drinking and womanising ,but that fine had taken the gloss off thing.
On top of all that Nick and Jock got totally palatic, they had to be dragged back aboard and were unconscious for almost 24 hours. We altered the calender and , when they resurfaced ,we were back at sea, and we let them think they had been out of it for three days. It shocked Jock but Nick was a basket case.
We heading north now ,all the joy had gone out of the trip, we could?nt wait to get home. Terry started training me to take my EDH?s ticket when we got back. Night times and Sundays we would be practising my wire splices and rigging three fold blocks, I learned to do a Turks head and a monkeys fist. When we got home I was going to take the ticket then we would have a week at a holiday camp. Terry reckoned it was fabulous for getting the girls. So ,with something to look forward the homeward run took on a different tenor.
One of our last homeward ports on the coast was a place called Pieta, a town named after the Virgin mourning for her crucified son,it looked like a hole! We anchored off and the mate thought it was a good place to paint the ships side , he was wrong of course. The great Pacific rollers caused us to roll more than somewhat, somehow had Nick ,Kenny ,Joe and some others had purchased some neat Pietan rum from the guys off the lighters,with the result that a lot of guys got on to the painting stages in a very drunken state. We started at the bow ,three stages in a line , bowsed in by a wire rope ,the rake had us at an angle of almost twenty degrees, daft ,drunken Joe was in charge of the bowsing lime and it was slacked off and tightened erratically ,his head bobbing over the side as he asked drunkenly if we were okay. We were anything but okay,this was the days before Health and Safety regulations,no safety harnesses here, just a plank of wood ,some old gantlines and a drunk in charge of your safety. As we lowered ourselves down the rake became greater and we needed bowsing tighter. She had swung into the rollers now and was pitching alarmingly. Trying to stand up and use a paint roller on a striker was very difficult but the mate insisted that we finish the job . The bowsing line was slacking and we yelled to Joe to tighten up ,he did ,oh how he did . The wire became taut and then started to bite into the paintwork, it stared singing hat awful song that precedes a break , we were bowsed in at an angle of 30 degrees when CracK!! The wire parted and we were sent flying ,luckily we had been warned by the sound and we all held to the falls . We lost the rollers and trays the paint sprayed everywhere and we said ?Enough? we swarmed up those ropes and told the bosun in no uncertain terms what the mate could do with his bow. I went back to our cabin and got stuck into a bottle of rum.
Panama was passed through and we were into the Atlantic , we should be home in a fortnight ,the weather was fine , I had a holiday to look forward after taking my ticket ,we soon be off this bucket.
The best laid plans often go astray, as we came within spitting distance of England ,we were given the news that there was a major dock strike , we would?nt be going to Liverpool but to Antwerp instead. Great ,just bloody great, our plans started to melt away ,when would we we get Home?

To Hull and Back

It was misgivings that we sailed into Antwerp,instead of paying off in the morning we were going to be here for an indeterminate time. Our Butlins adventure was looking well and truly scuppered. Still ,Antwerp was a lively old sailortown,could have some fun here. As soon as we were able ,Terry ,Eddy and I headed off down to Skipper Street to have a couple of jars and a gander round the bars. We hove to in Dannys? Bar, that place where Bootsie ,Billo and me had the shock of our lives. I was a little bit older now and a lot less innocent, those ?girls? in Dannys would?nt bother me none , live and let live was my motto. As the three of us sat quaffing there ,we were joined by a tall blonde ?lady? ,?she? was very pretty and she had eyes only for Terry. Eddy and I were having a s****** because we did?nt think Terry realised that ?she? was really a ?he?.
They had a couple of smoochy dances ,chewing the faces off each other and when Terry sat down next to me I told him about he/she. ?Ah knaw? he said in broad Yorkshire ?But she awreet? We did?nt want to leave him there ,nor did we wish to stay ,so I kept on dropping hints that it was time to go and see some real women. Terry was oblivious to our concerns and they sat holding hands and cuddling. ?She? kept on calling me a spoilsport, saying that she and Terry were O.K. and only wanted a bit of fun. At length I got up to go and leave them to it when ?She? called out something to Danny behind the bar , he laughed and then called me over. ?You ?ave some drinks on the house ?he giggled girlishly. He poured two glasses of Stella and told me to take them to Terry and Eddy, ?You come back for your drink dahlink? he laughed. When I got back to the bar I found he had poured me a liqueur, ?Is very special?, he smiled handing it to me. ?drink quickly for best taste ? he said. I knocked it back and it slid down my throat like a Drambuie ,and I slid down the bar to the floor. I was conscious ,but I had lost the use of my limbs and could?nt speak or see. I could hear the howls of laughter from the ?girls? and felt myself being grabbed by the arms and legs and being carried. I was terrified,my body,eyes and voice were useless . I could hear Terry and Eddy laughing that I had been ?Mickeyed? and there were other voices too. I felt myself being carried up some stairs and placed on a bed and some got into bed beside me. I frozen stiff with fear as to what was to happen but I soon slipped into a deep slumber. I was awakened by movement in the room and found that I could see and speak, my head felt as though it had been hit with a ten pound hammer and I found that I was still fully dressed. Beside me lay one of the ?ladies? from the bar, I shook him roughly ,wanting to know what had happened to me and he looked a little afraid. He shook his head ?Nothing happen to you? he said, ?Your fren? he make love with my fren? ? I felt sick and tired as it was but I near threw up when I heard that. I shouted for Terry and Eddy and they appeared from different rooms ,both looking shamefaced. We walked back to town to get some breakfast and I was angry with them both for letting that happen to me but they both pleaded innocence.
We went back aboard to change and show our faces and then returned to the old town. We found a bar that was not full of *****s ,gays or sharks and settled there for a few drinks ,there was a billiard table and a juke box that the latest American records and the two most beautiful barmaids ever. The bar was owned by their father and he presided over things from a high backed chair at the back of the bar. One girl was blonde and Nordic looking and the other was dark and looked very Gallic. I chatted up the blonde and Terry the brunette, poor old Eddy was playing gooseberry but did?nt seem to mind. We spent the next two days with the girls, nothing untoward happened, they were just sweet girls who had never met English sailors before ,they were good company and seemed to like us too.
I got to liking my girl so much that I did?nt want to leave Antwerp ,and thus was born the idea of jumping ship. I had never thought of doing anything like that before, but Terry was a persuasive so and so. He said that if we pretended to miss the ship ,with proof that we had missed it ,the British consul would send us home by ferry.
It?s amazing what you will believe when you are half cut. The Kenuta was due to sail that night at 11.00p.m. ,Terrys plan was that we would take a taxi back to the dock after midnight, the taxi driver would then have to take us to the Consulate and he would affirm our story that we had tried to get to the ship. We would?nt be sent back straight away and could thus spend some more time with our girls. It seemed a great plan after half a dozen Stella. So there we where after midnight ,riding in a taxi ,which none of us had the fare for, on the way back to an empty berth. When we got back to the dock ,there she was, still unloading ,not remotely ready to sail. What do we do now? RUN!! The thing was ,the driver was faster than us ,he was hot on our heels and threatened to call the police if he did?nt get his fare . Terry practically kicked down the pursers door and demanded some money to pay the driver, I think the purser thought he might be candidate for hanging for he thrust a wad of money at Terry and the cab driver went away happy. We went tour beds and grabbed a bit of shuteye. Come morning the three of us were taken , separately, into the Captains cabin . The Captain ,the Mate .the Purser and Chief Electrician were there sat like judges at a court martial. We had been adrift three days , during the drift I had apparently met the mate and had been very abusive , calling him a series of foul names ,something that I had absolutely no recollection of, upon our return we had offered violence to the purser and practically robbed .him.
I could see me ending up in Walton Jail, was my sea career coming to an end here. My head was hanging in shame as the offences were read out, I had no defence, excepting for the abuse at the mate ,everything was true. How the hell was I going to explain this to my parents?. A mixture of thoughts were swirling around in my head as I stood there ,and then I became aware of what the captain was now saying to me, ?In view of your being one of the few crewmen who were able to get the ship out of port in Havana ,that and the action you took in Buenaventura in saving the Chief Steward an injury ,or worse, we have decided that you will be logged a pound. Nevertheless you must not think that we condone what you have done, consider yourself lucky boy!?
So they were human after all!
Terry and Eddy were not so lucky though ,they were logged and fined ,heavily.
We still were?nt going to Liverpool though, we were going to Hull. I was past caring where she went to be honest, I realised that I had been very lucky and just wanted to get home without any blemishes in my discharge book.
Hull has a lot in common with Liverpool, its people do not think of themselves as Yorkshiremen as we Liverpudlians never think of ourselves as Lancashiremen. They have a great seagoing tradition and her waterfront in some ways resembles ours ,with its domed Customs House and cobbled dock road. The dockers worked differently to anywhere else that I had been to, instead of using the wire runners on our derricks they used ropes ,or warps as they called them. Whereas our runners were on the drum of a winch , secured by a shackle, their warp was on the drum end and the winch was left running constantly ,they would throw a few turns of rope on the drum when they wanted to lift and throw it off when waiting for the next lift. Whether it was better I could?nt say.
We were going to pay of in Hull ,but not yet, we had to stay with her for another three days .Terry suggested that I take my EDH?s ticket while we were in Hull, you sat your exam and got your ticket immediately ,if you passed. I saw the captain and he agreed to let me have a go , the mate and purser made all the arrangements and at ten o?clock next morning I was down at the training school in Hull to see if I could cut it. There was an examination of young officers taking their second mates tickets in progress when I got there. Yhe examiner came out of that class and gave me a piece of wire rope ,?Put an eye in that ? he said disappearing back into the classroom . There were marlin spikes and rope yarns so I got stuck and then he was back again ,he took me to a model derrick on which there was a three fold block, there was another laying beside it and some cord .?rig that up? was all he said ,When he came back he stayed and took me through bends and hitches ,all the while throwing questions at random, pretty soon two hours had passed when he shook my hands and then signed my ticket.
I went back to the ship feeling like a million dollars. That night we all went to the Sportsmans pub and had a good old session. Whilst we were drinking two very Italian looking girls came and sat beside us . They were very outgoing and asked if we would like to go to an orgy. I had never been asked that question before ,it is something nearly every young sailor dreams of . ?Would I like to go to an orgy? Do donkeys eat carrots?? Their language was saltier than any sailors, and then they brought out some photographs ,they were box Brownie black and whites and were far raunchier than any you would buy in Port Said. Remember this was 1960 a long time before pornography was freely available. And here were these two women showing us the most graphic pictures imaginable of their last orgy. Turned out they were professionals and our interest soon waned. We were tipped out at closing time and made our merry way back to our ship ,this was the very last night aboard .
We were nearly home ,no more shocks or escapades ,pay off in the morning ,back home in Kirkby at tea time.
But there were still a few surprises before then .
When we got back aboard we found a full scale party going on in the stewards quarters ,Eddy took me and Terry down there to have a few drinks before turning in . While I was sitting having a sup ,one of the stewards whispered that my cabinmate was spark out in the bakers bunk and it did?nt look good., I shot round there and found Kenny being attended to by the Baker. Kenny was?nt conscious enough to know what was going on and the Baker was mightily upset when I ripped him off Kennys? sleeping form. Eddy helped me drag Kenny away. When I got back to the stewards alleyway, Eddy pulled me into his cabin and asked me to do him !!! I thought he was joking and goosed him ,but the look on his face was something awful ,he was serious! It fell into place ,it was always him who was without a girl,he did?nt fancy them ,he fancied me!!!

