Salad Days.11

Matarani was like nothing I'd experienced so far, although it was not too dissimilar to other places. So far I had only seen sand and city, there had been no lush greenery save for the jungle surrounding the Panama Canal. Matarani was sand and rock but from the dock there appeared to be no town. I finally managed to shake Alan off and quickly headed ashore on my own. I wanted to see more than the inside of a seedy bar.

As with Valparaiso and everywhere else so far, I had no local knowledge. The uphill walk from the dock to find civilisation didn't look that daunting but it proved to be a little more challenging than I expected.

[I should point out that this account is from 30 years ago and having used Google Earth I can see significant changes in the landscape. Apart from the area having been developed significantly, so too has the road from the dock. It has been lengthened in each direction and now consists of just two or three turns instead of seven or eight]

A road snaked around for the heavy lorries from the dock, making the route an easier gradient for them. In typical fashion I decided the best way to the top was a straight line. To follow the twists and turns of the road would take more than an hour and there were no taxis.

As I would find out some years later, climbing on loose rock or scree wasn't easy. By the time I reached the top I questioned whether I had taken the best route. Looking back at the winding road below, with a slow-moving truck full of ore lumbering labouredly onward and upwards, I was tired and thirsty but still convinced I had saved at least half an hour.

There was still some way to go before the buildings began but at least it was flat. It was as I approached the first single story sandstone dwellings, I noticed holes in the ground. They were partially covered with a sheet of corrugated tin. Curious, I went to investigate. I was almost at the hole when an old man poked his head out giving a toothless grin. Smiling, I waved, and kept walking. More heads popped out from the holes and it dawned on me these holes were dwellings.

As I neared a street of rundown shacks a boy approached me. The lad looked about seven or eight years old and without hesitation he took hold of my hand. He was dressed in just a pair of shorts and had no shoes. I was somewhat confused as the boy led me to a street. 'Had something happened? The boy hadn't uttered a word but was smiling, it couldn't be anything serious'. The shacks were single story with one glass-less window and an open doorway. It was to one of these the boy led me. In the open single room was an old man and a younger woman whom I assumed were the boy's mother and grandfather. The woman was sat sewing with needle and thread.

I didn't understand the greetings. A word I did understand however was 'cerveza'. It quickly became apparent the old man had seen a business opportunity and sent his grandson to watch for any seamen brave (foolhardy?) enough to visit the town. I bought one of the lukewarm beers and sat to drink it. It wasn't really enjoyable and I felt a little uncomfortable as three generations sat staring at me. It was like I was intruding on their privacy but they all had big smiles and nodded whenever my eyes met theirs. Out of sympathy I bought a second beer.

When I finally made hand gestures to say I had to leave (I wanted to find a real bar), the old man seemed to understand and sent the boy with me to show the way. The boy led me to a bar a good fifteen minute walk away which made me feel a little guilty. I gave the boy my loose change, said thank you, and disappeared into the bar. The cold beers were a lot more palatable and I began to relax, impervious to all the curious stares. My thoughts kept drifting back to the old man in the hole and the family trying to eke out a living hijacking seamen on their way into the shanty town.

Three hours later I had spent the money allocated for the run ashore and happily drunk decided it was time to go back for food. Stepping  out of the bar I saw the boy who acted as my guided was there waiting. Had he sat there the whole time I was in the bar? I felt guilty. The boy must have been sat in the sun without a drink or anything to eat whilst I was indulging in excess. I didn't even have any money left to give the boy. As I had done with the boy in Pisco I took off my T-shirt and gave it the lad. He seemed just as pleased as the kid had and followed suit by putting it on immediately. 

As the boy led me back through the narrow streets other kids began to follow. In the end there were five boys and three girls in tow of varying ages. The kids followed back past where the boy lived. I tried to tell them not to follow anymore but either they didn't understand or simply ignored me. Worried they would continue to follow if I took the direct route I decided to walk back along the road. They followed me back right to the ship's gangway. Some of the crew saw me approach like some kind of Pied Piper and asked what was going on. I explained about the boy, and the people living in holes in the ground.

The gathered crew members looked at the kids still standing at the bottom of the gangway. It was dinner time and a suggestion was made. Nobody remembers who thought of the idea initially but it was instantly and unanimously accepted. Five minutes later eight Peruvian kids were sat at tables in the crew mess, totally unaware they almost sparked a mutiny.

