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hey Glan you had better get off the computer for a bit and get going on the house . you seem too be on line all the time EEEK. and keep away from the grapefruit tree , I told you .you should get over here too the plantation and join the singles club lots of widows looking for an old seadog like you , dress up in your whites and you,l knock em over trying too get you EEEEK:eek::cool:
Here is the story of the entire voyage on the MV NEW ZEALAND STAR from 13 November 1953 to 20th of March 1954. Not the best of voyages.
It will have to be done in stages as the post only accepts around 1500 words. there will be more soon.
"New Zealand Star" 1
Blue Star Line M.V. "New Zealand Star" 1
Built: Harland & Wolff, Belfast
ON: 163213
Dimensions: 524.2 x 70.4 x 32.3 feet
Tonnage: Gross: 10740 Net: 6527
Propulsion: Two 10-Cyl. 2 S.C.S.A. Burmeister & Wain oil engine by shipbuilder, driving twin screws
Type: Refrigerated Cargo Liner
Launched: 22/11/1934 ( Yard No.934) as New Zealand Star for Blue Star Line Ltd.
Completed: 3/1935
Transferred: 1940 to Frederick Leyland & Co. Ltd. (Blue Star Line Ltd. managers)
Transferred: 1950 to Lamport & Holt Line Ltd. - same managers
Transferred: 1955 to Booth S.S. Co. Ltd. - same managers
Sold: 1967 to Shimabun K.K., Japan and 29/7/1967 sailed from Osaka for Kure to be broken up
Demolition commcd: 8/1967
Sister Ships: Imperial Star (1) , Sydney Star (1) , Australia Star (1) , Empire Star (2) , Melbourne Star 1 , Brisbane Star (1), Wellington Star (1), Auckland Star (1), Adelaide Star (1) , Empire Star (3), Imperial Star (2) & Melbourne Star (2)
THE VOYAGE ON THE NEW ZEALAND STAR
I joined the New Zealand Star on 13 November 1953, in the Gladstone Dock, Liverpool. She was one of Blue Star`s big fridge ships built in 1935 in Belfast, Six hatches, 20 derricks and a jumbo, she also carried 12 passengers.
The Bosun was a well known maniac, `Mad` Angus McAskill the Bull, from the Isle of Barra in the Hebrides, a wild and lonely place, a giant of a man, covered in hair all over his body like a Yeti. He had six brothers and sisters just like him. He gave his orders in the Gaelic followed by a blow from a big iron fist, what a ba5tard he was, The only time he spoke English was when he was muttering "Liverpool Ba5tards, Liverpool Ba5tards" continuously while we were working.
After leaving Liverpool we called In at London to top up the cargo for the voyage to South Africa. All hands got together and told the Captain that we were not going to sail with `Mad` McAskill and requested that he got rid of him. `No problem`, said Captain Edgar Rhodes, and Angus walked down the gangway and was replaced by a lovely little Bosun who was in his sixties. Good we all thought, it is going to be a pleasant voyage.
Two days later we were sailing for the Cape, and as we were sailing through the lock gates into the River the little Bosun jumped over the rails onto the lock and `Mad` Angus who was hiding behind the Lock Keepers hut jumped on board shouting, "Liverpool Ba5tards". We could see Captain Rhodes laughing on the wing of the bridge and we knew we were in for a hard voyage.
I was an Ordinary Seaman on £15 a month wages and was on day work, which started at 6am and finished whenever Angus decided, sometimes at midnight. There was plenty of overtime but it didnt seem to make much difference at one shilling and sixpence an hour.
On the way to the Cape we called at Las Palmas for bunkers and we were there for a few hours and had time to go ashore for a few bevies,
After we sailed, Kenny Hignett who was an EDH on the 8 to 12 watch decided he was too drunk to go on the wheel and asked me to do the wheel for him, and I was too drunk to say no. So Ken put a big duffle coat on me and pulled the hood over my head saying the Captain wouldn’t recognise me like that. After turning the ship around in circles, the Captain, who was still on the bridge with the Third Mate, had me thrown off the wheel and sent for another man to do the wheel. Next morning Captain Rhodes had Ken and me on the bridge and logged one days pay.
On the way down to Cape Town we overhauled all the running gear, sending down all the topping lifts and blocks, these were greased and sent aloft again,
Cargo runners greased and damaged ones replaced, wire and rope strops spliced all ready for discharging around the Cape Coast.
We arrived in Cape Town on Saturday, 5th of December 1953.
On the jetty in Duncan Dock as we were making fast I could see my Uncle Ted, the same man who was in the 1908 Olympic Games. He was on holiday there staying with my Uncle, Aunt and cousin Ernie, who all lived in Seapoint on the coast. After we had finished working he took me back to Uncle Jimmy`s house, I hadn’t seen them since 1946 so they were all making a fuss of me. So that Saturday night all hands were in Del Monacos drinking and dancing with the girls, I had to sit in and talk to my relations. Boring.!
On Sunday afternoon all hands went to the open air swimming pool right on the beach at Seapoint. It was hot and sunny and we were surrounded by lots of pretty girls. During the afternoon I spent some time with Kenny Hignett trying to teach him how to swim, He had no idea how to swim and after a while he said “I will learn how to swim if it’s the last thing I do”. Little did we know how prophetic those words were seven days later.
On Monday evening I was taken to Cousin Ernie`s `Westminster Restaurant` in the City centre and had a superb dinner, the first decent food I had had since joining the ship. These Blue Star boats were terrible bad feeders, every one I ever sailed on was a hungry ship.
On Tuesday morning we sailed from Cape Town after battening down and dropping derricks and sailed round to Port Elizabeth arriving there next morning.
Before sailing we embarked some passengers, some going up the coast to Durban and others going to New Zealand, One was a very attractive young lady, Rosemary Garfield Todd, her father was Prime Minister, Garfield Todd, of Southern Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe. The PM was originally a New Zealander and she was going to New Zealand to visit family.
After stripping the hatches and topping the derricks ready for discharging in Port Elizabeth, `Mad` McAskill told me to go ashore and get him a bottle of whisky, I dodged his fist and ran down the gangway to the nearest liquor store. He was still on the gangway when I returned and started to gulp it down as soon as I had given it to him, I was hanging around waiting for the money when he started to shout “Liverpool Ba5tard” so I set off running down the after deck followed by the empty bottle which bounced off my head and smashed in the scupper. The guy was a lunatic, I will get even with him one day, I said to myself. When he was on the whisky he was more mad than he normally was, He used to march up and down the boat deck all night playing his bagpipes, no one got any sleep but no one dare tell him to stop.
