Really foreign

 I puzzled over what Colin had told us last night. Whites tomorrow! Well, as we neared the eastern end of the Mediterranean and Port Said, it was certainly warmer. Grandpa had helped me with my uniform shopping as Dad was at sea, so I had some white clothes. Time to dig them out and get ready for tomorrow.

First there was the short sleeve shirt with holes for epaulets on both shoulders. Attaching the epaulets was relatively simple, the laces go through the holes and are tied on the inside of the shirt. Quite grand with a single gold bar along the length of the epaulet much better than the lapel flashes of the blue winter jacket.

Then there were the shorts. Seemed to be a little long as they came to my knees but apparently that was the style.  Fastened with two buckles at the front, “Empire builders” Colin said. Especially important that they were not too short but also that they were not too wide. He told us that once as the ship came into port, the Captain with his wide empire builder shorts caught the heel of his shoe in the back of the shorts and went “arse over  tit” as we say. Just as he was about to greet the pilot!

No, mine were fine. Then there is the long white socks and the white suede shoes. Do not forget to “blanco” them, said Colin! What does that mean us first tripper shouted?

He passed us a bar of what looked like white soap and said: Get a brush, a little water and brush this white compound onto to your shoes. When it dries, they will be white and beautiful!! Cleaning shoes was never my most popular activity but to have white shoes, what next. Soldiers have used blanco for centuries so today we call it “to blanco your equipment”, said our much more experienced 18- year-old senior apprentice as he lit up his pipe. In your case your shoes. You will need to do it nearly every day!

Well there is a first time for everything, but I am not liking this bit at all.

Next morning, we duly dressed in our whites and all the officers similarly shone in their bright clean tropical uniform.

Here we all are. Note some lacked the white suede shoes and not everyone had their socks rolled up.

Nevertheless, we were now in our tropical rig. This is a later voyage and I am the one with a pipe, now a third mate. The apprentices are sat in front.

Later I learnt that “whites varied” from company to company. For instance, P&O and the Orient Line had quite different and very formal rigs. Perhaps because they were passenger ships, they had long white trousers, a white jacket with a white shirt and black tie. Must have been uncomfortably hot in the Red Sea!!

Of course, “whites were for watchkeeping” and not for daywork., For this we had khaki uniforms identical to our whites but khaki in colour. Much more practical for working on deck or in port. For really dirty work we had white boiler suits except Grandpa had neglected to mention this to me, so I was left with my khaki uniform for all work!

Tomorrow, Colin said, we will arrive in Port Said and I need to prepare you for this port arrival. It is nothing like Gibraltar and is really your first tropical port and you will need to take some precautions. That sounded ominous.

The approach to Port Said is relatively featureless with one exception. The ancient lighthouse at the entrance to the port (The Illustrated London News, No. 2255, Vol. LXXXI, July 22, 1882).

Other than that Port Said is on the eastern edge of the huge delta of the longest river in the world, the river Nile. Of course, in 1957 my knowledge of such things had not been covered in geography lessons at grammar school, so I was ignorant of Egypt, its history, and the role of the Nile. “Never mind, said Colin, your correspondence course will be arriving by mail here and then you can start studying”. Study, I thought that was all behind me now. Think again, boyo, you are to learn “on the job”, Colin said in his lilting Welsh accent. Bugger, that I had not thought of!

The fairway buoy marks the seaward end of the channel into Port Said and is so far offshore you do not even see the land! The pilot boat was there waiting for us and a swarthy overweight pilot clambered up the rope pilot ladder and was helped onto the main deck and escorted to the bridge. The Captain greeted him, and the pilot took over the pilotage of the ship. “Half ahead, he said, and the distinctive chimes of the telegraph rang out as the message to the engine signalled our intention to enter Port Said.

“Boy, said the Captain, what is your name again?”. “Douglas, I replied. “Ah, yes the apprentice who does not know his weather side from his leeward side”. “Go down and tell the Chief Officer we will be mooring to buoys fore and aft”. “Yes sir, I replied dutifully, happy to escape the bridge and probability of making more silly mistakes. I was later to learn that mooring to buoys was a common method of mooring on our voyage especially in rivers and sometimes with chains when there was a lot of current in the river.

The channel is also the entrance to the Suez Canal and as we approached the port city you could see the Suez Canal stretching away south into the desert.

