PROLOGUE.

Stanley Hale was born in Walthamstow. Evacuated at the beginning of the 2nd World War, he returned to Walthamstow just in time for the Blitz. A short, second evacuation, and he was back for good.
He attended the Sir George Monoux Grammar School for the period 1942 to 1947, graduating from there in 1947.
Stanley's father died when he was just 5 years of age, so his mother had to provide for him and his older sister. She sacrificed her life to make certain that both had as much as possible. Unfortunately, she could provide no counsel or advice on the importance of higher education.
After graduating, and without further ado, Stanley decided to find a job in the City of London. An insurance company hired him.
At the age of 18, he was conscripted into the RAF, for 18 months. He worked in Pay Accounts, on the same aerodrome where an earlier enthusiastic financial officer "cooked the books." He saw it personally profitable to create a phantom section within the 'drome. He transferred people, in and out, handled all of the many tasks connected with such an operation; and lived a merry old life, until caught. A fellow WAAF blew the whistle.
Stanley was demobbed in 1950.

With some experience of life, Stanley decided not to return to the insurance company. He tossed his future to the winds, to see where it would land. After all, he had declined the kind offer of the exit-interview RAF officer, who said that he could make a fine career in the RAF, if he signed-on. That decision helped Stanley feel good; and be able to make future determinations, some good, some not so good.
Stanley had thought enough about his future, both during math class, and at the cinema when the film became boring. He knew there must be something that would challenge him and lead him to the proverbial pot of gold. Career jobs in England, in the early 50's, meant slugging away and practically waiting for those more senior to retire, die, or be fired. For a 21 years old, single male, already steeped in tradition, overseas adventure was for him. What could go wrong? He had the pick of many [Dominion] countries to go to; and if he did not like his decision, he could move on.

That, compared to the rainy, foggy, dreary days in London, was his driving force. Now how to accomplish it?

With no financial resources, and no rich relatives, he was resigned once more to picking up the paper and reading the "Want Ads." There had to be a company that was looking for a young, determined male, who could almost wrestle alligators and the like, whilst remaining stable, hard working and loyal.

Stanley interviewed with a small cocoa bean broker. The owners obviously saw his ability to "wrestle alligators," and he was hired. Cocoa beans could parlay into opportunities to visit and work in hot steamy areas of the world. Stanley was on the right track. Eventually, he got the heat, and more.
However, cutting cocoa beans, to determine the quality of a possible purchase, made Stanley realize that this was not a direct route to his goal. He said goodbye to the brokerage company, and was hired by an importer/exporter; to be trained to go overseas, to run one of their offices. The training would take 6 months, after which he would be sent to take over the duties of one of the managers. Just the ticket!! No need to think any more about sitting on the train every day, hiding one's face in the daily paper, or saying those endless "good mornings" to the same passengers.

The months ticked by. By the end of the 3rd month, management said that he was ready for an overseas assignment, to Uganda. He went home and advised his mother and sister. Both were surprised that the decision had come so early. Next evening, his sister came home and stated that she had told her boss about his going overseas. He told her to let Stanley know that he had a friend, living in Panama, who was looking for a type like me. He would be in town next week. Suddenly, Stanley had another possible employment opportunity.

He asked his current company for 2 weeks to decide about going overseas; after all, it was three months earlier than originally stipulated. Management agreed.

Within that period, Stanley interviewed with one of the owners of what turned out to be an old-line English shipping agency, established in Panama before the Panama Canal was built. He was offered a job.
Stanley had to make a quick decision. Time did not permit a lengthy study, appraisal, and decision as to which company was offering the best deal. He decided to go to two places: the library and a large travel agency. There, he read about both countries. Both offered opportunities, both had liabilities. So, the deciding factor was one of which company appeared to be paying the most? Panama won.

Saying goodbye to the import/exporter, Stanley got ready to sail for Panama; knowing that somewhere out there lurked fame and fortune.
On March 1, 1952, he boarded the Shaw Saville and Albion cargo/passenger ship m.v. Athenic, at Liverpool. Welcomed onboard by one of the stewards, he was escorted to his Intermediate First Class cabin. The four years had started. He was just 21 years of age.

His cabin steward said that dinner was at 7pm, and expected to see him at the table. "Coat and tie, please."

"WHO ARE YOU?'
[As you will read, this question is quickly answered].

Promptly at 7pm, a dining room steward strolled about the ship, calling all to dinner, with a pleasant sounding gong. Suddenly, like rabbits from their warrens, some 60 passengers rushed to the dining room; each eager to determine where they were seated. Each one sped towards the centre [captains] table, to see whether their name card was displayed there.

About eight passengers let out yells of delight, forcing the rest of us to hunt for ours on the remaining tables. Eventually, we all were seated at the required table; where we would stay until we disembarked.

The question of "Who Are You?" really did not have to be asked. A determination had already been made. Several fellow travelers and I were placed at a table just inside the restaurant door, and the place farthest away from the captain's table. We had been tagged by the powers that be. They knew who we were.

At the table, we made acquaintances with each other, and settled down for our first on-board meal. We all felt fortunate that there would be a late sailing, about midnight, to catch the high tide. This meant we would be able to enjoy a peaceful meal and not be rocked by the motion of the ship.
We all agreed that the meal was quite nice. However one man, Vladia Para, commented that although we enjoyed it, he could do better; and for a small sum of money from each person at the table, he would go into the galley and cook gourmet food. He explained that he had learned his culinary skills at the best cooking schools, in Europe. The seven of us looked at each other, nodded, and said yes.

Vladia was perhaps the most interesting person at our table. He was asked the question of why he and his wife were travelling to Australia. He gave an excellent accounting of the reason.

Vladia was born in Czechoslovakia, about 1915, I would say. Son of a rich inn owner, he received an excellent education, and learned to fly a plane at an early age. Recognizing that war was imminent, and knowing there was no real Czech air force, Vladia decided to go to France and volunteer for the French Air Force. With possessions in hand, Vladia reported to the French authorities, and was accepted. Vladia was happy. But happiness turned to sorrow when he was told that he would be going to the French Foreign Legion. And, he did. His possessions were taken away from him, never to be returned.
Vladia kept complaining, but to no avail. The war started, and the French suddenly realized that they needed pilots. Vladia was transferred to the French Air Force, with whom he flew until the fall of France. Then he went to England, and spent the remainder of the war in the RAF.

