Salad Days.02

The first thing that struck me when I stepped aboard the super-tanker was how many skinheads there were on board. There were at least eight crew members with shaved heads and it was a little unsettling, not because they looked like skinheads, more because they looked liked mental asylum inmates. We sailed to Ras Tanura in Saudi Arabia but nobody went ashore. The deep water berths to accommodate the huge ships were well away from civilisation. Besides anything else we wouldn't have been able to get a beer anyway. There was strictly no alcohol in Saudi Arabia. It took just three days to load and we were under way.

It was quite a new experience sailing on such a big ship. There was very little pitch and roll even in bad weather, the ship sliced through waves effortlessly. The problem was when out on deck. Other ships would hurl some spray at you but on this ship when a wave broke over the bow a wall of water came rushing at you. At intervals all along the ship were 'bus-shelters' to jump into when a wave hit, the danger of being washed over the side was very real. We sailed through the Straits of Hormuz and headed south into the Indian Ocean.

I soon found out the 'skinheads' were those who 'crossed the line' for the first time. The line was the equator and sea-farers had a tradition in honour of King Neptune. Part of this involved shaving the head. The ceremonies varied considerably from ship to ship and mine was of a pretty mundane type. In a future post I will intimate one of the more 'interesting' ceremonies I witnessed.

We were bound for Cape Town where we would take on stores before sailing up the west coast of Africa. My memories of the passage through the Indian Ocean are hazy as I spent a good portion of it laid up. The first problem I had was heat exhaustion but at least it made the sunburn tolerable. We worked in just a pair of shorts but unlike the others I hadn't acclimatised. They had sailed into the heat over the course of weeks, I had flown into it in hours. Nor had I a suntan whilst all the others were brown as berries. Foolishly I tried to hurry my tan along and was quite badly burned.

I barely noticed, I was too busy falling asleep. The other mistake I had made was not taking salt tablets. Having never worked in such heat before I didn't realise the importance and as I didn't like taking tablets, I didn't bother. It probably contributed to me getting heat exhaustion. That was a weird experience but not entirely unpleasant. It was in effect like narcolepsy as I would just randomly fall asleep.

It could happen any time but as much as it was funny, to a degree, it was also quite dangerous. A few times I fell asleep standing up and on separate falls I injured a knee and cracked my head open. I was lucky it wasn't more serious. By the time we reached Cape Town I was somewhere near normal - as normal as I get anyway - and I looked longingly at the shore. We had only rare sights of land since we left the Arabian Sea and not this close up. Table Mountain was probably the catalyst for my obsession with climbing mountains.

Mountains were visible from the sea when no other land was in sight. For a seaman they were beacons, lures, the promise of terra firma and respite from the constant motion of the ship.

The stores were loaded from launches off Cape Town and looking out over the sea it looked flat calm. It was deceptive. This was where the Indian and Atlantic Oceans met, causing massive swells even when all appears calm. The lack of white water lulled us into a false sense of security but as we sat drifting the ship began to roll ominously. The Cape Rollers pushed us one way then we righted in the trough before another huge swell pushed us back once again.

This rhythmic rocking on such a huge ship wasn't unsettling though it made loading the stores entertaining. The problem came when every so often as the rolling built up momentum, we became out of sync with the swell and a roller would break over the deck. In my youth it was an adrenaline rush getting thrown across the deck or hanging on to a handrail for dear life. We always kept a wary eye out for one breaking over the deck and could usually tell when it would happen. There was then the mad dash for the bus-shelters. Inevitably one or two of us would be caught out and the others would laugh. It was great fun as long as nobody died.

[I did go ashore in Cape Town another time and will include it in a future post]

Working on the 12-4 watch was when I really started to become interested in the stars and constellations. Midnight to four in the morning was the perfect time for it too. I was fascinated by the new stars I had never seen before. It was my first time in the southern hemisphere and I had never seen the Milky Way like this before. I wanted to know everything and was fortunate the officer on watch was an expert navigator and willing teacher. This sparked my interest with the celestial bodies. Others said watch-keeping was boring but I would have happily paid for the experience.

