Irish Ships and Shipping
Irish Shipping Ltd.
Crew and Ships
Memories
Stories, Tales and Memories from bygone
days at sea
Tony Clements,
Turavuori, Finland, March 1960
Recollections of an Irish Shipping Apprentice
©Tony Clements 2007
Reflections on my time in
Irish Shipping Ltd.
©Tony Clements
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH SHIPPING APPRENTICE –
PART 1
By ©Tony Clements
2007
The dictionary defines to recollect
as “to recall to memory” and this is what I have tried to do. Maybe you will
have sailed with me and think: ‘I can’t remember that happening, where did he
get that from?’ Maybe you are right and some facts may not be as you remember
them but I am writing them down as I can recall them in my memory. And memory
can at times err. As Mark Twain said: “When I was younger, I could remember
anything, whether it happened or not”! But the voyages I have listed are
accurate as I kept a record in a pocket atlas and still have it with me. So I
trust that these recollections will be of interest to you who surf this site.
This was the telegram that started me on my four years career
with Irish Shipping.
IRISH POPLAR
-A
Summary of Voyages
1957
Light ship from
London
to the US, loaded grain in
Albany
and
New York
for the
UK
:
Hull
.
Light ship from
Hull
to
Canada
, via
Leith
. Loaded grain in
Halifax
for the
UK
:
Cardiff
and
Manchester
.
Light ship from
Manchester
to the
US
, broke down off the
Bahamas
, repairs in
Fort Lauderdale
, Florida
, then to
Houston
and loaded
grain for
East Pakistan
.
Stopped at
Gibraltar
for bunkers, transited the Suez Canal
, and a call at
Aden
for bunkers before arriving at
Chittagong
.
From
Chittagong
light ship to
Albany
,
Western
Australia
and loaded grain for the
UK
:
London
and
Newcastle
.
Bunkering stops on the way were at
Cape Town
and
Dakar
.
Light ship from
Newcastle
to
Norfolk ,
Virginia
and loaded grain for
India
.
Called at
Gibraltar for
bunkers, transited the
Suez Canal
, a bunkering stop at
Aden
and finally
India
where discharged the
grain at
Madras
and
Calcutta
. From
India
light ship to
Geelong
(south-east
Australia
), where we loaded grain for
Ireland
.
Across the
Great Australian Bight
to Fremantle for bunkers, then across the southern
Indian Ocean
with a bunkering stop at
Durban
, up the
South Atlantic
and another bunkering stop at
Dakar
before reaching
Ireland
and discharging at
Dublin
and
Waterford
then to
Cobh
for dry-docking.
From
Cobh light ship
to the
US
:
Mobile
, Alabama
, where we loaded grain for
Japan
.
From
Mobile
through
the Panama Canal
to
Honolulu
for bunkers then on to our Japanese
discharge port,
Shimizu
.
On completion of discharge light ship to
Australia
with, on the way south, a bunkering
stop at
Balikpapan
,
Borneo
. Loaded grain at
Geraldton
, Western Australia
, for
Ireland
.
Across the
Indian Ocean to
Aden
for
bunkers before transiting the Suez
Canal and finally arriving at
Dublin
where I
paid off.
I and another junior apprentice,
Jimmy Coady, joined the vessel in
London
. She was berthed
at the Tate & Lyle berth at Silvertown (?), discharging a cargo of South African
sugar. Part of the cargo was being discharged into barges –
Thames
barges with their brown sails. When full they would let go, loosen sail and if
there was no wind they would drift with the tide until a breeze sprang up. Some
days after we joined, one of the firemen came back with a few pints too many,
slipped off the gangway and was drowned. The next day police with grapnels
fished the body out. He was frozen in the act of trying to swim.
London,1958.
The four apprentices, (l to r): “Red” O’Carroll, Jimmy Coady, Wille Cummins,
Tony “Clem” Clements.
My first Master was Capt. Woolfenden.
He was everything I had imagined a ship’s captain to be – commanding and with a
white beard. The story I was told about him was that he had previously been the
Master of a crack Egyptian passenger liner but had been sacked, along with all
the rest of the Brits, at the time of the
Suez
crisis. One grey, wet day
in the North Atlantic
, while I was holystoning the boat deck, he stopped and asked me “Have you got
the time, Clements?” “Er, yes, sir.” I had a watch and was proud of it and while
I fumbled with my oilskin sleeve to look at it he asked “And have you got a
knife”. “Er, no, Sir.” “You useless object, no knife and you want to be a
sailor…!” (or words to that effect). It was the last time I wore a watch at
work.
