[Fairwinds]

On the African coast, we usually had a leisurely stop in Mombasa, where the pace of life in the port was slow and measured. It was the days when B.I's lovely Kampala and Karanja were often in port and we might easily be on the next berth dwarfed by their size and opulence. It also meant time for relaxation, playing table tennis in the seaman's mission, or a trip up Port Reitz in the motor lifeboat when we swam and drank beer in the Port Reitz hotel. Looking back, I also recall loading bags of raw asbestos from the inland mines, long before the warnings were sounded over the dangers of this material. Further down the coast, stops were made at Zanzibar and Dar Es Salaam, and often in the minor port anchorages of Linda, Tanga, and Pemba. It was idyllic but short stops meant constant anchoring and stopping and starting. Beira was a major call, and strangely we often suffered the dreaded wait for a berth, anchoring off in the bay. This seemed strange, because our passenger status and network of agents usually ensured that we were able to ' jump the queue '. Not here though, and I recall working on deck in sweltering heat and being bitten by Tsetse flies which could easily sting through the shirt. Next stop south would be Lourenço Marques, now Mobutu, and these two ports were pleasant stops with great local beer often served up with a variety of snacks including beans. They were railway ports with tracks coming down to the quay with copper bundles and other produce.

Durban was a great port, the seafront hotels and bars looking most welcome from seaward, especially at night with all the magical twinkling coloured lights. The port is marked by the famous Bluff, and this represented home, or as near as we could get to it. We often had valuable transshipment cargo to discharge and our job as apprentices was to remain down the holds to try and prevent pilfering. Silks and clothing from Japan were in bundles, and I recall fashionable shoes packed in boxes with the left ones together, and the corresponding shoes in separate cartons, presumably to also deter pilfering. On one occasion during one of my stints in the hold, the labourers, always in great fettle, laughing and singing, crammed two left shoes on their feet. Then they climbed out of the hold at the end of the shift dressed in gaudy silk scarves and dresses, still laughing and singing, and attempted to run the gauntlet of the strict dock guards. It was hard not to admire their temerity and their high spirits.

At the other end of our approx 12 week run was Calcutta and a special life for several weeks. Special and different because that was where running repairs were carried out, also drydocking if due, and the intensity and vibrancy of Calcutta meant life was generally disrupted like it or not. Arriving in the brown and sometimes turgid waters at Sandheads, the first sight would be a gaggle of ships anchored and waiting for a berth. Any delay here would be short, and we would take a pilot for the long and tortuous route up the Hooghly river. The pilotage was always a challenge due to the ever changing mud banks, and we usually anchored halfway overnight before proceeding up to the city. Starting either in Kiddapore or King George docks, we would usually shift out to the river buoys to load. More often than not, it was necessary to strengthen the moorings to cope with the bore tide which is a feature of the Hooghly, bracing ourselves for the surge of water as the incoming tide overcame the normalcy of its outflow. Carcasses in the river were a common sight, including the occasional human. Often a hawk would be perched on the bodies, as they flowed silently downstream. If a drydocking was on the cards, life could be seriously disrupted as trips to shoreside toilets became necessary, and the hammering, banging and sometimes riveting invaded the peace. Trips ashore in the evening meant negotiating the hordes of youngsters with their had outstretched chanting the regular mantra "one Anna, One Anna, One Anna." Despite all this, I have fond (ish) memories of the time, walking past compounds with lilting Indian music in the air, along with the fire smoke, Up in the main street of Chowringhee, life teemed with roadside barbers and hawkers offering all sorts of goods and personal grooming like massages and ear clearing. Here on a memorable day in 1952, I saw 'Singing in the Rain' with Gene Kelly, and for an hour or so I was transported to another world a million miles from the daily bustle on board ship. It was magic at the time. There was also a great open air bar with cabaret which had the same effect on me. Looking back, I must have been in a fragile emotional state.

Eventually, after my time away rose to 18 months, someone back in head office decided that I would leave the Inchanga in Durban for a trip home this time on the M.V. Westbank. She had just been dragged off of the island of Juan De Nova in the Mozambique Channel where she ad run up an unlit beach in the night. It was touch and go, but the salvage eventually succeeded and she was patched up in Durban. Huge steel girders were welded along the side at bilge keel level, and for good measure she was then loaded with a full cargo of Manganese ore for discharge in Immingham. Not a cargo usually associated with a damaged ship, but the necessary clearances would have been obtained.

So ended my first trip in the Bank Line. It had taken in 5 ships and lasted nearly 20 months, which included the fascinating spell on the unacknowledged flag ship of the company. Maybe this title would be disputed by all the M.V.Isipingo veterans. However, like all voyages in the Bank Line, it was not so much a routine trip, but more like a full blown adventure.

The ebook called “ Any Budding Sailors” is a fuller account of the author’s life