Page 66 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

part of the world made me want to go there. (When at Warsash and choosing
the company which I wished to join, several companies and destinations were
rarely chosen by any of my classmates; Cunard, because of its eternal routine runs
over the Atlantic; West Africa, because of its heat and chaotic city ports; Royal
Mail Line, because of its destinations being exclusively in South America; and
all tanker companies, because one saw very little of the world, despite going to
numerous ‘ports’). Moreover, I did not relish once again going across the Indian
Ocean; the last such trip lasted fifty-two not particularly pleasant days.

And I was also back in the engine room. Having seen Khyber’s turbines, I
was somewhat familiar with the general principles of the steam turbine engine,
but Mantua was built on a somewhat larger scale, and of course, was much
more modern (at that time relatively few vessels were motor (diesel) vessels, and
very few indeed were turbo-electric, as was Canberra). One issue, immediately
apparent, was that such complex machinery, tucked away in as small a space as
was practical, generated enormous heat, heat exacerbated by the warm waters of
the Indian Ocean. There were large vents all over the engine-room, and air from
on deck was continuously pumped down. But that air was, needless to say, very
warm itself, so the relief, such as it was, was no different from standing under a
very warm hair-dryer. The work itself was very routine, mainly comprising taking
the temperatures of thousands of almost unreadable gauges, and, once a watch,
cleaning the nozzles which forced the fuel into the boilers. This was a horrible
job, as it required climbing up the front of the airless boilers and extracting these
tubular jets. No engine-room watch could, I thought, ever be pleasant.

Another substantial difference from what I often enjoyed on the bridge was
that one could not converse. I kept watch with the 3rd engineer, a genial enough
northerner (like most engineers), from whom I could gain knowledge of what
we were doing but with whom, because of the ambient noise, could not engage
in any conversation. I was also obliged to keep the 12-4 watch, which was not my
favourite – one never got five hours’ continuous sleep. And I was scheduled to
remain in the engine-room for about a month … barring a major change.

But major change occurred. On July 31st, at thirteen minutes past one in
the afternoon the whole engine-room shuddered, and the telegraph rang, “Stop.”
Such an order is not expected half way through an eight-day voyage but is not
difficult to effect. At least, it was for the 3rd engineer; I had not a clue what to
do, but that did not matter, for I was instructed to go up on deck and see what all
this was about. So, I again clambered up the front of the boilers, past the funnel,
and out into the cool air, which was somewhere around a balmy ninety degrees. I
was greeted with the sight of dry land; about a hundred yards from the starboard
side was a palm-fringed island along whose beach I could see a line of excited
gesticulating people. I knew that going back down and telling the 3rd engineer
that we had surprisingly come alongside an island would not cut much mustard

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