The ship developed some engine problems and we anchored off Fuerteventura to get divers down. We lowered a floating pontoon for the divers to work off and three of us tended them. It was good, the weather was bright sunshine and the sea calm. We drank beer as the divers worked. The sea was inviting and we swam around happily, despite being told about the Hammerhead sharks. The divers had mentioned there were a few but we only saw one. We had assumed because the divers were in the water with them, these weird looking fish were harmless. It pays not to assume, we were later told they can be dangerous but they left us alone.

The Straits of Gibraltar were the next highlight. Only 18 miles separated the continents of Africa and Europe at this point. On the port side was Gibraltar looking like an island and to starboard were the Atlas mountains. We entered the Mediterranean Sea bound for Italy where for the first time in a couple of months my feet would be on dry land. Or so I thought.

Salad Days.03

Savona was the first port we docked at since leaving Saudi Arabia. As we didn't even get ashore there it had been four months since the other crew members had been off the ship. Joining in Dubai it had only been a couple of months for me. Sights of land were at a premium. The ship was generally 50 miles from the coast at a minimum, so we had just occasional glimpses of the great continent of Africa off our starboard side. The Straits of Gibraltar were like a welcome mat guiding us back to civilisation from the vast ocean. For a time, the Dark Continent remained a mystery to me. As we sailed into the port of Savona the Chief Steward asked me for my inoculation certificates.
"Umm, didn't know I needed any"

At the merchant navy office they assumed I knew I would need injections so neglected to tell me about it. My stay in the UAE was the only time I had touched foreign soil (sand) but it was enough to cause quite a stir among the Italians. A medical team came on board with white disposable overalls and masks. It seemed a bit overkill, if I had any disease I should have died from it in the two months since leaving the Gulf. Nevertheless I was given a number of injections and told I was quarantined for three days. It was a real kick in the teeth watching everybody going ashore and coming back with tales of mayhem and debauchery.

Merchant seamen always had a bad name in polite society, but shore-siders didn't realise it took a special mentality to go to sea. It may seem an exciting life, and it was. When it was good there was no better life. Travelling to distant lands, seeing new sights, climates, and cultures. When it was bad there was nothing worse. A floating prison tossed around in a hurricane, half an ocean away from dry land. You try to sleep on the deck of your cabin so as not to get tossed from your bunk, but it's impossible. Like trying to sleep on a roller coaster. This can last for days on end and you are constantly aware of your own insignificance, your inability to effect change. It is a truly humbling experience. Is it any wonder then that seamen are so rambunctious when hitting land.

We sailed, but thankfully it was just a short jaunt to Genova where I would finally get ashore. I did that all right, and before anybody else. We had just tied up and were taking bond on board (cigarettes and alcohol). Making a human chain we manhandled the boxes to the store. Some of the cigarette boxes had a steel band around them and inevitably I managed to slice my finger. It was a good one, right down to the bone, and an ambulance was called.

It took an hour and a half to arrive and despite all the dressings I had lost a lot of blood. I knew that because I was starting to feel light-headed, almost drunk. With my background I was no stranger to hospitals but the one in Italy was vastly different to ones I'd 'visited' before. There were kids running around unsupervised and a couple of people had their dogs with them. It just seemed chaotic. When I was taken in to be stitched up they insisted I lay out on a table as they did it, despite the injury being to my finger..

I wanted to see what they were doing and tried to look.but a nurse turned my head back. In the end the doctor said something and she let me watch. The doctor then said something else I didn't understand and she left the room. She came back seconds later with a woman who had a cut over the bridge of her nose. The woman looked worried and I assume they brought her in to see by my lack of concern, having stitches was nothing to worry about.

