by Jack Lynch
Little did I think when I joined this company how much leave of absence I would get, due to ships being laid up over the years, and due to my illness while I was with the company. Torres Shipping Co. turned out to be great employers and I really enjoyed my time at sea with them.
Agro was to rear its ugly head again! On my first day aboard this ship I met the American Chief Mate, and the Third Mate, who hailed from the Cayman Islands. I immediately took a dislike to the Chief Mate who appeared to be drunk. He had thin lips and watery eyes that tried to size up my reaction to his taunting. The Third Mate, Colby Jackson, was young and had a wholesome smile and relaxed demeanour. I liked Colby, who was later promoted to Second Mate, and we got on very well during our time together. However, my first run in with the Chief Mate was on this first day.
He greeted me with a snide, “Hello Rodney,” in a mock English accent. He was not even aware of my first name at the time and I could sense he did not like English foreigners, and I was classed in this category.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “My name is Jack and don’t forget it. I’m Irish, not English and I don’t take kindly to people who ignorantly try and pick arguments or fights.” My blood was beginning to boil.
I watched his eyes while I said this and saw flicker of doubt creep in to him. At the same time I shook hands with Colby, who was taking it all in. Later, he told me that the Mate was “like that” and to ignore him.
I said, “No I won’t, and I will not take any snide remarks from him.” I never had a problem again with this fellow.
All the deck crew and some engine room lads were from the Cayman Islands. The deck officers were American, as were the Engineers. I had other duties onboard as well as Radio; where I had to liaise with immigration, shore Doctor and Customs’ officers as well as act as Medico on board. Since I was now a Company employee I also had to assist with signing on/off crew members and help the Captain run the ‘slop chest’ on a commission basis.
The ‘slop chest’ was a store or shop where we had all kinds of stuff for sale. I got plenty of experience with all these jobs during the voyages and I enjoyed it a lot. I had a number of ways of making money onboard the ship. There was the ‘slop chest,’ which I opened a number of times a week and the crew purchased cigarettes, Nivea cream, Khaki clothes, chocolates and various other bits and pieces. I was a glorified shopkeeper. I could not get over the fact that the black lads were using Nivea to protect against sunburn. It did not dawn on me that they too could get sunburned. The Captain bought the stock for the slop chest and I got 50% of the profits from sales for running the shop. It turned out to be a good money spinner.
During my radio duties I used to get the crew to send flowers, or candy via Interflora to their wives, and girlfriends, and I got commission from McKay Radio for each sale. I was always interested in making money legitimately so I decided to chance my arm by asking for a salary increase.
On one trip I told the Captain I was going to resign in New York, as I could get more money from National Bulk carriers, freelancing with them. As it happened the ship’s Superintendent was due to come aboard there, and he immediately said he could not increase my direct salary, but that I could claim an extra $100.00 U.S a month in overtime, each and every month if I stayed. I did! The overtime went against battery and equipment maintenance. In fact, I had hauled off a big bluff, because I did not really intend to resign from this company, and at the same time I was sick in the stomach wondering what I would do, if the Captain decided to accept my resignation. Luckily, he didn’t call my bluff.
The Captain, who was from Louisiana in the United States, also ran a farm at home as well as being a sea captain. He stood about six feet two inches tall, and had a loud Southern drawl. He once told me that on his farm he had a big bull, and whenever he got home he would go to the gate and give a big bellow, and the bull used to reply to him. He was very proud of this. Generally, he was one of the boys, but on occasions he could make you understand who was in charge. He was tight with his money, and being a smoker tended to ‘borrow’ cigarettes from crew members, but I never remember him handing any of his own around. Usually, he smoked Lucky Strikes, in a long cigarette holder.
