Vindi Memorabilia

	Dave Ashton's Approval Letter
	Dave Ashton's Kit List
	Robin Hurst's Certificate
	Robin's Kit List
SHARK BAIT (By Don Bowden) The incident happened 1953/54, while I was AB on the Athellaird, a tanker of the Athel Line, a good company and a good ship. We had been doing the usual runs from Mena al Ahmadi in the Persian Gulf , to Mediterranean ports etc. via the Suez Canal . On the occasion when this particular incident occurred we were within a couple of hours from docking in Mena. It was 5 a.m. and my watch/cabin mate and I were sat in the mess room reading. These were the early days of two man watches, ‘Iron Mike’, the automatic pilot making the third member of the watch. My watchmate and I had sailed (suffered) together on the previous voyage aboard the Winter Hill, a Greek cargo boat and another story. This particular morning we had come off watch at 4 a.m. and as we were due in Mena at 6 a.m. it had not been worth turning in, instead we stayed reading in the mess room. I can even remember the book I was reading, From Here to Eternity, by James Jones. It was broad daylight, and the sun was beginning to burn with some ferocity even that early in the day. The accommodation was unbearably hot, and most of the crew, certainly all the stewards, took their mattresses up onto the boat deck to sleep, where it was much cooler during the night. Except for the throbbing of the engines, the ship had cut to half-speed, all was quiet as we sat engrossed in our books; we were interrupted by one of the apprentices calling to us through a porthole from the alleyway outside. He said that he was just checking to see if we were there, and in answer to our query as to why, he told us that on the bridge they thought they could hear a voice faintly calling out for help. Fred and I rushed out onto the deck, on the starboard quarter, and leaning against the rails listened and looked. The engines had been stopped and there was perfect silence. Sure enough we could hear very faintly and far off, a cry for help. Then we spotted him, it’s amazing how tiny a man’s head can seem out in the middle of the ocean. Without further thought the three of us raced up onto the boat deck jumping and swerving around the scattering of mattresses and naked bodies. Sleepy heads rose from pillows and muffled queries as to ‘what the effin’ hell was going on’. As we prepared the jolly boat for lowering the third mate joined us to make the fourth member of our little crew. Once in the water we sorted ourselves out. Fred and the apprentice took the oars, the third mate was at the rudder, and I stood in the bows with the boat hook. Things appeared totally different when we were once underway. The ship was riding high out of the water, as most of the ballast had been discharged in preparation for taking on cargo. Where from the deck the sea had appeared calm and placid in its translucent blue-green, we now experienced the swell which moved restlessly under us. Of the man we could see nothing. No one spoke as we darted through the water, our pace seemed agonizingly slow. We none of us voiced the fear uppermost in our minds, sharks! Dawn in the Persian Gulf to us meant shark’s feeding time. How long the poor unfortunate had been in the water we had no way of knowing, but in this specific area of the world’s oceans, time was of the essence. Every minute counted. I kept an eye open for that dreaded black triangle cleaving through the water; it would be ironic if the beast beat us to it. Silently we hoped and prayed that we would be in time. In the areas of the Red Sea , Gulf of Aden , Gulf of Oman , Persian Gulf and Indian Ocean , there are some mighty strange beasts to be seen in the water. Whenever a ship stops for engine repairs and is drifting quietly, the predators and scavengers gather. The chill one experience’s when looking directly down onto a Hammerhead shark, is not one of life’s most pleasant of feelings. There is a superstition that sharks associate a ship dead in the water with a burial at sea; when the canvass wrapped body hits the water and rapidly sinks, sharks follow it down. Sailors hate sharks! How long had he been in the water? We’d not passed another ship for some hours, and usually this area was quite busy with tankers to and fro from the various oil terminals dotted around the shores of the Gulf. Then I saw him. The bows of the little jolly boat rose on a crest of the swell as it passed under us, and there he was. I gave the third mate directions until I was able to pass the boat hook to the weak and enfeebled man. I pulled him into the side and we pulled him inboard, haste was the word, even then it would not be too late for those savage jaws to rip him away from us. He was inboard. He sat on a thwart and we draped a blanket around his shoulders. Which of us had the foresight to grab a blanket from one of the sleepers, I don’t know. But I can faintly recall hearing a shout of dismay from someone as the blanket was stripped from him. He cried, and in between his sobs we gathered that he’d been in the sea since 10 p.m. the previous evening. During the course of the night a number of ships had passed, but none had heard his cries for help. In fact he had thought that we hadn’t heard him, and was preparing to give up the struggle, when he saw my head rising above the wave. We all felt guilty, no one had thought of signaling in some form to indicate we’d spotted him, and we should have given a blast on the funnel horn. It would have at least awakened the sleepers on the boat deck. I asked him the one question that bothered us. “Didn’t you think of sharks at all?” His answer was no, he had not. “There was one point,” he admitted, “when I felt something around my legs, but when I grabbed at it, it was only seaweed.” We looked at each other, finding it difficult to understand this attitude. We admitted that if it had been us in the water for perhaps only ten minutes, we would have been out of our minds with fear. Imagination can be a dreadful thing. He told us as we rowed back to the ship that he was pumpman on a tanker that had sailed from Mena the previous evening. As pumpmen work almost constantly when loading or discharging a cargo of oil, they suffer from sleep deprivation and when the ship sails they take to their bunk for as long as is necessary. He had followed the usual pattern and had had a shower then went up on deck for ten minutes to relax before turning in. He went up onto the poop deck which was deserted at this hour, the time being about 10 p.m. , he sat on an old wooden chair with his feet up on the ship’s rails. The chair was tilted on its back legs. He fell asleep. The next thing he knew, he was in the sea. He reckoned that his feet must have slipped off the middle rail; the chair came forward and propelled him out through the rails. Strange, but he stuck with that version of events, so there was no way in which to challenge his story. While we rowed towards the ship, he told us he was from Newcastle , was forty-five years old, married with children and hadn’t swum since he was fourteen. This raises the question as to why so few sailors can swim. A sailor will not learn to swim, the rationale being that if they were victims of a sinking, or as in the case of our man, being lost overboard, the inability to swim would make their end all the quicker. It is difficult, if not impossible, to allow one’s self to drown when one has the ability to swim, thereby making the suffering all the longer. On reaching the ship the side towered above us and he amazed us with his strength and agility to shin up the pilot’s ladder, exhausted as he was. The Chief Steward and others took him into care when he reached the deck, while we took the jolly boat back to the falls in order to bring the boat inboard again. We were inundated by questions from the crew, most of whom had watched the drama as it played out and like us had been watching for the black triangle. There were the usual jokes and quips which emerge when relief is felt, such as when he was told we were off an Athel boat he asked to be thrown back into the water and he’d wait for the next ship. In Mena al Ahmadi he was taken ashore to the hospital to be checked over, and his own ship was contacted to let them know we had their pumpman. They had not realized he was missing, thinking he was still in his cabin sleeping. He was put aboard another tanker that same day, which was slightly faster than his own and would catch up with her in Suez where he’d be transferred. I was on the wheel when we left; the Old Man was on the bridge talking with the pilot. They were discussing the morning’s incident and the Captain summed it up in the same words we had all used. “The rescued man was either very brave or had no imagination!”
	Charlie Harrigan This is a picture of Bill Waterton, just before he put the Vindi wreath on the cenotaph at Whitehall, London, on the 11th of Nov. I met Bill at the reunion and we've been keeping in touch ever since, he lives in Surrey and is a member of the T.S.V.A. He doesn't have his own PC, he uses the gear and helpful staff at his local library. Anyways when Bill told me about the wreath I asked him to send me a photo, which he did. I thought it would be something the other lads over here would like to see.

