A Regular Low Quarter

Amsterdam is a city known for many things, including its infamous red light district. Now predominantly China Town and a hub for design concept shops, Daniela and I went for a stroll down Zeedijk almost 120 years after our great-grandfather - 19 years old at the time - described one of his first visits to the city with his shipmates.

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Some time in March, 1897

...A very nice city is Amsterdam only too many confounded canals cutting it, some canal sides are without railings and I shouldn’t like to be drunk coming along them.

Was in a street called Zeedijk, or something like that name, a regular low quarter, with almost every house a dancing and drinking saloon. But 8 o'clock at night the music begins, and from the street you hear an awful conglomeration of sounds, fiddles, drums, concertinas, drums, triangles and heavens tenous what not all on the go. One house is playing Daisy Bell, another After the Ball, another The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo. A dutch tune on some other house and so on. The hour never stopping but going on incessantly. Most lovely as is the music, the greater attraction is the women that now and again come to the door, to look for fresh victims. These are the dancing ladies, some dressed commonplace. While others are dressed most gorgeous in the Music Hall style short frocks, bare arms and a wondrous display of ribbons, all complete of their marvellous beauty the least said the better.

With some fireman and sailors I was in this street, standing hesitatingly, in doubt, where to go, when up comes some of the foresaid beauties, saying in English. "You want sweetheart, Johnny." "Yes, I’ll be your sweetheart any time", say a sailor named Peter, and after a little palavar we all marched in. It was a rather flash house called the Hamburgh. You can dance with these ladies if you like and stand them as many drinks as you like. They’ll sap them.

Being teetotal I took cigar instead of drink. I could say much about these houses and dancing women. The ladies are not shy or bashful, but a “leetle” too gay for me. Their way of living makes them old and haggard looking before they are much over 20. I will say no more about them t’were better far.  From the Hamburgh we were in about half dozen of the bars, which have all English names such as the “Liverpool” “ City of London” Man at the Wheel etc.

After going round we went aboard. One night I stayed aboard, it was dark about 9pm, when someone hail the ship from the quay. The watch man was going to scull the small boat ashore to see who it was and I said to him, "I’ll sail if you don’t mind." "All right", replied he, for he was not anxious about sculling the boat out at all. So I goes down the ladder at the ships side on to a light which was moored longside. The boat was made fast to the lighter. I made one step as I thought in the right direction when flop. I walked into the water, but in falling I luckily grasped a rope and saved myself from being submerged all over. I scrambled on the lighter. I made my way to the small boat, lighted a lantern marked the place were it was, unfastened the painter and sculled to the quay stains. It was a note from the ship chandler’s for the skipper, gave it to the watchmen to give the captain when he came aboard. This little incident made me vow to let watchmen scull their own boats at night time. I bought a pair of fancy slippers for my sister.

From Amsterdam we went to Blyth arriving there on a Sunday afternoon, went home to South Shields by 6:28 train and got in Shield about 9 o'clock.

A Turn from a Tar

This evening I've been asked to bring a turn to a Burns Night supper on a boat in Springfield Marina. The following was written by Myles on October 28th, 1917 and set to Father Dourney at St. Bede's Church in South Shields.

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Stella Maris - A Sailor's hymn

Myles Toale

AB

When sombre shades of nightmare falling

Falling oer the troubled sea

When the gale with strength increasing

Strikes my bark with fiendish glee

When the storm clouds fast are flying

And in darkness must we steer

Then to guide us Stella Maris

Let thy light shine bright and clear

Stella Maris, Stella Maris

Guiding light from realms of bliss

When night shades spread oer the sea

Stella Maris shine for me

On through the night and all its perils

Sails my bark unto its goal

Oer monstrous seas that would engulf us

Past the reef and shifting shoal

Safe on we sail O sweet Protectress

For our prayers are not in vain

There in the sky shines Stella Maris

Until the light of day again

- -

Stella Maris

Guiding light from realms of bliss

When night shades

Spread oer the sea

Stella Maris

Shine for me

--

P.S. For all poverty of rhyme metre and spelling in poetic effort please make the allowance due to the not sufficiently educated.

