It is not normal for a ship to arrive at
her berth at any time other than the early hours of the morning, and for me
that usually means in the middle of the morning 4 to 8 watch while I am on duty
in the engine room. If she arrives at another time, there will usually be a
direction to anchor somewhere offshore, or slow down to adjust the arrival time
to an early morning arrival when pilot and shore gangs will be ready and more
importantly, the berth will be free. This applies even more so to passenger ships.
So it is with a feeling of pleasant anticipation that I am leaning against the
bulwark on the crew-only part of the deck, alongside shipmates Bob and Geoff,
each of us holding a can of San Mig. We are still in our working gear although strangely,
Bob has on his uniform cap making me feel oddly underdressed. We watch the dazzling
lights of Hong Kong and Kowloon as we gently slip through the water toward our
Ocean Terminal berth.
Since leaving Brisbane three weeks ago,
we have had a smooth voyage, and this has provided ample time to get to know my
way around the ship above and below decks. While we are at sea, our on-board
routine is entirely dictated by watch-keeping obligations and additional
work-related duties.
I am on the 4 to 8 watch which while
allowing opportunities for a social life, is tough on sleep patterns if not
well managed, which it isn’t – but I’m in the prime of my life, so nothing to
worry about there!
A typical day for me starts with a call
at 0330 giving me a half an hour to wake up, caffeinate and be ready to start
watch with Jimmy at 0400. I think I would lose too many readers if I were to
describe in granular detail what takes place while on watch, so I’ll simply say
that the watch finishes at 0800 when the fourth engineer and his assistant take
over for the 8 to 12 watch.
Out of the engine room and into the duty
mess for breakfast which is usually followed by a couple of hours of additional
duties, depending on the ongoing maintenance schedules. It may be nothing more
complex than updating the spares inventory or catching up on one or two small
problem jobs that can’t be completed while on watch. Thankfully, other than
boiler fuel injectors, there are no fuel valves to worry about unlike one of my
earlier ships, Devis where they were the bane of my life
After that it’s shower, change and maybe
catch up on some reading, (or napping) followed by lunch in the one and only
main dining room at our designated tables.
After lunch I have a couple of hours before
the four hour afternoon watch at 4 pm and then later, depending on current
social activities, I may find myself joining fellow officers and new-found
friends in the bar or games room for an hour or two before bed and a few more
hours shut eye before the next 3.30 am call.
The games room by the way consists of
not much more than a dart board and a couple of card tables – one thing you will
never find on a ship is a pool table!
Manila was an eye opener. A huge sprawling
metropolis split by a wide heavily polluted tidal river where the smell of rich
Filipino street food mixed with the stench of putrefaction and exhaust fumes. Ornate
Jeepneys covered in chrome and streamers competed for style as well as road
space while a constant stream of noise from overfilled buses, belching trucks
and car horns assaulted the eardrums. Entertaining any notion of crossing the
road, even (or perhaps, especially) at a crossing was an act of sheer lunacy
and made Calle 25 de Mayo in BA seem like a deserted back alley.
President Fernando Marcos had been in
power for a couple of years and was investing heavily in economic regrowth
funded by large foreign debt. The country was experiencing waves of corruption and
lawlessness and nowhere was it more evident than in the metropolitan area of
Manila where at the homicide rate was as high as 80 per 100,000 population
(contrast with around 2-4 in Australia at the same time).
A popular activity for crew members of Francis
Drake was a visit to a local bowling alley, where even here a large black
and white sign at the entrance proclaimed “NO WEAPONS ALLOWED. DEPOSIT THEM
HERE” – quite frightening really.
The three day trip from Manila was
relatively smooth and as we lightly push our way into Hong Kong’s Victoria
Harbour, I’m truly looking forward to the prospect of exploring for the first
time this place that I have already heard so much about from my crewmates.
We are soon tied up alongside and not
long after a few of us make our way ashore under the guidance of our ship’s
writer, Maggie who has been here a few times before and knows just where to
take us for a serving of Hong Kong culture.
