By Rawle Baddaloo

One statement that has gained currency during the COVID-19 pandemic makes the point:

were it not for seafarers, half the world would starve, while the other half would freeze. The life of a seafarer is rough, challenging, and not meant for the faint of heart. Rawle Baddaloo shares a week of 1960s memories on board a tanker as a young sea cadet, which included a range of work tasks, some dangerous, some frightening; and, the sense of homesickness that becomes part of the burden of being away from family and loved ones for extended periods.
– Ed.

It was December. Fresh out of sea school, I was joining my first ship for work.

They said she was now just a little better than a rust bucket; that she was a far cry from her glory days as a medium-size tanker. Now, even after 13 years of overwork, she was still carrying about 14,500 tons of cargo. Years of moving multiple grades of refined, high-end petroleum products across the oceans of the world were now reduced to carrying only fuel oil to keep British power stations operational in the post-coal era.

She was huge! After what I had heard, I was stunned to see the size of this ship. I later figured out that much of what was impressive was mostly illusion. The tidal rise there in Milford Haven is about 25 ft. and the ship, de-ballasted, was totally empty and getting ready to load. Barnacle, mud and hull muck could not hide the rust. Dressed in layers of warm winter gear and hauling my large duffel bag, I started a 50-ft. climb up a semi-vertical gangway. No one offered assistance. No one cared. Cadets, especially first trippers, are the lowest form of life on a ship.

Dressed for the occasion, I made the climb. The officer of the watch (OOW) “greeted” me as if I had arrived from outer space. It was Sunday and I was bedecked in full uniform. He and others were in grimy, oily coveralls. On tankers, uniforms are worn on bridge duty and in the mess room; and, definitely no peaked cap. The OOW demanded my cap and having learnt that it had not received the WHEE test, sent it sailing through the air into the sea saying: “Whee, whee, whee.” I could have cried. I had paid for my uniform and it was expensive. And my salary was not much. I was to be paid 18 guineas per month. Uniform and books would cost five guineas per month for the next six months. This meant my actual monthly salary was 13 guineas. At today’s (2020) currency exchange rates, that would be about US$11.

After meeting the Captain and signing on; I found my cabin and finally dropped the duffel bag. The amount of instructions, directions and general information that had to be absorbed almost immediately was overwhelming.

The first rule for survival (after acceptance of being the lowest life form in that environment) is that the Chief Officer rules your life unless the Captain decided otherwise. Soon, I would realise that everyone would be trying to rule over me once they realised that I was a first tripper.

My first assignment had me out on deck working with the second officer to load fuel oil. It was quite comfortable out, sitting on the very warm cargo pipes. Everything was manual. To check the depth of cargo in a tank, a heavy piece of wood attached to a tape measure was dropped through a hole at the top of the tank. This cap-covered hole allowed us take ullage measurements. This cargo was loaded at around 120°F, and kept warm by small pipes (heating coils) carrying steam around the insides of the tank. After about four hours of this, I was allowed to retire.

That evening, a bus was taking the crew to a pub in the nearby township. This bus was scheduled to return when the pubs closed their bars at 22:00hrs.

The cheapest beer was about seven US cents. The taste was horrible, but seemed to improve after a few, so your expenditure was low. I spent the evening people-watching: seafarers from other ships; meeting more crew from my own; and watching as some became slowly – but deliberately – inebriated. On the way back to the ship, I wondered apprehensively: what had I got myself into?
Horror of horrors! We arrived at the gate, but our ship had apparently disappeared. To miss a sailing was cause for immediate dismissal. I panicked, but my crewmates didn’t seem perturbed. I relaxed a little and stayed close to them. The ship had not gone anywhere. When we got back, it was low tide. The ship was by then fully loaded and low in the water. We now embarked by descending the steep gangway. Some crew had to be lowered aboard via a rope. Harnesses were not yet available onboard vessels, so a rope had to be used to assist the drunken sailor. The shock of not immediately seeing the ship upon returning to the docks taught me a lasting lesson: before departing for shore leave, always check the chalkboard at the gangway as to what time shore leave ended.