At that time there existed in the
States the famous “Short Arm Inspection”. It was meant to protect the women of
America
from hideous foreign diseases. The crew of foreign vessels
arriving in the States had to line up, pull out their John Thomas, pull back the
foreskin and have it inspected by a medical officer. So when we arrived in
New
York
the ratings (I cannot remember if
the officers were subject to this examination) were lined up for the inspection.
“Do you want to see the apprentices” the Master asked. “No, they are too young”
the medical officer replied “but one can give me a hand with the crew list.” So
there I was holding the crew list and watching the medical officer carry out his
inspection of Irish manhood. He stopped in front of one particularly dirty
fireman, looked down, took his cigar out of his mouth and said “Goddam it, don’t
you ever wash that thing!” I can never remember another such inspection so
assume that 1957 was the last year.
Once the entry
formalities were completed, we steamed up the
Hudson River
to
Albany
. The scenery on the
river was beautiful. Christmas in
Albany
and the Master invited myself and the other junior apprentice for a drink. “You
need to learn to drink like gentlemen and this is the drink of gentlemen.” He
handed us a gin and bitters. “Cheers and a Happy Christmas!” We had to drink it
but that was the last time I ever touched the stuff – horrible taste! One
evening we apprentices walked up town and the next day, mentioning this to a
white docker he said “Why – you walked right through the negro part of town –
that’s real dangerous for whites!” Well, they never bothered us. In
Albany
we loaded grain, but not a full
cargo due to draft restrictions in the river. We topped up in
New York
where we
junior apprentices were not allowed ashore as the Master said we were too young
(we were seventeen).
Mobile, Alabama, February
1959.
(l to r): Andy Dunne (Apprentice), unknown, Tony “Clem” Clements, unknown.
Then back
across the North Atlantic
to our discharge
port of
Hull
. While discharging in
Hull, all Irish seamen
went on strike and our crew paid off. Once discharge was completed, after some
time at a lay-by berth, we went to anchor in the River Humber, only officers and
apprentices left on board. I can’t remember who did the cooking. One foggy
afternoon, as per the International Rules for the Prevention of Collisions at
Sea, I was ringing the foc’sle bell when I heard the sound of an approaching
engine from dead ahead. I rang the bell again then leaned over and had a look.
Coming out of the fog was an Icelandic trawler, at full speed. The skipper was
leaning out of the wheelhouse, chatting to a couple of hands on deck who were
coiling ropes. “Oi!” I shouted. They all looked up in amazement. I took to my
heels and ran towards the bridge. I heard and felt the trawler hitting our bows
then it was scraping along our hull, keeping time with me as I ran down the fore
deck. As it disappeared into the fog I could see it settling in the water. I ran
up to the bridge and woke the 2nd.
Mate who was dozing in the bridge chair. We heard later that the trawler sank
but that all the crew were rescued. There was hardly any damage to the Poplar. I
just had to sign a statement for a lawyer.
We eventually
sailed from Hull
, still with only officers and apprentices, and anchored off
Leith
. There the Master went ashore that evening and late at night returned with a
crowd of mostly very drunken Scotsmen. As soon as they were on board we weighed
anchor and sailed. The next morning a crowd of very bedraggled and hung-over
sailors complained about being shanghaied but they were soon brought to order by
the Master and a very efficient Herbridiean Bosun. They settled down soon
enough. The Master ordered the Bosun to break the tips on their knives. We
sailed at extra full speed to Halifax
as we had to make it by a certain date or lose
the charter. We battered our way across the
North Atlantic
and made it in time to load our cargo of grain. It was very cold in
Halifax
. Then
back across to discharge at Cardiff
and
Manchester.
