Pacific cruise under the Hammer and Sickle

Press, 18 October 1976, Page 27

Pacific cruise under the Hammer and Sickle

By

JOHN LESLIE

I know of no better fortnight’s relaxation than an ocean cruisej but I must confess that to find myself recently aboard the Fedor Shalyapin—cruising in a Russian ship in our own waters where we ourselves cannot provide even one passenger vessel—was something of a shock.

But having got over the shock of finding myself under the Hammer and Sickle, I proceeded to enjoy myself. The Fedor Shalyapin (21,400 tons) — originally the Cunard liner Ivernia (later the Franconia), built by John Brown at Clydebank in 1955 and designed for Cunard’s North Atlantic service — now carries thousands of Australians and New Zealanders about the Pacific, in my case, a short jaunt from Auckland to Sydney, thence to Lautoka and Suva and back to Auckland. The Fedor Shalyapin, which takes her name from the famous Russian bass, Fedor Ivanovich Shalyapin (1873-1938), whose portrait in oils is prominently displayed aboard, does not, alas, call ttelton — although

at Ly there are plenty of efficient Russian cargo and other vessels to be seen there as an emphasis to Soviet infiltration into the South Pacific. This takes the form of increasing naval might, fishing excursions off our own shores, oceanographic research, and, of course, cruising. At the time of my cruise, the Fedor Shalyapin was under charter to Shaw Savill Holidays, Ltd, a company which had a small team aboard, led by a cruise director, to oil works and smooth out language difficulties. The team was excellent at its job. The ship carried 800 passengers, all accommodated in cabins with private facilities. The bulk of the passengers were

everyday folk from Wollongong or Wellington, Tamworth or Taihape, who had worked hard to save for their trip and their spending money. One wondered if the Russian crew resented our having money to spend — which to them must have seemed a small fortune — especially on the Australian poker machines, those “ c n e-armed bandits” which rang day and night. \ net er saw a Russian put a coin in the slot. But Australian and New Zealand young people did so — liberally.

The Russian officers and crew totalled about 400, including 250 women. They appeared to work long hours for wages that New Zealand seamen would reject. I particularly noticed their devotion to duty — but I never knew what they really thought of us.

The Russians, in the main, do not appear to smile much, but after a while, when one gets to know them individually and makes an effort, it is rewarded. As table stewardesses we had two hardworking Ukranian girls, Galina and Lida. The wine stewardess was Tamara. Like anyone else, they liked to be addressed by their correct names. Their English was limited, but almost sufficient. But in general the Russians are

serious. Tipping is disallowed (in theory) but is not entirely unknown, if tactfully done. Some “comrades” will accept a token of appreciation. Language, of course, is probably the greatest barrier anywhere. Aboard the Fedor Shalyapin, a wag of an octogenarian, from King’s Cross, had learnt some words and phrases of Russian. We all did, in fact — simple phrases such as “Dobray ootra” (Good morning). It worked wonders. But this Australian went one better. “Watch me make this lift girl smile,” he said, as we approached. He spoke three words to her in Russian. She burst out laughing. “What did you say?” I asked him. “I just said to her ‘I love you’,” he replied. All three of us laughed. Entertainment aboard was varied and virtually non-stop. There were five bars, including a big lido bar near the swimming pool and sunbathing deck aft, where on fine days there was a carpet of bikini-clad bodies. One had to be careful not to spill chilled canned beer on their suntans. This was a favourite spot — drinks available from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m.

On deck, there was the swimming pool, deck tennis, volley ball, and giant chess played with chessmen 2ft high. But most people preferred to sit, lounge, stroll, converse, or doze.

I found myself musing about my days under the Red Ensign. Once upon a time, thousands of people could roam the world by sea, not least the Tasman and the Pacific. Older New Zealanders will recall Tasman crossings by the Marama. Manuka, Maunganui, Monowai, and Awatea, all fine Union Steam Ship Company passenger ships, to name but a few; while Huddart Parker ran the Ulimaroa and the Wanganella; then on the Pacific run were the Aorangi, Makura, Tahiti, and Niagra. Times have changed — and not to our national credit. British and other passenger liners are vanishing, on grounds of sheer economy.

But it is now time to dress for dinner . . . The meals were lavish, and it was difficult not to put on weight. Some aspects of cuisine were a little unfamiliar, mostly in flavouring. There were lashings of fruit to take away — oranges, apples, pears, and so on — and for those who wanted to reinforce their lavish fare there was a snack bar on the promenade deck.

A glass of Russian wine, or Australian, cost 35c (Australian) at the table. Not everyone wants a bottle at a sitting. In the bars, gin and tonic cost 40c (Australian). Canned beer, mostly Australian but some New Zealand, cost 25c (Australian). One could hear beer cans popping all day.

On most evenings, there was a splendid cabaret, sometines Russian, with singing and dancing, and also a top-line British company. In the casino bar, for those who like late nights, were blackjack and roulette. And there was music and dancing for young and old.

If there were any fault aboard, it would be churlish to complain of it. There are always some who grumble — but I found service aboard the Fedor Shalyapin good. If I had a complaint, it would be that service at table was too good. We had barely finished a course when the next one was thrust upon us. Hardly a fault, though. But 1 could never quite get used to the golden Hammer and Sickle on the massive red-and-white funnel. As we came ashore at Auckland on a wet, miserable day, I glanced back at the Hammer and Sickle on the ensign aft. What have we done that we must let the Russians give us what we want right in our own South Pacific waters?

At an adjacent berth lay the handsome British P. and O. liner Arcadia (30,000 tons), also on a Pacific cruise. That at least was something. But the Russians are here to stay. They are filling our vacuum of maritime apathy and indifference. We have nobody to blame but ourselves.