Chapter Seven

One trip ashore I thought would always stay with me, perhaps another lesson. once ashore there were always Arab shoe shine boys underfoot. One was a little more enterprising and stationed himself outside the gate to the harbor. As I approached the gate I noticed one of the uniformed guards calling the boy over to the gate, then spat into the boy’s face with the word "juif", (Jew), to the merriment of the other guards.

I was flabbergasted and for a moment at loss about how, or if, to react. But I then calmly walked over to the boy placing my foot on the shoe shine box, even as the shoe was really didn’t need a shine. I stood there staring at the guard who finally walked inside the little shack. I took my time as if to get an extra good shine.

The next trip ashore, when in company with others, I took pains to stop and tell the them about the guard’s action towards the shoe shine boy, pointing to the guard, making sure he knew we were talking about him. The other sailors would repeat the story with the result that the guard apparently asked to be shifted elsewhere because he did not return to that post. I was going to run into this type enmity, or bigotry, at a later date but by that time I was more conversant in French and just would deal with it on the spot without hesitation.

We soon found out about a rather large salt water swimming pool outside the city, right on the rocky shore. It probably measured 75 by 50 meters, fresh sea water being pumped in continuously, and with a large restaurant and all the facilities. I likely spent more time there than the rest of the crew, sometime in company of some young, local, fellows who enjoyed speaking English. And I would be allowed to be goal keeper for some young groups allotted the far corner for their water polo training. By this time my interest in the French language had progressed by way of phrases picked up from a beginner’s text book, English-French. I had struck up acquaintance with a young guy, just about my age. He was born there and very interested in this young foreign Seaman speaking French, even if haltingly; we spent many enjoyable afternoons together just talking and watching the girls. (The reason for time off during the day likely was because of rotating night watchman’s job).

One day when a beautiful girl walked by, my comments to that effect, the Frenchman noted that she was Jewish. Without more I answered: -"but why?, that’s not her fault?". After that exchange the we did not meet again. I was puzzled both over his remarks and his possible reason for bringing the subject into the discussion; I figured a girl is a girl, is a girl!

It became obvious after a while that our stay was going to drag on, indeterminably it seemed, though this word was likely not yet in my vocabulary. My friend Odd and I began going ashore on Saturday nights for an evening meal just to get some change and tear ourselves away from the every-day ship food. I remembered the cook would always complain about the crews’ habits about food when in dock or harbor on Saturdays and Sundays. Even if ashore drinking they just had to drag themselves back onboard for the evening meal, only to go ashore again...

It was a regular complaint by galley personnel, being ‘tied’ to the ships, especially on week-ends. By comparison that Swedish ships would set out cold tables for the evening meals on weekends in order that the cook’s department as well would have some time off. Incongruously, this was not yet acceptable to the Norwegian Seamen’s union; the Steward’s departments were different?.

During our forays ashore Odd seemed to enjoy the role of acting like my teacher; he was after all 2 years my senior, even job-wise. Saturday was payday for the French Navy people and Odd had noticed what he just had to show me. I just had to experience a happening at the bordellos that night, "-you just won’t believe this", he said; I didn’t ask how he had found out...

What he referred to was that evidently some of the French sailors from the war ships had some of the girls there as their steady girl friends. "You’re kidding!", was my surprised retort. They would come in early in the evening, Odd explained, and sit in the anteroom patiently with a glass of wine while their girl friends took care of business. As the girls would finish with one customer and come down for the next they would pass by their boy-friend’s table, give him a quick kiss and be off for the next designated customer. It was a lesson in human behavior, at first, -"the ways of the French", Odd would say, as if with savoir-faire. But we were to discover, before long, that this was not quite SO. Some years later, likely after the war, I recalled films about an exotic place, "Casbah" in North Africa, with Maurice Chevalier, Charles Boyer and, Ingrid Bergman, even with Humphrey Bogart. -it’s a long time ago...

Well, Casablanca also had its Casbah. This place, by the same name, was a walled-in area for mostly Arab prostitutes, where they awaited their customers. The girls had their own rooms in one of several buildings and they were confined to this area. There were guards at the gate, city employees. Apparently, after a determined interval, the older girls were allowed the freedom of the city, for the day.