The reason behind Vladia going to Australia was that he was going to run an
outback hotel, for an older Australian. The real story actually started back in Czechoslovakia, after the war, at a time when the more wealthy citizens were going to be arrested. He heard his name mentioned over a radio, as one who was to be picked up. He had to, and did, leave the country that night, with his wife, taking a circuitous route to England, his "old" home. There, they had to find work and shelter.

The story goes: One day, Vladia, whilst walking along a street in London, saw an elderly man trying to replace a punctured tyre on his car. He stopped and offered assistance. The man was very grateful, and asked Vladia about his line of business. When Vladia explained, the man offered him a hotel management position, in Australia. Vladia accepted. That is how we came to meet each other.
True to his word, each night Vladia would cook fantastic meals. Everyone started to become envious. Several people seated at the captain's table asked us as to when we were disembarking; they wanted to join the "real" table. All along, the junior steward, who always joined our table for dinner, beamed in delight. He knew he had the best table on the ship!

I learned a valuable lesson that night. Alternatives can be personally beneficial.

We said good night to each other and went to our cabins. I slept well, but, next morning, as I came to, I realized that the ship was running in heavy seas.
Nevertheless, I wanted to get out on deck, and then have breakfast. Starting to shave [with a cut throat razor,] looking into the mirror to make certain that I did not cut the end of my nose off, I became a little dizzy. I decided to lie down, for a short while. Unfortunately, every time I tried to get up, I would feel worse. I suddenly realized that I was seasick. Such an event never crossed my mind. I was particularly annoyed. I stayed in my bed all day, without food, or water. The cabin steward came in. He felt sorry for me, but mentioned that most passengers were in their bunks, possibly feeling as bad as I was, or worse. That did little to improve my overall mind-set, except I was somewhat comforted knowing that my travelling companions were suffering along with me.

The ship made all of the moves that one reads about in books, and more. The screws [propellers] would come out of the water, causing much vibration, until the stern came back down. Eventually, the storm subsided, leaving the ship to continue on its course towards our first port of call, Aruba.

Unfortunately, my seasickness did not improve, and for a second day I stared up at the cabin ceiling. The cabin steward said that I had to eat something. I sat up and asked him what was normally fed to an ailing person, like me. "Thin cuts of roast beef, on bread, plus a cup of tea." I could agree with the tea suggestion, but red-looking beef on bread was enough to put me once more on my back.

Then, there was a tap on the cabin door. In came Anka, Vladia's wife, a stunning blonde, chisled features and infectious smile. She said she and her husband had missed my not being at the table. And, could she help me? Inwardly, I felt 1000% better, but I decided to play that "alternatives can be personally beneficial." I stayed a 3rd day in my bed, being watched over by Anka. Then I made a swift recovery.

Back to the dining room table, back on deck taking the breeze, smelling the diesel fuel and tasting the salt in the air. I was ready for my next challenge.

Anka was about 10 years younger than Vladia, and wanted active companionship, on deck. I quickly became her partner in the various deck games. We had a good time together. Vladia would sit back in his deck chair and smile in approval...at least, I think he did. We became good friends and agreed to keep in touch, which we did. Then, one year later, I received a letter from Vladia stating that Anka had died. Naturally, he was totally despondent. I wrote to him and suggested that he comes to Panama, should he not find a job in Australia. I never heard from him again.

Only one other young female was on board, travelling with her mother. All the other males and females were much older. Tourism, for the young, was not in-thing, in those days. One reason was they could not afford to do so.
There were two ladies, about 35 years of age, who were always in good spirits, chatting with apparently single males. Within a day, or so, tongues wagged about them. I learned they were from a group of females who would buy a one-way ticket [in this case, to Australia.] They would then sort-out the moneyed males and become their immediate friends. Too old for me, they never gave me a smile, until they wanted my dining room seat. The ladies preferred those un-attached males travelling to Australia. They knew they would be big spenders; and. if they played their cards right, a return ticket to England would be given to them...and more. Then, they would buy their next ticket to...?

The mother of the young female, made a point of telling me that "those women are of no value to you." She wanted me to pay attention to her daughter...which I did, until I disembarked, 14 days after leaving Liverpool. By bad luck, on leaving the ship, the two smiling women, whose male catches had disembarked at Aruba, decided to give me a fond farewell. The mother streaked over to me, to tell me she disapproved of my associating with such gold diggers. And, so, I was in Cristobal, at the eastern end of the Panama Canal. The Canal, at that time, was owned and run by the U.S. Govt. At the other end of the Canal was Balboa. The Panamanian city of Colon is next to Cristobal. Panama City is next to Balboa. Carrying my one and only suitcase, I strode off the ship and into a completely new way of life.

I INTRODUCE YOU TO TRIXIE

I was met at the gangway by Mr. Kelly, another part owner of the agency. About 55-60 years of age, overweight, and perspiring profusely, he welcomed me to the country. After some small talk, we drove across the Isthmus, to Panama City, to the home of his aunt, Trixie Kelly. A 50 miles drive, through the jungle.
In the city, we stopped at Calle I, in front of an implement dealer's showroom. We went through a side door, up some stairs, along a dark L-shaped corridor to an apartment at the end of the corridor. We knocked on the door, and Trixie Kelly appeared. About 75 years of age, dressed as a femme fatale from the beginning of the century, she stood there, smoking a pink cigarette in a 10" holder. She welcomed me into her hotel.

Trixie told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was lucky to be in her place because she only rented rooms to English people, or other high-class nationalities. She went on to say that I would like it at her place. In fact, she gave me the room right next to her apartment.

Once I had overcome the shock of the rouge, powder and lipstick on her face, I started to warm up to her. Mr. Kelly confirmed what she had said; and then left. Trixie showed me my room, a small, one window place, with a tin roof and no ceiling. There was no air conditioning, or fan. But, what could I say? My new boss had set the scene and I had to play my act.

