Love love me do

[happy daze john in oz]

t was 0700 hours Thursday June 11 1964 when the NZSC Paparoa docked at berth 17 Port Melbourne. A very different place to that of today. Long gone are the rows of single fronted Victorian cottages that were home to the dockworkers, replaced by a very large sporting stadium. Gone the working sheds replaced by multi storey up market high-rise apartments. Gone the dockside cranes to be replaced by restaurants, coffee houses, ice cream parlours and places of amusement. Gone the customs post, now the site of a five storey extremely up market apartment block, and all of these now looking out not at cargo ships plying their trade, but at rows of yachts and motor cruisers, the play things of the wealthy.

As I gazed out from the ships side rail I could not believe that there were so many Doctors and Lawyers employed at the dockside. So many men all carrying a Gladstone bag. A Gladstone bag was in the U.K. at that time the preferred carry all of the medical and legal profession, why where they then carrying them if they were dockworkers? I was to find the answer to this conundrum later that day.
As they arrived each man disappeared into one of the many sheds on the quayside. At 0800 hours a whistle blew and they all appeared on the dock, each then given a suit of clean clothing. Back into the sheds and fifteen minutes later to appear in the gear of the cold hold worker, a green frozen food suit. Work commenced but in an hour the whistle again blew and the men disappeared again into he sheds only to emerge in their own clothes. It was smokoTime. I was fascinated by the actions of these so called 'workers' and by the end of the day calculated that between 0800 hours and 1700 hours they would have done all of 6 hours work. The rest of the day being used to continually change clothes. This is indeed an odd country I concluded.
But even odder was I to see later in the day. The ships cook had been to Australia before and explained to us the odd drinking times and habits of the locals. In Victoria at that time the pubs closed at 1800 hours!
But worse he told us was the infamous '6 o'clock swill'.

There were at that time dozens of pubs close to the docks so finding one was easy. We got in just before five and the place was empty. A small pub consisting of one room capable of holding about 30 persons standing. Three bar stool stood in front of a rather rough looking bar, and in one corner a very small table with three seats, one of us would have to stand.
The barman, a convivial man, welcomed us asking the usual questions, which ship; where from, where to next as he drew the beers for us. We took our beers to the table and had no sooner sat when all hell broke loose. Within a matter of seconds the place was bursting at the seams, we sat there like stunned mullets not sure what was happening, about 40 men crowded into the bar, mainly from our ship it turned out. The noise was something I had never experienced before and within a minute it was hard to see across the bar for the cigarette smoke. Glasses of beer passed overhead in conveyor belt fashion to the men at the back. We had no chance of getting to the bar again so the beer we had would have to last the session. Then sharp at 1800 hours the bell rang, no more grog lads time to go. Now I realized what the Gladstone bags were for, to take the long neck carry out. Each man putting six of them into his bag before leaving. Just as suddenly as they had appeared they vanished. The place looked as if a tornado had hit, but then without any warning the barman appeared with a large hosepipe and began to hose the place out, time to go. As we left he asked would we like a beer tonight? With nowhere in the city to get a drink we said yes and were told to come back at 1930 hours to the back door.
Outside we stopped to look around and just up the road outside the next pub some form of row was taking place judging by the noise of the crowd. Cautiously we moved closer to see what was occurring. A fight between four Dockers, but this was a serious fight judging by the choice of weapons. Bailing hooks, a lump of four by two and iron pipes were weapons of these men. Blood was flowing steadily from one holding a metal pipe, whilst the one with the bailing hook circled him like some like an animal waiting to pounce. Suddenly a cry went up, the fight abruptly stopped, the men looked around and without a sound suddenly dispersed. What had made this change we wondered, then we saw him a giant of a man. He stood almost six foot six and must have weighed a ton by the look of him. It turned out he was the foreman, the man who decided who worked, and who did not, sick or injured men were no good to him. He had obviously seen us as well and approached us asking who we were? Having explained our situation he advised we go back to our ship, the docks at night are not a safe place he told us.

