Once Upon a Time I Met...

By Mike Alexander

This book is a travelogue with short descriptions of chance interviews of folks, ranging in scope from North Cape to the Cape of Good Hope (105 deg. of latitude) and from Green Bay, Wisconsin, USA to Tokyo, Japan (225 deg. of longitude).

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665586467

Book preview

RECOLLECTIONS

The recollections following are solely mine from over 70 years ago to the present day. Geographically speaking, from the North Cape to the Cape of Good Hope (105 degrees of latitude) and from Green Bay, Wisconsin, USA to Tokyo, Japan (225 degrees of longitude).

MEMORIES

My Mother was one of those people who had firm ideas of what constituted work, play and development. She was anxious for both of us to make our own way in the world, in substantive employment, as recurring lay-offs were a common feature in our Province. Not one Government had the foresight to realise that owing to our dependance on water / air transport to the mainland, additional costs would necessarily be incurred in the movement of produce or manufactured goods, thereby disadvantaging producers. As a separate state on the island of Ireland it was an expensive failure. Not generally recognised, it was a grievous burden Great Britain did not need. The cure of course, was the reunification of the country, for we had more in common with our southern neighbours than with any from the mainland. Stormont politicians were elected along strict religous lines, Unionists were generally protestant whilst Roman Catholics were mainly Nationalist. In this regard the educational system shoulders much of the blame. I think it is fair to say Nationalists were voted in on their stance on affairs which mattered to the voting public whilst Unionists only required a soapbox on which to stand and shout, ‘No Surrender.’ Their gullible listeners saw bogey men hiding in every shadow, threats of ‘Rome’ rule, and a fifth column awaiting their time. If it hadn’t been so serious, it would have been the makings of a Sam Cree comedy. Belfast had the distinction of several great engineering works, Mackies, Sirocco, Ritchie Hart, Harland and Wolff, Workman Clarke, the City was also blest with a large gas works, (many would say bedevilled), on Ormeau Road at the junction of Donegal Pass. Part of the pervading stench across the City was not wholly attributed to the Gas Works, but to the lack of dredging the River Lagan at its’ rear. Further out of town along the same road at the rear of Balfour Avenue lay Heralds Confectionery factory. Large bakeries, Ormo, Kennedys, Hughes, and Inglis served the community. Distilleries, Bushmills, Kinahans, Invalid, Dunvilles, Irish Distillers, Avoneil, Cassidys, McConnells, and McKibbens did likewise. The smoking public were well served by Gallaher and Murrays. John Edwards clay pipe works could be found at Ballymacarrett. Several large grain mills lay within the extensive dock area, Ranks, Andrews, Thompsons, Barnetts, and Halls. Belfast Ropeworks, a world leader in the manufacture of natural ropes and twines. Match manufacture was the preserve of Maguire and Patterson in the west of the City. Probably the most remarkable fact was that all over the province of Ulster, were more than 3000 flax spinning mills, totalling 35,000 power looms at the turn of the 20th century. In and around Belfast, 900,000 spindles (more than any other 3 countries) kept the mills of; York Street Flax spinning company (largest in the world), Jennymount, Greeves, Flax Street (Crumlin Road), Mossley Mill, Barbour Threads, and Barn Mills at Carrickfergus, busy, employing many thousands of workers.

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P rimary School (All Saints) beckoned in this year and I found something else I wholly enjoyed. Housed in a Victorian building in University Street, sandwiched between the Ulster Transport Authoritys’ bus parking yard and Sergt. Monaghans house,110, Royal Ulster Constabulary, classes were small (by today’s standards). Our home was 5 minutes walk from school and as the roads were virtually empty of traffic, we were safe. Class 1 was attended by Miss Faulkner, 2 by Mrs Dornan, school principal,3 by Miss McGonigle and the final class by a teacher whose name I cannot remember. A nearby shop to the school entrance sold Mars Bars for 3d. Twice the size of todays, for the equivalent price of 1.25p. Four bars for one shilling (5p)!

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O ur home was sited in Balfour Avenue and to its rear was Heralds Confectionery factory or as we called it, ‘the mint imperial mill.’ The outer fabric had suffered from a lack of upkeep, common then, when the principal reason for managing a factory was to strip all possible profit out of it without any expense. Its’ demise followed within 5 years. The downstairs windows were always open to allow heat to escape as a conveyor bearing mint imperials ran past in an effort to aid cooling. Each window had a wire guard fitted but these had deteriorated to such an extent little hands could grab sweets off the line. This September I moved into Mrs Dornans class, in the main hall which housed two classes. Owing to the halls’ size it was provided with a large coal fire which blazed throughout the winter keeping us warm. Another discovery was the arrival of annual gifts from a past student who now resided in Australia. My sister Maureen (Renee) followed me a class behind. There were boxes of apples and we each received two or three. What a blessing as food was still rationed (still a sore point today) and these were a luxury.