The
Manchester
Canal
was always an interesting
transit as usually the top of the funnel and anything else tall, like topmasts
or radar mast, had to be removed so as to pass under the bridges. On the berth
where this operation was carried out one could see what ships had already passed
up by the collection of funnel tops on the quayside. After this berth one
steamed under a test wire; if you snagged it was back to the berth to remove the
offending piece of equipment. We were in
Manchester
for the Grand National. In those
days bookie shops were illegal but if you knew where to go, and the
dockers
told us, there were plenty of very scruffy illegal bookie shops in the back
streets waiting to take our money
Fort Lauderdale daily news. 2nd. April 1958
Having left
Manchester
and on our way to the States, we
broke down off the
Bahamas
. After drifting round a bit and indulging in some shark
fishing, a tug appeared and we were towed into
Fort Lauderdale
. There we
spent many weeks while the boilers were cleaned. Rumour had it that salt water
had been let into them. We used to swim in the late evenings, just as it got
dark, off the beach at the back of the hotels. This was mainly because there was
a plentiful supply of hotel towels that had been left out to dry. One evening on
the way back to the ship, a police car stopped us on, I assume, the assumption
that anyone walking in the States is a suspicious character. “Where are you boys
from?” “We’re from the Irish ship.” “OK, what have you been doing?” “Swimming at
the beach” “Swimming at the beach at night time! Don’t you know that’s when the
sharks come in to the shallows!” End of our evening swims.
Drifting off
the Bahamas, (bound Houston), and waiting for a tow into Fort Lauderdale,
Florida for repairs (seawater in boilers?), April 1958.
(back row, l to r): unknown, unknown, Willie Cummins
(Apprentice), unknown.
(front row, l to r): Tony “Clem” Clements (Apprentice), unknown, unknown, Jimmy
Coady (Apprentice).
Were we the first Irish ship to visit
Houston? It seemed so from
our welcome. Irish-Americans came to visit the ship and invite us to their
homes. Some even lent us a car. None of us apprentices knew how to drive, let
alone have a licence, but we figured out the automatic gears and didn’t run
anyone over. One evening we took the bus to go downtown. The bus was waiting at
the docks, empty. We entered and settled down at the back. The driver came and
when he saw us insisted we come and sit in the front. Why? We had been sitting
in the “Coloureds Only” section.
When we
bunkered in Gibraltar
it was for fuel oil. But at this period there were still coal burners around and
Gibraltar
held stocks of coal for them. The coal was stocked in the hulls of old sailing
ships, anchored in the bay. Most had been cut down but you could still see the
fine lines of their hulls and the bows with the remains of bowsprit and
figurehead. Some even had the remains of masts.
One Master’s
favourite literature was the “Reader’s Digest”. Having read the latest copy from
cover to cover, he would then pontificate on the articles he had read. One time
we were transiting the Suez Canal
, not long after it had reopened following the
Suez
crisis.
The British pilots had all been sacked by
Nasser and an
international collection brought in to replace them. Our pilot was a German and
the Master started discussing U-boats with him, this being no doubt the latest
article he had read in the “Reader’s Digest”. “Well, of course, Pilot, that type
of U-boat was never fitted with a snorkel.” “ Oh, yes captain it was”, replied
the pilot. “Pilot”, said the Master, “ I am afraid you are wrong there – I know
for a fact they were never fitted.” “And I, Captain, know that they were as I
commanded one during the war!” Silence and exit the Master from the bridge until
change of pilots!
Chittagong,
June 1958.
Willie Cummins.
On arrival off
Chittagong
, which at that time was
part of Eastern Pakistan
, we had to anchor offshore to discharge half the cargo to reduce the draught so
we could cross the river bar. We anchored in muddy water with no land in sight.
Eventually the agent came and said the barges were on their way out. A few were
towed out by ancient steam tugs, the rest came under sail. When the wind dropped
they drifted to and fro with the currents and tides. But eventually they got
alongside. The grain was shovelled into burlap sacks, sewn by hand, then heaved
overside into the barges, which, when full, commenced their long and uncertain
journey back to the port. After many weeks the draft had been sufficiently
reduced and we were able to cross the bar and enter the
port
of
Chittagong
. There, one Sunday, Mass was
celebrated on board by the Bishop of Chittagong (maybe he was Irish?). An altar,
decorated with flags, was set up on the boat deck. Hardly any western type
stores were available there. The only butter was cows’ ghee, a rancid yellow
mixture made from I don’t know what. So when we sailed for
Australia
, there wasn’t much to eat on board.
