大象传媒

Written up by Karen Rouse-Deane for the 大象传媒 Open Centre Hull.
The 鈥楨gyptian was old! Encrusted with rust and cracked paint, warped deck plates bore mute testimony to age rather than neglect. Wartime camouflage gray slapped overall, lay like a heavy shroud part-concealed by early October mists. A resurrected wreck, survivor from the first World War 鈥� built in 1916 and flaunting the pennant of Ellerman-Papayanni, she was a small freighter of about 2500 tons net, a coal burning, three- islander candidate for the scrap yard but for the intervention of World War Two!

Mounted on a platform at the stern was an ancient 3 inch gun, dangerous- looking but not half as intimidating as the twin racks of rusty depth charges 鈥� one to port and one to starboard running out on tracks over the stern. The rest of the armament consisted of two Lewis machine guns mounted in the wings of the bridge, I was beginning to worry!

The sea, sailing, ships and the hurly-burly of docks were no strangers to me; born on the Yorkshire coast, then living in Hull 鈥� England鈥檚 third largest port at the time, bred a certain familiarity with salt water.

After two years in the R,A.F.VR and R.A.F. as a sergeant-observer, a medical discharge had put me back on 鈥楥ivvy Street鈥� 鈥� briefly! A quick course on Wireless Telegraphy and five months later with a Postmaster General鈥檚 certificate of Proficiency in my pocket, Marconi welcomed me to the Merchant Navy and I was having second thoughts!

Once on board I stowed my gear. A large kit bag and a suitcase had to carry not only every day equipment but clothing for a possible six month sojourn in the tropics or a run up to Mother Russia. Destination was never revealed until sailing day, except to the Captain and Chief Radio Officer and then only at a Convoy Conference just prior to sailing.

The 鈥楨gyptian鈥� was finally loaded 鈥� hatches sealed and we were ready to sail. The three days since I joined ship had been hectic but the previous night had been a nightmare. Awakened by shouts and screams from the saloon adjoining my quarters I stuck my head out 鈥� and my education began! Lesson one, 鈥榥ever get involved鈥�, Lesson two, 鈥榚specially where drunken seamen are concerned.鈥�

The steward was on the deck, over him towered an extremely large stoker, very drunk and putting the boots to him in a steady tattoo, shouting obscenities at the top of his voice. It was obvious that the steward, a first world war veteran was about to leave this world, it was also obvious that no-one else aboard ship was about to interfere. I guess this perception prompted my next suicidal move. In best parade ground command, I ordered the stoker 鈥渢o cease, desist and leave the saloon immediately!鈥� He didn鈥檛!

My response led to lesson three, 鈥渘ever hit anybody who outweighs you by fifty pounds!鈥� I figured being so drunk he would go down easily 鈥� I鈥檇 seen Jimmy Cagney do it a score of times in the movies (the little guy with the right timing) anyway I swung a good solid right-hander bang on the chin. He blinked, shook his head and spit out 鈥測ou little bxfxxx鈥� and charged 鈥� we rolled over a couple of times before breaking loose, I managed to reach my cabin door, slammed it shut and locked it. The door was heavy and solid oak. I breathed a sigh of relief, relief that was very short-lived as something crashed into it, then again accompanied by a splintering. It was apparent my shipmate had appropriated the fire-axe from the galley.

At this point, the realization that I was apparently on my own produced desperation 鈥� certainly in thinking! I needed something solid for when this character dug out a hole in the door big enough to stick his head through. A quick search produced a heavy glass carafe 鈥� half filled with water. I waited. After more curses and crashing thumps, came more voices and then a volume subsided. I risked opening the door. The captain, second officer and two of the gun crew (army) were yanking the stoker out of the saloon, the steward was sitting, somewhat bloody but alive. The stoker had to have the last word furiously declaring his intent to 鈥榙o鈥� me before the trip was out 鈥� for some time after I moved like a stalked rabbit whenever on the deck in darkness!