The cooks were aware of the extra mouths to feed and refused, saying there wasn't enough and it was more than their jobs were worth. The Chief Steward heard the dispute and sided with the cooks. The seamen said they would go without and the kids could have their meals but the steward stood firm. Eventually the Captain was alerted and came into the messroom. He took one look at the kids and turned to the Chief Steward:

"Feed the children and in future don't be such an ass!"

The Chief Steward's protestations were drowned out by the cheers of the crew and they went to get plates for the kids. Hearty meals were placed in front of them and the seamen watched eager to see their charges enjoy the food. The kids were uncertain and hesitant, puzzling the watching crew. Then the boy I met did the 'sign of the cross' and every kid joined in with a short prayer. How humble we felt at that moment. On the walk back I saw lots of shrines on the twisty mountain road and wondered about how religious the people were to have so many in the most unlikely places. Many years later I found out they were memorials for people who had died on that road.

Prayer over, the kids tucked in with a will and broke the spell. The other crew members saw the boy wearing my T-shirt and went below. Everyone of the kids left with a T-shirt bought in some far off land and an orange and apple each. The kids waved and made the long climb back to their homes. That night in the crew bar the seamen were very subdued. In the morning we went out on deck and saw an odd sight, especially in such a barren landscape. The bottom of the gangway was festooned with flower petals.

Matarani may not have been the most exciting destination but few places left such a lasting impression. #NotEveryoneSucks @NotEvery1Sucks

Salad Days.12

Word spread that the nearest town was Mollendo so several taxis were booked that evening. It would be a short stint ashore however, the ship was due to sail at midnight. We tried several bars before settling on one and a good time was had by all. There were a few girls about but not the sort we had become accustomed to. In truth I was a little relieved, Pisco had been enough for me for the time being. Or at least that's what I thought. I was only 17 years old, it was a bit of a stretch.

At 11pm when we were just looking at leaving three girls walked into the bar. To cut a long story short they were from Canada and were very interested in Alan and me. At around 11.25 we knew we had to leave or miss the ship. No contest, we went back to the hotel with the Canadian girls. We reasoned that I had a long taxi ride in Lima for pence and the price of the taxi from Valparaiso to Santiago we considered a bargain, how much would a taxi twice the distance cost?

It turned out to be a week's wage for both of us but we didn't bat an eyelid. A week's wages when you are months at sea wouldn't be missed. We were more concerned with the state of the taxi. It had no windscreen nor bonnet to cover the engine. If we knew of the third problem we would never have gotten into the car.

The road from Mollendo to Ilo in daylight was perhaps more terrifying than the return in darkness from Santiago. I think it was most likely due to our sudden awareness of the third fault with the taxi. On a downhill gradient the driver had to pump the brakes that only seemed to work sporadically. The first part of the journey was the worst as we rose into the foothills of the Andes and down the other side. If the brakes were a major concern, the driver was a bigger one. We were sat in the back seats and he kept looking over his shoulder to talk to us. I finally understood the religious aspect of the people, I said a few prayers that day. There are no atheists on a sinking ship.

The last part of the journey was hair-raising for a different reason. The road ran along the coast and in many places just a matter of yards from the mighty Pacific Ocean. Spray and water hit the road ahead, we could feel the car aquaplaning on its no doubt bald tyres. The driver never lost his smile, he could probably buy a new car with the price of the fare. For the only time and can recall, my prayers were answered and we arrived in Ilo in one piece, albeit with stinking hangovers and jangling nerves.

The Captain was less than pleased when we took the driver on board to get his money. He did our hangovers no favours ranting at us even though we lied through our teeth saying we got lost. As we were just kids he didn't throw the book at us though. We were fined a day's wage and not allowed ashore in Ilo which I didn't consider a punishment. I hadn't worked the day I lost so there was no real loss and you couldn't have dragged me ashore after last night.

It was with a little sadness we left Peru for the last time. This ship was my coming-of-age as far as the sea was concerned. Peru and Chile had left lasting impressions on me and were the catalyst for an attitude change. It would be wrong to attribute it solely to South America, the crew also played a huge part. After the problems I had at school and then on the streets briefly, I was a pretty angry person. I still am in some ways but at least now I was angry for the right reasons.