I did have with me a small thermometer. I used this sparingly, since checking the temperature only compounded heat stress...95F at midnight! To make things worse, the room faced a nightspot, El Jardin, and during my stay there I learned all the Panamanian songs of the time, particularly on the weekend when the music would go all night.

Naturally, I was there to work, and Mr. Kelly came to take me to his office. Again, no air conditioning, no fans, just open windows, that allowed the sounds and aromas of the day, the heat, car exhaust fumes and more, to waft in.

Mr. Kelly was perspiring. He always wore white shirts, and one could tell the time of the day by examining the amount of perspiration showing on his shirt. It started promptly at 9am. He would change his shirt each afternoon, so one had to "re-set the clock."

Mr. Kelly explained that I had the choice of two plans for my vacation. I could choose between working for one year and taking one month off, or working for 3 years and getting 3 months of vacation. To me, three years seemed to be the way to go. What couldn't I do in that length of time!

Then he explained my working hours, starting with "You should know the Canal operates 24 hours per day." I did not. I would work a shift of 2am to 5pm one week; the next week would be 8am to 2am, seven days per week. I would get Saturday afternoons and Sundays off every 3rd week. That included working on high days and holidays...Christmas, New Year's Day and more. It still had not sunk in!

But what could I say. I had not even been on the job for day #1. I decide to take it in stride; and did so for those four years; broken only by 3 months off and two Saturday mornings, which I will mention later on.

I was introduced to an older Englishman, who was to be my trainer. He had passed his prime and was happy to see a "young Turk" under his wing. He set me up to move like a bird dog whilst he took it easy and accepted any resulting glory. But, I learned from this experience.

After a day in the heat of Panama, one craved for a shower. The only shower in Trixie's hotel was a common one [and common toilet,] located at the L-jog of the corridor. Foot disease anyone? I made it a rule to keep myself spotlessly clean, so as to avoid foot fungus and more. There were 10 rooms... each containing a questionable renter. Lots of foot traffic.

I would come home late at night, to find some of the doors open, to allow for more air circulation. Naturally, one could not avoid taking a peep to see who was the next-door neighbour etc. After about one week, I was surprised to see that my next-door neighbour appeared to have more than one husband. He [they] would shower about the time I did, and disappear back into the room, or down the corridor.
I had met a fellow renter, Red C., an American, and told him that I thought my neighbour was a prostitute. He said she couldn't be since her sister was living next to him. However, about 5 days later he banged on my door and confirmed that I was right. His neighbour was doing the same thing. We were living in a house of ill repute.

Red was older, and proposed a scheme to get the girls into my room. We nipped out and bought 4 glasses, wine and some cheese. Then he called the girls, who came within 5 minutes. No sooner had we sat down, Trixie burst into the room, exclaiming that she did not allow such carrying-on in her hotel. Trixie, you old vixen!
We closed shop and never contacted the girls again. Incidentally, many years later, I read a book on Panama, and right there, was the name of Trixie Kelly. She certainly had a history.

In due course, I advised Mr. Kelly that his aunt was running a house of prostitution, and I wanted out. He was very annoyed with me. In fact, our relationship never improved. I must have revealed a family secret.

Before I left her hotel, I had one most remarkable thing happened: Trixie invited me to come into her room to meet a young English woman. I was stunned when I recognized that she was the beautiful person I used to see, most mornings, when my train pulled into Liverpool Street Station. She came in on the adjacent Stratford line. At that time, I would have given much to make her acquaintance; but now she was pregnant, and pretty much homeless. She advised me that she had met this dashing yachtsman. He had convinced her to sail with him around the world. But, upon reaching Panama, he kicked her off his yacht.
What a tragedy. But, there was nothing I could do for her. I said goodbye, and never heard another word about her. Possibly, to make ends meet, and make enough money to be able to return to England, she frequented the nightclubs.

BACK TO THE BEGINNING

So, I was transferred back to my landing port, Cristobal. There, I had to find a place to live. Having learned that it is safer and better to live in the Canal Zone, I tried to find an apartment, there. None was available, so I became a renter at the YMCA, located in the Zone, right opposite the night clubs of Colon, Panama. I had changed locations, but the noise had followed me.
The nights were something else. Shots would ring out, but there would be no reporting of gunfire, or people killed, or wounded. In time, I learned to discount the every-day problems of life.

Slowly, but surely, I got to know Americans living and working in the Zone. One of them offered me a room in his place. I accepted. However, after a couple of months, I came home to find my alarm clock on the floor, smashed. Confronting him, I found out that my alarm clock and "ungodly" hours were freaking him out.

By sheer luck, I was introduced to the housing manager for the Canal Zone. He pitied me, and said he would make a place available to me, although I was an alien. It turned out that I was the only alien living in a "Gold Standard," Canal Zone apartment. How he was able to do it, I do not know.
Gold Standard meant that some Canal Zone employees [white] received their salary in gold. Others [coloured] received silver; so they lived in silver-standard apartments.
The naming went back to the time when the canal was built.

Once again no air conditioning, no fans, but I was on USA territory and qualified for commissary privileges and more. That meant I could eat and drink at what were subsidized prices.

I could and did overlook the heat and humidity of the apartment, where my shoes would change from black to green overnight because of heat/humidity conditions. Later, this problem was solved, by my installing a small heater in the shoe and coat closet.

Now that I had a decent place, I had to buy a decent car, and did so from a local dealer. Sometimes, I would use my car, but most times, whilst on duty, I would hire cabs operated by cabbies from Colon. I settled on two cabbies, Joly and Martin, who remained faithful to me the whole four years.
I am certain they protected me during my necessary on-the-job forays into Colon, into the bars and back alleys. They must have put the word out...nobody threatened or cheated me.
When I finally was leaving for New Zealand, both cabbies came to my apartment, tears in their eyes and carrying gifts. A touching moment and a laughing moment. I had left my shoes in the hallway, to pack. Joly had always commented on how much he liked my shoes and I told him that one day I would give them to him. The day had come, and Joly, remembering my promise, already had them on his feet!

