University VI

Sitting in the canteen one Friday with my fellow Maritime technology group I noticed a number of plain clothes heavies trying to be unobtrusive.  They should get training for this, in the early 70's it did not work, at least with those of us from a military zone (N.Ireland).  Pointed them out to my mates and commented that there must be affa imp person coming to visit.  Never thought any more about it.

Next morning, in a partial alcoholic stupor, realized I had left some important notes in class.  Quick brekkie, jumped in Landrover, down North road, screeched into King Edward V avenue.  Braked, jumped out of car and ran across the lawn to doors of Maritime Department.  Halfway across lawn suddenly found myself decked on grass with a very heavy person on top of me.  At this stage of my career I was 12 stone of bronzed whipcord and a karate expert so this was rather embarassing rather than frightening.

Made the mistake of opening my trap and shouting (in a heavy Belfast accent), "what the F..k do you think you are doing!?  Immediately assailed by three other gentlemen and handcuffed and taken inside the department building.  Three hours later and only after we found my notes and compared hand writing was I allowed to leave.  No explanation, no sorry for your trouble tax paying student.  Made a few descrete inquiries with the uni management on Monday and found it was a visit by the boy wonder Prince Charles, only a month older than yours truly.  Never did find out which branch they were from, probably  5 or special branch, given that their spoken english was quite good, which would rule plods and soldiers.

Reflecting on this these years later I have come to admire the professional expertise of our military and security classes.  However, keep the old head below the parapet, you don't want these birds to be taking an interest in you.  Vandals and muggers and even ter....s (do the security programs pick up partially spelt red flag words, comments please) fade in comparision to these gentlemen.  God bless them all, really I mean that.  We all need licenced thugs and gunmen to keep us safe these days and ours are the best in the world.

University V

Some reflections on life at University.  Some of the lecturers were frankly a waste of space, gentlemen who had graduated from technical colleges and should never have been allowed through the doors of the University.  They read from well thumbed and worn jotters, their lecturing notes from 20 years before.  When asked a serious question they floundered and exhibited their dearth of real knowledge of the subject, something this bunch of mature students picked up on straight away.  It became a game, baiting the poor sods with outfield esoteric questions on modern innovations in their field.
However, and this was the joy of university life, the really good ones stretched us until we twanged.  As soon as their lecture ended we bunched together and exchanged what notes we had made to insure that we had understood all the wisdom he had literally blasted at us during the lecture.  It was as clear as crystal during the class but unless we had our conference immediately afterwards a lot of it was lost.  One in particular, Professor who took us for Control Engineering, was what we had all invisaged as a true university professor.  What ever question we threw at him, he would explain it in a number of ways so that even the slowest in the class would understand.  Non of us ever dosed off in his class, a sort of zen like awareness was required in order to understand the gems he was imparting in every class.
In later years I attended Aberdeen University to take an MBA.  In general the lecturers were first class with the exception of our Accountancy lecturer.  Woeful.  I got quite ratty with him as I particularly wanted to understand this subject.  We had six accountants on the course and they all agreed he had not got a clue.  However, it all became clear in our second year.  We had a choice of elective subjects and I choose business ethics as one of my electives.  Who should walk in for the first morning lecture but our useless accountancy lecturer.  I walked out, him chasing after me.  The poor guy explained that he was a philosophy lecturer who had been roped in as Accountancy lecturer at the last minute when the actual accountancy lecturer resigned suddenly.  Returned to class and we found him a splendid lecturer in business ethics.  I complained to the University management about our treatment and I suspect as a result of this all the non accountants on the course scraped through the final accountancy examination!
Aberdeen, like most successful universities, takes large numbers of foreign students.  Some of these students, especially the chinese students in the 90's, had little or no english.  How they were supposed to complete the courses successfully was beyond me....but they did?  What has changed today, not a lot.

University IV

There was an extremely attractive librarian at the main Uwist library.  However, she was always surrounded by an assortment of the more colourful students, the guys who thought hippies were cool in the 70's, the rasta hair styles, army surplus clothing.   You get the picture.  This lovely lass was also the one who kept chasing me for overdue books.  I made the mistake of replying to her exasperated request for me to show a little responsibility by uttering a mild Belfast rebuke, "how would you like a smack on the kisser", this in front of her older senior librarian.  This lady, of German extract, was heard to say, in a heavy German accent, "zat yung men is a rough diamond".  This would come back to haunt her in later years.

