Sea Life 1951. The Modasa. London.
First draft:
Leaving Malta our next call was Tilbury Dock in London. Our passengers disembarked here and some of the cargo also, I think.
During our few days stay at Tilbury, over the weekend, I made the opportunity to visit my Aunt Florrie (Florence), she was my father's sister, who lived in nearby Rochester about 5 miles distant. She and her husband had moved from Cumberland to Rochester in Kent just after the end of WW2. I made the journey by early morning bus and they were more than surprised to see me. She had 2 children, my cousins, Valerie and Carl who were younger than I. I was made most welcome by the family and I finally caught the bus back to Tilbury in the late afternoon.
My aunt's husband, John Ritson was a close friend of my father's and he was also my godfather. He was said to be a very clever man who worked on seaplanes during WW2 based in the English Lake District . His son Carl Ritson following his father's footsteps, becoming an aircraft engineer. Eventually he went to Florida, USA to follow his profession.
We were now due to leave Tilbury and sail to Newcastle-on-Tyne, the Modasa's home port to discharge the remaining cargo.
Note: To be amended. My visit to my Aunt Florrie above may have been with another ship (British Piper), an oil tanker sometime later. Maybe not.
14 November 2010
Sea Life 1951. The Modasa. Homeward Bound.
First draft:
We left Lourenco Marques heading for Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar where we were to pick up our first passengers. We would also picked up more cargo, what it was I can no longer remember. Then onwards to Mombasa where we picked up the majority of our passengers and more cargo. Our ports of call were more or less the same as on our outward voyage with the exception of Marseilles, in southern France.
We then passed through the Suez Canal again and back into the Mediterranean. Following the north African Coast we made our way to to the island of Malta an additional port of call to pick up even more cargo and maybe an extra passenger or two.
Malta
. We stayed here only 12 hours. We were berthed close to the old town so, to stretch our legs, a few of us had a short exploratory walk through the old town with its narrow cobbled streets, small shops and cafes. I remember the buildings were high in these narrow streets but the light coloured stone of the buildings seemed to reflect the daylight down into the streets making them quite bright. Leaving Malta our next call was Tilbury docks in London.
Notes and thoughts.
Now, remembering Malta I wish we could have stayed longer. There is much history here, going back to ancient times. As a school boy and later I did not care for History much at all, although I did enjoy Geography very much. As a boy, I would often dream of those faraway countries.
During my early 50s I became interested in genealogy and then the history of the county of Cumberland which is now Cumbria were I was born. This lead to the history of its peoples through the ages. My fathers people were yeoman farmers in the Wigton and Carlisle areas and I was able to get back to the late 1700s before I started to be unsure who was who. My mothers line was much easier to trace. They had not moved far going back to about the mid 1600s. They were in the main yeoman farmers and stonemasons.
First draft:
We left Lourenco Marques heading for Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar where we were to pick up our first passengers. We would also picked up more cargo, what it was I can no longer remember. Then onwards to Mombasa where we picked up the majority of our passengers and more cargo. Our ports of call were more or less the same as on our outward voyage with the exception of Marseilles, in southern France.
We then passed through the Suez Canal again and back into the Mediterranean. Following the north African Coast we made our way to to the island of Malta an additional port of call to pick up even more cargo and maybe an extra passenger or two.
Malta
. We stayed here only 12 hours. We were berthed close to the old town so, to stretch our legs, a few of us had a short exploratory walk through the old town with its narrow cobbled streets, small shops and cafes. I remember the buildings were high in these narrow streets but the light coloured stone of the buildings seemed to reflect the daylight down into the streets making them quite bright. Leaving Malta our next call was Tilbury docks in London.
Notes and thoughts.
Now, remembering Malta I wish we could have stayed longer. There is much history here, going back to ancient times. As a school boy and later I did not care for History much at all, although I did enjoy Geography very much. As a boy, I would often dream of those faraway countries.
During my early 50s I became interested in genealogy and then the history of the county of Cumberland which is now Cumbria were I was born. This lead to the history of its peoples through the ages. My fathers people were yeoman farmers in the Wigton and Carlisle areas and I was able to get back to the late 1700s before I started to be unsure who was who. My mothers line was much easier to trace. They had not moved far going back to about the mid 1600s. They were in the main yeoman farmers and stonemasons.
4 November 2010
:Sea Life 1951. Lourenco Marques, Mozambique.
First draft
We left Dar es Salaam, heading south to Lourenco Marques now renamed Maputo. When we visited, Mozambique was still a colony of Portugal. The name change took place shortly after Mozambique became a republic. The old name has always seemed to me, since a small boy to have had a grand ring to it. From my eight birthday I have been a keen stamp collector with a few temporary periodic lapses. First stamps of the world, then British Colonies, then in my later years, theme related. The older stamps of Mozambique had only the name Beira wrote across the bottom. There was no country of Beira and it took sometime to deduce where the stamp came from. I found it eventually from a large school wall map, the word Beira jumped out then the name Mozambique. Looking further on the map lower down was the name Lourenco Marques, that name stuck in my brain, it now seems for ever!