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M y earliest recall of this year, in January was the devastating loss of Princess Victoria, a car ferry which had left Stranraer in Scotland, 144 lost including a neighbour of ours, Captain James Ferguson. Another tragic loss which occurred in mid April, concerned HMS Affray, a submarine. Every morning I listened to our radio just after eight o’clock during the News when an update was given regarding her ‘loss.’ She had left Portsmouth (Gosport) on an exercise on 16 April, wireless contact was lost later that evening. A few days later it was reported that sounds had been picked up from someone knocking on the inner hull. However this ceased on 19 April and to date no further investigation has taken place to determine what led to her loss with 75 men on board. Declared a war grave in 2001 this has shut down any further investigation that may have embarrased the Government. Speculation of sabotage or mutiny emerged years later when it came to light that a seaman steward, had been transferred to Affray from another warship for an act of sabotage. Scandalous Government non action. Pity the relatives. Later this ‘Festival of Britain’ year our parents took us to Stormont to see the spectacle of ‘Beating Retreat.’ Military searchlights of around 10 feet in diameter were placed at each end of the Parliament building and lit up the surrounding area like day. Many thousands had gathered to witness this ancient ceremony initially developed to recall units to their camp / station / castle. Soldiers were in attendance when the performance concluded to ensure no one looked directly into the powerful lamps, even though they had been switched off. The heat generated would have kept our home heated for a year. Earlier the same day around 11am we witnessed the over-flight of the Bristol Brabazon, it was huge. Another new term commenced in Miss McGonigles class. I suppose she must have been about 25 years of age, terribly old to an 8 year old kid. Never the less, she had a gift for teaching and I absorbed much. The Christmas gifts arrived a little earlier this year from Australia. No apples but in their place large 2 pound tins of stewed steak. No parents had seen steak for the past 13 years since war commenced. Between my sister and I we carried three tins home to our delighted parents. I believe the gift made three families very happy over that Christmas. My Mothers parents received a tin, my Fathers another and as a result my paternal grandfather thinking Australia must be the coming place to generate wealth offered to pay for our emigration. I’m sure our parents must have agonised over the decision to move or not. However it was decided to stay.

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I nto the New Year of 1952 and the talk was of suffocating smog in London and other industrial cities throughout Britain. The only unhappy memory of this school was the morning of 6 th February 1952 when King George VI’s death was announced to the children by the school principal, and my attention was drawn to Miss McGonigle who had dissolved in tears. So was the measure of service and pride in our country in those far off days. I knew instinctly that nothing would ever be the same again.

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C oronation year of Queen Elizabeth II. The second of June held some wonderful memories for me. I first saw television of the coronation in a local sweet shop owned by Councillor Rea, of Belfast City Corporation. My Uncle Jack, Royal Artillery, (Mothers brother) arrived home from Korea and Malaya, where he had been mentioned in despatches, having been gone 3 years. It was announced on Coronation morning that Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tensing had conquered Mt Everest on 30 th May just some days before. Street parties abounded city wide and much was made of the children. Bunting strung out across and the full length of the street. All of the neighbours (mostly the females) were dressed in their best attire and fussing about. The Montgomerys at 17 (their eldest son Herbert emigrated to San Diego with Boeing) the Hewitts 19 the Sheckles no.13 the McKinstrys at 3, a Captain J Ferguson at no.4 who had lost his life on Princess Victoria, the Thompsons no.12 (who owned one of about 3 cars in the street) the McClunes at 18 the McMullans 20 the Gibsons 24 the Loughlins 26 the Lowdens 34 the Bradleys 36 the Coates at 38 the Napiers at 21 McIntyres 25 (their son Jackie wheelchair bound) Dowlings at 27 Purdys at 33 Arneills at 53 McPartlands at 59 and Gilmores at 57. Tables lined our street and filled with such an amount of food, the like of which, none had seen before. Coronation gifts were distributed, pencil tins and the like. On a more sombre note I don’t remember any gifts from Australia this year. I moved to the local secondary school at Botanic a short distance away at the commencement of a new school year in September. I had but one year at Botanic before moving to Belfast Boys Model, on Cliftonville Road. No matter in that year I made another female friend, Carol Bailey from Stranmillis.

