MY LIFE JANUARY 2001

At nearly 74 it is going to take some remembering, it is going to be long, and who is going to read it anyway?

THE EARLY YEARS  9;

It was on the twenty third of April 1927 that I came into this world at No. 35 Clegge Street, Warrington. (It was then Lancashire, It is now Cheshire.) My mother always said that I was born on the twenty fifth.

I was the fourth child of the family, having one sister and two brothers older than me, I will come back to them later and also my younger sister.

I was obviously born into a working class family because that’s what I have been all my life, you get used to it so much so that even coming up to seventy four I can not give up working.

My grandfather, Alfred Singleton born 1871, was the oldest member of the family that I knew; he died after a road accident in 1936 when I was 9 years of age. The accident happened when he was crossing the road to catch the bus after he came out of the Royal Oak pub in High Lane. He lived with our family at that time at 18, Longmead Avenue, Hazel Grove. Granddad was knocked down by a van coming down High Lane from Disley. He was in a bad way and died in Stockport Infirmary a couple of days later. He was a bit of a character, but had been a hard working man all his life and was due to retire a couple of weeks after being killed, it was very sad, he was looking forward to his retirement.

There were some Liverpool connections, possibly born there, he had a sister who was my father’s aunt, she was the licensee of at least a couple of pubs in Liverpool. In those days there were pubs on every street corner in Liverpool, mostly owned by Walkers Brewery, Aunt Amy was probably a manager for the brewery. She had a daughter called Bertha who was married to a Liverpool chap called Arthur and he and Bertha would run the pub for Aunt Amy. I remember one long bar with floor boards scrubbed white and big spittoons, scrubbed tables on top of very heavy iron bases (I think it deterred the customers from flinging them about). Uncle Arthur always wore a long white apron and waistcoat with a watch and chain attached when he was behind the bar. This type of dress seemed to create an air of authority in a public house. There was also a small snug where ladies could meet their friends, like the Rovers Return in Coronation street when it first started over 40 years ago, with Ena Sharples and Minnie Caldwell having their milk stouts in the snug. A side door opened into a little cupboard like place with a little counter which was shielded from the main bar, this was known as the jug and bottle department where people of both sexes could bring their own jug and get it filled up with draught beer or buy their bottles very discreetly to take home and drink in front of the fire. This may sound silly these days, when people like drinks cold or straight from the fridge. But in those days they used to put the poker in the fire, get it red hot, then stick it in their glass of Guinness. One thing it did was warm their Guinness up but they were under the impression that it transferred the iron in the poker into their drink which put iron into the body, try telling that to the Alco-pop drinkers.

In those days we had a car and would go over to Liverpool to see Aunt Amy. I remember one Sunday in the summer of 1938, before radios were popular, a special edition of the Liverpool Echo was out on the streets with the story of the Submarine H.M.S.Thetis which went missing while on trials in Liverpool Bay. It seemed like everybody had flocked down to the river to wait for news. The Thetis had gone out from Cammell Lairds in Birkenhead, where she was built and had 101 persons aboard, consisting her normal Royal Navy crew plus a few brass hats and some of the ship yard technicians. Not having the technology like today, it took some time to find where it was, time was ticking away and the air in the Submarine was running out. They managed to raise the stern with steel cables from tugs but the cables snapped they did however manage to get three people out with the Davies apparatus. The rest all perished. Some time later it was brought ashore on the coast of Anglesey just round from Molfre, where they got all the bodies out. It must have been a terrible sight. Some of the artefacts of the tragedy are on display in the Kinmel Arms, a Robinson's pub on Anglesey. However the Thetis was towed back to Cammell Lairds where she was repaired and put back into service with a different name. By this time the Second World War had started, so everything was kept hush-hush. The submarine was eventually sunk in the Mediterranean in either 1941 or 1942 whilst on active service. I am certainly digressing here from my life story, but I do tend to get carried away. To come back to Alfred Singleton, (or Alf has he preferred to be called) He had worked as a Tanner, which would be a dirty smelly job dealing with animal skins. At some time in the 1890s he worked on the building of the Manchester Ship Canal. This would be about the time my father was born (1896) who was the eldest of three sons, he was named Charles Alfred, the 2nd son was named Arthur, who immigrated to Australia when a young man. I never met him. The youngest was named Joseph, whom I will mention later.

My granddad must have been separated from my Grandmother (or at least they did not live together) because my father was brought up by his grandmother on his mothers side. Now the interesting thing here is that her name was Bibby, she originated from Liverpool and was supposed to be related to the well known Liverpool family of Bibbys, who were into big business in the city (Bibbys Oil Cake Mills and the Bibby Shipping Line). It was a story my mother used to tell me. True or not? I don’t know, but then my mother had a thing about the sea and sea captains (to come later).

The other things I remember about my granddad was he smoked a pipe and the tobacco he smoked was thick twist, it was bought in a long 1/4”round plug and you needed a very sharp pen knife to cut it, the smell of it was quite nice until he fired it up in the pipe bowl and then it was not so nice. He kept the tobacco in a round silver case (E.P.N.S.) with Blackpool Tower engraved on the lid, a present from our family, he some times bought a drop of rum and poured it in the case over the tobacco, that really did make it smell nice, it was a ritual watching him light it, he scraped out the bowl with his pen knife, then while holding the bowl of the pipe between finger and thumb, would cut pieces of the thick twist rolling it in the palms of his hands then fill the pipe bowl without letting go the pipe, pen knife or tobacco case, after that came the ritual of lighting it. If he was in the house he kept tapers on the mantle piece which he lit from the fire (coal fires in those days). It used to take ages to get it going. As a young lad I wondered if it was worth all the effort just so he could blow smoke rings up in the air to impress me, “DO IT AGAIN GRANDDAD”. Outside, of course, he had to use matches, probably a box full at a time.

I never knew what happened to the tobacco case, it was in our house for a long time then just disappeared like lots of things went missing! My granddad used to read a lot of penny or three penny blood books, always westerns, where he got the idea of cowboys from I don’t know because I never knew him to go to the cinema. He must have taught himself to read because there was no compulsory education system then, even when my dad went to school they had to pay a penny or two pence to attend, granddad would probably be working when he was eight or ten. He probably moved to Warrington when he was a young man with the need to find work, I have always assumed that my dad was born and brought up there. Granddad had always liked his pint of beer, that could have been the reason for his split from my grandmother.

The first memory of him was when I would be about five or six years old (1932/3) that would be during the depression, when there was no work and millions were unemployed. My dad was able to get him a job where he worked, which would be Middlewood brick yard in High Lane, dad also got his brother, my uncle Joe a job there, (I will come back to uncle Joe later) so granddad moved over to High Lane and I remember him having lodgings in the Bulls Head public house next to the canal.

It was quite common in those days for pubs to have working men as lodgers because men would be moving about the country to where ever there was work and pubs usually had spare rooms which they would be pleased to let out, with two, three or more sharing a room, it would be beneficial to the landlord in two ways (1). He would get money for the board and lodgings he provided (2) what money they had left they would spend on beer.

Granddad was a crafty old devil, he had taught himself to play the melodeon, it was like a very small piano accordion, so he used to play this thing in the tap room of the pub which used to get them all singing and downing more pints, so Granddad got free ale as long as he kept playing, remember, there was no radio’s or television in those days, few pubs had a piano and if they did it was in the lounge, which the working men were discouraged from using.

Another pub he had lodgings, at about the time that we moved to Hazel Grove, was the Red Lion in Hazel Grove, it was a big pub on the A6. (Now demolished) It was the same there, three, four or more living in one room, board and lodgings, and granddad playing his melodeon in the tap room for free ale. As I mentioned Granddad lived with us at 18 Longmead Avenue, Hazel Grove, it was a 3-bed semi. I think that I slept in Mum & Dads room, Nancy had the box room and Granddad had a single bed in the back bedroom with Charlie & Gordon in another single bed. The bathroom and toilet were down stairs, I would think that chamber pots were in use and would be used quite a lot by Granddad at weekend after he had had is free beer in the Red Lion playing his melodeon. However that's enough of Granddad except to say that I think that he enjoyed his life, such as it was in those days, he came to a horrible end when he was knocked down, I don’t think he suffered because he never regained consciousness. He is buried in Norbury Church yard in row F. grave No. 228.

CHARLES ALFRED SINGLETON (MY FATHER) 9;

Born 20/1/1896. Died November 1966.

If you write about your life two people naturally come together to create that life, so I will start with my dad, He was born on the 20th.January 1896 and until I can establish his exact place of birth I will assume that it was Warrington. As far as I know he was brought up by his grandmother (Bibby), I would imagine it would be a terraced two up and two down house with a shared outside loo, probably with a tin bath hanging on a nail outside the back door. Although I never knew my great grandmother I believe she was a spotlessly clean person, which a lot of working class people were in those days, stone flagged floor scrubbed white, with a peg rug made from old clothes, black leaded fire grate with hob and oven, the front and back door steps donkey stoned, polished sash windows with some sort of curtains. The upstairs front window would be the one that the knocker up banged his pole against to wake the workers up (no alarm clocks in those days).

My dad did have some sort of education, they had to pay a few coppers a week to go to school but he did learn the three R’s. and his handwriting was slow but it was neat. He was working while he was attending school, helping in some pub, probably cleaning and helping to serve the rum and coffee at five in the morning to the workers going to work (rum and coffee one penny) which helped to prepare them for a hard twelve to fourteen hours work.

When my dad left school he started work in the engine sheds on the railway, cleaning the engines at first and then he started firing the engines up to get the steam up before the crew took over (driver and fireman) to take the engine out for the day, A steam engine would run for days with the crews changing over until it came into the workshops to have the boiler cleaned out and general maintenance, dad had to rake the fire out before the boiler cleaners could get to work. From that job he progressed to a trainee fireman and managed to get his fireman's ticket before the first World War started, which could have helped to save his life, (more on that later).

Dad joined the Territorial Army when he was of age to do so, 16 or 17. It would give him an interest with the discipline and camaraderie, not realizing that the First World War was on its way. The Territorial Army would go on an annual two weeks camp in the summer to the Salisbury Plain for army training and it was while he was on this camp in 1914 that the first world started .Dad was in the wrong place at the wrong time, his territorial regiment (The South Lancashire Fusiliers) never returned home from Salisbury Plain they were send to a transit camp and from there they were the first of the British Army to be sent over to France. Being in an Infantry regiment he would be in the trenches.

Apparently they were short of men with specialist trades in the Royal Engineers so, they asked for men with trades to transfer, dad transferred immediately to the Royal Engineers, Railway Operating Division, (R. O. D.) And he was sent back to England to do his Train Driver training, that got him out of the trenches and more than likely went some way to saving his life.

In the first world war there was an emphasis on large calibre guns that could fire large shells for miles, the Germans had one that the British tommies called Big Bertha, It could fire shells from Belgium and Northern France over to southern England. We had some guns that were mounted on railway trucks and could be moved along the coastal railway to be able to fire on the enemy. If they got close enough, one of these trains was stationed on the Norfolk coast and dad was the driver of it. The train crew was the Royal Engineers and the gun crews were Royal Artillery, they were all stationed near North Walsham in Norfolk, that's where mum and dad came together.

MY MOTHER (AMY ALLEN)

Born 7/10/ 1893 Died 31/7/1977.

I never knew my mum’s parents; they were apparently from London. My mothers fathers name was “Allen", his Christian name was John he born in C 1873. He was a time serving soldier in the army, probably serving for twenty five years or more, he served for a long time in Malta, I have a photograph of him taken in Malta and he is in a sergeant majors uniform, but I don’t know what regiment he was in, I shall try to find out. He died when he was in his forties in 1913, before the first world war, and as far as I know he is buried in North Walsham, That's something else I will try to find out, also I must trace back where and when they were married.

My mothers, mother, [my grandmother,] must have been a lot younger than her husband, (my granddad) because she was only supposed to be late forties when she died, about 1923. She was a qualified midwife having done her training in London, I have her certificate along with a photograph of her in her uniform, probably taken when she qualified as a midwife in February 1906.

My mother has told me stories about grandmothers time in London as a midwife, apparently the area she practised in was Stepney, which was a very poor area, one of the stories was “ while the woman was being confined, there would be no (layette) or baby clothes for the child to be put in when born, so while the woman was in labour she would sew bits of clothes together out of old rags or old clothes, of her own or my mothers . No cot or pram to put the child in when born, she would find an old box or drawer to put the new born in. No hot water, no electricity, there might be some sort of fire grate, but, no coal or wood to make a fire. She would find something, get some sort of fire going, and try to boil water.

Another tale my mother used to tell was about the woman who was in labour, was very big, (no ultra scans in those days) with child, the husband came home blind drunk just as the baby was born, which was not very big and so realised it was going to be a multiple birth, when the second baby came the drunken husband declared “ let them all bloody come”, when the third one came, during which time the confined woman was barely conscious with pain she was suffering, the husband apparently sobered up, burst into tears and never touched a drop of drink again and in fact became very religious. If that is true, there would be no need for drying out clinics today, just send the alcoholics along to the maternity hospital to watch babies being born.

My mother, apart from her mother and father had no other relatives, her mother was an only child and her father was as well, and of course my mother was an only child.

It seems that they moved from London to North Walsham after her father came out of the army, which would be just after the turn of the century, her mother was offered the post of midwife in the town. North Walsham was only a small country town in those days (Bernard Matthews had not arrived there then), It seems that Nurse Allen soon established herself in the community and became very respected and friendly with the local gentry, like the parson and his wife whose confinements she attended, also the local doctor who kept her informed of his patients who became pregnant, she would be kept busy because birth control was not known a lot about, no television or cinema, nature came into its own, Nurse Allen became a popular figure, riding round on her bicycle, little basket strapped to the handle bars with her bag in containing the tools of her trade.

They had their own house on the Munsley Road going out of North Walsham and employed a house maid whose name was Dawson, that would be her surname and that .is how she would be addressed in those days, (bloody snobs).

My granddad Allen had served about 25 years in the army, but I think his trade before that was a stonemason and apparently went back to that trade when they moved to North Walsham, I have said that he died in his forties before the first World War. Apparently my grandmother (Allen) remarried at some time to the local carpenter and undertaker, his name was Benjamin Self. It was probably after my mum and dad married because grandma Allen now Self moved in with him to his house where he had his workshop. Where my mother lived at this time I do not know, but she still lived in the area. Grandma Self died sometime in 1923. She was at a cricket match and got hit on the side of the face with a cricket ball. The wound became cancerous, spreading, and she died. She is buried in North Walsham cemetery in an unmarked grave. I did visit the grave when I was a child with mum, dad and brother Gordon, we got the number of the grave from the registry.

My mother always said that her mother was of French stock, her grandfather was supposed to be a French sea captain (probably an ordinary seaman) and the surname was Bonnick, hence my younger sister Maureen is christened Maureen Bonnick

My mother was born in London on the 7th. October 1893, which made her three years older than my dad. She started her education in London and went to the Grammar school when they moved to North Walsham, which was famous by the fact that Lord Nelson was educated there.

I don’t know when my mother left school and I don’t think that she ever had a job, so how she occupied her time, I don’t know. She used to talk about her girl friend, they went to school together, she lived in a little hamlet called Honing, it was near North Walsham. Her parents kept a little ale house which was attached to a wood yard that they owned, I remember that we went to visit them when I was a kid before the war, It was a lovely place. They must have had a couple of guest rooms because my dad and I stayed there one night when the pair of us went down on my motor bike, which I had in the early 1950s. I have been back there since then, but they must have all passed on because I could not find anyone I may have known and the alehouse was just a private house. (I must go back and explore the area again it’s a beautiful place).

Mum and Dad must have met sometime towards the end of 1915, I can picture the scene, Dad out with a couple of his mates looking for the local talent, Mother out with her friend, the usual type of boy meets girl scenario. Mother tells the story that she had been engaged to a local solicitor’s son and it was broken off, she met Charlie on the rebound. Anyway something must have happened -wink-wink- because they got married in February 1916 and Nancy, who was christened(Annie Marjorie Phyllis) was born in August that year. How she came to be called Nancy is a mystery.

It was after they were married that my Dad must have been posted back to France, both Mum and Dad have told me that he was driving military trains over there, taking ammunitions and other military stores up to the nearest rail terminal at the front line and bringing back the wounded to be taken to the military hospitals and eventually back to the U.K.

Apparently at this time in the first world war (1916) aircraft were playing an increasing role and the Germans were bombing the railways, so, most of the rail traffic was moving at night, the German aircraft were able to follow the rail lines which they could see from the air and attack the trains first with machine gun fire from the rear, which if they had troops on board could cause a lot of casualties before the troops even reached the front, then they would drop their bombs near the engine or in front to blow the line up, which of course would wreck the train, my dad said that it was during one of these bombings, that a bomb exploded close to the side of the train, shaking the engine, he had apparently automatically bent down instinctively to protect himself and the shaking dislodged the fire door, hitting him in the face knocking his teeth out or dislodging them and that was also the time when he started to have problems with his ears, which deteriorated over the years.

When the First World War ended (on the 11th. November 1918,) dad was one of the first to be demobbed because he was in the war from the very beginning but, he must have come home before, probably on leave, sometime in August 1918 because my eldest brother Charles was born on the 31st May 1919.

My dad would probably be demobbed early 1919 and came home to settle down with my Mum, Nancy and Charlie in North Walsham, my Dad would have applied for his job back on the railway but probably did not pass his medical because the bombing while he was in France had impaired his hearing. (He did not get any pension for the disability). However he did manage to get a job driving the steam road roller for the North Walsham parish council, but when the man who used to drive the road roller came back from the war they had to give him his job back and so my Dad lost his job.

After the 1st. World War work in the North Walsham area was scarce unless you were in agriculture, which my Dad was not, having come from an industrial area; he obviously discussed with my mother that if he got back to Warrington he would be able to get a job. So I believe my grandmother gave my dad some money for his train fare and living expenses until he found a job, knowing my dad he would do any kind of work.

He now of course had no trade seeing as he was unable to get back on the railway. I believe the first job he got was at Irlam Steel Works which is a fair distance from Warrington, but that would not worry him he would get there some how.

He got himself settled back in Warrington and got some digs living with another family and sent for my mother, Nancy and Charlie, they shared half of a terraced two up and two down house with this other family who were called Smith.

Dad changed his job, probably for more money, he went working at the brickyard at Irlam and that was the start of his long career in making bricks. He apparently learned to set bricks in the kilns, which was a semi skilled job and became very good at it. He was paid by the thousand bricks that he set so he had to work very quick to make a decent wage, it was damned hard work in a very hot brick kiln, he would only stop once in the day for a half hour to eat his sandwiches.

My mother said that her mother came up from Norfolk to visit, she was appalled at the way they were living, I could imagine the old saying coming in at this point, (as you make your bed you lie on it) But Charlie was working hard to keep his family and it was during the years of the depression so he was very lucky to have a job. My mothers’ mother, (my grandmother) died in 1923. So she never saw my brother Gordon or I.

Gordon was born on the 12th. July 1925. And 18 months later I was born on the 23rd April 1927. We would probably have moved houses by then because I was born in Glegg Street.

OUR MOVE FROM WARRINGTON TO WALL GRANGE.

The brickyard where my dad worked was privately owned by a chap called Joe Booth, he must have appreciated my dad because he bought another brick yard at a place called Wall Grange near Hanley in Staffordshire and asked my Dad to go over to Wall Grange and get the yard up and running and in charge of the brick setting, He provided us with a little cottage opposite the brick yard which apparently was rent free and our time in Wall Grange was the first of my memories. I have no memories of Warrington I would be about three years old when we moved but I have my earliest memories of Wall Grange.

The cottage we lived in was the end of a terrace that rose up a slight incline with a garden front side and rear, down the hill at the other end of the terrace was a small shop that sold the usual groceries, sweets, cigarettes etc. It must have been a lovely place to live after Warrington, just a cold water tap in a stone sink in the kitchen, no bath of course and an outside dry toilet which would run into a pit, there would be no gas or electricity (which was fairly new then) it would be oil lamps and a coal fire range with oven, I think we would get our coal free supplied from the brick yard. My memories of the place were that I used to go over to the brickyard and in my kid’s mind I thought I was working. I used to queue up with the men on a Friday when they received their wage packets and Joe Booth (the owner) used to put two pennies in a wage packet for me, with my name on it.

The other memory I still have is on the left side of my upper lip, is a scar, which happened when my brother Gordon and I were digging in the garden with spades, he threw the spade over his shoulder and I was at the back of him, it cut my lip wide open, they rushed me to the local doctor at Hanley, in the motor cycle and side car, that we had at the time, it was stitched up but I still have the scar, mum told me that the doctor gave me a silver three penny piece because I was so brave, There was no National Health then, so I don’t know whether the doctor got paid. The other thing I remember about that is that, it was a Saturday, because Gordon would have been at school otherwise.

It was while we lived at Wall Grange that I started school. It was most likely nursery school because I would only be three plus and all four of us would walk with the other kids from round the area to Cheddleton where the school was, Nancy was obviously in charge of our lot and she would hold my hand all the way there and back. No school dinners in those days, everybody took sandwiches, I can smell them now either egg banana or tomato, Nancy always seemed to be looking after me, I remember she used to take me with one of her friends to the pictures, which would be in Cheddleton, I think I saw the first talking picture whilst on one of these trips. (It’s a pity that Nancy is not alive now, she would be able to confirm all this).

FROM WALL GRANGE TO HIGH LANE

I don’t know how long we lived at Wall Grange, probably six to twelve months. The chap who owned the brick yard moved the family to High Lane, so my dad could take charge of the brick setting at Middlewood brick yard which he had just bought off the Allison family (a well known name in High Lane and Marple at that time.) the Allison's apparently owned a Brick Yard in Marple as well, it was on Cross Lane where Park & Patterson's is now.

The brick kilns at Middlewood were the old fashioned round ones, I can not remember how many kilns there were but I do remember that some of the Allison family lived in an old railway carriage, by the side of the brickyard, and they used to get their water from a well by the side of the canal. The well is still there, come to think of it, I would think the well was put there so the boat people on the narrow boats could get water, fill there fancy painted water containers up and let the horse have a drink from a bucket, (the narrow boats were pulled along by horses in those days).

I got to know one of the Allison family very well later, he was called Les, he used to play trombone in High Lane band and he was a brick layer in the building trade, He later moved to Marple and he played trombone in Marple Band (there is a picture of him in Charles Ingham’s book (GONE BANDING).

However, to come back from that diversion down memory lane, Joe Booth moved the family into a big house on the A6 in High Lane, it was called Roslyn House it is still there just down the road from the Horse Shoe Inn, it was the last in a terrace row, there was a field next to it but they have flats on the land now. Like I said it was a big house and later, part of it was used as the High Lane library until a purpose built one was built after the 2nd. World War, I remember it had big cellars and I think it had a bathroom even though it was Victorian.

Nancy had left school before we moved to High Lane and she had been working in a department store in Hanley called Pipers Bazaar. I don’t know where she worked when we moved to High Lane. Charlie my eldest brother, Gordon and me went to the High Lane School (which is now a Thai restaurant) I have a school photograph of Charlie taken with his class at High Lane school. It was sent to me only a couple of years ago (1997 or 98) by a chap called Ashton who now lives down south.

At that time they had just finished building the Willows School in Marple, it was the first secondary school in the area (1931), they put a special school bus on to take the pupils from High Lane to Marple, I remember it was only a small bus with the entrance at the front and it was run by Kirkpatrick's of Marple who had taxis and coaches, they had an office on Market Street (near the Bulls Head) and a garage where they kept the taxis and coaches by the side of the canal, just up from the Conservative Club. The garage, a wooden building and the old wooden booking office are still there, Kirkpatrick’s was still going up to the late fifties.

Gordon and I still went to the High Lane school, it was run by the church and had the same name, St.Thomas's, I was still only four but I remember that a Major Bell was the headmaster and I remember being in the school concert and reciting a poem on the stage on my own, it was something to do with baking and licking the spoon with jam on it afterwards.

We moved from Roslyn House when the brick yard was either sold or Joe Booth the owner went bankrupt, it was taken over by J & A Jackson's who was one of the main brick manufactures in the north west and became the Cheshire Brick Company. We moved into a little stone cottage which was attached to the back of a building called clock tower, (it got that name because it had a clock at the top of the building) so our cottage was called Clock Cottage, It’s still there on Norbury Hollow Road ( nearly opposite the Robin Hood Pub) which takes you over the railway crossing down into Middlewood. To me it was a wonderful place even though it had no electricity, gas, or running water and a toilet outside which had a bin under the seat which was emptied when the muck cart came round.

For lighting we had oil lamps and candles, for water we had to take buckets down to a well which was the other side of the railway crossing down to Middlewood Brook, a distance of some three or four hundred yards (the well is still there), for cooking there was an old fashioned fire grate with oven, a couple of stands for putting pots or the kettle over the fire, Mum used to make her own bread in the oven and it was lovely. The floor was a stone flag that had peg rugs on them; it must have been hard going because there was six of us.

I remember that Norbury Hollow Road was stone cobles (it still is in parts) and there were some men working on it and, me, not yet five, stood watching them, they asked me how old I was, when I told them one of them said, “you will never be like Carnnera (who was at that time the Italian world heavy weight boxing champion and was about seven foot tall), you will have to put some horse muck in your shoes to make you grow”. Horses were plentiful in those days, so I did, my mother was not very pleased.

To come back to the Clock Tower. It was a building three or four storeys high, and was originally the winding house for the pit that used to be there. It would contain a steam engine which would raise and lower the cage down the pit which would bring the coal, men and anything else that had to go up and down. The shaft to the pit was on the opposite side of the road, that is still there as well although not a lot of people know about it, it is covered over but not filled in. The pit was called Norbury because the whole of that area was known by that name, (hence Norbury Hollow Road). All the land in that immediate area was covered in shale which had come out of the pit. It later became a poultry farm. In those days before battery poultry farming, they were all free range and the land there was ideal for the hens picking and scratching, I worked there for a short period after I left school but I will come to that later.

Brother Gordon and I still attended High Lane school and Charlie would still be going to the Willows in Marple. We would walk to school which is about a mile there and a mile back, I don’t think I was five then (today the little darlings would have to be taken by mummy in the car). We probably lived at Clock Cottage for a year before we moved to Hazel Grove, my mum must have got fed up of the primitive conditions we were living in so we moved into a new house which had just been built on Vine Street. We were apparently buying it on a mortgage; it must have cost about £200, which was a lot of money in those days and it was the only house my mother ever went in for buying.

FROM HIGH LANE TO HAZEL GROVE.

Vine Street which is off the A6, was a nice area of Hazel Grove there were only about 12 or 13 houses built on the right hand side, they were still building some of them when we moved in. As you turn into Vine Street from the A6 (then known as London Road) there were terraced houses on both sides for a short distance, some of them were 3 storeys high and you went up some steps to get into them, there were cellars underneath. On the left hand side was a big double fronted house with a big orchard that was where Cecil Woods pharmaceutical firm was (they were famous for influenza powders), further down on the left hand side was Johnson's barrel works, it was right opposite our house, number 15, they made barrels for putting dye stuffs in, there is a garage repair shop there now.

No shortage of shops in the area in those days. There were plenty on the main road, all individually owned, and there was a small shop at the other end on the corner of Vine Street and Hazel Street where we used to purchase our sweets.

Gordon and I, started at the council school that is on Chapel Street, it was an elementary school, very elementary as far as I was concerned. It is still going but is a primary school now. I went back visiting there since I retired and they made me very welcome, I had morning coffee with the teachers during their break and they took me round the class rooms afterwards, introducing me to the kids and telling them that I was once one of the pupils there before the war and leaving just after the war started. Everything was familiar but seemed different, after all, not even the teachers there were born when I was there. The school is divided into three buildings in the shape of a T; one was the infants, which was boys and girls mixed, after seven you were split up into boys and girls. I was still only five so I went into the babies or beginners class, I always remember a big rocking horse in there, if we were good and did good work with the sand trays and things, we got a ride on it. I don’t think I got many rides on it. Gordon was in two classes higher than I was. Charlie had left school by then.

It was about this time that my mother started to be ill and had to go into hospital, (Stockport Infirmary) I think it was women's problems, I know she lost a lot of weight and my dad had to push her around in one of those old fashioned wheel chairs. My mother decided she wanted me to learn the piano and she bought one on hire purchase from a firm in Stockport, I was only five or six and I think I could have mastered it eventually but it had to go back because she couldn't afford the payments.

It was hard going for my dad at this time, he was working hard with a physically demanding job and trying to look after the family, Nancy and Charlie were working, Nancy would be doing the cooking because dad wasn't good at it. What with one thing and another they must have got behind with the mortgage repayments and the next thing I remember was we were doing a moon light on a hand cart, ( brother Charlie had borrowed it from where he worked), in the middle of the night, to a big house on Queens Road. There would be several loads and I was helping until they got one of the beds up and put Gordon and I in it. The wheel cart only had two wheels and a prop underneath the handle for keeping it upright, anyway something must have happened because Gordon and I, who were in bed, heard a hell of a noise outside with the clattering of pots and pans, the wheel cart had obviously tipped up, it would be about midnight on one of the posh streets in Hazel Grove.

Before the 2nd. World war most working class people lived in rented accommodation, a lot of it was build in the 1920;s and owned and rented by the local authorities, but apart from these a lot of houses were owned by private landlords, some private landlords even built their own big estates, there are a few of these in the Stockport area built by West's, one of these estates was down in what was known as the Valley at the bottom of Commercial Rd., Clarenden Rd. area. Mother wasn’t one for living on big estates, having come from an upper crust family she thought it beneath her, even if she could afford the rent, so it seemed that we always went for the independent private landlord like the one on Queens Rd. in Hazel Grove. It was a biggish house but rather run down, there was a back garden with a couple of big trees which I thought was fun, the house is still there and backs onto where Hazel Grove library and the Ambulance station are now, which our Michael knows very well.

FROM HAZEL GROVE TO HIGHER POYNTON

We were not in Queens Road very long before we moved to Carlton Rd. which is in Higher Poynton. This place seemed to have a lot going for it as far as mother was concerned, firstly it was a road with all detached bungalows, secondly it was easier for my dad and Charlie (who had now started working at the brick yard in High Lane) to get to work, they only had to get on to the canal which was near and walk to the brick yard about a mile away, which was also on the canal. By this time Nancy was working for Clayton's stores, they had three shops, the main one which was the biggest was in Hazel Grove the others were in Disley and Poynton.

Gordon and I of course had to change schools. We went to the school on Park Lane in Poynton which is now the Civic Centre. It was a three mile walk there from Higher Poynton, I was still only six coming up seven, it was alright walking there, but it was up hill on the way back and I couldn't keep up with the other kids so they used to leave me, it was a bit scary for a kid of my age walking through part of Middlewood when it was starting to go dark and no lights anywhere.

Poynton was a good school even if it was old fashioned, they were far ahead of Hazel Grove, which I found out when I returned there, it was a lovely area to live in loads of things to interest a kid of my age. There was the canal for a start and we were surrounded by four coal mines, all working at that time and then there was the railway which ran from Manchester through Marple, High Lane, Top Middlewood, Higher Poynton and on to Macclesfield. We used to go down to the station and if you had a penny to put in the machine, you got a penny bar of Cadburys milk chocolate, the older lads would put a penny in the cigarette machine and get two Woodbines and a couple of matches.

I started going to the local Sunday school, but that was so I could get enough stars on my card to go to the Christmas party and also get a present, the other thing was, that our Nancy had started going out with one of the Sunday school teachers, so she would make me go, so she could take me and she would be able to see him. He was called Shallcross and while she was going out with him he joined the Merchant Navy as a radio operator, (he might of done it to get away from Nancy) it was before the war started, at the time the song “Red Sails in the Sunset” was popular, we used to sing it to Nancy and she would get all upset, I don’t know what happened to him, he may have stayed in the Merchant Navy during the war, if he did the chances are that he didn’t survive like 34,902 others, including Gordon.

HIGHER POYNTON BACK TO HAZEL GROVE

We stayed in Higher Poynton for about 12 months before moving back to Hazel Grove. Why we moved back I don’t know (probably the rent). Anyway this time we removed on one of the brick yard lorries to Grove Street. The house was a lot smaller, you could say that it was a semi detached at the Chapel street end of Grove Street, it was a nice house even if it was small, built just after the first war, so it was modern and you could throw a stone to Hazel Grove council school, which, Gordon and I returned to.

I did say that the school at Poynton was way ahead of Hazel Grove, this was evident when I returned there, I went into the first class in the main school, the teacher was one of three spinsters who taught the first three classes, age from seven to nine, my teacher was Miss Pickford she was O.K. the other two were Miss Adshead & Miss Protheroe. They were swine's, to me they were anyway, like I say they were far ahead at Poynton and I had already done the work they were doing so I knew it all, I shot straight to the top of the class for the first and only time, it didn’t take long before I was down at the bottom again.

School to me was not one of the best times of my life that was because I wasn't very good at it, I suffered the privations of Miss Adshead & Miss Protheroe collecting a few thick ears on the way, I think the pair of them had a downer on young boys like me who wiped their nose on their sleeves because hankies were not known of. However I progressed into Mr.Taylors class, he earned the nickname of Oscar, I don’t know why, he had been shell shocked in the first war and he had been left with an affliction of shaking his head. He was my first male teacher and I liked him, his main subject was history, now that was something I liked and still do, he made it very interesting. The next class I went into was another male teacher, in fact they were all male after the first three. There were two of them, who, apart from normal lessons which they both took, one was the woodwork teacher and the other was the science teacher, they were both good chaps and I got on well with both of them, for a change. The science teacher was called Speke (as in airport) the woodwork teacher was called Andrews, they both went into the Air Force after the war started so I never saw them again.

The next class up was taught by the terror of the school namely Benjamin Gaurden, (yes that is how it is spelt) he was of French descent and was known as daddy Gaurden, feared by everyone in the school. He only had one arm, which was is right one, he had lost the whole of his left arm from the shoulder in the 1st .war, what strength he lost in his left arm was certainly made up for in his right one, when he thumped you, it was like being hit by a train, and with the cane he nearly cut your hand in two. He was a sadist, also he took sports and even with only one arm he was good at every thing, cricket, football, swimming, you name it he could do it, he would take us for swimming to the Blue Lagoon, an open air swimming pool, some where near Mile End Lane, Stockport, it seemed as if we used to go in winter as well as summer because the water was so cold, us skinny little brats stood around the edge of the pool shivering, in our borrowed costumes, (only the rich kids owned one). Daddy Gaurden would come round and push us all in then dive in himself swimming round with his one arm shouting “swim boy, don’t walk along the bottom”. It used to be that cold that your teeth were still chattering when you got back to school after the 1/2 penny tram ride back to Hazel Grove.

Up till then, elementary schools like ours did not teach foreign languages, but when the 2nd. World war broke out in 1939, he asked the class if we would like to learn French. He being of French descent of course made him the ideal candidate to teach it. A democratic vote was taken and most of us put our hands up, that was another big mistake I made and I regretted until I left school two years later. From the time of entering the class room not a word of English was spoken, well it was all way above my head, the French books were distributed (probably one between two), then Daddy Gaurden would start reading from it, we, would have to repeat it parrot fashion, then he would start writing on the board, after which we had to copy it in to our books while he strolled up and down the lines of desks repeating what he had put on the board in a perfect French accent (well he would wouldn't he, being of French descent). He would stop and look at what you were writing, usually me, the next thing it was like a steam hammer had hit me at the back of my head, and he would blurt something out in French then repeat it in English which turned out to be a phrase that he often used, particularly at me, which was “Boy your brain rattles like a pea in a barrel”, which it did with the smack he had just given me with his one arm that had the power of two. I was glad to move out of his class into the top class although I still had him for games and dreaded French.

The next class was the last one before you left school. It was supposed to be taken by the Headmaster Mr Hancock, but he had a deputy who would stand in for him, his name was Mr. Holmes, he was actually the music teacher. He played the piano and sorted out a bit of a choir which I became part of. He used to get me singing solos, he was the person who got me interested in classical music. The school bought a radiogram from money we got from saving jam jars, taking them to school, who in turn sold them to the Co-op jam factory, which was in Droylsden, for a 1/2 penny each. I think the radiogram cost about thirty pounds and at 240 pennies to the pound, that was an awful lot of jam jars. The radiogram took pride of place in the main hall, which happened to be the class room for the last year at school. The music teacher would play us these records that he brought to school, they were all classical pieces, after he had played them he used to explain to us what the composer was trying to convey, like Fingals Cave, the Atlantic ocean rushing into the cave in the Hebrides Islands and all these wonderful pieces of music came alive to an ignorant twelve to fourteen year old child like me. That was the way to educate kids not knock their brains out because they were unable to take it in, I have never forgot that music teacher and I often think of him now when I hear a piece of music that he played and explained to us, mind you I have never forgot Daddy Gaurden and the battering he used to give me either.

When I think of some of the lads that I was at school with, we were all really a mixed bunch, which I suppose is normal for a council run school in the 1930’s. It became apparent early in my time at school who were the ones who would be the gang leaders so I had the good sense to pal on with the tough lads seeing as I was only small and a bit weedy. They all seemed to live around the Chapel St./ Commercial Rd. area, the real tough nut was George Rowbotham who lived on Chapel St. he had an older and a younger brother. George and I got on very well, I was like one of his lieutenants. He was a tough lad but deep down he was not a bad lad.

I remember that diphtheria was common in those days and George was unfortunate to get it, but he got over it, and when he got back to school he had to stamp his authority on those who had tried to take over. I was glad when he came back because they had been giving me a bit of a hard time. George was not short of intelligence and he did reasonable well at school, but when he left school he just drifted into some dead end jobs eventually becoming a bricklayer as well as an alcoholic. Many years later, when I was running the Navigation I had to bar him one early evening when he came across from being in the Liberal Club.

George was a character, but he drank his self into an early grave. I believe he died in his early sixties. Another tough nut was Harold Brooks, he lived in a terraced house off Commercial Rd. one of a big family, he didn’t make much of his life either, drifted into the building trade, had loads of kids and died at an early age. I believe that his family was that big that the council had to knock two houses into one to accommodate them.

