# Tales Of The Unknown



## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

When, in 1966, I decided that I had spent enough time at sea I informed Marconi Marine that I would not be taking another ship when the current voyage ended on the Tyne. They asked me if I would be interested in taking a job with them as a technician, installing and repairing their equipment on ships. Not having arranged anything else I accepted and, after completing the leave that was due to me, I reported to Marconi's office on Melbourne Street in Newcastle upon Tyne. There I met Norman Watchorn, an Irish ex-R/O who had decided to give up the sea and was also starting his first job ashore.

I was posted to the South Shields base, on the Mill Dam, where I joined a small team consisting of an Assistant Inspector and 5 or 6 Marine Technical Assistants (MTAs) plus two Temporary Marine Technical Assistants (TMTAs) - Norman and myself. Being a TMTA was similar to being an apprentice - you were on probation, required to keep a work log and were supposed to be supervised for the first 3 months. At the end of that time your performance was reviewed and a decision was made whether or not you were to be offered permanent employment.

I consider myself very fortunate to have been put under the care of an experienced technician called Ron Wilson. He had worked for IMR, serving as an R/O at sea during WW2 and then as a technician ashore, before eventually moving to Marconi Marine. Ron proved to be the ideal mentor, giving me enough free rein to get a wide experience but making sure that my enthusiasm and ignorance didn't get me, the company or the users of the equipment, into any trouble. He was a steadying hand who knew (and was liked by) everyone in the yards on the south side of the Tyne. Unlike some, he was never aggressive but was scrupulously fair and incapable of accepting anything but what was right and proper - whether at work or outside it. The work had to be done right in every way and no one could bully him or dodge the issue whenever he was involved.

After the end of the probation period we met daily but didn't work together all the time, only on larger refit jobs. During the 12 months that I worked on the Tyne I learned so much from him about working with other trades and dealing with people in general. I moved to work in Chelmsford and Ron stayed working in South Shields. Over the years we have kept in touch but age and increasing infirmity have stopped any meetings and reduced our contact to telephone calls and letters.

Some years ago, Ron told me that after reading some items in the South Shields Gazette about the experiences of local people in wartime, he had decided to record his and submit them. They were never printed but he decided to expand them to include the time spent on a number of ships in the immediate post-war years. He had also sent the manuscript to the local librarian who was collecting local history for the Millenium project, but again no one seemed to be interested in them. He thought that the fact that they were handwritten was against them. So he had recovered them and they were sitting in a cupboard somewhere and the ink was beginning to fade.

I thought that this would be a loss and, having read stories recording wartime experiences that were posted on SN, I offered to type them up for him so that at least they were easier to read and would not be lost. Being typed, they might be more acceptable to the newspaper. So he sent the manuscript to me, I typed it up and returned it to him but kept a copy on my PC.

Ron is now 91 and not enjoying good health but just before Christmas I was speaking to him and we were swinging the lamp and putting the world to rights. Eventually the topic arose of how things have changed in the marine world in such a relatively short time. I told him of SN, where this subject recurred in many threads but as Ron knows nothing of computers (and is disinclined to spend any time learning about them) he wasn't sure what it was all about. So I described some of the things that went on and he was quite interested. Later that day I printed off one or two 'sea stories' from SN and put them in with a letter to Ron, accompanying our Christmas card to him and Joyce, his wife.

He rang me back this week and said he had enjoyed the stories and commented on their similarity to his own experiences. I asked if he would be interested in my submitting his 'memoirs' to SN for him, since he has no way to do it himself. He agreed, I contacted Steve to check whether that would be in order and if I could post them in episodes (the do***ent has over 30 pages). Steve's response was immediate and favourable so I will post them on this thread during the coming days. 

I hope that you enjoy them as much as I did.


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## Duncan112 (Dec 28, 2006)

I look forward to reading them, having enjoyed "The Long Silence Falls" and hope they will achieve a wide audience.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 1*

_Introduction

Reflecting On the Coincidence of Recent Articles in the South Shields Gazette and My Own Linked Experiences, Either Directly Or With Topical Connections. Ron Wilson, July 2007.

The "South Shields Gazette", renowned for its nautical interests, requested readers to submit articles and stories with a maritime connection. I offered this manuscript in September - December 1989. I deposited it at the reception desk and it was passed on to the (at that time) shipping reporter. By May 1990 I accepted that there must be nothing of sufficient interest to be published, so I requested the return of the manuscript. With some dilatory delay, I eventually retrieved the manuscript - five weeks later, still unpublished.

A month or two ago, there was an article about the man who had served in the regular Army "Anti-Aircraft Defence Regiment" and had also served in the Merchant Navy during World War II. About the same time there was also an article on the bombing of the Westoe area. 
_

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Tales Of The Unknown 

Ron Wilson
East Boldon 2007

I served for some years in the Merchant Navy, which included periods during various hostilities ranging from World War II to "the Elements!" Prior to this, for a short period of time, I was a part-time member of the local Home Guard Anti-Aircraft Defence, doing one all-night guard duty per week, manning one of the many rocket guns sited at Northfield Gardens, South Shields. I shared the manning of this particular rocket gun with my friend and work colleague, Joe.

At the time we were both serving apprenticeships at a Wallsend shipyard - studying at night school together (the old Marine Tech.). Subsequently, for a number of years we followed similar careers in the Merchant Navy as Radio Officers - foregoing our apprenticeships in favour of our new careers.

On the night that the Westoe area was bombed, Joe and I were on guard duty. We spent the entire night standing by the rocket gun. As orders came over the headphones, one of us would be changing the gun bearing and the other the elevation. Both were alert to the rest of the drill procedure for reloading or attending to any misfired rocket. The latter, to the inexperienced, was possibly comparable to an attempted suicide but fortunately never needed. 

For some time throughout the night, the sky was lit up by local searchlights and we were also aware of the illumination and blast from the gunfire of the nearby regular army artillery position and the exploding bombs at Westoe. However, in spite of our vigilance, the Home Guard ack-ack did not receive any orders to fire that night.

With dawn showing, a sign that our night's stint as "Dads Army" soldiers was nearly over, the German bombers would be making their return journey back to home base. It was time for us to go home, change clothes and catch the 6.20 a.m. bus to Hebburn Ferry, ready for a day's work at Wallsend. On the way walking home we had to pass through the Westoe area. On this particular morning some residents, on seeing our khaki Home Guard ack-ack uniforms, gave strong criticism as to our efficiency during the night. Understandably, as there had been fatal injuries amongst the casualties.

Joe and I could well appreciate their trauma. We had personal experience of living in the local school, sleeping on the school floor while our own homes were having temporary repairs carried out to minor bomb damage, and while an unexploded 1,000 lb. bomb - huge in those days - was removed from a neighbour's garden. 

Digressing a little, when living at the school we had only the work clothes we had been wearing. On discovery of the unexploded bomb, our homes had been immediately evacuated. When we arrived home from work, we had been diverted to meet our families at the local school, with no concessions allowed to enter our home area to retrieve a change of clothes. Fortunately this situation did not last too long. In truth, one night under the cover of darkness and avoiding the official bodies guarding the home area, Joe and I did a stealthy "Artful Dodger" type visit to our own homes. We collected a change of clothing and some items that our parents needed, but had not had the time to collect when evacuated.

We had shared the experience of being at Swan & Hunter's shipyard when a low-flying German bomber came over, at a height just sufficient to clear the cranes, in full daylight and scattered bombs in the area, around such vessels as HMS "Anson", HMS "King George V", HMS "Victorious", Port/HMS "Vindex" and the vessel I happened to be working on - the upper deck of the merchant vessel "Pandorian". There were no direct hits and little damage done, just a quickening of the heart beat. I had a very close view of the aircraft as it passed over. The "Pandorian" at that time was lying on the outside of the battleship HMS "Anson". The decision to convert the cargo ship "Port Vindex" into an aircraft carrier was taken while she was still on the builder's stocks. To counterbalance the additional top-weight of the flight deck, I believe that they put 3,000 tons of ballast into the bottom of the holds before the launch. This total additional weight was not allowed for in the declivity and presented an increasingly precarious situation until she was successfully launched.

Another incident was when travelling home from Wallsend by bicycle. We had just passed the Shell Oil tanks at Jarrow when a lone German bomber, apparently trying for the oil tanks, succeeded in hitting houses in the area. The following wind from the blast was not appreciated at that time.

The incident of the bombing of Westoe could be looked on as our curtain call for life in "Dads Army", for soon after that Joe and I joined the Merchant Navy and we went our separate ways.

A sequel to "Dads Army" days cropped up after the War, when I was Radio Officer on the "St. Clears", bound for numerous ports in Brazil and the Argentine. We had on board one passenger, a retired Army major. While in the saloon he was relating his wartime experiences of administration responsibilities over anti-aircraft artillery in the Northeast. With a tinge of self-righteousness, he told us of the time an enemy plane had been shot down by an unidentified source, so they gave the credit to the Home Guard rocket guns as a morale booster. Still with vivid memories, I held my silence but did not appreciate the condescending gesture. I then had another concept of the ack-ack motto "Ubique"; the world really is a small place.

Fortunately joining the Merchant Navy late in the War, shipping casualties in the North Atlantic were easing, except of course for the invasion - D-Day.


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## Finbar O'Connor (Sep 26, 2008)

Ron,
Many thanks for ensuring this important part of
our maritime radio history is preserved and made known
to a wider audience.

Much appreciated

Finbar. EJM retired


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## tsell (Apr 29, 2008)

To the two Ronnies! Many thanks for your efforts in getting these precious memoirs safely recorded and shared among our members.

Very much appreciated!

Taff


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## Bill.B (Oct 19, 2013)

Great read. Love to hear people's stories especially that period. Keep them coming.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

There were no photos in the early part of Ron Wilson's narrative (which I have already posted) but now I am ready to post the succeeding parts I have realised that there may be a copyright issue involved. 