Oscar, one of the older A.B.s, (he was also called the because of his appearance after his regular binges), had become fond of one of the veteran girls, (I hope this borrowed expression will not reflect in any way on regular veterans... Oscar was on the portly side, around 45, proud of his salt and pepper beard and mustache. He was always well dressed and well spoken, his English was very good, all when he was sober. He and I developed a special relationship and will be referred to later.

One could often find the two at the city markets. Oscar would dutifully carry the shopping bag. Though he did not speak French and she barely "spoke "business" English, they seemed to be conversing just the same. And it appeared to be devotion, tried and true. Oscar was one of a class of ‘deep water’ sailors who had lost contact with Norway, couldn’t remember the last time he was there or if he had any family.

A Colombian Fireman also was an admirer and fond’ of Oscar’s girl. She, being a business woman of sorts, would welcome him in Oscar’s absence. So on his days off the Colombian would dress up and take off ashore; someone then would inform Oscar, if he didn’t spot it himself. Oscar just would drop whatever he was doing, and in spite of bosun’s or any mate’s objection ‘steam ashore, apparently in order to intercept the Colombian, and be docked a days pay. It was humorous, in a sense, but these were not regular times... The two young Seamen, Odd and I, continued our propensity for going ashore Saturday nights enjoying a late dinner, a la -"our betters", as Odd would say. The restaurant "La France" was a favorite because they had a small string ensemble; Odd played guitar and sometimes would sit on the aft hatch and entertain the crew, those who would listen, anyway. I had always had a liking for classical music, never really knew why; but it developed over the years "till I wound up visiting operas, even". We would try the different entrees, with the help of the waiters who realized good tippers when they saw them. We even concluded the suggested wine was OK, within reason!, and could easily share a bottle over a prolonged meal, it felt just great! It made us feel that we became like steady customers over the three month period we were tied up at Casablanca; something to look forward to.

One evening as we were leaving the restaurant we passed by the entrance to the hotel in the same building, "Look at the gigolo", Odd said, "with the two older women". And, sure enough; one of two older ladies was pinching the cheek of a tall, young and blond guy in their company. He left in company of one of the ladies shortly after.

(Experience as Teacher?)

It became a case of first hand experience of a condition one just had read about, a different dimension bringing on more questions. Wondering out aloud about the man’s future Odd just shrugged; seemed to feel I should just take it in.

Among the several different individuals one would run across on chance meetings were two journalists, one a Swede about 35 and a Norwegian woman about 25-30; (estimate by a twenty-year old). The Swede, being from a neutral country, could come and go as he pleased. The woman, Lisa, being from a now warring nation, was in a somewhat precarious situation and as we understood it in need of special permission from the French as a working journalist.

They apparently had been staying in the area for some time. During one of the meetings at a restaurant she let it be known that she would be giving French lessons at her hotel room. Five of us from the Ringulv signed up. She also had some students from the other ships. (After the war was over she wrote a book about the Norwegian merchant marine called "Thousand Norwegian Ships" detailing the exploits of the Norwegian Merchant Marine during the war years). As noted earlier, Norway was to suffer the loss of about half her merchant fleet, 500 ships and about 5500 Seamen, from about 30,000 total.

Meeting the journalists was experience with a difference; a world removed from that of a Seaman’s. Lars had been around the French colonies for some time and was full of information about the Arabs and their customs, detailing meetings with Arab Chieftains in their nomadic tent homes. I was basking in the seeming worldly-wise aura these two just carried with them.

Lars would detail extensively on the living habits of the Arabs because he had written on the subject as a part of his job. He had stayed with their leaders in their tent homes and learned to enjoy their food. We were all ears when he explained that after being accepted into a tent home the Arab Chief would feed one "cous-cous", a semolina-type grain, by rolling it in a ball with his right fore-fingers and thumb, and offer it to the visitor’s mouth as a gesture of honor. The cous-cous was prepared and served from a large round bowl with fish or lamb as a side dish.

