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ships, and also because at Warsash, P&O had the reputation of being the most
difficult company by which to be accepted, it was P&O which I felt held the best
prospects for me (there were, of course, other quality companies, such as Royal
Mail, Blue Star, Blue Funnel – alias Alfred Holt – Ellerman Lines, Cunard etc.).

My expectations when Father drove me over to the ship itself were, therefore,
not prepared for what I then saw before me, a vessel of a type never before seen
by David or me, a black-hulled, black-funnelled ship topped by a slim pencil-like
funnel that looked, well, silly. I could count this among the ugliest of ships that I
had ever seen. I had certainly seen P&O cargo ships with this colouring (Salsette,
Cannanore and many others) but none had so ill-mannered an appearance.

However, I was there, about to start my career, so it was hardly the time to
cavil about mere appearances. I climbed the gang-plank (itself no easy task – this
was a very utilitarian ship) and was told by the quartermaster (aka ‘helmsman’)
at its top to report to the chief officer (again, not an easy instruction, the deck
crew being from Maharashtra, and my Hindustani at that time completely
unformulated), nobody having told me that, apart from the deck crew, the
engine-room was manned by Pakistanis (Urdu), and the steward’s department
was Goanese (English, Portuguese, Konkani and Hindi).

The accommodation structure was, again, very utilitarian. It was thus very
easy to find the mate’s cabin (the usual term for the chief officer). He, David
Hannah, quickly found the 2nd steward to direct me to my cabin. He, Des, in
turn explained that the reason for no evidence of life on the ship was the fact that
it had only arrived from the Far East that morning, and with the advent of wives
and lovers, there was not going to be much of a showing from the officers.

The cabin to which I was introduced was like something out of a Roald Dahl
novel. It was evident that when the ship was constructed, there was no intention
to accommodate cadets. It rather appeared to be a converted cargo office, but both
its location (at the fore-end of the superstructure and on the extreme port side)
and its facilities (small portholes and three iron bunks with two uncomfortable
chairs) seemed hardly sufficient for three young men. Fortunately, there was a
very small adjoining office. Formally, cadets were apprentices who required four
years of sea service (one of which I had already served at Warsash) before being
able to take a succession of ‘tickets’ (2nd mates’, 1st mates’, masters’, and, if one
chose to teach, extra masters’, the possessors of the last rarely, if ever, being found
employed on a seagoing ship). I had, of course, not gone to sea for the creature
comforts (having been to boarding schools since being nine years old, privation
and lack of personal space were features of normal life), but for three people living

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