Father Dourney

St. Bede Church

South Shields

England

Oct 28^th

^{Civita Vecchia}

Odessa in Imperial Russia

Sailing back across to Ardrossan Harbour today, I couldn't help but think what it would have been like to arrive in Odessa in Imperial Russia in 1912 - a far cry from the Odessa today affected by the pro-Russia conflict in Ukraine. Myles describes the finery and the entertainment of the city and Sailor Town. What I found most striking his acute sense of his place in the world when confronted with the ladies and gentlemen of the theatre...

Here are some excerpts from his time there: 

Sunday 28th January, 1912

...Odessa is a fine city, throngs of well dressed and stylish citizens filling its thoroughfares. Three years ago when I was here last I had a good look round the city, which I like well. Down outside the dock gates I found changes, that is, as regards the pubs where seamen used to congregate. I looked for the Main Top. A bar is still there but the inscriptions outside are all in Russian, the Main Top has gone. I looked for the Grosvenor; a like fate had befallen it. There was still the London Bar, kept by a Greek, but it was not the place of old. Eventually we entered the American Bar a place well heated inside and very comfortable. We stayed there quite a while and those who drank it found the beer good. Beer costs 10 kopeeks a glass, lemonade, (my drink) 15 kopeeks. Our wants were attended to by a German waitress who speaks a little English. Trinks and the donkeyman talked to her in German, becoming rivals – fluent ones indeed – for her favours. The other seamen present were German, Scandinavian, and a few young men apeing Yanks. Pennsylvania Dutchmen I guess.

About 8:30 Hansen and I left Trinks, Gowans, the donkey and the Swedish firemen to their beers and the German girl; they were anchored for the night.     
...
Wednesday 31st January, 1912

Busy this morning clearing deck of snow. A very cold day but no snow fell.

Tonight went to the Seamen's Institute. I had three games of billiards, 50 up, with an elderly gentleman (the chief engineer of some ship) I winning two of the games. He insisted on paying so I let him. 

Along with our ship’s messroom boy I enjoyed a stroll through the city. The streets of Odessa are broad and there is plenty of room on the sidewalks. These had been well cleared of snow. Smart strapping men in military garb, as well as smart dressed civilians, promenade with stylishly dressed ladies of pleasing features. A fine set of folk to my way of thinking. Still, there is the ever present poor looking miserable in their rags. Russia has its share of poor people, seemingly unnoticed by the well off. Outside of a well lighted picture hall stood a little ragged girl selling papers. Accosting us she held out one of them for us to buy. Of course we did not understand what she saying though we knew the meaning her action conveyed. I gave her ten kopeek piece for her paper. After glancing at a few illustrations I returned it to her. The light in her eyes was good to see, it was worth 10 kopeeks. The sleighs, of which there are a great number are drawn by wiry horses, driver by quaintly dressed drivers, who stand in front while the fares sit behind them covered up with rugs. Sleighs carry two passengers. An electric car service is also running. 

...

Sunday 4th February, 1912

...

The day is bright and clear, but a strong northerly wind makes it extremely cold, too cold indeed to go walking in. So stayed in my ‘cart’ all day. Not in a satisfied way, for I would have liked to have had a good stroll. I will make it a point to remember, never come to the Black Sea again at this time of the year. Though all the crowd are fine men, sociable and so on, as I am the only non-drinker, my position among them is a somewhat isolated one and I find myself at a loss for a suitable companion.

Of course the boys go where a welcome is extended to them; consequently that takes them into peculiar society. The low down drinking dives, the house of prostitution which is ubiquitous (and iniquitous), that part of a port know as Sailor Town, these extend their not altogether disinterested welcomes, to simple sailor men hungering for a little sympathy and thirsty for a good time. “Don’t forget the Eldorado” (-The Antwerp Bar’ – the Sunderland Bridge or whatever they call their den) “Come on jack, nice girls in my house” “Do you want a tailor. Everything cheap”

