YOUTH TO FORE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 20, 25 January 1939, Page 9

YOUTH TO FORE.

GERMAN BARQUE. AVERAGE AGE TWENTY "BONZO" AND "SINGING BOYS" THEY LIKE THE LAMBETH! Under the Swastika flag of the fourmaster Kommodore Johnsen youth is well to the fore. Taking them all in, from the youngest of the 00 cadets to the master, Captain Clausen, the average age of the ship's, company is about 20 years. The boys' ages run from 17 years to 19 years, and here is the list of the officers:—Captain, 37 years; chief mate, 34 years'; second mate, A, 32; second mate, B, 28; third mate, 23; fourth mate*, 24. In 'addition to them there is the •ail maker, the carpenter, the butcher and the cook, all comparatively young— and they are all proud of their ship. She is not so young, but she still lifts her tall masts to the skies, the queen •f all sailing ships in the modern world. Friendly Formality. Discipline is strict on board. They ftalute and click heels like guardsmen, 'but they are obviously a friendly crew, with the best of feeling between officers and boys. That feeling, too, is extended to visitors, though the notice on the gangway says "No admittance." You walk up that gangway practising "Ja" and "Nein" to yourself and wondering if you can really get away with asking a full-sized question, and then a neatly turned out quartermaster snaps to attention and to salute, and say* in ; more passable English, "What do you Jlfcit, pleaz?" and "Have you a card, pleaz?" In that atmosphere of friendly formality you regret that you haven't a card with you, and wonder H you are to be "shooed" off the deck foi

the lack. But tnat is just a check against a misunderstanding of English names, and the matter is brushed aside as of no moment. There is a moment of puzzlement as you ask for the first officer, but you explain and it is, "Oh, chief mate? A moment, pleaz." Masts and Engines. It is a busy day for Mr. Stender, but he appears, and with equal courtesy is pleased to tell you what he can and to show you the ship. A moment later you are in the midst of contrasts —above you the towering masts and the maze of rigging; through the open door in front of you is a beautifully kept, silently moving dynamo, and the engine room. You recall that the Kommodore Johnsen is an auxiliary vessel with engines that are used, however, only on days of,dead calm and for berthing purposes. The dynamo also supplies electric light. You see next the four seoarate holds, for they are proud of that unique feature on a sailing ship: and then the cadets' quarters. Those quarters are not luxurious, but they are comfortable. It is cna big cabin with, along one side, -ows of tables and benches, and, on *he other, rows ,-j hammocks in which, at the moment, the watch below is ?le;-ping peacefully—that is, all but a few. There are one or two reading, another two writing letters, and yet another busy ironing out his shore uniform. Ho grins cheerfully as it is suggested by his officer that it is to impress the female section of Auckland. The ship carries some live stock to provide a change from "salt tack," and that is the reason for the services of a butcher. They are pigs mostly, and among them is' the ship's mascot. "We have a little brown pig," explains Mr. Stender. "He was given to us as a present ae New Plymouth, and we call him Bonzo . . . B—O—N—Z—O. He ■ is the ship's mascot now, but, of course, when he gets bigger . . ." He did not finish that, but the impression was left that the rest was up to , the butcher! Mr. Stender has spent most of his time i at sea in sail, and he does not hesitate ito state his preference. In sail, he says, . there is more sport. Steam is all right, ' and there is plenty to do there the same i as there is in a sailing ship, but in sail ' there is something . . . how do you say •litt . . . more funl ,_. ._

By now you are on friendly relations with the cadets, too, and you ask them how they amuee themselves on long voyages. The smiling faced young quartermaster talks with his hands when his English fails, and you do likewise, so you get along quite well. "We have the . . . what do you say? . . . the music? . . . dance music? . . . you know . . . the military band . . . We have the . . ." Here the fingers take up the tale and you say "piano"' . . . "And we have the accordion (hands working vigorously) and the . . . the . . . what do you say? . .t, trump? Ja . . . trumpet, and we have the (imitation of Kriesler on the job) . . . the violin . . . and we have the . . ." Hands clap together violently, but you can't get that one . . . Suddenly a grin breaks out . . . You know, the . . . Ping! Ja, ja, cymbals. "Then we have the . . . how do you say it? ... singing boys?" You tear your mind away from the nautical aspect of that suggestion and offer "chorus." "Ja. We have the singing boys . . . the chorus. There are 12. 15 . . . 25 of them . . . They are taught by the second officer B . . . Sometimes they give concerts . . . They gave one in New Plymouth . . . but (he waved his hands deprecatingly) we are the sailor-mens. not the concert boys.'* Tentatively, after that, you ask him isi he one of the singing boys? He is definite . . . "Xein. When we are city we go ashore ... I go ashore." Singing boys, apparently, don't go ashore . . . but lie makes his remark clearer in understanding by the sudden question. "Lots of nice girls in Auckland?" He was easily assured on that point. That introduced the subject of dancing . . . and that was one subject in which he had a decided interest. The "dance music" played and "we dance . . We jig . . . we jazz ... In New Plymouth we learned the "Lambeth Walk." That is goot . . . ja!" There was no doubt about that. The delighted smile on his face was even more expressive than his corruptive "Ja" . . . Under the Nazi flag of the Kommodore Johnsen the Cockney swagger has now v a definite place. We left it at that . . The snap of , the heels and the salute was as punctilious at the parting as at the intro- : duction . . . but now there was a new friendliness in it. Perhaps sometime, we will have the "music" .. . NeinT