In the (MS Word) version that I typed up from Ron Wilson's long-hand manuscript, I inserted photos of the ships that he had sailed on. Since it was only intended for his enjoyment and not for wider publication, I simply copied the photos off various sites on the internet (I can't remember where) and pasted the into the record where appropriate.

So I have decided to omit the photos from these SN postings. They were only intended to stimulate Ron's reminiscences and refresh his memories of those ships and probably do not contribute to the story. I will however retain the captions. I hope this is OK.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 2*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

m.v. "Port Halifax"

PORT HALIFAX built in 1937 by Swan, Hunter & Wigham Richardson at Newcastle. 5820grt. Service speed 14 knots. 

I joined the "Port Halifax" at Glasgow one afternoon in January 1944 and we sailed 'independent' (i.e. not as part of a convoy) later that day. Port Line vessels had a good turn of speed, as required by the nature of their normal peacetime refrigerated cargo, so I accepted the first 'grapevine' news from the 'galley wireless' that we were bound towards Australia. We sailed with whatever was in the holds and a full deck cargo of landing craft. With the situation existing in the Far East this seemed feasible and, being a junior Radio Officer aware of strict secrecy, the destination at this stage was none of my business. However my curiosity was aroused when I found out that we were heading down through the Irish Sea and St. George's Channel.

After a very uncomfortable night weather-wise, I was not sorry to learn that we were putting into Swansea and that the crew, including myself, would be signed off articles immediately on arrival. This particular call at Swansea gave scope for all sorts of speculation, with the Far East still a possibility. 

I was to learn what was nearer to the truth 43 years later, while on holiday near Slapton Sands, in Devon. I was sitting soaking in the scenic tranquillity of the coastline when one of the locals said that the coastal area had seen its share of disaster. He then related the epic of when thousands of Canadian and American troops had been carrying out a night exercise involving a practice landing on the North Devon coast, in preparation for the Normandy invasion. Their ships and landing craft were intercepted, attacked and massacred by a German E-boat patrol. Swansea was just across the other side of the Bristol Channel. After 43 years I had a possible answer as to why the "Port Halifax" took landing craft etc. to Swansea.

*****************************************************

ss Reina del Pacifico

Reina del Pacifico
Built by Harland and Wolff; Yard number 852; Launched 23rd September 1930; 
Delivered 24th March 1931. 17,707 tons gross.

Leaving the "Port Halifax", I joined the ss "Reina del Pacifico" at Liverpool, destination Mombasa in East Africa. I was to travel (as passenger) with 30 other Merchant Navy personnel and 3,000 RAF personnel, bound for various destinations. My destination was the ss "Auretta" at Capetown - eventually!

Lying off Liverpool waiting for the appropriate time to disappear, a master emergency drill was carried out. All passengers and crew had to stand by emergency stations. It was apparent that all except the Merchant Navy (M.N.) passengers were standing by something that would float e.g. raft, lifeboat etc. We were standing isolated on the quarterdeck. The transport officer and entourage did the rounds, explaining the procedure in an emergency. Then finally he confronted the M.N. He offered his apologies and explained that there was nothing left for us that would float! He was, however, confident that being men of the sea, we would find some means of survival.

The first half of our journey was in an all-troopship convoy - mostly peacetime luxury passenger ships, an impressive sight. The second half, in the Indian Ocean, independently with a single destroyer escort. Two days from Mombasa a periscope was sighted. The "Reina del Pacifico" was capable of 22 knots plus. The "plus" was fully extended, the resultant vibration making it difficult to stand on the deck, as we demonstrated to the escort (and whatever was underneath the periscope) just what a perfectly dead straight ship's wake looked like. We eventually stopped on reaching Mombasa.

I later proceeded to Durban, South Africa and boarded a train travelling via Kimberly and, four days later, arrived in Capetown where I joined the ss "Auretta".


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## hawkey01 (Mar 15, 2006)

Ron,

further to the ships. It maybe an idea if you had a word with Stuart Smith - one of our members who has a huge collection of WW2 vessels and posts regularly in our Gallery. He could well have photos of the vessels in the script.

Neville - Hawkey01


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

Thanks, Neville but I when I was typing up the original I just inserted photos below the heading for each ship - so that an uninitiated member of the public (or a member of his family) reading the printed text could get some idea of what Ron was talking about. Most readers on-line here on SN will either know the ships already or be capable of looking them up. They were just external shots (usually stock builders photos, taken during trials) of the ships - nothing personal to Ron or otherwise relevant to the story.

I left them off these postings to avoid involving SN in any dispute about copyright and don't feel their absence in any way detracts from the overall quality.


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## Bob Murdoch (Dec 11, 2004)

Great stuff Ron. Keep them coming
Many thanks
Bob


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 3*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

ss"Auretta"

_Auretta SS British tanker (steamer); 4.571 tons, built in 1935 by Burntisland Shipbuilding Co., Burntisland, for the Chellew Steam Ship Co. (Mgrs. F.C. Perman), London, owners of the ship till 1941.[Listed in Burntisland shipyard archives as NB 186 for Calpean Shipping Co. Ltd.] Changed owner to W.H. Cockerline & Co. Ltd., Hull. Was rebuilt in WWII as a cargo ship. On 26th February 1945, the Auretta was in the convoy named T.A.M.-91 with 12 other ships and accompanied by 5 ships. They were on voyage to Antwerp. There was a gale force 8 from the SW and due to the heavy seas, the convoy was spread in an area of 6 miles. On 2nd March 9am, the Auretta hit a mine. After the evacuation of the crew, the ship quickly sank_​
I have heard many tales from old sea dogs of conditions in the old days. The conditions on the ss "Auretta" were comparable to the worst. After an attempted resurrection by the local dockyard and a full fumigation, the 'powers that be' decided that if we could manage 8 knots they would load us up and we could join a convoy to the UK. Achieving that 8-knot speed was really a challenge. She was a coal-burning ship with Lascar firemen to keep the boilers fed with coal. In this case anyone who could lift a shovel, shovelled coal. The incentive was that 8 knots would direct us towards home; failure meant remaining on the "Auretta" for the duration of the War, trading around the African coast.

Sea trials were brief and carried out in a sheltered bay. Strange to say, but it was mainly the ship's firemen who were carried out - out of the stokehold, suffering from heat exhaustion, but there was no shortage of willing replacements to help. Looking at the speed log from the enhancing side, we made 8 knots - just - and became a valid hull for the transport of material to the UK.

Our cargo consisted of foodstuff and ammunition, which included 16" shells. The first 16" shells that came to my mind were those on HMS "Nelson" (battleship). As the day drew nearer for the completion of loading, I was on board one evening when I heard a loud voice shouting for attention and hammering on cabin doors. Apparently everyone else was ashore and the deck and engine room watchkeepers had decided to have a stroll around the local dock area to break the monotony and enjoy a beautiful evening. The source of the noisy furore was the ship's gunner. He was trying to report smoke coming not from the cargo holds but from our own ship's ammunition store down aft, in the emergency steering flat. He had the key to the ammunition store but as there were no electric lights in that area, he could not see for smoke and darkness. He urgently needed torches and assistance. Dale Carnegie adequately described the situation - something about "making friends and influencing people".

I didn't have a key to the Chief Officer's cabin (the deck officer on duty that night), so we broke down his cabin door and located two torches. Then off we went down the small deck hatches leading to the steering flat and ammunition store. Fortunately it didn't take long to locate the source of the smoke; it was coming from cotton waste packing two rifles in a wooden crate. How the cotton waste came to be smouldering remains a mystery but we rapidly disposed of it. When the "watch on board" officers returned from their stroll, and on hearing of our experience, their whiter-than-white complexions blended with ours.

The following night I decided to play safe and I went ashore to the local club. Returning to the ship about 1 a.m., as I was walking along the quayside towards the gangway I saw flames coming from the tarpaulin covering our forward gun and ammunition box, with not a sign of life anywhere. I dashed aboard shouting "Fire!" then ran up to the forecastle where the native crew lived and shouted "Fire!" into their quarters. Since we did not have he luxury of running water on board, I grabbed assorted slop buckets, climbed onto the forecastle head and attempted to douse some of the flames. This was followed by the two fire buckets of sand nearby. By then, reinforcements had arrived and we got the burning tarpaulin under control.

I always considered Capetown to be a beautiful place and I hate to think how near we were, with the assistance of an explosive cargo, to disfiguring the town.

The following morning the Captain requested that I remain in the saloon after breakfast, as we had things to discuss. The 1st Officer and the senior Radio Officer were to be in attendance. He expressed his appreciation of my efforts on the two previous nights. He went on to explain that they should be reported to the authorities and, if so, he felt sure that my efforts would be recognised. However if he did so the Gunner, who had been involved in the first incident but slow off his marks for the second, together with the two "watch on board" officers from the first night, would have to face a court of enquiry. With the prospect that three decent, innocent colleagues would be made a meal of by some bureaucratic body, he was leaving the decision to me. If I wanted the incidents reported, I would have his full support. If not, then he trusted that my decision would be final and there would be no about turn at a later date. The latter was my decision and it has been upheld until the writing of this article, 45 years later.

Possibly because fate seemed determined to have me involved with guns and ammunition, I was elected to attend a two-day gunnery course on our newly fitted Oerlikon and Browning machine guns.

On our departure from Capetown, our programme was to take up a position outside, ready to link up with a convoy coming around the Cape of Good Hope and bound for Freetown in Sierra Leone (West Africa) and the UK. It took most of the first day just to overcome the heavy Southern Ocean rollers; we spent hours trying to get out of the harbour entrance, unable to make headway. This was already taking toll on our engine's stamina. But it eliminated any waiting time for the convoy.


