Woodfield Publishing Limited

Growing up as a child in the 1930s and during World War Two as a teenager in the forties, I knew about our sea services as something that was part of the everyday normal life of Britain. But I was a country boy and lived far from the coast, never having even seen ships in a dock. The only sea that I knew was the view from my grandmother’s country house on Baggy Point in North Devon, where my mother took us to meet the rest of her family and to spend our summer holidays. When the war came, that all ceased and it would be six years before I again saw the sea.

Just visible across Barnstable Bay from where we spent those summer holidays was the estuary of the two rivers, the Taw and the Torridge; here were situated the little ports of Bideford and Appledore. Coasters could sometimes be seen in the distance as they lay at anchor, waiting for the tide to be right for them to enter harbour, but to me, the most interesting sight was the very occasional view of the sailing ships that came in there. What these sailing ships were, where they had come from and how they were used to trade as late as the 1930s, I have no idea, but the sight of them always thrilled me.

During the war, our Merchant Fleet was very much part of the news and we knew that our existence hinged on the outcome of the Battle of the Atlantic. The losses of ships to the U-boat scourge was ghastly and the fate of the seamen who had been torpedoed and had had to wait many days for rescue, being battered by North Atlantic weather or cooked by the tropical sun, was frightening. But it was all a long way from any life that I knew.

In 1941, at the age of thirteen, it came time for me to move on from my prep school. Pangbourne Nautical College was situated not far from where we lived and the cadets, in their naval uniform, were a common sight in the local village. That was where my parents decided to send me, and where I should undergo the next part of my education. I would be taught discipline and to do things ‘at the double’, which my father must have thought would be a good idea. For the next four years I wore a naval uniform and during term-time was introduced to a nautically-orientated life which was completely alien to me. I never really saw myself as a future seaman. From a very early age I had wanted to join the RAF as a pilot and to fly aeroplanes, but growing up in the country on a poultry farm I also had been closely connected with the land. A life at sea had never been in my thoughts.

Farm work and management had become a large part of my life. During the war all the young men had gone into the armed forces and the farms were worked by the old and those of us who were, as yet, too young to go away and fight.

At Pangbourne during that period our whole education was really just directed into sending us to war. It was made clear that as soon as we were old enough to join the services it would be our duty to go to sea and fight. We officially held the rank of Cadet Royal Naval Reserve, and as such, even at the age of thirteen, our names were down on the Navy List. That was definitely the lowest form of life on the Navy List, even lower than midshipman, but nevertheless, our names were there and as such, we were actually part of the Navy. We wore the appropriate uniform.

So, during term time, I definitely received a nautical brainwashing. You could call it a nautical education, but in fact, it was more than that and the word brainwashing fits. During the evening of my first day at the college, we received our introductory address from the executive officer, the second in command, who was a retired Commander RN. It was then that I first heard the spiel: "We are all here together now for one reason, that is, we all love the sea". I’ve heard it again on a number of occasions since. It’s almost always given as part of an address to nautical cadets of some form or another, by a retired naval officer, never one who is ex-Merchant Navy with years of non-stop seagoing. Even at the age of thirteen, I thought that it was rubbish. I certainly didn’t love the sea; anyway I didn’t really know what was actually meant by it and I don’t suppose that any teenagers like me, however nautically orientated, really did so. I had read the phrase in books and it sounded nice and romantic, but no more than that.

The education at Pangbourne was really divided into two streams. At the top, and considered the cream, was the entry to the permanent Royal Navy. As we were reserve, RNR, another series of exams and interviews had to be passed in order to achieve the transfer. At my prep school, a number of my friends were from old naval families and it was obvious that they had had no real choice regarding their future. They were to follow in their family’s footsteps and there was no question about it. Almost at birth, their parents had put their names down for Dartmouth Royal Naval College, and when they entered there, they would have signed their lives away; they would join The Navy for ever. I thought this was awful and the peak of British stiff-upper-lip-ism. If ever I asked them if they didn’t want to do something else, they made it clear that there just was nothing else; their destiny was to follow the family line and serve at sea in the RN. This way of life was something that I could never accept and as transferring from RNR to RN at Pangbourne entailed joining forever, it was out as far as I was concerned.