Frank Johnson also lived on Chapel St. near George Rowbotham. There were two families mixed together, the Lugstons, either Mr. or Mrs remarried Mr. or Mrs. Johnston, Frank was a bit of a character, he used to work out of school hours at the Grimsby fish shop on the main road and come to school in the same clothes that he wore while at the fish shop, boy did he stink. Another lad who lived in Back Chapel St. named Len Hatton, Back Chapel St. was like a cobbled square with about six houses round the square all very small. You went under an archway to get to them, they have all been pulled down for years and Hazel Grove Cars (an open air car sales lot) is there now. Len was a nice lad, he had a very distinctive birth mark down the side of his face. All these houses only had a cold tap and an outside loo.

There were some lads who did well for themselves, John Davenport was one, he had bad eyesight so he always wore glasses, he took up the violin and became good at it, he used to play the violin and the string bass in one of the dance bands that played in the Stockport town hall.

Rupert Winterbotham who lived next to the laundry on Commercial Road, was a bit like a Billy Bunter. I think he did alright for himself. One of my good mates was a lad called Frank Kurtain, he lived in Hollywood Road, Offerton Green just down from the Wrights Arms. He was a bit of a laugh at school so when we were in the top class and it came to voting for who would be the school prefects for the last year, we proposed and voted for Frank, thinking that, we, (his mates) would get away with a few things like getting into school when it was cold and wet while the rest of the school was outside. He turned out to be a right b-----d , but he did all right for himself as a self-employed painter and decorator. I met him in the early 90s, at the only school reunion we have ever had, he had become interested in classical music like me.

One incident that I have never forgotten, I would be about eleven and we were just coming out of school after breaking up for the summer holidays, all full of the joys of spring and I saw this lad, who was in our class, beating this younger lad up, I said to him, don’t do that he’s younger than you, so he started on me, I should have made sure that George Rowbotham was about before I opened my mouth, I was sporting a black eye and swollen lips for a week after that.

In 1938 it was evident that the Second World War was looming, gas masks, ID. Cards and ration books were being distributed, air raid shelters were being erected. They started to build the school air raid shelters on part of the playing fields. In the shelters there was no facilities and for lighting we made candle holders out of tin in the woodwork room, the toilet if needed would be a bucket, us lads were hoping that the girls would be sharing the same shelters but they had separate ones.

All over the country kids were being evacuated out of the big towns and cities to more rural and country areas. They evacuated them by the whole school. We in Hazel Grove had a whole school from Birkenhead billeted. It was a catholic school as well, which didn’t go for making a good match with us council school kids. We had to share the school with them, one month we would go in the morning from eight o’clock till one o’clock, the next month it would be from one thirty to five thirty. The Birkenhead kids doing the opposite. It didn’t go down well for us lads with paper rounds, we had to rush round with the papers in the morning because if you were late you had to do fifty lines, three times late and you got the cane, it seemed every fourth day I had sore hands. In the afternoon shift, us kids with paper rounds at night, were in real trouble.

The morning or afternoon when you weren't in school we had to go and dig for victory in the school garden. One day the whole class who should have been gardening failed to turn up, this upset Mr.Hancock, the headmaster, who was usually a placid man. He had us line up in the hall the next day, in front of all the school with our hands out and he came down with the cane giving us all one on each hand, by the time he got to the end, the sissies were all crying and Mr. Hancock was sweating, I am not surprised he died of a heart attack a few years later.

However it seemed that the kids from Corpus Christies in Birkenhead started to get home sick or else got fed up with us “prodies” at the common Hazel Grove council school and started to drift back home to Birkenhead until there was so few that the teachers who had come with them were sent back, those that remained were integrated into our school and became part of the community. The religious bigotry disappeared, in fact most of them stopped going to the morning mass at St. Peters and had morning assembly with us. This was all before the blitz started at the end of 1940/41, it could have been possible for some of them who went back to have been killed because, Birkenhead got heavily bombed when the blitz started.

I have mentioned we had moved from Higher Poynton to Grove Street in Hazel Grove. We didn’t stay there very long because mother had something better in mind, so from there we moved to Longmead Avenue over in Norbury Moor. At first we moved to number 17, we had only been there a few weeks when Granddad (Alf Singleton) came to live with us and the house across the road (number 18) was empty and slightly bigger so we moved across the road. Privately rented houses were plentiful in those days so you could move every week if you wanted.

Longmead Avenue is long, at that time it had about seventy houses on it. The road itself was not made up, so it was full of potholes, although they had been built by the same builder about the late 20’s early 30’s the styles changed slightly as you went up the road and they were all semi detached except one which was a bigger detached one which the builder built for himself.

Our house was on the right hand side and there was a big open field at the back, which was later taken over by the council and is still an open public grass area. Behind the houses on the left hand side was a big flat field which was part of Bosden Hall farm, it was a big farm with a lot of land, now it is one vast private estate with two to three hundred houses on it with two lots of shops two primary schools plus Hazel Grove High school and a recently built pub “The Three Bears”(Robinson's). You cannot recognize it from what it used to be, all fields with cows grazing on some of it and various crops on the remainder.

At the top of Longmead Avenue was the Norbury playing fields consisting of tennis courts, football and cricket fields, which all belonged to Norbury Church. Even part of them have now been built on. The only other school in Hazel Grove in my school days was Norbury, which belonged to and was run by the church, the building is still there but no longer a school, it’s used by the Jehovah’s Witnesses now.

It was about 1933/34 that my Uncle Joe (dad’s brother) moved to the area. Uncle Joe had been in the army in India for a few years, come back home, married Aunty Annie and had one son John. Joe was finding it hard to find work where they were living at the time, which was either Warrington or Widnes, so my dad got him a job at the High Lane brick yard, found them a place to live, which I remember was only a wooden hut near where High Lane cricket field is now, very primitive with just a couple of rooms with a fire place, oil lamps, water from a well, and a little hut outside as a toilet.

It must have been there that Auntie Annie had her second baby, a little girl who they called Jean. They weren't living in the hut long because I remember them moving into a flat or shared house in Queens Road, Hazel Grove, nearly opposite where we used to live, (when the hand cart tipped up). There were four Singletons’ now working at the brickyard.

Uncle Joe and family next moved to a terraced house, called Holly Cottages on Threaphurst Lane, High Lane, a lovely place, but, a bit remote, Uncle Joe had left High Lane brickworks and was working at a Brick Yard in Hadfield near Glossop, they were planning to move house again to Old Glossop to be nearer his work when tragedy struck and on the next page is a copy of the report in the High Peak Reporter 23rd, May 1936.

The years 1936/37 were not very good for our family, I have already mentioned that my granddad (Alf Singleton) was killed in a road accident in 1936, then Uncle Joe’s family nearly wiped out.

In 1937 my brother Charlie lost his left hand. I have already mentioned that he had started working at the brick yard with rest of the family. He would probably be sixteen when he started and he was working a machine that pressed the bricks out, when, he slipped. He was left handed so he instinctively but his left hand out to save himself, the machine apparently moved his arm along and the press came down and cut his hand off. He was seventeen years of age at the time and spent sometime in Stockport Infirmary, unable to work for about a couple of years after that, having to have physio and an artificial hand fitted.

I MUST LEAVE OFF HERE AND COME BACK LATER, TODAY IS THE 16 TH. JULY 2001 AND I HAVE BEEN GOING ROUND HIGH LANE, HIGHER POYNTON AND NORBURY CHURCH, HAZEL GROVE. SEEKING INFORMATION.

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Today seemingly being a nice day I have decided to take a trip down memory lane and how interesting I found it. First I got the bus to the Horse Shoe at High Lane then I walked up the old brick yard road, the first thing I noticed was that there are now seven big detached houses and bungalows along there, I only remember one.

The last time I went up to the brick yard site was over twenty years ago when they were using the old clay quarry as a land fill tip for rubbish. Now you cannot recognise it at all, it is a complete forest with just a few land marks that stand out, so you stand there and try to visualise how the brick yard was as I remember it. It used to be a hive of activity with two long brick kilns where they could burn thousands of bricks and all the machinery at the far end with crushers, mixers and brick presses (where Charlie lost his hand), there would be about a hundred men all doing manual labour, 20 to 30 lorries in and out all day each taking 1,500 to 2000 bricks out at a time to building sites all over the North West.

They say that hard work never killed anybody. It did if you worked in a brickyard. I would think they will all be dead now, the last one I remember working there was Jack Fernley who died in 1999, he was only seventy when he died.

I walked along the canal with a lot of memories going over in my mind and I found the footpath leading from the canal to Pool House Road, which is the way my dad and Charlie would walk to work when we lived in Carlton Road and where one of the old pits was. The foundations of the old pit are still there, it was sited along side the canal so they could transport the coal in the narrow boats, no road transport or even roads in those days when that pit was sunk in the 19th. Century. I do remember when I was a kid, some workmen dismantling the machinery and filling the shaft in. It stands out in my mind because these men were continually talking and using the “F” word which was the first time I had heard it and I wondered what they were on about.

There is a lot of building gone on round Pool House Road from how I remember it, all big detached bungalows and very nice, even so it is still very select and peaceful, I turned down Carlton Road where we used to live and all the bungalows have been extended on and look very good and VERY expensive. A few more bungalows have been built on what was open land, I could pin point the bungalow we used to live in because the tennis courts are still there, which used to be behind our bungalow. I walked up towards the Boars Head Pub and past where another pit used to be, but you can hardly recognize it now, on both sides there have been big expensive bungalows built.

I went into the Boars Head, which was where all the miners used to drink, I had some lunch, which was very nice, then caught the bus outside which took me down the way I used to walk to school and down to the centre of Poynton (Fountain Square) turning right for Hazel Grove.

I got off at the Rising Sun and went into Norbury Church, where my dad and granddad are buried, I found my dad’s grave some years ago so I thought I would try to find granddads, I went into the church and this woman asked me if she could help me, I told her I was trying to find my granddads grave, so she took me into the vestry and unlocked this big safe which contained all the parish records and burial books. I could only tell her the year my granddad died and we got lucky, the second book she pulled out contained the burials from 1920 something to 1936 and right at the end of the book there it was, ALFRED SINGLETON, 18 Longmead Ave. 23rd, December 1936. She did not know how to find the grave number so I have got to contact the verger when he gets back off holiday and he will be able to help me. I got the bus back home. It had been a very enjoyable day. N.B. I have found granddad’s grave number and it has been entered in on page three.

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Today is the 1st. August 2001 and I have been back to Norbury Church and found my granddad’s grave. Buried 23. Dec. 1936 in row F plot 228. In case I forget to mention later on my dad was buried on the 1st. November 1966 in row “G” plot 168, also some unknown person has put a stone flowerpot on my granddad’s grave. Thanks very much who ever it was.

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To come back to my life story, I left off where we were living at that time (1937) 18 Longmead Ave, Granddad who had been living with us had sadly died, as I have related to above. It did mean that I moved out of mum and dad’s room, Gordon and I shared a single bed and Charlie had the other one.

It must have been about this time that Nancy changed her job, when I come to put two and two together it is now that I probably realize why. Nancy would be coming up to twenty-one and as a kid I would not realize that she was attractive to men. Workers at Claytons Stores were mostly female except for the three bosses (all Claytons) and their sons. I think from what I was told, that they had difficulty in keeping their hands to themselves, so Nancy left and went working for a baker and confectioner in Poynton called Ashbrook. It was just going out of Poynton towards Macclesfield on the right hand side next to a garage. The shop is now an Antique shop and the garage next door is a big car sales lot.

YESTERDAY 23rd. JULY 2001 I WENT ON ANOTHER TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE.

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This time I got the bus to the Robin Hood, High Lane. Started off walking down Norbury Hollow Road, remembering Williamsons Shop which used to be on the corner, Truman's garage, which was just a petrol station, they also had taxis,

Butterworths poultry farm, where I once worked, walked to Clock House and turned down the path to Clock Cottage, where I lived when I was four or five. I met this chap who was doing some work on the house, I mentioned to him that the last people I knew who lived there were called Pickup, he told me that they still did, telling me that two grandsons lived in Clock Tower and grandmother lived in Clock Cottage and that she was now 91 years old. Mrs. Pickup had known me for most of my life, so this chap went and knocked on her door and told her that somebody she knew had called to see her.

When I told her my name she was delighted, inviting me to look round the old house, now, two knocked into one, but you could see where all the original walls were, as I remembered the place seventy years ago. We talked for some time about the things and the people we both remembered. Mrs. Pickup was always a charming person, very smart, never looked her age and still does not look anywhere near ninety-one. I got her phone number so I can pick her up and take her out for lunch, one day and have a real good chat.

I wandered down over the crossing, went and checked out the old well by the brook where we used to get our water, then wandered through Middlewood and past what used to be known as Coopers hollow. There used to be tea rooms and swings etc. where all the townies from Manchester and district came for the day in coaches. It is a lovely spot and so tranquil. I must consider myself lucky to have spent my childhood and early youth in such a beautiful place.

I then walked on to Anson Road where one of the old pits used to be. There is a small private museum there now, but you can still see where the old slack heap used to be. The museum is owned by an old chap of eighty one, who was obviously an engineer, and he has got a collection of a lot of old steam and gas engines, which he has working at weekends, when there are visitors around. When I told him I used to live round there, he just gave me the key to go and look round on my own. There is a great collection of all old mining equipment, plus lots of other things.

From there I walked up to the Boars Head again, where I was last week, had some lunch and then got on to the canal, walking back to High Lane and the bus home. A great day out, I must have walked five miles and I certainly felt it.

MEMORY LANE 26. TH. JULY 2001

Today I got the car out with the intention of finding the place where my earliest memories start which I have mentioned earlier, “Wall Grange”, Nr. Cheddleton, which turned out to be on the A53 going out of Leek towards Stoke. Liz and I tried to find it a couple of years ago, without success,

I found out today that there really is no place actually called Wall Grange, it is an area. However after asking three different persons I did find the place where the brick yard used to be, and the cottage that we lived in, which turned out to be a terrace of four, I spoke to some people working in their garden and they were able to confirm that that was where the brick yard was and that their house used to be the offices.

I asked them if the lane, which continued on passed where we used to live which narrowed into just a cart track, did it lead to a school, the answer, yes, but it is now a tea rooms and craft centre, they also recommended the meals they served, so I followed the track for about a mile and it came out onto a road called Hollow Lane at Cheddleton. On the corner was the school I was looking for, which we all used to attend, even though I would only be between three and four I could vaguely remember it, I had some lunch there which was very nice.

I was told of a short cut back, missing out Leek, going past Rudyard Lake (very lovely and interesting place) and back home. With a couple of bricks made at the brick works and stamped WALL GRANGE, my dad could have handled them.

I took some photographs of the old school and the house we lived in at Wall Grange, which has been altered and extended, I have scanned three of them to include in this story, (I am getting the idea of how to use all this modern technology).

I am going to take Liz one Sunday, and have Sunday lunch in my first school.

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Monday 30th. July

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Just leaving the story to comment on computers: They are certainly wonderful things, but they certainly take more brains, to work them correctly, than I have.

Yesterday I did a full page and then lost the curser, so I had to close down, and open up again, so now I will have to try to remember what I put on and start again so here goes.

Something went wrong again and I lost the curser. And the page I have just done has disappeared.

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We were still living at 18 Longmead Ave. in 1937, Charlie was still off work recovering from his accident and a compensation claim was started because there should have been a guard on the machine that took his hand off and there was none, more on that later, Nancy was still working at the bakery at Poynton and her boss was teaching her how to drive so she could do the deliveries in an old bull nosed Morris car, it was either a 1926 or 1927 model so it was not old then

Gordon and I were still at school and we started taking papers out for a new shop that had just opened on Chester Road, just over the bridge from Hazel Grove station. Between us we were building the paper rounds up by going round delivering free magazines with leaflets, inviting people in that area to have their papers delivered by a local shop.

Needless to say this did not go down so well with the other newsagents in Hazel Grove and they must have encouraged their paperboys to gang up on us. The evening papers came on the train to Hazel Grove station tied up in separate bundles for each newsagent, the paper boys sorted out their own shops papers and then off on their rounds.

One evening Gordon and I were a little late and when we got to the station the train had gone and a lot of paper was blowing round the station and track, the other lads were sorting their papers out, but, they had cut the string on ours and let them blow all over the station. Gordon, although only twelve was a pretty big lad, so, he found the culprit and started knocking him all over the station, finishing up on the track. Gordon was also soft hearted, so he jumped down on the track and helped him back on the platform, wiping him down and apologizing to him, we never had any more trouble after that.

Although Gordon was only twelve or thirteen the people who owned the paper shop, who were called Brown, thought very highly of Gordon. They always went to early Mass on a Sunday morning, leaving Gordon in charge, he used to batter me if I tried to pinch anything, (By the way us ignorant lot did not know what Mass was.)

The Browns were good people and Gordon and I were their only paper boys for some time, but I must confess I was a bit of a tea leaf, given the chance. On Saturday we used to go to the afternoon matinee, (the highlight of the week) and I only had the two pence to get in. Well you need some sweets to eat while you are in the pictures, so, I used to go to the shop on my way and knowing exactly where the shop bell was in the floor, I would tread very carefully round it, nick a two penny bar of chocolate walk back to the door, press the bell, when Mrs Brown came into the shop I would ask her the time, why I bothered to press the bell I don’t know? It probably eased my guilt. Anyway I got to the pictures one afternoon and after the lights had gone down I decided it was time to start on my ill-gotten bar of Cadburys, I had a hell of a job trying to break it, only to discover that it was a wooden dummy used for display, Mrs Brown had caught me out, but she never said anything.

Another thing I must confess to while I am in the confession box. At Christmas the shop used to raffle a big box of chocolates, donated by the Browns for their church charity. We paper lads used to sell some of the tickets, I sold some to Nancy, and her ticket won, I waltzed home with this big box of chocolates, it was massive, all in separate drawers. I told her I had won it, and she was a bit envious about this box of chocolates. She offered to buy it off me so I sold it to her, I forget how much for, probably 2/6d, which was a lot of money to me. Nancy went to her grave not knowing about that and I do feel guilty, sorry Nancy, I will make it up to you when I meet you up there.

Whilst remembering Christmas. From being about ten I would always start my seasonal cash raising activity. Usually about two weeks before Christmas day I would set off on my own to do my carol singing round. I was very selective in choosing the area where I would let the lucky people listen to my solo soprano voice. I always did the same route each year, starting off near home and choosing the big detached houses round the Chester Road, Shepley Road area of Hazel Grove. After I had made a few bob, I would spread out to my other operational area. Spending a couple of pence on the bus to Poynton, I would do the big detached houses from Fountain Square up Chester Road and surrounding area. I only knew about three carols and not always the correct words to them. Always the same format, a couple of verses, then ring the bell or knock on the door. When the occupier opened the door they would see this ten year old standing there, dressed in a school navy blue Burberry, which was a bit on the short side, short trousers with the lining hanging down, (after mother had washed them in the kitchen sink). Wellies with a welly rash round the calves of my legs. My school cap on, one of granddads scarves round my neck, and always shiny sleeves on my coat because we didn’t have any hankies.

Nearer Christmas Eve there would be parties going on in some of the big houses. They would invite me in to sing for them, and I would do all right with a collection from the guests plus some goodies

It must have been about 1938 and mother was ready to move again. This time it was to 19 Mill Lane, Hazel Grove, which is off Macclesfield Road, opposite the Five Ways pub. Once again I don’t know why we moved, probably because it was a posher area.

It was a nice semi detached house three bedrooms, garden front and rear but of course it was rented. I remember there were some nice people round there and every body was trying to work hard, earn a living and make the best out of life.

I will just diverse a little here. Driving tests came in, in 1936, Nancy had been taught to drive by her boss (Mr. Ashbrook) there were no driving schools in those days, Nancy put in for her test (in the old 1926 Bull nose Morris with crash gears that you had to double-de-clutch up and down) and she passed. She would probably be one of the first woman drivers to pass a driving test. Always a good driver but a bit fast.

After passing her driving test she was out on her own delivering the bread and cakes to customers, which increased a lot after Nancy started the delivering, it was a bit of a novelty then having a female delivery driver. She would call at our house in Mill Lane with bread. In those days there wasn't the refrigeration equipment like today, so the cream cakes which were left from the day before were left at our house for free, we always had cream cakes at our house, even if they were a day old, we became very popular with the other kids in the area for free cream cakes.

Mr. Ashbrook also had an M.G. sports car with an open top, it did have four seats, the back seats were a bit cramped and it only had two doors. If the Morris had something wrong with it, she would use the M.G. for delivering, bread and cakes on the back seat. Nancy liked to drive with the hood down, not very healthy for the bread and cakes.

Now Macclesfield Road has always been a wide fast road, as it is today except there was no speed restrictions on it then like there is now. Nancy gave me a ride in it, when she turned onto the Macclesfield Road from Mill Lane, before she got to the boundary with Poynton she was doing 80 m.p.h. I loved it.

OUR FIRST HOLIDAY

At about this period (1938) we had our first ever holiday, “Digs” as they were called then (Boarding Houses or Family Hotels they are called today) were booked in one of the side streets of Blackpool. Nancy borrowed the Morris off Mr. Ashbrook to take Mum, Dad, Gordon and I, Nancy did not stay she had to bring the car back and work.

The digs were an experience and would certainly be novel today. We all shared one room which consisted of two beds with brass bed knobs, lino with a mat on the floor, take your own sheets (if you had any) and towels, breakfast was provided, then mum would go out and buy stuff to take back to the digs which they would cook for your evening meal. Once you had gone out in the morning you were not expected to return until evening for the evening meal at five o’clock. I don’t think the digs cost much, probably a fiver or seven-pound for the week plus sixpence for use of the cruet.

Blackpool in those days had a lot of side shows going on, like the biggest rat in the world, all done with mirrors of course, made it look enormous and frightening, the fattest lady in the world, supposed to be forty stone but I think they had blown her up a bit, but of course there was one that my mother had to go and see, the Rector of Stiffkey. Stiffkey is a parish in Norfolk. Mother knew the Rector by the fact that Nurse Allen; her mother had attended his wife when her children were born.

The Reverent Aubrey Aitkin (that was his name) had supposedly had an affair with one of his servant girls who gave birth to a child, so he was defrocked by the Bishop, it apparently was a big scandal at the time, he denied it and tried to clear his name by fasting.

The people who were running the side shows on the prom in Blackpool could see there was money to be made on this because he had become so well known at the time and every body wanted to see the randy old Rector of Stiffkey. They would pay money to see him starving himself in an enclosed glass booth. Apparently, the idea behind this was that he would prove his innocence by the fact that the good Lord would not let him die. He was only supposed to have water, which was of course a load of rubbish, he was supposed to raise enough money doing this to fight to clear his name.

Mother left a letter for him at the side show, telling him who she was and where we were staying in Blackpool. Sure enough he did turn up at our digs, without his dog collar on so people would not recognize him, (so much for him staying locked up in a glass booth) I remember him coming and having a long chat with Mum and of course she was thrilled to bits, as for him he was pleased to see someone he knew from his past. I think he convinced my mother at the time that he was innocent but of course it was all above my head, I know that my mother couldn't keep her mouth shut as to who had been to see her.

However after that lot failed to clear his name he hit on something more drastic and declared that he would prove his innocence by putting his head in a lions mouth. Sure enough this turned out to be a good circus attraction, so this spectacle was booked at the Tower Circus in Blackpool, it was a big attraction, he and the circus would make a lot of money out of it. The Lion tamer must have got the tamest lion they had and it was probably doped, they instructed him how to go about it, it went alright for a few shows and then it suddenly went wrong, the lion bit his head off. That was the end of the Reverent Aubrey Aitkin the Rector of Stiffkey. My mother said afterwards that she always knew he was a bad one, then again, she was a bit two faced.

Nancy came back to pick us up at the end of the week in the old Morris, on the way back as we were coming through Chorley, smoke started coming up through the floor boards (yes they had floor boards in them old cars). Of course none of us lot knew what it was and there were no garages open so we all pushed it onto a side street in Chorley and we slept in it till next day. (The joys of motoring in them days). Anyway it was fixed and we got home a day late, a bit like package holidays today. I have certainly gone into a bit of detail with our first holiday but it is all-true.

OUR FIRST MOTOR CAR

After that mother got the motor car bug, she fancied being driven around like a lady. Nancy had a male friend who was in the motor trade who was able to supply us with a car (on H.P. of course). It was a Jowett saloon four doors with a two stroke seven horse power engine, it sounded like a motorbike and you could hear it when it was a quarter of a mile away.

We were now in the car owners class, dad was still only a semi skilled labourer working in the brick yard, above all he had never driven a car before, he had driven a steam road roller and a motorcycle with sidecar before driving tests became compulsory, he already had a licence to drive them so he didn’t have to pass a test, it was a bit scary I can tell you.

Trams were running in the middle of the road in them days and motor traffic had to pass them on the inside, when the tram stopped to let passengers on or off the traffic had to stop. Anyway after a few runs round some quiet roads near home with Nancy instructing, it was time for Charlie (my dad) to take the family out for a Sunday spin. Mum, Gordon and I went with him from Mill Lane heading towards Stockport, with a few scary moments passing these trams we turned down Longshut Lane. There were no traffic lights there then and so on to Shaw Heath, no traffic lights there either. Crawling out from Longshut Lane into Shaw Heath, dad failed to stop to let a bus go by and we hit the bloody thing. He could have picked on somebody on a bike or an old lady crossing the road. No, it had to be a bloody double deck bus. Mum ,Gordon and I were not very happy and we managed somehow to get in touch with Nancy who drove us back.

Eventually Dads driving improved and we started going out on Sundays to the seaside or up to places like Matlock. Petrol was only 1/3d. per gallon (6p today’s equivalent) and the Jowett Seven would do about fifty to sixty to the gallon, we would be coppering up to see if we had got enough for a couple of gallons, (sod the milk man he can wait for his money), pack a picnic and we would be off.

My favourite place was Matlock, down by the river there were these penny amusement machines and there were certain ones that I had learnt the knack of fiddling, I would be weighed down with pennies until the guy in charge told me to bugger off so I would go to another stall and start playing them until I got kicked off again. When I got back to the car mum would count up how much I had won, take out the petrol money and a bit more besides, giving me back what was left. They were good days and I have fond memories of it.

It was 1938 and we were living at 19 Mill Lane and we had a car, paid for or not I do not know, but a house at the beginning of Mill Lane became empty and was for rent, a bit bigger and nicely laid out but, the main advantage was that it had a garage. Well I mean to say! If you have a car and live in a posh area like Mill Lane you have got to have a garage to put the car in, so, we moved to number 8 which also had the name “Springfield,” the house of course is still there and it is still called “Springfield”. I loved it there, a big field at the back which during the summer always had cows grazing in it and it ran right down to the brook at the bottom, which was the same brook that runs through Middlewood. A lot of youngsters, boys and girls lived around the area and we had lots of fun, money of course was always a bit short but I had some money making ideas, apart from looking for empty bottles in the hedges (which ramblers used to discard) to take back to the various pubs and shops to get the money back on them.

The cows in the field at the back always produced a waste product that is very good for gardens. So I made this bogey out of boxes and put some pram wheels on it, filling it with the cows waste product I went round selling it at 6d. for a bogey full.

In the summer there was always the mint in the garden to sell at a penny or two pence a bundle. Come the autumn there was always the seeds on the flowers from ours and other peoples gardens, put into little packets they would sell at one or two pence a packet. There was always something to do, if we run out of ideas me and one of my mates used to love digging holes in the field to see how deep we could go before it started to fill with water. Now the field has all been built on and the brook is now the “Brookside Garden Centre” with the miniature steam railway running through it.

During the long summer holidays, the weather always seemed to be perfect, we kids in the area would dam a narrow part of the brook up with stones and clods of earth, the brook would then back up and form a reservoir that we were able to swim in. Also the Poynton pit was only about half a mile away, and there was a water pit there which they drew water off for the steam boilers. The excess steam would be channelled back to the pit, that in turn warmed the water up so even on cold days it was nice to mess about in, until we got chased off.

Also during the summer if I managed to accumulate sixpence, I would wrap my cheap Woolworth's swimming trunks in an old towel, (all our towels were old), walk down to the Rising Sun and a penny tram ride from there took me to Stockport and the swimming baths on Petersgate, a bit lower down from the library. It was an old Victorian Building, ( now demolished, a new office block stands there now). Besides being a swimming baths it was also a public wash house where the locals who didn’t have baths at home could go and clean themselves and wash their clothes at the same time. You paid 2d. to go into the baths, there were separate changing cubicles for boys and girls. Two or three of you would use the same cubicle and you would just leave your clothes in the cubicle. One time I had got dressed, but I could not find my pumps, somebody had nicked them, they must have been hard up if the would nick anything of mine, because it was all old and tattered. Anyway I went and told the woman at the pay kiosk, she said there was nothing she could do. How was I going to get home with nothing on my feet, I burst out crying so this woman went into a cupboard and brought out this pair of women's shoes that someone had left sometime. I burst out crying again, this women said there was nothing else she could to for me, so I put them on walked out to get the tram back to the Rising Sun, and I could feel people staring at me. Even though I was only eleven years old I felt a dam fool. When I got off the tram at the Rising Sun I walked as quick as I could onto Macclesfield Road so I could walk in the grass verge and people wouldn’t see my shoes. My mum belted my ear hole when I got in for loosing my pumps.

In 1938 war clouds were beginning to gather, I would be eleven years old and it didn’t really bother me, it was one of the topical things that grown ups talked about.

Apparently there was this German guy called Adolph Hitler who was causing trouble in some place called Europe. Well, we all knew about the Germans who caused all the trouble in the World War (1914-18) and they got beat then, so to us kids if they wanted another bloody nose! Let them have one.

After the first world war, the allies (that's the British, French and anybody else fighting on our side) had declared a de-military zone on the Germans that they were not to enter, bordering both sides of the river Rhine. It was of course known as the Rhine zone. When Hitler came to power in 1933 by becoming their Chancellor, one of the first things he did was to re-occupy the Rhine zone and nobody did anything about it. Anyway, I am doing my life story not a history of how the second World War started, (if you want to know all about that you’ll have to read all about it like I have).

Like I was saying war clouds were gathering, they started issuing gas masks, ration books and building air raid shelters, to us kids it was quite exciting.

About the beginning of 1939, Nancy was still working at Ashbrook, but she had left home and was living in a flat in Poynton, over a shop opposite the Brookfield, which was a cinema then. Charlie who would be coming up to twenty was working again at the brickyard. I will mention here that there had been a court case about his accident and he was awarded £1,750 (which was peanuts compared to what he would get today) and a suitable job for a one armed man for life. The job was as a brick burner, that was keeping the brick kilns fired up with coal by shovelling coal down these holes in the top of the kilns with a small hand shovel. It was a easy enough job, but, sole destroying for a young chap of twenty, It was a continuous job day and night 365 days a year, twelve hour days and twelve hour nights five days a week, his days off alternating to cover weekends, it was good money but not a good job for a lad of his age.

The compensation (£1750) had to be invested and he could not touch it until he was twenty one, the interest which I remember was something like £25 a quarter was payable to my mother because she had had to keep him for two years while he was off work.

Mother soon found a use for the £25 interest off Charlie's money. It was decided that we should get a different car, the Jowett was getting a bit embarrassing with the noise it made and mother thought it was about time we went a bit up market, so, a 1936 Morris Ten Four was acquired. The ten was the horse power and four was number of cylinders. It would of course be on H.P. but the £25 interest from Charlie’s money would help, but like I said war against Germany was very much on the cards in which case petrol would be one of the things that would be rationed.

It was while living at No. 8 “Springfield”, Mill Lane that Mr Chamberlain, the Prime Minister, announced on the wireless, (O yes we had one of those things then, they are now called Radios) that he had given Adolph till eleven o’clock that morning, (Sunday the 3rd. September 1939) to withdraw his troops from Poland, no such undertaking had been given and so this country is now at war with Germany.

THE START OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR 3/9/1939.

From that very day everybody's life changed, not just in this country but worldwide. The whole country had been getting geared up for war from 1938 with air raid shelters being built to house whole streets. The shelters on Underbank, Stockport had been dug out of the sandstone rock underneath the town (which was opened up as a visitors attraction in 1998). It could hold up to 3000 people, equipped with seats, bunks, first aid, and toilets, they were lit by either candles or oil lamps, it is only since they were made into a visitor attraction that they put electricity in them. Those who lived in more rural areas with gardens could buy their own Anderson shelters for £7.

Made out of corrugated iron you had to dig a hole in the garden and erect it yourself. Then covering it with soil or sandbags. The do-it-yourself experts made good jobs of them, fitting them out with bunks and electricity for lighting and heating, but the Singletons didn’t bother, we were living in Mill Lane, Hazel Grove and Hitler wasn’t going to bomb us, (more on that one later).

I did forget to mention that by this time we had two Cinemas then in Hazel Grove. One on Commercial Road, called “The Grove” built after the first world war when there were only silent films. It was upgraded when sound films came in, and then a new one was built on Macclesfield Road. (Opposite Carpet World which was where the dog track used to be). It was opened in 1937 by Gracie Fields and was very modern in those days. Built by a local builder called Clifford Ogle who also built and owned the Blue Lagoon swimming baths where we used to go from school with “Daddy” Gaurden the one armed terror.

Clifford Ogles wife was named Mary and they had a daughter named Barbara. He built and owned three cinemas, one in Knutsford which he named Marcliff, it incorporated his wife’s and his own name, one in Denton which he called Barcliff, his daughter and his name and he also called the new one in Hazel Grove Marcliff. The one in Knutsford is now a Civic Centre, the one in Denton became a Bingo Hall but has been closed for sometime and at present (2001) is looking derelict, the one in Hazel Grove is now used by five or six commercial firms and other buildings have been built round it.

The Grove on Commercial Road changed its name to the Cosy Grove but it was pulled down years ago and is now a Post Office sorting office. So much for the cinemas in Hazel Grove.

To come back to the war, when war was declared on the 3rd. September 1939 all the cinemas and theatres were closed down, I don’t know what thick head in the government thought that one up, but it didn’t last long, just think of the effect it had on me when I found some bottles to take back to the shops to get some picture money, never mind the effect it had on the entertainment industry.

I must mention here about a problem I had with buses, at this particular time we lived in Mill Lane, which was of course off the Macclesfield Road, opposite the Five Ways pub. If I was coming home from school or from the Grove cinema on Commercial Road, I knew that I wanted a bus that had on the indicator at the front, with the destination either, Poynton, Higher Poynton, Woodford or Macclesfield. When we moved back to High Lane I wanted a bus that was going to Disley, New Mills, Hayfield, Whaley Bridge, Horwrich End, Chapel-en-le-Fifth or Buxton. Very often, (especially during the rush hour when workers were travelling home), a bus would come along with “Duplicate” on the front, I wouldn’t get on that because I didn’t know where “Duplicate” was.

Rationing was introduced gradually as things started to be in short supply, I think one of the first things to be rationed was sugar, that was a big blow to us in our house, we all had sweet teeth and mother never forgot being deprived of sugar because after the war and after sugar came of ration she always used to hoard it, when she died and I cleared her house out, which was 1977, she had 14. two-pound bags of sugar in the kitchen cabinet, she used to say you never know when there might be another war. After a few weeks’ people were settling in to the war conditions, things were getting back to near normal apart from the black out, which, was strictly enforced by the A.R.P. wardens. All vehicles had to have shields over their headlights so they didn’t shine up in the sky and of course there was no streetlights. It was a bit scary for a 12-year old boy coming out from the pictures after seeing it through twice, (for the same price) at 10-30 at night, into the pitch black of night, especially after seeing a scary film. You had to stand outside until your eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and then start to walk, feeling for familiar things to guide you and then you kept thinking that somebody was following you, so you crept along as silent as possible and kept turning round to see if there was, it was worse on a moonlight night because no matter how quiet you were you knew the bogy man could see you.

The first nine months of the war was known as the phoney war, our troops were over in France but there was no fighting going on, we had had the odd air raid warning, but, no bombs had been dropped.

The war did start right at the very beginning (3rd. September 1939) at sea when the “Athenea” belonging to the Donaldson Atlantic Line, with a full passenger list, (a lot were Americans) was sunk by U 30 just of southern Ireland, she had sailed from Liverpool bound for New York. There were 100 lives lost which including 19 crew of which 4 were stewardesses. This brought condemnation on Hitler and the Nazis; they tried to wriggle out of it by saying it had war material and hidden guns on board.

The first battle and victory of the war, was at sea, with the battle of the River Plate, which involved the German pocket battleship “Graff Spee.” It ended in our first victory of the war. The Graff Spee scuttled herself at the entrance to River Plate on the 17th. December 1939. She carried a crew of over 1000, Most of them were put ashore in Montevideo. Then with a skeleton crew on board, she steamed out to the mouth of the river Plate, set delayed charges, the skeleton crew then abandoned and shortly after she blew up and settled on the bottom. All the crew were interned for the rest of the war. The commander, Captain Lansdorf shot himself the next day

This battle certainly brought home to the people of Hazel Grove the horror of war with the first person from the village being killed. His name was Frank Stennett who lived at 12 Old Mill Lane, which was at the top of Mill Lane where we lived. I knew of Frank, he had joined the Navy in 1936 and he came to visit us at Hazel Grove council school in his uniform just after the war started in September, he was an old boy of the school and Daddy Gaurden introduced him to all the boys.

Although it was the Royal Navy he joined originally in 1936, he transferred to the Royal New Zealand Navy just before the war started and he was serving on HMNZS Achilles, which was one of the three ships which fought the Graff Spee off the River Plate. Shrapnel from a German shell fired at 800 yards range hit the superstructure of the Achilles killing four men, Frank Stennett was one of them. He was nineteen years old. He had worked with his father at Simpson's for a short time before he went into the Navy as a boy rating at the age of fifteen; I worked with his father at Simpson’s in 1943. The Graff Spee by the way, had sunk eight merchant ships before she scuttled herself.