His uniform was a Khaki baseball cap, with khaki shirt and trousers. He was on the bridge quite a lot; I believe this was for company more than anything else. We got on very well, and became good friends. He told me all about his family and I met his lovely wife twice. She used to call me ‘Dear John’ in a nice friendly way. She was dark-haired, slim and full of life. She was a great woman who later died in her prime. I think it was from cancer. The Captain was devastated. On one occasion that lady drove her car from Louisiana, to Portland, Oregon to be with her husband when we hit port. She told me she had driven in her bare feet, as she found it more comfortable.
Captain Vice told me once that he had risen from ordinary seaman during the war, to the rank of Captain in a short time. This was due to the shortage of officers to man the large output of Liberty ships. He said that they were sent to convoys and told, ‘Follow the ship in front,’ not knowing if the Captain in front was a rookie, and first-timer like himself, or an experienced seagoing Captain. It was hair-raising to say the least, and the biggest fear he experienced was losing sight of the convoy and finding himself alone in the Atlantic Ocean with the German U-boats scouring the Atlantic for Allied shipping. He said he soon became seasoned, and thankfully he survived without any mishaps.
Up to joining this ship I had been used to eating an Irish or English dinner of potatoes, meat and vegetables etc. I was in for a shock on board the AGB though. As the Captain had a farm he believed that by introducing and using the same products he grew on his farm at home would help keep the prices up and one of his products was rice. That was bad news for me! Rice and Grits became the main dishes on board and for an Irishman like myself, who had associated rice with dessert, and not as a main meal, the lack of potatoes at dinner times was an area of contention between us. None of the rest of the crew appeared to be too worried about the infrequency of spuds on the menu but it was a sore point for me. However, we both compromised and I took rice but also got potatoes every so often. The Captain bitched because he said he was there to promote the sale of rice. Eventually, I got to like rice as a main dish when I opened my mind, and I also got used to chilli and Tabasco dishes. I remember the shore Superintendent asking the Captain for a fan to sit on after eating some of the spicy hot dishes!
Captain Vice had no inhibitions about saying things which might upset people, and which he thought were funny. For instance, my radio room was close to the bridge and sometimes, when off watch, I would saunter in there and listen to the BBC world news and music. On one occasion, we were steaming along with one of the black crewmen on the wheel. This fellow had a good sense of humour, and it’s just as well because the Captain lit a cigarette and drawled, “Connors, you’re not just black, man, you’re shining.”
I felt for Connors, but he just looked over his shoulder, and with a perfect set of sparkling white teeth, grinned at the Captain and carried on steering the ship. Poor Connors on one occasion came aboard drunk out of his mind and started a fight. It really got out of hand, and the Captain tried without success to stop it. He asked me to accompany him to his cabin, where he opened a safe and took out handcuffs and a revolver. I got really nervous as I had never encountered anything like this before. “I will stop this mutiny,” he said, agitatedly. I liked Connors and felt that this was just a blip, a one-off by the guy. However, when we got to the cabin Connors was lying down but jumped up when he saw the handcuffs and started to scream, and flail his arms. Two other deck officers subdued Connors, and handcuffed him to the bunk, which was secured to the steel deck. We all departed and locked the cabin door behind us. There was a hell of a rumpus going on inside the cabin and eventually there was a crashing noise as Connors moved the bunk, and bashed it at the door. He did not succeed in breaking out and eventually slept off his stupor. His c
abin was wrecked, and he felt so humble and contrite when he came back to his senses. The Captain fined him the cost of the damage but let him stay onboard.
Another fellow, a Dutchman, came aboard drunk another day and started fighting. The Captain warned him that he would cuff him if he did not stop. He did not and the Captain again got out the handcuffs and asked me to accompany him. The Dutchman was slightly built but wiry, and the Captain had difficulty trying to secure him. I spoke to the Dutchman, and asked him, for his own sake, to surrender to the Captain, or the consequences could be severe for him. He immediately held out his hands, and the Captain put one cuff on his hand, and the other end of the cuff was locked onto the mast down stay. The Captain then left, and the Dutchman said to me; “Sparks, the jails in Holland are better.” He was let loose about four hours later and discharged from the ship at the next port.