He would note, though, that mixing with the female section in a situation where one was a guest was strictly taboo, to put it both shortly and succinctly. It likely was clear to the two journalists that we were quite unsophisticated, to put it mildly. It may be in the nature of a confession, even, that I would not object to being thought the less sophisticated of the group. One may be stretching innocence to include this in my make-up, but these new conditions and surroundings became a fast study-period. Example: A ubiquitous bidet in some hotel rooms, while not totally unknown to us, perhaps via unexpected experience or stories, in the corner of Lisa’s hotel room it became like a sore thumb, at first.

I remember appreciating Lars’ lessons the several times we were having supper at the restaurants. It had been fun guessing about the menu; Lars would cue us on how and what to order including the finer points of serving the wine we had ordered. He mildly reproached me as I refilled Odd’s glass holding the bottle in my left hand, filling the glass to my left. That would be an insult to anyone, I was told. There was some mirth on my behalf. These ‘lessons nevertheless were accepted, even grudgingly admitted, as we leisurely wound our way back onboard.

It was obvious that Lisa’s situation, even as a journalist, seemed somewhat precarious because she was from a nation now at war with Germany. There were stories about people being rounded up for lack of proper papers, a lot of with children in tow. It seemed to be a time for a ‘shrug-of-the shoulders attitude; a bleeding heart situation, learned many years hence didn’t quite fit, food for thought nevertheless. The somewhat same conditions had been experienced in France; -the War. At a later date we were informed that Lisa had secured passage on the same Portuguese passenger ship that was to have taken us to Portugal from one of the internment camps, discussed later.

The German influence was becoming more and more evident. Officers were seen at times both in uniform and mufti, obvious either way; the incidents were noted and discussed. Young French Naval personnel at times would look askance at the Norwegians, and mutterings of ‘Angleterre’ could be heard. Some bars were known as hangouts for people friendly to the Germans. One evening as we were leaving Lisa’s hotel after lessons, we were accosted by four young French Navy guys. "Angleterre, Angleterre!", they almost shouted. I stopped and tried in my halting French to explain we were Norwegian sailors; my two friends also stepped to their full height next to me in front of the shorter French. It became sort of a standoff, the French apparently under influence of cheap wine, we agreed later. A couple of French junior Officers happened by reprimanding the sailors, and they withdrew.

I was introduced to roller skating by a couple of Seamen from a Dutch ship, something a had just heard about. Must have been living quite a sheltered and uneventful life.... As a matter of fact I had never visited Norway’s capital, Oslo, which a lot of people found unusual; I would counter that I didn’t know anyone there so why visit?, just because it was the capital? The sailors from the different ships would meet, casually mostly, and compare notes. The grouchy Second Engineer would still complain at times that some of the young sailors were too busy ashore, though he grudgingly had to admit most were not the usual boozing kind. But, alas, they were there too.

The city also seemed full of people from France, some who had fled, including a number of families of French Naval Officers. Many of these Officers were away. One or two of the younger Officers from the Norwegian ships struck up acquaintance with these young grass widows they would meet at the swimming pool and in parks.

It seems almost trite to remark that war apparently facilitates meetings and friendships of various kinds except that, -it was my first war. Language problems appeared no lasting barriers; it seemed to be a meeting of lonely people whom the war had thrown together. "And that almost sounds like sheer poetry", I would mention, but some of the others just shrugged their shoulders. I had to admit to both Odd, and myself, even as we attempted to make light of the situation, some things one just lets go by. But I would pay attention and study the relationship whenever I would run across one of the Officers with a "family". one of them explained a method of contact often could come through the children, likely at a play area. Apparently the little ones would miss fatherly companionship and the contact would proceed from there. My education was continuing.

One of the several ships tied sternwise to the pier with its anchors out into the harbor was a French passenger ship used in Ferry’ service between Marseilles, Oran, and Algiers. She was named, "Algiers", maybe 10.000 tons deadweight. A couple of weeks after this ship’s arrival there were rumors that sailors on that ship had bought a bar and a restaurant for cash. Shortly after there was a raid on the French ship by French Police and military personnel; everything stopped on the Ringulv so one might be able to watch the show’ in progress. A number of effects could be seen being thrown out the lower port holes on the Algiers, nothing really discernible. Individuals were later seen being led ashore in handcuffs.

