“Luxury-Cruising” in the South Seas

Otago Daily Times, Issue 26350, 3 January 1947, Page 4

“Luxury-Cruising” in the South Seas

For the Daily Timet by Lydia Davis

So many times have I read of some fortunate woman who has had the glorious good luck to travel to some out-of-the-way dot on the ocean bymeans of sailing craft. Although writers describe storms with graphic detail, glamour always surounds the tale. The crew board the vessel, then pass the time at sea either basking in the shade or the main sheet or performing deeds of derring-do, battling the unleashed elements. It isn’t like that at all. I have made several such trips with my husband, who suffers from a bad case of nautical obsession, and to whom a trip round the world in a dinghy would still be comfortable. As a medical officer to a group of Pacific atolls, he has every opportunity to indulge his mania, and ocasionally takes me along. Pacific trading schooners are not built as sport for millionaires or yacht enthusiasts. Maximum space is devoted to cargo stowage, and the minimum to everything else, including passangers. A Berth with the Bacon The trip I will refer to is typical. The passenger accommodation consisted of four bunks in the saloon-cum-dining-room-cum-lounge-cum scullery and another four arranged in the trade-room. Trading is now done ashore, so this little • boudoir was also used as the food store-room. On a boat with-sleeping-accommoda-tion for eight passengers, we had 18. No, don’t think there was nowhere for us all to sleep, two to each bunk, top and tail, the seats and the dining table, and after that the floor. At my head hung a side of bacon, at , m Y feet a cheese. Before sharing a bed with these two delicacies, I had often been heard to express a partiality for bacon and cheese. Even now I hold nothing against bacon; in fact, it is very soothing to prop your feet against a cheese and watch a bacon swing with the boat, but that cheese! On first meeting my edible bedf"low ’ f erred rather more on the side, of the cheese than the bacon. It bea ubful cheese. Rich apricot shade smartly embossed with crosses where its shroud of cloth had lately surrounded it. A month’s constant companionship with the object taught me to hate it and' harbour evil thoughts of whisking it over the side under cover of darkness, and watching it be devoured by sharks, who are notofiously impartial as to diet. With age and mellowness, it gave birth to myriads of little black fellows which hopped,' crawled and flew, and insinuated themselves under the blanket and bit. I Would pass the midnight hours glaring at that cheese and making vicious stabs at any of its boarders out for an after-dark stroll. Apart fr °ni these two companions, the trade room also accommodated several large tins of a peculiar variety of biscuit called Cabin Bread, much m favour with the natives. Resembling an overgrown Sa o cracker, it has to be stored in outsize tins. Snacks and Nightmares If the man i?n watch fancied a snack during the night, he would despatch his offsider below for a biscuit That gentleman would delicately pick his way between the bodies on the floor, loudly snap. on the light, apologise profusely for putting his toe in someone’s eye, then retrieve his supper with much creaking and banging while removing any sundries piled on top of his target. Usually he had a loud chat with one of my numerous roommates, and any angry glares from me would merely encourage him to climb over some more bodies and discuss the weather, the course, or the fishing prospects. Apart from these interruptions, nights were peaceful. That is, if one overlooks the nightmares of the youngest passenger, aged 18 months, which occurred at 2 a.m. each night, and the urgent demands of my small son, who slept at my feet. Of course, quite often the skipper would decide to wear ship in the small hours, a thing he was quite incapable of achieving without rousing the entire crew and shouting at them to do three things at once, which resulted in. what sounded like a Zulu raid directly over my head. How can men make so much noise in bare feet? Native crews must keep

Lite on a Trading Schooner

football boots exclusively for night use. Between these disturbances, and the noise of my fellow passengers all being seasick at once, we slept. Deck-sitting In the daytime we safondeck. This not being my first experience of the consistency of schooner decks, I had brought a cushion along, so sat in comparative comfort while the others dodged new corns. Now, the deck of a sailing ship was never intended as a promenade deck for trippers, but as a working place for the crew. I would, place my cushion where I could get the maximum benefit from the sun's rays without being fried alive, where there was a conveniently smooth surface for my back, and somewhere to brace my feet and preverft me jamming my head through the rails every time the ship rolled. Having 'chosen my spot, I would then decoy the others to some iess choice position and settle in. ‘‘Hey, white woman, want this rope in yer eye? ” . The skipper is altering sail. : If it wasn’t the sails, the decks had to be scrubbed and sanded or the cistern filled with a leaking bucket, or the mooring ropes examined, or the chains taken out of the locker and draped all over the deck: or when the captain ran out of useful _ ideas ho would b*e taken with the whim to look over all the pieces of wrecks he had collected to use as floats in case' he ever ran on the reef himself. An Afternoon Nap In the afternoon when the sun is at its hottest I would persuade my son to take a nap. The only way to achieve this was to go to bed too and strike him down every time he tried to sneak over the side of the bunk. We had a top bunk, level with the ports. Johnny would hang his head out and chat to the native deck passengers, and they would pop their "heads in and chat to me. Then a large brown hand holding a mighty coconut would be thrust in.' Trying to drink cocount milk lying, down on a lively ship is maddening. With every roll the milk splashes, and you cant put the darn thing down, as it stains the sheet. (Yes, I had a sheet). Soup-swilling Mealtimes are always entertaining. With nine European passengers all jammed round a very small table, nd all excellent sailors possessed of the kind of appetite which multiplies by three with the sea air table manners waved us good-bye on the wharf. It is a'point of pride to be first to the serving spoon. One of the men was at an advantage on this trip as his bunk was directly above his place, and could win the rush by giving one roll. However, I had a trick up my sleeve. The steward - always made a point of “ dressing for dinner.” This v as done by putting on his shirt and taking off his hat. The shirt hung on a nail hammered into the side of my bunk so I had an infallible clue as to when the bell would ring. As a tip for the novice, at schooner travel, I would recommend' seats, at the table on the windward side of the ship. Old hands will always hold their soup plates about one inch below the chin and avoid damp accidents. This does not look polite but it is safe. The greenhorn will show his refinement by leaving his plate on the table, and with each roll of - the boat about half a pint of soup comes trickling under the fiddles to land in the lap of the fellow opposite. This not only wastes soup but will not enhance your popularity with fellow travellers. If you are seated on the windward side, the roll will be less in your direction, and you-will-have a lot of fun watching your opposite number sponge off your spillings. The same rule applies to tea, coffee and •gravy. I also find it wise to bring a handkerchief to meals as this serves to wipe mouth hands, table, seat and floor, and is quite indispensable in rough weather. This will give would-be wanderers an idea of the conditions of travel they will meet. ’ It is not comfortable, but is really good fun, and the landfalls at out-of-the-way and deserted islands more than make up for the inconveniences while aboard.-