KROONVLAG TALES

An Officer and a Gentleman – ss “Danae” – KNSM - 1952

s.s. “Danea” - KNSM

With the completion of two year Nautical College I was ready to start my life as an Apprentice Ship’s Officer, but that was where it stopped. There was a flood of new blood, but in 1952 the economy around the world was still battling to get back on even ground after the effects of WW2. The big shipping companies were taking people who had a higher classed nautical education or at least had completed all five years in the Secondary Education system. I had started applying at the top level of shipping companies and worked my way down to the bottom. One application after the other was turned down politely with the advice to try elsewhere. Only the KNSM (Royal Netherlands Steamship Company) answered my application with the request to come in for an interview, again I will never know who pulled what strings, if any. It could have been because the marks of my exams were among the highest in the country; the result was that I had a ship before many of my friends.

Full of pride in my one and only good uniform, I presented myself at the Dock Office to be directed to the “Danae”, I had no idea what to expect. Right alongside the wharf was one of the KNSM latest passenger ships, looking clean and showing of her modern shape. Behind that was one of the older cargo ships with passenger accommodation, a vessel that I had always admired as showing strength and reliability. Then I saw this tiny, tired and rusted contraption, deeply loaded and nearly disappearing under the wharf, which was the “Danae”. The bunkering of coal in hatch 2 had just been completed and the whole ship was covered in coal dust. As it was close to departure, the boilers had been fired up and thick black soot was bellowing from the smoke stack.

Hoisting my gear under one arm, I made my way to the bridge, where I found an enormous big man in a blue jumper wearing a black French beret, leaning on the chart table. Politely I asked for the Captain, where upon he stated that I had just found him and adding that I should change quickly from that funny gear I was wearing into a boiler suit and report to the Boatswain immediately. You could not imagine two more suitable figures for this ship, Captain Pot a Friesian of a few words and Boatswain Koen Schinkel an old fashioned sailor, who lived a hundred years too late.

The “Danae” was small and old, built in 1919 and had sailed during WW2 as a German Raider and was handed to the Dutch as an exchange prize after the war. The hatches still had all the degaussing equipment and only the guns had been taken off the decks. The only electronic gear left on board were the radio direction finder and an echo sounder, everything else was manual like on the sailing ships. Under full steam she could manage 6 knots, just over 11 kilometres per hour, which was fun in the North Sea were the current is greater and we often came to a halt or even went astern a bit.

Under the bridge was accommodation for the Captain, Wireless Officer and three Mates in minute cabins, the Engine Room Crew were housed on the main deck in the midships and the Deck Crew in the Focsle, where the waves would get in during rough weather if the portable bulkhead was not put in place. The Boatswain and I shared the little dogbox just behind the smokestack. In there you would find two bunks and one chair, one cupboard and a wash basin that folded up against the bulk head, but no running water, you had to use a bucket. After announcing that he had medical and other problems the Boatswain took the lower bunk because of his needs to go to the toilet. The steering gear ran from the bridge by way of heavy oiled chains along our cabin to the steam driven steering engine at the end of the deck. When turning the wheel the rattling of the chain was the first notice something was going to happen. Then the steam valve was opened and the noise became a thunderous roar and hissing sound, following with the movements of the chains leading to the rudder. It is hard to believe anyone could sleep through that racket, but everything became just part of normal life.

As the Apprentice you were actually less than an experienced Deck boy, because you were not supposed to know anything, you were on board to learn. All I had to do was to stay close to the Boatswain, something I had already found out on other ships as everyone would try to put one over you. Leaving Amsterdam I had this mixed feeling of pride and disappointment in where I had ended up, but that disappeared fast because of the attitude of the Captain, Officers and Crew, who made me feel wanted. It was well known that the larger shipping companies rarely give their Apprentices access to the bridge from the start, I had to do everything and it paid off. The swell in the North Sea was short and sloppy and made me uncomfortable enough to slow down. The Boatswain fixed that very quickly by letting me half swallow a salted herring and pulling it out of my mouth again, which upended my stomach and was so vicious that I have never ever been seasick again.