Lourenco Marques was a long way from Dar es Salaam about 1500 miles or a little more, a few days steaming. If we still had a passenger or two on board I am now unable to remember or whether we still had cargo on board. I do remember we had cargo to load mainly large bales of hides, mostly cattle hides. I seem to remember wild cattle mentioned during loading, added to that we were not far from the South African border and the railway ran into Lourenco Marques from South Africa and down from the north also.
We, or I did, got quite a surprise when we got an invite to a cricket match... could we raise a team? The word spread though the ship. I don't think we quite made a team, we made up the eleven from spare British locals. In 1951 Lourenco Marques was a thriving port and railway junction. Then, British officials of kinds seemed to abound in all kinds of unlikely places. Oh, and the cricket match, I think we did managed to lose.
We were here 3 days, we all enjoyed the hospitality of the local expatriates and the stories swapped.
First draft
We left Dar es Salaam, heading south to Lourenco Marques now renamed Maputo. When we visited, Mozambique was still a colony of Portugal. The name change took place shortly after Mozambique became a republic. The old name has always seemed to me, since a small boy to have had a grand ring to it. From my eight birthday I have been a keen stamp collector with a few temporary periodic lapses. First stamps of the world, then British Colonies, then in my later years, theme related. The older stamps of Mozambique had only the name Beira wrote across the bottom. There was no country of Beira and it took sometime to deduce where the stamp came from. I found it eventually from a large school wall map, the word Beira jumped out then the name Mozambique. Looking further on the map lower down was the name Lourenco Marques, that name stuck in my brain, it now seems for ever!
Lourenco Marques was a long way from Dar es Salaam about 1500 miles or a little more, a few days steaming. If we still had a passenger or two on board I am now unable to remember or whether we still had cargo on board. I do remember we had cargo to load mainly large bales of hides, mostly cattle hides. I seem to remember wild cattle mentioned during loading, added to that we were not far from the South African border and the railway ran into Lourenco Marques from South Africa and down from the north also.
We, or I did, got quite a surprise when we got an invite to a cricket match... could we raise a team? The word spread though the ship. I don't think we quite made a team, we made up the eleven from spare British locals. In 1951 Lourenco Marques was a thriving port and railway junction. Then, British officials of kinds seemed to abound in all kinds of unlikely places. Oh, and the cricket match, I think we did managed to lose.
We were here 3 days, we all enjoyed the hospitality of the local expatriates and the stories swapped.
30 October 2010
Sea Life 1951. The Modasa.
First draft:
Dar es Salaam means "Haven of Peace". Tanzania in the 1950s was called Tanganyika, and like Kenya and Zanzibar, British ruled.
We were in port here for about 3 days; most of the remaining passengers would disembark here.The majority of our remaining cargo was unloaded here, too. The town had a more Arabic feel in comparison to Mombasa. Of the population of Tanganyika, 33% were estimated to be Muslim.
Whilst we waited anchored in the harbour for a berth a lone bum boat came out from the wharf loaded with goods and being a lone boat was allowed up on deck. He laid a large sheet out on the deck. Then from the boat below, with the aid of helpers, hoisted up a number of baskets with selections of his wares. Our remaining passengers crowded round buying and bartering for various things; asking for this or that and he, instructing his helpers to heave this or that item up to him.
I noticed a few seashells on show. The elderly Arabic man noticed my interest and he picked one or two up for me to have a closer look. I asked him if he had any bigger ones, He indicated no but he could get some for me, if I wished. I described the shape and size I required and he said he would return tomorrow. Walking away, I thought well he was just being polite. I probably would not see him again.
Later, we berthed and next morning Jock called me, he decided to do a few maintenance checks to the ships radio equipment. He showed me how to check over the transmitter motor alternator, a bit of grease here and there, tightening this or that. Then along to a large bank of batteries outside in a waterproof box used to drive the radio transmitter, whilst stressing the importance of regular maintenance and topping up the battery acid with distilled water. I then made the mistake of saying to Jock that I knew all this from the Radio College tuition. Jock looked at me for a few moments, then he growled that he knew that, he was just empathizing the importance of the fact that when at sea our power had to generated completely independent of the ships power supply. He went on to say that if the batteries failed or the motor alternator failed we were in serious trouble. If the main transmitter failed we had a standby, the same applied to the communications receiver. We could send out an advise message advising of our problem and get shore help when we reached our destination port. (The above is only a simple explanation). He told me later that he applied the above to each new 2nd Radio Officer to come aboard. Jock knew the consequences; maintenance usually, was quickly passed over at the Marine Radio College. Years later when I worked for British Civil Aviation and transfered to the Maintainance Unit Jock's remarks stood me in good stead.
