By this time I had completed eight trips so I felt a pretty old hand. I had been fast tracked through the ranks to the dizzy heights of a Senior Ordinary Seaman. The ranks ran from, Deck Boy, to JOS (Junior Ordinary Seaman) then to SOS. After reaching this rank and having eighteen months sea experience we had the option to attend a two-week training course held on a decommissioned ship moored in the West India dock. This course was to attain a certificate of competence as an EDH (Efficient Deck Hand) or AB (Able Seaman). It was a crash course which led to being examined and if you passed, being certified in lifeboat skills and procedures. This certificate confirmed that you had successfully completed the extra training required to undertake and be called upon to perform the more responsible and sometimes dangerous tasks in life at sea. These included working aloft. There was also a very dangerous appointment nobody wanted or looked forward to. It was taking a senior role in a fire emergency and in fire drills. This role involved training for and practicing entering fires in an asbestos suit with a breathing helmet attached. Then what we considered the big one – life boat drills and being appointed in charge of a lifeboat in an emergency. This involved passenger and crew control and being conversant with and skilled in launching procedures and assuming coxswain duties and command when launched. It may sound a bit romantic, but it would be critical in an emergency. This training and certification was required under strict Board of Trade regulations, governing safety at sea procedures.
All of life is an education. Different situations, circumstances and experiences add to the ever changing, but unfinishable product that is oneself. My first romantic education (as opposed to a purely sexual one) took place on the MV Athenic of the Shaw Savill Line. She was about eleven thousand-ton displacement and had been built for the New Zealand refrigeration trade. As was common practice then, these cargo ships were built with a limited amount of passenger accommodation. They weren’t for the ten-pounder immigration brigade. These passengers were generally the more affluent type, looking to travel in a relaxed manner. I need to make this point clear, as something quite wonderful happened for me. A situation developed concerning one of these passengers, a very elegant, attractive lady, probably in her early fifties; it mattered not at all as I discovered that real class is ageless. Her age was something we never discussed, well you don’t do you? Even at eighteen I knew that.
The trip had been an outstanding one. The deck crew were a good bunch, of which most had previously been to New Zealand. They relayed story upon story of the good times available in all the ports we were to visit. These were Auckland, Wellington and Napier, all in the North Island. Apparently the Kiwi girls had a liking for us well-dressed English boys. We enjoyed a position with them, which was similar to the one that American service men enjoyed with the English girls. It was rather ironic really; as to a man we all got pissed off at home with the success the Yanks enjoyed with our girls. Another reason for our very welcome popularity and I was told this on numerous occasions, stemmed from our willingness at parties and gatherings to dance with and entertain the girls.
New Zealand was and is a very macho society. Generally the Kiwi boys never got round to dancing and chasing the girls till the night was almost over. They were always in the kitchen together, or another room, drinking heavily and replaying their day’s rugby match. Well I ask you, what was a young guy to do? That was a pretty big door to leave open for us. It caused a few problems that often finished in a fight. Those Kiwi boys, all rugby players, more so in those days, as that was the main thing in their lives, were tough and didn’t mind a decent scrap. We were pretty fit and after being at sea for a couple of years, we were battle hardened. Things always seemed to level out, we won some and we lost some, but usually we got the girl.
When you think about it, the girls were on a winner as they could go out with us, have a good time, which they did and then we were gone. There were no ties asked or given; when does the next ship get in? They suffered a lot of unfair criticism for mixing with us, but why? They were good girls, confident and a lot of fun and they just wanted to enjoy life, as we did. It became a unique situation for me, as I was to know a lot of the girls from my two trips there as a seaman and then continued to know some of them in the years ahead when I lived there. I was able to observe them change their lives, as you do. I saw them as they settled down, met the right blokes and got married, mostly to those Kiwi rugby boys. They bought their group homes, raised good families and lived a good life. So those Kiwi boys generally got them in the end!
I have to take the story back now to that romantic interlude, which really influenced my life. Helen, as I shall call this elegant lady, was travelling to New Zealand with the idea of settling there. There had been an upset in her life, which she hinted about, but never disclosed. She was a member of an influential British family, who were a household name in the film business. She was travelling with her companion, a middle-aged gay chap I shall call Tony. We crew members were under very strict orders when it came to mixing with or being familiar with passengers; for us it was an absolute no-no. Not so for the officers though. That old pecking order thing again. My meeting with Helen came about through an extraordinary and frightening experience.
It was a bleak, miserable, overcast afternoon. This was not a good afternoon, weather-wise, to do the task that I would shortly be called on to accomplish. We had cleared the Thames Estuary, passing South End on our port side. We were turning to head for the Channel; there was a gentle swell running. At this stage we still had the Pilot on board, but he would soon disembark. Readers may be aware that in certain circumstances ships have to fly flags indicating their status and intent. This was particularly so if they were steaming in busy shipping lanes. The English Channel is one of the busiest shipping lanes in the world. The flags all had specific meanings. They advised other ships in close proximity what movements to expect. Some of these flags flew from the top yardarm of the foremast; a very difficult area to access and deal with should there be a problem.