The attachment shows my version of the ship and the background is my very first Radio-Navigational Notice, advising the reporting of a floating mine in the position we were heading for. The handwritten figures on that Notice, was my very first calculation, working out the deviation of the main Compass. The people sailing on those ships were a special type of no-nonsense doers, orders were understood and never questioned as each man respected the others experience. Without the modern navigational aids we sailed through the thick fog with commonsense seamanship, when the ship’s log on the stern went to the bottom because we lost way, the old timber triangle was used to measure the strength of the current. Once the sounding platform was rigged and I had to swing the lead to ascertain the depth of the water, which was a joke because we had been sitting next to a fairway buoy for at least the last hour, but it was solid training. The second time the same platform was rigged was for me to clear the outlet of the Crew’s toilet in the Fo’c’sle, which could only be done by hand from the outside, resulting in a solid shower of shit, when cleared.

A severe storm in the Gulf of Biscay was my first test, which I must have survived by the way I was accepted on board. In Barcelona I went ashore with the 3^rd Mate and Boatswain and remember having to remain in the reception room of a brothel with strict instructions not to move, whilst the others were being served. Although I was nearly 21 years old, the Apprentice was still treated as such and that was just the way it was.

It was a special ship. When the coal in the bunkers ran dry, we had to open the watertight doors in the bulkhead of the tween deck and run the coal to the chutes. Imagine a rolling ship and managing a full wheel barrow on a 4 inch plank up through an opening behind the boilers. In heavy weather the waves would easily reach the bridge and often enough both alleyways on the main deck would be very dangerous as the sea just swept right through. At those times you could find the Chief Engineer sitting on a chair bolted on top of the low pressure cylinder of the triple expansion engine.

On arrival Tunis I was preparing the Pilot ladder, which had to be dragged across the hatch in front of the bridge. It all went well until the ladder snagged, just as I was jumping of the hatch and when my body went forward, I did not let go of the ladder and my head snapped back. I can remember the pain and lying strapped on a ladder being winched ashore, where I went into a very luxurious private hospital and woke up to find myself covered in plaster, from the top of my head down to my navel. That dislocated neck was set but was the cause of later trouble. For my 21^st birthday I received lots of kisses, whilst they pulled both my ears.

Apprentice in the West – “Agamemnon” – 1952/1953

Venezuela was in the news with the Miss Universe quest, which they won again for the second year running. It is well known that massive oil fields and explorations are a powerful tool to win a contest. Maybe so, but in 1952 the situation might have been just as bad.

The “Agamemnon” was on the coast of Venezuela, when an “accident” happened on one of our ships, a sister ship, therefore the layout was identical and the whole story was easy to visualise. A wharfie had become injured down in hatch no.3; with blood spurting out of gaping cuts and immediately all hell broke loose. In a typical Latin hysteria, everybody shouted, but nobody acted apart from the Apprentice, who ran up the superstructure to call the Mate. He was trained well; rule no.1 says that when in trouble, you always call the Mate. This greying gentleman was lying on the sofa in his cabin, with the fan going full blast to get some cool air. He did not want to waste any time and raced down to the ship’s hospital to get dressings for the Apprentice to stop the bleeding. He opened the door……and was shot dead!

1. In those days men were not allowed to wear short pants in public.
2. The hospital was used by the Militia as a restroom and they were having siesta.

It later went to Court and the Mate was found guilty because he was wearing short pants.

The “Agamemnon” type vessels were beautiful little ships, built after WW2 from steel that had barely time to age and corroded when it saw water. She was basic and simple and to me a big change, coming from the “Danae”. There were no modern navigational aids, not even a gyro compass or radar, no radio telephone, but a good Loran system, used during the war, but forgotten straight after. We became real seamen, doing it mostly the old-fashioned way. Sailing up the east coast of America in heavy fog and funny currents, created by the Hatteras Stream, we used the Captain’s experience and learned.

Captain Vliek was highly decorated by the Yanks for actions during WW2, in which he lost one leg. He would not wear a prothesis on board, only when going ashore, which was rare. Because of his “disability” he would not be able to pass a medical examination in Holland and stay at sea. KNSM Holland would not dare to sack this quiet man, who had done and seen more than his share and was duly rewarded by the USA. Therefore, this was a good thing.