The stories followed that the banks in Marseilles had brought most of their cash and valuables onboard this ship at Marseilles as the Germans approached. The Seamen apparently were aware of this, bills of lading likely lacking, and helped themselves. There were rumors, even, that paper moneys had been rolled up and stuffed into the tires of bicycles. on the Ringulv someone wondered out aloud if some sailor had been smart enough to really just stash some of this apparently unrecorded cash for later enjoyment. We never heard anything about what happened to the crew members.

One was aware that ships’ crews would help themselves to goods shipped. Pilferage was a known problem although the grand scale witnessed on the Algiers was by itself almost a fantasy. The Ringulv had the two 500 ton water-tight tanks in the number four hold, just aft of the midship. As described earlier these two tanks were generally part of the cargo hold but were used as ballast tanks whenever the ship would sail ‘in ballast’. Because the tanks had steel covers that could be bolted in place, the covers lifted in place by cranes or derricks, these two separate holds were, of course, also ideal for special cargoes. And such was the case when the ship was laden with cargo for New York at Le Havre in May. The two tanks held about 800 tons of cases of the finest liqueurs, cognac, and wines that France produced.

Rodeo, Moroccan style?,

Before "getting into" operations with the contents of the ‘deepwater’ tanks, the experience of a type Arab country show. Don’t recall whether this was because of an Arab holiday. My interest likely was aroused earlier by Lars, the Swedish journalist. He had described various trips visiting the Arab leaders away from Casablanca. I got wind of the festivities to take place outside and away from the city.

It was likely on one of my days off, or perhaps after night duty as watchman. The area was easy to find, noisy, dusty and full of Arabs, all seemingly in white. Trying not to be part of their festivities and activities the show was plainly in view from a vantage point on a small hill. The regular crowd seemed to defer to quite a few men on horses, apparently Chief-types; I imagined they were former Bedouin Chiefs because of their fancier white robes and turbans.

There were tents in the background and the horsemen were engaged in racing their steeds to and fro, seemingly; they would stop at certain points and fire their old type rifles, beautifully adorned in silver, handed to them at intervals by footmen, for a better name. Lars had mentioned this rifle item, almost being ritualistic. It seemed they were also swinging some type sabers around, when not firing, as if to the abundant Arab music, which I never really got accustomed to.

Arriving back on the ship Odd said he would have liked to see the festivities; ‘rodeo’ was not a part of our wording’. Oscar mentioned something about similar customs in the American West. Some of the guys wanted to know what could be interesting about a bunch of Arabs, "in white sheets and turbans", and wanted to know where else I had been. Oscar toned in: "don’t mind them, they’re just jealous about your interests". To me, it had been like a part of the romantic notions one had about the "Casba" of Chevalier, Charles Boyer, and Gabin movies...

(When Jo and I lived in San Jose, CA, we would travel north to Yreka where I would fish for steelhead trout in the Klamath river coming out of Oregon. Once we came to a town north of Shasta Dam where placards advertised a rodeo. Jo indicated she wanted to ‘look-see’. Across a small valley the site of the rodeo was plainly indicated by the dust hanging over an arena area. Jo apparently could see herself all covered in dust, and we just drove on...I tried to tell Jo about my experience with the Arab gathering. She gave me a glance indicating I would be way off base even comparing. But she brought the subject up over supper and let me explain, anyway).

Now, back to the Ringulv ‘deepwater’ tanks...

Party Time?:

The cover on top of each tank had a bolted ‘man-hole’ cover for easy access, or inspection purposes. There was access, too, through a bolted man-hole cover from the engine room wall.

Like the crew of the Algiers, the Ringulv crew helped themselves, a couple of the nearest cases hauled up in the dark of the night. The drinking and parties taking place in the crews’ quarters were hard to describe. I had 2-3 bottles of Courvosier cognac and Benedictine liqueur under my bunk for some time. I believe I just gave them to the other Seamen, sort of to sober up on. And the finest liquors that France produced were just consumed by the mugs-full by some of the non-discerning members of the crew, like cheap wine. As I remember these were a sort of week-end affairs. Supposedly the Second Mate was in charge of guarding this treasure-trove. But he had to sleep too...

