by Stuart Kells
Friday, 26 February 1926
Now that we have rounded Cape Leeuwin it is much calmer, and at dinner today everybody was present for the first time since leaving Sydney.
As we only have a cup of coffee, and bread and butter, for breakfast, by 11am I have a terrific appetite. Today I had three slices of pâté de foie, two large helpings of pois ronds Bretonne, about a pound of perfectly cooked beef steak with equally perfect fried potatoes, one crisp apple, two cups of coffee, a Triple sec liqueur and an Egyptian cigarette. From start to finish, I took just one and a half hours over the meal. I don’t think the P&O Branch Service or the Commonwealth Line can touch this.
On this boat, wines, spirits and tobacco are far cheaper than anywhere I have ever been on land. Cigarettes vary from two to four francs per packet of twenty. Small Egyptian Abdullas manufactured in London can be purchased on board at eight francs for fifty. The last quotation before leaving Sydney was 156 Francs to the Pound.
Champagne is drunk like water. I have been invited to one of the officer’s cabins for a game of cards on two occasions and two or three bottles of Champagne were provided. The price of this varies from thirty to forty francs per bottle. Triple sec, which is the best liqueur I have ever tasted, is three francs a glass. Ordinary common claret is provided at every meal, but I prefer the iced water which is a real good drink. Whisky and other spirits are two to three francs a glass on board, while in Sydney it is one shilling a nobbler. Lager is, I believe, four francs a bottle, while in Sydney it is 1/3–1/6 and in Coonabarabran 2/3 a bottle.
My other cabinmate is Toby Flornles who is thirty-three years of age, six foot one inch in height, fair hair and grey eyes. He is well proportioned and, I should imagine, fairly strong. He was born in Belgium and one of his parents was a Norwegian. At the age of sixteen, he left home and signed on a sailing boat. For the next few years he sailed around the world and twelve years ago, fed up with a life on the ocean waves, he deserted at New Zealand and took up a job on shore – firstly as apprentice, then a mechanic and he finally had a place of his own.
What has caused him to sell up is the rapid growth of the ‘time payment’ system of purchase in New Zealand. Now, he says, people buy cars who cannot afford them and a lot of them run up accounts at garages and are unable to pay them. He thinks that this system is doing a lot of harm in New Zealand. He has recently invented and patented a petrol saving device which he guarantees will save twenty-five per cent of the petrol normally consumed. The idea is to utilize the steam produced in the radiator and introduce it into the induction pipe of the carburetor. It absolutely prevents any carbon forming in the cylinder heads and even removes any if fitted to a dirty engine. The cost of this appliance is approximately £7. He is married and his wife is about twenty-eight to thirty years of age. She has dark, shingled hair, grey eyes, is about five foot six inches in height, and is by no means thin. Born in New Zealand, she lived there all her life. She has plenty of ‘go’ in her and, in fact, I think her husband has rather a worrying time trying to keep her in check. The only word she knows in French is maître, and she keeps on calling and beckoning to this individual and speaking to him in English, which he cannot understand. So poor Toby is told to ask him in French, and owing to the stupidity of some of her questions her husband is sometimes unwilling to ask the maître. I am inclined to think that Madame has a somewhat quick temper. She, however, has very clearly shown me one thing – that it is easier for an English person on a French boat to learn French than it is for him, or her, to teach everybody on the aforementioned boat to speak English. They are travelling to Belgium – Antwerp, I think – where he is going to make a fresh start. With them is ‘Dixie’, their little dog, a Pomeranian which can do quite a number of tricks.
This is being written in the dining saloon at 8.30pm. The maître d’hôtel, the head chef, the purser and the chief steward are just finishing their evening meal and are lingering over the wine and smokes; they are at the end table. At the next table are three Slavs, two males and one female. I don’t know whether they are Yugo or Czecho, but at any rate they all seem to delight in talking as fast as they can and all at the same time. One of the males is a villainous looking individual, perhaps he shaved the day we left port or perhaps it was the week before. Occasionally they all take deep breaths at the same time and then there is a strange silence for a few seconds, then, like a firework, one starts off with a rush and the rest hasten to make up for the time they have wasted.