Paying off was an anti climax after all that, D.R.?s ,the worst thing a seaman can be given in his discharge book, were given to all the offenders in Buenoventura , very few of us escaped with the two V.G.?s that are expected every trip. I did?nt have much cash to pick up and so it was going to be a short leave.
So ,I left the Kenuta on the 13th of October 1960, kitbag and suitcase in hand ,I made my way to Hull Station to catch the train to Liverpool. As I was walking toward the station ,in my best bib and tucker ,I was nearing the station approaches when I heard ?Cooee, now Brian, don?t you want to know us? There, at the end of the street stood the two orgeists? .I froze, and then shot into the Kardomah. Caf?. It was filled with ladies doing lunch,all flowery hats and pastel coloured frocks. I cowered at the back hoping they had?nt seen me . They came through the door pointing and laughing raucously ?There?s the dirty little f++++r ? one shouted and a hundred saucers rattled. I wanted to fall through the floor as they came and sat beside me, ? Yer still want to go to bed wi? us dirty a**e?? they crowed. They were playing to the audience and the audience were riveted to the spot. I crept out of there with my ears burning and my face red with shame. What a way to end a trip.

A Different Kind of Leave

I met Terry at the station in Hull after escaping the clutches of those two Harpies in the Kardomah.
The holiday we had hoped to have in Butlins had now disappeared over the horizon and Mum had agreed that Terry could stay with us at home with me for the leave period.
I did?nt know what kind of a reception Terry would receive at home , black was a colour little seen in Kirkby in those days, my parents were no different from any other working class people and colour had never been an issue in our house.
My worries were needless, the whole family welcomed him with open arms and as soon as we had unpacked Dad took us both to the Railway pub for a drink. The regulars were taken a little aback when he walked in but within minutes he was the centre of attraction. His Yorkshire accent and ready wit won most of the people over within a few minutes .When we got back home ,Mum had supper ready and then she and Terry retired to the kitchen to talk about financial affairs, he was going to pay his way. He would have been staying in the Sailors Home or Gordon Smiths and it had been Mums idea to invite him to stay with us as a lodger .Terry was all for it, three square a day, laundry thrown in and a family to stay with, he was all for it. As for Terrys? own family, well details were a bit sketchy ,he had mentioned that his Dad was ?Sarf American? but never spoke of his mum or other kin .Home was Bradford but other than that I never knew ,or had needed to know. We spent most of our time drinking and dancing, the Locarno and Grafton became our favourite haunts and Terry was a hit with the girls. We went home from a different direction every night. Never made any dates, just one night stands. After the first few days Terry announced that he wanted me to go to Bradford with him to meet his Dad and family, this surprised me because he had never spoken more than a few words about him before then. So it was back to Yorkshire ,we took a couple of days clean clothing and our toilet bags ,we were not going to be too long . Bradford was a revelation to me, a smoky mill town full of Victorian buildings. The woollen mills were working at full blast and most of the millworkers were from Pakistan. This was in the days before full immigration was allowed and the immigrant population was mostly male. Terry took me to a Pakistani boarding house, we were staying there and not with his family, the place was clean but very Spartan, two single beds and a sink, there was a shared bathroom on the landing. Terry had brought his transistor radio and that was our sole form of entertainment.
When we had stowed our gear Terry took us to see his Dad, he was a wiry little Jamaican, his bedsit was very poorly furnished and his sole possession ,apart from the few sticks of furniture was an old black and white T.V. set. I was really embarrassed when I discovered that the purpose of our visit was to divest his father of that ,Terry had bought it for him on a previous leave and was going to take it away so that he could give it to his elder brother, one I was hearing about for the first time. After a short and bitter conversation ,Terry pulled the plug and we left the house with the t.v. set. My mind was becoming very confused, this guy had been kindness itself at sea ,taught me more than anyone else about seamanship and had helped me take my ticket. Money had never been problem ,he had been generous as hell, but here he was taking away this old cripples only form of entertainment. He must have seen my confusion and, by way of an explanation ,told me that his dad had been extremely cruel to him and his brother ? it was no more the ?e deserved? The brother ,who shall remain nameless ,was of a lighter skin colour than Terry ,small and stocky ,he lived in a one bedroomed flat with his very pregnant wife. She was due anyday now..He was a regular Andy Capp ,out of work living on benefits and a little bit of larceny. After we dropped off the t.v. Terry took me into town to see the high spots, one of which was Farmer Giles coffee bar ,that was the place to pull nice young ladies and Bradford was full of them. This was in the days before disco?s, juke boxes and coffee was the most you could hope for here ,the bars were for men and the beer was Hammonds, a good strong brew. Two mornings later we made our exit from the boarding house , via the toilet window on the first floor, not my idea ,Terry was a racist! ?Ahm not gonna a gi a Paki any brass mate? was his excuse. I was to learn more of his philosophy later.
Back home ,I was getting a bit short on the money front, we had been hard at it and Terry was earning considerably more than me and I could?nt keep up with his spending rate. We went to the movies ,saw a Cliff Richard musical, embarrassing, Cliff was no Gene Kelly. I had to pass up going to town on Saturday night , I was so stretched for cash that I just could?nt afford it. Terry then had the bright idea of going back to Bradford ,it was cheaper and he had?nt shown me half the things we could do,
Reluctantly, I agreed to go and got a sub off Mum. I was amazed when we went back to the Pakistani boarding house ,the landlord remonstrated with Terry and he smiled back at him and said that he had come to pay what we owed and would be staying for another week. We went to his brothers to see how his wife was getting along ,she was overdue now and then I was taken on a bus journey to Cleckheaton. Having a deep tan at that time of the year was very exotic and in a place like Cleckheaton it made you an object of wonder. Even the clippie on the bus tried to pick me up, I was very flattered when she gave me my change and then leant down and whispered into my ear ?Ahh could do things to you Lad ? I was still young enough to blush. We went to a nice old pub in Cleckheaton,the landlady knew Terry and she made us both very welcome, this was lunchtime and it was?nt very busy and the few regulars crowded around us plying us with questions about ?abroad? They had a genuine curiosity ,?were the skies as blue as they saw at the pictures?, ?was South America full of jungles? ?We acted up to their expectations and stretched the truth a little to make it more colourful . We were well rewarded for our yarns, we never had to put our hands in our pockets at all . One of the things that they were taken with were our stories about American fast food, hot dogs in particular ,they were tickled pink at the thought . The landlady made us promise that we would come back that night, ?let the other folk hear your tales? she said. At seven thirty that night we were back ,the place was packed and our reception was such that you would have thought that we were polar explorers or some such other adventurers. We were sat down at a table that had been reserved for us and , as we were supping our first pint , the landlady came in carrying aloft a big meat plate full of ?hot dogs?, Cleckheaton style. Big fat juicy Yorkshire sausages in soft breadrolls garnished with fried onions,. They were delicious and they vanished in minutes. Next morning we departed from our boarding house in exactly the same manner as before ,via the toilet window. I was?nt proud of doing it ,I was following Terry?s lead. We went round to his brothers flat and he persuaded us to stay the night there ,problem was ,they only had the one bed ,and no settee.!
We went back to Cleckheaton that night and we were told that there was a dance at a pub in Heckmond wike just down the road. Heckmondwike was a farm village then, nice little place and the George was where the ?hop? was taking place. The dance was in what had been the stable in a previous age ,now whitewashed and furnished with tables and benches along the walls ,it had a Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner and a big log fire on the on the far side of the room. The Locarno it was was?nt. All of the village girls sat on one side of the room ,they were pretty girls ,but were dressed in a style all of their own ,still very 1950?s. The music was what was in the current hit parade and no one was dancing, I went and asked various girls if they wanted to dance, there were only a dozen or so, and each time I asked I got an embarrassed refusal. A shake of the head , blushing cheeks and a giggle., no ! On my sixth or seventh attempt I asked them if they were all Lesbians (this was pre P.C.) they looked puzzled ,they obviously had?nt heard the word before. I went and sat down , again, and just then a very sophisticated looking young lady came in ,the girls huddled around her, all chattering at once ,glancing at me as they spoke. Another good record came on and I made my way across the floor again .?Anyone want to dance?? I asked ,and half a dozen jumped up to take up my offer. The ice broken, we had a great time ,one of the girls wanted me to take her back to Bradford, she wanted to sleep with me ,in my haste to comply I had forgotten about the sleeping arrangements. When we got to the flat she was devastated and asked to be taken home. Not an easy thing to do when the buses have stopped and you haven?t got a car or the taxi fare . Terrys brother said not to worry as he would sort the problem and promptly disappeared, He was back pretty soon and took the young lady ,his wife and me down to an old Jowett Bradford van that had been converted to an estate. I was impressed ,unemployed and a car owner. We set off for Heckmondwike at great speed, the brothers driving seemed somewhat erratic, traffic lights were ignored and roundabouts were negotiated by driving over them . It became increasingly clear that this guy was both drunk and a non driver. Luckily for us all we dropped the girl off at her farm and made it back to Bradford alive. I asked him, when fear had relaxed its grip on my throat, how long he had owned he car. ?Oh it?s not mine , I nicked it just before? Thank god we were home when I asked that question. Terry was waiting for us at the flat when we got back ,he had had his wicked way with one of the other farm girls. It was now the early hours of the morning and my body was wanting to sleep ,but where, the unasked question was answered by the brother when he motioned for us to join him and his wife in their double bed .He and his wife were to sleep at the top of the bed and Terry and I slept at the bottom .
It was gruesome, neither of them wore any nightwear and I spent most of the night finding my feet in places where feet should?nt ought to go.