I realized I could not compete with her youthful following so resorted to my old backup.  I started bringing her in food parcels and sliding them over the library desk then scuttling off stage right.  The break through came at one of our parties.  She came with an equally attractive librarian friend who already knew some of our guys.  I zeroed in and as luck would have it she was a fan of D H Lawrence.  Talked the night away about his books and poetry.  Definitely some learning points for you young bucks out there.  What works with intelligent women in no apparent order:
Food
Talking about Food
Poetry
Talking about Poetry (the hard bit is knowing what you are talking about)
 Music
Talking about Music (ditto above)
Ballet or Opera
Talking about Ballet or Opera (again ditto above)
And if all this fails, my personal favourite, get yourself a little west highland terrier, preferably white,  and plant yourself outside an M& S shop.  Before long you will be talking to a multitude of extremely attractive ladies.  The beauty of this approach is that it cuts out the uncomfortable first 15 mins of what to say, they approach you and want to talk about and touch your dog.  No more chat up lines such as "got any Welsh in you.....like a bit or like a bit more, ugh!!  Both you and the lady feel safe, which then allows an introduction and perhaps much more.  This is tried and tested, believe me.

As a consequence of meeting my librarian beauty I only got a 2/2, spent most of that final year in bed.  The 2/2 was later and wisely demoted to a 3rd class by the external examiner from Liverpool University.  One of the guys was demoted from a pass to a fail, four years wasted some would say but hey, what fun.

University III

At university we averaged at least one party per week, sometimes two.  Most of us on the course could cook up a party meal for 30-50 out of supermarket scraps, one of my favourites was sweet and sour ham (actually ham hock) and of course as mature students and ex merchant navy officers we could afford to buy the booze.  Personally, I had an account at Victoria wine which they delivered every friday in a rather large box, rum martini and gin mostly with mixers, had'nt developed my taste for real ale then.  In fact during the 70's Red Barrel was the beer of choice, pretty disgusting stuff.  This was also an era where drink/drive was not socially unacceptable...except perhaps to my neighbour who lived in a flat above on the Whitchurch road!!
This poor unfortunate had just bought a new mini and parked it outside the side entrance to our flats.  The street was a dead end off the main Whitchurch road.  It was my usual practice to swing into this dead end in my, very old, A Series landy and assist the dreadful brakes by bumping my chassis into the cement post holding up the wire fence at the dead end.  Over my stay the cement post had collapsed slightly but was still serviceable as an auxiliary braking system.  Getting to the chase, I came home this night, after the midnight hour, well oiled and slow to react.  Turned into the unlit dead end cul de sac and drove into my usual parking space.  The landy behaved as usual and came to a stop.  It was only when I got out that I realized we were not in our usual spot.  Further examination revealed a lovely new Mini car, now about half its original size neatly buried on my cement post 'brake'.   Backed off and parked up a bit.  Not a scratch on landy.  Found a bit of paper and left my name and address on windscreen.
Next morning woken up by bell, opened door to an assault, verbal and fisticuff's from my neighbour.  Despite my plea that I had insurance he continued to try and batter me until he ran out of puff.  After the first punch I had woken up so blocked most of the rest of his onslaught as it was rage more than clinical harm he was throwing at me.  Finally got him settled enough to give him my insurance but the poor chap still left uttering threats and bad language.  People do take their cars very personally I have found over the intervening years, something I regard with some bemusement.

University II

The weather on the route across to Wales was pretty decent and I enjoyed bouncing along in my new command.  Picked up The Smalls lighthouse and sailed my way into the Bristol Channel.  Now, a word to the wise from an old seadog.  Entering an estuary like the Bristol Channel without a serviceable engine is going to be hard work.  It becomes even more problematic if the wind happens to be in your face so to speak.  The text book answer is to tack up with the tide and anchor somewhere safe while the tide is against you.  Simples as the Mercat advert goes.

However, this was in my youth, early 20's and I have already mentioned my youthful short temper.  This combined with a stubborn streak from way back saw me plugging my way up the Bristol Channel for three days, sail only no engine.  During these three days with no sleep I contrived to see all the local landmarks pass me bye one way then the other way.  King Canute had nothing on your Belfast thicko.
I have always been convinced that at some point during this losing battle against one of the strongest tides in the world I saw a family of killer whales.  My memory is crystal clear that it was mum and dad and a baby orca.  They came up to the boat, eyed me for a bit, swam around me once or twice and then disappeared.  Later when I asked someone at the university my memory was pooh poohed as a probable hallucination.  To this day I am not convinced that it was an hallucination.

Sometime during the fourth day without sleep, and on my fourth or fifth passing of Barry harbour an RNLI launch came out alongside me.  "Are you the Irish guy from Newcastle, Co Down".  Yes, I could hardly deny it.  "Take a line, we are taking you in, your mum has been on the phone for days".  He did sound a little exasperated.  Line on, towed into Barry.  These gentlemen were salt of the earth, got me through to worried mum and then got me a temporary berth until I could get yacht up to Cardiff, where I had already arranged a berth.  Embarrassed of Belfast got himself to Cardiff and to the University accomodation officer forthwith, Woodvale road, near the Woodvale pub, somewhere I would spend a lot of time.