Balboa or Panama City had a similar feel to Cristobal on the Atlantic side but the experience was not the same. It was bigger and busier, possibly because it was at the end of the Puente de las Américas, which at the time was the only link between the North and South American continents. In any event it was somewhat of an anti-climax. We arrived at night and sailed early in the morning. Once again the journey through the Canal was awe-inspiring and Peter Frampton was in full voice as the ship blasted music out to the jungle.

At the locks some of the Panamanian guys came on board and started tapping along to the music with makeshift instruments. I was amazed at the natural rhythm they had, all doing a different beat yet all coming together like pieces in a jigsaw. Needless to say there were a few herbal transactions going on but the crew were a little dismayed to hear we would be docking in Avonmouth. It was renowned as a HMC&E training place and it was common for ships to get ripped apart by the rummagers. The crew decided it was going to be one hell of a party on the Atlantic crossing.

Unfortunately the Atlantic had other ideas and once again showed us its ire. A 7-10 day crossing took us 17 days and never were we so glad to see England again even though it was a shock to the system. We had come from summer in the southern hemisphere to winter in England with no autumnal cushion in between. I had no intention of staying home long, I needed more sunshine.

Salad Days.13

I was to become eternally grateful I joined my next ship as an EDH and was no longer considered a boy rating. My 18th birthday was a week before I joined the ship and it couldn't have come at a better time. The crew of the last ship were in the main easy-going, hippiesque (I made that word up but you get the gist). The crew of this one were mostly drunken brawlers, the stereotypical seamen in the eyes of many shoresiders. Of course I didn't know that immediately but it became apparent very quickly. If I were given the choice of repeating the experience, would I? Hard to say, probably. I think the positives outweighed the negatives on a personal level. 

The trip would certainly be eventful. Joining in Brest, everything seemed normal. The first thing I noticed was the crew all came from different places. One Geordie, one Jock, one Scouse, etc. I joked afterwards that the Federation had taken the worst arsehole from every pool in the country and stuck them on this ship. The ship itself was a 53,000 tonnes bulk carrier. It was huge compared to my last ship but not in the same league as the supertanker. It was a rust-bucket and maybe my conspiracy theory was not far from the truth.

We went ashore en masse in Brest and the crew were already boisterous, pushing and shoving each other. It was a popular game, as someone with you approaches a lamp-post or sign-post, they would be given a nudge so they walked into it. I wasn't participating but that didn't mean I wouldn't be a victim. With a little help from Scouse I walked smack into a pole. It was cold and I had my hands in my pockets so I caught it full on and felt a lump rising on my head.

Everyone carried on and the laughter died down, then I saw it. There was a dead rat in the kerb and the others ignored it. Walking at the back to avoid anymore injury, I saw a chance of revenge. I picked up the rat and threw it as hard as I could. Bullseye! It hit Scouse on the back of the head so hard it knocked him forward. When everybody saw the rat the were decking it, holding their stomachs as they laughed so loud it hurt. Scouse didn't laugh, he rubbed his head and looked at me angrily. I just stood there smiling and I put a finger to my forehead where the lump was. He scowled and turned away.

Apart from a minor scuffle between Paddy and an engine room guy, there was no trouble ashore. The problem occurred in the dock itself. Half a dozen fork-lifts were parked up for the night and all the keys were in the ignitions. It was too much of a temptation and races were organised. The fork-lifts didn't exactly go fast but when you had your pedal to the metal they were really hard to steer in a straight line. I have to admit watching the antics was very funny and yes, I did have a go. It was funny right up to the point the deck-boy after being bumped by another driver headed straight off the quay and into the dock. Everybody dashed to look what became of him. When we saw his treading water we started laughing. Luckily he was close to a ladder, the water was freezing.

The next night we went ashore but all split into pairs, it was clear this crew wasn't going to get along. As I came back with Tommy, a steward from Norwich who was barely a year older than me, I noticed a number of black cars. They weren't there the night before and the windows were blacked out. It had to be because of the antics last night. They were probably wanting to know where the other fork-lift was. I couldn't wait to get away from France. In truth it wasn't just France, I wanted shot of Europe, I'd just had nearly a year of summers. Unfortunately we were headed to Antwerp and London first.