My previous class wore shirts of a different hue. That was mid '46 and I have no recollection of a photo of us all. It was a bigger class, that I do remember. The ship was built for Elder Dempster, the 'ACHIMOTO' in 1929. I did 72 trips in her......and have all the discharges ! Very popular with passos.

The class pic is of a mob who were all very good mates. One only disagreement in the time we were together and it was 'gloves on' and in the ring. The lad at extreme right, back row, good mate Peter Nickless was lost on very 1st trip, on Liberty 'SAMKEY'. She just 'disappeared' NW of the Azores en route from London to Cuba. MOWT at the time, under NZSC management. Nothing was ever found. Right in front of Pete is Paul Barnard of Ilford. Another good mate he & I sailed for 12 months on P&O ' STRATHAIRD' where I was Bugler. In 1949 he joined Royal Mails' brand new 'MAGDALENA' which ran onto a reef out of Rio last night at sea . 8 million pounds, she was a TOTAL loss. All passos & crew got off safe. They, the lads, went home from NY on the Q' Elizabeth. Peter & I unwittingly shared a Gravesend lady. Sylvia Mortlake. We were in different watches and didn't 'wake' till about 2 weeks before we left the school. And when we did realise we 'fell about' ! We sailed from Tilbury Jan 18. '48 for Sydney, not knowing where Pete was or what he'd joined. He was in fact up the river at KG5, they sailed on Jan 24, in ballast. On our return from Sydney in April I got a letter from Sylvia with the news. Some sea career eh ?! A 7 day voyage ! Whilst home on leave the MANCHESTER EVENING NEWS did a story on the ship loss enquiry. I cut it out and have it still. 'Lost ship overwhelmed by "phenomenal seas" it says. Of the 3 of us my years at sea were without Major incident.

