Swinging the Lamp pt 3

Just arrived at Gibraltar, weather on the way very fresh. Daphne is altering the uniform I bought in Lisbon to make it look more British, he reckons it probably is off the German raider “Altmark”. He seems to have trouble measuring my inside leg; has fumbled about and made several attempts. I hear they sell fish and chips in Gib, so I’m off ashore to get some as I can’t face yet another braised ox tail tonight.

Sparks log, back of a beer mat, Gib. 1972
I’m sat in this pub, I’ve tried several but cannot find a quiet bar anywhere. The place is full of raucous tourists; the women seem to be making most of the noise. One of our lady passengers cornered me and gave me a load of women’s lib stuff, said she was a poetry publisher but only for women writers – men not allowed.
I am thinking about my future. What am I doing on this big white ship? I’m more used to just fourteen Brits, the odd Dutchman, forty-odd Lascars and maybe a Goanese cook.
I see into the future and scribble this on a Tuborg mat:

“Women Writers Only”

So, the gentlemen’s bars are gone.
Sailors have to duck under lines of knickers.
There is nowhere now that a man can be a bloke
Without having some bare-midriffed Kylie walk in,
Pint in hand, smoking, swearing, spitting;
But WE are to be kept out of THEIR poetry anthologies.

I think I’m depressed.

But – Et In Arcadia Ego

Just been ashore to collect the new radio officers, Marconi Co at Chelmsford have sent them out post haste when they realised I was running a 24 hr. wireless room on my own. One is from Greenock and the other from Wexford, which should be interesting.
Was accosted in the street by that Australian divorcee Enid Clump, she wanted me to go back with her to the police station. She had been asked to leave the premises. She was outraged. Apparently, one of the rock apes had stolen her handbag. She wanted the police to go and shoot them all. The police had said ‘Madam if we shot all the apes then the British would have to leave Gibraltar, now you wouldn’t want that would you?’
I see the elderly Belgian detective and his secretary have arrived from Lisbon by road – they look a bit weary.

Overheard on the Rock as the Barbary apes contemplate the British football fans who have taken over Gibraltar town:
“If that’s where six million years of evolution get you, I’m going to stop banging the rocks together”

29 Jan 1972
Still in Gib.
Everything has come to a halt with this voyage. There are problems at head office; I am not privy to this as the ‘powers that be’ on this ship are ashore with the Agents making phone calls. I hear gossip though. Apparently, there is a crisis, the company is being sued over the use of the name Arcadia on this ship as she is not the real Arcadia but is a masquerader. Arcadia is the privileged name of P&O (apart from a seine netter at Scarborough and a crabber at Wick). So this is not P&O, there has been some skulduggery and everyone has been duped. At the bottom of it all is some shady London Greek outfit – Styx Shipping.

30 Jan 1972
Rumour is rife this morning. Some say a consortium is buying us out and that this Arcadia will be renamed. Some say we will become the “Cervantes” or the “Don Quixote”, others say the “Baron Munchausen”. We remain in Gib. A few passengers have walked off. In the wireless room, we are stripping down the generators and getting the commutators skimmed in the engine room in exchange for a few beers.
Paddy, the new 2nd R/O is quite happy as long as we don’t go to Capetown, apparently he jilted the Mayor’s daughter and dare not show his face there. His main peculiarity is his suitcase full of ties – he collects them and takes them everywhere. Robert from Greenock is brand new and has not been to sea yet, he seems a typical Clydesider; been explaining to me how Captain Cook was actually a Scotsman. Where have I heard that before?

31 Jan 1972
Still in Gibraltar. Information coming in about our new owners; a consortium of financiers and interested speculators. There is a long list posted up outside the Writers Office, a quick scan reveals:
Stavros Niarchos, Aristotle Onassis, Constantine Papadopoulos, Walt Disney, Viscount The Lord Rothermere of Fleet, The Dowager Marchioness of Holderness, Nubar Gulbenkian, Vera Lynn… and down at the bottom: Lord Lucan, James Shand of Fife, Will Fyffe of Dundee and George Robey of Suez.

The emigrant families seem to be oblivious of all this, just enjoying an unexpected holiday and going ashore for fish and chips. Some of them are from the West Durham coalfield, the men have just recently stopped wearing their caps; you can see the ridges embossed across their white foreheads. One family have gone home though, the father was missing his whippets. I’ve heard that another has smuggled his prize canaries aboard and that they can be heard singing if you walk down a certain alleyway.