EXTRACTS FROM THE L - LOF News



EXTRACTS FROM THE L.O.F. PERIODS OF ‘THE ATTIC OF MY BRAIN’

(The personal memoirs of ex Catering Officer John Clement)

Dedicated to the late and much lamented Phil Thompson – ex L.O.F.

May 1971 – I Join the Merchant Navy! (Aged 31):

Things moved fast that month – My wife and I now lived in a rented flat (No.6) in Grange Court in Grange Road, Upper Norwood, having moved from the Mansfield Road premises that Basil Sanderson (the owner of the Selsdon Park Hotel) had lent us when we left his employ – I had begun to immediately look for jobs in the hotel and catering industry and had had several interviews, some of which seemed quite promising (there was even one at a deluxe hotel and complex in Bermuda!) – However, in early May, 1971, I answered a quarter page display advertisement in the Caterer & Hotelkeeper – it was directed at ‘Hotel Managers’ and was somewhat tantalisingly headed: ‘How would you like the six month a year job - touring the World?’ …Even more temptingly the ad went on to suggest that the job could involve visiting such exotic places in the world as “Durban, Hong Kong, New York, Rio De Janeiro, Singapore, Tokyo’, etc. – It was for a Catering Officer with London & Overseas Freighters Ltd (L.O.F.) - a Greek-run shipping company registered in London with its Head Office situated in Balfour Place, just off the prestigious Park Lane.

Needless to say, the advert received a huge response from all over the country – I later learned that at one time traffic generated by it was so great that the LOF switchboard was effectively shut down - I was therefore surprised and very pleased that my own application was eventually short-listed from over 250 “possibles” and I was then asked to attend an interview at their prestigious W1 offices in the afore-mentioned Balfour Place…. On the day there were half a dozen or more of us there, all on our best behaviour of course and, as the afternoon progressed, we answered various questions, performed various rudimentary tests, filled in a number of forms and met several LOF personnel – I remember the company’s Personnel Officer - a Captain Mike Cuff – who was tall and angular and very affable despite his serious nature, and I also remember the company’s Victualling Superintendent, one Ken Allan, newly promoted from Assistant Victualling Superintendent who, I recall, was an ex-Chief Steward himself – It seemed that LOF were not altogether happy with the current standards of catering within the fleet and, indeed, it eventually transpired that the whole basis for this big recruitment drive was their attempt to upgrade standards in its shipboard catering departments in order to replace what some rather unkindly referred to as ‘Board Of Trade Chief Stewards’, with hotel trained personnel such as ourselves. Anyway, on or about the 10th May 1971, having got the job (together with just five other privileged souls) I officially joined the Merchant Navy and, from that moment on we became known throughout the Fleet as “the hotel people”…not, as time would tell, without dishonour!

It was a pretty frenetic time then – I visited Grieves & Hawke’s, the outfitters in London, where I managed to obtain all the necessary clothing items for my new life…my “blues” uniform, peaked cap complete with the MN badge, epaulettes with two gold zigzag stripes befitting my rank of Catering Manager (also displayed on the sleeves of my “blues”), white shirts, white shorts, socks and white shoes (all for the tropics) etc. - I also went to Prescott Street where I eventually obtained my Discharge Book (R900057) and my Seaman’s Identity Book – in addition, as my Passport was out of date, a new one was rushed through…interestingly, despite a longish wait I received “same-day” service at the Passport office in Petty France, Westminster – which was pretty impressive I reckon!

Original Passport photo (New) Discharge Book photo

The idea was that I would then go down to Falmouth for ‘induction’ training, but instead, around the 23d of May, I was summoned to the LOF offices in Mayfair and informed that, provided I had no misgivings, a ship was available for me to join in Baltimore, U.S.A. right away.

My first ship – The London Banker – May 1971

So, at 1 a.m. (6 a.m. British Summer time) on the 25th May, 1971 I arrived in the USA, having flown from London Heathrow via New York and then by domestic airlines to Philadelphia and Baltimore, Maryland – It was there that I was to join my first ever ship and start a new life…and believe me, I was nervous as hell!

The ship was called the “London Banker” but fortunately she wasn’t in until the following day which, given the length of the various flights and the time of arrival, was a blessing indeed, and after being shown my room by a uniformed Bell Hop (yes, that was indeed his title!) who, incidentally, asked me in the lift up to the room if I needed anything, adding with a lascivious wink – “…and I mean anything” - I got to my room, switched on the 24 hour colour TV, lay on the bed and, within minutes, was asleep.

That evening, somewhat rested – and showered – I ventured down into the foyer of the hotel, the Lord Baltimore (the largest in Baltimore at that time, with 600 rooms) and out into the streets of my first American city. It had been raining and the lights of the shops and buildings reflected on the wet streets as I wandered about. One of the first things that I noticed was the skyscrapers, which to me were just amazing, towering above us all, dwarfing the many people who were scurrying in all directions along the crowded walkways. I remember too the first words spoken to me out there in the streets of Baltimore – they came from a vagrant, a shabby black man sheltering from the drizzling rain in a shop doorway – unbelievably, spotting me wandering by, he really did say those immortal words:

“Buddy, can you spare a dime?”

If only I had had some US money with me at the time!

Lord Baltimore Hotel

The second thing was the smell – a sweet, almost cloying odour that increased in intensity as time wore on…even the steam coming up from manhole covers in the middle of the streets, smelt of it – and later the food, and then even the drinks, whether Bourbon or just plain water or whatever, they all tasted of it – it was the pungent aroma of Baltimore and in fact - as I was to find over the next few years - everywhere that I went in the world seemed to have its own identifying smell…but, of course, at that time all this lay ahead of me.

I vaguely remember eating in one of the Hotel’s restaurants that evening (as I said, even my water tasted like that sweet smell that seemed to be everywhere). I chatted to the waitress who, like so many Americans, was quite fascinated by the English accent, and we went to some bar or other later. I behaved myself at that time but I do remember a couple of things. One was that she had a car; a big, sleek American job which snarled with power – very impressive – the other was that, as we got out of the car to go into the bar a long goods train came clanking and whistling by, in the very street that we stood, just like they did on those old Westerns I used to watch – to me this really was America!

Early the next morning, having breakfasted in my room, the telephone rang and I was informed that my driver had arrived. I left the room and descended in the lift (or ‘elevator’ as they call it in America) to the check out desk in the palatial foyer. Outside I found my “driver”, who was in fact a scruffy, unshaven man in grubby denims - and transport to the ship was by pick-up truck, with me in the back together with my luggage – so much for a grand entrance then!

After a bumpy ride through the sunlit early morning streets the driver finally dumped me unceremoniously on the quayside and drove off, his onerous duty completed. Suddenly alone and on what seemed a vast and deserted dock I looked up nervously at the ship that was literally towering above me at the side of the quay, high in the water, tied up and safely secured, yet strangely silent.

Reality set in almost immediately – this was to be my home for at least the next six months…the newly arrived vessel’s name was proclaimed on her bow – she was the m.v. London Banker.

I mounted the shaky and almost vertical gangway and began to climb skywards towards my future…

Joined the m.v. ‘LONDON BANKER’ at Baltimore, Philadelphia – 26th.May 1971

Official number: 304713 - Tonnage Mark Gross: 10399.34 - Submerged Net; 6057.82 - BHP: 7800

THE m.v. LONDON BANKER – MY FIRST EVER SHIP!

Crew List – May 1971:

Captain: Eric Birchall - C/Off: David Wylie – 2/Off: W. Davison – 3rd/Off: Pedro Stott – Radio Off: J. Phillips

Cadet: T.J. Swatton – Cadet: S. Gibson – C/Eng: Sandy Brown - 2nd.Eng: Gordon Tough – 3rd.Eng: John Ireland

4th.Eng: Brian Constable – J/E: Cliff Waters – J/E: John Shepherd – Electrician: Lyndon Beddoe

The next few days were filled with many new experiences - and with confusion tinged with a real fear of the unknown that I tried hard not to show. George Gray, the elderly Chief Steward I was relieving, had already moved all his gear into the ship’s hospital, enabling me to stow my own stuff in my own cabin which was also up on the main accommodation deck of the ship, so I was at least somewhat established. He had also kindly agreed to stay on board with me for a couple of coastal ports – this was not a usual arrangement under normal circumstances, but one that was due to my total inexperience as a ship’s Catering Officer – and one that I was very grateful for!

Before I continue I must try and make clear the distinction between a Chief Steward and a Catering Officer. George Gray, for example, was what some rather derogatorily (and not necessarily accurately) described as a “Board of Trade feeder” - a two-striper Chief Steward of the old school (zigzag stripes too) who fed the men on board, irrespective of their standing, with a stoic adherence to the Board of Trade regulations and from a repertoire of basic menu choices that were invariably repeated every two weeks with monotonous regularity –A BoT feeder was apparently impervious to insults, liked his beer and ‘fags’, knew all the tricks of the trade and valued a quiet life wherever possible – A Catering Officer, like me, was a different proposition altogether (or at least that was the way LOF saw it). He was hotel-trained, his knowledge of catering was beyond reproach, his personality sparkled, and he was, allegedly,

George Gray intelligent, younger and fitter than his BoT counterpart…to cap it all, he had a proper,

professional outlook towards all his responsibilities – In short then, a Catering Officer compared to a Chief Steward was supposed to be like the London Hilton compared to a Bed and Breakfast - or a Rolls Royce to a Mini or – in reality - the new versus the old.

Anyway, back to the ship, and to my brand new life – My duties as Catering Officer included overseeing and maintaining all shipboard catering, as well as having full responsibility for the welfare of all Officers and Crew.

I was also the ship’s Doctor, via the on-board version of “The Ship Captain’s Medical Guide” (a well-thumbed and wonderfully comprehensive publication which was essential to all ships) and in this connection was additionally responsible for the contents of the ship’s well-stocked medical cabinet and its upkeep.

There were around twenty-eight crewmembers on board the ‘London Banker’, all of whom were Filipino. My own crew consisted of a Chief Cook, a 2nd.Cook and a Pantry-man who was meant to be my right hand man and the liaison between the two Cooks and the Stewards (of whom there were four). In addition to this was a sort of “gofer” (what you might call a cabin-boy I suppose) who assisted the Cooks, prepared vegetables, cleaned toilets and did various other menial tasks as required. I was also responsible for the administration of the ship’s crew catering, but had very little to do with it other than ensuring that the daily food issues were processed - usually

through my 2nd.Cook.

In addition to all this I also prepared all port documentation, both incoming and outgoing and, in conjunction with the Master, would deal with Police, Immigration, Health, Customs, and other such officials, both inwards and outwards of any port of call – I had Storerooms for both dry foods and domestic supplies (such as linen, cleaning materials, etc) and refrigerators for perishable foods, broken down by type and temperature – e.g. Meat Room, Fish Room, Frozen goods, Vegetable Room and Handling Room. I also had the Beer Locker in which, over the years to come, I would handle kegs of beer, such as Watneys Red Barrel, and case upon case of all types of beer from all over the world – Asahi, Barclays Export, Carlsberg, Fosters, Harp, Heineken, Tennents, McEwans, Pabst, Castle, San Miguel, Budweiser, etc., etc. - and there were also storerooms for the many cases of soft drinks and boxes of squash that we needed for each voyage. Apart from Beer and Soft drinks there was one other very important responsibility and that was the Bond Locker…a major undertaking in my mind as it contained the ship’s stock of Cigarettes and Tobacco, Spirits (Gin, Whisky, Rum etc), Bond Street sweets, Chewing Gum, and so on (even including the ship’s revolver and ammunition!)…as with all the Storerooms and lockers - as my large and jangling bunch of keys testified - the Bond Locker was heavily padlocked…not that that made precious difference to Customs and others in some ports, as I was soon to find out!

In Baltimore the ship started loading sacks of “Hands Across the Ocean” flour bound for Indonesia and was then to load more cargo in Beaumont in Texas - followed by Galveston, also in Texas.

My memories of Beaumont were jumbled; I recall walking past an American High School where I assume their end-of-term awards ceremony was taking place in the hot sunshine; I remember the bright blue gowns and mortar boards with swinging tassels, and healthy, tanned youngsters, dominated by blondes, with their proud Mums and Dads – A little further down that hot, dusty street was a beautifully cold, air-conditioned bar, known as ‘Gus’s Tavern’ which our ship’s Officers soon made as their HQ. In those days “draft” beer was served in bars, but Texas had a prohibition on spirits - however, all you needed to do was purchase a bottle of spirits from a nearby store and then, with the bottle carefully protected by it’s mandatory brown paper bag, walk down the street with it – at Gus’s Tavern, for example, you would then order the necessary amount of “set-ups” (dependant how many were in your party) and a jug of beer and a jug of ice would eventually appear, with the requisite number of glasses, and away you went…topping up your glass with ice and surreptitiously pouring in spirits from the bottle below the table, still hidden by it’s brown paper bag. Simple really, and so much for prohibition!

One evening the Filipino crew arrived at Gus’s – I discovered that they were hell bent on causing trouble at the place (something to do with racism or being refused service). Whatever the reason was I decided, in my infinite wisdom (and total lack of experience of such things), to remonstrate with ‘Gus’ about his treatment of my ship’s crew. Quite what he thought of my British-ness (and Public School accent) I will never know, but to the apparent delight of all assembled in that busy bar he authorised his staff to serve our crewmen with their jugs of draft beer – and the remainder of the evening progressed favourably and with no trace of animosity – mind you, I did think that some of the Filipino’s still looked a little disconsolate. It wasn’t until the next day, when the Quarter-master, a smiling, handsome young man named Qurapatna, told me, with the laughing voice that he always had: “Chief, everyone was waiting my order to start a fight – we had the glass ash trays ready – everything - then you went and spoiled it for us by making Gus serve us!”

However, despite my spoiling their “fun” that night, I suspect that he and his men actually held me in some esteem for my actions. Indeed, this feeling was later found to be the case when, in a separate incident that occurred on board some months later, the Filipino crew stood by me when they (mistakenly) thought that a brother Officer had taken exception to me…actually they informed me happily that they were going to kill him for me – fortunately I was able to call them off!

In Galveston, where the Glen Campbell song “Galveston, Oh Galveston” was constantly in my head, I visited a bar, in the company of some others, including a rather mature ‘Junior’ Engineer from Wales called Cliff, who later had great pride in letting me know that he had had sex with two women in the toilet – I met the women in question and have to say that, despite his advancing years (he was in his late thirties which was a little old for a Junior Engineer) they were not only very ugly but also both old enough to be his mother! It was also - in a Galveston bar toilet - that I found that Americans have a totally different outlook to their public demonstrations of bodily functions when, going for a slash (as one does) I found to my amazement (and not a little embarrassment) a full blown cowboy with boots and Stetson, sitting on the “john” in the centre of the room, in full view of all who entered, his denims round his ankles, happily chatting to all and sundry as he took a dump!

We had a brief stopover in Houston (it was there incidentally that I remember being told by a prickly local that: “we’re not Americans – we’re Texans”) and late one afternoon the 3rd Mate, a personable young man called ‘Pedro’ Stott, went ashore with me to find a bar near the docks. We were both dressed in suits and overcoats, although it was pretty hot and sunny, and after wandering about for a while, found what appeared to be a Diner – a sort of long caravan-type establishment, with various signs outside boasting that it sold cold beers as well as food. We entered via the small portable stairs outside, approached the bar and, befitting our good English manners, greeted the woman behind the bar with an affable ‘Good Afternoon’ - at that there was a bit of a commotion at the far end of the Diner and when we looked over to our left we saw that the rear window to the Diner had been thrust open and (we later found out) two rather shabby male miscreants had dived out of it and disappeared into the dusty distance – apparently they were escaped prisoners and thought that the smartly dressed Pedro and I were FBI agents!

PEDRO STOTT (and a.n.other

Back on board ship life was progressing – George was leaving in New Orleans, as planned (no doubt much to his relief) as I had finished checking the various Storerooms and ‘Fridge stock and all the paperwork had been completed – I had assured the Captain (or ‘Old Man’ as he was more commonly known) that I was more than ready to take over and indeed, sea-life was already most agreeable to me. We sailed from Galveston on the 10th of June and, after that short stop at Houston for more cargo, arrived at New Orleans in Louisiana – The run ashore in New Orleans was full of incident too - in fact sea-life generally seemed to be series of dramas and strange happenings – for example, not long after leaving Galveston I was called to the ship’s cramped Pantry to find the Filipino Chief Cook and the Pantry-man sizing each other up, with the Pantry-man (who, it was reckoned, was a few eggs short of an omelette anyway) armed with a knife! – It took a little diplomacy - and a certain amount of courage on my part - to sort this situation out, but I did eventually manage to resolve it despite my linguistic limitations…I found out later that the Philippines - in those days a democracy under the authoritarian rule of Ferdinand Marcos (and his notorious wife Imelda) - consisted of over 7,000 islands with over 180 languages and dialects spoken. Realising that one islander could barely understand another, even from a nearby island, a universal language known as Tagalog was produced as one of the official languages of the country – it was supposed to be understood by most Filipino’s, wherever their home…as a result of this confrontation I decided to learn Tagalog myself too - and as soon as possible!

Anyway, as I was saying, the run ashore at New Orleans was unforgettable and I make no apology for dwelling on it now - particularly as it ended in a drama, like so many other adventures in the future were also to end…all over the world!

That June evening, as soon as my work was completed and in company with other Officers from the ship, we headed straight for the famous Bourbon Street area, in the French Quarter and known as the Vieux Carre of Louisiana’s most populous – and popular – city.

We went down Canal Street on one of the many trams and I particularly remember a group of youngsters on board, all black, who were seated on the facing bench seats near the doors and were all jiving and finger-popping to a jazz rhythm which they were tapping out with feet and hands - This was New Orleans all right…and what a delight it was too.

In Bourbon Street we drank in various bars, including Jean Lafitte’s “Old Absinthe House”, whose walls were festooned with simply hundreds of calling cards (now including my own!) - the raucous “Your Father’s Moustache”, where you sat at long wooden tables and sang lustily as men in boaters and lithe women danced their cabaret on the tables - and we also drank vivid red Hurricane cocktails and pints of Guinness at “Pat O’Brien’s” Irish bar. We visited bars, listened to jazz, staggered into clubs, drank, sang, staggered out again and just partied simply everywhere - it was loud, lively and certainly one of the highlights of my life at that time.

As the night wore on I teamed up with the 4th Engineer, Brian Constable, a stocky and well built Northerner with some years’ experience at sea, and somewhere along we were approached in the street by two rather dishevelled looking young men, who tried to persuade us to look at a Sextant that they wished to sell – they were insistent that we go down a side-street and, after a moment or two of cautious uncertainty, but emboldened by alcohol (and Brian’s stature) we decided to take a look. Sure enough, as they sat on the steps of a church situated at the bottom of this side street, away from the noise and frenetic activity of Bourbon Street, they revealed a wooden box, inside which, as promised, was a magnificent sextant! Brian and I then bartered with the two emaciated young men (who we now realised were almost certainly drug addicts) and, although neither of us had a clue as to the real value of this instrument, eventually “purchased” it for $25 – Brian then tucked the boxed sextant under his arm and we continued our tour of the Bourbon Street bars!

As they say however, all good things come to an end, and late that night we finally made our rather unsteady way to the docks, with Brian still clutching the box and now joined by one of the ship’s young Deck Cadets by the name of Gibson - who, no doubt because of his tender age, was even drunker than we were! Suddenly, just as we had gratefully sighted the lights of our ship moored alongside the dock, a Police squad car came hurtling towards us, siren blaring and, within seconds, it had screeched to a halt and we were almost immediately forced to line up in front of two armed policemen!

“Where’ve you been?” snarled the white cop, his beefy frame menacing in the gloom, the rays of his torch probing the darkness as he examined each of us – the other cop, a black man, also armed, stood warily to one side.

“What’s in the box?” the white cop persisted, ignoring Brian’s inane and inebriated answers about wonderful Bourbon Street and its wonderful bars.

I kept quiet (I was, after all, pretty tipsy) so it was at this stage that Brian started to explain what had happened earlier. Unfortunately the young Cadet, obviously fortified by alcohol, started to give the cop a piece of his British mind, showing his anger at us all being stopped in this way – he was, to say the least, less than diplomatic and, considering his obvious intake of booze (let alone the fact that, in America, it was illegal for anyone under twenty-one to drink in public anyway) arguing with a New Orleans cop on a cold, wet and windy quayside at one o’clock in the morning, in company with older colleagues obviously in possession of stolen goods, was not a wise move! Needless to say he was soon handcuffed and locked into the back of the squad car on the other side of a sturdy mesh security shield - which no doubt had been designed to protect the driver and mate from its irate occupants!

Negotiations continued – the cadet, having been made to promise to keep his mouth shut, was let out of the squad car again and I decided to try and defuse the situation by imploring with the cops that I needed to have a pee – eventually this request was reluctantly allowed and I was escorted by the black officer to a dockyard latrine for said pee where, with his unholstered police pistol pointed at me, the cautious cop watched me urinate – In effect, I was trying to have a slash under armed guard – believe me, a very difficult task indeed!