After a very restless night ,we departed for home and I slept for most of the train journey, my relationship with Terry was under strain, I did?nt like the way we had been behaving and I did?nt like the wayhe treated his Dad. On top of that I found that his brother was a housebreaker and that they both enjoyed a bit of ?Paki bashing? But Terry also had a charm about him that could disarm most people. When we got back to the ?Pool ,we went and saw that nice Mr Repp down at the shipping federation and he sorted us out a couple of berths on the Swan River ,one of Houlders ,we would be joining her in two days time. Our last night at home was a Wednesday and we decided to go to the Locarno, midweek dances were nearly always ?grab a Granny nights? but this was promising to be different ;the posters stated that it was to be a ?carnival night? with extended opening hours. So in we went with the greatest of high hopes?.it was still a grab a granny night ,most of the women were older than us ,some of them middle aged and most of the men were either lounge lizards or Mr Lonelys. We managed to find two young ?unhappily? married women ,or so they said . We had a good time because they were very good dancers and offered us both a promising end to the night. The place started to empty around about 10-30 p.m. and the floor began to take on deserted appearance, Terry insisted that we must keep dancing otherwise the band would go home as well . Come 11.00 we were the only people left ,some of the musicians had left and some were playing in their overcoats. Giant sized hints were being dropped that it was time to go but Terry steadfastly ignored them .?We?ve paid to stay late and we bloody well will? he said. The bouncers made a circle around our table and the band was just vamping ,it really was time to go but the Lad was not having it. At length ,one of the biggest bouncers growled ?D?ja like ?ospital food mate,?cos if yew don?t shift yer bleedin? arse that?s wot you?ll be ?avin? termorrer? The girls were frightened now and I stood up ?C?mon stop acting the prat mate, these girls have got a home to go to?
We left rather hurriedly and saw the ladies to their houses before spending the last few hours at home.

Next morning ,as Mum was kissing me goodbye ,she asked me if Terry had given me any money ,I asked her why and she told me that she had said to Terry that she did?nt want any money off him but that he should give that money to me so that I could keep up with him. Terry had been giving me a few pounds ,purely as a loan he said.
We began our voyage on the Swan River as ex-friends.

awww Brian.. another good tale of your youth.. ...

Funny how we really try and like some people.. thinking them such charismatic and good friends.. and then,after a bit of time, ones friendship becomes foiled by their cunning deceipt..

Their loss.. yet, do they ever understand the meaning?

waiting for another story Brian.. :handclap:

Down Argentina Way

Old Charley Repp must have been in a good mood on Bonfire day for he gave us a good berth on Motor Vessel Swan River. She was one of the Houlder Line ships and was making her second trip to
the west coast of South America .I could barely contain my excitement , a practically new ship and going to somewhere I had always wanted to visit.
We sailed shortly after signing on ,which suited me fine, it was single berth accommodation and each cabin was well furnished, we had a writing desk with a swivel chair ,proper wardrobe and plenty of drawer, a day bed and a good bunk with a spring interior mattress. There was also a sink, the first I had ever seen outside of officer territory. The toilet block had a wet weather room attached to it ,we had lockers in there in which we could keep our work clothes and heavy weather gear. Each locker had a heavy duty padlock which was painted in armorial colours and we each had key rings on which there was a tag painted with the same colours. This was a step up in the world after the Kenuta. The sailors mess was fitted out in melamine and was softly coloured . We hoped the food would live up to the rest of things.
The crew were a good mix it seemed, Terry was there of course but I was keeping my distance from him, I was a first trip E.D.H and was the youngest of the senior ratings, the others I remember were Teddy Woods from Kirkby, Eddy Clark and his brother in law Alec McNab, Taffy ,another E.D.H. a bit older than me ,he was a tankerman making his first trip on a cargo boat. There was Old Taffy, a middle aged balding guy with a terrible comb over, and there was Mr X , a weirdo ,middle aged he looked like a psycho and ,as events were to prove ,was deserving of that sobriquet.
The bosun was a big bluff man from Hull, he was in his 50?s and was very even tempered. We seemed set fair to have a decent trip, if anything ,I was the seemingly unsociable one , my unwillingness to expand on my relationship with Terry marked me out as a no mark and ,when we got to Cardiff ,my refusal to join the lads on a run ashore because Terry was with them, marked my book even more. I was?nt going to tell tales out of school ,they would have to take Terry as they found him. I did?nt stop aboard ,far from it with Alan ,another E.D.H. ,we made our way to the town centre to see what was going on, it was a market day and the centre was fairly busy, pubs were full of farmers who had come down from the hills ,after a couple of pints we made our way to the Mecca ballroom. That, too was crowded and most of the girls had partners, there were hardly any spare girls, but I wanted to dance . There was a very pretty lady sitting with her partner and she was looking wistfully at the dancers, I stepped forward and asked if she would like to dance, she looked at her partner questioningly and he smiled and nodded his assent and we took to the floor. She was a marvellous dancer, responsive to my every movement. As we glided around the floor I could not help but notice the wedding and engagement rings on her finger and I asked her if she was with her husband ? Oh yes!? she smiled ?He brings me here every market day; can?t dance for toffee,but ?e likes to watch me at the dancin? boyo? I spent the rest of the night with them, her husband was a sheep farmer and they had a couple of young children , they were still very much in love and he was?nt jealous of her dancing with other men ?Warms ?er up for me later boy? he laughed.
I walked back to the ship alone ,but I had had a good time.
When I got back, Old Taff was in the mess room having a cocoa, he was looking flustered , I asked if if he was O.K. and he said that he had nearly been arrested. I asked him why and he replied that he had gone up to the house where his first wife lived to see if there was any chance of a bit of nookey. When she opened the door to him she screamed or help and the neighbours piled out of their doors to see what was up. She was shouting for them to call the police, apparently he was about 5 years behind with his alimony payments. I was to learn that old Taff was a prodigious story teller.
We headed for Las Palmas after leaving South Wales ,just prior to leaving we picked up a passenger, a tall distinguished looking gent , looked like a colonel, clipped moustache, tweed cap and jacket ,cavalry twill trousers and expensive looking brogues. The captains wife joined us there too , she was a bit like the Queen Mother ,gracious and always friendly ,her husband Captain Potts was one of the best masters it had been my pleasure to sail with.
During the trip across to the Canaries I got to know some of the lads better , they were beginning to realise that I was?nt as bad as they first thought, I just did?nt want to open up about Terry. I had in the meanwhile made friends with the baker and a couple of stewards who were in my age bracket. There was a little fireman from Kirkby ,Bonzo was his nickname , of indeterminate age, he had great big saucer eyes set in a thin sallow face with a mouth that had hardly a tooth in it. His clothes were three or four sizes too big for him which made him look like a cartoon character, he seemed to take a shine to me though and there was never an unkind word that ever left his lips.
We went ashore in a big group in Las Palmas, it felt great to be in such company , not rowdy or drunk yet!!!
As we were strolling along past the bars I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of one of my uncles sitting at the bar. I was stunned, I had known him all my life but had never learned that he was a seaman. He got the bigger shock when I walked over to him ,(he had?nt recognised me yet ), and
tapped him on the shoulder saying ?Hullo, uncle Matty? He nearly fell off his chair ,turns out he was down below on the Reina Del Mar. It was a very happy reunion and provided my Dads family with a topic of conversation for many years .
Soon we were sailing westward to Uruguay, the sea was fairly rough all the way across but the Swan River was a good vessel, she rode out those storms with equanimity, nothing untoward occurred all the way across. Our passenger used to like standing on the wing of the bridge watching the waves hurtle towards us like a charge of white horses.
Soon we were entering the River Plate, on our way to Montevideo, I?ve always thought that a wonderful name, where the famous battle took place between the German pocket battleship Graf Spee and the British cruisers HMS Ajax, HMS Exeter and HMS Achilles ,which was part of the Royal New Zealand Navy. It was not too long since I had read the story and I was thrilled to be actually there where it all happened.
I was surprised at how European Uruguay looked, the docks looked as old as Liverpools? ,but they were cleaner, and there was a statue in the main entrance to the docks, erected in honour of the Trabajadores, a wonderful name for a docker ; I tried to imagine what kind of a statue might be erected in the Gladstone????? I still have?nt succeeded.
Everyone who had done the run before told me to save my money for Buenos Aires across the river ,I did?nt listen , I wanted to see things for myself. What I saw was a sailor town that had once seen better days, the amount of bars and clubs along the side streets told that story, lots of them were closed , there were an awful lot of souvenirs for sale, caps and hat bands ,neckerchiefs and daggers, all purporting to have come from the Graf Spee. This was nearly 29 years after the battle ,it did?nt take much mental arithmetic to work out that they must have had a crew numbering in millions for there to have been so many mementos.
We met up with a crew of a German ship ,.the Cap Norte, a very smart looking vessel , all white with a raked bow and steamlined superstructure, an ocean greyhound. The lads seemed friendly enough and we got by without the third world war breaking out. I slipped away a little while later for I had seen a lady who looked just like Marilyn Monroe, we had a few drinks and a dance or two and then ended up at her place. She was wonderful and we hardly slept a wink.
Next day , as we were preparing to leave, Mrs Potts came looking for me,?Your young lady has come to see you off ?she smiled ,? Go and say goodbye to her? I blushed to my roots, everyone but Mrs Potts knew what the ?young Lady? was, a *****. I made my way along the quayside , and yes ,she did look every inch lady, she a had a blossom in her hair which she took off and gave to me ,she did?nt act like a ***** and my heart warmed to her as she embraced me and whispered ?Adios Muy Amore ? I kissed her goodbye as though she were the love of my life.
The distance between Monte and B.A. is not very great and the river has to be one of the busiest places in South America. There seemed to be a lot of beachcombers in Monte, there were two in particular, English lads who claimed to have missed their ship many moons ago and now got by on the generosity of visiting British vessels. They were fed and watered by us for the whole time we were there, but their outfits were getting a bit threadbare, they were beginning to look like a couple of hobo?s. Another memory that lingers of Monte is the seaplane service, there were a couple of flights a day from there to B.A., it looked like a Sunderland flying boat and I always wish I could have taken that journey. But here we were ,about to sail to the place that had the largest British population in the Southern American continent ,the place of good air ,Buenos Aires.