Antwerp wasn't particularly thrilling as most stayed in the same pairs. It was a quiet night as a result. There had already been a couple of scuffles on board but both times Paddy was involved. He was very pugnacious and fearless, thankfully he was just average height and quite thin so he wasn't a major threat to anyone. He catch-phrase was "What'll you do?" (in an Irish accent) and was usually by someone saying 'don't...' or 'stop...', if they made a threat Paddy would spring into action. I couldn't decide what Paddy liked more, hitting or being hit.

In London we docked at an almost deserted Millwall Dock. The only ship in was A Russian one on the far side of the dock. Thatcher's sell out and dismantling of the merchant navy was already in full swing. Soon seamanship would disappear from our island nation. The best trained seamen in the world would no longer be required when so many cheap imports were available. The government allowed British companies to register in 3rd world countries so they didn't have to meet the strict safety guidelines laid down by the Lloyd's Register insurers. Safety of crew / passengers is not of great importance.

Outside the dock gates it was just a short walk through the deserted streets until we found a pub. At lunch hour we all frequented the pub, even though we had cheaper beer on board. It was just good to get off the ship. There was a stripper every lunchtime laid on by the landlord, it was a piece of genius with all the drunken lechers in attendance. I could relate an incident in which the poor deck boy was 'educated' by the stripper on the pool table, but I'm trying to avoid an 18+ label for this series. Besides which, a repetition today could see criminal charges brought against the crew (and the stripper), though I doubt the deck-boy would press charges.

Finally we left cold and miserable London and were headed south-west on route to Lisbon. the company were keeping their cards close to their chest when informing us of our next port of call. It should have aroused some suspicion but it was quite common for tramp ships. We had no thoughts beyond Lisbon anyway. Still there was no sign of what was to come as all the seamen congregated in the Texas Bar. I remembered  that bar on subsequent visits over the years but whilst it kept its name it changed its identity.

I suppose the presence of available women was a pacifier and I was lulled into a false sense of security. There was much more to Lisbon than just the Texas Bar but we only had an overnight stay on this occasion, giving me no time to explore, We sailed into the Mediterranean and took bunkers in Malta without major incident and whilst there were no scuffles the volume of arguments increased. The constant squabbling over trivia was beginning to get to me and one night I turned the sound system in the bar onto max to drown them out. A big Geordie donkey-greaser came rushing into the bar and ripped the machine out of the wall.
"Who the fuck turned that up?" he demanded and everyone looked at me.
"I did" I said defiantly.

Some of you may think I was extremely brave but I'd already been grassed up by everyone looking at me so I had to stand firm and deny and look a coward. The donkey-greaser stormed over me and launched a verbal tirade at me as I stood looking at him impassively. We were almost touching noses but I wasn't going to back away. When he finally ran out of expletives I said softly:
"Have you got a problem?"

The confused look he gave me would have been comical if I hadn't shat my pants. I could see his mind working out what to do next.
"Aaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh!!!" he yelled then turned and stomped out of the bar.

It was a close call but worth the risk, the crew were still looking at me in stunned silence. I should thank the donkey-greaser, it would be a long time before anyone picked on me. They imagined I was a lunatic or some sort of martial arts expert. Suez Canal was next, I hoped it would give me the same feeling as Panama had.

Salad Days.14

If I thought of the Panama Canal as the stairway to heaven, the Suez Canal was the gateway to hell, at least it felt that way for me. I was fascinated by Egypt and the ancient monuments such as the Sphinx and pyramids. Port Said had none of those. I would find out on later voyages it was a very typical North African port. One point of interest however, is the fact Port Said is one of only two cities in the world that span two continents as Africa meets Asia. The other is Istanbul spanning Europe and Asia.

The overall memory of Port Said wasn't a particularly good one for me. I went ashore with four others and almost immediately a gang of kids followed, just as they had in South America. These were more vocal though and knew a little English. Maybe they only knew one phrase which they repeated over and over "Give me money, give me money". There were about a dozen kids ranging in age from about 6 to 14 years old. I could see the guys I was with getting agitated, so I stepped in.
"I know a trick to get rid of them" I said softly and collected all the coins we had between us.

Throwing the coins in the air, we hurried away. When we looked back I was shocked at what I saw. In Peru as soon as a kid touched a coin it was his, regardless of age or size. These Egyptian kids were punching and kicking each other, the bigger kids taking the coins from the smaller ones. We watched the mass brawl I had inadvertently sparked with the gesture and the guys I was with looked at me in disbelief.
"Wow! You are ruthless" one said.
"But I.... but...." I struggled for words as I realised the other crew members thought I knew a mass brawl between the kids would take place.