This is China, Cantonese style and I
love it. There is nothing multicultural here, unless you include the incongruity
of a London bus trundling up Nathan Road. We could have chosen any one, I’m
sure of a dozen eating places which appear in the main road, but Maggie takes
us down a narrow alley where we weave through a human throng, avoiding overhead
balconies from which unidentified liquid drips, turn a corner and are abruptly
overcome with the smell of fried noodles, stir fried vegetables and the sight
of toothless street vendors who gesture enthusiastically toward rickety tables
and chairs. These are Dai Pai Dong and Maggie knows exactly where she’s heading.
We follow her to a brightly painted hole in the wall kitchen, with squat bench
tables and short flat stools. The maître de is a wiry white haired man, dressed
in white singlet and baggy black trousers. He instantly comes over to us, “Hey
Miss Maggie, Miss Maggie, How you been?
Come, come – I get congee and noodles. You all want beer, right?”
“Hello Mr Wu”,
says Maggie. “Nice to see you – Everyone
is very hungry and very thirsty.”
And that was that. I have no idea what
it was that we ate, but it was delicious and the beer was ice cold.
I have eaten street food in many parts
of the world – and have yet have to suffer from so-called Delhi belly. That
night, and the many which followed over my several visits to Hong Kong was no
exception.
Since that first visit, I have never
tired of visiting Hong Kong. The Dai Pai Dongs have mostly gone I’m
told, and the night life may have toned down a little, but I would find it
difficult to imagine that the culture has changed. I haven’t talked at all
about the many landmarks, the views and islands to explore – but at the risk or
repetition – you have come to the wrong place if you are looking for travel
advice.
It was in Hong Kong, on my second visit
that we experienced one of the rare occasions that Francis Drake and her
sister ship, George Anson were in port at the same time and tied up
within 50 yards of each other. It happened in this instance because Anson
was on a anticlockwise course around the Asia Pacific and we were going
clockwise. So here we were – a great opportunity to catch up with our opposite
numbers on a sister ship. Our Refrigeration Engineer, Bob had previously spent
a trip relieving on George Anson, so he took it on himself to take a few
of us on board to meet some of his former shipmates. This in itself is not an
unheard of instance, and we had many opportunities in port on other ships to
catch up with and share a run ashore with colleagues from other vessels in the
fleet. What was a little different this time was that Bob introduced us to his
good mate, Ray who was fourth engineer on George Anson. It would have
been hard to find a more engaging person who exuded bonhomie and affability.
Ray was talking about giving up the marine life and was planning on settling in
Sydney in the near future – we all agreed to catch up again soon.
Three years after this get-together, Ray
turned up again in another role. He conspired with a fellow named Peter Macari
to hold Qantas to ransom, announcing that a bomb had been planted aboard a
flight which would detonate when the plane descended below 20,000 feet if the
money wasn’t paid. The ransom was duly paid, and the plane descended safely.
The bomb threat was a hoax. A few months later Ray was driving an E-type Jaguar
and raising eyebrows with his boasts about a big windfall of cash. He was duly
arrested and confessed to the crime. The result – seven years in prison for
Ray, fifteen years and deportation for Macari. Interestingly half the ransom
money (over $200,000) was never recovered. Maybe Ray should have stayed where
he was on board ship.
From Hong Kong we travelled to Taiwan (where
we all added to our collection of pirated vinyl LP records) and then Japan to
the bustling ports of Yokohama and Nagoya.
This was my second visit to Japan, and I
felt like an old hand. It was in while in Yokohama that Bob and I shared an
eventful drive to Mt Fuji, but I’ll leave that tale for a later day.
One of the unpleasant consequences of
being a ship’s engineer in the 1970s was the casual attitude towards one’s
personal health and safety. Today, no one would think of entering a noisy
engine room without ensuring adequate personal protection for eyes, hearing,
hands etc. Indeed, there are very few parts of the world where it is not a
requirement that PPE always be worn under such circumstances.
This was not the case during my time at
sea, and a consequence of this in later years has been a level of industrial
deafness that now requires the use of hearing aids.
The short term result during those times
was the frequent build-up of earwax, nature’s own protection device. Not the
most pleasant of subjects to discuss, but this eventually led to much
discomfort, and the feeling that everyone had taken to mumbling in my
presence.
I discussed this one morning over coffee
with the ship’s nurse, Lesley who said, “Easily fixed, come around to the
surgery later this afternoon and I’ll get rid of it for you” At least that
is what I worked out she said – what I heard was “eeeeee… mmmmm … rrrrrrrr…fix…for ooo”
When I got to the surgery, Lesley was
waiting with a huge tube in her hand which looked as though its most recent use
might have been that of inflating an airship.