We eventually arrived at
Albany
, in
Western
Australia
, and made fast to a lay-by berth at the end of a long
wooden jetty, not in very good condition. The Master had radioed ahead for
provisions to be ready on our arrival and, sure enough, a pickup from the
chandler hove into sight and commenced slowly driving down the rickety jetty.
But, having nearly reached us, he was stopped by loose or missing planks. When
the crew saw he wasn’t advancing they ran out on the jetty and literally carried
the pickup to the gangway! Notwithstanding stuffing ourselves on board, in the
evenings we would go ashore to feast on huge steaks with fried eggs in the local
cafés.
|
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Geraldton, Western Australia, April 1959.
(l to r): Steve Dallaghan (apprentice), Paddy Crane (AB).
|
At Sea,
bound Suez Canal from Geraldton, Western Australia, April 1959.
The four apprentices (l to r): Andy Dunne, Tony
“Clem” Clements (with ship’s cat), Steve Dallaghan and Jimmy Coady.
|
|
Cape Town was a short bunker stop but
the Mate very kindly allowed the apprentices the time off so we could be taken
on a tour of the Cape
and surroundings by an Irish priest.
In
Madras
we were invited to tea at a convent run by Irish nuns. Tea
was taken in a room with a high ceiling and open windows at the top. Through
these open windows vegetation had come in and through this vegetation ran
animals that looked like a cross between a monkey and a squirrel. We were
fascinated and kept gaping upwards whereas the nuns, who had seen it all before,
were trying to engage us in conversation. When the morning came to sail, some of
the crew were found to be missing. The 2nd
Mate was assigned by the Master to search the local brothels for our missing
seamen and I was taken along as assistant. In each brothel we visited we got
permission to check each room (about the size of cupboards), much to the
surprise of the occupants therein - an interesting introduction to the varieties
of life (or should I say positions?) for a young apprentice!
Leaving the grain berth at Geelong (a
rather rickety old pier), the bridge forgot to tell the 2nd
Mate to let go the last stern line. Consequently when “Ahead” was rung on the
telegraph we took a portion of the rotten wooden quay with us.
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At Sea, bound from Geelong to Dublin, Christmas
Day 1958.
(from l to r): R/O?, unknown, the Master, Capt. J. Poole, 3rd
Mate?, Chief Officer?, unknown, unknown. Kneeling (l to r) three
apprentices: Tony “Clem” Clements, Andy Dunne, Jimmy Coady.
|
At Sea, bound from Geelong to Dublin, Christmas
Day 1958.
The four apprentices (l to r): Andy Dunne, unknown, Jimmy Coady, Tony
“Clem” Clements. |
|
Honolulu was only a one day bunkering
stop on our long trip across the Pacific, but a very welcome one. We had chipped
decks all the way across so the Mate, in the kindness of his heart, let us
apprentices ashore so it was off to
Waikiki beach for a swim!
Shimizu
, our port of discharge, was a small
port with the town consisting mainly of wooden houses and the women still in
their traditional dress.
Japan
was so cheap in those days
that even we apprentices could afford to go ashore and enjoy ourselves!
In those days radar was still
something of a novelty and to be approached and used with awe. On the Poplar,
with one Master, it could not be used without his permission and had to be
switched on and tuned up by the Radio Officer. The Poplar was not fitted with an
autopilot but was fitted with a course recorder which, on a sheet of paper like
a barograph, traced the course steered. So when you finished your trick at the
wheel, first thing you did was have a quick look at what kind of course you had
steered. The officer of the watch also checked it and quickly let you know if
you were wandering all over the ocean!
©Tony Clements 2007
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RECOLLECTIONS
OF AN IRISH SHIPPING APPRENTICE – PART 2
By ©Tony
Clements 2007
Irish Blackthorn 1960
A
Summary of Voyages
-
From Greenock in ballast to Magnisi, Sicily, and loaded crude for the
Rotterdam.
-
From Rotterdam in ballast to Magnisi and loaded
crude for Rotterdam.
-
From Rotterdam in ballast to Magnisi and loaded
crude for Rotterdam.
-
From Rotterdam in ballast to Magnisi and loaded
crude for Rotterdam.
-
From Rotterdam in ballast to Curacao, Netherlands
Antilles, and loaded diesel for Sweden:
Gothenburg, Halsingborg and Malmo. Then
returned via the Kiel Canal in ballast to Rotterdam.