Accomodation officer gives me the bad news, "we thought you were not coming, I do'nt know if I can arrange accomodation, better get yourself across to the maritime department and see what the course lecturer thinks".  Worried now, I get across to the department and see the Course tutor.  He is not sure I can catch up on three weeks work but does me a great favour and asks the class.  They vote in my favour and I am on the course.  Funny thing life.  I think it was not long after this that the class voted me in as Maritime Entertainment Officer for the course!  Life at uni was about to begin.

Life at University

Early 70's I left the sea to go to University, Cardiff Institute of Technology, Marine science degree.  Used my Chief Officer Certificate as my entrance key.  Quite a lot of the guys had A levels, old type, but we were all mature students so we started in February.  The idea was that we would do an intensive 6 month course and be examined on the science, maths and english to ensure that we were up to university standard before the start, proper of the academic year.  Four year honours course.  Hilarious really when you hear about the standard of english and maths of graduates and teachers nowadays.
Yours truly did not start in February, arrived about three weeks late.  I had purchased an old folk boat, a thing of beauty, hardwood timbers, gaff rigged on a wooden mast, watermoto engine with controllable pitch propellor (never did get it to work), even the rudder was made of lignum vitae...very very expensive.  I only found out the latter when I later tried to chip the paint off the rudder, until then I thought it was iron or steel it was so hard.  Decided to get it ready for voyage across to Wales.  My mum asked me at the time how I was going to get my A series landy onto the deck of the boat.  My mum also assumed that when I went to sea that we stopped every night, god love her and may she rest in peace.  Told her would come back for landy, thought it better not to explain that the ships travelled all day and night, she would have worried.
Sailed out of Newcastle harbour, Newcastle N.Ireland that is, on a reasonable February morning.  Single handed on a gaff rigged vessel is not for the faint hearted, especialy when you do not have a working engine.  Most especially when you arrive outside Dun Laoghaire with a Force 8 gale blowing.  Could not see much of inner harbour because of high harbour walls and did not have a radio or VHS, but definately wanted to get a bit of kip for the night.  Could not take the sail down completely, had lowered it about half way but every time I left the helm we were in danger of broaching.  Decided to go for it, full steam ahead through the harbour entrance.  Well, its been a while since I have been to Dun Laoghaire but in the 70's the inner harbour was filled with very smart yachts moored underneath the lighted lounge of the Dun Laoghaire yacht club house on the heights above.

As I came through the entrance at a fair old lick, I could see the members looking down on me.  I have not mentioned that my old girl, "Sweet Afton" by the way, had a bloody great bowsprite.  A round balk of oak that took the forward halyard and projected about a yard in front of the bow.  I could not leave the cockpit as I would lose control of the yacht so the sail stayed up and we carried on our way.  The next few minutes must have caused the millonaires in the club house a few anxious moments, as I dodged amongst those very expensive yachts, bowsprite looking like an old fashioned cannon.  It would have had a similar effect if I had hit any of them.  Finally got my intransigent lady under control and into wind, ran up and dropped my anchor over side.  By the time I was lowering the sail the club had sent a launch out to tow me to a safe mooring.  Great bunch, allowed me a shower, would not take a penny and bought me drinks all night.  Took me back to yacht about midnight.

Next morning, lovely fresh day, rigged sail, let go mooring and sailed out of Dun Laoghaire a lot more sedately than I had entered.  Pointed her to the Welsh coast with a nice prevailing wind and felt life was good, apart from a sore head that is.  More to follow.

Blyth Adventurer VI

Last one for the old lady.  I have always had an aversion to rats, small or large.  Spiders and snakes I can handle but rats, ugh!  Now under the midships accomodation there was a store where we kept ropes and paints etc.  When on cargo duty loading oil you had to walk from forward tanks to after tanks through this space.  Now once or twice I had seen a rat the size of a rather large cat and at other times I had heard him, especially on night duty.  To say my skin crawled is putting it mildly.  Finally, one night I almost tripped over him as he sat chewing some food waste.  Rather than running away scared the SOB just sat and looked at me and I ran away scared.  That was it, final straw.
Next day I bought a case of whiskey from the ships bond and told the master my plan, faite accompli, did not care what he thought of it, if he wanted me to work on deck that was it.  Got the chinese crew together in dining room, offered them case of whiskey if they could get me king rat.  I think I also offered a few of the older gentlemen medical inducements from my medical officer stockpile.
Before you could say what rat all hell broke loss.  The crew, armed to the teeth with knives, hammers and fire axes were under the midships accomodation pulling ropes and wires away from their stowed positions and screaming at sightings of the rat and rats plural.  It took them about 15 mins of absolute chaos and mayhem but I was eventually presented with the huge king rat and numerous normal sized rats, who must have had to keep well clear of the monster.  Some of the smaller rats who had escaped the attentions of the chinese had run out of the store and over the side with one or two of the crew after them.  Who needs JRT's when you have a fearless chinese crew.