It seemed as if these ‘tank’ forays were the results of a retaliatory feeling on the part of the crew. There was a feeling of being at the mercy of these French, so damn them, as it were. Some of these liquors somehow wound up, or found their way to the Officers’ quarters as well. I wondered, -was this usual or, -the War?, -or just opportunity to drink...

The starboard aft deck was freshly steel-brushed and oiled, tar based. One Saturday afternoon a deck sailor with too much of this free liquor had been told by the Chief Mate, also under the influence of the same free liquor, to go to his cabin. The sailor told the Chief Mate to get lost, as he and the Second Mate were standing on the aft mid-ship deck near the mess-room, just above the main deck. The Second Mate sort of egged the Chief on, told him to go down and teach the young sailor a lesson, with the result that pretty soon the two of them were rolling around on the freshly oiled deck, the Chief in his white, go-ashore uniform.

After a little while a couple of sailors saw fit to separate the two without much damage to either. Shortly after, the cargo of liquor in the two deep-water tanks was removed to the shore. Nothing much came of the pilferage condition due apparently to inaccurate bills of lading at Le Havre. The crew, however, apparently continued making "discovery forays" into the remaining cargo. My cabin mate Odd seemed to be a party some of these sneaky, nocturnal, trips into the cargo hold despite the Second Mate’s watch-full eye. Some fine soaps had been found and pretty soon we were some ‘nice’ smelling sailors. Soap was getting hard to find in the stores, anyway...

One of the young engine crew about my age, an oiler so called because his job was mainly to oil all bearings, got into a bit of a mess looking too deeply into a few glasses of wine. Not normally a boozer and one of the dressers sneezed at by the Second Engineer, he nevertheless got into an argument, with some locals in the native quarter, the story went. He was not harmed but he was "rolled", i.e. relieved of any valuables in addition to being given a lesson; his suit jacket had all the pockets opened from the outside with a razor blade. Some of the crew had expected as much, because the story came out that he actually had been bad-mouthing the Arabs as a people. The others in the crew felt the Arabs just wished to teach him a lesson. Sober, minding one’s manners, it was generally no problem to wander through the native quarters anytime, We were part of the economy. He stayed away from the native quarter thereafter. He was normally a nice guy, a little flippant maybe. I borrowed his camera on occasions.

Bedbugs:

One learning episode worth mentioning was my introduction to bedbugs. The whole crew’s quarters had become infested. I recall clearly, too clearly in fact, that the bedbugs were just about waiting on the pillow as one turned in at night. The condition both demanded and warranted a concerted attack. It is to be noted the conditions perhaps were due to some of the crew members’ poor habits. The bedsprings were removed and brought out on deck as an on-the-job affair. The springs were doused with kerosene and wire-brushed. Pretty soon the deck was covered with crawling bedbugs which were then hosed over the side through the scuppers. The springs were given a fresh coat of lacquer and left to dry. Next, the old wood paneling was given a fresh coat of paint; most of us found rooms for a night, or so, at the hotels near the docks. The bedbug problem thus became history, sort of. This then, too, became a part of my experience and education about, of –"those who go down to the sea in ships". (The saying is from a statement about New England’s Seamen which I read on a statue, honoring Seamen, in Glouchester, Mass. on a visit with Jo and daughter Nora in 1953).

There were probably 8 Norwegian ships in all that had arrived at Casablanca for orders. The younger Officers who found company with the grass widows were from some of these ships. I accepted that some of these Officers also might have families back in Norway. Yet, I was not quite ready to take this on the cuff because of the war. Not yet familiar with the expression, provincial attitude, recalling the events many years later I surmised accepted mores, village-type, were changing.

Odd at times would take pains to indicate things happened during war and uncertainties made for different behavior in many people. Sitting on the aft hatch between Erik and Lars, during a break one day, Lars leaned back talking to Erik: "-he does ask a lot of questions. And that’s good, sometimes...". It was like a cue.