Finally, after more to-ing and fro-ing (at one time both Brian and the cadet ended up in the back of the squad car!) and a compliment from the cops for my apparent mature silence, we were taken on board and the whole party of us went up to the Old Man’s cabin where the newly awakened Captain Birchall awaited – it was a very humiliating experience…and I had only been on the ship a week - not a good start to my sea life!

Later, when recounting the experiences to the Mate, David Wylie (who understood all about sextants of course), I mentioned that it was a Cassens & Plath – to my horror he said that this was not only extremely expensive but, furthermore, that he would have probably paid over £100 for it himself if given the opportunity – worse still, as we approached the entrance to the Panama Canal the ship received a cable from the New Orleans Police telling us that, as the sextant did not appear on any stolen-goods lists, it was now available for us to pick up – we never saw it again!

I remember that we arrived at the Panama Canal around the latter part of June and, after a period at anchor in Limon Bay, joined the queue of ships due to head north-westward along the canal, towards the Gatun Locks, the canal itself and, ultimately, the Pacific Ocean and the long sea voyage ahead to Singapore – As we began our entry some of the Filipino deck crew made several attempts to impale a huge Great White shark which, from my vantage point on the Bridge wing, was clearly visible alongside the ship as she entered the channel. They were led by a member of the deck crew called Nelson Llabres, a stocky, muscular seaman who’s swarthy, almost gipsy like appearance seemed to spell certain disaster for the huge predator - however, despite two or three spearing actions with a makeshift harpoon, all efforts were in vain and the shark eventually disappeared.

The actual transit of the Panama Canal is via a system of locks with entrance and exit gates. The Canal is approximately 77 kilometres (50 miles) long between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and is situated in the narrowest part of the land isthmus between North and South America. The journey takes just less than 10 hours to complete…however, despite the fact that the Canal is undoubtedly a real marvel of engineering, the passage through can be pretty uninteresting once the original novelty has worn off, and although a number of liners did pass us on the Pacific to Atlantic Ocean side (apparently around 14,000 ships a year transit the Canal each year) and many of the passengers waved at us as we passed, I soon went inside to continue with my various duties – which included catering for Canal staff who stay on board during the passage through – and, of course, to have a drink or two in the bar!

* * * * *

THE PACIFIC:

Life in the open sea is almost perfect, especially if the weather is good, but particularly so in the Pacific Ocean. In all my time serving at sea I will never ever forget those many passages across that wonderful ocean, named so aptly by Magellan (from the Latin “Mare Pacificum”, or “peaceful sea”). It covers a third of the world’s total surface area and, in fact, this body of water could hold all the continents and almost all three other oceans. It is divided into North and South by the Equator, is on average nearly 14,000 feet deep and, at the Mariana Trench in the western North Pacific, is the deepest part in the world, over 36,000 feet (nearly 7 miles!) – It was also, as we were soon to find out,

Flying Fish on the Pacific half way across the world to Singapore and a journey of more

than a month!

During that mainly peaceful crossing I looked forward to my Steward awakening me early each morning, when I would then take my mug of coffee out onto the accommodation wing and, in the bright sunlight of another day on the Pacific Ocean, revel in the peace…a quietness disturbed only by the gentle throbbing of the ship’s engines as we cut our way through the glasslike expanse – occasionally the mirror-like surface would be marked by a v-shaped trail as a flying fish swooped and skimmed along beside us, or sometimes a larger ripple, or even an occasional splash as something bigger jumped out of the mill-pond water.

The wonderful Pacific Ocean

A GREEN FLASH

Sometimes I would go right up forrard as far as was possible to the aperture through which, when in use, the anchor chain was threaded, and I would put my head through that hole so that, in effect, I was ahead of the whole ship as we cut through the water – that was wonderful – At times there were dolphins playing below me, diving and plunging below the prow of the ship as she silently sped through the ocean, at other times there were shoals of colourful Pacific Barracuda, playing similar games with the ship’s bow, the sun glinting and flashing on their silvery bodies as they darted gracefully in and out of the boiling surf – and sometimes, at night, pools and trails of mystical green luminescence would magically illuminate the sea as it frothed beneath those plunging bows. Once, while crossing the Pacific Ocean one evening with its vast and unobstructed horizon, I was privileged to see the famous ‘Green Flash’ as the sun went down below the

sea – this is an optical phenomenon that occurs momentarily and is rarely seen by most people (indeed, some never see it).

SHIPBOARD LIFE

At 58, Captain Eric Birchall was twenty-seven years my senior – He was also my first Captain and, as a result, I listened to his every word at every opportunity - which was just as well considering the recent New Orleans incident…let alone what was soon to follow at Singapore!

In the meantime, as all the activity caused by entering and leaving U.S. coastal ports had passed and with the Panama far behind and an open sea in front, he started to pay regular visits my cabin. These visits were usually made in the mornings and I very much looked forward to them – Captain Birchall would tell me all sorts of tales about his many experiences and, rather like one of the absorbed young lads in that famous John Everett Millais painting of the boyhood of Raleigh, I would listen to his stories with fascination and amusement.

Sadly though, as the trip across the Pacific progressed and landfall at Singapore came nearer, Captain Birchall began to repeat himself and I very reluctantly began to realise that I was now beginning to hear the same stories again – he did ask me to tell him if I had heard any of them before, of course, but I was too well brought up to do, and so he happily carried on…nevertheless, I still enjoyed his company and actually felt quite honoured by his presence.

On Sunday mornings the Captain and his senior Officers (Chief Engineer, Chief Officer and myself) would assemble in his cabin in readiness for the traditional Ship’s Inspection, which was a tour of the whole vessel that covered all Officer and Crew accommodation, galleys, fridges, store-rooms and all departments – this was usually at around 10.30am and took about thirty to forty-five minutes, after which we would all reassemble in the Captain’s Day Room for drinks and snacks. I remember that my young Filipino Chef, who was a good all round cook, was particularly good at making what used to be called ‘tab-nabs’ or snacks such as Cheese straws and Crisps (“Game Chips” as I called them!) – Naturally, as the tours mostly involved my own departments I was therefore quite relieved when it was finished. The post-inspection session in the Captain’s quarters was always fun however, and, at that time, the 2nd Engineer – a Gordon Tough - would also join us (wives were normally invited too, but there weren’t any senior wives on that voyage as I recall) – The Chief Engineer was an ancient Scottish sea-dog called Sandy Brown, a veteran of numerous voyages – particularly across the treacherous South China Sea (as he was fond of telling us) - the Chief Officer, an unmarried man called David Wylie, was also a Scot, but from Inverness (where they say they speak the truest of all English) - His voice had a much more refined timbre, almost soft in inflexion (which was rather an anomaly because, when riled, he could be a bit of a nightmare). I recall that one of Dave Wylie’s favourite spoken prefaces was “Seemingly” - a common Inverness GORDON TOUGH

interjection, which he used many times!

Anyway, as I said before, the after-inspection session was really enjoyable and we would cover all sorts of subjects during this pleasant pre-lunch relaxation. Topics would cover ship’s business as well as all kinds of social matters - jokes would be cracked, legs would be pulled and generally speaking the whole thing was a good tradition, and probably a pretty successful form of man-management. Lunch in the Saloon would follow and then at around 1330 hours most would then retire to their respective cabins, turn-in, and sleep until awoken by their Stewards with afternoon tea at “Smokoe” time, around 1530 hours – as I said before…life at sea was pretty good!

By the way, just a short note for those who have poor eyesight – not long out of the Panama Canal, freed from shore-side pressures and with the open seas all around, I decided to take advantage of this release to reorganise some of the store-rooms, with most of my crew assisting me (overtime being paid!) – We laboured hard, stripping down boxes of linen, discarding rubbish, re-setting layouts, etc. At some time during our efforts I placed my spectacles on the side of one of the T-chests that we were using for rubbish so that I could get deeper into the cupboard we were clearing…shortly after this my 2nd Cook manfully hoisted the T-chest of rubbish and cast it over the side into the rushing ocean – ‘specs’ and all! For the rest of our journey across that mighty ocean I had to make do without my glasses – but the funny thing was…I didn’t miss them at all and, in the strong natural light, my eyesight became perfect again!

CROSSING THE LINE

At 180 degrees longitude (known also as the 180th meridian) is the International Date Line… and at 0 degrees latitude is also the Equator. We were just north of the Marshall Islands, bound for the Luzon Strait, when we did both - “crossed the line” and the Equator. Indeed, as we had crossed both lines simultaneously those of us who had not done so before (which included myself, the Cadets, a Junior Engineer from Dundee called John Shepherd and a couple of young crew members) became known as “Golden Shellbacks” in an initiation ceremony which is a tradition going back centuries… we had in fact all ventured into what was known as ‘The Solemn Mysteries of the Ancient Order of the Deep’. The ceremony involved fancy dress, shaving cream, much jollity and, among other things, being ducked in the ship’s swimming pool. When all was finished we each received hand-written Diplomas acknowledging the fact that we had entered the domain of His Royal Majesty, Neptunus Rex, which was all great fun!!

According to official figures the m.v. London Banker had a Gross tonnage of just under 10,400 and a BHP of 7,800. Like similar cargo ships of that type she averaged around 350 miles per day so, with Singapore over 12,000 miles away, we weren’t scheduled to arrive there until some time near the end of July – in effect then we were at sea for well over a month before sighting any land of consequence – I do remember, therefore, that our first real sight of land was the mid-July night when we sailed between the volcanic pinnacles of Taiwan on our starboard side and Luzon in the Philippines on the port side…Indeed, as we sailed through the Luzon Strait before entering the South China Sea it really was a case of “so near and yet so far” for many of the crew – I will never forget the sad, plaintive, almost wretched sounds of some of them, howling in the dark like frustrated wolves as the impassive ship passed silently by the dim outlines of their homelands.

The Pacific Ocean

As I have said though, life on board was generally pretty acceptable during that long voyage across the Pacific. For example, we had the Ship’s Library, which was extremely well stocked with books of all sorts and sizes, both fiction and non-fiction - and was much used…in fact, possibly as a result of this, Merchant Navy personnel were very well versed in terms of literature… and then there were the films – these were feature films (usually three of them) which were contained in fawn-coloured cardboard cases and stored in a hinged, silvery metal box – the Film Box - which, like the Library, was regularly exchanged, either in port or even, occasionally, swapped with other ship’s - for example when at anchor. These films were shown in the Bar, usually on a Saturday (every ship had its own projector) and were shown in the afternoon, with a break for the evening meal, and then again in the evening, at around 2030 hours, in order to accommodate the different watches. Being the Catering Officer, with no watch to keep as such, I would often see the same film twice in the same day – just as well really as, by halfway through the evening showing my total alcoholic intake was often such that I lost the plot anyway!

There was also, of course, the sunbathing regime that most of us indulged in. The weather, particularly in the Southern Hemisphere and crossing the Pacific, was invariably hot and sunny, and at every spare moment I would naturally take the opportunity to improve my blossoming tan. One of my favourite ‘bronzie’ spots, other than beside the ship’s swimming pool, was up on what was called the ‘Monkey Island’, the topmost surface of the ship above the bridge (its roof really), which housed various pieces of equipment and the ‘Christmas Tree’ which was a topmost mast containing the ship’s coloured navigational lights (hence the name). This was a wonderful place to sunbathe – some even used to sleep up there in hammocks when it got too hot at night. I remember one afternoon, sunbathing in the middle of the calm of the Pacific Ocean while listening to the radio as the England Rugby side played (I can’t remember against who but it may have been the ‘enemy’ Wales) and Peter Cranmer (of all people)* was doing the commentary! I also remember another occasion on the ‘Monkey Island’ when, as twilight began to darken the skies ahead, a colleague and I both saw a small bright light crossing our line of sight at a tremendous speed…from the curve of Earth on our right, across to the curve of the Earth on our left, it took less than five seconds to fly horizontally across ahead of us, never faltering in its phenomenal journey, before finally disappearing below the horizon on our left – to this day I am certain that this was a true U.F.O. sighting!

*(Peter Cranmer was a good friend of my parents, back in the Walsall Rugby Club)

I also remember that one day, during my assault on improving the cleanliness of the ship, I got the poor Galley Boy (the ‘gopher’) to clean the Engineer’s toilets using a lethal combination of liquid Domestos bleach and Sanilav powder – the resultant chemical reaction was most effective as far as whitening the toilet pans, but the gas produced nearly put paid to his young life! The Engineer’s toilets and showers were actually across the alleyway from my cabin and I remember that the Lecky (Electrician) – one Lyndon Beddoe from Wales – was particularly lax when it came to washing his personal clothes, including underpants (universally known as “ball-bags”). His engine-room colleagues used to get quite irate at this and he was regularly ‘tortured’ for his anomalies…one of their favourite treatments were to catch him and then painfully twist his nipples. There was a ship’s laundry and all of us could use that if they wished, or pay their Steward to do personal washing for them, but in Lyndon’s case, presumably as he did not believe in paying his Steward extra for that service, all his washing went into a blue plastic bucket (we all had one) together with a generous dollop of Tide washing powder – The trouble was that his “Dhobi bucket” was kept in the Engineer’s shower room and Lyndon (who I must admit did seem to get very dirty all the time) seemed to think that all that was necessary was a further dollop of washing-powder from time to time and would therefore let this “dhobi” mount up for days on end. It was a regular occurrence then that his Engineering colleagues, unable to bear the evil-smelling contents any longer, would toss the whole contents of the bucket over the side…Lyndon’s expenditure on “ball-bags” each trip must have been astronomic!

Part of my job was the preparation of Port documents, both on behalf of the ship and on behalf of its Officers and Crew, covering arrivals (and to a lesser extent departures) from the various ports in the world – This was not a particularly difficult task as far as the ship’s details were concerned; Deck and Engine lists were each prepared for me by the respective departments and other than a sort of “stock-taking” of all my own stores and fridges, which was a little time-consuming, the job was just a matter of administration – however, the overall task was made much harder by the Personal Effects Lists, which were hand-written records (carbonised in triplicate) of the personal belongings held by each member on board – at the beginning of a trip this was a reasonable job but as the ship visited more and more ports and bartering and buying gathered intensity, it became increasingly onerous as these “personal effects” swelled considerably - particularly on the crew side! On the London Banker the Officer’s Personal Effects Lists were usually left in the Smoke-room (at the rear of the adjoining Dining Saloon) for completion, whilst the Crew’s lists were left in their quarters…usually the Steward’s Room – in fact my 2nd Cook, who I long suspected was a sort of Filipino Mafioso, helped me enormously with regard to the crew’s completions, including hiding all the “porn” magazines (Singapore was very hot on obscene publications!). However, the Officer’s lists were another matter altogether and I had to constantly chase them to complete and sign these documents…in addition, I was particularly nervous as not only was our first port of call Singapore, a port notorious for their administrative bureaucracy, customs “Black Gangs” and (rumour had it) a dislike of Europeans - British in particular - but it was also my first real foreign port of entry, as my predecessor George had done most of the USA paperwork.

Anyway, we arrived at Singapore late in the evening and after the Pilot had boarded went to anchor to await the Customs authorities, who would hopefully clear the ship in readiness for the follow-up visits of the Port Health, Police, Immigration and all the other various bodies necessary to achieve said clearance. Needless to say I had meticulously checked and rechecked all the paperwork and now had the

AT ANCHOR - SINGAPORE various sets of documents laid out in neat rows on my desk

and on the coffee table in my cabin.

After a long wait, with just the sound of lapping water and an occasional throbbing engine in the distance, two Customs launches arrived alongside, one containing a troupe of figures in dark blue boiler suits – the notorious “Black Gang” I had heard so much about - and the other containing several Officers, all with similar dark blue uniforms, two of whom climbed precariously aboard via our gangway. One of these Officers went straight up to Captain Birchall’s cabin where the Old Man was waiting with various refreshments, whilst the other came into my cabin and, after curtly shaking my hand by way of greeting, languidly seated himself in an armchair by the coffee table and commenced to go through the paperwork that I had spent the last few days so carefully preparing.

After a short period of inspection, interspersed with theatrical sighs and the occasional loud ‘tut’, the Customs official – a young Chinese looking man – pushed the documents towards me and, indicating a section on the Bond list where I had crossed out the original figure and replaced it with the up-to-date one (we had made an issue that evening), intimated that it had been incorrectly completed. Although the limitations of language proved somewhat of a barrier my understanding of his action was reasonably clear – with thumping heart I acknowledged that the paperwork was being questioned and asked him what I was supposed to do – he looked at me, a hint of impatience flitting across his sallow Asian features, and indicated that I should do another, corrected, copy of the whole stores manifest.

Reluctantly, and somewhat annoyed (I was, after all, normally proud of my administrative skills) I proceeded to laboriously copy all the figures from the defiled lists to a new set, while the Customs official watched me with an inscrutable gaze – when I eventually finished and passed them over to him he took a cursory look, made some mention that I should have put certain figures in pencil, not pen – and rejected them once more! I was now very annoyed, but I remembered that Captain Birchall’s advice had been to exercise much caution with these Singapore officials – ‘Watch ‘em’ he had said, ‘they can be awkward buggers if they want!’ so with these words in mind I collected yet another new set and, moving to my desk so as to work better, commenced to write out this third set – I had been laboriously copying figures for just a short while when the Customs official, having scribbled something on a piece of paper, moved to my side and slid the piece of paper towards me – it read: “DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING FOR ME?”

Although somewhat flustered by this it was nevertheless all beginning to make sense to me now and, making some rather confused excuses, I left the man in my cabin and, with the note clutched in my sweating palm, made my way up the stairs to the Captain’s cabin on the deck above – Captain Birchall was alone in his cabin (I don’t know what had happened to the other Customs man) and after bidding me to enter and listening carefully to my explanation, aided by the note, he told me to sit down.

‘What do we do?’ I asked, trying hard to disguise the panic that I felt.

‘Just sit – and wait…’ was the reply, ‘that’s all we can do!’

So we waited - and, sure enough, after several long minutes there was a knock at the curtained cabin doorway and my Customs man popped his head round – ‘It’s all right Captain’ he said, ‘No problem’.

After that, with all the Customs checks apparently magically completed and the two Officers back aboard their waiting launch (alongside the other launch containing the group of chattering and no doubt frustrated Black Gang) I heard the two launches noisily throttle away…no doubt heading for another ship clearance – perhaps a less confusing one than ours!

Early the next day we went alongside – by which time the shipping agent from Jardines had arrived to process all the onerous and tiresome (but essential) paper work - however, following my stressful experiences with Customs (and, as a result, a night virtually without sleep) my heart was hardly

A Singapore Street in it and I felt absolutely exhausted.

Later that day we received a visit from the Missions to Seamen, then at Connell House in Anson Road (due to be bought by the Singapore government later that year). The Padre, who was slim, bearded and looked a little like a young Jesus Christ himself, accepted our offer of a shipboard party that night, promising that several local girls would attend at his invitation. They did too – but by the time I had made the various arrangements, including music, seating and a well-stocked Buffet, I could barely keep my eyes open. Indeed, following our guest’s arrival early that evening, I remember trying to hold a conversation with one of the girls and my eyes closing as I spoke! Actually, with all the girls sitting together in a row and all the Officers, albeit in their best uniforms, sitting self-consciously around the bar, the evening was (to say the least) beginning to look pretty awkward and seemed to be heading towards a real disaster…It was then that I remembered some earlier words that the Padre had made concerning such a situation and I managed to encourage one of the lads to take a girl over to the Buffet and remove the covers – it worked like magic and, with all the food thereby exposed, the evening took off with a vengeance!

Singapore was a fascinating run ashore – the whole place is a cosmopolitan mishmash of nationalities (with Indian and Chinese dominating) – the noisy streets, with their monsoon drains, ox-carts (and more modern traffic) teemed with people from every quarter of the world and the whole city seemed to run at full speed all the time.

Nevertheless, the fact that the world is really a small place in reality was soon to be illustrated…I was walking down one of Singapore’s main streets when I passed another European coming the other way who looked slightly familiar – I said ‘Hello’ to him as he passed and he also nodded a greeting back to me, but it wasn’t until I had walked on and he had disappeared into the milling crowds, that it suddenly dawned on me that he was from Walsall – In fact I knew him by sight, and I’m sure that he knew me too, but neither of us had appreciated it until too late!

BUGIS STREET ‘BOY-GIRLS’

I also remember a bunch of us went to Changi and visited a huge and crowded bar (more like a huge hall actually) known as the ‘Pink Champagne Bar’ – We sat at one of the numerous tables in this vast and very noisy drinking emporium and female “hostesses” attached themselves to each of us almost immediately. Mine was passably attractive I thought, although she was of quite a mature age, however, the problem was that she couldn’t speak properly, merely grunting and gesticulating, so I just kept buying her drinks. In the end I lost count of the number of drinks that I did buy her but, after I finally refused to purchase any more, she became almost aggressively persuasive…in fact so much so that I relented and bought her one more drink. With that she stood up and, in front of the whole company (there must have been at least two hundred people there), held clasped hands aloft like an Olympic gold medallist and uttered what could only be described as a cheer of triumph. It would appear that she had broken some sort of house record…and at my expense! Indeed, I was to find out the next day, from the Padre that visited the ship, that she was in fact known as Dum Dum, and that she really was unable to talk because, as a very young girl, she had had her tongue cut out by the Japanese during their occupation of Singapore in 1944…Celebrated company indeed!