Blyth Adventurer V - Mutiny

 At some point in my year on the Blyth, we changed half the crew.  We had specifically asked for Cantonese crew, because the crew that remained were Cantonese, less chance of fighting.  The relief crew that arrived was from Shanghai, and looked like trouble right from the start.   One of them, a young guy well over 6 foot, was the commissar and let us know it immediately.  He started causing trouble, threatening the rest of the crew, especially the cantonese crew and engineer officers.  We knew it was going on because the english electrician's cabin was aft and it was my habit to help him sink a bottle of brandy after evening dinner.          
Until then the Captain, a foodie, had introduced a regime whereby some of the engineers were allowed to knock off watch for the weekend.  In return they cooked all the meals throughout the weekend.  The chief and 2nd engineer took their place on watch.  Even after the new crew had arrived this arrangement continued and we were blessed with 8 course Cantonese and Shanghai cuisine of the first order. 
However, very soon we started to detect a reluctance to continue the practice.  After some investigation the bosun told us the truth, the young pup had bambozzled and bullied the whole crew, including the engineers into refusing to continue the practice.  When confronted he sneered in our face and said he did not know anything about it.
Next day the bosun's assistant came running up to me, asking for my help as medical officer on the ship.  He looked a mess, battered face and hands, I thought he wanted my help, but no, it was the bosun who needed my help.  Well, the bosun, another elderly gentleman, was a complete mess.  Our commissar had beaten him up and administered the coup de grace by breaking one of the dining room chairs over his head.  As I tried to carry the bosun up to the hospital in the midship accomodation block the bully tried to stop me but I just kept moving.  Got him up to hospital and started administering pain killers and washing his wounds. 
Meanwhile Captain, Chief engineer and chief officer are having a conference as to what to do.  Engine stops, vessel starts to drift.  Everybody outside, Chief on way to engineroom.  However, the sight that greets us is the whole chinese crew, engineer officers and crew members lined up along the forward bulkhead of the aft accomodation and the brave thug standing in front of them with a long handled fire axe in his hands.
At this point I need to introduce our chief officer, ex Hull trawlerman who had gained MN foreign going certificates and switched to the bigger merchant navy ships.  Thickset, about 5' 8", not a big man but as hard as trawler men the world over.  He took it all in and looked over his shoulder at the Captain, Chief and myself, "who's with me" he said.  My anger at the treatment of the old bosun got the better of my good sense.  We started down the steel gangway that ran from midships to the poopdeck, leaving Captain and Chief behind.  As we got closer and closer I could see most of the crew were like rabbits caught in a cars headlights, they were as frightened as I was.  Young thug by this time had two hands on axe and holding it aloft.  Chief officer still walking steadily towards him.  When we were about two yards away yer bully cuts and runs with chief officer after him.  Crew and yours truly breathe collective sigh of relief.   Chief catches our thug, beats him up and we swop the bosun for him in hospital as the hospital also doubles as a lockup.  Stays there until we get him off ship at next port.
Interestingly, one of the engineers the thug had hit with a stillson wrench, nearly blinding him, had an uncle in the Hongkong immigration department.  Well, the rumour that circulated on board ship was that uncle had been informed.  Our young thug arrived at Hongkong airport but was never seen again.

Blyth Adventurer IV

Still with the good ship Blyth Adventurer.  Our owner, an uncle of the Scandanavian Mollers, big ship owners, was a man who would not use one expletive when he had two or three to hand.  We all liked him.  I suspect the ship was either built in Blyth shipyard, which he used to own/lease, or he just named it Blyth for sentimental reasons.  However, when the local council tried increasing his rent or rates on a Friday he was gone by Monday, leaving said council and workers in a bit of a pickle, at least so the myth goes.  Sort of rules out the sentimentality argument.
Well, we docked in an Australian port, some time in 71/72, customs come on and give the ship a right old going over.  Of course they find all the opium in the aft accomodation, mostly belonging to our crew but some of the engineers used it as well, it was'nt hidden, they regarded it as we would think about chewing gum.  The lot is confiscated, despite our protests that a number of the older crew members relied on it pretty much as medicine or a food substitute.  The largest stash was the bosun's, a man who was supposed to be 64 yrs but was probably near 80 yrs.  This lovely old character had obviously greased the hand of an employment agency in Hongkong to get this berth.  Well, despite the Captain's protest, customs officials remained obdurnate and told us we were lucky they were not going to bring charges.
Sailed next day and a week later the bosun died.  If I recall correctly we froze the body in a bag in the ships freezer and it was transferred home to Hongkong from the next port. 