“What are you planning on doing with
that?” I said. I couldn’t quite hear her response. I picked up “not icing a cake” in there somewhere.
She handed me a kidney shaped bowl,
miming that I should hold it beneath my ear and placed the pointy end of the
instrument firmly into my ear and pressed the plunger.
A felt a warm pressure build up inside
my head, and there began a roar, increasing to a crescendo like a train roaring
past me in an underground station.
She stopped and removed the syringe, “HOW
DOES THAT FEEL?” she roared.
“Whoa, Les, no need to shout.”
I looked at what has been removed from
my ear. I won’t describe it, other than to say, I was definitely feeling more
light-headed. After she had repeated the process in the other ear, I realised
what damage I was doing to myself – but do you know what? I still didn’t wear hearing
protectors, or even jam cotton wool in my ears. I just got into a routine of
having Lesley syringe my ears every few weeks and put it down to occupational
hazard.
From Japan we headed south back to
Australia, stopping en route at the Micronesian island of Guam.
The purpose of the stopover was
primarily for refuelling. A few of us spent our one an only evening in Guam at a
local US Military PX where we enjoyed Budweiser on tap and were introduced to
the highly competitive sport of shuffleboard.
Guam is a territory of the US and in 1968
was the home of US Bomber Command at Andersen Air Force Base.
We were loudly introduced to Operation
Arc Light on the morning shortly before our departure when dozens of B-52
Stratofortress bombers, their giant swept back wings casting an intense shadow
over the ground, roared overhead. Four pods of eight Pratt & Whitney
engines made everything that wasn’t bolted down rattle and vibrate and as the
fillings in my teeth held on grimly, I regretted the recent cleanout of earwax
which had taken place only the day before. The bombers were on their way on a
12 hour round trip flight to deliver their deadly loads to targets in Vietnam,
Laos and Cambodia. Perhaps an hour or so
after the bombers had left on their mission we were greeted by another roar of
engines, slightly less decibels than earlier, but no less impressive as a fleet
of Boeing KC-135 tanker planes took of after them, to later catch them and
refuel them mid-air as they continued on their mission. The significance of the
firepower and the cost of this exercise, settled on us all as we realised that
this was a daily activity and that even today, it is difficult to assess the
exact number of bombs that were deployed during these exercises. Over the eight
year campaign well over 100,000 missions were flown and in 1968 alone more than
60,000 tons of bombs were dropped.
After Guam we visited the much quieter,
but charming township of Rabaul on New Britain in Papua New Guinea. Doomed to
destruction by volcanic ash in 1994, Rabaul had been reconstructed following
significant damage during World War II. It always provided a peaceful
interlude, before the journey back to Australia and our home port of Melbourne.
As enjoyable as my time on Fanny Duck
was, the ongoing social life on a passenger ship was doing nothing for my
health and my bank balance. It was only when I received my third or fourth
monthly bar tab, that I realised that my outgoings were barely keeping pace
with my income. Of itself, that wasn’t a major issue given that I had no rent
to pay, I didn’t own a car, and my food was provided by my employer. But from a
longevity perspective, I wasn’t going to build much of a nest egg on a Junior
Engineer’s wage.
So it was that on arrival in Melbourne,
after six months and three round trips on Francis Drake, I asked our
marine superintendent whether there was a possibility of a transfer to one of
the company’s fleet of oil tankers. He stared at me as though I had asked him
if he would like to punch me in the face. “You do realise, Mr Williamson.”
he said, “that most of our tanker engineers would give their eye-teeth to be
sent to one of the passenger ships, and here you are asking for the opposite.
What’s wrong with you?”
So I lied. I told him that I loved the
ship and the company, but wanted to get back to motor ships, and that I really
wasn’t a fan of steam.
So it was that much to the disgust of
the Chief Engineer, who called me a few choice names, I was promoted to the
role of fourth engineer and sent to join MV Marion Sleigh, currently in
Singapore drydock about to leave by the end of the week to pick of a load of
jet-fuel in the Persian Gulf for delivery to ports in South Vietnam.
Was I out of my mind?
