Page 49 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

The city of Bremen was a misleading term, for it was in reality two cities, the
port being better known as Bremerhaven. The river Weser, being an entrepôt for
western West Germany and for Bremen itself, is for that reason an important
trading artery. The brief transit up the river to the terminal was by itself a mat-
ter of interest, there even being damaged but seemingly viable submarine pens
immediately alongside the riverbank. However, it was a mixed delight to stroll
around the city itself. Being aware that the end of the war came in part because
of the bombing campaign that destroyed most of the military infrastructure of
Germany, I was surprised to see that the area of the city adjacent to our berth
was sparkling new in design and structure, with well-stocked shops and street
vendors selling cream cakes the like of which I had not seen in England. It all
looked new and prosperous. Recalling Woolwich, I could only ask myself the
usual question; “Who won the war?”

Back on board, all was activity. The first thing to discharge was the tobacco.
I was in the hold when the locker doors were opened, and those precautions
had certainly prevented the cargo being broached. But what the doors could not
do was keep out the ship’s rats, of which I had over the past few months seen a
number scurrying over the decks. Apparently, the rat guards always placed on the
mooring ropes at every port had little effect … or perhaps they had, even worse,
been effective, but simply allowed access to superior rats. Anyway, that issue was
up to the insurance adjusters.

Over the next five days, much of the cargo was very efficiently discharged and
we sailed the short distance up the coast to Hamburg. This was a larger port than
Bremen, but its ambiance might as well have been from another planet. It was
definitively grimy and drab, the rain was continuous, and all that we discharged
was a huge amount of rubber. Less than a day later, we arrived in Rotterdam (one
quickly realises, when there, how small is Europe), where I was delighted to find
that officers’ partners were arriving from UK – I was to be sent home! I was very
happy with the lifeboat problem.

From being somewhat unhappy with the four or five days that were originally
in view for this short leave, it now seemed that the period of recuperation would
be some three weeks, not the few days originally proposed. This was a good thing
… but only ‘sort of’. The problem, which I soon found to be almost universal with-
in sea-going staff, was that while one was at home resting-up, everybody else was
either working or enjoying their normal lives. I had heard of mariners who came
home and found themselves strangers in their own homes, but the reality was that
one was a bit of an interruption to the daily lives of one’s families; a wandering
nomad with all sorts of interesting tales, (except that mine were by this time not
that interesting, as I had written lots of letters home to tell my story as it developed,

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