Neil Robinson

She was one of Ellerman Wilson Lines out of Hull. Many of the seamen called the Wilsons 'Green Parrots' I never did find out why. The hull was green but why parrot.

She was my favourite ship and I joined her as Deck Boy -Peggy in King George dock in Hull after seeing her name and destination on the board at the pool in Posterngate.

My first glimpse of her caused a bit of trepidation because I saw a seagull swim by in the dock and I could have sworn she rolled in it's wake.

Going aboard I discovered that I had my very own cabin located in her counter starboard of the screw. My very own porthole too. I wondered how many men had also called this cabin home and what stories they could tell.

I took great pride in that cabin and soon had the brass dogs gleaming and the tile deck as white as snow. Later in the trip I was asked how I managed to get the deck so white and I told the seaman that I had used carbolic...I didn't though I used a strong mix of Tepol and detergent....his efforts with carbolic lifted his tiles.

She was going to Canada and was carrying sandbags as ballast. I was told that her only cargo was a small steel box that had been welded to the bottom of #3 hold the contents of which were unknown only that it was worth 3 million pounds.

We set sail from Hull and the plan was to round Scotland and take the great circle route. Her best speed would give us landfall in 9 days except hurricane 'Celia' had other plans. The 'old man' decided that sitting in the lee of the Hebrides was no answer so we set off for Northern Ireland and maybe a better chance to cross. Still no go so it was down the Irish Sea to see if there was any improvement to the South. There wasn't and that box we were carrying needed to get to Canada so ....batten down the hatches, deadlights and string a wire lifeline from the stanchions around the deck.

"Rapallo" was only my second trip to sea and to see even the grizzly old hands wearing lifejackets made me wonder if this second trip was my last.

Chaos in the messroom...soup in cups with cold sandwiches... One old salt saying "And you B****rd " each time a big green one came aboard and smashed against the portholes. He even called me that because I filled the sink too high and she took a roll sending greasy water with bits of carrot and gunk along the draining board, hit the rise at the end and propelled a gallon or so all over his head...

Sleeping caused a few problems because each time her stern lifted out the water the spinning screw would give you a good shaking. That was ok but when she 'missed a step' I learned first hand about Newton's laws of gravity. She'd catch the second wave under her forepeak and that would jolt her stern down which included my bunk. I'd be left in mid air and should she happen to take a roll to port my bunk would end up 4 or 5 feet to the left so by the time I came back down again my bunk was not there only the hard deck. I crashed onto the deck 3 or 4 times before having the sense to lash myself in. I think people pay up to 5 quid these days for rides like that at the Annual Hull Fair.

I don't remember for what reason but I had to go focsle I think it was to get something or other off Chippy..not a long stand or a skyhook because I'd already done one trip so was smart enough. I still had my Vindi beret but a blast of wind snatched it off my head and deposited it on the crest of a wave on the port quarter Odd you know as I watched it disappear in a trough and then reappear further away before sinking out of sight forever that I couldn't think of a fitter place to have lost it..a tremendous storm in the North Atlantic a piece of Vindi back at sea.

Always I enjoyed seeing men walking up or down the deck with a slant, first / this way then \ that and often at an angle so acute that you could actually walk along the base of the bulkheads. Knowing I looked the same to them made me feel like a real seaman. Nice how that roll stayed with you for a long time after coming ashore off each trip.

Do you remember experimenting by giving a leap into the air just as she started to dip into a trough...how quickly the deck would fall away under you. Being careful not to over do it or you'd likely break your leg or worse when you eventually landed. That bucket you were carrying feeling like it was full of lead and then full of feathers.

Getting whatever it was off Chippy I made my way back and one of those big green B****rds got me and swept me off my feet. I grabbed the lifeline and held on for dear life, I was shaken like a leaf in a wind storm straining to hold the line cutting my hand on a jag in the wire. I remember to this day how curiously warm the water felt...death passing me by.... Getting back one lucky lad.