We moored up on the starboard side in the city and what difference to Gibraltar. On the water everywhere were small colourful boats, some clearly ferrying people to the eastern banks of the canal whilst others seemed to be full of goods. “What are they doing, I asked Colin. “Bumboats, he replied, wanting to sell us useless things such as fake watches and cheap clothing! Lock your cabin doors, the circus is about to begin!

Looking ashore, I had never seen so many people. The streets were heaving with humanity and a breeze brought a very distinctive odour. “What is that smell”, I asked Colin. Spices and camel dung, replied Colin, sarcastically. Well, well, we are really foreign now.

Aft with my Glaswegian second mate I soon learnt the Egyptian mooring method. Two ropes from each quarter were passed to a mooring boat that towed them to the mooring buoy where they were fastened with quick release wood pins through the eye of the mooring ropes.

Mooring completed, the accommodation ladder was lowered to just above the water level and the pilot disembarked. The quartermaster on gangway duty muttered something about chaos and swarms of Egyptians clambered up to the main deck.

A Mediteranean interlude

 So, this is Gibraltar, that large rock at the entrance to the Mediterranean that I have heard so much about lately and here it is right in front of my eyes, my very first foreign port. I'm really looking forward to it.

As a 16-year-old grammar schoolboy I learnt very little history being more led through English literature and languages which did not excite me at the time.

Only later did I learn of the British Empire and its tentacles around the globe.

Gibraltar was an outpost of the British Empire but has had an interesting and varied history.

Not only is there evidence of prehistoric cave dwellers on “The Rock” as it is affectionately called but it was of religious and symbolic importance from around 950 BC. For the Greeks and Romans, it was called “The Pillars of Hercules” after the Greek legend on the creation of the Straits of Gibraltar.

The Islamic conquest of the Iberian Peninsula in 711 covered the occupation of Gibraltar until the Spanish recaptured it in 1462.

In 1713 the Treaty of Utrecht ceded control of Gibraltar to Britain, and it later became a British Protectorate albeit there were many attempts by the Spanish to retake possession.

The Napoleonic Wars showed the strategic importance of the Rock, and it became an important British Naval base.

However, to me, as we approached the harbour and the extensive breakwater all I saw was a lot of naval ships. Colin called them “the grey funnel line”. Well, at least, it is a sailor’s port and that means lots of fun ashore.

So, you're expecting to go ashore says Colin in his Welsh accent. Of course, this very excited 16-year-old boy had never been abroad and here we are in Gibraltar. “Well let's wait and see”, says Colin.

The chief officer wants to see you now. Okay what's all this about so I went for’d and knocked on his door and said, “Sir you called for me”. “Yes Douglas”, he said. “This is your first foreign port and you’re only 16 years of age. Because you're young and this is a sailor port you've a lot to learn.

“You can go ashore with Jock, one of the quartermasters. He'll be going ashore for a few beers he will take you into a bar and give you a beer. Then I want you to promise me that you'll come straight back to the ship. Is that clear?” “Yes Sir”. Okay Jock is ready now so you can go get into your city gear and get ready to go ashore”.

Jock was a huge, slow speaking man from the Hebrides, so clearly, I was going to be in good hands ashore if anything happened.

A little bit despondent at the thought of being chaperoned I went and changed into a pair of slacks and a short-sleeved shirt because it was quite warm and then went down to the quartermaster's accommodation. I knocked on Jock’s cabin door and he said “OK, let's go”, and we went down the gangway and I stepped onto “foreign soil” for my very first time. We went straight across from the dockyard into the Main Street and there was a bar. It was called the Pinto bar. “This will do”, he said, and we went inside.

Not having been in a bar before I was eager to see what it looked like. Well there was a long bar down one side with beer pumps. Behind the bar on the wall were many shields of naval warships with their names clearly visible. It was dark inside after coming in from the bright sunlight and it took some time to see the rest of the tables. There was a lot of cigarette smoke, and a jukebox was playing an Everly brothers record “Bye Bye Love” in the corner.

This is going to be great, I thought.

