Royal Mail in the Raw
By Rob Cammack, a Royal Mail cadet
Part Two
RUNS ASHORE.
The "LOMBARDY" spent most of her time lumbering round the West Indies at about six knots, occasionally hiding behind islands when the wind got too strong and then nipping into port with a sigh or relief. We were lucky enough to be able to visit most of the smaller ports in Jamaica due to her narrow beam and shallow draught.
While discharging in St. Anne's Bay, Chippy said to me, "Mister Bob, as it's Saturday why don't you come ashore with me after your deck work and come up to my house for lunch - I live here, don't ye know?"
It seemed a good idea, so just before noon I donned my shore gear and we went to the top of the gangway. Frank, the carpenter, let out a huge bellow and a few moments later a small dug-out canoe appeared round a spit of land. It was propelled by a very large outboard motor, about the only part of the craft in contact with the water as the whole forepart of the boat was cocked high in the air. In no time it was alongside and we clambered aboard.
"We'd better keep up forrard," said Frank, "Gotta keep the bows down"
We were soon ashore and climbing the hill to where Frank had his house. I was quite surprised at the size of it. Verandahs jutted out at odd angles from the first floor and that garden was mowed lawn between the plants and creepers, a sort of civilized jungle. I remembered that Frank was quite a rich man, having a couple of boat yards and a house building business, all run by his grown up sons.
A wonderful smell of charcoal and roast meat met us as we pushed open the front gate.
"Looks as if my mates are here before us." he said. Sure enough, as we rounded the corner of the house we were faced by a bunch of pirates who looked as though they had just come down from the 'Cockpit', the old buccaneers' hideout in the hills.
"Mates," called Frank, "I want you to meet a friend of mine. This is Bob. He's going to be an Officer! Har! Har!"
His friends gathered me. I was in for a big surprise. "This is Judge Allen QC," he said pointing to a leering cut-throat in tattered trousers. "And this is Chief Inspector James of the local Rozzers. The rascal over there is Bill. He's a writer. And that's Harry. He's just a drunk who always drops in when he smells something cooking."
There was the noise of the gate closing. The grinning fisherman from the dugout came over.
"Hi! Pa," he said. Then to me, "Hi there! I'm John." It was hard to believe that he ran one of the biggest boatyards on the island.
The food was soon ready. Roast kid on the spit, yams, sweet potatoes, all sorts of things I had never seen before.
"Did you get the booze?" asked Frank.
"Over there in the shade," said the Judge indicating two cases of Appleton Estate Special rum. "We didn't want to start in on it before you arrived in case there was none left for you and your pal." My mind boggled.
"Don't worry, Mister Bob," laughed Frank, "We'll water yours down with coconut water!"
We sat round a rough table in the shade of some banana plants. Frank getting all the news for the last three or four months since he had been home. Every now and again his wife would appear from the kitchen and pile up my plate with more goodies and I was glad of the rum and coconut water to wash it all down but my head was getting pretty woosey.
Finally, as the sun was setting, we started getting up from the table, stretching and yawning.
"Time I was getting home," said the Chief Inspector, "My wife said she was keeping lunch for me!" He laughed.
Frank and I wove our way down to the jetty and John ferried us out to the ship.
I reckoned a swim would clear my head so I put on a pair of trunks and my face mask and jumped off the foot of the gangway. I paddled around for a while until I noticed Thompson at the ship's rail, jumping around like a mad thing and waving his arms. He seemed to be shouting something so I shook the water out of my ears.
"SHARKS!!!!!"
I made record time to the foot of the gangway and heaved myself up onto the grating.
It's surprising how quickly one word can sober you up!
A few days later we were over by Black River. Most of the time I was on 'day work' I was working with Frank, the carpenter. He had arranged that out first evening over there we were going to meet some more of his friends.
We made our way up a sandy street to a small house and were about to clap our hands to indicate our arrival when the door burst open and a mob of blokes burst out. All shades from jet black, like Frank, to gingery white. There was even a Chinese. Wearing bush hats and carrying large rifles or shot guns they looked like something out of a rather bad safari film.
"Where's yo going, Bumba Man," asked Frank, "You'se look like the Ku Klux Klan!"
"Don't yo Bumba me, man! We's off to get us a few crocks up that river, man."
"Let's all back inside," said another, "Give 'em a drink."
The mob crashed indoors again and we trailed along in behind them. I still wasn't used to the way these islanders put away the booze. Usually rum and usually Appleton Estate Special. As a last resort they might go for a Dagger rum but only in case of need.
The conversation was usually politics. Mistah Manley or Mistah Bustamente would be the next Prime Minister - each one had his followers. If not that, then cricket. After several rums - just to keep the thirst down - they party decided to make a move, picking up their rifles and torches.
"You'se two coming along?" asked one of them.
"Not me, thanks," laughed Chippy, "What about you Mister Bob?"
