I turned 19. My army days were over. I no more had to be wet, cold and miserable, stay up all night or sleep in the open.
Corporal 214 Lindvall, I-11 Infantry Regiment
What next? I had registered at the Karlshamn's seaman's exchange in Sweden in the spring of 1959 and I was ready for a bigger world, to go to sea. And, sure enough, I never had to sleep in the open on a job again.
Cargo ships entered and left the harbour every day. Would I ever get a call? Then, one Saturday morning the phone rang early. "There is a ship in harbour that needs an apprentice engine man. Will you take the job?"
Did I want to? Yes, yes, yes!
That became one of the craziest mornings of my young life. I met the boss of the service station where I worked. I spoke fast and soon convinced him to release me on the spot, I was destined for greater horizons.
Next, I got a doctor's certificate signed and legal for duty. I even made a quick run to the harbour to see the ship from a distance - she looked bigger than most, encouraging. My old car was put in a corner of the back yard and I took a taxi to the boat before its departure at one o'clock.
Sailing under the Sandö bridge, Sweden in 1959. I'm on it.
The ship, M/S Guyana, built 1948 and registered in Sweden, was a 10 000 tonne dry cargo line ship with a crew of 42, usually running only on the Europe - South America trade. But, that was not to be for my time on it. More to come.
The ship's engines started. We moved away from the wharf - and I left my home town one more time, this time for the longest journey so far, not returning for a full year. The first trip was short, to Stockholm where I arrived as a sailor boy!
Quite by chance my mother was in Stockholm for a conference. She entertained me to dinner and a visit to the Opera, quite an introduction to harbour visits for me. I learned later on about more common harbour visit experiences, without mother.
It was time to load up with Swedish products for the export trade, but first a visit to a shipyard for the annual check up and bottom painting. The ship yard was near Luleå in the far north of Sweden, surrounded by the immense dark forests of the north. It was midsummer and the sun may have set but it never got dark.
Many girls came to visit the ship during our shipyard stay. Some stayed overnight. One girl was determined to make love to the entire crew before she left again. I know for sure that she didn't succeed because I didn't open my cabin door that night.
In the drydock we also performed much maintenance of our own. I was assigned to assist with overhauling a diesel engine powered fire pump at the very bottom of the ship, near the rear end of the propeller shaft.
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Ship in drydock
After a couple of days of my work, the little diesel engine had to be tested . It didn't light up easily. Finally I decided to give it my very best. I took a good stand, brazed myself in a corner - and pulled on the crank with all my might. The engine started and released the crank. It swung upwards in an arch, hitting me in the face just below my left eye.
My glasses may have been shatterproof but they didn't stand up against that strike.
I struggled back into the engine room, hands over my face and blood running down my shirt. The first officer just about fainted on the spot.
“I'm OK, nothing wrong with me, let me just wash my face.” I said, probably in shock, as I realized that I could still see.
Well, the glass may not have been clean and the next morning the left side of my face had swollen precipitously and I was bleeding again. This meant a trip to the hospital to stem the blood, pick out scores of glass shards and get my cut cleaned with Iodine and sown up. Oh, that hurt.
The scar is still in my face, but gravity has moved it down about 15 millimetres in 55 years.
I contacted some friends who were studying in this area, far away from our home town. It was midsummer and the whole countryside was full of music as the Swedes celebrated the longest day of the year.
I borrowed a motorcycle from one of the yard workers and I and my best friend from home, a student here, went out exploring the midsummer eve scene. We stopped at a dance. I danced with a pretty girl and just about ended up in a fight with a burly farm boy. Wrong girl, or at least the wrong boyfriend for my safety. - "Quick, let's get back on the motorbike and move on to the next place."
Eventually the ship moved out of the shipyard to a neighbouring port. It soon laid low in the water, loaded down with thousands of tonnes of Swedish paper products.
Our last Swedish port was Gothenburg, the gateway to the oceans, the beginning and end port for so many seafaring trips. I bought a new radio - the big world needs more receiving power to be heard by me! This portable radio also had a built in record player, most unique for its time.
We left Sweden in the middle of the night - out to the big world that is waiting. I stood on deck, mesmerized by the city lights that glided by and grew faint as we were heading towards the sea, all the time the radio playing a few popular tunes over and over again. Even today, when I hear that music I am right back on that deck, seeing the lights go by.
Summer storms may not be as bad as winter storms but - there was my seasickness again, off and on. The curse of my life? I have since spent years at sea and still get seasick, occasionally.
Now we were really under way and there was no more of the interesting and challenging maintenance work to do as most of the machinery was in service. "When at sea, we clean the ship!" That is, the engine room and all nearby areas get cleaned.
I was assigned a sea water hose and a brush to clean the top of the fuel tanks and the gutters on the sides, all accessible about a metre below the engine room floor. Day after day I was wet with a stale mixture of heavy fuel oil, grease and water.
“ No, I won't go down there and get dirty again.”
It was after lunch Saturday and I had already changed into clean clothes for the free afternoon, soon to start.
But now it become obvious to the first officer that I wasn't approaching my task with much enthusiasm. A good size foot in the right place propelled me in the direction of the wettest, coldest and smelliest spot, next to a couple of dead rats.
I, the lowest of all low apprentices spoke up,
“No, I won't go there, enough of that for today.”