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W ork in 1954, so far as it involved myself, referred to my schooling at Belfast Boys Model on the Cliftonville Road. It was a mixture of blessing and despair. The blessing, Mr Black who instilled a lifelong love of history and Ernie Davis, who played for CIYMS, (Irish Rugby Union legend) our Physical training teacher. Ernie was patience personified, as he grappled with my lack of application to running, field sports and the like. He did however discover a latent desire for upper body use in throwing the javelin. I was a cyclist at the time and having developed strong heavy legs was quite useless at running. My on-going training as a chorister at St Anne’s Cathedral had improved my lung capacity to a point where severe bursts of physical exertion rarely registered (more about this later). My throwing skills were tempered on Cliftonville playing fields immediately across the road from school. Separating the grounds from the road was a 6 foot high wall topped with advertisement hoardings. The grounds were not professionally maintained (not to the point they would be today) with the result water would gather in pools. In an attempt to avoid wet feet I loosed the javelin from a dry area rather closer to the road than normal. Here beginneth the ‘despair.’ My javelin passed between adjacent hoardings and struck a double deck bus which happened to be passing. The matter was referred to Mr McNeilly, the school principal, whose reputation for punishment consisted solely of caning, was widely known and not shared by any other member of staff so far as I’m aware. I went home that day with both hands numb and bleeding. His rage knew no bounds. He was no better than a common thug. My Mother discovered a flair for music in me and set about some research. First, the appointment of a singing tutor, Miss Sidney Gaukrodger, Cathedral choir soprano and librarian, who resided at 10 Delhi Street alone. A lady who had firm ideas of the amount of latitude little boys should be permitted, and second, an introduction to Cathedral life, the City Organist and Director of Music, Capt. Charles John Brennan,1876 - 1972, who, at the time, had been in situ 50 years! After a probationary period I was elevated to the robed choir on the Cantors side (Cantorus) the opposing being the Deacons side (Decanni). CJ has remained a lifelong inspiration to me of what is possible given thought, education, planning, and immersion in the subject. Dean Robert Cyril Hamilton Glover Elliott, 1890 - 1977, former chaplain, was ordained in 1915 becoming Dean of Belfast in 1945 - 1956 then elevated to the Episcopate as Bishop of Connor where he served until 1969. A tall imposing figure who brought to mind the appearance of a strict disciplinarian but was in reality a convivial conversationalist. John Nolan, Vicar Choral for 25 years, friend and mentor to every chorister, attended every summer camp we had during my tenure, at Girvan, Port St. Mary, and Fleetwood. Eventually he became Rector of St. John the Baptist in Suffolk, southwest Belfast. I commenced studies at Belfast College of Technology in September glad to have completed my two years at Belfast Model. Surely the Inspector of Schools, now long departed, had many questions to answer re his laxity upon the day of Judgement. I trust he was well rewarded. On a more joyful note this was the year food rationing ended, 9 years after wars end and more than 4 years after Germany! We suffered a sad loss in November of this year when my Great Grandmother, originally from Cornwall, died aged 80. Her husband followed just three months later, also aged 80. Years before he had suffered an appalling works accident, in the loss of his legs.