In the afternoon I stood by the rail watching passengers disembarking, officials coming on board, cargo slings bringing goods slowly out of the holds together with the general wharf activity. It was hot standing in the tropical sun. Jock would be asleep as he usually was in the afternoons, so I retired and propped myself up upon my cabin day bed and read a book which I had from the ship's library. Sometime later there was a small knock and the cabin door opened, it was my cabin steward. He said with raised eyebrows of surprise, a man was here to see me. As I got up I saw the elderly Arabic man of yesterday standing behind him. I grinned at the steward and said OK, my visitor said he had some shells to look at. He unwound a cloth and put it on the deck outside my cabin door and proceeded to lay a number of large shells on the cloth. Two caught my eye immediately, both pink and white in a twisted cone form, blunt at one end and pointed at the other, about 9 inches long and 4 inches across the base, just what I wanted. He had, I think 5 shells in all. I took the two cone shells,the others were too small or wrong shape.
I asked him the "how much" and the price he named seemed to me quite cheap, I said OK without trying to bargain. My purpose for the shells was to drill a hole in the middle blunt end and carefully hollow out the centre to make a lamp. I had once seen this done in a book with instructions how to proceed. I did this with the Radio Room tools and then procured the necessary parts from the ships Electrician. When the inner shell was hollowed out enough and the bulb inserted the whole shell glowed with a varying soft pink glow all over. To complete the job I needed some glue to glue the bulb socket base into place. this lead me to the ships engineers who came up with just the thing.
There is a postscript to this story. After buying the shells from the Arabic gentleman I found to my dismay the shells were live. The question was what to do? I had plenty of suggestions, mostly dunk them in salt water and the fleshy part would come out seeking food. Dunk them in fresh water and it would kill them. I selected the salt water way. To get it to come out fully I found I needed to pin the shell upside down with a weight and quickly with a knife severe the fleshy part. Borrowing a sharp knife from one of the deck officers I quickly managed to cut the majority of the tongue out. As a boy who spent many hours fishing I was an expert at this operation. I then with a bent piece of wire managed to hook out a good part of the remaining flesh and left the 2 shells to dry in the sun for a few days.
I was able to do most of the above messy and noisy drilling away from the accommodation. Aft of our accommodation was a block of cabins part empty, and a few used by the Engineers at the aft end of the block. At the end of the block nearest me was a washroom of sorts with brushes, both scrubbing and sweeping and a sink and with, of all things... a salt water tap. During our voyage I had noticed the washroom didn't seem to be used. I moved my bits and pieces in. No one queried me.
One evening someone mentioned to me would I like to make up a six to hire a taxi for the evening and go down the coastal road (South) to a nice place for a drink...I said yes. Off we trooped. When we reached our destination we found the place closed, but lights on at the house. We were told that they were normally closed, off-season. If we were staying a while, they would be glad to open up the bar. A few minutes later a house-boy came out and led us a short way down towards the beach and opened up a circular bar and arranged a table for us. Sometime later the owner and his wife joined us with a few locals. We had an excellent time. Midnight saw us returning.
Many years later, as I write this in 2010 I looked on Google Earth and spotted the resort we had gone to. It now looked absolutely different. Where we had sat near the beach was now 2 large concrete multi-storey apartment blocks. I thought at first I must have been wrong. Checking the area again there was not another place it could have been. The lovely simple resort of long ago had been wiped out. I sat quietly in my chair and felt sad and not wanting to write anymore today.
First draft:
Dar es Salaam means "Haven of Peace". Tanzania in the 1950s was called Tanganyika, and like Kenya and Zanzibar, British ruled.
We were in port here for about 3 days; most of the remaining passengers would disembark here.The majority of our remaining cargo was unloaded here, too. The town had a more Arabic feel in comparison to Mombasa. Of the population of Tanganyika, 33% were estimated to be Muslim.
Whilst we waited anchored in the harbour for a berth a lone bum boat came out from the wharf loaded with goods and being a lone boat was allowed up on deck. He laid a large sheet out on the deck. Then from the boat below, with the aid of helpers, hoisted up a number of baskets with selections of his wares. Our remaining passengers crowded round buying and bartering for various things; asking for this or that and he, instructing his helpers to heave this or that item up to him.
I noticed a few seashells on show. The elderly Arabic man noticed my interest and he picked one or two up for me to have a closer look. I asked him if he had any bigger ones, He indicated no but he could get some for me, if I wished. I described the shape and size I required and he said he would return tomorrow. Walking away, I thought well he was just being polite. I probably would not see him again.
Later, we berthed and next morning Jock called me, he decided to do a few maintenance checks to the ships radio equipment. He showed me how to check over the transmitter motor alternator, a bit of grease here and there, tightening this or that. Then along to a large bank of batteries outside in a waterproof box used to drive the radio transmitter, whilst stressing the importance of regular maintenance and topping up the battery acid with distilled water. I then made the mistake of saying to Jock that I knew all this from the Radio College tuition. Jock looked at me for a few moments, then he growled that he knew that, he was just empathizing the importance of the fact that when at sea our power had to generated completely independent of the ships power supply. He went on to say that if the batteries failed or the motor alternator failed we were in serious trouble. If the main transmitter failed we had a standby, the same applied to the communications receiver. We could send out an advise message advising of our problem and get shore help when we reached our destination port. (The above is only a simple explanation). He told me later that he applied the above to each new 2nd Radio Officer to come aboard. Jock knew the consequences; maintenance usually, was quickly passed over at the Marine Radio College. Years later when I worked for British Civil Aviation and transfered to the Maintainance Unit Jock's remarks stood me in good stead.
In the afternoon I stood by the rail watching passengers disembarking, officials coming on board, cargo slings bringing goods slowly out of the holds together with the general wharf activity. It was hot standing in the tropical sun. Jock would be asleep as he usually was in the afternoons, so I retired and propped myself up upon my cabin day bed and read a book which I had from the ship's library. Sometime later there was a small knock and the cabin door opened, it was my cabin steward. He said with raised eyebrows of surprise, a man was here to see me. As I got up I saw the elderly Arabic man of yesterday standing behind him. I grinned at the steward and said OK, my visitor said he had some shells to look at. He unwound a cloth and put it on the deck outside my cabin door and proceeded to lay a number of large shells on the cloth. Two caught my eye immediately, both pink and white in a twisted cone form, blunt at one end and pointed at the other, about 9 inches long and 4 inches across the base, just what I wanted. He had, I think 5 shells in all. I took the two cone shells,the others were too small or wrong shape.
I asked him the "how much" and the price he named seemed to me quite cheap, I said OK without trying to bargain. My purpose for the shells was to drill a hole in the middle blunt end and carefully hollow out the centre to make a lamp. I had once seen this done in a book with instructions how to proceed. I did this with the Radio Room tools and then procured the necessary parts from the ships Electrician. When the inner shell was hollowed out enough and the bulb inserted the whole shell glowed with a varying soft pink glow all over. To complete the job I needed some glue to glue the bulb socket base into place. this lead me to the ships engineers who came up with just the thing.
There is a postscript to this story. After buying the shells from the Arabic gentleman I found to my dismay the shells were live. The question was what to do? I had plenty of suggestions, mostly dunk them in salt water and the fleshy part would come out seeking food. Dunk them in fresh water and it would kill them. I selected the salt water way. To get it to come out fully I found I needed to pin the shell upside down with a weight and quickly with a knife severe the fleshy part. Borrowing a sharp knife from one of the deck officers I quickly managed to cut the majority of the tongue out. As a boy who spent many hours fishing I was an expert at this operation. I then with a bent piece of wire managed to hook out a good part of the remaining flesh and left the 2 shells to dry in the sun for a few days.
I was able to do most of the above messy and noisy drilling away from the accommodation. Aft of our accommodation was a block of cabins part empty, and a few used by the Engineers at the aft end of the block. At the end of the block nearest me was a washroom of sorts with brushes, both scrubbing and sweeping and a sink and with, of all things... a salt water tap. During our voyage I had noticed the washroom didn't seem to be used. I moved my bits and pieces in. No one queried me.
One evening someone mentioned to me would I like to make up a six to hire a taxi for the evening and go down the coastal road (South) to a nice place for a drink...I said yes. Off we trooped. When we reached our destination we found the place closed, but lights on at the house. We were told that they were normally closed, off-season. If we were staying a while, they would be glad to open up the bar. A few minutes later a house-boy came out and led us a short way down towards the beach and opened up a circular bar and arranged a table for us. Sometime later the owner and his wife joined us with a few locals. We had an excellent time. Midnight saw us returning.
Many years later, as I write this in 2010 I looked on Google Earth and spotted the resort we had gone to. It now looked absolutely different. Where we had sat near the beach was now 2 large concrete multi-storey apartment blocks. I thought at first I must have been wrong. Checking the area again there was not another place it could have been. The lovely simple resort of long ago had been wiped out. I sat quietly in my chair and felt sad and not wanting to write anymore today.
12 August 2009
20 July 2005
Sea Life 1951. Modasa Maturing rapidly.
First draft:
Yes, maturity came rapidly. I soon learnt what a gin sling was on the Modasa, a favourite cooling and partying drink. Socialising with the passengers on the deck below us was encouraged and it soon became a enjoyable experience when off duty. By this time I had begun to smoke as most did during this era. Cigarettes were very cheap on-board attracting no duty when at sea. Alcohol at sea fell into that category too.
It was not as though smoking and having a drink was new to me, it wasn't. During my time at South Shields more than once I had slipped into a pub underage with older friends for a beer but that was not too often due to lack of funds. It was the same with cigarettes.
I found that my manners were a little rough around the edges, too. I soon adapted and learnt quickly. During this period I used to use quite a lot of Brycreem on my hair and plastered it down. A couple of girls a little older than I soon set me straight. Fingernails were now attended to and no longer left over long with a hint of black at the base. Yes, I quickly learnt the social 'do's and don’ts'.
Leaving Aden we passed round the horn of Africa and hugging the coast of Somalia down to Kenya. The sea in the Indian Ocean in1951 was rich in sea life. One day lounging over the ships rail I spotted a giant turtle paddling along happily oblivious to our large vessel only metre away. On another occasion, a large whale sporting in the water perhaps 500 metres distant, again oblivious to us. Gigantic would be a better term for the animal for as he came out of the water, steeply upwards at speed and then, before diving again, it seemed an age before his tail appeared.
Again on another day our ship gave way to a large sea-going dhow, triangular sail billowing in the breeze, low in the water with tied down cargo and the 3/4 crewmen sitting lounging on top. I was told that it was probably coming down from Arabia or the Persian Gulf carrying cargo to the African ports. These dhows were just the same and following the same routes since biblical times and before. I can only picture it as large. These dhows are said to be upwards 25 - 30 tons in weight and a capacity of 300 gur... an old Babylonian measurement... upwards to 90,000 litres capacity.
About 5 days sailing found us close to our next destination, Mombasa in Kenya.
First draft:
Yes, maturity came rapidly. I soon learnt what a gin sling was on the Modasa, a favourite cooling and partying drink. Socialising with the passengers on the deck below us was encouraged and it soon became a enjoyable experience when off duty. By this time I had begun to smoke as most did during this era. Cigarettes were very cheap on-board attracting no duty when at sea. Alcohol at sea fell into that category too.
It was not as though smoking and having a drink was new to me, it wasn't. During my time at South Shields more than once I had slipped into a pub underage with older friends for a beer but that was not too often due to lack of funds. It was the same with cigarettes.
I found that my manners were a little rough around the edges, too. I soon adapted and learnt quickly. During this period I used to use quite a lot of Brycreem on my hair and plastered it down. A couple of girls a little older than I soon set me straight. Fingernails were now attended to and no longer left over long with a hint of black at the base. Yes, I quickly learnt the social 'do's and don’ts'.
Leaving Aden we passed round the horn of Africa and hugging the coast of Somalia down to Kenya. The sea in the Indian Ocean in1951 was rich in sea life. One day lounging over the ships rail I spotted a giant turtle paddling along happily oblivious to our large vessel only metre away. On another occasion, a large whale sporting in the water perhaps 500 metres distant, again oblivious to us. Gigantic would be a better term for the animal for as he came out of the water, steeply upwards at speed and then, before diving again, it seemed an age before his tail appeared.
Again on another day our ship gave way to a large sea-going dhow, triangular sail billowing in the breeze, low in the water with tied down cargo and the 3/4 crewmen sitting lounging on top. I was told that it was probably coming down from Arabia or the Persian Gulf carrying cargo to the African ports. These dhows were just the same and following the same routes since biblical times and before. I can only picture it as large. These dhows are said to be upwards 25 - 30 tons in weight and a capacity of 300 gur... an old Babylonian measurement... upwards to 90,000 litres capacity.
About 5 days sailing found us close to our next destination, Mombasa in Kenya.
Sea Life. 1951. The Modasa. The Port of Aden.
I wrote the text of the following piece about 2 years ago to see if I could still write following my decision to write my memoirs. I had spent most of my writing life since school with stilted technical language, reports and a few letters. After a number of test pieces, grammar slowly started to return and what follows is one of those pieces. This is my remembrance of Aden.
Yes, Aden, which is now in Yemen, is presently in the news. I remember Yemen for other things. When I was a young Merchant Navy Radio Officer on my first trip to sea and just in my late teens we called in at the port of Aden to discharge a small amount of cargo and take on bunkers (refuel), we were on our way to the ports of East Africa. We anchored in the small-enclosed harbour, which was surrounded with large, almost menacing black volcanic cliffs and the small township was perched on a narrow ledge-like strip at the foot of the cliffs. The black cliffs and the sparkling blue water gave the place an almost exotic feel, especially with the colourful bumboats circling the ship. The ship I was on, the SS Modasa, as well as cargo, carried 200 passengers. The bumboats rowed out from the township carried all manner of goods; veritable floating shops and were very popular with everyone. I had to buy something and my eyes settled on a large wall or throw rug with a deer scene woven on it. Just the thing I though and I bought the rug. It was the first item I had bought with my new income and I felt pleased with this first purchase. After the trip was over I took the rug home and gave it to my parents, the first real present I was able to afford. I suppose it was a small thank you for the struggle they had had to send me to study for 2 years at South Shields Marine College.
After the early death of my mother at the age of 56 and the family home was broken up my father gave me the rug and we brought it to New Zealand with us. For many years the rug covered our dining table until it was old, worn and faded. Sometimes I would look at the rug on our dining room table and remember my parents with affection and think of their struggle and my first visit to Aden.
This morning as I write this my eyes mist as I think of them, I feel a little sad and drained. They had given up a lot for me. I reflect, maybe the title of this piece should have been "The Rug and my Parents".