Within hours of joining the convoy we were unable to maintain the required 8 knots and dropped out of our assigned station in the convoy. Convoy speed was reduced to 7½ knots but even this was 'the impossible dream' and again we dropped behind. The convoy commodore tried 7 knots but we could not guarantee it and we dropped still further behind.

The escorting destroyer at the rear of the convoy kept dropping back to try to embrace us under her protection but finally her commanding officer brought her close alongside and shouted to us on the loudhailer, asking if there was any possibility of us catching up with the convoy. On receiving a negative answer, the officer shouted his apologies that they could not risk the safety of the convoy by continually dropping further and further back. He said that we would now have to continue independently (i.e. unescorted and unprotected). Giving us his best wishes, the destroyer then sped off chasing her flock, which by now was well out of sight.

The ss "Auretta" slowly drifted her way up to Freetown and eventually made it safely into port. Re-storing was carried out and then we waited for 3 weeks outside the harbour for a 6-knot convoy home, destination Manchester. By the time we arrived in Manchester D-Day had passed and the Normandy Invasion was under way. I assume that HMS "Nelson" was able to manage without our delayed supply of ammo. (Or any other artillery that had been waiting for it).

Most of the personnel signed off articles on arrival and left the ship in Manchester. Manchester Fire Brigade was to provide a fire watch on board for the duration of discharging the ammunition but, on finding the vessel so ridden with vermin, they refused to use the accommodation on board and portable huts were brought to the dockside for use as their accommodation. On reflection, maybe it wasn't that the "Auretta" couldn't keep up with the convoy, more likely that the convoy was determined to keep up-wind of us!


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## IAN M (Jan 17, 2009)

Ron

A very interesting post.

Depending on the length of the manuscript, it could be made into a Kindle book. Send me a private message if you're interested.

Ian


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## Troppo (Feb 18, 2010)

Excellent.

More!


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## 5TT (May 3, 2008)

Fascinating reading, thank you very much.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 4*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007*

ss "Samholt"*

_Samholt; MC Yard No.1685; Standard design; Laid Down 10 June 1943; Launched 3 July 1943; Launched as JACOB RIIS, lease lend to Britain. 1943 SAMHOLT, MOWT (Cunard White Star Ltd, Liverpool). 1948 JACOB RIIS, USMC laid up James River. 1959 Scrapped Baltimore​_

Although having no link with any "Gazette" article, a further adventure was on a Cunard-operated "Sam" boat, ss "Samholt". "Sam" boats were so-called Liberty ships, a type of American standard-design cargo ship, built in the USA during World War II, transferred to Britain and operated by British shipping companies. They were given the prefix "Sam" to their names and were built using the latest welded and prefabricated building techniques that enabled the American shipyards to complete a ship in just a few weeks, rather than the many months required for cargo ships built using traditional methods.

This voyage started at West Hartlepool, bound for New York, picking up convoys at Methil and then Oban. There followed an uneventful 8-week passage from New York to Calcutta. The first 4 weeks were spent in an American convoy across the Atlantic, then a further 4 weeks sailing independently across the Indian Ocean to Madras and Calcutta. We were carrying supplies for the Army, which was preparing to make a stance against the relentless advance of the Japanese in Burma.

Our cargo consisted of general supplies in the holds and assorted vehicles, including ambulances, as deck cargo. Two American ambulance drivers travelled as passengers. Whilst crossing the Indian Ocean, numerous 'SSSS' signals were heard, reporting suspicious sightings of submarines, but fortunately none were in our vicinity. 

Calcutta had the tense atmosphere of serious activity, which contrasted strikingly with the presence of experienced troops lucky enough (?) to be allowed a short rest and recreation leave before returning to the battle. They were living by the day and making the most of it.

Our return journey was to call at Cochin (Southwest India) for sand ballast and then to proceed via the Cape of Good Hope to load cargo at Buenos Aires, Rosario and San Lorenzo on the River Plate in Argentina and head home to the UK. We were to take bunkers at Recife, Brazil en-route to the UK. 

All went well across the Indian Ocean and the South Atlantic and we loaded in Argentina without incident. On completion of loading we headed north for home, everything going smoothly until two days before our estimated arrival at Recife. Water tubes in both of the ship's main boilers collapsed and left us completely crippled.

The weather was beautiful with a calm sea and with the visibility far too good. The engineers set to, with the intention of stripping both boilers down to try and rescue enough tubes from both boilers to make one boiler serviceable, sufficient for us to reach Recife. This entailed the engineers starting, possibly before the boilers were cool enough to work on, crawling inside and dismantling the water tubes within. It took nearly two days, working without a break, but they succeeded. After burning all our dunnage (timber used to support and pack cargo in the holds) and the odd cabin door, we managed to reach Recife.

It would not have helped the stress factor, especially for the struggling engineers, had we know that while we were lying crippled and helpless, the British cargo vessel "Baron Jedbergh" was torpedoed and sunk in our area.

Replacement boiler tubes were flown to us from San Francisco and our own engineers effected a full repair.

While we were lying disabled, off Recife, an aircraft from the American base there came out looking for us (and, possibly the "Baron Jedbergh"). We were able to communicate, via cryptic flag signals, why we were lying motionless and to advise that we hoped to be on our way very soon. I believe that two lifeboats from the "Baron Jedbergh" made it to Recife under their own sail. Later I heard that one other lifeboat was rescued by a passing Union Castle Line vessel.

************************************************************​
*ss Jonathan Holt*

_Jonathan Holt. Cargo vessel built 1943 by Cammell Laird & Co., Birkenhead; 3,778 GRT; 387 ft x 52ft 4in x 19ft 6in. 1962 sold, renamed Zermatt, 197? Scrapped at Split.​_

My final World War II experience was on the ss "Jonathan Holt", owned by the John Holt company of Liverpool.

This was a short voyage, calling at numerous ports on the West African coast and finally taking missionaries up the river Congo to Matadi, in the Belgian Congo.

When off the coast of West Africa, during the night watch, I received the news about the dropping of the atomic bombs on Japan. The news item included the relevant statistics comparing the explosive force of the atomic bomb with that of TNT. This was printed in the morning newssheet at breakfast but greeted with some incredulity until later verified. 

Returning from this voyage, I was on the train passing through Durham en route to my home on leave when the buzzers and sirens blew, signifying the end of all hostilities - for some. It was quite a sight, seeing all the celebrations and joviality at Newcastle Central Station - a striking contrast to all the hospital trains arriving with wounded seen earlier in the War and, later, the trainloads of returning ex-prisoners of war.


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## tom roberts (May 4, 2008)

I am currently reading a book by an ex seafarer,Robert Ng, he sailed in the catering dept in the 60s on various ships, he recalls many accounts of trips ashore and life in general,as I am only halfway thro I hold my judgement on his story but up to now I reckon it's O.K. I will post again after I have read the whole book.


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## tunatownshipwreck (Nov 9, 2005)

Thank you for sharing these accounts with us. Great read.


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## IAN M (Jan 17, 2009)

Ron

The following is an extract from my book, SHIPPING COMPANY LOSSES OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR.

BARON JEDBURGH (Captain E.A. Brown). Unescorted and bound for Durban from New York, via Trinidad and Cape Town, when torpedoed and sunk by U.532 (FregKpt. Ottoheinrich Junker) on 10 March, 1945, in position 10º02´S 25º00´W. One died. Thirty-three landed at Cabedello in Brazil on the 22nd. Twenty-five picked up by the Sandown Castle on the 16th and landed at Montevideo on the 26th. 

Regards

Ian


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 5*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

*m.v. "Brighton"*

_Brighton. Cargo vessel built 1943 by the Burntisland Shipbuilding Co. Ltd., Burntisland for Carlton S.S. Co. Ltd.(Chapman), Newcastle 7,345 tons 420 x 58ft 1959 sold to Pelopidas Cia Nav, Lebanon r/n Pelopidas, 1965 scrapped._​
Moving now to peacetime in the Merchant Navy.

The scene: a local ship, the m.v. "Brighton" operated by Chapman's of Newcastle. On a voyage from Bone in Algeria to Nordenham in Germany, we encountered atrocious weather while crossing the Bay of Biscay and which continued until we arrived off the mouths of the Elbe/Weser rivers. Navigation had been by dead reckoning, assisted by some radio direction finder bearings, since the high seas and spray had reduced visibility to almost zero and the ship was not fitted with radar.

The two-day respite from the storms whilst we discharged our cargo of ore was soon forgotten as we were confronted with a severe gale on departure. It was turning dusk as we cleared the estuary and prepared to drop the pilot off onto the pilot boat. Unfortunately I don't think that the pilot possessed the youth and acrobatic agility that was necessary to transfer to a pilot cutter in a gale (and I now speak from experience). We spent considerable time at reduced speed, trying to give as much lee (shelter from the wind and waves) as possible to the pilot boat for the transfer. The transfer was eventually completed but not without consequences…..

Having transferred the pilot, we didn't have sufficient time to regain full power before the force of the weather caught us and put the "Brighton" on top of a sandbank. We were "light ship", having had no time to take ballast and the grounding was at the top of high water.

As soon as it was confirmed that we were stuck on the sandbank and that no amount of yawing, backing and filling was going to release us, the owners were advised of the situation. The coast radio station receiving and forwarding our message, recognised our predicament and, as normal, requested our permission to report the situation to Lloyd's. At this stage it was thought prudent to delay our reply.

In that type of weather, salvage tugs and their offices develop a supersensitive hearing for the slightest whisper of a casualty, with its accompanying opportunities for salvage. At least one such tug had monitored our juicy bit of communication with the coast radio station. We were soon inundated with radio calls from a wide range of European salvage tugs and calls via coast radio stations. All offered us salvage assistance on Lloyd's Open Form agreements. We were repeatedly comforted with the information that there was no time to waste, we had only one hour to get off the sandbank or we would risk braking our back with the falling tide. An unenviable situation for the Captain.

