by Stuart Kells
What the maître said was, firstly, if they wanted any more of any course they had only to ask him and he would have seen that they got it. This is quite correct, as many times I have had returns or encores. And, secondly, he said that all complaints should pass through him, which also is quite reasonable. So I consider that he was quite justified in telling them what he thought of their behaviour. The ‘Bosch’ himself was not game to go and complain, for he is so fat that the commissionaire would not have believed him. The poor old maître, who is really quite a decent fellow, was most upset about it and later on in the evening, when he had dinner, he commenced to drown his sorrows in the flowing cup and he did not cease doing this until 3am. I think that he tried to banish the headache he woke up with this morning by having a few more spots, as he was very wobbly on his pins and was loath to let go of any substantial support.
Wednesday, 3 March 1926
To carry on from where I left off, I might add that last night the maître was still drowning his sorrows. At 12 o’clock I led him to his cabin and with the help of the maître de première classe, who was himself half shot, put him to bed. I really had to do this, for everybody else who was in the saloon was incapable of doing so. This morning the maître came up to me and jabbered away as fast as he could for five minutes. Although I did not understand a word, I concluded that he was trying to thank me.
It is almost unnecessary to say that it is getting warmer and warmer. The Southern Cross appears lower every night and it will not be long before it disappears for good, and I shall be looking out for a first glimpse of the Great Bear.
I have just finished reading The Constant Nymph by Margaret Kennedy, which is regarded as one of the best novels of 1924–1925. It is certainly a remarkable book and written in a charming style, and as it is the author’s first book it looks as if we are assured of some more good novels in the years to come. If my memory is any good at all, I am not far out when I give the author’s age as twenty-four. So we can promise a very brilliant future to this young novelist.
Now, mes amis, it looks as if I shall have to look around the place and try to find another exercise book if I want to continue my aimless scribbling.
Thursday, 4 March 1926
Today the sea is far rougher than it has been since we left the Bight, but luckily the boat is very steady and I am feeling quite fit. The sea is pushing us along, the wind is blowing us along and the propeller – it is only a single screw boat – is forcing us along, so I think we ought to do close on 300 miles for the twenty-four hours ending at noon tomorrow.
Tonight, after dinner, I went up on deck and watched the waves. Some of them, as they broke and swept forward, very nearly kept pace with the boat until they apparently dissolved or disappeared into other waves. I was standing at the stern, and when that portion of the boat was in the trough between two large waves the crests of them were on a level with my head. Then one of them would rush as if trying to catch the boat, turning the inky blackness into foamy white. At the extreme stern of the boat the water was a constant white, caused by the churning propeller gate.
During daylight I enjoy watching the waves even more, for then so many more colours are displayed by the sea. The crest of every wave, as it is heaped up skywards, is of a bright, almost emerald green. In the sunlight, the sea itself is of no constant colour but a fantasy of colours. Sometimes a flying fish will suddenly spring from the middle of a deep blue wave and, after flitting over a light, greeny patch fringed with white, will mysteriously disappear into the base of another wave whose crest is just leaping forward and above which is a halo of rainbow colours caused by the sun shining on the spray.
It was cloudy, low on the horizon, last night when the moon rose and it was one of those somewhat rare occasions when the colour of gold is witnessed at a moonrise. Not a deep, rich gold but the colour of pale, beaten gold. It was just after the moon had risen above the belt of clouds, and when its reflection on the sea was at its best, that a half circle of gold was visible commencing and ending in the clouds and passing right around the silvery moon.
The storm increases and, as I write, I hear an occasional bang as an unusually large wave strikes the ship and then I can discern the subdued sound of water swishing across the deck.
Saturday, 6 March 1926
Through the humid atmosphere of the tropics we pursue our somewhat weary way. The day, its predecessor and its successor are just about the same: it rains, the sun shines, it is cloudy, we have a thunderstorm, there is no wind, the sea is rough, it is windy. It does not make much difference what the weather is. We eat, drink, sleep and live in the same old way. There are no concerts, no lectures, no dancing, no debates, in fact ‘no nothings’.
Joseph, the Captain d’armes of the Paquebot, makes love to Miss Dobie, and every time he sees any other man talking to her he sulks and then writes pages and pages of French enquiring why he has been forsaken, what he has done to be so treated and invariably winds up by inviting her to his cabin to have a liqueur. A couple of days ago he was sitting on a deck chair alongside her, playing most romantic music on a mandolin, when suddenly the chair collapsed. It made no difference to Joseph, without even a smile he sat where he fell, still playing the same tune and with the same loving expression on his face.
One rather strange custom about the French is the way they greet each other with an absolutely expressionless Bon jour, they extend a hand (right or left) and it is grasped by his acquaintance’s hand (right or left) and a weak shake exchanged. Sometimes only a couple of fingers are grasped and frequently, when meeting several friends, both hands are used for shaking either simultaneously or else intermittently.