"I dunno," I said, "I don't know anything about shooting crocks."
"Dead easy," replied one of them, "You just wade into the water with your torch and your rifle and when the crock comes up to you and opens his mouth. Well, you just stick your rifle down his throat and pull the trigger."
"Perhaps another time," I said, "I think I'll just get back to the ship with Frank!"
The highlight of the trip was, of course, Kingston. We were usually there for a couple of weeks or so between discharging and loading. The Royal Mail berth was at the west end down near a rum distillery. You could go over there and get a bucket of rum. for about a bob. Splendid for hangovers! For a really cultural evening you could go to Doris's Bar down near the water front. I don't know why this place was so popular because it was pretty sleazy. Perhaps Doris kept and eye on us youngsters like a sort of blowsy guardian angel. The girls weren't much to look at either. We were in there one evening when one of the junior engineers who had been sitting with a nut brown maid on his lap, disappeared upstairs. In no time at all he was back.
"That was quick!", we said.
" Well," he said, "She said to me,'Would you like a bit of oral s*x?'. When I said O.K. she took out her dentures and said, "Could you hold these for me?"
"It really turned me off."
In one corner of the bar there was a big Coke bottle, about six feet high. It was made out of some sort of plastic stuff so it was quite light. Up in Nassau the previous Xmas there had been street decorations similar to those Regent Street. Perhaps they had got them second hand. These included Father Christmas in a sleigh with this big bottle of Coke. Some enterprising blokes from another RML ship had shinnied up a lamp post, pinched it and brought it down to Kingston. It was a kind of Company Rule that if your ship was northbound and the next port was Nassau, you had to swipe the Coke from Doris's and get it back to another bar in that port. Meanwhile the other ships companies had to prevent the manoeuver. There were some pretty boosey brush ups over this with old Doris joining in, bashing all and sundry with her broom.
There were several other bars in Kingston at that time. Four and a Half Rum Lane, The Golden Apple and Miss Love's. All of which offered attractions other than drink.
We stopped in at Miss Love's one evening, Thompson and I, to have a couple of 'Cuba Libres' when Miss Love appeared from round the end of the bar and asked, "Don't dey feed you'se on dem Royal Mail ships? You'se both looking pretty peaky to me." She waved us to follow her. "Come in back to de kitchen an I'll give you'se sumpin to eat."
We followed her round the back and found ourselves in a large kitchen. She went over to a cupboard and pulled out plates and a cellophane covered package. "Want some bread and burrah?"
Well what with the war and everything, then public school and then CONWAY, I had never seen a sliced loaf in my life before. She brought out a crock of butter and we dived in. I had never tasted anything so good.
She told us that her real name was Maggie Goodman. She tried to make us believe that she was related to Benny and we were almost ready to do so as she had the largest collection of Benny Goodman records you can imagine. So for the next couple of weeks while the LOMBARDY was in port we spent most of our spare time in that brothel - eating bread and butter and listening to Jazz on Maggie's record player.
I had an uncle in Bristol who had married an Irish girl called Mary Roddy. It appeared that she had a sister who was a major in the Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps. Stationed in Kingston. Now the family thought that an Irish catholic major in the QARANC would be a Good Influence and sure to keep me on the Straight and Narrow while the ship was in Jamaica. I had strict orders to get in touch with her as soon as the vessel docked in Kingston.
I explained the situation to the Mate.
"What's she like?" he asked.
"Well I don't know really. I've never met her. Her sister is quite nice."
The Mate scratched his head. "I suppose we'd better comply with family regulations. Why don't you ring her up and ask her down for drinks this evening?"
I got on the blower to UP Park Camp, the army post and asked for Major Una Roddy. After the usual crisp orders and barked replies, typical of the 'Brown Jobs' a soft voice like Rosemary Clooney at her best came on the line.
"Oh!, Yes," she crooned, "Mary has told me all about you. Yes I'd love to come down to the ship for drinks."
So it was arranged. LOMBARDY had a beautiful saloon in the bridge accommodation and the four passenger cabins had been converted into cabins for the Mate and the Chief Eng. The Mate threw all the empty gin bottles into the bottom of his wardrobe and got the steward to do the place up a bit.
"Got to give a good impression." he said.
At eight 'pip emma' on the dot there was a grinding of gears and an army half tonner came to a halt at the bottom of the gangway. A dream of an Irish colleen descended - carrying a bottle of Appleton Estate in one hand and one of Gordon's in the other. The truck shot off and she came aboard. The Mate's mouth fell open and the Radio Op. who was also Irish, put on his best Brogue and Blarney.
Needless to say, the party was a great success. The Mate's cabin became so crowded that the extras spilled out into the saloon and then out onto No. three hatch as well.
Finally the army lorry returned and I took Una down onto the quay.