I was feeling very pleased with myself. I had been working with the First Mate and Bosun on the foredeck in casting off and clearing the dock. As the twelve-to-four crew we were still out on the foredeck with the Bosun battening things down. I felt I had performed well; the Mate had left us and gone to the bridge. The Bosun was signalled to take down a flag, which was jammed at the out-board end of the yardarm. Disaster had struck; the flag wouldn’t release. The Bosun tried to jerk it free by pulling on the halyard, which is the rope used for raising or lowering the flag. Try as he might he couldn’t budge it. It was an embarrassing situation for the Skipper. It had to be cleared. Shit! I thought; this will be down to me to sort out. The job of going aloft to clear it could only be undertaken by a certified seaman (certified being a very appropriate word in this circumstance). Only AB’s or EDH’s could be called upon to risk it. They would have had the right training, experience and certificate. It was a dangerous and nerve wracking job, especially if it had to be carried out at sea. It was one you didn’t volunteer for.
Talk about sod’s law, this was my first trip as an EDH. I was quite chuffed about it as it had a certain prestige and you were taken seriously by the rest of the crew. You were the senior man on your watch. I knew it was a pretty serious issue when the First Mate came back down from the bridge to supervise the action. He spoke to the Bosun who called me over to join them. The First Mate asked me how I felt about doing the job. What could I say? It was down to me; it was my job.
“Yes, Mr Mate. I can do it,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. I was more scared of looking scared; I couldn’t allow that to happen. To digress, I think that’s why they liked us young guys for those types of situations, or for combat in the Army. The worst thing for us was to let fear show. It’s all about pride in front of your peers I suppose. In this exercise it’s important to remember that this was a new crew on its first day out. There wasn’t any established teamwork to help out. It was down to training and experience.
I need to the make the procedure clear for the non-seamen amongst the readers. This job was not without its perils. The mast was about seventy-feet tall to the truck, the highest point. The yardarm crossed the mast about twenty-feet from the truck. That in itself was about twenty-four-feet across from point-to-point. The yardarm was braced by two heavy wire stays that ran out and down from just below the truck to each outboard end of the yardarm. The only way to access the blocks that held the flags was to slide down those wire stays. Unfortunately, there was no other way.
To achieve this I had to follow the standard procedure, which was scary as going aloft, in this situation involved the use of a Bosun’s chair. In those days this contraption was made from a solid piece of oak about two feet long by nine inches wide and two inches thick. This formed the seat, which had two holes drilled into either end. Through these holes were passed two sturdy rope slings which were spliced together, forming an eye. This eye was for attaching a halyard to. That was the long rope which ran up and down the mast. It was my job to attach the Bosun’s chair to the mast halyard. You always tied off your own chair. Once the tie off was complete and the Bosun had inspected the knot it was time to get the job done. I then had to climb up the mast ladder to the crow’s nest. In the meantime the Bosun had wound his end of the mast halyard around the winch drum, which he would use to haul me aloft. I looked down and signalled him to send up the chair. I entered the chair at the crow’s nest and then he hauled me up to the mast end of the starboard stay, just under the truck. I was now about sixty feet above the deck, sitting on a small piece of wood. The swell was causing the ship to roll a bit, but it hadn’t caused me too much trouble as at that point I still had the mast to hang on to.
This is where it got tricky. To get out to the end of the yardarm where the problem was I had to shackle the chair to the wire stay running down to it. I would then signal the Bosun on the winch to lower me down. However, because I was shackled to the stay, instead of going down, I now would go out to the end of the yardarm. In all my life after this incident, there were times that I got myself into some tricky and dangerous places. I swear none of them came close to the feeling that started in the soles of my feet and swept up my body as I swung out, swaying and down that wire stay. When I looked down the only thing below me was the sea. The gentle roll of the ship was exaggerated up there. What an experience. I was scared, but in a funny way I was enjoying it. So there I was stuck out between the sea and the sky. I was very pleased to reach the end of the yardarm. The flag had tangled up quite badly, so much so that I had to cut it free; but I had to try not to damage the halyard or someone would have to go up again and it would probably be me. I was very careful even though I was desperate to get down. Once the block was running free I slowly let myself back to the mast using the light line I had doubled around the stay. The loose end coming back to me to allow me to control my drift back in. I looked down again and hey presto the ship was back below me. I signalled ‘lower away’ and slowly down I came. On the way down I started to enjoy it. I was feeling really pleased with myself and my performance under pressure. I had a good look around and saw her.