Buenos Aires

I had heard so many tales about B.A. ,it was reputed to be a place of great contrasts, the city was picturesque ,the women beautiful and the police violent in the extreme. Thus it was with great expectations that we arrived at our berth, you could see the skyscrapers in the distance not quite New York but bigger than anything we had in Liverpool. The dockers were different from elsewhere they had a kind of class system ,the men who did the pulling and hauling were dressed in rough working clothes whilst the winch drivers and talleymen were dressed like small time gangsters. The latter strutted like peacocks and seemed very vain ,but ,as I was discovering ,that was the latino way.
We were going to be here for quite some time and we would have plenty of time to find out about the city ,one of the AB?s was a regular down this way and he gave the low down on the best places to go. He was keen to reacquaint himself with the 2 ?P?s ,porno movies and the Patchanga. I was amazed to learn that there were cinemas that showed porn in much the same way that the Tatler showed newsreels and cartoons non stop and with usherettes and ice cream. I did?nt get to finding out if that were true. I did find out about the Patchanga, it was a very risqu? dance that was all the rage in La Boca ,the older part of town. B.A. is colossal, and diverse, when we left the dock gates to get into town we had to walk up a road lined with the roughest shanties I had yet seen, dwellings made out of every conceivable kind of material, some were constructed out of old oil drums ,opened out and made into sheets and tacked on to wooden frames. They were the good ones, I saw one family that were living beneath an old dining table ,there were pieces of linoleum nailed to the edge of the table and hung down to provide shelter at the sides. A collection of upright refrigerators provided the wall of another house, and all this was in sight of the most opulent dwelling on the other side of the tracks. Poverty ,naturally brought with it other hazards, muggers! You had to be careful not to walk alone down that road ,once clear of it you were pretty safe, across the square from the station and you were into 25 de Mayo and all the bars that lay therein. There were literally dozens of places where Jolly Jack could go to slake his thirst and satisfy his carnal needs. One bar was favoured more than all of the dives though and that was the one run by a lady from Liverpool ,May Sullivan. Her bar was forbidden to the ladies of the night, there you would get a good beer in convivial surroundings .The d?cor owed more to New York than Latin America so it was favourite of Yankee sailors too. Being a young sailor with an itch that needed scratching ,I favoured the dives. I got to meet some beautiful women down there, not the flyblown old hags of yore, but ladies who were chic and wonderful dancers , there was bar after bar full of ladies who could dance and did?nt mind if you were just a kid.
I befriended a lovely lady ,she was a business girl ,but not out to business with me, she alerted me to the perils that could befall a young man in the fantastic old town and she told of the best places to see. Thanks to her I went to the fabulous cemetery where Eva Peron was interred ,the was the Recolecta , a necropolis full of the most ornate tombs in the world, there are streets lined all manner of buildings in which entire dynasties are interred. ,Evitas tomb was almost a place of pilgrimage, the bronze plaques upon its stonework polished bright by many thousands of lips.
Just down from the Recolecta was the American Catholic sailors mission. This was run by a crusty little priest from Boston, he looked like an older version of Hulme Cronin and had a club foot ,upon which he wore a very heavy circular boot. He used to run dances of a weekend and he would get his young female parishioners to volunteer to dance with the Jolly Jacks .
The mission was in a well to do area and his young ladies were well mannered daughters of B.A.?s affluent citizens. They were good to come and dance with what could be a very salty crowd of hairy arsed sailors.
Half way through the dance ,the band would take a break and the young ladies would serve soft drinks and cakes, strictly no alcohol!
One night the refreshments were being served when a youing lady squealed ,dropped her tray and rushed fro the room to the kitchen. Raucous laughter could be heard coming from a table where there sat a crowd off another English ship.. Next thing we knew was the peppery little priest was clumping across the stage carrying a baseball bat. Trembling with rage, he took hold of the microphone and with a voice choking with emotion he said ?If I find the man who told Miss Rosalba to shove the cakes up her feckin? ass , I ?ll shove this bat right up his feckin?ass!!? As he said it he blushed to his very roots and fled from the stage. The ballroom exploded with laughter, although we all felt sorry for Miss Rosalba.

Back onboard meanwhile, the cargo was being unloaded and the tween decks were cleared in the main hatch, we were given the task of cleaning up after the tween deck was empty. On Saturday ,which was overtime ,and very welcome too ! B.A. was?nt cheap. The whole crowd excepting old Taff turned to, he had gone off Tango?ing down in La Boca. The tween decks was where the strong rooms were situated, there were two sets of heavy duty double leaf doors which were secured by the same kind of padlocks that we had on our work gear lockers. These too had been painted in armorial colours . As we were sweeping up ,Terry said ,to no one in general ?Aye up, that lock is the same pattern as mine look? we smiled indulgently ,Twit ,did?nt he know they were Chubb locks? He got his key out and inserted it in the padlock, ?Click?!! It opened and you could hear the gasp of indrawn breath as the ten of us looked at the store of treasure stacked inside. Whisky???..tons of whisky. Johnnie Walker ,Glen Grant, Teachers, you name it, it was there.
The genie was well and truly out of the bottle.,this was?nt for drinking, this was given us by the gods ,this was our ticket for a fantastic time in B.A.
But how to do it? How d?you get the cargo up and ashore whilst the bosun ,the Talleyman and the police are all on watch?
With a little bit of graft and deception that?s how. The ringleaders, who shall remain nameless, went off to the bars to negotiate a deal ,they were back after lunch and told of how many cases would be required. My mind was racing ,how do we get the cases out of the hatch? Answer, you don?t ,you get the bottles out of the hatch. How do you stop the bosun seeing what we are up to,answer,you fill a carboy with whiskey and give it to him, he was off his head for a week. The polieman and Talleyman? You give them a percentage! We worked feverishly for the rest of the day, we smashed the boxes and filled cargo slings with the bottles and covered them with rubbish ,once the sling was on deck we took it down aft and the bottles were stored in our cabins ready for shipment ashore under the cover of darkness. The Talleyman and policeman stood rooted to their respective spots ,never once moving their heads ,one looking out to sea ,the other looking at the quay ,he must have counted every brick in the dock wall.
The strong room was emptied of everything but a crate of Benedictine, and by teatime Saturday we were all dockside millionaires.
We hit that town ,each in our own individual way ,and painted it red ,blue .yellow ??all the colours of the rainbow. Come Monday morning and time for the strong rooms to be un
unloaded of their expensive cargo ,there was general consternation on the upper decks ?Whodunnit?? They never figured it out ,the police were not called for had?nt there been a policeman on duty that very day, had?nt the Talleyman been present? Captain Potts put the case of Benedictine on top of the hatchway, nobody touched it ,He knew that we knew he knew ,but he did?nt know how.

Having the extra cash in my pocket I decided to go up town, it was really chic ,the main shopping street was just like Kensington ,in fact there was a Dunhill shop and a Harrods too ,very posh. It felt very cosmopolitan, pavement cafes ,theatres ,cinemas and nice restaurants too. Beef restaurants , the place was a carnivores delight, they had Asado?s these were restaurants which had a barbeque shaped rather like a hoopla stall ,the pole in the middle had spits ,like the spokes on an umbrella, whole sides of beef were impaled on these spits and they rotated on their own axis while the pole turned in a clockwork fashion around the booth which had woodburning grille in a circle . It looked like a gigantic vertical rotisserie. When you ordered your bife it was cut direct from the spit. I promise you ,you will never have a better steak. At the other end of the scale there were the small steakhouse were you could get a bife completo for the equivalent of 50p and he there was the Bife Lomo man ,a bit like Mr Whippy ,he had a van in which there was a charcoal stove and you could buy a Bife Lomo, a juicy rump steak with onions enclosed within a French roll ,25p ! No matter how we spent the night ,we always made sure that we had enough change left for a bife supper.

I was asked by one of the bar girls if I would like to take her young sister on a date, I jumped at the chance, she was my age, still at college ,could?nt speak English though .So it was duly arranged the I would meet young Amparo by the Recolecta ,which was not far from where they lived , I had brought a small posy and a box of chocolates in readiness. She was waiting there when I arrived ,blonde haired with pale blue eyes and olive skin ,she was devastatingly lovely. We smiled and shook hands ,where to go? We strolled along the boulevard until we came to a big cinema ,it was dark and the cinema looked inviting so in we went and got a seat in the stalls. The film was Italian with Spanish subtitles ,she liked it ,I know for I spent most of the show peeking at her, I could?nt believe I was out with such a beauty. I sat and held her hand ,afraid of being to forward ,after all I was on trust here. .After the show I walked her back to the foot of her apartment block and gently kissed her good night. Winged feet took me back to the bar. Her sister looked shocked to see me ?You no like Amparo?? she quizzed. ?Yes ,she?s lovely ? I replied. ?Then why you no make love to her?? I goggled at her?What!!? She looked at me as though I were simple. ? I tell Amparo I find nice English boy to take virginity ,and you?????? you loco!? I felt a right fool ,but I never got those signals off Amparo, to me she will always be that nice girl I dated in B.A.

A little while later that night I met a girl who nearly drove me crazy ; I went into a bar down near the station ,it was like a scene from an Edwin Hopper painting, dimly lit , the barkeeper with his head stuck in a book , the juke box playing a song by Carlos Gardel and a girl with hair as black as midnight and eyes to match. One look from her and I was lost.

B.A

Her name was Rosa ,she was dressed in white which showed off her tan wonderfully ,she looked like a dancer ,her taut bust ,slim waist and beautifully curved legs perfect in form. She was sipping mate from a silver capped cup. I sat down in the booth and ordered a drink. She stopped sipping and looked at me quizzically. ?You English?? she asked.
I nodded in reply ,?Where from?? ,I told her. ?You name?? ?Brian? I answered. ?Brian??.what name is this?? she asked. ?My first name? I replied. ?No, is name English ?? ?Yes ,what is your name ?? And little and by degree I got to know Rosa; she was just getting over an affair and was not looking to start another one so we sat and verbally fenced for a while. The barman put a slow dance on the juke box and we stepped onto the floor. Holding her close ,the warmth of her body and her sweet perfume made the moment special and I sank into her. Thus began a time of enchantment , we would meet there everynight , we would dine ,dance and tell each other lies. Up until that moment I had never met anyone who could make so many sparks, I knew she could never be mine, she was from a different class to mine;hers was a world of high powered cars ,speedboats a villa at La Plata and a very rich dad. I just enjoyed being her toy for the time it lasted.

While we were in B.A. old Taff disappeared for the first weekend , when he came back on the Monday morning he regaled us in the messroom with a tale of tango passion. He had gone down the La Boca district and met with a lady of refinement who had a passion for the tango. Old Taff so impressed with his dancing that she took him home for the weekend and they had spent their time in a frenzy of lovemaking and tango. We felt so envious,how could that baldy old B. pull a stunt like that ? We soon found out.
At lunch time ,the two beachcombers who we had helped out in Montevideo came aboard. We were surprised to see them but let them have a meal anyway. When old Taff came into the messroom ,they both greeted him with ?What time did they let you out mate?? Taff blushed deep red and mumbled something. ? ?E told us you was ?ere ? said one of them ? ?E was wiv us shovellin? horse**** in the police barracks all weekend? Poor Taff, he was always getting caught out in his tall tales.

I went for a stroll down to the old docks with Rosa one afternoon and saw something that was right out of a comic book. The dock was like a ships graveyard, the were old warships ,tugs and freighters that were laid up there. Taking up most of the quayfront was an old Dreadnought, it had two huge conning towers ,everything seemed intact, and up there ,50 or so feet above the deck, were floral curtains on the windows and plant pots hanging beneath them.
All the rest of the vessels were occupied in a like manner and plant pots added a splash of colour everywhere. I often wondered if the families living in those tall conning towers had small children for they were reached by the smallest of steel steps set into the mast. But when compared to those poor people living outside the dock gates,these people were well housed.

When we were still in B.A. ,the bosun decided that we should give the masts a coat of paint,it is a job we usually do at sea ,not when we are still discharging cargo. But he was the man in charge of our labours so it was up the mast and painting we went. The job is usually accomplished by two guys in bosuns chairs ,one in font of the mast and the other at the rear. You tie your paint pot beneath the chair and you try not to splash too much paint. We had to be especially careful this time because we had some men working on the winches directly beneath us . The winchmen ,as befitted their status were wearing their nice clothes. As Eddy and I we painting away up the topmast we began to hear the angry shouting of an Argentinian docker, the sound was coming from directly beneath us. Looking below ,I could see a wildly gesticulating winchman who was glaring up at me pointing to a splash of yellow paint on his nice velvet waistcoat. There was nothing I could do and so I carried on brushing ; he was roaring now ,he had a new spot. So I gave him the finger. He was behaving like the Tasmanian Devil in the Bugs Bunny cartoons. All work stopped down below as the dockers watched to see what would happen next. I lowered myself to the mast table and looked down. The winchman was climbing the mast with a knife in his mouth , he was spitting flames. I shouted down to him ?Hola? he stopped and waved the knife, even angrier than before .He was half way up now ,I called again and he looked up just as I tipped the entire contents of my pot over his head. The dockers exploded with laughter and cheering and the George Raft lookalike slunk off home to clean himself up.
Luckily for me ,we sailed to Rosario that night.