Such questions and invitation assail their ears as they wander through Sailor Town, tolerant of the smiles of shore sharks. They are smiles anyhow. The boys go ashore to spend their few shillings, and are not to particular where or how, so long as they can forget for a few wild hours their weary life on the ship board. And who else extends a welcome? The Seamens Missions do. Oh yes. But there the boys too often find a distinction made between the officers and men. The officers’ room with the big billiards table and decent fitting, then men’s whit ‘draughts’ (various) a few newspapers and bagatelle boards, as well as other little things not liked make seamen touchy. Thus, many don’t visit them very often. True it is, a lot do, passing pleasant evening; concerts and social gathering being held. Nevertheless a good many people would be astonished to head the criticisms of sailors and firemen, (men who know these institutions all over the world) and learn the Sunday names given to those who conduct them.

...

Thursday 8th February, 1912

...The Mission man today invited us to a theatrical performance, an invitation extended to all the crews of the English shops. Entry free. As per agreement several from our ship went to the ‘Institute’ at 7:30pm.

There we found a large gathering of men from other steamers, all anxious to see the play, an amateur effort got up by the British residents. About 8 oclock we left the Institute (near a hundred of us) headed by two Russian boys to show us the way to the theatre where the play was to be performed.

Before setting out we were warned to be very orderly going though the streets, and not to make any noise or stir on the way as the Russian police are strict and always on the alert from a disturbance of any sort. It would not be the first time a crowd of seamen had been arrested and imprisoned said the Mission man. He hoped it would not happen to us. It did not, for we were well behaved; nevertheless the sight of a long string of unmistakably foreign seamen marching through the streets caused a mild sensation among the citizens. Many were the glances of curiosity levelled at us.

On arriving at the theatre we were shown up a long flight of stairs that brought us to a gallery from where, a good view was obtained of a very pretty interior. Down in the auditorium (big word) the seats (cane bottomed chairs) were empty, the spectators having not yet arrives. The hall was pleasantly heated and perfumed.

Soon the place began to fill with well dressed folk. Gentlemen perfect and ladies charming, the latter in dreams of dresses as the womenfolk say. A few of them, just a few, deigned to glance our way with a sort of well bred curiosity. To the most of them, we were not there. As I looked down on that scene of fine feathers, noticed the bowing and seraping and salam samming, the kissing of ladies hands I felt as one gazing on another world, as one allowed to catch a glimpse, to be on the fringe but not permitted to come nearer.

However, up in the gallery we had the attention of two fine strapping armed policemen, who were there to see we were good boys and kept order. Our behaviour was excellent so they had a good job. Until the performance started at 9 oclock we were all engrossed in watching the well-dressed throngs below, and indulging in good-natured criticism anent the same, we actually looked down on them, perforce.

An apprentice and I enjoyed ourselves immensely watching the antics of a long lean curate with a big nose that was surmounted by a pair of specs. The giddy curate of stage life he was, and a wonder of wonders, here he was in real life. With hands clasped breast high, he hopped about among the seats, grinning like a Cheshire cat, bowing here, bowing there, continually bowing in (to us) the most comical fashion in the world. From side to side went his head, while the grin (we hesitate to write smile) never left his face. How he buzzed round the ladies; they claimed his greatest attention, and he seemed to be acquainted with a lot. We had a hearty laugh over that gentleman who, maybe, is not so silly as he looks.

At 9 oclock the piece entitled – The strange adventure of Miss Brown – and produced by Mr Leslie Waller, commenced. There were three acts, all of which went along splendidly, amateur effort though it was. All the characters were well acted, especially so the schoolmistress of Mrs Leslie Waller and the Sergeant Tanner of Scotland Yard, played by Mr George Robson, a Lloyd’s surveyor.

It was a great success; every seaman there enjoying it. Through the generosity of Mr T. Robson, the seamen present were given ‘ free beer’ between the acts, a very thoughtful and much appreciated action. Good old Robson. Here’s wishing you luck!

At 15 to 12 the play was ended, so down the stairs we went, away from the brilliantly lighted, warmed and scented hall to the darkness and cold of the night outside. Motorcars and droskys quite a lot of them, were waiting there to take the ladies and gentlemen home. Us seamen, in little batches, walked, finding our way back to our ships, as best we could. The air was chilly, the rain drizzling and the streets were dirty underfoot. 

