16 years old - My first seafaring days.

It was summer again and school was over for a few months.

I registered at the seamen's exchange and then I tried my hand as a delivery boy. I liked the shop girls but not the shop managers. I soon got a call from the seaman's exchange. I became hired as a Jungman-Cook on a 114 tonne coastal freighter.

My quarters smelled a bit musty as I entered. No problem, just open the window – porthole – for ventilation. I did and it soon felt a bit fresher in the cabin. We left harbour destined for Gotland island in the Baltic Sea. There was little wind but the bow took the odd dip into the waves. 

“I saw you opened the porthole, did you seal it well when you closed it?”

I had not sealed the porthole. The water was squirting in over my bed, over and over. I tried using a pipe wrench on the screws but couldn't close the porthole while at sea. Later... 

I slept on the floor that first night. Or, more accurately, I passed out on the floor. I was exhausted. This was not a pleasure ride for me among friends on a trawler, this was the real thing, a working ship.

My photo from 1956

The work routine at sea was four hours on, four hours off, twelve hours of work each 24 hours. It was taxing on my body and soul, to say the least. Our capacity was about the same as five highway trailers. These coastal vessels were gone a few years later, replaced by, you guessed it, highway trucks.

Not yet, though. We loaded lime stone, destined for a glass factory on the west coast of Sweden, about a five day trip away. First we laid high in the water. Then, he loader started rumbling – and stopped a few minutes later. We were loaded almost to the deck-line. The cargo room cover was sealed to be absolutely water tight. 

My cabin porthole had been disassembled and properly closed by now, with strong instructions to never open it again, ever.

We were a crew of four. I, at age 16, was the jungman – cook with double duties. Had I cooked anything before? Noooo, I don't recall. I managed to prepare pork chops and boiled potatoes the first day. Then I found printed instructions on the wall so I was on my way. In truth, I never did as much cooking as I was supposed to. I was often too seasick. - My curse?

With my first loading complete, we set out at night. I stood to watch. It was pitch dark There was a bow lantern on the foredeck. The compass waved a little and a thin line on the radar was spinning for me to see nearby ships.

The sea got worse. Then it got scary. We hit a wave, the bow went down, down, down. The deck got covered in water and the bow lantern dimmed. We are sailing to the bottom, we are all going to drown now. I was alone by the wheel, what to I do? Call an alarm? Abandon ship? Then, slowly, slowly we started to rise again, the deck reappeared and the bow lantern lit up.

We are saved. This repeated every few minutes - all ships do this.

That was my first introduction to sea, putting all of my trawler experiences to shame. I didn't feel well in heavy sea but still had take my turn at the helm. I learned to tie the steering wheel with a rope, quickly dive out and puke over the railing, then just as fast return and put the ship back on course. It was a bit scary, the railing was low and really low to the water if the ship rolled that way.

I stayed on for a couple of months. My seasickness came and went. But I felt I was a useful crew member. I even cooked at times. The skipper owned the boat. The other two crew members were grizzled sailors, this was their life. They usually had a young boy as a helper. I was that “young boy”.

We did a few lime stone trips, heavily laden one way, empty and bouncing as a cork on the way back, equally uncomfortable. The vessel was scheduled for service at the end of the summer. I was laid off and returned home.

M/S Oden served for a total of 100 years
until it sank in January 2016.

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The summer wasn't quite over yet. I again took to being a delivery boy. I did earn some more money and even earned tip at times.

I am 16, I want my own moped. A used one cost 214 kronor. I only had 204 kronor. I asked my mother. She was at the end of her unpaid summer leave as a teacher and had no money to spare, not even 10 kronor. I borrowed them from a friend.

Victoria 49 cc moped, model 1954

The moped was grand, or not. All mopeds shared one common feature, the top speed. It was strictly regulated, woe the moped driver that made it go faster than 30 km/h.