I wrote the text of the following piece about 2 years ago to see if I could still write following my decision to write my memoirs. I had spent most of my writing life since school with stilted technical language, reports and a few letters. After a number of test pieces, grammar slowly started to return and what follows is one of those pieces. This is my remembrance of Aden.
Yes, Aden, which is now in Yemen, is presently in the news. I remember Yemen for other things. When I was a young Merchant Navy Radio Officer on my first trip to sea and just in my late teens we called in at the port of Aden to discharge a small amount of cargo and take on bunkers (refuel), we were on our way to the ports of East Africa. We anchored in the small-enclosed harbour, which was surrounded with large, almost menacing black volcanic cliffs and the small township was perched on a narrow ledge-like strip at the foot of the cliffs. The black cliffs and the sparkling blue water gave the place an almost exotic feel, especially with the colourful bumboats circling the ship. The ship I was on, the SS Modasa, as well as cargo, carried 200 passengers. The bumboats rowed out from the township carried all manner of goods; veritable floating shops and were very popular with everyone. I had to buy something and my eyes settled on a large wall or throw rug with a deer scene woven on it. Just the thing I though and I bought the rug. It was the first item I had bought with my new income and I felt pleased with this first purchase. After the trip was over I took the rug home and gave it to my parents, the first real present I was able to afford. I suppose it was a small thank you for the struggle they had had to send me to study for 2 years at South Shields Marine College.
After the early death of my mother at the age of 56 and the family home was broken up my father gave me the rug and we brought it to New Zealand with us. For many years the rug covered our dining table until it was old, worn and faded. Sometimes I would look at the rug on our dining room table and remember my parents with affection and think of their struggle and my first visit to Aden.
This morning as I write this my eyes mist as I think of them, I feel a little sad and drained. They had given up a lot for me. I reflect, maybe the title of this piece should have been "The Rug and my Parents".
23 June 2005
Sea Life.1951.The Modasa. The Red Sea.
First draft:
The Red Sea leg of our journey was in the region of 2000 miles. Leaving Suez the first 200 miles or so was down the Gulf of Suez 20 miles wide before it opened out into the Red Sea proper.
Our first port of call down here was Port Sudan to deliver cargo, our length of stay would be no longer than 24 hours at a rough guess. I remember little of the stop other than a desolate outlook of sand and a few warehouses. It certainly had little else where we berthed.
I went down the companionway, down on to the wharf, probably more to streach my legs and feel firm ground more than anything else. I distinctly remember rounding a corner of what appeared to be an office and standing there were 2 dark coloured figures standing with long staffs in ragged loose white garments and the wind blowing. What caught my attention was their hair, a great mop of matted, plastered curly hair. I suddenly realised I had seen pictures of figures like this before in books, I had met my first Fuzzy Wuzzies.
I learnt later that they were most probably down from the mountains visiting and their dress was as it had always been for aons of time. The fuzzy hair would probably be plastered and set with liquified cow dung which set hard when dried. Much like ladies hair spray of today. Thinking now I probably was a surprise to them as they were to me.
Leaving Port Sudan we continued south towards the entrance to the Red Sea leading into the Indian Ocean. Our next port of call was Aden in what is now Yemen. In the 1951 Aden was an important port for refuelling and it was here we would not only deliver cargo, we would take bunkers on board. In our case coal, for the Modasa was an old ship built in the days when coal was king.
When we entered the Red Sea from Suez we noticed a distinct rise in temperature. The Red Sea is one of the hotter regions of our world, hot winds blowing off the desert sands of the Arabia coupled with the heat of the sun, pushed the temperature to high levels.
In bygone days when travelling overseas, by ship was the only method; the passengers, especially in the cabins on the lower decks used to suffer from the extreme heat, for air conditioning was then, just a word. Cabins on the port side of the ship were much favoured on the trip out from the U.K., for the prevailing wind was from the port side.
Consequently the trip back to the U.K. via the Red Sea, the prevailing wind was from the starboard side of the ship. These preferred cabins were at a premium and it was only the richer passengers who could afford them. A phrase was coined; "Port out, Starboard home" which led to the well known word... POSH.
True or not I'm not sure, but that is the story I was told in my learning years.
First draft:
The Red Sea leg of our journey was in the region of 2000 miles. Leaving Suez the first 200 miles or so was down the Gulf of Suez 20 miles wide before it opened out into the Red Sea proper.
Our first port of call down here was Port Sudan to deliver cargo, our length of stay would be no longer than 24 hours at a rough guess. I remember little of the stop other than a desolate outlook of sand and a few warehouses. It certainly had little else where we berthed.
I went down the companionway, down on to the wharf, probably more to streach my legs and feel firm ground more than anything else. I distinctly remember rounding a corner of what appeared to be an office and standing there were 2 dark coloured figures standing with long staffs in ragged loose white garments and the wind blowing. What caught my attention was their hair, a great mop of matted, plastered curly hair. I suddenly realised I had seen pictures of figures like this before in books, I had met my first Fuzzy Wuzzies.
