Swinging The Lamp Pt4

Spark’s journal 1 Feb 1972
Daphne has just been in with my altered uniform for a fitting, there are still problems with the inside leg measurement but the jacket no longer looks as though it belonged to Admiral Doenitz. He tells me the Office has revealed our new name. It seems the rich Greeks in the consortia, along with uncle Nubar, have been very gallant and asked the Dowager Marchioness of Holderness to rename the vessel. She wants to recall an 18th C. ancestor and merchant venturer who sank two galleys of Barbary corsairs which attacked his ship, “The Rose in June”, not far from here. Therefore, the “Arcadia” is to be renamed “The Coast of Barbary”.

Spark’s notepad; “SS Coast of Barbary” 2nd Feb 1972
We are away at last. Lord Lucan and Vera Lynn have joined us as interested part-owners with one sixty-fourth share each.
All were looking forward to getting into the Med. but it’s cold, nobody is on deck except for a muffled up man exercising a whippet; the sky is lowering and there’s a horrible chop. Weather reports say that there is something nasty coming this way out of the Gulf of Lyons.
Daphne has just been in with the tea and says he does not want to be known as Daphne anymore as he’s fallen in love with an Australian divorcee lady who wants to take him home to Wollongong.
We are ok in the wireless room now that we’ve got the Gestetner process sorted out. Ever since the UK there have been complaints about the absence of the ships newspaper. I didn’t know about that one! Having to sit and take down a small newspaper everyday in Morse, then type it up onto a special pallet for the Gestetner before it goes to the Purser’s Office. Paddy from Wexford is brilliant, he can type it straight onto the Gestetner form – Morse into his headphones and straight onto the Underwood. I used to do that on the “Dunera” but am out of practice.

SS “Coast of Barbary”. Spark’s log 3 Feb 1972, off Cap Bon.

That nasty weather out of the Gulf Of Lyons was a bit black and green, some passengers are complaining the Mediterranean bears no likeness to the photos in Thomas Cook’s brochure and reckon they’ll be writing to the Times about it. I suppose it’s fair enough; they weren’t to expect us to be steaming through squalls of sleet between the Balearics and Sicily.
In the wireless room there are now two cats, the one we already had, and the one that Paddy discovered when he was having a pee up a back lane in Gib. Both share a bed in the motor cupboard and seem good friends.
I am wearing the uniform I got in Lisbon, it fits well enough but I noticed the Captain glaring at me in the saloon when I was in there doing my onerous turn at dining with the first-class passengers. I was seated next to Vera Lynn and Herkule Poirot; Vera Lynn was making a great fuss of the Belgian gent. Lord Lucan was further down the table boasting about his prowess at the roulette wheel. I don’t think I’m cut out for this sort of thing, I’m praying they don’t ask me where I’m from.
Apart from that, we have a problem in the engine room, one of the big cooling fans has been making a terrible noise and so we are putting into Malta for repairs. The three Maltese donkeymen have been dancing a jig.

Marconi Sahib’s log Malta 5 Feb 72
We are at the moorings in the Grand Harbour. The jolly-boats are back and forth continually, passengers coming back loaded with shopping and then ashore again in their best gear for a night out in Valetta. The three of us in the wireless room are just off and we are taking Daphne with us. He is in a bit of a state; Mrs. Clump, his Australian divorcee ‘intended’ has thrown him over in favour of a hairdresser. We think the best thing for him is to take him up ‘The Gut’ for a night out with the lads. He’s been very kind to us three and so we are going to get him sorted out with a good woman.
Our Dutch carpenter has been ashore already; the police have just brought him back, along with two greasers. All three were creating a nuisance by insulting behaviour in front of a poster of Dom Mintoff shaking hands with Colonel Gadaffi.
Our crew has been asked to keep away from Straight Street (otherwise known as ‘The Gut’) as the Royal Navy is in port this week and it can get a bit lively.

Next morning. “Coast Of Barbary” 6 Feb 1972 Malta
That was a good night out. Straight Street is only 10 foot wide, door to door – but long; I suppose that’s why it’s known as “The Gut”.
First, we went into “Larry’s Bar” and settled in a corner, the four of us trying not to catch the eye of a group of submariners at the other end. Paddy from Wexford (2nd radio officer) is a kind soul and is doing his best to cheer up Daphne the steward who is not himself since Enid Clump chucked him. Fortunately, we’ve got Daphne to dress down and not wear his usual gear; there’s a few Royal Navy craft in the dockyard and we don’t want a brush with the matelots tonight.
After that, into the “Blue Peter Bar” and straight away we are eyed up by some matronly ladies and we end up buying them drinks; they are looking for trade. They are interesting to talk to and I enjoyed hearing the stories about the RAF pilots they gave comfort to during the siege. We tell them that they each earned a share of that George Cross. They seem happy just to sit round the table with us. Rob from Greenock says it’s weird ‘cos’ they’re nearly as old as his mother’. I say, ‘what do you expect? It’s thirty years since the war’. Rob reckons they should get some sort of pension off the British Government for their contribution to the war effort.
A good while later, after a some pie and peas a bit further up the Gut, we dive into the “Union Jack Bar” which is noisy, fuggy and standing room only. There’s a crowd off a frigate mixed up with some of our engine room – singing. Then Vera Lynn walked in on the arm of the Belgian detective attended by our 2nd mate. She had insisted on being brought here. The room went quiet and then there was uproar as she was taken to the bar and made a fuss of. She ended up singing “We’ll Meet Again”; you could have heard a pin drop.

7 Feb 72
The engine room draught-fan is repaired, a sweeping brush had been left propped up inside it by the contractors in Southampton; eventually it fell into the blades.
Just before we sailed we had to fish Lord Lucan out of the harbour; he had tried to end it all after losing heavily at poker to Jack Spot. Mr. Spot has been keeping a low profile, him being a Soho gang leader who had decided to retire after he was knifed by the competition. He seems to know our carpenter!
Daphne is much better now; he enjoyed the night out but can’t remember much about it.