During the war, it was possible to remain in the Navy when you left the College and to serve as an RNR midshipman. The RNR was made up of members of the Merchant Navy, who did part time training with the RN during peace time, but were called up for full service in war time. In those days of course, the times of war, they all were serving. It was understood that when the war ended, RNR people would return to their shipping companies. The other reserve was the Volunteer Reserve, the RNVR, which was made up of ordinary civilians, who normally followed careers, which had nothing to do with the sea.

The other stream at Pangbourne was orientated towards the Merchant Navy and there was a dedicated Merchant Navy class where all the schoolwork was designed with that future in mind. To join the Merchant Navy, also known as the Merchant Service or sometimes the Mercantile Marine, you approached one of the shipping companies that owned and operated ships and applied for a job with them as an apprentice. This was a similar rank to Midshipman in the Royal Navy. Apprentices were destined to become deck officers, rising through the various grades, Third, Second and First Mate, to eventually get command of a ship; your rank would then be Captain and you were known as the Master; your status in life would be that of Master Mariner. In some companies, notably the ones operating the big passenger liners, the mates were known as the officers, thus the First, Second or Third Officer. One had to accumulate four years sea time as an apprentice, in order to be allowed to take the Board of Trade exam for the second mate’s certificate, or ‘ticket’, as it was called. This was known as ‘serving your time’. As you amassed the required sea time, so you took more tickets, the first mate’s, then the master’s. The education at Pangbourne, together with that at the two training ships, Worcester and Conway, entitled one to a year’s reduction in the requirement for second mate’s. There was no breaking the seagoing period with further training ashore, as happens now at places such as the Warsash College, which is part of Southampton University.

Basically there were three ways, which enabled you to go to sea and build up the time needed. Firstly, you could go away as a Deck Boy, which led you after a year or so, to Ordinary Seaman and then, in time to the rating of Able Seaman. You were one of the thousands of merchant seamen, who formed ships crews and were not part of any particular company. It had been known as going to sea before the mast, because in the old sailing ships, and in many steamers after that, the crew accommodation was in the forecastle, right up in the bows; for’ard in the foc’sle. You signed on to any ship that wanted a crew and would take you. When the voyage was over and the ship returned to home waters, you would be signed off. This was the procedure that had become law and had been followed for hundreds of years, ever since ships had first put to sea bound for foreign parts. It was not the route that cadets from Pangbourne would follow. They would join one of the better companies; ones that the College approved of.

Entrants to most companies were required to sign apprentice’s indentures and so be locked in that position during the whole four year period, holding the rank of Apprentice. The third scheme was to be a Cadet. Cadets were just as much members of the company that they had joined, as were apprentices, but they signed no indentures and were required to sign on and sign off each ship in the same way as all other crew members. On board, it didn’t matter which you were; anyway you were the lowest of the low and were often used as virtual slave labour. The pay was minimal. Whatever you actually were, you were known aboard ship as an apprentice.

That was how you became a deck officer. There were of course the engineers and the admin staff. The head of the administration staff was the purser. He looked after the paper work and the whole catering organisation. Care of passengers was in his domain. Cadets at Pangbourne were never pointed in this direction and had no training for the job. Neither was there training for the engineering side. To go to sea as an engineer officer, one had to have served an apprenticeship with a suitable engineering firm ashore. When that had been completed, it was possible to join a shipping company and go away as a junior engineer officer. A normal cargo vessel or tanker of those days would probably carry six or more such people. As on deck, the positions were listed in a strict seniority ladder, with the chief engineer in an all powerful position at the top. The only person on board, who was superior to him, was the captain and any captain knew better than to order a chief engineer about. Most chief engineers ‘knew’ that they were superior to and more important than the captain anyway. There were numerous ordinary engine room workers, stokers, greasers and such people.

The Radio Officers were always called Sparks. They were employed by the Marconi Company, who provided suitably qualified people as needed. One had to be carried by law, though on some ships there were as many as three. It depended on the period of time that a full listening watch had to be kept whilst at sea. On big liners, this was all through the twenty four hours, but the normal compliment on cargo vessels was one only and he just kept watch during the daytime working periods.