Approaching the Delaware River in thick fog, he would keep going, saying that some silly bastard might run in to you when you stop. Not a bad idea, when you considered the Pilot service was ran by the Coastguard, with all the latest radars and electronic equipment available and they would find you quick smart anyway. So we toddled up to the fairway buoy, to be intercepted by the Navy, who showed us the way in. “Oh, not you again, how did you get this far?” would be the standard remark, upon he would proudly bang his wooden leg against the big metal smoker’s ashtray as an answer.

We were on the run servicing the area from New York to the Caribbean and Venezuela and back around the Caribbean islands to New Orleans, to return the same way. The trip depended very much on the progress of the ships in front or behind you on the same run, which did not seem to be coordinated from anywhere, but must have been. If there was little cargo northbound, we would circle the island of Hispaniola, on which the countries of Haiti and Dominica were located, looking for the flags on the palm trees along the beach to indicate that there was something to pick up. Once we went twice around the island.

As the sea bottom drops extremely steeply from the shore, we would lower the anchor far down and proceed slowly to the beach. As soon as the anchor touched the bottom and the ship was halted, we would swing the ship around till our stern faced the beach and lower a light rope over the stern, together with the Apprentice in a small workboat, to be rowed ashore in the high surf. The rope was used to get a hawser across and around a palm tree on the beach and the Apprentice to collect the paperwork for the cargo. It might only have been a few bales of cotton or copra or even coffee, everything was business for the KNSM. On occasions, the surf would come up and the “Agamemnon” would be forced off the palm tree, to lie out at sea until the next morning. Then the poor little Apprentice was really in strife and depended completely on the goodwill of the owner of the cargo or the Agent, who often followed the ship around the coast. Not such a big problem after you found out that even the tiniest little village along the shores had a big cathedral, as to pay off their bad behaviour in the pirating days of the past. Behind the cathedral was always a welcoming big black lady, her ample boobs decorated with pure white pearls, which, together with her teeth, would be the only light in the dark night. She could and would take good care of any young blond seafarer.

Voodoo was a big thing and I saw many séances, some very scary. The important thing was to stay out of the circle and not to react to what was going on. A senior Mate of the KNSM had not learned that lesson early enough and a spell was put on him when he was doing the same as me, thinking that the world was your oyster. For a few years he did not return to Haiti, whilst he sailed on other services. However, the memory was so engraved in his brain that he committed suicide the night before coming to Port au Prince, the main port of Haiti.

Referring back to Venezuela where we would sail up the Lake of Maracaibo to the Dutch Shell refineries to unload our cargo of pipes, machinery and drilling equipment. After WW2 when a large number of colonial Dutch people were forced out of Indonesia and arrived in Holland with all their knowledge, which was neither wanted nor welcome, the government of Venezuela offered the opportunity for a new life. They settled in this place a fair way up the lake from Maracaibo and started a new community. Once we were there when the Dutch were celebrating their Queen’s birthday in the Shell club and all Officers were invited. Wearing our best white uniforms we were collected by cars and escorted inside. At the door we were supplied with nametags and that created a stir. The lady who asked my name verified that I was indeed the person she had known as a baby, straightened and shouted on the top of her voice something like ;”Attention everybody, look who we have here……….it is Hansje, the little brother of Kitty van Weel”. I felt about two inches tall. As it turned out, a large number had been in the same Camps during the war with my mother and sisters and offcourse knew them well and I was only remembered from before the war. I had a very good night.

From either Puerto Cabello or La Guaira in Venezuela, when going to Curacao, we would have a strange deck cargo, carried on the top of the hatches. After working the cargo the ship was made ready for sea and tarpaulins were rigged over the hatchways to provide shelter of the tropical sun. Then stretchers were laid out and portable latrines were placed in positions well away from the superstructure, to give some privacy. The cargo was a large number of whores. Young and fit on the way up to the islands to earn their living and completely worn out when they were kicked out of the Dutch colony exactly six months later. Our ships carried them both ways, to the delight of the crew. Doing the rounds of the decks after the watch was another interesting experience for a young blond fellow.

Being blond and Dutch looking helped in February 1953, when Holland had the worst floods breaking dikes and creating a national disaster. We were in New Orleans, it self surrounded by dikes and polder country. Wherever I went, people felt sorry for me and I have never received so much in kindness, love and free drinks for my looks only.