I slept on deck last night. It was a great improvement on the stuffy cabin, but it is an awful nuisance having to carry one’s mattress, or bedding, along the narrow passages and up the steep, narrow steps that lead on to the deck, and then to reverse the process soon after five in the morning owing to the sailors wanting to wash the decks. In the dining saloon, where I am writing this – and which, I should imagine, would be roughly twenty feet by sixty feet and accommodating fifty-six persons – there are three doors (all open), six port holes (all open) and ten fans all racing one another, and yet it is tolerably stuffy.
The only item which is likely to be worth recording until we reach Port Said is on account of the celebrations to be held when we cross the line, which is expected to occur on Monday or Tuesday.
Sunday, 7 March 1926
Today, for the first time on the voyage, the sea resembles the proverbial mill pond – not so much as a ripple in any direction, save those caused by the boat. The sky has been overcast all day, so we are not yet seeing the water at its most vivid blue. Although, when I looked over the bows of the boat this morning and gazed down into the water, nothing more blue could be imagined.
Great preparations are being made for the crossing the line celebrations. Some days ago, a few first class passengers approached me and asked if I would inform the second class passengers that they were invited up to witness, or participate, in the fête. I replied that it would be a somewhat difficult matter as there was no common language in the second class. Tonight I wrote out a notice in English and the Captain d’armes translated it into French. I then asked the maître d’hôtel for permission to place it on the notice board. He had some objection – I couldn’t tell what it was – for he began to get excited and, as I dare say you know, when a Frenchman becomes excited he speaks very quickly and I could not understand a single word he said. Of course, that made him all the more excited and very soon he was a human windmill, jabbering away as fast as he could and waving his arms in every direction. Not getting any satisfaction from him, I took the notice to the first class maître and asked him to show it to the Captain when he had finished his dinner and ask him to sign it, then there could be no dispute about placing it on the notice board. He agreed to do this and, so far, I have received no reply.
It is really extraordinary what some of the
men on the boat wear – I mean the second class, ’tween deck and crew. Several of the latter wear only two articles of clothing: pants and a shirt or vest. Some encase their feet in clacquettes and others nothing. The vests are usually blue or pink and often do not reach down to the pants. Some of the passengers wear straw hats (boaters) of very ancient style, some wear tropical helmets and others dungaree caps. Certain passengers don pyjamas after dinner and parade the decks in them with nothing else on save, perhaps, slippers. I noticed one of the petty officers tonight clad in a pair of bright pink pyjamas, strolling about. And both crew and passengers sleep in hammocks, and on the hatchways, at night without removing any of their everyday clothing. Quite a number of persons are satisfied with sleeping in deck chairs on the deck or hatches.
In this hot weather it requires a lot of energy to write a few words. One thing might somewhat surprise you: today I bought 100 cigarettes for just under ten pence.
Monday, 8 March 1926
It has been decided not to hold the sports until Wednesday, although we shall cross the line tomorrow afternoon. This morning I tried to ask a Czecho Slovakian to join in the sports. He knew very little French or English, but as soon as he understood what I meant by sports he started off talking in his native language – with a few English and French words thrown in – trying to show me what a great sportsman he was. He showed me his biceps a dozen times and I gathered he could lift 10,000 kilos with ease. However, he refused to enter for any of the races because the prizes were not good enough.
Whenever I speak to a Frenchman in French, after I have spoken or asked a question, I pause, and during that pause I experience the same sensation that scientists experience when testing some new discovery. I wonder if my question will be understood and if it is I feel most terribly pleased, quite elated in fact. If, however, it is not understood, I am not at all surprised. In speaking, I know, on average, twenty-five per cent of the words I desire to use and all the other words I say in English so much disguised that no Englishman could understand and, strange to say, it quite frequently happens that the Frenchman does understand.
The crew on the boat are a pretty weird collection. The most striking thing is that, physically, they are much smaller than Englishmen. Another strange thing is that officers, petty officers, stewards and crew all mix together. An officer will pace the deck and light his cigarette from one a steward is smoking, and vice versa. Once, I saw the second engineer swearing at a black cook and the cook swore back, word for word, and they both went off muttering fearful threats when the worst was over. In a couple of minutes it was apparently all forgotten and they were both swearing at somebody else.
Wednesday, 10 March 1926
Today has been a Red Letter day. At 9am the siren blasted forth, in two or three stertorous spasms, to denote that we were in the act of crossing the equator. This was also a signal for Father Neptune – who, by the way, had sent us a radiogram last night to prepare us for his visit – who suddenly appeared on deck and climbed up one of the masts. From a sort of crow’s nest halfway up he addressed the Captain, who was on the bridge. I couldn’t understand a word of the conversation, but it must have been fairly amusing for it made all the French people laugh. Presently, he ceased talking and with a sextant of weird proportions he shot the sun. Again another spirited conversation, at the conclusion of which he drew forth a cardboard telescope and glared at the passengers. Then he descended and was joined by Mrs Neptune, three gendarmes, the keeper of the seals and a judge. After promenading the lower deck, he mounted to the upper deck where he was greeted by the Captain. After a lot of ceremony he was presented with some sort of an order and drank a glass of champagne with Father Neptune. The Chief Officer was treated in a like manner.
