John Leary
14th February 2008, 20:13
When I joined Mahseer in September 1963 in Newcastle for my first trip to sea as a Junior Radio Officer I did not travel light. Even today when going on holiday, loaded down with far more than I need, it is nothing compared with how it was when I first went to sea. When I joined Mahseer my belongings included a twelve months correspondence course in radio communications, an Eddystone receiver, all my college notes and coursework (in case they came in handy), an AVO test meter, my cash ready reckoner for calculating the cost of telegrams, a slide rule, an electric travelling iron and clothes for every conceivable weather condition. These indispensable items were all carefully packed into a couple of suitcases and a large blue cabin trunk that had brass fittings and leather corner guards. That monstrosity weighed a ton when it was empty but I was assured by the guy who sold it to me that it was a must have accessory for any self-respecting Merchant Navy Officer. OK I admit that there is one born every minute, but there was no one with sea-going experience that I could turn to for advice.
Having been appointed by Brocklebank’s, when I received my joining instructions to board in Newcastle, in order to arrive at the appointed time I travelled from my home the day before and stayed overnight in the Missions to Seamen hostel. After breakfast, I ordered a taxi to take me to the dock. Dressed as I was in my brand new uniform I was ready to set out for the then greatest adventure of my life.
As far as I can remember the taxi driver who took me to the ship was permitted by the dock police to take me as far as the gangway, where I was deposited and left to my own devices. I can still remember the taste of panic at the back of my throat as I stood there wondering what to do next, transfixed like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. The ship looked enormous with her towering superstructure that seemed to go on forever.
Salvation came in the shape of a tall, dark haired young man about my age, who had a kind, smiling face and who possessed a wonderfully soft Irish accent. Within seconds he summoned out of nowhere a luggage party made up of members of the Indian deck crew and had them show me to my cabin. Ranks and grades in the Merchant Navy meant absolutely nothing to me at that moment in time but when I met him later he told me he was the third mate.
The crew carried my luggage and escorted me to my cabin. This was small and narrow, but had everything I needed.
When she finished loading in Newcastle, Mahseer set sail for Antwerp, Rotterdam and Bremen before she returned to London to finish her loading at the Victoria Dock. We set sail for Colombo in October 1963.
I grew to know the third Mate, Jerry (Maloney?) very well over the time we sailed together. We often used to talk on the bridge wing when my watch keeping duties and his permitted. He took enormous trouble to explain things to me and never became impatient when I was slow to grasp the point he was making. We collaborated when he generated meteorological reports that I used to send to the Area coast stations as OBS messages.
Mahseer continued her outbound passage, transiting the Suez Canal and calling at the usual ports of Jeddah, Massawa and Assab. None of these offered much in the way of shops for the purchase of souvenirs so Jerry suggested that it might be possible to get something useful at Djibouti. In fact he volunteered to go with me no doubt to prevent me getting into trouble or lost or both. I think he managed to get a lift for us both into the town with one of the ship’s agents.
Djibouti, after places such as Massawa and Assab seemed like a Cosmopolitan oasis. The centre of the town had a wide boulevard lined with palm trees and on each side of the road there were a number of shops and bars. The hours of opening of the shops was limited but there was sufficient time after we arrived to browse around and to make some purchases in a small perfumery.
As the temperature increased our thoughts naturally turned to where we could find somewhere pleasant to relax and have a cold drink before we returned to the ship. One bar in particular looked inviting and we did not need much encouragement to go inside and sit down.
The bar was clean and comfortable and we chose a table that was directly beneath one of the large ceiling mounted fans so that we would benefit from its cooling downdraft.
After our first beer, which hardly touched the sides, we ordered refills and with glasses refreshed started to take more notice of the other patrons. Besides Jerry, myself and the barman there were probably no more than four or five other drinkers. All were in the uniform of the French Foreign Legion. After a few curious but not unfriendly glances on their part they continued with their drinking, smoking and card game.
Just as we were about to drain our glasses and return to the ship, one of the Legionnaires detached himself from his group and came over to our table. He was in his mid-forties, very tall, barrel chested with what must have been a size twenty neck. His hair, which had been shaved close to his head, was fair but flecked with grey. His uniform was immaculate and his boots shone like mirrors. He had three stripes on his arm so I took this to mean that he had the rank of Sergeant.
As he stood over us he looked enormous. I thought for a moment that my seagoing career was going to be a very short one but apart from his size there was nothing threatening or intimidating in his manner. He greeted us in German but apart from friendly smiles back and a few words of greeting from Jerry (no pun intended) in German, that was it. We were not making headway at all. Instead of walking away with a shake of his head, he persisted and repeated his greeting in French. Here he struck gold because unlike myself who only had a smattering of a few words at my command, Jerry’s French was very good.
