There was a Frenchman on board. He was another who had little use for going ashore. He spoke little English but he had that Gaelic ability through gesture and facial contortion to make himself understood. Once, while hitchhiking through Northern California he got himself into trouble. A car passed him and splashed him so he made a typical European salute. The next car that came along was the police! They gave him a ride straight to jail. Next morning the judge fined him twenty dollars for making a ‘filthy gesture’. The car he had insulted had made a complaint to the police. He had nothing good to say about America: remember this was the late fifties during the McCarthy era. He felt Americans had an abnormal fear of foreigners. He was a good shipmate with a great sense of humour which would come in handy when we hit the typhoon.

The next day we took a tour of the harbour. Technically I was still under house arrest but nobody wanted to interpret it too narrowly. I saw ships that were total wrecks. Mostly those that flew flags of convenience. They were true rust buckets with unshaven louts leaning over the rails calling and hooting at us. One of our crew recognized someone on an English ship and we were invited aboard. English boats were some of the worst maintained in the shipping world and this was no exception. In shipboard cramped quarters if there is no discipline the effects can make you nauseous. There was booze everywhere. Barely clad Japanese women slipped from room to room amidst heaped up piles of garbage. We sat and drank with some pirates who’d been around the world more than a few times and had the tales to prove it.

Sunday evening, back on board, Ron and the liberty crew returned with exotic tales of the Japanese experience. I was envious and hung onto every word; my despair was made greater as I wasn’t sure I was going to be allowed ashore at all!

—————————-To be continued———————————-

These were handouts that we were given all over the part of Yokohama we explored. Why did I save them for 60 years? I don’t know.

It was Saturday afternoon. We had our going to town clothes on in preparation for a day and a half of freedom! The going ashore group assembled on the poop deck where the little Taxi chugged awaiting our boarding.

The second mate pointed a finger at me and said “Not you”. I was to be punished for my sloppy work habits. I watched dismally as the crew boat made its way through the crowded harbour towards the Yokohama dock. It was getting on to three weeks at sea and I was considerably depressed to know that I was to spend the whole weekend on board. The second mate himself was on the crew boat so with my jailer gone an opportunity presented itself.

Some of the crew wanted to visit friends on other ships in the harbour and had the use of the ship’s boat. There wasn’t any reason why I couldn’t go along. Perhaps the other officers took pity on me and thought my punishment harsh. The afternoon saw us on one of the Belnor’s sister ships (they had been built at the same time and belonged to the same company; their names all began with Bel…) drinking Scotch and Beer while the two crews exchanged stories. I was the beneficiary of an interesting Nordic practice in civility: if there was a person in the group who didn’t understand the language everyone reverted to English.

The crew of this ship lived under a different regime. Drinking was allowed and there were some harrowing tales of sea voyages. Some of the members of my own ship let slip that the Belnor hadn’t always been such a fussy, pristine boat and had a dark past. Later, I was to learn why it had become so clean and dry.

Some of the crew had no use for Japan and no interest in going ashore. The Belnor had been making this shuttle between Port Moody and Yokohama for three years and for some the excitement had worn thin. These were career sailors and their lives were as regulated and secure as any landlubbers were. Each long enough on board to have their own cabin. The radio operator had a room full of hobbies. He played the accordion, which made for some hilarious evenings when he tried to fit in with Ron’s Rock and Roll Guitar. He kept himself busy with radio and had made some impressive receptions with the aerial that he dangled out the porthole in good weather

to be continued…

Chipping and painting took on a new dimension. Now we were stable in the water it was possible to paint the outside of the ship. Out came the planks and ropes; Ron and I were lowered over the side with buckets of paint and rollers. (In port there was no need for most of the watch crew so Ron was downgraded to deck crew again) Painting was easy if there was no wind that could take the colour right of your roller and drape it across the nearest porthole. This was a pleasant job on a sunny day. After finishing as much of a section we could reach we would have to wait for the boson to move the scaffold from above.

Once, hanging over the side, and finished, we couldn’t get anyone’s attention no matter how much we hollered. Finally, a porthole opened and the boson stuck his head out. He was quite drunk, as he had finally replenished his liquor supply. Inebriation was his element; he was polite and happy and told us he’d be right with us if we wouldn’t mind waiting. He also wanted to introduce us to his friend and immediately a beautiful Japanese girls’ head appeared! She chatted to us in Pigeon English while the boson went on deck to change our stage.

Ron and I hadn’t been allowed to go to shore yet and this only increased our yearning. The weekend came; the second mate chose the crewmembers allowed to disembark and this was when my shoddy work record caught up to me.

After 7 or 8 days at sea we had only seen clues that there were other people in the world; lights at night or a ship seen miles away. There was a map pinned to the dining room wall detailing our daily progress. Two days from Japan we began sighting fishing boats; first one, then groups of two and three and finally whole packs. The bridge crew had to be alert and the foghorn was blown more than once to clear the way. These tiny open boats were way out into the Pacific and more than two days sail from home. They didn’t have the speed of an ocean freighter and may have stayed out for weeks at a time.

I was fascinated by anything outside the ship and would head to the rail whenever something interesting would come into sight. And these boats were interesting! Little one or two man wooden boats with smoke coming from a small engine and a single mast and boom for sailing. These guys had seen plenty of freighters in their time and they didn’t bother to look away from their tasks as the big ship steamed by.

Our captain looked away from his task, though, and spotted me leaning over the rail enthralled. I heard angry Norwegian language coming from the loudspeakers but didn’t realize he was talking to me until the boson came running from another part of the ship hollering for me to get my ass back to work. I hadn’t learned that even if you are doing no real work you must appear to be doing work. Since then, having experienced the wisdom of the work place, I should have pretended to be labouring near the rail and everybody would have been happy. I was definitely in the captain’s bad books now.

This was it! The next morning we entered Yokohama Harbour and dropped anchor. These were the years that the west was busy rebuilding the destroyed Japanese economy and the port was full. The Belnor had to wait its turn as ship after ship was unloaded at the crowded docks. We would sit out in the harbour for ten days. The weather was sunny and there was plenty to do. It was the middle of the workweek and only a few of the crew was allowed to go ashore: all we could do was watch all the tremendous activity of perhaps the busiest port in the world.

There were small boats with the task of delivering seamen to and from the docks. The ship would put out a signal and like a taxi one would divert from its course. These boats were usually filled with a selection from all the seagoing nations of the world. When the officers realized that we were in for a long wait at anchor they began letting the men go to shore after work. The stipulation was that you had to show up the next morning for your day’s work. The crew began to look as wasted as when we first signed on. Shore leave is the curse of the seaman.

to be continued…