I did not dare to tell them that I actually came from Indonesia and not from Holland.

The Boatswain Koen Schinkel – KNSM - 1952/1953

I like to think back to the steamship “Danae”, on which I sailed the first two months of my life as an Officer and started learning a craft in a way most people would envy.

The man responsible was a boatswain called Koen Schinkel, rough and tough with a heart of gold. On the “Danae” we shared that little box on the top deck, if one stood up, the other had to go outside. There was no place to turn when the washbasin was down. We could only accommodate one chair inside. However, we did manage an occasional wash during the two months together, separately of course and using different water as Koen had a serious health problem and did insist on hygiene.

The slow journey followed the coast from Amsterdam to Rotterdam and Antwerp, where I was taken ashore by the 3^rd Mate and was not given any drinks as I had to be sober to guide him back on board.

I do not remember any other port on the way down to Seville in Spain, where we sailed up the Gualdalquivir River. After battling the storms on the Atlantic it was good to sail on calm waters. That soon became even better because of the big differences in rise and fall with the tide stopped our progress when we became stuck on a sandbar. To me this was bad news for Dutch seamanship, but turned out to be common at this particular spot in the river and nobody was getting excited, except the crew. As the water receded they hung the pilot ladder over the side and with that they waded through the water to the shore and straight into the orange groves. They had to be quick, but had done this before. It took no time at all to fill the empty bags, they had carried across, with beautiful golden fruit and were back on board by the time the landowners and police came on the spot. Nobody had been caught to be charged and because the ship had not been cleared by the authorities, they were not allowed on board. Apparently, this did happen every voyage.

Then we sailed back into the Atlantic for the voyage to Gibraltar and Barcelona and across to Algiers, before the accident in Tunis, where I was carried off the ship on a ladder. That was part of another story, in which the tale of the custom to pull your earlobes whilst kissing you to congratulate you for your 21^st birthday. The heat made the plaster cast uncomfortable and very itchy and I needed to use all available charm to get the nurses to keep trimming bits off.

They must have done a good job in replacing my head on the body, as the KNSM Medical Department sent me back to sea, with a note “Light duties only”, which I doubt would have worked if it had not been for the boatswain, Koen Schinkel.

On 10 November 1952, I sailed on the “Agamemnon” for a recuperative voyage to the Mediterranean, which was only supposed to take two months. Both the Captain and the Chief Mate had been duly advised by Head Office, to take extra care as I was sent out too early. Just out of Amsterdam, we were redirected to Southampton to discharge the Meddy cargo and proceed to the West Indies ASAP. Still battling the Atlantic, but now in a modern ship, I did mostly bridge duties and thought that the life of an Apprentice was not so bad. My deck work was restricted to the superstructure with a lot of cleaning and painting, I was really pampered.

When we arrived in the West we had a complete change of crew, including Captain and Chief Officer, as they just swapped ships for the voyage back to Europe on another KNSM ship. The new Captain had a wooden leg and his own crew of big black Negroes from the Cayman Islands, he never came back to Holland and his boys would not be welcomed by any Union.

To make it legal they sent out a Dutch boatswain, Koen Schinkel.

Because he was there when I had my accident, he followed the instructions to the letter and I must have had the best training an Apprentice could get. With the bigger shipping companies, the Apprentice was treated as being below the Deck Boy. I was given time on the bridge and plenty of work on deck, but no endless chipping and scraping, climbing down into holds and double bottom tanks or any work the ordinary seaman would gladly pass on to the Apprentice.

Boatswain Koen Schinkel taught me how to work and earn respect by setting an example, which he did by just showing how it was done.

It was a shame that he was never able to tame my temper, which got me in trouble so often.

Radar

The K.N.S.M. - Royal Netherlands Shipping Company was fondly known as the “Rye Bread Company”, mainly because of the basic quality of the meals, but as a concern they were not really mean, just frugal and did not want to spend their money unnecessary. Hence the ships built straight after WW2 were not equipped with either radar or gyro compass installations.