OK, said Jock, “I will buy you a beer”. That was generous, I thought as he handed me a pint glass of beer. This was my first ever glass of beer, so I eagerly took a sip. Not at all what I expected! It had a heavy froth on the top that stuck to your lips and the taste was really bitter. Jock saw my grimace and laughed. So it is your first taste of bitter? Bitter is the Englishman’s drink, lager is for all those continentals, he said.  It is very like the Newcastle brown from your area so get used to it.

I noticed he also had a pint but also a double whisky. Never seen that combination before.

“Cheers”, he said, and we stood at the bar and drank our beers. He then downed the whisky in one swift movement, turned to me and said, “Laddie”, it is time for you to get back to the ship and for me to get down to some serious drinking”!

“Remember what the chief officer said, straight back and no dawdling”!  What have I done to deserve this, I thought, but remembering my promise to the Chief Officer and uncertain of the consequences of disobeying I turned left out of the bar and wandered down the street to the dock.

Looking around I could see that it really was very British, red post boxes, red telephone kiosks and policeman with English Bobby hats. Everybody seemed to speak English, lots of sailors around lots of bars. This is a place I could get to like. If I missed the ship, it wouldn’t be too bad.

However, a promise is a promise so back to the ship.

 My first trip offshore in a foreign port and it lasted about 1 hour, and I drank one beer. Aw’well, let’s hope things improve on the voyage.

Next morning after breakfast we prepared for departure. The “Blue Peter” was flying so we

expecting to sail. This flag is the “P” flag in the alphabet and signifies that the ship is getting ready to sail. Has anyone seen Jock said Colin, he has not returned yet and we sail in a couple of hours? No-one had seen him, but no one seemed too worried. An hour before departure a taxi raced up to the gangway, the rear passenger opened, and Jock fell out onto the dockside. His mate on gangway watch hurried down the gangway and helped him up to the ship and he disappeared into the accommodation. So, this is what is meant by “serious drinking”! Must remember that.

The pilot arrived, the pilot flag “H” was hoisted, and the gangway lifted inboard. We went “to stations” and on the poop I again had to handle the telephone and communicate with my Glaswegian Second Mate. At least it was daytime and no rain this time. We “singled up” and waited for the tugs to arrive, two giant naval tugs, far bigger than those we had on the Mersey, one forward and one aft. “Let go everything”, came the command from the bridge and duly we winched the wire spring and the after mooring rope in with clouds of steam coming from our mooring winch. “All gone aft” shouted the Second Mate and then there was a great shudder through the ship and we gently eased away from the quay and out past the breakwater. The pilot boat came alongside and the naval pilot in full uniform went over the side down a pilot ladder with a wave and we were away heading east for our next port, Port Said. Perhaps this would be a real “foreign port”.

Now we are heading east in a clear blue sea, fine weather and everybody settling down to our watch system 4 on and 8 off. That is all except Jock who has not been seen yet. Still recovering from his “serious drinking” trip ashore!

Next morning I was woken at 0700 after only 3 hours sleep to an infernal racket outside the cabin. Sounded like an aircraft crash. Jumped out of bed cursing being woken up and bumped into Colin. What the hell is that noise, I shouted. Relax boyo, he said, the crew are holystoning the deck. What the hell does that mean? Come and see, he says. Outside the cabin was a row of Indian crew pushing blocks of stone along a wet deck!!! The boat deck was a teak deck fastened on top of the steel deck and apparently it needs to be cared for by scrubbing it with sandstone!! But holystone? No idea, said Colin, we have always called them that and it happens every week followed by washing the decks down.

OK, another maritime tradition I need to get used to.

At our leisurely pace of 8 knots it is going to take around 9 days to reach Port Said. That means at least one more round of holystoning, must remember that!

After lunch Colin called us into the apprentice messroom. It is Saturday today and tomorrow, Sunday, the Captain will start his weekly rounds of inspection and that includes us.

“What”, all of us first trippers shouted. We thought we had escaped having to tidy up and clean our bedrooms when we left home! Well, boyo, he said. Not quite used to this boyo thing. Must be some Welsh expression but is he being kind, patronising or is it just like in Yorkshire when we shout, “ 'Eh up'.”? Well, at least he is not angry. OK Colin what have we got to do? Well, just so you know he comes with clean white gloves and if he finds something whilst wiping above doors behind bathroom taps etc., we will get a rocket, get it? Everything must be squeaky clean. And another thing he will inspect your personal lockers so do not leave any dirty underwear in there! And finally, we line up outside in FULL UNIFORM.