-
Loaded diesel in Rotterdam for Denmark: Copenhagen and Aarhus.
-
From Aarhus, in ballast to Magnisi and loaded
crude for Rotterdam.
-
From Rotterdam sailed in ballast to the Persian Gulf
via the Suez Canal. Port of loading was Bandar Mashur, Iran.
I can’t remember what we loaded –crude? Then
back via the Suez and Kiel Canals to Tupavouri in Finland.
-
From Tupavouri in ballast, through the Kiel Canal, with a stop at Holtenau,
through the Suez Canal and once more loaded at Bandar Mashur. Then via the
Suez and Kiel Canals to Tupavouri once again.
-
From Tupavouri in ballast via the Kiel Canal to Rotterdam where I paid off.
Jimmy Coady and I, together again, joined shortly after she
had been handed over by the builders on the Clyde. She was very luxurious – air
conditioning and a separate cabin for each apprentice (only two of us) – what
opulence! For a month or so we were at anchor on the Tail of the Bank, off
Greenock. A television was hired to watch the Wimbledon tennis championships. At
the turn of each tide it was the apprentices’ job to slowly turn the aerial to
keep the station tuned until the vessel had settled down on her new heading.
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March 1960, At Sea, bound Finland.
(l to r): Tony (“Clem”)
Clements (Apprentice),
Captain (“Gerra”) Blaney (Master), Jimmy Coady
(Apprentice). |
(l to r): Tony (“Clem”) Clements, unknown (an
engineer?), Jimmy Gorman,
unknown, unknown.
August 1959, Magnisi, Sicily. |
(l to r): John Bird (Bosun),
Peter Hynes (Pumpman), Fennely (Electrician)
October 1959, At Sea, North Atlantic, bound Curacao.
|
|
Magnisi was situated on the east
coast of Sicily, between Syracuse and Catania. There was just a loading berth
for tankers. The Sicilian crude we used to load was very thick and had to be
constantly heated to remain liquid for pumping. We would sail for Rotterdam with
enough bunkers for the main engine, auxiliaries and heating coils. On one voyage
we ran into a very strong westerly gale with the typical Mediterranean short,
very steep, swell. This cut down our speed considerably with the consequence
that we ended up not having enough steam for the heating coils. The cargo became
like tar and on arrival at Rotterdam a special steam barge had to be brought
alongside to pump steam into us to help in heating up the cargo. It was several
days before the cargo was liquid enough for pumping ashore. During the same gale
the foc’sle store flooded, the paint drums were all smashed and we were left
with all the gear (mooring ropes, etc) covered in a greyish paint.
Curacao was then, and maybe still is, a vast refining complex. The crude came
from Lake Maracaibo, transported on Eagle Oil tankers. The good Dutch burghers
of Curacao, to ensure that their wives and daughters were not contaminated by
the riff-raff of common seamen, only allowed officers to visit Willemstad.
However the riff-raff was looked after with typical Dutch efficiency. In the
middle of the island was what had all the appearances of a concentration camp –
a central bar area surrounded by hundreds of little wooden huts, the lot
enclosed behind barbed wire and patrolled by Dutch police. This was the famous
“Happy Valley”.
Transport there and back was provided by a free bus
service, after that you had to pay! Though not much variety in drink at the bar
(it was rum or beer), there certainly was a variety of girls, from everywhere in
South America and all, again thanks to Dutch efficiency, regularly examined by a
doctor. You could get drunk but no fighting was tolerated and the police, with
their truncheons, were very quick to enforce this, as some of our crew found out
when the Irish fighting spirit got inflamed by rum.
At Curacao I met an old Irish seaman employed on the Eagle
Oil tankers. He had not been back to Ireland since the civil war when he and his
brother fought on opposite sides. Could I get a message back to his brother to
find out if it was ok for him to return? I could and I did and his brother
replied he would shoot him if he ever set foot in the country. Very sad and I
often wondered what eventually happened to him.
We
loaded diesel at Curacao. On the return voyage to Sweden, we swabbed the main
decks with the cargo – it was very handy for lifting the rust off the decks. It
would not be thought very ecological nowadays! Tank cleaning was done with the
Butterworth system. But it was not, like nowadays, a fixed system. Then we had
to manhandle the hoses and rotating nozzles down through the tank hatches. Did
the Blackthorn have slop tanks for the residue or was it over the side? I can’t
remember.
