Chapter 1 : The beginning
Chapter 2 : Life as a sailor
Chapter 3 : Nature calls
Chapter 4 : Anchoring in the new land
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CHAPTER ONE : THE BEGINNING
Forty-five Rupees a month was my
salary plus free boarding and meals. I worked on a river barge, up and down the
Hooghly river from Diamond Harbour to Kidderpore Docks (KPD Docks) through
Garden Reach locks in Kolkata (Calcutta). As a ropeman, I attend to the making
fast of fore and aft ropes and also assist the Serang on maneuvering, when
called for. I also slave for the mechanic by shoveling coal into the furnace
for her boiler, as the river barge was steam powered. Needless to say I also
conduct daily marketing, peeling of potatoes and cutting of onions and
vegetables, and wash and cook the rice, twice with the chocolate coloured water
of the river and final wash with fresh water from the barge’s tank. However,
the honor of cooking curry was left to the Serang, a great esteem to the boss
for preparation as he sees fit. In
short, I was the helper, jack of all trade in a total of three complement. For
all this, I get a dry place to sleep onboard and two meals of vegetables, rice
and gravy plus a mug of tea in the mornings. Meat was always meant for the Serang (barge master) and mechanic.
Afraid not for me.
My name is Ko Ko (big brother)
being the eldest and I counted myself lucky for a thirteen years old lad, as my
counterparts slept under the moon and stars, some on the walk paths of Howrah
Bridge, come rain or shine. Good picking for mosquitoes no doubt and deceases
galore. I presume the bodily discharges were done into the river of life from which
I bathe, clean my body and teeth plus all wares onboard. How could have I done
that? A bit too late now, come to
think of it.
Having had to leave my family due
to being a financial burden to my parents, I joined the army of thousands of
Indians repatriated back to India in 1962 even though my Hindi was
non-existent. The colour of my skin nor my features mattered little to the
Immigration Officers in Rangoon (Yangon) and Calcutta (Kolkata) who did not
even lifted their eyes or blinked. Walking the streets hungry for days with no
aspirations led me to the docks where a kindly old Serang took pity on me and granted a job on his barge.
Willing to work, keeping one’s
mouth shut and an able body was the qualification required, which I met with
flying colours. Skin colour, language, race or creed does not come into play
for the company. As long as one’s able to work, cheaply at that, you were half
way home. Knowing to read and write could be more of a liability than an access
as posing questions was not part of the agenda. I kept the job for four years
and seven months, thankful for having a job and a place to lay down my
body. From June to September,
monsoon rains were hard, harsh and hazardous to health with death was on the cards.
As I did not possess any trades, this job was a blessing. Working hours were
from early morning till shut eyes, no fix timings depending on the business
seven days a week. This period of
my early adult life, how hard it may have been served as a springboard to my
future ventures.
Our river barge was owned by the
Calcutta Dock Board and while working on the it I befriended Mohammed De Souza,
an office boy working for the British India Steam Navigation Company, (BI) for
short, would paint about their ships port of calls. We would sit on our barge
bow for hours on late evenings and watch at vessels entering and leaving Garden
Reach locks, passing comments about their services and compliment. We would sit
and marvel Dutch, Russian, Japanese, British, Indian and Greek etc. etc. flagged
ships and seeing two white bands on black funnel would arouse my dreams, as it
belong to British India (BI), my friend’s company. In a way, the long talks also served as part of my education
about ships. All sea going ships
looked majestic to me with well maintained boats are a thing of beauty in my
eyes. We could see officers in their whites and sailors in brown overalls going
about their chores onboard. The rust free ships sides and well varnished wood
works sparkled under the moon light. The sights reinforced my love affair with
ships and one day hopped that I would work on such tubs, taking me to far away
places that one could only read and watch its pictures in awe. The masts and
derricks were so tall that I could not fathom how men could build such fine
works of arts molded in steel.
One early Sunday morning, while
barge work slackened, I was on my knees holy- stoning the wheelhouse deck,
Mohammed De Souza walked in and announced, “ Last Friday was bad, one efficient
deck hand (EDH) was signed off from the ‘Chindwara’ due to reoccurring malaria,
everybody was busy trying to secure a right replacement ”. So he said, while
resting his laurels beside the Serang’s chair with an air of authority.