Our newfound friend’s name was Hans and when we shook hands mine disappeared into his with space to spare. He had a strong grip but again there was no animosity only warmth in the greeting. He personified every mental picture I had ever had about a soldier in the French Foreign Legion.
He sat down at our table and ordered a bottle of red wine and three glasses. The waiter also bought us a large bowl of peanuts that had been shelled but were still “au natural”.
At this stage in the story I have to explain that when I first went to sea I had never been a regular wine drinker. My father was a beer drinker and it was rare to have alcohol in the house. We had more than a few bottles of the bubbly stuff when my sister got married but generally that was it. I could distinguish between white and red but could not at that time tell the difference between Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc. That was to come later! The other point to make is that when the first glasses were poured it had been quite some while since I had eaten so the red wine and the peanuts were basically on their own when they entered my stomach.
Over the next hour or so I lost count of the number of bottles we consumed. What I do remember is that every time a bottle of wine appeared so did a bowl of peanuts. We all got on famously. Hans told us that as a young man he had been in the Africa Corps and had fought in North Africa. He had been captured by the British and had been treated very well as a prisoner of war. After the war when he returned to Germany, life for him in Civvy Street had been very dull and in order to stay in the military and find new adventure he had joined the French Foreign Legion. He was very interested in our life at sea, our respective jobs and how we lived at home. His friends didn’t seem to mind his absence but occasionally shouted some remark to him that only produced a wry smile on his part.
Eventually and with some regret we had to say farewell and adieu. Hans called us a taxi to take us back to the ship. Unfortunately for him, Jerry had to go on duty the moment we climbed back on board.
There is a recognisable medical condition known to many seafarers who have found themselves in a similar position to the one that I was in which I later came to know as twenty-four hour flue. It strikes after shore visits to foreign restaurants or bars and attacks those whose only purpose has been to maintain their hydration levels.
The symptoms are tiredness, dizziness, slurred speech and often nausea. After a few hours rest in a darkened room, secondary symptoms can be headaches, dry mouth and a loss of appetite. All of these symptoms I experienced in a severe form over the next twelve hours. Jerry was lucky because what ever caused my condition seemed to pass him by. Fortunately after we left Djibouti and made our way to Aden the condition cleared and it wasn’t long before I returned to full health.
After that whenever Jerry and I were off duty and having a few beers, the toast was always “The good red wine of France”.
During my second voyage on Mahseer in 1964 Jerry was working with some chemical drums on the deck when one exploded in his face. He was taken ashore to hospital for treatment and did not return to the ship. I understand that the treatment he received was satisfactory. However I was told that he was concerned about any long-term effects that the accident might have on his eyesight and its impact on his career at sea.
There my story ends. I sincerely hope that Jerry was successful in whatever career he followed. I have always appreciated his friendship and his help. Over the years since, when I have thought of him and that trip ashore to Djibouti, if I have had a glass of something in my hand, the toast has always been - “The good red wine of France”.
Having been appointed by Brocklebank’s, when I received my joining instructions to board in Newcastle, in order to arrive at the appointed time I travelled from my home the day before and stayed overnight in the Missions to Seamen hostel. After breakfast, I ordered a taxi to take me to the dock. Dressed as I was in my brand new uniform I was ready to set out for the then greatest adventure of my life.
As far as I can remember the taxi driver who took me to the ship was permitted by the dock police to take me as far as the gangway, where I was deposited and left to my own devices. I can still remember the taste of panic at the back of my throat as I stood there wondering what to do next, transfixed like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights. The ship looked enormous with her towering superstructure that seemed to go on forever.
Salvation came in the shape of a tall, dark haired young man about my age, who had a kind, smiling face and who possessed a wonderfully soft Irish accent. Within seconds he summoned out of nowhere a luggage party made up of members of the Indian deck crew and had them show me to my cabin. Ranks and grades in the Merchant Navy meant absolutely nothing to me at that moment in time but when I met him later he told me he was the third mate.
The crew carried my luggage and escorted me to my cabin. This was small and narrow, but had everything I needed.
When she finished loading in Newcastle, Mahseer set sail for Antwerp, Rotterdam and Bremen before she returned to London to finish her loading at the Victoria Dock. We set sail for Colombo in October 1963.
I grew to know the third Mate, Jerry (Maloney?) very well over the time we sailed together. We often used to talk on the bridge wing when my watch keeping duties and his permitted. He took enormous trouble to explain things to me and never became impatient when I was slow to grasp the point he was making. We collaborated when he generated meteorological reports that I used to send to the Area coast stations as OBS messages.
Mahseer continued her outbound passage, transiting the Suez Canal and calling at the usual ports of Jeddah, Massawa and Assab. None of these offered much in the way of shops for the purchase of souvenirs so Jerry suggested that it might be possible to get something useful at Djibouti. In fact he volunteered to go with me no doubt to prevent me getting into trouble or lost or both. I think he managed to get a lift for us both into the town with one of the ship’s agents.
