The Apprentice

 In early December 1965, I finished five years of servitude as an apprentice fitter and turner at the local brewery.  I’m exaggerating I know, although there were times when it felt like I was under a form of feudal bondage, and the documentation that I signed in the presence of my father five years earlier used such dramatic expressions as "...wilful disobedience of lawful commands of the employer, his managers, foremen and other servants having authority” and stressed the need to avoid being “...slothful, negligent, dishonest or in any other way guilty of gross misbehaviour” under penalty of discharge of services; it was, all the same, a great place for a young man to learn an engineering trade and I look back with affectionate memories on that time in my life. The work was hard, the study hours were long and played merry hell with that young man’s social life, but the diversity of the work and the practical experience would ground me in so many ways over the following years. 

I wrote about my first few days at the brewery in an earlier post (The First Job - Cairns 1960). Today I want to round that off and talk about my last year there and look back on the experience a little more holistically (if that’s possible).

I was not everybody’s favourite apprentice during that last year. At one point, I was obliquely involved in an industrial relations dispute, the result being that I was regarded by some as a young agitator spending too much time hanging around the wrong group and not enough time getting on with work. In those early nineteen sixties with the war still a recent memory for anyone over 40, there was a core of fedora wearing, trade unionists whose appointed task it was to improve underpaid, unfair and unsafe working conditions. They were by no means all paragons of virtue and morality; some just liked the power or wanted a fight – but even at that tender age (or maybe specifically at that age), I was all for a good wage for the worker. 

These were the days of the True Believer, and it was important to choose sides.  There were many of the population who cherished Queen and Empire and were admirers of long-time conservative Prime Minister Bob Menzies; and there were others who had been advocates of former Labor leaders, John Curtin and Ben Chifley and who continued to support the right of the working man to lay down his tools and walk off the job (often straight to the pub) for higher pay and safer conditions. 

This is all of course, an over-simplification. My own father, workshop superintendent at the local City Council workshops; a man who had served his own apprenticeship many years earlier as a motor mechanic working in England between the two wars and later owned his own garage under the shadow of Nottingham Castle, was as he described himself – “right down the middle”.  Throughout his life, I never knew which way he voted in any election. When I asked him, he would say, “it’s a secret ballot for a reason, son – no one needs to know.”

Unlike my father, Bill Stone made no secret of where he stood.  He was a returned serviceman, a senior engine driver and the local organiser for the Federated Engine Drivers and Fireman’s Association.   Bill was always well dressed in tailored short sleeved shirt, short trousers, tropical style long socks and was rarely seen without his grey felt narrow-brimmed hat.  In contrast with his fellow engine drivers and boiler attendants, Bill was never seen in a pair of overalls or a boilersuit. He was an articulate man who along with his co-workers, maintained an engine room that was spotless and grease-free.  Ammonia compressors used for refrigeration; great horizontal piston machines with flywheels half as big again as any man;  chattering high speed vertical engines and a great English Electric diesel powered generator - all of them high gloss cream in colour such that with its green walls and polished red floors the whole area could have hosted a Wednesday afternoon meeting of the Queensland Country Women's Association were it not for the noise of the engines and the occasional fugitive whiff of escaped ammonia.

Bill epitomized the no-nonsense, plain-speaking Labor supporter of the 1960s.  He was a loyal, hard-working man whose motivation in life was to want nothing more than a university education for his children and a fair share of the fruits of his labours.  He went on to become the federal secretary of his organisation and was later awarded an Order of Australia Medal for his services to trade unionism. The dispute which took place toward the end of my final year progressed into a prolonged and at times bitter strike.  In accordance with our Terms of Indenture, apprentices were not permitted to stop work, but I was conspicuously sympathetic of my comrades, and this did little for my career enhancement.