Blyth Adventurer III

After Noumea we sailed to Australia.  Chinese did not like Australia, no whores, and even if there were they would not go with Chinese.  As a consequence, BP, our charterer awarded the ship with a plaque for the fastest turn around on the Aussie coast!  Headed back to gulf and thence to South America with fuel oil.  Buenos Aires, the chinese favourite port, lovely ladies of the night, convivial bars and only the odd incursion by rebel forces. 
Let me explain about Buenos Aires.  As you approach the port you change over from low to high water intake for the boiler, the estuary being very muddy.  Too much mud in the boiler tubes and ze boiler stops working.  The chinese had managed to knacker the boiler on our last trip and got a stay of about four days.  This time the chief engineer was ready, he and the second engineer, an Indian gentleman who should have been a prof in a university.  Chinese outflanked both and bollocked the boiler once more.
Chinese refused to work on boiler in port,  captain forced to hire shoreside labour to clean caked mud out of boiler tubes.  Next thing we know, no chinese crew or officers on board ship.  Suspicion is that they are all up in local bordello.  2nd officer sent to get them back to ship.  One week later, 2nd officer had crisis of conscience and went back to ship.  Ship ready to go.  Back to bar, get Susy to pursuade chinese to come back to ship.  As we left the harbour we could hear gunfire, rebels must be at it again.

Blyth Adventurer III

Noumea was a French island north of Australia, don't ask, god only knows, in the mists of time of empire.  Anyway, no harbour, just a buoy offshore.  You pick the buoy up and secure to it, then pick up the pipeline to the shore.  Connect up to our main line manifold and start pumping fuel oil ashore.  The pipe line was about 24" in diameter and dissappeared over the side about midships.  The water was so clear you could see about 100 feet down into the sea.  Swe wing Wong, third officer out of Hong Kong, otherwise known on the ship as Susy Wong (you have to be advanced age to understand the reference) and myself decided to take advantage of the gloriouse weather and take a swim down the pipe.  Over the side on a pilot ladder, spent a lovely afternoon bathing in the french colonial waters.  
When we came out of the water we heard a lot of noise and excitment on the poop.  By the time we got there the crew had already hooked about 12 sharks on hooks attached to the after winch.   There was a frenzy over the after end.  Sharks hooked with fish from our stores,  pulled up on winch, fins cut off, rest of body dropped into sea at back of ship.  The rest of colony shark were having a field day, about 50 yards from were I had been bathing.  Susy had to pull be off the guy on the winch!  About a month later, fins drying in the breeze, we had a delicious entree of sharks fin soup. 

Blyth Adventurer II

Still with tropical storm.  The ballasted ship was moving a little easier and the chief was getting the fires under control.  However, we were now getting battered by the waves crashing over us as we dived into the monsterous troughs.  The wonderful virtue of old tankers is that they have enormous amounts of reserve buoyancy especially in the bow section.  Sometimes when we seemed about to submerge for good under a particularly steep trough the bow would emerge like a submarine surfacing.  Getting back to the bridge was fun and games, clinging on to the oil pipes and dodging the waves which washed over us.
Back in the comparitive peace of the wheelhouse we were about to enjoy a coffee when a monster broke over the ship and slapped into the wheelhouse windows.  Captain and 2nd officer hit the deck, the old railway carriage type window smashed in, glass everywhere.  As I looked up at the ships wheel, our old chinese bosun was standing, unperturbed, covered in glass and still smoking his opium cheroot, keeping ship on course into the sea.  Embarrassed young pup climbs to feet and starts brushing glass off our helmsman.  Peace now shattered, wind rocketing through bridge, still two bolts holding radar mast but only one of the masts wire supports left intact.  The radio shack looked a prime target if it came down so our Indian radio officer was stood down and told to get below.
Some time later we entered the eye of the storm, quiet descends on ship, light winds, the cloud mass on the sides of the eye looking like skyscrapers rising into the blue sky as far as the human eye could see.
Cannot recall how long we were in eye but one of the strangest experiences of my life.  Eventually entered the other side.  Intantaneously, the wind changed direction to the other side of the ship and we were back in a world of horizonal spray, mountainous seas and tons of water smashing into the ship from above, the screaming of the wind making communication on the bridge almost impossible, everything soaked.  Couple of days later, still in bad weather but normal storm conditions, officers and crew scrambling over the wreakage about the ship, lashing the remainders where we could and dumping the rest over the side.  Chief and engineers exhausted but heroes of the moment for keeping main engine and generators going througout.  Yours truly, as navigating officer, praying for a hole in the cloud cover to allow me to get a fix on star, moon, sun, in fact any celestial object!  This was the days before Satellite navigation.   If it ever stops working there are going to be a lot of lost seafarers out there.
Finally got a fix some days later which explained why we had not seen Australia.  We were about 100 mls north of where we should have been on dead reckoning.  Altered course due south and picked up Noumea, our destination, some time later.