Snow and ice in the Black Sea

On Sunday morning I made my way up to snowy Scotland. Tucked up in my fire-warmed cottage, I can't help but think of the chilly journey taken by the crew from a snow-covered 'Constant' to the frozen harbour of Odessa. Here are some excerpts from the journey...

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Wednesday 17th January, 1912 

Morning. Among the Greek Islands.

Fore noon watch on deck. Wind ahead, and icy. The hills are fairly well covered with snow, so no wonder the wind is cold. Noon – Entered the Dardanelles. I have been several times through here, but never at this time of year. Did not think so much snow would be seen here as I hitherto have always seen its sunny with the land pleasantly green, in the good old summer time.

Stopped at Chanak [Çanakkale], as all ships must, then satisfying the Turkish officials, and taking a pilot aboard, proceeded on our way. This was about 3:30pm. When I came on deck at 4pm the town was hidden round a bend astern. I saw three or four Turkish men-o-war at anchor, all ready for the action with the Italians if need be. May be.

The Banks of the channel were white with snow, a little of which was falling, the first I have seen this winter.

At 4:30 it was quiet dark and I had to go on the lookout – we passed a good many steamers in the night watch. Another day for King George and ¾d for me that being the princely sum our wages amount to a day. Midnight – In the Sea of Marmor.

Thursday 18^th January, 1912

Middle watch below. On deck again at 4am straight from the warm fo’c’stle to the cold wheel. One minute in your bunk, the next, on deck.

Steering Easterly with the coldest wind imaginable from the Nor’rad. Our bridge is about the most desolate and wretched place that ever a poor seaman did his two hours on. Notwithstanding the fact that I was well bundled up with clothes and with socks over my mitts. (The wheel is a brass one).

I was soon chilled. Very glad was I to be relieved at 5 o clock for coffee. ‘Twas a few minutes respite in which the hot coffee cheered me up.

Relieved at 6. Went for’ard, had a smoke and then onto the lookout as it was not quite light and traffic was plentiful. We were nearing Constantinople….

Did not stop at Constant’ but steamed right on through the Bosphorus. On either hand a covering of snow lay everywhere. Mosques, minarets and palaces looked lost looking, seemingly out of place and pining for the sunshine and more verdant surroundings. What a contrasts to the same locality in the summer when to journey through is a delightful experience.

Just after 8 bells the anchors was dropped off Kavak Quarantine Station at the Black Seas end of the Bosphorus, 65 fathoms of chains being run out. Swinging to the tide the shift nearly fouled another anchored steamer. For safety, our cable was shortened. As a breeze was blowing and the ship yawing about, to make things more secure the other cable was run out. The other ships anchored near were a source of worry. We must not foul them at all costs. Our jolly boat was lowered after breakfast, four hands taking the Captain and pilot ashore. There was no orders for the ship so the captain returned aboard.

This afternoon we were put three in a watch again the shifting boards being all up. Good. At 10 o clock our watch took the Old Man and two quarantine men ashore to the Office of Sante. Three other ships boats were there. After 10 minutes wait the Old Man returned with the orders. Back to the ship, we hoisted up the boat then weighed anchor. Trinks and I having the job to stow the chains in a locker. We are bound to Odessa. On passing the bluff near Kavak we found ourselves in the Black Sea facing a headwind and swell while overhead scowled a snow laden sky, chilling, fit companion for the icy breeze.

Course N.E. Ship making 5 knots and driving a lot of piles. As she is light she lifts a lot, then, down with a bang comes her forefoot on the swell causing her whole structure to shake and rattle. Pile driving that’s the name for it, though the boys say now and again, when an extra big thump wakens up their interest in where they are “That’s another mile stone.” The night is very dark.

Friday 19th January, 1912

Middle watch on deck. My two middle hours look out. A dirty raw night with a slight snowfall. Wind still ahead but abated somewhat. Ship rolling a little.

What a blessing is the clanging of 8 bells to the watch on deck on a dirty night. “God bless your iron tongue! Say the tars on the deck as he thinks of the red hot stove in the fo’c’stle.

