You wouldn't have done Doc, 3rd of September was only declared MN Day in the year 2001 by an Act of ParliamentQuote:
Originally Posted by Doc Vernon
Printable View
You wouldn't have done Doc, 3rd of September was only declared MN Day in the year 2001 by an Act of ParliamentQuote:
Originally Posted by Doc Vernon
On my first trip to sea on a year old Japanese built tanker, fully air conditioned. The chief engineer, a strange Scotsman who spent his evenings crawling around under the engine room bottom plates tracing all the pipelines and scaring the crap out of the duty engineer as he would suddenly pop his head up in front of the duty engineer doing his rounds, to tell him there was a leaking joint that needed tightening up. The chief never seemed to sweat despite us being up the gulf and after sailing from the load port, if there was any breeze then he would turn off the Aircon, saying open your porthole if it's too hot, leading to a number of us sleeping on deck in hammocks that we sewed using ships canvas.
The 2nd engineer was a brilliant guy, nicknamed Barabbas due to his looking like the biblical figure. He would do regular 16 hour days working in 40deg plus conditions, drinking little water but lots of Drambuie and eating very little. Eventually the inevitable happened and he collapsed with extreme heat stroke. Fortunately we were passing down the east African coast bound for Europe and were able to divert to get him off within 24 hours off Durban. He spent a week or more in hospital there before he was fit enough to be flown home. Don't think he was ever able to return to sea.
Rgds
J.A.
My first trip to sea, had never been abroad before, this was 1958, deck boy, peggy, and the excitement of leaving the Thames on an old tramper , Treworlas, and bound for this magical place called Newfoundland. Eventually landed in Botwood, which in those days was a very small village with a wooden jetty, and loaded rolls of paper back to London. Who can ever forget the magic of their first trip. Later of course we all got a bit more shrewd on which ships we went on, what was the accommodation like, what were they like for feeding, where bound etc. What luck we had to of that generation, no one would believe that in those days we had a choice of ships, unless we were skint of course, kt
My first trip was on the BI trooper, Dunera, 1956, on her last trip to Japan. I was woefully unprepared, but caught on fast. A snip from my memoir 'The Best of Days' :
I'm seventeen and a half, and junior radio officer in a complement of four, and overawed by everything. I recognise nothing in my new workplace apart from the Morse key; the equipment is not what I'd trained on. The two senior men seem grumpy and stern. The 'Chief' is a squat man, close to retirement, who tries to be kind in a gruff sort of way; the 'Second' is about fifty, superior and aloof. The young 'third sparks' is an extrovert, a confident and irreverent Clydesider; this being his second trip to sea he now has disrespect for the seniors – when they are out of earshot. It's apparent that he will be 'showing me the ropes' – all sorts of 'ropes'.
****The next day a complete lifeboat drill is arranged; the boats will be launched into the harbour. I'm told that, as an officer, I'm in charge of one of two lifeboats that have wireless cabins in their bows. We will take the boats around the harbour, from where I'll make contact with the ship’s wireless room and properly test the lifeboat transmitter and receiver. The crews line the decks on stand-by for the 'abandon ship' order. I stand at the head of the crew, shrinking into my uniform. I fight off waves of anxiety and cobble together an air of confidence, but my palms are moist and my throat closes. This is only my second day on a working ship, so what on earth do they expect of me? But, as the only officer in the boat crew, I'm technically 'in command'. Am I supposed to organise the launch? What do I do? I've not been told. The crew is entirely Indian Lascar sailors, some with years of experience at sea and a couple with medal ribbons. Most are from West Bengal and few speak English. Fortunately, we have one British deck officer cadet, about my age but with a couple of voyages to his credit and the benefit of lots of boat training at navigation school. Also, he speaks some Lascar. This young chap understands my predicament and, with quiet discretion, takes over. He organises the launch of the lifeboat from its davits and has the rope ladders run over the bulwarks. He indicates how to use these ladders and we descend in pairs, down the sides of the ladders. There are about twenty Lascars, plus the cadet and me, swaying around and trying not to crash into the oil-slicked hull of this huge ship.
****Once in the boat, I face the cadet, 'Look after things for me this time and I'll see you all right for a few beers.' (I don't know that cadets are forbidden a supply of alcohol and must rely on friends.) He grins and immediately sets about giving orders to the crew. A serang (an Indian bosun) starts the engine. We chug our way into open water trailed by a cloud of blue diesel fumes. I dive into the tiny wireless cabin to be confronted by equipment I've never seen before. I switch on the transmitter and receiver and begin frantic calculations about what to do next. The cadet pops his head through the door, with a stout woven wire in his hand saying, 'Hey, Sparks. I've got the mast up and the aerial rigged, what shall I do with this end of it?' I think quickly: 'It must be the earth wire; chuck it into the sea – that’s the best earth.' Then follows a pointless circling around the harbour as I hammer away at the Morse key, pouring Morse code straight into Southampton Water, via the 'earth wire', whilst feverishly tuning and adjusting the ‘quench’ control to get some reply from the squealing TRF (Tuned Radio Frequency) receiver. This 'Straight' receiver is a simple design but needs skilled hands. I haven’t much idea what I'm doing; although I know the theory, I've never handled a TRF before. I fail to locate the ship on the receiver dial; only warbles and squeals fill my headphones. We eventually notice that the other boats are making their way back. As I climb over the bulwarks, dejected and demoralised, my new uniform daubed with oil and rust, the chief sparks greets me with, 'I didn't get anything from your boat, Fourth!'
