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I remember being on foc,cl lookout once 12to4 Indian ocean and on seeing a light for the first time for days turned to ring the bell , and what i saw truly astounded me ,and without doubt the most amazing sight that i will continue to see till the day i die , in fact i put together a little story for my own amusement , i might put it down one day , if you promise not to laugh , i called it , ( KA CHERR KA CHERR , DING DING ,WINK WINK ) your laughing already , JOE .
Hi Louis iwas never on any of the ones you mentioned. Below are my ED's & Blue Flu ships.Quote:
Originally Posted by Louis the fly
M/V Owerri Oct/Nov 1969,
Dumurra Nov/May 1970,
Ebani July/Feb 1971,
Perang March/Oct 1971,
Bhamo Dec/Jan 1972,
Autolycus Jan/May 1972,
Demodocus Sept/March 1973 ashore for 3 years,
Was sent to Southampton to Join the Windsor castle for her second voyage.
Was told that at that time UCL were fussy about who they took on.
When I think back maybe I was lucky because when I think of the mix on there I wonder how they made the choices?
Tuesday Sept 17th, attend Shipping Federation in Liverpool 10:00, interviews set up with:-
Blue Funnel (asked if I was gay)
Bookers, very pleasant
P & O (aptitude test, fitting round objects in square holes)
Canadian Pacific ( do you really want to go to sea?, yes, took medical, told to go to pool to get Discharge Book, then Greenbergs for Uniform etc., told to report back to Liver Buildings on Thursday.
Thursday, arrive Liver Building lugging huge suitcase full of what Greenbergs reckoned I needed Uniform wise, most totally useless).
Taxi across to Tranmere Oil Jetty, struggle up gangway with huge suitcase onto deck of 66,000 ton Crude Oil Tanker.
Shown to my cabin (single berth, en suite). Two minutes later Chief Off appears in Cabin, throws boiler suit and work boots at me, tells me that is all I'm going to need to wear for the foreseeable future and to report to him in the cargo control room in 5 minutes. Spend the next 6 hours trying to keep up with him (he was ex. Royal Marine and fit as a lop) chasing up and down the deck and pumproom, swinging huge valves, absolutely knackered by the end of those 6 hours. Shown where saloon was, shower, change, eat evening meal and fall into bunk knackered. 06:00 next day same routine, dashing around for 6 hours swinging valves (no clue what was going on). P.M. complete discharge and sail, on focsle head with Ch. Off and Spanish crew trying to avoid having my head taken off as moorings come on board and tugs made fast.
Next day out at sea heading down the St. Georges Channel bound for the Persian Gulf. Eventually meet Captain, sign articles, get daily tasks from Chief Officer.
Next day Bay of Biscay. Up at 06:00, clean bridge, polish brass, (sick in bucket), meet Spanish Crew, help? stowing mooring ropes away etc.
Next day, same deal up at 06:00, clean and polish then start with tank cleaning.
Eventually manage to get time to unpack that bleddy suitcase, hanging up uniforms I will never wear (Battle dress, full Blues rig, white Passenger boat rig etc. etc.).
This goes on for 11 months, going back and forth to the Persian Gulf with jobs such as tank diving to remove crude oil sludge, learning Rule of the Road, splicing, chipping and painting, cleaning and varnishing wooden taff rails, working in Engine Room fixing steam leaks, overhauling purifiers and clarifiers.
Did I like, no I LOVED it and would do it all again at the drop of a hat.
rgds
JA
Here is one I wrote earlier in Seafaring Stories thread in Swinging the Lamp.
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.MY FIRST VOYAGE TO SEA AS A DECK BOY. 1952..
Here is a story of my first trip to sea as a green Deck Boy, bullied by a bunch of bastards, almost driven to suicide by them and then I turned................
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............................... MY FIRST VOYAGE TO SEA AS A DECK BOY. 1952..
I had spent twelve weeks on the Training ship, VINDiCATRIX, in Sharpness, Gloucestershire. I signed on at the Pool in Canning Place in Liverpool and after six weeks of waiting I got the a ship, the Commodore Grant, ex Fort Grant. She was owned by a London Greek company, North East Freighters NEF of Montreal.
I joined the ship in Brocklebank Dock in Liverpool on 18 July 1952 where she had just finished discharging grain.
I signed on as Deck Boy on £10 a month for a voyage to India via Antwerp where we were to load bagged fertilizer for Madras.
I climbed the gangway with my gear and went amidships to find the Mate. The deck was littered with hatch boards, beams, wires and the Dockers wearing flat caps and long greasy overcoats puffing on Woodbines.