I aired out that, “ I can avail my humble services should the
ship require ” looking up from the wet deck I was working on.
After a few more conversation, I
found out that I could try for the vacant position with talking to the Marine
Superintendent of their company. I was granted a few hours leave by the Serang
the next morning, but not before his lecture, “ I don’t know what this world is
coming into. You, young men of today seems to have a lot more things to do.
What should I do if the company instruct me to cast off for Diamond Harbor, but
go, go and don’t take too long and finish fast what you have to do. Be back
before lunch, you still have a lot of chores to do, understood? ”
I was early waiting for the
Marine Superintendent at the offices of B.I. by the dockside. By nine sharp,
the Englishman with a pot belly walked in with his well-starched white khaki uniform. I bided by
turn and even though still morning the heat was sweltering. The interview took
only a few minutes, what he said was double Dutch to me, however I did keep
smiling and at last he handed a short hand written letter and instructed me to
see the Master and First Mate of the Chindwara. The BI ship in question was
made fast to No.4 KPD, where cargo operations were underway crates and large
cases being loaded with long-shoremen ashore and sailors onboard. I walked up the aluminum gangway
and the Indian quartermaster took me up to the Master’s day room seeing the
note in my hand. The Captain said, “ Go and see the Chief Officer with this
letter you brought ”.
Next thing I knew, I was grinded
by the First Mate left, right and centre . However, my knowledge of ropes helped and my four years and
seven months experience onboard the river barge counted, thank God! I
blundered, “ I am willing to start as a deck boy ” in my pidgin English which
made him smile for the first time. After all, I would be cheaper and the boswain interview was final.
The questions kept coming and I answered as well as I could in Hindi and broken
English. Knowing to read and write English helped, but I was not yet near that
mark. At long last, the Indian boswain nodded his head and the Chief Officer
thundered, “ Ko Ko, you can start work first thing tomorrow morning, see the
boswain, he will update you on your pay, terms, period of service, allocation
of cabin and work required ”.
The English Chief Officer in his well pressed white uniform turn round
and continued, “ Should the boswain finds you not shaping up, you’ll be off at
the next port call, do I make myself clear? ”.
I smilingly replied, “ Very clear
Sir, I will be a hard worker ”.
I was briefed for the next hour
by the boswain and my head was spinning with delight and popping
fireworks. I found out that
the Chindwara would set sail
coming Wednesday at 0800 hours for Rangoon. The rest of the morning was used up
by arranging my documents to be in order, but was back at the barge by 1145
hours. After my stint in the galley corner and once all the washing up were
done, I informed my Serang of my next employment and my termination of work on
his barge. All was taken in by him with a stern face, and I was informed that
termination of my work ends at 2000 hours that day, however, I was free to kip
there for the night (free of charge).
That evening, I took Mohammed to
dinner by the roadside food outlet by the Khidipur docks. We feasted on fish
head curry with chapatti, as for
desserts we had kulfi plus tea. The bill came to fourteen rupees and eighty paise. I promised
Mohammed that we would keep in touch and thanked him for the tip. I never felt
so gratified in my life and the fire works did not stop popping off in my head.
That evening, everything was calm
onboard the barge and I slept well. Early next morning, strangely, the Serang
served me tea and after which I said my goodbyes to both of them, the Serang
handed five rupees as a going away present from both of them. I was really
touched. After shedding a few tears, I was off to the Chindhara at no.4 KPD
less than an hour walk while the pigeons and crows flew overhead tweeted
searching for their breakfasts.
This Tuesday, 0730 hours sharp, I
was waiting for the boswain in the Chindhara’s deck crew mess. The sailors
talked, drink tea and laughed in their work overalls and asked me to be seated
by the bench. I had no problems with the rest of the deck crew as I did not
hamper their ranks and besides, I was the youngest and lowest rank of them all.
In my best pants and ruffled cotton shirt, I was eager and anxious waiting for
my new beginning.
CHAPTER TWO : LIFE AS A SAILOR
Thus, a new dawn have begun.
The Chindhara was 7525 gross
registered tons (grt) and had 20 cabins on each side (port and starboard) for passengers.
