Love On The High Seas
A maritime novel by
Hans Faasse
Smashwords Edition Copyright © 2010 by Hans Faasse
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction based on the experiences of the author when he was sailing the high seas as a navigator.
Originally published by Hans Faasse, 2009
Cover Design by Laura Shinn
“The purpose of life is to live.”
Enjoy the voyage and don’t be in a rush to reach your final destination.
Introduction
Paul van Gelder is a young graduated Dutch navy officer who signs on a German merchantman as third-mate.
On board he meets the beautiful Gudrun, a stewardess, who had fled home to emotionally overcome a broken love affaire. While Paul battles with his obstinate religious conscience and she with her past they fall deeply in love. Together they experience a lustrous and stormy romance as well as a horrendous typhoon and frightening gales with their ship. Lurching, rolling and pitching their half broken ship reaches safe haven. Their love however, did not make it back across the Indian Ocean.
Groggy of the loss of his first love he got entangled in affairs of other women before finally getting over it when they both leave the ship.
Set out with details of the profession of a navigator in the sixties, the extraordinary living conditions on board of a cargo ship and the splendour and magnificence of nature at sea.
This is an unparalleled and sentimental love story that gives an impression of the intense battle of a religious brought up young man with himself.
Welcome aboard
Out of the heavy rain a gigantic, spooky and dark shadow suddenly towered over our tiny ferry. I called in amazement: ‘By Jove! That is a giant!
My skipper of the ferry laughingly yelled over the hard rumble of the old engine: ‘It is not that scary, mister, that ship is really not as large as it now appears. From close range and from this dinghy, all ships resemble the Titanic, certainly on such a rainy day as today.’
‘That might very well be, skipper, but for a short while it seemed as if we would be swallowed by that whopper.’
‘Yeah, yeah, just like Jonah and the whale.’
We could both laugh heartily at that.
I asked myself however, whether this was a prescience of the surprises that awaited me the coming months.
It was already late in the afternoon of Friday 30th of June 1967. In the early morning it had rained heavily and for the rest of the day the sky was cast over with a blanket of thick drab cloud. With great regularity short yet fierce downpours tumbled from them. It seemed more like a gloomy autumn day than a summer’s day.
My brother, Adriaan, had neatly dropped me off by the small ferry in the Port of Rotterdam. He extracted my bag, suitcase and gramophone from the back of the car and put these on the quay.
‘Makes little sense you waiting here,’ said I to him, ‘better go back home.’
‘You would not like me to come aboard?’ he asked.
‘Not necessary, brother, I’d rather wade to the great unknown alone’.
‘If that is what you want I will head along now,’ he said somewhat disappointed.
‘Thanks for setting me off, Adriaan. Have a safe journey home and do pass my greetings to the old folks.’
‘I wish you a marvelous and blessed voyage,’ he said, ‘write us how you are coping on board.’
‘I promise. Now get on your way!’
He couldn’t leave a slight religious aside to our farewell: ‘We are certainly curious to how God shall bless you during this new adventure on that foreign ship. You know one can always count upon Him.’
With that he got in the car, honked, waved briefly and disappeared from my sight.
‘Now I can mentally prepare myself in my own way for this new voyage,’ I thought and turned towards my luggage. I threw self-assuredly my bag over my shoulder, took the suitcase in my right hand, the gramophone in the left and walked with a steady pace to the footboard of the small ferry which would deliver me to my new ship.
De skipper welcomed me there and took the case and gramophone from me. He put this fore in the cabin, whilst I proceeded to the middle and sat starboard on a wooden bench.
‘You are the last crew member for this boat,’ he said, whilst he started the engine, ‘so we leave straight away. It will take about twenty minutes, because your ship lies tied to poles in the ‘Maashaven’ and that is there inside behind the ‘Kop van Katendrecht.’ Whilst speaking he pointed to where the ‘Maashaven’ entrance should lie.
When we were well on the way, I took a moment to get to grips with the boat. It resembled an old sloop upon which a cabin had been built and wherein along both clinker-built walls wooden benches had been fitted under the rather small hatches. Everything to this vessel was little and when you looked towards the ‘Westerkade’, which we now passed, then it looked as though one stared at an enormous city-wall. We could see nothing of what was happening on the quay.
Arriving at the ‘Parkkade’ the skipper started traversing the ‘Nieuwe Waterweg’ and made head for the ‘Maashaven’ entrance. Not an easy task due to the busy marine-traffic. We needed to cross the hefty wakes of a few barges and therewith across their outspreading bow-waves. For this dingy they were fair waves and it became a proper rough crossing, with both my suitcase and the gramophone shaving to and fro over the timber decking and us gripping strongly to not fall.
‘My apologies, navigator, for this bumbling, but I take it that you are well used to this.’
‘Luckily we needn’t go to England with this craft,’ I replied, ‘otherwise you can bring me back.’
We shared a merry laugh with that.
Pitching, lurching and zigzagging we made the harbour entrance and there it became of a sudden intensely calm on the water.
‘That feels a touch more friendly, skipper.’
‘Neat boat,’ said the skipper when my future floating home became visible, ‘doesn’t look new, but appears to be well kept.’
‘With her I shall make my first trip as third officer,’ I told him with a bid of pride.
He gazed upon me with a quizzical eye.
‘It is for me the only way of obtaining a quick promotion, skipper, so why not?’
‘It is a German ship, man!’ he said suddenly with a slight feisty touch to his voice.
‘And, what is wrong with that, pal?’ I retorted.
‘Well, not so long ago we were at war with those guys. Or do you know nothing of it?’ he reacted.
‘So Rotterdam may become rich on transit trade with Germany and you can also heist up a bit by ferrying Germans to their ships, but I can’t work aboard of a German ship. Is that what you mean, skipper?’ I asked with a fiery air.