I barely tidied up after the night out before we were called to stations for letting go and departing port. In about 10 hours, we would be arriving at the next port. I thought that would be enough time to get a good night’s rest. I was about to head off to my cabin when I was informed that I was expected on the bridge for the 00:00 to 04:00hrs watch.

Among the valuable lessons I learned on Day 1 was time management. I also learned that cadet seafarers were not paid overtime and so, they were readily called upon to fill vacancies and stop gaps… usually in the name of “training”.

I was called just before midnight. On the bridge, I was to serve as an additional lookout, that is, general dogsbody with “gofer” duties thrown in for good measure. The weather was behind and not quite up to storm strength.

It is only when you are in open sea that you realize just how big the waves can be. A tanker, when fully loaded, does not have a lot of freeboard (i.e. space between the water level and the deck). The deck is therefore always awash with seawater. Battening down and general tidying up before leaving port is imperative, no matter the weather.

I was instructed to take bearings of terrestrial aids to navigation (i.e. lights and buoys). I had learnt this at sea school and the OOW, the Second Officer, once cross-checking me a few times, had me doing positions every 15 minutes. This was great as it stopped me from being out on the cold bridge wings getting drenched doing lookout.

At 04:00hrs, the Junior Chief Officer relieved us. Normally the Chief Officer would have, but on these coastal trips, an additional officer was on board to allow the Chief Officer to focus on cargo operations. I eagerly rushed down to the pantry to find not a scrap in the place. So, I went to bed hungry, thinking of the breakfast that would not be available after 9 o’clock.

I was barely asleep when there was a loud whistle outside my door. Another cadet and I were called out to report to the Bridge. Dawn was breaking and the rain had stopped. The salt spray encrusted the bridge windows and the cadets’ morning task was to go outside, climb over the front of the bridge and clean them. This was a dangerous and ridiculous task. Quite apart from it being cold outside with the ship gently rolling, there was no way the bridge windows would remain clean for long.

We had to rig our own support chair; something called a Bosun’s chair. Ropes to attach to our bodies as safety harnesses had not yet been introduced. By the time the bucket with hot water got to the rig, the water was already cold. The gloves issued were rubber. They had limited grip and they were not insulated. I thought I was going to die, splattered on the steel deck.

With the job completed, we were allowed to leave the bridge where we rushed down to the galley to find that it was closed. Thankfully, I got a few slices of stale bread, which I toasted and at that time, it was like a gourmet meal.

Shortly after “breakfast”, I was called in to the Chief Officer’s office where I got tongue lashing. It was as severe as it was unexpected. The Chief Officer felt that I was shunning him and my duties. It was then that I learned that every time I had completed a task, I was expected to report to him in order to receive my next task. He then dispatched me to mooring duties as we entered the Bristol Port. Fortunately, I was sent to the stern of the vessel with the Second Officer who was becoming my immediate boss. The whole mooring process took about three hours. We entered the locks. Water was pumped out to get the ship up to harbour level. We then manoeuvred alongside. The locks were a very tight fit. It was necessary to put out fenders to prevent the ship hitting the walls. All of this was done with tugs and very skilled pilots.

Docking in a locked harbour meant departures and arrivals were always done at high water, that is, every 12 hours. I soon realized that with a variety of onboard “operations”, the vessel could just miss its undocking schedule. This would mean another 11 hours alongside. With the ship moored at a closed, protected berth; with no bad weather or adverse sea conditions to contend with; and, no cargo operations, officers could have an unplanned paid-for R&R period.

Mealtimes were regulated. The three established mealtimes were: 07:30hrs to 09:00hrs; 11:30hrs to 13:00hrs; and, 17:30hrs to 19:00hrs. Each included a 30-minute pre-period to accommodate officers who had to begin a watch on the hour. As a cadet, I worked until 12:00 hours. I would then have to rush to my cabin; clean up; dress in uniform and proceed to the Captain’s table.

Generally, the Captain would finish dining no later than 12:40hrs, with 20 minutes to spare.