In Suez we had to take the 'bum-boats' on board. I asked an AB why they were called 'bum-boats'
"Because the Suez Canal is the arsehole of the Mediterranean" he said.
"And we're just passing through?" I ventured but he didn't get it.

I'm not really sure what purpose the bum-boats were as I was never on watch to actually see them serve any purpose. I was told they were something to do with the pilotage through the Canal. All I knew was the ship had been taken over by Egyptians trying to sell all manner of things. There were copper looking ash-trays but in time the sheen wore off. All the goods were poor quality but for us younger crew members they were invaluable mementos. We were told to keep the Egyptians out of the accommodation because they would nick anything that wasn't nailed down.

Walking past the deck-boy's cabin we looked in and saw the boy with his trousers round his ankles and an Egyptian guy with a tape measure knelt in front of him.
"What's going on?" the AB I was with asked.
"He's measuring me up for some underpants" the deck-boy replied.
"He's feeling you up for a cheap thrill" the AB snorted then turned to the Egyptian "Fuck off, not allowed here!"

The Egyptian guy made a hasty exit and the AB told the boy to pull his pants up and get up on deck.
"And lock your door unless you want to lose all your stuff"

It was about an hour later we went back into the accommodation and saw the deck-boy had not only forgotten to lock his door, he left it wide open.
"Give me a hand" the AB said.

We stripped the deck-boy's cabin, even taking his mattress and the light bulbs, and stowed all the stuff in the laundry room locker. When the deck boy saw his cabin had been ransacked he burst into tears and I started to feel sorry for him but was stopped from telling what really happened. 'It will do him good' the AB had assured me and we kept it up for two days before giving the boy his stuff back. He didn't thank us.

One Egyptian guy who was allowed in the accommodation, under supervision, was the Gilly-Gilly man who called himself Jock McGregor. He could mimic Scottish, Scouse and Cockney accents depending where the ship was registered. 'Jock' showed us magic tricks involving chicks and cups similar to a cup and ball routine. He was very good and the whole time he performed he repeated 'gilly, gilly, gilly'.

The journey through the Canal was fascinating in its own way but didn't have a patch on Panama. It felt odd sailing through the middle of a desert. and I saw a few burnt out tanks but there was very little else to see. At the time the only place for northbound and southbound traffic to pass was in the Great Bitter Lake about two thirds of the way through the Canal. The convoys would pass and continue their journey north or south.

As we came out the other end, the waters of the Red Sea gave no indication of what was to come. Up to this point the crew were almost tolerable, all that was to change quite quickly. After stopping for bunkers in Jeddah we found out what the orders were. Most had been expecting to go to the Far East, when it was announced we would be going to the Persian Gulf the mood changed significantly.

I was unconcerned, I'd been there before, it wasn't that bad. If  I knew then what I know now my mood would have changed too.

Salad Days.15

The rest of the crew baulked at the news we were going to the Persian Gulf, it was clear they didn't relish the prospect. I was upbeat however. Even though I suspected there wouldn't be a lot of fun to be had after my experiences in Saudi and the UAE, I was happy to know we would be visiting Iran. My joy was simplistic, it just meant another country I could tick off the list in my quest to visit as many as possible.

Sky blue waters seemed to be a feature of the Red Sea, mirroring the cloudless sky above. A calm had settled over the ship but the foreboding was ever present. We stopped in Jeddah for bunkers but once again Saudi Arabian soil was uninviting and elusive. We were a mere 80 miles from Mecca but like my visit to Israel, I felt nothing. Jeddah wasn't a total washout though. The barge that came alongside was crewed by Somali's and one had a huge bag of weed. In hindsight it was only that weed that later prevented wholesale slaughter on board.           

Emerging into the Arabian Sea the waters changed suddenly. The sea was dark blue, almost black, but the sun remained high in the sky beating down on us relentlessly, sapping strength. In a couple of days we entered the Persian Gulf and once again the waters turned sky blue and alluring.