The main compass was the Standard Compass on top of the wheelhouse with a 360 degree visibility around the horizon to allow the taking of bearings. It had an upside down periscope down into the wheelhouse, from where the helmsman could read the course, which was enlarged by a magnifying glass in the system. The Standard Compass was by law a dry compass, which was on a rolling and pitching ship hard to read. Therefore a wet compass was installed in front of the steering wheel, which in heavy seas was not as erratic, as the liquid dampened the motions of the card. Both compasses could be illuminated at night.

Not having radar turned out to be an economical disadvantage, as other ships could continue their way, when all sight had been reduced to zero in thick fog and fairway buoys could still be picked up on their radar screens.

On the east coast of America the fog was more prevalent due to the difference in temperatures between air and water. Approaching land from deep-sea on a course from an estimated position was a great risk and depended on experience and seamanship. Once you found the entrance marker, it became easier.

On the “Agamenon” in 1952/1953 we would inch our way towards the coast with the echo sounder our only instrument available. Ships, fitted with radar seemed to roar past us, only to disappear into nothing and were too hard to follow.

On the bridge would be the Captain and the helmsman in the wheelhouse and two men on each wing, all dressed in wet weather gear, with water seeping through the scarves around their necks and no noise was to be made as they were all intently listening to the sound of a bell or whistle.

The buoys were fitted with either a bell or a whistle, both operated by the movement of the sea, as there were no solar panels in those days to generate electricity. The gentle movement of the water instigated the sound and the ear would hear it, but only the experienced sailor would recognised the source. Each marker had a different tone, which was marked in the Sailing Directions, but did change with the growth of algae to both buoy and cable.

The wait seemed to be forever and the relief of a little sound can still be remembered as special, for there would not be many people left, who have had that extraordinary feeling that something so simple could change the situation we were in. It would come with a tilted head to confirm the sound, a whisper to the next in line to the wheelhouse and we would all wait for the grin on the Captain’s face, the change of course and the increase of revolutions as he knew where we were. With the tingle of the telegraph being heard throughout the ship, everybody would breathe easier.

That experience was something no one can ever take away. Even after all this time I can feel the tense atmosphere that was part of it and the relief that followed later...

Having radar can also be dangerous. On the “Tjitjalengka” in 1956, when sailing in the Indian Ocean from Mauritius to Singapore the sea was as smooth as a mirror with the ship’s wake making a straight line from the stern back to the horizon. It was just after lunch, when the passengers and senior staff had completed their lunch and were having a siesta. Before turning in the Captain had come on the bridge and was all smiles, satisfied I could not make mistakes under the circumstances, he left me to my pacing the bridge from starboard to port and back again. On those occasions you had no option but to be happy.

The sea was greenish blue and the sky all one colour of cobalt blue, mixed with cerulean to lighten it up. Scanning the sea as I walked, checking the automatic pilot as required and performing the usual acts of the man in charge of the ship. The responsibility on the shoulder of a young man was never taken lightly, apart from the ship and cargo; there were hundreds of human beings, passengers and crew, to be looked after.

Far away on the horizon was a little white tuft of cloud, not significant by itself. Hoping for a break in the monotony of nothing, I looked at it through the binoculars, hoping that it might be a ship. No, just a little cloud.

It took a long time to realise that the little cloud became bigger and closer and did not change in bearing to our course, which meant that we were on a collision course and we would eventually pass straight underneath it. After a while the cloud had changed from nice and white and fluffy to grey and nasty with the potential of carrying rain. The actual area it covered over the sea was not all that big, rather localised and the contours discoloured the sea.

The big decision to make was to turn on the radar and have a look if it was safe to go and get wet, or to change course and sail around it. Our Captain was old-fashioned and did not trust those modern contraptions as radars and did not like his junior Officers playing with it.

I not only did both: turn on the radar and changed course, but also woke up the Captain from his snooze in his favourite chair. He first looked on the radar and only saw the white blob of the squall, and then he grunted, yawned and stretched his arms out as to get ready to give me some advice, which I was expecting, but he was stopped in his tracks.

There behind that solid wall of water was an old steamship, which we had missed because of the change of course.

It was unbelievable how you could be at sea for days, without seeing one single ship and there should be one hiding behind a rain squall on a collision course.