I had my turns on the wheel and really enjoyed it but it was basically hard a port, hard a starboard to keep her going anywhere near the right course.

Crib of course was always full steam ahead in the messroom and that most thinkingest of games Chess. I spent many hours watching the moves and started to get the hang of it. Harry was the champ and I've never met anyone like him before or since... He was a 'Gentleman Sailor' always clean as a whistle even his shoes. He could work as hard as anyone but never attracted any sort of dirt on his clothes nor ruffle the creases in his Wrangler jeans. By the end of the trip I was champ being unbeatable. Harry wasn't too pleased I'd taken his title and the very last game we played he was within 3 moves of beating me when 'Rapallo' took a roll and scattered the pieces here there and everywhere. Harry wanted to re-set the pieces and finish the game and I told him no... 'Oh you B****rd' he said.

Sam Gee was E.D.H. and we became great friends. He had a radio and the wire led from his porthole to the cross trees on the mizzen. I snapped that wire on numerous occasions ..on purpose..during the trip with raising and lowering the aft derricks while he worked up forrad. He ended up shinnying up the mizzen to attach his Christmas tree ariel on the truck. 16 days out I heard a woman singing on his radio and whether it had anything to do with all the rolling and pitching we'd been doing I don't know but I thought it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard. Sam was to become manager of the New York Hotel in Hull married with a child and then moved back down south in England and I lost contact with him. I do remember that his mother had a house called 'The Compass Rose'

A day before landfall the Bosun said it was good enough for us to do some work on deck. A very likeable fellow and he used to wear one of those baseball caps except this one was made out of thin p.v.c. and he was bald underneath it. Well the job he gave us was chipping the gunwales... I was chipping the upper and he the lower..chip, chip, chip, silence, clunk.. you got it the head flew off my hammer and landed perfectly in the middle of his hat..Now he had padding, I'd say about the size of a goose egg. Later in the day he asked me to help him bring in the log line so I got steam to the winch. I don't know what went wrong to this day but just as it was coming aboard he got his arm in a bight so I shut down the winch except it didn't stop and he was dragged screaming down the poop. The winch stopped after it had given him one good turn. He said I'll never work with you again you B****rd and he never did.

I woke up in the morning and 'Rapallo' was in calm waters which felt strange after over 2 weeks of being thrown about. I liked how green the water looked and looking up saw millions of pine trees on the shore....Canada... Beautiful. I walked forrad to see if any damage had been done during the storm and noticed some bent stanchions but more surprising was a little fish on the deck. All black with small lime green luminous spots on it's body. I picked it up and threw it back overboard and just as it left my fingers I could have kicked myself because I may have discovered a new species that could have been put in a bottle of formaldehyde and identified ashore. Years later I heard of a guy who found a blind fish in a cave and had it named after himself 'Smith' so there could have been a fish called 'Wilson' my claim to fame gone forever.

We picked up the pilot in the St Lawrence and I was sent to raise the courtesy flag the Maple Leaf. Now when I was at the Vindi one of the instructors showed us how to roll the flag up hoist it tweak the halyard and Bob's yer uncle. I hoisted it tweaked and it unfurled beautifully ...upside down. The old man glared at me from the bridge and I'm sure I saw steam coming from his ears. Trying to lower it caused more problems because it was still windy and the flag got caught up in the blocks on the mast and started to get covered in grease. The old man gave a violent jerk of his finger which needed no interpretation so I climbed the mast and got it sorted out giving a very low and apologetic bow to the pilot from the cross tree.

We tied up in Montreal and that box was unloaded and I got some time ashore. I was never ( well not often ) one to just visit the local dive because I liked to see how the other half lived. I took a ride on the then highest mobile staircase in the world atop of the Prudential Building. Went to feed squirrels on Mount Royal and got some denims from a famous place where it seemed most of the seamen visited though I don't remember it's name now.

Remember all the ships names painted on the quayside.. Did you ever see one saying "Rapa.. Well that's as far as I got before the Mate caught me and said any more of it and he'd have me scrubbing the entire dockside clean.

I was told I would be leaving the ship and did so quite a few times as it was my job to be swung overboard at the end of a boom in a bonus's chair to tie up and let go as we went through the locks on the Seaway. Making a mad jump for the Jacobs ladder as she got underway. A couple of times the gap was too wide so I ended up walking to the next lock.