At the same table is Hans, who has just finished some writing and is now ‘winding up’ the gramophone preparatory to attempting to drown the row the three Slavs are making. I am writing at one end of the third table while at the other end, three Frenchmen and Toby are playing a card game which is called ‘Monnis’, or at least it is pronounced like that. The great point in this game is in playing each card. To an observer, the winner of each hand is the player who flourishes his card most and who makes the most noise when the card bangs down on the table. The card is let go a couple of inches above the table and the card and the player’s fist reach the table almost simultaneously. And all the time a constant stream of conversation is kept up by three of the players. The one who is playing the card, either flourishing or banging, observes a solemn silence which, I suppose, is considered dramatic. As soon as the bang has died away he starts off talking with a terrific rush and the next player commences his flourish. Three of the participants in the game have moustaches – two ups and one down – and they are all smoking like factory chimneys. When none of them have any cards left, one cannot distinctly see the end of the table for it is a mass of waving and gesticulating arms.
The next table is unoccupied, and at the last one an Italian and a German are playing a quiet game of cards while the latter’s wife sits close by and either sews or watches.
And so we travel on, as mixed a crowd as ever gathered together in a few hundred square feet. All journeying to different parts of the world. Some happy, some sad, some well and others bad. One has only to travel in such company for a few days to realize what a strange world this is.
Saturday, 27 February 1926
On board ship is a terrible place to form cliques. In fact, everyone is a member of one unless, of course, a person is so unsociable that no clique will own him. The little gang that I belong to comprises of Madame, Toby, Hans, Miss Dobie and myself.
I have described them all except Miss Dobie, so I will now attempt to repair the omission. About twenty-five years of age, of medium height, blue eyes and fair hair, she has had a university education and is also a fully qualified nurse. For the past two years she has been at the Dunedin Hospital. She was born in New Zealand and this is the first time she has left the land of her birth. Her destination is Tunis where she intends to spend six months with her sister, who lives there. Then she hopes to visit London where, among other things, she has planned to buy her trousseau, as she is to be married on her return to ‘Nouvelle Zealand’ to a clergyman. At the present moment she is sitting in front of me while one of the officers is attempting to make love to her. As he does not know a word of English she gets a lot of fun out of it. She has just turned round and told me that he has edged up so close to her that, if the ship gives a sudden lurch, her head will fall back on to his shoulder.
I think all the stewards on board are Japs or Chinese and, as far as I can see, they are very good. There are about thirty second class passengers and we have one table steward, John, and one cabin steward, Len. They are both very obliging, but it is very noticeable that they like some passengers and hate others. Owing to my having given them a few francs each, I think I come among the former.
Meals are served in rather a strange way in the second class. When the table is laid, two or three plates are allotted to each person, one on top of the other, and as they are used, so they are removed. Two plates or dishes of each course are allotted to each table of twelve persons, and you help yourself and pass it on. By this means, one steward can easily loo
k after thirty persons. Three bottles of wine are allotted to each table, but as soon as a bottle is empty it is replaced; by paying extra, special wine or any drink is served in lieu of the wine provided. Special small plates and knives are handed around for fruit or cheese, and coffee is served after each meal. The only course served individually in plates is soup.
It seems to me that before the voyage is over the ladies of our party are destined to figure in some sort of romance. Some of the French officers are very loving. Perhaps I have no grounds for making such a statement but it will be interesting to note if anything does happen.
There is a person sitting a few feet from me who has a most woebegone expression. A female, of about sixty years of age I should imagine. She is a Slav and she reminds me of a person Mr T.H. Rowlands once described to me (only, in this instance, it was a male): ‘He looks as if he hoped everything he ate would disagree with him.’ As this is such a good description of the female in question I won’t say any more about her, but will leave her alone with her misery or supposed misery.