Before leaving I visited the Singapore Hilton in Orchard Road and the palatial Shangri-La hotel in Orange Grove Road – both of which excelled in luxury and service – but I was unable to make it to the famous Raffles Hotel, birthplace of the ‘Singapore Sling’ - However, I did earmark it for a visit in the future together with another place that I had to see, the infamous Bugis Street (pronounced ‘Boogie’) which everyone knew was a favourite haunt of tourists, offering shops and food stalls during the day - and other, much more licentious attractions, at night!

There were a couple more memories of that time – one was of the 3rd Engineer John Ireland (four years later to become seriously injured in an engine room fire on board the London Pioneer) a lover of Japan who, when off duty, went about the ship in a white and dark blue patterned yukata (a sort of Japanese kimono or dressing gown) and flip-flops – it was what was known on ships as ‘going native’ – he even had the nickname ‘Tojo’ and with his cropped hair and rather short, rotund shape he did indeed look a lot like a Buddhist (or Shinto) monk! The other memory involved Junior Engineer John Shepherd – the rather coarse young man who had thought that the very expensive tournedos I served one night were nice steaks ‘but a bit small’ – and who, one night while I was ashore, had a difference of opinion with the Mate, Dave Wylie and was k.o’d…the man from Dundee and the man from Inverness!!

We finally sailed from Singapore on the 25th of July, bound initially for Djakarta in Indonesia, which was a two-day journey of around 560 miles. The tables in the Saloon, where all the officers had their meals, were laid up with the usual settings and condiments etc, plus big jars of salt tablets, which we all had to take daily to avoid heat exhaustion in the tropics (at least eight a day and in plenty of water!) and in certain areas of the world, which of course included Indonesia, we also had tins of Paludrine tablets on these tables, which we had to take to avoid contacting Malaria.

Administratively Indonesia was another foreign country and consequently I was busy once again preparing our arrival documents – only this time I was determined to ensure that there were no hitches! I had spent several hours listening to Captain Birchall’s stories of the corruption that abounded in many parts of the world and marking my card with respect to dealing with Port officials and just how unnecessary delays can cost a Shipping company thousands of dollars a day – a few cartons of cigarettes and bottles of sprits were therefore, in terms of logistical comparison, mere drops in the ocean - Nevertheless, such an outlook definitely went against my grain…after all my parents had brought me up as an honest person and, apart from the odd small slip-up, my approach to life had been generally straightforward. However, I respected Captain Birchall and his wide experience too and realised that although this commercial dishonesty went somewhat against this grain, it was a procedure that I had to adopt, whatever my true feelings.

The result was that, very shortly after our arrival, the Indonesian authorities were to think that all their birthdays had come at once!

INDONESIA (July 27th 1971)

We arrived at Djakarta in Java on the evening of the 27th July and, as soon as we had tied up alongside, my cabin practically overflowed with uniformed personnel – everyone seemed to have official dress of some sort or other - not that I had time to question them really as I was too busy passing over forms and documents. Rubber stamps were wielded, duplicate paperwork was handed back, numerous hands were shaken and the booty – cigarettes, whisky, chewing gum and sweets – was handed out to all and sundry with gay abandon (even to one brown-uniformed individual who, I learned too late, was the dockyard sweeper!) - I even had to take one gaggle of officials down to the Bond Locker, ostensibly to seal it, and they all piled in like kids at a sweet shop, selecting even more booty, which disappeared into the briefcases and bags that they all carried.

However, eventually they had all gone and, having dished out the money to the crew and the officers and completed various other arrival duties, I was at last alone.

I listened to the radio in my cabin a lot, particularly the music of the time – in fact I often hear songs these days, like the Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Cotton Fields” and “Bad Moon Rising”, which remind me instantly of those times - and then of course, there were the Beatles songs which, despite the fact that they had broken up in 1970, were still being played (as, of course, they still are to this day). As we approached Djakarta I remember that my radio was playing the ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’ hit by the group called Middle Of The Road…and the haunting lyrics, starting with ‘Where’s Your Mamma Gone?’, which seemed to fit in ideally with the exciting smells and imagery that now surrounded us - the magic of Indonesia was indeed beckoning.

After nearly 22 years under the presidency of Sukarno (who had died under house arrest at Djakarta in 1970) Indonesia was now under the rule of General Suharto - the second president - and his military supporters…this military dominance was plainly demonstrated everywhere in Indonesia and especially in Djakarta, the capital. I remember the first outing ashore when, in company with Dave Wylie - the Chief Officer who I had now become close friends with - we had walked the half mile or so to the main gates of the port. There were jeeps and army trucks everywhere, bristling with armed soldiers and we were stopped on three occasions as we neared the gates and each time we had to literally bribe these soldiers, usually with a 100 ‘new’ rupiah note, which was the local money at that time and…although to us worth only around 50p…of considerably more value to an Indonesian due to the DJAKARTA

inflationary situation that was still rife. Indeed, when we reached the

centre of the city and saw the imposing obelisk that had been erected in the central square under the instructions of the Sukarno regime in 1961 (but not completed until 1975 by which time General Suharto was the new president) we were struck by the fact that the 137-metre tall monument was topped by a solid gold flame emblem, coated with 35kg of pure gold – worth a fortune and a complete anomaly when compared to the poverty of the country that surrounded it!

Nevertheless, as we drew our money on board - and such money was based on our good salaries - we were shielded from this raging inflation and, as a result, found that we were considered “rich men” when we went ashore - Another anomaly too, but one that, for the following reason we celebrated, was the profusion of Casinos that seemed to dominate Djakarta night-life…One memorable night Dave Wylie and I started our evening with a visit to such a casino. I remember that the premises seemed to be Chinese-run and there were mah-jong tables along one end, rather like the top-table at a banquet, plus several rows of roulette tables running like sprigs from this top-table, and stretching right across the room. Anyway, feeling reckless - and a little drunk from our earlier visit to the imposing hotel overlooking the central square – I stood in between two of the rows of roulette tables and gambled on two at a time, one on each side of me, placing chips on numbers and combinations on both and checking the results as each wheel stopped…and in no time at all I had won the equivalent of £100 sterling (£988 at 2012 values!).

Elated with my success we then left and hailed a taxi, a Mercedes no less, telling the Indonesian driver to take us to ‘the best club you know!’

The taxi-driver duly deposited us at an imposing looking building festooned with coloured lights and, after insisting that he would wait for us, we entered the night club - inside there were bars and fruit-machines, music and dancing and also what seemed like a big bamboo cage (with a hard-faced elderly woman sitting in a small bamboo cubicle outside) and, behind the bars of the cage, row upon row of benches with girls sitting on the benches just waiting to be claimed for the going rate by male customers - and used for dancing or, subject to a larger payment, presumably for ‘other’ services. Needless to say, we did not participate!

So the evening wore on and the drinks continued to flow – I had now found a row of noisy one-armed bandits and started to feed a vacant one with local currency coins…after a very short while Dave came up to me:

‘What do you have to do to get the jackpot?’ he asked, as I continued to feed the machine.

‘I don’t know…’ I replied, indicating a design of three metal stars at the top of the machine – ‘…perhaps it has something to do with those’.

As I said it I pulled the handle again and to our delight and fascination we watched as three matching star symbols slowly formed a line on the spools in front of us, followed by a deeply satisfying “clunk” as a large and heavy metal token fell into the tray.

‘…Like that!’ I added, turning triumphantly to a bemused Dave.

Shortly after that I went to the cashier, who was sitting at a table near the bank of machines, and presented my newly won disc – to be rewarded with the equivalent of £25 in Indonesian rupiah – a worthy amount as I was to find out later (almost £250 in 2012 terms!).

We left the club after about an hour - I had now insisted that the night was all on me – and the Mercedes taxi was still outside just as its driver had promised, so we clambered in and told him to take us to another club, any club – ‘We want fun!’ I said…the success of the evening now sinking in. After that the ensuing night was a confusion of clubs, of drinking, of wild dancing and laughing and singing, until the club finally closed in the very small hours. Amazingly, when we finally emerged the taxi was still outside, patiently awaiting us and so, after a fairly lengthy journey, we eventually arrived back at the ship – then, as I had promised that the expense of the night was on me, I paid the taxi off - tipping him extravagantly when (to my absolute amazement) he only charged us the sterling equivalent of £2.50 for the whole night!

We sailed to Surabaya later the next day – I remember I went ashore there once (in keeping with my personal promise to set foot in all and every port visited) drinking in a bar where the female staff wore traditional batik prints, and I could see the magical island of Bali through the windows – We also went to Belawan, the port for Medan, the capital of North Sumatra and at one time the largest port in the Dutch East Indies. Dave Wylie and I went ashore for a drink or two there too, and I particularly recall us weaving our way through a busy market, bordered by crude village buildings of wood and straw, down rutted roads amongst the smell of wood fires and various spices and simply bustling with humanity - and the usual scattering of armed soldiers (most of who were either on foot or on bicycles). I also remember that we found the usual collection of seaman’s bars, with basic amenities and doubtful sanitation – for example, in one there was a huge cockroach as big as a lizard, climbing the bamboo wall behind the barman (who took no notice), and the toilet was just a bamboo shack with no drainage…you simply aimed through the poles to the outside jungle!

I have a couple more memories of Indonesia that are worth repeating – one concerned a run ashore by a few of us. We were to go by taxi and I cleverly had the foresight to memorise a notice that was displayed on a board on the dock wall, opposite our ship, knowing full well that we would probably be returning the worse for drink and may well forget where to direct the taxi driver. The notice read something like: ‘Dilarang Merokok Di Dalam Gudang’ – Indeed, when it did come time to return to the ship we were, as expected, pretty pissed (in other words, inebriated) and had forgotten where the ship was berthed – it was then that I reassured my colleagues that I had the answer to our problem and, tapping the driver on the shoulder, proudly quoted my newly learned Indonesian – turned out it actually meant: ‘No Smoking in the Warehouse’…but it did get us back to the ship!

The other instance was as we were about to sail – our cargo had included sacks of flour and sacks of rice, all emblazoned with the U.S. stamp of clasped hands and the logo ‘Hands Across the Ocean’ – The gangway was already half way up, virtually in a parallel position, when one of the Indonesian dock workers, covered in dust from the hold, scrambled precariously on to it, a heavy bag of the sweepings of rice and flour on his shoulders (presumably) gathered from the hold – I filmed the incident on my Super 8 cine camera at the time and remember watching with increasing trepidation as the half naked man tried to negotiate the gangway and make the dock below without losing his precious booty – eventually he fell, still clutching the bag, and landed with a sickeningly audible smack, before rising dizzily to his feet and tottering away from the advancing dock police!

Eventually we left Indonesia and, after a short visit back to Singapore to change ship’s papers (we were now under charter to the Blue Funnel Line) we proceeded to Malaysia and entered the Selat Kelang Utara (North Kelang Strait) and Port Klang (originally known as Port Swettenham), which was the main port for the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur. Here we anchored in the river and began the precarious loading of timber from barges.

During our stay at Port Swettenham the Captain and senior officers were invited to one of the finest hotels in the capital of Kuala Lumpur (or ‘KL’ as it was popularly known). It was a trip laid on by the ship’s agent, with first a massage - a proper one (e.g. not sexual although that was available if you wanted!) and then the feature of the visit - a Mandarin Chinese banquet of gargantuan proportions complete with attractive female hostesses, dancing between courses, and of course unhurried eating – just as well too, as there were at least nine courses!

PORT KLANG (Swettenham)

* * * * *

SEPTEMBER 1971 - BACK TO THE UK – AND A SECOND TRIP

On Sunday, the 22nd August 1971, we finally sailed for Durban, where we took on “bunkers” (fuel oil and water) and then proceeded to Liverpool, our first port of discharge and also where the ship’s charter would end. We reached Liverpool at the end of September and, as is the way with sea-life, a return to the UK meant that most of the officer’s went on leave and the ship therefore had new ones – However, from my point of view, as Liverpool was also the port where London & Overseas Freighters (and more specifically the London Banker) would try to obtain new business, I was asked (and accepted) to supervise a Charterer’s Lunch in this connection. I accordingly designed the menu and ensured that my Filipino catering crew were dressed in clean whites, aprons etc.; I also went to the trouble of equipping all my saloon staff with white gloves, which was a hotel-inspired move if ever there was one! I must admit that it was a little nerve-wracking at the time, but my efforts were rewarded and it was a successful luncheon – indeed, as a result not only did the London Banker obtain a new charter but also I, and my staff were actually applauded by the assembled company – I was very proud that day.

I had now decided to stay on for another trip – that would mean a year in total, which I suppose is a long time to be on one ship in those days, but to me this new life was superb and I absolutely loved it – or most of the time anyway.

Mind you, I was soon to find out that living in a tin-box environment (as someone once described it) had its drawbacks too, particularly as those involved are somewhat thrown together as a result – getting on with each other did therefore rely a lot on the personalities of those on board. Having said this, the priority was to not just to achieve an efficient business model but to also produce a “happy ship” - and the influence of my departments on the latter was not lost on me.

In connection with this decision, and in view of the success of the Charterers’ lunch and the fact that LOF was so pleased with me, it was natural then that I should try to obtain permission for my wife Carole to join me in this second voyage. This application was soon granted and not long after my wife duly arrived at Liverpool Lime Street Station where, deeply tanned and proudly wearing my full blues uniform and cap, I met her off the train and we proceeded to the ship – another first-tripper for the London Banker!

Initially our stay in Liverpool was followed by a short voyage down the coast to Avonmouth, where we discharged the remainder of our cargo, prior to dry-dock in Falmouth. I did receive a bonus though - we missed the dry-dock in Falmouth as it appeared that LOF were so delighted with my efforts at that Charterer’s luncheon in Liverpool that they arranged for another Catering Officer to attend the dry-dock and allowed Carole and I to return to London until it was over – This was much appreciated, as the dry-dock experience (no sanitary water for a start!) was well worth missing - When we finally returned to Falmouth the ship, now complete with a full set of new officers (with the exception of me and Junior Engineer John Shepherd), was ready to sail - for Fortaleza in Brazil.

Mind you – while I was away from the ship I had missed some of the action. Apparently there had been a big fight in Falmouth one night between the locals and our Filipino crew, some of those involved including my younger stewards. I remember one steward in particular, called Bonifacio (which loosely translates as ‘handsome’), owned a broad leather belt that he had bought in Texas – it sported a large silver buckle with the Lone Star in raised motif - After police had stopped the fight and arrested a few participants, this motif appeared as an angry red weal - on the forehead of one of the locals!

NEW CREW LIST - m.v. “London Banker” – September 1971:

Captain: E.J. Humby - C/Off: Gordon Cunningham – 2/Off: P. Lee – 3rd/Off: P. Thompson

Radio Off: J.C. McCabe – C/Eng: J. McLeish - 2nd.Eng: Gordon Emmerson - 3rd.Eng: R.H. (Bob) Allen – 4th.Eng: Alec Priestley - J/E: C.D. Freeman – J/E: John Shepherd - Electrician: Paul Wray

Cadet: C. Archer – Cadet: A. Hilliard

Sadly, before we finally sailed out of the UK there was one unfortunate occurrence - and it stays in my memory to this day. With the complete change of officers we now had, among others, a new Captain who had replaced the gentlemanly Eric Birchall – This new Old Man was one Eddy Humby, a diminutive and rotund Geordie in his late fifties who, befitting his five foot nothing size, was a bit of a bully to boot…Carole and I sat together in the Saloon at that time, at a table of our own at the back near the serving hatch from the Pantry (so that, if necessary, I could get up and whip out of the rear Saloon door to deal with any problems, heighten supervision, etc.). On the coastal trip down to Avonmouth most of the new officers were already on board - I remember in particular that these included Jim McCabe, a rather skinny Irish Radio Officer in his forties, and one Alec Priestly, the Fourth Engineer, who was a little older than me and came from Derby or nearby - sadly, for reasons best known to him, he seemed to take a real aversion to me and to Carole.

‘What’s this shit?!’

The question – or exclamation - came from Captain Humby who, seated at his table in the Saloon, with his own wife next to him and surrounded by his senior officers…the new Mate and his wife and the Chief Engineer, John McLeish from Scotland…was clearly addressing me (although he appeared to be addressing the whole Saloon) and, by the nature of his words, was clearly implying that the food was unacceptable – I rose to my feet, conscious that the hatch to the pantry was now crowding with members of my catering crew, shocked expressions on their faces.

I walked apologetically to the Captain’s table, aware that all eyes were on me, including those of my deeply embarrassed wife – I attempted to ask what the problem was and, despite not receiving a proper answer, then had to endure a public dressing down from this aggressive little man – a man who, nevertheless, was Captain of the ship and therefore in a position that was totally unassailable. For the rest of my career at sea – a period that was to be in excess of nine years – I rarely took my meals in the Saloon again…and Captain E.J. Humby was solely responsible for this.

Later I wondered to myself that, if my wife had not been there I might have reacted differently, but Humby probably knew that, so I had bitten my lip and taken the unjust criticism. Worse than that though were the sniggers of some of the others assembled, notably the aforementioned Jim McCabe and his new friend the replacement 4th Engineer, Alec Priestly.

Actually, although I didn’t know it at the time of course, I was to got my revenge on Alec Priestly later on in the trip, adding strength to the popular mantra that what goes around does indeed come around…It involved my role as Ship’s doctor and, in that connection, he had complained to me of itchiness in his anal region. After a rather personal inspection in his cabin it didn’t take me long to realise that he had a bad case of ‘piles’ and it was then that I saw a way of getting my revenge on him and his attitude. His cabin was at the bottom of the port side corridor on the accommodation deck and, consequently, was in full view of the main door to the outside deck, as it was the cabin at the end of that passageway. The port and starboard corridors were connected by a third, the cross-alleyway, which ran between them and contained more cabins on the same side as the 4th’s cabin - and the Medical Chest which was centrally located on the opposite side of that same cross-alleyway…Anyway, I instructed Priestly to drop his shorts and ‘ball-bags’ (underpants) and to bend over, making sure his rear faced the open doorway of his cabin...I then informed him that I was going to the Medical Chest to get a tube of haemorrhoid ointment, leaving him bending over, naked bottom exposed to the sniggering officers who were now congregating outside at the main alleyway door (thanks to my earlier invitation) – revenge was indeed sweet!!

In the meantime I was soon to find out that, unlike me, Carole was not a good sailor…There was quite a swell as we sailed through the notorious Bay of Biscay prior to our crossing the Atlantic for the northern coast of Brazil, and unfortunately as a result, she spent most of that time in her bunk - or in the bath in the Ship’s hospital…She had found that, half-immersed in water and as the ship lurched from side to side, so the water in the bath followed similar suit – by lying in the bath and witnessing this movement she had discovered that it actually had a soothing effect!

November, 1971

Fortunately the journey across the Atlantic itself was mainly calm and we eventually arrived in Brazil on the 8th of November 1971 – Our first port of call was Fortaleza (lit: Fortress) situated on the coast of the small North Eastern Brazilian state of Ceara…from that moment on our amazing trip took in much of South America, plus South Africa and an extensive tour of Japan and the Far East.

Newsline 1972:

9th Jan - Coal miners walked out at midnight in their first national strike for almost 50 years.

9th May - Israeli soldiers ‘maintenance staff’ storm hijacked Boeing at Lod airport, Tel Aviv, releasing the 100 people on board.

23rd Jun - The Chancellor, Anthony Barber, has announced his decision to temporarily float the pound.

18th Sept - First Ugandan refugees fleeing the persecution of the country's military dictatorship have arrived in Britain.

February 1972

We arrived back in Singapore on the 13th of February and the Filipino crew all disembarked – the company had agreed a crew change to Indians, possibly for financial reasons although $50 a month (the average pay for a senior Filipino crewmember) was pretty low in my view. Anyway, to avoid the two crews meeting – and any riots or fights – the Filipino crew went first and then some of the Officers toured the empty ship, inspecting all the crew quarters for booby traps and damage and so on. Dave, the Mate, and I did most of the searching and inspecting together and I must admit that the empty ship was very eerie – a bit like being on the Mary Celeste!

The new crew arrived later that day (I had arranged for a Buffet lunch during that time, which had been prepared by the outgoing catering crew) and all went reasonably well. I had taken some Indian stores earlier, including Rice, Dhal, and MK Mutton and of course lots of Indian spices together with, amongst others, a rather strange vegetable called okra, which was green with a white, starchy centre and numerous seeds and which they aptly called ‘lady-fingers!’ Anyway, we left the Serangs (Deck and Engine foremen) to sort accommodation out for their respective crewmembers, while I supervised my own crew – it was all a bit hectic - but somehow we managed.