I found the Mate’s cabin on the port side and knocked on the door and walked in. There was the Mate, fastening his wife’s bra, “What the hell do you want”? he shouted as he tried to stand in front of his wife who was looking embarrassed.
“I am your new Deck Boy” I said, “Well Eff off down aft, I’m busy”.
So I Effed off down aft and found the mess room on the poop.
The deck crowd was in there, six ABs and three Ordinary Seamen with the Bosun. The most miserable bunch of bullying bastards I have ever had the misfortune to sail with. For fifty years I have searched every Bar and Whorehouse around the world looking for them to repay them for the misery and beatings that I experienced during that voyage but never saw one of them.
The accommodation was not good. On the poop was two mess rooms, one for the Sailors and one for the Lascar Firemen and two bathrooms , one each side.
Down below on the tween deck was three cabins for the Sailors and three for the Firemen. I was in a four berth cabin right next to the steam engine in the Steering Flat.
My job as Peggy was to clean the Bosun and Chippy`s mess and cabin amidships and the Sailors Mess Room, bathroom, alleyways and cabins down aft. Also I had to carry all the Sailors food from the galley amidships down aft to the Mess Room. Sometimes in heavy weather when a green sea came over the after deck and I was washed into the scuppers losing the kits of food I would get battered off the Sailors and when I went back to the galley another thumping off the big fat ugly Cook from Cardiff.
I also had pump up the water from the after peak to a tank on top of the mess room several times a day, The pump was a wooden handle on the bulkhead, I had to push it backwards and forwards for a long time to get the water up to the tank Then the Lascars would be using it for showers and running taps faster than I could pump it up and then the Sailors would batter me again because there was no water left. After all that I would have to work on Deck in the afternoons chipping and painting or greasing wires.
On Monday, 21 July we battened down the hatches and dropped the derricks, shifted all the dunnage off the decks and made ready for sea at noon.
We sailed light ship for Antwerp where we were to load 10,000 tons of bagged fertilizer for Madras and we were there for ten days loading.
I found Antwerp a fascinating place, my first foreign port with all the colourful lights and bars around Schipper Straat, or Skipper Street as it is better known.
In one bar a big sexy barmaid, Philomena took a fancy to me and I was on free ale all the time I was there. Some of the Sailors went into Skipper Street and paid ten shillings for a leg over, Expensive just for a few minutes.
When we had completed loading we battened down, dropped the derricks hosed down the decks and sailed at 2200 stowing ropes as we sailed down the River Scheldt.
I was on nine pennies an hour for overtime.
After a five day run at ten knots we passed Gibraltar and entered the Med and then an eight day run in beautiful weather to Port Said for the Suez Canal.
As we were mooring to the buoys in Port Said, I happened to swear at one of the ABs, Clarence. He battered me up and down the after deck accentuating with each smash of a big iron fist that I should not call him a bastard. I took a hint as in a situation like that I was a quick learner.
We loaded bunkers and fresh water, then loaded two Canal boats on deck. We hoisted up the Canal Searchlight over the bow and made it fast.
George Roby, the famous Bum Boat man came on deck and spread his wares on the hatch. I bought a music box for mother off him.
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Just after midnight we let go and joined the Southbound Convoy sailing through the Suez Canal.
After an interesting passage we past Port Tewfik and dropped off the
Two Canal Boats and the Searchlight into the water and sailed into the Red Sea.
The heat in the Red Sea was terrific and the Sailors and Lascars were using more and more water for showers and I was spending more and more time pumping up water for them, As soon as I had finished pumping up the water the Lascars would run it off and the Sailors would scream abuse at me in between thumps shouting `Get pumping you lazy bastard`
Five days later we were mooring up to the buoys in Aden to load bunkers again. We were soon surrounded by bum boats and a few cartons of ciggies were swopped for tea sets and music boxes.
Eight hours later we let go and the sailed round Steamer Point and towards the Indian Ocean.
We were in the South West Monsoon then with heavy seas sweeping over our decks. I lost a few meals trying to carry them from the galley amidships to the Mess room down aft. So I was hammered again by the deck crowd and the fat ugly Cook from Cardiff.
I got my own back on the Cook, he had a trumpet that he played very badly every day, the noise was diabolical. One day he turned in during the afternoon and left his Trumpet in the Galley. He had left his Trumpet in the Galley so I poured a load of chip fat into it and turned it round a few times and then when the lard set later it seized up all the valves.
When he went to play it that evening he was going demented, he was going to take a cleaver and kill the bastard who had done that.
Fortunately he never found out and the ship was a little quieter after that.
Eight days after leaving Aden astern we arrived in Colombo, Ceylon and moored up to buoys in the harbour to load bunkers.