The chief engineer, Michael Kerry (Mick) Hawney was not my greatest fan, although years later we gained a lot more respect for each other. Mick went on to become something of an icon in the Australian brewing industry and would play a significant role in the development of the Yatala Brewery in Southeast Queensland in the 1980s which later became one of the largest and most efficient breweries in the country – it still is. Mick helpfully mentioned to me that it would in my best interest to look elsewhere for employment once my five years was complete - it was wise advice. 

There was plenty of work for a qualified man in those days and it did not concern me at all that I might soon be unemployed.  Tradesmen earned a respectable income in those days – at least twenty pounds for a 40-hour week plus overtime and there was always plenty of overtime. 

As things turned out, I was able to depart gracefully when shortly before my last week as an apprentice, a family friend who was also an executive at the Cairns Harbour Board, asked my father whether I might be interested in a seagoing career. It so happened there was a British ship in port which was short of an engineer and if I was up for it, there was a job as an engineers’ assistant, with the potential for promotion to engineer when a position became available. 

Was I interested? You bet I was!

It was to be the end of five years of travelling the kilometre or so to work from my parent's home at the northern end of Draper Street. For the first couple of years I made the journey on my old Malvern Star bicycle, then later a selection of motorcycles each one slightly bigger than its predecessor, and finally a slightly worse for wear aging Holden sedan. 

Much had happened during those five years, both personally and in the outside world. Many happy memories; some very sad ones. Here’s just a few – there were many more.

·    Gathering around the open hatch door of the workshop storeroom with several other workmates listening to the cricket on storeman Lionel’s radio when Richie Benaud’s Australians and Frank Worrell’s West Indies tied that magnificent Test Match at the Gabba during the very first week of my apprenticeship in 1960.

·    Selling tickets to friends and family in the Annual Brewery Social Club Melbourne Cup sweep and then listening with excitement to that same transistor radio as the race was run and won.  In 1963, I sold the winning ticket (Gatum Gatum) to a friend, but I have no idea now what the prize money was – it seemed like a lot at the time.

·    The death of a former schoolmate and fellow apprentice who was tragically killed in an accident at work which, even more than fifty years after the event, is painful to recall.  A young 20-year-old life, gone – never to experience the joys of living and loving, and children, and grandchildren. What a waste. 

·    Worrying whether my birth date would be drawn from the ballot in 1964 meaning conscription to serve in the Australian Armed Forces during the Vietnam War. I missed out, others were not so fortunate.

·    Going on road trips with a team of brewery fitters to one or more of the brewery owned hotels to carry out construction work – including a memorable visit to the Mount Garnet Hotel in November 1961 where I had the unpleasant job of painting the inside of a recently installed corrugated iron water tank with bitumen cement, which burned my eyes and nose for hours – and later listening and sharing an underage glass of Cairns Draught as Lord Fury won the Cup.

·    Six months working in the drawing office under the watchful eye of one of Mick’s engineers, Eddie Patton, who taught me more about the need for neatness and accuracy than I ever learned at school. Eddie had an unfortunate speech impediment and would often seem to finish a sentence on a Monday morning, where he appeared to have left it the previous Friday, with a short, “…and also Michael, how are you this morning?”  Eddie was a gentle man and a clever engineer, who later became the Chief Engineer at the Rockhampton Brewery.

·    Fitters, and boilermakers, and other maintenance and construction workers who looked after each, told tall tales and made me laugh – and sometimes want to cry. Howard Chalk (a funny man, without any doubt the most artistic craftsman ever to don a welding mask); Frank Tanswell (fitter and part-time crocodile hunter); John Scheinpflug; Gordon Dilger (no one could strip down, repair and reassemble an engine and not spill a single drop of oil, or get the slightest particle of swarf or dirt on himself or his immaculate working clothes quite like Gordon), Ted Dowker; Alan McKenzie; Ken Northey; Noel Cook (a source of jokes and parody songs, that I continue to force upon my exhausted family today); Bobby Ward (always with a smile on a face that said, “I’ve been slapped about a bit”), John Ranford, Jim Read, Brian Fitzsimmons (who played hooker for the Australian Rugby League team in 1967 during the time when good scrimmaging was an art form).  Most, if not all of them are gone now; but so much of what I learned and took into later life and experience came from working alongside these men.  