The Captain, Master, the Old Man (A.K.A. God) was an easy-going middle-aged man who knew his job and typical of pre-war deck officers had been a Company man, possible still was, I never knew. Pre-war shipping lines had their own areas of operation but wartime had laid a rude hand on their organisations and staff. You went wherever the Admiralty and the Government decreed! However this particular Old Man had one peculiarity, I didn鈥檛 believe it at first but it appeared to be so. He disappeared! At least for the first couple of days every voyage after dropping the pilot. Scuttlebut had it that he was chronically seasick and took some time to regain his sea legs. He did apparently have a taste for whisky but since there wasn鈥檛 a teetotaller aboard ship he was good company when so inclined! I did wonder if the 鈥楨gyptian鈥� had anything to do with it. I wondered why the Captain deserved it 鈥� later I wondered why I deserved it!

The First Officer , the 鈥楳ate鈥� was a tall, thin man in his late forties, dark haired, sallow tinge to them and popped pills, many years later I reasoned why. According to the steward he鈥檚 been well up the ladder with the prestigious P. and O. Company prewar, something happened to etch deeply the lines of bitterness and disillusionment in his face 鈥� I guess the 鈥楨gyptian鈥� was as low as you could sink 鈥� he knew it and acted accordingly.

The Second Mate was a roly-poly guy 鈥� no deep thoughts there 鈥� no worries either. He was friendly enough in comparing nautical navigation with the problems of aerial plotting. It didn鈥檛 take much to get him laughing 鈥� a little Gordon鈥檚 Gin soon plastered a silly grin on his face and everything was rosy! The only problem was 鈥榯he weapon鈥�. Somewhere in his travels the 2nd Mate had acquired a revolver 鈥� a Smith and Wesson 38 if I recall correctly. This was his pride and joy. I do not know from where he obtained the ammunition but he had plenty. However it is a little unnerving when after a couple of drinks a loaded gun appears in the conversation 鈥� 鈥減erfectly harmless 鈥� never shot anyone, wouldn鈥檛 dream of it.鈥� Of course he never did, fortunately for me, as I was designated a couple of months later to remove the chamber out of it 鈥� until we were safely back in England. At the time he was very angry!

The 3rd Mate was in his early twenties, happy-go-lucky and at this late stage of my life, his face is one I cannot recall. We must have got on reasonably well both being junior officers at the very bottom end of the scale. We had much in common except that he was worked much harder than ever I was.

As for the Engineers, what can I say, two of them were Scots 鈥� what else! But the 4th was quite unique 鈥� an East Indian with and Oxford accent and an unassailable superiority complex. No-one got close enough to learn his story. He did however own a portable gramophone 鈥� and three records, one of which must have been in lieu of a 鈥榮ecurity blanket鈥�. To the strains of 鈥楽iboney鈥� over and over, the rest of us slowly went mad!

My chief, the Senior Radio Officer was a pre-war Marconi man, most cargo ships carried only one operator until wartime demanaded continuous watch whilst at sea.

The second Radio Man was a little younger than I, tubby and studious. Someone unfortunately tagged the name of 鈥榁iolet鈥� upon him and I鈥檓 afraid it stuck. He never showed signs of resentment and certainly did his share of work. One source of controversy centred on the handling of 鈥榝lags鈥�. Some captains designated their 鈥楽parkles鈥� as Signals Officers covering all aspects of communication including using the Aldis Lamp and during 鈥榦ff watch鈥� times, 鈥榝lags鈥�. Because Radio and Wireless signal transmission was absolutely 鈥榲erboten鈥� at all times (except in dire emergency such as 鈥楢AAA鈥� for aircraft attack, 鈥楻RRR鈥� for surface raider, 鈥楽SS鈥� for U-boat attack and 鈥楽OS鈥� when the game was up 鈥� the 600 metre band was reserved for this emergency use), most information was passed between the Commodore ship, the rest of the convoy and its escorts by means of flags in coded four letter groups. The speed at which the flags could be read and repeated from each individual vessel became very competitive. Regulations and Union agreements did not cover this point about 鈥榝lags鈥�. Many operators just wouldn鈥檛 do it, my Chief and 2nd amongst them. I much preferred to be on the bridge whilst off-watch, besides being privy to such action as did occur 鈥� it seemed safer up there! The deck officers certainly appreciated it.

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