Blyth Adventurer

Sailing 2nd mate on the Blyth Adventurer, sometime between June 71 and June72, for tax purposes don't you know!  Sailing through the eye of a severe tropical cyclone, hurricane or typhoon to those safe on shore.  Already lost the steel gangway between the midships accomodation and the aft accomodation.  This old T3 oil tanker was in light condition with very little ballast, the damage being done to our ship was wind related only.  The ocean was throwing the ship around like a rag doll but the wind was doing all the damage.  Called captain to bridge as Chief engineer was fighting multiple engine room fires, and I was a little concerned about our radar mast.  Of the four large bolts holding the base of the large mast in place and which projected into the deckhead of the wheelhouse only two remained.  With the loss of the gangway we had also lost communication with the chief and the engine room.  The gist of the chief's message was, "get some more ballast into the ship before all my oil lines rupture with the strain of the ships movement".  Trouble was the pump room was about halfway along the after deck and I did not fancy my chances of hanging on the the main oil lines when the wind had torn away our walkway with such impunity.  Also the pumps and valves were all at the bottom of the ship, not a pleasant prospect in the middle of this mayhem.
The Captain, a man of intellect, ex polish hurricane pilot in WW II and food connoisseur of the first order said someone would have to go down the pump room,  line up pumps and start ballasting full main tanks.  There was no initial rush of volunteers.  The good man decided he would go.  Bloody heroes, he would not have a clue how to line them up or start the pumps.  I said I would go with him.  Tied together and with a safety line around the main oil line we crawled along to the pump room.  Letting go of the safety line was difficult, particularly when you have large aerodynamic ears like mine.  Enough said, into the relative quiet of the pump room and down into the depths.  Lined up pumps and valves and started pumping, did much care if they overflowed or not.  Coming up to the top again the captain decided we had better go aft and check out the engine room, 2nd mate not amused but thought a brave man needs a coward to keep him safe from himself, second lap of the after deck, fortunately the offside ladder to poop still intact.  Just as well we came, all overside drains blocked and seawater threatening to lap into the main oil tank vents.  Water in oil, engine stops, rag doll sinks!!  Clear drains and then open watertight door into main engine.  Looking down from on high we could see numerous small fires around the engine room where pipes had burst.  Suddenly, Captain runs out and comes back a few seconds later with a foam fire extinguisher.  To my astonishment he releases it into the depths of the engineroom.  Astonished chinese engineers and a perplexed chief look up to see it snowing in their engine room.

Incidents on the Congo river II

August 66, back up the river next day, Chief and engineers on full alert that Captain wants max power from the old tub.  We shake our way up river and eventually turn the corner and see our nemesis churning away straight ahead.  This time the old ship crawls her way around the edge of the whirlpool and the Captain takes no chances this time but aims her straight at the quayside.  Now the former Belgium colonists had constructed a splendid reinforced cement quayside in Matadi.  This quay was supported by a complicated array of piles and cross braces to prevent the river washing it away.
M.V Mano, now released from the grip of the whirlpool, and travelling at her full speed, was now on a direct collision course with the concrete quayside.  Now, employers in Africa, whether white or black have always shown a reluctance to offering their employees decent washing or ablution facilities.  Consequently, your native african takes his ablutions and washing facilities wherever he can find them, the aforementioned quayside, with its wide cross members being absolutely ideal.
As we plunged towards the quay faster than the old carthorse had ever travelled you could see the realization dawn slowly on the many workers taking their comfort break.  Then pandamonium ensued as they tried to climb out of the way or in the case of many just dived into the maelstrom.
The Mano ploughed into the quay, bow first and made a sizeable V shape into the roadway.  Elder Dempsters had never stinted when they built their ships, so old as she was the Mano was built like a tank.  Bit of an indent in bow and a rather large hole but the chippy (carpenter) and cadets soon fixed that with a cement box.  Tight enough for the voyage home.  It still shames me to think I never asked if any workers lives were lost.

Incidents on the Congo river I

August of 66 I was a cadet on a vessel called M.V. Mano, a tired old trooper of 4800 gross registered tons.  This ship could manage 11 knots with a following wind so what our gallant company thought they were doing sending her up the Congo is still a matter of some amusement even after all these years.  Our destination was the major Congo port of Matadi.  Now, the Congo runs quite quick and because of the hydrography of the river just off the port of Matadi there is a constant, large and violent whirlpool just off the birth.
The dear old Mano had struggled for about 12 or more hours, past the minor port of Boma, until we rounded the bend and confronted said whirlpool.  With max revs shaking the old ship in every frame the plan was to sail around the edge of the whirlpool and use the force of it to help the ship get alongside the quay, ropes ashore and hang on for dear life.  Well, when I tell you things sometimes happen quickly at sea this is nothing compared to the power of the Congo river in full flood.  We navigated around the top of the whirlpool only to be flung straight down the river again by the force of the current, goodbye Matadi, hello Boma.  Nothing to do but to navigate the river back down to Boma and attempt another try at Matadi the following day.  Master furious, cadets trying to keep a straight face.

