Page 42 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

At sea, there was no radio, and little enough portable music. Some individuals
had short-wave radios, on which every now and again one could pick up the BBC
or Voice of America, but normal communication was through the occasional
outdated paper and, of course, the R/O, who existed in a world of the Morse code.
So I searched around for a suitable tape recorder store. This was not a difficult
task, for every sort of store seemed to have a group of nine-year old salesmen
who diligently followed around every European pedestrian whom they could
find. I was quickly directed to a suitable emporium by a very alert little fellow, and
forthwith saw that the prices here were not only far better than anywhere else but
that they were also negotiable. Furthermore, if one wanted a tape with something
on it, virtually anything that had ever been recorded could be obtained within the
hour. If the requested item was too obscure, ‘the impossible took a little longer’;
the stores plainly had a miraculous jungle telegraph. I need not say that neither I
nor they seemed greatly concerned about copyright issues. In fact, I was sure that
the excellent English of most of the traders did not include any knowledge of the
concept. I was, however, very happy with my purchase of a Grundig machine and
a posse of illicit recordings. Money was running out, so I decided that the much-
needed camera would have to await my return, and that this occasion did not
warrant the purchase of one-day made-to-measure suits and shirts. Actually, on
that point I never changed my mind, as my twenty-two-pound Austin Reed suit
looked good until it disintegrated; the $10 suits that I saw others purchase from
on-board traders even when new looked quite extraordinary but not in a good
sense. By this time, I had gained some knowledge of what I liked, as our dress
uniforms were of a fine wool, hand-crafted by Gieves of London and frankly
expensive; they tended to make lesser suits look insincere.

By the time I returned, (unfortunately, without having sampled the food) life
was different as all of the livestock had been unloaded. The rest of the cargo having
soon been discharged, we remained at a buoy for deck chipping and hammering
to continue well into the night (nobody seemed to need sleep!). Fortunately, the
foredeck wire-brushing and painting appeared to have largely been completed
during the daylight hours. More importantly, the mate appeared and delivered
ten pounds to each of us for our animal husbandry. The deck officers simply
enjoyed Scotland’s main product.

The trip to Manila, while short, was surprisingly choppy, a glance at the map
making it look as though the short reach for the prevailing westerlies would
make for a short stern sea. But arrive we did on February 6th, and it immediately
became apparent that while it seemed to be a totally disorganised place, (Manila
Bay is almost the size of a small sea) it was decidedly American, much as Hong
Kong was firmly British. The main form of transportation, in a city that seemed
devoted to traffic anarchy, was a peculiar vehicle called a jeepney, a unique form
of modified and highly decorated jeep that the Americans left on the islands in
their unmodified state after the expulsion of the Japanese. With many skilled

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