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A nother busy year in the life of All Saints Parish church in Belfast which hosted Boys Brigade, Girl Guides and Brownies. I had joined the BB a year before and, being musically inclined, wasted no time in becoming a cornettist in the silver band followed shortly by bugler in the bugle band. Our leader was Archie Beverland, a decent forthright Royal Mail postman who hailed from Artana Street, on the nearby Ormeau Road. In late spring Miss Gaukrodger was replaced by Miss Leila Webster, comedienne, actress and vocalist whose home was in the next street to ours, 35 Rutland Street. Well known for her participation in Sam Cree plays she was a talented singing tutor. Her Mother was the only other occupant at home and had a forbidding appearance. Always dressed in black and sometimes with a veil and shawl she was the embodiment of Victoriana. Leila must have possessed an extraordinary gift for over the succeeding 4 years I won the grand total of 22 firsts 11 seconds and 7 thirds at competitions throughout Ireland. Our family holiday was taken in Ballycastle, Co Antrim during July when my parents had ‘taken’ a former LMS railway coach lying alongside the platform in the original station for a fortnight. Only marred by a thuggish lad several years my senior who, upon throwing a stone at me, almost caused blindness. My father went into the town looking for retribution. He asked pointed questions in the nearest public house warning the occupants he would return if the culprit was found. At least it had the effect of clearing the public house for the remainder of our holiday. I never had much of an interest in Ballycastle thereafter as a destination. It eventually became ruled by a council sinking into debt to the tune of c.£65M. Surely a wake-up call for the ratepayers who have it within their power to demand change! One of the lighter moments on holiday arose when my father had taken me fishing off the Pans Rocks, about a mile to the east of town. This was a short spit of lava flow from the long extinct volcano of Knocklayde. Several others were pursuing the same as myself in the hope of landing a salmon or a herring or even a mackrel. Eventually, a bite, and in my haste to recover the fish I almost grabbed it before an adjacent fisherman grabbed my rod and landed a Stone fish. He stood on it and cut out the hook kicking the remains back into the sea. He explained to my father the dangers of this fish and that people had died from their venomous sting. Later, I did catch some herring off the town pier which Mother fried for tea. One glorious day we took a trip on a boat to Rathlin Island some 4 or 5 miles distant, this was King Robert Bruces’ sanctuary in bygone days. Passing a green wreck marking buoy on the entrance to the small harbour I learned this was the resting place of HMS Drake sunk in 1917. Upon landing, I noticed the stony beach on both sides of the stone pier was littered with wartime ordnance, torpedos and bombs, many hundreds. On reflection, I expect they had been made safe. A 3 mile walk took us past a former Italian prisoner of war camp, the church, built by the prisoners remains to this day. Towards the north-eastern part of the island above Altacarry Head is a small quarry where flint arrowheads and axeheads can be found. At the islands western point, Bull Rock, is a lighthouse and puffin colony. This was indeed to be a busy year, as, following a Wednesday evening Cathedral practice a couple of friends went around to the Grand Central Hotel in Royal Avenue in Belfast about 5 minutes walk away. The hotel had been booked out for RAC Tourist Trophy week, which sadly, was to be the last motor-car race ever held on closed roads at Dundrod some 12 miles north-west of Belfast. Not only did I get to meet Stirling Moss and Juan Manuel Fangio but obtained their autographs. That must have been 15 th September as the race was held on the 18 th . Speed limits had not arrived in Northern Ireland outside of local town limits, and in consequence the famous Antrim Coast road served as a good practice road.

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H aving completed my first full year in the College of Technology I welcomed a completely different air of education, which allowed pupils to be treated as adults resulting in greater application to learning. The Principal, Mr Browne was a regular communicant at St Anne’s with his Mother. A gentleman to his core he always found time to speak to me in the week after a particular choral setting he had enjoyed. I suppose we learned from each other. One other master who taught french language was a Mr Astle. He was probably 50 years of age, always dressed in gown and mortar board, and seemed to enjoy taunting the weaker in class. Later I appeared on BBC1 TV during St. Patricks’ day in a children’s programme of the era, ‘Studio E.’ At that time the studios were in Shepherds Bush, West London. My Mother and I travelled by British European Airways in a Vanguard from Nutts Corner airfield to Heathrow and stayed at an hotel in Lancaster Gate. Whilst at the studio we enjoyed the company of Vera McKechnie, the presenter, Shirley Abicair (b.1928) an Australian zither player, and Johnnie Morris (1916-1999), affectionately known as ‘the hot chestnut man.’ He stated to my Mother there was no more scenic road in the world than the Antrim Coast Road. On my return Mr Browne observed, ‘How gratifying it was to see the school tie worn.’ Billy Graham, the American evangelist, came to Kings Hall, Belfast this year where I joined many others to hear what he had to say. I think I may have formed an opinion of sorts that evening with regard to religious meetings addressing thousands. Unrestrained crowd hysteria not unlike what had passed just 20 years before in Germany. Family summer holidays were spent in Douglas, Isle of Man, where I met Ivy Benson and sang with her ‘All Girls’ band in Villa Marina. The school, in conjunction with the attached Girls business school, had organised a 10 day trip to Uberlingen in southern Germany, cost then £27! Hotel Zum Graunen Baun was a quaint story book hotel that might very well have come straight out of Hansel and Gretel. Situated in the centre of town it was comfortable, however the after effects of war were apparent. Food was plain and meagre in portion more so than at home. We should have considered ourselves in the ‘well off’ category. The locals were not overly friendly either, hardly surprising. Uberlingen lay on the northwest shore of Lake Constance in the area known as Black Forest. It’s proper name was Uberlingen am Bodensee. We had a trip on one occasion to the source of the Danube and another across the Lake to St. Gallen in Switzerland. St. Gallen, we discovered, was founded by a monk, St. Gall, from Bangor Abbey, Co Down. Another memory I have of there, was how very expensive shopping was, the exchange rate being 4 Swiss francs to the Pound. It’s one other abiding memory were ‘chain gangs’ of prisoners working in the streets. Perhaps something similar should have been enacted in the UK. As a social engineering experiment it may have proven valuable. Accompanying teachers were husband and wife Mr and Mrs Harbinson, whilst the only girl from the business school I can recall was a ‘Lorna Brown.’ She was likely 3 years my senior.