Toronto, Hamilton, Detroit, Milwaukee and then Chicago. I really liked Chicago and went ashore to see if I could spot any bullet holes left by Al Capone. Being from Hull which is flat and industrial I was amazed to see two round skyscrapers the first 25 stories of each being a carpark. Below the buildings was an outdoor ice skating rink and I was fascinated watching a young girl dressed all in light blue figure skating round the ice as though she was born on it. I wonder if she ever got an Olympic gold medal later in life because she certainly was good enough.

I stopped at a cafe to experience my first American hamburger and along came a cop and sat next to me. Of course he was of Irish decent and was called O'Mally. A really nice guy and he showed me his gun taking out the bullets first and when he'd done swaggered off down the street twirling his night stick. Impressive or what to a young lad. I didn't have a hat so stopped in a store and bought one just like O'Mally's.. you know they looked like threepenny bits. It was 2 sizes too big for me and kind of flopped around my ears. That was the second hat I lost overboard 'cos that's what the old man told me to do with it.

The Chicago dockers were on strike so we all worked the cargo. Cases and cases of cherries.. of course a pallet of them slipped and were damaged so.....you can only eat so many cherries you know. $40 was my take from the work and up to that point was the most money I had ever had in my life.

It was a great trip back to the U.K. and we passed Wilson's "Rialto" and I thought the crew aboard her must have been mad to join her the way she was being tossed around...then I suppose we looked the same to them. I was to end up spending a night on "Rialto" in Le Harve because she looked a lot like "Rapallo" to me especially after an evening on French plonk but that's another story. :-) John.

"Athenic" was owned by Shaw Savill and I joined her in Albert Dock in Hull. If "Rapallo" was my favourite ship "Athenic" was my least favourite.

Things got off to a bad start when I first saw her. I thought she looked 'heavy' and unwieldy with a certain lack of character. Now I'm sure that many who trod her decks thought otherwise and have enjoyable memories of her but not this J.O.S.

I was up forrad and was busy 'letting go' when the deck officer bellowed to the man on the quayside to "Get a bloody move on you **** " That man happened to be my father who had spent many years at sea both in war and peace and was far and above any aspirations that deck officer had of being a seaman. Did you ever pack one of those Green River knives? I did and it was as sharp as a razor and I darn well nearly used it on something a lot different than rope.

We had to lower all the derricks in place going up the Humber and I looked around to see which deck ring I needed to put a shackle on when one seaman with a really cocky attitude said to me " You don't have a clue do you " so I told him that if he was so bloody smart to point it out and I'd red lead it for future use to keep him happy.

We had teabreak and the hot water boiler in the galley was nothing but a trickle when I turned the tap. I lifted the lid to see if it was empty or something and found the problem.. Some joker was boiling his underwear in it and it had stopped up the tap.

The cocky guy I told you about had already got his water and was behind me ... I felt a terrible pain down my lower back ...he'd poured his boiling water down the back of my pants saying "Oooops sorry" Now Athenic wasn't rolling so it was no accident.

Fortunately for me and fortunately for 2 men aboard it was a Home Run and I paid off in Wales 2 days later.

Those old square riggers were my favorite ships ever since I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I was a little ragamuffin, scruffy little kid, playing around over at the Thames marshes and there was one of those 'on the mud', close by Barking Power Station waiting for the tide.

Also my friends Dad used to sail in them and he showed us a photo of when he was a deck boy on the then Danish 'Viking'. Many years later his son ( Dave Petersen, Vindiboy/46) and me were in Gothenburg, Sweden, and there was the 'Viking'. Preserved as a museum ship, much like the 'Cutty Sark', but not in drydock. It was his Dad's tales that prompted us both to go to sea in '46.

He had been Bosun of the 'Aandora Star' Blue Star Line's only passenger ship, (2 funnels) torpedoed in the war.

Printed with permission from Peter Nicholson

Thomas Ward, Deck-July-Oct 1947....member of the CANADA/USA Vindi Branch

In the picture with the dog, I am the good looking one in the top row in the middle and in the picture with the officers I am in that row, second from the right.

Here are some of the lads that I shared Hut 5 with.

K.Fitch Kent E.Tyler Kent F.A. Jordon Kent K.Wallis South Sheilds K.Daniels Mansfield

J F W Smith Hereford E.Robinson Liverpool

E.Norton Grimsby A.Cameron Dunoon Urquhart Glasgow

Whitty Oldham? EG Simpson Flagstead?

R Tyrrell Middlesbrough E.Freeman Newmarket

D.Gumby Fort George DB Leavet? Harrow

SHARK BAIT

(By Don Bowden)

WHY WE CALL A SHIP A ‘SHE’