The names of the great shipping companies were synonymous with Empire. They had been the vehicle by which British influence had spread across the world and dominated it for over a hundred years. If you walked down Leadenhall Street in the City of London, you would pass many of their offices. Just a few of the smaller companies had their headquarters in ports round the country, such as Liverpool, Hull or Glasgow, but these were certainly not the top draw.

Just as most people know the names of the airlines now, the names of the shipping companies were household words to everybody in Britain. None exist today in the form that they were then, though it’s probable that you might find some trace of them if you dug deep enough into the labyrinth of companies in the City of London.

The names Cunard and P&O, are still familiar enough, though their company form has changed entirely. Cunard operated the great luxury ocean greyhounds, which carried the cream of passengers across the Atlantic and were often in the news. Their ships were perpetually in competition with similar French, German and American liners, but they were usually in the lead. Queen Mary II is the last of them, but her main job now is to work as a cruise ship. Very few people actually use ships as a means of business travel today; everyone normally goes by air. Cunard also operated a fleet of colliers, coal carrying ships, which were always filthy dirty; coal dust in your food, your drinking water and your bunk, but this was never publicised. The luxury liners of P&O, the Peninsular and Orient Steamship Company, travelled to the eastern parts of the Empire, to India and beyond. Their ships had white hulls and yellow funnels. P&O ships still sport that colour scheme and the Canberra, the Great White Whale, took it all the way south to the Falklands War.

P&O had the reputation of being the best. The story was told of three brothers who grew up and went to sea. One joined the Royal Navy and one the Merchant Navy, but the third was the brightest and was accepted by P&O.

Another great company on the North Atlantic was Canadian Pacific. Their liners, amongst them Empress of Britain and Empress of Canada took you to the Saint Lawrence ports or through Panama to Vancouver.

Also with white hulls and yellow funnels were the ships of the Orient Line, which was another company covering the eastern routes, and on from there to Australia. Travellers on these ships coined the common word, ‘posh’. It meant, ‘port out, starboard home’. If your cabin was situated on those sides of the ship, you would be shaded from the sun and thus cooler in the ghastly heat of the Indian Ocean and the Red Sea. Such accommodation cost more and was reserved for the senior members of empire administration.

Next, working to India, the East African coast and throughout the Indian Ocean was the British India Steam Navigation Company. Their vessels were mainly cargo ships, but carried passengers as well; not in such luxury as Orient or P&O however. They were painted black with the white superstructure that almost all ships had. Their black funnels had two thin white bands round them. Ships of the Blue Funnel Line could also be seen in these parts of the world.

The Royal Mail Line ran to South America. There was a strong British influence in Argentina in those days and their ships were the means whereby you travelled to Buenos Aires or to other South American ports; Rio de Janeiro perhaps, or on through the Magellan Straits to Chile. Also trading round South America and to the West Coast of the USA, was the Blue Star Line.

South Africa was covered by the Union Castle Line. These ships were grey and had red and black funnels. They took about two weeks to reach Cape Town from Southampton and it was said, served no booze aboard, the owners being strict teetotallers. The Pacific islands and New Zealand were reached by Shaw Saville or the New Zealand Shipping Company.

Just as now, oil was another commodity that had to be moved. The vast super tankers had not appeared on the scene in those days, but there were many smaller ones of up to ten thousand tons. In Britain, Shell operated one large tanker company, but the biggest was the British Tanker Company operated by BP, British Petroleum. Their ships were all named ‘British something’ such as ‘Enterprise’ or ‘Diligence’ and they were a common sight at sea, sailing between the BP oil centres in the Persian Gulf and the UK.

These were the top shipping lines and most of the vessels in them were always kept on the same routes, working to a set timetable, be it to carry cargo or passengers, just as aircraft belonging to the top airlines, now follow scheduled services. World trade was a continuous movement, which meant that food, together with manufactured goods and the raw materials to make them, had to be carried to and fro’ across the world in an unceasing stream of ships.