- and I established myself as an absolutely lazy and uncooperative laggard.
The first officer told me loudly what I was worth - not much - and work was finished for the weekend.
I agonized about the morning's events during the rest of the day. My coworkers added vivid pictures of my future life under the first officer for the next few months. He was well known for his rather intolerant way of treating subordinates.
What was I to do? I had memories from my army days what can happen to obstinate young men. By the end of the next day, Sunday afternoon, I couldn't quite see that I could make matters much worse. I gathered my strength, swallowed my pride, and knocked on the first officer's door.
He received me coolly, listened to my apology, but said nothing as I left.
What had I done? I walked away with trepidation.
The next morning my cleaning duties were confined to drier areas above the floor, much better. A few days later the shifts were rearranged. I found myself assigned as a shift operator on the first officer's shift. I trembled in fear as I reported to my first shift under him. Not to worry, he treated me cordially, instructed me in my expected tasks and I was on my way to become a ships engineer. He took me under his wings and taught me many little tricks on how to best run and maintain machinery, tricks that have stood me in good stead for many years.
We were on shift from 4 - 8, twice every 24 hours. Either you started when it was dark and finished when it was light or vice versa. I learned to time my garbage pail trips "above" to coincide with the sunrise or the sunset – fantastic, always changing experiences at sea. I learned to read the gauges, keep a log and to monitor the machinery that was running all around me.
Two large ships engines
We had two large slow speed (112 rpm) Diesel engines and a myriad of generators, pumps, fans and other auxiliary equipment.
The fuel oil, Bunker C, was the cheapest possible and very dirty. The fuel filters and fuel separators had to be cleaned on an hourly basis. Some times it was a struggle to keep enough clean fuel prepared in the day tanks. Even the least extra time spent on maintaining a separator could allow the purified fuel level to drop precipitously near the red mark.
To bypass the filters and allow untreated fuel to the engines would have fouled the injectors hopelessly in only a few minutes. I, somehow, always succeeded in staying one step ahead of empty fuel supply warning.
Some of my colleague sea men were real characters.
The cook had tasted his own food for too many years and could hardly get in and out of the kitchen, such was his bulk. But he cooked excellent food, always available, hot at mealtime and cold in the refrigerator at all hours.
The cold food in the refrigerator would sometimes have tiny footsteps on it. Those pieces you avoided. The cockroaches that slunk into the refrigerator and walked around would ultimately become chilled and sluggish and easy to pick out.
The steward was in love with the cook but he seemed to be thrown out more than be let into the cook's cabin.
The master machinist was suffering from too much drink for too many years. There was no alcohol to be had at sea and any evidence of drinking on the job was severely punished as well. But, that didn't prevent him from spending all the time when we were in harbour in one long continuous drunken stupor. Unfortunately he also undertook some rather intricate injector fuel pump repairs during one of these sessions.
He didn't do that job well. The injectors sprayed high pressure hot flammable oil every which way on start up. We had to spend the first part of our trip under reduced power while he refurbished a second, spare, injector pump, once he had sobered up again.
My cabin companion was a young man from Finland of somewhat dubious character. He liked my clothes and I had to be careful with locking my drawers or I'd have no civilian clothes for shore visits.
He proved himself quick to fight with a knife whereever we were. He was considered good company in the more seedy places. I saw the police arrive on more than one occasion but we did exit in time, never to see any police cells on the inside.
Our first long journey, without landfall, was three weeks long, from Sweden to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Rio, the object of many dreams.
It didn't prove itself like anything I could have imagined. We had our radios tuned to Brazilian stations long before we arrived so our ears were well attuned to the Samba music.
We were moored in the harbour, leaving and taking on passengers. This ship had 12 regulation passenger cabins, mandatory on cargo vessels in those days. Our commute to the shore was by means of a sloop. As was common, local and poor labour relations were such that our lay-over was extended until the local strikers had returned to work..
The traffic was absolutely without any order. The drivers, in old, beat up and unbelievably dented cars, drove with abandon. Any flat piece of ground that could accommodate tires was driven on. If there were too many cars on one side, use the other side of the street, why let so much perfectly good pavement be underutilized? Pedestrians only moved with utmost caution.
We had our first taste of Brazilian beef and visited with the world's most beautiful women on Copacabana beach.
The grain elevators lined the harbour. But, there didn't seem to be any way for pedestrians to leave the area. The truck gates were very narrow and heavily used by enormous grain carrying trucks.
Fear not, all the bars in the lower level of the warehouses had two doors, one on the harbour side, one on the city side.
Some of these bars weren't only bars serving liquor, they were bordellos as well.
Bordello in Brazil, ca 1959
As you entered you were immediately received by an usher who made sure you got your first drink - on the house. Then you were encouraged to take your time and choose your favourite girl. They were all introduced as “famous for offering anything you liked". It was hard for many to just pass through on the way to the city. The facilities were not really very posh. The ones who had chosen which girl and what activity they preferred carried on in one of many booths along the walls of the large room, booths with only a curtain for privacy.
Some paid a price for these and other conjugal visits. Several of the members of the crew had contracted a souvenir illnesses, often Gonorrhea. They had to see the first deck officer when a few days out of port, he was in charge of the penicillin supply and authorized to administer "the seven day cure" with a thick and painful injection needle.
What about me? I was young enough to attract the really young girls, and I ALWAYS used a condom.