We stayed in Port Elizabeth for two nights. A quiet place just a couple of local pubs. Rosemary came ashore with our deck crowd and had a few beers with us, she was a good sport.
We sailed round to East London and arrived there on the Saturday morning, we sailed up the Buffalo River and moored starboard side to at the bottom of the bluff to discharge.
After we had finished topping derricks ready for discharging, the Padre, Mr. McCulloch, from the Seamens Mission came on board and told us there was a dance at the Mission that night and on Sunday 13th of December there would be a coach trip up the coast to Bonza Bay and a picnic on the beach with the girls from the Mission. It sounded good so we all booked for it.
It was Saturday afternoon so I showered and changed and went ashore to have a look around East London. It was a nice quiet little town with one main street, Oxford Street which ran the full length of town. I called in a few bars and had a few beers up and down Oxford Street and after a while I decided to go to the Mission to meet up with the rest of the crowd at the dance. I got on a bus as I was a long way off by this time. The bus had a door at the front to get on and a door at the back to get off. When I got on the bus it was full so I had to stand and as more and more people got on I was moved further and further towards the back door which was open due to the hot weather.
As we neared the Mission on Buffalo Street, the bus took a sharp right hand bend and I shot through the back door and bounced along the road and ended up in the gutter covered in dust.
I lay there for a few minutes trying to figure out where I was, then I climbed to my feet and dusted myself down, there was nothing broken and no blood so I staggered into the Mission to clean myself up.
None of the Sailors were in there except the Deck Boy, I asked him where they were and he told me they were in the pub just around the corner of Buffalo Street.
I met Ronnie Vickers and Ken Hignett with some of the other lads in there. After a few more drinks the three of us got up to sing, we sang `I Believe` and `Answer Me`, all new songs that year by Frankie Lane. The girls in the pub were screaming and we felt like Pop Stars, by the end of the evening Ken and I had got friendly with two girls and invited them back on board the ship for a drink.
They said they had never been on a ship before, but as they walked along the deck one was saying to the other, “Mind that ring bolt and the purchase on that guy needs to be tightened, watch that runner.”
We took them into my cabin on the poop. When we got in there all hands started to come in and cases of beer appeared and a party began, all we wanted was a quiet drink with the girls. After a while Paddy Penson started to mess around with the girl I was with and she slapped his face, he belted her across her face so I thumped him and a big fight started in the cabin with everyone thumping each other and the girls were screaming, It was a shambles and the cabin was wrecked.
Eventually Ken and I got the girls out and took them ashore, we got a taxi and took them home. They were OK and we arranged to meet them the following day, Sunday afternoon.
more to come......................
SUNDAY DECEMBER 13, 1953.
The coach arrived at the gangway to pick us all up and take us to Bonza Bay, about 15 miles up the coast.
Ken and I were supposed to meet the two girls in the afternoon at 2pm but we decided to go to Bonza Bay instead and then meet them in the evening, as we knew where they lived. That was a decision that was to have fatal consequences.
When we got on the coach there were about a dozen Mission girls with large picnic hampers, so it looked as though we were going to have a good day out.
When we arrived at Bonza Bay we went into a hut and changed into our swimming togs and when we came out the girls were setting out the food for the picnic
On the way down the beach to the sea the girls shouted dont be long as the food would be ready in a few minutes and also beware of the currents, there is a strong under tow there. As Ronnie Vickers, Ken Hignett and I walked towards the sea I remember saying, "There is three of us going out and only two coming back" I dont know why I said it.
We were enjoying ourselves jumping around in the surf, it felt good to be away from the ship, when Ken said he had a problem and wanted to get out. He asked me to help him up to the beach, I thought he was a bit nervous as he couldnt swim and didnt want to get out of his depth, the water was waist deep at the time.
So I held his right arm and Ronnie held his left and we walked towards the beach when I noticed we were walking backwards with the undertow and the steeply shelving sand and getting deeper all the time. Next a huge wave hit us and knocked us under and when we surfaced we could not feel the bottom with our feet, then another wave hit us and swirled us under again. When we surfaced I realised we were in trouble. Ronnie and I were swimming hard holding onto Ken`s arms urging him to swim as I had been trying to teach him last Sunday in Cape Town. He wasnt doing too badly but we started to get hammered by a succession of bigger and bigger waves and we were being carried quite fast further out to sea. We were really in trouble now. I shouted to Ronnie to swim ashore and get some help which he did, it was a long hard swim for him to to get back to the beach.
I was holding onto Ken swimming as hard as I could but the waves were getting bigger and more frequent, knocking us under and swirling us over and over, like being inside a washing machine, it was a long hard struggle. I could feel cramp coming on in my arms and legs and I thought we were done for.
Then clouds covered up a clear blue sky, the wind increased in strength, the waves were getting bigger and it started to rain.
After what seemed to be an eternity I saw Dennis `Mo` Riley, one of our sailors, swimming towards us. Ronnie must have made it back to the beach and raised the alarm. `Mo` grabbed hold of Ken and then we were hit by another giant of a wave and tumbled us around and when I surfaced I could see `Mo` and Ken about 15 yards away. I tried to swim towards them but I was getting weak and the cramps in my arms and legs were getting worse and I could not use them, I had swallowed a lot of water and was convinced I was going to die, I was scared. I heard Ken`s voice, shouting "Help, help, help," Three times. Then we all disappeared under a wave of raging foam.
After several minutes I rose up on a crest of a wave and in the distance I could see ¬Mo` standing waist deep on a sand bank a few hundred yards off shore, hanging on to Ken who was lying down in the water, I saw a big wave hit them and they disappeared. I tried to swim towards them but seemed to be going further away with the current.
Later `Mo` told me that Ken was unconcious then and when he found him again he thought he was dead. He was holding on to him when they were hit by another big wave and then he lost him and couldnt find him again.
Meanwhile I was struggling to stay afloat, my arms and legs were dead and my vision was going and I was under water more and more as I was pounded by the waves, I knew then what it was like to die, I was in a no survive situation.
Then suddenly, as if by a miracle, I was grabbed by a lad in a harness and life buoy and we were being towed towards the beach. The lad`s name was David Brinton, a 15 year old South African school boy. I was carried up the beach where I collapsed and some one gave me artificial respiration. As I awoke I heard someone say that Ken had drowned. It was a terrible shock. The three of us had tried so hard to save him but the sea had beaten us. I felt really bad as if I had failed him. I had done my best but it wasnt enough and for a long time I felt a lot of guilt and it was a long time before I could come to terms with his death.