It was that next day in Singapore that, having earlier received a telegram about a suitable hotel for us to run in England, it was agreed that my wife Carole would leave the ship and return to the UK to look at the prospects…We said goodbye on the quayside as her taxi to the airport waited patiently…It was Valentines Day and, at that time, Nilsson had a hit single called “Without You” which had a haunting refrain and words which included: ‘No, I can't forget this evening, Or your face as you were leaving. But I guess that's just the way the story goes’ and, more apposite, a chorus, which started with: ‘I can't live if living is you…’ After I had watched Carole’s taxi depart the quay and barely before it had driven out of sight I was back on the ship and up to the Bar and, amazingly, the song was playing on the radio – I have always associated the song with that moment, but it is probably a guilt thing, because no sooner had she gone than I was asking who was going to go ashore with me - and filling my glass in pleasurable anticipation!...Indeed I don’t recall that last night much; I vaguely remember finishing taking stores and then changing my clothes and going ashore with several others, but it is all a blur now. I do know that we eventually sailed across the Indian Ocean, bound for the capital and largest port of the ‘island’ of Mozambique (off the southeast African coast) - the Portuguese dependency of Lourenco Marques.

There was one incident, during our trip across from Singapore which bears repeating – in my role as Ship’s Doctor I was called to one of the deck crew’s cabins where one of the new Indian crew was complaining of stomach pain. I examined the young man and treated him accordingly, a little concerned that he refused to eat, only taking liquids - and this under pressure from me - and, indeed, as the days passed he didn’t seem to be getting any better. At first I found it hard to decipher what he was saying as his English was very poor but as time went by I slowly began to understand what he was trying to tell me – and was suitably shocked as he informed me that he had a worm in his stomach and that, by not eating, the worm would make its way up his gullet looking for food, and at such time he would then be able to remove it! I was appalled – but on consultation with the marvellous ‘Ship Captain’s Medical Guide’ I found that this could actually be feasible. Sure enough, after a couple more days I visited him in his cabin and he proudly showed me a glistening, red Roundworm, still writhing as it lay in the bowl where he had just placed it, after drawing it out of his mouth!!

When we reached the next port Captain Humby proudly told the officials all about how his Chief Steward (that was me) had correctly diagnosed this roundworm when everybody else had thought it was appendicitis. If only he had known!

Lourenco Marques was a grim place with gun-toting black troops everywhere…the Mozambican War of Independence was still raging at that time (it was to end in 1974 when the Estado Novo regime was eventually overthrown in Lisbon and the new government of Portugal granted independence to all Portuguese overseas territories) but us Jolly Jacks wouldn’t let a small thing like a war spoil our runs ashore!

After our arrival at LM (as it was called – it had a fantastic radio station known as LM Radio which played all the latest hits all the time) and with the documentation etcetera dealt with, some of us ventured ashore for a look-see. Like I said, it was a grim place, with rain and mud and water-filled ruts everywhere, and these heavily armed soldiers all over the place - but it still had its share of girly-bars (life goes on, wherever you are!). We had a couple of drinks in a ramshackle bar but soon, somewhat depressed by the environment, returned to the safety of the ship, which was shortly due to depart for South Africa.

Letter to Mum & Dad - AT SEA - 10.03.72 - Posted from Salvador, Brazil 15th.March, 1972:

Dear Mum & Dad,

Well here I am about 2,000 miles from anywhere, steaming at 15 knots towards the coast of South America. First stop is Salvador, Brazil and then one more port before we hit Rio de Janeiro. We’re carrying a cargo of assorted metals, steel and great ingots of copper plus a complete cement works which will be erected in Salvador! The sun is burningly hot, temperatures in the nineties and I am slowly turning a dark brown, I feel very fit and I suppose I should be really, what with the fresh air and the fact that I am full of Cholera, Smallpox, Yellow-fever, Typhoid, Para-typhoid and anti-Malaria vaccines!!

Lourenco Marques was interesting but very unhealthy; coal black people with Portuguese overlords, an endemic area for Malaria, stiflingly hot and humid, colourful and noisy. The usual heavily armed Police and troops all over the place, sub-machine guns tucked nonchalantly under beribboned arms, deadly looking riot-sticks swinging menacingly from narrow hips and fierce Alsatians panting in the heat…Apparently they have quite a bit of trouble here at times, usually with the sailors though, not like Lagos, where they really have had trouble. I heard the story the other day and write it down because I think it illustrates just what a world we live in…The whole of Lagos was dreadfully corrupt and dangerous, cargo would be brought in by ships and unloaded on the docks, the dock labour would blatantly open cases or bales on the dock, in full view of Police and ship personnel, and help themselves to what they wanted. Cargo would be thrown higgledy-piggledy into the warehouses, where you were likely to see piles of flour, some in bags, most loose, with timber, steel, or various crated merchandise thrown on top of it. As I said before, corruption was rife – An entire load of food and clothing for Biafra was left to moulder on the quayside, because no-one bothered to collect it, or what was left of it after the Police, Customs and dock labour had taken their requirements, millions of pounds worth of cargo was left in this way, the contractors contenting themselves with the insurance money instead. Eventually the infamous “Black Scorpion”, a Nigerian Army Colonel, boss of a murderous elite corps, was given the job of controlling the dock area. He was known for his brutality, especially with his own troops (one account tells of how he shot dead a soldier of his corps who didn’t present arms smartly enough, another was whipped about the face with a swagger stick until he fell unconscious to the ground) – The Black Scorpion brought order to the Docks in a very short ruthless time. He started by parading the troops through the area, then he would swoop unexpectedly at any time of the day or night, his favourite method being to arrive at a ship, step into the sling which cargo was lowered with, and order the operator to winch him, and sling, up, over and then straight down into the hold – On arrival he would immediately shoot dead any labourers he found sleeping, and then return to the dockside! Ships were fined massive amounts of money if they infringed any of the thousands of regulations affecting the docks or if they did not make their quota for the day (Cargo tonnage loaded or discharged) – Order was returned however, and the corruption diminished, eventually being limited to The Black Scorpion and his men only – No-one dared to challenge him or his men when they daily drove out of the docks with lorry-loads of “confiscated” booze and cargo.

All this happened as a result of the Nigeria/Biafra war, the disorder being a product of this war. Adecunle (the “Black Scorpion”) reigned for just three months, then disappeared, some say with his spoils, others that he was assassinated by the Nigerian dictatorship, but before he left he warned the Nigerian Port Authority that if they didn’t run their domain efficiently in the future, he and his men would be back, and this time for one or even two years! One other piece of interest, it was at about this time that Blue Peter sent an expedition to Nigeria, and the Jeeps that they shipped across to Lagos were left rusting on the quayside for weeks, until Adecunle arrived!

We received a telegram today which informs us that the Officers will be relieved on return to South Africa; this won’t be until about the first week in May!! However there is a chance that I may go earlier, if not then I will have completed one year at sea! – This means 5 months paid leave (or cash in lieu), which will give us plenty of time to search for the right hotel – Apparently there is one in Windsor with 50 bedrooms that Carole is looking at, but that’s all I know at the moment!

(Hand written) 15/3/72 – Well, we are here in Salvador, Brazil now – next stop Rio – We are only here today, gone tomorrow, so I will close now & get this letter off to you – HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD! (for last Monday) I believe Carole has been in touch – Please drop me a line when you get the time. All my love John xxxx

As I reported in the letter to my parents (above) we sailed from LM at the beginning of March 1972 and, after taking bunkers in South Africa (with no ‘pay-offs’ there after all), proceeded back to the South American continent where we arrived at Salvador in Brazil (the capital of the north eastern state of Bahia) on the 15th of March.

We stayed in Salvador for just one day and one night but, in keeping with my tradition, I managed to get ashore and spent that night with several of my shipmates, drinking and generally misbehaving in one of the city’s many clubs - And then it was Rio!

RIO DE JANEIRO – MARCH 1972

I will never forget our entrance to the port of Rio de Janeiro on that late March night – there was an absolutely huge storm with lashing rain, crackling thunder and bright bolts of lightening which dramatically lit up the Corcovado Rock and the statue of Christ - with outstretched arms - some 32 metres up at the very top. I had my Aiwa radio/tape recorder on (purchased in Singapore) as we entered the bay and I recorded the sounds of the storm as I stood in the pouring rain just outside the companionway door, marvelling at the sheer ferocity of the weather and the wondrous sight – ‘This is Rio de Janeiro!’ I announced excitedly, and then turned the machine towards the scene so that the full sound of the storm would be recorded, for posterity perhaps.

I kept that tape for a long, long time, only losing it many years later when my circumstances, once more, dramatically shifted.

Corcovado Rock & the Statue of Christ – Rio de Janeiro

Rio was all that I had imagined, and more besides - The Ship’s Chandler was named Tony, a dark and moustachioed Brazilian who was a little overweight but full of beans and sunny joie de vivre. He took a big shine to me and we visited all sorts of places – I wandered along the famous promenades with their coloured tiles, bordering the equally famous Copacabana and Ipenema beaches; I briefly met the infamous British train robber, Ronald Biggs, who was quite a celebrity in Brazil at the time; we went to the Sporting Club of Brazil’s race track where Tony’s brother-in-law was a jockey (more of that in a minute) and, following our success at the track, went to one of Rio’s most famous restaurants, where we met several celebrities (I wouldn’t know them of course) including one of the country’s top TV News presenters – I got given a little china ornament as a souvenir which I still have somewhere.

We also visited the USCGC Southwind where I met my counterpart and was given a peaked cap emblazoned with the ship’s name as a souvenir – The Southwind had quite a history – she was originally an icebreaker and was launched in 1943, subsequently serving in the United States Coast Guard, the Soviet Navy, the United States Navy as the USS Atka and again, when I boarded her, in the U.S. Coast Guard as the Southwind…She served in the Atlantic fleet and completed three Arctic tours, famously going once to Murmansk where she picked up a boiler-plate that had been originally jetissoned in the North Sea from the Apollo program! I remember that, as it was technically a U.S.Navy ship, there were several sailors saluting the bridge as they boarded the ship via the gangway and loudspeakers sounding off all the time, issuing orders like “Petty Officer Smith, report to the bridge!” etc.

Later Tony and I went to the race track at Rio where, he claimed, his brother-in-law was riding the favourite in the last race. When the time drew near we went to the enclosure and, sure enough as he left to saddle up, Tony’s jockey relative gave us the broadest of winks (surely seen by most of the people around us!) and Tony excitedly told me that this sign assured him that the favourite was indeed going to win…which was just as well as he had obviously lost quite a bit of money already.

We moved trackside and I revelled in the sights – the sun shining down, the man in a red hunting jacket, white jodphurs and gleaming black boots, seated on a prancing horse as he blew a tantivvy on his bugle to announce the runners and riders of the next race. ..I tried to study the form book that I had been given but, as it was all in Brazilian, gave up and instead studied the various horses as they started going down to the start…Later my gaze was transfixed by a wonderful, gleaming black stallion, which was straining at the restricting reins of its rider as it galloped past – I looked at my racecard and saw that it was number 2

The Paddock at Rio racecourse and was named ‘Firme’.

Turning to Tony I told him that, in my opinion, this

was the horse that was going to win the race.

‘But Chief’ he remonstrated, ‘…this is the outsider of the race – he’s at least 11/1!’

I refused to listen to him, marched across to the Tote building at the side of the course and confidently placed a fairly heavy bet on number 2 – however, partly out of loyalty I also backed Tony’s brother-in-law on the favourite, in a reverse forecast…Tony was at first hesitant and then, as the loudspeakers announced that the horses were going in, placed his bet too (although I didn’t know what it was)…The race went off and gathered pace and, as the horses eventually thundered towards the finishing line, there in the lead was my Firme, followed in his slipstream by Tony’s brother-in-law on the the odds-on favourite…and that was how they finished!

An ecstatic Tony, who had followed my betting example after all, took me to the swish restaurant that evening (as I have already reported) – Apparently this last bet had got him right out of trouble..it had also earned me a wad of money…I discovered later that it was in fact fortunate that the Tote was able to pay us out at all, as it was regularly attacked by armed bandits who would come down from the mountains to steal all the money!!

So that was beautiful Rio – a must to visit of course, and a city of contrasts too, with very poor people and very rich people, and nothing much in between – but that was Brazil in those days and our run along the coast continued just as pleasurably, with Fortaleza, followed by Recife and then the small island port of Vitoria, the capital of the Espirito Santo state in south eastern Brazil.

We were only in Recife for a short time on this visit, so one of the Junior Engineers (John Shepherd) and I went to a bar on the docks for a drink while the ship finished loading – the bar was, as with most in Brazil, very lively and soon the 3rd Mate, Phil, joined us – the bar had its girls, as usual, and we were all dancing and singing and generally having a great time when Pete Lee, the Second Mate, appeared and informed us that the ship had finished loading and she would be sailing as soon as the Pilot boarded – This didn’t go down too well with any of us as we were all having a ball but then Pete, who we assumed knew about these things, assured us that the ship couldn’t sail without two Mates and its Catering Officer – so we had another round!

Eventually, quite high from alcohol (cheap white rum) and from the general atmosphere, we returned to the ship (the pilot was aboard and the horn was now hooting urgently) and scrambled aboard to take up our various sailing positions – mine being my bunk!!

Vitoria was another short stop but our next port of call was the beautiful Santos, home of the famous Brazilian footballer Edison Arantes do Nascimento, hero of numerous Brazilian matches and the foremost member of the country’s team when Brazil won the 1970 World Cup…he was, of course, better known by his nickname - Pelé!

In Santos I got very friendly with the ship’s Agent – I think his name was Reuben – and he took me to many places of interest – I remember a visit to a beach-side barber, although it was actually more like a male beauty parlour! I had my hair cut - and singed with tapers too - and my feet were massaged (and my toenails and fingernails cut) by a beautiful young girl while I was shaved, shampooed and perfumed – I even had my few blackheads painlessly removed and my face swathed in hot towels - and all the time, through the open door, I could watch athletic and bronzed young Brazilians stylishly promenading or energetically playing football on the various pitches set up in the white sands along the hot, sunny beach – pure bliss.

When we arrived in Santos I had the usual gaggle of “officials” on board and when the paperwork was concluded we all went down to the Bond Locker (which was situated through and at the end of the main Dry-stores). As usual, after a perfunctory check of its contents, these various officials then started to load up with their booty – cartons of cigarettes, bottles of whisky and tins of Bond Street – even packs of chewing gum. Eventually there were just two blokes left, one who said he was the Chief of Police and the other who was introduced to me as the Chief Smuggler! The Chief of Police said to me that getting whisky off the ship was no problem but I was a little cautious and also rather confused – ‘Oh well’, I said eventually, thinking of my recently completed manifest, ‘I suppose I could manage a couple.’

‘A couple’, scoffed the Police Chief, proudly indicating the rather shabby Chief Smuggler nearby – ‘He can arrange for a launch to go alongside – we can load a dozen…or more if you like!’

‘A dozen bottles?’ I said, slightly shocked and not a little uneasy at the prospect.

‘Bottles!’ laughed the Chief of Police – ‘Oh Chief, you make the joke; I mean cases, not bottles!’

Later, having nervously managed to persuade the Chief of Police that I was unable to oblige in this nefarious activity (you never knew what their reactions would be so you had to be so very careful) he came up to the ship’s bar with me and we had a drink together. He then took out his silver Colt 45 and, after carefully emptying the bullets onto the bar, offered the gun to me for $25 – I politely refused and, totally unabashed, the Chief of Police then reloaded his gun and replaced it in its holster – My refusal must have impressed him though and we got quite chatty and, after another couple of drinks, he told me that, when I went ashore I should get a taxi and ask for ‘Casa Oitenta’ (House number eighty) and mention that the Chief of Police sent

me – ‘When you get to the house, knock and tell them I sent you’ he added, giving me a lascivious wink which explained it all! …In fact I did go to Casa Oitenta later that night, with one of the other officers from the ship (Pete Lee, the Second Officer) and sure enough, it was a brothel, but a very lively one, situated on three floors with dancing and loud music on two of them and the usual bedrooms on the top floor! We certainly had a night to remember.

Hellfire Corner was an L-shaped street of wild bars in the red light area of Santos, known by sailors worldwide and a centre of complete debauchery. I had visited it earlier on in the trip, when Carole was on board and we were in the company of the First Officer, Gordon Cunningham and his wife…at that time we were amused by the place and in particular by the rather raucous girls (remember my mentioning the gaggle of them dancing a sort of Conga to the song “Butterfly” playing on the bar’s hi-fi system?).

I had, by now, become very friendly with the new Second and Third Mates, Pete Lee and Phil Thompson They were both ex-passenger-ship people and very much in for fun and games, especially Phil, who was well-built, handsome and had a shock of thick, wavy blond hair which earned him the nickname ‘Yellow Hair’ ashore, applied by many of the bar-girls (he came from Hull and I reckon he had Viking ancestors!). However, on the first opportunity we had to go ashore in Santos, Pete and Phil had been imbibing in Phil’s cabin and Phil, with a rather peaceful looking smile on his lips, had decided to stay on the ship (most unusual for him too!). Pete was all for it though – really all for it because, when we got to the port gates he was so high he all but leaped over them! Indeed, later that night Pete further excelled himself…and, in one bar, I remember he even danced on the tables and the long platform used by the girls to gyrate in front of the customers!

SANTOS

One other event that I remember, when we were at Santos, was the night the Agent invited us to dine outside at a sort of Samba garden – I remember it for two reasons; the first because of the exciting samba music which emanated from the bands playing in a sort of illuminated Hollywood Bowl at the bottom of the large and very dark garden area – the second because, seated at long trestle tables and virtually unable to see much because of this darkness, I did not realise what I was eating…I remember one course though – it contained some very crunchy and tasty pieces of chicken…until I was later told that, rather than pieces of chicken these succulent mouthfuls were actually whole baby songbirds (probably ortolans) - complete with eyes and beaks!

Our last stop in Brazil was Paranagua – an entirely different kettle of fish and, as I said when we went there earlier in the trip, very basic – however, this time, I’m afraid to say, I took full advantage of the wild and debauched side of this small, and rather smelly place, especially the several cantinas that made up a sort of run-down slum of a village on its outskirts…as you can see from the small picture on the left, a very basic place indeed - but real fun!

And then we sailed – not for B.A. as originally scheduled but straight across to Durban - and I must admit, getting back into the routine of sea life after the rigours of shore leave in Brazil was much welcomed, particularly as we then learned that we would all finally pay off when we reached South Africa…and indeed, we were all paid-off in Durban – most, including my mates Pete Lee and Phil Thompson, going almost immediately we arrived on the 27th of April, whereas I stayed on for nearly two more weeks while I showed my relief around - finally flying home on the 7th May 1972.

Just a footnote to this – for some reason my flight home was diverted to Angola’s main airport at Luanda. The Angolan War of Independence had been raging since 1961 (not ending until January 1975) and the airport was swarming with heavily armed military – sweating blacks in camouflage gear, toting rifles and machine guns and glaring suspiciously at me and the other passengers as we awaited a connection flight – I can tell you now that I was indeed relieved when we finally took off for Heathrow…and home!

* * * *

January – June 1973 – I leave the sea…and then return!

Naturally I had a long (and fully paid) leave due to me, after my year long double-voyage, and for a few months I enjoyed this freedom – however, I had to take a serious look at the future too and eventually, after much agonising, decided to go back to working ashore again. I therefore, somewhat reluctantly, handed my resignation in to L.O.F. and left the sea.

I made a number of job applications and had various interviews and then, in January 1973, was honoured to start work as the (specially created and impressive) ‘Manager – Hotel and Domestic Services’ at the Royal London Homoeopathic Hospital in Great Ormond Street. It was, of course, a well-paid position and entailed a number of important objectives that needed to be achieved and I set to work with great enthusiasm, believing that, after such a wealth of recent experiences and memories, and having visited so many places in the world (most of which I would probably never have seen otherwise), I had definitely got the wanderlust out of my system – but I did not allow for the pull of the sea!

Indeed, at the end of June 1973, having achieved all the objectives given me at the hospital, I finally gave in to this increasing and absolutely aching desire to return to sea life, and, cap-in-hand as it were, went for a re-entry interview with LOF. To my delight I was accepted right away…I reluctantly gave in my notice to the RLHH (who tried to hold me by offering more money) and then prepared to rejoin the Merchant Navy once more. I was told that a ship would soon become available but was first sent up to Liverpool to attend a short course to obtain the Ship Captain’s Medical Certificate - which I duly achieved (obtaining one of the highest marks in the country - about 98% as I recall!)…On the 6th August 1973 I flew to Venice and joined the 16-year old L.O.F. steamship called the “London Resolution”.