‘Okay, mate, I read you loud and clear. You’re right as well.’
He extended his arm with that and said: ‘still friends?’
‘What were we on about?’ I asked him in a stupid fashion.
We could laugh at that a little and that ended the matter.
He still added: ‘Those lads know a hard discipline well and that is not always something we Dutch are easily charmed by, hey?’
‘To be fair, I am not much of a disciplinarian myself, but I believe that it is not bad to have a length of healthy discipline at sea.’
‘I wish you the best of luck, mate, and when we meet again sometime, then you must tell me the tales of your experiences aboard this German ship. I am curious to hear them, no doubt.’
‘Well,’ I chuckled, ‘so will I!’
I had a closer look at the ship again. It would raise a lot of awe in the eyes of a landlubber.
“Such a big ship must certainly withstand the sea with ease,” many would say if they were sitting here with me in this dinghy and had seen the ‘Baltrum’ rise from the downpour as a toe through the foam in a steaming bathtub.
But I knew better: ‘How impressive a ship may seem to be in a harbour, and definitely when looked upon from this little craft, the sea would easily reduce it to a toy.’
As ‘fresh’ third-mate, I was well aware of the awesome forces of the ocean. I had a great respect for nature, but also a deep longing to experience it in all its fury. At that moment I was not aware of what nature had in store for me. Happily so, otherwise I may have turned around and fled with my tail between my legs.
Meanwhile we were now midway with the ‘Baltrum’ and a sailor had lowered the gangway almost to a level with the water surface, so that I could cross safely and with ease.
We saw atop the gangway a few crewmen leaning over the railing. They stood watching with great interest the approaching dinghy and may have been wondering which Dutchmen would be accompanying them on their voyage.
‘Hey, take a look,’ said the skipper with that typical Rotterdam accent and a great grimace across his face. ‘They got some women aboard, man. Wow, you could still be having a load of fun.’
With that he heartily elbowed me in the ribs and winked.
There were at least a dozen people staring down at us, amongst whom indeed three women could be discerned. I was quite startled.
‘Well, that is indeed a big surprise,’ I told the skipper, who could but stand grimacing. ‘They told me nothing of this when signing on.’
I then narrated very theatrically what my uncle, Jan, himself once a senior captain, had told me about life on board.
‘Paul, aboard, it is a true man’s world. Women surely have no place there, since they would totally alter the votes and make a cause for jealousy, hate, spite and even fights. And that apart for mutiny is the most dangerous thing to be had at sea. The golden rule is all that can not piss over the rail, should certainly not be onboard!’
The skipper was bent double laughing and screamed mirthfully; ‘that could well be true, mate.’
‘I will find out soon enough, no?’
‘Yeah and you also will see that the longer you’re out at sea the more beautiful the women aboard become.’
This made me in turn laugh gaily.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘you have my blessing, mate. You go happily sailing with that German and tell me later whether your uncle Jan was right.
He promptly slapped me on the shoulder and shoved me towards the cabin door to cross onto the gangway.
‘Go, stand on the gangway, then I will pass your luggage.’
Meanwhile a helpful sailor had descended and kept the boat at bay with a hook whilst I and my luggage traversed.
It went smoothly and after sharing a few more joking comments, a steady hand shake and the well meant wish for a good voyage the skipper disappeared together with his nutshell in the pouring rain. I clambered slowly up the gangway to the curious bunch above.
I had during that climb a brief moment to look up at the ladies that in turn were gawping down at me. ‘Hem, I do see one with a pleasant and pretty blond mop of hair,’ I thought, but immediately my uncle’s warning came to mind and I told myself I had better focus on my career.
Also I thought of what the skipper so sharply had remarked. My decision to sail aboard a German was not well received by everyone from the family and friends. Some spoke of a kind of treason, but luckily no one got the idea to bombard me as a post-war NSB. All rather logical reactions, considering Germany had occupied our country for five years and those years were, phrasing it mildly, not a quaint time for my family and fellow Dutch. Many families in the Netherlands had lost a father, son, daughter or uncle in those war years. But, that was before my time. Everyone that spoke of it to me received the same reaction as that which I had told the skipper and similar as with him, it had shut them up. Most important to me was my parent’s reaction to my decision and though they too had suffered under the occupation, neither bore malice. They did not raise any objection as they understood the actual cause of my decision. To me it was all about my navigation career. Not exclusively due to dedication, but exactly to prevent wasting time on making one. The Dutch merchant navy went through a period of great change and the end result would be, that fewer navigation officers were needed compared to those joining each year. The competition grew tougher with each year, because the many sailing colleges in The Netherlands were full to the Plimsoll line with fresh pupils. Imagine that I had signed for a Dutch shipping company I could not have started on a higher rank than fourth officer. A fourth-mate however, doesn’t hold independent watch and that was the core of my disquisition. The entire navigator’s education was divided into a few periods. After your two year basic instruction at a nautical school you were no more than an apprentice and at that level you must complete a year’s experience before attempting your ‘Third Grade’, which diploma permitted you to sail as third or fourth navigator. Subsequently after two years of ‘independent officer of watch’ you could go for your ‘Second Grade’ and finally, after yet another two years sailing time, for ‘First Grade’ or ‘Masters Degree’. With that degree you could become chief navigator, or number one, and eventually with luck and plentiful patience perhaps captain. That was a very long process and I wanted to finish it swiftly and take on position of captain at a young age. Nothing to me seemed wrong with that. I wished to lose not a year, saw no pleasure in withering as fourth officer and chose therefore to sign on as third-mate, but with a ‘foreigner’. With that step I leapfrogged three years ahead of almost all my class-mates who had joined Dutch shipping companies. The first offer of a third- mate’s function aboard a foreigner came from a Ghanaian ship. I found it a touch too much to sign on an African ship with an almost exclusive African crew. The second offer, a German; this voyage, I accepted gratefully. As twenty-one year old Dutchman I now climbed on board of this fair German ship and would instantly hold watch independently.