The entire deck department was fully engrossed, in foul weather and darkness and, in conjunction with the engineers trying to use the ship's engine to get us off by backing and filling. Constant sounding of depth were taken at all positions. 

Internal communication systems in those days were totally inadequate in this type of situation. Radio messages were pouring in but there were no crew members to spare for conveying information to the Captain, who was, as might be expected, very mobile. Discretion had to be used in order to ensure that the Captain got the classified "important" communications, without jeopardising the constant vigilance required in the radio room.

At last it was confirmed from a tug that they had their chief salvage supervisor on board and that they had received authorisation from our owners (via landline communications) to render assistance. Catching a glimpse of one tug in the dark, it appeared to be as big as the "Brighton". At the start of operations, seven tugs were involved in the attempted salvage. Then over the radio can an "Urgent" message; one of the assisting tugs had also run aground and required assistance. Shortly afterwards, another tug advised that she had badly damaged her fiddley top by colliding with our overhanging counter stern, and was abandoning the scene to return to harbour for repairs. This was followed by a further "Urgent" message from a third tug, advising that she had a wire cable wrapped around her propeller and required urgent assistance.

Commenting on the situation as I experienced it, I can only say that it seemed absolute bedlam for radiocommunications. To put it mildly it must have been one very hectic night for the other departments.

The remaining tugs eventually succeeded in hauling us off the sandbank and we returned to Bremerhaven for an inspection of the ship's hull below the waterline. Divers carried out an inspection of the hull and found no obvious damage. Since we had no indication of water leaking into the hull, we sailed again - this time successfully - for Cardiff, Wales, where we would have a full inspection in dry-dock. It took the whole of the voyage to Cardiff to sort out the paperwork shambles for official logbook entries and the records of official communications in preparation for any scrutinising investigation.

The 3rd Officer on the "Brighton" during this epic, now a late Captain and a South Shields man, was apparently on a ship that was torpedoed during the War, then spent 42 days adrift in a ship's lifeboat. In adverse weather, when it seemed easier to walk on the bulkheads (walls) than on the deck, his straight back, square jaw and contempt for the weather, radiated reassurance.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 6*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

*m.v. "Hopecrest"*


_Cargo Vessel Tonnage: 5099grt, 3106net; Length 418ft., Breadth 57.4ft., Draught 25.6ft; built by Barclay Curle & Company Glasgow; Yard No 653; 1935-51 Hopemount Shipping Company Ltd, Newcastle; 1951-54 "Friedenau", Bugsier Reederei, Germany; 1954-63 "Nordsee" W Schuchmann, Germany. Arrived for Scrapping at Hamburg 05/07/1963.
_​

This was another "Geordie-owned vessel, belonging to Stott, Mann and Fleming. This story relates to an 18-month voyage tramping around the world in 1946/47.

The "Hopecrest" had just left Swan Hunter's Wallsend Dry-dock following a long overhaul when I joined her at the Commissioner's' buoys, North Shields. We sailed the next morning bound for San Francisco for orders and calling at Curacao (Dutch West Indies) to top up bunkers, water and other essential stores. We were to take the northerly route from the Tyne to the Atlantic around the North of Scotland via the Pentland Firth.

Trouble for the engineers started immediately; problems with piston cooling water. This was not completely cleared by the time we approached the Pentlands and a decision had to be made - dare we attempt the passage? The weather was considered to be favourable and it was decided to proceed through. We made it OK but it was decided to divert the vessel to the Clyde and deal with the engine problems during a one-day stopover. That one day in a UK port on 6th April 1946 (the start of the new fiscal year) was to cost us all the loss of one year's refund of Income Tax. In order to qualify for a refund, it was necessary to spend the entire tax year out of the UK, by docking for repairs we were disqualified from enjoying any refund in that year.

A few days prior to arriving in Curacao, although the weather seemed fine enough, there was a heavy swell on our bow. It appeared that the length of the ship and the period of the swell (distance between peaks) were not compatible. There was no way we could avoid the constant "pile-driving" shock as we hit each oncoming wave. The bow was digging deep into the troughs, leaving the stern end lifting high above the water and allowing the propeller to come out of the water. This gave the propeller governor plenty of exercise. Not surprisingly, the forepeak was reported to be taking in water but it was hoped that this could be controlled by a cement box.

Arriving at Curacao we took bunkers and had numerous rivets in the forepeak either recaulked or replaced. Then we resumed our voyage, on through the Panama Canal towards San Francisco. En route we received our orders for loading timber at a number of ports on the West Coast of North America - Coos Bay, Aberdeen, Tacoma, Seattle in the USA and, finally, Vancouver in Canada.

With the assistance of the Navigating Officer, the Captain proved to have a navigational sixth sense. We did not have any electronic navigational aids aboard, the echosounder had suffered bottom damage and was not possible to repair at sea. After days in dense fog unable to see the land, the sun or the stars, when the Captain thought we should be at or near Coos Bay, he sent the Chief Officer to double up as lookout on the forecastle head and to take constant soundings by lead line. The Chief Officer soon reported "Surf breakers ahead!" Engines were reversed for a short time and the anchor was dropped so that we could wait until the fog lifted.

The local US Coastguard station, alerted by our required, regular whistle blowing, had judged us to be running ashore on the wrong side of the harbour entrance and called for the Coastguard lifeboat to be launched. Fortunately it was not needed!

Eventually, some weeks later loading was completed at Vancouver, leaving us with a deck cargo, forward to aft, level with the Bridge deck and making us look like a floating timber stockyard. Access tunnels were left in the deck cargo for inter-departmental transit. Our destination was Durban, South Africa via the Magellan Straits or Cape Horn - a seven-week non-stop voyage.

The pilot bringing us out of Vancouver noted that our stability was on the "tender" (top-heavy) side and expressed relief that he was not coming with us,

It was an excellent journey southward along the West coasts of the USA, Mexico and Central America and passing off Peru and Chile. However the weather deteriorated rapidly as we approached Cape Horn; it was mid-winter and we experienced snowstorms and severe gales up to storm force 10. Not, at first sight, ideal conditions for using the Magellan Straits. Radio contacts informed us that two other ships were riding out the storm, unable to make headway around Cape Horn but unwilling to risk the Magellan Strait.

"Hopecrest" was capable of a guaranteed 12 knots and possibly with our deck cargo in mind, the Captain decided to enter the Magellan Straits and not risk trying to ride out the storm. One vessel, on hearing that we were tackling the Straits, declared that he could do 11 knots and asked if he could tag on behind us. The reply had to be to the effect that the choice was theirs; once we got into the narrows we could not guarantee to be able to slow up or assist if needed. That ship did follow for a short distance and then turned back, preferring to wait for a break in the weather.

The Captain and all the deck personnel donned warm, heavy weather clothing. He then spent most of the passage on the Bridge, frequently out in the open, scanning intently through the frequent snow blizzards as we navigated the more hazardous sections of the Straits. We cleared the Magellan Straits and sailed out into the South Atlantic with a heavy sea on the port bow.

Two more adversities were to rear their ugly heads. Firstly, the cargo in the midship, deep-tank, hold must have moved during the ship's violent motion in the seaway, and severed all electrical cables running from the engine room to the Bridge. Lengths of portable lamp cable were joined up and then run from the Bridge across the deck cargo and in through the fiddley vent above the engine room and draped down into the engine room to the electrical switchboard. This temporary arrangement was connected up in order to supply the navigation lights at night. The radio equipment was now operating from the emergency battery supply and the temporary arrangement was used to charge the batteries during the day. As a safety precaution against overloading the cable, I improvised a reduction in the battery charging current.

Paraffin lamps and candles became "the in thing", particularly as most of the portholes in the accommodation had been obscured by the timber deck cargo.

The second adversity arose from our (reduced) stability. The tender (top-heavy) state of trim was becoming worse as we used up fuel and fresh water from the tanks low down in the ship. We were constantly flopping about in the heavy seas. If we flopped onto our port side, we lost the fuel oil supply to the engine. Skilful steering manoeuvres were needed in the heavy seas to put us back onto lying on our starboard side before the engine cut out. In better cir***stances this could have been considered as hilarious entertainment.

As we were now in an isolated area of the South Atlantic, close to the Antarctic Circle, it was thought prudent that radio contact should be established with any other ship or coast station in range in order to exchange geographical positions. This might provide a little reassurance. Unfortunately, in this isolated area and with our radio station being restricted to a battery-driven, low-powered, emergency, medium frequency (short to medium range) transmitter, no contacts were made. This was in spite of resorting to prefixing my calls with the "Urgent" "XXX" signal (next in line of priority to the "SOS" distress signal.

The direct course to the Cape of Good Hope, for Durban, was more or less due East, but meant that we would be beam-on to the heavy seas - a very unsavoury outlook indeed! The Captain had to consider alternatives. Taking a southerly route would take us nearer to South Georgia but the weather could be worse, with increased possibility of fog and drifting ice. A more northerly course would skirt the Falkland Islands and, in the extreme, Tristan da Cunha, but was longer and would leave the fuel margin critically low. We had no means of making contact with any of these places and therefore had no guarantee of being able to refuel.

A compromise was taken between the direct and the northerly routes, trusting that when we did alter course to the south, the weather would eventually be assisting us from astern. We continued on our voyage, corkscrewing and zigzagging across the South Atlantic towards the Cape of Good Hope - aptly named! The deck officers mentally devised all kinds of emergency arrangements to avoid the risk of casualties in the event that it might be necessary to release the deck cargo to preserve the ship's stability.