On the Captain’s departure, the stewards became downright uncouth to first trippers like me.
Still half-full plates were removed from my hungry face. Complaining was not accommodated. This was a British ship with British crew and British sailors, some of the roughest on Earth. Even British cadets refused to go on these ships.

The food was British at its best: tasteless but perhaps of great nutritional value. And nothing went to waste. What started off as boiled potatoes returned as creamed potatoes at dinner and miraculously morphed into soup the following day.

Our time alongside was about 20 hours and we sailed the following day. I did get some time off. I walked around the town of Avonmouth and drank in the different culture. My finances advised against visiting a pub. I did, however, buy some munchies for emergencies. It was only Day 2 but, I was learning fast.

I was up for my (00:00hrs to 04:00hrs) cargo watch. Cargo was being discharged at a leisurely rate as our departure was predetermined for late morning. Before going off to sleep, I made sure I would be up early for breakfast.

I spent time getting to know more about the ship. The second officer who was in charge of navigation was on the bridge updating the charts. He was painstakingly transferring information from Admiralty Notices. This was an art and some officers excelled at it. This had to be done properly. Incorrect data would cause a catastrophe.

We left on schedule, just reversing the procedure for entering. As we cleared the harbour, I realized that it was back to Milford Haven, our home port, to load. This ship was not leaving the British coast, so a home port meant many things. At this port, we got our stores replenished; personnel changes were made; and, most importantly for a seafarer, correspondence from home. Mail could be a month old; it didn't matter.

We arrived at Milford Haven on schedule around midnight. My afternoon watch on the bridge was good, usual rough seas. We rolled a lot more as we were light, but there was no water sloshing around the decks.

I woke up without being called as I felt the change in the ship’s behaviour from rough to calmer seas. I knew where I had to go – or so I thought. As I proceeded to start my duties, I was rudely accosted and told that I would be on the bridge for berthing. I quickly turned back to change into uniform and headed to the bridge. Lesson learned: do not assume or presume.

Berthing was uneventful. Milford Haven is well sheltered. And I was glad to be in the relative comfort of the bridge. My task was to keep the Bell Book or the Record Book of everything that happened. As such, the pilot’s instructions, the landmarks passed, engine movements, change in the vessels approach, were all recorded in real time.

The Bell Book would be the single most important document in the event of an incident.

Once safely alongside, I was able to change and go straight into cargo operations. Because the voyages were short, cargo tanks were not washed. Also, almost the same grade was carried voyage after voyage, so there was no chance of contamination. As such, all the ballast water taken in from the sea at the last port was pumped into the refinery where it was allowed to settle and separate and only pristine water was allowed back into the sea.

By the end of my watch, we were almost
de-ballasted and able to start loading.

I returned to my cabin and went immediately to bed. In the few short days, I had learnt that once sleep availed itself that I should take it. Later that morning after breakfast, I re-read my mail for about the third time and realized that I really missed home. (I was already away from home for a total of five months.)

Cargo loading was completed during my afternoon watch. This cargo was even hotter and more obnoxious than the last. It was consigned to a steel plant in Cardiff, Wales. There was pleasant anticipation throughout the crew because this meant we could be in port for Christmas.

On completion of our watch, the usual departure procedures took place. The crew check was normally the responsibility of the Duty Cadet. The process required checking that all crew were on board and all guests were off. (Sometimes, adult members of families could visit.) The critical aspect of checking who was on board was to ensure that the following members were present: the Captain, Radio Officer, the Chief Engineer and the Cook. These persons, or Certificates, constituted a full crew.

Extra precautions were taken in clearing the decks as when we left the shelter of the harbour we were going into a full gale, weather almost up to hurricane strength.

We left at about 17:00hrs for an 11-hour voyage. As we cleared the harbour entrance, it was like hitting a wall that was moving violently. We were immediately into Force 6 weather according the Beaufort Scale. (Hurricanes are 12 and above.) The weather deteriorated beyond prediction and we were soon in Force 8/9 weather. We were heading directly into it, perhaps the best approach to a storm. The ship would rear up at an uncomfortable angle and then slam down on to the water. Sometimes it slammed down onto an oncoming wave and the whole structure of the vessel would shudder. At other times, the ship slammed down onto the surface before the wave arrived, which meant that the wave crashed onto the ship, reaching as high as the bridge.