But, I am getting ahead of myself. I have not even started to explain my job. The official title was Boarding Officer. My agency represented the owners of many world-wide shipping companies at the Canal; and provided services, money [if required] and advice to their company’s ships arriving at, or leaving the Canal. By launch, I would go out into the bay, [Limon Bay,] board the ships and talk with the captains, chief engineers, first officers and chief stewards about their transit of the canal, the number of crew and passengers on board, stowaways and more. I delivered the mail, and took their mail ashore, for mailing.

Arrangements would be made for the ships to come alongside a pier for water, bunkering, or repairs. Sick crew, or passengers would be taken ashore to the local doctor, Dr. Deboyrie. Ships chandlers would deliver provisions, whether the ship was alongside or in the bay.

My routine would start at 2am. I would contact the port captain to obtain the release of a vessel into the Canal, or to sea. Then I would go onboard, and advise the captain as to what arrangements had been made for him [Pilot, tug etc.]. Generally, there would be last minute pleas from him, example: I am missing members of my crew That meant I had to check with the Canal Zone police department, the Panamanian Police station, and the bars around Colon. Once found, sometimes, ingenuity was required to get them back to the ship.
Drunken sailors would not easily accept any advice from any agent. However, I found a way. I would buy them a few more drinks at bars next to the Canal Zone. I would tell them that there was one more cantina down the road. Invariably, they would follow. Unfortunately for them, I had already tipped off the Canal Zone police, who were waiting for our arrival back in the Canal Zone. Those sailors would gently submit to the big officers. Back on board they would go, and the ship would leave port.
My last word to them was that they were going to have to pay the captain for those last drinks etc.
There was no border, between Cristobal and Colon, except for a railway on Canal Zone land, delineating the two countries.

The largest number of missing sailors was five. Young Englishmen. I found them in the Colon gaol. I took along money to pay their fines. Prior to release, they were put up against a wall of the station, for identification. I identified all five. The unusual thing was that all five had large Elastoplast patches on their foreheads, all in the same place. Later, I asked them, why? Seems that they had a little too much to drink in one of the bars and were told to move on. Instead of doing so, they decided to try some of their Spanish on the Panamian policeman. "Gracias" was the word, pronounced "grassy-ass.' The policeman knew he was being made a fool of, so out came the truncheon. Cost to the sailors? Fifty dollars fine per person; $60 per person for medical attention. They would be having their pay severely docked. As I drove them back to the ship, they chorused that never again would they come ashore in Panama.

During the day, I would board some 4 to 6 ships. Each boarding was unique, because they were from many different countries. It was a pleasure to go onto most vessels...a new adventure, each time. To cite a few:

One night, close to midnight, [on my 8am to 2am stint] I got into my launch, and boarded a small vessel that had just come in from sea. Not a light on the ship was shining. But, the light of the launch showed me that the crew had put out a Jacob's ladder. I went up the ladder and made my way to the captain's quarters. As I peered into the darkness, I saw dark masses moving. What were they? As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that these were human forms, sleeping on deck to avoid the heat of their cabins. They never really woke up.
I got to the captain's quarters, and was greeted by this huge man, who spoke with a West Indies accent. We did our official business, and then I made comment on the mysterious forms I had seen whilst coming to his cabin. He laughed and said that was his crew, all descendants of Cayman Island pirates; and would slit throats, at any time. After further conversation, we got to food. I asked what do you feed them? He told me. Then I questioned him as to their favourite meal. Sea turtle he bellowed.
I told him that the next time he came to Cristobal, I would take him to the local market, to buy sea turtle. Which, I did. He bought a huge turtle and put it in my launch. When we came alongside his ship, the crew went wild.
I was an instant "saint." From that time on, I suspect they would do anything for me. I never tried to find out.

* As agent for Amtorg, the Russian Govt shipping activity, I had to board a fleet of Russian whaling ships wanting to transit the Canal. The American Govt refused permission to transit. With the ships anchored in the middle of Cristobal Bay, [Limon Bay,] a U.S. Govt. naval gun boat was detailed to continuously circle the fleet, to make certain that none strayed from their positions. They were there for seven days. I was the only one allowed to visit the fleet on a daily basis. Over the first few days, I exchanged comments with various members of the crew, answering questions as best as I could. Daily, I was pressed to take them ashore..."like they did in Kingston." I explained it was up to the U.S. to make any ruling on that.

Eventually, the U.S. Govt. gave permission for the ships to transit the Canal. The evening before departure, I went on board the "mother" ship, to give instructions on moving through the Canal. The captain, accompanied by his ever-present political officer, asked me to stay for dinner. I agreed. We had a fine meal. All of us became relaxed and friendly, so much so that when I told them I was leaving, they allowed me to walk off the ship, alone! Before, they had at least two people guiding, and guarding me, at all times.
As I walked along one of the decks, I heard wonderful singing, and balalaikas. I stopped briefly. The doors to the musical room opened, and out rolled about 6 members of the crew. All were having a great time. One of them spotted me, and yelled something, in Russian. As one man, they all stood ramrod to attention. These ships were not whalers. Rather, they were Russian government ships on government business. Later, I learned, they were all radar ships, testing the capabilities of the USA communications systems.

* One of my favourite ships was the Castillo Montjuich, registered in Bilbao, Spain. The cargo vessel had sprung a leak, just above the water line. It had to be brought into dock, immediately, since it was carrying wheat, from Canada, destined for Europe. If water got into the holds where the wheat was, the wheat would expand and the side and bottom of the ship would be pushed apart. Repairs took about one week, and during that time I grew to know the captain. He was a fine man, and would invite me on board, for dinner, every other day. It must be said, that in the 50's, the captain WAS the captain of the ship, and he could not just invite any of the crew of his vessel to dine and chat with him. Only his senior officers. Discipline, meant discipline.

Whenever I visited a captain, invariably, he would want me to stay for a chat. Which, in many instances, I did. I listened to many tales of WW2 and other sea-going adventures, or calamities. Unfortunately, I did not keep a journal of these events, so most are lost forever. I remember, one captain had been torpedoed three times and survived.

