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Don’t mention the war

Published October 1, 2009 in Germans, going ashore, dogs, ISPS, blog, Security, From the ship, Germany, History and On the ship. 8 Comments

“The war on terror” was what the reaction to the 9-11 attacks was called, by the Bush crowd. They didn’t have great imagination with the naming of events, “operation enduring freedom” is another classic, it’s certainly enduring anyway. Anyway I’m not getting into criticism of US foreign policy under the Bush regime. One of the other things that happened after 9-11 was the creation of the ISPS code (International Ship and Port Facility Security Code), a knee jerk reaction designed to improve port security around the world, which has had varying effects and interpretations. The most significant difference is that the people who work at sea have suddenly become suspect at each port visit, there was a time when the Consul would be on the quay wall with a delegation of local dignitaries to welcome a ship to a port. Now it’s armed police checking that there are no “irregularities” or a sniffer dog, or a barking guard dog connected to a snarling security guard. Enduring freedom is right, enduring patience with gobshites required.

“Don’t mention the war” says my colleague to me on hearing that we were going to Germany, he might as well have said “don’t breathe”. You can’t help mentioning the war when approaching a German port, especially not Kiel. The first thing you see is a giant war memorial with a dirty great big U-boat parked on the sand beside it. A real life u-boat U-995 that managed to sink 6 ships in it’s short career at the end of WW2, it was a Norwegian U-boat for 20 years before being turned into a museum in 1971. Then you pass a U-boat memorial for all the German submariners lost at sea, half of the u-boat crews never came home, and of the ships they attacked most of the losses were from the merchant navy, so you get a shiver down your spine thinking about all the poor bastards that ended up in the cold Atlantic waters during the war.
Then we headed for the locks, which has been like all ports these days surrounded by 2 metre high fences with security gates and watch dogs and security guards. No offence to the guards only following orders and all, but the ISPS has been largely a winner for fence manufacturers, dog breeders and security firms who have cropped up in response to the “perceived threat“. Putting fences on the land makes it harder for jolly jack to go ashore and for the fire brigade or emergency services to get to the ships (unless they have a helicopter), and it doesn’t close the harbour from terrorists. The entire waterway is open without a fence in sight, ( OK in Gdansk they had two well hard looking geezers with black uniforms, H&K’s and wraparound sunglasses in a rubber dinghy, that nearly capsized when our wash hit it. Effective way to stop a ship?)and access to the quays from the water is wide open which brings me to my final mention of the war, WW2 anyway. The pilot made a sort of a gruff laugh and pointed at the fences, “security” he snorts, “not even during ze war did zey need fences here…….” He said a lot more too, but I won’t write that down here, don’t want to give the bad lads any efficient well thought out ideas.

So the lip service will continue, “Security Level 1 sorr!” (in best stage Oirish fashion tugging forelock earnestly)

Port Images from Ming Ming

Published September 7, 2009 in ship spotting, going ashore, UK, photos, Shore leave, photo, England and On the ship. 1 Comment

Sunset over Immingham’s industrial landscape.

Grab bucket in b/w

Tug Switzer Josephine waiting for her next assignment.

Buckets and cranes waiting silently on an early Saturday morning.

leaving it all astern

Published December 6, 2008 in going ashore, Pirates, Irishness, England, Irish and From the ship. 5 Comments

One of my favourite vistas, the ship fading into a speck on the horizon and me being carried away at high speed in the opposite direction. The water in the photo being churned up by the launches twin props is Southampton water, as I left the ship at anchor near the Isle of Wight, and got a boat trip into Southampton docks, before being taxied up to Heathrow for further processing.
I don’t know what it is about the English but they have some sort of Irish detection thing going on, I don’t know if it was my leprechaun looks and the bright green outfit with large black belt and shillelagh, while I tugged my forelock shouting “begorrah and top of the morning to you” even though it was 3 in the afternoon or they had been given intelligence prior to my landing on the deck, but the first thing the coxswain said to me was, “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” No good afternoon sir or sit down and let me take your shillelagh and bags of gold sir, straight to the identification of nationality, No I replied Judas like, I’m from Kilburn, London and was raised by an itinerant builder named O’ Sweeney due to the fact that I was orphaned at birth so in fact I’m as English as you are….I only picked up the accent from my guardian and mentor O’Sweeney, …….
Naturally I was taken aback with the sudden request for an authentication of my origin, Yes I replied, Irish as Guinness and Shergar, the two lads in the boat gave a laugh and both started to relate their experiences of Ireland as if I would be in the slightest bit interested. They didn’t ask me if I was a member of the IRA, but mentioned Mountbatten, I said it wasn’t anything to do with me being only 10 at the time. I wondered silently if any other nationalities got the same treatment or was it only reserved for the Irish.