THE s.s. “LONDON RESOLUTION – 6th AUGUST 1973:

Crew List – s.s. London Resolution - August 1973:

Captain: L. Clark - C/Off: J.A. Attwater - 2/Off: M.D. Worth - 3rd/Off: M. Littlewood

Radio Off: Tyrone Bunce - Cadet: M.L. Albon

C/Eng: J. Taylor - 2nd.Eng: Ernest Rickaby 3rd.Eng: Bill Martin - 4th.Eng: Bill Turvey

J/E: E.P. Jayaraj – J/E: R.P. Graham - J/E: Brian Nicholls - Eng Cadet: S.A.Usher - Eng.Cadet: Robert Walpole

Electrician: J.W. Porter

The London Resolution was discharging cargo when I joined her in Venice – She had an Indian crew, with a Deck Serang (Foreman), an Engine Serang - and a Bhandary and Bhandary Mate looking after the crew’s feeding via the Crew Galley.

Being Indian they predominantly ate curry and rice, which always smelt great and indeed was great, as those Officers (like me) who liked curry would testify…as the crew were of the Moslem faith, mainly from Bombay and Calcutta, their meat was MK Mutton (which meant Mohammedan killed) whereas our catering crew (Cooks and Stewards) were Bangladeshi and therefore Catholic…Just a further memory while talking about Indian crews – when they first arrived they used to have supplies of their own south Asian brand of unfiltered cigarette, called a beedi, which was thin like a roll-up and contained tobacco flake wrapped in an off-white or brown tendu leaf and tied with thread at one end. These beedis were very inexpensive…and very strong indeed (even cancerous I believe). I also remember learning that a beedi Number One was in fact of the weakest strength and the higher the number the stronger the cigarette. Some were in fact so strong that the effects were not far off those of cannabis!

The Captain was Lothian Clark (a long-serving Master within the L.O.F. fleet) and his quarters were situated in the after accommodation, on the upper deck which also contained the Owner’s Suite and the Bond Locker…all the navigating officers, plus the Radio Officer and myself, were also quartered in this aft-accommodation (and the Medicine Cabinet too) and we all accessed the midships accommodation, which included the Bridge, the all important Bar and the Saloon and Galleys, via what was called a ‘flying bridge’ which was a rickety and clattering walkway stretched about six feet above the deck, that ran from aft to forward. The Chief and Second Engineers were accommodated in cabins on the upper decks of this midships section along with the aforementioned Bar and Smoke-room, just below the Bridge itself - and the Saloon, Galleys and the Engineers’ accommodations were all on the deck below, along with the Stewards room and entrances to the engine-room and various stores. Below that deck were the crew quarters, the Fridges and more engine-room entrances and exits.

The discharge of cargo at Venice was a long and fitful process, stopping and starting most erratically in line with what appeared to be local industrial unrest on the docks, and our stay alongside stretched from days into weeks as a result. It did, however, give me plenty of opportunities to see the wonderful sights that were abundant in this magnificent, fascinating and historical ‘floating’ city that dated back to the fifth century. I soon became an authority on ‘pizzas’ too, as there were numerous ‘Ristorantes’ around every corner of the numerous narrow, damp and dark alleyways between the canals – Incidentally, after you’ve eaten proper Italian (or in this case Venetian) pizzas you will never enjoy their commercial British counterparts again!

One rather embarrassing story comes to mind during our long stay in Venice! Bearing in mind my not having been on the ship very long, I was standing in the middle of the deck one morning, beneath the flying bridge, trying (in my role as Ship’s Doctor) to explain to this young (and quite handsome) member of the Deck crew, who not only had piles but didn’t speak any English either - how to insert a haemorrhoid suppository in his rear! Finally, after much gesticulating and some rather graphic, thrusting, anal hand movements on my part, he seemed to get the message whereupon, my explanation accomplished, I turned away from him to return to my accommodation (and the Medicine Cabinet) when to my horror I saw Captain Lothian Clark leaning over the rail outside his cabin watching me intently! Later, in his cabin, I explained to him what had actually been going on and he eventually saw the funny side of things (thank God) – but only after telling me that he had at first been more than a little worried by my actions!

Time really dragged now – day after day we were either laid up with no work being done or, occasionally, a burst of discharging would be followed by further inaction. I began to look for ways to entertain the lads (apart from good feeding and a great variety of dishes) and one night, fortified by beer, wine and a dreadful-tasting chaser called grappa (which was made from the detritus left after distilling wine!) we formed a group of the – by now - rather bored chaps, which for some reason I nicknamed the “Venice Vogellers”. We got up to all sorts of high-spirited (and sometimes boozy) jinks and I started a sort of corkboard in the Bar upon which we would pin all sorts of souvenirs, poems and suchlike on our returns from forays ashore. It actually went down very well and, as the days went by and the souvenir collection grew, and certainly amused us all enough to put up with the long cargo delays.

SAINT MARK’S SQUARE, VENICE

One night I took a gondola across to the Venice Lido, a very exclusive 7.5-milelong sandbar between the Adriatic and the Venice Lagoon, home of the Venice Film Festival (the film “Death in Venice” was made there) and also home to one of the world’s most famous Casinos…I think some of the James Bond film, Casino Royale was shot in the casino…and, dressed in my best suit with shirt and tie, I felt a little like Ian Fleming’s hero that night as I climbed out of my gondola and went directly up the steps to the swish gaming area above. Better still, I won as well - and, afraid that I might be too tempted by the sumptuous atmosphere, with the beautiful men and women and the absolute affluence of the place proving almost narcotic, I left and returned to the ship where I proudly spoke of my adventure and its success.

Eventually, at the very end of September - after nearly two months in Venice - we sailed across the Adriatic to the port of Rejika in Yugoslavia (now known as Croatia) to load Maize – We went to the buoys in the bay and anchored, visiting shore side via a small ferry boat and working cargo at the anchorage 24-hours a day too, so we only spent a short while there – but still long enough for me to get into trouble!

Boat Restaurant – Rejika (Arca Fiumana) In Rejika there was an attractive bar and restaurant on what was once a sea-going vessel called ‘The Arca Fiumana’ and which was now permanently moored alongside the town’s main quay – I was very fond of the place, which stayed open very late (I never actually saw it close!) and one night, towards the end of the week we spent there (and, no doubt due to the excesses of that night, completely unheard by me!) there was a big storm with raging winds and torrential rain…much later, when I somewhat unsteadily arrived at the quayside for the ‘jolly’ boat that would take me back to the ship, I found to my shock and horror, that the London Resolution was no longer there – she appeared to have sailed!

I won’t dwell on things too much – suffice to say that I was beginning to panic severely. Later though, when I contacted the Agent I was told that, due to the storm and the turbulent seas, the London Resolution had actually upped anchor and sailed to quieter waters during the night – in fact I was able to get a taxi down to where she had now anchored (mind you – it was about three miles away) and then got another boat to run me across – much to the amusement of many of my brother officers!

After Rejika we went back to Venice – this time for a much shorter visit – and then sailed to the port of Leixoes, in Portugal, before moving on to the country’s lively capital, Lisbon.

I had one memorable experience in Leixoes – about three of us had bumped into a Private harbour, Leixoes couple in a bar somewhere, who invited us to visit them on their little boat that was moored in the private harbour. The boat may have been called the ‘South Wind’ but whatever its name they were basically intending on sailing around the world on her. The next day we managed to find the private harbour, but the boat was moored on the other side and the only way to access it was to commandeer a rowing boat and, using a guide rope that seems to have been stretched across the small harbour for that very purpose, row across. We managed okay and spent a pleasant hour or so on board with these intrepid travellers, sinking several cans of beer in the time honoured way of all sea folk. However, getting back was an entirely different kettle of fish although, after nearly capsizing the little rowing boat several times, we did finally manage it – I often wonder what happened to the couple - and about their envious adventures.

In Lisbon I remember going ashore with the 4th Engineer, a pleasant, thick set and heavily bearded man in his mid-thirties called Bill Turvey. Bill spoke in a warm Devon burr and was very much a man of the country – he would probably have made a great farmer - and we very much enjoyed each other’s company. We had a drink or two in various bars along the Bairro Alto area (known universally as the ‘strip’) and then entered one of the larger establishments, where we stood at the counter of the long bar which stretched across the top of the room. I was wearing a white jacket, which I was very proud of, along with black trousers, white shirt and tie…all very smart…Bill wore a suit too I think – we had also been picked up by a couple of girls along the way, so we happily ordered a round of drinks and then turned to survey the crowded and lively room.

I suppose there were about fifty or more people there, seated on wooden chairs at tables which encircled a small dance area – as I lounged back on the bar, drink in hand and looking nonchalantly around me, I suddenly caught sight of a glowing arc of light which sailed across the room and exploded in a burst of sparks on one of the men’s heads in front of me – Someone had flicked a cigarette across the room and, as if this aggressive act had been some sort of a signal, the whole room immediately erupted into a struggling, fighting mass of humanity – It was like a scene from some shady underworld as chairs and tables splintered, glasses were smashed, ashtrays were thrown and numerous bodies were locked in mortal combat - Bill and I and our ‘escorts’ were rooted to the spot as all hell seemed to break out before us – then a shrill whistle was heard, followed by another and, bursting through the bar’s doors came several men in dark naval uniforms who were noticeable for two things – the military precision with which they laid into the throng with their batons – and their white helmets, emblazoned with jet-black words which proclaimed ‘MILITARY POLICE’.

Within only seconds (it seemed) the entire place emptied of all humanity – except for Bill and myself and the two girls…all still suffering from shock at the swiftness of events…and then, from doors which opened at each side of the room like a cabaret act, bar girls and other staff appeared carrying fresh, unbroken tables and chairs and ashtrays from some secret hidden store – and, again it seemed within seconds, the bar was restored to complete normality – Amazing!

I say ‘normality’ but that’s not quite true because, following Bill and the two girls’ horrified stares I looked down at my beautiful white jacket and saw that it now had a diagonal splash of bright red blood running neatly from my right shoulder and down and across to the pocket on the other side – someone must have slashed a knife through his opponent during the recent fracas!

While we were in Lisbon I did make a 22km railway trip to the famous casino at the upmarket seaside resort of Estoril – Due to my previous successes at roulette the lads on the ship, and I, had all clubbed together to finance the visit so that I could play the tables - sort of like the head of a gambling syndicate – and we would all then share in the profits.

It was a pleasant journey and, as was my way, I decided to firstly have a bite to eat and a few drinks at a seafront restaurant, before venturing into the casino – the idea being that the ‘warm glow’ thus obtained would assist me when I got down to the serious business at the roulette tables. Sadly, when I finally went to enter the casino proper I had to first pass through a cleverly situated antechamber, which contained rows of gaming machines – I never made the casino that night and lost all our monies in those cursed one-arm bandits, returning to the ship – broke and shamefaced!

We sailed from Lisbon on Wednesday, 1st November, not for Houston – which was on the original route – but for New Orleans…having picked up a new Charter in Lisbon. The trip across to the States took just over 15 days sailing through the North Atlantic Ocean and the time at sea was, as always, much appreciated.

When a ship sails out across the seas and oceans of the world (incidentally averaging roughly 300 miles a day) routine settles most agreeably, with crew and officers alike. Watches are mounted through the day and night, both for the engine and deck departments…the 12-4, the 4-8 and the 8-12…decks are noisily and methodically chipped - and then painted - engine parts repaired or turned on lathes, meals are taken, films shown, walking around the ship’s decks, exercising, books read (many, many books – all ships have libraries and seamen are very well read!) and, of course, there is the bar – which was well patronised in those days.

Incidentally, it was during one of these long voyages across peaceful seas that a particular book made a real impression on me. I, like many others no doubt, have always wondered what really happens to us when we eventually ‘shuffle off this mortal coil’ - as they say – after all, if there is one certainty in life it is that ‘death’ is inevitable. John Grant Fuller’s The Great Soul Trial (Macmillan 1969) was a true account of an apparently penniless prospector (James Kidd) who was found dead in the mountains of Arizona in 1949 and whose last Will, on deeper examination in Phoenix, Arizona in 1969, subsequently demonstrated that his total assets were actually worth over a quarter of a million dollars…all of which, he had stipulated, was to be bequeathed to fund research into whether we actually had a soul. After a pretty long court case the American Society for Psychical Research was finally awarded the research monies. The book is the story of this 90 day trial and the various fascinating claims made by organisations competing for the money (including the possibility of photographs at the point of death to establish electro-magnetic disturbances, etc.) – Sadly at the time of writing this autobiography, none of this subsequent research has apparently got anywhere – so far!

Note: - James Kidd’s Will: ‘This is my first and only will and is dated the second of January 1946. I have no heirs and have not been married in my life and after all my funeral expenses have been paid and 100 one hundred dollars to some preacher of the gospitel to

say fare well at my grave sell all my property which is all in cash and stocks with E. F. Mutton Co Phoenix some in safety deposit box, and have this balance money to go in a research or some scientific proof of a soul of the human body which leaves at death I think in time their can be Photograph of soul leaving the human at death, James Kidd.’

One of the many things that I remembered about the “s.s. London Resolution” was that the 3rd.Officer (when I first joined her) was Martin Littlewood, a short but stocky young man in his early twenties who, apart from the various deck and navigating officer duties that he carried out in exemplary fashion, also had a pretty enterprising hobby. When the ship was in the open sea – like with the 4,500-mile trip across from Lisbon to New Orleans (and particularly with a ship like the Resolution, low in the water and with its long expanse of decks) - a dawn tour would almost inevitably find one or two flying-fish stranded on the decks where they had accidentally fallen during their flip-flopping journeys of the early morning. Martin would gut these, varnish them with wings spread, mount then on blocks of similarly varnished wood and then sell them – great souvenirs they made too!

New Orleans was just a short stopover– We discharged cargo into smelly Grain Hoppers (or Silos), which were situated at the end of a longish jetty and in a pretty remote spot too – Nevertheless, bearing in mind that I had already been to New Orleans with the London Banker, I still managed a run ashore by getting a taxi to pick me up from the ship and, after a short time ashore in a bar in Canal Street, a taxi ride back. On the return journey to the ship, lubricated with alcohol and full of joie de vivre, I sat in the front of the cab alongside the driver. He told me how dangerous it was in New Orleans, particularly out as far as we were (which was pretty remote) and said how he always kept the doors and windows of his taxi locked while driving – he then further demonstrated his ‘security’ arrangements by snapping open the glove compartment where, neatly clipped into specially constructed metal holders and shining in the late afternoon sun, was his loaded .45 revolver!

Later that night we sailed – after one of the shortest discharges I’d known – and went back through the Gulf of Mexico, out past Florida on our portside and Cuba on the starboard, then Barbados and finally out into the Atlantic Ocean once more, where we would head for the Azores and then - this time - to Tarragona in Southern Spain…and a change of Officers.

* * * * *

Crew List – s.s. London Resolution December 1973:

Captain: Arthur Smith

C/Off: Bob Crawford

2/Off: Pete Savage

3rd/Off: T.C. Swatton

Radio Off: M. Anderson

Cadet: C. Bailey

C/Eng: John Taylor/E. Rickaby

2nd.Eng: R.J. Moffat

3rd.Eng: Bill Martin

4th.Eng: Bill Turvey

J/E’s: E.P. Jayaraj – R.D. Squires

& Brian Nicholls

Electrician: J.W. Porter

I cannot remember exactly when we arrived at Tarragona, other than it was probably some time in late November - Once more though, with a bulk cargo mainly consisting of grain and maize, our discharge time was fairly short, although we did manage a change of Officers, and shortly after completing this cargo discharge, we sailed for Ventspils in Latvia.

Ventspils, Latvia – December 1973

Note: - Ventspils was at one time one of Imperial Russia's most profitable ports, by 1913 turning a yearly profit of 130 million roubles. In 1939, the Red Army established a base there and under Soviet rule an oil pipeline was built and Ventspils became USSR's leading port in crude oil export. Thirty kilometres north of Ventspils was the Soviet radioastronomy installation VIRAC (Ventspils Starptautiskais Radioastronomijas Centrs or Ventspils International Radio Astronomy Centre)…Latvia was, in fact, to gain independence from the USSR in 1991 but the existence of the Centrs was unknown to most Latvians until 1994.

Obviously, bearing in mind at that time that Latvia was, like many other countries in Eastern Europe then, a sattelite of Russia, an overbearing and sinister communist presence was very evident. We had a uniformed Russian guard at the bottom of the gangway at night and cargo activity was constantly supervised by a ‘commisar” of the party who accompanied the stevedores at all times…This commisar was a humourless man in his early thirties and, from comments made cautiously by some of the stevedores, was very unpopular with the locals…We also learned not to call these locals ‘Russians’ as they were adamant (very adamant in fact) that they were ‘Latvians not Russians!’.

Now, with this brooding atmosphere in mind, I must first tell you about the infamous Bundaberg Rum – Bundaberg was in fact a town in the sugar cane region of Queensland, Australia, and a by-product of the molasses that remained after the sugar was extracted was, as local farmers knew, eventually converted into this very potent Bundaberg rum. For reasons I do not know, we had a small stock of Bundaberg extra-strength rum on board - but it was so strong (rumours were it was 33 over proof!) that it was actually banned in the bar.

The new Chief Engineer (who had been the 2nd earlier and was now promoted) was the middle-aged Ernie Rickaby, a rather uncouth Geordie man who was not very popular with his Engineers. Ernie had his wife on board, as did Richard (Dick) Moffat, a very personable Kiwi whose delightful wife, Alison, was also a Kiwi. Anyway, Ernie Rickaby was always coming into the bar, swearing crudely and constantly and regularly talking shop, often ordering his more junior colleagues, particularly ‘Sec’ (the Second Engineer), to do jobs or fix machinery and so on, when all they wanted was to relax and get away from their work for a few hours. This so annoyed me that I hit upon an idea to combat this and, after installing a ‘swear-box’ in the bar, I pinned up a typeritten list of ‘misdemeanours’ which, if commited in the bar, would result in a ‘Bundaberg Rum Fine!’ Fines ranged from 1 Shot of Bundaberg per swear-word (plus several other rather smaller misdemeanours) to a double Bundaberg for ‘talking shop in the bar’ – The thing was, the Bundaberg that we had in stock was really potent…one was certainly enough to loosen your tongue, a double was dynamite – any more and the participant would often be rendered

virtually speechless - or pretty drunk anyway!

So, after numerous offences and an insistence by those in the bar at the time that the relevant fines be applied, Ernie Rickaby was soon relegated to either staying in his cabin (during off-duty times) or carefully watching both his language and the topic of conversation when he did come into the bar…Mission accomplished!

Dick Moffat – The ‘Sec’

Actually, before I continue with the Latvian Stevedores story, I must add another tale - I was beginning to get quite a reputation on board as a reader of Tarot cards…I did several readings, using the Owners Suite Dayroom over in the upper deck of the aft accommodation. Whether I was good at these readings I’m not sure, but it was possible as I really did seem able to clear my mind when running a session and then, say things as they came into my mind, whatever they were, as the cards unfolded – people did tell me that the readings were pretty accurate too…Anyway, my reputation reached Ernie Rickaby’s wife and she soon asked me for a reading.

I am ashamed to say that, bearing in mind her husband’s dreadful attitude and the fact that (I gathered) many on the ship would have been pleased to see the back of him, I fiddled the reading – I remember “seeing” cards with water on them and foretelling tragedies, etc. - In short, I told poor, trusting Mrs. Rickaby, that her Ernie should leave the sea or face awful consequences if he stayed. She told me that that was exactly what she feared and…about a year later…I heard that Ernie had indeed left the sea altogether!!

So – back to the Latvian Stevedores – and their Communist party commisar. One afternoon, for reasons that I forget now, there was no cargo work in progress so we invited the two stevedore foremen up to our bar for a few drinks. Naturally, and as expected, the commisar acompanied them. Our drinking progressed well and, because we were in Latvia, a Russian sattelite, we insisted on drinking the country’s national spirit, Vodka, “out of respect to our hosts” – however, in return we also insisted that they should drink our national spirit, which we said was, of course - Bundaberg Rum!

The scene later that afternoon was horrendous – the two stevedore foremen were lying unconscious in the Stewards Room, where we had carried them when they passed out. We found the commisar, who was also unconscious, on the floor in the ‘heads’ (toilet) on the same deck, his arms encircling the base of the toilet, like a lover! The next day nothing was said, but it seemed from then on that cargo was worked much more swiftly and, before too long we were leaving port once again – this time heading for Ceuta in Morocco where some of us (including me) were to be relieved.

One final story – on the 6th February 1974 some of us left the London Resolution in Ceuta (as I have already said) – Dick Moffat and his wife Alison, myself and the two Junior Engineers, Roger Squires and Brian Nicholls - We took the ferry across to Gibraltar and then to Algeciras in mainland Spain, after which we were driven to a hotel in the resort of Torremolinos, near Malaga airport on the Costa Del Sol, from where – after an overnight stay at the hotel - we would then be flown home.

One of the perks when paying-off a ship was, Customs permitting, to take Cigarettes and Spirits home and I remember Brian Nicholls, with whom I shared a room at the hotel that night, opening his suitcase only to find that his bottle of Whisky had broken and his clothes and most of his belongings were saturated with the strong-smelling spirit!