A large group of the passengers had positioned themselves below the bridge and had watched the show with great interest. Helen was in the front row, enthralled by the performance judging from the look on her face. I climbed down from the crow’s nest; I tried to make it look like it was all in a day’s work. In truth it was. As I was reaching the deck, the passengers started to clap. The Mate gave me a quick ‘well done lad’. He then said something like, “you’ve done that a few times.”
I said, “yes sir, a couple of times twelve feet high on the training ship in the West India dock, two weeks ago.”
He chuckled and turned to the Bosun and said:
“Okay, the shows over; get everybody on with their work.” He turned to me again and said “well-done again lad, what was your name?”
“Russell, Sir.”
“Two weeks ago eh?” He turned and walked off with a quizzical smile on his face. He knew how badly it could have gone. Guys have lost their nerve and frozen out there.
The passengers had all watched this exchange and I had been taking a sly look at them. Helen was glowing, I could tell. The next afternoon I was up on the boat deck, checking the lashings on the lifeboat canvas covers. I was going about the job, when from behind me came, “Hello, how are you after yesterday?” It was Helen and Tony. They started chatting, asking me what it felt like swinging out on the yardarm. We joked and laughed about it. That little visit gave me the chance to really have a look at her. She was attractive in a haughty sort of way. The thing that really got to me however was her beautiful, educated and warm way of speaking. After my dalliance with Helen, it became an important part of the ingredients that would attract me to a woman. Though strangely, the most loyal and genuine lady of my life, came from a different background completely; showing that a lady is a lady, whatever her background or education. For me those qualities could make quite plain women attractive. As I said, she influenced me in many ways. After all I was only nineteen and eager to please. Helen was a mature, experienced woman of perhaps fifty and she gently showed me how to please and treat a woman.
Our affair took a few days to get started. I had told her how the watch system worked, so she knew when I might be around and we could have a few words. I wasn’t quite sure that this treat was happening for me, so I decided to test her before making a move. The next time she approached me I took my chances and said if she really wanted to talk to me, we would have to meet in secret. She readily agreed and in that instant I knew this was going to be a sexual affair. We carried it on very clandestinely. I would meet her before I went on watch at midnight. I had organized a private spot near the funnel housing that we used for our meetings. It was actually very romantic, under the stars in the middle of the ocean.
At Helen’s request, we moved our liaisons to her cabin. It was accessible for me at night or early mornings, when nobody was around. We spent many happy hours there. I was absolutely taken by the way she would arrange things. She would make so much effort to create a romantic ambience. Nothing was too much trouble it seemed; she left no stone unturned in making our trysts something wonderful. There would be wine, some snacks and soft romantic music. I was mesmerised. For me it was the stuff of Hollywood legends. The excitement was heightened by the risk of getting caught. In my mind I was the pauper and she was the princess in a romantic play. I was in dreamland as I worked and I lived for those surreptitious visits. I was captivated by her elegance and style and everything she did. She was excitingly adventurous as well. There was one afternoon when we were having a brief conversation on the boat deck. As she left, I told Helen I would see her tomorrow. She turned smiled and said, “Yes you will and I have a surprise for you.”
I was called at eleven thirty that night to take my place on lookout in the bow, which I duly did at midnight. I had been at my post for about five minutes when my surprise eventuated. Lovely, adventurous Helen had crept up to the bow of the ship, to spend a secretive romantic time with me. She had brought a blanket with her from her cabin. We lay together for a little under an hour and enjoyed an amazing sexual encounter in that most unusual of situations. As I said, style and elegance, coupled with such an adventurous streak. How lucky I was.
I had previously enjoyed lusty relationships with two girlfriends and other encounters in various ports and I considered myself quite the lover man; I suppose that was youthful optimism. Well, the fact is that any previous efforts and encounters paled into insignificance. Helen guided and encouraged me to a sexual maturity that took me from a willing, eager young guy, to a mature unselfish lover. At first, as I saw it, I couldn’t believe my luck and then the affair slowly transcended those sorts of youthful thoughts. I developed a real respect and admiring condition for her, which I still hold to this day. I was a willing pupil, she was a delectable teacher. She introduced and guided me to unselfish ways of making love. The whole of the experience changed me forever.
So there you have it, the affair carried on till we made Wellington, where she disembarked. There wasn’t a tear or anything like that when we parted. This was a mature practical woman who was very much in charge of herself. She understood better than me that this could only ever have been an enjoyable ship affair. I had greatly enjoyed it and felt enriched and more mature in many ways. To sum it up, I can only say I would swing off the yardarm any time again for such a woman. Thanks Helen for such a gift. The education was greatly appreciated and I hope, put to good use. And I have never mentioned this story to anyone until now.