The Padre, Mr McCulloch, and one of the young ladies from the Mission, put me into his Land Rover and took me to Hospital where I was put to bed and given tablets which knocked me out for a few hours, then the Padre took me back to the New Zealand Star.
Some of the lads met me on the after deck and as I walked aft I noticed the Red Ensign flying at half mast, that was really sad.
I went to bed, taking some more tablets and told to stay there for about two days.
At 5.30 am next morning, Monday, `Mad` McAskill crashed into the cabin,. "Get up you Liverpool Ba5tards, turn to"……………….
I don’t remember getting up but I was on an electric chipping hammer scaling rust off the bulkheads amidships. I was in a total daze.
Rosemary Garfield Todd saw me on the chipping hammer and could see I was not at all well so she complained to Captain Rhodes. She stopped me from chipping and took me down aft to my cabin and put me to bed. `Mad` McAskill was not amused, I could hear him shouting “Liverpool Ba5tard”.
At 2pm I was called from my bunk again , the Police were on board and they wanted statements for the Inquest. `Mo` Riley, Ronnie Vickers and I went amidships to the ships office and had to tell the Policeman everything that had happened regarding Ken`s death, which was quite a harrowing experience. After making our statements, the three of us went ashore and had a few beers in a pub on Oxford Street. On the way we bought a newspaper, The Daily Dispatch and the story they printed was completely different to what had really happened. So after a few beers we went down to the Newspaper Office and saw the Editor and put the story right.
That evening there was a Service for Ken at the Seamens Mission, which was very sad.
Tuesday 15 December, we completed discharging and battened down, dropping the derricks and cast off and sailed round to Durban arriving on Thursday morning.
On Friday, December 18, we heard that Ken`s body had been washed up on the beach and that the Seamens Mission was going to do the funeral and have him buried in the East Cemetery in East London.
Ken was 20 years old and lived at Mill Cottage, 1 Mill Lane, Birkenhead.
I dont recollect much of Durban, I was in a daze most of the time, I remember having a drink in the Playhouse with Rosemary over the weekend and thanking her for looking after me. On Monday we had completed discharging and we battened down and secured the derricks and then let go. We sailed out of the harbour past the Bluff and the coaling berths then past the Whaling Station just as two whale catchers were coming in towing whales.
The next day we arrived in Lourenco Marques, now known as Maputo, in Mozambique, We were only there for one day for a quick discharge before sailing to Beira another days sail up the coast of Mozambique where we anchored over Christmas.
The Cook put on a decent Christmas Dinner and a cake and we all got a case of ale each and all went on the poop deck and celebrated.
Charlie Dry, a Liverpool fireman, did the dance of the flaming Assholes. He shoved a length of ten feet of toilet paper up his bum set fire to it and tried to dance and sing a song before the flames got to him, he failed with a load of screams and hilarious laughter from the crowd.
Continued..................
.
On Boxing Day we went alongside to discharge the last of our cargo from England and stayed for two days. No one bothered to go ashore here except `Sandra`, the Captains Tiger, She was a lonely, aging, Wufter , and was always running around in `her` leopard skin underpants trying to get `herself` a fella. No one wanted to know and `she` was most frustrated, `She` came back from ashore saying how good these African men were, `she` had got plenty.
We completed discharge and sailed light ship, a couple of days before the New Year bound for Auckland, New Zealand. It was a twenty one day run round the Southern tip of Madagascar down the Southern Ocean and then up to Auckland round the North Cape and Hauraki Gulf into the harbour to moor at the bottom of Queen Street, very handy for the centre of town.
On the way across all six cargo holds and fridge hatches had to be cleaned and disinfected ready to load frozen lamb, fruit and dairy products.
It was hard graft, with `Mad` McAskill driving us. We were on day work and we started at 6am and finished after midnight every day. I remember being knee deep in raw sewage in the bilges cleaning out the strum boxes so the pumps could take out the water. The African dockers used the bilges as their toilets so it was not a pleasant job.
It had turned midnight on New Years Eve and I remember wishing myself a Happy New Year, covered in crap.
We had a small cargo of `Dried Fish` and Ostrich Feathers for Auckland
Auckland was a lovely city, but the pubs shut at 6pm, as they did throughout New Zealand. But Auckland had the world famous `Ma` Gleasons pub, a famous `Sly Grog`.
It was a pub every seaman in Auckland went to. At six o`clock we paid five shillings for `Bed and Breakfast` and we could drink all night legally so it was packed every night. It has gone now, just a legend, I was in Auckland a couple of years ago and all there is, is a piece of spare land on the corner and a few memories and ghosts of sailors past.
We were only there for three days and on the first night I met an attractive Maori in `Ma` Gleasons and she invited me to a `hooley` at someone`s house.
When we arrived there it was full of Maoris and plenty of grog. After a while some of the young Maoris seemed to object to me being there with a Maori girl and they threw me out. The young lady was doing a lot of shouting and screaming and the situation was going to get violent so I was glad to go. I went back to `Ma`s` and rejoined the rest of the lads.
On sailing day the crowd went ashore at lunch time for a few beers in `Ma` Gleasons. We were all in the upstairs bar enjoying ourselves when the Deck Boy ran in shouting that the ship was sailing. As we ran down the stairs one of the lads grabbed one of the `girls` and climbed into the taxi with us. We arrived on board to the abuse of `Mad` McAskill and started to let go.
Once we were clear of the berth the 2nd Mate was walking past one of the Sailors cabins and heard screams of laughter from a woman coming from a port hole. When he investigated he found the girl from Gleasons in bed with one of the Sailors. When he told Captain Rhodes he went berserk. The girl got dressed and a tug came alongside and with a lot of laughing and joking she climbed down the Pilot ladder and onto the tug like a true professional.
“Good bye, you Pommie Ba5tards” she shouted while waving to us as we continued our voyage to Lyttleton in the South Island.
The Sailor who brought the young lady on board was logged a days pay.
continued............................
continued..................
Lyttleton was another lovely small town in a bay surrounded by hills about ten miles from Christchurch. 50 years later it had never changed, except for a container berth.
The same pubs are still there.
At the same time the Queen was in Christchurch on the world tour on the `Gothic` Shaw Saville boat.