On
winter trips to Finland we would wait in the Baltic at the edge of the ice sheet
until there were sufficient vessels to form a convoy, with an icebreaker in
front. One of the icebreakers was a coal burner, dating from the late 1800s. On
one of our trips, it got so cold that this icebreaker, which was leading, got
frozen itself in the ice and we had to wait several days before the arrival of a
modern, more powerful Russian icebreaker came to extract us and the Finnish
icebreaker. Once alongside, the water would quickly freeze over again and before
departure an icebreaking tug would range up and down to break enough ice so that
we could get off the berth.
Walport films – remember them? The Blackthorn was
the first ship I sailed in with them. There were three films (each of 3 or 4
reels packed in cardboard boxes), the lot stowed in a metal box. Most British
flag and quite a few Greek owned vessels were Walport ships. In port they could
be exchanged via the agent but in other circumstances, such as at an anchorage,
it was a case of getting the Aldis lamp out and calling a ship up ( if I
remember correctly we had a booklet with the list of Walport ships) to know if
a) they wanted to swap their box and b) had we already seen the contents or not.
Then either of the ships would lower its jolly boat and the boxes would be
swapped and signed for. The films were 16mm and each ship was provided by
Walport with a projector and film splicer. Film night was a big event – would
the projector work ok, would the splices hold together, etc..?
On the Blackthorn the cinema was held (if I remember well)
in a mess room aft. Everyone would bring their cans of beer and let the show
begin. The electrician was the projectionist. One night the Master said too much
noise was being made opening beer cans and in future they could only be opened
at intermissions, i.e., changing of reels. But at the next performance, while
the film was running, a “Pschttt” was heard. The electrician immediately
switched on the lights and there was the culprit – the Master! On our voyage to
Curacao we got caught in a hurricane but with no cargo were able to ballast ship
until she was just nicely balanced for the bad weather. And the hurricane was
not allowed to interfere with our film night – the show went on with the
electrician and another hanging on to the projector!
16 February 1960, Port Said, Egypt, bound Bandar Ma’Shur
back row: Jimmy Coady, Tony (“Clem”) Clements, Inge Cohen,
Paddy Pidgeon, Tom Finnin, Peter Hynes, George Elliot, Phil Doyle-front row:
Alfie L’Estrange, Jimmy (“Bags of Brass”) Griffith, Valentino (“Teddy”) Bär,
Paddy Foley.
For
reasons unknown (maybe we had been very thirsty), we were a bit short on the
drinks when Christmas loomed over the horizon. So to alleviate the shortage,
Jimmy Coady and I brewed a batch of “poteen” from raisins and prunes. Well, it
was nothing to write home about, even when diluted with fruit juice but it had a
kick and went down very well on Christmas day. But the next morning……!
Jimmy Coady and I were very lucky to have two persons who
were interested in our training - the pumpman (Peter Hynes) and the Chief Mate
(Mr. Devine (?) who in addition to being an excellent officer, was also a very
talented water colour artist). By the time we disembarked from the Blackthorn we
had a thorough grounding in tanker practices and were capable, as we proved, of
loading and discharging the vessel by ourselves. And tanker practice in those
days kept you fit if nothing else. No sitting in a control room pressing
buttons. You had to be out on deck or up and down the pumproom; all valves were
turned by hand and ullages taken at the tank top. And as far as I can recollect,
in all the time I served in the Blackthorn, we never had a spill. Loading and
discharging was carried out with a minimum of fuss, unlike nowadays, when
nothing can happen until you have filled in a dozen or more forms and had a
visit from Port State Control to cheer you up!
©Tony Clements 2007
Back to top
RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH SHIPPING APPRENTICE –
PART 3
©Tony Clements 2007
IRISH MAPLE
-
I joined in
Dublin in the spring of 1960 and
from there we sailed to Quebec
to load grain for the UK
: Hull and
Newcastle-upon-Tyne . Then to
London .