Our arrival in Durban on a Sunday afternoon must have been an impressive sight for people on the beach and in the harbour. The following morning the newspaper had a front page photograph of the "Hopecrest" entering the harbour, still lying well over to starboard, plus a brief, modest account of our journey across the South Atlantic. 

Naturally we berthed starboard side on to the quay. When the lashings in the deck cargo were released, the timber self-discharged onto the quay.

This was by no means the end of the traumas on the m.v. "Hopecrest" - there is more to follow!

I take this opportunity to mention, not as a complaint but more for the reader, as an enlightenment of the conditions on board. On this vessel, bonded stores (tobacco, cigarettes etc.) were rarely available, alcohol never other than at Christmas. There was no running water on tap and our "bathroom" doubled as a secure paint locker. If you were successful in getting past the stacked drums of paint to reach the bath, you realised that there was only seawater, tinged with rust.

During our visit to Durban, we received a visit from two nuns seeking alms. I have a feeling that on completion of their rounds they left feeling that it would have been better to give than to receive. I am sure that they were grateful for what they did collect.

After more tramping around the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea (with some unusual experiences) the "Hopecrest" turned up at Iskenderum/Mersin on the Turkish/Syrian border. This time we were to load bagged grain for Bombay, India. The cargo took six weeks to load. Every bag of grain was carried up a gangplank on the back of a native and then dumped into the hold until we had a full cargo. It gave us plenty of time to observe the state of the vessel.

Alarmingly it could be clearly seen that both sides of the hull amidships had become concave and that the thwartships deep-tank bulkhead more resembled a concertina than a stout, steel, watertight, partitioning structure. Senior deck and engineer officers scanned through official literature until it was confirmed that, providing a sufficient number of personnel endorsed the application, an independent Nautical Surveyor could be called in to rule on the seaworthiness of the vessel, without the applicants incurring any liability if the examination proved to be unjustified.

A "Round Robin" letter was compiled, detailing the condition of the vessel and requesting an independent survey. This was signed by all the officers, including myself, which gave the required number of signatures. This letter was sent off to the Owners, a copy to the Captain and spare copies retained. An official independent survey was carried out in Bombay, India and a second opinion endorsed the seriousness of the situation, justifying our action.

The vessel was delayed for some weeks while the bulkhead was being strengthened by the addition of steel stiffeners. This work was carried out while we were still afloat in Bombay Harbour. At a later date, when we had a check-over at Singapore, a number of rivets were sprung in part of the superficial superstructure as we settled on the level keel of the dry-dock.

Leap-frogging in time, but still on the m.v. "Hopecrest". We were moored at the buoys in Port Louis, Mauritius, loading sugar for Penang, Malaya. A clearly visible tornado was sweeping along the coastline and heading for the harbour. The Harbour Control office advised that we should proceed to sea immediately; we would be in less danger riding out any adverse weather in open water rather than close inshore.

It was rather unfortunate that a number of the crew had been given half a day off on completion of a "job-and-finish" chore. This left the ship very short-handed for letting go our moorings to the buoys so that we could proceed out to sea. The weather had already started to deteriorate. My next assignment was certainly not mentioned in my copy of the Safety Regulations when I was studying to become a Radio Officer! We were so short of manpower that I was asked if I would assist the junior apprentice in rowing the jolly boat and letting go the moorings on the buoys - this was really a case of getting one's priorities into perspective.

In the rising swell we found rowing to be difficult and the boat was too ***bersome and impossible to maintain in position alongside the buoys. I had previous experience of sculling a boat in South Shields, at the Mill Dam and had taken every opportunity to practise. I took over the sculling of the jolly boat, leaving the apprentice to clamber onto the buoys and release the moorings. We cleared the aft end first so that the propeller could be brought into use, and then released the fore end. On completion we dropped back to the davits so that the jolly boat could be hauled back onto the ship. Our efforts must have been appreciated as we received our first (and only) tot of rum, as a reward from the Master.

The tornado veered slightly off its original course and, although we felt the effects, virtually no damage was done in the harbour. We returned to Port Louis harbour within 24 hours, to continue loading. On re-entering the harbour, I did not hear any jubilant ecstasy from the crew we had left behind.

On completion of loading there seemed to be some confusion as to our exact loaded draught but it was accepted to be due to the salinity of the seawater. We duly arrived at Penang, Malaya and discharged the cargo of sugar whilst at the anchorage. About midnight on the eve of our departure from Penang, the Chief Engineer was returning to his cabin from a visit to the Captain. As he walked along the deck past the deep-tank hatch, which was closed up, he heard cries for help from within the hold.

The crew was turned out and the hatch was opened up. The Chief Officer, the Chief Engineer and the Bos'n went down into the hold to investigate. There they found the Chief Steward lying, seriously injured, on the tank top at the bottom of the hold. He had fallen from the tween deck hatch, which was partially open. There was a Steward's Store in the tween deck adjacent to this hatch but normal access to the store was via the main storeroom.

I was instructed to contact the Harbour Control for medical assistance but the local radio station was only open from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m. From experience I knew that our high frequency transmitter might take all night to make contact with a coast station, and then the message would have to be relayed to Singapore before it was passed on to the authorities in Penang. I resorted to using the Aldis lamp, attempting to signal to all possible sources of help, but without success. However the flashing of the Aldis lamp did attract the attention of a native in his canoe and he came alongside. He probably thought that this was a normal "taxi" job at a strange hour, but we did get his full co-operation.

In the meantime, taking into consideration the possible extent of his injuries, it was decided not to use the normal harness to lift the Chief Steward. Instead his iron-framed, lattice-sprung bunk was lowered into the hold on the derrick. The injured man was secured to the bunk frame, which served as a better mode of transport for lifting him out of the hold and lowering him into the canoe. It was a perfectly level lift, guided by many hands.

I was detailed to accompany the casualty in the canoe, with just the native, to a medical centre somewhere in Penang. Nobody had been ashore in Penang, nor was there anyone who knew anything about the place. I was to be completely in the hands of the native in his canoe, relying on his understanding and local knowledge. I went down a rope ladder into the canoe and received the Steward as he was lowered down, secured to the bed frame. I don't know what were the native's thoughts about these goings on, but he didn't seem to be enjoying them. To his absolute credit he did a magnificent job and understood exactly what was required of him.

We set off across the harbour; it was a beautiful, moonlit tropical night but viewed under extremely tense cir***stances. The native was putting his whole-hearted efforts into paddling, whilst I was holding firmly onto the injured man's good arm, with which he was trying to reach his injuries. Throughout the journey I tried to maintain conversation and give him reassurance that we would soon be at the hospital.

Arriving at a landing stage I was dismayed to find that the height of the jetty was level with my chest and that it was going to be impossible to lift the Steward and his bed frame up there from the canoe. As if to order, four American seamen appeared on the landing stage, seeking a boat to transport them back to their ship. The situation was shouted over to them and immediate help was given to land the casualty. In the meantime my native "Sir Galahad" must have explained the situation to someone unseen on the quay, because an ambulance arrived.

Fortunately, just before we set off from the "Hopecrest" the Captain had given me some money to reward the native for his assistance. He also advised me that the Chief Steward had been given half a grain of morphine. The native was pleased with his reward and certainly deserved it. I would like to think that he also gained an extra boat fare for transporting the Americans back to their ship.

As bizarre as this mode of transport might seem, I'm sure that no official system of transport could have been any quicker. The ambulance arrived at a modern but deserted hospital at around 1.30 a.m. to 2 a.m. A Malaya male receptionist appeared and I agreed and signed the necessary formalities such as the standard of treatment.

An English nurse appeared and I assisted her in moving the patient to the operating theatre and helped to transfer him onto an examination table. My assistance was still required to hold the Steward's active arm and to help with swabbing as the nurse prepared him for examination. 

A doctor appeared on the scene and I gave him details of the accident and informed him of the amount of morphine given. After the doctor's quick appraisal of the situation, I then assisted with the transfer of the Steward onto a trolley for transport to the x-ray room. At this point I was told that I could be of no further use. As we left the room I had a few more words of reassurance with the Steward.

I was in a strange country, with no idea of where the hospital was in relation to the harbour landing stage and with no money to pay for a taxi. The hospital receptionist was adamant that I was not his responsibility and refused to help. With persistence I persuaded him to call for an ambulance to take me back to the harbour. Then, being from a British tramp ship, I remembered the bunk frame and requested that it be retrieved and transported back with me in the ambulance.

Arriving back at the quayside, I then had to find transport back to the "Hopecrest". While I was waiting, a native wharfman appeared and explained that there was a telephone call for the Englishman who was expected at the landing stage. He pointed in the direction of a hut, where I found a telephone and picked up the handset. It was the doctor at the hospital calling to inform me that the Chief Steward had died in the x-ray room shortly after I had left. He had to repeat the message about 3 times before it registered with me. 

With the night's trauma very much to the fore in my mind, I waited on the landing stage until another native canoe appeared, providing me with transport back to the ship, where I arrived at about 4.30 a.m. The Captain and Chief Engineer were still up, waiting for my return. I reported the sad news and the Chief Engineer, who had arrived first on the scene of the accident and had played a major role during the trauma in the hold, was very disturbed.

Later in the morning Sikh CID officers visited the vessel to record details of the accident which had been reported by the hospital to the police and the ship's agent. Apparently there had been incidents involving cargo broaching at Penang, therefore the investigation was very thorough. The police interviewed nearly everyone aboard the ship until they were satisfied that there were no suspicious cir***stances.

As we had fully discharged our cargo, we sailed from Penang later that afternoon, very much aware that our Red Ensign was flying at "half mast".

Our next destination was Fremantle in Western Australia where we were to load for Durban, South Africa. After more such tramping around the Indian Ocean we did, eventually, receive orders for the UK. However this was no speedy run home, it entailed completely cir***navigating the world. We went from Africa, across the Indian Ocean to Malaya, then via the coast of Japan across the Pacific Ocean to Vancouver where we were to load grain for the UK. After loading there and passing through the Panama Canal, we were given our final destination, Leith in Scotland.