We were only here for two days loading dairy produce. On sailing day, at lunch time all hands were in the `British` pub and were getting quite legless. At 1pm, `Mad` Angus sent me up there to tell the crowd to get back to the ship `muy pronto`. That is gaelic for quick,, as we were ready for sailing. When I got to the pub all the crowd were full of ale so I told them that `Mad` Angus wanted them back for sailing. Someone stuck a glass in my hand and then another. At 2pm the Deck Boy turned up in a panic shouting that the ship was sailing. Someone stuck a glass in his hand and that shut him up.
At 3pm we could hear the ship blowing and then `Mad` Angus turned up shouting “Liverpool Ba5tards, Liverpool Ba5tards” and drove the crowd down the hill with a big iron fist. When the Sailors got on board, most of them turned in and the rest could hardly stand up so it ended up with the Engineers and stewards letting go and getting the ropes in. Next day all hands were queuing up in front of the Captain being logged.
A couple of days later we moored up under the bluff in Napier in Hawkes Bay, North Island. A beautiful friendly town, one of my favourite places in the world.
We were to be here for over five weeks to load frozen lamb for Europe, Dunkirk, Rotterdam and London.
First night ashore I met a lovely blue eyed, blonde girl, Margaret Rose Johansssen and we went together for the next five weeks. Her Dad worked on our jetty as the water man. He was a giant of a man who had jumped off a Norwegian sailing ship many years before and had married a French lady in Napier.
While we were in Napier we were over the wall every day painting the ship for homeward bound.
The pubs in Napier closed at 6pm and all day Sunday, but there were plenty of sly grogs including the Palisades and the Criterion, where we all became well known in.
I would meet Margaret about four nights a week then the other nights I would be in the Sly grog with the rest of the lads.
Margaret and I would walk along the Marine Parade and then sit on the beach overlooking the Pacific. These were happy days, Sometimes on Sunday we would go to Cape Kidnappers, a beautiful place.
One Sunday the local Kiwis challenged us to a game of cricket and I was chosen to play for the ship. It was a lovely warm sunny day and plenty of cases of ale were taken along to the cricket ground.
We were batting first and as it was hot the cases of ale were opened and we had a few beers while waiting to bat, and some of the Napier lads had some as well.
By the time I went in to bat I was well away. The bowler bowled and I swung the bat and staggered backwards, missed the ball and hit their wicket keeper in the face with my bat and knocked him out. He had a big cut across his forehead, he was taken to hospital and returned later with a few stitches in it. He was a good sport and had a laugh about it later. The match dissolved into a shambles as both sides got stuck into the ale, No one won and no one lost so every ones honour was intact and a good day was had by all.
One morning the `Second Cook and Tabnabs` was still bevied from the night before and with a few cans of liveners in the morning was well away again staggering around the galley.
The Chief Cook was doing the eggs and bacon and the Second had just made a very big kit of porridge, then he started chopping up the meat for lunch,. He was banging away with a cleaver when he screamed, he had chopped off his left thumb. They had to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, with a big towel wrapped around his hand, They looked for his thumb but could find it.
Meanwhile the Peggy took the kit of porridge down to the mess room that was shared with the firemen and Sailors.
Suddenly there were terrible screams from one of the Firemen, he saw the thumb just as he was going to put the spoon into his mouth. His screams were worse than the Cook`s. The offending thumb must have shot up in the air and landed in the kit full of porridge
All hands were hysterical laughing at the Fireman, the 2nd Cook returned from hospital all his hand bandaged and was excused work for a couple of weeks until the stump had healed.
One Saturday Captain Rhodes got married to a New Zealand lady and had the reception in the Officers Saloon and all the midships crowd had a big party. We were not invited, I wonder why.
Half way through the reception Captain Rhodes told his new Bride to go ashore to a hotel and he stayed onboard. A little strange.
Captain Rhodes was a big hero in WW2. He was on a Blue Star boat homeward bound from South America when they were torpedoed and he had a full lifeboat. He made a good passage to land in 14 days and never lost a man.
All too soon we completed loading the frozen lamb and we battened down. We were to go to Auckland to top off with bales of wool then homeward bound.
I could have stayed there for ever, with Margaret. So I decided to jump when we got to Auckland, then go back to Napier. The police would be searching for me in Auckland and not Napier so it would be easier to get away with. Or so I thought.
Napier was a very small town in those days and every one knew each other.
Big Johannssen, her dad, said he could get me a job at the meat works in Hastings on big money, sounded good to me.
We sailed one evening and the whole town turned out to the pier to see us go.
As we cleared the pier they all started to sing `Now is the hour` or `Aotearoa`
We were choked listening to them, their voices fading away as we headed off up the Pacific coast, what a wonderful send off.
A couple of days later we arrived at one of the piers in Auckland near to Queens Street, on Friday morning.
I got a big sub and went to the Bus Station to check out the times of buses down to Napier and early on Saturday morning I was away with a small bag, down the Station and off to Napier again. No one would miss me until Monday when Mad MacAskill would be searching for me….
What a hell of a journey that was, It was around 200 miles and across the plains to Taupo, a bite to eat, a changed of buses, and then to Napier, it took over eight hours.
I got to Margaret`s home around six pm. The family Johansen made me welcome.
They let me have a shower and change, the pubs had long closed so we just went for a walk around the promenade. Mr Johansen said he would take me to his friend, a manager at the meat works in Hastings, about three miles down the road, on Monday.
On Sunday we had the day around the beach and visiting some of her friends and then we went into our favourite coffee bar, the Coconut Grove. We were having a drink with some friends when a Policeman walked in to order a coffee, He looked around and saw Margaret, said hello to her, asked how her Dad was and then looked at me. I recognised him as one of the Policemen who frequented the sly grog at the Criterion pub.
“Are you off the New Zealand Star”? He asked, “didn’t she sail a couple of days ago?”
`Oh bloody hell`, I thought, I was caught, only been here 24 hours.
“Better come with me while we sort a few things out”.
We walked down to the Station and into the Office. He telephoned the Agent, and inquired as to the whereabouts of the New Zealand Star, `Auckland eh. When is she sailing and where to? Tuesday to London, what is the Agents phone number in Auckland?, Right, thanks for your help.`
He turns to me and says, “So your ship is in Auckland ready to sail to England, you are here with Margaret, I would guess that you have jumped ship”.
“No I have just come back here for the weekend to see Margaret, I am going back to the ship before it sails” I said. “I think you had better stay here for the night so we can keep an eye on you while we make inquiries. Margaret can stay with you until 10pm then we will start in the morning and sort you out.” I went into a cell, Margaret was weeping, we just sat in silence holding hands. At 10 pm Margaret went home and another Policeman took over. “Better get your head down son, it will be an early start” At six am I was called and the man took me across the road to a café and bought me breakfast.