To come back to the family, Nancy was living in Poynton, so there were five of us living at 8 Mill Lane. By the beginning of 1940 mother had decided that we move house again, so, we moved back to 57 Longmead Avenue. Well for a start we didn't need the garage any more because the car had gone, either because of the petrol rationing or the hire purchase company had reclaimed it, so I guess living in Longmead Avenue would be cheaper than Mill Lane. Number 57 was nearly at the top of Longmead, near to where Norbury Church playing fields are. The house backed on to the many acres of Bosden Hall Farm, which were all fields then.

My eldest brother Charlie had taken up ballroom dancing after getting over his accident and had his false hand fitted. Ballroom dancing was the in thing then and there were lots of dancing schools to teach you up to a standard that you were able to go in for competitions and get grades. Two of the schools that I remember were Dora Reid's, her school was at what used to be the Liberal Club at the bottom of Castle Street, Edgeley, the other one I remember was Osborne Bentley’s which was on the corner of Longshut Lane above some shops which have all been pulled down now, at the present time (2001) it is a spare plot of land being used for car sales.

These dancing schools didn’t employ any professional staff to teach, the pupils who had got to a certain stage and passed one or two exams were used as partners for the beginners and in return they got in for nothing. That was how Charlie met his wife, she was one of the unpaid instructors. (More on his wife later).

Charlie was keen on dancing and he was doing very well at it, the principle at the school he was attending was putting him in for one of the medals, so he had to have this dress suit with tails stiff butterfly collar with white dickey bow tie, he looked really smart.

It was winter time and the black out was in force, Charlie walked out of the house, turned down Longmead Avenue and walked smack bang into the first lamp post, he came back into the house covered in blood from the wound on his head, poor Charlie that was the end of his night. However he got all his kit cleaned up and put in for the medal again and passed, he was a really good ballroom dancer and got to be one of the instructors.

It was at the beginning of 1940 that we became aware that Nancy was expecting, she married the chap that she had been seeing for some time who was a few years older than her, they were living in the flat at Poynton, but they moved into a house further up Longmead Avenue, it had been built just before the war started and they were the first tenants. Maureen was born on the 8th. July 1940, at Stepping Hill Hospital. I was thirteen at the time and to me it was a novelty having a new baby in the family.

The chap that Nancy married had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father was in the rope and twine business and had his own factory in Denton, but, he had financial problems and finished up hanging himself with his own rope. His mother was related to Sam Longson the haulage contractor from Chapel-en-le-Frith, I think she was his sister. She had brought him up on her own and they lived in a semi-detached house near Norbury Church on the A6. As far as I remember he didn’t have a trade.

During the war if you were not in the forces you came under the direction of labour so you therefore had to go and work on essential war work. He was directed to work in a engineering works, this was a little below his dignity so he didn’t bother going which of course meant that there was no money coming in, eventually Nancy kicked him out, he went back to his mothers and Nancy and Maureen came back living with us.

Charlie became twenty-one on the 31st. May 1940 and so he came into his money. Mother had a twenty first party for him at Cecil's Cafe on Princess Street in Stockport. It had a functions room in the basement and his friends from the dancing school all came including the girl who had taught him to dance and who became his dancing partner. She of course knew all about the money he would come into when he became twenty one. So she got her hooks into him and they were married not long after that at Cheadle Parish Church. (Where the vicar this year “2001” wouldn’t let a bride have the hymns she wanted) and they went to live in one of West’s rented houses on Bird Hall Lane, Cheadle Hulme, her mother lived just across the road.

His wife's name was Henrietta (if that's how you spell it) but she was known as Hetty. He bought all new furniture for the house and he also gave up his job at the Brickworks, which of course relinquished them from the obligation of finding him a job for life.

Now I must mention here that driving tests had been suspended during the war, so Charlie, who had only had rudimentary driving instruction from Nancy and my Dad, went off and bought a three ton tipper wagon, and the brickworks tried to help him out and gave him a contract delivering bricks. Now Charlie only had one hand plus a false one, so he got our Gordon who had left school in 1939 and at that time was working at Clayton’ Stores in Hazel Grove, to leave his job there and supposed to work for Charlie helping him drive the wagon. Now can you believe this, Charlie was sat in the driving seat and Gordon was sat in the passenger seat changing gears for him, it’s a wonder that they both weren’t killed and some more with them, today they would have both been banned from driving for a long time.

After Charlie got married Nancy and baby Maureen moved back with us, Nancy started working again in some grocers shop on Bramhall Lane and mum looked after Maureen, she was a bonny baby and to me she was always my younger sister even before mum legally adopted her.

It was while we were living in Longmead Avenue that the first bombs were dropped on Manchester in 1940. There was a brick built air raid shelter just at the top of Longmead Avenue, so all the local residents piled in there, to us kids it was exciting, we spent a few nights in there after that, during the first Manchester Blitz

It must have been about this time that mother decided that the house wasn’t big enough, so she made her penultimate move. This time it was going up market again probably encouraged by Nancy, we moved back to High Lane and “Sirestan”.

HAZEL GROVE BACK TO HIGH LANE

It looked a big detached house from outside, but, whoever the architect was should have dropped dead before he designed another one. The locals called it the Chinese house. It had a very big lounge, a small living room and a very small kitchen; a fair sized entrance hall with a square staircase, which had a built in cupboard underneath. Upstairs were two fair sized bedrooms plus an average bathroom.

The house was only built in 1937, (the concrete step outside the lounge French windows had the date imprinted on it), the pitch of the roof was in two angles set at different degrees, giving it a Chinese Style appearance. The upstairs windows were set into the roof space and they would be called dormer windows today. There were three windows upstairs back and front, the front windows the builder had run the guttering over the top of the windows but he could not be bothered doing that at the back windows, so, he ran one length of guttering along the back windows, which meant that the windows at the back of the house could not be opened fully. Actually when you come to think about the condition of the house (considering it was only three years old) by today’s standard it was poor.

We are still in 1940 , I was thirteen and still at Hazel Grove Council School. Nancy and Maureen had the smaller of the two bedrooms, Gordon and I shared a single bed in mum and dad’s room, Charlie of course was married and living in Cheadle Hulme.

About this time we acquired another car, it was a Hillman 10. Saloon. We must have got it very cheap because people could not get petrol to run them, but like everything else during the war, you could buy almost anything on the Black Market, including Petrol. When I think about it now it makes me cringe. Petrol had to be imported in tankers, through “U-Boat” invested waters, Merchant Ships were getting sunk and Merchant Seaman were losing their lives. But to the average person in the street this did not really hit home until it actually effected them.

When we moved to “Sirestan” I renewed my friendship with lads round there, apart from Jack and Arthur Macdonald we all went to Hazel Grove Council school and I knew them from when we had lived in Clock Cottage, before we moved to Hazel Grove. There was Roy Trueman and his brother Ian, they had an elder sister called Brenda, they had the petrol station which was attached to three cottages and also included Williamson’s shop on the corner of Norbury Hollow Road. Pearson’s lived in the middle cottage. Mrs.Pearson was Mrs. Trueman’s sister, they had one son called Barry so the Trueman’s and Barry Pearson were cousins. There was Jack and Eric Pickup, they had moved from a detached house on Haddon Road in Hazel Grove to Clock Cottage which was where we lived before we moved to Hazel Grove. Another lad who was older than us, his name was Fred Emberton, his parents were the crossing keepers at Middlewood railway crossing and they lived in a little railway bungalow there. Fred's father had lost his arm in the first World War so a man with one arm could do the crossing keepers job. There wasn’t much traffic going over the crossing in those days, so he used to keep the crossing gates shut until there was some traffic wanting to go through and if there were no trains due he would open the gates for them.

Mr. Emberton liked his beer so after a train had gone through, if there was some one wanting to go through he would open the gates, shut them again and then off to the Robin Hood for a couple of pints. When he got back there would be cars on both sides waiting to get through. If they complained he used to say can’t bloody well let you through there’s a bloody train due and he would keep them waiting till the next train had gone through which could be anything up to an hour, if they hadn’t said anything he would have opened the gates for them straight away.

A good pal of mine was Arthur Read, they lived in some old brick built cottages, lower down than the Robin Hood, nice lad Arthur , we used to call him Snowy because of his very fair hair. In later years he became a tanker driver and he used to deliver my heating oil to the Navigation. He had been married with a couple of children, but she went of with another bloke. He used to come into the Navi for meals with his sister Norma and her family. He died in the early eighties of a heart attack but I would think it was more like a broken heart because he missed his family, he would be in his early fifties when he died.

Another one who died very young was Arthur Macdonald, they lived in the cottages just above the Robin Hood. He had gone to their outside toilet, his mother wondered where he was, when she checked she couldn’t open the toilet door, when they did eventually push it open Arthur was dead behind the door, he had had a heart attack, he was only eighteen. He was a nice lad, taught himself to play the trumpet and he was playing with a dance band in Stockport. His mother never got over that, not long afterwards she had a stroke which paralysed all the side of her face, she lived for a few years after that, her husband Joe looking after her.

Still in 1940 we were settling down at “Sirestan” Nancy had changed her job, she went working for a firm that had a chain of Grocers shops in Manchester area called Hunter’s, she had gone there as an assistant, but not long after she started, the manager got called up for National Service so she took over as manageress. This branch was in Ashton-under-Lyne. and we used to go over on a Saturday afternoon to pick her up, (with the Black Market Petrol), and Nancy used to fiddle us the most essential stuff on ration, tea, sugar, bacon, butter, sweets, chocolate and cigarettes for dad.

Mother was looking after Maureen and it would be about this time that it was talked about mum adopting Maureen. It was coming up to Christmas 1940 when the Manchester Blitz started and Hitler was certainly making a mess of the country.

In the spring of 1940 the phoney war ceased and the real war started. First of all Germany marched in and over ran Holland and Belgium who were neutral, Hitler never even declared war on them, then of course he was able to attack the north of France. The Maginot Line which was a defence line the French had built on the border with Germany proved to be useless, the Germans just skirted it. At the same time they over ran Denmark, a small country with no defences and practically no defence forces, followed by the invasion of Norway, which of course is rich in minerals like Iron Ore, Magnesium and soft water which was used in the development of Plutonium and Uranium. (eventually used by the Americans to develop the Atomic Bomb).

Attacking France from the north through Belgium, the German Panzer divisions started to over run the weak B.E.F. (British Expedition Force). surrounding them and driving them back to the coast of Dunkirk. Miraculously about 150,000 managed to escape in all kinds of boats, but of course thousands were taken prisoner and they lost all their equipment.

Within a couple of weeks the whole of Northern France was over run and the French sued for peace (bloody cowards). From then on until America came into the war this country stood alone. Why am I telling you all this?, you should know the history of your own country, especially recent history.

Anyway I am coming to the fact that the Blitz started, the bombing of our cities. One of the first was Coventry, they were supposed to be going for the factories that were producing war materials, but they flattened Coventry Cathedral at the same time. They weren’t making anything in there, thousands of people were killed. London was blitzed and then Liverpool and Manchester. It was coming up to Christmas 1940 when they started to bomb Manchester which continued into the New Year and it was some time at the beginning of 1941 when a bomb dropped in the field about 30 yards from our house. We were all sat round the fire at the time, with no lights on, the air raid sirens had gone a couple of hours before and we could hear the bombs dropping on Manchester and surrounding districts including Stockport. The German plane that dropped the bomb that just missed our house must have been being chased by one of our fighters so he just let go the bomb to lighten his load enabling him to escape.

Luckily the bomb didn’t explode otherwise I most likely would not be here now telling you all this. Like I said the area around Norbury was all under mined, and, with the bomb not exploding on impact it probably sank down into the mine workings.

A chap called Harry Kolsh was our local air raid warden, he was German by birth and had come over to this country before the first World War, with the Stimfigs, who changed their name to Simpson during the first World War because the pork butchers shop they had in Levenshulme kept getting the windows broken because they were Germans. It was shortly after the war that they moved to a farm on the corner of Mill Lane, and started the factory, but that is a different part of the story which we will come to later.

To come back to Harry Kolsh, he lived in Old Mill Lane which is at the back of Simpson's factory. He had a very strong liking for Chester's beer, and the nearest place that sold it was the Royal Oak, (the pub my Granddad got killed coming out of in 1936) and Harry would get ten or eleven pints down in a session. He of course was in there when the sirens went, but Harry was one who would do his voluntary job no matter what state he was in. So he went on his rounds making sure there was no lights showing anywhere (PUT THAT LIGHT OUT) and of course he was out and about when this bomb dropped, he heard it but didn’t know where it had dropped, so he went round knocking on everybody's door round by the Robin Hood shouting “EVERY BODY OUT UNEXPLODED BOMB”.

Well can you imagine the panic, we knew that something had happened because the house shook when it dropped. It would be about midnight and there was Mum, Dad, Gordon, Baby Maureen who would be about six months old, and me, I can’t remember where Nancy was. Mum dumps Maureen (who was asleep) in the pram, with baby clothes feeding bottles and baby food, shouts to us lot to get our clothes on and get out (Mother was in charge).

Harry was rounding every body up and telling them to assemble in the Robin Hood, he had already knocked the Nicholson's up, who were the licensee's, I think now that he thought that they might open the bar and he might get a free drink, it was a Bells house then and he was supposed not to like Bells, but if it was free he would supp it, anyway, he didn’t get any, neither did any one else, not even a cup of tea, (it was on ration

Eventually we finished up in the early hours of the morning in the Church Hall which was behind the Grove cinema on Commercial Road, (the Grove was pulled down some years ago and is now a Post Office sorting office), about fifty of us, men women and kids, some had gone to other relatives not in the danger area.

The W.V.S. (now the W.R.V.S.) had been alerted and they were already there sorting out camp beds and blankets and of course the inevitable urn, full of hot cocoa. The kids, Trueman’s, Macdonald’s, Pickup’s and us, full of excitement kept lushing this cocoa down. Well they didn’t have enough camp beds and blankets for every body, so they put about three or four of these camp beds together on the stage of this hall and got us kids on them and covered us with a few blankets, I had young Eric Pickup, who is about three years younger than me, next to me in the camp beds and I had just got off to sleep when I felt something warm and wet up my back, yeah your right, he had.!.

Well the great thing about it was that we didn’t have to go to school the next day. Dad had to go to work to do a hard day at the brickworks, the ladies in the W.V.S asked him what he did for his dinner, he said he usually took it with him, so, they said well here’s two square meals and gave him two OXO cubes.

The person in charge said if we had got any family near, to go and stay with them, we all finished up at our Charlie’s house in Cheadle Hulme, when dad eventually got there at night he said they had closed the road at Threaphurst Lane and were diverting the traffic down there or Windlehurst Road and they were stopping traffic coming up from the Rising Sun. The police let my dad through to go and get the car which was at the back of the house. He loaded it up with clothes, blankets and baby things for Maureen, he said that the army bomb squad were their digging in the field to try and find the bomb but they wouldn’t let him start the engine in case the vibration set it off, they helped him push it on to the road and let it run down High Lane until far enough away to start it.

After two nights at Charlie’s they said it was safe to move back, when we came home the Army bomb squad was still there with this big hole twenty or more feet deep, they said they hadn’t come across it so it must have sunk a fair way down in the soft earth and if it did explode now it wouldn’t do any damage, so, for the people who may be living around their now, that bomb is still there.

It was at this time during the war that the Ministry of Labour started directing women into essential work, (they had already done it with men) and running a grocers shop wasn’t essential war work. Nancy wanted to get into the action anyway, not to go working in a factory, so, she volunteered to join the women's A.T.S (Army Territorial Service) and it was just before all this happened that it was agreed that my mother would adopt Maureen. We wouldn’t have parted from her anyway because she was about one year old now, a very bonny and pretty child, to us she was our youngest and just naturally part of the family. It was all done legally and a new birth certificate was issued with her name changed to Singleton.

Nancy joined up in the women's army, after her initial training she was posted to the motor pool as a female driver, she could be driving anything up to a three ton truck but she was selected to be a chauffer driving staff cars for the top brass hats, that suited her for a while. It was while she was in the army that she met her second husband, Eric Milnes. He was a sergeant instructor, what he instructed I don’t know, I will come back to Nancy and Eric later.

Charlie’s venture into the haulage business didn’t last long. He would have done alright with a bit more effort. Newly married he couldn’t get out of bed in a morning and was turning up at the brick yard at mid-day to get his first load out. Well he had to do five loads a day if he was going to make it pay, he was lucky if he got two in. It wasn’t long before the lorry went and he got a job at Woodford where they were assembling Lancaster Bombers which were made by A. V. Roes at the factory at Chadderton now it is British Aero Space. They had to assemble them at Woodford so they could fly them off from the aerodrome there. Charlie was only labouring and by this time they had got their first baby, A girl they called Pat, that would be about 1943.

To come back to 1941 Gordon's job with Charlie didn’t last long, and at the time a garage that was next to the Marcliff Cinema on Macclesfield Road had been taken over by a firm called William Arnold Ltd. They were motor body builders making coach bodies for limousine type cars, the main job being sheet metal working. But the firm had to go into war production, making aircraft parts for Wellington and Lancaster bombers. Gordon got a job there, on essential war work.

I had my fourteenth birthday in April 1941 and was getting ready to leave school in the summer. The last twelve months at school I hadn’t done a lot of school work anyway, I think they had realized it was a waste of time trying to teach me anything, so I was one of four who were going round the school pasting netting onto all the windows so the glass wouldn’t shatter from bomb blasts. We did all three schools infants, girls and ours, It took us three or four months to do them all, It was child labour but I didn’t mind it kept me away from Daddy Gaurden and the cane.

EDUCATION COMPLETED “OR WAS IT”.

I left school in the summer of 1941 and along with a few other lads started work where Gordon was working, “William Arnolds”.

This firm before the war, were coach builders, that is that they made individual bodies for expensive motor cars such as Rolls Royce and Bentleys. They were more or less all hand built, the tradesman who worked for them were sheet metal workers which was a highly skilled but boring job. The main place was a big garage on Upper Brook Street, Manchester.

After the war started the factory was taken over by the Ministry Of Labour to make parts for aircraft which entailed sheet metal working. The place on Upper Brook Street proved not to be big enough, so, they took over this petrol filling station come garage next to the fairly new Marcliff cinema and built in the apex of the two railway lines which cross there. With a lot of land surrounding, it was ideal for expanding.

We started off making air ducts for aircraft engines for all types of war planes which at first were hand built until the tradesman set up jigs and dies when they could be mass produced. Among other parts that we were making eventually were, bomb doors for Wellington and Lancaster bombers, also the tubular seats for the pilots and air gunners, the parachutes that they wore fitted into the frame of these seats giving them the padding of the parachute to sit on.

When we started, there was about 30 working there of which two thirds were woman. We young lads were supposed to be apprentices and worked with the skilled tradesman setting the jobs up, my wages were 14/6d for a 48 hour week, that's equal to about 75p. in today's money. When the job went into production the apprentice who had helped set it up was put in charge of the women who were put on the job. Their wages were about three pounds a week, so that gave us young lads a lot of incentive to help the war effort, (I don’t think) Out of my 14/6d. mother would give me 2/6d. (12p.) back. In those days the popular thing to do when you left school was to start smoking, and the other thing was that you started wearing long pants.(till leaving school you were in short pants).Ten woodbines, when you could get them had gone up to 5d. for ten so I couldn’t afford to smoke many, anyway you only smoked when you were with your mates because it made you feel big and grown up.

They built a whole new building at the side of the old garage and within a short space of time there were between two and thee hundred people working there, most of which were woman. Gordon was a big strong lad and he wasn’t an apprentice because he was about fifteen when he started there and he used to do all the heavy jobs like moving the acetylene welding bottles around, but he got 10/-d. a week more than us apprentices. That new building has been up about sixty years now, a firm called Bodycote are in there, and the Hazel Grove Snooker Hall is next to it.

The work there came under the essential works order so you couldn’t leave unless you got a permit from the Ministry of Labour and you had to go into other essential work. A brickyard came under that because bricks were needed to build factories for war work, so, Gordon left to go and work at Poynton brickyard where he could earn twice as much money.

I got fed up working there for 14/6d a week but I couldn’t leave because I was an apprentice serving my time as a sheet metal worker and also I was on essential work. I didn’t like the job anyway.

An old chap who lived up the road from us worked at a big house in Bramhall as the gardener. The house belonged to a chap called Greenwood who was the managing director of Craven Brothers Engineering in Reddish. This garden was too big for this old chap to look after so he wanted a gardeners boy. Mr. Greenwood got in touch with the Ministry of Labour to say they wanted me to work in Craven Brothers, which was essential work. I got away from Arnolds and went working in his garden. This Mr Greenwood turned out to be not very honourable. He had two big greenhouses in this very large garden which had coke boilers for heating. Coal and coke was rationed, so much per household depending on the size of the house, this of course did not include greenhouses for domestic use. He was getting coke delivered to his house which should have gone to the engineering works at Reddish, he got found out and was heavily fined, he could have gone to jail for it.

Working at this house as a gardeners boy got me away from William Arnolds but I didn’t like it. Besides me and the gardener they employed a cook/housekeeper a laundry maid and a house maid, (Just like upstairs downstairs). It was a massive house and living in the house was Mr. Greenwood and his wife and two daughters (who were right snobs).At the bottom of this vast garden were stables with two or three horses in them belonging to the two toffee nosed daughters and a garage that had two or three big cars. The chauffeurs accommodation was above the garage. Part of the garden was taken up by a full size tennis court, also a separate fruit and vegetable garden. The gardener and I took our own sandwiches and brew, but at three in the afternoon the cook come housekeeper would stand on the back entrance to the kitchen and ring a bell for me, the boy, to go and collect our bread and jam (home made with no butter) from the kitchen steps, I was not allowed to step inside.

It did not take long for me to get fed up with that job and before I stormed up to the big house to ask for my cards I had already given the gardener who was in his sixties a piece of advice, which was not to cow tow to these bloody snobs unless they were willing to pay you handsomely for acting as a serf. I also gave the cook/housekeeper a piece of my working class mind telling her that I wasn’t used to answering to whistles and bells, I wasn’t a dog.

GORDON JOINS THE MERCHANT NAVY

I started work the next day at the poultry farm next door to our house “Sirestan”.

We are now into 1942 and the war had turned to the East when Hitler started to invade Russia launching a Blitze-Krieg over the Polish border which took the Russians by complete surprise. On December 7th. 1941 Japan bombed Pearl Harbour, which was the American naval base in Hawaii, that of course brought America into the war which had now become a total World War.

It would be late spring when I started work at the poultry farm, and Gordon had been discussing with some of his mates about joining the Merchant Navy. There were adverts in the evening papers for radio operators to train at the Marconi Wireless School in Manchester from the age of sixteen. He and his mates talked about it but they didn’t do anything.

Gordon was still working at the Poynton brickyard and would be sixteen coming up to seventeen. The work at the brick yard was hard and dirty and he seriously started to think about joining the Merchant Navy. He had heard about the Gravesend Sea Training school. So he wrote off and got a reply with an application form to join the training ship T.S.Vindicatrix. He filled in the form and sent it back, my mother signing the consent form. They were so short of Merchant Seaman to crew the ships due to the enormous losses at sea, that they soon sent for him to join the “Vindicatrix” at Sharpness in Gloustershire, where he did his 12 weeks training in the catering department. Mum wasn’t very happy about him leaving home but she accepted it never thinking that the worst could happen.

The man who owned the poultry farm had retired from running his own grocers shop in Manchester. He had this detached house built on land that had belonged to the now defunct Norbury Colliery which consisted of about two acres of land between our house “Sirestan” and Trueman’s filling station and stretched from the main road down to the railway.

He built or had built four or five rows of chicken houses, they were all forty or fifty yards long and were well equipped, dividing every ten yards with sliding doors to separate the hens. They had perching areas and nesting boxes for them to lay their eggs. He emptied the boxes twice a day, he must have had two or three thousand hens in total and they were all free range. All his eggs he had to send to a Government packing station which enabled him to get all his corn and feed stuffs which of course was on ration. Considering that he was supposed to be retired and doing it as a hobby he certainly worked hard, seven days a week but, I think he was making a good living out of it and he was as tight as a fishes bum.

The locals were all registered with him for their egg ration, otherwise he was not supposed to sell anybody eggs. We of course were registered with him but even though I worked there we had to pay for our eggs, but I used to nick a few, hiding them in the hedge near our house.

Working at the poultry farm was handy with it being right next door, but it wasn’t a job for when you got a bit older he only wanted kids like me who he wouldn’t have to pay much. I think I got just over a £1 a week and for that I did five and a half days plus going back on a Saturday afternoon, Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon for a hour each time to help feed all the hens.

It would be during the summer of 1942 that Gordon would be doing his training on the Vindicatrix. After his training and passing his lifeboat exam (which was the only one that was compulsory) he came home for a short leave before reporting back to the Vindicatrix and then straight down to Avonmouth to join his first ship which was the S.S.Bristol City, a cargo ship which I think belonged to a City Line Shipping Company.

On this voyage they sailed across to New York in convoy, where they would load a full cargo for the U.K. sailing back in convoy to the Bristol Channel. He was away about three months. When he came home for some leave he brought all kinds of things home with him that he had bought in New York including a doll for Maureen who by then would be just over two years old (she tells me that she has still got the doll).

By the end of 1942 dad had got out of working in the brick kilns at the brick yard. It was a young mans job and he would be forty eight. He had a driving licence so they put him driving one of the brickyard wagons delivering the bricks all over the Manchester area and also going to the collieries to bring coal back for burning the bricks. It was a lot easier than working in the kilns but it was still hard work.

Gordon reported back to the seaman's pool at Salford Docks. The seaman's pool was like a labour exchange for Merchant Seaman and had been set up in 1940 in all the principle sea ports round the U.K. so they could direct the available personnel to the ships requiring crews. If you were on the pool you reported every day for any ships wanting crewing and for that you were paid equivalent to dole money. You were allowed to turn down the first two ships they offered you but, if you refused the third you were struck off the pool, lost your dole and probably draughted into the forces. (Which was a damn sight safer than going away to sea).

At this part of Gordon's life, I have researched every detail since I retired in 1991. He was sent by the Seaman’s Pool at Salford to join the S.S.Marcella which was berthed in Manchester Docks. He signed the ships articles on the 13th. November 1942, which was the official start of the voyage. The master was Captain Richard Downie from Glasgow and the owners were Kay's Transport Co. Ltd. of London.

Between the 12th. November 1942 and the 15th. January 1943 a total of 54 persons signed articles on the “Marcella”. Of these 54, 10 were discharged on various dates before the ship sailed from Manchester. One person by the name of Harry Howard from Bury failed to join (he must have had a premonition) another one who did not sign on because he had a ear infection was a chap called Harry Moore, whom by strange co-incidents I met when I joined the Salford Branch of the Merchant Navy Association after I retired in 1991. Harry and I became friends and we have stayed at each others houses. He told me The Marcella was a rust bucket and wasn’t fit to go to sea. That ear infection saved his life. He told me that he vaguely remembered Gordon.

However the Marcella left Manchester on the 15th. January with a total crew of 43 of these eight were D.E.M.S. gunners who were the professional ships gunners assisted by the crew.

On the way down the ship canal they had a few mishaps and breakdowns so they were delayed in the Mersey for repairs after which the ship sailed for Greenock on the River Clyde. Whilst at Greenock two more crew were discharged, one being the Bosun following an accident on board. The other was a 16 year old mess room boy from Sydney Australia. Two more were signed on to replace them. I don’t know the exact date they sailed from the Clyde but it must have been about the 6th.March 1943, they joined convoy No. OS 43 bound for South Africa.

On the 13th.March 1943 the Marcella along with three other ships were sunk by torpedoes fired by U107. There were no survivors from the Marcella which had a total crew of 45. All four ships were sunk in the same position given as 42 deg 45 north and 13 deg 31 west. The other ships were the S.S.Oporto of the Ellerman Line bound for Portugal, S.S. Clan Alpine of the Clan Line bound for the Mediterranean and the S.S. Sembilangen a Dutch ship destination unknown.

The U-Boat that sank these ships (U 107 ) was a very successful boat sinking a total of 43 ships. At the time the commander was a chap called Harald Gelhaus, taking over the command in September 1942 from the previous commander called Gunther Hessler who happened to be the son in law of Admiral Carl Doenitz who was the head of the German Navy, and who later on the 30th. April 1945 took over as the Fuehrer after Hitler shot himself. U-107 which was a type IX.B Submarine, was itself sunk on the 18th. August 1944 by a Sunderland flying boat Captained by L.H. Baveystock of the Australian Air Force. ( A report on this action is enclosed in this section).

It was not until a week after Gordon’s ship was sunk that a telegram arrived at our house from Kay’s of London, the ship owners, saying that they had been informed by the Admiralty that the Marcella had been sunk and that there were no survivors.

Mother got word to me at the poultry farm and I went home straight away. She was just in a heap sobbing her heart out. I managed to get in touch with Dad who came home straight away. We got in touch with Nancy, who of course was in the Army and she got leave to come home. Charlie was contacted and told. It wasn’t long before the whole of High Lane and Hazel Grove got to know. It of course made the local papers and the Vicar of Saint Thomas’s church at High Lane came down to see Mum. We were not really in his parish, we came under Hazel Grove but he offered to do a Memorial Service in the church that Sunday for Gordon who was just seventeen years and eight months old. He was the youngest person in Hazel Grove and High Lane to be killed in the war.

His name is recorded on the war memorials at High Lane and Hazel Grove. Also in Norbury Church, the Merchant Navy Memorial at Tower Hill, London and will eventually be included on the Vindicatrix War Memorial at Sharpness Church.

The National Arboretum was planted in Staffordshire as a Millennium project in 2000. Recording all the branches of the services who served in the second world war and the wars since.

There is a special Merchant Navy section with an oak tree planted for every merchant ship sunk during the second world war (over 2600). The family has paid to have one of these oak trees dedicated to Gordon and all the crew of the S.S. Marcella.

I of course was very close to Gordon and have never really got over losing him and I never will. If he had lived I think the whole of my life would have been completely different and, the day I am writing this (29/08/01 he would have been 76 and 7 week’s old. He has always been in my thought’s and he always will until the day I die.

It must have been after Gordon was killed that Nancy married Eric Milnes. His family lived in Heckmondwicke, Yorkshire. At this time Nancy had been discharged from the army on medical grounds and she went to live with Eric’s parents.

I must mention here that before Gordon sailed from the Clyde in the Marcella he wrote his very last letter to Nancy, who was still in the army then. It was censored with bits cut out and was written in pencil (no ball point pens in those days). I have got that letter now, it is with all my other treasured possessions in my Discharge Book. I have scanned the letter, a copy of which is included in this story.

It was while Nancy was living with Eric’s parents that their first baby was born, a little boy. She named him Gordon. Sadly she found him dead in his pram when just a few months old. Today they call it “cot death syndrome” but at that time they did not know what it was. That is why, I never gave any of my three boys the name of Gordon.

Nancy and Eric had another son about 1947 who they called Michael. He went on to have a career in the Royal Navy. I will come to Michael later in my story.

I DECIDED I WOULD JOIN THE MERCHANT NAVY.

It was then that I decided I was going to join the Merchant Navy. I didn’t say anything to my mum and in the mean time I had left the poultry farm and had started work at Simpson's. I got on very well there and although the work was a bit gruesome it suited me better. One of the younger end of the Stimfigs (their German name) family, “Young Billy” took me under his wing and wanted me to go to college to study pork butchering and meat inspection. I was actually keen on the idea but, at the back of my mind I wanted to go to sea and I told him this. He knew what had happened to Gordon, he talked to me about it but he didn’t try to put me off.

After my sixteenth birthday I was old enough to start fire watching at Simpson’s factory. Although we were not getting blitzed at the time, all factories had to have fire watchers on duty every night after sunset. It was good, we used to get 4/6d a night, which I think was paid by the government and there would be four of us on each night. There were camp beds up in the main office and we would take it in turns during the night to be up in case the sirens went.

When we turned up for fire watching we would sit in the downstairs office where there was a fire place with oven and we would sit playing cards until supper time and then we would go into the slaughter house where all the pigs that had been killed that day, were hung up and we would cut a couple of under cuts off them (pork fillet steak). There was no shortage of pork fat or dripping in the slaughter house so, with some potatoes out of one of the nearby fields the supper would be pork fillet steak with chips. What a feed! During war time when every thing was either in short supply or on ration. It usually worked out that my fire watch rota coincided with “Young Billie Stimphig’s” rota and he would bring some bottles of Red Tower Lager with him from their house. This helped to wash the fillet steak and chips down.

Working at Simpson’s was like working with one big happy family. There were the original four brothers who came over from Germany in 1900. The eldest one, Ernest who was the founder of the firm died long before I worked there. All spoke with a German accent and they all lived in the first three big houses further up on the opposite side of the A6, (one big detached and a pair of big semi detached).

The eldest one of the three remaining brothers was Uncle Willy, who was well in his seventies. He was the father of young Billy who was in his forties. Then there was Uncle Fred who was in his early seventies. He had a son (young Fred) who worked in the factory. He had been to University but he mucked in like they all did, doing the same work as everybody else, old and young alike. The youngest was Uncle John, he would be in his sixties. He had two sons but I think they were still at University. Young Ernest Simpson who was the son of the founder, lived in the big detached house on the opposite side of the factory going down High Lane. His name changed to Simpson when his father changed his name. He along with his younger brother (who had a club foot) worked in the offices upstairs.

They were all called by their first name but to distinguish between young and old you put Uncle in front of it. When I worked there, about forty to fifty worked there, (not counting the family). About twenty of them were women, who mostly worked in the sausage house or paloney, black puddings or brawn in the morning. All the killing of the pigs was done in the afternoon. It was done on a conveyer system and everybody had their own little part of it to do including the bosses and the women. Between 150 and 250 pigs would be killed in the afternoon. All day every day cattle wagons would be delivering pigs for slaughter. Those delivered after the days slaughtering had finished would be kept in pens at the back of the factory until next day.

Simpson's had a load of delivery vans delivering to the shops and bigger vans delivering bacon, ham, pork, tripe, pigs trotters, sausages etc. to wholesalers from where it was delivered all over the country. There were also a couple of their own pig lorries which were framed all round and were used for going round the smaller farms collecting the pigs. Young Billy would sometimes send me out with one of them to help the driver. We would also collect pigs from the goods yard at Stockport station. The pigs had come from different parts of the country in covered cattle wagons. One of us young lads would be sent with the lorries if we were collecting from the station. It was a tricky job loading them from a cattle wagon, you would drop the tail gate of the lorry, get the upper frame of the tail gate, get into the railway wagon and drive the pigs back from the door, and hold the frame across the doorway so the pigs could not get out. The driver would then open the wagon doors while I would be holding the frame to stop the pigs getting out until he had backed the lorry up to the door.

One time, one of the pigs did manage to nose its way out and fell on to the station yard. There was nothing we could do until we had got all the rest of the pigs loaded. By this time it had run down by the side of Stockport Infirmary and on to the main road. There wasn’t much traffic about in those days but there were the trams going up and down Wellington Road and pedestrians young and old flying all over the place getting out of the way of this pig, me and Dick Blaine the driver. He had a rope with a split ring on the end to put through its nose when we eventually caught it which was up one of the side streets near the Town Hall.

When we got it back to the lorry we had to lift it into the railway wagon again. We couldn’t lift it directly into the lorry because all the other pigs would have got out. Well, you imagine, me and this Dick Blaine who wasn’t much bigger than me, bodily lifting this live pig weighing about 160 pounds into the railway wagon. Then me holding it there while he backed the lorry up to the wagon again then the pair of us lifting it over the tail gate into the lorry with all the other pigs. We were both knackered when we got back to the factory and young Billy wanted to know where the hell we’d been. They had been waiting for us getting back with these pigs because they were scheduled for being slaughted that day

I have already mentioned that there would be about 20 women working there , I don’t think any of them would be below the age of thirty. It wasn’t the type of job for younger women. It was a bit of a culture shock to me hearing some of them talk, their language was a bit choice. There were two or three young lads working there but I was the youngest and became fair game for these women. Some of them were old enough to be my mother, even my grandmother. Anyway it happened that one day a couple of them grabbed me and dragged me into one of the big temperature controlled cold rooms, where the previous days kill were all hung up on greased rails. Some two or three other women were there including Mary Sweeney (Ken Sweeney’s mother) and they started to pull my overalls and trousers down. I had heard from the other lads what they did to you, so it was no surprise, I gave up the struggle, they smeared me all over with the grease off the rails.

It must have been towards the end of 1943 that I wrote off to the Vindicatrix. I knew the address with Gordon being there. Mother didn’t know anything about it until the application form came back, she then went berserk. Among the papers that came back was one that your doctor had to fill in and sign, for obvious reason’s and a consent form for your parent or guardian to sign, my mother was adamant that she wouldn’t sign it.

This was at the time that it had been announced by the Minister of Labour (Anuran Bevin) that conscripts at that time until further notice were going to be sent down the coal mine. The reason for this was because there was no new people starting down the mines and coal was one of the most essential industries to keep the power stations and factories going. Those conscripted for the mines were known as “Bevin Boys”.

I would only be sixteen and a half at the time so it was going to be another twelve months before I was called up, but I was able to convince my mother that when I was called up I would not have a choice I would automatically be sent down the mines.

She swallowed that one, I would not have actually been sent anywhere because I was on essential work, producing food, she did not realize that, so she signed for me to join the Vindicatrix.

I left Simpson’s at the beginning of April 1944. Young Billy Stimphig was sorry to see me go. I collected my last wage packet and then young Billy came down from the upstairs office with an envelope, when I opened it there was £10 in it with a little note to say it was towards buying my sea kit. ( We had to pay so much towards our kit when we left the Vindicatrix after training, but, it was subsidized by the Shipping Federation).

MY CAREER IN THE MERCHANT NAVY

THE T. S. VINDICATRIX

The Shipping Federation had sent me a travel warrant for the train journey from Stockport to Sharpness in Gloustershire. Thinking about it now, it didn’t seem at the time that I was going to a strange place, Gordon had been there in 1942 and I was following in his footsteps. They also sent me a list of things to take with me, like tooth brush and toothpaste. That was something my mum had to buy because I didn’t possess either, she also had to buy me some pyjamas, because along with underpants it was something that I never possessed, they had sent me a list of things I would be supplied with which included two pairs of underpants.