Astern of us on the same buoy was the Cape Wrath, another old tramp that looked in a worse condition than we did.
The Sailors on the Cape Wrath shouted across to us that they had no cigarettes but had some cans of beer to do a swop with us.
Our Sailors got a wooden box made a lashing on it and put a few cartons of ciggies in and told me to swim over to the Cape Wrath.
The distance from our gangway to their gangway was a few hundred yards, I told them I couldn’t swim that far.
After being thumped a few times I decided that I was a fantastic swimmer and was over the side in no time at all.
It was a long hard swim across to the other ship dragging the wooden box, the water was quite choppy with the movement of ships and tugs in the harbour. The Sailors were jeering and cheering all the way.
When I got on board the Cape Wrath the Sailors were gasping for a ciggie, they had run out a week before. I had a beer with them, they told me they had been out for eighteen months and didn’t know when they were going to get home.
After hearing our Sailors screaming abuse across the water I put 18 cans of beer into the box and went back down the gangway and into the water again. It was a long hard swim to get back to the Commodore Grant. I was totally worn out when I got back on board.
I never got any beer, the Sailors drank the lot without offering me any. I must have been mad to have done it. When the Galley Boy dumped the garbage over the wall a big shark zoomed in along side to eat it.
We let go later that evening, sailed around Dondra Head and headed north into the Bay of Bengal. Two days later we tied up alongside the wharf in Madras, we were to be there for around ten days to discharge the bags of fertilizer.
Madras was hot stinking, sweaty and noisy. What a contrast to being at sea with the cool refreshing breeze and only the sound of the sea.
As soon as we were alongside the deck was swarming with hundreds of Indians shouting, screaming and stripping the hatches of tarps and throwing hatch boards and beams on deck and the clatter of the steam winches as they started discharging.
The deck was soon filthy with the spilt fertilizer and red betel juice spit all over. The Indians had no toilets and would just squat in the scuppers and crap filling the ship with their stink and millions of flies.
We had to keep the ports and doors locked or they would have stolen everything and made a stinking mess on the bathroom deck.
Every day the beggars would come down to the ship begging for food scraps, the saddest ones were the little kids who were like skeletons
pleading with squeaky voices, `No Mamma , No Poppa, dash me baksheesh.` I would give them any gash left over by the Sailors if they left any.
Dhobi Walla’s would come down and ask if they could do our dhobi.
The Sailors decided to hire one and made me in charge of him, I had to watch him all the time to make sure he didn’t steal anything.
He eventually did, stealing all the Sailors dungarees, shirts and our towels. We had to provide our towels in those days.
This resulted in me being beaten up again by all the Sailors.
On the first Saturday in Madras I heard there was a dance at the Anglo Indian Club in town. By the time I had scrubbed out both mess rooms and pumped up the water tank, showered and changed all hands were ashore and I went ashore on my own.
I didn’t know where this club was so I got a Rickshaw to take me. The rickshaw boy towed me around the City for a couple of hours and ended up at the gangway again saying he didn’t know where the club was. He was demanding 15 rupees, I only had a sub of 25 rupees and so I told him to get stuffed and gave him five and went to climb the gangway. He started to scream and grabbed my shirt and in an instant I was surrounded by a big crowd of screaming Indians.
I got a bit scared then so I gave him another ten and ran up the gangway. I thought what a lousy night out, first night ashore for over one month and it cost more than five days wages just to have a ride in a rickshaw.
On Sunday afternoon the galley boy, a lad called Keating from Wallasey, and I went to the beach a few hundred yards from the docks. It was a beautiful beach, completely deserted and stretch for miles with clean white sand and lined with palm trees, we spent a couple of happy hours swimming in the surf.
The following Saturday night there was another dance at the Anglo-Indian Club so this time I walked into the city and found it, no more rickshaws.
In the Club I saw an attractive young lady, I danced with her, she was the same age as I was and she told me her name was Elizabeth.
After the dance she took me over to the table where her mother was sitting and introduced me to her. Her mother, Mrs Thompson, was an Anglo-Indian and before she was widowed was married to a Liverpool man and they had lived there for many years before returning to Madras, where Mr Thompson had died. As I lived near to Liverpool they were quite interested and we got on quite well with each other.
At the end of a pleasant evening, dancing and talking, they invited me to dinner their home on Sunday evening.
They lived 30 minutes ride on a train south of Madras, so I finished work early and arrived at their house around 7pm.
They had a beautiful home built in Colonial style and surrounded by lush tropical gardens.
We had a fantastic dinner, waited on by Servants, it like something out of a movie for a young lad out of Bolton on his first trip.