Rosario

There was nothing rosy about River Rosario, I think the Spanish settlers were like estate agents ,they gave the grandest sounding names to the most ordinary places . Perhaps it was the weather that coloured my opinion of it.
The skies were grey and overcast for days, although it was not very cold it had that feel of late autumn about it ,but we were well south of the Tropic of Capricorn. It was nearly Christmas , and ,as I write this, I am mindful that the events I am now relating occurred almost 48 years ago to the day. We docked the day before Christmas Eve, the workers were all over that ship like a rash, I have never seen cargo moved so fast, it was obvious the holiday was nigh. We were not a fridge boat and so would not be carrying the sides of beef and lambs that the Argentine was famous for,we would be carrying meat though??..canned meat. Rosario was full of meat packing plants,Vesteys practically owned the town and there were a few blue Star boats that we had passed ,the Cap Norte was in port too so we would be having a drink or two with the lads off her.
Most of the deck crowd went aboard the German vessel that night , the Cap Norte crew proved wonderful hosts ,there was plenty of good lager and lots of bratwurst and other sausages ,ideal ballast when you are having a serious drink. There was no unpleasantness, this was still only 15 year after the war, and we said we would return the honours when we got back to B.A.

Christmas Eve was not a holiday there, it had the feeling of being just another day , Two of the catering staff that I had befriended Sandy ,an Essex lad and a blonde guy from Newcastle ,whose name has slipped from memory, asked if I fancied having a look for a good time in downtown Rosario . ?Being Roman Catholics, these Argies will be having parties and we just might cop off ? reasoned Sandy. Seemed like a good idea to me and Geordie so that night ,which was cold, very cold, we had to wear our overcoats, we set off to find a good time. None of us had been there before and none of the other lads seemed to know much about the place either. We walked through the gloomy dockside ,past the various meat boats ,as we neared the dock gates we saw one of the biggest rats ever. It was the size of a Jack Russell terrier, it was scavenging on some piece of carrion and as we neared it ,it looked up from its feast and glared at us. We gave it a wide berth.
I had heard tales of the rats in meat ports ,we never saw any in Australia , here there were millions of them. I heard tales of the legendary fridge rats that some of the older hands swore existed. These creatures were said to live in the fridges of the meat boats and had developed thick white fur coats to beat the freezing temperatures ,is it legend? I never saw any.
We left the dock area expecting to see neon lights outside of sailor bars, all was in darkness. There seemed to be miles of 2 storey blocks of dwellings on the side facing the docks ,a set of train and tram lines ran the length of the road between the docks and the ?town?. We walked for ages ,as we passed the streets that led off the dock road ,we saw no signs of life down them either. The dwellings were in blocks of courtyards, no doors led off the street ,instead there were large gates into the courtyards and we could see some life through the windows that were visible within the courtyards.
The whole place was eerily quiet; were heard the sound of a tram coming down the road and agreed to get on it when it arrived. It was bound to pass through a town centre ,or near a lively place, we were such optimists.
The conductor looked at us as though we were visitors from outer space ,?Que pasa?? he asked ,?Centro , cerveza ,tango!? we replied ,handing him a wedge of peso?s for the fare. He shook his head and muttered something ,gave us our tickets and left us alone as he went to chat to the driver. We were the only people on board. The three of us stood on the platform scanning the streets as we sped by ,the road was long and straight and the side streets were a monotonous blur of greying murk ,not a bar sign anywhere. We came to a grinding halt at a terminus many miles from where we had embarked, we were now off the road that had run the length of the river and where there were still faceless blocks of dwellings. We did?nt have a clue where we were. But we were British seamen and we were determined to have a good time, there had to be some bars somewhere ,surely?
Walking away from the terminus looking for what now seemed like El dorado, we came upon 2 policemen who were on patrol. They looked like regular lifesavers to us. We went up to them and asked ?Hable Inglese?, The answered with a shake of the head. We must have looked despairing for one of them smiled and beckoned us to follow him. He led us to a police station , where he spoke to the guy on the desk who listened intently to what he said ,The man nodded and made a phone call. He chatted to someone on the line and then ,handed me the handset, saying ?Muy Oncle? His uncle. I said ?Hullo, hable Inglese?? A voice , thickened with much alcohol ,replied ?Mairee Crizmiz!? ?Do you speak English?? I asked again, ?Si, si. Izz Mairee Crizmiz Si?? After three such fruitless attempts ,we thanked the policemen and returned to the cold ,dark street. Heading in what we thought might be the right direction ,we came upon a Gents W.C.. It was a grand marble affair,
The ceiling about 12 foot high , bizarre, not the sort of thing you would expect in a suburban situation. As we were relieving ourselves I noticed on the wall next to the pissoir , the word ?Help?. I was astounded, where we near civilisation at last? A line was drawn upwards from the word and disappeared into the gloom near the ceiling. We could see some words at the top of the line but could?nt read them as they were too high .
Geordie being the strongest of the three of us bent down so that I could stand on his shoulders, Sandy giving him support ,I stood and read out the words at the top of the line???..?We?re lost too! ? I nearly fell off I was laughing so much.
We found our way back to the tramway and rode tiredly back to the docks. We had just learned the hard way that the Spanish celebrate the birth of infant Jesus in a much more reverent way than we British do.

If I met a rat in a fur coat I would do a runner :ninja: Anyway the biggest rat ever found was in Mount Pleasant it was three foot from head to tail it probably resided at the YMCA and got lost coming home from the wine lodge. :handclap:

Back to B.A.

Rosario was even quieter on Christmas day than it had been on Christmas Eve; being a free day, some of us took a stroll after breakfast to see if there were any signs of life. Back home we would have seen children in the streets playing with their new bikes and scooters,here nary a child or adult was to be seen. After a short walk around the block it was back aboard and await Christmas dinner.
The meal itself was fairly pedestrian, some of the ships I had been on the Captain had laid on a feast and we had been served by the officers. This time it was us and them ,as per usual! We were given an extra ration of beer and a couple of bottles of Four Bells rum was sent to be shared by the crew ,so Christmas Day was a fairly boozy affair. It still rankled that the officers got such different fare to us though, we were fed well enough but we never had instant coffee ,crackers, biscuits ,boiled ham ,things you took for granted at home but were for officers only on most ships then.
Christmas night found me in Sandys? cabin ,drinking with him and Geordie, later ,when we were in our ?cups? we felt the need for some crackers and cheese, trouble was ,the said foodstuffs were locked safely away in the officers pantry. Strictly out of bounds for a deckhand. Geordie ,being on the cooking staff had access into the galley and Sandy ,being a steward had access to the pantry. There was a dumb waiter that lifted the food from the galley pantry to the officers pantry on the deck above, Sandy reckoned we could just about fit into the dumb waiter ,one person at a time, and we could pull each other up to the holy of holy?s and get us some cheese and crackers.
We waited until all was quiet and then Geordie and I(Sandy was spark out by then) hauled each other up into the officers pantry. It was a wonderland of food ,a gourmet paradise, there were Stiltons,Wensleydale ,Cheddar and Danish Blue; Jacobs cream crackers and a whole variety of biscuits. There was a York ham and turkey breast and salad aplenty. Geordie and settled ourselves as comfortably as we could and started our way through the meats, I sat holding the leg of ham and Geordie the turkey breast. We were in Seventh heaven enjoying the forbidden goodies when in walked the 2nd mate. I don?t know who was the more shocked, his eyes stood out like organ stops and he stood baffled at the sight before him. ?How the hell didja get in here ?? he gasped. We must have looked terrified, mouths agape and hands full of ham and turkey. I cannot remember if we replied anything coherent ,but he burst out laughing . ?Get the f**k out of here ,and leave the meat where it is ? We fled back to our cabins.
There were no repercussions ,but we had failed in our original objective,we never did get those cheese and crackers.
Back in B.A. we moored at a different berth ,thankfully, I did?nt want to run into the guy I had covered in paint the last time we were here. I went to renew my acquaintance with Rosa, I must have been a masochist , she was someone who I would never stand a chance with normally ,but I was like a moth to flame and I was happy to be burned.

We had a galley boy who was a Punk long before the Sex Pistols were ever
thought of. Ginger haired , weighing about 5 stone ringing wet ,and just about 5 feet tall. Little Ginger used to wear spiked wrist bands ,big hobnailed boots , well scrubbed denims and tartan shirts. His language was full of eff words delivered in a cockney accent. In his own words he was ?Effin ?ard? But you never saw him without a smile on his face.
Some of the older hands hated him for his cheek and when we were back in B.A. they were going to bring him down a peg or two. ?Only for a laugh like?
The manner of Gingers taking down was achieved in a way that most people would find obscene, to this day I sometimes wonder how he was affected by it ,if indeed it did affect him.
There was an American prostitute called Kelly who used to hang around the dock gates. She had been battered by life ,down in the gutter now ,she would do anything for a drink. She might have been pretty once upon a time , now ,she was broken nosed , bloated and her hair was bedraggled, her clothes were ragged and it was only her Chicago accent that identified as being a gringo.. I felt sorry for her the first time I laid eyes on her. How do you get so low? Some of the lads arranged for her to come on board on Saturday afternoon ; she was going to be the device which took little Ginger down.
Kelly had made a deal with some of the guys ,she was going to take Gingers virginity ?????in the recreation room in front of an audience. All the crew and some of the crew on another Houlder boat that was astern of us knew of what was to happen , Kelly was going to be paid by the audience and the star turn ,little Ginger ,was totally ignorant of what was about to befall him. I went along because I knew no better then, the room was packed to the rafters, Kelly lay like a great white whale upon one the banquettes ,awaiting her victim. Little Ginger was carried in ,laughing and giggling ,unaware of what was afoot. He blinked uncomprehendingly at the assembled men and then looked across to Kelly . ?Wassfeckingoinon? he yammered as he was stripped and lowered between the waiting thighs of the old W***e. I?ll never forget the look on Gingers face, one of great puzzlement and shame. The lads were screaming with laughter, I wonder what they think now/

New Years Eve in B.A. was fantastic, I met Rosa down La Boca at about 10.30 p.m. and we went for the final asado of 1960, this was one of the finest steak dinners I had ever tasted, the restaurant was crowded and the air was filled with expectations. Soon after we had finished dining the clocks struck 12 and the restaurant exploded into vibrant life ,poppers and streamers filled the air and outside a band struck up the conga and people poured out of the bars and cafes and joined the line of dances as it snaked its way along the avenidas, other bands and lines of dancers crossed and criss crossed their way through line. It was a magic start to 1961. It was also goodbye to my troubled love Rosa for we were off to Montevideo very soon.