·    I must not forget Paddy O’Brien, whose tales about “the small ships” that he served on during the war, were legends around the shop floor – if only 10% of them were true…

·    Gordon Williams, the workshop foreman and godfather figure to all the apprentices. Gordon had also served on small ships, but his only comment about his war service was that he spent most of it seasick. If anyone taught me how to hold a bastard file properly or not get carborundum in my eyes while using a grinder, or how to stand over a fast-rotating lathe or a pulsing shaper without losing a finger, it was Gordon Williams – we all loved that man.

This was my five years of servitude – I may not have always loved it at the time, but with hindsight, I had no idea how good it was.

Thus it was that on the 5th of December 1965, exactly five years to the day that I had started as a fresh-faced schoolboy, I punched my Bundy Card for the last time and walked out of Northern Australian Breweries as a qualified mechanical fitter and turner, ready for the next stage of my life.

This was the chance I had been waiting for, and within a few days I had signed on as a crew member on the MV Baron Jedburgh. I was its most junior of junior assistants. My official title was donkey-greaser, and my job was to assist the ship’s engineers as offsider and general factotum.

Stay tuned for A Ship of My Own.

 

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 34 (the last entry)

This is it, dear Reader. The last journal entry from our memorable trip to Antarctica 23 years ago.  

If you have managed to stick with it from Day 1, you have my admiration and gratitude - thank you for your resilience.  If you have no idea what this is all about and have just dropped in randomly, please take a moment to go back to Day 1 (HERE) and hopefully, if what I have written appeals to you, we'll see you back here in a few days.

I've thoroughly enjoyed re-visiting these memories, and while I realised of course, at the start of this exercise, that what I'm doing here is the very height of self-indulgence on my part - I did it anyway!

Thursday 16th January 2002 

Southern Ocean 

This will be my last journal entry for the trip. Barring vessels in distress, lost refugee ships, or pirates, we expect to have an uneventful voyage from here and we will be making our way up the Derwent River towards Hobart and home in about six days’ from now. 

We had a competition to design a voyage tee-shirt. My contribution was to offer to have Collex pay for them if we could put our logo on the sleeve. I think it was Tamara who came up with the winning design.

I mentioned yesterday about the Antarctic waste problems and the many challenges it presents. But what else did we learn from the voyage? Well, perhaps more than anything we learned about the human relations aspect of such a voyage. Being thrown together with a wide variety of people and personalities, even for this short period of time, has provided an opportunity to learn something about people’s characters as well as our own. I spent nearly ten years on board ship during my marine engineering career, but that was a long time ago and from today's perspective of a reasonably comfortable lifestyle, with plenty of personal space whenever it is needed, this kibbutz-style of living three to a cabin (four at one stage) and the sharing of all facilities takes getting used to. I never really feel actually on my own until I draw the little sliding curtain on the 2 metre long by 1.2-metre-wide capsule which is my bunk. There is no escape. If I go to the bar for a drink, or to the ship’s gym (sadly, not something I have done often enough) or to the video room to watch a movie, or the conference room to check or write an e-mail, I share the same space, with the same people with whom I have had breakfast, lunch and dinner. And yet it really is not a bad thing. This has been a remarkably happy and friendly voyage, and there is something agreeable about the experience of strangers becoming friends and of unfamiliar faces becoming familiar. On the way south, we were a comparatively small group of 40 expeditioners and 20 crew and the eight days it took us to get to Casey, provided ample time for us to become a friendly community. We shared a barbecue on the Trawl Deck and had a great time on Christmas Day. We enjoyed the fun of watching a hirsute bunch of people become follicly challenged as they shaved their heads for Camp Quality, and we had the opportunity to learn a lot about the different reasons we all had for coming on the voyage. There were wintering expeditioners on their way to face 14 months of isolation; marine scientists carrying out work enroute; and individuals like Yann and myself who had some project involvement and for which a visit to Casey provided valuable information in carrying out their tasks. 