A not so unimportant additional advantage was the fatter salary received, compared to with a Dutchman, which permitted me to faster pay off my college loan. That loan was a consequence of coming from a family of five children. My parents were not rich and the education was not cheap. By the start of my schooling I could get a loan from the famous ‘Zeemanshoop’, an organization of philanthropy that helps the young from not well-to-do families enjoy a decent teaching for a gorgeous career in navigation. I remain thankful to them for that.
Other questions obviously flew through my head whilst I somewhat nervously boarded along the gangway:
‘What kind of person is the captain? Shall I get along with him?’ His character and leadership style were essential for a good vibe aboard.
‘How are my fellow officers? Would they accept a Dutchman, or do they feel I have been dumped on them?
‘What is the discipline like aboard?’ That impression, as the skipper explained, we held indeed of Germans and I knew before saying yes to the offer.
How different and surprising would it be raveled out.
From the group of curious one person had separated and stood top of the gangway. He had a round face with short dark hair; not all too large, but due to his short neck appearing somewhat stocky. He was in uniform and had on each shoulder of his navy blue coat a black epaulet with two beautifully wide golden stripes.
‘That can only be the second-mate,’ I said to myself.
Upon reaching the last step, he drew a smile over his face, extended his hand and said: ‘welcome aboard Herr van Gelder. My name is Klaus Zucker, I am the second-mate.’
I took his hand and shook it firmly whilst responding: ‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Herr Zucker. I look forward to a fine working-together over the next few months.’
I nodded to the other people present and said: ‘Goodday all. Thanks for this merry welcome.’
Most of them chuckled a little and some, amongst others the fair pretty one, returned my greeting with ‘Goodday, sir. Welcome aboard.’
With that I had instantly the feeling of having broken through some of the potential hard ice and to me that seemed well. Herr Zucker appeared positive and friendly which also raised a good feeling. First impressions are always of deep concern and these went okay.
I did notice however, that the second-mate was not wearing a hat, but before I could further wonder the matter he said: ‘first unpack your stuff then I will introduce you to the captain and other officers before showing you around.’
He led me to my cabin, opened the door, stepped back to let me through, whereupon with outstretched hand he remarked: ‘this will be your abode for the following few months. I hope you will feel at home. Once you are done unpacking come to my cabin, the one round the corner. My door is always open, walk on straight inside.’
‘Okay, sir. I think it will take me half an hour to sort myself out.’
‘Excellent,’ he replied and disappeared.
I passed thereupon a few steps inwards and let my eyes roam along the slightly small space. A sailor meanwhile deposited my kit, thanked him kindly and now had the chance to take it all in.
My cabin was roughly three by three meter. It had a built-in bunk with below it two layers of drawers that would be taken up with most of my foldable clothes. Because of these two drawers one would lie quite high off the floor, but there was a solid border to prevent falling from the bunk in bad weather. The mattress was quite sturdy and of fair hardness, exactly as I liked them. Against the wall by the door was a wash basin with a mirror, a small cabinet, two metal rings for drinking beakers and shaver’s plug. The basin had two self-closing taps; one with scalding hot water, the other for cold. The temperature of the latter was regulated by the temperature of the surrounding seawater, and particularly below the keel, because water was stored at the bottom in tanks. Water was usually scarce aboard, notwithstanding the whole vessel floating in it. You had to keep the self-closing taps open with one hand to receive water; this to prevent the tap staying open and bleeding the ship dry of its vital water storage. The same was the case for the single-tapped shower. Aboard ship one learnt quickly to use water sparingly.
Beside the wash basin stood in the corner against the exterior wall a tall cupboard with a few more drawers. Therein would hang my uniform and my beloved ‘Monty coat’.
In the middle of this compact cabin stood a square table, it had a single steel leg. One could surely dangle from it, so well was it anchored to the floor.
The small L-shaped sofa was built around this table and a solid single chair with armrests was available as well.
The cabin had a little rectangular window that could obviously be sealed watertight.
A night table with raised border completed the interior composition of this decent hut. Upon that cabinet I had plenty space for my new gramophone and speaker. The gramophone was Czech made and could withstand a rattling. My twenty LP’s fitted neatly in the cabinet below. My Bible, which followed me on all journeys, went in the night table drawer.
For my clothes I had during my education at the ‘Noorder Kweekschool voor de Zeevaart, Abel Tasman*, in Delfzijl, sown a kit-back in the boatswain’s lessons. If I now reminisce upon that sewing job, then my fingers would hurt for sure again. Everything was thick and heavy: thick canvas, fat needle, thick thread and then a hell of a task shaping the various parts together. True enough, the end result was a super strong ditty-bag, but its empty weight alone was five kilogram. Stuffed, it would quickly be over twenty-five. Still, those boatswain’s –and sewing classes were not a waste at all. Aboard a ship you were expected at all times to care for your own stuff and that then meant darning socks, attaching buttons, stitching tears, shoes…
(*Abel Janszoon Tasman (1603-1659) Born in the Netherlands, he was a nautical explorer in the service of the VOC, Free East-Indies Company, and put amongst other places, Tasmania , New-Zealand, Tonga and the Fiji Islands on the map before passing away aged 56 in Indonesia.)
My finer clothing was packed in the more practicable case and therefore habitually emerged in better condition. I could hang them up immediately.
After I tidied away my luggage and had the cabin somewhat arranged it was time to call again on Klaus. I glanced momentarily backwards and told myself that I ought to be content with it.
The second-mate naturally had a larger cabin than I, because that was the way of ships; the higher up, the bigger one’s quarters. He was at work by his table and rose when I entered.