Montevideo, Uruguay, a European looking city of fading glory.
The wreck of the German pocket battle ship Admiral Graf Spee was still in the harbour. It was sunk by its own crew in December 1939.
Admiral Graf Spee when scuttled in 1939
We were there in 1959, 20 years later, and the burnt-out hull was there, just as in the photo here. A bit of trivia, it took another 20 years before it was finally cut up for scrap.
We saw another reminder of the WW2, the wreck of a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber from the 379th Bomber Group. It was still lying on a sandbank in the harbour. It had been there since 1942.
This is where my seafaring, or any, days may have ended.
I was assigned to grind and reseat the valves on a lifeboat engine. It was a great assignment, I spent a couple of days outside, working in the lifeboat on deck. On completion, time for a test run.
A typical life boat exercise.
This was combined with an "all hands" lifeboat practice. The lifeboat was lowered and we got in by means of rope ladders. The engine started on the first pull and ran smooth as silk this time, I must have learned something about how to get valves tight from my fire engine repair assignment. This time, the first officer complimented me on my good work.
We did a grand tour around the hulk of the battle ship but couldn't get really near the airplane wreck. We touched bottom a couple of times before we gave up and returned to our ship.
The crew climbed up the rope ladders and returned to deck. I, and another engine room crew member, were left in the boat to roll up the ladders properly as the boat was raised back onto its divets on deck.
The two winches were on foredeck where the operators couldn't see us. They were controlled by hand signals.
Not good.
Part way up, there was some miscommunication. One of the winch operators released his cable. One end of the lifeboat fell down and we were suspended in mid air from one end. The other man had the wherewithal to jump off onto the rope ladder that was still on the side of the hull.
I didn't have that option but, having considered jumping into the water, held on to a single rope. That was a wise decision as so many loose items fell out, the oars, the drinking water tank and a myriad of other loose items. Everyone on deck witnessed the gradually unfolding event as the lifeboat slowly slipped down and landed on the debris in the water.
I was suspended in mid air for a while, but soon hauled in, in a little bit of a shock. Had I been in the water, nobody knows what could have happened.
All ended well and we pulled up the lifeboat, still attached to the loose lines, and all the lost items out the water, to be secured in a safe manner again. My boss, the first officer, went to his cabin and came back with a bottle of Cognac. "Have a sip, you did well."
Next, across the La Plata river delta to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Shore leave in Buenos Aires, I am the guy on the right, under the bow of our ship.
Were we in civilization again? Almost. Cigarettes were highly taxed but we bought ours on board at duty free prices. Hence, you could pay for a quite a few drinks by just bringing cigarette packages ashore.
It worked well for while until afternoon when the harbour police turned on us. The officer rattled his machine gun at us - we held up our hands - and the cigarettes fell to the floor.
He moved closer, kicked the cigarettes under a bench and said - "You are under arrest, for smuggling".
Then we were identified, photographed and told to never smuggle again - "but if you do, you have to drop one package here."
He kept the packages that were under the bench. We had to pay for the drinks with our own money that night. I also fell in love with one of the bar girls in Buenos Aires that night, but that is for another story.
We had already received notice that our ship was chartered for a longer run, the return to Sweden would be around Cap of Good Hope, Africa. Air travel was still horrendously expensive in those days and we were discouraged from going home. I signed on for the continued around the world trip.
We passed the Panama Canal. It was so disappointing, I worked and only saw some lights in the night, and all too soon we were in the Pacific Ocean.
Next stop was Japan. The culture shock was total. I went to a communal bathhouse with some colleagues. We were properly scrubbed and cleansed before the dip in the large wooden tub together with local Japanese families, all naked.
Japanese family bath
Another night we spent at a restaurant, served by kimono clad young ladies who refilled out sake-flasks incessantly. We all got drunk and had to spend some of our hard earned money on a taxi back to the harbour.
The ship stopped for refuelling in Singapore before sailing through the Malacca straight. We left at about midnight and were soon in rather choppy seas. The fuel tank vents had all been open when the oil was loaded. Not all were closed when I left my cabin in the bow to go to work at 03:45. The tanks had been burping fuel and air on deck all night.
I took a few steps on the deck - fell - and started sliding towards the railing. I didn't fall through, I had spreadeagled on the way and got caught in the railing. I crawled midships, well wetted with fuel oil.
The officer on duty was shocked, there will be many more walking across that deck, in the dark, soon. He switched on all available lights and then called the forward crew quarters on the intercom. We used to have a guide rope in place when in bad seas, that rope was soon up. Nobody else slid in the oil that night.
Too close for comfort for me, though. I still, 55 years later, have nightmares about my slide down the deck towards the black sea beyond.
An observation about sailing in the Indian Ocean. It was warm. Very few of the crew quarters had air conditioning. I slept on a mattress under a blanket on deck many nights. The starry skies at that latitude, near the equator, are to behold. Working temperatures in the engine room were such that we had to be careful. 40 C around the engines , with a few places well into the 50's, were not to play with. Drink plenty of lime juice and eat your salt tablets, advice that has served sailors well for 150 years.
Next stop was Bombay in India, Mumbay now.
Mumbai street scene
The filth and the disorganization, at least as seen by my eyes were totally overwhelming.
Walking down a street, we saw a Barber with a stool. All three of us agreed that this was a good time for a haircut. I was first.