Back to the Castillo Montjuich. The vessel was cleared for sea, the tug came alongside the ship, to take it out into the bay. I waved my goodbyes to captain and crew...and that was that. But, it wasn't. Many years later, I read a "MYSTERIES AT SEA" book. One chapter was devoted to the Castillo Montjuich. The ship simply disappeared during a voyage from the USA to Europe. No SOS call went out. No debris was found. It just vanished. That happened on December 14, 1963, north and west of the Azores.
Was that captain on board? I did a little checking, but could not determine whether he was. At one time, I had it in mind to go to Bilbao to find and read any records. But, Bilbao was somewhat of a dangerous city; and my days of high adventure were coming to an end. Today, Internet might make it easier to find out.

* Then there was the small coastal ship " El Chimbote," registered at Antofagasta, Chile. It would come eastward through the Canal, to go south to the Amazon. There, it would pick up a deck-load of the finest logs and return through the canal. The ship was a coal burner. The captain and crew were as though the world had been searched for characters. Writers, film makers, and the like, could not have picked a greater crew. One time, I said to the captain that I would like to accompany him to the Amazon. I got an immediate invitation. Of course, I could not go. But, the memory lingers on.

* One day, I received a telephone call from a scared shop owner. He asked me whether it was true that the H.M.A.S. Sydney was coming to the Canal. He explained that after the war, the Sydney was carrying many Australian ex-prisoners of war. The aircraft carrier came alongside, at Cristobal, and the Aussies came ashore to visit Colon. One of them yelled he had been cheated by a shop owner. All hell broke out, and the city was completely trashed.
I confirmed that it would be docking, but they should have no fear of a repeat. I thought I had convinced him and other shop and bar owners. But, I took a drive around Colon and found that all windows had been covered with plywood. They were ready for a siege that never happened.

STOWAWAYS

* One of my questions, to all captains was "Do you have any stowaways on board." Once such a person gets on board, it can be months, or years, before that person can be legitimately dropped ashore. It is a nightmare for the captain and the owners of the ship. I managed to successfully interrogate quite a number of such people, take them ashore, obtain passports/visas and repatriate them to their countries of birth.

Not all were happy events. I determined that two of them were Spaniards. They had to go back to Spain. Unfortunately, the two were anti-Franco, and they knew they would be in most serious trouble if they landed there. I could do nothing for them. They were placed on the Italian Line "Amerigo Vespucchi," bound for Spain. On board was a Spanish Army general. He happened to be in the captain's cabin when the stowaways went on board, and learned who they were. He advised it would be his pleasure to make certain they get to their destination.

Sometimes, captains would be compassionate. One English captain found a stowaway who had gone awol from the French Foreign Legion. The trouble for the stowaway was that the ship was destined for France. Compassionately, he made a deal with the stowaway...he would have Chips build him a small boat; then the captain would sail as close to the Venezuelan coast as possible, drop him off, and the stowaway had to make it to shore. The one statement the captain made was "Under no circumstances will you ever tell anyone the name of my ship." It was a calm morning when the boat left the ship, never to be seen again. It was assumed that the stowaway made it.
Living in Venezuela, today, there might be several generations of his kin. Thanks to that kind captain.
Not all captains were so kind. One day, I questioned a Japanese captain as to whether he had any stowaways on board. He looked straight at me and said that one time he did, but he has never had another one. What he was implying was that if he found any, overboard they went, before the next port of call. He gave me a nice present. It sits on my coffee table until this day. It reminds me of the precariousness of life.

CHANGE FOR THE GOOD?

The day came when the Canal Zone housing management advised me that I had to vacate my gold-standard housing; but, I could have a silver-standard one. I declined. I searched and found that the Grace Line Shipping Company, located in the Canal Zone, had six apartments on the top of their building, with one of them being available. I became a member of the illustrious 6 who resided there.
All of us worked for shipping companies, or agencies; so there was a good fit, there. Five of us were in our 20's. One was 45.

I paid $50 per month for the apartment, and $50 for food for the month. We ate and drank, well, I can assure you. Two-inch thick steaks, the freshest vegetables, and more, all cooked by our Jamaican maid, Octavia.

After being there for two months, the other five explained to me that I was going to be steward for a month. That meant I would collect the rent and food money, buy all food and drinks; and in doing so, make everybody happy.
"Happy" was the operative word. To make certain that all were satisfied with my stewardship, if deemed necessary, I was to fork over extra money as needed to get their thumbs-up. Any additional money would not be refunded. I could select the menu and drinks, but they'd better be acceptable to all.

During those first two months, I had developed a pretty good idea of what pleased my charges. John H., the 45 year old, wanted martinis, by the pitcher. For him, I purchased what was a medium-sized goldfish bowl. It could contain over one pint of the finest gin. When he was initially served with this whopper, he stomped his large foot, let out a hoot, and exclaimed that I had met all obligations for the month. We had not even sat down for the first meal. John was a very large man, who seemed to be able to drink copious amounts of alcohol, and yet recover before he left for work next day. After consuming more alcohol during dinner, he would go off to the local Yacht Club, to top-off.
Unfortunately, booze started to catch up with him, and he would do unusual things, like come home about one a.m. and fix himself a pot of coffee. The maid always prepared a pot for the next morning, and left it on the stove. John would turn on the heat, sit down with a sandwich, and wait for the coffee to percolate.
For many months, he did this. Eventually, alcohol addled his brain and he could no longer determine which burner the coffee pot was on. So, John would turn on all four burners. As usual, he would fix his sandwich and wait for the pot to be ready. However, he would fall asleep and the
water would boil away, leaving only a very burned pot. He had to replace a pot every time he burned one. After about four pots, our maid selected the least burned one for the main coffee pot.
One night, upon coming home, John staggered and fell into the large refrigerator. He laid there, half in half out, and stayed there until one of the other five of us found him. Trying to move 280 lbs was quite a feat.
We suggested that he becomes more understanding of the risk he puts us at, in addition to his own. He did not stop, but he ceased burning coffee pots.
We all liked him, but played pranks on him, like putting a huge dead fish in his bed [he never mentioned it;] placing contact fireworks under his toilet seat [again, he said nothing; possibly because he was so inebriated.]