Three holds forward of accommodation and two aft of it. I shared a cabin with
two other efficient deck hands (EDH) and our cabins were at the aft most two decks below. The deck officers were mostly English, from London, Bristol and
Liverpool, whereas the Engineers were mainly from Scotland, namely Glasgow,
Edinborough and also from South Shields. All crew were Indian except for the
deck boy being Burmese, that’s me however with an Indian passport. The schedule
was the same, Calcutta, Rangoon, Moulmein, Penang, Singapore and thence again
to Calcutta. Whatever, for the first time I had my own bunk, three square meals
including breakfast, overalls and safety boots supplied by the ship and paid at
the end of each month. This was heaven, no comparable.
Returning to Rangoon did not stir
anything in me as my parents and my two siblings already left and long gone
some years ago for Kyauk Mae, a town in Shan States in search of greener
pastures. They left Rangoon due to its cramped living quarters and competition
was tough with not enough work. My father was a metalworker and mother sold
flowers in the Pazundaung market. I shudder to think what had become of my two
younger sisters. They choose Kyauk Mae Town as father hailed from there. Still,
Shan States should offer cooler weather with wide open spaces. As to
availability and abundance of work there, I do not know enough to comment. I’ll
leave it at that.
All places in the schedule were
just another port on route and it does not ring any bells for me. Singapore would be an exception, as
this was the port where I lost my virginity. For ten Singapore dollars would
buy me a short time in Arab Street. This was where I first tasted the pleasure
of the flesh, good at first as being a new experience. It was lust and nothing else. However, it did ease some pressure
off, which brewed inside me. After some time, the novelty wore off and I felt
it was not money well spent.
The Chindhara, did offer some
bright spots for me. I was most happy to note that there were two Burmese
Cadets onboard. I did not felt alone anymore speaking the language I have not
practiced for a number of years. We all learnt a lot of seamanship from the
boswain, who was also an eager teacher. Splicing of ropes and wires, chipping,
painting and varnishing etc. etc. This also served as a climb up the ladder to
efficient deck hand (EDH) and then onto being a quartermaster (QM). It took more than three years for my
climb. It did not matter as the ship was my home and home was the ship. I was
now by myself with no family to cling to, I would spare a helping hand to any
sailor or officer, as I have no place to go to, with time on my side and was happy to render any assistance.
Being a quartermaster and taking
watches gained me time on the wheel and through talking with the
officer-on-watch (OOW), a lot of navigation knowledge were also passed. The
knowledge were invaluable as it also served as my sea-time required if I decided
to sit for the second mate examination. Books and navigation plus seamanship
notes were handed down by the second and third mates, they were kind. The food
was great too. This was where I first tasted lamb and sweet was the meat.
Growing stronger, and a knowledge to match, I felt it was high time to move on.
Thus during a call at Rangoon, I signed off, to sign again on the Derbyshire as
a quartermaster. The ship belongs to Bibby Line and the northbound schedule was
Rangoon, Colombo, Aden, London and Southampton. The pay was good and in Pound
Sterling, thus no more losses in conversion. The ship was a passenger cargo
ship with two holds forward and two holds aft. The officers were British with
four Burmese Cadets. Deck and Saloon crew were Indian, and Engine Room crew
were all Chinese. I was at home with the Burmese Cadets and also got on well
with all officers, Indian and Chinese crew. This was important, as I could
enjoy both the Indian as well as Chinese cuisines. When the Cadets were on day
work, the Indian crew cook would prepare chicken curry, Burmese style. We, all
five would enjoy the meal on the crew galley deck away from the prying eyes and
knowledge of the Chief Officer. This secret rendezvous would be once or twice a
voyage at the most. One needed to be careful.
The sea passage was between 22 to
27 days from Rangoon to London depending on bunkering port on route, thus it gave me a lot of time to think.
Furthermore, as four hours on any watch would be on lookout duty in the dark,
thinking was the only friend on the bridge wing or on crow’s nest. The cadets
voiced out that they would be signing off in London to attend Sir John Cass
College to sit for their second mate examination. On average, the time required
would be around 6/9 months to a year. As I had served nearly three years on the
Derbyshire, I was thinking seriously to join the cadets in London and seek
greener pastures also. I was in two minds and I concluded that a final decision
would be made by the time while in Biscay and inform the boswain and the Chief
Officer of my decision, to enable them take appropriate measures.