"Have a seat."
The barber opened his box with tools, went clip, clip, clip and my hair was done, Next a shave around my ears and neck.
Then - a swift move with the shaving knife and the sharp edge was against my adamsapple:
"Pay now."
I did, but my colleagues had lost the taste for a haircut by then.
The explanation was simple enough. Had I taken three steps away from the barber's stool, I would have been lost in the crowd.
Nowadays, I prefer barbers who are inside a room.
Table Mountain and Capetown (My picture from decades later)
We passed Cape of Good Hope and then entered the bay of Cape Town, South Africa. Sure, the city is beautiful. We took a cable ride up Table Mountain.
Once there, the wind picked and a printed sign went up "The cable cars are shut down for the day." (!)
No siren then, only a printed sign.
There would be no return to the city until the next day. - The cable car commenced operation again in 20 minutes.
Apartheid was in full swing in South Africa then. Blacks were certainly not treated well, even in our inexperienced eyes.
Heavy and hard to stop if they swing.
One stevedore got in the way for a heavy swinging bundle in the hold. His arm broke and bits of white bone were sticking out through the skin near his wrist. He screamed with the full power of his lungs.
An empty platform was sent down by the crane. He was laid down, blood spurting from his arm, lifted away from the ship and set down on the dock. A white man came up and lifted the stevedore upright by a good pull in the good arm.
Then, the white supervisor kicked the black man hard on his back and pushed him towards the exit. The last I saw from deck was him walking away, dripping blood down his leg, over his shoe and onto the ground.
I couldn't belive my eyes, standing on deck too far away to act in any way. - Letting a man walk away, bleeding and crying in pain.
Apartheid. Lack of compassion? Lack of human feelings?
There was a long run up the west coast of Africa. The local music on my little radio was certainly strange. Not much western music here. The weather was nice and temperate and we enjoyed much of our free time on deck.
When in tropical waters we had a temporary swimming pool built from planks with tarpaulin as the membrane. It was filled with seawater from a fire pump every morning and emptied again every night The huge volume of water could slop over in bad sea and be dangerous to all on deck.
Then I broke my foot.
The ship, M/S Guyana, built 1948 and registered in Sweden, was a 10 000 tonne dry cargo line ship with a crew of 42, usually running only on the Europe - South America trade. But, that was not to be for my time on it. More to come.
The ship's engines started. We moved away from the wharf - and I left my home town one more time, this time for the longest journey so far, not returning for a full year. The first trip was short, to Stockholm where I arrived as a sailor boy!
Quite by chance my mother was in Stockholm for a conference. She entertained me to dinner and a visit to the Opera, quite an introduction to harbour visits for me. I learned later on about more common harbour visit experiences, without mother.
It was time to load up with Swedish products for the export trade, but first a visit to a shipyard for the annual check up and bottom painting. The ship yard was near Luleå in the far north of Sweden, surrounded by the immense dark forests of the north. It was midsummer and the sun may have set but it never got dark.
Many girls came to visit the ship during our shipyard stay. Some stayed overnight. One girl was determined to make love to the entire crew before she left again. I know for sure that she didn't succeed because I didn't open my cabin door that night.
In the drydock we also performed much maintenance of our own. I was assigned to assist with overhauling a diesel engine powered fire pump at the very bottom of the ship, near the rear end of the propeller shaft.
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Ship in drydock
After a couple of days of my work, the little diesel engine had to be tested . It didn't light up easily. Finally I decided to give it my very best. I took a good stand, brazed myself in a corner - and pulled on the crank with all my might. The engine started and released the crank. It swung upwards in an arch, hitting me in the face just below my left eye.
My glasses may have been shatterproof but they didn't stand up against that strike.
I struggled back into the engine room, hands over my face and blood running down my shirt. The first officer just about fainted on the spot.
“I'm OK, nothing wrong with me, let me just wash my face.” I said, probably in shock, as I realized that I could still see.
Well, the glass may not have been clean and the next morning the left side of my face had swollen precipitously and I was bleeding again. This meant a trip to the hospital to stem the blood, pick out scores of glass shards and get my cut cleaned with Iodine and sown up. Oh, that hurt.
The scar is still in my face, but gravity has moved it down about 15 millimetres in 55 years.
I contacted some friends who were studying in this area, far away from our home town. It was midsummer and the whole countryside was full of music as the Swedes celebrated the longest day of the year.
I borrowed a motorcycle from one of the yard workers and I and my best friend from home, a student here, went out exploring the midsummer eve scene. We stopped at a dance. I danced with a pretty girl and just about ended up in a fight with a burly farm boy. Wrong girl, or at least the wrong boyfriend for my safety. - "Quick, let's get back on the motorbike and move on to the next place."
Eventually the ship moved out of the shipyard to a neighbouring port. It soon laid low in the water, loaded down with thousands of tonnes of Swedish paper products.
Our last Swedish port was Gothenburg, the gateway to the oceans, the beginning and end port for so many seafaring trips. I bought a new radio - the big world needs more receiving power to be heard by me! This portable radio also had a built in record player, most unique for its time.
We left Sweden in the middle of the night - out to the big world that is waiting. I stood on deck, mesmerized by the city lights that glided by and grew faint as we were heading towards the sea, all the time the radio playing a few popular tunes over and over again. Even today, when I hear that music I am right back on that deck, seeing the lights go by.