When I got back on board I went along to wish some of the lads a happy new year and found Sandy and Geordie having a quiet beer ,Sandy was in a petty sombre mood, he was having aggro with one of the other stewards and was going to sort him out soon. He?d been ashore and bought an open razor to do just that. I was horrified. Trying not to show my horror I asked to see the razor and he handed it to me ;it was a very well made razor, pearl handled and a long gleaming blade. I remembered the face on Johnny the gang leader in Glasgow. His gruesome features were caused by something like this. I stuck the blade in a drawer and snapped it off. ?That will save you getting jailed kid? I said as Sandy looked on shocked. I threw the broken pieces through the port hole and went off to my bunk.

I had said my goodbyes to Rosa in the early hours of New Years morning, she was going back to her family in La Plata, I was a free agent for my last night in B.A. It?s a great city for walking , all over the town are little plazas filled with statues and fountains, the main street uptown is great for watching the evening paseo ,when the young men paraded in their finery ,hoping to catch the eye of one of the young ,chaperoned, ladies . I wonder if that custom is still carried out today.
Families start to come out around about ten in the evening and the pavement cafes are filled with diners .On the street where Harrods was there were some wonderful cinemas and I went to one of them that night and saw Ben Hur. The auditorium was huge and when the lights went down and the curtains were drawn back, I heard the sounds of a live orchestra playing the overture to a stage show. I had?nt expected anything like this but I enjoyed it ,it reminded me of the Pavilion when I was little .There were singers ,jugglers ,acrobats ,just as you would get on any variety show back home. There was an interval when refreshments were sold and then I heard this tremendous noise above my head and looked up to see the ceiling opening and there up above was the velvet black sky, sprinkled with stars. This was air conditioning Argentine style. The lights went down and then the movie show took over.
Leaving the cinema ,I took a slow stroll down through the main drag ,most of the bars were closed and ,as I crossed the square in front of the station I heard mt name being called in the distance. I stopped and saw little Bonzo weaving his way toward me, :?Are yer gonna ?ave a bife before we go ?? he asked.
I had just enough to get a bife lomo and there was a little bife van still open outside the station. Bonzo and I tucked into those scrumptious little feasts as we meandered back to the ship. More than forty years were to pass before I had another bife lomo.


We left B.A. and sailed down to Montevideo, on the way we heard that the National Service conscription had ended and some of the older lads were cock a hoop, they could pack the sea in now. I had?nt thought of them as army dodgers before, but if you were in the M.N. you could?nt be called up. Some of the lads were married and had to stay at sea else they would have called up to do two years in one of the services and would have been paid about 5 quid a week.
So there were going to,be one or two celebrations when we got back to Monte.
The German lads off the Cap Norde were there when we arrived and we fell into drinking with them again, the Reina Del Mar was also in port and the bars were full of the ?queens? off her. I went ashore with the deck lads this time and we had a great night ,no fights ,just singing and dancing and doing a bit of flirting with the ladies. One of the lads got so out of it that we had to carry him back, we put him on his daybed ,which was leatherette, just in case he was sick or worse, much easier to clean. He was so drunk that we could?nt rouse him and one of the lads had the crazy idea of playing the best prank I ever saw. Now the ceilings (deckheads) of our cabins had stringers running along them, (the underside of the steel beams) these were pierced every few feet and you could tie things up their. So ,all the movable furniture in Teddy?s cabin was suspended upside down from the ceiling, bunk was unbolted ,as was the desk and chair ,and all was hanging there as though the ceiling was the deck and vice versa. They let Teddy sleep on and woke him by making the loudest noises possible a couple of hours later. We were thronged at the door and portholes to watch the effect as he groped his way out of sleep and when he opened his eyes he screamed and gripped the sides of his daybed for dear life. He heard our screams of laughter and relaxed shouting obscenities ,he jumped up and said that it ?was Effin great!?
Next morning I went along to Sandys? cabin to ask what kind of a night he had had ,he was laying on his bunk when I walked in. His eyebrows had been plucked and he had the remains of make up on his face. I must have looked shocked ,he smiled and said ? I?m no longer Sandy Brian, just call me Sandra from now on?
I felt poleaxed, I had no words.
?I went on board the Reina last night , I was shown what I really am?
?Yer wot !!? I yelled, he just wiggled beneath the sheet.
?I?m a woman trapped in a mans body?. I felt something last night and I know who I am now?
I got out of there as fast as I could. I could?nt hack it then and I still can?t now.
I was thrown sideways by that event and I seem to have erased the rest of our time in Monte out of my memory cells. The Canaries would be our next stop and then it would be back to Liverpool.

A good read:handclap:

Couldn't agree more, really enjoying it, keep going Brian!

Winter North Atlantic

So it was goodbye ,adios and via con Dios, we were leaving the sun kissed shores of South America and heading for a wintry England. Las Palmas would bring us our last taste of a warm weather port and then we would be heading up through the northern latitudes.
We were picking up some deck cargo in the Canaries, never liked deck cargo, it was not only something that you stumbled over in the dark but it came with its own built in hazards. It was on the deck ,not down below in the hold and it was exposed to the elements. It was the masters decision as to whether or not the cargo was carried ,he was paid extra and the responsibility for its carriage fell on his shoulders and ,consequently ,we were all responsible for its safe passage. No bonus for us though!

It was a load of 40 gallon drums of volatile chemicals, these were to be stowed either side of No 4 hatch aft of the midships accommodation. The Spanish dockers made them fast with a series of wire ropes and bottle screws,when all was made fast ,the mate checked it out and gave it the nod. Whilst all this was going on most of the deck crowd went ashore for a last few jars before the homeward leg. It was lunchtime and I decided to stay aboard and have my food while it was still fresh and warm,only one other person decided to do the same ,Mr X. So there we were just the two of us ,sharing a big empty messroom. He, one side of the room and me on the other.
I always avoided this guy whenever possible ,he had a permanent scowl and used to talk to himself in his cabin,he never joined in with the craic,never went ashore and ,if spoken to ,answered with a nod or a shake of the head. Being a fairly junior rating, a first trip EDH, I was not held in very high esteem by him. What little discourse we had ever had consisted of him telling me how much of a greenhorn I was .
I tried to engage him in conversation this lunchtime and was rewarded by him stonewalling me,I attended to my food, I was looking down at my platter and slicing my meat when I was grasped by the throat . Mr X had stolen up on me and was strangling me; my mouth being full of food made it impossible for me to cry out. There were only the two of us and I was helpless. He spewed forth a torrent of expletives ,interspersed with ?smartarse loverboy? and ?effin? punk kid? .I felt myself going and he flung me back in my seat and rushed out the mess room.
I was terrified ,the man was mad ,certifiably insane. I had looked into his eyes and seen a terrible rage as he throttled me.
I sat nursing my throat as the lads came back on board, I?d be safer now at least ,but what had I done to earn his anger. I was?nt the flippest of kids, Teddy and Alec had far wickeder wits than mine. I said nothing and pretty soon the bosun turned us to, to make ready for sailing. As we were lowering the derricks ,I found myself tidying away the block and tackle of the guy ropes,standing atop of N0 4 hatch ,and there on the deck below me was Mr X. I shouted to him,?Hey B*****k chops, ? He looked up, and I swung the guy block in my hand ? I could crush your effin? skull with this you ba****d???.Are yer feelin?hard now then!!!? His eyes were bright with fear and he fled the deck. One of the lads looked across and asked what was that all about and I shrugged and let it pass.

As we left Las Palmas we plunged into those great rolling swells that characterise the Atlantic, pleasant enough when there is just a light breeze, that gentle roll can help you have a great sleep when you?re in your bunk. But if the wind stiffens and those swells develop white horses things can turn rough.
We passed the isles of Madeira with the weather gradually worsening, we were making good headway and would be home in a week ,but this was near Januarys? end and the air was getting chillier by the day .
Just south of Finisterre the weather turned nasty and we heard that gales were forecast.The sky was slate grey and the seas were boiling , the waves, spume topped mountains that came roaring toward us and shook us like a terrier shakes a rat. It was Sunday and we sat in the messroom looking out on the afterdeck as great green waves crashed across the hatches.
The mess room door was flung open and the bosun stood there in his heavy weather gear,?Get yer gear on Lads, the deck cargo?s goin?!!? he shouted. I almost had an out of body experience ,?Go out into that!!!?? We put our gear on and followed him out. The barrels were bouncing about like ninepins, the wire ropes had given way and it was our job to make it secure again. I just did as I was told, I was too frightened to do anything else, we were moving every which way and those barrels were like stampeding cattle and DANGEROUS!! . The AB.?s were magnificent, with the bosun in charge and the lads putting their years of experience into practise ,we had them barrels corralled and secured within just a couple of hours. No one was injured, just a few grazes and bruises and an experience that would be re-told in many a messroom and bar for years to come.
Although it was Sunday we did not get a penny piece for saving that cargo. There was a section of the Merchant Shipping Act that covered that little escapade ,it was called Safety of the Ship. Any work required to make the ship safe was not regarded as work for profit, but the captain still got his bunce for delivering that deck cargo. It was things like that which made Bolsheviks of us all.

After passing the Scilly?s there was an excitement growing within the ship ,this was the ?channels? .Just days away from home and we were excited at the things we would be doing in a few days time. One or two of the lads would not be going to sea
again, with conscriptions ending they would be able to go on shore and get ?proper? jobs , 9 to 5 and and no more watchkeeping .Those of us who were single were imagining the delights that awaited us in the way of feminine company. Me ? I was going to go and see cousin Willie in Llandudno and see what young Welsh ladies there were to keep a warm sailor company on cold winters night. I was going to get some new clothes too,I had put a few inches on my frame and needed something that fitted.
I was?nt going to lose touch with some of these lads either ,Eddy Clark from Bootle was a nice guy ,my age , he liked the same things and we promised to meet up for a few nights out. It would be great to see the family again too ,I?d bought a few gifts for them and a bottle of Scotch and some duty free fags for Dad.
February the 2nd saw us safely in back in Liverpool, with a pocketful of tin I caught a taxi home to Kirkby??????I was really looking forward to this leave.

I always find that there is always someone who takes a dislike to you wherever you go. I have had problems very similar to the one you related Brian. The account of your voyage is very good. I have a copy of sea wolf somewhere, it's a good yarn. You should put your'e stuff together and publish.

