Originally Posted by
Captain Kong
Hi Tanya,
I just wondered if any of your `Millennials` could do this and then carry on with a life long Seafaring Career.?
I was just 17 years of age when I joined this ship, no glamourous ships and accommodation on this one......................
.
This was a hard ship,
SS BEECHFIELD
W. SAVAGES, Ltd. ZILLAH STEAMSHIP CO
I joined the BEECHFIELD in Liverpool in at the end of November 1952, she was built in Lytham, around 1900, a coal burning steamship, tall woodbine funnel, and an open wheelhouse, oil skins and sea boots were required when on the wheel, I was 17 years old and an Ordinary Seaman.
We lived in the focsle underneath the chain locker, a square hatch on the deck next to the chain locker with a vertical ladder going down to a dark and smoky open focsle with two firemen, two ABs and me, it was a death trap down there
There was no electricity on board, all the navigation lights and accommodation lights were oil lamps, and my job was to keep them trimmed daily. Down in the fore peak where we lived was one grimy oil lamp, and it was still dark with that on, there was a coal bogey in the middle surrounded with ash, cinders and coal and the smoke was thick, there was no ventilation down there, we were below the water line when she was loaded. There were five filthy bunks, black with coal dust mattress, one filthy blanket, of course no sheets, pillows or towels. There was no bathroom sinks or toilet, it was unbelievable.
One old fireman was 84 years old and permanently bent over at an angle of 90 degrees, he had never paid off for over 25 years he had no where to live and would have lost his job if he had paid off so he was there for ever.
The other fireman was a completely mad Irishman, always talking to himself and sometimes he had terrific arguments,
There were two ABs, one was over 80 years old, and had no where else to live, the other one joined with me, he was OK but after one week he leapt ashore, I was going as well but the Skipper, Captain Jim Marshall, made me up to AB, with a big increase in pay, so I stayed on for a bit longer.
We loaded coal for Dublin, Belfast, Londonderry, and stone from Paenmenmawr and Trevor in North Wales and Peel Island back to Liverpool. If you wanted a crap or a shower you had to wait until you got to the other side and leg it to the Seamens Mission.
It was December, the weather was atrocious, and on the open bridge the wheel was six feet in diameter with chains and rods to the rudder. When she was shipping seas they would go right over the open wheel house and you would get swept off the wheel and if you hung on to the wheel and a sea hit the rudder it would spin and throw you over the top and across the bridge if you tried to hang on.
The Captains way of navigating to Belfast or to the North of that would be ""Keep it on this magnetic course and if you see a light ahead it would be the Isle of Man so bring her round to port and when the light is abaft the Starboard beam bring her round to the next course, I will see you tomorrow," then all hands would turn in, I would be up there for about ten hours clinging to a spinning wheel, the sea, hail, snow and rain blinding my eyes, soaking wet and hands frozen to the wheel.
During one of these storms after leaving Derry, with big heavy seas and swell coming in from the North Atlantic, the Cook got burned to death, A large pan of chip fat was flung off the stove and went all over him when the ship took a big roll, and then it burst into flames when some went onto the galley fire and he became a ball of flame and collapsed on deck into the scupper screaming his last.
The Cook was dying in the scuppers, blackened by the flames, the Second Engineer caught sight of him leaping about and then collapsing. He got a bucket of water and flung it over him to dowse the flames but it was too late. He had gone to where all good Cooks and not so good Cooks go to, that great Galley, with unlimited stores, in the sky.
All this time the wind was blowing a hooley and seas crashing over the decks.
We had to pick him up and we laid him on the hatch, Captain Marshall certified him dead. He told us to lash him on the hatch, a line around his wrists and ankles and star shaped, he said the salt spray, would keep him fresh and stop him from stinking. He looked gruesome lying there especially at night his head moving backwards and forwards with the ship rolling. He stayed there until we arrived in Liverpool two days later. A Policeman and an undertaker came down and took him away.
The Mad Irishman would sit on the hatch and have some terrific arguments with the dead Cook, and became angry when the Cook was ignoring him.
The Captain told me I was to be the Cook, until they got a replacement but I still had to do the night watches on the wheel. There was not enough food to go round, what the Cook had done with the food money no one knew, but he had a few empty whisky bottles in his bunk.
On those Coasters, known as Weekly Boats, you got paid weekly and out of your wage you had to pay the Cook for the food every Friday, and then he went ashore shopping including getting drunk in the alehouse on the way.
I was knackered doing the night watch as well as Cooking, but a few days later he found some dead beat `Cook` from somewhere.
Then he got rid of the Mad Irishman, he was in the focsle and started an argument with the coal bogey and because it would not stand up and fight he kicked the crap out of it, flaming coals and hot ash and smoke was all over the focsle, fire was burning every where. We had to leap up on deck and throw a heaving line with a bucket attached over the side and the pass the bucket of water down the hatch to pour on the flames. After a few of these the focsle was full of smoke and steam.
"That`ll teach the baatard not to fight wid me". said Paddy
The Captain kicked him down the gangway. I was going to follow, `I`ll promote you to Fireman` said Captain Marshall, `it is a good experience`.
It sure was, four hours on and four hours off, two furnaces, do your own trimming. Feed `em, throw a pitch on, a little twist of the wrist and jerk and spread the coal evenly across the fires, rake and slice break up the clinker, dump your own ashes at the end of the four hour watch, keep her on the blood, 180 psi, and watch the water level, I got myself a belt with the buckle at the back. A buckle at the front could blister your belly with heat of the furnace on the metal. The sweat would cut rivers in the ash and coal dust stuck to my face and chest.
No lights down there, just the light from the flames in the furnace, like something out of Dante. After dumping the ashes and handing over with a load of coal on the plates for the next man it would be twenty minutes later, then fight my way forard between the waves and then crash on my filthy mattress still covered in ash and coal dust, at seven bells, three hours later, get down to the galley have a bacon butty and then stagger down the fiddly to the furnaces.
After one month I had had enough, and paid off, a much wiser and fitter man. Even though Captain Marshall pleaded with me to stay on, "I will teach you Navigation if you do, and then you can go Mate".
Next week I went back to the Pool, Mr Repp said, "Why didn`t you stay there, you have only been there for a month" it seemed like a lifetime to me, I had aged ten years, "Here is another coaster, one of Everards, the `Amity." . That is another story.
Cheers
Brian