Once we arrived in Casey, we were overwhelmed by all the new faces. We, who had been comfortable in our ship-board environment were suddenly the visitors; the interlopers who were invading the space of the fifty or so expeditioners who made up the 2001 Casey summerers and winterers. We joined them in the Red Shed for meals and socialised with them in Splinters Lounge, but we knew that we were the round-trippers who were now taking up room in their territory. Then we left Casey, and those fifty or so Caseyites came with us, leaving behind the next lot of winterers who had travelled south with us. The ship was now not so quiet and we, who’d had the luxury of being the sole occupants of a four-berth cabin, were now three to a room. 

Then the decision was made to turn left, instead of right when we came out of the ice. We weren’t going home after all, or at least not just yet. First, we had to see what help we could give Polar Bird, a few days away to the west of us. It was during this time that those strange Caseyites who had joined us, turned out not to be so strange after all. Those odd people with names like Critter and Fishbuster and Pepé, with their green and orange hair and their familiarity with each other, started to appear normal and friendly people, and quite a pleasure to be with. Is it something special about the type of people who come to the Antarctic, or is it true of people everywhere? I guess it’s because living and working in the cities and towns and in the busy world of today, the only people we really need to know well are our immediate families and friends and that anyone else is just a bystander. 

I’m reminded of one of the comments of AAD’s Chief Medical Officer, Dr Peter Gormley at our briefing on Day One, the morning before we sailed. He said, “When you sit across the table from the same fellow for four or six or twelve months, or however long you’re away for, and even though he cleans the food out of his beard with his fork, you’d better get used to it and learn to live with it, because he’s going to be there again tomorrow. So the message I leave you with is this: be kind to each other.” 

And so it was when we picked up the Mawson crowd from Polar Bird. By this stage, we had over 100 souls on board, and lunch and dinner required two sittings. But still morale was high and the attitude of all one of comfortable cordiality. Alright, the rationing of the beer to one can of VB per day was a bit of a drag, especially when the Guinness ran out, but there are still a few cases of Jacob’s Creek on board and the Light Ice at least quenches the thirst. 

It’s not just the expeditioners either. Being back on the deck of a ship after my own sea-going career many years earlier was an absolute pleasure and not one I had ever anticipated. I was quite chuffed when Evan, the ship's Chief Engineer, on learning of my previous engine room experience, inquired whether my marine engineering qualifications were still valid – if so, perhaps I’d like to do a couple of watches! I kind of think he was kidding, but I wasn’t completely sure. The officers and crew were to a man and woman, some of the most skilled and capable people I had come across – maybe it’s something to do with being on the Antarctic run, and the fact that this must be one of the last pioneering spots on the planet. The comment from our ship's captain, Tony encapsulated it all when he said to me one day, “A lot of people think that the two best jobs in Australia are Prime Minister and captain of the Australian Cricket Team. They are all wrong – this is!” 

It’s been a trip that I would not have missed for the world. Had Yann and I known beforehand how long we would have been away, we would have most likely decided not to come. Our jobs have suffered during this extended absence, and it’s been unfair to our families. From a personal perspective, I probably could not have been away at a worse time with bushfires in Sydney at one point threatening the suburb where I live and I am so thankful that I have a wonderful partner in my life who said, “Go, you’ll never get another opportunity.” I believe that during this time, Doug, my boss at Veolia in Sydney sent me the very first email he ever sent in his life, complete with punctuation errors it read, 

“Dear Mike, Do yOU still work for CoLLex?” 

But I’ve now been Antarctica and witnessed the wonders of that special part of our planet which is its very engine room. The place from where the currents and winds originate; where circumpolar low-pressure systems are formed and spun off into the lower latitudes; where much unique wildlife exists – the whales, seals, petrels and most of all those comical little penguins. 