Hans was telling me tonight how he came to be kicked by a horse. It appears that he was attempting to break in a young stallion. He had saddled the animal, mounted and had taken half a dozen ‘bucks’ when he felt the saddle slipping. In dismounting, his left foot became jammed in the stirrup and he fell, the reins slipping out of his hands. The horse started to make off but Hans grabbed one of his hind legs, causing the horse to stumble and fall. Just as he managed to free his leg from the stirrup, the horse kicked him in the chest and the damage was done. He was in the War Memorial Hospital Waverley (Sydney) for thirteen weeks and, including two operations, it cost him £120.
He also gave me a few statistics in regard to his work. He, a Scotsman and an Englishman (Bill Thompson, by name) had 2,300 miles of telegraph line to patrol which was mainly underground (a cable) and which contained twenty-eight sub-stations, each containing thirty-four batteries. To look after their horses and baggage they employed twenty blacks. The journey occupied three months, and after a week’s rest at each end they commenced the return trip. He received about £40 a month and would have been content to stay on the job for ever. He is very sorry indeed that he has to go home, although he has not been there for six years. He has a sister who was born just after he last left home and who, naturally, he has never seen.
He is amusing himself by writing a book in German on psychology. The title of it, translated, is ‘Every Man to His Own Way’. At home, he informs me, he has a library of over 900 volumes valued at more than £1,000. His father is owner of a carpet factory and employs about 800 men.
While I am on the quotation business, I might add that I bought a tin of fifty Gold Flake cigarettes yesterday for eight francs, and Nationales cigarettes can be purchased for one franc per packet of twenty. The value of a franc being slightly under two pence; roughly 6½₣ to one shilling. Gold Flake in Australia are 1/6 for twenty.
Sunday, 28 February 1926
Well, by cripes, this is the strangest company I have ever been in. The second and ’tween deck passengers and the crew mix together freely, and the total would be something like 120 – and I am the only Englishman among them. It is Sunday afternoon and we are just between the indefinite sub-tropics and the definite tropics. An awning has been spread over the forward hatch and under it are gathered together a company of about fifty from the lower classes of passengers and the crew, and they present a very curious spectacle. The most conspicuous among this company are a Slav playing a mandolin and one of the crew, in dungarees and a dirty white cap, playing a guitar. The selections played are, as might be expected, somewhat varied. La Marseillaise, O sole mio, It Ain’t Gonna Rain No Mo, A Perfect Day and so on. In the order of conspicuousness the next on the list is the ‘Bosch’s’ wife, who is arrayed in a vivid greeny-blue dress, a black scarf around her hair and a bright yellow necklace of beads. Next, a Frenchman in a grey suit, brown boots, eighteen inch moustache and a ghastly pink shirt – c’est terrible. The sailors off the Cassiopie make a bit of a splash in regard to colour. Blue jackets, pants and socks, white canvas shoes, blue and white striped jersey singlets and their caps, although similar in shape to the English sailor caps, have a bright addition in the shape of a red fluffy ball in the centre of the crown and a white plaited strap. Next to me is ‘Barney Google’, an Italian who looks like a gollywog – fuzzy hair and large expressionless eyes. His shoes are the most dilapidated specimens of footwear I have ever set eyes on. There are a crowd of Italians, Greeks and Slavs lolling on top of one another; one of them looks as if he was living on a diet of fat, grease and oil. In the midst of this weird assembly is our little party, talking and passing remarks about various of the human conglomeration as unconcernedly as if they never existed.
The weather is just perfect – warm with a cool sea breeze – and the sea, although looking very calm, has a terrific swell and sometimes it looks as if it were inevitable that the boat must be swamped.