The heat became stifling as we headed to our port of call, Bandar Shahpour (now known as Bandar-e Emam Khomeyni) in Iran. Three new crew members came aboard by launch as we had to wait a few days before a berth would be free in the port. One of those was the new deck-boy and I immediately felt sorry for the poor lad. He looked pretty much as I did at sixteen..... twelve. On another ship he would have been fine but with this crew there was always going to be problems.

I was reminded of my own naivety when I saw the new deck-boy. He was wearing a suit, just as I had when joining the super-tanker, beads of sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes causing him to blink. As he came on board just as we were leaving.
"Come on lad" the big Geordie donkey-greaser said "Put your bags inside quick, we're just gannin' ashore"

The deck-boy, whose name we learned was Jim, scurried off into the accommodation and unceremoniously dumped his bags and jacket the first place he found space. He looked to be pleased at being included immediately but I had an uneasy feeling. On the launch Jim attracted attention of a dubious kind from the local crew members. Seeing this one of the AB's grabbed Jim around the waste and picked him up, bending him over. Another AB pulled Jim's pants exposing the boy's buttocks/under the watchful eye of the launch's captain.
"How much?" the first AB asked giving Jim's bum a pat.

You could see the look in the captain's eye as he tried to figure out if the AB was being serious or not. He decided to take a chance.
"Ninety Rials" he offered.

Jim was squirming when his pants were pulled down but on hearing the offer being made, his attempts to get away from the AB became frenzied and he escaped, tripping over in his haste to get away and pull his pants up at the same time. We were laughing hysterically but Jim wasn't amused and the launch captain looked confused.

We found a bar but only stayed for one drink. It was small and very hot. We quickly found out the best place to drink was in the hotels. The incident on the launched had caused a lot of hilarity so it became a standing joke that in every hotel we went to we would try to sell the boy. By about the fourth hotel Jim had begun to relax, or more accurately was drunk. He even bent over and showed prospective buyers his buttocks without any prompting. And there was no shortage of interested parties.

Maybe it was because I was closest in age to Jim, or perhaps it was due to me being one of the few not trying to sell him, I don't know, but Jim seemed to trust me.
"They're not really going to sell me are they?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yeah they are" I told him "They're just waiting for the best price"

I know but hey, I couldn't resist it. Pretty soon afterwards Jim was out for the count anyway. It was the first time he had ever drunk beer and couldn't handle it. 

At the time it never really struck me because as a seaman, our lewd behaviour seemed absolutely normal, but later I thought of the hypocrisy. In these middle-eastern countries homosexuality was illegal, even punishable by death. Yet here we were offering a lad for sale with no shortage of prospective buyers. The manner in which it was done was making it clear it would be for sexual purposes, so how were these interested parties so brazen in a country where the punishment was so severe? It didn't make sense to me.

Eventually we made our way back to the launch - carrying Jim - and all a little worse for the wear. It may have seemed callous but the lad was never in any danger. The real danger came when back on board the ship. Some of the AB's made Jim some sandwiches to eat and were stuffing them in his mouth as his head lolled about.

"Come on lad, eat something it will make you feel better"

They meant well but were very drunk and I had visions of Jim choking to death. I nudged one of the stewards.
"Let's get him out of here before the silly bastards kill him"

Nobody objected when the two us carried Jim out of the messroom and down to his cabin. We just managed to get him on his bunk - which would have been a lot easier had we not been so drunk ourselves - when Jim started puking everywhere. He was throwing his head side to side and projectile vomit was spread far and wide. Just as we were leaving his cabin the 2nd Mate walked passed and saw him.
"You can't leave him like that, he'll choke on his own vomit. You've got to turn him on his side" the 2nd Mate told us.

The three of us looked at Jim from the relative safety of his doorway as a scene from the Exorcist was being re-enacted.
"Okay" I said to the 2nd Mate "If you're so concerned, you shift him"

There was a pause as we all looked at Jim again. Jeez how much puke could be in a lad that size. It showed no signs of letting up.
"He should be okay" the 2nd Mate said finally and we shut the door.

We left the next morning headed for Cape Town for further orders. There were several ports of call we had in the Persian Gulf but Iraq had a huge queue of ships waiting at anchor for their turn to traverse the Shatt al-Arab waterways on the journey to Basrah. The idea was to register in the queue then sneak off to the other ports before returning further up the queue.

It was a reasonable idea but didn't really help much as you will see in the next post.