The Derbyshire was my second real
home that I have known. Working hours were fair and the overtime rates were good.
The crowd onboard and food were nothing to complain about. However, what helped
me made a decision was life onboard was artificial and I was not getting any
younger. I needed to secure a job ashore with good prospect, which I could do
for 20/30 years and also start a family while at it if possible. India, Burma, Malaysia or
Singapore did not give me good vibrations. Life in Britain need be tested out
and Pound Sterling was strong everywhere, that’s a plus. Should I also appear
for the second mate examinations should things did not work out ashore, there
was always the sea to fall back on. My decision was final at last.
I did inform the First Mate and
boswain of my wish to sign off in London and they both agreed that it was the
right move to appear for the second mate examination, should I wanted to be a
Deck Officer. However, should things not worked out, they were willing to
endorse to the company to accept me with open arms. It was a most pleasant
gesture. I just hoped that people ashore were half as nice of them.
The Derbyshire berthed alongside
no.7 Millwall docks at 0600 hours on a cold, foggy February morning. The rain
was more of a shower of sleet, slow and steady. The port stay there was 3 days
and the next port of call was Southampton. I signed off into the unknown
together with the four cadets in the early dull afternoon, cold wet and wee bit
down.
Some of the crew donated warm
clothing including a duffel coat, which I could not thank them enough. The
hidden surprise was Boon Fat Chan, greaser also signed off to venture a better
life in Germany. Such were the unexpected. This I presume was life.
So, the curtains drew open to my
next phase of living ashore.
CHAPTER THREE : NATURE CALLS
The cadets found a house closer
to Tower Hill tube station, economizing on rent and to be closer to Sir John
Cass College. The house had three bedrooms and the dining room was converted
into a forth bedroom. For myself, I found a bed sit on the first (top) floor which was roomy, bright and
warm, five minutes walking distance to Aldgate East tube station. Rent wise, it
was twenty-five pounds a week and felt like living in small Pakistan rather
than in London. It was alright my me, and according to Mrs. Abu Bakar, I was her only tenant. The toilet was next door and the bath was coin operated.
Heating was by gas and all amenities looked new including a television set.
What’s there to complain? I did not enroll into Sir John Cass as first wish to
try my luck ashore doing something worthwhile.
The first thing I did was to
convert my saving of few gold coins into cash. The savings were consistent
since my Calcutta days. I found a jeweler at Mile End and converted into Pound
Sterling. As my coins were British (George’s head), thus current bank rates
applied. With a few thousand pounds in my pocket, I opened a Deposit Account
with the local Lloyds Bank. Now,
money can continue make more money. Furthermore, should I be mugged, the only thing
they will get is a booklet guarded by a black horse, ha ha! Work wise, I found a store
requiring a salesman near my digs. Mrs. Abu Baker first cousin owned an Indian
Delight restaurant one station away, thus I also worked there in the evenings
from 1830 hours to 2130 hours. The beauty here was I could take all left over’s
by customers, making my dinner requirements well taken care of. Holding two jobs, my income was
reasonable and more than I make as a quartermaster onboard, not too much though.
I met our Burmese cadets on
Sunday afternoons for a cook out. The curry was pig or fish head as only a few
pence each. It was the cheapest at the butcher’s and we all learnt cooking
trial by error. After some time, we mastered it. It was always enjoyable and
eating by hand (traditional) makes it more delicious. By the month of May, we
were all settled in. My life style was stable for the time being, but must look
out for more dignified method of making a living. One Sunday, the cadets told
me that ‘Prospects of Whitby’ pub was a must to be ventured. I am no drinker
but just for an evening out, I accompanied them on a Saturday, just for the
experience and a bit of fun.
The pub was by way of Wapping
tube station. The pub offered a band specializing on Calypso music. One of the
band member was a Burmese, an ex–merchant seaman playing the ukulele. The
crowd was cosmopolitan and the pub well supported. The atmosphere was magnetic
with the band played five nights a week. From the corner of my eyes, I spied a
Chinese waitress serving the frenzy crowd and somehow stirred an interest in
me. She must be 34-24-34, but quite attractive with average height, slim in
body with pleasant personality wearing a cream coloured blouse and a black
woolen long flowing skirt with matching boots. With fair unblemished soft skin
and uncomplicated hairdo, no wonder the pub hired her. An English pub with an
Asian band playing Calypso music and songs plus a young Chinese waitress made
quite a contrast but nice and infectious. The cadets enjoyed the atmosphere,
and so did I. It was a melting pot and the waitress presence electrified me, a
feeling I had not sensed before. I managed to chat a few words to her and the
cadets knew I had a yen for her. Talking with the eyes, you know.