‘We shall first see the captain, because he will be heading briefly ashore. After that we can see the chief-mate, the chief engineer and later on the bridge we can meet the radio officer,’ he said while leaving his cabin and I walked behind him towards the captain’s quarters.
Underway he said: ‘I shall introduce you to the other officers during dinner. I expect everyone will be sitting in the canteen by half six and that will save you some time.’
‘A great idea!’
The captain’s cabin door was also open. He knocked and walked straight in saying, ‘captain, this is Paul van Gelder, our new third- mate.’ He walked with that said a little to the side to reveal to me a first sight of our captain.
Behind a big desk sat a tat chubby, balding man of about sixty. You could sea immediately that he owned by nature a friendly face. He wore no uniform blazer, only a khaki shirt and these without epaulettes too. He stood up, walked with outstretched hand round his desk and said cheerfully with a respectful posture: ‘mister van Gelder, welcome aboard. I am especially delighted to be able to bid a Dutch officer welcome on my vessel.’
‘Thank you, captain, the pleasure is entirely mine,’ I answered him a touch stiffly.
‘Please, sit down, mister van Gelder. Klaus take a seat too!’ and he pointed to a little sofa that lay against the left wall near the entrance.
We sat down with the captain on a chair facing us.
‘You can call me Paul, captain,’ I said to get rid of the mister.
‘Fine, Paul, I am happy that you join us.’
He continued saying that he had enormous respect for Dutch sailors, with whom he had some close encounters in Indonesia during World War II. According to him, they are the finest navigators of the globe. Well, as you can imagine, I was blushed a touch, for I had not anticipated such a reception. From the corner of my eye I could see that Klaus was not altogether too pleased, but unable to alter the course. That however was but the beginning, because directly afterwards the captain asked: ‘do you play chess, Paul?’ As if that was the chief reason for joining. He asked me nothing regarding experience, how many sailing hours I had logged or divulge on my professional tasks. No, he queried whether I could play chess.
He saw, that I momentarily erred and proceeded: ‘I adore that beautiful game, Paul, en I underwent very few journeys in company of a good opponent. All fellows had me win all the time. You hesitate because you do play chess?’ he asked hopefully.
‘I do, captain, but I know not if I am of the same class as you.’
‘Have you ever joined a competition?’ he asked further. He would not let go easily.
At school I had played many games and became champion of the school, but that reveals little of my level.’
‘Ace!’ he replied with tremendous enthusiasm, ‘even a champion.’
‘Ex-champion, captain,’ I still said, but he looked too delighted with the news to take any notice.
‘Then I hope to be offered the honor of a few games with you, Paul. I am counting upon it that you shall not let me win.’
‘I promise you, that I shall commit fully, captain, because I truly dislike losing,’ I said laughingly.
‘Me neither, Paul, this promises to be fun,’ he said. ‘Let Klaus familiarize you with the ship and other officers and do feel at home. It is a fine ship and you shall be fine and dandy amongst us. We can speak further during our chess games,’ he said self-assuredly.
‘After our chess sessions, captain’ I corrected him gaily.
He burst out laughing and sent us on our way from his hut.
I stood ready to follow Klaus yet saying in the captain’s direction: ‘thank you kindly for this reception, captain; I am keen to start my job as third-mate on your ship’.
‘Fine’, was all he said and I followed Klaus from the cabin.
Without actually raising a finger, thus I had scored with the old man.
‘Going smooth, Paul,’ I thought.
It appeared the second thought so too, for he said: ‘well, when you indeed beat him, then you are the man. So far I know nobody in our company has managed that feat. I also tried once, but within fifteen minutes he had wiped me clean off the board, and I did not bother trying again.’
At the chief-mate’s cabin he knocked on the open door and walked again right inside. I followed closely behind.
Herr Milken was a tall man; not stocky, but with a little belly. He had a bald head with some blond hair be the extremities. Immediately apparent were his clear blue eyes. He seemed a slight nervous, his handshake was weak and he spoke somewhat wavering.
‘Welcome aboard, mister van Gelder. I hope that the ship will meet your approval,’ he said.
‘Please call me Paul, sir. I’m eager to start this new challenge.’
He asked what education I had and which nautical school I followed.
When he heard that I was at Delfzijl, he told me that they often went there from Langeoog, one of the East-Frisian islands, where he came from.
‘That is a beautiful and rough island,’ I told him, ‘I went out there once from Delfzijl and was impressed, because it was so cold and windy. In comparison, Delfzijl was a warm resort.’
He laughed deeply with that and I could see, that he appreciated the answer. He said then, that he had visited upon invitation even my nautical school.
‘You folk truly have a lot of mariner colleges for such a tiny country.’ he remarked.
‘Indeed, sir’, I reacted quickly, ‘that is for me the reason to grasp opportunity and sign on to this ship. There are far too many competitors for a small number of navigator vacancies’.
‘That I can understand,’ he replied.
After a little chatting I followed Klaus to the chief engineer’s cabin, which was situated a deck lower than the captain’s and ours.
‘Milken is not a strong person,’ Klaus remarked abruptly on the way, ‘a separate kind of guy, you will notice. I do hold, just as he and the captain, my master’s degree and may also sail as one,’ he continued.
‘Why then do you sail as second and not as first-mate or captain?’ I asked, whilst I felt inside that somebody might be trying to impress me.
‘We too need sailing-time prior to making promotion, but I could already be a captain and that should happen one of the next voyages’, Klaus responded.
‘When I have my first grade or master’s degree I would not mind sailing as master, but surely not as a second,’ I said stung lightly, but meanwhile we had arrived at the chief engineer’s quarters.
The Chief-engineer is the highest ranking aboard of the technicians.