Some asides on this saga: -

The Chief Engineer (now deceased) was well known in South Shields. At one stage in our voyaging he spent so many anxious hours in the engine room that he suffered a serious throat inflammation from oil fumes. In a choking condition he was urgently put ashore and into hospital. I'm pleased to say that he rejoined us at a later port.

The 4th/3rd Engineer (now deceased), also a well-known figure in South Shields, joined the ship at a lower rank to be with his friend, the Chief Engineer. I have greatly appreciated their friendship, during and after the voyage.

The Chief Officer was landed in Fremantle on medical advice, suffering from stress. The junior apprentice also landed in Fremantle. He was last heard of heading inland, as far away from ships as possible.

The original 3rd Engineer was landed in Durban on our first visit there, and admitted into hospital suffering from a complete nervous breakdown.

The original 3rd Officer was landed in Durban on our second visit, admitted into hospital suffering from stomach ulcers blamed on stress.

The senior apprentice (later 3rd Officer) eventually rose to be Captain of a local Tyne collier and then, I believe, joined the Channel Pilot service.

I have no information on the remainder of the personnel. At the end of my voyaging on the "Hopecrest", less than half of the original crew returned with the vessel. The first of the cooks was put ashore early in the voyage.

After more than 18 months on the "Hopecrest" I had only been home 10 days when I received a telegram requesting me to report back for duty. I make no comment as to how I came to enjoy my full six weeks leave entitlement. I was employed by a radio company and was hired out to shipping companies.

Soon after I left the "Hopecrest" another of the company's vessels, m.v. "Hopestar" disappeared whilst on passage in the Atlantic with the loss of all hands. No survivors, no wreckage found.


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## Bill Greig (Jul 4, 2006)

Ron,
these stories are amazing. Thanks for sharing them. 
Best Regards
Bill


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## tunatownshipwreck (Nov 9, 2005)

I'm curious why the Hopecrest took the Cape Horn route instead of the Panama Canal.


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## Troppo (Feb 18, 2010)

Excellent.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 7*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

*m.v. "Memphis"*
1947 - 48

_M.v.Memphis. Cargo. o/n 310665. Built by Wm. Pickersgill & Sons. Ltd. Sunderland. Launched 17/07/1947. Yard No: 305. Gross: 3575​_

My next appointment was to the m.v. "Memphis". This was a sturdy new vessel built at Sunderland, which was to be used on the "can't come to any harm" Mediterranean fruit trade. The owners were Moss, Hutchinson of Liverpool. The "Memphis" offered some luxury and I was pleased to do the first three maiden voyages, visiting numerous ports in the Mediterranean.

The first cargo was loaded at London and Liverpool. Our first stop to discharge was Genoa, Italy and I attended the local "Court of Justice" as a witness to storm damage received en route - in the Mediterranean!

A later cargo was a mixture of general cargo and guns and ammunition for Alexandria, Egypt. On arrival at Alexandria we found that the entire dock area was under a strict security guard and encircled by lines of armed soldiers carrying rifles and interspersed with machine gun posts. This was to ensure the safe discharge of our cargo.

Shortly after we delivered this cargo there were serious talks between the USA and British governments and the exercise was not repeated. There were no more arms deliveries and we were not made as welcome on subsequent visits to Alexandria.

The return cargoes for the UK involved loading fruit at Haifa. The "Exodus" conflict existed at this time, between the Jews and the Arabs. It was normal to find numerous ships at anchor inside Haifa harbour, waiting their turn to load or discharge cargo. All ships in the harbour had sandbag walls built around the accommodation for protection against snipers firing from the shore. A patrol boat zigzagged around the harbour during the night, dropping small depth charges in order to deter divers from attaching limpet mines to the hull of the waiting ships. I never knew whether the Jews or the Arabs were the enemy. 

While in the harbour we were not allowed to use the ship's toilets. Portable chemical toilets were supplied. The last time that I had experienced this restriction was in Calcutta but there we used plain buckets. The Arab sanitary worker who came to change the buckets was literally a "mine" of information. He would point to an area on the hillside and tell us to watch it. At times his forecast would be right and within a day there would be an explosion in that area.

One day I volunteered to help the electrician who was working on the forward windlass. While concentrating on the job in hand, I felt two gushes of wind passing close to my right ear. Subconsciously I thought that it was two large insects passing at speed. Then we heard two cracks of gunshot and I realised that it was not two insects but a sniper on the hillside who was using us for target practice. I'm sure we broke all "hurdle" and "flat" racing records on our way back to the accommodation.

Another incident that I recall arose from my ignoring warnings not to go beyond the dock gates. I was eager to see more of the town and thought that after all this time in Haifa I must at least have a look outside the dock. As I approached the gate, the siren sounded for the dockers' meal break. As in any industry, there was an immediate rush of workers for the gate. Then panic! A gunman outside the gates opened up with a machine gun, firing into the emerging dockers. There was an instant retreat, at speed, by all in the vicinity. Personally I lost all further interest in what Haifa street life looked like.

The Jewish dockworkers did not leave the safety of the dock area for some days after this incident. They slept there at night, on the ground or anywhere else that they might find more comfortable. Food was sent in to them. From this, I assume that the person firing the machine gun was Arab.

On another visit to Haifa I was again involved in a major incident. When in Haifa, ships were not permitted to use their radio transmitters and all telegram messages had to be passed via the local telegraph office. On this occasion there was a labour dispute at the cable office and both Jew and Arab workers walked out. Haifa was completely cut off from the outside world.

The Captain of the "Memphis" and the ship's agent came to see me and explained that they had received a special concession for me to transmit just one message to the ship's owners. They wanted to advise the owners that communication was not possible to any agency in Haifa, a situation that was going to cause utter chaos when trying to arrange charter contracts. Unfortunately the "Memphis" did not have a high frequency transmitter providing direct, worldwide contact. All communications were on medium frequency bands, using Morse code, with a range of only a couple of hundred miles that might extend to 1,000 miles at night.

In spite of the limitations of the equipment, I cleared this one telegram to the UK via Malta radio at a range of approximately 1,000 miles. "Static" - atmospherics - caused considerable interference and made it necessary to repeat parts of the message as it was being transmitted. With no improvement in the situation at the cable office, this so-called "special concession for one message only" developed into many more messages, directed to international destinations.

Fortunately I checked and found that Cyprus's coast radio station would relay telegrams to the UK free of charge; messages to other destinations were charged at full rate. Cyprus, at only about 250 miles, was much easier to contact than Malta at 1,000 miles. 

As was to be expected, once the outside world discovered that they could get communications from Haifa via the "Memphis", they started to send messages back to Haifa via the "Memphis". We were only a single-operator ship and I spent some extremely long hours at the operating desk over a period of a number of days.

Having the foresight to realise that problems would arise once we sailed, I gave all stations 48 hours notice of our departure, advising that I was ceasing to accept any more telegrams for delivery in Haifa. I then arranged with a Glaswegian Radio Officer, who was serving on an Egyptian ship that was due to remain in Haifa for a few more days, to listen out for me after we sailed. The plan was that I would relay back to him any stray telegrams that might come to me. I promised not to get him otherwise involved. Sure enough, over 24 hours after we left I was still receiving telegrams for Haifa via the "Memphis". My arrangements with the friendly Glaswegian proved successful.

It took the whole of the voyage home to sort out the radio log entries and the message charges and abstracts for all the telegrams that had been handled and relayed.

All Deck Officers on the "Memphis" had at least a Master Mariner's certificate and were well experienced and able to cope with any adversities. Crossing the Bay of Biscay, bound for Liverpool, the weather deteriorated to a really severe storm, such that the Captain requested that I remain on standby duty in the Radio Room until the weather abated. He also requested that, if necessary, I should use the "Urgency" signal to inform the Coast Stations of our geographical position.

We were being thrown about so violently by the huge seas that the forward deck cargo of oranges broke loose and was left hanging over the starboard side of the ship, contained only by the covering tarpaulin. Shortly after this, the after deck cargo also broke loose and was left hanging over the port side. We left a "buoyed channel" behind us from the Bay of Biscay to Liverpool, using the escaping oranges as marker buoys.

In spite of the adversities, I was very sorry to leave the "Memphis".

Referring back to being used as a cable station for Haifa, I recently read the autobiography of Sandy Gall, the TV reporter. He mentioned that at the time of the short Suez War, Alexandria was being evacuated and that there was no purpose in trying to get there, as there would be no means of getting news out! Not his exact words but the gist is there. I certainly don't blame him but, plugging a local topic, from experience, "the Merchant Navy was there"!

******************************************************​
*m.v. "Hudson Bay"
1948 - 1950*

_Hudson Bay, collier, MOWT 1946, Hudson SS Co. (Ex Empire Lagoon) GT.2013; L.272ft. B.40ft. Completed 1941; Scrapped 1964.​_

I spent two winters on a local North-east Coast collier, m.v."Hudson Bay". An enjoyable appointment but also with its share of drama.

Firstly we were in collision with another local collier while in dense fog off Flamborough Head. We had left the Tyne at about 11 p.m. in fog and I went to bed for the night. I was aroused early in the morning by the sound of the ship's whistle being blown in an irregular manner. This was terminated by the sound of the bow of another collier penetrating into our superstructure. Luckily there were no casualties. The crew of the other collier lived in her forecastle but our only cabin damaged was that of the Chief Officer, who was on duty on the Bridge.

Another incident occurred when trying to employ "tactics" to remain on the "Weekend Run". This was the name given to the schedule that enabled us to spend the weekends in our home port. Whilst trying to take a short cut through Yarmouth Roads, we ran aground. By backing and filling with our engine and rudder we managed to get ourselves clear.