Elizabeth introduced me to her brother, George, who was around 20 years old, he had been born in Liverpool and was easy to get along with.
All to soon the pleasant evening ended and I had to get the train back to Madras. Elizabeth and I wrote to each other for a while then it faded away and I never went back to Madras.
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42 years later, in June 1994, my elder brother Jim and I went to London to see the Liberty ship, JEREMIAH O`BRIEN that had sailed from San Francisco to London for the 50th Anniversary of D. Day. We had both sailed on Sam boats and so it brought us a few memories.
We stayed at the Merchant Navy Hotel in Lancaster Gate.
In the evening we went into the hotel bar which was empty except for one very attractive young barmaid. We got chatting to her and found that she was a Student from Liverpool who worked in the Hotel in her spare time.
I could see that she was part Indian and mentioned this to her. An incredible story unfolded. She told me her father was an Anglo-Indian who had lived in Madras for many years before returning to Liverpool where he got married.
I had a strange feeling, and said, “Is your name Thompson?”
She gasped in amazement. I told her that I knew a family by the name of Thompson who lived outside Madras and there was a pretty young girl called Elizabeth, way back in 1952.
I described the house and location and her brother George.
The barmaid confirmed that was right, George was indeed her father and incredibly Elizabeth still lived in the house, she had never married. I wondered if she was still waiting for me.
The barmaid had been to the house many times on holiday to stay with her aunt Elizabeth.
My brother, Jim, could not believe it, an incredible story, of all the Gin Joints in all the world we had to choose this one.
We went into the bar on the next two nights but she was not there, another barmaid had taken over. It was amazing to have found her that night.
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Meanwhile back in 1952 in Madras, we completed discharging, battened down the hatches and dropped the derricks, hosed down the decks to clear the filth away.
Then a little Indian fellow turned up, he was a tattooist, and said he would tattoo all hands if we would stow him away and take him to Vizagapatam a couple of hundred miles up the coast. After he had tattooed us all we stowed him down the dunnage hatch with a load of burlap bags to sleep on. I had to feed him now and again.
Two days later we docked in Vizagapatam where he disappeared into the jungle of a million shanties.
Vizagapatam was just a stinking port, the town just consisted of filthy hovels and shanties and what seemed to be millions of Indians screaming “Baksheesh, Baksheesh.”
I only walked ashore once and that was enough. No one went ashore there.
We were her for seven days to load Manganese ore for Birkenhead, great we were homeward bound.
We completed loading and battened down again ready for sailing, dropped and secured the derricks and then hosed down the to get rid of the ore dust then let go and sailed south down the Bay of Bengal.
Four days later we moored to the buoys again in Colombo Harbour for bunkers. I bought 12 pounds of Broken Orange Peko Tea for mother back home. Tea was still rationed in those days.
Eight hours later we let go and sailed into the Indian Ocean bound for Aden eight days away.
On the voyage across the Sailors were getting a bit bored so for entertainment they would beat me up on Number five hatch every evening, they all thought it was funny, I was only a skinny kid and had no chance against the big Abs.
Some nights I was so fed up with it all I would climb over the rails lean out, count up to ten and when I got to ten I would let go and end it all.
It looked very tempting, looking into the dark water which was lit up with swirling patterns of phosphorous. In the end I would climb back inboard. Those bastards were driving me to suicide, but I put a stop to it when we were berthing in Aden.
As we were approaching the buoys in Aden one morning a big fat AB called Mush, started to knock me about the after deck.
By this time I had had enough, I had nothing to lose now and so went berserk. I smashed him several times in the face with my fists, bursting his nose and lips. I got him by the rails and heaved him over, I don’t know where I got the strength from.
He was clinging to the bottom rail on the outboard side hanging over the propeller, screaming for help while I was stamping on his fingers to make him let go, then I got the chain stopper and started to lash him with it, I just wanted to kill the bastard.
The Second Mate and one of the other Abs dragged me away from the trails and pulled Mush back inboard. He had to go below to his bunk to recover. He was a quiet man for the rest of the voyage after that and all the Sailors treated me with a bit of respect. I should have done that earlier in the voyage, I felt ten feet tall.
Any whinging off the Sailors after that I would just snarl at them. Some of them even helped me to pump up the water and occasionally washed the dishes in the mess after the evening meal.
I was never beaten again in all my years of seafaring.
After leaving Aden we steamed up the Red Sea to arrive in Suez Bay and then anchored to await our turn in the next convoy.
The sight there is something we will never see again, the bay was full of dozens of British ships, Union Castle, P&O, Orient, Blue Star, Blue Funnel, Federal, Clan, Shaw Savills, Port line, troop ships and so on.