As regards forward movement or lack thereof, the ship was doing about a third of its speed although the engines were on three-quarters of its power. The design of tankers inspires confidence. When properly loaded and well battened down, these ships cut through the waves rolling, pitching, yawing and creaking, but always bobbing back up like a cork. Fortunately for me, my stomach remained calm. Seasickness I will never wish on anyone as I have seen very seasoned seafarers really suffer in bad weather.

We now had to alter course to port, which put the weather first on our beam and then our quarter. This created a corkscrew type of movement that was guaranteed to clear someone’s stomach of even the tiniest morsel left after a meal.

I should have been trying to get some sleep, but this was something exciting that I had to see. At midnight, I went to the bridge and found it to be highly active with the Captain in command and everyone assigned to a specific task. My task was to stand next to the helmsman and assist, or report if he was unable to steer. In bad weather with a wind howling up your quarter, it is extremely difficult to hold a steady course. And we were in restricted waters with other traffic. Ordinarily, we would have been approaching the Cardiff locks by 04:00hrs, but with the weather situation, we did not anticipate reaching the pilot station before 08:00hrs. We maintained a slow speed trying to ease the weather effects as much as possible. Under current conditions, we could not have entered the locks anyway. As we wrestled with the gale force wind, we were advised that weather permitting, we could have a locking slot by 15:00hrs.

The watch ending at 04:00hrs passed by quickly as we were terribly busy trying to maintain the ship in position in safe waters as well as trying to minimize the uncomfortable rolling and pitching of the ship. At 04:00hrs, the Chief and Junior Chief Officer came on duty. This allowed the Captain some much-needed rest. I retreated to my cabin to try and sleep. I was advised it was best to put my large cumbersome life jacket under a part of the mattress, so I created a comfy “hole” between the bunk and the bulkhead. This minimized movement and allowed some rest.

At breakfast time, I got up and could feel the vessel moving quite smoothly. It seemed that the cold front had moved on. At breakfast, I realized there was some activity on deck as we approached the anchorage where we would anchor and await the pilot for the afternoon locking and eventual docking at the steel terminal.

The day was typical of conditions after the storm. Though cold and uncomfortable, one could see the Welsh countryside. There was a lot of chatter around regarding Christmas as it would be quite possible that we could be leaving Cardiff on Christmas morning.

I took up my usual duties on the bridge on the 12:00 to 16:00hrs watch during which time we heaved up the anchor, did the locking, and docked at the steel terminal. We were docked safely just at 16:00hrs and I left the bridge anticipating going ashore. Prior to arriving at the port, each crew member could request an advance of salary. Salary payments went directly to the bank, so no one had actual cash to spend. I had requested five pounds and when I received it, I was told that there was no more after that for the month.

The Third Officer of WHEE fame was quite easy-going, (he had retrieved my cap) asked me if I was going ashore, and I mentioned to him my interests. Much to my surprise, he knew all about the nightclubs where famous people performed. He was a walking treasure chest of information as he had “been there and done that” in many ports. We went ashore and got a lift at no cost as the older guys always had contacts and seemed to know everybody.

Because of my financial constraints, I stuck with my foul-tasting, cheap, bitter beer even though it was double the price. By 22:30hrs, we were back on board.

Discharging cargo at this terminal was a tedious process. The steel plant was originally powered by coal and was transitioning. The fuel oil cargo had to be kept at about 160°F. The ship was quite capable of doing that. However, the discharge line ran a few 100 metres and had no heating jacket. In those cold conditions the cargo started to lose its form and an immense back pressure developed. This meant that the time spent discharging cargo would be more than twice the norm. No one complained as it was Christmas Eve and at this rate, we would be well into Boxing Day before discharge was completed.

The watch was not the least bit boring. It had me doing all the work because the Third Officer had an “energy crisis”. The discharge was slow and I had to oversee that there was positive flow by monitoring the tanks being discharged to ensure that they were not completely emptied causing the pump to lose suction. The multipurpose terminal handled coke, coal and other consignments needed for steel production. All these products were very dirty making the terminal dusty.