Later that evening we competely emptied the mini-fridge in our room, drinking its entire contents – alcoholic and non-alcoholic – and, I’m ashamed to say, throwing the empties out of the window and into the swimming pool below – no wonder they talk about ‘Jolly Jack’ ashore!

Alison Moffat (2/E’s wife), J/E Roger Squires, J/E Brian Nicholls & me…after we paid off in Ceuta - Morocco

Newsline 1974:

7th Feb – PM Ted Heath calls snap general election, appealing to miners to suspend planned strike action during the 3-week campaign.

28th Feb – Miners continue strike (under Scargill) and Labour wins general election – Wilson leads minority Government.

6th Mar - Miners call off 4-week strike following 35% pay offer from new Labour government in resounding victory for the miners.

17th Jun – IRA bomb explodes at the Houses of Parliament, causing extensive damage and injuring 11 people.

29th Jun - Maria Estela Isabel Martinez de Peron has been sworn in as interim leader of the Argentine Republic.

8th Aug – Nixon, facing Watergate impeachment, steps down as president of the USA - the first man ever to do so. . Ford takes over.

29th Aug - At least 220 people have been arrested following disturbances at a rock festival in Windsor Great Park in Berkshire.

21st Nov – IRA Bombs devastate two central Birmingham pubs, killing 19 people and injuring over 180.

24th Dec - Former UK minister John Stonehouse found living under a false name in Australia after apparently faking his own death.

MAY, 1974

On the 10th May 1974, I once more received my orders and - with the assistance of my usual JPH taxi from my flat in Upper Norwood to Heathrow - flew to Antwerp to join my next ship, the merchant vessel “London Citizen”.

May 1974 - m.v. London Citizen:

Crew List May to November 1974 – mv. London Citizen:

Captain: R. Nelson/Stan Dickson C/Off: R. Turnbull

2/Off: E.M. McDonnell

3rd/Off: S.P.R. McDonnell

Radio Off: J. Trotter

Cadet: S. Short

C/Eng: J.Vearncombe 2nd.Eng:J.Hopper

3rd. Eng: Alec Priestley

4th.Eng: Jim Urell (& wife)

J/E: G. McKenna

J/E: Tommy from Belfast Electrician: V.J.Gray

(& wife Christine)

ANTWERP

Within hours of my arrival at Antwerp a bunch of us, including John Trotter the Radio Officer and our rather loud Kiwi 2nd Officer, went ashore to visit one of the most notorious bars in Europe (possibly the world at that time) which was universally known as ‘Danny’s Bar’…I soon found that the crowded bar was owned and run by a real matelot-type, complete with muscular tattooed arms and a ridiculous blonde wig - indeed, when you looked around more carefully the place was, in fact, what was known then as a ‘queers’ bar…full of outlandishly camp men, many dressed as women and either alone or in pairs or with their equally outlandish partners. There were also a great many ‘tourists’, like us, with a lot of them being crew – and passengers - from ships in the busy docks…Danny actually had a real female girl friend called Josefine, who served our table several times during the course of the night, and Danny treated us all with good humour and a twinkle in his eye (the bar must have made a fortune) – In fact, although it was generally a fairly sleazy area, we had a really good night and finished Danny’s Bar

up in some sort of disco bar, drinking, singing and laughing a great deal - to my amazement,

when we finally left it was daylight!

The 2nd Mate was, as I mentioned, loudly and notably from New Zealand – he was about twenty-five with a shock of black hair and a fairly wiry (and rather hairy) body which was reasonably tanned by the suns of both his home country and abroad…He wasn’t really my sort of fellow and one of my few real memories of him was when, having just been to the ‘heads’ (toilets) he announced to all and sundry – and several times - that someone had been before him and ‘…left a big brown Henry for me – lying there winking at me!’ - The 3rd Mate, Stewart, who had the same surname as the 2nd Mate but was not related, was very bohemian looking, with long red hair and a pointed Van Dyke beard and, to perfect the hippy image, played the guitar – and very well too (we even formed a musical ‘group’ for a while – I played the cocoa tins!). There were wives on board too - the redheaded and very Irish 4th Engineer, Jim Urell (from Dublin) had brought his wife with him and the Lecky, Vince Gray had his rather quiet and shy wife Christine with him.

Initially we sailed to Cape Town and then some 4,700 miles to the Middle East and the ports of Muscat in Oman, Dubai in the U.A.E. (United Arab Emirates), Kuwait and then Doha, in Qatar - before returning to South Africa…However, as we made our way over the 4,000 miles from Doha to Durban, one of the Indian engine crew fell ill and, as I was also the ship’s doctor, I was called down to the small cabin that he shared with another man on the lower deck of the ship…After examining him, feeling his clammy dark skin and taking his temperature I was shocked to find that he was running a fever and that his temperature was approaching 105 degrees! Knowing from my erstwhile Ship Captain’s Medical Guide that a temperature of 105 was often fatal, I immediately got the poor man up to the ship’s hospital and into bed. Alarmed at his temperature I decided to try to bring it down and, with a combination of wet towels, iced water and bathing his head, I spent the next five days nursing the poor man.

I am glad to say that during that time most of my normal duties were taken over by the Cooks and my very able Pantryman, which left me free to concentrate on my patient – just as well as, after many consultations with the Guide, I had finally diagnosed him as having Typhoid fever…he was close to death.

We arrived in Durban around the end of April – at midnight - and, because I had arranged for my patient to be invalided ashore as soon as we arrived, I waited as the ship slowly edged alongside and the gangway was put up, straining to see if there was an ambulance waiting on the dock below – but there wasn’t…In fact it was some four hours and several telephone calls later that they did eventually arrive. I remember that there was a clattering of feet up the metal gangway as the two medics boarded, and I well remember greeting them at the top, angry at the delay but pleased to see them too, as I was very keen to get my extremely sick crewmember off the ship and into a proper hospital as quickly as possible.

The lead medic paused at the top of the gangway: ‘Hi Chief’, he said, in his clipped South African accent, glancing about somewhat furtively… ‘Got any sex-books – Playboy – that sort of thing?’

I was furious – here was a member of our crew, strapped into a stretcher and ready to be urgently taken to hospital and this man’s priority was Playboy magazines! My disgust was genuine and I obviously showed it for he then dismissed his request with a wave of the hand and he and his colleague eventually manhandled the stretcher down the gangway, into the waiting ambulance and thence, with stridently ringing alarm, off to the hospital.

I must admit that I was exhausted – I had been in the ship’s hospital with this poor crewmember almost non-stop for the last five days – I even slept there - so, much later after a much-needed sleep in my own cabin, I was enjoying a drink in the bar with the Captain and some shore side officials when I heard him proudly tell them that I had correctly diagnosed Typhoid and had probably saved the man’s life.

Later it transpired that, in fact, the man had caught Paratyphoid, which I now know is rarely life threatening, unlike the more dangerous Typhoid (paratyphoid bears similarities with typhoid fever, but its course is more benign). Nevertheless, as the Old Man was clearly proud of me I was quite pleased with myself…I later learned that the crewmember was repatriated to India, presumably for more treatment prior – I hope - to his eventual recovery.

Post-Card to Mum & Dad from m.v.“London Citizen” – Durban, South Africa – 22.8.74:

Dear Mum & Dad,

Just a short note to let you know that all is well – We arrived here yesterday and leave at 9am.this morning, having been fully loaded with brown sugar for Japan!

I also stocked the ship fully with stores and have therefore been extremely busy in this port. I hope all is well with you both, and I will write a letter to you during our one-month trip to Japan via Singapore – Till then

All my love John xxxxx

After just 24 hectic hours, filling the holds with brown sugar as well as fully loading the ship with Catering, Deck and Engine stores, we sailed fully laden from Durban on the 28th August 1974 - bound for bunkers at Singapore and then Japanese ports - but after only five days, the Pumpman (one of the Indian engine crew, and probably the largest too!) dropped an extremely heavy armature onto his foot and, bearing in mind that he was only wearing plimsolls at the time (quite illegally), the painful accident was sufficiently damaging for him to require proper hospitalisation – I did obtain Morphine for him from the Bond Locker, as he was in absolute agony - and I injected him, under the supervision of the Captain. I also dressed his wounded foot of course, and believe me, it was not a pretty sight! - We had to detour to Port Louis in the Indian Ocean island of Mauritius (once the only known home of the Dodo) to land him – When we got there the ship slowed right down and he was winched over and into a launch as we crawled up the river approach. It was sad really that we didn’t get to see the place as I later learned that Mauritius is considered by sea-going folk to be one of the best runs ashore in the world…but notwithstanding that - and that the ship never in fact officially stopped - a gaggle of “officials” still managed to get on board and make off with more spirits and cigarettes…such is the corruption in those places!

JAPAN – September 1974

Stan Dickson (‘Stan the Man’) had relieved poor Captain Nelson, (who had developed possible heart trouble) when we arrived in Osaka, in Japan, around the middle of September…Apparently Captain Dickson was once a very heavy drinker and, after one bad incident, had even been demoted from Master back to Mate. In fact the ‘London Citizen’ was his first ship back as Master since that demotion – He was now totally teetotal.

Stan is, sadly, no longer with us (he died in 1977) but I am glad that I had the privilege of meeting him at the time. He was a charming man with almost film-star looks and, I remember, fond of wearing smart olive-green tropical wear (I think he had this gear made for him in India)…he was witty and gregarious and I had the pleasure of his captainship for about three months, which was time enough for me to add a few more treasured memories to my ever increasing store…and the Sunday inspections, and drinks afterwards, were once again enjoyable interludes as opposed to the worrying times with poor Captain Nelson.

After Japan we returned to the heat of the Middle East, arriving in early October, but we didn’t pay off the ship until just before Christmas (it was the 19th December to be precise when I left the ship) after spending a dreadful period of nearly two months at anchor off the port of Jeddah in Saudi Arabia…on the coast of the Red Sea.

Jeddah appears to be the main port for Mecca, the centre of the Muslim world and, needless to say, has a total ban on alcohol (our Bond locker was sealed) - even Tobacco restrictions were also enforced – It was a place that was, unsurprisingly, described by most on board as the “arsehole of the world” – because it most certainly was! Later research has shown that Jeddah is not only the commercial capital of Saudi Arabia but also, as I said, the principal gateway to Mecca, Islam’s holiest city which is only 45 miles inland from the port. Indeed, as November was the month that at least three million Muslims made the pilgrimage to worship at Mecca, we were able to see all sorts of ramshackle craft, literally crammed to overflowing with humans, goats and camels, as they made their way to the holy city where they would pray to the Holy Mosque (the largest in the world) in a once-a-lifetime homage known as the Hajj – All pretty amazing I suppose, but such religious fervour and dedication was, to Western eyes, almost fanatical - and with all this in addition to the severe restrictions placed on us during our long and boring stay in the oppressive heat of the area, we were not at all impressed.

It was, therefore, a great relief that we were repatriated, and just before Christmas too…I must admit that our replacements must have felt very hard done by but, as the French would say: – C’est la vie! (I think that the English version might be: ‘Shit happens!’).

1975 – BACK TO SCHOOL & THEN TO SEA AGAIN

I was now able to enjoy nearly four months of fully paid leave before expecting my next orders. However, the company did not actually contact me until June that year - and this was not in order to join a ship but to undergo the necessary training for me to take my necessary Board of Trade Cook’s Ticket…However, before this contact and the subsequent training for my BOT Cook’s Ticket, something far more significant happened. It was a tragic disaster which would destroy my life’s hitherto quite religious outlook and, indeed, affect it for the next thirty-two years – in short; I lost my Faith and my belief in God.

‘Operation Babylift’ was a mission set up to bring Vietnamese war-orphans to the US in the few remaining days before the Republic of Vietnam fell. On April 4, 1975, C-5A Galaxy 68-0218 departed Saigon-Tan Son Nhat Airport shortly after 4 p.m…Twelve minutes after takeoff, there was what seemed to be an explosion as the lower rear fuselage was torn apart and a rapid decompression occured. The crew descended in preparation for landing on Tan Son Nhut's runway 25L but, about halfway through a turn to final approach, the rate of descent increased rapidly. Seeing they couldn't make the runway, full power was applied to bring the nose up. The C-5 touched down in a rice paddy. Skidding for a quarter of a mile, the aircraft again became airborne for a half mile before hitting a dike and breaking into four parts, some of which caught fire. According to DIA figures, 138 people were killed in the crash, including 78 children and 35 Defense Attaché Office Saigon personnel.

I remember watching the terrible newscasts on the TV – Desperate mothers, their children held aloft as they ran down the tarmac alongside the moving aircraft, begging and pleading with the military to take their babies on board. I remember feeling so happy that, despite the aeroplane being already over-filled, some of those pleading mothers were successful in their efforts…Then the newscasts announced that the plane had subsequently crashed, with all the horror of the deaths of those helpless child evacuees – How could any so-called ‘God’ allow such a dreadful, pointless tragedy to happen? I had no answer – and lost my ‘religion’ from that day – not really regaining it until my own life itself nearly ended, in April 2007.

So, at the beginning of July 1975 I attended the London School of Nautical Cookery in the East End (in Dock Street, London Docks) to obtain this ‘Certificate of Competency as Ship’s Cook’…and, after a month in the school’s kitchens, achieved this certification on the 30th July (No: 49522) – The training - and subsequent qualification - was necessitated by the fact that, despite all my experience and training in the hotel business, LOF had realised that I didn’t actually hold a Cook’s Ticket and, in order to be a Catering Officer, this was actually necessary…It was an enjoyable time though and – as with anything - there were new things learned…We would make bread rolls each day and prepare different meals for lunch in the school’s kitchens - and the lads I worked with were from all walks of life, and all good fun.

LOF received the Queens Award to Industry in that same year too – quite a period for certification! Nevertheless, it was just over two more months before I did eventually join my next ship, the “London Craftsman”…after a long flight to Los Angeles I arrived on a Sunday and, because the ship herself wasn’t due in until the following Thursday, was booked into the ‘Imperial 400 Motel’ in San Pedro, the rather sleazy LA harbour area.

In fact there was a major change of officers due on the ‘London Craftsman’ so I wasn’t lonely – I don’t remember where the others were staying (perhaps we all stayed at the same place) but I do remember a few things about that time…Firstly, whilst all the others flew across to Las Vegas to see the sights and play the tables, the new Chief officer, Dave Prosser, and I decided to stay in San Pedro - We found a reasonable bar near the hotel and imbibed there most of the afternoon of the first full day – and for the next three days I’m afraid that I then, personally, ‘burnt the candle at both ends’ as the saying goes.

When the ship eventually arrived, early on the Thursday morning, I was absolutely exhausted…indeed, I was so destroyed that I could hardly keep my eyes open and, as far as the change-over between the outgoing Catering Officer/Chief Steward and me was concerned, I ended up just accepting all he told me so that I could curl up in my bunk and try to grab some rest, which was just as well because we sailed for Japan within hours!

THE m.v. “LONDON CRAFTSMAN”

Crew List - m.v. London Craftsman - 31st October 1975:

Captain: Alfred Smith - C/Off: D. Prosser - 2/Off: C.Dixon - 3rd/Off: P.Shenton - Radio Off: Brian McIntosh

C/Eng: A. May - 2nd.Eng: E.Scouller - 3rd.Eng: Alec Priestley - 4th.Eng: M.Halliday

J/Es: R. Ford & Stanley Christian - Eng Cadets: A.C.Wells & C. Wood

Electrician: H.Doyle

At the beginning of November 1975 we sailed the 5,600 miles, from Los Angeles, across the Pacific, to Nagoya, which was our first port of call on the Japanese coast.

The ‘London Craftsman’ was a particularly hard working ship but despite this (or because of it) the ship was great fun and my fellow officers were superb – even Alec Priestley (who was now a rather mature 3rd Engineer) was much quieter than when he had been on the ‘London Banker’ back in 1971. My friendship with the Chief Officer, Dave Prosser, was now well established too because, as already explained, we had stayed in San Pedro while the others went to Las Vegas…but I have to say that one of my greatest friends on the ‘London Citizen’ became the ‘Sparks’ (the Radio Officer) who was universally known as ‘Tosh’.

Brian McIntosh was a lively young Scot who came from Grangemouth on the Firth of Forth, three miles east of Falkirk – he was knee-high to a grasshopper (as they say) but made up for his stature with the most explosive and infectious personality that I have ever come upon – and probably ever will. He had his wife with him too; a black-haired beauty even smaller than him (they were just like diddy-people in fact!) and they were the life and soul of the many parties we had on board. I really liked Brian and I even remember selling him a ‘with profits’ Insurance policy, with Framlington and/or British Life I think (I had worked briefly for an Insurance company in Southampton Row at one time) and, I’m delighted to say I learned some years later that the policy had behaved extremely favourably.

I also remember Brian’s wife coming to me and asking if I could syringe her ears for her…I did so, in my cabin and over the washbasin, using a Higginson Syringe (more normally used for enemas!) and it was very successful…after I had finished she confessed that the whole business had been an absolute turn-on for her – just as well Brian was my good friend!

One of Brian’s favourite party-pieces, especially after a few drinks in the ship’s bar, was to sing ‘The House of the Rising Sun’ while standing on a coffee table, dressed in just shorts and a cape (a towel) and holding a walking-stick – it was an absolutely frenetic performance, totally hilarious, and we all loved it. It was also Brian who told me (whether it was true or not) that Lulu, the pop-singer, was known by some in Scotland as a ‘stairheed sneckit’ (phonetic spelling) which, in that area, meant a female who hung around the stairwells of council blocks and was game for a feel and a heavy ‘neck’ in the darkness of those grim places – or even more perhaps!

After a busy time in the Japanese ports of Nagoya, Kobe (where I took stores), Fukiyama, Wakayama and Yokohama we sailed across the North Pacific, eventually traversing the Panama Canal and emerging on the Caribbean Sea side, at Cristobal (a voyage of over 8,200 miles in total), before a further 2,000 miles took us down to Belem, in Paro, Brazil from whence we would then proceed to Santos, Paranagua, Maceio, Rio de Janeiro and, finally, Buenos Aires in Argentina (If you want to see the world, join the navy!).

LONDON CRAFTSMAN

PANAMA CANAL

So, it was a good trip, made all the more enjoyable by the fact that, by and large, the officers were a great crowd. My crew was a totally different kettle of fish though and, although they meant well, I really had to watch them all very carefully - a rather unstable situation which was very stressful…and such problems virtually came to a head over the Christmas menu!

We managed to have Christmas Day at anchor off Santos and I had planned that the main Christmas Day menu would start with Smoked Salmon and the main feature would be a Roast Suckling Pig, which I’d had specially included in my Kobe stores – however, because of the situation with regard to my catering staff, particularly in the Galley, I had to run everything like a military operation and even had a clipboard with me at all times, which I constantly referred to! Nevertheless, despite all this care and caution, I soon came across the first problem, which was the Suckling Pig – it was too large to go in the ovens…in the end, a little to my dismay, we had to cut the head off and roast it separately – after that, with constant supervision and the continued help of my military-style clipboard, all finally seemed well, the free bar was progressing favourably and service was nearly due – I went once more into the Galley, for a sort of final check, going over all the pans and dishes, noting their contents satisfactorily and ticking items off on my checklist – ‘What about the Smoked Salmon?’ I said to the Chief Cook, who was nervously standing at my side.

‘Very good, Sahib’ he replied – ‘…Ready now!’ and he opened one of the ovens with a proud flourish.

There, on the top shelf, bubbling water steaming in a large metal dish and covered by greaseproof paper, was the complete side of Smoked Salmon – now cooked to a mushy pinkness – and totally ruined!

With service now minutes away and a hungry horde of officers and wives about to descend on the Saloon where carefully printed menus proclaimed, among other things, that the starter was Smoked Salmon with Brown Bread and Butter, I rushed down to the ‘fridges and grabbed the remaining side of expensive smoked salmon and then, with the assistance of the Pantryman, began to thaw the hard-frozen fish under running hot water. Quite how we managed to serve it in the end I do not know – it certainly wasn’t neatly sliced as I had planned, more a sort of scrambled, flaky accompaniment to the brown bread and butter but, presumably helped by the earlier Christmas free bar, nobody noticed and amazingly the whole meal (including the reassembled Suckling Pig) was an absolute triumph!

Newsline 1976:

11th Feb - Figure skater John Curry wins Britain's first Olympic gold in the sport. Our first medal at the winter games for 12 years.

6th Mar – PM Harold Wilson resigns after 13 years as Labour leader (and PM for almost 8 years).

5th Apr – James Callaghan new Prime Minister.

7th Apr - MP and ex-Cabinet Minister John Stonehouse resigns from the Labour Party, leaving government a minority of one.

2nd Jun - Jockey Lester Piggott has won the Epsom Derby for a record seventh time, riding the French-trained ‘Emperie’.

4th Jul - Israeli commandos rescue 100 hostages, mostly Israelis or Jews, from pro-Palestinian hijackers at Entebbe airport in Uganda.

30th Aug - More than 100 police officers taken to hospital after clashes at the Notting Hill Carnival in west London.

24th Sept - Rhodesian Government has agreed to introduce black majority rule to the country within two years.