Later I learned that this was quite common in the Indian Ocean where a lot of old steamers did ply their routes and crossed each others. Apparently it was the heat of the soot from the funnel that attracted the moisture in the air to initially form the little cloud, which would follow the ship, and eventually created sufficient density to make it rain.

At the nautical college in Den Helder we were taught that radar was a navigational aid and only to be used when in trouble. The lecturer was an older man, who had sailed all throughout WW2 and had survived without radar.

That attitude was typical and normal on the ships of the RIL, where you had to receive permission from the Captain to turn on the radar. One Captain even would go to the extent of maintaining the rule that only the Wireless Operator was allowed to touch the magic machine.

Having sailed with mainly older Captains, I was quite used to the idea.

Stalin and the USA – “Agamemnon” – 1952/1953

What started off as a little bit of fun, mixed with a larger quantity of alcohol, recently ended up in a serious mess with the local authorities in a foreign country.  A quick way out of trouble and out of that country was to plead guilty to the alleged offence. That action creates a criminal record recognised anywhere else in this world. Now the same person gets herself in the papers again because she can not get an entry permit for her and her children to go to Disneyland in the States. Nothing new really..........I've been there and done that!!

My ship's crew entry permit, dated the 29 December 1952, on the attachment, only came after a rather long and nasty interrogation about my political affiliations. Being rather naive in politics, but not completely stupid I was not a very happy young man. The point was ...........Communism!!! They had information that I posted caricatures of Stalin in public places and therefore I was making propaganda for Communism. Again, a case where little bit of fun taken out of context but with great consequences.

After we came to Holland in 1947, we were allocated to a school and placed in a level according to our age. Both my sister and I unfortunately ended up in the Dutch Reformed Lyceum in Haarlem, I was placed in the third year. From the start, I was already lost because I had not had any serious schooling since 1942. In the concentration camps in Indonesia during WW2 and the two years there after, there had been no schooling due to lack of material to work with. Therefore I lacked the experience how to study and the ambition to gain knowledge; I was bored and got myself into more problems without even trying too hard.

Anyway, whatever I did always ended up in me being pulled out of class and placed in front of the Board. Somewhere, they did not have their timing synchronised and a lot of my time was spent waiting in empty spaces. The school catered for 1800 students, half in the morning classes and the others came in the afternoon. Hence the school was empty at lunch time. I had to wait inside and was free to move from one classroom to the other. Big reversible blackboards covered one whole wall of each class room. In those days I liked drawing and the face of Stalin in caricature, was my favourite........... a big head on a small body, in every situation, the funnier, the better. When finished I would turn the board back facing the wall, therefore there was no evidence when school started the afternoon section. However, when during the lessons the board was turned, the effect was a room full of laughing students.

When the American Authorities investigated my background they came across these happenings, that been recorded somewhere for whatever reason. Eventually I was cleared and admitted to enter the States. I still think it might have been the character reference I gave, which was the daughter of the people I boarded with in Zandvoort, she married the son of the leader of the Dutch Labour Party, Willem Drees, better known as the father of the Dutch Labour Party.

Entering the States was all but exciting. Imagine New York Harbour in mid winter with snow on the wharves and the ship coming alongside a Brooklyn Dock. The whole crew, including the Mates and Engineers, were to line up on deck outside the hospital for genital inspection. Stand and wait, shuffle up when asked and drop your pants and show your penis, with both hands out in front of your body, palms down. Standing in front of the "Doctor", he would grab your hands and turn them upwards and at the same time look up and inspect the whites of your eyes. This happened every time we came on the East Coast. In those days venereal disease was the worst thing to happen to the common sailor and America made sure to be kept clean.

Sailing on America in those days was good. The longshore men only worked daylight hours and so did we. After work a quick clean up and ashore we went. Money was always a problem, as an Apprentice I earned only the equivalent of $ 25 a month. Walk to the station and get to Times Square and count your money. Somewhere I have seen more than one show in the Radio City Hall and a lot of big stars performing in person, Harry James on trumpet, Satchmo on trumpet and Ella Fitzgerald to top it off. Every trip we would try to see one show.  We would not be in the front row, but we were there. Having made sure we had the money to get back on board we would go to the Seaman's Mission for a meal. Depending who was in charge we sometimes got away with a smile and a promise to do the washing up afterwards, which could take a few hours. Well after midnight we would walk the dark of the night through the wharf area back to the ship. That was not a problem.