So with a little cardboard case which would be the same one Gordon went with, my Mother came down to Stockport station to see me off. When I got on the train there were a lot of tears, and I can still see her now waving until she was out of sight. It was a strange feeling, I had never been away from home before and I wasn’t sure what lay ahead. The date was 11th. April 1944.

The joining instructions they had sent me said that I got off the train at Temple Mead Station, Bristol and caught a small train to Sharpness. When I got of the train there were other lads looking lost like me. I got into conversation with a couple of them and when the train came there were about two dozen of us. After the train left the main line it was on a single track railway and stopped at every little station.

Finally arriving at Sharpness, which was a very small station, we two dozen lads joining the Vindicatrix alighted to be met by a chap in Merchant Navy square rig uniform with one ring. Also a lad with seaman's bobble hat on with seaman's smock and dungarees. He was the senior boy and ready for finishing his course. He really gave us some encouragement ( the next train back for you lot is in 12 weeks time, IF, your lucky), “Right” said the chap in uniform follow me.

It was about a 1/4 mile walk from the station to the entrance of the site where they were building huts, which would eventually house all the trainees and increase the number of boys they could train, increasing the space on board the Vindicatrix for training by doing away with bed deck. It was a rough building site that we entered and a couple of the huts were already in use as well as one for ablutions and one for administration.

The new intake (that was us) were taken into one of the huts which had metal beds either side with three blankets and a pillow on each, plus a small locker at the side. The chap in the uniform, who we found out was one of the instructors, told us to dump our stuff on one of the beds and to follow him. We all looked a bewildered lot and dutifully followed him. That is when we got our first glimpse of the “Vindi,” lying on the opposite side of the canal.

It would now be about 5-00 p.m. and we were coming into contact with the existing trainees. Some dressed in these bobble hats with smocks with dungaree trousers (deck trainees) and others with striped jackets and black trousers (catering trainees).

To get to the other side of the canal was down some steps and cross over some lock gates (still there but never been opened for years) and on to the tow path of the canal. It was like running the gauntlet with all these other kids laughing and jeering at us, “you’ll regret it”, “turn round and run while you've still got chance”, “ got any fags mate”, “have you brought any grub with you”.

We approached the “Vindi” from the stern. There were two gangways coming down from the ship. We were taken to the second one. The instructor who was with us told us that this was the only gangway the trainees were allowed to use except when bringing your kit on board or when you were leaving after your training (which seemed a long way off). The gangway we were standing at the bottom of was suspended about ten feet from the entrance in the ships side, and to get up the other ten feet there was some knotted ropes that we had to climb up. Our training started from here. While we were climbing these ropes the other trainees, some on the top deck of the ship, others on the canal side were all laughing and jeering at us and remarks like “have you shit yourself yet”? and “ don’t start crying, your mummy’s a long way away”.

All these voices were all in strange accents, Scotch, Geordie, Liverpool, Welsh, Irish, Birmingham, Cockney, they were from all over the British Isles. Anyway where we boarded was the mess deck and we were led to the after end of it and there were a couple of long trestle tables with plates laid out with some cold ham and something else on them. One of the catering officers with some trainee stewards were stood guarding them. Instructions were yelled out for us to sit down and start our very first Vindicatrix meal. When the officer left we were immediately surrounded by half the trainees including the stewards who had been standing there supposed to be guarding the food. “You don’t want that do you?”, “I'll just help you with a bit of that”, “give us that kid”, “have you any fags?”, “ have you any money? lend us a tanner”.

I don’t think any of us were really hungry but the food on those plates disappeared quicker than you could say Jack Robinson. Another officer came, “right, follow me”, (which we did in quick time, glad to get away from those vultures), down a companionway to the deck below. where the quartermasters stores were. First we were all given a kit bag, then all given the basic stuff like vests, underpants, towel etc. Then depending on whether you were deck or catering you were given the appropriate gear. From what I can remember I got a seaman's smock, dungarees, seaman’s jersey, bobble hat, sea boots with appropriate socks, deck shoes, souwester and oil skins. After signing for them we were led back up to the hut by one of the officers.

Back in the hut we were lined up by our bunks and another officer with two stripes of gold braid came in with a clip board (we learned afterwards that this guy was the purser). The clip board obviously carried our individual details, like education and academic qualification. He shouts this lads name out and he steps forward and says something to him that we could not hear. “Right” this Officer says, “this trainees name is “so and so” and he is appointed your bosun”. In other words he had been made in charge of us.

We were then left to our own devices, sorting the kit out that we had been issued with and trying it on. Most of mine nearly buried me. We marked our kit with indelible pencils and by this time we had started talking to each other, “where are you from then?”, “I’m from Brum” “where’s that?”, “Birmingham, where you from?” “Stockport”, “don’t know where that is”. Yes you’ve guessed it, he was a bit thick and you know what they say, “Birds of a feather flock together”. So we temporarily became pals and went out to explore before curfew at 9-00 p.m..

There are lots of things that I have forgotten about my time on the “Vindi”. I can remember that first night was very strange, in an unfamiliar bed in a strange place, with a lot of strangers. We were all young lads of sixteen in the same situation. Before I dropped of to sleep I did hear one or two snivels, obviously some were feeling homesick and lonely especially after the welcome we got from the boys already there. The following Monday we would be doing exactly the same to the next intake.

The first morning was a bit of a culture shock. At six o’clock (or 0600 hrs.) the lights in the hut went on and down the hut came the night duty officer, swinging this length of rope with a knot on the end. “Right you lucky lads, Drop your cocks and grab your socks, line up outside in fifteen minutes, with your P.E. kit on ( vest, shorts and deck shoes”). It was April and at six o’clock in the morning it could be bloody cold stood outside in P.E. gear. One of the other instructors turns up with a bike, shouts, “follow me” and he (cheeky sod) jumps on his bike and leads us out of the camp, round part of Sharpness Docks and some other country lanes. It seemed like five miles but it would only be two or three. When we got back, all change into our sea gear, deck boys (which I was), into polo neck black jumper, smock, dungarees, bobble hat and deck shoes. Stewards into their piss jackets (as they became known) black trousers and deck shoes. Then make your bunks up and clean and polish everything in the hut.

After that down to the ship. Deck boys doing various cleaning jobs including cleaning the canal side toilets. This was before breakfast, which was a good thing because if you had gone into the toilets to clean them after breakfast, you would have thrown up.

The toilets were on the canal side, (and are still there, with a plaque on the wall telling today’s visitors that there was a training ship moored there for 27 years and trained over 70.000 boys for the Merchant Navy, a lot of whom lost their lives in the second world war). On the other side of the canal wall is the estuary of the River Severn, which of course is tidal. When the tide came in twice a day it would wash all the effluent (shit) out of the pit and take it down river and out to sea for the fishes to feed on.

By breakfast time 0800 hrs. the whole of the ship would have been cleaned down then it was assembly on the main deck ( Boat Deck). Lined up in your intake week and then filing down the companion way to the mess deck, collecting your breakfast as you passed the galley hatch. Breakfast was always a bowl of porridge (burgoo) with a couple of thick slices of bread, one with margarine, the other might have marmalade or something on it. Walking on to your allotted mess table where your mess steward would have put knives forks and spoons out with a mug at each place. There was a metal pot which the steward would have put on the table, which was supposed to represent tea. Once a week on a Sunday you would get a hard boiled egg. You could barter your egg for a fag if you were an habitual smoker. They told us that the food on the “Vindi” was equal to the worst you would get on any British ship, with food like we got even the rats would have jumped ship. After breakfast the instructors took over. There were class rooms on the Tween Deck and Orlop Deck. I found the instruction we received very interesting. Among the many things we were instructed in were knots and splices, rigging of derricks, semaphore signalling, and the Morse code. Cargo working with derricks, lifeboat launching, boat pulling, and boxing the compass, Handling a boat under sail was compulsory for Catering as well as Deck in order to pass your lifeboat exam, which was the one exam you had to pass before you could leave. The lad from Birmingham who I said I made a pal of when we first arrived, did not pass his lifeboat exam and was kept back

9; 9; 9; 9; 9; 9; 9; 9; During my first two weeks, we lived in one of the two huts on the camp site. Then transferred to the bed deck on the Vindi which was the Orlop Deck with port holes just above the water line. It was very cramped, as I remember the bunks were two high and in a block of four, making eight bunks to a block along with eight small lockers. I had learned from one of the lads on a previous intake, that when you were transferred to sleep on the ship to grab yourself a top bunk. It did mean that you had to climb up and jump down but, the advantage was that there could be accidents from lads in the top bunk like being sick or peeing in bed. Then the guy underneath copped for it. It was very cramped with probably 100 to 150 lads berthed on the bed deck so it was always very stuffy and smelly and the port holes were always open, being the only means of ventilation. So you didn’t crab a bunk near the port holes because if a ship came through the locks from Sharpness to head up the canal to Gloucester it would make a wave which would ripple down to the part of the canal where we were berthed and flood through the port holes.

The bed decks were locked most of the day, but were open at certain times. Although all the lads came from different backgrounds, it wasn’t known for there to be any thieving. We were all in the same boat (same boat, pardon the pun) none of us had anything.

There was always an issue of cocoa about nine at night. On Sundays, it was always Vindi soup made from leftovers in the galley. Cabbage leaves, carrots, potatoes and any other peelings along with all the dirt they were grown in. A lot of the lads didn’t bother with it, usually those who had been there a few weeks. The recent intakes would relish it, after the fourth week you wouldn’t touch it, reason why?. It would be doctored with a very strong dose of senapods or some other laxative and it would start working about midnight. Lads all jumping out of their bunks, up two companionways to get to the buckets kept in the Fo'castle for use at night time. A lot of them wouldn’t make it that far so they would be slipping and sliding on the excrement (shit). You never touched the Vindi soup again while you were there, but you never mentioned it to the coming intakes, let them find out for themselves.

After you berthed aboard the ship your morning run consisted of running to the railway swing bridge and back. At that time the railway continued on after it left Sharpness station, over the estuary of the river Severn, supported by pillars across to Lydney on the other side of the estuary, but, sometime in the sixties a ship going up the river crashed into one of the pillars, so, they pulled the lot down, I think Doctor Beeching had closed that line by then anyway. From the ship to the swing bridge was about three miles there and back, and at 0630 hrs. in May it was still bloody cold.

While you were training on the Vindi your only source of income was the dole, unless your parents sent you some money, in my case they didn’t. The chap from the local dole office would come aboard once a week and we would all line up in the t’ween deck to receive and sign for our dole. You received your dole money from the guy from the labour exchange. Sat next to him would be the Purser who would take so much back off you for your bed and board. You might be left with about six shillings. I smoked, but not a lot, fags would be about sixpence for ten. Those who smoked a lot were always out of fags and money, so you would sub them a fag at a penny a time and when the dole was paid out you were after them for the pennies they owed you. You did make a 40% profit on the deal, even those who didn’t smoke bought fags and when the smokers ran out they would flog them at a penny a time for the profit.

The only place we could go in Sharpness for relaxation was the Mission to Seamen (Flying Angel) where there was billiards, table tennis, darts etc.. The local ladies would run it and they would make cakes and biscuits and things that we could buy very cheaply.

Like I said it was spring when I was there and so the evenings were pleasant. For the thick heads (which I was bordering on one) we would sit around on the grass studying what we had been taught and revising ready for the weekly exam. The main thing was to get through your Lifeboat exam, which was taken at the end of your course, otherwise you were kept back until you passed. Like a lot of things in my life I have found some things hard to absorb and then all of a sudden the penny drops and I have got it. It was like that with the lifeboat exam, I struggled with it, a lot of it you learned parrot fashion like, naming all the equipment in the boat and where it was stored, the procedure for swinging the boat out from the ship and lowering it into the water, the correct procedure for pulling away from the ship, stepping the mast enabling you to set the sails, (a bit difficult in a crowded lifeboat with the possibility of there being women and children on board). Once you had set the sails you might be the only one aboard who knew how to sail and that was the hardest part of the lifeboat exam. You had a small model of a boat on the table and an arrow to show you which way the wind was coming from and, you had to tack the boat from “A” to “B” using your compass and sailing no closer than six compass points to the wind, any closer than that and you could capsize. That was the part I had difficulty with but, once the penny dropped I had got it, and, I have never forgotten it since.

Boat pulling was something we did regularly on the canal. There were always a couple of boats in the ships davits which we always practised lowering and there were three tied up on the canal bank. Some had tillers for steering and a couple had steering oars. There would be about 12 of us in a boat and we took our turn either at the tiller or steering oar. Usually there would be an instructor in each boat or there again we would take it in turns to be in charge. One day we were on the canal, three or four boats, and on one of the steering oar boats, this lad who was the same week as us was on the steering oar, which you worked as you stood up in the stern of the boat. He pulled on the oar to alter the course of the boat and he caught a crab, (a slang term for missing the water with the oar). He overbalanced and fell in the water. The canal would be about twelve to fourteen foot deep in the middle and he went down and the lads in his boat were waiting for him to surface so they could grab him, but he didn’t come up. One of the instructors shouted to a lad on the bank to raise the alarm. Two or three of the instructors came rushing off the ship carrying grappling hooks. They are like a small anchor with a piece of rope attached which had four hooks on it. They got into the boats with us on the oars and started dragging the bottom of the canal where this lad had gone over the side. Eventually one of the grappling hooks anchored onto something, when they pulled it up it had caught in this lads mouth. It was a horrible sight, he was pulled ashore on the canal bank but he was dead. He was like us, he was just seventeen. His parents came down and they arranged his funeral in his home town somewhere in the Midlands, that poor lad never got away to sea. It was all hushed up and I have never met anyone at the reunions who knew anything about it. After that whenever the boats were being worked everyone had to wear a life jacket. If you look at any of the pictures in Roy Dereham’s books you see them all wearing life jackets when in the boats.

All the time I was on the Vindi I never had the feeling of being completely alone, Gordon had been there in 1942 and every where I went I had the feeling of treading in his footsteps. I knew he had done all the things I was doing (except he trained in catering) and this gave me the courage to stick it out no matter how hard it got.

It was a practise for the lads to carve their initials somewhere on the ship. If you were caught in the act you were in dead trouble. The favourite place was on the figure head at the bow. To reach it you had to climb over the Taffe rail and sit astride Mrs.Drysdale, who, apparently the figure head was supposed to be. There was no more room on it for initials but, among the many that were there I could make out G.J.S..

The figure head was salvaged before the Vindi went to the scrap yard and it was discovered by Roy Derham just before it disintegrated into dust. We old Vindi boys contributed towards the three thousand pounds it cost to have it restored to its original. It now has pride of place in the entrance to the Maritime Museum at Gloucester, but there are now no initials on it.

I finished my training on the Vindicatrix on the 3rd. June 1944 and along with other papers and instructions, I was given my Seaman's Record Book and Continuous Certificate Of Discharge, which has my seaman's number on it (R.307363). The first entry in it is “GRAVESEND SEA SCHOOL, T.S.VINDICATRIX, Off. No.102634, R.T.2172. 11 APR 1944/ 3 JUN 1944. DECK BOY./ TRAINING/ VERY GOOD/VERY GOOD, Signed J.F.Duguid, Master.

I, along with all the other lads who had completed their training, with kit bags over our shoulders, waved goodbye to the Vindicatrix and all the lads we left behind. Full of the joys of spring we headed for Sharpness station.

Those 12 weeks we had spent on the Vindicatrix had changed us from boys into mature young men. When we meet now at the reunions we all agree that it set our standard for life. A big percentage of those lads have done well for themselves. Some stayed at sea and rose to the top of the profession becoming ships Captains, or head of catering in the big shipping companies. The biggest majority left the sea as the industry declined, found jobs ashore and eventually worked for themselves in their own business, like myself.

I was at home for a couple of weeks, drawing my dole and earning a few bob down at Simpson’s (where they were pleased to see me). I then reported to the seaman's pool at Liverpool. The seaman's pool was the equivalent of the labour exchange but was for seaman only. The pool, as it was known came into being at the beginning of the war to have a reserve of qualified seaman to replace the many thousands who were going to the bottom of the sea with their ships. New ships were being mass produced in the U.K. but mainly in America. They all of course needed crews, and so they were drawn from the pool.

MY FIRST TRIP TO SEA

My first ship was Dutch. It seemed that there was a surplus of deck boys so they asked me if I would go as mess boy on this Dutch ship. To me I would have gone as the ships cat to get away to sea, so I joined this Dutch ship, which at the time was in dry dock in Cammell Lairds in Birkenhead. She was a dirty big 14,000 ton, seven hatch cargo ship, originally German. They had to hand it over to the Dutch after the first World War along with other German ships to replace the ships they had sunk belonging to the Dutch, who were a neutral country in the First World War.

The ship was named S.S. Stad Vlardingen. I joined her with two other ex Vindi lads, one was deck boy and the other was signed on as the gunners mess boy. The gunners mess boy had a dead easy job. There were 12 D.E.M.S. gunners, all army Royal Artillery Maritime Regiment. Their accommodation was in the poop after deck and they messed in the same accommodation. This gunners mess boy, who was from somewhere on the Wirral, only had to collect their meals from the galley amidships in dicksies and then wash up and keep the accommodation clean. The other lad who was the deck boy, he was called the seamans Peggy. He had to do the same for all the deck crew. They all lived in the Fo'castle, but he did get to do some deck work. I had the worst job as the deck Officers and Engineers mess boy. Eating in the mess was the Second, Third and Fourth mate, the Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth engineers, all of whom were Dutch, and the three wireless operators who were English.

When I joined I didn’t have a clue about what I was supposed to do. I had been trained on deck. I knew nothing about laying tables or washing up and on top of that I had four engineers cabins to look after and a cabin on the boat deck with two of the wireless operators in. My duties included making all their bunks, filling the water cans for each cabin for the wash basins and emptying the dirty water from underneath over the side.

The catering crew on board consisted of the Chief Steward, who was Dutch, and was a complete bastard who could hardly speak any English. The Second Steward who was English, who was a yes man and right up the Chief Stewards and Skippers back sides, an Assistant Steward who was Dutch, he hated the sight of me, because he had to show me how to do everything, and then there was me (poor Sod) on my first trip to sea and being treated like a galley slave. The other catering staff was the Chief and second Cooks who were Dutch and a big black West African, about thirty years of age, who was the galley boy. They worked hard in the galley cooking for a total of about eighty crew including gunners. The mess room that I looked after was right next to the galley on the starboard side, and I got on well with all three who worked in the galley. I have always remembered the Chief Cook, he must have been about sixty, only small with a hump on his back and he talked a little English with a heavy Dutch accent. He had been at sea all his life. If he heard any of these Dutch officers and engineers swearing at me in Dutch, he would come charging into the mess room swearing at them in Dutch, then turn to me and just say O.K.- O.K. He would come into the little pantry I had for washing up in and help me. He would put two meals up for himself and me and we would eat them in the mess room when the others had gone. He treated me like a son which I don’t think he ever had.

We sailed from the Mersey and joined a convoy across the Atlantic to New York. We didn’t know where we were going till after we sailed. It was a big convoy with about sixty ships in it. The weather to me on my first trip seemed to be a bit rough. It took a time to get my sea legs but, I was never sick, it must have been towards the end of August so the winds were starting to get up.

One of my jobs was taking morning coffee and afternoon tea down to the engineer on watch in the engine room down at the bottom of the ship. It must have been forty to fifty feet to get down to the engine room, down these steel companion ways with hand rails, to hold onto with one hand and the coffee in the other. The ship would be pitching and rolling, I would be hanging on vertical with one hand and when she rolled the other way I would be practically lying on the companion way. I didn’t like going down there, when I got to the bottom I would dash over to the control, where the engineer was stationed, put the drink down and dash up the steps of the companion way as quick as I could, in case there was a torpedo come through the bulkhead. One day I had just got to the bottom of the companion way when there was a couple of very loud bangs, I dropped the tea and was up like a shot out of the engine room and on to the deck. I said to somebody on deck “what was that bang”, the reply was that it was one of the escorts you could just see about three miles away on the horizon. It had dropped a pattern of depth charges and then I could hear some very dull thuds followed by plumes of water bubbling up, but down in the engine room it sounded terrific. Apparently it must have got a sounding on something and dropped a pattern of depth charges.

In 1944 we were apparently winning the battle of the Atlantic, although we didn’t know that, and there were still a lot of “U” Boats about, but, they were getting fewer.

We eventually arrived in New York after about 16 days at sea. To my knowledge we had not lost any ships. We first of all anchored in the Hudson River and then we went alongside a coal bunkering wharf on the New Jersey side which was across the river from Manhattan. We were able to get a sub on our wages. I got $10 (it was four $ to the £ then). The deck boy, gunners boy and I ( the three Vindi boys) got the ferry across to New York, (they call it the Big Apple now). Picture the scene, three seventeen year old lads, seeing all the bright lights of New York after five years of the black out. We went down the nearest tube station, after paying our ten cents to get through the barrier. The New York underground is vast, after we had sorted out how to get to Times Square and got on the right platform, there were all these machines with all kinds of sweets and chocolate bars in them at five cents a time, we couldn’t get the five cents in quick enough.

We came up out of the tube at Times Square and just stood there in amazement. The bright lights, the neon signs flashing in and out, which we had never seen before even before the war. Walking down Times Square looking at all the shops which were still open at eight, nine o’clock at night. Penny arcades, (reminded me of Matlock Bath), photo booths where you could have your photo taken behind a false bar with a picture of the New York skyline behind you. We three had ours taken, they were developed in a few minutes, I had that picture for years but I don’t know what happened to it. Walking down these crowded streets with milk parlours and soda fountains opening on to the streets. “HEY, are you kids Limies?, come over here and have a soda, it’s on the house”. “HEY, you English kids, are you Merchant Marine? come here, have a hot dog, it’s on the house”. They treated us like heroes we couldn’t pay for anything.

When it came for us finding the way back to the ship we hadn’t got a clue where it was. We only knew it was in some place called Hoboken which was across the river, at a coal wharf. We got down to the tube station, looked at the map of the New York underground which just mesmerised us. After asking directions, we got on this tube train which set off clattering along, we had no idea where to get off. When we asked someone we found out we had gone way past. They said the best thing to do was go up on the street and get a cab. On the street we hailed one of these yellow cabs. “Where you guys want to go”? When we told him he said “yeah jump in, say are you boys off an English ship”?, “no, we are off a Dutch ship” “ you sure talk like Limies”, “we are, but we are crewing this Dutch ship”.

He seemed highly delighted to have us in his cab, as if we were celebrities. When he got us to the ferry we asked him how much, he said, “ this rides on me, thanks boy’s and good luck”. We got back on board and we had hardly spent any of our $10, except the few dimes on the tube, the sweet machines and the photograph in Times Square but we had a great night.

The next day, after taking on coal bunkers, we anchored out in the river. Taking on water and replenishing the stores. We were waiting for a convoy so we stayed anchored for a few days. A launch came alongside, with the Flying Angel flag on its staff,(Mission to Seaman). The Padre came aboard with a couple of his female volunteers. They said they would send the launch out at six o’clock to pick up as many as wanted to go to the mission. We weren’t going to miss this, so about 20 of us, including some of the gunners, were ready and waiting. At the jetty was the mission’s own bus which took us to this big place just off Times Square.

It was certainly busy, there were always a lot of ships in New York. We were greeted by this padre and loads of middle aged ladies. Thinking about it now they must have represented all the different religions, including Jews, and these people have a sixth sense of guessing what religion you are and they are not often wrong. There was a coffee bar with sandwiches and cakes. We just went over and asked for what we wanted, all free. There were billiard tables, table tennis and all kinds of other activities going on, and tables where you could go up and get tickets for certain shows on different nights, all free.

We lads had heard about this Radio City where they did these live radio shows. This was on Broadway, and we got tickets. What an experience in those days. Now it goes on all the time for these TV. shows. It was like a big theatre with microphones everywhere. You had to be quiet until somebody held up a board up with instructions to LAUGH, or CLAP, or CHEER. The shows last for about an hour with live commercial breaks every ten minutes, voice only of course. At the end you could stay and be part of the next show if you want. It was there that I saw Gene Kruper (who was he?). He was the worlds most famous kit percussion player (drummer). These kids today think they are good but he was magic.

We went ashore to the mission a few nights after that and these Americans would turn up and shout, “I can take three or four” depending on how big his car was. This particular guy got us three lads and drove us round Manhattan pointing out the different places. Then he drove across one of the bridges and out into an urban area to his house where his wife was waiting with a table full of food and drink. The Americans could not do enough for us, especially us young lads.

15 TH. SEPTEMBER 2001

It is ironic really that while I have been doing this part of my life story, that today all over the civilized world it has been a very sad day with people remembering the events that happened in New York on Tuesday the 11th. September (this week). Terrorists high jacked four aircraft in America and deliberately flew two of them into the twin skyscrapers of the World Trade Centre in down town New York. Another one into the Pentagon in Washington, the other crashing before it could hit anything. Literally thousands of people have been killed (the total may never be known). There have been services every where in the world and people standing in three minutes silence at 11-00 A.M. according to their time zone. VERY, VERY SAD.

I have never forgotten my first visit to New York and I have been back there a few times since, even been there with Liz on holiday.

___________________________ 9;

We sailed from New York in a convoy with American escorts heading south down the east coast and we were informed by the captain that we were bound for Cuba. This was no surprise to the Dutch crew as they had been there on the previous voyage.

We visited three ports in Cuba, loading sugar at each one. It was of course the first tropical country that I had visited and at that time was very American orientated but, rather primitive by American standards.

My two Vindi colleges were able to get an afternoon off to go and explore one of these ports. My friend the cook told me to go ashore with them, he said he would see to the evening meal in the mess. We got the local mode of transport on the road outside where the ship was tied up. It was a very old American Dodge truck converted into a bus without any windows, which it didn’t need anyway in that climate. A mile or so down this dusty track and we arrived at a village which was as far as the bus went.

We started to look around the place. There were gaily covered bars which opened out onto the dirt street with lots of signs advertising Bacardi Rum and loads of Coka Cola signs. ( Coka Cola was new to us. We had seen it on American films at home and we had tasted plenty of it in New York. It didn’t come to the U.K. until after the war). It was coincidental at the time because the popular hit tune was “Drinking Rum & Coka Cola”. Bacardi Rum didn’t come to the U.K. until after the war. We sampled it with plenty of ice and it went down a treat, none of us remember how we got back to the ship but we certainly had bad heads for a few days after that and that is why I can’t remember much about Cuba, although I went back there again a few years after that on the Eurymedon a Blue Funnel Line ship.

After leaving Cuba we headed for Key West which is at the end of the Florida Keys, to await a convoy sailing north back to New York. We had of course loaded a full cargo of sugar in Cuba (14.000 tons) for bringing home to the U.K.. It was a few days before a convoy was assembled and so we were anchored off. When the convoy was ready to leave we were appointed the Commodore ship.

The Commodore of a convoy always has with him his own signallers to signal any orders to the ships in the convoy. If it is general orders to all ships it is done with signal flags on the flag halyards going up to the mast. If it is for individual ships, it is usually by Aldis Lamp or it could be Semaphore if it is to the escorts.

It was an American coastal convoy with American escorts and the commodore and six signallers (two each watch) were all American. The Commodore was accommodated amidships and dined with the captain in the saloon. The signallers accommodated somewhere, but, they dined in the officers mess, more work for Ron. The Dutch Chief Steward said I would get paid overtime for it, well at least that was something seeing as it doubled my work load.

The signallers were all in the American Navy and they were far better paid than us or our Royal Navy colleges, but they were a decent lot and were very good to this young English kid who was looking after them. When they were leaving after we arrived back in New York, (without any incidents) in typical American style they had a whip round for me. It was more than a months pay and I had only had them for a week.

We took on more bunkering coal, stores and water and loaded crated aircraft and parts which was deck cargo. I managed to get ashore with the other Vindi lads and I bought some presents for home. I can’t remember what they were now but, I do remember that if you went to America the thing to bring back apart from sugar and things like that, were ladies Fully Fashioned Nylon Stockings. This was imprinted on my mind and I made sure I brought some back. I remember I brought more back than my mates because I had my whip round from the Yankee signallers.

It was two or three days in New York and we were joining a convoy sailing for home. Once again we were appointed commodore ship only this time it was a Royal Navy commodore and signallers, the same routine, six extra to feed in the mess only this time, the Royal Navy does not allow ratings to dine with the officers, so, the Royal Navy signallers had to have their own sitting. (even more work for Ron), but, with the promise of more overtime from the B-----d Dutch Chief Steward, I slaved away.

The outward bound voyage had been without incident, except for a few depth charges being dropped but, homeward bound it was a different story. It was late November or early December 1944. It was cold but the sea and visibility were not bad and it was either two or three days out from southern Ireland that the fireworks started in the long winter nights. I was asleep in the cabin I shared with three others on the main deck when this bloody big bang went off. The alarm bells started ringing, so out of the bunk dressed and life jacket on, we boy ratings didn’t have any action stations, so it was up on the boat deck, ready to lower the boats if the order was given.

We could see that one ship had been hit on the port side, probably a tanker because there was a hell of a fire and things were exploding on her. It was sometime after that, that another one copped for it, it didn’t catch fire like the other one but it looked as though she was in trouble. I was under that lifeboat all night, along with a few others including my Vindi mates. Stand down came when daylight started to appear over the horizon. During the night the Commodores signallers had been busy flashing course alterations on the Aldis lamp but, as daylight came the convoy seemed fairly secure but, there had been a couple of casualties and the escorts were still flying around on the horizon dropping the occasional depth charge.

The next night the alarm bells went again. The escorts were dropping depth charges away off but as far as I know they didn’t sink any more, but that was another night under the lifeboat. The next day we rounded the southern tip of Ireland and that was it, straight up the Irish Sea for the bar light ship and into the river Mersey. It was great to see England, three nights before I thought I was never going to see it again.

We docked in Liverpool, I don’t remember which dock, some port officials came aboard. Immigration, Customs and somebody from the Dutch consulate. One of the ships officers came round with pay slips(account of wages). I must mention here that my pay was £5 per month plus £5 danger money. Boy ratings only got £5 per month danger money, every body above boy rating got £10 per month, so our lives were only worth half as much as the rest. I had made a £4 a month allotment to my mother which left me with £6 a month, out of which were deductions for cigarettes and sweets etc. from the ships slop chest less my $10 sub in New York.

It must have been the chap from the Dutch Consul who brought the money aboard to pay us off. We had to queue up in the saloon to be paid off but, when I looked at my pay slip there was no overtime on it, so I went to see the chief steward. He as good as told me, in his Dutch accent that I hadn’t done any overtime and that I was a lazy bastard, that was it. I got the balance of my pay, went to my cabin, packed my kit bag and was heading for the gangway. The second mate(who was head of the mess room) saw me and asked me where I was going. My reply was, “off this bloody ship”, he said “you can’t go yet your relief hasn’t arrived”, I told him what he could do and walked off the ship.

Now on a British registered ship when you sign on, you hand over your seamans record book which is kept by the ships captain and it is stamped up and signed by him and the shipping master in the shipping office where you pay off. On foreign registered ships you apply for a paper discharge which you take to the shipping office and it is transferred into your book. I didn’t apply for my paper discharge after the few choice words I had had with the chief steward and the second mate and that is why there is no record of the Stad Vlardingen in my discharge book.

I will explain here the importance of a seamans discharge book. It has two purposes, one, is that it acts as an identity certificate or passport, secondly it carries a complete record of all the ships you sail on, together with your ability and your conduct. Every member of the crew has, and carries a discharge book. With deck officers it also records the details of their certificates and with engineers it records their certificates in either steam or motor driven vessels. There are two spaces by the side of each ship you sign on. and in those spaces they are stamped at the shipping office when you pay off with either “Very Good, Very Good” for conduct and ability or D.R/ D.R. which stands for “Decline to Report. Which is a bad character report and D.R in both or one of the columns is your ticket ashore. During the war I don’t think anybody got a D.R.. They would have taken you on if you had just come out of prison after killing somebody because they were so short of mugs to go away to sea and get themselves killed. So I most likely would not have got a bad discharge from the Dutch ship.

THE SEAMANS POOL AT SALFORD DOCKS.

Not having a record in my seamans discharge book relating to the Stad Vlardingen I cannot refer to any dates but, it was either November or December 1944 when I paid off. I had some leave before I reported back to the seamans pool, which would be after Christmas 1944, this time at Salford Docks, which was then opposite the main dock gate on Trafford Road. It has all long since been demolished along with all the docks. It is now a very upmarket place to live with multiplex cinemas, restaurants and fast food outlets. The new Lowry Centre and the War Museum of the North West due to open in 2002. A very different place from the dirty grim dock area with the scruffy dock side pubs, streets of small back to back houses and kids playing in their worn and patched clothes with sparking clogs on their feet. The one thing you didn’t see then which today would be prevalent was graffiti. For one thing there was no spray paint and also the buildings were so grimy the spray wouldn’t stick.

It was while I was on the pool at Salford that I, along with a dozen others, was sent to the gunnery school which was situated in a big dome, like a big tent, inside Salford docks. The course lasted about two weeks and was run by the army, with Royal Artillery instructors. It was interesting and useful to have a gunnery certificate. We were instructed in stripping down and cleaning twin Lewis guns, which were usually on each side of the bridge housing. Oerlikons, which fired 20 mm shells (there were about six Oerlikons on the average cargo ship, three each side) and the big 4” gun which was carried on the poop deck aft. The course consisted of theory for about ten days and then we were taken to Ainsdale beach near Southport for the practical, firing live ammunition out to sea.

Early in the war all merchant ships were fitted with guns and the average ship carried twelve gunners, usually Royal Navy but sometimes Army. The professional gunners kept watches at sea besides maintaining the guns and keeping the ready use ammunition lockers stocked. The main magazine was down below the poop deck. If we went into action, six of the gunners would man the 4” aft along with the supply of ammunition from the magazine. The rest would be either up fora’d on the 50mm. Bofor gun or the twin Lewis guns on the bridge. The rest of the guns would be manned by the ships crew who had certificates. I mention all this because I never ever fired the guns at any enemy but, I had a hell of an experience and a good laugh on the next ship I sailed on.

Here I must give a description of the ships that were built during the war (1939/45). America did not come into the war until the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour (the American naval base in Hawaii) on the 7th. December 1941, but, they had started building ships for us to a British design in their existing shipyards prior to the U.S.A. coming into the war. We were losing so many ships it was impossible for British yards to keep up with the rate of sinking. They were being built, but, not paid for under a lease-lend agreement that we had with America. There also were ships being built in Canada and the U.K. to the same design. They all had prefix names. The ones built in America had the prefix name “Ocean” the ones built in Canada had the prefix “Fort” and the ones in the U.K. were prefixed “Empire”. They were all coal burning ships. In 1942 the Americans built a lot more shipyards on both the east and west coasts. The biggest yards were built by the Kaiser Corporation which was one of the biggest engineering firms in America. The ships they built at these yards were also to a British design but they were all oil burners and were known as “Liberty” ships.

The Americans built these ships for themselves and they all received names of notable American citizens. In 1943 they started transferring these Liberty ships over to the different European countries that were involved in the war that had lost ships. Britain got the most of them and they were given new names that all began with Sam. (Samoa, Samarkland and so on). Most people believed that they carried the name Sam because they were loaned by the Americans (Uncle Sam) but it was actually the British construction design name “S.A.M.” which stood for “Superstructure Aft. of Midships”

The Liberty ships were designed to be prefabricated in these massive shipyards they were constructing. The ships were welded together, not riveted. When they first started building these ships in 1941, it was taking about three months to build one, but, by 1943 they had got the building time down to just a few days and with all the new shipyards that had been constructed on the East and West coast of America they were turning out about 15 to 20 ships a week, which was faster than the Germans could sink them at the height of the U Boat campaign.

In 1944 another new design came out, which were slightly bigger and were much faster at 16 knots. the Liberty ships maximum speed was 11 knots. These ships names all ended with a suffix “Victory” and were known as Victory Boats. I happened to sail in four different types of these war time built ships which I will relate to in due course. (AM I BORING YOU).?

SOME SOCIAL LIFE

I am actually racing ahead of myself here. Before I joined the Merchant Navy, we lads who lived round by the Robin Hood had started going to dances, usually at Hartley House, which was a big house opposite High Lane Church, pulled down 50 years ago. It now has Alderdale Road running through where it used to be, It was owned by Cheshire County Council and was used as a community centre, library, A.R.P.headquarters, W.V.S. and any other civic amenities. The social evenings usually started off with a whist drive, and we young lads would upset all these old folks by going in to play whist before the dancing started in the big room. An old lady called Anna Harden who weighed about twenty odd stones would play the piano and a lad older than us called Ken Williamson played the drum kit and a man and wife team showed us the steps.

It was at this time that Doreen Birkett came into my life. we lads didn’t have any time for one to one relationships, we all knocked about together as friends. Doreen and her mates, worked at Hollis & Vine, which was a clothing manufacturing place on the main A6 between Bramhall Lane and Longshut Lane. We Norbury Hollow Road lads and other girls from High Lane, like Betty Marshall, (the last I heard of Betty she was married to a bricklayer, had a family and lived on Ecclesbridge Road). Another one who has lived in Marple for the past 50 years is Jean Ferns, her married name is Mather, she also lives on Ecclesbridge.

Doreen, who I seemed to pal off with, lived at the beginning of Russell Avenue. She was the eldest of five, all girls except the youngest, a boy called Ronnie.

It was during this period that I joined the Merchant Navy and when I was home on leave we would all pal out together. Doreen and I wrote to each other, until 1946. In fact, when I joined the Ocean Valley in Manchester Docks in July 1945, I asked the Captain (a chap called Skellern) if I could have a pass to bring my sister (Doreen) and her friend ( Nelly Riley) through the dock gates so they could come on board to look round the ship. It was a Saturday afternoon, most of the crew were ashore but I had to be onboard to serve afternoon tea and evening meal to Captain Skellern and his wife, who was also on board. When I took the tray of afternoon tea up to his cabin for him and his wife, he asked me if my sister was on board, I told him she was, he said well show her all round, take her on the bridge, which I did, showed her the wheel house, chart room, radio room, the navigation bridge and the two Lewis Guns, each side of the bridge. They had afternoon tea and evening meal on board. After I had finished, the three of us travelled home together to High Lane. The pair of them had a good day and I would think it would be something they would never forget.

We wrote to each other for some months after I sailed on the Ocean Valley, and then the letters stopped. I didn’t get a dear John but, my mother wrote and told me that she had got another lad. I couldn’t blame her, I was eighteen, Doreen was a few months younger and I was away for nearly twelve months. She married the lad, he was an engineer by trade. They came to live in Marple and she has one son. Her husband died about 15 years ago, she still lives on Mount Drive and I see her round the village occasionally.

THE S.S. FORT CUMBERLAND

After my leave and completing my gunnery course in January 1945, I joined my next ship, Fort Cumberland, (remember I told you the “Fort” boats were built in Canada). They were 7,500 ton, coal burners with five hatches, equipped with Samson derricks for lifting heavy war time cargo, such as tanks. They had a total crew of approximately 60 which included 12 gunners. The Fort Cumberland was my first war time built ship.

We signed on, on the 7th. February 1945, sailed down the Manchester Ship Canal, into the Mersey and out to sea where we picked up a convoy going south. We had loaded a full cargo of war materials in Manchester which included tanks, guns of all sorts, shells, and hundreds of boxes which I would think would contain small arms (rifles, machine guns, ammunition, spare parts, tinned food, N.A.F.F.I. stores). It was obvious that we were heading for the Mediterranean.

After reaching Gibraltar the convoy split up. It wasn’t necessary for convoys in the Med. then because it was free of all enemy activity. Italy had come over to our side in 1943, but, the Germans were putting up strong resistance up the leg of Italy, a lot of people on both sides were getting killed.

We first of all anchored off some port in Sicily. You have got to remember that the whole of Italy had and still was being ravaged by war, every thing was in short supply, particularly food, clothing, cigarettes, sweets and chocolate. What they did have, was wine and they made their own musical instruments, guitars, mandolins etc. There was a brisk trade going on over the side of the ship, cigarettes and 1 pound tins of boiled sweets, in exchange for guitars and mandolins. The Sicilians had these gaily coloured rowing boats. They were not allowed on board so, they would throw a rope up to us which had a basket attached and they would hold on to the other end of the rope. The bartering went on for their instruments and our cigarettes and sweets, the competition was very fierce and they wouldn’t let go the basket with the guitar in it until we sent down our goods after agreeing a deal. Some rotten swine emptied the sweets out of the tins, put some nuts and bolts in out of the engine room, packed it with paper and a few sweets on top. For the rest of the voyage every body was learning to play a guitar or mandalin.

From Sicily we went to Taranto which is in the heel of Italy. What a state that place was in. Lots of sunken ships filling the harbour and all the dock installations had been destroyed. The army were in charge of the port so we tied up to ships that were resting on the bottom. It’s so long ago now that I don’t remember how they managed to get the tanks ashore after they had been lifted off with our jumbo derricks. We must have been there a couple of weeks or more unloading and from there we sailed to Bone in North Africa to load iron ore for home.

You don’t need a lot of iron ore in a ship to take you down to your plimsoll line because it is so heavy. From there we went to Tunis to top up with tanks that had been knocked out in the North African campaign, scrap planes (ours and German) and all kinds of other war debris. To get up to the port of Tunis you had to navigate a short canal. That was full of wrecked ships and whilst manoeuvring going astern the propeller caught on one of these wrecks and bent it. That made the ship immobile, so we had to be towed up to the port, (which again was in a hell of a state).

Every ship carries a spare propeller for just such an incident and is usually secured in the t'ween deck of the hatch nearest the stern. There was no dry dock in Tunis and if there was it would be wrecked. It was a case of discharging the iron ore out of number 4 and 5 holds and transporting some of it forward to number 1 and 2 holds by horse and cart because there was no other form of transport. The Arab dock workers made a few bob out of it because it all had to be man handled and the ship was useless until the spare propeller was fitted. Taking the weight from the stern of the ship and putting it fora'd brought the prop out of the water so our own engineers assisted by our deck crew could take the damaged prop off and fit the spare. This operation took a couple of weeks.

During this time all the crew were wanting to go ashore, but, we were not able to obtain any money. Their money was useless any way with inflation, so it was those that had still got cigarettes left, after the bartering in Sicily, who were able to flog them to get some inflated local currency. If you had any English pounds you were a millionaire in their currency. We were there that long that all kinds of ships gear was being flogged to get enough to go ashore, get drunk and make yourself violently ill drinking the local Ouzo. When we docked back home I don’t think any of the deck hands or firemen had any bedding left to hand in, they had flogged it in Tunis so the cost of it was deducted from their wages.

We eventually left Tunis fully loaded with iron ore in the lower holds, scrap tanks and other war debris in the t'ween decks and scrap planes and vehicles as deck cargo.

Gibraltar was about five days sailing away. Like I said the Med was free from enemy so we were not in convoy, but, the alarms sounded, a mine had been spotted from the bridge, floating about 200 yards off the starboard side. A good job it was daylight or we could of hit it. Any mines spotted had to be destroyed so the alarms had sounded to man the guns. The Old Man had ordered to circle it, it would give us practise on the guns anyway, me having a gunnery certificate. My action station was on number 2 Oerlikon gun with the chief cook. These Oerlikons were actually for air defence and they fired a 20 mm shell which was fed from a round pan containing fifty rounds. I was on the ear phones ready to receive orders from the bridge and the chief cook was in the harness for firing. Now I don’t know where or when the chief cook did his gunnery course but on these guns you only fire in short bursts otherwise the gun can over heat and damage the barrel. We are circling this mine, which is bloody dangerous, when the order comes over the phones to me, number two Oerlikon short burst fire, I repeat this to the cook and he starts firing and lets the lot go, emptying the pan, he never got within 20 yards of the thing and the petty officer gunner, who was on the poop with the 4”, was doing his fruit. For a start he could have ruined the barrel on the gun and the other thing was the gunners would have to fill the pan with shells again. None of the guns hit the mine. In the end, while still circling it the P.O. gunner had to go up on the bridge and finish it off with rifle fire.

When we arrived at Gibraltar we had to take on bunkers and water. After that it was a case of waiting for a convoy. We were able to go ashore on a launch once again provided by the Mission to Seaman. Gibraltar of course is very British and it was teeming with people of the different services. There were also a lot of sailors off the different Royal Navy ships that were there, and there were many American ships in port.

All we wanted to do was have a look round and visit the entertainment spots, about four of us off the Fort Cumberland, all Manchester lads, decided to go into this bar from where there was a lot of noise emanating. There were these Spanish women on a bit of a stage doing flamingo dancing. Up till then we hadn't been able to get a drink when all of a sudden the place erupted with tables and chairs flying. I don’t know who started it but it was the British verses the Yanks. We started crawling on the floor under and round the upturned tables towards the door just as the Military Police (American and British) came charging in waving their batons at anything and everyone. We all got out just in time, we didn’t see the floor show or get a drink, but we didn’t have a split head either.

The shops were all open with the lights blazing, it was pointless being blacked out because the Spanish border was all lit up, you wouldn’t realize there was a war on, the shops were full of goods.

In the harbour the Spanish were coming round in their decorated boats flogging fresh fruit. They had these branches (not bunches) of bananas, and they were green. The Spaniards selling point was “you buy take home to England, no banana in England, they ripe when you get to England, very good. So I bought a branch. There must have been a 100 or more bananas on it. When I did get it home, which was a struggle on the train, our Maureen who would be coming up for five, had never seen a banana before and she burst out crying.

We eventually sailed from Gibraltar and a convoy formed up in the roads with a strong escort. The weather started to get colder, it was when we got into the Bay of Biscay that we started running into patchy fog. The further north we got travelling through the Bay of Biscay the fog got thicker. It was getting dangerous to be in convoy, so, the Commodore signalled us to disperse and make your own way. One thing about being in fog was that it was very unlikely you would be attacked by either U. Boats or Aircraft. The biggest danger was collision with other ships and for this reason if a ship is underway in fog it is the rule that you sound the ships horn or blower every three minutes to warn other ships of your presence.

After dispersing there was horn blowing going on until we were well dispersed. Now another rule in fog is if a ship is at anchor you ring the Fo'castle bell every three minutes. Getting closer to the English south coast we started to pick up bell ringing so the old man ordered depth soundings by lead line. When he decided we were near enough to the coast he ordered the anchor let go. We heard a few bells being rung round about and every three minutes ours was joining in. When I turned in that night I thought the only danger would be a collision with another ship, I was wrong. During the night a few big bangs went off. Next morning the fog had lifted and a couple of ships were in flames.

Even this late in the war the Germans had still got “E” Boats (torpedo boats) operating in the English Channel. They were listening for the Fo’castle bells ringing then following the sound till they could pick out the ships, letting go their torpedoes. The Old Man didn’t hang around he weighed anchor, cleared Dover and headed into the Thames Estuary and anchored there waiting for orders to join a east coast convoy up to Middlesbrough. We paid off there on the 20th. April 1945. Struggling home on the train from Middlesbrough with my bag and a big branch of bananas in a potato sack. They were just starting to turn yellow.

I had now got my first discharge in my book after the one from the Vindicatrix. The Captain and Chief Steward had asked me back to the Fort Cumberland for another voyage as Assistant Steward. I would now be a senior rating and would get my full £10 a month danger money as well the increase in my wages.

I had two weeks at home before travelling back to Middlesbrough. During my leave I had my eighteenth birthday. I went out dancing again with the local lads and girls. We started going to the Great Moor Conservative Club, Store Street, Great Moor. I was now eighteen and could legally have a drink, but they didn’t bother there whether you were eighteen or not. In any case I only needed a smell at the barman's apron and I was anybody’s.

The bananas, I gave most of them away, Doreen Birkett had a good few of them, she had three sisters and a brother younger than her, they had never seen bananas before.

THE END OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR

My two weeks at home soon went and I was travelling back to Middlesboro to sign on the Fort Cumberland again. I was the only Manchester lad going back to do another voyage. Most of the new crew were from the east coast, Geordies. Their language took a bit of getting used to. Anyway we signed on again on the 6th. May 1945 and sailed a few miles up the coast to Newcastle to get the torpedo nets repaired. We tied up at a ship repair yard at Hebburn. The repair didn’t take long and we were due to leave there on the evening of the 7th. May to join a coastal convoy going south. At 1500 hours that day Winston Churchill (the prime minister) came on the radio and said that the Germans had surrendered and that the war in Europe would end at midnight that day, the 7th. May 1945.

It was then that every ship on the Tyne started blowing their horns and ringing their bells. Church bells were ringing, air raid sirens sounding the all clear (one continuous note), every body dancing and hugging each other, what a racket.

The crew refused to turn to and all walked ashore, me included. We all headed for the centre of Newcastle. I think we had to walk it because all the trams, trains and buses stopped. I remember every body dancing round this big statue in the middle of Newcastle. The pubs were jam packed, you couldn’t get near the bar, but outside people had got bottles and it didn’t matter who’s it was it was just passed round, everybody swigging at it.

The last thing I remember about the 7th. May 1945 was being in a telephone box back near where the ship was moored in Hebburn-on-Tyne, along with every one else I must have had a right thick head the next day.

As it turned out the coastal convoy we should have joined was delayed so we joined it on the 10th. May to sail south. We then joined what was the last western bound convoy of the war about the 14th. May 1945

The next part of this trip is something that has remained in my memory and I shall never forget. It wasn’t a very big convoy probably between thirty and forty ships plus about six to ten escort vessels. Apparently the day after the war officially ended orders were issued to all the German U- Boats at sea to surface and signal their position, I don’t know the date but it was about 0600 hours just as we were turning to, that there was a lot of signalling being exchanged between one of the escorts on the starboard side and something on the horizon. As it got nearer we could make out that it was a submarine and then, we could see that there were two of them, which both turned out to be U Boats surrendering to the escorts.

The Fort Cumberland was in ballast that had been loaded in Middlesbrough and we had been ordered to Bay Bulls in Newfoundland to discharge it. Now the two U Boats with one escort also came in to Bay Bulls and anchored. The next morning the three ,(two U Boats and escort) started to leave the bay line astern, the escort leading. They were flying the White Ensign from the conning tower with the German Imperial flag underneath. We were the only other ship in the bay and as they passed abeam of us each one in turn dipped their flags. We were all standing on the side watching this, our Old Man, who was standing on the wing of the bridge shouts to one of the cadets to run aft and dip the duster. We all felt really proud, they were saluting the British Merchant Navy.

I have since tried to establish the numbers of these boats without success. I only know that two U Boats surrendered sailing into St. Johns, but that’s where they went after they left Bay Bulls. We of course sailed round to St. Johns and loaded iron ore sailing back to the U.K. unescorted. We docked back in Newport, South Wales and paid off on the 21st. June 1945. We had only been away seven weeks, I left the Fort Cumberland and travelled home.

S.S. OCEAN VALLEY 16/7/1945 TO 29/5/1946.

After a few days leave I reported back to the pool at Salford Docks and I was sent to the Ocean Valley. She was moored in the first dock opposite the dock gates and had only just started loading her outward cargo which was war materials so it was obvious we were going to the Far East as the war with Japan was still going on. There was only a skeleton crew on board, I was one of them. It was while I was working by on the Ocean Valley that I got a pass off the Old Man (Captain Skellern) to bring Doreen and her mate Nellie Riley on board which I related to earlier. Anyway we signed on the 16th. July 1945 and set off down the ship canal sometime after that.

We left the Mersey and sea watches were set. My job after turning to in the morning was to take tea up to the Officer of the watch on the bridge. (The four to eight watch was always kept by the 1st. Mate.) I had always made it my practice on previous ships to take an extra mug of tea up for the man on the wheel, so I did the same on the first morning on the Ocean Valley. I asked the mate first, if it was alright for the wheel man to have the extra cup of tea and being an Australian thought it a splendid idea. I asked the chap on the wheel if he wanted a mug of tea and he replied in a strong Derbyshire accent. I asked him where he was from to which he replied “Chapel-en-le-Fifth have you heard of it”, Yes I said I live about five miles from you in High Lane. His name was Johnny Hartle. That was the start of a friendship that has lasted ever since. I last saw him a few weeks ago, in August 2001 when I took my grandson Karl up to Chapel to play cricket. John didn’t stay at sea long after the long trip on the Ocean Valley. He got married and then packed up the sea and started working at Ferodos, where he worked until he retired. Both he and his wife are in bad health now, Johnny can hardly walk and he is supplied with a small mobility car to get around, but, when we sailed together he was only as tall as me but he was well built and really fit. He is a couple or three years older than me. I deviated a bit there to tell you about John but like I say we became the best of pals for the rest of the trip.

No need for convoys now until we get through the Red Sea. It took us about two weeks to reach Port Said, and then through the Suez Canal. That was a new experience to me, first time through the Suez and into the Red Sea. It was the beginning of August 1945 and it was bloody hot in the Red Sea, temperatures reaching well over a 100F.. It was that hot that you could literally fry eggs on the hatch top, these war time built ships were poorly designed for operating in the tropics. It was while in the Red Sea that the news came over the radio that they had dropped an Atom bomb on Japan. No body had ever heard of an atom bomb before, but these bombs had completely flattened a couple of cities in Japan, which turned out to be Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

We called in at Aden for bunkers and water then sailed into the Indian Ocean. It was then that we got the news that Japan had surrendered. The world war officially ended on the 14th. August 1945. By now we were well into the Indian Ocean, but as yet did not know which place we were heading for when orders came through to go to Colombo, Ceylon. We entered the harbour there and tied up at one of the many buoys. The harbour was packed with ships like ours, they didn’t know what to do with our cargo now because it was all war materials and wasn’t wanted.

We lay in Colombo harbour for six weeks and we were bored sick. We could get ashore in the ships lifeboat, but when you got ashore there was nowhere to go only the N.A.F.F.I. club. The lads were swimming over to other ships in the harbour but I couldn’t swim, (thanks to daddy Gaurden frightening me to death when I was at school). So I had to get one of the ships lifebuoys, walk down the gangway and jump in (Wait for me lads). When we got to one of the other ships I had to take my lifebuoy with me up the gangway, we sat and swapped yarns with the lads on the other ships. It was when swimming back that I would think about the stories of sharks coming into the harbour and with my head and arms through the lifebuoy I would go like hell.

After six weeks we left to sail round the coast to Trincomalee, which is the naval port in Ceylon. It was there that we unloaded all the unwanted military stores and sailed in ballast for Lorenco Marques in Portuguese East Africa. It would now be about November 1945, we still had our twelve D.E.M.S. gunners aboard and all the guns.

Lorenco Marques being Portuguese was a neutral port so, they had to take all the breach blocks out of the guns to disable them, and the Naval D.E.M.S. gunners were not allowed ashore in uniform, so, they had to borrow civilian gear off us so they could go ashore, not that there was much to go ashore for.

After loading a full cargo of coal we sailed for Mombassa, about a weeks sailing up the East Coast of Africa. Now Mombassa was an experience. It is teaming with humanity and very little work for the local population, so, work had to be created. We were not allowed to use the derricks to unload. They rigged planks from the quay up to the bulwarks of the ship onto the deck, ladders down to the hold and then there were literally hundreds of these black Africans with baskets on their heads running up from the quay on one gang plank down one ladder into the hold fill the basket with coal, up another ladder, down another gang plank onto the quay, tip the coal into a railway truck and repeat the process running all the time. Each time they emptied the basket they collected a disc which when handed in would give them the equivalent of a shilling for a days work.

I should have mentioned that while we spent that couple of months in Ceylon we lost three of the catering department. The first one was the Chief Steward, put into hospital sick. Then the second cook and baker, I think he went sick before some of the crew threw him over the side, he could neither cook nor bake, The other was the galley boy, I can not remember what happened to him.

With the second cook and galley boy gone, it only left the chief cook in the galley but a couple of the gunners stepped in to help him out. The arrangement was that the old man arranged for them to be paid overtime on our rates of pay. They did a good job. The supposed second steward stepped into the chief stewards job and he and I shared the second stewards job.

The old man had got the agents in Colombo to arrange for three catering crew from Durban, South Africa, to join the ship when we arrived in Lorenco Marques. The three that joined were South Africans of Indian extraction so they were Asian not African. One of them, who was as thin a pencil, was to take the place of the second cook. Another one who was fairly well built and about 30 years old, was the galley boy, (some boy at thirty). It was not unusual with foreign crew that joined abroad to be signed on as boy ratings regardless of age because they were not members of the Union, the other one joined as assistant steward.

After unloading all the coal at Mombassa, we sailed for Mauritius, still being under Ministry of war transport we went where directed. We arrived at Mauritius just before Christmas 1945, our cargo was to be a full cargo of sugar.

What a paradise the Island of Mauritius is. Today people pay thousands of pounds to go on holiday and get married there. We went for free but then, just like the rest of the world, the war had left its mark. There was a British Army garrison and some R.A.F. stationed there. None of us then thought that it was going to be like it is today, a very expensive place to go for a holiday, we went and we were paid for it.

Being a sugar producing island, it was natural that rum was also produced in large quantities, some legally but most illegally. The illegal stuff was obviously very cheap and we made the mistake of drinking the cheap stuff, it was like fire water. You could strip paint with it, so we drank it with local made lemonade but the kick was still the same. There being no port facilities at that time, ships anchored in the natural bay at Port Louise, the capital of the island, so, you could only get ashore by boat, which a few of the locals made a living at, rowing you ashore.

Come Christmas Day, the new 30 year old galley boy (who had joined in Lorenco Marques), had been on the local rum and after the Christmas dinner had been served he decided that he would go ashore. He staggered down the gangway and stood at the bottom trying to hail one of the rowing boats to get ashore. Well, he fell in didn’t he, and he couldn’t swim, two or three on deck heard him shouting. They ran to the side of the ship and a couple of them dived in to try and reach him. The water was beautiful and clear and I could see from the side of the ship that he was sinking down and these lads kept diving down to try and reach him, but he sank down too deep. They couldn’t reach him. The next day the local port authority came out with a motor boat and used grappling hooks to try to find the body. They eventually got him, he had been stuck to the barnacles under the ship.

We attended his funeral a couple of days later. He is buried in the local church there. None of us had chance to get to know him properly but it has left a lasting memory of Christmas 1945.

We sailed in January 1946 with a full cargo of sugar bound for Rangoon Burma. Drinking the local rum in Mauritius had given me alcoholic poisoning and for a few days I could not hold any food down, however it had taught me a lesson about drinking the local fire water. We arrived in Rangoon sometime at the end of January. Rangoon is a few miles up the River Irrawady, which is a very fast flowing river. The war with Japan had only been finished five months and there was still a lot of evidence of it there with sunken ships etc. When we arrived at the port of Rangoon all the dock installations had been destroyed and we had to tie up at pontoons which had been moored to what was left of the docks. The Japanese who were now prisoners of war looked a very dejected lot and were working clearing up the mess that they had made.

The cargo of sugar that we had brought was the first shipment they had had since the war and was intended for the army, so the British Army had guards on board guarding the Japanese who were unloading it and also stopping any pilfering.

By this time our ships stores were beginning to run out, we had been able to get some stores in Lorenco Marques and fresh vegetables in Mauritius, but all that was beginning to get exhausted plus we had no fresh meat of any kind so all the tinned provisions were getting used up. The army supply officer arranged for some fresh meat for us but, that turned out to be water buffalo. The only thing you could do with that was boil it.

Rangoon had been badly damaged by the war, but, it had been a beautiful city. The Burmese people are very devout Buddhists and the city is full of Pagodas all covered in gold. They were the only buildings not damaged by the war, the Japanese are very devout Buddhists as well. Johnny Hartle and I always went ashore together and we have both got photographs taken outside the main Pagoda called the Swadagone.

We unloaded about half the cargo of sugar at Rangoon, then sailed down the Malayan coast to Port Swettanham. It was the same thing there, the docks all damaged. The Army unloaded this time into D.U.K.S. which are dual purpose vehicles that can run on land or water, each one could carry about 10 two hundred pound sacks of sugar at a time. The Army were unloading during the day and at night the local sampans were coming alongside and all the crew were at it, lowering a sack at a time on a rope and getting $200 a sack for it. The Malayan currency at that time was British army occupation money and so was useless outside Malaya. Anyway there was that much sugar going over the side at night that the bottom dropped out of the market, finishing up only getting $10 a bag. But once again Johnny and I were ashore every night spending our ill gotten gains. The ship discharged the cargo of sugar in record time with the night and day activity and we received orders to proceed to Freemantle, Western Australia.

It would be early February 1946 and proceeding down to Freemantle. The ship was in pretty bad shape needing general maintenance on the hull which was like a rust bucket, plus, all our stores were running out. Two days out from Freemantle we had to start using the emergency supplies in the lifeboats. The Old Man radioed in to the port authorities to have fresh provisions waiting for us on the quay when we docked. Sure enough there was a ships chandlers lorry on the quay, waiting for us to tie up, with fresh milk, meat, bacon, vegetables, fruit, bread etc. and it was all good quality Australian stuff.

Our cargo from Freemantle was to be a full 9,000 tons of Australian wheat bound for the starving millions in India, but first the whole ship had to be fumigated by the port authorities. This meant that the entire crew had to spend the whole day ashore from dawn to dusk while the whole ship was shut down and sealed up. This was a hell of a job for the port health authorities. They had to seal all the accommodation, engine room and stoke hold. All the hatches, everywhere had to be sealed up so they could set these fumigation bombs off. The guys who did it had obviously done it many times before.

We were all given a days maintenance allowance plus a sub on our wages so we could spend the whole day ashore. Johnny Hartle and I, plus a few others travelled up to Perth, which is the capital of Western Australia. We had a great day up there. Perth is a beautiful city and I have always said that if I ever went out there that is where I would settle.

We were about two weeks loading in Freemantle, so we got a few nights ashore there. The whole of Australia had different licensing laws and in Western Australia they would open from sometime in the afternoon but shut dead on nine o’clock at night. This particular night I had gone ashore with a couple of others, one of whom was the chief cook, Johnny Hartle wasn’t with us. We were in this pub on the main street when they called time and they got us out pretty quick, didn’t give us time to go to the toilet and the three of us were pretty well tanked up. We thought we had come out at a side door so we turned the corner and started to discharge the many schooners of Swan lager that had filtered through our kidneys in the last couple of hours.

A car pulls up at the back of us and a voice said “right you Pommies, get in here”, I was that far gone I thought it was a taxi. There were two of them in the front and I told them we wanted to go to the North Wharf. Anyway he pulled up outside a building and this guy said O.K. lads out you get. We finished up in the police cells until about four o’clock in the morning when we were beginning to sober up, they told us we had to come back at ten that morning to attend court.

Back on board that morning after serving breakfast I had to tell the Old Man that we had got to go ashore to attend court. Captain Skellern was like a father to me he just smiled and said o.k. report back to me when you get back. Anyway the three of us got in court and there was a women and two men on the bench. They called our names out and we all stood in the dock together. This guy reads the charge out that we had made a public nuisance of ourselves on this street in the town. This woman who was obviously in charge, started to read the riot act out to us and then she pointed a finger at me saying “you young boy should be ashamed of yourself, how old are you”?, “eighteen” I said.. This guy who had read the charge out said “ you address the lady chairman of the bench as Ma-am, now repeat your age”, “eighteen Ma-am“. After a bit of a confab with the other two she said that she understood that we were serving our country in the Merchant Navy and had just come from a recent war zone and so she would be lenient with us and fined us 10/- each and 1/- costs. When we got back on board we all had to report to the Old Man. At first I thought he was going to log us as well, but, he just said “if you go ashore in a place like Australia again, let that be a lesson to you don’t pee in the street”. He was a good bloke was Captain Skellern, he was a boozy old bugger himself.

We left Australia fully loaded with wheat and our first port of call was Madras on the east coast of India discharging half the cargo there and then sailing up to Calcutta to discharge the rest. The whole of India to me is a dirty, disease infested area and I can’t remember going ashore there.

It would now be about the end of March 1946 and we had orders to proceed to North Africa via the Suez Canal. Whilst in Freemantle we had taken coal bunkers on board which apparently was good coal, but, we had to take some more on in India. This wasn’t very good and we topped up again in Port Said, after we got through the Suez Canal. After Port Said we headed for some port on the North African coast and loaded a full cargo of iron ore for Middlesbrough.

After leaving North Africa, through the Straits of Gibraltar and north for the English Channel we developed a problem with the steering gear which the engineers were unable to fix. The Old Man didn’t want to risk going through the straits of Dover with faulty steering so he decided to put into Falmouth to get it fixed.

We had been away since we sailed from Manchester in July 1945 and we were all getting a bit home sick. After anchoring in the river Fal some kids came paddling by in a little boat, we called them over and asked if they would row us ashore. The cook and I got our glad rags on and lowered ourselves over the side on a rope and off ashore. We had some English money so, we made our way to the station enquired about trains going north and got this train going to Liverpool via Crewe, that will do us change at Crewe.

It was about six in the evening when we got this train and it took until about ten the next morning to get to Crewe where, we got a train going to Manchester via Stockport. Just the job, I got off at Stockport and the cook went on to Manchester because he lived in Oldham. I always remember it was a Saturday and when I got off the bus at the Robin Hood my mother came running down the road to meet me. I didn’t know how she knew I was on my way home. After throwing her arms round me she says that she had been worried sick, a telegram had arrived at the house earlier saying “return immediately ship sailing Sunday morning, signed Captain”, I just had time for something to eat and some money off mother and back down to Edgeley Station for a train back to Falmouth.

After travelling all night the train got into Falmouth about midday Sunday, so, I get a taxi down to the jetty and it was a typical Cornish scene, this old bloke with a long white beard and a seamans cap on smoking a pipe. I said to him “has the Ocean Valley gone”. He said “Eye, there she be just going out of the roads and here is the pilot boat just coming back after taking her out”. That's buggered it, very little money what am I going to do, so I make my way to where all seaman in distress go when ashore, the Mission to Seaman. I saw the Padre there and he fixed me up with a bed and something to eat, I had no money to get up to Middlesbrough. I had just enough to phone Miss Jones ( the woman who lived next to us who obviously had a phone) asking her to get my mother to phone me back at the Mission to Seaman.

Mum phoned me back (worried sick) and it was arranged for her to telegraph me some money to the post office in Falmouth so I could get the train to Middlesbrough. I got the train on the Tuesday which took me the same route, change at Crewe and Stockport for Stalybridge. At Stalybridge I changed to the train coming from Liverpool to Newcastle and changed at Darlington for Middlesbrough. It was Wednesday afternoon when I got to Middlesbrough, the ship had only docked there that day.

When I got onboard the Chief Steward said you had better go up and see the Old Man, I went up to his cabin, knocked on the door, “come in, where have you been Singleton”. After explaining and fully expecting to get a right rocketing and immediate dismissal with a D.R. in my discharge book, (D.R. is Decline to Report), he said I am expecting my wife aboard shortly, can you arrange a meal for us when she arrives.

When his wife arrived on board I had already been in the galley preparing his favourite meal (Bacon Casserole), I served it in his quarters. His wife who I had met in Manchester before we sailed, greeted me as if I was her son and thanked me for looking after the Captain. If she only knew the scrapes I had been in and what I had got away with. Captain Skellern said in front of his wife “Singleton is coming back next trip aren't you”, that was it I couldn’t say no. We paid off on the 29th. May 1946.

S.S. OCEAN VALLEY 25/6/1946 TO 18th. FEBRUARY 1947.

I returned to Middlesbrough after some leave and signed on the Ocean Valley again on the 25th. June 1946. Whilst in Middlesbrough she had been in dry dock and all the barnacles had been scraped of the hull and painted up. All the guns had been removed, so we would not see anymore of the D.E.M.S. gunners (they were a grand lot of lads, I would miss them). Now the war was over the name of the ship was painted on the bows and stern with the port of registry on the stern which was Manchester. “Do you know until then I didn’t know that she was registered in Manchester. The previous trip we were run by the Ministry Of War Transport and to this day I don’t know what company had taken her over”.

However we sailed from Middlesbrough with a full crew from there, apart from the Old Man and a couple of the mates and engineers I was the only one from the previous voyage. Having sailed with a Middlesbrough crew before on the Fort Cumberland I was a bit cautious of them, they would fight with their own grandmother when they had had a few drinks.

We sailed north round the top of Scotland in ballast bound for New York. When we arrived there we anchored in the Hudson River while they discharged our ballast into Lighters. After that we tied up on the Brooklyn side to load a full general cargo.

Sure enough it wasn’t long before the trouble started with the Middlesbrough crowd. The old man would only let them sub to the wages they had in credit at the time, which wouldn’t be very much. At that time in America they had started a blood bank and if you were suitable after a blood test they gave you $10 for a pint of your blood, so they were all queuing up at the blood bank and afterwards replacing the blood with $10 worth of alcohol. there were a few nasty scenes on board and I wasn’t looking forward to the rest of the trip with this crew.

We sailed from New York with a mixed general cargo some of which was very desirable. It was all in crates and the Middlesbrough crew soon found out what was in them and where abouts in the holds they were being stored. Our first port of call was Cape Town, South Africa. We sailed down the middle of the North and South Atlantic past Ascension Island and Saint Helena (the island that they sent Napoleon to). It took about three weeks to arrive at Cape Town. It was a lovely city in those days. It must be a lot better now that they have got rid of the racial segregation, it was terrible then by the fact that you were not allowed to speak to the black people, there was a complete segregation.

After we started discharging it soon became evident that the Middlesbrough crew had been able to get into the cargo holds and break open some of the crates which contained “Arrow Shirts” and other types of American clothing which was being smuggled ashore and sold in the dockside bars. They just spent the money on the local booze causing a good bit of trouble. There was a local brandy distilled there called Cape Smoke, it was literally fire water. One of the fireman had a bet with his mates that he could drink a full bottle of it. So, standing on a table in this bar he commenced to drink this bottle of local brandy. He fell of the table and was dead. I think that helped to calm that crowd down. The police were involved with the stolen cargo and a few of the deck hands and firemen were arrested. We sailed round to the next port which was Port Elizabeth a couple of days sailing from Cape Town without the crew that were arrested so we were short handed.

The next port was East London which was just a days sailing from Port Elizabeth, after that it was Durban, just up the coast from East London. With just going up the coast from Cape Town the ship was able to manage short handed. For one thing the derricks did not need to be lowered into their cradles so that saved labour with the deck hands and the fireman just had to manage short handed. In Durban (which is a big port) we were able to replace the crew with a mixed bag of different nationals.

After discharging all the cargo from New York we had orders to proceed to Mauritius. Yes, Mauritius again. You are very lucky to go there once but twice is a bonus. I certainly did not touch the local rum this time and I warned the others about it. We were there about two weeks loading a full cargo of sugar again. This time we sailed for Bombay where we discharged part of the cargo of sugar then we sailed up the Persian Gulf to a place up a creek at the top of the Gulf called Bandar Shapur. I only found out recently that this jetty at Bandar Shapur had been built during the war along with a rail link all the way through what is now Iran and up into Russia. A back door for the war supplies to Russia during the war instead of the alternative Russian convoy route through the Arctic sea where we lost hundreds of ships and lives keeping the Russians supplied. After discharging some more of the sugar we sailed from Bandar Shapur up the river “Shatell Arab” to Basra which is the main port of Iraq (Saddam Hussein land).

It doesn’t matter what time of the year you go anywhere up the Persian Gulf it is always very hot but up the Shatell Arab to Basra is like going into a oven, it is a 120F. in the shade. Was I glad when we finished discharging and sailed from there.

My memory is not too clear as to where we loaded our next cargo but I remember that the cargo was coal and we sailed through the Suez Canal and discharged it at Port Said. It was probably used for bunkering ships because I don’t think they had a lot of use for coal in Egypt. Now the funny thing here is that if you have a coal burning ship and you have just discharged a 9000 ton cargo of it to bunker other ships, you would think that the powers that be (Chief Engineer and Captain) would make sure that your own bunkers were full especially when there seemed to be shortage of coal world wide. Well that did not seem to happen as this next part of this voyage confirms.

We sailed from Port Said with orders to sail to Bone in north Africa. It was now the beginning of January 1947 and world records will show that the winter of 1946/7 was the worst that has ever been experienced and even in the Mediterranean the weather was atrocious with mountainous seas and we were light ship (no cargo) so we were being tossed about like a cork and of course using up more coal than was anticipated. However we finely reached Bone which is east of Tunis and loaded a cargo of iron ore which is loaded very quickly from hoppers. It is also very heavy so the holds are only half full when you are down to the Plimsoll lines, so, from Bone we sailed further west along the coast to a place called Fax, to top all the hatches up with a specially grown type of grass called Sparta Grass which was something that had been developed and used in the process of making a synthetic fibre. It was just like grass and was in bales and not very heavy. It seemed to be a cargo ideal for shipping with a heavy cargo such as iron ore. We not only filled the hatches up with it but also carried it on top of all the hatches as a deck cargo, the ship resembled a large floating hay cart.

When we put to sea again the weather in the Mediterranean was still very bad, we were burning a lot of coal battling against the weather. That was when it became apparent that we had not filled our own bunkers up before we discharged all that coal in Port Said.

We were starting to run out of bunkers which was very serious. To the dimmest person it was obvious what had happened, the Chief Engineer had signed for a quantity of coal (probably 100 tons) which he accepted in an envelope in the way of cash instead of the actual coal. It was a fiddle that was rife on most ships and not just with the engineers department. The Chief Engineer along with every one else had not expected to run into such atrocious weather. A ship like the Ocean Valley would use between 10 and 15 tons a day, if he hadn’t had a 100 tons of it in a envelope we would have probably had enough to get us home. The Chief had to report the situation to the Old Man, ( who by the way had probably had a cut out of the envelope). So he radioed in to say we were running out of bunkers and would have to put into Algiers. We anchored outside the breakwater at Algiers and signalled in that we needed some emergency bunkers. After a lot of signalling the port authority agreed to let us have just 50 tons to get us to Gibraltar.

After getting the 50 tons we just managed to get to Gibraltar and we had to wait at anchor there until a ship came in from the U.K. with a cargo of coal. With a shortage of coal everywhere they would only let us have enough to get home with a bit to spare.

We sailed from Gibraltar and eventually docked at Leith which is the port for Edinburgh and the snow was piled up everywhere plus trains were having a job running. However it was the 18th. February 1947 when we paid off. Captain Skellern did not bother asking me to go back for another voyage because I think he and the Chief Engineer got the sack after the coal incident and so that was the end of my days on the Ocean Valley, I had been on her 19 months.

MY SOCIAL LIFE CONTINUES

I mentioned early on about my first girl friend Doreen Birkett and that she had been aboard the Ocean Valley with her friend Nellie Riley when I first joined her in Manchester, I also mentioned that while I was away on the first trip on her that she started going out with someone else and her letters stopped. Her friend Nellie started writing to me. When I came home off that first trip I found out that Nellie had also been going up to see my mother, so I called to see her. She lived with her Mum, Dad and Brother in a terraced house in Edgeley. Her brother was older than her and had a girl friend, and the four of us would go out together. All my other mates round by the Robin Hood in High Lane were either courting or doing their national service. Roy Trueman was married and they had a baby. In any case I was only home a couple of weeks before rejoining the Ocean Valley.

During that voyage the letters continued from Nellie and were starting to get a bit strong from her. At the time I was still on the rebound from Doreen and was vulnerable. When I got home from that voyage in February 1947, my mother wasn’t too pleased because Nellie had kept going up to our house and had even taken her Mum and Dad up a couple of times, (mother was starting to protect her son, which she did with a few girl friends).

Mother was trying to poison me against Nellie, which I resented, and so just to show her she could not rule my life Nellie and I got engaged. I must confess I didn’t really have any true feelings for Nellie, but me (daft bugger) thought it might be one in the eye for Doreen who had chucked me.

At this particular time I had a total of about three months at home including my experience on the Isle Of Man Boat, before I actually sailed deep sea again. Mother had persuaded me to split from Nellie, which Nellie was very upset about. I did realise that it would not have worked because at that time I had no intention of leaving the sea. Many years later, when my mother moved to Hazelwood Road in Hazel Grove, an auntie of Nellie lived across the road from her and she told my mother that she never did get married, that would be about the late 1960 and Nellie would be in her fifties.