A FEW EXTRA HOURS, PLEASE.

Time went very quickly. The end of each year seemed to be upon us in about three months. There was no down time, no opportunity to take off, somewhere. As earlier mentioned, every three weeks, I would get a Saturday afternoon and Sunday off. That was welcome, but, quite often I did not finish work until way late.
A friend mentioned that we had the opportunity to visit the San Blas Islands, off the east coast of Panama. But, it would take an entire Saturday. So, one week before going there, I asked my boss for the Saturday morning off, so that I could make the trip. He agonized and said he would have to get permission from the senior partner, Capt. Payne. The following Wednesday, he said that I could.

To the Islands I went, and had a wonderful day; meeting the chief, his sons and taking a cayuco ride around some of the 365 islands that make up the Islands. The weather was good, so, the small cayucos [hollowed-out logs,] were not swamped.
The chief explained that foreigners had to be off the islands by sunset or they would be killed. Also, any San Blas females leaving their island for the mainland could not return.
It is very easy to recognize a San Blas Indian...they are short, with large upper bodies, but under-developed legs. This is because they all live on small islands and have to cayuco, everywhere.

Back to work I went.

About six months later, once more, I asked my boss to allow me to have another Saturday morning off, so that I could go to El Valle, a beautiful area on the western coast of Panama. Once again that pained look. Once again he said that he had to check with Captain Payne. Sure enough, the following Wednesday, he said yes, but Captain Payne says: "Do not make it a habit!!" I never asked for another full Saturday off.

I did not meet Captain Payne until the second year, when he arranged a staff dinner. I arrived somewhat early at the Tivoli Restaurant, in Panama City, just as the staff was preparing our large table. We chatted for a while, and I mentioned that Captain Payne was the host. Like a shot out of a cannon, the waiters disappeared. I heard them arguing. Then they returned. Asking why they appeared to have a problem, they told me that it was with Captain Payne. He only tips 10 cents! None of them wanted to serve for that pittance. I did not appreciate that comment, at that time. [Later, you will learn that I did.] Along with me were three other boarding officers, who had been hired after me, "because I had worked out so well."
Captain Payne beamed as I was introduced, asking, at the same time, as to how my broken leg was coming along. I had to tell him that it was Rusty R. who fell off a gangway and broke his leg. So much for his knowledge of his staff!

When I joined the agency, I was told that after one year, I would receive a quarterly bonus. It did not happen; nor in years two or three, in spite of my jogging the owners' memories. I had nothing in writing. After the dinner problem I could well understand that Captain Payne was the one who, I was told stated that he "does not want to pay too much to such a young person."

Captain Payne died. All of his money went to his wife. Years later, I heard that she left all of her fortune to a home for cats!! When I heard that, I commented, "I will boot every cat from today until doomsday." "Some of that was my blood money." Of course, I did not.

Incidentally, when I left the company, the owners "got the message," and started paying quarterly bonuses. Believe it, or not, it was Rusty R. who travelled all the way from the Canal to San Francisco, to tell me about this, and how much money he had received. And to thank me. He, too, had resigned and was on his way back to England, to open a tobacco shop.

But going back to the unfolding events.

BECOMING MORE SOCIABLE.

To vary our routine, our penthouse group decided that we would invite interesting captains and other officers to dinner, so that we could learn more about their past. Among them were ex-U-boat captains and others. Each one had a fine tale to tell. This happened on a bi-monthly basis.

One day, we heard that Juan Peron, the ex-president of Argentina, had checked into a local hotel, the Hotel Washington. We went there for dinner. There he was, sitting at the next table, along with guests, and a rather overweight older Panamanian policeman. That was the only protection he had. Oh yes, he had one, or more female beauties at his table, at every meal.

Our group discussed whether we should invite Peron for dinner. We concluded that since we lived in the Canal Zone, most likely, if we did, we would have the U.S. Govt. on our backs. So, we avoided any contact with him, other than being seated next to him during dinner at the hotel. Eventually, we forgot about him. Then, he left the country.
In hindsight, it was a pity that we did not take advantage of the situation.

REGRETS

Like many people, I did not seize the moment to capture events that unfolded in front of me. I witnessed the bunkering of the last coal-burning freighter at the Canal. An era had finished, and I did not even take a photo, or make a journal entry. The Canal Zone Authority had the U.S. Corps of Engineers place explosive charges under the coal loading machinery. They did a fine job. Some of the girders landed in town!

EMIGRATION

During my tenure, emigration from England and other European countries was taking place. About each quarter, the "Captain Cook," the "Captain Hobson" and other passenger liners would come through the Canal on way to Australia. The ships would come alongside and ruddy-faced passengers would peer over the rails, to get a peek at Panama and whoever was on the quay. I would play my part. It is quite true, when people get into the Tropics, their attitudes change. The sun, warmth, ozone and more, make them happy, happy. I met many nice emigrants, all of who wanted to get to their destination, so that they could start their new life. The cold, bleak days of England were far behind them.
They would trot ashore to see the sights, and how the locals lived.

They brought with them a sense of purpose, whereas, crew members of cargo vessels and tramp steamers would only want to go ashore to get drunk. And they did! All nationalities acted in the same way, except for the Japanese. The Japanese would head into town for one thing...bananas! It took two of them to carry a large stem. They would make their way up the gangway to the cheers of their shipmates. Then, with much ceremony, they would hoist it up to a high beam, and cheer once more.

The passenger ships would return to Europe, almost empty of any returning passengers. It must have been tough for the immigrants to get settled, but very few decided to go back to Europe. I would ask the captains as to how the immigrants were doing. They always said "fine."

Incidentally, the name of the captain of the “Captain Cook” was James Cook. He was on his last series of trips, prior to retiring. At all times, he had a nurse in attendance. Nevertheless, in spite of his failing health, he was chipper.

NIGHTLIFE IN COLON

Anything and everything "went," in Colon. Being a seaport, it had a reputation, and all the sailors streamed ashore to have their fling. The captains, attempting to be judged more reserved, would ask me about the city. This was their way of getting an invitation from me, to go ashore. Once there and immersed in the action, they would make slips, like: "Estelle Mac, is she still stripping?" She was and the captains would assure me she had not changed since they last saw her, in 1944/5.