Hi Paddy,thank you for your kind remarks. You tell a good tale yourself, a bit like a modern day Cobbett,instead of a horse you've got the inter city and old transit vans. Why don't I get my stuff together and publish? The answer is that I have'nt got the energy to face all that rejection,there are a million tales like mine,my bookshelf is testimony to that. At the moment I'm writing for me ,and if folk like what I'm writing that's a bonus. My tale is only starting, in time I'm just about 19 and life stretches out ahead,there are many paths that I will travel,and many different jobs that I will do along the way. For a few years the place I call home will be a suitcase and I will lose my heart to many a lady before it finds its true home. If people are happy to hear tales of my sojourns ,I'll be more than happy to write them.
Happy New Year,
BrianD

Well I think you have the ability to hold peoples interest and that is a gift. When I was a lad the oral tradition of tale telling was very important. Sailors fireside tales were treated as gospel. One guy had a girl in Dingle mount who would shout after her seafaring boyfriend 'I'll dance on your grave', the retort being 'Thats good I'm getting burried at sea.'

Home Again

Getting home after Christmas meant receiving all those presents that I would have got had I been there on the day. Mum had pushed the boat out this year, I received a Philishave and a nice dress shirt ;she had also saved me some Christmas cake. Mums cakes were special, made a month or so before the holiday ,she fed them with a drop of brandy to keep them moist ,stuffed full of dried fruit and coated with marzipan and frosted icing ,they were fit for kings.
It had become a tradition that I spent the first Saturday evening of my leave with my parents. This meant going to the K.T.A. their club ,so called after the Kirkby Tenants Association. The estate we lived on had been built during the war by the Royal Ordinance Factory for its employees . Dad worked there and had thus got the house. The people on the estate never considered themselves to be a part of the Kirkby overspill and were a little bit snobbish. Not too much, but enough for me ,an ex Garston lad ,to notice.
The estate also had two pubs nearby, the Railway Inn and the Carters Arms. At that time the bar of the Railway was the province of the people from the council estate and the snug belonged to the people from the ROF estate. The Carters Arms was more upmarket then and was the province of the old Kirkbyites. There was a Conservative club at the top of our road and my Dad ,a near Bolshevik ,was a regular there.! His excuse was that the beer was better.
The K.T.A. clubhouse was a wartime wooden structure, an old barrack room ,it was ramshackle ,had a battered upright piano ,a worn out drum kit and a sound system that was long past its sell by date. But every Saturday night the place would be packed out. Families would come ,when I came home on leave my uncles and their wives would come up from Walton and we would fill a few tables. Mum would put on a big pan of pea soup with a sheet of spare ribs in as well as a little ham shank. This would simmer away during the evening while we were down at the club. Nin ,Granddad ,Uncle George and wife Frances, Uncle Gerry and his wife Lily would come up on the bus and we would have a hooley down at the club. Come closing time there would be ?jars out? with my uncles and me carrying cases of brown ale up the road ,singing as we went. Mum would leave the club a little earlier and get the supper ready. By the time we all arrived ,there would be bowls of thick pea soup ready for us, the spare ribs were so thoroughly cooked that even the bones were edible, soft and gently crunchy. She always did more than enough to satisfy the hungriest appetite and as we sat there mopping up the remains of that fabulous feast with our doorsteps of bread, some one would start to sing.
Each of my uncles had their own songs, Dad sang like Bing Crosby, before the war he won a Bing Crosby sound alike contest at the Co op hall on Walton Road; he also sang Al Bowley songs, Georgie had a voice like Perry Como and earned good money doing gigs around the pubs and clubs in the north end of town. Uncle Gerry had a lousy voice but could do Jimmy Durante impressions and so those Saturday evenings had a magic about them that will stay with me for all of my life. Nin would usually end up singing Nellie Dean and we would all join in, soon after that someone would phone for a taxi and the revellers would depart ,pockets stuffed with bottles of brown.

From Sunday onwards I started out on my own. First thing Monday I was down in town getting a new outfit ,it was still winter so I got myself an new light grey overcoat with raglan sleeves; to match I got a pearl grey drape suit from John Colliers and a pair of grey loafers from Lennards, over to Dunhills where I got a beaut of tie , grey with a silver thread. I was now set to knock the girls dead in the Locarno.
I called up to see Eddy in Bootle and arranged to go out with him to a club in Marsh Lane, I think it was St James?s. It was a good night , they had a comedian and a singer and there was dancing too.
I met a very pretty girl from Aintree and promised to take her out on Valentines night (I was off to spend a few days in Llandudno first)

I caught the boat to Llandudno, I think it was the St. Tudno , it was something I had always wanted to do ,considering the time of year the passage was very smooth. I got a great welcome from Great Aunty Dolly, Uncle Owen had gone on to the happy hunting ground now, and the girls were now ladies ,Elizabeth was married but Eleanor was still at home. Willy was at work when I arrived and so I had to wait for him to get home ,get fed and get changed before we ventured out. Gordon and Hughie were at home ,Mike was in the Army ,and so the four of us went out and hit the pubs. It was lovely being together with these lads, they were the ones who had been there for me those many years before when I had had the accident and here we were now laughing our way round town. Youthful friendship is a precious thing ,too feel at ease amongst your peers and to make each other happy is a wonderful thing. Life moves you on and you look back at those times and rejoice that you had them. Soon our little group would get broken up, Willy would be marrying in the summer, but we still had some time to go.
As we were sauntering back home to Willys? we saw a caf? that was still open and went in for a coffee; there were two young ladies in there ,one of whom had the most glorious head of strawberry blonde hair. I sat down beside her and immediately told her that she was the most beautiful girl I had seen that night. She blushed and giggled into her friends shoulder, she was very ,very Welsh. She looked as though she had stepped out of a Rossetti painting ,with her gorgeous coils of hair atop her perfect little head. Willy got up and said ?Brian ,I?ve work in the morning , here?s me key .you let yourself in and don?t wake me when you get in ? and with that I was left alone with the two young ladies.
Gwyneth was her name ,she was from Mid Wales but was living with her aunty in Llandudno. We were now holding hands and her friend decided to go home too. Gwyn had the greenest of green eyes and I just sat drowning in them ;we finished our drinks and went for a walk along the promenade ,shivering cold we huddled together in the bus shelter, and the huddle became a cuddle as our lips found each others.
We strolled slowly back to her auntys? where we stood having a long goodnight kiss, who knows what might have happened had she not accidentally banged the great big door knocker with her shoulder ,and brought her aunt to the door ,giving me hell for keeping her niece out so late.
With Willy working ,I cut my trip short and got the train back to Liverpool next day, I went down to Eddys and spent a boozy night with him. I had a memento from Llandudno though, Gwyn had given me a supersize lovebite just above the collar line on my neck ,I put a boil plaster on it.

I got in touch with Norma , the girl from Aintree and told her I was back early and asked if she would like to got to the movies. She was happy to and I met her in town and we went off to the Futurist, I think we saw the world of Suzie Wong , did?nt look at the screen much , I was a smoker then too. I remember stubbing a cigarette out in what I thought was the ashtray in front of me ,I was looking at Norma when I did it, watching the screen I saw smoking curling up in front of me and saw the guy in the seat beneath me had a little blaze going on his sleeve. I never moved so fast in my life ,Norma never knew why we had to change seats then, most probably never knew later.
Our next date was the St Valentines dance at the Locarno, I had?nt sent her a card because I did?nt know her address ,but I did buy her a box of chocolates. When we met at the bus stop she kissed me and thanked me for my card, which I let pass ,she gave me her card and I gave her the chocs and in we went to the dance. It was a mistake taking her there , I felt that I was?nt ready for a steady relationship, I was still Joe Butterfly and she seemed ready for a ring. When she told me her Mum and Dad wanted to me I felt that that was a step too far, there was no way I was packing the sea in.
Two things happened that night that brought this relationship to an end, the first was when the boil plaster peeled off with the perspiration ,the love bite was revealed in all its gory glory, I had a hell of a job explaining of how it was?nt what it appeared . Later when I was seeing her home , I kissed her goodnight and called her Gwyn by mistake, well ,you can guess the rest. It was time I shipped out anyway.
The 18th of February saw me signing on the Catanian for a trip down to the Med, or so I thought.

Springtime in Portugal

The Catanian was an Ellerman cargo vessel ,known as a market boat because it brought back produce from the Iberian Peninsular and the Spanish ports on the Med. Such ships were usually hard to get on because of the shortness of the trips and the potential to earn a lot of overtime. I did?nt join her for the overtime , she was going to Portugal and Spain, two countries that I had not yet visited and had long wanted to do so.
She was a trim little craft and at just over 1400 gross tonnage was the smallest ship I had set foot on. It seemed to be a happy ship ,one of the old firemen had been on her since her maiden voyage and another one had been on her for 15 years. The older man always called him the ?new feller?
There was an old A.B. who looked like the original old man of the sea , his face had more lines on it than Crewe junction and his walrus moustache heightened his salty appearance. The were not many deck crew, just three men per watch ,and only two watches ;you worked four hours on and four hours off. You were expected to work on deck during the daytime off watch.
You were lucky if you got four hours sleep a day! I did?nt fully understand the ramifications of what ?watch and watch meant? I was soon to learn the hard way what the reality was.
My two watch mates were about four or five years older than me, I seem to remember that they were married ,or about to be married. Sitting in the mess room during smokoe just before we sailed ,the conversation turned to women and doing what comes natural when in their company. The old man of the sea sat at the back of the mess listening to the chat. These guys were describing their feats of amazing sexual athleticism,? 9 times without stopping? one said, ?only 9 times? riposted the other ?11 times ,mate and without unshackling !!? The O.M of the sea puffed away through his whiskers. ? Eh Wally? wisecracked the younger one ?D?you still use a condom?? laughing as he said it. The O.M. pulled out his fag and answered ?Yuss, an? yer should smell the burnin? rubber? We all cracked up then.
So ,I knew I was going to like it here, laughter is a great bonding agent and it was here aplenty. We were sailing soon and our new bosun came into the mess to give us the gen, We three would be on watch as we left, there were three day workers ,of which the O.M. was one, so, including the bosun ,there were just ten of us on deck, the smallest ship and the smallest crowd.
It was all new stuff to me.

The weather was foul as we headed down the Irish Sea and this little boat had moves that I had never experienced, when you were in your bunk (which was?nt often) you were tossed about as though you were in a spin dryer. Sleep was hard to come by, if you were on the 4 to 8 in the morning watch you stayed up to work on deck until noon and then you were on the 12 to 4 watch after which you could have dinner (at 5.00p.m) get some sleep and then be ready for the 8 til midnight watch. Your diurnal clock broke it?s spring. Within two days I was reduced to a zombie like state ,to eat or to sleep ? Be tired or be hungry? My days became a muddled mess , but the bosun , well his was an altogether worse story??????????.

He was a nice looking guy, Irish to look at with his curly black hair ,roguish smile and twinkling eyes, that was ,when he was sober. The man was the biggest lush I had sailed with so far ,made Nick and Jock on the Kenuta look like members of the Temperance Society.
From the moment we dropped the pilot the man was permanently kalied.

It was during my first 8 to 12 watch that I first noticed how bad he was, I was making my watchmates supper just before midnight ,we were way down the St Georges Channel and he comes into the mess and asks me to call him a cab. ?A whaaat !!??
?A cab lad ,youse know whut a cab is fer jeezis sake,call me a cab!!?
?Bose, we?re in the middle of the sea? I said .
? I?ve got to get back to me mammy? he said ?Jis? call a bleddy cab?
The 12 til 4 watch lads came in the and the bosun got up and stumbled out.