Next Saturday, we all went back
there for a drink. Knowingly, they returned back by themselves after an
enjoyable evening leaving me to exercise my options. I lingered back and waited
outside after the last bell. It was cold. She came out ten minutes after closing and I
escorted her back to her digs in the heart of Soho without much of a fuss. I was relieved she did not
shy away from my gentlemanly advances.
We managed to talk on our way to her flat and I found out that she was
from Hong Kong, arrived London alone about a year ago holding a British
passport. Like myself, she held two jobs to supplement her gross income. She
was also a non-drinker, similar to myself and does not believe in playing
around. Cheers !
From then on, I picked her up
after work every Saturday and Sunday night, which increased to daily after six
months. Her name was Mai Li, but better known by all as Joyce. She accepted my invitation would join
me for our weekly cook out at the cadets place but unwilling to eat by hand
like us, preferring fork and spoon or chop sticks.
Within a year, the cadets were
all gone, managing to secure their second mate tickets. Alone, I now spent more
time with Joyce and I enjoyed it and yearned to be with her all of my free
time. Spring, summer, autumn and winter all went round and came back, but I still wanted her compannion and hungry for more and more. She was an accountant by training and worked as a sales girl cum
bookkeeper at the Lu Ming Chinese Emporium, below her digs. Some evenings, we
would enjoy a duck rice or wontan mi, in Soho two streets away or Indian food, which I took from
the restaurant where I worked. The nearest tube station for Joyce was Leicester
Square and there after a good twenty minutes walk. To me, the walk was not
tedious or exhausting, I think my feelings showed.
According to Joyce, all things
sold at Lu Ming Chinese Emporium do not go unnoticed by the ‘Elders’. The
amount one donates to the community, to the old folks home, to the hospital, to
help the poor etc. etc. were monitored by them. Put a foot wrong, some one would
be there in a jiffy to ‘help’ you amend, otherwise you can kiss goodbye to your business.
This have been the tradition for hundred of years and only the societies know
who the “Elders’ are. Their replacements and terms of employment are shrouded
in secrecy maybe behind a Soho bamboo curtain.
Keeping within the rules, all businesses prospered. Pubs would have
patronages, clubs can do their own things, no muggings in Soho and the ladies
of the night can go about their businesses. Police work will be within
acceptable limits and everybody happy. The system is such that no windfall of
money for any businesses and all profits must be within reasons. Strange, is it
not?
Joyce, a careful dresser does not
maintain a large wardrobe. To her, clothes must be practical, durable and if
possible be evergreen, suitable for all seasons. Labels and boutiques are not a
must, however willing to pay more if it got style and be long lasting. Waste
not and want not were always on her mind and must be ready to move in an
instant notice was her theme. Marks and Spencer seems to be her wardrobe store.
To me, Joyce is a type of woman I would like to share my life. She is
sophisticated, beautiful, presentable, well educated, caring, homely, stringent
with money and a good partner. She made sure I did not spend unnecessarily and
without good reason. All in all, a good woman.
After two years of going out
together, on cold, long wet nights, she would spend some evenings with me at my
digs, as it was closer to the Prospect of Whitby. I would hold her close under
the blankets and sit by the gas fire discussing and making plans long into the
night. It was a joy to have someone talking on the same frequency and in my eyes
she could do no wrong. Mrs. Abu Baker children also liked Joyce as she would at
times baby sit her two daughters, free of charge of course. This was no big deal as the
girls were angels, placing them in front of the television set was enough to
put them to sleep. Feeding them was also not a chore as they were not fussy eaters. I could see and sense
that she was family orientated which met my requirements whole heartily.