MY LONG EXPERIENCE ON THE ISLE OF MAN BOATS.

After a spell at home after the Ocean Valley, I decided that I would report to the seamans pool at Liverpool instead of Manchester. That decision turned out to set the pattern for the rest of my life.

I travelled to Liverpool with my bag, which I deposited in the left luggage office at Central station and went to the pool office to report. After joining the queue I finally got to the counter just as the phone started ringing. The guy who was about to deal with me answered the phone and then turns to me and says what rating are you, I said Assistant Steward, he says, “do you want an Isle Of Man boat”, my answer is I'll try it, he said where’s your gear, so I told him it was at the station. To whoever was on the other end of the phone he said I've got somebody here I’ll send him down now.

He wrote out the official chit, handed it to me and said “get your gear and get down to the Pier Head to the Manx Maid”, adding that she sails at 1100 hrs. It was ten o’clock then so I had to get my skates on.

When I arrived at the Pier Head it was very busy with passengers boarding for the 1100 hrs. sailing. When I got aboard I found the chief steward in his office he told me to put my gear in the crew accommodation which was aft. and change, then report to the first class dinning saloon, which was fora'd and down a companion way. The double doors of the saloon were closed and the second steward was at a desk on the inside, three other lads were busy laying tables. I approached the one who appeared to be the senior and asked him what the routine was. It soon became obvious to me that I being the new boy was going to get the short straw. This guy said “that’s your station there”, pointing to the forward port side of this dining saloon which was the farthest away from the serving hatch.

A quick count of the number the saloon could cater for at one sitting I estimated to be between 100 to 120, so I said to this guy. “Where are the rest of the stewards”, his reply was “your it”. By this time we were leaving the Pier Head and heading for the middle of the Mersey. I was given a hand bell and told to go to the top of the companionway, ring it and dash down again incase I got trampled on in the rush. He wasn’t joking, the regular passengers were already waiting at the top and as soon as they saw me going up with the bell they started dashing down nearly bowling me over. A couple of rings half way up the stairs and I had to dash down again to avoid injury. I should mention here that at this particular time it was just coming up to Easter 1947 and the Manx Maid had just come back into service after her winter lay up. In those days there was no such thing as going abroad for your holidays, most people went to either Blackpool, Morecambe, Southport or New Brighton. Those who were a bit more adventurous and affluent would go abroad to the Isle Of Man. Food was still on ration so to buy a meal aboard the boat saved their rations. 9; 9;

My station of thirty to forty covers soon filled up and they were all clamouring for me to take their order. After taking the first order and getting to the serving hatch it was obvious that I was going to be the last of the four stewards to get the order in. When I did get the order to the guy at the serving hatch he started to slap the food on these plates which had dust all over them. When I mentioned this to him his answer was “well wipe it off”. It then became obvious that this job was not for me, it was like being in a mad house, taking the orders, queuing up to get served, issuing the bills for them to pay the second steward at the desk. Some of the punters were leaving three pence under their plate, the flat cap brigade, sixpence if it was a trilby or a bowler. The saloon was continually full for the whole four and a half hour trip to Douglas and I was absolutely knackered.

I should have signed the ships articles before we sailed from Liverpool but there hadn’t been time. So after the passengers had disembarked, the chief steward told me that the chap from the shipping office in Douglas had come aboard to sign me on ships articles. I told him he had no need to bother as I was only doing 11 trips on this ship, (1 out and 1 home). Then the guy who was in charge of the saloon told me to lay up this long table for the officers who I was expected to serve. The other two stewards lived in Douglas and had already gone home, but I told this guy to get lost as I had had enough. He told the second steward, who in turn told me it was my job to wait on the crew. I told him to get lost as well, he said “your are sacked with a D.R. when we get back to Liverpool” I said “you can’t sack me or give me a D.R. because I haven’t signed on and you haven’t got my discharge book”. I served the meals on the way back to Liverpool got my two day’s pay and was off like the proverbial of the shovel.

I went home for a couple of days to get the 11 trips on the Isle Of Man boat out of my system and it was Easter any way. I had not had any bank holidays at home for three years, I thought it about time I did.

THE BLUE FUNNEL LINE S. S. “ EURYMEDON”

I reported back to the seamans pool sometime at the beginning of May 1947, and although I didn’t realise it at the time, it was the best move I have ever done in my life. Although I had now been in the Merchant Navy for over three years I had not been associated with any of the big shipping companies and I must confess I had never even heard of Alfred Holt’s, Blue Funnel Line.

The pool gave me a chit to report to this dock office at Vittoria Dock, Birkenhead. I found my way to this office, knocked on the door and the voice said “come in”. There were three people in the office. One appeared to be the office clerk the other two, who were wearing bowler hats, were sitting at desks. The office clerk ( whose name I forget) took the pool chit off me and said to one of the guys with a bowler hat, “this chaps been sent by the pool”. Without looking up from what he was doing on the desk, the one he had addressed never said anything for a few minutes and then still without looking up said, “discharge book”. When I handed it to him he still never looked up at first, he looked at my book and said “two ships in three years, you should do”, (he didn’t know about the Dutch ship or the I.O.M. boat). He told the office clerk to fix me up with a travel warrant to travel down to London to join a ship called the “Eurymedon” which was in the King George V Dock. He gave me instructions how to get there as I had never been to London before. While I was in this dock office, which was a two storey wooden building inside this very big dock building, I noticed pictures of some ships with blue funnels and calenders with the name Alfred Holt on them.

Coming down the steps from this office there was a lot of activity in the dock warehouse. When I came out of there I looked at the two docks and there were three or four big ships tied up loading cargo and they all had Blue Funnels. I thought there’s a lot of ships here with same coloured funnel and never realized that I had just been accepted by one of the biggest and best shipping companies in the world. I found out later the chap in the office with the bowler hat who just about managed to speak to me was Mr Boyd, who was the personnel superintendent of the catering department of the Blue Funnel Line. He had been at sea for many years as chief steward in their big passenger ships. The other one was Mr. Kenworthy who had also been a chief steward with the company, he was Mr Boyd’s assistant.

My travel warrant had been made out from Stockport so I travelled home to tell my mother and collect my gear. Mother was a bit worried about me going down to London, I don’t know why, I was just turned twenty and had travelled the world.

After travelling down to London I followed the instructions given to me to arrive at the King George “V” dock. Once there, the “Eurymedon” did not need much finding. She had a blue funnel and was moored in between two ships which had similar lines to the ships I had seen moored up in Birkenhead, except, that they had red funnels and their names began with “Glen”. I found out later that they were part of the Glen Line, which also belonged to Alfred Holt & Co.

When I looked at the Eurymedon from the quay side I recognized immediately that she was a Liberty Ship built in America during the war (mentioned on page 53) actually being launched in August 1943 at Baltimore. Her original name was “Matthew Brush”, being handed over to the British her name changed to “Samoa” and was managed by Alfred Holt until 1947 when she was purchased by Holts from the American government. She had only just had her name changed to “Eurymedon” and painted in Blue Funnel livery just prior to me joining her.

I will just explain here the ships and companies that came under the Alfred Holt flag. First of course was the Blue Funnel Line. Subsidiaries of that were, the Ocean Steam Ship Co. Ltd., the China Mutual Steam Navigation Co. Ltd., The Nederlandsche Stoomvaart Maatschappij, Ocean N.V. (N.S.M.O.) which was a Dutch company set up by Alfred Holt & Co in 1891. These ships were registered in Amsterdam and flew the Dutch flag. They all had blue funnels and Blue Funnel names. This part of the company opened the door to the Dutch East Indies trade for all of the Company’s ships. There was also the Glen Line which was a London company that Holts took over before the war. Their ships were registered in London, had red funnels and carried their own names, but, their crews were Chinese except the officers, engineers, chief and second stewards who were Blue Funnel men. The Company also owned it’s own wharfs in Hong Kong and Shanghai, had its own lighterage companies, tugs, and pilots out in the Far East, London, Liverpool and Glasgow. It was a very big and well respected company.

I signed on the Eurymedon on the 21st. May 1947. The crew, as I can remember, were all white. Most of the crew had been with Blue Funnel for some time so they were known as “companies men”. All the officers and engineers, the chief and second steward, chief and second cook, bosun and carpenter. (The last five were classed as Petty Officers in Blue Funnel). The chief steward was getting on in age, had been with the company for some time, very much overweight and was known in the company as “Tubby Harrison”, (he had a liking for gin). the second steward was a bit of a dip stick, a chap in his mid to late twenties, newly promoted from assistant steward. I can’t remember his name but he was demoted after and actually sailed under me as assistant steward a few years later, when I was second steward. The chief cook was a good chap, Danny Wells in his late twenties. I sailed with him again a few years later in the “Telemachus”. The galley boy and pantry boy were both first trippers. They had trained at Aberdovey (in mid Wales), which was Blue Funnel’s own training school. There were two other assistant stewards. One had been on the ship from the previous voyage. He was in his thirties and was as queer as a nine bob note, (they call them gay today). The other assistant steward had been recruited off the seamans pool in London. He, was like me, not classed as a company’s man. He was about my age and spoke with a real cockney accent, he was a typical wide boy.

The ships I had been on before were tramp ships belonging to ordinary shipping companies and their victualing was known as Board of Trade standard. This meant that they served three meals a day known as Breakfast, Dinner and Tea. The first culture shock to me was that they did not serve Breakfast, Dinner and Tea in Blue Funnel, it was Breakfast, Luncheon and Dinner. They did not call their trainee officers, “Apprentices”, they were known as Midshipmen, as in the Royal Navy. Another thing was dress code. After we sailed and went through the Straits of Gibraltar and the weather started getting warmer, I took the morning tea and toast up onto the bridge to the chief officer (First Mate) and he said to me, “will you inform the Captain and Officers that it is whites today”. Ignorant me thought what the hell is he on about “whites today”. When I got down into the pantry and mentioned it to this puff, who was the Captains steward, he said “yes you have got to tell them all its whites so they all dress the same”.

I must mention here that I was with Blue Funnel for nine years and my memory does not serve me well as to exactly where I went on each voyage. However on the “Eurymedon” we went to Singapore and round Java, Then we went on to Australia, calling first at Melbourne.

Now Australia after the war was seen as the land of opportunity. Consequently it was a favoured place for jumping ship. The pantry boy, who had trained at Aberdovey, was seventeen and as thick as two short planks. He had met this girl ashore and he thought he was in love. Well, to us he was a bloody nuisance so, we kept bumming him up that he should jump ship and settle in Australia.. We even helped him pack his bag the night before we sailed. At the same time the so called second steward who wasn’t over bright was taken ill and put into hospital, so, the assistant steward, who was the queer, took over as second steward. That made us two short in the stewards department, a bit short handed.

We sailed from Melbourne for Freemantle, (where I had a conviction) and it was a bit tough being two short handed so we told Tubby Harrison to get the old man to get another hand signed on in Freemantle. I was a bit of a rebel in those days, so this Cockney lad and me said if we didn’t get an extra hand we were walking ashore. We finished up getting a Danish lad who had either jumped ship or paid off ill who could hardly speak a word of English. We were no better off. From Freemantle we sailed for home and paid off in Birkenhead on the 1st. December 1947. We had been away just over six months.

.

BACK TO THE POOL

Having paid off on the 1st December it looked as if I would have Christmas at home. I had to report back to the pool after my leave which was coming up to Christmas. The pool sent me to a tanker which at the time was in Cammell Lairds dry dock in Birkenhead. The ship was called the Esso Fawley and I was working on her until she was ready for signing on, which would be after Christmas. The ship itself was alright but I didn’t fancy working on her over the Christmas and New Year when I was only 50 miles from home. So, on Christmas Eve I decided “to hell with it” and caught the train home. I travelled back the day after Boxing day. When I got on board the chief steward said the old man wanted to see me. When I went up to see him he wasn’t very pleased and told me that he was paying me off with a D.R., I told him he couldn’t do that as I hadn’t signed on. As regards the D.R. he hadn’t got my discharge book and that is why there is nothing in my book about the Esso Fawley.

So I had New Year at home and instead of reporting back to the pool I decided to give The Blue Funnel another go. They just automatically thought I would be reporting back there after my leave and told me that I would be rejoining the “Eurymedon” which was in Glasgow. In the mean time they had me working by on the ships that were in Vittoria dock Birkenhead. It was known as working on the shore gang. There was a shore gang boss who was in charge of us and we were storing the ships and cleaning them ready for the company inspection before they sailed. It was at this time that I realized that I was with a company that looked after the people it employed.

SECOND VOYAGE ON THE EURYMEDON

The majority of the crew signed on in Birkenhead on the 13th. January 1948 and then we travelled up to Glasgow on the train. Most of the crew were the same as the previous voyage including the chief and second steward, Tubby Harrison and the Puff. When we arrived in Glasgow, she was berthed in the Blue Funnel, King George V dock after having just come out of dry dock. Whilst in dry dock she had had a lot of alterations done. Most noticeable was a new funnel which gave her a pronounced Blue Funnel look and after loading some cargo for ballast we sailed from Glasgow on the 15th. January 1948 for New York.

Now in 1999 a chap by the name of Peter Elphick was doing a book all about Liberty Ships and he asked through the Blue Funnel Association Magazine, (which is printed monthly), for anyone who had sailed on any of the Blue Funnel liberty ships (there were six of them) and had any information on them. I wrote to him telling him of how the Eurymedon (Samoa) was altered before we sailed for New York, but the chap who was apparently the fourth mate on this trip remembered the terrible voyage we had across the North Atlantic in January 1948. I of course remember what happened on the crossing to New York but didn’t think it was the sort of information that he wanted. However this is what is printed in the book which is called “LIBERTY The Ships That Won The War”,

“From the moment we passed into the Atlantic, we hit bad weather. Every weather report forecast depression after depression, and the ship pitched and rolled in a manner such that I had never experienced before or since. 9; 9;

About ten days out when in mid-Atlantic we were in difficulties. the problem was that if we maintained a speed sufficient to keep our bow to the weather, she was pitching so much that we were in danger of losing our propeller ( through racing) and, if we reduced our engine revs, she kept falling into the between wave peaks where we were on our beam-ends for minutes at a time. One member of the crew, who shall be nameless, became hysterical and had to be restrained in his cabin. 9;

We received an SOS from another Liberty a few miles to the north of us but such was our own plight we were unable to offer any assistance.

Captain G. I. Thomas then took the only decision that was open him - that is - to go about and head for the Azores, as we were now short of fuel. All the ships company were informed of what we were about to do and the order was given to `go about`. As we fell into the trough, I estimated that our angle of heel was about 70 degrees and there she lay for about four minutes! When she finally came out about and righted herself, everyone cheered with relief, and I suppose, with the easing of the tension.

John Jones [who was the fourth Mate] says that if his memory is correct, that crossing of the Atlantic which should have taken about ten days, took three and a half weeks. It was an experience he never forgot. He says that he was working in Freetown, Sierra Leone in 1964, when an old battered Greek Liberty berthed alongside. `On her stern, under layers of paint, I could just make out the name [Eurymedon], (at that time the ship was called Mimosa, She had two more names after that before being scrapped at Bilboa in1971”.

The crew member who John Jones refers to as being hysterical was actually the Chief Steward [Tubby Harrison] I personally know that he had been on the gin bottle ever since the bad weather started, he was in a right state.

John Jones who was the fourth mate on this voyage is a member of the Blue Funnel Association, like myself. After reading his account of this voyage in the book I obtained his address from the association magazine and wrote to him. He telephoned me sometime in September 2001 and we had a long conversation about this voyage on the Eurymedon.

We did of course finally reach New York and after we loaded part cargo we sailed from there to Havana, Cuba where we finished loading and then sailed from there for the Far East via the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal.

It was during this part of the voyage that I had my 21st Birthday at sea. A bit restricted for any big celebration but we did have a bit of a party with a case of beer and Tubby Harrison joined in with his bottle of gin.

I cannot remember the ports we went to but I do remember that the Old Man took ill and we had to put him ashore in hospital and then the second steward [the puff] we put him ashore somewhere. The Chief Officer took over as Captain and I was promoted for the rest of the voyage as second steward, (the date is in my discharge book as the 2/7/48.) I did not maintain the rank of second steward as I had only been with the Company for just over a year but it did help on my company record by the fact that I was only with the Company five years when I was permanently promoted to second steward. At that time, at 25, I was the youngest second steward in the Company.

I WAS NOW A BLUE FUNNEL MAN.

I paid off the Eurymedon in London on the 28th August 1948. We had been away just over eight months. After a spell at home I reported back to the office inside the dock shed in Vittoria Docks Birkenhead. They put me working on the shore gang. #9; The Mersey Docks & Harbour Board had a tender which was like a luxurious yacht. It was named “The Galatier”. The main purpose of this tender was to transport passengers to and from passenger ships which were anchored in the Mersey but did not come alongside the landing pier. This tender or yacht had some small luxury cabins and a beautiful oak panelled dining saloon that could seat about thirty people. It also used to take V.I.P.'s on trips out past the Mersey Bar wining and dining them in luxury with a gourmet lunch, preceded by cocktails and canapés, a selection of expensive wines followed by coffee and liqueurs. The trips would take about four hours and the reason I mention all this is that all the catering on this tender for these trips was done by Blue Funnel catering staff, simply because they were considered the best. Consequently those working on the shore gang would be selected to crew this tender.

During my period on the shore gang in September 1948, I was selected to work on two of these trips. It was during this period, and it stands out vividly in my mind, that the Yangsee incident occurred. A feature length film was made about this in the early 1950’s. All this came about after the war. Communism was infiltrating in from North China and was taking over the whole of China in a civil war. The Communists were fighting the Nationalist Government led by Chiang Kia Shek.

Now Shanghai was the capital of North China and Holts had their own wharf there. At the time fighting was going on just north of Shanghai. One of our Blue Funnel ships the “Anchises” was just entering the mouth of the Yangsee River on her way up to Shanghai when she was attacked and bombed by Chinese Nationalist fighter bombers. The engine room was flooded and the ship settled by the stern in shallow water. Refloated and towed up to Shanghai for a temporary repair to enable her to get to Kobe in Japan to be dry docked.

The Royal Navy destroyer “H.M.S. Amethyst” was also up the Yangsee River anchored close to Holts Wharf, supposedly to protect British interests there, of which the “Anchises” was one. The Amethyst stayed there until after the “Anchises” left for Kobe and then she slipped her moorings in the night and silently made her way down river, a distance of some twenty to thirty miles. When the Communists realized she was running the gauntlet they fired at her and she received some damage, but she escaped and headed for Hong Kong.

She arrived in Hong Kong to a tremendous welcome from all the ships in the harbour. Afterwards she sailed for home for repairs, getting a welcome at every port and through the Suez Canal.

Now the crew of the “Anchises” were all recognized by the Company for this and they all received gold watches with their names and details briefly inscribed on the back. The Captain, chief engineer and chief cook were all recognised by the government and they all received the British Empire Medal (or something). Why the chief cook?. The galley, which was all electric, could not be used until the repairs in Kobe. The cook was feeding the crew from a improvised brassiere on the open deck.

The above has got nothing to do with my life story, but I thought it was worth mentioning because it involved Blue Funnel and the world did not know that.

While I was on the Eurymedon and we were in Freemantle, Western Australia. I had purchased a new pair of shoes. At that time in Australia the shoe fashion for men happened to be square toes, in fact I don’t thing you could buy any without square toes. I was down Stockport one day after my second trip on the Eurymedon, to buy a new pair of shoes. The assistant in this shoe shop on Princes Street asked me what size I wanted. Well, I had noticed for some time that these shoes were a bit tight on me so I asked her to measure my feet as I wasn’t sure. She took my shoes and after looking at them she said, “ do you know you have got two left feet here”? Well, with square toes I could not distinguish that I had two left footed shoes. I had had them well over twelve months!.

I was sent over to Gladstone Dock in Liverpool. This was the companies dock where all inward bound ships unloaded the Liverpool cargo. Outward bound you always loaded or finished loading at Birkenhead. There I joined the “Rhexenor”, for coasting up to Glasgow and back. This took just over a week from the 29th. September to the 5th. October 1948.

I AM PUTTING THIS NEXT LITTLE BIT IN AFTER PART ONE HAS BEEN PRINTED.

When transferring from ships in Vittoria dock in Birkenhead to other Company ships in Gladstone dock Liverpool, and visa versa, we were always issued with travel tickets for the Liverpool underground, which ran under the River Mersey, immerging at Hamilton Square station on the Birkenhead side, after that spreading out to all parts of the Wirral peninsular. On the Liverpool side, it was James Street station where we immerged. From there we would board a train on the Liverpool overhead railway. (Known every where by Liverpudlians and seaman all over the world as the DOCKERS UMBRELLA). We were also issued with tickets for the overhead, but, depending on what time of day you were travelling, you could risk serious injury. This was because it would be packed with dockers, who travelled with the tool of their trade, which was, a very sharp cargo hook tugged into their trouser belt. The hook was like a third hand to a docker, and was used to take a grip on all sorts of cargo, bales, sacks, boxes in fact they would stick into anything. Travelling on the overhead, with a lot of movement, it could stick into fellow travellers.

Other passengers on the overhead who you had to be aware of were the cleaning women. These were gangs of women who would be going aboard ships to clean up the accommodation (not Blue Funnel) They always carried their cleaning tools with them, mops buckets brushes etc.. You always stood well back from these females. You could easily get clobbered with a mop or brush, and if you did happen to get in their way, their language would make a Liverpool docker blush.

On the Birkenhead side, we would catch the bus down the dock road to Vittoria dock. The fare had always been 1d. One morning I was travelling with this other lad, and after handing the conductress the 1d. she says “its gone up”, “oh how much is it now” “treeaypence” (1 &1/2d). This lad says “bloody hell that’s 50% increase”.

I was next sent down to London to join the “Agapenor” for a short trip over to Amsterdam. Then round to Birkenhead so she could finish off loading before sailing to the Far East. I didn’t sail with her so my time on her was from 14th. October to the 5th. November 1948. They kept me back for another ship which was going to have a change of crew in Gibraltar.

THE S. S. MARON EX BERWYN VICTORY.

That ship happened to be the “Maron”. Now I mentioned earlier about the ships that were built during the war in America. We first of all had the Fort and Ocean Ships (which I sailed on both) then we had the Liberty ships, which my first ship with Blue Funnel “The Eurymedon” was one. Then the last type to be built just at the end of the war were the Victory ships of which the “Maron” was one. They were good ships for Blue Funnel because they had a top speed of over 15 knots. In all, Alfred Holts bought about six of these Victory ships from the U.S.A. Government and at least two of them were put under the Dutch flag to increase the number of ships in that part of the Company.

The Maron was one of the Company ships that was on the America to the Far East service via the Mediterranean, Suez Canal, and Aden, discharging the cargo in Malaya, Singapore and the Java Islands. It was a regular monthly service, therefore she had not been home for twelve months. It being company policy to change the crews of these ships after or near a twelve month period, it was arranged for the majority of the crew to be changed at Gibraltar as she entered the Mediterranean.

Altogether there were about thirty to forty of us involved in the change over, so, we boarded a coach, about ten o’clock at night, outside India Buildings, (which was the Company’s head office). Now this was the end of November 1948 and we were travelling overnight to London Airport (now Heathrow), In those days coaches were primitive by today's standards. They were not very comfortable and there was no heating so by the time we got to the airport we were frozen stiff and hungry.

A meal had been arranged for us and an airplane from Sabena Belgian Airlines had been charted by the Company to fly us all to Gibraltar. We boarded the plane, which was a four engine B52 bomber converted into a passenger airliner and now called a Dakota, about nine o’clock but it couldn’t take off because of fog.

Now, none of us had ever been in a plane before, so, naturally we were all a bit apprehensive. Eventually we took off, but we couldn't see a thing until we cleared the fog at about three hundred feet and then it was great. We flew over the English Channel heading for Antwerp, which of course was where the Sabena Air Lines were based. We landed there so the aircraft could be refuelled and they took us into the airport building and gave us a meal.

One thing that has stood out in my mind about the airport at Antwerp. We lads flying out had never come across it before. A lot of us went into the gents toilet before re-boarding the plane and inside the gents was this woman holding her hand out and saying “one franc”. None of us had ever seen a woman toilet attendant inside a gents before and found it a bit embarrassing. Now, it is a regular thing on the Continent.

We took off from Antwerp about 11 o’clock in the morning to fly direct to Gibraltar. I remember it was a beautiful day and we flew out over the Bay of Biscay

and down the coast of Portugal. There were only two male cabin crew on board (female cabin crew had not started then) and they served a meal that had been put on board in Antwerp, in the afternoon. We were flying over the southern coast of Spain when it was getting dark and the cabin crew informed us that we were preparing to land at Gibraltar. By then it was really dark and the cabin lights were dimmed to give the pilot a better view for landing. We were coming lower and lower and the lights on the rock were level with us and looking out of the window, I could see the sea coming up to meet us. I thought “Christ” we are going to finish in the drink and then there was a bump and we were running along the runway, what a relief to us first time flyers.

The agent in Gibraltar had arranged hotel accommodation for us. The next morning the Maron came in from the Atlantic. She anchored just outside the breakwater so there would not be any port charges involved. The agent organized a launch to transfer us all. This was a bit hectic with a new crew boarding and the other disembarking, but within a couple of hours we were under way.

We sailed for the Far East calling at all the usual Blue Funnel ports on the Malayan coast, Singapore, the Philippine Islands and the Java coast. It was on this voyage in the “Maron” that I had a spot of bother. The chief cook took an instant dislike to me and I could only put it down to religious bigotry. I should perhaps best explain here that in Blue Funnel, 40% of the white crews were Welsh and so were usually Welsh Methodists, another 40% would be from Merseyside, the majority being of Irish decent and were therefore Catholics, the other 20% which included me, plus most of the officers and engineers came from the rest of the country and of no particular denomination. The chief cook, who came from Liverpool, was as thin as a pencil and as thick as two planks. He was of Irish decent and an obvious left legger. The galley boy, who was about my age, was the same.

We were at anchor in the Singapore Roads and one of our lifeboats was being used as a liberty boat to take those ashore who wanted to go. I didn’t bother, but, when I heard the lifeboat coming back and they all started coming down the alleyway, I stuck my head out of the cabin door to enquire if they had had a good time, with which this galley boy just thumps me in the face, so, I grab him and we finish up out on the deck with me on top of him about to start banging his head on the steel deck when the 3rd. mate who was on deck watch, pulled me off him.

The galley boy got up and his parting words to me were that he would see me on the hatch tomorrow, (the hatch tops were where all differences were settled). I was dreading the next day. The cook was taking quite a delight in goading me next morning by telling me what the galley boy was going to do to me. After lunch the galley boy came up and said “are you ready.” I, trying to appear indifferent said “yes”. So, out on to No. 4 hatch. There were quite a few of the Malayan stevedores around who gathered about to see the free boxing match. Now, not being very big, (the galley boy was bigger than I was) I thought I have got to get as many punches in as quickly as possible before he flattens me, preferably to his head. So I went hell for leather for him, landing a load of very fast punches to his head, all the time I had my head down and I couldn’t see where I was hitting him but I knew the punches were landing, I was just absolutely knackered when I heard this voice say “I’ve had enough,” I thought “thank god for that”. A big cheer went up from the watching crowd.

When I looked at the galley boy’s face he was covered in blood and his eyes were beginning to close. He was led away by the chief cook who was continuing to issue all kinds of threats to me.

Within the half-hour, the galley boy’s eyes were completely closed and he was unable to work for the next couple of days. When I took the old man his afternoon tea, word had got to him about the incident and he said “you have been fighting haven't you Singleton”? “Yes sir”, “did you win”? “Well he’s laid up in his bunk sir”. “I see” he said, “I should reprimand you for fighting, we will forget it this time he’s bigger than you”.

The next port was Hong Kong and this cook had been inciting the Liverpool/Irish engine room crew against me. They were all Catholics except one who was a young lad in his twenties with some brains. He was always down in our cabin with the stewards and always went ashore with us. We arrived at Hong Kong, tying up at Holt’s Wharf on Kowloon side near the Star Ferry. The brainy lad, another steward and myself went ashore with the intention of keeping out of the way of the rest of the crowd, So, we went into the public bar of the Peninsular Hotel. The entrance to which is off Nathan Road and is a bit up market, (Julie Marshall knows it), Bugger me, the engine room crowd found out where we were and about four or five of them came in, intent on causing trouble.

The engine room lad who was with us, unknown to us, had got medals in amateur boxing. With this crowd coming in and intent on causing trouble we decided to leave. We had to go down a few steps to get to the road and we had just got to the bottom when this lot came down the steps after us. The lad with us just pushed my mate and me to one side and said “leave this to me”. As they came down the steps, one at a time, he just thumped each one once. There were four or five of them flat on the floor. Our amateur boxer friend said, “come on”. We just walked off down Nathan Road; they didn’t bother to follow. That is absolutely true, it was like something you see in a film. That engine room lad got a great amount of respect from that crowd for the rest of the voyage but the chief cook wasn’t happy.

Our next port of call was Manila, the capital of the Philippines. A few of us went ashore there. Along the road to the docks there were some small bars. They were just wooden shacks, which had a shutter, which they just pushed up when they were open. They would then put a few stools on the side of the dirt road. Women ran them all. We sat at one of these bars and drank the local booze until we were in a collapsed state. The women picked me up and put me behind this bar, semi conscious on the floor. Then I heard this familiar scouse voice. It was of course this cook. He said to the mate who was with me “come on back to the ship with us”. My mate said, “No I am staying here with him”. The cook looked over the counter and saw me on the floor and he said “f--- that bastard leave him there”. I heard that. After I came round and staggered back to the ship, his words were going through my head. When I got on board I still had the cook’s words ringing in my ears. For the whole of the voyage he had had it in for me. So, I burst into his cabin and he was sitting on his bunk, half undressed. I lost my temper. I had had enough of him and I knocked shit out of him. The noise was heard next door and somebody burst in and dragged me off him otherwise I would have killed him. He was in a bit of a mess but he never said what had happened and he left me alone for the rest of the voyage.

It was a good job he kept his mouth shut otherwise my career with Blue Funnel would have been finished and then I would have literally killed him.

We docked in London on the 24th. May 1949. A relief crew joining to take her over. We travelled home by train on leave.

SECOND VOYAGE ON THE “MARON”

In the mean time the relief crew, who took over in London, took the “Maron” via Amsterdam and Glasgow back to Birkenhead where I rejoined her after my leave.

I signed on again on the 29th. June 1949 (that chief cook didn’t) sailing to the Blue Funnel ports in the Far East. I was again Captains Tiger (Steward) on this voyage the Captain was Willy Owen, obviously with a name like that he was Welsh. He was only a small chap, actually smaller than I was; I got on well with him.

This time when we got to Hong Kong our orders were changed and we sailed for the North East Coast of Russia, further north than Vladivostock to the Kamchatka Peninsular. It was the first time that a Blue Funnel ship had ever been up there. We had actually been chartered out by the Company to the Ministry of Food. It would now be about the beginning of August 1949, the salmon season in Kamchatka, the season when the salmon were all heading up the many rivers in North East Russia.

Kamchatka is a deserted and desolate place for eight months of the year. There are no ports or docks there. You just anchor out in the mouth of the rivers (there are several). It is also very flat so you are unable to see anything. Apparently they have built fish canneries at the mouths of all these rivers and there are huts that house the workers.

When the fishing season starts, the workers who catch the salmon, plus workers in the factories, and the stevedores who load the ships, are all shipped in from central Russia and housed in the huts for three to four months. They start up the canneries and the process of catching and canning the salmon begins.

The Russian communist government organize all this. It is one of their biggest exports. If you buy salmon today it has normally got the supermarket label on it but the chances are that it is Kamchatka Sock Eye Salmon.

Three things stand out in my mind about this voyage. The first one is that the stevedores all come aboard (male and female) bringing everything with them, portable cookers, pots, pans, tarpaulins for covering them, bedding, food. In fact every thing to make them self sufficient. A small tug boat pulls two lighters, one on each side, fully loaded with hundreds of cases of salmon. The lighters are made fast alongside. The tug boat continues bringing the full lighters out and taking the empty ones back until the stock that has been produced so far is exhausted. Then we up anchor and move to the next river mouth where there is a canning factory and we load their stock. The same stevedores stay on board each time we move until we have loaded all the stock that as been produced up to then. The stevedores are then taken off and go back to the first factory and start loading another ship. It is a continuous process until the salmon stocks are exhausted.

The Russian Commissar who is in charge comes on board from time to time to check how things are going. There are always armed guards on board to make sure that there no irregularities. The second thing that stands out in my mind is that one day this Russian who is in charge takes the old man (little Willy Owen) ashore to a courtesy reception. When the launch brings him back sometime later he was in a right state. He had to be helped up the gangway and he just collapsed in his room. They had been giving him this vodka. He wasn’t used to drinking, he never came out of his room for three or four days. The mate had to take charge.

Kamchatka is nearly in the Arctic circle. At the time of year that we were there, August, it didn’t go dark for very long. It was pleasantly warm and the sea was like glass, teeming with fish, mostly flat fish. All the crew spent their time with lines over the side with sharpened bent nails on the end. We would lower it over the side to the bottom, which wasn’t very deep. Two or three jerks on the line and you had a fish on the end. We were filling buckets and buckets with them. The cook was putting them in the freezer but they weren’t gutted so they didn’t keep very well.

From Kamchatka we sailed down to Vladivostock. We actually tied up in the harbour there. None of the crew had been able to go ashore since leaving Hong Kong, so the Russians gave us passes and we could all sub 10 roubles each. Most of the crew wanted to see what Russia was like. I went with three others. We got what they called a ferry across the harbour to what was supposed to be the city. It was just one main street full of mud and potholes with rickety old trams running along. We didn’t see much sign of life, so we get on one of these trams and in sign language tried to explain to the conductress that we wanted a bar, in sign language. She instructed us to sit down. One of the passengers on the tram, who could speak a little English, told us to stay on the tram until it turned round and it would take us back to the city where there was a bar. By coincidence, this guy who could speak a little English, got off the tram at the same time as us.

Sure enough, he pointed out this bar which was like a big hotel. There was music and a lot of noise. A guy in a white apron came up to us and beckoned us to sit down at this table. We tried to explain to him that we wanted some beer. He eventually brought this big jug of beer, four glasses and some things on a plate, which didn’t taste bad. The beer wasn’t too good but we drank it, and ordered another. There were some Russian sailors on a table near us, they came over, and one or two of them could speak a little English. The beer we found out was called “Peewa” it tasted like it as well.

After a couple or so more of these jugs of “Peewa” we were starting to get into the mood by joining into raucous music with our own version. We then thought we had better ask for the bill in case we had not got enough money. There were four of us and we had all had a 10 rouble sub. When the bill came it was exactly 40 roubles, that was another coincidence. When we got out of this hotel we found our way down to the ferry, but the last ferry had gone. The place was deserted, we had no money so a couple of us decide to get our heads down on these forms. Five minutes later this Russian comes and explains to us “taxi”. We try to explain to him that we had no money, he just shrugs his shoulders so we follow him and his taxi turns out to be an American Jeep and another bloke is already sat in it. These two guys take us all round the harbour, which must have been five or six miles and all the time us four who are squashed in the back are wondering how we are going to pay him. We thought one of us would nip on board and get him some tins of cigarettes. We never told him which ship we were on or where we thought it was but, he stops this jeep right by the bottom of the gangway and we explained to him that one of us will go aboard and get him some cigarettes and he’s said “no, no, OK.” We said “you come back tomorrow we give you something”, he says “OK” and off he went.

The next morning all them that had been ashore were saying how this jeep taxi had brought them all back and they had no money to pay them, and he was supposed to be coming back that day for gifts. He never showed up did he, when we all got our heads together on this, we had all had 10 roubles sub, we had all met someone who could speak a little English who had taken us to a different hotel. Our bar bills all totalled up to exactly 10 roubles each. We had all been picked up in taxis (Jeeps) and all brought back to the ship without telling him where it was. It was then obvious that we had all been followed from the time we went ashore and they were making sure we all got back, they were the KGB weren't they?.

We sailed for Hong Kong that day fully loaded with Russian salmon consigned for our Ministry of Food. Before we sailed the local Commissar brought a small wooden barrel of caviar on board, a gift for the crew. The cook didn’t know what to do with it so he made it into a stew. That was the third thing that stood out in my mind.

We called at Hong Kong ,Singapore and Aden, for stores, water and fuel. Through the Suez Canal and home to Liverpool. According to my discharge book we paid off at Birkenhead on the 21st. November 1949, the voyage had lasted just under five months.

THE “ NESTOR”

My next ship was the last of the Blue Funnel passenger ships, The “Nestor”. She was about to make her final voyage. We signed on, on the 22nd. December 1949 and we sailed the next day, spending Christmas off Lands End. I was the engineers mess room steward. She carried a total of about fourteen engineers. These included a couple of electricians and a refrigeration engineer. She was a twin screw, coal burning ship so had about three engineers each watch. I was in charge of the mess. Besides me, there was another steward called Ernie Rankin (who later became a Chief Steward after I left the sea) and a mess boy, another Aberdovey first tripper

The “Nestor” was built in 1913 along with the “Ulysses” which then put five passenger carrying ships on the Australian service. Originally built to carry 280 passengers the passenger accommodation was reduced in the 1930’s to 170.

Until containers came in, in the 1970’s she was the biggest ship that Blue Funnel had at 14,500 tons.

After sailing from Liverpool, Our route out to Australia was via the Cape, calling first at Los Palmas for water, then Cape Town and Durban where we bunkered (she was a coal burner). After leaving Durban it was a complete scrub down every where after bunkering. Then it was across the Indian Ocean to Freemantle, Adelaide, Melbourne, and Sydney, which was our terminal port. We had been disembarking and embarking passengers at every port, they all disembarked at Sydney.