Then there was Torchy Lamar, a 300 pounds, red headed singer. All listeners enjoyed her. I never went to see her; but I did meet her when she returned by ship from vacation in the States. She had to disembark in Limon Bay, down a gangway. Unfortunately for all, a very heavy sea was running, and the launch was going up and down, vertically, about 20-30 feet.
Poor Torchy froze on the last step of the gangway, and could not be convinced to jump to the launch. Finally, I timed the crest of a wave and at the right moment kicked Torchy in the behind. She lurched forward, and down to the deck of the launch, where two of the launch crew grabbed her. As she went, she let out a scream, followed by sincere thanks. I had overcome her most dreaded moment. She was so pleased that she sang to us all the way to the boathouse. So, I got to hear her, after all.

Venereal and Syphilis Diseases were rampant, in Colon, and Panama City. The U.S. Govt. funded a VD clinic to help reduce the number of victims, primarily U.S. citizens and visitors. I would liaise with the doctor and together we would go to the bars where any infection had taken place. He knew just about every girl of the night, by name, and would ask if they were working. If they were, he would chat with the suspected carrier and ask her to be at his clinic, next morning. She would show up for testing. If she was “busy,” the same message was given to one of her friends, to be passed along after her client had departed. It worked well.

It is amazing how males expose themselves to these diseases. One day, upon arrival, a captain said that he had two men who had to go to the doctor's for a VD check. I agreed to drive them to the clinic. He said that he should go along, simply for moral support. When we got to the doctor, the captain was the first to enter the doctor's room. The other two crewmen told me that the captain had been sleeping around. But, the captain came out smiling. In went the second member. He came out smiling. The third one came out with a scowl on his face. His two colleagues exclaimed that it served him right, since he had slept with and caught VD from the same woman, once before.

RESCUE REQUIRED

Several times, extra effort had to be made to rescue ships or people.

*One day, I had to call for an ocean-going tug to rescue a vessel foundering in the Caribbean. A tug was dispatched from Miami, and called at Cristobal, for refueling, before proceeding to the vessel. I jumped on board and became a temporary member of the crew.

The weather remained atrocious, and the vessel was wallowing around, looking as though one more wave would sink it. With great effort, a steel cable was passed to the vessel, and the towing started. Within two minutes, this extremely big, strong hawser simply snapped, nearly destroying the tug’s housing. Another hawser was put in place, and slowly, but surely, the stricken vessel was towed to the safety of Limon Bay…but not before a last minute heroic effort by the captain of the tug to reduce the side-to-side pendulum motion of the stricken vessel. The swing was so great that without specific control, the vessel would have hit the rocks at the mouth of the breakwater. That day, he earned his money! I learned a lot, also.

*One evening, prior to sailing, I was invited to dine with the captain of an English tramp steamer. His crew was mainly Lascars. Of course, we had a curry dinner. It was marvelous.
During our chat, I asked about the skills and dedication of the Lascars. The captain advised that they were excellent workers, and almost self-sufficient, since they would bring their own meat [live sheep, live chickens] on board, and all vegetables and herbs needed to cook what they wanted to eat. Both crew and animals lived at the stern of the ship.

But, he did say that they had one most unusual trait, and that was to die if they felt they should do so. In effect, they could will themselves to die, and would be dead by next morning. There was nothing he could do about it. He added, that in fact, right now, there is one Lascar who will be dead by morning.

The ship went to sea. Next morning, the captain sent me a wire stating that one Lascar had died during the night, this time by jumping overboard. I called for the U.S. Coastguard plane to make a search of the area where he could have gone overboard. He was not found.

*The captain of one ship transiting the Canal contacted me and advised he had a sick crewman who would have to go ashore. Since he was so sick, I pulled my launch alongside his ship, went on board and found a man who should have been retired thirty years before. He was too frail and feeble to walk down a gangplank, or climb down a Jacob’s ladder; so, I suggested he be placed into a cargo sling and winched down to the deck of my launch. To make certain that he would not slip out, we closed the sling; and put a life buoy on him, in case he fell through.
I took him right to the hospital, where he was admitted. He looked so pale and feeble. I wondered whether he would make it. That was at 6pm. The next morning, the head nurse called me and told me that if my patient did not behave, he would be released. I shot over there, to find him in bed, smiling away and smiling more as he heard the head nurse explain to me how he had been up and about, “chasing all of the young nurses.” She explained that another complaint was that his boots were far too large for him, and he had to drag them during his pursuits of the females, causing much disruptive noise in the recovery ward.
I leaned over his bed, told him to behave and that I was taking his boots away from him. That settled him down. After one week, he was well enough to return to England, as a passenger. He still looked about 80 years of age.

ALL PAID FOR BY THE CROWN

Sunday, November 29th, 1953 was the day to remember! As usual, at 5:30am I boarded my launch for a leisurely cruise to the breakwater of Limon Bay, to await the “Gothic.”
The sun was coming up, but it was still cool. There was very little breeze and the bay looked like a sheet of glass. A perfect time of the day to reflect on past events and forthcoming happenings, broken only by a giant Mantra Ray exploding out of the water, right behind the launch, and crashing back down like the sound of a cannon.

Promptly at 6am, the ship, carrying Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second and the Duke of Edinburgh, came through the breakwater. As it entered the harbour, with flags and bunting flying, all members of the crew were on deck, or in the riggings. Dressed in tropical uniforms, they looked magnificent. And, at the stern, a full band played the National Anthem. The anthem simply flowed over the bay towards us.

The two launch operators were stunned. Never before had any ship arrived and put on such a demonstration. They did not know it was the Anthem, but appreciated being serenaded so early in the morning, and seeing so many people on deck.