-
At London and then Le Havre we loaded general
cargo for the US Gulf ports: New Orleans, Houston, Galveston and Brownsville
before sailing back to the UK with a mixture of grain and general cargo,
part of the latter consisting of military equipment for the US Army in
Europe. Our discharge ports in the UK
were Liverpool ,
Manchester , and
Glasgow . Then back to
Liverpool where I paid off.
In Quebec I went to the dentist to have a tooth pulled
and walking back to the ship was in time to join the crowd and have a close-up
of General Charles de Gaulle, the French president, who was visiting the town
hall. Before the arrival of the general, the principle attraction for the crowd
was watching a man laying the red carpet which stretched from the pavement to
the town hall steps. The pavement end kept curling up, no matter what he tried.
Eventually, to cheers from the spectators, he returned with a tin of glue –
problem solved!
In Newcastle we discharged the
remaining grain at Ranks flour mill. It took ages, I don’t know why but it gave
us the opportunity to find out and appreciate Newcastle Brown (great stuff!) and
Newcastle girls (I suppose you are a grandmother now
Judy..?). At that time
Newcastle-upon-Tyne was one of the
most seaman-friendly cities I can remember with great pubs and dance halls.
In
Le Havre we loaded Opel cars (Why load German cars in a
French port? Don’t ask me!). The cars were loaded with slings and stowed in the
tween decks. Once stowed by the dockers, they had to be minutely examined by the
apprentices for any scratches or dents which had to be recorded and the list
given to the Chief Mate. On arrival in the States the cars were in turn minutely
examined by the receivers and the idea was that no scratches or dents could be
blamed on the ship.
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Quebec
, April 1960.
(l to r): Apprentices Tony “Clem” Clements, Tom
Byrne, Vincent Kenny.
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At Sea,
June 1960.
The four apprentices, (l to r): Tony “Clem”
Clements, Jack.?, Tom Byrne, Vincent Kenny
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New
Orleans , June 1960.
(l to r): Jack ……..? (apprentice), Vincent Kenny
(apprentice), Nick …….? (rank unknown),
Tom Byrne (apprentice). We were on our way for a
swim at Lake
Pontchartrain , hence the
towels. |
Liverpool
, July 1960.
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We were sailing late at night from New Orleans, late because
we had waited for a missing crewmember but he still hadn’t shown up. The pilot
was on board, the headlines were being slipped and the ship starting to swing
out, when the missing man comes running along the quayside and, the bulwark top
being level with the dock, makes for the stern to jump on board. “Second Mate”
hollers the Master, “Don’t let that man on board!” Then, seeing the stern line
still fast and the man getting ready to jump, the Master comes storming off the
bridge and down aft “Don’t any of you help him on board – let go that stern
line!” and turning to the latecomer tells him “You can join us by bus in
Houston!” But he managed to scramble on board and, acknowledging the inevitable
and seeing as the ship was now broadside to the river, the Master decided it was
time to return to the bridge. And the next day, as was usual in those times, the
offender was hauled in front of the Master and logged X number of days pay for
the offence.
On the second voyage there
was, for reasons I cannot remember, no Chippy signed on so the Mate nominated me
as acting Chippy. This suited me fine
– I was on day-work. One dark, misty and wet evening we were feeling our
way up the Mersey to
Liverpool . As Chippy, I was on standby at the windlass.
Over to port I noticed, through the mist, a dredger with anchor chains running
out in various directions. Then someone came to the foc’sle to relieve me for a
smoko. As I reached the main deck I felt a jar as the ship seemed to lurch. I
immediately thought that we had run over one of the dredger’s anchor chains. But
then I heard a scraping sound and looking over the port side was just in time to
see the stern of a sinking vessel sticking up in the air with rudder and
propeller already visible. On the stern was its name and port of registration:
Denby
Coast ,
Liverpool . Next there were shouts to man one of our
lifeboats to search for survivors and I found myself one of the lifeboat crew.