‘Blankety! Blank! Blank!” growls the watch below. ‘The darned thins’ always striking infernal noise!” Then they muffled up with all the gear they can put on, step mournfully on deck to relieve their shipmates. But a quick relieve is given, as the same is expected. That is a rigid if unwritten law among seamen. The man who breaks it, will hear something. He should.

On deck at 8am. Wheel 8 to 10.

Afterwards down the bunkers, sweeping and caulking limber boards with oakum in order to prevent grain getting in limbers when loaded. This bunker hold is just abaft No. 2 a thwartship wooden bulkhead dividing them. It extends to the stoke hold bulkhead (steel) and will be filled with grain.

In the 6 to 8 dog watch the second mate was for’ard with a ‘manifesto’, a paper whereon was written the quantity and description of each mans dutiable possessions, as required by the Russian customs. The articles included: - soap, matches, tobacco, playing cards, revolvers, new clothes, clocks and watches.

Saturday 20^th January, 1912 

My wheel 6 to 8 am. Weather intensely cold, freezing in fact, this my moustache proved for it was soon frozen stiff. The coldest day we have had. Spread mats in all the holds thus completing preparations for the cargo.

Shortly after dinner we ran into a soft thin ice. Soon, as far as we could see all round the compass was ice. I thought it interesting, even though it certainly was not pleasant. One good thing is, the fact that the wind has gone down. I could see the red-lead at the ships waterline was staining the edge of the ice, as we steamed through it. It will clean her bottom I reckon. About 4 oclock we could see Odessa, but the ‘old man’ did not seem inclined to make for the entrance, we kept dodging about, round and round. He must have thought the ice too thick closer in, and (of course) he saw the darkness gathering.

I went to the wheel at 6 oclock and steered E by S. ½S. for a while and then due E.

At half past 6 the engines were stopped, the anchor let go, the cable run our until there was 45 fathoms in the waters, so we lay snug-o just outside the thick ice.

The lamp trimmer is watchman for the night, he having been below since dinner time watch and watch being suspended the rest of us can have a good lay back till daylight that is, after this game of poker is finished.

A Sailor's Strike

Before loading their new cargo in Barletta, the crew are kept hard at work. The weather and work condition are below optimal and a scuffle breaks out over overtime pay. A successful workers' strike ensues...

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Monday 8^th January, 1912

Started to paint or rather tar the funnel. After breakfast finished top black and some of the white band. A very cold strong breeze sprang up, so the three of us on the stage high up felt the full force of it. At last it became so wild we descended to the deck refusing to stay working up there any longer, notwithstanding the bosun’s growling or his boast about painting funnels in the Western Ocean in the depth of winter. Some folk will do anything.

Lowering the staging we took all our gear pots, pain, tar etc for’ard. I heard the mate say (sensible man) “You know the men cant work up there on a day like this. Put them down the bunker and see about the shifting boards.”

The weather grew worse, the sky full of heavy black clouds. By 11 oclock it rained hard, the wind increasing in violence. Spray dashing over the breakwater reached the deck of the ship, and formed by the breeze, a heavy swell come rolling in between the pier heads. To make the ship secure we put out extra breast rope and head and stern wires. We also hove tight the big coir springs. This kept us busy until dinner-time. The coalies ceased work.

The manner of discharging is the following – A gang down the hold fills sacks which are hoisted by whips, two sacks to each whip, four whips being worked at each hatch. The sacks are landed on a small staging by the ship’s rail and carried from there on the backs of workmen, along a gang way stretching form the ship’s side to the shore, where carts await to receive them –

About 3pm the weather improved, the coalies recommenced work. In the evening to cheer our drooping spirits we lit the bogie, all hands staying aboard. It was not safe nor inviting along the breakwater.

Wednesday 10^th January, 1912 

Chipping and red leading over the side all day. After tea, having got ½ franc from the Austrian, I went ashore. Most of the shops were closed, and although there was a good number of pedestrians about, the place was oppressively quiet and dull, I thought. I went to Sala Roma picture hall there seeing and enjoying the programme of five good pictures. That cost cinque soldi (2½d English). The way back to the ship called in at the Ideal Bar for a Vermouth (a sweet wine, price 2d. That left me with ½d out of the 5d or half franc as we sailors call it. Actually it was half a ‘lira’. Down came the rain, all humans disappearing, as I wended my way back aboard, my path being a singularly quiet, lonely damp and eerie one.