The only time I was in trouble was when I was on my own and was approached by an older gentleman to accompany him to his home in Staten Island. That idea I did not like and when the bell that announced the door closing became louder I dashed out of the train, only to find him doing the same. He stayed on the platform whilst I ran out of the station and walked from there all the way to the ship. Never ever did I go ashore on my own in New York!!

Not completely true, because at one stage I became involved with one of the girls in the Seaman' Mission and I fell in love.......again. Anyway, when saying "au revoir" she asked me to give her a ring when I came back on the next trip. I honestly thought that she meant an engagement ring of the sort and that was enough reason not to call her at all, the love was not that serious.

The “Voodoo” shipment – “Agamemnon” KNSM – West Indies Service - 1953

Some stories are easy to write and flow out of the brain, a couple of nasty memories, overshadowed with happy ones, which should be the norm of the course in life.

Actually, we did well in those days and our Dutch forefathers would have been very proud of us following in their footsteps. They also went to sea in little ships and sailed around the world trading their goods for products and spices. We did the same thing, but traded our goods for “spicy products” instead. Our wages were low; therefore we had to learn to find the alternative. The answer was the acute shortage of nylon stockings, cigarettes and whiskey, etc; right around the world, except the USA, where it was not only cheap, but we could get all of that duty free. We did not smuggle, because that was naughty…….we traded!! Our clients were the Customs-, Immigration- and other Officials in the Caribbean and Venezuela, who would collect the “cargo” before any port clearance papers were issued. For private pleasures a few packets of Lucky Strike and a couple of nylon stockings would cover all the necessary expenses for the leave ashore. Everybody was happy with that system.

Happy people made a happy atmosphere on board of a ship, which was important. However, in 1953, on the way out from Galveston to the Caribbean Islands we not only struck a storm, but also had a very unhappy crew. Among the black sailors from the Cayman Islands it became known that we carried a dead black man’s body as cargo. When they would work in pairs on deck and one started to hum a Harry Belafonte song, the other would join in loudly and before long you could hear the most beautiful and natural choir performance. Now, they locked themselves up in their quarters, just because the soul of the dead man was floating around the decks.

The Captain dealt with the problem himself and disappeared in the poop quarters, from where raised voices could be heard, but a compromise was reached. The paint locker became the morgue and the watertight steel door would remain securely locked for the whole voyage, until the port of discharge was reached. Some paint was removed and a shelf made available. The body was in a box, which did not fit through the door, therefore the Boatswain and the Apprentice took the body out and carried him inside. That is, when we found out he was too long for the shelf, upon which I was asked to go outside, but could not help hearing some funny cracking noises. When finished, the body was on his back with both legs pulled up, secured against sliding off the shelf by cans of paint. The door was locked and all was well, with “Aggy” sailing on the smooth seas in the still that preceded a storm. Then the swell came up and we started to roll and pitch and the Voodoo shipment caused panic, because the body talked to the crew. With the movement of the ship, the air in the body was blown out and sucked in and made a low howling noise, worse and louder than a snoring husband can produce after sex. Even when we tied down the legs, it would not stop. Again the Captain and Boatswain colluded and it was agreed that the Apprentice would be on guard and stay on guard, which was accepted by the crew.

On deck we had a few pens of cattle and the fodder was stacked against the poop front bulkhead, leaving a little opening to the entrance of the paint locker, separate from the crew’s quarters. I sat in front of the locker on watch, but when the storm broke, I became sopping wet and cold and I decided to go inside the paint locker and closed the door.

I was certain somebody would deliver food or water to me, as I was not allowed to leave my post. When I tried to open the door, it would move only a few inches, as the stacks of fodder and hay had collapsed in front of it and I was stuck. I did try to stay calm as the wait for help lasted a long time. Apparently one pen with cattle had moved across, blocking the access to the deck from the midships superstructure and it was deemed to be too dangerous for anybody to be on deck unnecessary and my predicament was definitely the very last priority.

That voyage I was not very happy.

Hans van Weel

Safety Beach VIC

1 September 2009