Summer storms may not be as bad as winter storms but - there was my seasickness again, off and on. The curse of my life? I have since spent years at sea and still get seasick, occasionally.
Now we were really under way and there was no more of the interesting and challenging maintenance work to do as most of the machinery was in service. "When at sea, we clean the ship!" That is, the engine room and all nearby areas get cleaned.
I was assigned a sea water hose and a brush to clean the top of the fuel tanks and the gutters on the sides, all accessible about a metre below the engine room floor. Day after day I was wet with a stale mixture of heavy fuel oil, grease and water.
“ No, I won't go down there and get dirty again.”
It was after lunch Saturday and I had already changed into clean clothes for the free afternoon, soon to start.
But now it become obvious to the first officer that I wasn't approaching my task with much enthusiasm. A good size foot in the right place propelled me in the direction of the wettest, coldest and smelliest spot, next to a couple of dead rats.
I, the lowest of all low apprentices spoke up,
“No, I won't go there, enough of that for today.”
- and I established myself as an absolutely lazy and uncooperative laggard.
The first officer told me loudly what I was worth - not much - and work was finished for the weekend.
I agonized about the morning's events during the rest of the day. My coworkers added vivid pictures of my future life under the first officer for the next few months. He was well known for his rather intolerant way of treating subordinates.
What was I to do? I had memories from my army days what can happen to obstinate young men. By the end of the next day, Sunday afternoon, I couldn't quite see that I could make matters much worse. I gathered my strength, swallowed my pride, and knocked on the first officer's door.
He received me coolly, listened to my apology, but said nothing as I left.
What had I done? I walked away with trepidation.
The next morning my cleaning duties were confined to drier areas above the floor, much better. A few days later the shifts were rearranged. I found myself assigned as a shift operator on the first officer's shift. I trembled in fear as I reported to my first shift under him. Not to worry, he treated me cordially, instructed me in my expected tasks and I was on my way to become a ships engineer. He took me under his wings and taught me many little tricks on how to best run and maintain machinery, tricks that have stood me in good stead for many years.
We were on shift from 4 - 8, twice every 24 hours. Either you started when it was dark and finished when it was light or vice versa. I learned to time my garbage pail trips "above" to coincide with the sunrise or the sunset – fantastic, always changing experiences at sea. I learned to read the gauges, keep a log and to monitor the machinery that was running all around me.
Two large ships engines
We had two large slow speed (112 rpm) Diesel engines and a myriad of generators, pumps, fans and other auxiliary equipment.
The fuel oil, Bunker C, was the cheapest possible and very dirty. The fuel filters and fuel separators had to be cleaned on an hourly basis. Some times it was a struggle to keep enough clean fuel prepared in the day tanks. Even the least extra time spent on maintaining a separator could allow the purified fuel level to drop precipitously near the red mark.
A newly cleaned DeLaval oil separator in assembly.
To bypass the filters and allow untreated fuel to the engines would have fouled the injectors hopelessly in only a few minutes. I, somehow, always succeeded in staying one step ahead of empty fuel supply warning.
Some of my colleague sea men were real characters.
The cook had tasted his own food for too many years and could hardly get in and out of the kitchen, such was his bulk. But he cooked excellent food, always available, hot at mealtime and cold in the refrigerator at all hours.
The cold food in the refrigerator would sometimes have tiny footsteps on it. Those pieces you avoided. The cockroaches that slunk into the refrigerator and walked around would ultimately become chilled and sluggish and easy to pick out.
The steward was in love with the cook but he seemed to be thrown out more than be let into the cook's cabin.
The master machinist was suffering from too much drink for too many years. There was no alcohol to be had at sea and any evidence of drinking on the job was severely punished as well. But, that didn't prevent him from spending all the time when we were in harbour in one long continuous drunken stupor. Unfortunately he also undertook some rather intricate injector fuel pump repairs during one of these sessions.
Ship's Diesel engine injector pump
He didn't do that job well. The injectors sprayed high pressure hot flammable oil every which way on start up. We had to spend the first part of our trip under reduced power while he refurbished a second, spare, injector pump, once he had sobered up again.
My cabin companion was a young man from Finland of somewhat dubious character. He liked my clothes and I had to be careful with locking my drawers or I'd have no civilian clothes for shore visits.
He proved himself quick to fight with a knife whereever we were. He was considered good company in the more seedy places. I saw the police arrive on more than one occasion but we did exit in time, never to see any police cells on the inside.
Our first long journey, without landfall, was three weeks long, from Sweden to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Rio, the object of many dreams.
It didn't prove itself like anything I could have imagined. We had our radios tuned to Brazilian stations long before we arrived so our ears were well attuned to the Samba music.
We were moored in the harbour, leaving and taking on passengers. This ship had 12 regulation passenger cabins, mandatory on cargo vessels in those days. Our commute to the shore was by means of a sloop. As was common, local and poor labour relations were such that our lay-over was extended until the local strikers had returned to work..
We had our first taste of Brazilian beef and visited with the world's most beautiful women on Copacabana beach.
Onward to Santos, Brazil which we reached after a short 24 hour trip. It was the very opposite of Rio de Janeiro, just another very busy industrial city.
We were there to offload paper and reload with grain.
We were there to offload paper and reload with grain.