Eventually they let me go and the city was now mine to explore. I had a couple of hours before the rest of the crew would be ashore so I headed to the bar nearest the dock gate. It was always a starting point. This was also known by the local bar owners and they were geared up to cater for visiting seamen. Due to my age and appearance I always worried about getting beer at first, but never had a problem abroad. I don't know if the laws were different or whether it was just because I spoke a different language but I was never refused a beer. In the bar I was quickly pounced on by a lady of ill-repute and though never my intent, negotiations were entered into. The experience was not one I would want to repeat, it just felt sordid.*

*it was also quite amusing.... after the fact

The crew eventually arrived - shortly after I didn't - and we set down to some serious drinking, and a lot of raucous singing. When we were all turfed out of the cells at 6am the next morning, I was still in a daze. Memories of the previous evening were hazy at best. It was like the blood-loss had given the alcohol added potency. We were all arrested when riot police with white batons came charging into the bar after a dispute. I vaguely remember being bundled into a van with the others at gunpoint but nothing else. It transpired that during the day we were being charged at a cheaper rate for beer than after 7pm, the sudden price rise caused the unrest.

The next morning we were let out but the police weren't stupid, they were letting us out one at a time at 20 minute intervals. I stumbled around the early morning streets of Genova without a clue of where I was or where to go. As I walked past a building the door was slightly ajar. Still dazed and needing more sleep I went inside and saw stairs rising in front of me. They were somehow inviting so I closed the door and lay on the stairs, falling asleep instantly. A pounding at the door woke me and I opened it to find a very angry looking Italian gentleman holding a newspaper. He must have popped to the shop quickly and felt no need to close his door.

He shouted and gesticulated as I walked past him and stumbled down the road.

On a subsequent visit to Italy a few years later, I was in a bar when I saw my friend from school. At first we just kept glancing at each other thinking it unlikely to see the other in such an obscure location. In the end my curiosity got the better of me and I went over to him. It mirrored an incident in Gibraltar (and later New Zealand) proving it is indeed a small world.

The ship left Italy on the return journey to Saudi Arabia for another load of oil. I was sad to leave the sky blue water of the Mediterranean for the dark blue water of the Atlantic. As we passed the Canary Islands hundreds of birds* descended on the ship. It was strange and at first quite a wonderful sight but the ship moved out of range of the islands and the birds were stranded. Despite our efforts of putting out bread and water they started dying. The spectacle had turned to tragedy as we shovelled hundreds of dead birds over the side of the ship.

*the birds were canaries which were named after the islands not the other way round. The islands were named from the Latin canis - dog 'isle of dogs'

We stopped for stores again in Cape Town then headed into the Indian Ocean bound for the Persian Gulf. Dubai was our final destination before flying home via Kuwait and Athens. For a first trip deep sea, it was a relatively uneventful start when I consider what was to follow.

Salad Days.04

On reflection I was glad I did the supertanker first, I didn't know it then but one decent run ashore in nearly 7 months was enough to induce cabin fever among many seamen. My naivety and adaptability, as well as my fascination with anything new, made the whole experience quite interesting. The next ship was the real deal though.

In direct contrast to the 250,000 tonne leviathan I left behind in Dubai, the next ship was a mere 6,600 tonnes. The composition crew were only fewer in number by three and it was like scaling down from a pigeon coop to a budgie cage. The cabins were much smaller and the atmosphere vastly different. This ship was to be a real adventure and would connect me with the rest of the world in ways the other could not.

Up until this point I felt a foreigner in a foreign land whenever I ventured from my island home. It felt that as a Brit I was somehow different to the rest of the world, whereas in reality we are all just people. Our trials and tribulations may vary considerably but on a grass roots level we are all the same. The adventure would begin in London just as the last one had, but it was different this time.

Instead of finding myself in a plush west end hotel to be taken to the airport by taxi in the morning, I found myself under the steps of the merchant navy federation building in the east end of London. The problem was that although I lived pretty close to London I still needed a train to get there and the coach for the airport. Having been told the coach would depart from the merchant navy building at 6am I knew I would have to spend a cold night on the streets of London. There was a train that was early enough but any delay whatsoever and I would miss the flight.

At this time I was only 17 years old but I had lived on the streets and the prospect of sleeping rough held no fear for me. It was a minor irritation, nothing more. Near the federation building was a pub and I tried to buy a beer but they wouldn't serve me. Okay I was a year under the legal drinking age but the main problem was my appearance. I still only looked like a kid even though my last growth spurt had finally begun. A man who looked to be in his late twenties watched me leave the pub and followed me out. I noticed him but didn't realise I was the object of interest as I trudged back to my resting place for the night.

