Hullo Old Home

[brian daley]

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


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

[brian daley]

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

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

[brian daley]

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

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Demeterton

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

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

[burkhilly]

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

[brian daley]

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

[brian daley]

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

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

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

[brian daley]

South China Sea

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

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

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

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

[brian daley]

On The Hook

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Dairien

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

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

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

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

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

[burkhilly]

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

[brian daley]

Dairien 2

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

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

[brian daley]

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

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Nauru

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

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

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


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

[brian daley]

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