They left me on the docks in the good hands of a taxi driver, who said “You’re Irish, aren’t you?” No I said American from South Boston, but the accent kicks in thanks to a genetic code and the proximity of Ireland, the closer I get the more thick the brogue, and if I landed in Shannon for example I wouldn’t even be able to understand myself.

Yes I said I’m Irish as DeValera and U2, what he said? Nothing I replied a bit of Irish humour.

He of course turned out to be an ex-military and proceed to tell me all about Norn Iron, as if I had never heard of the place and how the problem could be solved, more military seemed to be the gist of his argument. I begged to differ and suggested that the “problems” were being sorted out better now that in a long time and maybe better off to be sorted out by the people that actually live there. This seemed to be an alien and incompatible suggestion, and he changed the subject to his love of tanks and how he had driven across Salisbury plain in one and fulfilled a boyhood dream. Dream on I thought, but said no more as it was he that was driving me to the airport and imminent departure.

I had been dreading the thoughts of Heathrow the whole time, my least favourite airport on the planet, but terminal 4 has now become a ghost town thanks to the new terminal 5, and was manned by a population almost exclusively descended entirely from South East Asia, they were friendly and not really interested in me at all, and they didn’t say “You’re Irish, aren’t you?”

Up the road, to the Mission

Published November 8, 2008 in going ashore, Cadets, French, France and From the ship. 1 Comment

One rule, 2 countries, 2 interpretations. In Rotterdam I couldn’t set foot off the ship without incurring great expense and hassle, and my bicycle was blacklisted, In Dunkerque, there was a free bus laid on to take us up to the Mission to Seafarers, free, gratis and we were treated with great respect. France 1 Holland 0. The French are enlightened. Vive La France!
The Mission itself (featured above in the photo) was no great shakes to be honest but it was not the decor we were there to admire, it was a bit of a change of scenery the Gallic bonhomie a few of beers and a game of pool. There were 2 out of tune pianos, 2 pool tables with worn out cloths and the cushions were like wood, but it didn’t matter. There was also a full size billiards table in one corner, I don’t think anyone else there apart from myself had ever played billiards or knew what it was….proficiency at billiards, sign of a misspent youth…..I’m crap at billiards, pool, snooker, the lads used to call me harpoon when I’d take a shot, my cuing action was that bad.

I was there with the deck cadet and the 3rd engineer, the poor cadet was what it seemed to me to be in a perpetual state of fear and looked like he was going to shit himself or cry every time I addressed him, and he answered “yessir” the whole time. He must have had it rough in the academy. We drank a couple of cold ones played a few frames of pool, warped cues and wooden cushions aside. The place filled up with seamen from around the globe, I was the only westerner in the place, apart from the staff, and I was getting looks from some people as if to say are you really on a ship? One crew had just arrived from Port Hedland, Australia. Their voyage was as long as my entire tour, 4 weeks.
Some of the guests had been shopping for food, eggs and milk, corned beef and sardines. I was thinking I won’t be complaining about the food again on my ship.
One of the staff was a living advertisement for Gitanes, he went out to the smoking area every few minutes to smoke a fag and cough up half a lung in the process and hack up and gob a few times on the ground before uttering something in French which could be translated as “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” then he pulled out a paisley patterned handkerchief and wiped the sweat off his brow from the exertion, and snorted heftily before stuffing it back in his back pocket. Then back to the bar for another swig of Vino. Lovely, it nearly put me off my beer, but not quite.
One of the other staff could speak about 5 languages apart from French and English, and was conversing away with the Filipinos in Tagalog much to their delight, then the VHF set on the wall hummed to life and another bus was sent out to collect more thirsty seafarers.
Most of the visitors wanted to avail of the cheap phonecalls home, I could see them sitting behind the smoked glass cubicles calling their loved ones somewhere in the world. Hard auld life for some of these lads, but the Mission provides some solace for them.