I went to bed exhausted – as usual – as soon as I finished my watch. I got up early on Christmas Day because the Missions to Seamen were sending a bus before 7 a.m. to take those interested to Christmas morning mass. While I was not a member of the Anglican church, it did not matter because the Mission provided support and benevolence to seafarers all over the world. Regrettably, the service and the memories it brought made me depressed. I returned to the ship after a healthy breakfast prepared by the wife of the clergyman carrying my token Christmas gift. Christmas makes homesickness more difficult for seafarers to endure.

Christmas lunch on board was a huge affair. Dressed in uniform, I joined the Captain and officers for cocktails, toasts, speeches and, of course, a traditional English lunch. Never a lover of turkey, I thought that this bird had died of old age.

All else went well, but homesickness lingered clouding my day. This was something I had not expected. Festivities continued all day with various officers providing refreshments in the Officers Lounge. Some officers and crew invited family aboard for the day.

It was a novel experience, my first Christmas at sea. I ended my Christmas Day participation early. I was scheduled to be back on duty at midnight.

It was Boxing Day, a holiday in many countries. I was up and ready to do my 00:00hrs to 04:00hrs watch with the Second Officer. It was a routine watch: checking the tanks; liaising with shore staff; and, ensuring all the safety precautions were scrupulously observed. Again, we were in a locked-in berth so there were no currents and tides to bother us. The weather was cold. To make it worse, there was a constant drizzle. To keep dry, you had to put on an oilskin top and pants. The head gear was made of the same slick material and was called a Sou’wester. Together they worked well to repel water. There was one fault, however: the hat was pointed on the back to cover your neck. Whenever you bent forward and tilted your head, icy cold water rushed down your back through a space that opened between the weather jacket and your personal garments. Often, this very cold water went straight down the middle of your back all the way to your waist.

One of the critical tasks when discharging oil cargo is to ensure that the main pumps do not lose suction. This means that as the level gets close to the bottom, you must switch to a new tank. The residue remaining is then pumped either into another tank, or ashore. This is a challenging operation, particularly with cargo that requires special heating arrangements. When the cargo reaches the bottom, often the level is below the heating coils. You must act swiftly to pump out the remaining cargo, otherwise it can become a gooey, unpumpable mess.

At the end of the watch, damp and cold, I was very happy to return to my cabin for a good rest. I had a few hours rest and after breakfast, I spent some time studying as the drizzle dissuaded me from taking a stroll ashore. I had fallen into a routine and was getting accustomed to sleeping in short spells.

The afternoon watch saw us completing the cargo discharge. We ended the process by pumping compressed air for a period to clear the line of the very warm cargo. Once this was completed, we were able to pump ballast water into the vessel and get ready for departure. We left the terminal just after 16:00hrs so the entire unberthing, locking and sailing was done through the dinner period. It meant eating on the run. Once we cleared the locks, I was able to retire to my cabin.

I felt I had only just gone to sleep when there was knocking on my door. It was time to go on the bridge for my midnight watch. The weather was rough, up to gale-force strength. We were heading into the wind as we left the Bristol Channel, so it was not uncomfortable. As we neared Milford Haven, we had to turn the ship to head north. This put the wind and seas into our beam. The ship rolled heavily, causing unsecured items to slide around. Cups and saucers not properly secured went crashing.

It served as a wake-up call for all because we were picking up the pilot to go into our regular loading port by 04:00hrs. I stayed on the bridge for manoeuvres, and by 06:00hrs, we were all fast and ready to start operations. As this ship had not left the waters of the United Kingdom, we did not have the long, drawn-out inspections by Customs, immigration and others. I was able to have an early breakfast and went to bed to have a rest before picking up duty at noon.