There were a number of humorous crew escapades, and tragedies, during the various voyages on board the AGB. Life on board was never dull, that’s for sure. I remember the time the Captain showed me a new Leica camera that he had purchased for his trip to London to, as he put it, ‘photograph all the wild animals in Piccadilly Circus’. You should have seen his face when I explained the facts to him. Priceless! I wish I could have photographed him then!
Many of the crew from the US found London to be quite a new and exotic experience when we were stopped there for ship’s business. The elderly American Chief Engineer had his first outing on the top deck of a double-decker in London. He was petrified when he saw the oncoming traffic on, what he thought, was the wrong side of the road. He ducked down in his seat and covered his eyes, shrieking in terror. I’m sure he must have needed a change of undies after that! The rest of us who were not so naïve were in hysterics! After this experience he refused to go on any bus in London again.
Again, on a stopover in the UK, I had a problem in Liverpool with Customs when they came onboard to search the ship. I was quite calm, used to the experience of Customs checks, and did not expect any problems when the Customs Official came into the radio room. He asked me the usual question;
“Have you anything to declare?”
“No.” I replied, without hesitation.
He started his search. He eventually came to the cabinet that was used for spare parts, and went though each shelf. Eventually there was only the kick panel left, and he took a metal lever known as a jemmy out from his bag, and levered the panel away. He then stooped, put his hand into the open area, and pulled out a carton of Chesterfield cigarettes, asking me if I knew anything about the carton. I said that I had no knowledge about the cigarettes. He then pulled out another carton of Chesterfields, and again asked if I knew anything about them, to which I again denied knowledge. My stomach at this point was churning.
“I only smoke Lucky Strike, and I can prove it.” I thought to myself. These thoughts were rudely interrupted by his voice; “Or these or these?”
Looking at him I saw he was now holding two more cartons, but my confidence in my innocence was shot when I saw the brand, Lucky Strike. Another carton was taken out and the Captain was called to the Radio Room. He looked at me and asked me about the cigarettes, and I told him I knew nothing about them. I also pointed out that there were very old looking marks and stains on the cartons, indicating age. Also, I noticed while the customs man was removing the cartons, two of them appeared to be stuck to the deck indicating years of storage. When the senior customs officer found out I had been on the ship for only a few months he immediately said there was no way that I could have been involved, on account of the state of the cartons. He then advised me that when I join a ship I am responsible for my cabin and the Radio Room, so I should do a search of all areas in my rooms. He said I would be responsible even if stuff was found behind panels. Frightening to think how easily you can get blamed for somebody else being thoughtless.
Thoughtlessness by one of the crew nearly drove me mental for some weeks. We had a big black guy on board who started waking me up anytime between two a.m. and six a.m. complaining of a toothache. He had a large black hole in a molar. The usual treatment was to use cotton wool, soaked in oil of cloves, to dull the pain. This I kept doing, and told him to go ashore and have the tooth attended to at our next port of call. He refused out of fear, so I decided to frighten the life out of him anyway the next time he woke me up with a toothache. To this end I went to the medical locker and got out a tray, and on this I placed the biggest hypodermic needle, a bottle of Novocain, a large tooth extractor, cotton wool, and a large napkin. I covered the lot with a white towel and had it ready for my patient. It was not long before I got the wake up call. I immediately got my tormentor to sit down, and then went through the formality for setting my man up. I produced my tray of implements and slowly removed the towel. The patient looked at it warily, absorbing the contents. I picked up the large needle. “Sparks, what you going to do?” He half shouted in a scared voice. “Open your mouth wide until I get room to inject the Novocain, to take out this bad tooth.” I said.
The whites of his eyes nearly blinded me. He jumped out of the chair, shouted that the pain was gone and then, so was he. I had no more disturbed nights after that.
When we hit port the doctor used to come onboard to do the normal health checks. As medico it was my job to sit next to the doctor, and with the crew list identify each sailor for the doctor.