The seconds that count

Sitting in the pub at the weekend I was reminded of an incident when I was twelve.  Walking home from school, through a local housing estate, satchel over my shoulder.   I was suddenly pounced on by a couple of the local toughs, probably 19 or 20, the housing estate was called the white city, a tough area on the outskirts of Belfast.  They grabbed me, lifted me off my feet and jammed me head first into the hedge I was passing at the time.  They strolled away laughing, heading for the local park.
Did I mention my youthful temper.  I extracted myself from hedge, ran home crying with rage, dived into house, grabbed a kitchen knife and headed for the park.  Fortunately, my mother had heard the commotion and saw me flash past outside on route to park with one of her knifes in my paw.  Called our neighbour and told him to get after me. 
Meanwhile I had reached park and was hunting for my two protagonists.  Just as I found them and went for them my neighbour tackles me and wrests knife from my hand.  Two guys see commotion and knife, scarper!  Yours truly on ground now raging at the good samaraton.  Point being, but for a few seconds and our neighbour being a shift worker my life could have been so different.

Painted ship upon a painted ocean

These blogs are the driftwood of my mind, no chronological order.  This must have been early 70's, because I was a 2nd officer on an oil tanker heading across the Indian ocean.  Spotted a ship's liferaft, called Captain.  We tried to come alongside a couple of times but the wake of our big ship pushed the raft away.  Eventually I, foolishly, volunteered to swim out to the raft now some 200 yds away.  Over the side on pilot ladder, nice warm water.  About halfway to raft I remembered some chart corrections I had been doing earlier.  The depth of water under me was in miles rather than feet or fathoms.  The watchers on the ship told me later that I looked as if I was suddenly turbocharged.  The sudden fear of all that black water under me made me swim for the raft like an olympic champion.  I came up out of the water and dived inside the raft, quite oblivious whether it contained decomposing bodies or not.   Fortunately it was empty.  We got it back to the ship, any markings on it had been weathered off, but we assumed it had been washed off a vessel in a bad storm.

FOUR EARLY BLOGS

Memoirs of a seafaring man

1. Oct

   8

   Temper fugit

   Did I mention that I had a quick temper?  My first trip on the company cadet ship (no crew/able seamen, just cadets) the chief officer had asked me three times to get my hair cut, finally put me on "field days" until I got it cut.  "Field" days are up to 18 hour days on really shitty jobs.  Lost the plot, went ashore first opportunity in West Africa, told the local barber to give me a Mohican.  Despite a little cultural difficulty in visualising what the strange white boy with the big lugs wanted he duly gave me a pretty good approximation to a "Mohican".  Back to ship, pretty pleased with myself, chief officer has an apoplectic fit and takes me straight to captain.  Midshipman carpeted and entered into the official logbook of ship, bit like a police caution! Telegrams must have been sent to HQ, because, before the ship has crossed the Bar in Liverpool midshipman's presence is required at India Buildings, HQ central as they say.
   Now the man in charge of Elder Dempster cadets, a Capt.Smallwood RN retd , was the same man who had so graciously accepted this unpromising material into this great shipping line in the first place.  His office was at the end of a very long corridor, an open office which housed all the hundreds of secretarial staff , pretty girls after whom we cadets lusted.  The bush telegraph had done its business and it was to hushed and amused stares that I stumbled my way to Capt. Smallwood's office.  
   The good mans clipped and succinct demolition of my character culminated in the immortal phrase "midshipman, you will never make anything but a dammed foc'le hand".  A humbler cadet stumbled out of his office and tried and failed to navigate the secretarial office with some dignity.  Circa 67-68
   

   

   Posted 1 week ago by Frank Duffin
2. Oct

   8

   Language difficulties III

   Sailed from Liverpool assigned to the poop with the 2nd officer.  My duty to convey orders and messages from bridge to 2nd officer and vice versa.  Let go stern, hold on to spring, eh, what was that!!  After an infuriated 2nd mate grabbed the poop phone from my hand the second time I decided it was better to just repeat the strange instructions verbatim, rather than assuming the instruction from the bridge was in code.  However my language problems continued.  2nd officer "all clear aft".  Two mins later "have you told the bridge?"  "I'm only after doing it". " What".   "I'm only after doing it".  After the sixth "what" from a now red faced officer  I decided to rephrase in mainland English, "I have just done that, sir", immediate comprehension.

