The next day the ship was moved to the unloading dock. Here was where the labour of every able-bodied man was necessary. As the ship neared the dock the crew tossed small ropes to the waiting longshoremen. The ends of the ropes were weighted with intricately woven balls of rope called Monkey’s Fists. These heavy balls were the results of hours of spare time work by some of the crew, a kind of knitting exercise.

These small lines were attached to ropes, which in turn were attached to the large Hawsers. As we scurried around on deck the longshoremen on the dock attached the mooring lines and slowly the ship was winched into berth.

The unloading began. The Belnor was a large ship. It had no cargo rigging as such. A couple of onboard booms served to launch or hoist the ship’s boats. Other than that the loading and unloading of coal was entirely up the shore facilities. The five hatch covers were removed and giant conveyor belts descended into the depths. A small tracked machine moved around on top of the coal loading into the conveyor.

Other than the hustlers aboard the ‘bumboats’ that had come out to meet the ship when we dropped anchor I hadn’t seen a native up close. Now they were all over the ship. We were told to lock the cabins and watch our valuables amidst stories of how whole radio sets could go missing. We met a longshoreman working the night shift whose day job was teaching. He wanted to practice his English and we learned that his pay per night (about three dollars!) equaled a whole month’s salary as a teacher.

Our pay wasn’t much better. $45 per month!! But it was enough to have a good time for as long as we were on shore.

The Belnor’s superstructure was right at the stern with the five hatches in front stretching up to the bow. This was forbidden territory for the crew during unloading; we would have gotten in the way of a very efficient and messy operation. Plastic sheets were draped at the ends of the gangways in a vain attempt to keep the coal dust outside. After the first day all of the results of our fussy cleaning at sea disappeared under clouds of drifting soot. It took about a week to unload. The dock crew moved from hatch to hatch with their conveyor. The loader was hoisted out leaving two or three men way down at the bottom shoveling out the corners. The ship rose higher and got lighter as it emptied. A condition that would make it particularly vulnerable on the return trip.

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There was a Frenchman on board. He was another who had little use for going ashore. He spoke little English but he had that Gaelic ability through gesture and facial contortion to make himself understood. Once, while hitchhiking through Northern California he got himself into trouble. A car passed him and splashed him so he made a typical European salute. The next car that came along was the police! They gave him a ride straight to jail. Next morning the judge fined him twenty dollars for making a ‘filthy gesture’. The car he had insulted had made a complaint to the police. He had nothing good to say about America: remember this was the late fifties during the McCarthy era. He felt Americans had an abnormal fear of foreigners. He was a good shipmate with a great sense of humour which would come in handy when we hit the typhoon.

The next day we took a tour of the harbour. Technically I was still under house arrest but nobody wanted to interpret it too narrowly. I saw ships that were total wrecks. Mostly those that flew flags of convenience. They were true rust buckets with unshaven louts leaning over the rails calling and hooting at us. One of our crew recognized someone on an English ship and we were invited aboard. English boats were some of the worst maintained in the shipping world and this was no exception. In shipboard cramped quarters if there is no discipline the effects can make you nauseous. There was booze everywhere. Barely clad Japanese women slipped from room to room amidst heaped up piles of garbage. We sat and drank with some pirates who’d been around the world more than a few times and had the tales to prove it.

Sunday evening, back on board, Ron and the liberty crew returned with exotic tales of the Japanese experience. I was envious and hung onto every word; my despair was made greater as I wasn’t sure I was going to be allowed ashore at all!

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These were handouts that we were given all over the part of Yokohama we explored. Why did I save them for 60 years? I don’t know.

It was Saturday afternoon. We had our going to town clothes on in preparation for a day and a half of freedom! The going ashore group assembled on the poop deck where the little Taxi chugged awaiting our boarding.

The second mate pointed a finger at me and said “Not you”. I was to be punished for my sloppy work habits. I watched dismally as the crew boat made its way through the crowded harbour towards the Yokohama dock. It was getting on to three weeks at sea and I was considerably depressed to know that I was to spend the whole weekend on board. The second mate himself was on the crew boat so with my jailer gone an opportunity presented itself.

Some of the crew wanted to visit friends on other ships in the harbour and had the use of the ship’s boat. There wasn’t any reason why I couldn’t go along. Perhaps the other officers took pity on me and thought my punishment harsh. The afternoon saw us on one of the Belnor’s sister ships (they had been built at the same time and belonged to the same company; their names all began with Bel…) drinking Scotch and Beer while the two crews exchanged stories. I was the beneficiary of an interesting Nordic practice in civility: if there was a person in the group who didn’t understand the language everyone reverted to English.

The crew of this ship lived under a different regime. Drinking was allowed and there were some harrowing tales of sea voyages. Some of the members of my own ship let slip that the Belnor hadn’t always been such a fussy, pristine boat and had a dark past. Later, I was to learn why it had become so clean and dry.

Some of the crew had no use for Japan and no interest in going ashore. The Belnor had been making this shuttle between Port Moody and Yokohama for three years and for some the excitement had worn thin. These were career sailors and their lives were as regulated and secure as any landlubbers were. Each long enough on board to have their own cabin. The radio operator had a room full of hobbies. He played the accordion, which made for some hilarious evenings when he tried to fit in with Ron’s Rock and Roll Guitar. He kept himself busy with radio and had made some impressive receptions with the aerial that he dangled out the porthole in good weather

to be continued…

Chipping and painting took on a new dimension. Now we were stable in the water it was possible to paint the outside of the ship. Out came the planks and ropes; Ron and I were lowered over the side with buckets of paint and rollers. (In port there was no need for most of the watch crew so Ron was downgraded to deck crew again) Painting was easy if there was no wind that could take the colour right of your roller and drape it across the nearest porthole. This was a pleasant job on a sunny day. After finishing as much of a section we could reach we would have to wait for the boson to move the scaffold from above.

Once, hanging over the side, and finished, we couldn’t get anyone’s attention no matter how much we hollered. Finally, a porthole opened and the boson stuck his head out. He was quite drunk, as he had finally replenished his liquor supply. Inebriation was his element; he was polite and happy and told us he’d be right with us if we wouldn’t mind waiting. He also wanted to introduce us to his friend and immediately a beautiful Japanese girls’ head appeared! She chatted to us in Pigeon English while the boson went on deck to change our stage.

Ron and I hadn’t been allowed to go to shore yet and this only increased our yearning. The weekend came; the second mate chose the crewmembers allowed to disembark and this was when my shoddy work record caught up to me.