I was on edge.

Thursday 11^th January, 1912 

A very warm day, the sun shining strong. Took a letter containing a note for £2 which I got from the master, aft. It is for my old lady (mother).

The master will post it when he goes ashore, for ship’s custom requires him to post all letters the crew thinks fit to send home, or elsewhere.

The subject of conversation to night was the Boer War. Our bosun, by the way, was in Lovatts House. In 1900 I was in a Federal Liner that took part of the Second Australian Contingent to the Cape. Then I had the experience of being ashore in Cape Town when the Relief of Ladysmith took place. Oh boys what a night!

Quite befittingly, I have Rider Haggards’s The Last Boer War to peruse ere going to sleep.

Friday 12^th January, 1912 

Engaged all day sweeping holds. The bosun kept us on the move, no spell-o with that guy. Knocked off as usual at 5pm. I was busy washing myself when the mate came along and told the bosun to turn us to the ‘shift ship’. “Turn to! Shift ship! Starboard watch aft” roared my nabs, through the forecastle doorway. We looked at one another and argued whether we should turn to or not, as there was no mention of overtime payment.

"Let’s see the mate," advised the Dundonian. “Sure” agreed yours humbly, and up on the f’c’stle head we went. “Are we going to get overtime for this Sir? Enquired Scottie. “What! For shifting ship. Oh no.” replied the mate. “Well the new rules is all work after 5 is overtime, sir.” “I won’t pay it!” snapped the mate. He wouldn’t pay it. Oh my! I thought the shipowners did all the paying but some folk will talk at random “All work connected with the ship or cargo after 5 o clock is overtime” chimed in I.

“If the shipping office superintendant says you are entitled, when you pay off – alright”

“That’s no use, sir. Please state definitely whether you are going to pay us overtime or not”

“No. I will not.”

“Then no work” so saying I headed the march off the forecastle head. 

Five minutes later the mate came to our door, shouting “Alright turn to. The captain agrees to pay overtime”. We sailors went immediately on deck and shifted ship astern, under the direction of the Italian pilot. The time occupied I will duly note down along with the date, so as to be able to give particulars in writing to the shipping master if necessary.

Drawings from 1899

This weekend I spent some time going through the very delicate 1899 diary, which contains some of the details of Myles's very first journeys. In it he travels to places like Australia and Baltimore with a few stops in Cape Town (to deliver troops for the Boer War), Onega in the White Sea (to pick up timber) and Copenhagen, Antwerp and Amsterdam a number of times. The journal also contains a series of stories and illustrations. I've posted a few below.

The "Sweet Home" of Berwick and details of trips to China and the West Indies

"Honor et Patri" and addresses of people at home

"A Water Lily" and "My sweetheart May" 

Exploring Old Barletta

Sunday 7th January 1911

Breakfast at 8oclock.

After shaving got out shore togs and brushed them well, polished my best boots, then dressed, bending on a clean collar and tie. Once more garbed like a Christian I went ashore, having for companion the British fireman, our one and only. I possessed two pence in English money, twenty pfenning, German, and five centissimi Italian; My mate had nothing in the money line, so we were not rich. 

We made our way along the quay, which, as I remarked before, is a breakwater. In conjunction with another breakwater to the s’uth’ard it forms the harbour. A couple of barquentines and one brigantine lie longside. At anchor are a dozen fishing boats (sail) and one steamer, all Italian. On the South shore is a large factory with nearby, a large grey ancient looking fort which marks one end of the town.  

We entered the town passing under what seemed to be an old time city gate. Close to this stood a crumbling old church with the date 14 - - . Turning to the left we came across three men and two boys busy spinning a four stranded rope of coarse material. Interested (what seaman would not be) we watched for quarter of an hour the manipulation of their primitive spinning jenny, then, somewhat reluctantly, we made our way into the maze of narrow streets. All the building seem antique and are very interesting.