“Now what we have decided is to put you on the bus to Taupo, another Policeman will be waiting for you and he will make sure you are on the Auckland bus. In Auckland your Agent will be waiting and take you back to the ship. OK? You are in a position of trust. Let us down and we will have you. Go back to England and apply to emigrate to here through the proper channels, and you will be much better off, we need young fellas like you here but do it right.” The Policemen in Napier were the best I have ever come across, very helpful and easy going. I thought about leaping off the bus at one of the small townships that we passed through, I didn’t have any money, I could not go back to Napier, the Police knew me. I was only 18 and the option the Policeman had given me was to go home and emigrate back, that way I would be welcome there instead of being a fugitive, he said if I refused then I would go to court and if I was Deported that would go against me if I tried to immigrate there. So I decided to go home, I would be there in five weeks so that is what I did.
At 7am I was on the bus to Taupo and there was a Policeman who came on board asking for me. He bought me a meal in the café and then got me onto the Auckland bus. I arrived in Auckland late afternoon and was met by the Agent who took me down to the ship. It must have been the quickest skin out ever.
Captain Rhodes gave me a load of abuse, I had been adrift for Saturday, Sunday and now Monday, He logged me three days pay. One Pound Ten Shillings, a lot of money then when I was on £15 a month.
Mad MacAskill was in fine form calling me a Liverpool Ba5tard again.
I never saw Margaret again, and I didn’t emigrate when I arrived home, we wrote to each other for a long time then it faded away.
Next year in February 2012 I am going back to Napier for the very first time in 58 years, Margaret will be 77 years old then.
I wonder if she is still waiting for me.
continued....................
We sailed the next morning after battening down and dropping the derricks. As we were lifting the gangway Mad Angus thumped Paddy Swainey and knocked him down, Paddy stood up and when Mad Angus`s head was turned he hit him over the head with a gangway stanchion almost bending it. Mad Angus turned around and then beat the hell out of Paddy, leaving him lying on the deck covered in blood. No one dared to intervene.
We sailed out of the harbour, past Rangitoto the extinct volcano and then set a course across the Pacific bound for Panama.
We had an 18 day run across the Pacific to Panama. On the way we overhauled all the running gear, sending down the topping lifts and blocks, greasing then and sending them aloft again.
One morning I was standing near the entrance to the focsle just forward of number one hatch and got into an argument with Mad MacAskill. Suddenly he smashed me with a big iron fist, I shot backwards hit the bulkhead and bounced off and landed against Mad Angus. His heels were against the steam pipe casing and he overbalanced and fell to the deck with me on top of him. Just at that moment the Mate was walking up the foredeck and saw me crash against Angus and land on top of him.
He came running up to us and accused me of attacking a Petty Officer. He would not believe that I had been thumped by Angus and bounced off the bulkhead first.
The Mate took me up on the Bridge and got Captain Rhodes who promptly logged me two days pay for attacking a Petty Officer. Mad Angus was laughing and muttering Liverpool Ba5tard when I came down.
A couple of days later I got my revenge, I was at number two hatch by the fore part of the bridge I had climbed up the derrick crutch and sat on the derrick head, I had a heaving line and lashed up the ten ton SWL head block while I unshackled it to send it down to the deck ready for greasing and the opportunity was too good to miss. Mad Angus walked underneath me, I let go the lashing and the block fell six feet and landed right on top of his head.
He sank to his knees holding his head and gave out a terrible roar. That blow would have killed a normal man, but Angus was not a normal man.
I ran along the derrick to the ladder on the fore part of the bridge and up to the wing and over the dodger then up to the monkey island. Mad Angus staggered into the alleyway to the ladder that went up to the boat deck. I was terrified, I waited and waited for him to come for several minutes, so I went to look over the after end of the bridge and could see that he had collapsed on the ladder by the boat deck, he didn’t look too good. Hope the ba5tard is dead, I thought.
I climbed down the forepart of the bridge again onto the foredeck and carried on greasing the blocks.
There was no sign of Angus, then the Lampy knocked us off for tea, someone had found him unconscious on the boat deck ladder and called the Doctor. He was in the ships hospital with lacerations and severe concussion. He could not remember how he came by his injuries and it was assumed he had fallen down the ladder.
No one had seen what had happened and so I felt a lot better then, we were even.
We eventually arrived at Panama and had a pleasant trip through the Canal and two later we arrived in Curacao for bunkers. It was the middle of the night and so no one got ashore. After we sailed from there we sailed across the Atlantic to Dunkirk to complete a round the world voyage.
On the passage across the Atlantic we started to paint the funnel, mast, Samson posts, derricks and the housing to make her look beautiful for out arrival in London.
We spent a couple of days in Dunkirk and had two nights ashore on the ale.
On the last night I was full of ale and turned in and zonked out. I remember waking up and seeing a beautiful French `lady` sat on my bunk with a little white poodle.
She was saying, “Wake up honey I want to make love” or words to that effect.
And I remember saying “Go away you are only a dream” then fell asleep again. I really thought it was a dream.
I had forgotten about it until we were all sat in the mess room having breakfast next morning. I heard two of the lads talking about a French girl who had gone into their cabins and performed. I had lost out again.
We battened down ready for sailing that afternoon and as we were letting go the French girl walked down the quay with her little white poodle and waved to us as we sailed. She was not a bad looking girl, she had ginger hair and was wearing an ocelot coat.
Next day we tied up in Rotterdam,
It was snowing and very cold, Mad Angus was stripped to the waist covered in snow as we topped the derricks, it didn’t seem to bother him. He really was mad.
Two days later we sailed for London and paid off on 20th of March 1954, Happy days were here again.
I never saw the New Zealand Star again, she was in the news a few years later when a Steward was murdered on board on the New Zealand coast. A detective from Scotland Yard was flown out there and stayed on board around the coast while he made his inquiries. Then one morning he too was found dead in his cabin.
I heard a few years later that Mad Angus MacAskill the Bull, had been killed in Canada while trying to stop a big Locomotive with his fist. The Locomotive did not stop.
He had a brother who sailed in the Port Line as Bosun and half way across the Pacific he decided to walk home to the Isla of Barra, a wild and lonely place, He didn’t arrive.
There is more to come on the drowning of Ken Hignett in South Africa, the story continued for another 48 years.
to be concluded shortly.....................................
