This amusing and often moving book consists of 59 short tales about real-life events at sea: The amorous captain who showed chosen women passengers the stars after midnight the zoo-bound warthog who escaped the good and bad behaviour of ships’ crews at times of disaster the alcoholic ship’s doctor who feared having to perform an operation on the high seas the albatross who followed the ship for three days the eagle who landed on the wing of the bridge the ship’s dartboard that was bartered for sex … The most recent The Lure of Far-Away Places: Maritime Tales of Adventure Afloat and Ashore is available now from The Liffey Press.Ībout The Lure of Far-Away Places: Maritime Tales of Adventure Afloat and Ashore Norman Freeman is a well known voice on radio and has compiled his reminiscences in several books. It enabled him to retain his dignity and serenity despite his role as a steward and being called a ‘boy’. Since then I sometimes wished that I had the same deep self-esteem that served Joaquim so well. He moved with an impressive sense of dignity. With a cloth he slowly wiped up the spilled lime juice. However, Joaquim responded with admirable composure: ‘Not to worry, Sahib, not to worry, Sahib’ he said in a soothing voice, as if he was calming a juvenile. To this day I regret that I hadn’t the courage to confront him and say ‘Don’t talk to Joaquim like that.’ ‘Silly boy, silly boy,’ admonished Rupert. Joaquim came in with the afternoon glass of lime juice but tripped and splashed some of it over my desk. There was an unfortunate incident one day when Rupert was sitting in my cabin. Rupert was in the habit of ordering Joaquim about in a loud, authorative voice. He told me that he had been at sea for forty years and that he had many grandchildren. But Joaquim brought tea and biscuits to my cabin and some egg sandwiches to the radio room before I began my night watch. For two days I couldn’t face food in the saloon. The decks rose and fell as our ship ploughed into the big waves. When we set off for Mombasa the monsoon was blowing hard. I went along with the one Joaquim recommended. Several tailors sat cross-legged outside the door of my cabin, competing to supply me with white uniforms. In a kind and unobtrusive way he gave me some guidance. He knew I was a raw youth, a total beginner. It was an Arabic-based word for ‘Mister’ or even ‘Master’ and had become a term of subordination under the British Raj. However Joaquim insisted on calling me ‘sahib’. I was never going to call this elderly man ‘boy’. They may have felt superior but Joaquim spoke Konkani and Marathi and could get by in Portuguese, English and Hindi. I was to hear British officers looking for attention in the saloon or in the bar or out on deck calling out ‘Boy’. There was a tradition of men from there acting as stewards and servants on British ships. Joaquim came from Goa, then still a small Portuguese colony on the west coast of India. He serves myself and the Third Officer as well.’ When I asked him about the elderly man in my cabin he said ‘Oh that’s Joaquim. His name was Rupert and he was a cadet deck officer. He spoke with a languid upper-crust English accent. Later there was a rap on the gauze door and a young fellow, dressed immaculately in white uniform shirt, shorts, shoes and cap put his head in. Everything was new to me, the wooden decks, the canvas awnings to provide shelter from the relentless sun, the shouts in strange languages from the bustling docks below. I was now overwhelmed by the stifling temperatures, the thousands of people thronging the streets dressed in white cotton, the pavements streaked with red betel nut juice, the smells of spices and burning wood, the endless honking of taxi and rickshaw horns.Īnd I’d never slept aboard a ship before. I’d never been far from our home in Omeath on the shores of Carlingford Lough. I’d only arrived in Mumbai the previous day to join this ship as a trainee radio officer. But I was afraid to ask him who he was because I was in a state of culture shock. I was very uneasy about anyone attending on me. Then he tidied up the clothes I had thrown off the previous night, perspiring in the heavy tropical heat. Here is your lime juice, ‘ he said, putting the glass on my desk. When I awoke, after my first night’s sleep in my cabin, I was slightly alarmed to find a thin elderly brown-skinned man standing there, dressed in a white cotton uniform. National Emerging Writer Programme Overview.
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