Originally Posted by Alan Rawlinson
Wood decks, open rails, serene quiet progress across the oceans...
stifling heat in the cabins, lucky to have an oscillating fan, or a wind cowel to stick out of the port
steam winches, cracking and banging, draining and jerking
heat your own water, with a steam line in the bath
then there was the wire sounding line! ( only used it once)
followed by an ultra modern wet paper echo sounder - OK if the paper was wet...
D/F - the less said the better
Would put it all to poetry if I had time, but too busy 60 years on...
Hereís a little poem that captures the mood for me when joining in Bromboro Dock in mid winter during the 1950ís.....
It doesn't seem so long ago,
winches - hissing and clanking in the snow,
A lovely smell of oil with steam,
and Copra resting on the beams.
Hoses, cables, boards, and battens,
lie around in a random fashion,
There was nothing quite like a Bank Line ship,
home at last, from a two year trip.
See the cabins, mostly white,
narrow bunks with quilts tucked tight,
Soon, the tea, thick and treacly,
brought by stewards, ever so meekly.
An alien world, it should be known,
but some of us, we called it home!