There would be police controls here and there. A policeman would stand a little to the side and use a watch to time our speed between two painted lines. If you were caught, you had to go back to the shop, reset whatever you had done to make it go too fast and report for a test.

I was now a full member of a not-so-exclusive group, teenagers with mopeds. We were noisy, didn't walk if we could drive, and always made sure we cold be heard. My moped soon had a few well placed holes in the muffler, maximizing the exhaust sound. 

I partook in many wild biking adventures, both during daylight and after dark. The light was weak and I had my share of running into bumps and potholes after dark, jarring me and, worse, the side mounted engine.

After my third repair of the engine mounts, I ended my night driving on unseen roads. Then, catastrophe, the drive shaft broke off. I walked home. Money for repairs? No, none. The welding shop? The master welder had a look at my sad machine – brought out a welding machine and started his repair.

"Look out for the fuel tank just above your welding torch?" 

“What fuel tank?”

Some grease caught fire and the flames were licking the bottom of the tank. I had, fortunately, positioned myself with a fire extinguisher nearby. A squirt of powder and the fire was out – but my moped was now sooty and as undriveable as ever.

I took it to the mechanical shop next door, they helped me wash off all grease and empty the fuel tank. After that my careless welder could finish the job. My moped ran again. It served me well for another couple of years. Then I sold it to a friend.

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Military service is obligatory for all young Swedish men, most have to start at age 19.

You could choose where to go if you volunteered early. That fall, at 16, I volunteered for military service as a pilot-to-be. I was called in for the mandatory written test and doctor's exam. I had never seen a multiple answer questionnaire in my life and wrote in my own answers, so much clearer than the multiple check-boxes.

I failed that test.

As for the physical, I had volunteered only so that I could be a Saab Tunnan J-29 pilot, anything less was beneath me. The eye doctor held up my eyeglasses to the light and said:

“You will never fly.”

Oh no, my military career is over. Then a man in the group of inspectors looked up.

“You are Sten Rosholm's nephew, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“You are already enrolled, you will report to the I-11 infantry regiment next April. - We have problem, though, you are under-weight, eat well this winter."

Little did I know that my uncle, still active in the army, had pulled a few strings behind my back. I was, indeed, already on the rolls but still had to pass the inspection. As for my failed written test, I learned, years later, that it had been deemed “faulty” and was not recorded.

Wow, I am going to the army, carry a uniform and be the pet of all women.

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April was still many months away. School became a dread and I finally dropped out in February. I started on a new career, errand boy and oil-container filler at the Reymersholm edible oil factory.

My tool of the trade was a very heavy transport bicycle.

This one strengthened my legs. As for my upper body strength, I was placed by a machine to fill 10 liter cooking oil cans. The packaging part of the factory was quite an enjoyable place for me. The majority of the staff were women, running the processing and filling machines. Some were quite crude, I learned a bit more of the inner workings of the Swedish language.

This operation was on the 5^th floor of the building 
with the flag on top.

The elevators were very temperamental and easily made to stop anywhere. The most extreme activity I came to see, from looking down the open shaft, was when a couple had intercourse on grain sacks with the elevator disabled between two floors. They were cheered on their reappearance. Perhaps they didn't realize that you could look down from the top floor or they didn't care?

Ironically, This 5th floor facility caught fire and totally burnt out just before I reported for summer work a few years later. One of my first assignments was to help dismantling the burnt and shriveled up oil filling machines.

April approached and it was time to start a new phase of my life, the military.

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My seafaring career continued after my military service. You can read about how I sailed around the world before my 20th birthday here:

https://myseafaringdays.blogspot.ca/

If you'd like to learn more about my uncle Sten, "The fighter pilot who won his first dog-fight and lost his war.", click here.

https://swedishfighterpilot.blogspot.ca/

Photo credits: Some are my own, other are stock photos from Google.

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If you'd like to read even more about a lot of adventurs, please buy my memoirs here:

https://www.amazon.ca/Seasons-Man-Lindvall-family-friends-ebook/dp/B07HHGRGPP