The man saw me sit on the steps with my rucksack and must have thought I was homeless. I had learnt from the last ship to travel light and carried only the bare minimum. He approached me.

"I know a pub that'll serve you if you want to get out of the cold" he ventured in a thick Irish accent.

"I'm okay, I just wanted to kill some time" I told him in a rather offhand manner.

My disability had made me look at people differently. If I couldn't hear a person properly I had to learn to read them in other ways. I trusted my instincts. Only twice would they fail me when it came to people so it was wise to obey them. 'Micky', as he introduced himself, I felt I could trust. It was the early days though and I was a little cautious, Micky was bigger and maybe stronger than me but my youthful appearance belied an inner strength. The element of surprise always helped if things went wrong.

We went to another pub nearby and chatted away over a couple of beers. The more we talked the more at ease I felt. Micky had thought I was on the street and offered me a place for the night but I told him I was flying out to a ship in the morning. I went back with Micky that night and an impromptu party took place. Micky was married but his wife didn't seem at all surprised when he brought me back with him. A lady from next door came in and Micky started playing the guitar.

It felt much like when I was taken in by those wonderful people who briefly entered my life when I needed a friend most (see Tribute). I still had this thing where I hated being treated like a kid. My thoughts were confused. I wanted to recapture the childhood I felt was stolen from me yet wanted to be treated as an adult. The neighbour lady, 'Joss' (Jocelyn?) was attractive and seemed to like me. This was confirmed when Micky announced he and his wife were going to bed.

"It's half past four, I have to go in an hour" I whined.

Quite selfishly, I thought they had stayed up and partied this long, another hour wouldn't hurt. It would be fatal if I went to sleep now. 

"Just gives you and Joss enough time to get better acquainted then" Micky said with a smirk and he and his wife left the room.

Ever the idiot I didn't know what he meant, until I looked at Joss. She had that look in her eye I had seen before from a couple of older ladies. Coy but predatory. Just over an hour later I was hurrying out the door to get back to the rendezvous point. 

"Come and see me when you get back" Joss said and kissed my forehead like I was suddenly a child again.

It was odd that I found it irritating but I didn't understand things back then. I smacked her bum cheekily and promised I would see her again. The short distance back to the federation building was a blur. The sun hadn't risen yet but the twilight gave that eerie, yet oddly comforting feeling I only ever had in London. It was a special city indeed. The other new crew members were already gathering outside the federation and I was immediately labelled 'Moonie' as I floated on air whistling all the while. They suspected I had some kind of mental disability and in hindsight they had a point. It was cold and everybody was tired and only half awake but I was smiling from ear to ear and on top of the world. Clearly insane.

The coach took us from London to Gatwick Airport as the flight to Brest in France was little more than a domestic flight in distance. I had a window seat overlooking a wing. There appeared to be a rivet missing which I promptly pointed out to the stewardess. She whispered in my ear.

"Don't worry sir, there are another 19,999 keeping it on"

In contrast to the Jumbo Jets I had flown on, this plane had propellers and my concerns over the missing rivet were amplified as I experienced the worst turbulence I would ever witness on any flight. The plane just suddenly seemed to free-fall like being dropped through a trap door then bounce as if on an invisible trampoline. It was disconcerting more because I had never experienced even slight turbulence before and didn't know what was going on. The relief was evident on the faces of everybody when we bounced uncertainly on the tarmac of Brest airport little more than an hour later.

The first sight of the ship was a lot different to seeing the supertanker for the first time. I wouldn't say it was underwhelming, I had just expected it to be bigger. Although it was the same gross tonnage as the ferry boats I had worked on, being a cargo ship it was a lot smaller in size. The appeal for me was the layout, this was a real ship. It wasn't some gigantic floating oil refinery, nor was it a hollow box-like ferry boat. This had derricks, cranes and cargo holds. Up until now I had been a glorified painter and decorator but now I would be a real seaman.

