Out of Africa (cont.)

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....

Gap year 1960s style - Part 2

What my two new friends proposed was a night out on the town. The suggestion doesn't seem that newsworthy now, but having come straight from boarding school, it seemed a novel and slightly daring idea at the time. My memories now were the incredible care they took with their hair (Brylcream was the rage then) and their easy familiarity with the girl behind the bar - "That'll be 3 more pints, please, luv."

 

Soon enough we were at sea, leaving the rain and Toxteth (famous for riots around 20 years later) in favour of the Irish Sea. Our cabin was now full as we'd been joined by an engineering cadet. I had my first inkling as to on board hierarchies (or should that be prejudices?). My two mates from the pub  - remember they were deck (i.e. navigation) cadets - looked down on this poor lad; it seemed throughout the ship that deck officers (in their own opinion at least) were superior to engineers, on the grounds, I believe, that the latter were a recent development, coming in only after the days of sail.

 

One of my jobs was to organise the passengers' 'sports'. Although primarily a cargo vessel, we had about 60 cabins, and were carrying a miscellaneous bunch, chiefly colonial servants and their families returning to work in West Africa, plus oilmen and a few wealthier Africans. I particularly remember Senator Asemoto, from recently independent Nigeria, who entered the deck quoits and seemed to be allowed to win on account of his age and stature. The other sports were the somewhat more active deck tennis and ping-pong. While safely tied up at the dockside, most passengers signed up for all three, and I spent my first hours in the office happily making various draws, including match times, etc.

 

Unfortunately all my plans came to naught:  even in ordinary conditions the Irish Sea can be fairly rough, and table tennis, even with the table bolted to the deck, became quite challenging; but worse than this the passengers almost all failed to keep to my meticulous time-table. I would go along to Mrs Robinson in Cabin E4, knock on the door and shout out that she was supposed to be on the promenade deck for her match: "Go away!" she would groan, "I'm sea-sick!"

 

My main task though was to assist the Chief Officer, who was in charge of all cargo activities. Prior to arrival at Freetown (it got better once in port), this proved somewhat tedious work, involving drawing up stowage plans, getting books ready for the tally-clerks to use at discharge, etc. Soon I was in trouble: the 2nd and 3rd Officers were keen on bridge and asked me to make up a regular four (I forget who the other was). The only time neither officer was on watch was 12 - 4pm, but that was exactly when I was supposed to be working. Of course, finding my work particularly boring at the time, I weakly agreed; inevitably I was found out and given a severe reprimand by the Purser.

 

Apart from that, the sun was out by this time, and life was slipping into a pleasant enough routine: I was regularly thrashed at deck golf by my cabin-mates, but enjoying the pool which we shared with the passengers and helping to arrange film evenings, etc.

 

Finally from the mast-head came the familiar call: "Land Ho!" At last my first sight of Africa.....