Monday, 1 March 1926
Water, water everywhere – and, thank goodness, plenty to drink, iced too. No doubt this is a fine way to spend a few weeks – eating, drinking, smoking and sleeping. But personally I would far rather be doing some work that I could enjoy.
Last night Hans told me a few of his war experiences. During the latter part of the war he was attached to the artillery, but he had some experience in the infantry. Although they did not take an active part in the war, the Swiss army was guarding its frontier to see no one trespassed on it. On one occasion, when Hans was a corporal, he was one of a company of forty-five men who were guarding what might be termed a peninsula of land surrounded by land over which French and German bullets were flying. Twenty of the men retired to safety, but the remainder took cover and held their post. Hans was unlucky enough to get a bullet in the leg. However, the twenty ‘got the bullet’ – to use Hans’ words – and the rest were decorated for their valour.
On another occasion a German shell fell among a company of Swiss soldiers and killed about thirty of them. A few days later, half a battalion – 400 to 500 Germans – passed close to the Swiss frontier and the Swiss shot every one of them as a revenge. At a certain road on the frontier a small guard room was occupied by a n.cp. and form privates. As very few people passed along the road the soldiers buried half a dozen copper plates which were connected with wires to an electric bell. As there were a lot of electrified wire fences in the vicinity they utilized the same power, which was very powerful. When anyone walked on these plates the bell rang and woke up the sleeping guards, who then appeared. This was perfectly successful until, one day, some German deserters were caught on the other side of the guard house. When questioned, they said that the guards were asleep when they passed. Unfortunately for the guards none of the deserters had walked on the plates. A Swiss general rode up on horseback to see for himself if this was correct. He stopped just before reaching the guard house and, unfortunately, the horse placed one foot on one plate and another foot on another plate with the result that sparks began to fly and the horse received an electric shock. The horse reared up in the air and threw the general, who fell with his feet on one plate and one hand came into contact with another. The general got a terrific shock and could not release his hand. However, with his other hand he drew his revolver and shot at the wire he observed, and so freed himself. He followed the wire and found the bell. When questioned, the guards admitted their guilt and by so doing saved their lives. They received only six months jail, solitary confinement. When a Swiss soldier is sentenced to death, he has to dig his own grave and sit on the edge of it. When shot, he tumbles into it so saving a lot of unpleasant work for his comrades.
There is one man on board who we have named the ‘Bosch’. His father was a German and he was born in Germany, but he calls himself a naturalized Australian. He is fairly tall, fat, untidy, and has short-cropped hair and a small moustache. In manner, he is very German. His wife is an Australian and they snub us just as much as possibl
e, for which we are most grateful. But I won’t say any more about him as he is not a pleasant subject to talk about.
Really, there is very little to write about. We cannot have any social events as there are so many nationalities aboard that whatever language was spoken very few would understand. In the dining saloon last night there were nine people present at a certain time representing eight nationalities.
Flying fish were noticed today for the first time.
Tuesday, 2 March 1926
Last night I was invited by one of the first class passengers to have a game of bridge. I cannot remember the names of the players, but they could all play good bridge and although I am not much of a player I did not feel out of my depth. We played for two pence a hundred and I lost six pence.
Last night there was a bit of a rumpus in the second class dining saloon. As I have explained elsewhere, the food is served in large dishes, one of which contains sufficient for six persons. Well, at the first table, at one end, are four persons who have the same sized dish as is served to all the others. So compared with the rest, they each have twenty-five per cent extra. These four are the ‘Bosch’ and his wife, a Frenchman from Gascony and another foreigner of no consequence. During dinner last night Mrs ‘Bosch’ suddenly left the table and, without saying a word to the maître d’hôtel, went to the commissionaire in the première classe and complained that they did not get enough to eat. This official came down to investigate and had a bit of a row with the maître over it. When he had gone, the latter went up to ‘Bosch’ and Co. and told them what he thought of them and it looked as if there was going to be a fight.