Grain silos and ships
Fear not, all the bars in the lower level of the warehouses had two doors, one on the harbour side, one on the city side.
Some of these bars weren't only bars serving liquor, they were bordellos as well.
Bordello in Brazil, ca 1959
As you entered you were immediately received by an usher who made sure you got your first drink - on the house. Then you were encouraged to take your time and choose your favourite girl. They were all introduced as “famous for offering anything you liked". It was hard for many to just pass through on the way to the city. The facilities were not really very posh. The ones who had chosen which girl and what activity they preferred carried on in one of many booths along the walls of the large room, booths with only a curtain for privacy.
Some paid a price for these and other conjugal visits. Several of the members of the crew had contracted a souvenir illnesses, often Gonorrhea. They had to see the first deck officer when a few days out of port, he was in charge of the penicillin supply and authorized to administer "the seven day cure" with a thick and painful injection needle.
What about me? I was young enough to attract the really young girls, and I ALWAYS used a condom.
Montevideo, Uruguay, a European looking city of fading glory.
The wreck of the German pocket battle ship Admiral Graf Spee was still in the harbour. It was sunk by its own crew in December 1939.
Admiral Graf Spee when scuttled in 1939
We were there in 1959, 20 years later, and the burnt-out hull was there, just as in the photo here. A bit of trivia, it took another 20 years before it was finally cut up for scrap.
We saw another reminder of the WW2, the wreck of a B-17 Flying Fortress bomber from the 379th Bomber Group. It was still lying on a sandbank in the harbour. It had been there since 1942.
This is where my seafaring, or any, days may have ended.
I was assigned to grind and reseat the valves on a lifeboat engine. It was a great assignment, I spent a couple of days outside, working in the lifeboat on deck. On completion, time for a test run.
A typical life boat exercise.
This was combined with an "all hands" lifeboat practice. The lifeboat was lowered and we got in by means of rope ladders. The engine started on the first pull and ran smooth as silk this time, I must have learned something about how to get valves tight from my fire engine repair assignment. This time, the first officer complimented me on my good work.
We did a grand tour around the hulk of the battle ship but couldn't get really near the airplane wreck. We touched bottom a couple of times before we gave up and returned to our ship.
The crew climbed up the rope ladders and returned to deck. I, and another engine room crew member, were left in the boat to roll up the ladders properly as the boat was raised back onto its divets on deck.
The two winches were on foredeck where the operators couldn't see us. They were controlled by hand signals.
Not good.
Part way up, there was some miscommunication. One of the winch operators released his cable. One end of the lifeboat fell down and we were suspended in mid air from one end. The other man had the wherewithal to jump off onto the rope ladder that was still on the side of the hull.
I didn't have that option but, having considered jumping into the water, held on to a single rope. That was a wise decision as so many loose items fell out, the oars, the drinking water tank and a myriad of other loose items. Everyone on deck witnessed the gradually unfolding event as the lifeboat slowly slipped down and landed on the debris in the water.
I was suspended in mid air for a while, but soon hauled in, in a little bit of a shock. Had I been in the water, nobody knows what could have happened.
All ended well and we pulled up the lifeboat, still attached to the loose lines, and all the lost items out the water, to be secured in a safe manner again. My boss, the first officer, went to his cabin and came back with a bottle of Cognac. "Have a sip, you did well."
Next, across the La Plata river delta to Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Shore leave in Buenos Aires, I am the guy on the right, under the bow of our ship.
Were we in civilization again? Almost. Cigarettes were highly taxed but we bought ours on board at duty free prices. Hence, you could pay for a quite a few drinks by just bringing cigarette packages ashore.
It worked well for while until afternoon when the harbour police turned on us. The officer rattled his machine gun at us - we held up our hands - and the cigarettes fell to the floor.
He moved closer, kicked the cigarettes under a bench and said - "You are under arrest, for smuggling".
Then we were identified, photographed and told to never smuggle again - "but if you do, you have to drop one package here."
He kept the packages that were under the bench. We had to pay for the drinks with our own money that night. I also fell in love with one of the bar girls in Buenos Aires that night, but that is for another story.
We had already received notice that our ship was chartered for a longer run, the return to Sweden would be around Cap of Good Hope, Africa. Air travel was still horrendously expensive in those days and we were discouraged from going home. I signed on for the continued around the world trip.
We passed the Panama Canal. It was so disappointing, I worked and only saw some lights in the night, and all too soon we were in the Pacific Ocean.
Next stop was Japan. The culture shock was total. I went to a communal bathhouse with some colleagues. We were properly scrubbed and cleansed before the dip in the large wooden tub together with local Japanese families, all naked.
Japanese family bath
Another night we spent at a restaurant, served by kimono clad young ladies who refilled out sake-flasks incessantly. We all got drunk and had to spend some of our hard earned money on a taxi back to the harbour.
The ship stopped for refuelling in Singapore before sailing through the Malacca straight. We left at about midnight and were soon in rather choppy seas. The fuel tank vents had all been open when the oil was loaded. Not all were closed when I left my cabin in the bow to go to work at 03:45. The tanks had been burping fuel and air on deck all night.
I took a few steps on the deck - fell - and started sliding towards the railing. I didn't fall through, I had spreadeagled on the way and got caught in the railing. I crawled midships, well wetted with fuel oil.