   

   Posted 1 week ago by Frank Duffin
3. Oct

   8

   Language difficulties II

   First ship, midshipman's uniform, the only non-Conway navigational midshipman.  Port and starboard, forward/aft, forecastle/poop, bow/stern, new terms to yer wee man from Belfast, bread and butter to the Conway graduates, definitely time for a Belfast kiss (similar to the Glasgow kiss but applied to nose rather than head).  These posh chaps would become lifelong friends.  I never did inflict any damage on Charlie (a strange 16 yr. old who confessed he had never been in a fight in his whole life) but my other two bunk mates did receive and dish out punishment from yours truly.  Dougie battered me all over our cabin after I sicked over him from the top bunk. Ian roughed me up once after I stubbed out my cigarette on the back of his hand.  My excuse on both occasions was an advanced state of inebriation.  CIRCA 65
   

   

   Posted 1 week ago by Frank Duffin
4. Oct

   7

   Language difficulties

   Sixteen and straight off the boat to Liverpool for an interview with Elder Dempster Lines.  Stopped off in sweety shop near India Buildings.  Engaged a charming elderly lady in conversation, hampered by my stammer and a thick Belfast accent.  Me pointing and shouting "a qqqquarter of mmmmelttttona ddddrops,  she shouting in reply "are you American?"  Exit the shop clutching bag of sweets, not meltona drops, red faced and exhausted.   Thinks, this is not looking good for interview.
   Later, interview successful,  Captain Smallwood saw something in the frightened teenager,  off to sea in weeks not months  Circa 1965
   
   

   

   Posted 1 week ago by Frank Duffin

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Incident in Lagos

I have a real liking for African music and Africans in general.  At every opportunity I would take myself along to night clubs on Lagos side ( we usually berthed on Apapa side of Nigeria' main port).   One night I was alone in a dive that I knew hosted some great musicians.  During the evening a large gentleman accosted me on a number of occasions, offering me the services of his lady friend.  I politely refused each time saying that on this occasion I was only here for the music.  He then became abusive and demanded to know why I did not like his wife and called on some of the other denizens of the dive to witness the ignorance of the dammed white child.  Things were starting to look sticky for the Belfast music lover.  My grandfather's advice came immediately to mind, 'pick the biggest one and make sure he is in the hospital bed beside you the morning after'.  I planted a short clipped right to the Adam's apple of outraged of Lagos and as he fell to the floor ploughed through the crowd to the street outside.  I was strolling away when I glanced over my shoulder.  Outraged of Lagos was calling out to an army unit that was passing by.  Immediately I took off at a run heading back to Apapa with gun toting army soldiers in pursuit.  Pedestrian traffic slowed them enough so that I was jumping off the top of my ships gangway as the jeep arrived at the bottom of the gangway.  They came up the gangway with rifles unslung and found me sitting in my cabin.  Suffice to say my explanation, supported by liberal doses of the best scotch whiskey, was accepted.  I was even allowed to inspect their rifles.  They had one round each which had to be accounted for on every watch change.  I need not have feared for my life as I pounded my way back to the ship.  Circa 67 or 68

Commodore of the fleet

One of the best shipmaster's with which I ever sailed was, like the majority of captains of that era, a thorough alcoholic.  They had time on their hands but little other interest.  A man of some intellect, he once took the ships chronometer apart to show his cadets how it worked.  More to the point, when he reassembled the mechanism, it actually still worked.  The master of my one trip on the company passenger/ mailboat  was the aforementioned martinet, who liked to call himself  fleet commodore.  Company policy stated that if you were overtaking the Aureol it was to be done beyond the horizon.  The Ebani was gifted to the company after the war and as such had an admiralty supercharger fitted to her main engine, increasing her speed from 18 to 25 knots.  When I reported that we were overtaking the Aureol I expected a change of course to take us over the horizon.  The captain arrived on the bridge in underpants and string vest and flip flops.  " get the chief, I want max speed".  Chief arrives to be told we were to do a test on the supercharger.  Once up to speed we then overtook the Aureol and in fact circled it twice with our captain, still in underpants and string vest, waving to an obviously infuriated " fleet Commodore".  I thought we were all dead on our return to Liverpool.  However, our captain must have had friends in high places because we heard no more about it.

Early life in Elder Dempster

Some of the great ships I sailed on as a young cadet officer.  After my ' Mohican' episode I assumed I would be in bad books for the duration of my apprenticeship.  However, as I learned later in life, having a certain infamous reputation brings your name to mind when managers are looking to fill important vacancies.  My next berth was on the company passenger vessel, the 'Aureol', British mail ship to West Africa.  Hated the strict regime on board.  Lost my uniform cap as I inspected the bow of the ship in the middle of an Atlantic gale, yours truly dressed in full uniform whites, including the whitened linen shoes.  Captain was a complete martinet, waxed moustache and all but in fairness not that unusual for the day.  I claimed for my cap on my fathers household insurance, claiming that for all intent and purposes the ship was my home at the time.  Cannot remember the company unfortunately but one of their actuaries must have retained a sense of humour, they paid out!  My next few berths were the much coveted Aussie run and resulted in a march on HQ by other cadets.