Continued....................
After the voyage some unbelievable things began to happen...............
AFTER THE VOYAGE,
When I arrived home three months later I went to see Ken`s sister Molly in Birkenhead, a nice young lady, and she wanted to know what had happened, the Ship owner just tells the basic, "Your Ken is dead, drowned", as brief as that. I think she felt a little better knowing what happened and how we had struggled to save him. They had just suffered a couple of tragedies in the family as well around the same time.
Then some strange happenings which are hard to believe but are true.
I was home for a few days when I was awakened one night by my bedroom door opening and shutting, Ken was stood at my bedside, he offered me a ciggy, it was silent , he never spoke, then my mother shouted to me, "What are you doing out of bed," The door opened and shut again, He was gone. I told her what I had seen, She had heard the door. The next night I threw my little brother out of his bedroom and I went into his, and he into mine. The next night I had the same performance and mother heard the door opening and shutting again. he was there at the bed side and offered me a ciggy, mother shouted and then he was gone. It felt as though he was trying to say, Thanks.
Three years later October 1956, I was in East London again in the Eastern Cape, on the Dunedin Star, only had a couple of hours before we sailed again, I went to a cemetery to find his grave, I searched all over then I met a man who was just sitting on a bench, he said , “Who are you looking for “, I told him, “Ken Hignett”, he said " You are in the wrong cemetery, he is on the other side of town in the East Cemetery". Then he said , "My son saved a lad that day", I said , "Is he David Brinton,?" he said "Yes".. so I said , "I am the lad he saved". I was stunned, and I walked away and left him, I failed to ask for his address..
I had to get back to the ship, I was amazed that I had gone 7000 miles to the wrong cemetery and the only person I saw was the father of the lad who saved my life three years earlier.
For a few years I tried to find David Brinton to thank him for saving my life. I wrote to the South African newspapers, including East London`s Daily Dispatch. but to no avail.
A lady in East London wrote to me and said the family had gone to live in the Orange Free State but no address.
I phoned the Salvation Army in Johannesburg, they have a fantastic tracing people reputation, but they referred me to London. I tried them and was told they only trace family members. I told them the story and asked if they could make an exception, I also told them I was a member of the Salvation Army when I was a lad, a "Little Sunbeam". no less. Taken there by my Grandmother.
They said they would see what they could do. The only information I had was, he was 15 years old in 1953 and his name, David Brinton. Africa is a big place to trace people with that amount of information .
In 2001, I decided to go to East London to try to find him myself. it was a quest I knew I had to do before it was too late.
Two days before we were sailing to Cape Town on the QE2, in October, 2001, the telephone rang, it was the Salvation Army in London, they had found him. "Where in East London?" I asked, No he is in Stranraer, Scotland, they gave me his phone number and I phoned him. It was fantastic to be able to thank him for saving my life. He had lived there for 17 years after leaving South Africa, he had gone to Rhodesia then to Scotland.
We sailed to Cape Town on QE2 stayed one night and then we flew to East London to find Ken`s grave.
We checked into a hotel and a South African family who had read my emails on the internet met us and took us to the cemetry.Th We found the grave, the cemetery was silent, not a sound. As we approached the grave, the screams that started to come out of the grave were terrible, I was shocked, Anne `s face turned white and was visibly shocked. My South African friends turned white and quickly walked away. The noise of a demented soul, we walked back and it stopped, silent. As we walked forward again the noise started again. There were no words, just an out of this world noise, which had a meaning like,….. “Why have I been here so long, why has no one been to see me and so on.” I could walk into and out of this sound like walking in and out of a large bubble over the grave, his spirit was definitely there and in anguish as if he was tied there with no escape.
I laid a Merchant Navy wreath that I had brought from England, on his grave. I got my camera but it would not work, nothing. So I got my video camera and that would not work, I very upset and disturbed by all these happenings, It should have been a happy day, that I had found him and laid a wreath on the grave.
We got into my friends car and went back to the hotel, the camera worked, the video camera worked, nothing wrong with them. The conversation was very quiet, everyone was stunned at what they had heard at the grave side.
Two days later my friends were taking us to the Airport to fly to Port Elizabeth, to join a coach to do the `Garden Route tour`, I was not happy and very disturbed, it should not be like this.
I could not go home not knowing what was going on there. So I told my friends to go back to the cemetery. They took us there but refused to go into the cemetery
When we got back to the grave, all was silent and peaceful. I took the photos, the camera worked and also the video camera worked. Then a strange thing happened, the ink on the card on the Merchant Navy Wreath began to run as if it was wet, even tho` it had been laminated and it was a warm suuny day, It just happened as I stood and watched and then it became unreadable, a very strange experience.
He had gone, gone to Fiddlers Green, where all good Sailors go.
I felt good again as if a load had been taken off my shoulders. Ken had been released from the grave, the trip had been worth while.
We arrived back in Cape Town five days later and the following week joined the CARONIA and sailed back to England.
When we arrived home I had a phone call from Esther Rantzen, a TV Presenter from the BBC in London. She had heard of the story from the Salvation Army and wanted me to go to the London BBC TV Studios and tell the story on TV on the `Esther Show`. So on 14 February 2002, Anne and I went to London, expenses paid, a Limo waiting at Euston Station for us and then to the studios.
I was taken to the make up room and sat with a few TV Celebs and had a make over, lip stick, and make up, a white cream and then a brown powder and rubbed in over my face and my eyebrows darkened. I was then interviewed by Esther on stage with a studio audience, and told them all about the tragedy and my search for David Brinton, Esther said “Have you ever met him?”, I said “No”, so she said , “Well here he is”, and David walked onto the stage. It was another fantastic moment to be able to shake his hand and thank him for saving my life, after more than 48 years. We went into the green room after the show and partook of the free bar, Later David had to fly back to Scotland for his business and I stayed. That evening the BBC Staff poured me into a Limo and took us to our hotel in Kensington. I went into the bar there and ordered a couple of drinks for us both. A lot of men were smiling and winking at me, I thought what nice friendly people in London.
Later I went to our room and shock horror, I still had my lip stick and make up on. They must have thought I was a wufter.
I keep in touch with David and always phone him or go to Stranraer on December 13.
We talked later and he told me his father had died in a car crash in October 1956 around the time I had spoken to him in the cemetery in East London. So was he a ghost?
I WROTE A POEM ABOUT IT.
A Beach Called Bonza Bay.
In 1953 on the New Zealand Star
In East London we did stay
but Ken Hignett and I
didn`t know he would die
on some beach called Bonza Bay.