(Some forty years later, happily married to Jo in the U.S., I would remember this inexperience while reading newspaper reports that it was not uncommon that there were instances where interstate truckers would have families in different states). Acceptance becomes a moot condition any time one faces stark realities, apparently... In Norway instances of bigamy, for instance, were not uncommon I had learned before the war: married men emigrated to the U.S. and remarried. A condition of a "Royal Divorce Decree" apparently became available as a necessity, for the wife left in Norway.

Fall passed and I was busy on the new job. Erik and Lars were two of the old type sailors who had come onboard as part of the deck crew in New York, besides Oscar. It seemed because I recently had come from Norway, and Erik having been away longer than I had been alive, he was pleased to find my interested, ears. He would relate about the time he sailed the full-riggers in the cotton trade between India and England, and the trips between Australia and England with three months at sea. He was probably 55 years old, partly toothless. He made note of that I didn’t drink much. Describing the food on the sailing ships during the long trips he mentioned that after better than 2 months, the meat would be all stringy because of the melting ice. "You young guys don’t know what it is to be Seamen", he would state with a toothless grin. He was rather skinny, usually with several days, growth of whiskers. He always wore an Army type peaked hat, which would be askew when he had been into some wine. Always with a cigarette, it seemed, which will play an important role later. The bosun, Gus, was Swedish and these four, with Oscar, seemed to have known each other for some time. Lars seemed to have a family in Brooklyn.

None of them had been to their respective home lands for more years they cared to talk about. Oscar spoke better English than the others and was intrigued with my ability to speak grammatically correct English from my high school days. Gus, the bosun was a lanky Swede, always with a ready smile; Oscar was portly, always with a nicely kept beard. Lars was almost a little man, by comparison, always with a pipe. After a drinking bout he was more of a mess in his cabin, he bunked with Eric, than I really like to talk about because I had to clean... Oscar was a non-smoker, Erik and Gus smoked cigarettes. As the youngest on deck these old men seemed to be happy to coach me, not minding that I sometimes asked a lot of questions. I remember being satisfied as if finding acceptance, during this new period of war and internment.

To state, without more, that they were drunkards, per se, may be stretching it. Many of them drank far more than I was used to see people drink. I couldn’t understand why people would drink that much, hence this colored my perception. Perhaps in my innocence I even wondered why some of them had been hired.

It seemed that when so many left the ship in New York in the wage dispute, described earlier, the ship just had to take anyone willing to come aboard. Their ability as Seamen, almost as a paradox, was unquestioned once we were at sea. The crew on a ship when staying together for such a long time becomes, in a sense, like one’s family. It became like belonging somewhere, with someone. I was big and strong and believed I was respected by the others onboard. Being a part of the regular crew became important also because there were three others who were from my home town, Elias, Hans, and Trygve. Elias, was a school-mate, Hans was a younger brother of a school-mate, and Trygve was a couple o years younger yet. With Ola, an ordinary Seaman and Odd these were the group I usually hung around with.

The beginning of the winter weather brought problems for the ships in the harbor. The Atlantic winter seas would pound on the breakwater forcing the sea over, despite a wide to rock-belt", causing swells which moved the ships around on their moorings. For Ringulv and the ships with as much as 10 locks of anchor chain out, a lock being 10 fathoms, the anchors would still drag in the mostly mud bottoms of the harbor. I was told the weight of the chain, as much as the anchor itself, was important in order to ‘hold’ the ship.

Mooring hawsers, about 15ft long, made up of several lengths of 4inch diameter twined rope, with steel thimbles forming loops at each end were a part of the moorings. The hawsers, maybe of ten inches diameter, had ability to stretch, steel cable at both ends, to dock and ship, needed replacement a couple of times during a period of real "angry" seas in December. It was at this time that one would value the experience of the older sailors. It was a time, as well, for me to stand aside, observe, and learn about the danger of taught steel mooring cables. Tugboat assistance was required when, adjusting tension on the hawser cables, a two inch diameter security, twined steel, cable became taught as the ship drifted further away from the pier. We had just been ordered to the other side of the ship as the cable pulled the capstan away from the pier with a twang. The Captain fairly sailed through the air landing in the water next to the ship’s side. It was hauled onboard and lashed down, the Chief Mate stated smilingly: -"perhaps they’d wish it returned?".

Go to: Chapter Eight - Leaving Casablanca: