Many of you will no doubt recall my piece about my voyage from Liverpool to West Africa during my 'gap' year. I think I reached the point of arrival at our first African port, Bathurst in Gambia. Would you like to hear more about those malaria infested shores? Don't all answer at once.....
While you're pondering this, i.e. wondering how you can politely point out that you've heard quite enough of the Dark Continent, I thought I'd tell you about a small incident that occurred when we finally returned to Liverpool, some seven weeks after departure.
Well, as we sailed up the Mersey on that sunny day, we all lined up at the Purser's office to get paid off and I came away, as I recall, with some £22/10/3, after deductions for bar-bills, laundry, etc. I carefully stowed this untold wealth into my wallet, grabbed my sea-bag and, as soon as we'd docked, headed for the gangway, waving a fond farewell to my shipmates. I planned to walk to Lime Street and get the first train home to Oxford.
Almost immediately I reached the dockside, I fell in with this young(ish) man, who seemed to be heading my way. "Just signed off this ship, have you?" he said, eyeing my sun-tan and sea-bag. "Me too" he went on ungrammatically, "Third Engineer from SS Carterton here, just in from Recife" (or somewhere, I don't rightly recall now). I'm just heading for the station - my bag's already there". I glanced back and sure enough there was the "Carterton", berthed astern of my vessel. The bloke seemed genuine enough: it was a lovely day and I was euphoric at the prospect of getting home at last.
The upshot was that, naturally enough, we set off together; in fact, since my new friend had nothing, he even carried my bag for a bit. We were great pals by the time we reached Lime Street. It seemed that the Oxford train was going from platform 1, and we headed there first. Jim - I think that was his name - seemed a little vague about exactly where he was headed. "I just need to clear my bag from Left Luggage", he said. "Trouble is all my money's in it. Could you lend me ten bob? The bag's just over there" (pointing vaguely). "I'll be back in a jiffy".
Of course I handed over a ten shilling note from my hard earned wages. It was a long platform, and he was soon a dot in the distance. Leave happy and content to be alive and well on that sunny morning as I was, I still didn't realise I'd been 'had'; it was only when my friend reached the end of the platform, and glanced back, did it dawn on me that he was never coming back. I kicked myself. Ten shillings was a lot of money in those days, or so it seemed. All the way back to Oxford I wondered how I'd been so easily taken in, and what I'd tell my father. Jim probably wasn't from the 'Carterton' at all, and he would have guessed I would have money as I came ashore from a cargo vessel which had obviously come in from foreign parts.
An expensive lesson, but at least I wasn't mugged (not that that word existed in those days), and I had the bulk of my earnings still. Also I ran into a bit of luck in Oxford, almost immediately landing a job adding up A level marks in the Examination Schools, but that's another story....
While you're pondering this, i.e. wondering how you can politely point out that you've heard quite enough of the Dark Continent, I thought I'd tell you about a small incident that occurred when we finally returned to Liverpool, some seven weeks after departure.
Well, as we sailed up the Mersey on that sunny day, we all lined up at the Purser's office to get paid off and I came away, as I recall, with some £22/10/3, after deductions for bar-bills, laundry, etc. I carefully stowed this untold wealth into my wallet, grabbed my sea-bag and, as soon as we'd docked, headed for the gangway, waving a fond farewell to my shipmates. I planned to walk to Lime Street and get the first train home to Oxford.
Almost immediately I reached the dockside, I fell in with this young(ish) man, who seemed to be heading my way. "Just signed off this ship, have you?" he said, eyeing my sun-tan and sea-bag. "Me too" he went on ungrammatically, "Third Engineer from SS Carterton here, just in from Recife" (or somewhere, I don't rightly recall now). I'm just heading for the station - my bag's already there". I glanced back and sure enough there was the "Carterton", berthed astern of my vessel. The bloke seemed genuine enough: it was a lovely day and I was euphoric at the prospect of getting home at last.
The upshot was that, naturally enough, we set off together; in fact, since my new friend had nothing, he even carried my bag for a bit. We were great pals by the time we reached Lime Street. It seemed that the Oxford train was going from platform 1, and we headed there first. Jim - I think that was his name - seemed a little vague about exactly where he was headed. "I just need to clear my bag from Left Luggage", he said. "Trouble is all my money's in it. Could you lend me ten bob? The bag's just over there" (pointing vaguely). "I'll be back in a jiffy".
Of course I handed over a ten shilling note from my hard earned wages. It was a long platform, and he was soon a dot in the distance. Leave happy and content to be alive and well on that sunny morning as I was, I still didn't realise I'd been 'had'; it was only when my friend reached the end of the platform, and glanced back, did it dawn on me that he was never coming back. I kicked myself. Ten shillings was a lot of money in those days, or so it seemed. All the way back to Oxford I wondered how I'd been so easily taken in, and what I'd tell my father. Jim probably wasn't from the 'Carterton' at all, and he would have guessed I would have money as I came ashore from a cargo vessel which had obviously come in from foreign parts.
An expensive lesson, but at least I wasn't mugged (not that that word existed in those days), and I had the bulk of my earnings still. Also I ran into a bit of luck in Oxford, almost immediately landing a job adding up A level marks in the Examination Schools, but that's another story....
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