Hullo Old Home

[kevin]

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

[brian daley]

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

[kevin]

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

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

[brian daley]

Fremantle

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

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

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

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

Below is Terry ,the Nurse from Fremantle

[brian daley]

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

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

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Home is the Sailor……..

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

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

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




>

[brian daley]

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

[brian daley]

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

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

[kevin]

Great story, as ever.

[Mossy]

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

Mossy......Brummie

[brian daley]

Acclivity

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

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Woolwich

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

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

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

[brian daley]

Acclivity 2

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

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

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

[jacky gunnion]

love your writing...

[ItsaZappathing]

love your writing...

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