Page 64 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

could easily lose all of its value by the slightest mixing, and for this, the mate was
responsible. He, having had much tanker experience, was thus the link between
the Cat-Cracker (where the product was refined) and the operation of the whole
tanker enterprise. But he kept to himself; we saw him at mealtimes and when in
port, but other than that, he was rarely visible. He was, in effect, at once the most
efficient and the most misanthropic of shipboard companions.

Of the other officers, only the 4th mate was of significance in daily life (it
seemed that whenever I was on watch-keeping, he was the one with whom I
worked). His name was within P&O one to savour; Mr Hill was the son of one
of P&O’s senior captains, who, I believe, rose to be commodore (essentially, the
senior, though not necessarily the longest-serving, of the company’s captains; it
meant little other than commanding the fleet flagship). Hill himself, however,
didn’t seem to fit the role very well. A heavy-set and large fellow, he had the face of
a pugilist rather than an officer, rather reminiscent, I thought, of Henry Cooper,
a British boxer of some repute. Moreover, I saw that he had the habit of punching
cadets on the top of the arm in a rather gleeful way, and they were not light
blows. I actually had many thoughts of how to deal with this quite inappropriate
behaviour, either by sticking a thumbtack to my shoulder at the spot which he
always hit, or by delivering a hard blow to his jaw, unseemly though that would
be. But the right occasion never arose; for some reason, he never delivered such
a blow to my shoulder.

A cargo ship in port was all hustle and bustle, lots of people, noise and things,
like swinging pallets of cargo, to carefully avoid. A tanker, on the other hand, was
on the face of it a sea of tranquillity. Below decks, however, each tank had to be
cleaned and washed by sprays and, if necessary, by assiduous scrubbing. It was
hard and filthy work and, on occasion, in part overseen by cadets who had no
idea what they were trying to achieve. And it had to be done with speed. The first
port was Plaju, a place of which I had not heard, but which was almost due south
from Singapore and only some 200 miles away. There we were to load a cargo for
Singapore, return there and then await instructions. And I quickly learned that on
tankers, one actually did quite a lot of awaiting instructions, for the ship was on
a long-term charter to Shell Oil, and that company, with its myriad of ships and
ports, transported the oil from where it was found to where it was needed, taking
into account the many types of non-interchangeable products that vessels could
carry. It appeared to be a nightmare to manage from London, but only occasionally
was there a major change of instructions (as will become apparent), though we
had some days of steaming at reduced speed while thousands of miles away others
decided on our destination. On this occasion, however, cleaning was completed
relatively quickly, and we departed for the short trip to this unknown place.

That day, we crossed the equator. In the normal course of events, crossing the
equator for the first time was a big event, assisted by Father Neptune and copious

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