I commenced my afternoon watch as we were finishing the de-ballasting process. I had hoped that I would have received some mail but, it had only been a few days since my last deliveries. Once again, the ship was completely empty. It was cold and windy, but, thankfully, no drizzle. We had to check the moorings regularly as the weather was racing up the haven and could cause the ship to move parallel to the jetty. Any movement could cause the cargo hoses to be put under stress. If they broke, there would be heavy pollution. We soon started loading fuel oil. It was a lighter grade that required some heating, but not as bad as the previous cargo. This meant all the tanks had to be as free of the previous product as possible. If it were a clean-oil vessel, we would have had to wash tanks; a most cumbersome and exhausting job, as I was to realise, eventually.

We were loading cargo for Dagenham. This was a terminal on the Thames just outside London at the famous Ford Automobile plant. Dagenham is about 480 nautical miles from Milford Haven.

Cargo handling operations went quite well. The wind continued and it brought rain. Rain in daylight was more tolerable than at night. I completed my watch and opted to stay on board and do some studies so I could submit my first week of correspondence courses. My previous plan for submitting at each load port call could not work. The prompt and proper attention to these courses had benefits as I mentioned earlier, and I made use of every one of them.

Also, being in port had other benefits. It meant we had a chance to see some English television. TV was a rare privilege. To be able to watch any show helped you keep your sanity.

I was off to bed after dinner so I could rest before going on watch at midnight.

I was called, as usual, just before midnight for my four-hour watch. As usual, there was a light drizzle, just enough to make life uncomfortable. The loading was by this well underway. Now one had to be ultra-alert and careful to open the empty tanks and close the full ones in a smooth transition. Any delay in closing a valve on a full tank would mean spillage and pollution. Also, the tank had to be filled to an optimum level using up as much space as available. Leaving the ullage (space between cargo and tank lip) could result in oil sloshing around causing the free surface effect, which negatively affects the stability of the ship.

We finished the cargo loading: 14,400 tons of fuel oil and departure was set for 05:00hrs. I was sent to the forecastle or bow of the ship to assist in the unmooring operations.

This part of the vessel is normally supervised by the Chief Officer. On this occasion, we had the Junior Chief Officer. We also had some specialists. The boatswain (bosun) was the supervisor of all the sailors and the carpenter (Chippy) operated the windlass. This piece of equipment is used for tightening mooring lines and controlling the anchors. Chippy guarded it ferociously. It was powered by steam and Chippy had it working like new with pistons gleaming. He was constantly pumping grease and dropping oil on all the different parts. We soon cleared the berth and headed out to sea.

I was able to get a snack and went to bed to sleep until mid-morning. After lunch, I went on duty on the bridge on the midnight watch. The conditions were reasonable: some wind, some sea. The key part of this watch in this particular area was to maintain a sharp lookout for fishing vessels which, according to the rules, have the right of way. Unfortunately, many fishing vessels would not have anyone keeping a lookout, so we had to be extra vigilant.

Things were moving at a leisurely pace when the Chief Officer visited the bridge and told me the brass needed shining. An old ship has a ridiculous amount of brass that never remains shiny. I however took on the task and on many occasions after that in my spare time, I would polish and shine the brass to avoid being asked to do it.

The Captain came up to the bridge and discussed the upcoming passage to Dagenham. I gathered that if we had reasonable weather, we would spend about 48 hours at sea. That would make this my longest voyage to date and I wondered how it would be as I was getting used to the constant changing of operations.

At 16:00hrs, I was allowed to leave the bridge. I relaxed with the other officers and cadet in the lounge playing darts and some board games. These were particularly important as they kept bored minds occupied. After dinner, I retired to my cabin. As I was going to bed, I thought of London and mail and, of course, home. Once you were not occupied, home and family always came into focus.

I closed my eyes on this eighth day and reviewed my week, Sunday to Sunday. I prepared my mind for the ninth day to begin in a matter of a few hours. It would be another seafarer’s day of nonstop chores, duties and responsibilities; a day among strangers with whom I had little in common, but who were already becoming my surrogate relatives away from home.

It would be another day of physical discomfort, testing tasks and feelings of disconnection from family, friends and custom. It could be a dreadful day of fear and fright, staring death in the face. It certainly would be another day of getting life-supporting cargo to people who had no idea about a seafarer’s life and the personal sacrifices that he makes to ensure delivery of food and other human necessities. —