In Sydney we tied up at the Blue Funnel wharf which was right by the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Before sailing from Sydney we embarked a full contingent of passengers and a fair bit of cargo. On the day we sailed, the ship was dressed overall with flags because it would be the last time the “Nestor” would be there. Some Australian dignitaries came on board to say goodbye to the old ship, which during the 1920’s had transported the biggest part of the steel which had built Sydney Harbour bridge, from, Dorman Longs Steel works at Middlesbrough. When she started going astern to leave the berth, she started blowing her whistle and all the ships around joined in and as the view of the bridge came in sight. one half of it was covered in bunting. The “Nestor” had sailed back and to, to Australia since she was built in 1913, which was thirty seven years. Even during the war, sometimes carrying Australian troops. She was lucky, because her sister ship the “Ulysses” was sunk along with forty or so other Blue Funnel ships during the war. They gave the old “Nestor” a momentous send off.

Our next port of call was Hobart, Tasmania to load a few thousand tons of apples into the refrigerated spaces. It was our last port of call in Australia. We were there for about thirty six hours, so a few of us went ashore, dancing as usual. The next day we were due to sail at 4-00 o’clock and after lunch three of us coppered up to see if we had got enough for a last drink at a pub just across from the quay. We had enough for a couple of schooners of lager each and we had sixpence left over., This we put into the one armed bandit. As we turned away from it we heard this clattering and all these Australian tanners came pouring out of it. We had dropped the jack pot, about £4-10-0.. We were rich. The guy who owned the pub wasn’t pleased. We had a few more lagers with him then got a taxi up to town. Just got back to the quay to see the pilot flag being raised and she was blowing her whistle. One of the lads said it was quicker to dive in (fully clothed) and swim across to her, which he did so. I followed the pair of them, only remembering that I couldn’t swim when I was in the water, Jesus Christ must have been looking after me that day for we were all as drunk as skunks but I made it. To this day I don’t know how. Just got to the gangway when they started to heave it up.

We sailed home calling at Durban again for bunkers, where I bought our Maureen a wrist watch, then Cape Town topping up with cargo, Las Palmas for water and then home to Liverpool. We anchored in the Mersey until the tide was high enough to let us get alongside the landing stage to disembark the passengers. While we were in the Mersey the customs blokes came aboard with a gang of rummagers in boiler suits to search the ship. I had hidden our Maureen's watch and they didn’t find it.

I must mention here that when I was home during the previous summer, I had bought my first car, it was a 1936 Austin Ruby Saloon. I paid sixty five pounds for it, and each time I was away my Mum and Dad used it.

I had got word home of the approximate time we would be docking and when we tied up at the landing stage, Dad and Maureen were waiting there. I got down the gangway and slipped them this watch and told Dad to drive round to Gladstone Dock which was where we were going after disembarking the passengers.

We paid off on the 26th. June 1950 and after discharging her cargo the old “Nestor” sailed up to Glasgow and the breakers yard. A painting of her (which Jack Turnbull and Dave Brindley bought for me when I retired from the Navi,) has pride of place in our house.

M. V. AUTOLYCUS 21/7/50 TO 16/4/52 5 VOYAGES.

My next ship was Blue Funnel’s “Autolycus”. This was the longest period I served on any one ship. She was a class of ship which was designed after the war and known as the “A” class ships. There were twenty three of this class built between 1947 and 1956, to replace some of the 41 ships lost during the second world war. The “A” class were motor vessels of 8,236 gross tons and they all carried 12 first class passengers in six state rooms. The “Autolycus” was built in 1949. She was a happy ship and the crew changed very little whilst I was on her. The chief steward was Stan Forshaw, a real nice chap, who had been with the Company for a long time. I got on very well with him and it was he that recommended me for promotion to 2nd. Steward.

My first two trips on her I had the chief engineers table in the dining saloon with six of the passengers, and the chief and second engineer’s cabins to attend. I completed five voyages on the “Autolycus”. The last three as saloon steward after the previous saloon steward, who had been on her since launching in 1949, left for promotion to second steward. The saloon steward was responsible for the saloon and all the silver, of which there were a few hundred pieces. He was also responsible for waiting on the Captains table with six passengers.

The total catering crew on these “A” boats was chief and second steward, bedroom steward, who looked after the six state rooms, saloon steward, three assistant stewards and pantry boy. The galley had a chief cook, second cook /baker, assistant cook and galley boy.

The assistant cook on the first three voyages was Billy Croft, (there will be some more on Billy later). Billy and I became very good friends and as well as staying at his mothers house in Huyton a few times I was his best man at his wedding. (He tried getting me off with his sister, but I wasn’t keen, she was a bit bulky like him).

However Billy’s wedding is worth mentioning. It was some time in August 1951. His wife Audrey was a bit older than him and it was obvious he was smitten with the love bug. He hadn’t known her very long and I think he met her on Lime Street, so that was a bit questionable. However, the wedding was at Walton parish church, next to Walton Prison. All the arrangements had been done by Audrey while we were away on the “Autolycus“. For the reception they had cleared the big bedroom out of her house, where she lived with her Mum, Dad and umpteen brothers. Anyway the wedding and reception went off all right. I, as best man brought a bit of culture to the proceedings with my posh High Lane voice. The reception over, we all hung around waiting (in typical Liverpool fashion) for the local boozer to open and we all piled in there as soon as it did.

Now Billy’s dad had been at sea for a number of years and had a liking for his beer. Audrey’s brothers were getting rid of quite a bit of ale, which they weren’t paying for. However I noticed that a few of the party had disappeared. So, I went to the toilet. When I get in there Audrey’s brothers are knocking all kinds of that brown stuff out of Billy’s dad. He was in a right state, I never got asked and I never went to any more Liverpool weddings.

One thing that happened on the Autolycus, (I must have told Liz about it, she has reminded me to include it). It was during my third or fourth voyage on her, when I was the saloon steward.

We now had a bedroom steward who was very well known in the Company. His name was Tony Martell. I have written more about him when he was with me on the “Telemachus”. Tony first and foremost was feminine in all his mannerisms. In other words he was queer. I never ever saw any evidence of this. It was something that he kept to himself. A good sport socially, and mixed well with everybody. Being in his mid to late forties, the rest of the catering department were always younger than him, and he had been with the Company a long time, and on some of the Company’s bigger passenger ships. Promotion had always passed him by for two reasons. One, he had a drink problem, and two, he preferred being a bedroom steward.

This incident happened one time when we were in Singapore. A gang of four or five of us were going ashore. Tony was one of the gang, and when Tony went ashore he was always immaculately dressed. Being in the tropics he was dressed all in whites, even his shoes. Singapore is one of the areas of south east Asia which is effected by the monsoons. When the monsoons come it literally rains stair rods. You will know what its like here in heavy rain, the water running down the gutters in the roads and sometimes the drains can’t take it. In Singapore they don’t have gutters and drains, they have monsoon ditches. These are like open sewers about three or four feet deep, and two to three feet wide on the sides of the road. They carry the monsoon rain and everything else down and out to sea, and boy do they pong. The smell is part of the tropical atmosphere, which you notice when you first go ashore, but, you soon get used to it. The streets are lined with shops and bars and outside every one is a wooden walk way, like a plank of wood with no hand rails.

On this shore expedition, after we got outside the dock gates we all piled into a local bar, like seaman normally do. We started to down a few bottles of the local Tiger beer. Our plan for the evening was to have a few beers and then get a taxi up to the “New World”, which was like a miniature Belle Vue, without a big dipper. It was surrounded by its own wall, had dance cabaret halls, (you bought tickets for each dance), and also sold drinks at very expensive prices. So we would take our own in hip flasks, which we had filled up on the ship and just bought a coke or something, which would provide you with a glass to pour the contents of your flask into.

After a couple of pint bottles of Tiger beer each, we decided to order our taxi. When it arrived in the road outside we all piled out of this bar, walked off the pavement, across this wooden plank and started to get into the taxi. We were just about to start off in the taxi when we noticed that Tony wasn’t with us. When we looked, he was just scrambling out of the monsoon ditch. What a sight! Tony, who two minutes before, had been immaculate in his whites, was covered in effluent and stunk to high heaven. He tried getting in the taxi, but we just kicked him out and the taxi set off without him.

The local Singapore Tiger beer was never very kind to me. I would always finish up with a bad head and yodelling down the white telephone. The other thing I remember about this particular night ashore was, after we came out of this New World cabaret place we got a taxi back to the ship. By now I wasn’t feeling very well. Before I could get the taxi window open, the contents of the evening had decided to vacate my stomach, so the full lot either ended up inside or outside the taxi door. The Chinese taxi driver was not very happy and was demanding compensation for ruining his taxi.

BACK TO AUSTIN SEVEN I BOUGHT.

To come back to the car that I had bought, a 1936 Austin Seven Ruby Saloon. It was only seven horse power and it wasn’t very powerful. It didn’t do a lot for my image, so, I took it to a car auction on the A6 near Belmont Bridge. When they ran it in to put it under the hammer, the auctioneer said a rather disparaging remark about it, and I quote, “ah, here is something that looks as if its just come all the way from Korea”, un quote. Now that remark has stuck in my mind and therefore pin points the time that I must have got rid of it as 1951, because that was the time that the Korean war was going on. Anyway it did bring £60 in the auction, less the entrance fee and commission, so I got about £50 for it.

This was the time that I went into motor bikes. My first one was a 1947 Royal Enfield 350 cc which would be one of the first produced after the war, a continuation of their pre war model. It was a good sturdy bike but a bit noisy.

Whilst I was away on my next voyage on the Autolycus, I wrote off to put in for my test for when I was home on my next leave, which would be August 1951. I duly went for my test in Manchester and passed first time, so I have held a full motor cycle licence since that date. The bike was kept in a garage at the back of the Robin Hood when I was away at sea.

In 1951 Maureen would be eleven and had been attending High Lane school from being five. In those days you had to pass a scholarship to go onto grammar school other wise you went to a secondary modern school which in this case would be the Willows in Marple. However I knew our Maureen was a bright girl and to encourage her to pass her scholarship I promised I would by her a cycle. She passed with no problem so we went down to Bednalls on Hillgate so she can choose a cycle. She picked a Raleigh with a three speed gear, the colour was green.

Passing her scholarship entitled her to attend Macclesfield Grammar School for girls. In those days it was easy to get to Macclesfield from High Lane on the train. High Lane station, which was only about 400 yards up the road from our house, is not there anymore.

During my time on the Autolycus I was given a company contract with Blue Funnel. I now had become what they termed a “Company’s Man” in one of the finest companies in the world. It was all part of the companies policy to school their future heads of departments.

Blue Funnel also looked after the health of all their crews, Company’s men and non Company’s men. They had their own doctors office in a house near to Vittoria Dock, Birkenhead. We attended there before we signed on every voyage and they also had either a doctor or male nurse on every ship.

My fifth voyage on the Autolycus ended on the 26th. April 1952. The company then decided to bring me off and prepare me for promotion. I was happy on the Autolycus. I had been with majority of the same crew for nearly two years. Billy Croft who was now 2nd. cook was also being transferred but, I had to move on.

PREPARATION FOR PROMOTION

After my leave they sent me coasting up to Glasgow and back to Birkenhead on the “Patroclus” which was one of the new “P” class ships. They were bigger than the “A” class and had accommodation for 35 first class passengers. Although I was signed on as assistant steward I was acting as 2nd. steward. I was only on her from 20th. May to the 1st. June 1952.

Then came the “Helenus” which was one of the new “H” class ships. The same type of ship as the “P” class except that they had a different type of main engine and were built with a bigger refrigeration space for the Australian trade. This coasting voyage was the same thing as my trip on the Patroclus. I signed on as assistant steward and acted as 2nd. steward up to Glasgow and back. I was now spending a lot of time in Glasgow and getting to know it well. Trams were still running in there in those days and a few of us would get the tram to Govan town hall where there was dancing a couple of nights a week. I became friendly with this girl who lived in Paisley and the pair of us would go to Paisley town hall dancing. She was a bus conductress on the Paisley Corporation Buses and when she was working at night I would ride round on the bus with her till she finished her shift. I didn’t pay, but if an inspector got on she gave me a ticket. My time on the Helenus was from the 7th. June to the 26th. June 1952. #9; #9;

I was working on the shore gang for a couple of weeks when Mr. Boyd, the catering superintendent discovered that the “Ascanius” which was signing on did not have an experienced assistant steward for the job as saloon steward. He asked me if I would do the one voyage on her, which I did. The voyage was from the 18th. July to the 26th. October 1952. After docking back in Liverpool I coasted her up to Glasgow acting as second steward again from 3rd. November to the 16th. November 1952.

PROMOTED TO SECOND. STEWARD “MEMNON”

A week later I was called into the office and was told I was being promoted to second steward. This was 1952. I was now 25 and was at that time the youngest 2nd. steward in the Company. They told me that I would be going out on one of the Company’s ships to Port Said to join the “Memnon” which would be coming through from America on her way to the Far East. I had to get a passport from the passport office in India Buildings. The whole of India Buildings was owned by Blue Funnel and was where their head office was. It was necessary to have a passport to enter Egypt to wait for the Memnon coming, I still have that passport which the company paid for.

A junior engineer and I joined one of the Company’s Dutch ships which was sailing from Birkenhead to the Far East. We signed on as supernumeraries but we were actually passengers. It took about ten days to get to Port Said. The agents there collected the pair of us and put us in a hotel to await the Memnon. The second steward and the junior engineer who we were replacing had both been put ashore in hospital while in America.

We were in the hotel for about a week before the ship arrived and actually signed on, on the 8th. December 1952. ;

MY EDUCATION STARTS AGAIN.

The chief steward on the Memnon was a chap called Drysdale, I cannot remember his first name but he was a great bloke and I have a lot to thank him for.

In the catering department every thing has to be recorded and accounted for and costings worked out in the chief steward’s victualing books which are handed in to head office at the end of each voyage.

I, as second steward, was responsible for handing out all the dry stores either issued to the crew or the galley. The linen store, ships bonded store (cigarettes, cigars, wines, spirits and beer) and all consumable items such as cleaning materials, also were my responsibility. I kept a record of all dry stores issued and passed it to the chief steward who entered it in the appropriate costing book. At the end of each week or part week he worked out a costing per head of crew. This costing had to be divided into two categories if you have an all white crew, and three categories if you have Chinese crew in the engine room. If you carried passengers their victualing allowance was the same as Officers who all dined in the saloon and the allowance at the time for them was 4/6d per day. For white crew (deck and catering) it was 3/6d. Chinese crew was 2/9d. Of course these costings increased frequently over the years. Ships that had Chinese crew in the engine room always had their own galley which was always on the poop deck aft. Ships that were not originally built for Holts like the war time Liberty and Victory Ships did not have separate galleys so they always carried an all white crew. That is the reason why there were never any Company’s men among the engine room ratings. They were always obtained from the pool on a voyage to voyage basis.

The Memnon of course was originally a Victory ship, therefore she did not carry passengers and had an all white crew. This meant that there was only two categories of costings, and every time I issued any stores either for the crew mess rooms or the galley for the cooking of the food, it had to be weighed and recorded. The same when issuing stores to the pantry for the officers and catering staff.

The chief cook had to do the same for all the stores that he withdrew from the freezers, fridges and vegetable stores, for feeding all the crew. These figures had to be passed on to the chief steward who recorded them in his victualing books on a daily basis and then at the end of the week, he had to work out a costing for each individual crew member. When multiplied by the number and category of the crew member this gave a fairly accurate figure for the week, which of course would differ from week to week depending on the cost of replenishing stores at different ports abroad. At the end of a voyage all the weeks were added together to give a costing for the voyage. This was then calculated against (in the case of the Memnon) the two catering categories. At the end of the voyage all the chief stewards books would go to the head office (India Buildings) and be costed up. There would be a tolerance of ten to twenty % above the actual figure but, this would depend on where we had bought more stores. If the figure was within that tolerance the chief and 2nd. steward and chief cook would receive a voyage bonus.

The chief steward, Mr. Drysdale, had been used to training up second stewards and the Company always put newly promoted ones with either him, or other experienced chief stewards, for their first voyage. They had to learn the art of book keeping among other things. As soon as I joined in Port Said he gave me a duplicate set of books with instructions on how to fill them in, after working the costings out. I can tell you I had a few sleepless nights trying to work these costings out, and then, as usual with me, the penny eventually dropped and it clicked. I have never forgotten how to do that and it stood me in good stead for the future. Today of course it would have been done on a calculator, after that a computer, but, in those days it all had to be worked out in your head.

That voyage on the Memnon was just over six months. In that time I think we must have called at every port in the Far East, some of them twice. We arrived back in Liverpool and paid off at Birkenhead on the 26th. June 1953.

It was while I was at home on leave that I changed my motor bike for a brand new 1953, 350 c.c. A. J. S. It was the first model to be produced with a dual seat as standard. I think I paid about £270 for it. I should have waited really because my next voyage lasted over twelve months and I had it stored in my mothers front lounge via the French windows. She wasn’t too pleased about the oil on the floor, but, then I was her son wasn’t I?.

It would be about this time in my dad’s life that he changed his job. He had worked in brickyards since before I was born. Even though for more than ten years he had been driving one of the lorries, it was still hard work. He apparently had an argument with a new transport manager and finished up losing his job. He got another job with a chap who lived in Reddish who had a couple of clapped out wagons. Today, that sort of vehicle would not be allowed on the road, but dad would do anything rather than be out of work. At first he was driving this lorry up to a coal pit at Chesterfield, loading it with coal from a hopper, then delivering it to the Co-op laundry which was next to Bredbury station (demolished about 1997). He would have to do two trips a day, working about 12 hours a day, something else which would be illegal today. Then the laundry started having their coal delivered to Hazel Grove station in 20 ton railway wagons and dad had to load his lorry up there out of these wagons by shovel. Its hard enough trying to shovel coal from the boards on the bottom of a railway wagon, but, starting from the top was soul destroying. I know, because I went helping him a couple of times while I was at home.

He stuck that until the chap who was supposed to own the wagons couldn’t get any more credit for petrol. Dad then got a job driving new lorry chassis from somewhere in the Manchester area down south to have cabs and bodies fitted on them. This was inhuman, especially in the middle of winter. No wonder his health detereated quickly after that. He worked for Reid's the builders for a short period driving their lorry and the last driving job he ever had was on the coal wagon for Compstall Co-op delivering coal to houses, until, he banged his elbow on a coal cellar door. His elbow turned septic and for the first time in his life he was off sick.

After getting over that he got a job at Horns garage washing cars and serving petrol. Horns was then at the bottom of Stockport station approach, MacDonald's is there now. When he was on the late shift it would be midnight when he finished, and as no buses would be running, he would cycle home to High Lane in all weathers on Maureen's bike, if he was unable to have the use of my Ford Prefect. He would be sixty then and when he had to give that job up through ill health he never worked again.

HUGHIE CLEARY AND THE “TELEMACHUS”

After my leave from the Memnon I worked on several ships on the dock as second steward, always having to be in uniform so you were distinguished from the others. By the way, I must mention here that second stewards, like all the ships crew, could buy their uniforms, from Holts Mutual. This was the company’s own outfitting shop in Hamilton Square, Birkenhead. The shop was down some steps and occupied the whole of a big cellar under some big buildings. They stocked just about everything that anyone going to sea would require. All uniforms were made to measure including tropical uniform, but most people had their tropical gear made in Hong Kong as it was cheaper.

For assistant stewards the dress was tuxedo jackets, black trousers, white shirt with dicky bow and black socks and shoes. In warm climates it was white jackets instead of tuxedo. For all officers, chief and second stewards, the uniform was the reefer four button jacket and tropical uniform was either long or short white trousers with short sleeve shirt with epaulets. I still have both my tuxedo jacket with A. H. buttons and my reefer jacket with my second stewards chevron ring on it.

By this time 1953, the new offices, stores, canteen etc. had been built across the opposite side of the dock road and took the name of “Odyssey works”. The offices in the dock warehouse were pulled down.

It would be sometime in July 1953, I was called into the new offices and told that I would eventually joining the “Telemachus” up in Glasgow and I would be 2nd. steward with Hughie Cleary. Hughie had already done one trip on the Telemachus and on that voyage his 2nd. steward had been a chap called Gordon Smith who went on to be the catering superintendent down in London on Glen Line.

I was introduced to Hughie when he came aboard one of the ships in Birkenhead. At the time he was finishing his leave off before rejoining, up in Glasgow. I was a bit apprehensive of Hughie, his reputation had travelled before him. He was tall and rather stern looking. In fact when I was ashore with him (a rare occasion for Hughie) one time in Japan, the bar girls were all round him saying “Ah so you Gary Cooper” and he did have the look of that famous actor.

We had also got a new catering superintendent in Liverpool and Birkenhead as assistant to Mr Boyd. His name was Harry Sparrow. I had met him in the new offices at Odyssey Works. He didn’t wear a bowler hat like Mr Boyd, he preferred a trilby. His reputation was a bit fearsome, having been chief steward on the “Sarpedon”, one of the last large passenger carrying Blue Funnel Ships. The Sarpedon went to the Glen Line and was renamed “Glenlochy” in 1957. When Mr Sparrow was on the Sarpedon, Hughie Cleary was the saloon steward with him. Later, Mr. Sparrow went onto the “P” Boats (35 passengers) and Hughie joined him as his 2nd. steward, so they knew each other well.

Before we joined the Telemachus, we were told that she was going over to New York to take over the run of the “Menestheus” which had been lost off the coast of California after an explosion and fire in the engine room on the 16th. April 1953.

This run we were taking over was a joint service with a Philippine shipping company which was known as the “De-La-Rama Joint Service”. It operated from the East and West coast ports of America across the Pacific to the Philippines, Hong Kong and all round the Japanese Islands.

After travelling up to Glasgow by train we signed articles on the 7th. August 1953. We had a white deck crew, some of them Company’s men, Chinese in the engine room and of course a white catering department, (all Company’s men). There was Hughie and myself, the bedroom steward, the very well known Tony Martell, who I had sailed with on the Autolycus. (Remember the monsoon ditch incident). He was queer, in his late forties and was known to have a drink problem. Tony was one of the Blue Funnel characters, an excellent bedroom steward, talked with a typical queers deep throated voice and always immaculately dressed except when drunk, Hughie was one of the very few chief stewards who would carry him and he had been with him the previous voyage. Tony was always very polite, he got on well with the passengers (we carried twelve).

The Old Man’s steward, who was also the passengers smoke room steward was a chap called Sam Kershaw. It was his first voyage in the Company having previously been a wine waiter on Cunnard “Mauritania”, He was a very good steward also trustworthy, I could give him the keys to the bar while I carried on with something else. He was a very devout Catholic, but never talked about it. Whenever we tied up anywhere, he would not say a word to anybody and nobody would miss him, he would be first down the gangway (after port clearance) and find the nearest Catholic Church. I made a good friend of Sam and he had some interesting tales to tell of his exploits on the Mauritania.

There was the saloon steward and two other assistant stewards plus the pantry boy, who was a first trip Aberdovey boy. A good lad and very well mannered. I took him under my wing which he respected, and would do anything for me. The last I heard of him was when Hughie Cleary was visiting me at the Navigation some years after I left the sea, Hughie told me that he did make a very good chief steward a few years later.

In charge of the galley was Danny Wells as chief cook. I had sailed with Danny on my first voyage in Blue Funnel in the “Eurymedon” and like I said about him then he was always smart and clean.. His cabin was next to mine, anything in his cabin that was brass, even if it had been painted over, he would scrape the paint off and have it highly polished. He and I would compete as to who had the most shiny brass. When the Old Man came round on inspection he would say to Danny “have you found anything else to polish Chef?”. The second cook who was also the baker, was a very good baker. He had been a baker on some big passenger ships, and his bread and tab-nabs were excellent. There was an assistant cook and galley boy, who was another Aberdovey lad. He was on his second voyage, which turned out to be a long one.

The Telemachus was a happy ship and we all got on well together. The bosun and carpenter (chippy), who were classed as petty officers, shared cabins in the same alleyway as the chief cook and I and they became competitive brass cleaners. 9;

We sailed from Glasgow to New York loading cargo for our first voyage. I should explain here that the voyages on this De La Rama service started and ended at New York. We loaded cargo at different ports on the East and West coast of America, (too numerous to remember them all). We also picked up passengers round the coast, some of them treating it as a cruise holiday, joining in New York. They sailed with us to the other ports on the East Coast. This gave the passengers time ashore in each port. Then through the Panama Canal, which was an experience for them. Up to Los Angeles and San Francisco, where they would disembark and travel back to New York, or where ever, overland on the train, a very good months holiday for the rich Americans. They travelled in first class state rooms with excellent service, good food and cheap booze and fags. The agent in New York told Hughie that what these passengers paid for the trip round both coasts covered the cost of victualing for the whole of the crew for the whole of the three and a half months voyage. Tony Martell, Sam Kershaw and the saloon steward said they were very good tippers.

Anybody doing their first trip through the Panama Canal, like the pantry boy, galley boy or the deck boy, were told to save all the scrap bread for the mules that pull the ship along through the locks when you go through the canal. When we arrived at the entrance of the canal, the three first trippers were there with their scrap bread, carrots, and apples piled up waiting to feed the mules. These mules were actually electric trains which pull the ship’s mooring ropes along the locks in the canal. It was a good laugh but it only works once.

San Francisco was our last port on the west coast. Sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge is a wonderful experience and sailing past Alcatraz which was still being used as a prison looked a foreboding place.

After leaving San Francisco it was across the Pacific to Hong Kong, crossing the international date line en route where you loose or gain 24 hours depending on whether you are travelling east or west.

We discharged our inward bound cargo at Holts wharf on Kowloon and then sailed for Japan, calling at Yokohama , Kobe and perhaps two other ports discharging cargo. After Japan it was down to the Philippines calling at a couple of ports there and always the capital Manila, where we finished discharging our outward cargo and started loading cargo for America.

It was then back to Hong Kong to load for the States. In Hong Kong loading cargo was usually from large sampans whilst at anchor. It was very interesting looking down on these sampans. They haven't changed over the past few hundred years, whole families which could consist of anything from four to ten persons lived on the stern part of these vessels in a space about as big as our kitchen. The sleeping quarters would be below their deck space, but, they carried their own hens in wire netting cages and they sometimes had a pig tethered on deck. Their toilet was two planks of wood jutting out over the stern and sheltered by a bit of sacking. As well as sails most of them had a diesel engine which could also supply them with electricity.

We also took on stores in Hong Kong from the stock which is kept in store rooms in Holt’s wharf. The stores had been shipped out from Liverpool and held there to restock the Company’s ships for catering, deck and engine room which would consist of just about everything. Paint, ropes, oils, engine room spares etc. In the catering department we would take on certain dry stores, beer, wine and spirits, consumable cleaning stores. All the Blue Funnel ships would take on rice for the Chinese crew because they bought it in large quantities at favourable prices to supply all Blue Funnel and Glen Line ships for the round trip back to Hong Kong. Good quality fresh fruit and vegetables would be taken on at all ports. We, on the American service, took on the majority of our dry stores, meat and fish, also cigarettes because this was the cheapest place to buy duty free cigs and the crew, particularly the Chinese, preferred American. All these stores were taken on board at the terminal port of New York.

Leaving Hong Kong we sailed for Japan to finish loading cargo for ports on both American coasts. As well as cargo we would also be embarking and disembarking passengers. When leaving America there would usually be one or two missionaries amongst the passengers, travelling to some mission in the far east. These missionaries were not favoured by the catering staff who happened to be catholic. The saloon steward and Sam Kershaw were both catholics and the missionaries, instead of tipping them, would give them a set of rosary beads or some other religious gift. This didn’t apply to Tony Martell because they couldn’t work out what religion he was, (he had is own). They would give him something from the collection plate. Passengers homeward for America were usually good tippers.

Travelling back across the Pacific you came to the International Date Line and you would gain a day. Turn in on a wednesday night and when you wake up it would be wednesday morning. Our first port would of course be San Francisco, then Los Angeles, where there was a good ships laundry. It was owned and run by a young Swedish immigrant. We would dock in the morning and I would send over 1,000 pieces of laundry ashore and he would deliver it back by four o’clock that same day. It was beautifully packed and really clean, I had no need to check either, there would never be a piece missing. Hughie Cleary, myself, the cook and the Old Man got all our laundry done for nothing. We actually sent the laundry ashore five times in the round trip starting with New York, then L. A., Hong Kong twice (outward and homeward) then L. A. again homeward. Each time of course the same people got their laundry done for nothing. With New York being the terminal port the 2nd. steward (me) had to go ashore with the laundry because it all had to be counted. Some of it was condemned, and then everything was entered in the linen inventory. The manager of the laundry always took me out for lunch.

With all Blue Funnel ships, a couple of days before you docked, you started doing the voyage inventory. Every item of equipment was in the inventory book at the start of a voyage. It included everything, cutlery, crockery, pots and pans in fact everything that was movable both in the Chinese galley and their mess room plus everything in the seamans mess room. In the laundry inventory it included all the curtains, settee and chair covers. There were always two sets of them, which were always changed when going into white uniform from blue and visa versa. Like I said anything that moved was on the inventory. At the end of the voyage the inventory books were sent into India Buildings and my voyage bonus depended on the result.

With our voyage terminating in New York all the books for that voyage were sent back to India Buildings, Liverpool. by the Agent. We opened a new set of books for the next voyage. Everything had to be accounted for with Blue Funnel, that’s what made it such a great Company.

We actually completed three and a half round voyages on this trip and I very nearly didn’t get home at all. In fact, I could have been wallowing in a Philippine jail and never got out. It happened in Manila, It is one of those things that in these Asiatic countries they squeeze as much out of the European countries as they can, i.e. foreign ships. They make certain port rules that require you to have on board a number of their so called immigration, customs, and port security officials. These people are on board all the time, and have to be accommodated and they all have to be fed. The people who have these jobs are usually the illegitimate sons of the corrupt government officials. They stroll around in their American style khaki uniforms, with big insignia badges on their sleeves, American style hats with big badges and a revolver strapped to their side. They serve no useful purpose, but it finds them jobs, and they are as corrupt and as bent as safety pins.

One morning, while in Manila, I had got all the stewards turned to in order to start the days work. Their first job was morning tea and toast to the duty officer and engineer. Tony Martell did not have any passengers in his rooms, so, as was usual with Tony when he had no passengers on board, he would go on a bender, I had tried waking him because I knew these compulsory guests in the accommodation would be requiring the services of their European inferiors, but there was no sign of life in Tony. Sure enough the state room bell starts ringing in the pantry from one of the staterooms where one of these little people was. (Philippine people are all small like Japanese). This bell kept ringing and ringing and all the stewards were busy with their own work so I bounded up the companion way and burst into this room. This little so and so says “me want morning tea like officer” I reply “if you don’t stop leaning on that F------ bell you’ll get a bunch of fives” and slammed the door.

I did eventually get Sam Kershaw to take them a tray of tea up to them in the passengers lounge. This little so and so said he was senior to his mates and he wanted his tea separate. I told Sam to ignore him. The breakfast gong went and these monkeys come down and sat at the Captains table. The saloon steward came to me and told me where they were sitting and we knew the Old Man would not like it. I went in and asked them politely to sit on the next table, which was the chief engineer’s table when we had passengers on board. If there were no passengers the chief engineers always sat at the Old Mans table.

After breakfast this guy came to me and said he was going to report me for insulting him. To which a few choice words came from me and he went for this gun strapped to his side. With that I grabbed his arm and pushed it up his back. With all the commotion Hughie and a couple of officers came and separated us and this guy stormed off. Shortly after that the Old Man sent for Hughie. Hughie then came down for me. When we got up to the Captains accommodation the chief Immigration Officer was there, with two Police Officers armed to the teeth. He could speak better English than the runt and he said that unless this guy gets a written apology from me, they would arrest me and take me ashore. I said it was me that should have the apology.

The Captain took me into his bedroom and told me, on my own, that, if I didn’t sign a written apology they would arrest me and he couldn’t do anything about it. So I had to agree. The Captain typed it out and I signed it.

The next day there was another bloke in place of this guy and later the Chief Immigration Officer came aboard and goes into Hughie's room. The next thing Hughie came for me and in Hughie's room, the chief Immigration officer apologised to me for this guy and told me that they have had trouble with him before on other ships with his attitude so we didn’t see that little guy again.

Now this incident had laid dormant in my mind until about fifteen years ago when Hughie Cleary was on one of his many visits after he retired, and whilst Liz and I were still in the Navigation. Hughie told Liz all about it, so it was something that he had never forgotten.

We did this round trip three times, our fourth trip ending in Hong Kong. Most of the crew signed off in Hong Kong on the 13th. August 1954. We had been on articles for one year and six days. In that time we had traversed the Panama Canal seven times and crossed the Pacific Ocean and the International Date line seven times.

Some of the crew had changed in that period. The Captain, a couple of the deck officers and engineers, and all the Midshipmen. In total there would be about forty of us leaving in Hong Kong. A chief and second steward had come out from Liverpool to relieve Hughie and I. All the rest of the catering staff changed over to the Company’s Hong Kong Chinese staff. The deck crew also changed over to Chinese.

The company had arranged to fly us all home from Hong Kong in a chartered plane from B.O.A.C. In the meantime the agents in Hong Kong put us up in hotels for over a week. I must admit I was a bit apprehensive about flying after my last experience of flying to Gibraltar. It was a monday morning when we assembled and crossed over to Kowloon and to Kia Tack airport. The plane we were boarding was a four engine Canadian built, Argonaut, (the same type of plane that crashed in Stockport in 1967).

Hong Kong is surrounded by high mountains and at that time the runway was only about half the length it is today. The pilot said over the intercom before we took off that he was going to the extreme end of the runway and as soon as we were in the air we would be banking sharply to the right and heading out in between the headlands which were the entrance to the natural harbour of Hong Kong thus, avoiding the mountains. This got me shaking for a start, but we got out, otherwise I wouldn’t be typing this.

Our first stop was to be Bangkok, Saigon. In the meantime the cabin crew came round with coffee. There were only five crew on the aircraft, pilot and co pilot, flight engineer and two cabin stewards. There turned out to be about fifty of us on the plane, made up of some other Blue Funnel men flying to the U.K. I should have mentioned that it was eight o’clock that monday morning when we took off and it was about 1300 hours when we were coming into land at Bangkok, which was after they had served us some sort of meal.

We landed, refuelled, and took off again for Rangoon, Burma. It was about six in the evening when we landed, just starting to go dark. We were taken by a B.O.A.C. coach to a hotel that they used a couple of miles from the airport. There we had dinner bed and breakfast, because, the Burmese government did not allow night take off’s or landings. Next morning we took off again, still with the same crew as they had had their required number of hours rest. This time we were flying over the bay of Bengal to Calcutta where we landed for refuelling and also a meal provided in the airport. I should explain here that aircraft were not able to supply on board meals to today's standard. They only had limited facilities, and aircraft could only be airborne for about five to six hours before needing refuelling. So on long flights meals were served in the airport restaurant while the aircraft was being refuelled.

We took off again in the afternoon, this time for Karachi. We also now had our first change of crew. I was now settling down to enjoy it and got talking to the cabin crew, asking all kinds of questions. They knew that we were a ships crew and in the conversation it came out that I was in the catering department. The senior one of the two said that he used to be at sea but gave it up for a number of reasons to join B.O.A.C. He said it was something different every day, he wasn’t stuck on a ship for weeks at a time, he got more time at home, eight hours was the maximum working hours in one day, and uniform was provided. He had been doing it for about five years and was on the top rate of pay which was more than I got. This cabin steward started to wet my appetite. On long distance flights with a schedule service, the crew would normally change at each refuelling stop and the crew were in teams and always together. These crews were always at the main airports and stayed in the hotels for their off duty hours ready to take over off the next schedule flight coming in. Then take that plane onto its next refuelling stop. On the longest flights like Australia and New Zealand they could be away for about two weeks.

We landed at Karachi later that day, we had had refreshments on board but once again we all disembarked for refuelling , a meal and another change of crew.

It was now late tuesday evening when we took off again. Our next stop was to be Cyprus which was one of the longest flights before touching down again to refuel. All I can remember about touching down in Cyprus was that it was still dark and we had all been asleep. We all had to leave the aircraft while it was being refuelled. Some sort of refreshments were probably provided but I can’t remember. We of course changed crew again there and after take off our next stop would be Rome.

It would now be wednesday morning and over forty eight hours since we left Hong Kong. It was about ten in the morning when we arrived at Rome which was to be the last stop before we reached London. The usual refuelling, meal and last change of crew. We took off for London and we were all getting what was known at sea as the Channels. The Channels was the term used to describe the excitement all the crew started to feel when you entered the English Channel homeward bound. The sea water began to look murky and seagulls started greeting the ship, waiting for the gash buckets to be emptied. This term will be well remembered by anyone at sea forty, fifty years ago.

I always remember flying over the Alps, a wonderful sight on a late August day. I did of course get talking to the new cabin crew and in the next couple of hours they were able to convince me that a move from Blue Funnel to B. O. A. C. would be a good move. They gave me the name and the address of the person I needed to apply to.

We were now well over half way across France when the first of two incidents happened. One of the four engines spluttered and lost power, eventually being feathered, (a term used when the engine is taken out of drive but the propeller continues to rotate with the wind turbulence). We all of course noticed this and the cabin crew, who were obviously trained for such an event said that one engine was no problem as the “Argonaut” aircraft could climb on three engines, so that put us at ease. We then started to cross the English Channel when another engine spluttered to a stop on the opposite side. This time the pilot came over the intercom to announce that we had feathered another engine and there was no need for concern as we were only a short distance from touch down at London Airport (now Heathrow) and the aircraft could maintain height with two engines. We did touch down about 20 minutes later, a sigh of relief came from everyone. It was now four o’clock on the wednesday afternoon. It had taken us two days and eight hours to fly from Hong Kong and that included one overnight stop at Rangoon. It would have taken about four to five weeks by sea.

After clearing immigration and customs some people from our London office were waiting to welcome us and issue travel warrants for home and after nearly 13 months away, some well earned leave.

TOURING THE SOUTH WITH MAUREEN.