We had a small little Cuban man named Hernandez onboard who worked as a greaser in the engine room. Poor Hernandez had bad haemorrhoids. The doctor said he wanted him in hospital for examination and asked me to prepare an enema that I was to give to Hernandez first thing the next day. I had never given one of these before and so the doctor explained the procedure to me so that Hernandez would be ‘cleared out’ before his visit for examination. Early next morning Hernandez came to the sick bay, which was a cabin used for medical purposes. As he entered the door, there was a bed straight in front on the opposite bulkhead (wall). To the right was the toilet, about six feet from the end of the bed. There was a secure locker, with all the requirements for medical assistance, and I held the key to the cabin and locker. I told Hernandez to lie on the bed facing the bulkhead with his trousers down and his knees drawn up under his chin. I then applied Vaseline and inserted the nozzle while I held the container with warm soapy water up above his body. As the container started to empty poor Hernandez became uneasy. “Sparks, I burst, I must go,” he cried out in pain.
I could see that he was not kidding and I pulled out the tube and headed straight for the door. Poor Hernandez twisted off the bed, got to the floor, and made for the loo. Alas, he never quite made it, and there was strange sound as the enema, and other foreign parts littered the floor. The stench was overpowering and putrid. I was glad I did not have to clean up the mess. Later, when Hernandez cleaned himself and had a shower, I escorted him to the hospital. His examination was not very promising, and he was discharged from the ship and sent home for treatment. I never found out what happened to this cheerful and nice man.
Whilst with the AGB we went to Galveston, Texas on a few trips. Colby Jackson and I were ashore one day, lying on the beautiful beach, watching the beauties parading and swimming in front of us. We had our sunglasses on and handkerchiefs over our heads to protect us from the blazing sun. Right in front of us were three young teenagers about seventeen years old. They had lovely figures decked in bikinis. Close by us was a middle-aged woman, who was apparently a chaperon or their mother. She kept calling the girls, and we were slyly watching them because the woman was possibly watching us, watching them. Eventually, the woman called the girls ashore, and they ran out of the sea and started to take off the plastic lifebelts as they came out. Two dropped the belts and stepped out of them, but the third girl struggled to take it off over her head. She did not notice that as she did so she lifted the top of her bikini off her breasts. Merrily she kept running towards the woman, who was having hysterics trying to warn her about her bare breasts. By now Colby and
I were sitting up, with sunglasses removed, having a grandstand view. That is until the woman spoiled it by running between the young girl and us blocking our lovely vision! The hen protecting the chicks!
Most of the crew were acting responsibly and behaving properly but I remember a Norwegian Second Mate got into serious trouble here in Galveston. He liked the booze, and whilst ashore he started boasting about communism and degrading the USA. That was it. He was arrested and ordered to leave the country never to return. He was placed under armed escort and returned to the ship, after a brief court appearance, where he was confined to his cabin. He tried to bribe me into getting him a bottle of Coke, spiked with vodka. He told me he would give me his expensive Omega watch in return. I refused as I did not want to cross the US laws. An armed Pinkerton agent was stationed outside the cabin for the duration of the ship’s stay. Also on the gangway was a sheriff, who had a large .45 colt revolver on his waist. He spent the time whittling away at a piece of wood when he was not chatting to someone. I asked him one day why he was there as well as the Pinkerton man, and he smiled as he told me about his friend Bill. He said I would like Bill, who was a kind, gentle and very nice man. Apparently, Bill was on duty like our friend, and was securing against a Greek, who was classed as undesirable and was awaiting deportation. One night, Bill heard a splash in the water and saw the Greek making a break for it. Bill pulled his gun, and when the Greek ignored the call to surrender Bill let go with a shot just over the Greek’s head. Still the Greek continued to swim.
Bill shouted, “The next bullet goes through your head, boy, so turn round and come ashore.” The Greek obeyed, and Bill arrested him.
“You’d like Bill, he’s a nice fellow, kind and gentle,” said my sheriff storyteller.