On yer bike

Published November 1, 2008 in the bleedin' obvious, going ashore, paranoia, Security, Netherlands and From the ship. 6 Comments

Is it about a bicycle?

We arrived at our jetty, or should I say, I manouvred the ship to the jetty with the very helpful advice of the apprentice pilot. I listened to him, but it’s my ass if the ship hits the jetty. I don’t fancy the paperwork. A headache of titanic proportions….

Ship’s these days cost a LOT of money MILLIONS of dollars, and we carry DANGEROUS cargoes, petrol and chemicals themselves worth MILLIONS of dollars, so you want a crew with COMPETENCY and RELIABILITY to manage your ship. A crew who wouldn’t RISK anything for the SAFETY of the ship? After all we all want to get home at the end of the day.

So we are at the jetty of this BIG oil company about to handle oil cargo for about 24 hours, perfect chance for me to get the old Rothar out and go for a spin into town for an hour or two, when the Loading Master hands me a document saying that no crew are allowed on the jetty and no crew can walk or cycle in the refinery area. In the meantime half the employees and contractors are cycling by on the way to the main gate 1 kilometre away, Friday evening and time for the weekend, its like the Tour de France with hard hats out there.

I look in complete disbelief at the document and say so I can’t cycle to the main gate? NO

But everyone else is cycling to the main gate? Yes but we work here. (and I am working here too?)

OK, so how do I get me and my bike to the main gate? You have to order a taxi from your shipping agent.

OK, I have to order a taxi to get me and my bike 1 km to the gate? Yes, listen I don’t make the rules, I’m only following orders…

Thats what the NAZI’s said…. (I didn’t say that only in my thoughts)

But it’s a pretty stupid rule though you’d have to agree? Yeah the world has gone mad since 911

So I rang the agent. Listen, I said how do I get to the main gate here if I want to get out for a cycle? Oh the loading master will help you. He says I have to get a taxi….Do you want a taxi? I can get you one but it will cost you….No listen, I don’t want a taxi, I have a bicycle which I would like to take for a spin, but I can’t get to the main gate what will I do?….Oh, the loading master will hel…CLICK I put the phone down.

So it is OK for me to manouvre a 20,000 ton ship worth millions to the jetty, but not OK for me to cycle my bike 1km to the gate. I’m a security risk once the ship has stopped moving? The security rules are a complete farce these days, punishing the ordinary sailors for something they have nothing to do with, namely 911. It has been a windfall for the fence manufacturers and installers, it has been a goldmine for the security industry. There are tattooed skinhead fuckwits with no formal education everywhere with uniforms and radios controlling gates and checking ID’s, they haven’t a clue about what a ship is. This is security don’t make me laugh, I know who is laughing the real terrorists. Meanwhile in the container port, boxloads of guns, explosives,drugs and God knows what are being moved around and nobody has a clue, but for the love of Christ don’t allow that bicycle out.

I could understand if they wanted to increase security in the US, OK they got attacked it is understandable. But it’s everywhere, paranoia rules. Fortunately some ports have a better attitude to ship’s crews, and don’t treat us like criminals. One of the small pleasures of the job at sea is getting an hour or so ashore, to see something interesting in another land. But if you can’t get a bicycle off the ship because you are considered a security risk, well then it isn’t worth the hassle. Stay in your floating prison. It’s no wonder they can’t get anyone to do this job anymore, but soon the problem will go away. There will be no more Europeans or Americans working in these ports or on ships and no one to complain about the shit conditions people have to put up with.

Looks like rain today, I think I’ll stay onboard.

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