Food was a large item that had to be moved. In Britain, we produced but a small percentage of our food requirements and the remainder all had to be imported by sea from Australia, New Zealand, the Americas and other such countries, which had huge agricultural industries. There were ships fitted up as floating refrigerators, which carried the lamb and butter from New Zealand or the beef from Argentina and Australia. These were known as fridge ships. There were ships that carried the grain that fed our cattle and made much of our bread.

Then there were the Elder and Fife Line’s banana boats sailing to and from the West Indies. A full description of all the shipping that made up the British Merchant Navy would be almost never ending.

All this trade meant that there were numerous shipping companies working to make money out of it and well down the list, but none the less very important, were the tramp steamers. Their offices could usually be found near the docks in all the big ports round Britain. Their ships were usually old, rusty and slow, lacking paint and with the living conditions aboard them, rather primitive to say the least. Fresh water was rationed, often to as little as one whiskey bottle of it per person per day. Washing was not thought to be necessary.

The food was generally ghastly. If possible, an outbound cargo would be found at a British or nearby continental port. This would be carried to its destination and then a further cargo had to be found for another destination somewhere else across the oceans, possibly on the other side of the world. If one was not immediately forthcoming, the ship would have to anchor in a sheltered bay, away from any port, in order not to incur harbour dues. Crews could be stranded for weeks like that. A ship might leave its British home port with a local crew, newly signed on, but it was sometimes years before a cargo was found which would bring it home again.

Much of the movement of heavy goods from one end of Britain to the other and to the nearby Continent was carried by sea in what were called coasters. There were hundreds of these small ships working to and fro’ in our home waters. The conditions aboard them were often filthy and cramped. The crews had to exist in these conditions and also endure the terrible weather that occurs so often at sea round our islands. They carried the coal from Newcastle and Cardiff to London and elsewhere; all things to do with our manufacturing industry that had to be moved; anything large and bulky, that you can think of, which was situated at one end of the country, but was needed at another. It was the cheapest way of moving things, cheaper than the railways and in those days there were no huge lorries thundering down our roads.

The ships that made up this vast fleet were all built in British yards. There was a vast British shipbuilding industry and those companies were also household names to everybody. Along with the shipping companies, they have now disappeared. There was Cammel Lairds at Birkenhead on the Mersey, and Harland and Wolf in Belfast. Swan Hunter was on the Tyne at Newcastle. Perhaps, at the top of the list was John Browns yard on the Clyde at Glasgow. That was where the great Cunarders were built, the Queens that raced for the Blue Ribbon of the Atlantic beating through the savage Western Ocean storms, Southampton to New York in four days. These companies also built all the warships that made up the strength of the Royal Navy and patrolled all the oceans of the world, keeping the shipping lanes safe for the traders. There was never a thought that British warships might be built abroad because our yards could not cope, as there is now.

The engines that powered these ships, and many more that were built in other countries, were mainly made in Glasgow. Scotland had the reputation of being the great maritime engineering centre of the world and the majority of ship’s engineering officers were from Scotland. The Scottish Chief Engineer was a legendary figure in every corner of the seven seas.

All these ships were registered in British ports; the name of their port of register being proudly painted on their sterns, below their own names; London, Liverpool, Glasgow, Hull, Bristol, Southampton and many more great seaports, some of which have only very little, or even no working connection at all, with a sea trade nowadays. The ships flew the British Merchant Navy flag, the Red Ensign, known to all as the Red Duster. They made up the British Merchant Navy and it was by far the largest and best in the world.

There was also the Blue Ensign. This was the flag of the Royal Naval Reserve. To be allowed to fly the Blue Ensign, a merchant ship had to have sufficient RNR personnel amongst its crew, to be able to man a six inch gun. The Blue Ensign was considered, by some, to be senior to the red duster.

To be in the Merchant Navy, though you were not in an armed service, you could be used by the government in the event of a national emergency; your ship could chartered to work for the armed services and so go to war. It was the law in Britain, and that was how the Atlantic Conveyor was in a position to be blown up by an Exocet in the South Atlantic and how the Great White Whale got to the Falklands.

The education and training that I went through at Pangbourne placed me on the fringe of this world of Sea Service. It was the pointer that channelled me towards it and led me into becoming part of it, if only just for a few short years...

© copyright 2006 ~ Mike Holmes ~ all rights reserved