Mother was highly delighted to have me home if only to move my new motor bike out of the lounge. My dad had moved it a few times to start it up to give the engine a run. It was at this time that I wanted to give the bike a good run and so Maureen, who was now thirteen, joined me on a trip down south.

The first stop was Sharpness docks to visit the Vindicatrix. It was a lot different from when I had been there. The lad on the gate phoned through to the office, which was now in one of the huts, for permission to enter the camp site and visit the old ship. We left the motor bike guarded by the lad on the gate and proceeded along the path passing all these huts that had been built. We went down the steps onto the canal and across the lock gates. When we reached the gangway one of the instructors was there to greet us and took us onboard. Maureen had never been on any type of ship before. We were given a tour round and the memories came back, it had been over nine years since I trained on her.

A couple of the instructors were there from my period. They were pleased to see one of the old boys, who was now a second steward in a prestigious shipping company. They invited Maureen and I to join them for lunch in the dining saloon.

That night we stayed in a guest house in the centre of Berkley. The following morning we travelled on through Bristol and down the north coast of Devon. The Lynmouth floods had happened the previous winter and the town was still devastated from the after effects, and it took a few years to rebuild. Liz and I saw it when we were touring around about 1997. There are still graphic scenes of the disaster, in Lynmouth.

We travelled on to Lands End and then along the south coast calling at Stonehenge, then on to Windsor from where we travelled home. We were away about six days, covering a few hundred miles. I think Maureen was a bit saddle sore, she never mentions that trip on a luxury motor cycle.

OFFERED A JOB WITH B.O.A.C .

After being home a few more days I wrote off to the British Overseas Airways Cooperation and they sent me an application form which I duly filled in. I soon got a reply back with a travel warrant to travel down to London for an interview. The interview was at their offices at London Airport. I remember it was quite an imposing building and was I shown into a room where a few more young chaps were waiting. We all went in one at a time and when I get in, there were three chaps sat behind a table. I was beckoned to a seat in front of them. They asked the usual questions, age, education (that would not impress them), and previous career I started by telling them about my previous jobs before going to sea ( that didn’t impress them either), then the Vindicatrix. They thought I had been rather young to leave home to go to sea. I told them about Gordon and not wanting to go down the mines. All three of them kept firing different questions at me. I showed them my two discharge books, told them about my career with Blue Funnel and how I had come to apply to them as cabin crew. They also asked about my health so I showed them my Blue Funnel medical card. The interview lasted about 15 minutes and then one of them just fired a question at me, “Smoked salmon on the menu, what will you serve with it?” answer “brown bread and butter sir”, “O.K., wait back in the room”. When I got back in the waiting room the others had all gone. I was called back in and there was only one of them left in the interview room. He started by telling me about the procedure of training which was an intensive six weeks course, and everything about B.O.A.C.. He gave me medical forms to take to my own doctor, who had to send the forms back with his professional fee. After which they would send for me for the next training intake.

Out of all them that had been interviewed I must have been the only one that was accepted. I came home and the next day I went to Birkenhead “Odyssey Works” to hand in my resignation which I had already written out. When I knocked on Mr Boyd's door it was a similar scenario of when I first joined the Company, Boyd with his head down with bowler hat on it, Sparrow opposite, no hat on, Kenworthy at another desk announced “It’s Singleton Sir”. Eventually Boyd looked up at me and said, “well?”. When I told him I was leaving, he thought I was out of my mind. He said“ you have the opportunity of a good career here”, and his parting shot was “you’ll be back”.

Returning home I had time to reflect on the big step I was taking. At the present I was effectively out of work, which was something I had not had to consider since I joined Blue Funnel over seven years previously. In the meantime I was conserving the cash I had from my last pay off. I was now twenty six and apart from my motor bike and my considerable wardrobe (a lot of it uniforms for which I would have no further use) I had no other possessions. All the lads that I was at school with and mates I had before going away to sea were nearly all married and starting families. In the case of Roy Trueman he now was the father of three (all boys).

My social life consisted of riding around on the motor bike with one lad who was not at that time married. His name was Arthur Reed, and we had some good times together. Another lad, who also had a motor bike, was Jack Pickup. He was one of the sons of Joe Pickup & Sons who had engineering works in Marple. Jack was a real harem scarem character having had a university education. He was as mad as a hatter. The three of us would go all over to dances and days out. Arthur was always on my pillion, because, Jack was a complete lunatic on his bike and as far I know he never did pass his test on a motor bike.

I did go to a lot of dances on my own. The favoured places were Levenshulme Palais, and the Empress Ballroom on Manchester Road. Another ballroom was over the top of Burtons on Princess Street. The Mechanics Institute in Hazel Grove, (now the Civic Centre) or New Mills town hall. The one place I had never been to was the Baths Hall in Marple. (Now Daughter Jayne has told me to insert here for younger members of the family who may read this and may be thinking we were dancing on water). During winter months, the water would be drained off and the bath boarded over, which provided a good dance floor. It was the only place in Marple suitable for big dance functions.

I FIRST MEET “JEAN” MY FUTURE WIFE

Riding round one Saturday I rode through Marple and noticed that there was a dance there that night, so I set that as my venue.

As usual I went on the motor bike with one of my good suits underneath my cycling gear, which I would take off and put in the panniers. The bike, I parked up by the side of what was then Cook’s garage, where he kept his coaches and taxis, it is now Brian Sharples, Undertakers. In those days you didn’t need to chain your motor bike to anything, the criminal element had not arrived in Marple. I had never had a night out in Marple before and I knew nothing about the place. After paying to go into the baths, I gave the place the once over. It was still early and not a lot of people in the place, so there being no bar I decided to get a pass out and see what the local pubs were like. I seemed to remember going into the Navigation. Like all pubs in those days it was rather drab. I never ever thought then that in the future I would spend 26 years there as the licensee, bring my family up, and actually have one of my children born upstairs there.

When I got back to the baths there were a lot more people in. It would be the highlight of the week for the locals. People were in gangs of friends either girls or boys. I wasn’t a very good dancer because I was never at home very long to improve my non existent ballroom skills. What I used to do, was watch them dancing, usually girls with their mates would dance with each other. Nowadays you can see blokes dancing together but you could be 90% certain they are puffs.

I saw this girl dancing with her mate. I thought she was a reasonable dancer, so the next dance, which would have to be a dance I could do, I went over and asked her to dance. I could dance with her, she was quite good. We spent the rest of the night as partners (dancing I mean). We did a lot of chatting and she took me over and introduced me to her mates. The two names I remembered from that night, partly because they were both called Betty, Betty Pickford and Betty Rowbotham.

After the dance I told this girl whose name was Jean that I couldn’t walk home with her because I had my motor bike up the side of Cook’s garage, but I would give her a lift on the pillion. With a bit of a struggle she was able to hitch her skirt up and get onto the pillion. It turned out she only lived a stones throw from the baths, the road I found out later was called Turner Road. While talking outside her house a couple came walking along and Jean said it’s my Mum and Dad. She introduced me to Harriet and Harold.

I was still at home for the next couple of weeks, and by this time I was seriously considering whether I was doing the right thing giving up the sea. Then a letter came from B.O.A.C. enclosing another travel warrant and with instructions to report to the offices in London, to start on this training course on a date a couple of weeks ahead. I still had doubts about leaving Blue Funnel. I knew my job at sea, a lot of people knew me and I had some good friends. So I took the bull by the horns, or rather by the handle bars and rode over to Birkenhead, knocked on the door. Mr Boyd sat at the desk, bowler hat on, writing. He put his pen down, leant back in the chair, pushed the bowler further back on his head, and said “I told you, you would be back didn’t I?”. My reply was “yes sir”. He said “I suppose you want your job back”. “Yes sir but I expect to be demoted”, was my reply.

BACK TO BLUE FUNNEL AND THE “MARON”

It turned out that I was the answer to his prayer. He had apparently just had word that the Maron was on the American coast and was wanting, a relief captain, junior engineer and a relief 2nd. steward. Mr. Boyd said, “you will be demoted and will have to go back on a cargo boat”. This would be my second time on the Maron having been on her for two voyages from 25/11/48 to 24/5/1949 (with that cook who hated me) and from the 29/6/49 to the 24/11/1949 as assistant steward. I had instructions to report to India Buildings with my passport, (which they knew I already had from when I joined the Memnon in Port Said), in order to obtain visas for travelling across France and entry into Algiers, along with the necessary travel documents and tickets.

My mother got a bit of a shock when I returned home that night and told her. The first thing I had to do was write to B.O.A.C. telling them I had changed my mind and returned their travel warrant. I had to return to India Buildings a couple of days after to collect all the documents for travelling to Algiers. It was fortunate that the captain and junior engineer were in the office at the same time so I knew who it would be I was travelling with. We arranged to meet on Lime Street station on Monday morning. It was then Thursday so I had the weekend to get myself ready.

I had no plans for Saturday night, so I decided to go dancing at Marple Baths. I parked the motor bike in the same place, went for a drink and then into the Baths Hall. Jean was there again with her mates so naturally we started dancing again. Up till then she did not know much about me. So I told her I had been at sea and had resigned in order to join B.O.A.C., then changed my mind and I was returning to sea, leaving monday morning to travel to Algiers to join a ship. When I took her home that night her Mum and Dad were already in so she took me in and that was when I met her elder sister Ann.

I had told Jean my age when I first met her. She told me that she was twenty two and twenty three the next month, which would be December. That was the first lie she told me. Before we parted I gave her my shipboard address. When writing to crew members of Blue Funnel Ships it was R. H. Singleton, 2nd. Steward, M. V. Maron, C/o Blue Funnel Line, India Buildings, Liverpool. All mail was then sent out in bulk by air mail to the agent at our next port of call.

Come monday morning I met up with the captain who’s name was Prichard and the junior engineer at Lime Street Station. We all had our cases with us and boarded the train for Euston some time in the morning. The captain had been booked on a reserved seat in the first class, the engineer and I were of course third class. We had been given some cash for out of pocket expenses most of it being French Francs ( which was also the currency for Algiers) so the engineer and I had a meal on the train.

Arriving at Euston we all shared the same taxi for transfer to Waterloo and the boat train. After the channel ferry crossing from Dover to Calais we boarded a train with sleeping accommodation to travel via Paris to Marseilles. Once again the engineer and I shared a sleeping compartment, the captain had his own compartment, but, there was only one class dining so we all shared the same table. The service on the train was very good and the sleeping compartments had wash basin and toilet. We travelled south through France during the night being wakened by the steward with a tray of tea at six o’clock in the morning. We were then entering the outskirts of Marseilles leaving us just time to have a continental breakfast before arriving at the station.

We were met at the station by the agent for Blue Funnel and transported down to the docks and ferry terminal to board the ferry for Algiers. Once again I shared a cabin with the engineer, the captain had a single. It was now tuesday morning and about 24 hours since we left Liverpool. I know we had at least one night at sea, it could have been two. Once again we were met by an agent and transported to a first class hotel in Algiers to await the arrival of the Maron.

Whilst in Algiers, we had plenty of time to explore this very cosmopolitan city and it was here that the class barrier came down. It wasn’t advisable to travel around on your own so the captain explored the city with us other two. We also dined in the dining room together.

I think it would be about a week that we waited for the Maron to come through from America. She hove to outside the breakwater so as to avoid any harbour charges. My discharge book tells me that we actually signed on the 12th. November 1954.

We would proceed to the usual ports in the far East, discharging the cargo from America and loading again for home. I cannot recall anything outstanding about this voyage, it didn’t last long as it appears that we paid off in Birkenhead on the 6th. February 1955.

CHANGE THE MOTOR CYCLE FOR THE FORD PREFECT

It was while I was at home on leave I decided to get rid of the motor bike and get a car. I had a couple of nasty lucky escapes on the bike during the winter period. The first one was when I was going up to Chapel-en-le-Frith to see Johnny Hartle. I had Maureen on the back, and we had just turned left at the traffic lights in Horwrich End, Whaley Bridge. Going up the hill, I hit a patch of black ice and the bike shot from under me, Maureen and I were both in the middle of the road and watched the bike go careering on with sparks coming from it. I was worried about my brand new motor bike. I left poor Maureen sitting in the middle of the road while I chased after the bike. I picked it up and started to examine the damage. Maureen walked up to me, she wasn’t crying but I could see she was a bit upset, and she had a bit of gravel rash on her leg. We carried on to see Johnny. After that I don’t think that Maureen ever rode on the back of a motor bike again.

The next incident was a couple of weeks after that. I had finished my leave and I was working by on the docks in Birkenhead, travelling back and to each day on the bike. This particular day it was a thick fog from leaving home. This of course was long before there were any motorways and my route would take me through Cheadle, Didsbury, Chorlton, Stretford over the ship canal at Barton swing bridge through Worsley and on to the East Lancashire Road. It had been foggy all the way and I was crawling along with the rest of the traffic.

On the East Lancs. Road from Worsley to Liverpool there were six big traffic roundabouts and as I was running late I thought I would have to open it up a bit. I thought that the roundabouts would be well lit. The first one wasn’t and I ploughed right into it finishing up in the bushes. I picked the bike up, the handle bars were slightly bent and one of the foot rests was damaged. Apart from some scratches on the petrol tank and mud guards it wasn’t too bad. I continued to Birkenhead and took the bike to a motor cycle shop there. It was repaired by the time I came home that night. In those days in Liverpool in the city centre there were a lot of wood sets on the road. In wet weather or any ice these sets were treacherous to motor bikes and I knew this because I had had one or two scary moments.

A few days after the roundabout incident I was coming into the centre of Liverpool approaching the Mersey Tunnel and a bus pulled up in front of me. I couldn’t swing out and pass it because of the traffic and I knew that if I used my brakes something nasty would happen. I tried coming down in the gears but I still had to touch the brake and sure enough it slid right from under me and under the back platform of the bus. I felt such a fool as people gathered round asking me if I was alright. Once again I was lucky no broken bones but the bike took a knock again.

After that I decided to give up motor cycling before it gave me up. I went down to the chap who had supplied me with the bike and he had a 1949 Ford Prefect that he had taken in part exchange for a motor cycle, and so I bought that off him I didn’t have a driving licence for a car so my dad came down with me to pick it up. Once we got it home I started illegally driving it about, (Are you reading this Tim?). I had driving experience but I had not passed my test for a car.

THE M. V. “LYCAON”

My next ship was the “Lycaon”. She was one of the last of the “A” class ships and had been built in 1954. It was only on her second voyage when I joined her. Carrying 12 passengers I had now been promoted again. She was a beautiful ship, although she had done one voyage everything was still like brand new.

The chief steward was a great guy, a Scotsman and about the same size as me (small). His surname was Tyrell, but everybody new him as Jock Tyrell. We had a good crew. The captain was a chap called Makepeace, a really nice bloke and like all of us he was proud of his ship. With Chinese engine room ratings, white deck and catering ratings, petty officers, deck officers, engineer officers, two radio officers, doctor and four midshipmen, plus Jock and me. We had a total crew of 57 plus 12 Passengers.

We signed on the 24th. March 1955 and sailed for the usual ports in the Far East, Penang , Port Swettanham, Singapore, Hong Kong. After Hong Kong on this trip it was to be Shanghai which of course was well and truly under communist rule by then. The biggest part of the cargo for there had been loaded in Birkenhead but we had also picked up some more in Singapore and Hong Kong.

The agents in Hong Kong had passed on to the captain and chief steward special instructions from the communist government in China applicable to all ships visiting Chinese Communist ports. The main part of these instructions included the complete ban on things such as cameras, radios, navigation and plotting equipment such as the deck officers sextants, also personal luxury items belonging to the crew, like expensive watches and jewellery. Special forms had been put aboard in Hong Kong which were similar to our own customs forms but with a lot more detail in English and Chinese. It was the reasonability of the chief and 2nd. steward to go round all the crew, fill in what each crew member had of these items and have them delivered to the bonded store (which was my domain) ready to be checked against the forms when we arrived at Shanghai.

At that time some of the crew had their own personal radios. I for one did, they had to be powerful ones which would allow you to pick up stations when you were hundreds of miles out at sea and of course a ship being all steel you had to have an aerial attached to the radio and go through a vent and attached to the rigging of the ship to enable you to pick up the signal. The Chinese even made us take the aerials down.

All this stuff had to be labelled as to who it belonged to and I had to find room in the bonded store to receive it all and stored in such a way that the Chinese customs could check every item against the name on the sheet. The customs boarded while you were anchored in the river, check and seal the bond, then a gang of these so called customs officials would search the ship for anything that had not been declared and locked away. Anything they found was confiscated and whoever owned it could be in serious trouble. It was only after all this had been done that the ship was allowed to berth.

As soon as we tied up, armed soldiers came aboard and stationed themselves all over the ship. Only after these guards had taken up their positions were the coolies allowed aboard to start unloading the ship. There were hundreds of these Chinese working on the docks and there were these big poles with big loud speakers on them blaring out Chinese music interspersed with communist propaganda.

No one was allowed ashore, I wouldn’t think there would be anywhere to go if we were. I don’t remember how long we were there but we were all glad to get away.

We then sailed for Japan and started loading cargo for home, then Hong Kong, Singapore etc. We arrived back in Liverpool and paid off at Birkenhead on the 5th. July 1955. We had been away the scheduled time of three months and ten days. In cargo liners like Blue Funnel you run to a time table which guarantees anybody shipping cargo that it will be there at a certain time. So the Company ships that are on the Liverpool to Far East back to Liverpool run, the voyage will on average take three months and ten days.

Before we sailed from Singapore on our way home, I filled in the driving test application form which I had taken with me. I stated the dates I would be available to take my test and posted it with a cheque for the fee (yes, I had a cheque book in those days). So my first priority was to get the Ford Prefect out and get driving.

I hadn’t heard anything from that girl in Marple so I guessed she was not interested. I only had a couple of weeks leave so I didn’t bother going dancing in Marple, I just went to the other usual haunts. I went to take my driving test from the test centre which was on Oxford Road, Manchester. I failed, went back home, took the “L” plates off and started driving again.

During this first voyage on the “Lycaon” it had become the Company rule that the responsibility of each department (engine room, deck and catering) to be responsible for painting their own accommodation, plus the parts of the ship that that department was responsible for. Previously it had been done in the home port by the full time Company painters who just went from ship to ship as they docked. This eventually proved not to be satisfactory for the following reasons, (1.) the accommodation was always was being used, particularly alleyways which always had the dockers in them smoking, so the paint never had chance to dry. (2). the painters themselves were always skiving. (3).a lot of paint was wasted or stolen. So the Company sacked the shore painters, gave each department the paint etc., with instructions for the crew to paint the parts of the ship that they were responsible for, being paid overtime.

On my first voyage on the “Lycaon” I had dished out plenty of overtime, painting. All the cabins, both crew and staterooms were all veneered bulkheads (walls to you lot). There were the deck heads (ceilings) which were painted plus, alleyways, galley, storerooms and fridges etc. which were all painted.

The catering crew all got quite a few hours overtime and the accommodation was sparkling. The Company managers were very impressed when they boarded after we docked in Liverpool.

While I was home on leave I painted my mothers kitchen and when I was down in Stockport buying the materials, it was pointed out to me that paint rollers, which had just been invented, were becoming popular and taking over from brushes. I bought a lambs wool one with tray and it proved to be quicker and easier. The result was that I bought a couple of rollers out of my own money to take back on board with me.

Another thing that struck me was that the whites of my mothers washing was always brilliant by the fact that she used “Dolly Blue”. I thought that if this works with washing why not try it with the paint, so I also took some dolly blue back with me. I found out that it did work and we had brilliant white paint work. The news went round on the Blue Funnel ships in dock that catering staff should try to get on the “Lycaon” with Jock Tyrell and Paint Pot Singleton because there would be plenty of overtime. The rollers got plenty of use as well, the chief officer asked me to lend them to the bosun so his deckhands could use them. After that voyage each department ordered paint rollers in their stores.

After my leave I reported back to Birkenhead by which time the “Lycaon” had arrived back there after coasting up to Glasgow. The coasting catering crew, (which in this case were Chinese except for the chief and 2nd. steward,) carried on while Jock, me and the rest of the deep sea catering staff just spent two or three hours a day seeing to storing and generally making our presence felt and then off home. At weekends we never showed up at all. These journeys to Birkenhead and back were being done in the Ford Prefect.

THE M V “LYCAON” VOYAGE TWO

We signed on again on the 3rd. August 1955, it would probably be the day after this that would be sailing day. On sailing day there was always a routine. A ship due for sailing was always a hive of activity. All the stores would have already been loaded, the catering staff on the shore gang (waiting to be allocated to ships or their own ship to return for loading) would all be aboard the ship that was sailing, getting her ready for sailing inspection by the directors and departmental supervisors. The woman from India Buildings who was in charge of all floral decorations would be busy doing flower arrangements for the dining saloon, passengers lounge, and all state rooms before the passengers boarded.

Customs officers would be on board with the pretence of checking the seal on the bonded store. They would accompany the chief steward and I down to the bonded store to inspect the seal, then of course they would break the seal, again with the pretence of checking the contents ( which was practically impossible because the store would be packed to the door). While all this was going on all the various shore bosses would be hanging around the saloon. After the seal was broken I would open the door with my keys, then, the famous words would come from the two ring customs man, “do you want anything”?. This of course would be the invitation for us to take out what we thought we would want for the vultures hanging round the dining saloon.

There would of course always be at least four customs officers to oversee this very responsible task of breaking the seal. The reply to the two ringers question, from the chief steward would always be “do you want anything”?. Turning to his bent colleges they would discuss what they wanted and it was always the, two hundred or so cigarettes each plus a bottle of whisky or whatever, each. I, of course making a note of what they had because they did pay for them back in the chief steward’s office.

I would then fill boxes up with a couple of thousand or more cigarettes, a few bottles of whisky, gin or whatever, for the vultures hanging around by the saloon. They would all pay for them (at crew prices) but it was a perks that if you didn’t go along with they could make life difficult with the smooth running of cargo loading and every thing else that went on while you were in dock. (No wonder containers came in).

The thing that stands out in my mind about this particular sailing day was, the passengers were aboard, the dock pilot was on board and the pilot flag was streamed. The dockers were just loading the last of the cargo into the t'ween decks. This happened to be crated Asian toilets packed in straw. One of the dockers shouted “HOLD IT”. He was probably the union convenor, and said to the dock foreman, “we can’t load them”. “Why not”? replied the foreman. “We need embarrassment money”. Now I ask you, who, could ever embarrass Liverpool dockers?.

Captain Makepeace was on the wing of the bridge with the pilot and he shouted down to the mate to get everybody ashore, pull the gangway up and stand by to cast off. The two tugs were already there to guide her through the locks and if we didn’t go out of the locks on this tide there would be a twelve hour delay till the next tide, plus a lot of expense to the Company. So the Asian toilets stayed on the dock. We sailed without them. That was another thing which helped to bring containers in.

Sailing day was always hectic and I was glad to clear the docks, get rid of the customs and immigration, head down river, past the Mersey Bar Light ship and out towards Holyhead to drop the Company’s river pilot off. Yes Blue Funnel had their own river pilots and pilot boats which would come out to meet us just off the breakwater. When you were inward bound you would pick the pilot up at Holyhead, he would always come aboard with the mail and a few of that days newspapers.

After dropping the pilot off, which would be the last physical contact we had with England. It was straight down the Welsh coast and out into the Atlantic heading for Gibraltar. We were bound for the Malayan coast ports plus Singapore but this voyage we were doing the ports of the Dutch East Indies, now known as Indonesia. It would be a slightly shorter voyage. It was scheduled to be three months and one week but it was actually three months and five days because August and October each have 31 days. That just shows how tight the schedule was.

While we were at a port, up a creek in Borneo, the agent, who had come about five miles in a launch down river, brought the mail aboard. Besides a couple of letters from my mum there was one in a strange hand writing. It had been addressed to the Maron but the mail office in India Buildings had crossed Maron out and wrote Lycaon on the envelope, so it had been a little delayed. When I opened it, it turned out to be from Jean in Marple. I wrote back, so I got another letter in one of the ports on our way home.

We docked back in Liverpool. The “Lycaon” was spick and span with all the paintwork brilliant white. I had used up all the white paint put aboard when we sailed and I managed to beg a couple of extra tins off the chief officer for letting the bosun borrow my paint rollers. The officials from India Buildings were very impressed when they came aboard, but, they weren't too pleased in the accounts office after they checked my stewards overtime sheets. The chief steward, chief cook and I did not get paid overtime, because we were Company’s men on call twenty four hours a day.

We paid off on the 8th. November 1955. I went home and got the Ford Prefect out so I could get some practice before I took my test again, which I had reapplied for before we left the Malayan coast. After docking and paying off, the chief and second steward always had a couple of days work to do before starting our leave. My first job after docking was to lock away all the silver cutlery, veg dishes, tea and coffee pots, cruets, sugar and finger bowls, (everything that was silver). All the crockery with the Company’s logo on had all to be locked away. While the ship was in home ports or coasting, all the stainless steel cutlery which we carried and all the plain white crockery came out. The day after docking the checkers from head office would board and check everything on the inventory book, which I would have checked and filled in before we docked.

After that and before I could start my leave I had to accompany every item of linen to the Company’s laundry, which was in Bootle. It all had to be sorted and checked, any damaged items were put at one side to be repaired by the Company’s own seamstresses. Then I could start my leave.

While on the subject of the Company’s laundry in Bootle, it is worth mentioning that when they gave Hughie Cleary a job ashore in the late seventies they made him linen superintendent. He had to oversee all the ships linen and the Company’s laundry. A job he had until they made him redundant with every one else in the eighties.

I RENEW MY RELATIONSHIP WITH JEAN.

When I did actually start my leave I called at Jean’s house. It had been nearly two years since I had last seen her. When I knocked on the door a girl opened it and my first thought was that she had put a bit of weight on, until she shouted “Jean there's someone to see you”, at the same time inviting me in. Of course the girl who had invited me in was her sister Ann, but to me they looked very much alike. Ann had got married to Jack Beetham since I had last seen her. They were living in a rented house in Townley Terrace (rent 10/- a week. 50p in today's money). Two up and two down with a large communal back yard and an outside toilet up by the stone wall bordering Lockside.

Apparently Jean had been going out with a lad who was a joiner from Hawk Green. His name was Frank Robinson. At that time she worked at Strines Print works and at one time had been going out with a lad from New Mills who also worked there, his name was Harold Taghe.

Jean and I started going dancing together and with having the Ford Prefect it was a more sociable mode of travel. We also started going further a field and at weekends we would go for trips out sometimes taking my mum and dad out with us or Harriet and Harold. I started to enjoy my time at home. Previously I was always ready to get back to sea, but I now started to lose that enthusiasm.

I took my driving test again in Manchester, and failed again. When you went for your driving test and indeed it was the same then as today, if you were a provisional licence holder you were supposed to have a full licence holder with you. Both times that I had been to Manchester to take my test my dad came with me. There is the stupid thing with this restriction, my father had a full driving licence, and had never past a test because he had held a licence before driving tests came into force but it was legal for my dad to accompany me to go for my driving test. When we got back home the “L” plates came off and I was driving again (illegally).

My leave was now over and I was waiting for the “Lycaon” to return from coasting which would be about the end of November 1955. As usual there was a Chinese catering crew for coasting and would remain until the crew signed on again. When she docked back in Birkenhead it was the usual routine of storing and preparation for the next voyage. I was travelling back and fro to Birkenhead during the week for a few hours each day.

It was at this time when the “Lycaon” was at Birkenhead that I arranged with the relief cook, who was Chinese, to provide a lunch for four on the Sunday of that week, to be served in the dining saloon. I had no problem getting permission from the dock office to bring a party on board. Knowing that it was about the time of Jean’s birthday, I told Jean that I had arranged for her Mum, Dad and herself to have a trip down to Birkenhead to look over the ship and have lunch on board, a treat for her birthday. Up to that time I was under the impression that she would be twenty four. It was then that she had to confess to me that she had lied about her age, it was actually going to be her 19th. birthday, at the time it was a bit of a shock but, I excepted it.

Come that Sunday I picked them up in the Prefect and took them to Birkenhead. None of them had been aboard an ocean going ship. Jean had been to the Isle of Man (you know my opinion of those ferry boats, 11 trips, one out and one home) and I think her Mum and Dad had been across to Ostend with her Auntie Mary and Uncle Frank. They were not going anywhere on the “Lycaon” but at least they would have a tour round a real ship.

When we got on board, I first of all got my keys off the relief chief steward and told him I would leave the cash in the bar for any drinks that we had. So the four of us sat in the passengers lounge (no other persons on board allowed in there of course) and had a pre-dinner drink. Harriet was very impressed with the luxury of it and at that time, being in the home port, the ship was not of her best. The furnishings were all stripped of their covers and the curtains for the picture windows facing fora'd and overlooking the foredeck, were all away at the laundry.

After the duty officers and engineers had finished having their lunch in the saloon, one of the Chinese stewards came to tell me that our table was ready. We could not dine at the same time as them because I had arranged a different menu with the Chinese cook. We had the soup of the day and to follow it was steak, silver served with all the trimmings. I never found out what they thought of the meal because I never asked them. But it was obvious that it was not the sort of thing that they were accustomed to. After the meal I gave them short tour round the ship which included the engine room. We had a couple more drinks from the bar which Harold appreciated and then home. Do you know I never found out if they enjoyed the day out but I bet Harriet told Mrs Johnson about it. She cleaned for her at Top Lock cottage.

THE M. V. “LYCAON” VOYAGE THREE

The “Lycaon” signed articles again on the 12th. December 1945. It was the usual hustle and bustle getting ready for sailing, the passengers coming aboard plus what was now becoming a pain with Customs and Immigration. It was a voyage I was not looking forward to. It was coming up to Christmas, and it was never easy being at sea at that time of year, no matter which department you were in. Being in catering was a nightmare. Blue Funnel ships sailing near Christmas, had special Christmas Day menus (which were very fancy and in French). These were always printed at the Company’s printing department in India Buildings. There was a menu for everybody who dined in the saloon with room for signatures on the back as a memento.

Christmas was not one of the best times in the year for me, because of all the extra work and pressure. After finishing at sea I spent 26 years in catering and other than making money, it was very hard work.

I was now starting to realize what I was missing being away from home for nine months of the year. I watched the coastline disappear after dropping the pilot off at Holyhead and I was already getting home sick. Our first port would be Port Said, I had a couple of letters ready for posting there, one for Mum and one for Jean.

Our voyage of course was to the Far East again, the Malaysian ports and Singapore, then Hong Kong and round Japan. The bedroom steward who was now on his second voyage with us and who I knew when he was an assistant steward with me on the “Autolycus” was having a shipboard romance, with one of the female passengers. This was strictly against company rules. The bedroom steward, who was from Northern Ireland had had polio when he was a child leaving him with a limp. He was a lot older than me in his late thirties. Part of a bedroom steward’s job during lunch and dinner is on the hot press in the pantry plating and traying meals.

We did carry a lot of female passengers going out to Malaya and places to join their husbands who were working out there. On this particular voyage we had a female in her late twenties or early thirties. She was travelling with her two young children, aged between two and four. They were travelling out to her husband in Malaya. Now I thought it was a myth that females in hot climates tend to lose their inhibitions and get unbalanced sexual urges, but with this particular female it was an obvious fact. The one crew member who she came into contact with more than any other was the bedroom steward. He did in fact confide in me and told me something that I already suspected. I of course had to warn him off, which was all part of my job.

After we got into the Indian Ocean we hit some heavy weather. The dinner gong had gone but this passenger did not come down for the meal. Then the bell board in the pantry rang from her state room. I was in the pantry and the bedroom steward was busy serving on the press so I said I would answer it. I knocked on the door and after a few seconds I was told to come in. There she stood, completely naked. She didn’t know which part to try and cover up with her hands and arms. (When you are reading this you can think what you like but I was completely shocked). I apologised and shut the door as quickly as possible. I did tell Jock Tyrell and he said in his Glasgow accent “ahh, good luck to the laddie”. So the bedroom steward kept her happy till her husband come to meet her off the ship.

I was now getting regular letters from Jean as well as my mother, so I was conducting a courtship by correspondence. I had excepted the fact that Jean had lied to me two years earlier about her age. I was now coming up to twenty nine which put me nine years older than her. so, we mutually agreed to except this because nature does not allow you to alter your date of birth. I was also seriously considering giving up the sea to settle down ashore.

One of the favoured items that seafarers brought back when visiting Hong Kong was the hand made, hand carved camphor wood chest. These were exclusive to China. I decided I would order one and have it delivered to the ship on our return from the Japanese coast. I had not yet definitely decided to give up the sea, but in case I did I had obtained my camphor wood chest. I chose one with a carving depicting a temple scene on the front and lid. One problem that most crew members had when purchasing one of these was where they would store it until they arrived home. This was not a problem to me, I stored it in the passengers baggage locker for which I held the keys.

By the end of January 1956 we had started loading our homeward bound cargo in Japan. We arrived back in Hong Kong where we unfortunately had to put our skipper, Captain Makepeace ashore in hospital. He had been with the Lycaon from her trials when built. He was a great bloke and would be sadly missed. The chief officer took over until we reached Singapore, there the company had flown out Captain E.C. Evans to take over for the voyage home. It was after this whilst homeward bound we got the sad news that Captain Makepeace had died in hospital in Hong Kong. The whole ship was saddened by this, our Ensign flew at half staff for the rest of the voyage.

Here I should mention that Blue Funnel and their sister companies always steer on a set course which means that a Blue Funnel company ship is never more than 24 hours sailing from another Company vessel either outward or homeward on the Far East run. This is because none of the Company’s ships are insured and should one of the their ships get into trouble another one is not very far away to come to her assistance. For instance it was said that there were always three ships in the vicinity of the Suez Canal. In fact during the Arab/ Israeli war in 1967 two Blue Funnel ships were trapped in the Bitter Lakes which is part of the Suez Canal, because the canal had been blocked by scuttled ships. One of the stranded ships was the homeward bound “Agapenor”, (which the Navigation’s famous “Hong Kong Sylvia” had shipped some boxes of personal possessions home aboard, including her two sons toys, sports gear and clothing not immediately required). The other ship was the “Melampus” which was outward bound.

The pair were abandoned to the Liverpool and London War Risks Insurance Association in 1969 and Hong Kong Sylvia got paid out her insurance money on her lost property. The end of this little story is that both ships were released in 1975 and finally towed to Trieste for discharge. Hong Kong Sylvia finally got her boxes back eight years after they went aboard the “Agapenor”. Needless to say the clothes did not fit her two sons who were both now getting ready to leave University.

To come back to our homeward bound journey on the Lycaon. When Blue Funnel ships pass, they always dip their ensign to each other. Ours was permanently dipped all the way home after hearing of the death of Captain Makepeace. As each Blue Funnel ship approached us they already had their ensign dipped and would be signalling their condolences by lamp to us. All the Company had heard of the sad loss of Captain Makepeace on the Lycaon.

We arrived back on schedule picking up our pilot at Holyhead and heading for the mouth of the Mersey. We docked on the 21st. March 1956 at Gladstone Dock. For me it had been a very sad voyage in a normally very happy ship. After we docked one of the officials from India Buildings brought the last bits of mail aboard. I received one from my mother. I was busy at the time so I stuck it in the inside pocket of my uniform jacket. When I did get time to read it I put it back in the envelope and back into my inside pocket and it is still there to this day 45 years later.

I started my leave and renewed my relationship with Jean. The camphor wood chest I had delivered by carrier to her house as it was too big to go into the Ford Prefect.

GET ENGAGED AND LEAVE THE SEA.

We talked about getting married so we became engaged. I told her that I was getting fed up with being away from home nine months of the year and if I could get a job ashore I would pack up. We were now well into April and my leave was up so I had to make up my mind as to what I was going to do. Jean’s uncle, Frank Renshaw worked at Bredbury Steel works. He said that they earned good money there, average £14 per week which for 1956 was decent money. It was not as much as I was getting at sea, plus all my food and good accommodation, the down side being seven days a week and all hours while you were away.

I took the bull by the horns and went down to see the personnel manager. The office was on Bents Lane, Bredbury. I had no appointment but there were a couple of chaps queuing up outside, so I thought I might as well as join them. It was a totally new experience for me. For the last few years I had been accustomed to picking a crew to sail with me.

When it came to my turn, I went inside the office and there were two people in there, the personnel manager and his female secretary. His first asked was who had sent me. I replied that nobody had sent me, I had come to see if you have any jobs. He asked what my job was now and where did I work. I told him I was a second steward in the Blue Funnel Line. I might as well have told him that I was assistant to Pierpiont the hangman because he hadn’t got a clue what I was talking about. I showed him my discharge book and he thought I had been discharged out of the Navy. I had to explain to him that I was in the Merchant Navy and the book I had just given him to look at was my continuous certificate of discharge, which was stamped with every ship and length of voyage that I had been on in the last twelve years. It was also stamped with my ability and general conduct on every voyage.

He said he could give me a job in the packing department. I hadn’t a clue what he meant, but I didn’t bother asking him I just said O.K.. He asked me when I could start, and how much notice would I have to give. I told him that I would have to go to Birkenhead and hand in my resignation because I was on a Company contract. That went over his head as well.

When I got home I told my mother, she said I was being very hasty and I should think about it. I told Jean when I saw her that night, she suggested that we went down to uncle Franks to ask what working in the packing department entailed. He said it was one of the best jobs in the steel works, eleven hour shifts, on alternate days and nights. So I went home that night and wrote out my resignation. The next morning I set off for Birkenhead because I was due for reporting back. When I got into the office Mr Boyd told me that my ship was due for docking later that week, meaning the Lycaon. When I told him I was resigning to settle ashore and get married, he understood but said he thought I was being hasty because I had a future with the Company and I would be chief steward with my own ship within the very near future. I told him that being married and being at sea was like oil to water, they do not mix and if I was going in a different direction I should do it now before I got too old.

He accepted that, and we left on the best of terms. He instructed me to go over to India Buildings and arrange about my Company pension. That was the end of my career at sea. It was the 12th. April 1956. It was twelve years and one day after I went down to the Vindicatrix for training.

THAT IS THE END OF THE FIRST PART OF MY LIFE, IT IS NOW 1956 AND I AM NOW TWENTY NINE.