Bloody hell seems we are in the Navy now. Something like that says Colin with a smile.

Sunday arrives, 0945 Colin has done his inspection to check everything and just before 1000 we line up outside our cabin. Right on 1000 the Captain arrives in full uniform, the standard gold “scrambled egg” on his uniform cap showing his full authority. The doleful chief officer trails behind.

Good morning boys, the Captain smiles, no illnesses, all in good physical form? Fine we all respond, and Colin invites the Captain in to start his inspection. He pulls on a pair of white gloves, smiles at us and enters the hallowed apprentice accommodation. We are told to wait outside so have no idea what happened in there. Fifteen minutes later the entourage comes out and the Captain reports that all is well but commands Colin to train the younger apprentices to be more thorough in cleaning behind and under the taps!! Not only that we could better organise our clothes in our lockers!!

So ends our first inspection and Colin sighs a breath of relief. “I thought it was going to be much worse than that”. It was a good idea that I did an inspection first. One sneaky thing some Captains do is to put a coin in a well-hidden place and then check to see if it is still there on the next inspection. I found one under a bunk mattress. Well done, Sunday is a day of relaxation for non-watch keepers which is alright for me, but you guys have to go back on watches! He smiles and lights up his pipe.

The weather is warming up and it is not too bad on watch now. Seas are relatively calm and the midnight to 0400 “graveyard” watch is pleasant enough once you have the routines worked out. It is relatively quiet on the ship and the only sounds are the thump, thump of the engine and the splashing of the sea against the ship’s hull. Now and again dolphins come and play in the bow wave jumping high in the air before diving like a torpedo back into the sea. However, there is not a lot of time to hang over the bridge coaming and dream as there is plenty of ship traffic coming and going in our direction and we do not overtake many ships at our leisurely 8 knots. There are fishing boats around and they seem to have no regard for other shipping and the only lights they seem to display is very bright overhead lights over their fishing gear. Not very good for detecting their movement. So, the days and nights pass quickly and there is a sense of excitement on the ship and the word is we will change into “whites” tomorrow whatever that means!!

 

Going “foreign”

 We sailed out of the Irish Sea and left coastal Britain behind.

As we steered South South West (SSW) we crossed over the continental shelf and truly could say we were “deep sea” sailing. For the first time I was at sea going towards foreign countries, in this case the North West coast of Spain.

To reach their we must cross the Bay of Biscay, notorious for its gales and enormous swell driven by the South Westerly prevailing winds coming all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, we today were truly in an ocean, no longer a sea.

There are several “markers” that tell you that you have left coastal waters and entered an ocean regime.

Birds that wheel around the ship zigzagging around the wake looking for food are completely absent. Both land and seabirds are gone. They are not true ocean birds like the albatross and need to return to land.

Maritime traffic also changes. There is much less recreational boats and local fishermen. They too have their land-based bases to return to. Of course, there are deep-sea fisherman offshore to keep an eye on. Other merchant ships are also present but in a more ordered manner. No longer traffic coming from all directions but more of an ocean motorway with ships going in the same direction or opposite direction. In fact, in some congested straits and channels there are traffic separation schemes (TSS) that regulate the routes of marine traffic.

In the Bay of Biscay traffic is usually heading south to the Mediterranean or north to Europe so there is plenty of passing ships to see.

One becomes familiar with ships by their flag and colour scheme. The flag or ensign denotes

country of registration of the ship and is usually flown at the stern. The colour scheme of a ship often clearly identifies the owning company of the ship. Brocklebanks, for example, has a black hull with a white band. The funnel is black with blue and white band on it and the name of a ship also provides a clue to its identity. In the case of Brocklebanks they were all Indian names and my first ship was named “Mahout”.

I had heard the Second Mate telling tales to the other apprentices how bad the Bay of Biscay can be. Not more days with gales, being wet and seasick surely.

He talked about places Ushant and Finisterre as important places in navigation, so I needed to find out. Colin, our all-knowing senior apprentice explained. “Boyo”, he said, in his soft lilting Welsh accent, “they are lighthouses used as marking points in planning the voyage of a ship. Rounding these points is seen as a marking of a passage in the voyage and the start or completion of a difficult passage. Ushant and Finisterre are the guardian lighthouses at the northern and southern extremities of the Bay of Biscay separating France and Spain. This large open part of the Atlantic Ocean had been feared by seafarers for centuries.