Later in the morning it was our turn and we heaved up the anchor and followed the convoy into the Canal. A couple of hours later we anchored in the Great Bitter Lake and the convoy anchored again while the South bound convoy slowly steamed past. We were there for a few hours and so we had time to leap over the wall to swim in the warm turquoise waters of the lake. It was very refreshing as the heat was terrific. Once the South bound convoy was clear we heaved away and sailed on towards Port Said.
Next morning as we steamed between the lines of ships at Port Said, we lowered the two Canal boats into the water and dropped off the searchlight, the Agents boat came out with mail and papers.
We sailed past the statue of Ferdinand de Lesseps and out of the breakwater dropping off the Canal Pilot and into the Mediterranean.
We didn’t load any fresh water there so water was rationed. The Mate had a padlock on the pump and water was only allowed to be pumped for one hour in the morning and one in the evening, that suited me fine, save quite a bit of work.
The voyage to Birkenhead took 14 days along the Mediterranean and up the Atlantic coast. We picked up the Pilot at Point Lynus off Anglesey and on a cold grey Friday morning at the end of October and docked at the East Float in Birkenhead docks.
What a contrast Merseyside was with its forty shades of grey compared with the bright colours of the tropics, still it was good to be back.
The following day Saturday the Liverpool fellows and I went home for the weekend except the two Southampton Abs, when I got back on Monday morning the two of them had used every plate and piece of cutlery in the mess, they had not washed their own dishes, saving it all for me when I came back. Mush started to shout abuse again for not staying on board to look after them but when I threatened to throw him over the wall again he shut up.
We stayed in Birkenhead for ten days discharging the Manganese ore then we were to take her to Glasgow dry dock. I thought the breakers would have been more suitable.
On a cold wet windy day we sailed light ship, We cleared the Mersey Bar dropped the Pilot off and headed north into a screaming northerly gale which turned into a hurricane force 12. The ship being light was bouncing and rolling her guts out, after two days and nights we were off the North Wales coast making no headway. Eventually the gale eased and we crept up the coast to Glasgow four days out from Birkenhead. We entered the dry dock at 6 am and were paid of by 11am.
I paid off with £8 and a train ticket home, not bad for four months hard labour. I packed my bags and went down the gangway for the last time and into the taxi for Glasgow Station, I looked at the Commodore Grant for the last time as we moved away, lying in the dry dock, rusty and battered looking, I never saw her again, thank God.
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Hope you enjoyed it.
Cheers
Brian.
Thanks Brian, what a bunch of bastards. I got a few whacks early doors but as you say it was sink or swim. I was lucky as I had a protector on my first deep sea trip. I posted before I got a good whack of an AB which I deserved for thinking I was something special. Kept it to myself when asked what happened, think my reply to the C/Eng was if did get a crack mostly I deserved it.
There was one EDH who when we were ashore fancied having a go. He started the why should you have your own cabin blah blah!!! A bit flippant I suppose but said if you had paid attention at school you could have had the cabin beside me. He fancied himself so decided I needed sorting. I grew up in a rough area of Belfast and as a kid I was never very tall, so had to toughen up at a young age. The EDH ended upon his **** with out getting near me. He never bothered me again.He made the mistake of telling the Bosun I had thumped him ashore and said his day would come. He did get a crack from the Bosun for letting a wee shite from Belfast fill him in. The bosun warned me to watch my back. I did not need to as I say I had an AB who was as hard as nails warned him off.
hi captQuote:
Originally Posted by Captain Kong
now that's what I call a story, loved it I could taste the salt and smell the air, in every line.
by the way my uncle whom I have alluded to on this site not so long ago, ( he is one with more salt in his blood than a packet of saxo ) well his name was harry Thompson and his claim to fame was that he had ****** every nationality under the sun you don't think that elizabeth might be related to me do you
tom
##jeez tom we could all be related on here lol cappy
trust you cappy, good sense of humourQuote:
Originally Posted by cappy
tom
30 June 1943. Collected PMG Special Certificate at Dundee Wireless College.
1 July. Received telegram from Alfred Holt & Co. to attend for interview at 54 Ullet Road, Liverpool, at 9am the next day.
2 and 3 July. Interviewed, medically examined, and accepted into the Company.
5 July. Joined the Merchant Navy at the Mercantile Marine Office in Dundee.
7 July. Boarded HMTS Queen Elizabeth in Greenock.
14 July. Arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
After sojourns in hotels in Halifax and Baltimore, I joined the Liberty Ship, Samite, which sailed in Convoy UGS.18 on 15 September, bound for the Mediterranean, and trouble.