Seasons withered, and now I
worked for William Hill & Sons, the bookmaker at Mile End. The pay was
better and my golden rule was to never to place a bet, no matter how good the
odds were. On a cold January day, while sitting with Joyce by the gas fire, I
opened up and told my life story. Starting from my trip to Calcutta with no
formal education and no family as such, back ‘home’ in Rangoon. I told her
about being alone and not being allergic to hard work, right up to the present
moment. I gave her the whole nine yards. All Joyce had to say was ‘ I like the
fighting spirit in a man’. Under the blue glow of a gas fire, warm under the
blankets gave me enough courage to propose. I quietly asked her, “ Will you
marry this lonely man? ”
She opened her half closed eyes
fully and looking surprised she smiled and replied, “ I was under the impression you would never ask. ”
So hitched we did at the Mile End
Registry on 18th February at 1000 hours. Cold was the wind and rains drizzled
under cloudy skies. The day was horrid and miserable, however it did not dampen
our hearts She also let me into her little secret and told me that I was the
first man she ever had, and I was in no way angry about it. Quite relieved and
overjoyed, actually!
Joyce moved in with me as the
room was quite large on the first floor. I only bought a double bed from
Aldgate East furnishing store and the rest was history. Mrs. Abu Baker did not
ask for more rental as no extra room was needed with Mr. Abu Baker endorsing it. Besides, she was happy with
Joyce for looking after their two young daughters for free. We were one big
happy family. Joyce was twenty-three and I was twenty-eight. Joyce continued to
send twenty five percent of her income to her mum and dad residing back in Hong
Kong with her brother. This was the way of the Chinese, parents would reside
with their son only. While savings
grew for both of us, we still cannot afford a house in west London nor around
Swiss Cottage area in the northwest, respectable part of town. It was not worth
buying through a building society also as the interests were high and
meaningful jobs were rather bleak for me on the right side of London especially for someone like me without formal educational requirements.
One day, a letter came from
Joyce’s cousin residing in Ottawa painting about earning power and superior living
conditions there compared to London. The prospects of immigrating there were
bright and a worthwhile consideration for both of us, so she wrote. Her waiting of tables at the
Prospect of Whitby, kept me informed about my Burmese sailor friends. Out of
the four Bibby Line cadets, two joined the Rangoon Pilot Service and the
remainder two joined the national line as Masters after gaining their necessary tickets.
I presume being with the family and having one’s own command was more important
than money. Maybe so, God knows!
CHAPTER FOUR : ANCHORING IN THE
NEW LAND
I went to the local library and
did some research there. Most of the Chinese immigrants were in Toronto and
Vancouver. Having said that, Ottawa is their capital with a population under
million souls. While Canadian and English made up of the bulk of population
there with over 40% according to the demographics and Chinese only made up of
4% of the people. However, Easterners including Anglo Africans made up around
12%, thus they would not be so much out of place and could blend into the main
population. Furthermore it was a new country and setting up roots there might
be the right thing to do.
After much deliberation between
Joyce and myself, weighing pros and cons up to the late hours of the night, we
came to the conclusion that immigrating to Ottawa would be the best option to
better ourselves and start a family. With our both savings pooled, we could
start up a Chinese supermarket there, which can be deemed our own. Our fighting
spunk could make it a success within a year. A population around a million
which is much diverse, serving not only to the Chinese, but also to Thais,
Vietnamese, Indians, Filipinos, Russians, Middle Easterners etc. etc. from a
warehouse near the port would be our winning ticket. The weather’s there is also cold in
London, thus no difference there, except the amenities would be better and more
modern. Joyce already experienced running Lu Ming, here in London, therefore
running an emporium supermarket in Ottawa should be a piece of cake, not too
difficult might be the correct term. I would name it Eastern Supermarket and
should our savings be insufficient, I am sure the bank there would gladly
supplement the balance.
Once set up there, I would like
to fly back to Burma and look for my parents back in Kyauk Mae Town, Shan
States in Burma and bring them along including my sisters back to Ottawa, which
my wife supported whole heartily. After all, it was the right thing to do as
they made me what I am today and they also struggled and suffered a hard
life. It was high time I make up,
and let them retire in old age, comfortably in Canada, if possible. With my
child in Joyce’s tummy, I would like to start a homestead there and anchor my
unrest soul, once and for all.
August ought to be beautiful and
warm in Ottawa.
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