The name of a certain passenger was then called out and he was initiated. Of this part of the proceedings I think it will be best if I give my own experiences. As soon as my name was called two gendarmes stepped forward, handcuffed me and led me before Father Neptune, who was arrayed in weird clothing decorated with tin discs. He was wearing a large crown and was the possessor of a beautiful beard. In his hand was a fearsome pronged fork. He glared at me and spoke rapidly in French. I replied, ‘Oui oui oui’. He tried again, and received the same answer. Finding this unsatisfactory, he placed a glass in front of me and filled it from a champagne bottle. I drained it at one go. It was salt water. Not to be dismayed, I asked for another, received it, and treated it the same way. I was then led by the two gendarmes to a high chair placed on the edge of a small swimming bath. One attendant painted my feet red, while another covered my face with some concoction which looked, and felt, like soap suds and lime. He then produced a razor, fully two feet long, and shaved me, finishing in the approved style by dusting my face with flour. My hair was then combed with an instrument about eighteen inches long, with teeth a full inch wide, and finally I was tipped backwards into the bath where more attendants gave me a severe ducking. That was the end of the initiation.
Friday, 12 March 1926
Some time ago I believe I prophesized that there would be some sort of a romance, or love affair, on this boat in which some female passengers in the second class would figure. Now I wish to state that my supposition was right. Unfortunately, I cannot say much about it as it is of a very delicate nature – it was not so much of a romance as an ‘affair’. I can, however, just state a few facts without going into any details and without giving any names.
It occurred the night of, and early morning after, the fête. A certain female drank more than was good for her and at 1am her cabinmate asked me if I knew where she was. I happened to know that she had been with a certain officer earlier in the evening, but on knocking at his cabin I obtained no answer. Later, I found him at the bar (about 2am) and questioned him, but he evaded my questions and tried to make me ‘squiffy’. I made an excuse and, when out of his sight, dashed to his cabin and was just on the point of forcing it open when it was opened from the inside by the female in question. Before I had managed to get her on to the deck, the officer in question spotted us and ‘went off the deep end’ at me, wanting to know what business it was of mine. However, he cooled down and it ended by us all having supper together. I got to my cabin between 3am and 4am. That’s the outline of the story. Actually, when we had supper there were six of us present; but what part each of these six people played I do not consider it necessary to say.
Everybody says that now we have crossed the equator the Southern Cross is no longer visible, but I am absolutely sure that I saw it for two nights after we had crossed. I was very pleased to see the Plough again; it appeared a couple of days before we reached the line. But I did not see the Pole Star until last night, although it was visible the night after the fête.
Great excitement was caused a couple of days ago when a ship was sighted, but it was such a long way off that all we could see was that it was just a ‘ship’. Another surprise was caused yesterday when it was observed that we had covered 300 miles for the day; this is not too bad for a single screw boat, fully laden with cargo. I think the extra miles we covered must have been due to a sail which was hoisted two days ago; we have had a very favourable wind since then. Among the cargo is 1,500 bales of Australian wool. These bales are double pressed and weigh about 500 pounds each.
I appear to be very easily dissatisfied with things in general, for I am now ‘fed up’ with travelling second class on this boat. I think the real trouble is that there are only four persons in the second class that speak English, and as I am not really friendly with any of these four I am left on my own. Of these four, two are males: one a Swiss and the other a Norwegian-Belgium. The former has a quick temper, little self-control and, although a decent chap, in many ways I cannot be really friendly with him. The other male, although able-bodied and unmarried, ran away from Belgium in August 1914 and has been in New Zealand ever since. He also drinks a lot, so I have no time for him. For certain reasons I cannot be friendly with his wife, and since a certain a
ffair and the other female’s subsequent behaviour I cannot be on friendly terms with her. With any of the other second class passengers I wouldn’t be seen, for they are, with very few exceptions, very dirty and with no idea of manners at all. Some of the things they do at table quite put me off my food.
The first class passengers keep to themselves and if I was among them I should certainly do the same. Also, I don’t mind adding that the behaviour of the second class passengers towards the first is disgusting.
Saturday, 13 March 1926
Last night, after I had been in my berth for half an hour, Miss Dobie came in to tell me all her troubles. She, Madame and the Greek girl had gone up on deck to sleep and the Captain d’armes had announced his intention of doing likewise. Would I sleep up on deck and see that he behaved himself? Later Miss Dobie refused to sleep on deck if he was there. So would I carry her mattress down? Of course, I had to do both and I regard myself as being a bit of a mug, helping maidens in distress is not a long suit of mine.
I am afraid I am in danger of becoming cynical in regard to the weaker sex. For, after that ‘affair’ a few nights ago, not only have I made an enemy of a certain officer but the female in question has visited the cabin I hauled her out of an average of three times a day. I can’t make it out at all. The morning after the night before, this female thanked me for all I had done, explained herself as best she could and assured me that it would never occur again, and yet a few minutes after – oh well, ça ne fait rien.