The story began
when the Mission Man
said he would take us away for the day
so all of us went off on his bus
to a beach called Bonza Bay
When Ken jumped in
he just couldn`t swim
and the tide soon carried him away.
Though I struggled and tried
Ken drowned and then died
near a beach called Bonza Bay
Then I was seen on a wave
by a lad named Dave
who swam out to get me away
and through struggle and strife
that lad saved my life
on a beach called Bonza Bay
When Ken was washed ashore
his life was no more
Five days since he got swept away
and he lay all alone
on the sand and the stone
on a beach called Bonza Bay
So they buried Ken in a Sailors grave
at a place where the palm trees sway,
on a foreign strand
in a far off land
near a beach called Bonza Bay
It`s been 58 years
since the grief and the tears
and in the time that I was away
I found Ken`s Grave
and the man named Dave
near a beach called Bonza Bay
THE END…..
1, The rescue attempt in rough seas, December 13 1953, ....
2, In Cape Town, Dec 6, 1953 left to right, Ken Hignett and me, and bottom Mo Riley, Ken was dead 7 days later....
3, Me at the grave in East London S.A. still looking very disturbed. November 11 2001.
Another 'Kong Classic'....a sad, haunting, tragic account., beautifully told by a master story-teller. ( sorry if that sounds like a sales 'blurb' for your next book, Brian, but it was sincerely meant) ...Do hope you haven't exhausted the 'yarn locker' just yet. Look forward to reading many more.....many thanks, mate, Roger.
It was late one afternoon in June, 1960, and the weather in Leningrad (St.Petersburg) was surprisingly warm. An E.D.H. on UBC's 'Baltic Express', with my cabin-mate Harry, I'd been invited by Phil, the 2nd Steward, to join him in his cabin for a few drinks. Phil, had a tape-recorder, and knowing of my love for jazz he, very kindly, offered to share some of his George Shearing tapes with me.
We had barely settled in for a session when suddenly in the open doorway of his cabin stood a young fair-haired woman. Not beautiful, but certainly attractive, she was dressed in a smart two-piece suit with pencil skirt. This was rounded off with nylons and a pair of high heels. We were a bit taken back. This was Russia and she didn't seem to fit the stereotype of Russian womanhood and besides what the blue blazes was she doing on 'our' ship? In almost flawless English she said, " Hello, my name is Irina, may I come in? There was a sudden frantic movement as I vacated Phil's only chair and plonked myself down next to Harry who was sitting on the bunk. Phil was sitting on the cushioned seat under the porthole. Ever the gentleman, with eyes squinting from the smoke drifting up from the cigarette in his mouth, Phil said," Sure, come on in, the more the merrier". Leaning forward he grabbed the ever present bottle of gin on his table," Can I offer you a drink?". She declined the drink but settled into the padded chair, crossing one shapely leg over the other. She asked our names and we told her. She had no trouble with Phil and Harry, but Roger seemed to come out sounding like "Rowja" with a slight accent. I didn't try and correct her, the way she said it sounded fine by me.
She began to tell us what she was doing on board and soon an insistent Phil, having convinced her to have a drink, poured her a large G & T. Apparently she was attached to the Russian Government Agency responsible for liaison with foreign vessels, but did not elaborate further than that. During the next 30 minutes she regaled us with stories of how good life was in Russia under a communist system and how much better it will be when the next 5 year plan came to fruition. Whilst swigging Phil's gin she continued in this vein. If it had not been for her shapely legs I think I would have drifted off, but like a trooper I hung in there.
Finally, realising that her attempts to 'brainwash' were not going to work, she turned the conversation round to us, wanting to know what we did on the ship, where we lived in the U.K. and what life there was like. She seemed to be getting warmer, friendlier and it seemed, a little tiddly to boot. Every now and then, laughing just a tad seductively even, so that I, a single man, began to think how exciting it would be to 'have-it-off' behind the Iron Curtain, any curtain, but preferably the one round Phil's bunk. I was sure the other two were having the very same thoughts, after all we were British seaman weren't we? Well, in your dreams sonny Jiim, it just wasn't going to happen.
Apparently, having exhausted her interest in us, she suddenly stood up and, as if by magic, became perfectly sober. "Thank you boys, it was nice but I must go". We felt jilted, and stared forlornly at her well-rounded bottom as it disappeared out the door. Irina had turned sharp left, presumably heading for her next port-of-call, the Officers accommodation. Sneaky Russian bitch, I thought, somewhat angrily. I realised that she had told us little about herself but had learned a great deal about us. Shipping agent, my ar-e. As an avid reader of spy stories at the time I immediately 'tagged' her as a KGB agent. Well, I knew a spy when I saw one, didn't I?
I was to speak to Irina several more times during that visit, but the conversation was always brief, "Hello, Irina", I would say. "'Hello Rowja", she'd reply, with that secret agent smile on her face. I wasn't sure, but suspected she knew I was on to her. Maybe, one day she'll get hers I thought and I hope it's me who gives it to her. If only she knew, hell hath no fury like a spurned sailor, especially if he comes from Britain.
Come forward three years to June, 1963, and I'm back in Leningrad and it's still warm, only difference being that I'm now on UBC's 'Baltic Merchant'. The 'Merchant' had been engaged on the Leningrad run for several years and was one of only two foreign vessels trading into Leningrad both summer and winter, when it was a world of ice, snow, ice-breakers and bitter cold. Alternately the ship operated from the ports of London and Hull, which explained the mixed crew of Yorkshiremen and men from London and the south. During the time I was on her, she was a 'happy' ship, but as was my habit in those days, I never stayed in one place too long. I was now married with a young wife and son and felt the need to spend an extended time with them every now and then. This was my 3rd or 4th trip and would be my last before I took a decent leave.
When I returned to Leningrad in March, I discovered that the mysterious Irina, she of the smiling face, was back on board every trip, still doing her social butterfly routine round the ship. Smartly dressed with a hint of the 'provocative' about her, she was still wearing her high heels in the guise of the Mata Hari of Leningrad Dockyard. One minute she'd be in deep conversation with two engineers, flicking her head back when she laughed, not that I noticed. Next minute she's in the Mate's cabin having coffee (don't fancy your chances there Mr.Mate, thought I with just a hint of jealousy), but I was on to her little game - if only I knew what it was !!!. When after three years absence she finally saw me, she said, with that same old secret agent smile on her face, "We've met before, haven't we?" "Yes, we have", I said and proceeded to remind her of when and where. "Of course, Rowja, how could I forget". This was rich, coming from her, she who had once spurned our lustful advances and drank all Phil's gin. She might have forgotten, but I hadn't....................TO BE CONTINUED.