These mechanics, or engineers, as we like characterizing them, were mostly preoccupied with propulsion, also energy provision and maintenance of all apparatus, except the radar or gyro-compass. The latter were the wireless sparks’ responsibility.
Herr Kreisberg, a tall, dark haired, friendly chap above sixty said to have come from Emden, the big city, which lies opposite Delfzijl on the east coast of the ‘Dollard’. He knew Delfzijl as they often went shopping there because it was much cheaper than in Emden.
‘All pleasant and friendly people these north Germans,’ I thought when we left his cabin, ‘they put you straight at ease and that is ace for a young fresh officer.’
The stereotype of a German, as I had imagined before coming aboard, no longer held true and was erased from my mind on the spot.
Klaus retrieved me from my reverie saying: ‘Come on, it is time that you visit the bridge, Paul, because soon afterwards it will be dinner time.’
We climbed the three stairs to the bridge whilst he told me that the ‘Baltrum’ was a happy thirteen years old ship; built in 1954 in Emden and could transport 10 280 tons of cargo.
The propulsion came from a luscious MAN-diesel engine with eight mighty cylinders that propelled one single axle to obtain a maximum speed of 14 knots or twenty six kilometers an hour. The actually obtainable speed was alas twelve knots or roughly twenty three kilometers per hour.
‘Not particularly a spectacular rush for a freight liner of this caliber,’ he said, ‘but in itself a low speed is for us not a problem. The voyages last longer, but you need not be hasty with your other tasks, there is always sufficient time for them.’
‘Your sure right in that.’
He wanted perhaps to impress further with; ‘The lack of horse power, and therefore speed, is most apparent in poor weather, when we truly need some vim to keep ahead of the waves from a heavy storm. But it is not otherwise, we manage as it is.’
Later we would frequently experience bodily how hard the ‘Baltrum’ had to ‘fight’ the giant waves of a black storm.
Upon the bridge, he said smiling proudly: ‘This is the heart of the ship, because here, in a way, it all happens, Paul, and here we are boss.’
‘We should not say that to the engineers, otherwise we could have outright war,’ I joked a little further.
‘Definitely not,’ he said laughing, ‘especially the second engineer would blow the horn. He thinks that his grease-shop is most holy of holies on board. I do pest him regularly about it.’
This rivalry between navigators and engineers does not belong to a single nation you come across it on every ship and is often the cause for heated discussions over who truly has the most important task of the ship. In fact, the one can not work without the other and teamwork is chief. These discussions are more to keep occupied and to badger.
‘I will tell you now about the instrumentation of the bridge,’ he continued. ‘The navigation equipment is not the most modern and you can notice nor is the other equipment. This therefore demands more from us, the crew and particularly the captain.’
‘We could learn a load therefore,’ I remarked.
‘It quickly becomes routine, certain tasks merely take longer, but one can deal with it okay,’ he commented.
I did see on the bridge before me something new; a chair with very tall legs. On its right was a window to the chart room and on the other side a cabinet with on it a VHS-installation (ship-to-ship telephone). A chair I had never noticed before on a bridge of a Dutch boat.
‘That chair is used exclusively by the captain, I take it?’ I questioned, whilst pointing to it.
‘And for me when he’s asleep,’ Klaus laughed.
We had of course a magnetic lead compass above the wheel-house which could be read using an ingenious telescope system from behind the helm and if needed to be sailed off.
The helm and automatic pilot were built in together with the gyrocompass, ‘this is actually the cream on the bridge,’ he said whilst patting it like one would a horse.
‘It’s entirely new, could you work it?’ Klaus asked me.
‘Sure, all ships I have sailed on thus far had a gyrocompass and automatic pilot. This type is not new to me.’
‘Then I would speak of it no longer,’ he said.
‘Our radar is a year or two old. It gives sharp images and with some practice you can discern by the ‘blip’ whether it is a large or small ship,’ he explained.
‘That is indeed a fine unit with a pretty big screen,’ I observed.
What catches the eye on entering the bridge of every ship was always the two copper ‘telegraphs’. With these the captain telegraphs his speed instructions to the engine room. There sat an engineer, who worked the actual accelerator of the huge engine by moving at command a few steel arms and legs.
There was a telegraph on each side of the bridge, near the doors to both bridge wings. These had three stand forward, one neutral and three stand backward.
Right behind the wheelhouse was the chart room with a grand table for the navigation charts. A great window permitted one to work at the table whilst looking into the wheelhouse and through the many wheelhouse windows also at the bow of the ship and horizon. The chart table had three layers with wide and deep trays for sea maps and some smaller for stationary and calculating instruments.
The large drawers contained all nautical charts that were needed on this voyage. The one or couple which lay on top of the table was always of immediate importance. The ship’s log invariably lay next to it; there was written every peculiarity of each watch.
‘Could you help me the first couple of days filling in the log, Klaus, for my German language is not up to scratch and I’d rather not start with errors in an official document.’
‘No problem, Paul, I will help you with it.’
‘Thank you, Klaus,’ I said grateful with his sincerity.
Winding up the timepiece is your task, Paul,’ he said whilst he point to the precision- instrument kept beneath a glass cover built-in to the side of the chart table.
‘The chart room is, of course, the captain’s domain,’ he said, ‘like on all ships only the captain may plot the ship’s course on the chart.’
‘Indeed, on Dutch ships the same policy applies,’ I answered, ‘the rest of us may barely point to the course, let alone alter it.’
This old man is not so bothered, but before leaving port he has neatly plotted the next stretch on chart. You must care to touch up the sea maps in time, Paul, for that is one of your main tasks.’
‘Sure thing, I will do that.’
Following this initiation he gave me details of keeping the watch and who the look-outs were on each watch that could also function as helmsman. The chief-mate joined us at that point and gave me my specific tasks, written neatly on a couple of pages, as well.