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M y introduction to BBC Radio NI, was via Cicely Mathews 1910-1975, and Dr. Havelock Nelson 1917-1996, Cicely, a regular childrens’ hour presenter and Havelock, an accompanist on piano and conductor. I met both several times over the next two years then, Havelock, twenty years later whilst conducting a Songs of Praise television recording. Singing lessons progressing satisfactorily as were solo performances at Belfast’s Empire theatre, Toc H, several churches, feis and of course Belfast Cathedral. My studies at Belfast College of Technology had narrowed to a point where I felt comfortable, mathematics (geometry and spherical trigonometry), physics and mechanics, english, french language, art and woodwork. French, art and woodwork took up 2 periods a week each, mathematics, physics, mechanics and english the remainder. During the summer recess from College I was invited by my Uncle in law (to be) to accompany him on his BSA Bantam motorcycle to Ballycastle for some unexplained business. The 55 miles each way took about an hour and thirty minutes, and that was before speed limits were enforced! My introduction to motorcycling resulted some five years later in the start of a succession of motorcycle ownership. This was also the year which marked my Mothers return to work. Cole Furnishing Coy, Newtownards Road, Belfast where she became secretary to the owner Ronnie Freedman. Ronnie and his father arrived at Donegall Quay, Belfast off a steamer in 1948 carrying Jewish immigrants from eastern Europe. They came with nothing but what could be carried. The synagogue at the time was in Lincoln Avenue next to Carlisle Circus, Belfast. Some years later we were honoured to be invited to a Jewish wedding, the Hools. From form 3B I moved in September to form 4A which was to be my final year. Late in the year as several of the bandsmen were leaving the hall after practice my oldest friend (Sean Hall) and I met two passing girls, Jean Foster and Laura Baker. This became a regular weekly affair after band practice when we would walk the girls home to Tates Avenue, Belfast. Towards years end our parents had taken us to Grosvenor Hall in Belfast to hear the wonderful bass singer Paul Robeson, (1898 - 1976), son of a slave. That was on Tuesday 18 November and it is still as vivid in my memory as it was live. A stunning heart rending performance so simply delivered. The added bonus was an introduction to him afterwards when he signed my programme which I have kept safely till this day. An evening in a million. He was not overly welcome in his home country during the McCarthy era when ‘reds under the bed’ was a common cry. Sixty and more years later his music is as powerful as when I heard it first. I can still see him standing on a bare board stage, hands by his side, in a double breasted dark suit, altogether a powerful figure.

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S ome important decisions had to be made this year. My schooling was nearing its end with the spectre of employment looming. My term with St. Annes Cathedral choir was drawing to a close with my elevation to Choral Scholar and an invitation to become a part of the past choristers association, of which, I am proud to have been a member for over 60 years. The path to follow music as a career was tempting but at 15 years of age I did not fully appreciate the unique position I occupied in Choral music. Had I been more enthusiastic of my future a bursary would have been forthcoming from one of the great english cathedrals.

This I have named Opportunity 1.

