Page 173 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

Kobe, the city had been declared by Roosevelt in World War II to be an historical
site that was not to be bombed; thus it was spared the annihilation visited upon
most of the country. As it was December 18th, the weather was freezing, but on
the train-ride up to the city, I realised that this was an advantage; firstly, it had
removed all the foliage, so that almost everything could be seen, and secondly,
perhaps more significantly, no tourists of any sort were to be seen. I wandered
around the silent streets, hired a taxi to the most significant sights, and took
photographs, free of people, as much as I liked.

And these sights were worth seeing. I had certainly seen pictures of the
shrines and temples, but the reality of seeing these Shinto symbols inspired awe.
They were massive and ornate, the latter being more sensually overwhelming
than the former. I took in Nijo Castle, but by that time was so cold that I had also
to harbour in a local eatery – though I did not know of sushi and sashimi, I was
certainly quite prepared to try it – in order to feel my toes and fingers. Again, I
could not but note the extraordinary politeness of the people. I found this strange
to master; an ‘uncle’ friend of my parents had been a Japanese POW, and his wife
indicated in no uncertain terms that it was an awful experience about which he
would, and never did, talk.

The voyage back to UK was unremarkable and routine, which made me
ruminate upon the vagaries of the strange life that I was leading, strange even
within the confines of the merchant marine. Almost without thinking about the
issue, I had joined a company which offered as varied a nautical life as could be
attained. Most of the other companies of high repute (Blue Star, Bibby, Cunard,
Royal Mail, Palm Line et al.) enjoyed limited runs to a limited number of ports
(that generalisation did not apply to tankers of course, but many of their ports
were miles from anywhere, were very dull in themselves, and were visited for
hours, not days). Chitral was a good ship on which to work, but three trips had
created a sense of routine that I did not particularly wish upon myself.

But other matters obtruded. After years of planning, and looking for a
travelling companion, Margaret had made the trip to Europe, England in
particular of course. I met her in London; I had the possibility of this leave lasting
as long as seven weeks. I devoted a considerable amount of planning to her visit,
she being, in my recollection, attractive, intelligent, sexy and an excellent letter-
writer. She came home with me and we had the week together, though Mother
did not find her quite as marvellous a girl as I had described. The problem was
that nor did I.

From a sparkling bright girl, she had notably and unfortunately become
somewhat physically dumpy, intellectually commonplace and rather boring. It
occurred to me that her letters, mostly of high quality but always in print script,
had been ghost written or received substantial assistance from someone else,

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