My responsibilities included care for all fire and safety equipment, the lifeboats, updating the sea charts, composing the daily weather forecasts based upon information passed on and received by the sparks from the various weather stations. These were all aspects of the job that could be accomplished at sea.
‘Before each arrival at port, I will go through the duty roster with both of you,’ said the chief-mate, who was fully in charge of all loading and unloading, as also trimming the ship and managing its balance. These tasks depended of course upon many aspects, amongst others; the kind of load, the loading method etc.
‘Different to aboard Dutch vessels,’ the chief-mate continued, ‘we hold twenty-four hour watches when in port.’
‘Twenty-four hours straight?’ I asked again.
‘Yes, but that is only for those ports that run day time shifts, and that is most of them,’ he stated.
Klaus then said: ‘It gives you the chance to go ashore for forty-eight hours, Paul.’
‘Right,’ added the chief-mate, ‘we all like our work and do it contentedly, but taking a closer look of the ports and countries we call upon, the captain perceives as an opportunity to really see something of the world.’
‘Indeed quite a peculiar policy. I have never heard of it, but it sounds very good,’ I pondered aloud, for that suited me fine; ports could soon bore you and a visit to the hinterland was certainly a delightful variation.
The sparks, whom played a central part in communication between shore and ship, had a cabin bordering to the chart room. He came towards the sound of our voices and joined us in the wheelhouse, whilst I was yet in deep thought of the possibilities that a harbour watch of twenty-four hours opened to me.
‘Hello, third-mate,’ said he with a strikingly heavy voice, ‘My name is Jurgen I am the sparks. Welcome aboard’
We shook hands, whilst I returned: ‘Cheers for the greeting, sparks, I am Paul van Gelder, just call me Paul.’
‘So, Paul it is then and you can call me Jurgen or sparks.’
‘Thanks. I look forward working with you, Jurgen.’
Jurgen was a very skinny and tall person. He had a humorous face with blond hair and blue eyes. His deep voice did not suit his appearance somewhat, but accentuated his peculiarity.
‘This is a fine ship,’ he continued, whilst he took a packet of ‘Roten Hand’ from his pocket, the heaviest German cigarettes imaginable, and offered me one.
‘No thanks, Jurgen, I no longer smoke.’
‘Done alright?’ he asked, whilst lighting one and exhaling a plume of smoke, that instantly made us three cough.
The chief-mate said immediately: ‘well, I am going to ready myself for dinner, enjoy yourselves together with that one cigarette,’ he belatedly joked.
We laughed a little with the quick departure of our number one.
‘Yes, I did smoke, but not those lead heavy ones, like you, Jurgen.’
‘I smoke almost solely on the bridge wing,’ he said laughingly.
‘Yes,’ said the second, ‘he makes bigger clouds of smoke than the chimney.’
‘How do you cope with bad weather?’ I asked him sheepishly.
‘Exceptions, Paul, I then will come and smoke with you on the bridge,’ he joked further.
‘We surely catch up talking the coming days on the bridge,’ he said, ‘for I must provide you with weather map codes and then you can make a pretty weather map with them. Have you done that before?’
‘As apprentice-navigator we were given a carbon copy by the sparks and had to compose a weather map separate to the one of the third-mate. This was then compared to his and thereon we were given comments and advice. So I am not experienced at it, but I will do my very best.’
‘I shall look over your shoulder, Paul,’ said Jurgen. ‘I have seen plenty. I shall get on with my work, all the best, Paul.’
To the second he said, he would not come to dinner tonight and whether the stewardess could bring up his food. The old man had prepared a load of work for him to finish prior to leaving Rotterdam the next morning.
Jurgen seemed a very appreciable colleague, with a nice sense of humor. Despite the heavy smoke plumes, I looked forward to working with him.
When we were back in his cabin, the second said that he too wished to ready for dinner and enough was said for now.
‘Do we dress up for dinner?’ I asked him.
‘Wearing our uniform is not always required, but in port we usually do. At sea you wear what you are comfortable with. You will be surprised of what is permitted aboard, Paul. It is a pretty relaxed atmosphere here, only influenced by the three ladies we have aboard,’ he said.
‘Now that you mention it, for I am not used to it at all, does it stir up a lot amongst the male crew?’
No, it is alright. The vibe is different however, for you can not utter all the words one would ordinarily in a male community, you understand?’
‘Yes, that seems logical to me. Well, I shall see how it goes. I will not be busy with it.’
‘Changing the subject, Paul, Jurgen and I share the task of purser. We have divided the task a little, but we are together responsible for all purchases, the daily menu’s and also the crew’s purchases. We have done all the shopping for the journey and I take it, that you are not quickly shy about something, right?’
He explained further how drinks were purchased and domestic articles, like toothpaste, soap, washing powder, etc. It all sounded clear and I foresaw to me no problems. That said we went down to make ready for dinner.
The dining room was located on the same deck as where the engineers were lodged.
A little pantry was behind it and from there one crossed a passage just in front of the exterior door to the main deck, into the kitchen.
The interior wall and door of the canteen had many windows, and prior to entering, one could see whether it was busy and who was already there.
I saw that Klaus was sitting alone at a table, true enough at its head, with his back to the door, but near to the pantry door. In total, a man or eight could be seated at his table. The other table, left of the door, was occupied and appeared to be the engineers’ table.
‘Nice separation,’ I thought and was curious who would sit at the navigator’s table, because we were merely two.
Upon entering all said: ‘Mahlzeit!’
I thought it wise to follow the example given and answered by ‘Mahlzeit!’
The strange voice they knew not so everyone looked up.
Klaus stood up and said: ‘Gentlemen, this is Paul van Gelder. He is Dutch and this is his first voyage as third-mate.’
I gave thereafter each a hand with the remark: ‘How do you do, do call me Paul.’