I learnt later that they were most probably down from the mountains visiting and their dress was as it had always been for aons of time. The fuzzy hair would probably be plastered and set with liquified cow dung which set hard when dried. Much like ladies hair spray of today. Thinking now I probably was a surprise to them as they were to me.
Leaving Port Sudan we continued south towards the entrance to the Red Sea leading into the Indian Ocean. Our next port of call was Aden in what is now Yemen. In the 1951 Aden was an important port for refuelling and it was here we would not only deliver cargo, we would take bunkers on board. In our case coal, for the Modasa was an old ship built in the days when coal was king.
When we entered the Red Sea from Suez we noticed a distinct rise in temperature. The Red Sea is one of the hotter regions of our world, hot winds blowing off the desert sands of the Arabia coupled with the heat of the sun, pushed the temperature to high levels.
In bygone days when travelling overseas, by ship was the only method; the passengers, especially in the cabins on the lower decks used to suffer from the extreme heat, for air conditioning was then, just a word. Cabins on the port side of the ship were much favoured on the trip out from the U.K., for the prevailing wind was from the port side.
Consequently the trip back to the U.K. via the Red Sea, the prevailing wind was from the starboard side of the ship. These preferred cabins were at a premium and it was only the richer passengers who could afford them. A phrase was coined; "Port out, Starboard home" which led to the well known word... POSH.
True or not I'm not sure, but that is the story I was told in my learning years.
21 June 2005
Sea Life. 1951. The Modasa. The Suez Canal.
First draft:
We got our orders via the radio station to start moving. The anchor winch started up and soon the clanking of the anchor chain could be heard from up forrard. The Bridge was informed and we started to move away in our numbered order. At the same time we could see in the distance a single in-line convoy of ships leaving the Canal and heading north into the Mediterranean. We had an Egyptian pilot taken on board earlier to guide us on our way.
As we enter the Canal from the northern end The Canal crosses a shallow bay before we see the canal banks We proceed in convoy at a slow speed so that our bow wave does not damage and erode the low banks of the canal. This first leg for 40 kilometres or more is straight as a die and looking fore then aft a line of ships can be seen looking almost as if they are sailing through the sandy desert.
On our right, the starboard side is Egypt with roads and population, but on the left hand, the port side is the Sinai Desert and little to see but dry sand and no vegetation. Occasionally on the Sinai side there is a rich green patch, an orchard or a farm complex with a few dwellings. No doubt fed from underground wells and irrigation.
Then, after we traverse this long straight section the canal bends a little, a slight dog-leg and a further 20 kilometres along the canal opens into a wide waterway, a lake and we can see the beautiful white city of Ismailia with its waving palms in the distance. We move on for another 10 - 15 kilometres and we enter the Bitter Lakes and we drop anchor for a while. We wait for a convoy of ships steaming north before we can complete the last leg of our journey.
Our journey ends at the southern city of Suez and the open Gulf of Suez is before us. We drop the pilot and then the Bridge rings the engine room for full speed ahead. The convoy fans out the faster passing the slower and we plough our way across the beautiful still turquoise waters.
This was the year of 1951. No doubt there have been many changes since then, more building and I believe a road bridge now across the Canal. Empty space built upon and land irrigated as the population of Egypt swells and increases.
Note: In the years ahead I would pass through the Suez Canal a number of times but this first trip is the one most etched into my memory and it is the description I write in detail.
First draft:
We got our orders via the radio station to start moving. The anchor winch started up and soon the clanking of the anchor chain could be heard from up forrard. The Bridge was informed and we started to move away in our numbered order. At the same time we could see in the distance a single in-line convoy of ships leaving the Canal and heading north into the Mediterranean. We had an Egyptian pilot taken on board earlier to guide us on our way.
As we enter the Canal from the northern end The Canal crosses a shallow bay before we see the canal banks We proceed in convoy at a slow speed so that our bow wave does not damage and erode the low banks of the canal. This first leg for 40 kilometres or more is straight as a die and looking fore then aft a line of ships can be seen looking almost as if they are sailing through the sandy desert.
On our right, the starboard side is Egypt with roads and population, but on the left hand, the port side is the Sinai Desert and little to see but dry sand and no vegetation. Occasionally on the Sinai side there is a rich green patch, an orchard or a farm complex with a few dwellings. No doubt fed from underground wells and irrigation.
Then, after we traverse this long straight section the canal bends a little, a slight dog-leg and a further 20 kilometres along the canal opens into a wide waterway, a lake and we can see the beautiful white city of Ismailia with its waving palms in the distance. We move on for another 10 - 15 kilometres and we enter the Bitter Lakes and we drop anchor for a while. We wait for a convoy of ships steaming north before we can complete the last leg of our journey.