It has been a privilege and not one I will ever take for granted. I just know that the next time I go to an event where there are thousands of people like a packed footie stadium, I will look around at the crowd and think to myself, “How many of YOU have been to Antarctica?” 

It’s a place where scientific research provides us with so much information about the life and future of our planet; where the glaciologists, geo-physicists, earth and marine scientists and biologists come to study those things which look at climate patterns, the ozone layer and the biodiversity of life. I’m so pleased to have made this trip and delighted that Doug Dean, Collex and Veolia have made a commitment to helping to return the White Continent to a condition where our human impact is minimal. 

I’ll be back. 

Footnote 2025 

I never did go back – or at least as I write this, I haven’t made it back yet. Maybe I’ll get there one day as a tourist, but it is unlikely to happen any other way.  However, much to my family's amusement (or maybe not), I am still wearing the tee-shirt.

The waste in Antarctica particularly at the old Wilkes base continues to be an issue. Australia is not alone with this problem. A quick google search will disclose that there are legacy waste sites at many other bases which are owned and operated by Antarctic Treaty nations. 

I am certain that if a similar situation existed at a more accessible or visible Australian territory such as a former mining site say, the news would be on the front pages. It may be unkind to say that out of sight, means out of mind, but I cannot forget that this is Australian Antarctic Territory and there can be no doubt that it continues to present a serious problem. 

Will it be fixed in my lifetime? I sincerely doubt it. 

The airport at Wilkins, about 70km from Casey was completed in 2007 and most expeditioners now travel by Airbus on the four and half hour flight from Hobart. This reduces the amount of work that the charter ships need to do in terms of carrying expeditioners, but regular visits for refuelling and the carrying out of scientific marine work goes on. 

The dear old orange roughie, Aurora has gone. After over 150 trips to Antarctica she carried out her last assignment five years ago. She has been replaced by Nuyina a larger, faster and more powerful vessel. I did some research on the current whereabouts of Aurora. When last seen she was alongside the wharf in Vung Tau, Vietnam as the Cyprus registered, Aurora Dubai. No longer certified as an ice breaker, she is described as a supply vessel and my guess is that her days are numbered. 

Polar Bird did her last voyage for Antarctic Division in 2003. To my surprise, she is still active as Israeli owned and registered general cargo vessel Almog, last sighted in Haifa. 

It was, as I said in my diary, the journey of a lifetime. One particular moment that keeps coming back to me is standing alone on the Helideck right at the ship's stern, at about three o'clock in the morning. We had seen our last iceberg a few hours earlier and Aurora was in open sea making good progress in a gentle swell. I must have stood on that deck for an hour, looking out at the silver reflection on the sea of a billion stars overhead and thinking, I need to capture this memory for ever - because it is unlikely to ever happen again. 

To people like Martin Riddle and Ian Snape and the many others involved in the human impact and clean up programs, I acknowledge the critical contribution you have made in Antarctic research over many years. 

To those expeditioners I was fortunate to spend time with: Steve the kelp expert; Ann and Mary the lichen and moss ladies; glaciologist Mark; krill master Angela; risk manager (and great voice-over actor) Gordon; Lucinda from the ANARE Club; voyage leader Greg; deputy leader Simon; Station leaders John and Paul and those whose names I have forgotten, but certainly not your involvement and commitment, I remain in awe of your work.

To the ship's officers and crew, particularly skipper Tony; chief mate Scott (who later captained Aurora's replacement, Nuyina); second mate Jake; third mate Carmen; chief engineer Evan; Pilot Ric; Elvis; King Neptune; and Mark (who lost more hair on the charity night that most of us can grow in a life time), I thank you for your professionalism and your good will.

To those AAD executives like Tony Press and Kim Pitt and later Kim Ellis, it was a privilege to have known and worked with you. I dips my lid to all of you, expeditioners and mariners alike.

I'd also like to say a very special thank you to my colleague and friend on the trip, Yann Moreau - you were a great shipmate. 

