IN PORT

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 637, 13 April 1929, Page 9

IN PORT

Sidelights on the Waterfront HOW SAILORS SHOP Queen Street is a boundary line. Mr. John Citizen, of Auckland, does not realise that on the seaward side of this thoroughfare is another Auckland, of which he knows little. Quay Street is a line of demarcation between the city proper and all that goes to make up Auckland’s waterfront and marine community. John Citizen may think he knows his j waterfront—he strolls there during the lunch-hour and on Sundays—but his knowledge of the different life that exists there, although right at his front door, is as naught. A tramp from overseas, dirty and ungainly, is moving up to the wharf. Scarcely has she moored when the “wine man,” a familiar figure around the wharves, springs aboard and invites the men to “have a spot.” If you like his wine he will be pleased to book your order for a case, delivered free. He is one of that body of waterfront canvassers who cater for the seaman’s every want. The next to go aboard is the “razor doctor.” He is an energetic worker and shortly comes ashore with half a dozen “sick” razors, promising to return them in good working order before “smoke-o.” WATERFRONT VENDORS Smoke-oes and meal hours are the best times for business. There is the dry-cleaner, the vendor of pen-paint-ings done on velvet by his own hand —they find a ready sale —the seller of souvenirs of Auckland, the representatives of various laundries, salesmen vending soap, tooth paste, hair oil and other toilet preparations, a cobbler and an indefatigable canvasser with a patented wire suit-stretcher that brings in returns not to be scoffed at. Then come representatives from local clothing firms here an outfitter and there a supplier of sea-going “togs”—a photographer, “Old Jack,” the tailor, an itinerant artist, and one or two "specials” who “stood to ’em” during the strike, supplying the men with their needs on credit until, they were financial again—those “specials” are not forgotten, although the sailor-mail may circumnavigate the globe before he makes the port of Auckland again. When he does, the “specials” are certain to get an order or two. THE “SLOP CHEST” The “slop chest,” the term applied to the store on board that contains the shipping company’s regular supplies of seamen’s working clothes, although accessible to the men at a price, is more often than not shunned by them in preference for their own “firms” ashore —the canvassers. Going aboard one finds that trade is brisk, and pounds of tea, soap, matches, cigarette papers and occasional luxuries are, at this juncture, selling well. An old established sweets man has got rid of 60 odd bags and goes ashore again with a satisfied smile. THE CREW’S QUARTERS Having gained the ear of a fireman off duty, we ask to be shown round the crew’s quarters, and a ready assent is given. Mute witnesses to the sailor-man’s purchasing and collecting propensities are to be seen on all sides. Here is a beautiful cluster of coral and a handful of delicatelytinted shells from some South Sea island; here a pair of gorgeous slippers from Yokohama; here a box of trinkets from Port Said or Casablanca; again a pair of silk stockings from Mexico, which are going “Home” to a sailor’s sweetheart; well-thumbed books of all kinds from all places, and odds and ends from every port of the Seven Seas. The place is like a bric-a-brac shop. The men aboard ships are experienced buyers. They know what they want, and the prices their wants should be, and the salesman who knows his business and treats them squarely can be sure of customers every time the crew comes into port. Sometimes cash trading is delayed while a “sub” (payment on account of wages due) Is awaited. On coastal and inter-colonial boats pay day falls on the first and sixteenth of the month. Canvassers make it their business to be there on those occasions. The sailor-man staggering back to his ship laden with parcels does not exist. He Is a privileged being. On arrival he is sought out, shown samples, has the “goods delivered,” and then goes his way, > perhaps tomorrow. Later on it will be an Arab dhow that caters for his wants, then a bum-boat at Newport News, or perhaps his stand-by, the “slop chest.” Ashore or afloat, a good spender, the modern seaman asks neither for credit nor for time-payment. His tradesmen are his friends. They regret his departure, and are the first to welcome him back.