Immediately following that incident we tied up at Erith buoys in the Thames, alongside 8 other colliers in formations of 3 by 3 tiers. The infamous, powerful, Thames Bore came down with such force that it parted the moorings of all the colliers and set them adrift in the river. Again, fortunately, there were no human casualties and after some chaos we got under way and were able to take up our original positions.

To the credit of all aboard, although this vessel spent its life carrying a very dirty cargo (coal) the prime objective of all personnel was cleanliness. Outside the actual loading or discharging of cargo, she was maintained in a spotless condition.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

R651400 said:


> To ease my failing eyesight I've cut and pasted each episode to a single MS Word (2007) do***ent. A great read and thanks for posting.


That is exactly what I am posting from! If you PM me with your email address I will attach the file it and email you the whole thing in one and save you the bother of copy-and-paste.


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## Troppo (Feb 18, 2010)

Fascinating. It is obviously written for a general audience. The radio technical stuff is kept to a minimum...

He is also quite good with nautical terms: athwartships, etc. Perhaps he was a frustrated mate (like me.. ;-) )


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## spongebob (Dec 11, 2007)

Ron. I have spent part of a hot summer afternoon reading all the posts.
This is fascinating writing that reaches back to those war years , a time that many of us remember even though I was only a child.
Many thanks to you and the author .

Bob


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

R651400 said:


> On the same subject the ROA bulletin QSO is always looking for new material and this I'm certain would be greatly appreciated.


If there is a request from them I will have to check with Ron Wilson to get his go-ahead before sending them the Word file. Whilst I am sure he would have no objections, I would have to check with him first.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

spongebob said:


> Ron. I have spent part of a hot summer afternoon reading all the posts.
> This is fascinating writing that reaches back to those war years , a time that many of us remember even though I was only a child.
> Many thanks to you and the author .
> 
> Bob


Bob

All the credit is Ron Wilson's, I am only the postman. My biggest effort was in persuading this modest man to share his story with others while he was still alive.

After I have finished posting his memoirs, I will be passing on all comments received to Ron Wilson.


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## Tony Selman (Mar 8, 2006)

Malcolm, I am lurking in the wings, waiting and watching! I wasn't sure whether I was being cheeky if I asked to use it in QSO for ROA members so have been keeping my powder dry until now. Having been prompted can I now formally ask Ron to see if Ron Wilson will let us use the fascinating story.
In passing to ROA members, the March QSO will contain the first of a series of articles from the diary of a WW1 R/O who was on trooping duties for virtually the whole of the war. He was on ships predominantly carrying Australian troops and is most interesting. The man had a fascinating career and there are many articles to come.


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## Bill.B (Oct 19, 2013)

Absolutely fascinating stuff. How anyone lived through it amazes me. Thanks Ron for writing it all down and Ron for posting it. It is a priceless story and should be shared to a wider audience.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Part 8*

Written by Ron Wilson, East Boldon, 2007

My destiny next was to include a visit to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, which is now twinned with North Shields and the apple of the eye of Oxfam.


*m.v. "Frenulina"*
1950 - 52

_Tanker 890 tons gross, 955 tons dwt. Built 1945 by A J Inglis Ltd., Pointhouse Glasgow Yard no. 1302. Launched: Tuesday, 12 June 1945 as the "Empire Grosvenor" for the Ministry of Transport. Sold to Shell Tankers in 1947 and renamed "Frenulina". Official number 5274981. Callsign GKSW. Port of Registry: London; Propulsion: oil 2SA 4cy 640bhp 9.5 knots; machinery aft; Length: 201 feet 5"; Breadth: 32 feet 2"; Draught: 13 feet 6".​_
My instructions from Head Office were "Join the Shell tanker "Frenulina" at Mombasa, East Africa. The vessel is fitted with a full range of our latest equipment. Call at the Shell office in London for travel warrants." This had the strong smell of at least a two-year voyage; the powers that be tried to convince me that it would possibly be only one year.

I travelled out to Mombasa as a passenger on the British India (B.I.) ship "*Mulbera*". 

The "Frenulina" turned out to be an 890-ton tanker and currently engaged in delivering white oil (petrol and paraffin) to ports on the East African coast. The personnel complement was six white officers and a Chinese crew.

Being less than 1,600 gross tons, the "Frenulina" was not required by law to carry radio equipment or a Radio Officer while engaged in that trade. The plan was to transfer her to Southeast Asia and for that trade (and for the crossing of the Indian Ocean) her owners required her to carry a proper radio station and a skilled man to operate it. Her orders were to proceed to Palembang, Sumatra (Indonesia) which would be her home base, and then transport white oil throughout the Indonesian Islands. Her area of operations ranged from the island of Bali in the south, to Bangkok, Thailand, in the north and from the Celebes Islands in the east to the Sunda Strait in the west. Passing through the Sunda Strait we would go around Java Head going southwards and pass the volcanic island of Krakatoa going north. We also made one special visit to Phnom Penh in Cambodia. As the advertisement put it, at 890 tons the "Frenulina" could reach the parts that other ships could not reach. Our existence would be so isolated that effective radio communication facilities would be essential.

On joining the "Frenulina" at Mombasa I found that not only was this "latest radio equipment" not fitted, there was no radio room on the ship in which to put it. The equipment was so bulky it would not fit into any space in the mid-ship accommodation. The Captain was under the impression that I was an installation engineer sent out to create a radio station on board. This was certainly news to me so I produced my letter of appointment in order to clarify the situation.

Being resourceful in adversity I changed my cap, rolled up my sleeves and started designing, planning and organising. In co-operation with the Captain it was decided to convert a Chinese sailors' mess room in the after accommodation to create a radio room. The displaced sailors doubled up into a spacious mess room next door. Shell's shore carpenters made the necessary furniture, to our specifications. Then all the officers assisted with the DIY installation of the "latest radio equipment" in their leisure time.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for the two deck officers, their watches on duty were 4 hours on and 4 hours off at sea. Loading averaged 6 hours and discharging around 12 hours. As the deck officers were present throughout these activities, their leisure time was a very rare commodity.

During the time that the installation was in progress, the "Frenulina" continued trading around the East African coast. Eventually the installation was completed and, as required by law, once fitted it had to be shown to comply with government specifications before the ship was allowed to depart for the Far East. A government radio surveyor from Nairobi attended the ship in Mombasa for this purpose and issued the appropriate clearance certificate.

Unfortunately the radio room, having previously been a crew mess room in the Chinese quarters, was also next to the galley. There was always a strong smell of Chinese cooking and hundreds of giant cockroaches, which insisted that they had squatters' rights in the radio room. I had a stand-up battle with them every time that I went on watch. They succeeded in devouring the backing off numerous books and do***ents.

During the voyage across the Indian Ocean we, at 890 tons, passed close to a new British supertanker. Her crew could not resist shouting across to us, "Does your mother know you're out?"

After months of trading around the Indonesian islands, we received orders to load for Phnom Penh in Cambodia, via Saigon in Vietnam. Hostilities were very much in evidence in that area as factions in these former French colonies sought independence.

Arriving at Saigon, it looked very much like a scene from 'Tenko', with a background of a quiet day in 'The Killing Fields'. Barbed wire fences, machine gun posts and searchlights were everywhere. The familiar (to me) sandbag walls were built around the bridge and accommodation of the "Frenulina" wherever possible; machine guns were fitted and gun crews were embarked. The latter were permitted under some Convention on the grounds that our armament was for defence only and could not be used for attack.

Three, armed patrol boats were in attendance to escort us for the two-day passage through hostile zones as we travelled up the Mekong River to Phnom Penh. Not a pleasant occupation for us civilians in peacetime, especially as we were carrying a high-octane cargo. Although aware that active hostilities were taking place on the way up the Mekong, we did not feel personally involved.

We arrived in Phnom Penh just before breakfast on Sunday, docking at the usual type of tanker berth, i.e. miles away from any built-up areas. After breakfast I decided to take a walk along the hard mud roadway from the dock, passing through areas of native shacks. About an hour later, walking back along the oil jetty I saw a large group of people - Chinese crew, dockers and gunners - staring intently over the starboard side of the ship, the side facing out into the river. Curiosity aroused, I went on board and crossed over to the starboard rail to see what was of interest. I was just in time to see a hand and wrist clutching at the air before it disappeared below the muddy waters of the river. Next to this was a Chinese crewman doing a panic-stricken version of the doggie-paddle.

Apparently two of the crew had decided to have a swim in the river and had completely misjudged the strength of the current. They were not strong swimmers and were being carried away from the ship. It was immediately apparent that the two men were in distress and hard to believe that at least 25 able-bodied men, of various nationalities, had witnessed the drama from the outset but had not offered help.

I kicked off my sandals and jumped into the water, not risking a dive into the unknown. On surfacing I had to decide whether to go for the man who had submerged (and risk losing the man in panic) or vice versa. I decided that the man in a panic was a positive rescue prospect and that I might lose both by first trying to find the man who had disappeared. I rapidly, but cautiously, approached the man in panic and, as the current was carrying us past the stern of the ship where the propeller was sticking out of the water, I kept giving him a series of hefty pushes until he was straddled across the protruding propeller blades. I don't think that he was happy about me leaving him on the ship's propeller, a frightening situation, but time was at a premium. 

I left him to go diving to look for the other man in an area where I thought he might be. I just let myself drift with the current, assuming that would be the direction of his movement. After what felt like an eternity of searching, I had to accept that there was no hope of him still being alive and that I was utterly and completely exhausted.

