Page 70 - Michael Frost-Voyages to Maturity-23531.indd

“Her Master, according to P&O tradition, was a first-class seaman and he ran
his ship according to older precepts, regardless whether they made him popular
or not, which is what counts, because it is first-class seamanship and conscience
that will help us save our seas, not polish and affability. If there were a Basil
Thomson in command of every flag of convenience tanker afloat there would
perhaps not be so much to worry about, except, of course, the very structure of
the ships themselves…”

One has to wonder if this conclusion would be the same if the author of those
words had known of the remote island of Kiltan.
*********

As we were in the heart of the Gulf in August, one could only describe the
weather as absurdly hot. There was usually a wind, but as it invariably came
from the desert, by which the Gulf is surrounded, its effect was never to improve
conditions on deck. Abadan was not a port which I ever wished to revisit, but it
was quite a lot better that Bahrein, which had nothing to excite the senses. At the
end of a pier, this port typified the sort of existence which tanker crews knew all
too well. But we were soon loaded, and on our way to Durban, frankly, about as
civilised a port as one could hope for; not that I found anyone on board who had
ever witnessed its luxuries.

The trip through the Gulf required vigilance. Ports were not numerous, but
tended to be spread about, thereby meaning that these cumbersome tankers
had to constantly be on watch for large ships being on reciprocal courses or in
dangerous crossing situations. Another unexpected issue was the heating effect
of the constant sun. While we noted that most days would give rise to about
105 degrees on deck, the effect of this temperature on the cargo could be quite
dramatic, and as a result seawater had to be sprayed over the whole deck for days
on end. Otherwise, had the cargo expanded, we could have experienced some
unpleasant, and perhaps explosive, consequences. (Other dangers, however,
proved not as real as one might have expected. In the event of a blowout of
one of the accesses to the cargo tanks – the ullage ports - the danger of fire was
not great, the mixture arising from the ship being so rich, and almost bereft of
oxygen, that it was not especially flammable. I had heard of a Shell executive, as
a demonstration, actually throwing a lighted match into a full cargo tank and
it simply being snuffed out in the liquid petroleum. The story might well be
apocryphal, but I knew of nobody who ever wanted to repeat the experiment!)

The ship was now, however, a very different one from that which I had joined
only a few days ago. A ship has its own character, of course, but the memory
of a time on a particular ship leaves impressions of those with whom one sails,
the places where one goes, and, only lastly, of the vessel itself. Basil was such a

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