The officer on duty was shocked, there will be many more walking across that deck, in the dark, soon. He switched on all available lights and then called the forward crew quarters on the intercom. We used to have a guide rope in place when in bad seas, that rope was soon up. Nobody else slid in the oil that night.
Too close for comfort for me, though. I still, 55 years later, have nightmares about my slide down the deck towards the black sea beyond.
An observation about sailing in the Indian Ocean. It was warm. Very few of the crew quarters had air conditioning. I slept on a mattress under a blanket on deck many nights. The starry skies at that latitude, near the equator, are to behold. Working temperatures in the engine room were such that we had to be careful. 40 C around the engines , with a few places well into the 50's, were not to play with. Drink plenty of lime juice and eat your salt tablets, advice that has served sailors well for 150 years.
Next stop was Bombay in India, Mumbay now.
Mumbai street scene
The filth and the disorganization, at least as seen by my eyes were totally overwhelming.
Walking down a street, we saw a Barber with a stool. All three of us agreed that this was a good time for a haircut. I was first.
"Have a seat."
The barber opened his box with tools, went clip, clip, clip and my hair was done, Next a shave around my ears and neck.
Then - a swift move with the shaving knife and the sharp edge was against my adamsapple:
"Pay now."
I did, but my colleagues had lost the taste for a haircut by then.
The explanation was simple enough. Had I taken three steps away from the barber's stool, I would have been lost in the crowd.
Nowadays, I prefer barbers who are inside a room.
Table Mountain and Capetown (My picture from decades later)
We passed Cape of Good Hope and then entered the bay of Cape Town, South Africa. Sure, the city is beautiful. We took a cable ride up Table Mountain.
Once there, the wind picked and a printed sign went up "The cable cars are shut down for the day." (!)
No siren then, only a printed sign.
There would be no return to the city until the next day. - The cable car commenced operation again in 20 minutes.
Apartheid was in full swing in South Africa then. Blacks were certainly not treated well, even in our inexperienced eyes.
Heavy and hard to stop if they swing.
One stevedore got in the way for a heavy swinging bundle in the hold. His arm broke and bits of white bone were sticking out through the skin near his wrist. He screamed with the full power of his lungs.
An empty platform was sent down by the crane. He was laid down, blood spurting from his arm, lifted away from the ship and set down on the dock. A white man came up and lifted the stevedore upright by a good pull in the good arm.
Then, the white supervisor kicked the black man hard on his back and pushed him towards the exit. The last I saw from deck was him walking away, dripping blood down his leg, over his shoe and onto the ground.
I couldn't belive my eyes, standing on deck too far away to act in any way. - Letting a man walk away, bleeding and crying in pain.
Apartheid. Lack of compassion? Lack of human feelings?
There was a long run up the west coast of Africa. The local music on my little radio was certainly strange. Not much western music here. The weather was nice and temperate and we enjoyed much of our free time on deck.
When in tropical waters we had a temporary swimming pool built from planks with tarpaulin as the membrane. It was filled with seawater from a fire pump every morning and emptied again every night The huge volume of water could slop over in bad sea and be dangerous to all on deck.
Then I broke my foot.
I made a strictly forbidden three metre jump into the temporary swimming pool on lower deck in rough weather. The swinging of the deck made the pool move out of my way as I came down. I made a far too hard landing, scraping the inside of the pool. The skin on the outside of my left leg got badly scraped and bled a little, but, even worse, I couldn't walk. It was soon clear that something bad had happened to my foot
I was relegated to my bed with some pain killers. I had a couple of awful days in the stiflingly hot cabin in that condition before we got to Las Palmas, Canary Islands, for refuelling.
There, a young British doctor at the sea men's hospital treated "the stupid Swedish sailor boy" just right.
"There is nothing wrong with my foot"
1940s X-ray room
The X-ray machine was old, so old that I suspected it still had Dr. Röntgen's signature somewhere. It went BANG with a resounding noise and my plate was taken.
"You just made me sterile, I will never have any children because of you."
The doctor showed me a still wet, newly developed, x-ray plate and pointed at some disconnected bones.
"That is not an X-ray of my foot, that is someone else's, there are no broken bones in my foot."
Well, as you may understand, I didn't make any friends during my hospital visit.
Young British doctor's revenge?
I left with a body cast immobilizing me from the foot to over my hip. My colleagues, who had spent their waiting time drinking Spanish Cervezas, had a laughing fit when they saw me. But - how to get back to the ship? "You won't fit into a taxi any more."
PEUGEOT 403 U8 (pick-up) 1958 model year
They soon came back, having hired a driver with a small Peugeot pickup truck. I was loaded onto the back, with my head near the driver's so we could talk through the open rear window.
Since I know all there is to know about cars, I proceeded to tell the owner what a poorly designed, low quality French car he was driving ... He couldn't reach me while he was driving but that would change once we arrived at the ship.
I was rescued from the irate Spanish driver by being quickly hauled away and up the boarding ramp..
On board stood the afore mentioned master mechanic, drunk as a skunk in his normal at-harbour manner.
"No, you cannot move with that cast, let me take it off."
There were a few issues with that statement. Sure, in part he was right, the cast was ridiculously large for my broken foot-bones, but still - he was drunk, what could he do?
A frightening tool when running close to your naked skin.
