MAKING MERRY IN MELBOURNE
It was 1965, and my first Christmas away from home. I was a rather green 16 years old, an Officer Cadet in the Merchant Navy, which sounds rather posh. In fact, cadets were the lowest form of marine life, cheap labour, and expendable, someone to carry the can in all situations, someone to take all your frustrations out on.
We were in Melbourne, Australia, and I had been appointed night watchman for the duration. When I came on duty late on Christmas Eve, the Chief Officer impressed on me the first vital role I would have to play that night; namely, to stand at the top of the gangway, dressed in immaculate white tropical uniform, and prevent the very tough Glaswegian crew from bringing any alcohol back on board ship. “How do I do that?” I asked, tremulously. “Assert your authority.” I was told. “Smash any bottles over the rail.” He instructed. Yes, well, I was a skinny (honestly) little runt, and the sailors were to a man twice my size and already well lubricated to the point of staggering.
I decided discretion was preferable to suicide, and merely urged them to hide their bottles about their person where they could not be seen, and I was more than once told that I would stick their bottles where the sun don’t shine. One learns a degree of diplomacy in these situations; hence I lived to tell the story. Santa Claus may well have visited the ship later on that night, but even if his sleigh made a loud noise on the steel decks, it would not have disturbed the loudly snoring crew.
My first job Christmas morning was to light the galley fire, a large ancient coal fired contraption similar to a stone age Aga. First you put paper in, then wood, and finally, after several attempts, you could put in some coal. As the range began to heat up, there was invariably a gentle frying sound as the marauding cockroaches began to sizzle. Next task was to wake up the day crew for their duties, no easy task. One would enter a crew cabin to the smell of many sweaty feet, and would have to get physical sometimes to bring them round, always being prepared to beat a hasty retreat
accompanied by some very educational oaths and the odd shoe. Waking the officers was a much more civilised affair. One would make them an individual tray of coffee, and knock politely on their cabin door before entering, and I always resisted the temptation to spit in the Chief Officers coffee before entering.
Next job was to go around turning all the deck lights off, then putting up all the flags, and then scrubbing the wooden deck of the wheelhouse. Cleaning all the brass, ships bell and funnel whistle included was my final duty of the day.
After showering and putting on a clean uniform, it was down to breakfast in the Dining Saloon. A merchant Navy breakfast was a memorable event, and Christmas day was no exception. Fruit juice, cereal, kippers and then a full fry up English style was the norm, followed by griddlecakes and syrup, toast and coffee kept the wolf from the door. Many years later, I tried to repeat this meal at home one Christmas Day, but never got beyond the cornflakes.
A few hours sleep followed, which is not easy when lying in a metal box without air conditioning or decent ventilation in the middle of an Australian heat wave, but you can imagine that Jack frost never got a look in on our porthole glass.
Christmas lunch was all that you would expect, plentiful and with all the trimmings, possibly with a garnish of roasted cockroach, and I still dread to think just what the cook put into the Christmas pudding, for he was a chap with a long memory and an inventive disposition. To him, revenge was sweet, (as in pudding).
After lunch, we all retired to the lounge to hear the Queen’s speech on the radio, which was listened to with sincere respect by everyone without exception, then on to the after deck, where the Scottish lads got out a set of bagpipes and treated us to a display of the highland reel, though a few were obviously showing the effects of a hangover, a sort of combined Christmas and Hogmanay.
In the evening the Officers held a party, and rang the local hospital to invite a few nurses down, which was quite traditional in those days. My duty was to act as disc jockey, and to try to stop any officers making any more of a fool of themselves than normal, but this was far from easy, because they kept on disappearing for long periods, always with a nurse, presumably to give them a tour of the ship and show them the ‘Golden Rivet’ whatever that was. In any event, the day went off well, and there were many smiling faces at the end of it
A Merry Christmas was had by all.