When my watchmates came in for their supper the wheelman said the bosun had been climbing up the funnel screaming for a taxi. He was wrestled back to his cabin before we turned in.

About 24 hours before we got to Lisbon my body was giving up on me, I had never treated it so badly and it was rebelling, ?feed me or rest me? it seemed to be saying. I was literally staggering about like a drunk. The master ,Captain Whittle ,a big beefy guy said that I would harden up , the mate would?nt allow me to have my free time off. ?Ye?ll get used to it lad? was all he said.
I was on the helm as we were being piloted into Lisbon, I could?nt see properly ,I kept on losing focus , I could?nt make out what the pilot was saying and I had this big red angry face in front of me telling me to shape up and I was shivering ,I was boiling ???.and then the lights when out and all was darkness.

I was awakened by a prod in my stomach, I was hurting everywhere and had no idea where I was, in the glow of my bunklight I could see a huge fat
man with a cigar in his mouth ,his head covered with a homburg and he was wearing a huge overcoat with an astrakhan collar. He was holding a glove in one gloved hand and ,with his bare hand, he was prodding my stomach.
The pain was tremendous and he uttered something which I did not understand and then I saw a little man beside him, a notebook in his hand, writing whatever it was that the big man was saying. I did?nt know if I were dreaming this , I was dizzy and fading in and out of consciousness. For a moment I thought that I was in the Maltese Falcon and that Sydney Greenstreet and Elisha J. Cooke were at my bedside..

I became aware of some movement and surfaced to see myself being stretchered into an ambulance after which the darkness fell again. I was hallucinating, I was gripping on to the sides of a slippery pit ,my hands were greasy and I could not hold on, below I could feel that there was void and that I must not fall into it. My grip was loosening as the weight of my body was pulling me downwards , I was screaming for my mother ,for my sister Jess, I did?nt want to go down to that dark, dark pit. And then shafts of white light filtered through my eyelids; blinking ,I saw the kindest face I had ever seen. ?Brian ? it said ? Brian ,look at me , I am your doctor? the man was foreign, his head was as covered in white and there was a mask hanging from his ear ? you have been very ill and we are going to help you? I moved my head and saw other white clothed people ,their eyes the only visible features. ?please breathe into this ? he said placing a mask over my nose and mouth. Total darkness enfolded me .

Sometime later I awoke ,fully conscious, my bladder screaming for relief; I was in a bed,lovely crisp linen sheets,but which bed and where?
I tried to sit up to go to have a pee and the effort sent my abdomen in a raging fit of hot searing pain. I must have yelped for out of the darkness came a womans voice, a beautiful southern Irish accent, ?Lay down now man or ye?ll tear the stitches out? Her cool hands took my shoulders and gently lowered me back down. ?I?m desperate for a pee ? I pleaded,
?and ye?ll have one ? she answered .Doing it for me as I lay there. She was just one of many angels who ministered to my every need in the next few days. She moistened my mouth with some cold water and hushed me off to sleep.

Next morning I was awakened by a nurse who had the deepest brown eyes ever,her generous mouth was graced by the loveliest lips and her smile was electrifying .This was Nurse O?hara, known by all and sundry as Scarlett.

She stood over me holding a little glass tube in which there seemed to an enormous fleshy caterpillar, my face must have been a question mark for ,unasked ,she said ?This is your appendix, it?s healthy, you can take it home with you? I was amazed ,?Why ,did you take it out ?? I pondered.
? Language difficulties ? she laughed and hurried off.

I learned that I was now a patient in the ?Hospidale Britannico? the British Hospital. An establishment that had been founded in the 19th century to look after the needs of British subjects, all the nurses were from the British Isles or the Irish Republic ,the Surgeons and Doctors were all Portugese ,as were the maids and the catering staff. This was to be my home for longer than I could have realised.
I would see the Spring come to Portugal.

Typical.
Work to be done but Daley finds a cushy berth.
:PDT_Aliboronz_24:

The expression Kalied is one I heard as a lad in Liverpool, do you know anything of it's history. You never hear it now. When you have new barrels of ale you put in Sturgeons bladder as a preservative I sometimes wonder if the term bladdered comes out of that.

Hi Paddy,according to the dictionary of slang Kalied is of an unknown origin and first appeared in common usage about 1922. The lexicographers attribute it to being a Scouse expression which was given official recognition in the huge Oxford complete dictionary in 1966,quite simply it means DRUNK!!

Lisbon

In the afternoon of my first day on the ward I was able to take stock of my fellow patients, in the bed to my right was an Irishman, about 45 years old, he had been there for about a week. To my left was a Dane, who looked like a Viking, face was cut out of granite, high cheek bones and deep set grey eyes; his broken nose bore testament to the many scrapes he had been in in his long life. Opposite me was a young Egyptian ,a couple of years older than me, looked like a young Omar Sharif and was a member of the Nasser family. Together ,we were all merchant seamen. The Irishman was an engineer who had been sailing on German ships and was domiciled in Germany (I was always afraid to ask what he did in the war, he often spoke about how things were in Germany during the war and it was only15 years ago ), the Dane was a bosun and was off a Maersk boat, young Gamal was a third officer off an Egyptian ship and like the rest of them had been there a week or more.
The Dane had a big Hohner accordian and would sometimes entertain us to a medley of tunes, I loved those moments, the Nurses and maids, who could spare the time, would come on to the ward while big Erik played
Paddy was ,like most Irishmen it has been my pleasure to meet, a great storyteller; he told brilliant jokes too, only trouble was ,it hurt like hell to laugh..

Later in the evening of that first day ,Nurse Scarlet came to my bed with a length of rubber hose ,a syringe of huge proportions ,a bedpan and a look of malicious glee on her face. I had?nt the foggiest of what was going on as she silently pulled the curtains about my bed. She seemed about to break out into laughter and I was wondering what the source of her mirth was .
?Come up? she said as she helped lift me on to the bed pan ? The earth is about to move for you? After she had she had administered the enema, more than the earth moved, I had a total out of body experience. She was a very funny and mischievous lady. Tickling things she should?nt and sending a young mans hormones rocketing up the Richter scale.
I was able to have a solid meal for dinner after that, my first taste of proper Portugese food, a bit strange at first because it was cooked in olive oil, something that was rare to a young scouser in those days. It did?nt take long to get used to it and I soon came to enjoy it..

Although this was a British hospital it was also used by middle class Portugese and other nationalities, the Portugese hospitals being at that time abysmal places, where the patients families were responsible for providing their food ,laundry and bathing. A bit like the NHS has become now. Back then the NHS were paying for my treatment and I was a ward of the British consul. That night ,the other three patients had visitors, Pat had an Irish priest visit him, Erik had the Danish consul at his bedside and Gamal had the Egyptian consul at his. I felt a little homesick then.
I learned to love the mornings in that little ward, the sun used to come shafting through the sash windows and the temperature was just right, warmish; we were on the third floor and the street below was called the Rua Saraivia Du Carvalho. A beautiful name to speak. About half past seven every morning the sounds of the street sellers would begin to fill the air , they would come one at a time ,regular as clockwork, their cries almost a song as they called attention to their presence. The streets of our towns must have resounded to similar sounds in bygone ages. The milkman was first and then the baker, the produce seller and all the tradesmen men that made life so much easier for the maids and housewives. The most musical cries were those of the tinker , he would push his little cart on which he either sharpened knives or mended pots, this was before the throwaway age. I can still hear the sound of his grinding wheel as he used to sharpen the blades, a sort of raspy shriek as he pedalled at the flywheel.

On the second night of my confinement there was a commotion on the ward some time after midnight. We were awakened out of our slumbers by the rattle of gurneys and the hushed voices of nurses. Two of the beds had screens around them and we could see the shadows moving on them. Tiredness took
us back to sleep and we awakened next morning to find two new patients on the ward.
They were Royal Navy personnel off the H.M.S. Ajax, she was on a courtesy visit to our oldest ally and Bob and Robin had urgent need of good medical facilities. Bob was a Petty officer and had suffered a badly broken jaw ,the result of disagreement and Robin ,like me ,had had his appendix extracted. Robin was put alongside me and he proved to be a very agreeable fellow,a Kentish lad ,he looked like a scrapper but was very shy with the nurses. Bob had his jaws wired up and could?nt manage a conversation at all ,he was a smiler though. Pat , our Irishman told some ripsnorting jokes and poor old Bob was in agony trying not to laugh.. That afternoon the commander of the Ajax came to visit his men.He was an archetypal Royal Naval officer, square jawed, ramrod straight and ruddy faced ,he exuded power and strength. He had a real hearty laugh and Robin must have told him that I was an English seaman for after sitting with them he came and chatted to me ,well I say chatted ,he bellowed!! ?Ya had any visitors yet Lad!!? he roared. I shook my head in reply.
?Lisbon has the biggest British population outside of the U.K. and yer haven?t had a visitor yet!!!? I looked up at his beefy red face, he was angry.
?Well ,we?ll soon put that right Lad!? he bellowed and, saluting his men ,spun around to the door with a cheery wave as he made his exit.
After dinner that evening a horde of people thronged through the ward doors,
men and women in very expensive clothing and wafting aromas of exotic perfumes and colognes came toward my bed .I felt like a zoo object, they were visitors ,not to comfort me but to LOOK at me. A little Scouse seaman .My accent was still pretty thick in those days ,not that I was ashamed of it , my accent was part of me ,and still is to this day. No ,they were here for entertainment. The men were those indolent foppy types ,pale faced and soft hands with accents that were right out of a 30?s British movie ,and their ladies were the kind that peopled our empire and kept the houseboys in full employment.
I don?t know if it was pre arranged ,but within a very short while I was left with just the men around my bed. One of them leaned forward and asked ,lispingly ? Are yeow a weal sailor?? I answered yes .
?Well , could yeow say some swearwords for us?? I felt a surge of anger.
?Yiss ,now feck off? I shouted. They tittered merrily ? Awfy good what? one giggled. ? I mean it mate, Feck off, I?m not a fecking peepshow?
My blood was roaring and the matron came and swept them away.
One young lady stayed behind , dressed in a two piece outfit that would have cost a fortune ,cool in an elegant Grace Kelly way, this was Patricia, the daughter of the resident Anglican vicar of Lisbon.
She came to me after the boors had gone and apologised on their behalf ,she said that they were so dissolute that they had forgotten what good manners were like. Apparently I had just met the members of the Port wine families ,Britains oldest exiled families.
Patricia was in her early twenties and was working as an announcer on Portugese television , she was to become my regular visitor for the rest of my stay.
I had another visitor that evening ,the British Consul ,he brought my kitbag ,discharge book and the news that I was now a Distressed British Seaman. I had a grand total of four days pay due and would not be in receipt of funds from anywhere. How wrong would that man be?