As a true master mechanic/carpenter, he produced a circular saw, buzzed it a couple of times and - having made sure that I was well and truly held down, proceeded to cut off all the plaster of paris from just below my knee up and around my hip.
Not a drop of my blood was spilled.
I did calm down over night, whatever pain killing drug that had affected me the previous day had worn off. I normally don't argue with doctors or drivers.
For the rest of the trip back to Sweden, I practiced typing, sending and listening to Morse code in the radio operators office. I still know Morse code.
A Morse key
I became the pet of my colleagues. Lacking my own swift mobility and probably a little affected by whatever painkiller our ship's acting doctor decided to give me, I was never left behind in any harbours. Mostly carried by strong arms, I only weighed 125 lbs, I visited several bars and bordellos in Belgium, Holland and Germany before arriving in Göteborg, 11 months and 26 days after my departure.
My seafaring days were over for this time. I had confirmed that I was the stupidest and least informed person on the globe. I had seen and experienced so much, but I didn't KNOW OR UNDERSTAND ANYTHING.
I went back home to mother with lots of mechanical and other life experiences under my belt. I didn't stay long there, I soon left for a university education and a Mechanical Engineer's degree !
Since then, I have circumnavigated the globe a few times, learned to master four languages, and worked for longer or shorter periods in 28 countries. Perhaps I got a bug for learning and experiencing ...
(About the pictures: Some are my own, and some are stock pictures from the Internet.)
Toronto March, 2017
--------------------
If you want to read my memors, "The seasons of Man", buy the book here:
https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bengt+lindvall+the+seasons+of+a+man
I was relegated to my bed with some pain killers. I had a couple of awful days in the stiflingly hot cabin in that condition before we got to Las Palmas, Canary Islands, for refuelling.
There, a young British doctor at the sea men's hospital treated "the stupid Swedish sailor boy" just right.
"There is nothing wrong with my foot"
1940s X-ray room
The X-ray machine was old, so old that I suspected it still had Dr. Röntgen's signature somewhere. It went BANG with a resounding noise and my plate was taken.
"You just made me sterile, I will never have any children because of you."
The doctor showed me a still wet, newly developed, x-ray plate and pointed at some disconnected bones.
"That is not an X-ray of my foot, that is someone else's, there are no broken bones in my foot."
Well, as you may understand, I didn't make any friends during my hospital visit.
Young British doctor's revenge?
I left with a body cast immobilizing me from the foot to over my hip. My colleagues, who had spent their waiting time drinking Spanish Cervezas, had a laughing fit when they saw me. But - how to get back to the ship? "You won't fit into a taxi any more."
PEUGEOT 403 U8 (pick-up) 1958 model year
They soon came back, having hired a driver with a small Peugeot pickup truck. I was loaded onto the back, with my head near the driver's so we could talk through the open rear window.
Since I know all there is to know about cars, I proceeded to tell the owner what a poorly designed, low quality French car he was driving ... He couldn't reach me while he was driving but that would change once we arrived at the ship.
I was rescued from the irate Spanish driver by being quickly hauled away and up the boarding ramp..
On board stood the afore mentioned master mechanic, drunk as a skunk in his normal at-harbour manner.
"No, you cannot move with that cast, let me take it off."
There were a few issues with that statement. Sure, in part he was right, the cast was ridiculously large for my broken foot-bones, but still - he was drunk, what could he do?
A frightening tool when running close to your naked skin.
As a true master mechanic/carpenter, he produced a circular saw, buzzed it a couple of times and - having made sure that I was well and truly held down, proceeded to cut off all the plaster of paris from just below my knee up and around my hip.
Not a drop of my blood was spilled.
I did calm down over night, whatever pain killing drug that had affected me the previous day had worn off. I normally don't argue with doctors or drivers.
For the rest of the trip back to Sweden, I practiced typing, sending and listening to Morse code in the radio operators office. I still know Morse code.
A Morse key
I became the pet of my colleagues. Lacking my own swift mobility and probably a little affected by whatever painkiller our ship's acting doctor decided to give me, I was never left behind in any harbours. Mostly carried by strong arms, I only weighed 125 lbs, I visited several bars and bordellos in Belgium, Holland and Germany before arriving in Göteborg, 11 months and 26 days after my departure.
My seafaring days were over for this time. I had confirmed that I was the stupidest and least informed person on the globe. I had seen and experienced so much, but I didn't KNOW OR UNDERSTAND ANYTHING.
I went back home to mother with lots of mechanical and other life experiences under my belt. I didn't stay long there, I soon left for a university education and a Mechanical Engineer's degree !
Since then, I have circumnavigated the globe a few times, learned to master four languages, and worked for longer or shorter periods in 28 countries. Perhaps I got a bug for learning and experiencing ...
(About the pictures: Some are my own, and some are stock pictures from the Internet.)
Toronto March, 2017
--------------------
If you want to read my memors, "The seasons of Man", buy the book here:
https://www.amazon.ca/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bengt+lindvall+the+seasons+of+a+man
What a great yarn. Thankyou for sharing your story.
ReplyDeleteYou just earned respect. Interesting to go through your journey. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your interesting historical journey with us.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing, it reminds me of my cousins stories from the merchant marines. My cousin is now in his 90's, walks with a lip from catching the plague. It took me years to learn enough geography to keep up with where the story he was telling actual took place. I enjoyed your historical account very much.
ReplyDelete