Our journey ends at the southern city of Suez and the open Gulf of Suez is before us. We drop the pilot and then the Bridge rings the engine room for full speed ahead. The convoy fans out the faster passing the slower and we plough our way across the beautiful still turquoise waters.
This was the year of 1951. No doubt there have been many changes since then, more building and I believe a road bridge now across the Canal. Empty space built upon and land irrigated as the population of Egypt swells and increases.
Note: In the years ahead I would pass through the Suez Canal a number of times but this first trip is the one most etched into my memory and it is the description I write in detail.
19 June 2005
Sea Life. 1951. The Modasa. Heading for Suez.
First draft:
We left Marseilles and our next land fall would be Port Said, and the entrance to the Suez Canal some 2000 miles away and a few days steaming. We were still in the month of August and the days were getting warmer now as we approached the North African coast.
I was getting well used to my midnight to 6 a.m. watch now and I used to enjoy the pleasant peacefulness of the warm nights. After my 6 hour watch I used to sleep until late morning, then I would lunch early which gave me the whole of the afternoon free before my 2 hours evening watch.
The warm days became uncomfortable in our dark blue doe-skin uniforms and the captain ordered a change of uniform to tropical kit. During the day it was regulation white shorts and open-neck shirt with shoulder epaulets denoting rank, white knee length stockings and white shoes. Our peaked cap was the same navy blue one but with a white cap cover fitted. Very smart.
In the evening after 6 p.m. at dinner or socialising, it was "number tens". This again was a white uniform comprising of white longs and shoes and a snug fitting white jacket which buttoned up to the neck with epaulets, again attached to the shoulders.
We eventually arrived at Port Said. The pilot came on board and took the ship in to the anchorage to await our turn in the convoy of ships waiting to steam south through the Suez Canal. Unlike a normal port, we stayed on watch in the radio room. Prior to entering Port Said, when we transmitted our TR message giving our time of arrival we received instructions to monitor a certain channel where we were would receive further instructions when we were required to up anchor, our convoy number and the route to follow.
Jock called me in to the radio room during his watch to show me the procedure to follow and who to advise. His explanation must have sunk in as later on my first own ship, I followed the procedure without a hitch.
During the hours we were at anchor whilst the ships arrived to make up our convoy, boats with dusky gentlemen in long white loose robes and round flat hats came alongside touting all manner of goods and souvenirs, calling us to buy. Two or 3 larger boats came from shore in a purposeful manner and headed directly for the lowered gangway. They were the preferred traders by the shipping line and they were allowed on board to display their wares on the open deck for the passengers, and us too of course. I don't remember buying anything, only just looking.
I found this all very exotic; the dark faces, the wafting off key music from the nearby jetty, smells of spices and incense and the chatter of the sellers of ornaments and souvenirs.
But too soon we must move and proceed down the Canal.
First draft:
We left Marseilles and our next land fall would be Port Said, and the entrance to the Suez Canal some 2000 miles away and a few days steaming. We were still in the month of August and the days were getting warmer now as we approached the North African coast.
I was getting well used to my midnight to 6 a.m. watch now and I used to enjoy the pleasant peacefulness of the warm nights. After my 6 hour watch I used to sleep until late morning, then I would lunch early which gave me the whole of the afternoon free before my 2 hours evening watch.
The warm days became uncomfortable in our dark blue doe-skin uniforms and the captain ordered a change of uniform to tropical kit. During the day it was regulation white shorts and open-neck shirt with shoulder epaulets denoting rank, white knee length stockings and white shoes. Our peaked cap was the same navy blue one but with a white cap cover fitted. Very smart.
In the evening after 6 p.m. at dinner or socialising, it was "number tens". This again was a white uniform comprising of white longs and shoes and a snug fitting white jacket which buttoned up to the neck with epaulets, again attached to the shoulders.
We eventually arrived at Port Said. The pilot came on board and took the ship in to the anchorage to await our turn in the convoy of ships waiting to steam south through the Suez Canal. Unlike a normal port, we stayed on watch in the radio room. Prior to entering Port Said, when we transmitted our TR message giving our time of arrival we received instructions to monitor a certain channel where we were would receive further instructions when we were required to up anchor, our convoy number and the route to follow.
Jock called me in to the radio room during his watch to show me the procedure to follow and who to advise. His explanation must have sunk in as later on my first own ship, I followed the procedure without a hitch.
During the hours we were at anchor whilst the ships arrived to make up our convoy, boats with dusky gentlemen in long white loose robes and round flat hats came alongside touting all manner of goods and souvenirs, calling us to buy. Two or 3 larger boats came from shore in a purposeful manner and headed directly for the lowered gangway. They were the preferred traders by the shipping line and they were allowed on board to display their wares on the open deck for the passengers, and us too of course. I don't remember buying anything, only just looking.
I found this all very exotic; the dark faces, the wafting off key music from the nearby jetty, smells of spices and incense and the chatter of the sellers of ornaments and souvenirs.
But too soon we must move and proceed down the Canal.