18th Oct - Funeral of Carlo Gambino, the 'boss of the bosses' in the Mafia, took place in New York.

LONDON CRAFTSMAN – NEW YORK

Updated Crew List

m.v. London Craftsman January 1976:

Captain: Alfred Smith

C/Off: D. Prosser

2/Off: C.Dixon

3rd/Off: P.Shenton

Radio Off: Brian McIntosh

Engine Cadet: A.C.Wells

Engine Cadet: C. Wood

C/Eng: A. May

2nd.Eng: E.Scouller

3rd.Eng: Alec Priestley

4th.Eng: M.Halliday

J/Es: R. Ford /Stanley Christian Electrician: H.Doyle

Navigating Cadet: P.D.Best Navigating Cadet: K.Ritchie

In the New Year we sailed to Paranagua and then to Maceio, the capital and the largest city of the coastal state of Alagoas, Brazil. I just loved the place and very soon befriended a young student, called Alphonso, who proudly drove me all over the place in his red Karmann Ghia (a Volkswagen sports car) and introduced me to many of his friends. It was also, through Alphonso and his friends, that I came to know a particularly potent drink that was produced in Brazil called pitu, made from pure sugar cane – Drinking it was quite a ritual actually, but enjoyable…one had a small tumbler of fish stock, a beautiful rich red in colour as I remember, and a small spirit glass of the yellowish pitu…the ritual involved sipping the fish stock, then drinking the pitu firewater back in one, followed by the remainder of the fish stock…We bought all these various items from a wayside bar, on a beautiful sunny day up in the hills overlooking Maceio and the sparkling blue sea. Alphonso and his friends reckoned that two were enough for most men but, of course, I had to show off by drinking three. Later I vaguely remember us driving along the main shore road of Maceio, Alphonso in his Karmann Ghia with me as a passenger and his friends alongside in their saloon car, both cars doing about ninety miles an hour - and two abreast - with Alphonso and one of his friends clutching hands as they tore along. Maceio seafront

After that hair raising drive I was dropped off at the ship, stumbled into my cabin, fell on my bunk, and then passed out – that’s pitu for you!

I can’t remember how long we stayed at Maceio but I do remember that it is one of the places in the world that, given the chance, I would love to return to – lovely white sandy beaches (I even went swimming in the surf one day, but saw a shark a few yards ahead of me and soon got out!) and everybody so friendly. In fact, one day we were pressed into playing football against a local team – it took us a while to rustle up enough people to play (I think it was 7-a-side) but eventually we did and, dressed in an array of raggle-taggle T-shirts and flip-flops, made our way to the beach-side pitch. We had only been there a few moments when two cars screeched up and disgorged our various opponents; all dressed in matching football strips, shorts, socks and football boots! Worse still, there was a crowd of some proportion gathering in readiness – and even worse, the whole event was being loudly billed on local radio (in a typically echoing Brazilian way) as ‘Brazil versus England!’

Needless to say, we lost the match (and a lot of bodily liquid too) with the score against us so high as to be embarrassing (I think it was about 12-1) but fortunately I had had the earlier foresight to bring along the ship’s dartboard and a supply of darts and so, when we had retired to the open air beach bar near the football pitch for a much needed drink, we hung the board on a fence and, having first shown them how to play, challenged our recent opponents to a darts match – which we won easily!!

I also remember one hot, sunny day when Alphonso took me to some swank Yacht Club near Maceio and we went swimming in the river that ran past it. We dived off the wooden jetty and cavorted around in the cool water but then I ventured out into the middle and the swift current caught me and began to sweep me away. How I managed to swim back to safety I will never know…I must have been stronger than I thought, despite my good living, but it nearly all ended that day!!

After that our last South American port was Buenos Aires (fillet steak and a glass of red wine – 50p!) before crossing the Atlantic once more. I remember calling in to Durban for one night, almost certainly for Bunkers and stores (including Castle Beer!) before sailing, that next early February morning, for the French port of Marseilles – There, apart from finding a local restaurant and ensuring that I ate a bouillabaisse (the traditional dish of Marseille which was a huge Provencal fish stew containing shellfish, vegetables and spices) I recollect very little more, other than that I paid-off on the 1st.March 1976 and returned home to Upper Norwood – and a well-earned leave.

* * * *

MY LAST L.O.F. TRIP – July 1976 to February 1977:

In mid-July I joined the “London Resolution” again - this time for what turned out to be her last voyage…and a very eventful one too...from start to finish!

My first letter home (14th August 1976, from Leningrad in Russia) tells about these dramatic early joining events best of all - it also describes the ship and the crew and, indeed, pretty much details the early part of the trip. I remember us going to Leningrad – a grim-looking city with huge, wide highways and very few private cars (just taxis) and later returning through the Kiel Canal…that was my first and only shipboard visit to Germany. I also remember that we took stores during our transit of this narrow 61-mile long link between the North Sea and the Baltic (reputed to be the most heavily used artificial seaway in the world) before sailing out across the Atlantic to Norfolk in Virginia.

But – as you will see from my letter home (and the cutting from the LOF News) - the joining experience was a story all on its own!

Joined the s.s. ”LONDON RESOLUTION” at Skagen – 18thJuly 1976.

Crew List – ss London Resolution – July 1976:

Captain: A. Armstrong (& wife!)

C/Off: S.N. Sinha – 2/Off: C. Cornish

3rd/Off: Steve Camm - 4th/Off: J.Lonsdale

Radio Off: H.L. Nolan

Cadet: S. Tierney – Cadet: K.A. Williams

C/Eng: E.V.Morton - 2nd.Eng: D. Marshall

3rd.Eng: F.Johnson - 4th.Eng: ‘Shaky’ Barker

J/Es: R. Ford – J.F. Terrell – G. Nuttall

Electrician: F.C. Mackie

Eng Cadet: A. Nicholls

Eng.Cadet: A. Allwood.

Letter to Mum & Dad – from “London Resolution” – Leningrad, 14th.August, 1976:

Dear Mum & Dad,

At last I have found time to sit down and write you a letter, but I know you will understand the situation on board during the first few weeks of a new commission.

Well, as you can see I am in Leningrad, as certain more celebrated personalities before me failed to be! It is an unusually dull and grim city, with the occasional vividly contrasting areas of former pomp still preserved, viz., the ex-Tsar’s Summer and Winter Palaces, the Hermitage and so on. I visited the site where the cruiser Aurora is now berthed; she was the ship whose guns signalled the start of the Revolution, as you will remember. The view over the river at that point is breathtaking and a little foreboding, but one that I will add to my store. The shops here are very drab, and merchandise is of a low standard, but the people don’t appear to be too sad looking, which surprised me I must admit. We visited the International Seamen’s Club the other night, and spent the evening drinking Champagne and guzzling Caviar, both items which are very inexpensive and which consequently lose most of their magic for that reason!

I had a rather harrowing journey out to join ship. Having arrived at Heathrow with a hangover at the unearthly time of 8.30 am, I eventually located the Master’s wife, who was a bag of nerves about flying. It helped my uneasiness a little because I was so busy trying to keep her occupied. We were both on tranquillisers and the flight to Copenhagen wasn’t bad except that the pilot seemed to land on one wheel and bounced the plane around before taxiing to a stop, but by that time we were both squiffy on brandy so we didn’t care much! Then we had the prospect of a six-hour wait for a connecting flight to Alborg – After 1½ hours I decided to try a little gentle persuasion, and I was lucky enough to get us an earlier flight. The trip was perfect and the Danish people we met throughout our journeying were the most charming people that I have ever met, all smiling, joking, twinkly-eyed and rosy cheeked.

Our comments to each other on this must have jinxed the affair because the Agent did not appear at Alborg, and initiative was again put to the test. I managed to telephone the Agents at Copenhagen and after a further two hours, spent eating Danish open sandwiches in the airport lounge, a taxi arrived to take us to our overnight hotel at Skaagen. The drive took an hour and a half, and by this time we were beginning to feel not a little tired. When we arrived at Skaagen the thought of a nice hot bath, some pre-dinner drinks and a good meal were uppermost in our minds. Not to be! The taxi driver dumped us at the Seaman’s Mission – there were no rooms available for us, no hot food and they only served beer. The place was full of crewmembers from various small ships and fishing-boats, and a smell of maturing old socks mingled with the fish odour. Undaunted I managed (by sign language and a charming Danish waitress’s Pidgin English) to find out the local Agent’s telephone number. He was out, and not likely to be back until 9pm; at 9.45pm, starving hungry, fed up with drinking beer and feeling shabbily unwashed I felt a fuse go in my head, and went into action. Two telephone calls and a few table-bangs later we were told that rooms had been found for us and that we could eat at a nearby restaurant, with no expense spared! So far so good, but when I was driven off to my room and Mrs. Armstrong was taken to hers things looked even worse. My room was the scullery of an empty cafeteria down in the fish market, from which an indescribable stench floated through the tightest closed window. In a corner was a camp bed, with a mattress and a blanket! I returned to the Mission in time to see Mrs. A’s face, and guessed that her accommodation was not much better. Indeed she had been shown to a sort of cottage in the back yard of what must have been the loudest Discotheque in Denmark, in the garden was a tent sleeping four hippies, and if she required a toilet, she would have to wait until 7am the next morning when they opened the sanitary block!!

We went to the restaurant, by now very low-spirited. I was almost past making any decisions, almost ready to accept our lot, but the sight of Mrs. A’s face made me realise that I had to make one last effort; she just couldn’t be allowed to sleep the night at that place, so I started to ask around the restaurant. Our meal arrived, and it was beautiful, the wine flowed and then Cointreaus for her and Brandies for me - and things began to look up. Then I hit lucky, and the proprietoress of the restaurant came over with a list of hotels in the area. By pointing at various photographs I was able to make her understand, and she kept going off and ‘phoning for us, but each time came back sad-faced. Accommodation was fully booked. Then her daughter arrived, she spoke fluent English, and within minutes we were fixed up in their own summer villa, with two lovely rooms and a bathroom! We were driven to the villa, had a quick wash, deposited our baggage and returned to the restaurant for a relaxing and much-needed drink! The next morning we awoke around mid-day, went to the restaurant, had a fantastic lunch, an afternoon nap in the lounge upstairs, more food and even contacted the Agent and obtained money for expenses reimbursed, and confirmation of the joining details, plus an apology which was so charming that it was difficult not to accept. We joined the ship by pilot launch at 9pm that evening, some 38 hours after setting out from home!

The ship is a very happy one and my crew are good, particularly the Cooks. We leave here tomorrow for Kiel Canal, and after that probably the States or Canada, but this is yet to be confirmed, and at Kiel I will be busy taking our annual stores. There is a rumour that we might go to Nakhodka, which will be a little harrowing, in temperatures well below freezing, however it could also be Australia, which would be fabulous. I must close now, looking forward to hearing from you soon, till then,

All my love to you both, John xxxx

(P. S. The Captain’s wife thinks I’m wonderful and is writing to the Office to compliment me!!)

SEE BELOW

Letter to Mum & Dad – en route to Klaipeda 13th /16th September, 1976 – posted Skaagen 16.9.76:

Dear Mum & Dad,

Thank you for your letters which, as always, I enjoyed reading. I do hope that you received my letter from Russia. I was going to post it at the Kiel Canal, because of the censor, but I wanted you to receive a letter with a Leningrad postmark, so let’s hope you received it.

Anyway, Leningrad was fascinating and eye-opening as well, particularly the Black Market aspect. You couldn’t walk more than a few paces without someone offering to buy cigarettes, your clothing, in fact just about anything. Do you know that a Mum Rollette, which cost 17p, sold for the rouble equivalent of £4!

Anyway, we spent most of our roubles on Champagne and Caviar at the International Club and also on food at the Hotel Astoria Restaurant, together with Georgian Wines and to a background of live pop-music!

I took stores from the U.K. when we got to Kiel Canal (that’s Germany to add to my increasing list of countries visited) and was consequently very busy, and have been since. We sailed across to Norfolk, Virginia, where I took more stores, meat this time, but I managed to get ashore on the last night, fortified with my $100 commission! I met the US Coast Guard Supervisor for the port, and he took us on a tour of Norfolk’s bars and clubs, ending up in Virginia Beach where all the action is. At about 1am he slid slowly to the floor muttering something about how much Limey’s could drink! Before he finally bowed out he presented me with a double row of medals that he wore on his uniform, which makes quite a trophy!

The trip across was all right until a couple of days ago, and then it became really rough with gale-force winds and heavy seas. I live amidships but my Pantries and Galleys and the Bar are all aft. To get there you go across a flying bridge. This proved to be an extremely hazardous business with high winds whipping the spray right across the ship and I got soaked to the skin every time. Also the ship was rolling like mad, which is all right for a while but gets you after a day or two. However, as I write, we are now in the English Channel, en route for the Skaw, and the sea is beautifully calm so we are back to normality.

The blokes are a great bunch, and it is a very happy ship. My staff are excellent, particularly the Cooks, and the other day I was voted the best feeder that they had sailed with which is a reflection of the Cook’s skills. Unfortunately the Chief Cook does occasionally overdo the drinking, particularly if he can get hold of shore side spirits, but we have handled him OK. Mind you it was a rather sad sight seeing him attend boat drill one day and standing at an angle of 45 degrees!! That was all right, but I was a little upset when I sent him to bed, and he came back to the Galley and proceeded to boil the Roast Pork, muttering that he may be a bit tight but he could still carry out his duties!!

I am writing this letter quickly, because I want to get it off with the Pilot at the Skaw (we don’t stop there, just pick up a Pilot) because at present we are only going to lay off Klaipeda to await more specific orders. They think that it could be either Riga or Leningrad for the discharge of our 22,000 tons of Virginia corn, and I very much doubt if we will have to be fumigated as the standard of this grain is very high.

My Birthday celebration is being planned as a night out with Dinner, in the best hotel in Riga (or Leningrad) and all the lads are hoarding cigarettes, gum, perfume and tights for sale to raise a decent pile of roubles in honour of that occasion. Strangely enough, one of the Junior Engineers has his birthday on the 28th as well, so it will be a double party.

The Mate is an Anglo-Indian and he has been giving me a course of instruction in Curry cooking, which is something I always wanted to learn more about. My curry repertoire must now surely be the biggest in the fleet, and I have not repeated myself for two weeks (on the menus I mean).

I will close this note soon, as I am now busy preparing the documents for Russia and the Pilot will be out at the Skaw soon, hopefully with some mail. Take care and I look forward to hearing from you both again soon, ‘till then,

All my love

John xxxxx

As my letters home suggested, Leningrad was a whole new experience, including the almost blatant black-market that seemed to exist on practically any Western products (Soap, Deodorant, Jeans, etc.) and, of course, Cigarettes. For example, there was one quite skinny chap, posing as a Stevedore foreman (although I have my doubts), who was able to secrete all sorts of things in all sorts of places on his body, finishing it all off with a wide leather belt that he would buckle around the waist of his dingy blue boiler suit, fastening it as tightly as he could over all this hidden merchandise. He made numerous visits to many of us on the ship and paid us for the various items with what seemed an endless supply of Russian roubles…he’s probably a Russian oligarch billionaire now!! Anyway, these roubles had no value outside Russia (indeed it was illegal to smuggle them out) so we used to go to a place called the International Club (a sort of Mission to Seamen) and also to the restaurant of the Hotel Astoria, where we would lavish these ill-gotten roubles on seemingly limitless dishes of red caviar, numerous bottles of champagne, Georgian fine wines and the rest of it…like true capitalists!

As I’ve said before, Leningrad was a strange, almost macabre place with huge wide thoroughfares in the centre which were strangely bereft of private cars, but had plenty of taxis (and queues) and big, grey and grim looking department stores which did not seem to have windows (so you could miss them altogether if you didn’t know). On one derelict looking street corner I came across a queue of shabby, down-at-heel looking men and women, young and old, waiting their turn at a small sort of mobile stall on the counter of which was a metal washing-up bowl of water and a glass which was attached to a chain. As each person got to the stall they would hand some money over and the glass would be filled with Vodka, which they then swallowed quickly before plunging the glass into the washing-up bowl where it would be roughly rinsed in readiness for the next customer! A little further down one of these grim streets, overlooking a municipal park, a door opened in one of the mournful, grey buildings and two burly females in white overalls hurled some poor, emaciated looking old man out of the building and into the gutter – I assumed that he was a drunk and the place must have been a club or a bar or something, so I tactfully crossed over the road towards the park where, to my utter amazement, lying beneath a tree, I saw a discarded wooden leg in perfect condition, with the unfastened straps spread outwards on the grass – it was as though this artificial limb had just been thrown there and, to this day, I often wonder what the actual stories were behind these incidents!

I also remember us visiting a flat in Leningrad - with the 2nd Engineer and one of the Juniors. We had been invited by one of the stevedores – a big, muscular Russian woman who shared the flat with two other equally sturdy women – definitely no funny business there! The décor was rather austere and very old-fashioned with dark wood furniture, a glass-fronted cabinet filled with china ornaments and lace antimacassars on the dark brown leather padded armchairs – the three women were fun though and, despite the fact that none of us spoke each other’s languages, we all got on really well. Later the younger woman disappeared into the kitchen for a while and then returned with a small brown bottle of what looked like medicine, a basin of sugar and a teaspoon. She then demonstrated what wickedness they used to get up to in the privacy of their flat by, to our shock and amazement, opening the medicine bottle – which turned out to contain ether – and dripping a few drops onto the sugar filled teaspoon, before placing it into her mouth and sucking the impregnated sugar off the spoon! Of course I had to try it as well and boy, it really produced a kick – the ether-soaked sugar seemed to explode in my mouth and I certainly got a buzz…Later, when we returned to the ship, I looked in the mirror at my tongue – it was jet black!

Norfolk, Virginia – October 1976

Eventually we left Russia, as I said, and after transiting the Kiel Canal and then crossing the Atlantic, arrived in Norfolk, Virginia. The city has a long history as a strategic military and transportation point and indeed Norfolk Naval Base is the world's largest such base, and the world's largest military alliance at that time (the North Atlantic Treaty Organization - NATO) also has its defense headquarters there – The approach to our berth was, therefore, of enormous interest to us all as we passed several truly vast American Naval vessels, including Destroyers, Cruisers and even an Aircraft Carrier, which was towering above us and crawling with personnel on every deck, saluting, running around, forming up into squads, etc.

Anyway, later myself, “Shaky” (which was the nickname of the 4th Engineer - surname Barker) and a Junior Engineer called Roger Ford, all went for a run ashore. We got as far as a bar near the gates of the port and decided to have a drink there first. It was a pretty rough place, full of heavy-set dock workers and various equally large naval personnel and, after a small misunderstanding about seating (Roger Ford had sat on an empty seat at the bar only to be told to ‘shift his arse’ when the previous occupant, an overweight , unshaven stevedore-type, returned from his visit to the toilet!) we found an empty table and began to converse as we swigged our drinks. It wasn’t long when, presumably attracted by our Limey accents, a large man, wearing a dark blue uniform impressively adorned with badges and two rows of extremely colourful decorations, introduced himself as the US Coast Guard Supervisor for the port and, at our invitation, joined in with our conversation.

I don’t know how it happened, suffice to say that the man was rather loud-mouthed and certainly a braggart, but somehow or other a drinking challenge was issued, with me representing the ‘Limeys’ and him the American Naval profession – the prize would be that the loser would pay for all the booze – I then added that, as that winner would be me (now who was being a braggart!), instead of having all the drinks paid for I would settle for his two rows of decorations as my prize – and this was eventually agreed.

After that we went right on the booze – we went from bar to bar and it was so hectic and fast and furious that I remember little about it – all I do remember is that, at all times, I managed to keep just ahead of this US Coast Guard Supervisor on the drinks front…a tactic which I had used before and one that turned out to be a good move here too. Eventually we hit the Virginia Strip, a famous area in the Virginia Beach area, populated with classy shops, bars, restaurants and clubs along its length. We were all well liquored up by now but somehow we managed to get a table in a rather high-class club called the Sir Galahad and ordered a couple of rounds of drinks, whereupon (as part of a strategy) I managed to drink my first as swiftly as possible while our Coast Guard supervisor, by now visibly intoxicated, was only starting his drink. I remember well that there was a cabaret act performing in an adjoining room, and the four male singers, who were all black, looked vaguely familiar to me (I later found out that they were the famous ‘Four Tops’ quartet) – as I drank down my second drink my beefy rival across the table tried valiantly to catch me up, clutched at the table cloth and then, slowly and quietly slid off his chair and, still clutching the table covering, hit the floor, followed (noisily) by the whole contents of the table – glasses, cutlery, plates and all. At that very moment, no doubt momentarily put off by the clattering sound from our area, the Four Tops paused in mid-song (I Just Can’t Get You Out Of My Mind as I recall) and then, after about a half second beat - and like the true professionals that they were - carried on with their number!