On my final day at College Mr Browne invited me into his office where a number of staff had congregated and handed me a copy of Mr Midshipman Easy, saying ‘I suspect this will be a graphic introduction to the course you have likely chosen to follow. You have absorbed much in your time here and we wish you well.’ Only years later did I discover my Mother had mentioned to him on a Sunday morning at St. Annes that I had an upcoming interview with the Royal Navy. Archie Beverland was aware also of my desire to become a mariner and arranged an interview with Mr McWilliams of the Ulster Steamship Company (Headline of Belfast). I took up their offer in July. I commenced work at their Dock office sited next to the Queens warehouse at Dufferin Dock in the company of Terence Watson. My first ‘work friend’ was an anchor in the sometimes stormy business world. We met again in 1986 at Camping le Paradis in the Dordogne. I was schooled in the uses of Bills of Lading, Crew manifests, Cargo plans, Customs declarations and what seemed volumes of other paperwork. This was to be an excellent grounding for what was to follow. My immediate boss was Dessie Cowan who tragically passed away on 1 April 2020 after a long illness. A true friend and an honour to have known. We were reunited along with Terry Watson during 2009 when I was invited to join the ‘Movers & Shakers’ luncheon club at Belfast Reform Club, of which, Dessie, was chairman. Most members had some connection with transport be it by air, sea or land. I was fortunate to have fulfilled all three roles. I was not aware then, but three generations before had been seafarers, one, Captain John Magowan, a Master Mariner, and John Hambroke who was in his final years of RN service at Passage West acting as Coastguard, (prior to Trinity House becoming the responsible Authority). He completed 40 years of service and returned with his wife to Groomsport, Co Down, Ireland. On 3 September this year my Aunt Patricia (Mothers sister) was married to Theo in Holy Trinity at Ballysillan in Belfast. I had been requested to sing the 23rd Psalm in a setting by Crimond. The church was a 50 yard walk from their home. St Brides church had occupied this site years before and I remember an anti aircraft gun emplacement exactly where the gates stand today. It was a sore point with William, Mothers’ father, the iron fence around his front garden was requisitioned for war materiel. One Saturday morning matinee at the Curzon cinema Sean and I met two girls, Joan Marsh from Rosetta and Irene Moorhouse, from Glendale Park, whose father was a marine radio operator. Once he discovered where I was bound the romance cooled rapidly! Not altogether a bad thing, as I had words with Joan a few days later, only to discover Irene would not make a suitable partner.

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I n the early months of this year I became aware of a vacancy in the sea-going staff, viz. that of midshipman. Consequently, upon application, I became indentured for four years, the document drawn up at Belfast Mercantile Marine Office in Customs House, witnessed by R J Shannon, senior aircraft inspector and my father as surety in the sum of £24, three to four weeks wages then! Uniform, in doeskin, cost the princely sum of £56. I had joined the Merchant Navy as it’s most recent cadet. My attention was inexorably drawn to the provisions set out in the indenture. First was the date which referred to the sailing ship era, 1856! Secondly the annual remuneration I would enjoy, £75 in the first year, £90 in the second, £105 in the third and £120 during the fourth and final year with a £5 gratuity upon completion of satisfactory service. Third, laid out the quantity of food I would be provided with (eg. a quarter ounce of oatmeal per diem) and last, a number of consequences relating to disobedience, piracy etc. Prior to my departure from Belfast I was fetched before the Companys’ Marine Superintendent, Capt Tom Ross who wished me well. The actual date of joining my first ship was September 4 th at Liverpool having travelled overnight on an ex Dunkirk troopship, the mv. Ulster Monarch. Wet, drizzle falling, and cool was my welcome to Liverpool, Princes dock from memory. A taxi ride for 2 miles brought me to Gladstone dock where I laid eyes on ss Torr Head, built 1936 at Harland & Wolffs’ yard in Belfast. A pre war relict which, surprisingly, escaped the fate of her sister ship ss Fanad Head being torpedoed, despite numerous North Atlantic convoys. Having reported on board to the first mate Juan Gomez, who I later discovered, as a Royalist, had escaped the Spanish Civil war, by seizing a ship and making his way to Lough Foyle seeking asylum. I was shown to my quarters on the port side, a deck below the main deck, which formerly had been the ships magazine. Three cadets, Senior cadet (some would have said ‘very’ as he was around 25 yrs of age) Thomas William Service Meagher from Cork, Terry Pratt a Dubliner, and myself bunked in a space 10ft by 7ft, normally the same space held four cadets. The fourth arrived at the commencement of the following voyage, Hugh Stewart a Portavogie man. Our ablutions were in the same position on the starboard side. Light entered the cabin through two ports, wrung up with marlin spikes to prevent opening as both were frequently under water owing to the ships’ motion at sea. Given a half hour to change into working gear, a boiler suit, I was introduced to Patrick ‘Patsy’ Monaghan our Lamptrimmer, 2 i/c Boatswain. Patsy became a steady friend to know. He taught me all manner of splicing, whipping, anchor work and the various mooring patterns. He came from a well known family in Corporation Street in Belfast, and his claim to fame was through his brother, John Joe ‘Rinty’ Monaghan who in 1948 at