PART TWO.....
Leningrad in 1963 was not the most welcoming city in the world, least of all for visitors from the West and that included merchant seamen. It was the height of the 'Cold War'. Only nine months previously the world had tottered on the brink of extinction as President Kennedy and Nikita Kruschev played high stakes poker in what became known as the 'Cuban Missile Crisis'. The Russians didn't trust the U.S., Britain or anyone else and the feeling was mutual.
Being in Leningrad made you feel uneasy. We had all heard the stories about Siberian Salt Mines, Gulags and Lubjanka prison. If the doo-doo hit the fan while we're stuck here it's goodnight Vienna I used to think. I always felt we should have been on danger money. It was understandable that most seamen in their off-duty hours chose not to leave the ship. There was no night-life one would normally expect in a city of over 4 million people, so any attraction for us just wasn't there. The only 'club' for the use of foreign seamen was the Inter-Club and unless you liked having a drink whilst seated in a mausoleum it wasn't an option. There were also two comparatively up-market hotels that foreigners were allowed to frequent, but these were cost prohibitive for most of us. It was a shame in a way, for those that dared venture outside the dockyard gates and beyond would have found a city with much to interest the visitor, as many present-day tourists have discovered. Right outside the dockyard gates they would also have found a thriving black-market which seemed to operate smoothly in spite of or, perhaps, because of the uniformed police and officials looking on.
A group of us on board had a common interest in football and sometimes during the mid-day break and in the evening we'd go down onto the dockside and kick a ball around. A few of the lads, like myself, had played regularly before joining the MN and were quite useful. The 2nd Steward, a rather slim, handsome lad, was a very good player. We had a lot of fun and there was much laughter. Even the armed guard standing in the shadows near the bottom of the gangway, smoking those awful Russian cigarettes, would sometimes laugh out loud at our antics.
Having just finished playing one lunchtime, I was walking aft when I heard my name called in a way known only to agents of the KGB. I turned and there she stood in yet another two-piece suit with tightish skirt and the usual heels. She must have cornered the world market on two-piece suits, it was all she ever seemed to wear. It would have been really nice to see her naked for a change, but I knew that was never going to happen. With her arms crossed in front of her, she raised a hand and beckoned me over. Adopting an air of indifference I sauntered towards her in my best Robert Mitchum fashion. "I've been watching you" she said, I bet you have, I thought. "It seems you boys like to play football. How would you like to play a real game?" I didn't believe it, was she asking me to go to bed with her?. 'What do you mean?" I asked. " How would you like to play a real match against the Leningrad Dockworkers?". As she said this she smiled, lowered her head slightly and raised her eyebrows, as if making an offer to a child to good to refuse. "Irina," I said, disappointed " Even if we could raise a team, we've no shirts, no shorts and no boots, all we have is one battered football". " Don't worry about anything Rowja, I can arrange everything. I told your First Officer and he thinks it's a good idea and so does Captain Knox". I had the distinct feeling that she and I were playing snooker and that she was playing me off a break. " I shall have to ask the others and then we'll see", I said. " Good, Rowja, You will like it, I'm sure it will be fun, but please let me know as soon as you can". She turned away from me and walked towards the accommodation amidships. I felt sure that well-rounded bottom of hers was swaying from side to side just a little bit more than usual. I could feel a familiar stirring in the nether regions which, thankfully, I was able to suppress. Behave man for heaven's sake, you're happily married. I knew I had a fertile imagination. I also knew I had 20-20 vision.
I discussed it with the others. They were very enthusiastic, thought it was a great idea and, yes, we would have enough for a full team. With some misgivings, I hurried off to find Mata Hari and give her the news. She seemed delighted. " I will arrange everything right away" she said, and trotted off towards the gangway.
An hour or so later she came and found me." Rowja, it's all arranged. You are going to play the dockworker's tomorrow afternoon at 3pm. It is only their Reserve team so don't worry", she said. (It was at that point the alarm bells started ringing). " The bus will come to take you to the stadium at 2pm. Now don't forget and make sure everyone is ready". Straight-faced, as a joke, I said to her, " This bus tomorrow, it is taking us to a stadium isn't it, not a Gulag ?". Just for a moment and for the first time since we'd met, her face was expressionless, her blue eyes staring, coldly, into mine. I allowed a slow grin to appear. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and with that slight, delicious, overbite of hers clamped onto her bottom lip she pushed me playfully back against the bulkhead. It felt almost like an act of intimacy between us. She looked at me, smiled, and with a little laugh said, " Oh! Rowja, don't be silly. Remember! 2pm tomorrow", and then walked away treating me to another long look at her glorious derriere..........Bu--er the 'Cold War', I thought.
Later that afternoon, after the evening meal, the Baltic Merchant F.C. held their first and only meeting. By common agreement the 2nd Steward was named Captain and would play centre-forward. Positions were sorted out for everybody. I would play right-half and I drew comfort from learning that next to me at centre-half would be the 2nd mate, Mr.Forsythe, a formidable looking Scot. The position of goal-keeper went to Des, a likable greaser from Hull. Des was about 40 years old, suffered from migraine and was the shortest member of the crew, not necessarily the attributes one could wish for in a goalkeeper. For all that, he was surprisingly quick and agile and I knew that if anyone was to be found wanting on the morrow it wouldn't be Des. Only yesterday we'd all been impressed when during our evening session he'd brought off a brilliant save to prevent the ball from passing between two crates which were serving as the goal. Even the guard puffing away on his evil smelling cigarette, shouted something in Russian and applauded. Intrepid little fellow, Des, it hadn't seemed to occur to him that any miscalculation and he would have collided with the corner of the crate thus providing a permanent cure for his migraine. The lads all seemed confident which was good and although I too felt reasonably up-beat there was still something about it all that didn't seem right. I could see that Irina, my favourite spy, had somehow contrived the whole bloody thing. She the master puppeteer and we, poor sods, the puppets. I couldn't help feeling I'd been handled...... oh! well, it's probably just my imagination.....we'll find out tomorrow, won't we?, I thought, as I made my way aft to my cabin.
............................TO BE CONCLUDED.
Hurry up Rowja, I was just getting excited over Irina, the imagination is working overtime.
Well....did you "Roger" her, Roger ?? Give us the rest of the story.