Page 250 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

Another problem was a bit more ticklish. Captain Blackwell was not a difficult
person with whom to work … but he was moody. His main issue was a relief
Captain, or absence thereof, as neither I nor Malcolm had a master’s ticket with
which we could have taken over the job (not that either of us would have wished
to do so; we were both aware that we had insufficient experience even if either had
had the ticket). Mr Case found a temporary replacement, whom, I believe, was
teaching at a local navigation school. He, Captain Mullin, came on for a couple of
cruises and he was very much the calm and quiet type, though obviously not one
who had much sea-going experience (not a big issue, of course, because of the
omnipresent pilots). The problem was that Blackwell simply did not like him, not,
I think because of any professional pride, but because he was a bit insecure in his
job, he, Blackwell, having only recently joined West Star after leaving a nautical
instrument salesman’s job in Vancouver, to which he seemed loath to return. And
after Mullin did his relief, Blackwell constantly told both of us how Mullin didn’t
know his job. That opinion had no effect upon us, but what did concern us was
that if he could so demean Mullin behind his back, what was he saying to other
officers about us and others? Elementary man-management dictated that this is
absolutely how not to gain or retain respect.

But September 3rd came around, University started the next day – on our
anniversary – and a new chapter began. I took courses that I felt confident would
prove easy, because I could then apply for Law School without having to complete
an undergraduate degree. I chose courses on South Asian Culture, South East
Asian Political Science, Communist Chinese History, Russian Economic
Geography and International Mass Violence, and I was accepted into Political
Science Honours (one may discern a pattern, based upon my earlier interests,
in this group). And thank goodness that I chose six rather than five courses, for
the Chinese History course was taught by a most peculiar long-haired Quebecois
lecturer who, on most days, favoured wearing a skirt. He rattled off Chinese name
after unintelligible Chinese name, all of which we were supposed to remember.
He had his Ph.D. from Beijing University, I understood, where rote learning must
have been de rigueur. I, however, thought that the class was to teach the history
of collective philosophy and Chinese economic imperatives, not to know who or
what was Wu Pei Fu!

But all went well, and at the end of the year my marks were good enough,
Chinese History excluded, to apply for Law School. And I prepared for the
return to West Star, which for some unfathomable but pleasant reason, I had to
rejoin in Honolulu.

In the meantime, however, by dint of 90 seconds of strenuous exercise,
I had managed to get Judith pregnant, and I looked forward to another four
months’ work and eight months’ pay. Again, she came on the vessel for one
trip, and by this time I was quite familiar with the routine. One pilot that we

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