Salad Days.05

I had seen the English Channel and North Sea in all their magnificent fury but up to this point had yet to witness the wrath of the oceans. The Bay of Biscay had its own notoriety as it marked the end of the continental shelf and formed a bottle-neck for the incoming Gulf Stream. The depth of water plummets from 120 to 3,000 metres in just a few miles. This of course stirs up surface waters without warning. On this occasion the sea was remarkably clement and gave no indication of what was to come.

The crew was younger than on the last ship and I felt less of a kid.  I was still third youngest but most were only a little older. Of course I was immature enough to want to show my worldly wisdom. I had been deep water now, I wasn't just a rock-dodging car park attendant as ferrymen were disdainfully referred to by 'proper' seamen. Unfortunately my 'wisdom' didn't befit my self-assuredness and a tactical silence was key to avoiding the teasing heaped on the more naive youngsters. I would laugh along with the others despite not knowing what was amusing.

All in all it was a good crew and the spirits were high, that changed a couple of days out. The weather turned for the worst and this was a far cry from the stability of the supertanker. We were tossed around like peas in a hamster ball as the small cargo ship pitched and rolled every second of every day. There was a subdued silence amid all this chaos, nerves jangled but tempers were kept in check by fear. We were all in this together and we might need the man standing next to us. I was excited at first but when the hurricane hit and sleep was impossible, it felt I was being battered into submission.

Fear wasn't as much of an issue with me as with the others. My fear receptors were defective, or maybe I just felt an affinity with the sea. The sea was my salvation, my sustenance, without it I had no life to speak of. Not a life I wanted anyway, it hadn't done me any favours so far. A sudden crash and all the lights went off, alarm bells reverberated around the ship, I didn't move. I had learnt to ignore the alarm bells. They usually signified engine failure or some other engine room related problem, there was nothing I could do except get in the way.

Sleep was fitful so it made no real difference. The voyage across the Atlantic should have taken 7-10 days but a week had passed and we were barely halfway to the Americas. It was at the height of the storm I was called up to the wheelhouse for a four hour stint at the wheel. Words were in short supply and fear was evident in the eyes of seamen and officers alike. The deck-boy was on the bridge as a look-out and his cheeks were tear-stained. The haggard seaman on the wheel was only too eager to hand over the responsibility.

Under normal circumstances the ship would have been on automatic steering, it was impossible in this weather. If the set steering strayed more than ten degrees off course the alarms would sound, a single swell would spin  the head around 15-20 degrees. That was the problem with crossing the Atlantic east to west, the swells always hit on the beam. The ship rolling was more unnerving than waves breaking over the bow. There was the feeling it might not right itself and capsize. We hadn't had a hot meal for days as it was impossible to cook, not that anyone had an appetite.

The sea is an unforgiving animal and it's unwise to take liberties or underestimate the power of its mood swings. On a bright day when the surface was like glass, it was the most serene and calming feeling I had ever experienced. I would recommend it to anyone. At times like this it took a special person to endure it.

Taking the wheel I was immediately thrown off balance. It took a moment to adjust my legs to the rolling. I would bend one knee and straighten the other leg to stay upright. As the ship rolled I counteracted rhythmically, almost as though I were dancing with Poseidon himself. In the cold light of day I could see the nature of the beast. The 100 foot swells were like a vast wall of water looking for all the world about to swallow us up without even the necessity to belch. Then it would suddenly rise up beneath us, tantalisingly dangling the ship on the edge of a precipice. I began to hum.

My words were deliberately unintelligible, I didn't want the others to think me crazy. I muttered soothingly to the ocean "you're my friend, I know you won't hurt us, don't be angry" and the like. The others looked at me dancing and humming, my worries about appearing a little mad were too late. Just my perceived happy demeanour was enough to certify me. Then something strange happened. The storm began to abate, sunshine broke through the clouds ahead and suddenly life was looking brighter.

The sea taught me many lessons over time. It taught me my own insignificance and humility. It taught me fear is most often worse than reality and worry is counter-productive. I spent many hours on watch, staring at the horizon looking for land or other shipping. We spend our lives chasing horizons but they are unattainable, like the end of a rainbow. All they do is give us an indication on the course we should steer to achieve our individual goals. Horizons shift though, they are not a constant.