Some said: ‘welcome aboard,’ others merely gave their name.
Most names went through the other ear out; the following few days I would put the names with the faces properly.
Klaus pointed to the free places around the table and said: ‘choose a seat, Paul.’
I sat across from him and by the other end, for then I would not have my back to the other table.
‘Any reserved seats, sir? I asked.
‘No fixed ones, but I habitually sit here and Jurgen to my right,’ replied Klaus.
‘No allocated seats? You otherwise are not to be burned from that chair, second,’ commented one of the engineers.
‘I give indeed preference to this place, but that does not make it per se mine,’ he reacted and then continued to me: ‘normally we are the only three at this table, but it happens sometimes that the engineers’ table is full and then some of them keep us company.’
At that moment came in the lady with the pretty blond head. She walked straight to me and we shook hands.
‘My name is Gudrun,’ she said a nice smile on her delicate face, ‘I am your stewardess, and that means it is my task to wake you every morning and keep order in your cabin.’
‘I am Paul,’ I answered, faltering, for I did truly need to get used to having a cute girl aboard, I continued: ‘I hope I will not create too much of a mess in my cabin.’
‘That I sincerely hope too,’ she said and everyone burst in peels of laughter.
She was a head shorter than I, but sure had a feisty tune. She needed it, if she cared to maintain herself in this male community.
Gudrun was dressed in jeans and a thin pullover. Not at all clothes for a stewardess; who you’d expect to see wearing a black skirt, white shirt, white apron and white socks in shiny shoes. This stewardess wore shoes that seemed more like hiking boots.
Altogether she was quite a pretty appearance, but I wanted to pay her little attention. My priority was to see with whom I would be voyaging and who would be pleasant company. The necessary questions were shot at me, such where was I from, what age was I and on which ships had I sailed. Actually all questions I had expected from the captain.
When I answered to the age question with: ‘twenty-one,’ the stewardess entered and instantly said that she would become twenty-one in a couple of days.
‘Hooray, a party,’ acted a few.
‘Not too bothered with your party, Manheim,’ she said confidently to the speaker,’ only if you bring beer may you celebrate, otherwise you may stay in your greasy hangar.’
That too stirred a chuckle.
The big question for everyone now was: ‘where are we going to load and what would be the destination of the cargo?’
There were heaps of suggestion and a few desires; most hoped for South-Africa, like the previous trip, for it was a brilliant country with little chance of bad weather.’
The captain is still discussing with headquarters in Bremen,’ said Klaus.
The ‘Baltrum’ did not sail line-services, as did the three VNS-boats from my apprenticeship. The company made sure that the vessel is scudding towards the best paid loads from a location near to its present, to a destination with decent chance for returning a good cargo. One called this a ‘wild sail’, because you could never know before where you would go next and what you might carry.
Just as he made this comment, Herr Milken entered and said: ‘gentlemen, we are going to load phosphate in Dakar for Rhodesia, which we shall unload in Beira, Mozambique. The pilot will board tomorrow morning at half six and that is also our departure time. Good evening and Mahlzeit!’
That stirred reactions, for not everyone found it an appealing load, but the destination was well received. To me it was all new so minded not.
Klaus got up and whilst asking me to a beer after supper, he left the canteen.
‘Alright, Klaus, I shall be there in twenty minutes,’ I called after him.
I talked a little further with one and none, but when more left, I had enough as well. I thanked the stewardess, who laughed, since I was the only one who did. But I was perhaps also the only one still a bit nervous around her.
The sparks popped by the second-mate, but after one beer he went up again, thereafter, I then thanked for the beer as well and walked to my cabin. I did not take a straight course, for I cared to flutter in the wind on deck and see what cranes and winches attired the ship. Because it still occasionally rained outside, I did not stay long on deck and headed for my cabin. I installed my adapter that changes direct current to alternating current, and gramophone and put on a record of Oral Roberts, whilst reading my Bible.
After a shower and brushing teeth I thanked God for this excellent first acquaintance that promised much for a fine journey. I was truly grateful and picked no bones over it. It had easily turned out quite different.
‘Thank you kindly Lord!’
Nonetheless, my last thought that night was of Gudrun: ‘would she already wake me tomorrow morning,’ I wondered.
It did not happen.
It was a sailor that knocked hard and yelled: ‘third-mate, in five minutes its fore and aft. It is raining cats and dogs outside, like usually in Holland.’
I heard him take flight immediately and called after him: ‘okay, thanks sailor, I shall be there.’
That gave me small time to dress, while kissing shaving and shower goodbye. I did know however, to wear my oil-skin. For surety I put my hard hat on and attached it with a strap under my chin. Rubber boots on the feet and I was ready for my first fore and aft task.
During mooring, casting off and shifting of a vessel, all deck crew must give an act de presence and each had a specific task. The habitual term for this activities aboard ship was ‘for and aft’.
The second-mate disappeared to the poop, by the stern, and the third-mate went to the forecastle, near the bow. A third-mate usually has not too much experience and therefore stands fore, so one can keep an eye out from the bridge.
Also the boatswain, the boss of all the sailors, was placed by the forecastle. He had the most experience with fore and aft procedures, but eventually this was cooperation and that I certainly cared to accomplish with the allotted crew.
On the foredeck stood a few bollards, to which the mooring lines were tied up. An enormously heavy winch gave a helping hand with the two anchors, tightening the mooring lines or raising either up on board. Under the winch were located two large boxes, into which the two anchor chains could be stowed. The anchors themselves were kept in their hawse-holes, always easily identifiable on both side of the ship’s forecastle. Each chain was well over one hundred meters outstretched and with links each quickly weighing above twenty-five kilogram.
