Page 18 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

other cadets yet (they were still on leave), but I met the 2nd mate, a rank charged with
navigation and cargo disposition. He, Mr Foote, was a cool and collected man who
seemed to actually relish a sea-going existence (a preference which I subsequently
found declined with many as seniority increased). I recall that he introduced me to
his wife; I then understood why, for so long, I had not seen him around on deck.

The loading of a ship can be a tiresome business at times. Of course, I knew
nothing of how to load various cargoes in the order appropriate for the voyage’s
ports, and the stevedores really did not much want a callow cadet walking around
trying to look as though he knew what he was about. As a result, I spent a good
deal of time sitting in my sorry little cabin. One morning, while I knew that the
forthcoming voyage was to be to the Far East, I was somewhat taken aback when
Foote asked me where Iloilo was, he just having seen some crates for that port
being loaded. Being the navigator, I felt that that was probably something that he
should have known! To me, the same question arose with the ports of Jesselton
and Rajang, equally obscure, and today probably more so than Iloilo. One has
to remember that in the days before the Internet, this sort of information was
not readily available except from charts and pilotage books (wherein immense
amounts of information was available but which was mainly directed to
navigational issues). I had already discovered the ship’s library (provided by the
Missions to Seamen) but this comprised only about fifty books that looked as
though they had come from someone’s garage sale (although I also noted a copy
of ‘Crime and Punishment’, presumably for some light reading during the longer
ocean passages), a situation that I had immediately rectified by bringing from
home a few of my larger books that I had yet to read.

‘Home’ had, however, now forever changed. For some months, Father had
been negotiating (though this was a poor word for the London County Council’s
immovable position on compensation) on the question of expropriating the shop/
home premises; the Free Ferry (something of an historic icon, a free ferry having
been located there for several centuries) was to be replaced by new vessels whose
berth was to be moved upriver to a spot right in front of our building, which was
therefore to be demolished. To David and me, who had crossed the Thames many
hundreds of times on John Benn and Will Crooks, splendid coke-fired steam-
reciprocating paddle-wheelers that displayed for foot passengers wonderful brass
pistons that not only kept the ships warm but were also in themselves endlessly
fascinating, this was a major childhood loss.

Fortunately, however, that did not mean that we had no home; some years
before the enforced move, my parents, deciding that East London was no place

17