Finally, thank you, Doug Dean – RIP.

A Southern Christmas 2001 - Day 33 (Homeward Bound)

Welcome to the penultimate journal entry.  We were on our way home and not too far away from returning to Earth.  I hope you've enjoyed it so far - only one more to go after this...

Wednesday 16th January 2002 

Southern Ocean (55 deg S, 92 deg E) 

Late yesterday afternoon, Yann was on the bridge deck photographing what may well be the last iceberg we will see. I asked him why he was taking a picture of such a pathetic little lump of ice when we had hundreds of pictures of some of the most majestic looking structures imaginable, he responded by reminding me how excited we were to see the first, and he felt that we should treat the last with the same respect. Can’t argue with that. 

Having freed Polar Bird, we sailed in convoy for a few hours, and it was a wonderful sight to see the two vessels in their brilliant orange livery gliding through the water on such a bright, cold sunny day. We might easily have been at a regatta on the Solent were it not for the ever present wandering albatross. It became even more of a social event later that morning when we rendezvoused with the Chinese Icebreaker, Xue Long. A great opportunity for photos, radio chit-chat and a lot of waving. 

Later, as Polar Bird at last took her leave from us, it was to a stirring rendition of Die Walküre’s evocative "Ride of the Valkyries" blasting from her on-board speakers across the every increasing gap between the two vessels. It wasn’t just the sea-spray which was making our eyes water. 

When we left Hobart nearly five weeks ago, we had no idea what was in store. We were looking forward to a short and uneventful three-week round trip. A chance to understand at first hand the waste problems of the Antarctic, meet the people involved and visit the project sites at Casey and Wilkes. We certainly accomplished this. We understand the scope and size of the challenge and as a consequence, are more committed than ever in ensuring the success of the program. 

Now that we’re on the way home, someone has organised a Murder Game. The rules are simple, everyone is given a piece of paper with the name of their murder victim on it. Killing your victim is simple – you must be alone in a room, or a corridor with him or her and simply say, ‘You’re dead.’ The victim then gives you the name of their intended target, which then becomes your target. The game can last for a week or longer. I lasted less than an hour. At 7.00 o’clock that the morning the game started, I ducked into the Conference Room to send an e-mail. Two minutes later, big Dan from Casey came in and said, ‘Good morning, Mike, I’ve got some bad news for you, you’re dead.’ 

It was a blessing in disguise as I saw my shipmates and friends slowly deteriorate from normal people into haunted paranoiacs. After several days, Yann said, “It’s not a game anymore, Mike. It’s a nightmare!” 

The ship’s corridors became places where people would only walk about in pairs, and signs appeared around the vessel saying things like, “BT must die” and “Tamara is dead.” As I write this, we are down to five murderers, the rest of us are all dead. 

On Saturday, we’ll be having the finals of the 500 competition, followed by a farewell barbecue on the Trawl Deck. The gym is a hive of activity as people work frantically to take off extra kilos gained over the past year, summer or just weeks depending on whether you are a long-term expeditioner or a round-tripper. One of the expeditioners, Dave has started a swing dancing class which has been well patronised and there are some excellent songstresses on board including Lucinda from ANARE and Aurora’s Third Mate, Carmen. 

Our eagle-eyed skipper, Tony Hansen, caught sight of a huge floating kelp island which disrupted a few people’s equilibrium as we turned in a decent swell to bring it on board for marine ecologist Steve Smith to add to his collection. Steve later told us that he thought it had drifted on Antarctic currents from Kerguelen Island, possibly the world’s most remote island. I think he was also a little sheepish about the broken crockery and disruption which may have been caused by the sudden and sharp left turn we had just made – but no one was really upset – all part of the advancement of knowledge. 

We should arrive at Hobart either late Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning, fair winds prevailing. I’ve learned that the final waypoint is the Customs House Hotel, so that’s where I’ll be on Wednesday night.