***The entire business is unfair. I'm humiliated. The two senior radio officers will be having a huge laugh at my expense. They should at least have demonstrated the equipment and offered a morsel of advice before the exercise began. After all, I've been aboard my first ship less than twenty-four hours. I feel aggrieved and don't warm to either of them after that day. I'm overawed by their authority but still think them pompous, cold, and disinterested in the well-being of their young charges. Will things get worse? The Glaswegian ‘third sparks’ takes me around the Southampton pubs that night and 'puts me right' on a few points.
*
Here in Oz we had to wait until 2008 before the gov declared it, and only after many years of lobbying them.Quote:
Originally Posted by Ivan Cloherty
Thanks for that Ivan Now I feel a lot better! Actually I suppose I should have knownQuote:
Originally Posted by Ivan Cloherty
Hanging my head in shame !
Cheers
Vernon, at our age we all temporarily forget things, especially after being seriously ill, I'm sure you already knew. It is the time of year for all of us to bombard the PRESS with letters about the 75th anniversary of D Day in which 864 Merchant vessels and thousands of Merchant navy personnel took part on the first day and continued their voyages backwards and forwards in the months following. My letters have already gone, so can only live in hope.Quote:
Originally Posted by Doc Vernon
So sad. Hard to believe such a thing could have happened. I wonder if it made the ‘dailies’, or if subsequent emigrants would have been aware of the tragedy.Quote:
Originally Posted by Captain Kong
Hi Brett,
I doubt it made any news back home. I never heard of anything.
Different world 64 years ago.
Cheers
Brian
First trip and first port. Trooper BI's Dunera 1956:
I'm 4th r/o, aged 17, and extremely green:
We are running to Kure in Japan (the Commonwealth base that serviced the recently finished Korean War). On route, we will call at the British bases at Cyprus, Aden, Ceylon, Singapore and Hong Kong. Shortly after we enter the Mediterranean we make an unexpected visit to Algiers in the French colony of Algeria. This will be my first experience of foreign parts, so I'm excited at the prospect. However, we are to be in Algiers for just a few hours, and the chief gives Third and me strict orders not to go ashore; instead, we are to service the lifeboat batteries and otherwise make ourselves useful. I'm starting to realise Third's hot-headed irreverence. But I'm easily led. After a quick check of the battery system, he says, 'Bugger this for a game of soldiers. Come on. We won't be missed.' We slope off ashore; long, navy-blue bridge coats hiding our uniforms.
***At the dock gate, French soldiers stand guard inside a sandbagged redoubt, with machine guns mounted. There is rebellion in the colony and France is fighting a bitter war with the independence guerrillas. Under the circumstances, we are surprised to see a straggle of British servicemen also heading ashore. But there's no obvious sign of danger. As soon as we leave the dock a shifty looking man appears and offers to buy my bridge coat. Then a car draws up and two alluring French women, and a swarthy chap in the driving seat, try to persuade us to go with them to some place or other. The third sparks, after he chaffs them a bit in Clydeside Scots, says we don't have time and hurries me off to town whilst I ply questions as to what the women intended.
***We climb the hill, take in the spicy scents of Berber and Arab cooking, and dive into a maze of overcrowded narrow streets, jabbering foreign tongues, minarets and Moorish arches, kohl-eyed women … and some kohl-eyed men. Gendarmes are on patrol. We try icy French beer in gloomy bars and try more at tables in shaded yards out of the fierce sun. We don't realise that this ancient huddle under the walls of the Kasbah is a base for resistance to French rule. All motion freezes at the sonorous blare of a ship’s whistle. The Dunera prepares to sail! We leg it back to the dock at top speed.
***We rush through the gates and along the jetty. It's obvious that the pilot is aboard and the ship about to cast off. The rails are lined with troops and crew all grinning, it seems, directly at us. I cringe with embarrassment. Third shouts a pained, 'Bloody hell!' We reach the foot of the gangway just as loud cheering erupts from the troops. We are in trouble. But the cheers are not for us – they are for a Royal Navy matelot who weaves through the gates, beneath the machine guns. He carries his inebriated comrade across one shoulder. We slink up the gangway, relieved not to be the ultimate cause of delay. But there, at the top, glares a pair of piggy eyes set in the grim bulldog face of the chief radio officer. He's beside himself with fury. We are now banned from all shore leave until Singapore. So Cyprus, Port Said, Aden, and Colombo are not to know our feet this trip. Even so, we got to the Kasbah!