Djibouti, after places such as Massawa and Assab seemed like a Cosmopolitan oasis. The centre of the town had a wide boulevard lined with palm trees and on each side of the road there were a number of shops and bars. The hours of opening of the shops was limited but there was sufficient time after we arrived to browse around and to make some purchases in a small perfumery.
As the temperature increased our thoughts naturally turned to where we could find somewhere pleasant to relax and have a cold drink before we returned to the ship. One bar in particular looked inviting and we did not need much encouragement to go inside and sit down.
The bar was clean and comfortable and we chose a table that was directly beneath one of the large ceiling mounted fans so that we would benefit from its cooling downdraft.
After our first beer, which hardly touched the sides, we ordered refills and with glasses refreshed started to take more notice of the other patrons. Besides Jerry, myself and the barman there were probably no more than four or five other drinkers. All were in the uniform of the French Foreign Legion. After a few curious but not unfriendly glances on their part they continued with their drinking, smoking and card game.
Just as we were about to drain our glasses and return to the ship, one of the Legionnaires detached himself from his group and came over to our table. He was in his mid-forties, very tall, barrel chested with what must have been a size twenty neck. His hair, which had been shaved close to his head, was fair but flecked with grey. His uniform was immaculate and his boots shone like mirrors. He had three stripes on his arm so I took this to mean that he had the rank of Sergeant.
As he stood over us he looked enormous. I thought for a moment that my seagoing career was going to be a very short one but apart from his size there was nothing threatening or intimidating in his manner. He greeted us in German but apart from friendly smiles back and a few words of greeting from Jerry (no pun intended) in German, that was it. We were not making headway at all. Instead of walking away with a shake of his head, he persisted and repeated his greeting in French. Here he struck gold because unlike myself who only had a smattering of a few words at my command, Jerry’s French was very good.
Our newfound friend’s name was Hans and when we shook hands mine disappeared into his with space to spare. He had a strong grip but again there was no animosity only warmth in the greeting. He personified every mental picture I had ever had about a soldier in the French Foreign Legion.
He sat down at our table and ordered a bottle of red wine and three glasses. The waiter also bought us a large bowl of peanuts that had been shelled but were still “au natural”.
At this stage in the story I have to explain that when I first went to sea I had never been a regular wine drinker. My father was a beer drinker and it was rare to have alcohol in the house. We had more than a few bottles of the bubbly stuff when my sister got married but generally that was it. I could distinguish between white and red but could not at that time tell the difference between Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc. That was to come later! The other point to make is that when the first glasses were poured it had been quite some while since I had eaten so the red wine and the peanuts were basically on their own when they entered my stomach.
Over the next hour or so I lost count of the number of bottles we consumed. What I do remember is that every time a bottle of wine appeared so did a bowl of peanuts. We all got on famously. Hans told us that as a young man he had been in the Africa Corps and had fought in North Africa. He had been captured by the British and had been treated very well as a prisoner of war. After the war when he returned to Germany, life for him in Civvy Street had been very dull and in order to stay in the military and find new adventure he had joined the French Foreign Legion. He was very interested in our life at sea, our respective jobs and how we lived at home. His friends didn’t seem to mind his absence but occasionally shouted some remark to him that only produced a wry smile on his part.
Eventually and with some regret we had to say farewell and adieu. Hans called us a taxi to take us back to the ship. Unfortunately for him, Jerry had to go on duty the moment we climbed back on board.
There is a recognisable medical condition known to many seafarers who have found themselves in a similar position to the one that I was in which I later came to know as twenty-four hour flue. It strikes after shore visits to foreign restaurants or bars and attacks those whose only purpose has been to maintain their hydration levels.
The symptoms are tiredness, dizziness, slurred speech and often nausea. After a few hours rest in a darkened room, secondary symptoms can be headaches, dry mouth and a loss of appetite. All of these symptoms I experienced in a severe form over the next twelve hours. Jerry was lucky because what ever caused my condition seemed to pass him by. Fortunately after we left Djibouti and made our way to Aden the condition cleared and it wasn’t long before I returned to full health.
After that whenever Jerry and I were off duty and having a few beers, the toast was always “The good red wine of France”.
During my second voyage on Mahseer in 1964 Jerry was working with some chemical drums on the deck when one exploded in his face. He was taken ashore to hospital for treatment and did not return to the ship. I understand that the treatment he received was satisfactory. However I was told that he was concerned about any long-term effects that the accident might have on his eyesight and its impact on his career at sea.
There my story ends. I sincerely hope that Jerry was successful in whatever career he followed. I have always appreciated his friendship and his help. Over the years since, when I have thought of him and that trip ashore to Djibouti, if I have had a glass of something in my hand, the toast has always been - “The good red wine of France”.