Escaping the tobacco laden atmosphere in the messroom by Colin puffing on his pipe as he pontificated on maritime geography, I searched for these headlands to no avail. Colin told us that the first landfall would be Cape Finisterre, probably around noon.

For my first trip the Bay was behaving with blue sky and a deep blue ocean we rolled our way across in a light SW ‘Ly swell at our sedate 8 knots. Now in the 3rd day of the voyage I was settling into the 4 to 8 nature of watches and starting to enjoy myself.

Figure 1 Courtesy Deensel (CCBY 2.0)

On the 6^th. day in the late afternoon I spotted my first foreign landfall on the port bow, Cape Finisterre, in fact my first foreign country having never been abroad before. Very exciting. The very word Finisterre meant “end of the earth” in Roman times so was it believed before the age of discovery later.

 My companions in the Apprentice accommodation were also settling down and Ralph, one of the other “first trippers” shared a room with me taking the lower bunk. We exchanged our experiences and our knowledge of how the ship ran increased rapidly. Ralph was on the four to eight with the chief officer. One morning “the Mate” told him to report to “Chippy” at 7:00 AM and do the rounds with him! Chippy is the ship's Carpenter and is responsible for checking the integrity of the ship. Although we are a steel ship, it is just as Patrick O'Brien has described in his book. The Carpenter reported in those days every watch how much water there was in the bilges of those wooden ships. So, every morning at 7:00 AM chippy went around the ship “sounding bilges”. This involved unscrewing a brass cap on the deck and lowering a brass rod on a rope till there was a dull thud as it reached the bottom of somewhere, I know not but as described as “bilges”. 

Bilges, it turns out are the lowest level in the ship where water collects from leaks and whenever there is damage to the outer hull, it is the bilges that receive the ingress of water. This is a simplistic explanation but all I needed at this stage. Colin said, with a huge grin on his face, I would become much more acquainted with double bottom tanks and bilges after we had discharged our cargo. Not sure I liked the sound of that!

The next day watch 12 noon to 4pm we were coasting down the Portuguese coast, and I mentioned to the Second Mate what Colin had told me that headlands and lighthouses were important navigation points in planning a voyage. “Come”, he said, “I am checking the courses for the next couple of days, you can see what I do”. “You need to learn a little of this when you go for your tickets”. Not sure what he meant but thought it may have something to do with studying for my first officers’ certificate, 2^nd. Mates, some 4 years away!

 

 

 

 

He produced a table and explained what they were:

Position	Course	Distance	To go
C. Finisterre 106 x 10’			541
C. Roca 093 x 10’	183	251	290
C. St. Vincent 075 x 5’	165	111	179
C. Trafalgar 023 x 12’	113	154	25
Isla Tarifa 006 x 3’	096	25	0

 

The position is an important navigation point where we change course. So, we start from a position with C. St. Vincent bearing 106(T) at 10 nautical miles. We have 541 nautical miles to go to Isla Tarifa just west of Gibralter.Then we steer 183 degrees (true) for a distance of 251 nautical miles until we come to Cape Roca bearing 093(T) at a distance of 10 nautical miles.

These positions and courses we lay off on the chart and measure our progress by checking our position either by radar or by taking compass bearings from the wing of the bridge repeater. “Do you get the idea?” I replied that it seemed complicated but would follow what he did. So began my first introduction to coastal navigation!

However, much more interesting was to use the binoculars to gaze at these foreign coasts. Very different to what I was used to in Yorkshire. Undulating hills with steep cliffs coming down to sandy bays and beaches populated by white houses. Wow!

We passed Lisbon and continued our way south towards one of the major headlands of Cape St. Vincent. Then we changed to more easterly course and headed for Cape Trafalgar of English naval history significance before continuing eastward to the Straits of Gibraltar.

At this point the Chief Engineer came on the bridge and told the Second Officer to tell the captain that we were not making enough fresh water for the boilers that fed the steam driven triple expansion engine and that we would need to enter Gibraltar for water.

So we struggled through the straits against a strong westward flowing current and finally entered Gibraltar harbour, my first foreign port. This was going to be exciting!