Knocking tentatively not sure what to expect we stood at the back door of the pub. It opened for us to see the smiling friendly face of the barman. Come on in he declared with gusto, make your self at home, but first you must sign the book. By doing so we became bona fida travellers and as such were entitled to drink our fill. Having signed he then asked for two shillings and sixpence from each of us, ’to cover costs’ he informed us.
We then entered into the inner sanctum, a poorly lit room with long tables and church style pews each side of them. The barman ushered us to sit and then put a pile of dirty plates at the end of the table, telling us if the police come in you can tell them you had a great meal. This must have been why he asked for money when we arrived. There were a number of others in the barroom, who we did not venture to ask recalling the warning of the foreman. But we were here for the beer, not to get into strife. Wondering who should go to the bar first we were upstaged by the barman who arrived at out table with a jug of beer and four glasses. Beer in a jug, never saw anything like it in my life. Beer came from fonts or in cans, not in jugs, and to add insult to injury we had to pour our own. But it tasted good, real good, ice cold and sparkling, not like some of the British warm beer, which by now I had come to dislike, in favour of the ice- cold style. The first jug went down in record time and I was then elected to go to the bar for the next one. Second shock of the night when I saw Pluto, Pluto was the method of drawing the beer; it resembled a small version of the petrol pumps so commonly in use at the service station. This sure is a weird country I concluded. We continued drinking well into the night having got talking with a few locals interested in our stories. We had a great night as far as I can remember but it became a blur as time wore on.
Next morning feeling a little sore in the head I got a call from the chief steward, there was someone on the quayside wanting to see me. What have I done now I pondered, I know no one here so who could want to see me? Made my way to thew gangway and there at the bottom the very friendly barman from last night, and by his foot two cases of beer. Here is the beer you ordered last night, where do you want me to put it?
I was about to answer when the second officer happened to come by, you are not allowed to bring grog on board he informed me, against company regulations! I stood regulations, I never heard of them!there like a stunned mullet, I do not remember ordering that or paying for it, and what
To be continued

[Captain Kong]

Excellent story John
Brings back a few memories of Melbourne in the 50s.
Cheers
Brian

[Keith Tindell]

Hi John,
Loads of memories there, my first trip to Oz, 1960, loaded grain in Walleroo and Ardrossan, we had guys who had done Oz before , so in preperation we had knicked a bike(terrible guilt) in Italy , and when the bosun knocked us off it was a dash down the long pier and up the pub, or hotel as it was known. I remember the dockies used to come aboard with Eskies, this was a strange world to me. Happy memories regards Keith

[Neil Morton]

Hi John well told mate. I may have mentioned that on my arrival in Melbourne as a 10 pound Pommie migrant my first job in 1964 was as a barman at the Collinwood (Aussie Rules) Football Club. To those of the guys who do not know this is the equivalant of Arsenal or Chelsea back home.Prior to the game on my first Saturday arvo all was very sedate in the members bar.
The match began at 2.15 and of course the bar emptied as the loyal members and guests went to the stands. Billy the head barman came along and gave me an apron with a large pocket at waist level. "Put that on son," he said,"and line up your glasses." Not wishing to appear stupid I just nodded and peeked over at the barman at the next station. Beer in those days was poured in a 7oz fluted glass. The bloke next to me had lined up 30 of them in rows of ten and the magic pluto was hooked into a special fitting on the inside of the bar. I followed suit and we waited until the quarter time siren roared,( the game is played in 4 quarters instead of two halves),Suddely there was another roar, as a mob of thirsty fans headed for us at a great shambolic run.
For the space of two or three heart beats I stood aghast.Billy came to my side."Start pourin' son", he cried, "or they'll have yer guts fer garters." So picking up the pluto I went for my life. I filled glass after glass and as one was picked up a shilling hit the bar.Billy grabbed the money and stuffed it into the pocket in my apron.Whithin ten minutes all was calm again. Whilst I mopped up the spillage from the bar top Bill counted the money and put it in my till.
"How can you tell that every beer that was picked up was paid for Bill?" To which he repied," They are all members son, they wouldn't diddle their own club". At half time it was less hectic. however at three quarter time,Collingwood was losing to St Kilda, the drinking was fierce and that old pluto was going to town. At six o' clock the main bar closed and another opened upstairs. Most trooped homeward but some stalwart members adjourned to the bar and restauarant. How they got up the stairs was a miracle.
Well now it was time for me to cash up the "Jack & Jill". There was no tape to tally up with so I stood mountains of one shilling,sixpenny pieces on the bar, there were very few notes and Bill explained that the members all came with correct money so as not to slow down the service.
Well dear friends I have to tell you that during the week it was the cushiest job I'd ever had but those Saturday arvos when there was a "home " game were murder.And yes,Fulham are black and white,( my old team back when), and so are the Collingwood colours and I am a Collingwood supporter after all they gave me my start..