Because we were moored to poles, casting the ‘Baltrum’ off was an easy and speedy operation. A port-service dinghy with a crew of three men made certain the warps were loose of the mooring poles at pilot’s precise timing. Upon the pilot’s instruction I gave the boatswain and sailors their orders. That all went rather supple and in no time we were sailing down the Nieuwe Waterweg direction Hoek van Holland.
Afterwards we had to clear and ready the foredeck for sea, by stowing all the warps, covering the winches with greased canvas, stow the anchors and make sure nothing was left behind or open. It took quite a while, especially in the pouring weather and since I needed not do it all myself, I sometimes had the opportunity to cast a last look on Rotterdam. I was very keen in the new challenges of this journey and had no melancholy feeling about leaving the Netherlands, certainly not in this kind of weather.
Auf Wiedersehn, Rotterdam
After ‘fore and aft’ I did not enter the passage to my cabin via the side door, but through the rear door on our deck, which was one level higher than the main deck and canteen. This gave me the chance to take off my oil-skin, southwester and boots and hang them outside under the lean-to, so that my cabin would not become wet. On my socks I went into my cabin and after shaving treated myself to a hot shower in the cubicle next to my hut; this cubicle, beside which was the toilet, I had to share with two other crew members.
Thereafter I crawled into my uniform. For the first time in my life, I was to wear epaulettes with that single wide, golden band. I admired it a moment in the mirror and said with satisfaction and a touch of pride to myself: ‘Well done; Paul, another few of those golden bands and you will be captain.’
It was then half seven and I had time for a good breakfast, hungry I was for sure. Upon nearing the canteen, I noticed through the windows that Klaus was not there yet, there were only a couple of engineers. The pleasant blond stewardess stood talking by their table when I opened the door. She turned round and with a nice smile welcomed me, whilst the engineers joined her with their ‘Mahlzeit!’ greeting. I answered in homonymous fashion and sat down at the same place as the night before.
Gudrun disappeared into her pantry and I made small talk with my new colleagues. It was on the utterly displeasing rainy weather of my country, whereupon I retorted with: ‘in Northern Germany it doesn’t rain that much less as here though, but in the Netherlands we have these drizzling rains that can last days.’ On that they assented.
Gudrun returned from the pantry bearing a great platter. She asked immediately: ‘do you prefer that seat?’
‘I think so for it is a nice strategic place. I can thus look most of my colleague’s in the faces and can also see who enters from the pantry and the passageway. Would somebody raise objections?
‘No absolutely not! I shall make sure, that it remains your place,’ she said whilst spreading the enormous breakfast before me. ‘Here is your breakfast it will suit your taste well on such a wet and cold day.’
The engineers had looked up a moment with Gudrun’s comment, but they kept quiet.
‘Well, that is quite a plate with munch,’ I observed.
‘Do you not eat much?’
‘I believe, that I am used to a different breakfast, but I will manage alright with this,’ I said jokingly.
She laughed spontaneously and asked: ‘would you like every morning boiled or fried eggs?’
‘I give preference to a single boiled egg in the morning,’ I said, meanwhile thinking, that a fried egg at the start of journey never sits well in my stomach, certainly not when accompanied with a layer of greasy bacon.
Altogether it became indeed a decent German breakfast, meaning sturdy sour bread and some hard slices of white bread, a boiled egg, very many layers of cheese and sausages. All was neatly arranged upon the appropriate dishes. I let it all taste wonderfully, not withstanding getting used to the hard German bread. I did not speak any further with Gudrun. I was still unsure how exactly to behave, for though I thought her a lovely girl, I did not care to express or confess as much.
I took off again with a ‘thank you kindly’ in her direction and once more she seemed quite happy by it.
‘My pleasure and have a good watch, sir,’ she said in a friendly manner and with that I disappeared to my cabin to brush teeth, after which it was time to report on the bridge.
At eight o’clock I thus appeared neatly in uniform on the bridge by the captain, master, pilot and helmsman. Everyone seemed preoccupied with sincere concentration, for nobody heard me enter. With my, ‘good morning, gentlemen,’ there it instantly changed.
The captain looked round a moment and smiled kindly, answering: ‘good morning Paul,’ but he turned again immediately to the going’s-on outside.
Whilst the chief-mate, the pilot and helmsman said their ‘good morning’, I walked towards the window and looked to their object of concentration.
It was the ferry of Maassluis, which was about to cross and the question was whether he would go aft or fore of us.
When he decided to go aft from us, the danger had lapsed and I received the regard from the slightly older pilot with the query: ‘are you a Dutchman?’
‘Indeed, pilot and this is my first journey as third officer,’ I said somewhat enthusiastically.
‘Aboard a German?’ he asked with an unpleasant edge and that did not pass unnoticed by my colleagues. Everyone looked at me and awaited my reaction.
‘For sure, pilot, and I am quite proud of it, for it is a fine vessel and under good leadership,’ I answered, ‘have you got any objections that I sail on a German?’
That was of course a bit direct and he understood that he could not be negative. It was clear with the tone of his answer that he was not entirely in agreement: ‘not at all, navigator, but I have never encountered it before and it surprises me a little.’
‘Should I also be surprised that you are here earning your way?’ I asked challengingly.
‘No, I meant it not like that, mate,’ and to close this unnecessary discussion he added quickly: ‘I wish you the best of luck as third- mate.’ Thereafter he looked with concentration outside.
I saw from the corners of my eyes, that my colleagues were content with my reaction, for all three had a smile on their face. As North-Fries they had well understood the exchange of words.
The pilot performed his task perfectly and piloted us neatly down the Nieuwe Waterweg; about half nine he could just beyond the piers of Hoek van Holland by means of a rope ladder descend to a pilot boat that had come abreast.
The chief-mate, who’s watch finished at eight went to take note in the ship’s journal and then disappeared with a ‘good watch, Paul,’ down below. He certainly must have become hungry too.