My First Trip

[Jim Dingwall]

[SIZE=4]My first trip was on The TS Empire Orwell as a deck boy, 1952. We took a battalion of the Black Watch to Pusan, (South Korea). The memories of that trip are firmly embedded in my mind, everything I saw or did was an adventure. I was able to be on a tour from Kure In Japan to Hiroshima, that on its own was something I'll never forget. I wrote an account of the whole voyage but can't lay my hands on it at the moment but it's somewhere around the house. Yes, it was some experience.

[Captain Kong]

post it Jim,
I did my first trip 1952 and it is on the forum some where,
Cheers
Brian

[Frederick Lacey]

My first trip "Port Victor" March 1950 then 7 Years Port Boats and 3 years Beaver Boats.

[Captain Kong]

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.
Brian

[Richard Quartermaine]

That's great Brian -Let's have it Jim. Here is a bit of the thrill that was never exceeded since:

The reception of existing crew to wide eyed kids trying to find a berth was usually a firm “can’t help you”, “nothing here”, some just said “bugger off”. From the Messageries Maritimes ship ‘Ville d’Amiens’ came a string of French that obviously meant something like the latter, with threats as to what would be their next step if I didn’t.

Walking along the Sydney waterfront, before me, tied up to the wharf, appeared this enormous sailing ship. She had the name ‘Pamir’ on her bow. My heart beat rapidly as I climbed the gangway. I was stopped by the master at arms at the top who asked in a thick German accent, “What was my business”. When I told him I wanted a job, he, in a very kindly manner, replied that the ‘Pamir’ had a full crew. Thinking back, I wonder how I would have fared high in the rigging if I had been taken on as a deck hand. She was, at the time, loading bulk wheat for the voyage to Europe around Cape Horn on the Southern tip of South America.

‘Pamir’ was one of the two German sailing ships still in merchant service. Her sister ship was the Passat. Sadly, years later as a training ship Pamir foundered in a severe storm at sea and was a tragic loss in every respect.

One afternoon I called in at the Port Line office in Bent Street. The crew manager had just come back from what must have been a very jolly lunch. “Ah!” says he “The job is for a pantry boy on the ‘Lowlander’. She sails from Wickham, Newcastle at 6 o’clock tomorrow morning. Here’s a pound note, get yourself up there and give this envelope to the Chief Steward.”

I shot off like a hairy goat, on to the Red Rattler electric train back to Cabramatta to get my things, back on another Rattler to Strathfield, then to a steam engine hauled Newcastle Express to Wickham, Newcastle. Arriving at one o’clock in the morning, I held my head high, planted my feet firmly as I climbed the gangway of the ‘Lowlander’ and handed the precious envelope to the Master at Arms. “Right lad” he says “Coom wi’ me.” He took me up to the chief steward’s cabin.

The Chief sleepily took me down into the crews’ quarters and a spare bunk was found in a six berth cabin with five Geordies from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, England. “Look after this lad”, he instructed and for the next six months that is exactly what they did. I even learned to sing their Novocastrian bar-room special, “Blaydon Races”, in their Geordie accent.

It was daybreak on the 21st January, 1947 when the night watchman poked his head around the door and shouted, “Hands off cocks, on socks - It’s five o’clock—what do you think this is, your daddy’s yacht?”

I scampered up to the bridge of the ‘Lowlander’ where the Harbour Master sat with the Captain and joined a line of men there to replace those that had jumped ship in Australia. It came to my turn and the Harbour Master was entering my details when he asked “Do you have a tax clearance?” I thought quickly and replied, “Didn’t pay tax because I never got more than two pounds a week”. “That’d be right”, he said and continued writing. I had in fact had a raise before Christmas to £2/0/6 which would have taken me into a taxable income.

A young fellow rushed in when I had just signed on saying that he had been sent by Port Line office in Sydney for the Pantry Boy’s job. There was a bit of a stir and the Captain piped up, “Too late, this lad will do.” Obviously the crew manager in Sydney had, in his after-lunch haze, mistaken me who had just come in off the street for this young fellow who no doubt thought he had timed his arrival on board perfectly.

Handing me a Seaman’s Identity Card I was informed that I was now the ship’s Pantry Boy. My pay was Sterling £5/-/- a month “all found” plus Sterling £5/-/- a month war bonus, which, at eighteen months after the Second World War hostilities had ceased, still applied in view of the hazard of floating mines. As the Harbour Master was writing he asked did I want to send part of my wages home. I was caught on the hop and said I would send half.

I was taken off to the saloon pantry and on the way I asked of my shipmate “where are we going?” “New York”, he says, “We have a full cargo and carry 24 passengers, and they are all Americans’ war brides going there to join their husbands.”

The pantry was across the thwart ship alleyway from the passengers and officers dining saloon below the Bridge. My job for the next six months was to bring dishes of food from the distant ship’s galley, return the washed containers after the meals, wash the dishes for some thirty-five diners and stewards and keep the pantry spotlessly clean. There were to be no days off during this six months voyage but I would be entitled to a little extra in my pay packet, when I signed off, for the number of ‘Sundays at Sea’ that I had worked.

Within the hour the hawsers were lifted from the bollards, the tugs pushed and pulled and the ‘Lowlander’ slid out of Newcastle Harbour with one very awe-struck ‘first tripper’, 15 year old Richard Quartermaine who would answer to the name “Aussie” for the duration of the voyage.

[Red Lead Ted]

Always remember my first trip Trevaylor, We had a West Indian A.B Aboard originated from Jamaica and still lived and actually paid off there a few weeks into the trip. Me being wet behind the ears the bosun first job he gave me on deck, Go with George the West Indian and assist him. George asked me to go to the Foc,sle and ask the lampy for a bowl of merlin, W.T.F. I thought went forward and asked the old guy lamp trimmer he was nearly 80 years old a guy called Joe Dalzel an a right bloody snarler for a bowl of merlin for George he give me a load of gip what the hell do you think I am a bloody cook you idiot go and ask him again HEYYY Wait he said what job are you doing with him putting the main Ariel up between the 2 masts I said, With that he blurted down my listener HAVE YOU NO IDEA WHAT A BALL OF MARLIN IS...………………. Yes Joe I cant understand his lingo it sounded like a bowl of merlin ended up a great trip 4 months around the Caribbean and the Mexican gulf. George and me where lets say not the best of mates. Terry.

[steveh154]

[SIZE=4]My first trip was on The TS Empire Orwell as a deck boy, 1952. We took a battalion of the Black Watch to Pusan, (South Korea). The memories of that trip are firmly embedded in my mind, everything I saw or did was an adventure. I was able to be on a tour from Kure In Japan to Hiroshima, that on its own was something I'll never forget. I wrote an account of the whole voyage but can't lay my hands on it at the moment but it's somewhere around the house. Yes, it was some experience.

Jim i was in Pusan great memories i think the place was TEXAS street just through the tunnel i got my old mum a huge doll in a glass case that she still has in her late 80s who i got it home was a miracle. but the nights down TEXAS street i can still remember like it was last week.

[Brett Hayes]

I really enjoyed reading this saga-like account. I assume you kept a detailed diary of your experiences. Well done!