In bad weather or fog, the horizons all but vanish and the way ahead is hidden or obscured. It is the same in life. Circumstances beyond our control may cause us to deviate from our path. In such times it is important to focus, bend into the weather and press on regardless, trusting to fate. The storm will abate and the horizon will once again show us the way. It was there all the time, we just lost sight of it for a while.

Salad Days.06

The calm blue waters of the Caribbean were a favourable first impression, especially after the open hostility of the Atlantic Ocean. The Caribbean had its moods as well but the knowledge land was never far too away gave a perhaps misguided feeling of safety. We were headed for the Panama Canal and I was really excited even though I didn't know much about it back then. I had joined in with the teasing of the galley boy but was equally in the dark, I was just as naive but not daft enough to let on.

The crew had told him stories about the Canal and I listened, though pretended not to. They explained how the Canal had locks where mules towed the ships through to the other side. He was encouraged to save left over vegetables to feed to the mules, something he did with great enthusiasm. He kept saying about the mules to me, asking if they bite. How the hell did I know.
"I suppose they might by accident if you got your fingers too close" I speculated.

A passing seaman was grinning as he walked behind the galley boy giving me the thumbs up and a wink. He obviously thought I was in on the joke and I smiled back conspiratorially. Cristobal was the city on the Atlantic side of the canal and we had an overnight stay before traversing the canal zone. The weather was perfect and all the tensions among the crew had lifted. We docked and after work went ashore. It would be unfair to say I hadn't enjoyed my times ashore before Panama, I enjoyed everything new ....even getting shot at. I felt I wanted to see and experience as much of life as possible, even bad things had a place. Life is a learning process and there is no better teacher than personal experience.

The street where we were walking, looked almost like a post apocalyptic New York. The buildings were huge multi-storey blocks of grey stone, although the poor street lighting may have given that effect. Between each building was a narrow alleyway, dark and threatening. Looking down these alleys the far end was fenced off, there was one way in and one way out. I made a mental note not to run up an alley if chased. People were hanging about on street corners and watching us carefully. My decision to go ashore with those closest my own age was a mistake. The three of us must have looked like little kids and once again I silently cursed my youthful appearance.

At home it meant I couldn't get served in pubs even though all my friends were, now I worried I looked weak and easy meat for a robber. We had been given warnings about the city being noted for violence and street robberies. The bar where we had been told to meet the others was up ahead and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. The Moro Bar or 'Boite el Moro' as the sign said, went some way to healing my problem with my appearance. The bat-wing doors suddenly flew open and we froze as a crowd rushed out the door straight at us. We were bout to panic until we realised they were all girls.
They surrounded us and guided us inside the door, all pulling at us and squabbling over who would 'pop our cherries'. I have to say it was one of the strangest but exhilarating experiences of my life. This was my first experience of the 'good-time girls' and I drank and danced long into the night. At the end of the night we had all spent up when the older crew members were negotiating with other girls. I was disappointed but also a little relieved I had no money left, I remembered Italy and didn't want to spoil one of the best nights I'd ever had with a somewhat sordid experience.

The three of us rose to leave but the girls wouldn't let us. We explained we had no money left but they were convinced we were virgins (especially as that was what the crew members told them), and in truth we looked the part with our fresh faces that had never seen a razor. This made us highly-prized and a fee wasn't required. I won't go into specifics but it was the perfect end to a perfect night and a far cry from Genova. The next morning we dashed back to the ship and were spotted coming back. Everybody gathered and looked at us laughing and cat-calling, they knew what had happened. For once we didn't mind the teasing.

Going through the canal was the icing on the cake. I loved the scenery as the waterway meandered through jungle and even a mountain. There was Panama State Penitentiary, and a plaque commemorating all those who died in the construction of the canal. At the other end was the Puntas des Americas the only connection (at the time) between the two continents. In between were two sets of locks, and of course the mules. The joke on the galley boy had been the fact the 'mules' were large locomotive engines on tracks, not the four-legged variety he (and I) was expecting.

In my travels I went through the Panama Canals maybe a dozen times. It never lost its magic and remains one of my favourite places on Earth. Already this ship had far exceeded any expectations and there was still Peru and Chile to come.