A procession of a dozen brown garbed monks wearing sandals, (the foremost of whom carried a long staff surmounted by a crucifix) was one of the first sights we saw.  As they wended their way along the street, the passersby respectfully doffed their hats. A busy Sunday morning we found it, throngs of citizens filling the streets and especially the market where all manner of goods were on sale. The fish seller’s stalls took our fancy the most. On one we saw a young shark and plent (sic) of squid. Big fish was not plentiful, the sprat or sardine variety being the most common.

Coming to an old church with a very dirty chalkmarked door, near which were rows of cheap footwear exposed for sale, we stopped. Bells were ringing, calling the faithful to mass. Seeing several entering the chiesa we became bold and did likewise. Of this church’s great age, one glance dispelled all doubt. The sun shining through a stained glass window just over the little choir gallery, cast a pleasing azure colour all over the interior. The effect was delightful. The mass commenced at 11 am. It being a low mass there was no singing, but throughout the service a young and strong female voice led the prayers which continued to the finish of mass, only ceasing temporally during the Consecration, that sublime moment at the Church’s most sublime service.

The praying being said in Italian I could not follow it, that’s with the exception of the Litany of the Blessed Virgin which was said in Latin, and which I knew well.

Leaving the church we strolled slowly back to the ship, arriving in time for dinner. You bet your life! Aboard all the afternoon indulged in a nice nap. After tea, the young Austrian sailor who had seven shillings English invited the Dundee man and me to go ashore with him. The money he got exchanged for Italian at the pilots (sic) little shop, getting a lira for each shilling thereby losing two pence on each. We had a couple of Vermouths and a long confab with the pilot about the Italian Turkish war. He was telling us that the Italian soldiers were making good headway, having driven the Arabs and Turks well into the desert. After hearing the atrocities committed by the enemy we found ourselves becoming pro-Italian. 

Our presence in the streets aroused attention of the natives, a difference in personality or dress seemingly evident. Many greeting us with a curious “Inglese” or a good natured “Good night”. Most seemed interested. Eventually we found ourselves in a cinematograph show. Places like these are always open on Sunday in Italian, Spanish and other Southern countries. We came out 10:15.

Two cafes saw us after that. Personally my drink was caffe lata as strong drink is not to my liking. It was a quarter to twelve when we reached the Dunholme.

Thankful for a Safe Passage

Many of you have asked me for more information on my great-grandfather's story. Here's what happened on 6th January 1911 in Barletta, Italy aboard the S.S. Dunholme. It highlights the often tedious yet perilous nature of seafaring work.

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Saturday 6th January

Woke by the watchman (the Finn) at 5:30am for coffee. On deck at 6. Shore gang already aboard taking off hatches and rigging gangways for discharging. Assisted them fixing off booms, bending gins where required. All four hatches are to be worked, with 2 apprentices and 2 ABs [Able seamen] as winchmen. We were busy until breakfast time 8am. Three quarters of an hour is the time allowed to get breakfast in. On deck once more we rigged the accommodation ladders over the side. This done I was told off to wash and scrub it.

Funnels board were rigged round the funnel in order to wash the deep white band encircling it. Our funnel marks are black funnel with white band having two black balls on each side.

This with countless small jobs kept all hands busy until noon, when we had dinner (one hour). The ship having been lightened considerably, just before 5, we hove her nearer to the quay, which is actually a breakwater. We then knocked off.

Learned today that six steamers – one of them a Sunderland ship – went down in the Bay of Biscay succumbing to the same gales our old packet weathered. Two men were saved from the Sunderland steamer. No one from the other unfortunate vessels which were Spanish and Greek steamers. We can thank God and the good seasmanship of our worthy skipper for our safe passage. If we did not pass a very merry Xmas we had at least a safe run and are now hale and hearty and securely moored in the harbour of old Barletta. So there is nothing so bad, but that it could be worse (a bit of a mix that). Did not go ashore, passed the time playing euchre (four handed).

Tomorrow we can rise when we care to; truly, a blessed day is Sunday for the toiler.