I turned on to my back and took stock of my own situation. I was well away from both ship and shore but could still see the line of spectators on the starboard side, still spectating! In my exhausted state I felt that I could not swim anywhere to safety. Putting prudence before pride, I shouted, "Help - get the boat down!" meaning the ship's lifeboat. We had put the boat in the water many times to use as transport to go ashore - but never at a petrol terminal where its electric motor might not have been welcomed. I saw someone collect a lifebelt from the aft housing and throw it over the side. Both of us assumed that it would drift down river towards me. I was horrified to see its trajectory through the air suddenly halted and the lifebelt was left hanging over the side of the ship. The thrower, for all his excellent intentions, had not realised that the line attached to the lifebelt was secured to the aft deck housing.

A further shout for help brought no response. I accept that I was possibly too far away for my voice to carry. This turn of events left me well and truly shattered. (With apologies -) I used the word now often heard on the TV to indicate despair - "SH*T", as this was to be my destiny.

Letting myself drift with the current, I would alternate between resting on my back and then having a bit swim towards the riverside, regardless of where I would land. The buoyancy of the water this far up the river was not as I might have wished for. 

I eventually passed through an area where a number of poles supported native huts, acting as homes. As I felt the water becoming shallower, the surface changed from mud to crust, baked hard by the tropical sun. Mistakenly I thought this to be terra firma but when I put my weight onto this crust, it collapsed under me and turned into a swamp of all forms of excrement. Obviously the native huts were en suite. I was struggling to keep my head above the surface and the smell was unbelievable. Certainly not sweet violets.

It was time for instant thoughts on my options. I did not have the strength to go back into the river and try landing elsewhere and I could not swim normally in this swamp. But at least it was within sight of firm ground. I spread my arms and legs to distribute my weight and, with every last ounce of my strength, I struck out like a maniac crab for firm ground. It was now or never! 
Obviously I made it and emerged from the swamp looking like some monster from 2,000 leagues under the sea, or Quatermass.

On Wednesday, 30th August 1989 there was an article in the South Shields Gazette about a Dr. Madelin who claimed a record for swimming 120 yards in a bog whilst wearing a snorkel. I must have been a close competitor. At the time it certainly felt like 120 yards, but I would probably have been disqualified because I was not wearing a snorkel (but I wished that I had been.)

Another item from the Gazette that is appropriate to this incident was the "Text for Today" from Wednesday, 4th October, 1989 - "I sank in the miry depth, where there is no foothold." - Psalms Ch. 51 v 6.

Having reached the security of firm ground, unlike people of eminence, I had no desire to kiss that particular ground. I settled for a much-needed rest and then set off to find my way back to the ship. Possibly by now I had been given up for lost. As I hobbled along the stony, hard mud pathways in my bare feet, the 3rd Engineer came running along with my sandals. Help at last!

On arriving back at the ship I made straight for our bathroom and indulged in what must be the longest time in a shower on record; the smell had been appalling. During my time in the shower the Captain, mates and engineers all came into the bathroom in turn, holding their noses and passing to me tots of whatever spirit drink they had handy. That was some shower! 

How I didn't pick up some infection in the numerous scratches I sustained in the swamp remains a mystery. Maybe the frequent vaccinations and immunisations that we received as a matter of routine when trading to ports in the jungles of Indonesia helped. On second thoughts, perhaps any gremlins attempting to infect me died from alcohol poisoning. I did suffer a nervous reaction, which outwardly lasted some days.

Apparently the Chinese pumpman that I had left hanging on to the propeller, after resting and being sheltered from the current by the lee of the hull and in desperation to get off the propeller, struck out for the shore and made it across to the quayside. The missing Chinese crewman's body was recovered some time after we left Phnom Penh.

I served over 20 months on the "Frenulina" so, taking into account the time taken travelling out to join her in Mombasa, plus the time travelling home on the P & O liner "*Canton*", my initial predictions about the length of the voyage proved nearly correct.

Later I was informed that I had been awarded the Humane Society's Award on Vellum for attempting (my Italics) to save the life of a Chinese seaman. There was no mention of the one that I did save. Although a formal presentation was promised, I suspect that because of inter-company bickering, this never took place. It was nearly two years later when I asked for the Award to be forwarded to me by post and a presentation took place.

*Conclusion*

After completing my leave on return home, and seeking what I assumed would be a quieter life, I applied for and received an appointment to the shore technical staff. I was swapping caps once again - but this new assignment was not without its own brand of excitement.

One Thursday morning, in the company of a Tyne pilot and a dockyard manager, I was doing a routine job on a Pakistani vessel off the entrance to the Tyne. Unfortunately, whilst we were working, the weather took a turn for the worse and it became impossible for the pilot boat to take us off the ship in order to land us. We had to accompany the vessel on its voyage. This was a problem for me since I had an extremely important appointment to keep in Harrogate on the Saturday afternoon. What to do?

Early on Saturday morning the ship landed the three of us in Antwerp, Belgium. We were without passports, money or spare clothing. In fact the dockyard manager, who had been working down a very hot engine room, was wearing only a grubby boiler suit over his underwear. He had no identification whatsoever.

The authorities in Antwerp accepted the situation calmly and agreed to our passing through Belgium solely on the word of the ship's Belgian agent. The agent produced air tickets for our immediate return to the UK via Amsterdam and Newcastle airports. Only one more formality remained; we required an endorsement from the British Consul to verify our transit through Belgium and authorise our re-entry into the UK. The Consul was contacted by telephone and the situation was explained. The answer came back: the British Consul works from 9 a.m. until 5 p.m., Monday to Friday. Please call at the Antwerp Consulate on Monday morning.

The Belgian authorities shrugged and left the decision to us. They would assist by arranging for an immigration officer who would provide us with a discreet escort at Amsterdam and remain with us until our flight left for Newcastle. After that it would be up to us as to how we would pass through the British immigration and customs checks at Newcastle. Without any credentials this might be quite a challenge. Alternatively we could wait until the Consulate opened on Monday. Under the cir***stances we thought that we really had no option but to try for home.

Fortunately we all had a good command of the Geordie accent and on confronting the officials at Newcastle Airport there was no "clartin' aboot" - it takes one to know one! We safely re-entered the Geordie Kingdom. I made it to Harrogate at 1 a.m. on Sunday morning, but at least I was able to sleep in the hotel room that I had paid for.

Altogether I experienced a further 7 occasions when I was over-carried on vessels in a similar way, mostly because of bad weather which prevented boats from landing me. 

During my shore career I changed over to another company which seemed to offer more security, but ended up being made redundant at 58 years of age and unable to obtain even the most mundane of jobs. Recently I qualified as a time-served senior citizen with a 'warrant card', in the form of a bus pass, to prove it.

I attended a debate on "Look After Your Heart", where I was asked by one of the young lecturers whether I had ever experienced stress. I decided to pass on that one!


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

*Tales Of The Unknown - Sequel*

Part 8 was the final part of Tales Of The Unknown and completes the posting. Since I told Ron Wilson that I had started posting these items on Ships Nostalgia, he has searched through his papers and found two items from a local newspaper, both of which are relevant to the Tales Of The Unknown. One concerns the Port Sydney/Port Vindex built in Swan Hunter's Wallsend shipyard and the other, later, article concerns Ron himself.

I hope members have enjoyed reading of Ron's experiences and can understand why I have admired him since we first met 50 years ago. Both he and his wife are not in good health but continue to keep cheerful and as active as is possible at the age of 91. Ron and Joyce continue to live unaided in the house that they bought many years ago. I feel privileged to know him and to be able to claim his friendship.

At his advanced age, there will not be too many former colleagues and friends still in a position to contact him but he would like to hear from anyone who does remember him, either at sea or in the shipyards and docks of the North-East.


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## Troppo (Feb 18, 2010)

Wow! He sounds like a real world Indiana Jones.

Thanks.


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## tunatownshipwreck (Nov 9, 2005)

Please give him my thanks for his stories well-told.


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## Keith Adkins (Apr 21, 2006)

After reading Rons tales of his sea going career, I realise what a humdrum 18 years I spent at sea as a Radio Officer. His last story of the Frenulina does ring a lot of bells as I spent 3 years with Shell Eastern in the early 60's and remember seeing her at Bukum and Pladju.
A really engrossing read from start to finish
Thank him for allowing it to be published 
Keith Adkins


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## hawkey01 (Mar 15, 2006)

Ron,

Please convey our thanks to Ron for these posts. Very enjoyable and a great insight to seagoing life from WW2 and beyond.

Neville - Hawkey01


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## Ian Hay (May 26, 2013)

What a great & fascinating read. Many thanks To Ron for his memories & many thanks to Ron for taking the time to post them.

As an aside & coincidence,I live in the Westoe area of South Shields as mentioned in part 1 & our house was one of those damaged,a bomb landed at the end of our street destroying the first 2 or 3 houses completely.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

R651400 said:


> If it's not asking too much is there any chance Ron would be able to provide more details on the radio equipment of the various ships and also radio room location?
> If so I may be able to provide photos and technical details to add to his memoirs.


Thank you for that, I will pass the offer on to Ron Wilson.

Most of the experiences occurred some 70 years ago and Ron wrote them down in their present form back in 1989, which was over 25 years ago (I typed them up for him in 2007). So you will appreciate that they are not written recently or fresh in his memory. Like most of us, his memory is not improving with the passage of time, so the equipment details may be sparse to say the least. We shall see what he says.

I print off the comments that are posted on the thread so that I can send them off to Ron by mail - he does not have, and does not use computers. I sent the first comments off to him on Friday and will await his reply. I will then print off a second batch and your post #43 will be included.


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## Ron Stringer (Mar 15, 2005)

R651400 said:


> As per your posting we know during WW2 Samholt was managed by Cunard and at the end end of the war was returned to the US reserve fleet laid up in James River Hampton Roads politely referred to some as a sanctuary but more as the biggest ship graveyard ever.


That makes the Brunei Bay layups look small beer!


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