THE FOUR TOPS

Shortly after that, as my two colleagues started to high five me with congratulations, the Norfolk US Coast Guard Supervisor’s hand appeared above the table and I could see that it now held the strip with its two rows of decorations. ‘You can certainly drink - for a Limey!’ came his rather slurred voice from the direction of the floor – ‘You win!’ - We got thrown out of the club soon after that (unsurprisingly) and we managed to half carry, half walk, the poor drunken man to his pickup truck which was fortunately parked nearby, then tossed him gently into the open back, whereupon he immediately fell into a sound and inebriated sleep – we never saw him again!

And so, leaving Norfolk and the United States behind, we once more crossed the Atlantic (in very rough weather) and, having transited the calm English Channel, anchored off the Skaw for orders - this time bound for Klaipeda, Lithuania’s only seaport and at that time also a satellite of Mother Russia.

While on the ‘London Resolution’ I had quickly developed a good relationship with the Chief Engineer, Ed Morton (known as Polly) – he was actually of mixed blood, half Burmese and half English - a ‘Half-Chat’ as he used to call himself (especially after a few drinks). When I joined the ship we had had a crew change and one of my jobs was to allocate the new Stewards to various officers, starting with the Captain’s Steward. Naturally (apart from my own) I wanted the best ones for the senior officers so, when it came to the Chief I decided on the ideal man for him and duly appointed him. All went well for a while but one evening, when I was in the Chief’s cabin having a drink with him, I asked how his Steward was performing. Ed Morton smiled and then told me the story…Apparently the Steward was tidying up his accommodation early one morning when we were at sea, came upon a container which had quite a lot of cigarette ash in it and dumped the contents over the side before cleaning the container and replacing it neatly in the Chief’s cabin. To my horror the Chief than told me that the container was in fact an urn…with his dead wife’s ashes in – he had been taking this urn to sea ever since her funeral but had never had the guts to actually sprinkle his wife’s ashes over the sea, as she had requested - the Steward had done it for him!…Ed Morton and I both had a good laugh about this in the end.

Ed Morton is no longer with us now, and he will no doubt be missed by many – from my point of view, apart from many pleasant encounters with him, including the story I have just recounted, he was also famous for giving me one of my favourite phrases, which I used several times when at home, to the great amusement of many people: – ‘I’ve had ‘em all – Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese – even Monkeys!’

Letter to Mum & Dad – Off Las Palmas 12.10.76 (en route to Brazil) - Posted Rio Grande, Brazil – 25.10.76:

Dear Mum & Dad,

Exit the USSR and down into the sunny climes. Klaipeda was yet another experience, and totally different to Leningrad. Although ostensibly Russia, it is actually Lithuania and the locals make no bones about the fact, in fact they object to being called Russians. Shortly after we arrived they put a telephone on board. The ‘phone had only been connected for five minutes when it rang and the caller announced herself as a nineteen year old blonde who would like to know if any Officer would care to meet her at a Restaurant for a drink and a chat! Naturally nobody took the offer up, due mainly to a suspicion that it was a set-up for a mugging. However the next day the telephone never stopped ringing, girls, girls and more girls. Eventually three of the younger Officers decided to give it a try and made a date for that night. Apparently it was a huge success, the girls were all sort of middle-class Lithuanians, very attractive and, due to the midnight curfew, very celibate! Mind you they were on to a good thing because the lads were all loaded with black-market roubles and consequently paid all the bills for food and Champagne etc., and yet had to be back by midnight thereby avoiding the inevitable tussles for bed!

Anyway, I went ashore one night with the 2nd.Mate and a Junior Engineer and we had a tremendous night; we met a young couple at a Restaurant called the Regatta, a converted Yacht on the river bank, and they took us to what they called a “Night Bar” where there was a Cabaret (non-stop) drink and the inevitable platefuls of Caviar. We had such a good time that we forgot the time and by 12.30am we were past caring anyway. Naturally enough the next day we were informed by the Guard at the foot of the gangway that our shore-passes had been stopped and we were confined to the ship for the rest of the stay! Eventually I wrote a letter to the Chief of Immigration, apologising for our misdemeanour and explaining that we had been led astray by two East Germans (Socialist countrymen don’t have a curfew, only those from the West which is an interesting point). Much to our surprise our passes were restored, but I only went ashore once more because after a while one gets bored with just eating and drinking, and there is nothing else to spend your money on, the shops are very poor, and the standard of merchandise is appalling, as with Leningrad.

We are now bound for Brazil, although at the time of writing I do not know which port, probably Paranagua as we are to load Soya Beans and Paranagua is a Soya Bean port. I do know that we are going to bunker at Rio for the long journey back to Nakhodka in Russia. This will be a 40 day trip, and we are going via Cape Town, Indian Ocean, Singapore, Hong Kong etc., when we arrive at Nakhodka it will be iced over and bitterly cold so I am going to make the best of the current tropical style weather in order to store up some solar energy to carry me through. We are hoping to stop at Singapore in order to pick up fresh water and fresh vegetables etc, because you cannot get anything at all at Nakhodka (Happy Christmas!!)

This ship is a very happy ship, with a great bunch of chaps, by far the best I have experienced, and it is at times like this that I wonder whether I should stay at sea after all, however this is a rarity and the average crowd are nothing like this lot. I do sometimes wonder though, if my own influence, and the fact that I do care about the job and the atmosphere, has any relation to the ship being a happy ship?

We have got Chicken Marengo on tomorrow night, and each table will have a printed card explaining the origin of the dish. It was prepared to celebrate Napoleon’s victory after the Battle of Marengo. Food was in short supply but his Chef, Dunand, prepared a dish using all the ingredients that he had on hand. Chicken Sauté Marengo therefore is chicken fried in oil (olive) with a sauce made from tomatoes, garlic, brandy and mushrooms. The whole is garnished with sippits and fried eggs! On Saturday I am putting on a Pub Lunch in the bar, with rare roast beef, Ham and Egg pie, canapés, Salmon, Cheese, Pickles and so on, and I am hoping that this will be a success…. anyway it will get everybody together. The real test will come when we go on the 40 day trip, so the entertainment department will have to dream up some really special events to take the chap’s minds off the long voyage and the sobering conditions at the end of it…By all accounts the ship has been sold for scrap, and therefore after our discharge in Russia we will probably go to Taiwan to be scrapped.

Today the weather is truly beautiful. I have just had my hair cut by the ship’s barber, sitting out in the sunshine and watching the coast of Las Palmas, sunlit skyscrapers, sandy beaches and hazy mountains. This is what going to sea really means, and I shall miss these parts most of all. Never mind, one day I will go on a cruise and savour it all again.

Well, I will close this letter now except for any last minute news that may come in.

October 16th…. Well now we know that this ship has been sold to Far Eastern interests and that we will be taking her to Japan, after Nakhodka, for delivery to the new owners and then paying off from Japan. This means that I should be home in early January.

Today I put on the “pub” lunch in the Smoke-room, and it was a huge success with a magnificent buffet and everybody took part, thereby causing goodwill and much inter-departmental mingling which must be a good thing. Strangely enough the Captain announced that it was also his wedding anniversary so the party was well timed. He told us that he has only spent one of his twenty-two anniversaries at home, which is a sobering thought!

October 18th…We are now only 310 miles from Brazil’s coastline, so I will close properly now and get my port arrival documents ready. There is a possibility that we will only be loading 20,000 tons in Brazil, and this means that we won’t be using the wing tanks. This in turn means that we could load in less than 48 hours and, apart from bunkers at Rio, be on our way to Nakhodka. The weather at present is high summer with temperatures in

the nineties and suntans the order of the day, but we will need all of it in readiness for the bitter cold of Russia.

Bye for now, look after yourselves and as always I am looking forward to seeing you again soon.

All my love,

xxxxx

We sailed the 77 miles from Porto Allegre to Rio Grande do Sul - a hazardous journey with a pilot on board at all times as the ship negotiated the narrow inland channels – and, after our final loading, then sailed nearly 10,000 miles across to Singapore.

There was one story, possibly when we were awaiting cargo on the Brazilian coast, or at might have been in Russian ports as my memories of this are somewhat befuddled (and little wonder!). The 2nd and 3rd Mates challenged me to a drinking marathon – The bet was that the winner would be the person who managed to drink (on board) for 24-hours without stopping…Mad when I think back, and very irresponsible too – but, as I have said before, that was the way things were in those days. The 2nd.Mate was a dark and handsome young man called Charlie Cornish, the 3rd.Mate was the legendary Steve Camm whose exploits were all over the Fleet – In fact I should have known better because, although my own drinking abilities were well known, these two were absolute professionals! I did manage about 20 hours in the end, but every time I went into the bar there they would be, sitting on stools, drinking steadily through the day and night – when I finally conceded and acknowledged that they had won the bet they celebrated the event in style with a bottle of champagne!!

NAKHODKA – January 1977

CHARLES CORNISH

Letter to Mum & Dad – ss “London Resolution” – Nakhodka, USSR – 7th January, 1977:

Dear Mum & Dad,

Thank you very much for your entertaining and most welcome letter, and a Happy New Year!

Well, here we are…in Nakhodka, and I will describe it as objectively as possible for you. First of all it is as cold as we expected, the temperature as I write is 45 degrees Fahrenheit…but that is in my cabin, despite a heating lamp, warm-air blowers and a two-bar electric fire. Outside the temperature is 25 degrees below zero (Celsius)!! We are covered in ice, which is picturesque but not very cheering, icicles hang from the rails, we use a guide rope to negotiate the icebound decks when going from amidships to aft, the toilets have frozen up which means we have to use buckets for our natural bodily functions, a truly humbling routine. At present I still have hot water in my shower, but to take a shower in the cubicle is, to say the least, a chilling experience when you consider that the room is also covered with a two-inch thick layer of ice! My bathroom (in the adjoining hospital) has frozen over so my much-enjoyed daily bath has been wiped out and the other night when I woke up there was ice between my pillows (I sleep fully clothed, as do all of us!)

An interesting phenomenon is what is known as “sea smoke”, the surrounding sea is apparently on fire with clouds of smoke rolling and wreathing past us. This is obviously to do with the sea temperature being higher than the temperature of the atmosphere, but however this will probably not last much longer as the sea is also beginning to freeze up! Unfortunately we do have to anchor for at least 12 days, and that ‘ain’t funny, but, as with typically English people, we all laugh in the face of adversity and the spirit aboard is amazingly high - no doubt assisted by Johnny Walker Red label whose sales have rocketed to four bottles a day between 18 of us!

The scenery, though bleak, is quite beautiful, snow dusted mountainous terrain, sparsely covered with what appears to be pine trees, and the air is so clear at times that you can see for miles. The sun even shines, but loses its daily battle with the Siberian winds and the excruciating cold. Actually we welcome the occasional blizzard, because that means the temperature has fallen (or risen should I say) enough to allow the snow to fall. The crew are coping quite well, but there have been one or two mutinous uprisings. My contribution to help alleviate their misery was to issue grog to my lot and to the Petty Officers (Serangs). This seemed to go down very well except that I gave the Chief Cook a bottle of 33 over proof Australian Rum, and he was unconscious and incapable for 24 hours! He is now rationed to two tots a day, needless to say!

The Agent assesses that we will be here for at least 25 days, so I can’t see me returning home until February some time, however I am enjoying what to me is a new experience, and one that I feel privileged to have had. It’s amazing what people will put up with isn’t it? I mean it’s not everybody that can joke as they pass in the ice covered alleyway with their bucket of waste, en route to dump the contents over the side, dressed in two pairs of trousers, three pairs of socks, sea boots, combinations, three sweaters and a duffle coat, gloves and scarf!!

Christmas Day was a huge success, as was New Years Eve and I was again voted the best Catering Officer by the lads, much to my embarrassment, and secret pride. We sailed from Singapore on Christmas Eve, and it seems strange that 12 days later, instead of streaming with perspiration at the lightest exertion we are now running on the spot to keep the circulation going!

I don’t know if I told you but I decided to make up a menu on Christmas Day for each officer, with a cartoon (rather like the “team-cards” we used to have at Mill Hill School) poking good-natured fun at each individual. This has been one of my ambitions, but it involves a lot of work and that has put me off in the past. Anyway this year I did it, and it was a riotous success, and literally brought the house down. What a splendid way to start the meal, it broke the ice (such that there was after the morning bar session) when they came into the Saloon and found their lampoon (?) on their table place setting. The meal was a success too, and the Suckling Pig was borne into the Saloon by the Stewards and presented, complete with a rosy apple in its mouth. We even turned out the lights and fired the Christmas pudding with Brandy, and my usual special coffees (this time with Van Der Hum and Cream) were as effective as always. There wasn’t a glum face in the place and when my crew were ushered in for their toast a special speech was made thanking me for all the hard work and dedication to making the ship a “happy” one. I was so proud and not a little moved. Recognition at last!

This was the menu (I hope I’m not repeating myself): Petite Marmite with Sherry and small cubes of beef, chicken and various vegetables. Sweet Melon (cut like gondolas and garnished with orange, cherry and ginger). Deep-fried Queen Prawns with Tartar Sauce and brown bread and butter. Crispy Roast Suckling Pig St.Fortunat (sprinkled inside with brandy and stuffed with a forcemeat made from chopped onions, barley pilau, chopped pigs liver and sausage meat) and served with Apple Sauce, Horseradish and Cranberry Sauce (mixed together), French Beans, Water Chestnuts, baby Roast potatoes and Candied Sweet Potatoes. Cold meats (the list of these is too long to write down but included Duck, Turkey and Sirloin of Beef) and Salads, Christmas Pudding with Brandy Butter and Cream, Mince Pies, Crystallized Fruits, Dates, Nuts, Camembert and Danish Blue Cheese, Fresh Fruit - and the aforementioned Coffee special - and the lot was washed down with Nederburg Cabernet Sauvignon, 1974 and Twee Jongegezellen Estate-bottled Riesling (both from Cape Town)!!

Who cares about the cold when you can eat like that?!

4.00pm. Things are going from bad to worse and today is only Day 3. Now the hospital bathroom is under water and the scuppers are blocked so we will have to bale it out before it freezes, unfortunately some of the water has spread to the hospital itself, where incidentally, the 2nd.Mate has just moved into because his cabin was flooded! Somebody, we know not whom, has used one of the midships toilets in favour of his bucket and consequently there is now an evil smell pervading the whole accommodation. But we will soldier on of course. They really ought to replace the Woolsack with a model of a British cargo ship, the things we go through to bring valuable dollars into this country.

Well I haven’t any more news for you right now. Thank you very much for your letters and the card, and I may write again before too long. Now I am off to organise a social evening to take our minds off our problems. No doubt it will be a spirited affair!! Looking forward so very much to visiting you very soon, Till then.

All my love

John

xxxxx

Post-Card to Mum & Dad from Hataka, Japan – 16.01.77:

Dear Mum & Dad,

We have had to come over here for more fuel so that we can return to Nakhodka and start cargo!

It has been hellish, and 3 more weeks of it yet – Everything froze up, and we nearly had to close down, but all’s well that ends well, and I am warm again.

Hope to be home around February 5th. See you soon after.

Lots of love

xxxx John xx

It was indeed hell in Nakhodka and everything that I said in my letters was true – and some more besides! The sea did freeze up around us; temperatures were 25 degrees below zero (so cold that it made your head actually ache) and tea or coffee dregs thrown over the side did freeze before they hit the frozen sea that surrounded us. I also remember one incident, which really illustrates the freak conditions - Stewart (MacDonald), the rather hippy-looking, redheaded and moustachioed 3rd Officer, had just managed to slip and slide over the ‘flying bridge’ from the after accommodation to the midships deck containing the Smoke-room, bar and Saloon (and importantly, the Bridge) and arrived at the steel entrance door just as I was leaving – I saw his frozen Van Dyke style moustache and beard glinting in the bright sunlight and, for reasons I find hard to explain now, decided to playfully tweak the frozen left-hand side of his moustache – which promptly broke off! - I don’t remember what he did after that – probably waited for the thaw and let it grow again – but what I do know is that we all had a good laugh about it in the bar later.

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A LAKE NEAR NAKHODKA

Talking about the bar, another example of the icy conditions was that even the glasses of drink (usually whisky or rum) froze to the counter and, if you weren’t quick enough to avoid this, had to be prised off before you could raise them to your chapped lips!

Before I carry on a bit more about Nakhodka there were a couple of other details I didn’t mention in my letters home – you will recall that, when we were in Norfolk, Virginia, I won two rows of American decorations. Well, when we arrived in Nakhodka two grim looking uniformed Russian officials boarded to clear the ship and the Captain and I met them in his spacious Day Room. I was wearing my blues uniform with the two rows of decorations proudly (but illegally) displayed on my breast, which drew appreciative looks from the officials and a comment which the Russian Agent, who was also present, translated as ‘Aha – You are a hero!’ – I do remember smiling modestly - and looking embarrassed by their praise - which of course I was (embarrassed I mean!).

Also, when we were in Brazil I had purchased a green parrot – I named this parrot Henry and would take him everywhere with me, with him sitting on my shoulder so that I looked just like a proper old sea dog. Henry was very popular with everybody, especially in the bar where he would hop all over the place to everyone’s amusement. Once, when we were at sea and I had been somewhere on the ship without him, on my return to my cabin Henry had gone missing. Within a short time we had the whole ship’s personnel, officers, crew, wives and all, searching the ship for poor Henry – but to no avail. Eventually, with heavy heart, I returned to my cabin convinced that the bird had flown and was now somewhere in the middle of the ocean and almost certainly drowned when, to my relief and huge delight, when I closed my cabin door there was little Henry, clinging to the back of the door-curtain at the top – I can tell you, we all celebrated hard that night!

BRAZILIAN GREEN PARROTS

When we had been at Nakhodka a short while, with conditions so severe, I decided that, to come from the jungles of South America to the frozen wastes of Russia was too much to ask of poor Henry and, because the Agent had expressed his admiration for the feathered creature, I gave Henry to him as a present, content that he would be loved – and warm – in the man’s home…and I’m sure he was.

Crew List – ss London Resolution – November 1976:

Captain: A. Armstrong - C/Off: S.N. Sinha

2/Off: C. Cornish - 3rd/Off: S.P.R.Macdonald

Radio Off: E.C. Crowley

Cadet: R. Pemberton – Cadet: S. Sanford

C/Eng: E.V.Morton - 2nd.Eng: D. Marshall

3rd.Eng: F.Johnson - 4th.Eng: ‘Shaky’ Barker

J/Es: S. Usher & D. Hindle – Electrician: F.C. Mackie

Eng Cadets: N.P. Wright & P.A. Whorton.

Anyway, finally – after the trip to Japan for warmer gear (clothing and heating lamps, etc.) – we managed to obtain the services of an ice-breaker and go alongside to discharge our cargo after which, with much relief, we sailed the broken-down remnants of the ‘London Resolution’ to Moji in Japan in February 1977, where we were soon taken off the ship to be repatriated.

In fact we all flew to Tokyo, where we stayed overnight in one of the top hotels in the Japanese capital – The word was that, because we had had such a terrible time, everything was on the company and no expense was to be spared. Whether this was true, or just a wicked rumour, I do not know – what I do know was that it was a big mistake from LOF’s point of view!

It was one of the Hotel’s restaurants that did the damage - I think it was called kaiseki food but it was certainly theatrically prepared and cooked there. About six of us sat around a sort of hot plate-come-table, whilst other guests sat at similar tables nearby. Each table had its own Chef and ours, an unusually tall Japanese who was immaculate in his brilliant whites and tall hat, with knives thrust into his belt like some sort of pirate, made a dramatic entrance through some doors at the rear of the table and, after a polite bow to each of us, began to cut and slice and chop all kinds of ingredients with dazzling speed – these various ingredients were then cooked in front of us, sizzling in the heat, aromatic odours assailing our nostrils - and then, with deft flicks of his wrist and knives, the completed dishes were set up in front of each of us. It was not just eating the food (all very tasty too) but a total experience…and so slick and professional – No wonder when, the next day, Captain Armstrong saw the various bills (which he had to justify to LOF) he went very white, before exclaiming: ‘HOW MUCH!’ – In fact I think each of us had ended up with personal bills in excess of £100…maybe even £200 in some cases!

Funny though – we never heard any more about it and, in due course were transported to the airport and the long, long flight back to the UK…leaving behind the “London Resolution” for good - together with all its memories.

PAID-OFF the s.s. ”LONDON RESOLUTION” at Moji, Japan – 8thFebruary, 1977.

Records state that the 'London Resolution' was sold in February 1977 to the Waywiser Navigation Corporation and renamed CONCORD HORIZON - The ship was ultimately sold to Eddy Steamships of Taiwan - and eventually broken up.

Following this trip I left L.O.F. and subsequently joined the United Arab Shipping Company (the old Kuwait Shipping Company) as a well-paid Purser/Catering Officer - this was a move detrimentally described at the time as going ‘foreign flag’ – However, in hindsight such a move was justified as, sadly, LOF soon saw a steady and serious degeneration of its fleet. In 1997 Swedish shipping company, Frontline, took a 51% controlling share in LOF, and thus ended an independent history which had lasted for 49 years from LOF’s incorporation in 1948.

My time with LOF was a period in my life that I will never forget…Thank You one and all!

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