The U.S. Immigration officer, along with me, was totally surprised. He could not comprehend why such a thing was happening. [An immigration officer, a customs officer, and sometimes an ad-measurer, have to board every vessel, to “clear the vessel,” in effect give permission to proceed, or come alongside.]
This day, only the immigration officer was with me. So, he, alone, had a special treat. [Unfortunately, shortly afterwards, he slipped off a gangway into the bay. His body was never found. Anyone who had seen the sharks, barracudas and more, at night in the glow of a lamp, knew what had happened to him. I had left the ship just before he fell to his death.]

All that the people on the Gothic could see was a launch with four souls on board. No twenty-one gun salute, no band, no dignitaries. Just four men, doing their duty. I am sure it was a complete let-down for the “Gothic.”

I went onboard, to the bridge of the vessel, and spoke to the captain. The ship then came alongside a pier to allow the Queen and entourage to disembark. Before I left to go ashore, a group of exceptionally aggressive reporters on board the ship wanted to come with me, to get a jump on the activities. They promised many things if I would accommodate them. Of course, I knew it was all hot air. I let them get onboard and away we went to shore. I never saw them again.

The Queen toured Colon, by open car. Masses of people lined the roads to pay their respects. Most were of West Indian descent, so they had a built-in loyalty to her. There were no demonstrations, or incidents. These citizens were descendants of earlier generations of Islanders, who had come to Panama, to help build the Canal. They all were friendly, lively types, and had a super good time.

Queen Elizabeth and company then drove to Panama City. In the evening, she held a reception and dinner. I attended. One of the guests was the daughter of a British Consul official. We chummed up for the evening. Trying to be a gentleman, I asked her whether I could escort her home. She was delighted, and accepted. When we got to the door of her home, I noticed that she was standing several paces behind me. It seemed odd. I took the key, opened the door and heard her give a sigh of relief.  She explained that last time she went in, there was a burglar in the house, so she was standing farther back in order to get a good shot at him. Yes, she had a pistol in her purse.So, another lesson was learned…be very careful in less than fully controllable situations!

Summing up my experience, I believe that I am the only Englishman in the world, on foreign soil, who has ever been individually granted the full pomp and majesty of the Realm, by any monarch, especially with the monarch in attendance.
Another plus, on my side, was that I was the first British subject the Queen saw in the Americas, since she became queen. Was I holding the outpost for her?

No, I was not singled out to receive any knighthood for services rendered!! I guess I had the wrong sponsors. Ha, ha.

Occasionally, the young lady I met at the Reception would accompany me when I boarded ships. The captains were always pleased to see her. One Italian captain commented that she could put her shoes under his bed, any time. I suggested that he be very careful, since she always carried a loaded gun. She removed it from her purse. He got the message.

TEN PERCENT IS YOURS

Almost all ships arriving at the Canal needed provisions. I had the U.S. Panama Canal Commissary provide all requirements, although there were independent suppliers.
I trusted the Commissary, as I felt that, otherwise, my personal reputation was at stake. One bad shipment and I would be held accountable. My upbringing had left an indelible mark on my character, which exists to today.

Many times, independents would come to me, to plead their case as to why they should become my ships chandler. Always, I would say “No.”
On one Christmas Day, whilst working in the office, Socrates, from ship chandler Tagaropoulos, walked in and said he would like to take me for a meal. We went across the street, to Colon, had lunch and a chat. The chat was more of a plea…he just had to have my business! I explained my position, but he kept pleading. He stated that I would receive ten percent cash on the value of all orders

I said that the only way I would do business with him was by his crediting commissions to me in an account held by Tagaropoulos. I did not want money to change hands. He said, that could and would be done.
In the spirit of the occasion, I agreed to give him 50 percent of all of my purchases for the ships. Items included all foods, liquor, cigarettes, nylons [yes, at that time they were much sought after,] and other.

I specifically told him that the first time I was told that bad provisions had been put onboard any of my ships, any where, he would lose my business, for good. We shook on it. So, Tagaropoulos got 50%. Socrates was happy, the food was always excellent, and we established a good working relationship.
After about four or five months, Socrates came to me and said that his boss wanted to pay me my commissions. I replied that I would not take them, and he should keep them on account for me. Further months went by and once more Socrates was back, this time to say that I had built up such a large balance that his boss insisted that I take it. The balance was in thousands of dollars!
I referred back to our original agreement that I would not accept cash. We argued and argued. Finally, I told him that our relationship was ended. I would no longer give him fifty percent of my business. He was mortified. I tried to calm him by saying that when I left the Canal, he could give me a case of two of Scotch. I wanted no money. True to the deal, when I left the Canal, for New Zealand, he was at the ship, along with several cases of liquor, all for me. I gave them away to the crew of the ship I was travelling on. They really liked me!!

VACATION TIME

In May 1956, I went to Europe, to unwind and enjoy myself Yes, I had one or two romances, but I did not return to the Canal with a bride.
The three months simply flew by, and once more I was back at the Isthmus, back to the long workdays, heat, humidity and more.

I was getting older. My bosses continued to think that I was too young to receive a larger salary, so the day came, in 1956, when I told management that I was leaving. One partner, Mr. Francey, questioned me as to why I had allowed them to pay the cost of my trip to the UK, in 1955, and I was now resigning. Another, our Mr. Kelly, said that if I left, I would have to pay for my ticket out of Panama. I never found out what Captain Payne said.
I reminded them that they had “guaranteed” me during my stay, so, if they did not pay, I would walk into the CZ Police Station and tell them about my situation.
Quickly, I was asked as to where I would like to go. I said, New Zealand. They paid for the ticket, and I said goodbye. As previously advised to do, I kept a smile on my face, did not get angry, or belligerent, and closed the door.

ANALYSING EVENTS

As my ship ploughed through the waves towards New Zealand I looked back and followed the wake towards my old home of Panama. Remembering my thoughts before I left England, I asked myself whether I had found fame and fortune in Panama.
The answer was that I did have a brush with fame, and had I stayed, I might have made my fortune. But life was life. I had made a decision, and was looking forward to the next chapter of it.
After three weeks at sea, my ship pulled into Auckland, NZ
At quayside, a young lady was waiting for me. That new chapter had begun.

NOTES

Stanley is retired and lives with his wife, Mary, in Wisconsin, USA. He became a US citizen in 2002, forty-five years after arriving in the USA.