"I'm supposed to show you the sights." she said, "But as you seem to be working all day, I'll have to show you some of the night spots I go to." She went on, "I can't keep pinching the half tonner or people will talk. Anyway, with all those gear levers and things, the corporal who drives it will always be feeling your knee, or mine if I sit in the middle. I'll have a word with Father Hefferen, who'se got a car and he can tote us around."
Father Hefferen was a Bostonian Irish priest who ran the local catholic paper - ' The Catholic Herald' or some such. While the 'Daily Gleaner' catered for the needs of the public in the lines of politics and cricket, Father Hefferen's paper looked after the more spiritual side of things such as Obits and flower shows.
"Boston, The Hub of the Universe, " he used to say, "In the state of Ma-a-a-a-a-sa-chew-sits."
Our first outing was to a very posh restaurant called the Blue Mountain Inn, up beyond Half Way Tree. Una had been to dinner there with Princess Margaret and said the food was first class. Better than the LOMBARDY I reckoned. She and her pet priest arrived in his little Morris and we set off. And, Yes, the food was great. I had Chicken Maryland - bloody Southerners, according to Hefferen. The wines were good and plentiful so that, by the time we left, we were in a very good mood. Now, there are said to be three hundred and sixty-five turns on that road from the top to the bottom and we took every one of them on two wheels. Rounding a particularly tight curve the priest shouted, " I'm gonna take the short cut through Up Park Camp!" and we swept past the sentries of the army camp.
"Don't know what I'll do if I find the gates shut one day!", he laughed.
Another time he took us across to Port Royal. The road goes right round the bay and across the airport runways. It's the only place I know which has notices which say :- 'BEWARE OF LOW FLYING AIRCRAFT!!" and "TAXIING AIRCRAFT HAVE RIGHT OF WAY!!"
We cruised along and suddenly Hefferen roared, "DUCK!!" and we cringed down in our seats as a four engined Douglas whizzed over us. "Nice timing, Eh?" he said.
I had taken my trunks with me and decided to have a swim before dinner. The others retired to the bar.
"No sharks round here I asked the beach boy.
"Oh! No sah." he replied, "We'se got a blurry great shark fence alla roun our beach."
Feeling more confident, I swam out into the dark. The lights from the hotel looked great, reflected in the calm sea. Suddenly there was an upheaval of water next to me and something huge brushed past my legs. Thinking of my experience in St Anne's Bay I made for the beach in double quick time.
"Hey!", I said to the beach boy, "I thought you said there was a shark fence here. Some bloody great fish nearly had me out there."
Oh, yes sah," he replied, "Dat fence's gotta few holes in it an' sometimes a shark or 'cuda come in. They'se curious beasts, ya see."
I came from a very Catholic family and a life at sea made things a bit difficult as far as religion was concerned. I tried to get to Mass as often as I could but in foreign ports the question of Confession was rather hard to manage. In Kingston there was a rather a beautiful catholic cathedral in a modern Byzantine style. I trotted off there one day when I was free. Inside I couldn't find anything that looked like a confessional so I wandered out into the gardens again. There I ran into a very fat Negro priest reading his 'office'
"Excuse me, Father, could you hear my confession?", I asked. He pointed to a low marble bench under some trees, "Let's sit over there." he suggested. We took our places at opposite ends of the bench.
"Now son," he said, "Just what have you been up to?"
"Well, Father, it's like this. I went with a woman down in Rum Lane." I finished with a rush.
" It's like that is it?", he said, "And how long ago was this?"
"A couple of weeks back.", I admitted.
"So you've been peering down the eye for the last two weeks wondering if you've got the clap?"
"Something like that."
" Well, I reckon that penance enough for any man. Let alone for a slip of a boy like you." He smiled, "Tell you what. You say a couple of 'Our Fathers' and we'll call it quits. O.K.?"
He heaved himself up off the bench and wandered off down the garden.
"Haleluya!", I thought, "The Pope's started giving the priests lessons in Practical Seamanship!"I headed for the street. At the garden gate I turned back. The fat priest was watching me. I swear that even at that distance I could discern the twinkle in his eye!
All too soon or loading was finished and we had to set sail for the gray climes of England. Twenty-eight days from the Windward Passage to Dungeness. But that's another tale!
Going up the London River the Captain told me to go down and ask the skipper of the tug, which was cruising along on our starboard quarter, which berth we were going to. "Twenny-one Ar Aye." he yelled.
"Ar Aye?" I queried, "Where's that?"
"Royal Albert. Where d'you fink?"
Back home at last!
The dock pilot brought or mail aboard, including our letters of appointment. My buff coloured, pre printed, post pre-paid card said:
I hereby acquiesce to my appointment to the RMS DESEADO ( hand written ink) berthed at Z Shed Victoria Dock, London (Again handwritten) on the 25th Inst. (Handwritten)
Signed
..................................................
"RMS DESEADO," I thought, "Luxury At Last!!!"
Little did I know ......