We rowed, or rather levered (as the boat had Flemming propulsion gear) our way
round in the darkness and rain until eventually we lost sight of the Maple and
everything else and were lost. We could hear foghorns all around us but could
see nothing until we bumped into a channel buoy and tied up to it. Just when we
were wondering if we should break out the lifeboat rations, lights came through
the dark and it was the pilot cutter come to our rescue. We were hauled aboard
(I cannot remember what happened to the lifeboat, I suppose they towed it in)
and there in the saloon we found the crew of the
Denby
Coast , rescued by the cutter. The
Master, with a scowl on his face when he found out who we were, was sitting
barefooted with, around one big toe, the remains of a duckboard. Apparently, on
seeing that his ship was sinking, he took off his shoes and rang out on the
bridge wing to jump overboard – and on the way got a big toe stuck in a
duckboard and had to jump overboard with the whole duckboard. On the pilot
cutter they could not free his toe, it would have to be done ashore, so had cut
away as much as they could. He was not a happy man. From what I heard later
there was no blame attached to the Maple, the
Denby
Coast had cut across the main
channel.
IRISH LARCH
A Summary of Voyages
-
I joined in
London in the late summer of 1960.
From London to
Hamburg and
Le Havre to load general cargo
(including French wine and champagne) for the
US . Our
discharge/loading ports in the US
were New Orleans
, Houston ,
Galveston ,
Corpus Christi and
Panama City . We sailed for the
UK with a
mixture of grain and general cargo. Our discharge ports in the
UK were
Liverpool and Manchester
, then back to Liverpool .
-
At Liverpool and then
Glasgow we loaded general cargo for
the US . Our
discharge/loading ports were Houston
, Galveston ,
New Orleans ,
Mobile and
Tampa , in which last port we loaded
thousands of cases of orange juice. In the
UK we visited
Liverpool , Manchester
, back to Liverpool then north to
Glasgow where I paid off.
When I joined the
vessel in
London , she was berthed at
Surrey docks. She was on charter to Cunard (the funnel
was painted in Cunard colours). We were loading general cargo for the States.
Among the cargo were shoes. As an idea to prevent pilfering by the dockers, we
loaded only the left-footed shoes. But this did not stop the dockers because, as
one said to me: “My brother is working on the ship that is loading the
right-footed ones.” But the loading didn’t last long as the dockers went on
strike. And there we stayed in Surrey docks for nearly
six weeks. Of course we quickly ran out of money and had to rely on the
generosity of the Irish nurses at the nearby hospital to buy us a pint now and
again.
The ship had just returned from the States and everyone had brought US one cent
coins with them. They were for use in the public phones as they were the same
size as a sixpenny coin. One day the police visited the ship and all the crew
were called to the saloon. There a solemn faced policeman told us he had
received a complaint from the Post Office as to how all the public phones
nearby, when emptied, had been found to contain mainly US one cent pieces. And
we were the only ship in Surrey
docks recently returned from the States. Though knowing it was the Larch crew
responsible, he had no proof so ended by saying that he hoped there would be no
more of this. Which the Master repeated to us afterwards but with, it seemed, a
slight smile on his face as I am sure he also had his supply of one cent coins.
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New
Orleans , October
1960.
(l to r): Tony “Clem” Clements apprentice, Bob
Lawlor (electrician?).
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Heavy
weather in the North Atlantic
, bound
UK
, November 1960.
(l to r): “Scouser”, John Ryan, Bosun (name
unknown) and Jimmy Tallon (outside the entrance to the apprentices’
accommodation). |
Heavy
weather in the North Atlantic
, bound
UK
, November 1960.
Checking the lashings on a deck cargo of empty
bourbon barrels. They were for use by the
Scottish whisky industry.
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Eventually Cunard ordered us to sail to
Hamburg . The day after we left,
the strike ended but we continued to Hamburg
. In Hamburg at that
time (maybe still now?) on a Sunday morning at the docks would be held a banana
auction. All bananas recently unloaded and that were not fit for the shops were
auctioned in public. For very little one could buy a huge bunch of bananas. As
they were mostly the overripe bunches they sold, you had to eat them pretty
quickly so for the next day or so it was a banana diet.
In
Glasgow we loaded Scotch whisky for the States. This
being in pre-container days, the cases (cardboard cartons) were loaded direct
into the holds – thousands upon thousands of cases of all different makes of
whisky. The temptation was too much, of course, for the
Glasgow dockers, and by the end of the day they would
just be able to stagger down the gangway. We apprentices were in the holds
supposedly to check that no cases were broken into but who were we to argue with
big, beefy, drunken
Glasgow dockers…
One of our favourite
haunts in
Liverpool at that time was the Cavern. There was a band
for late-night dancing when the pubs closed and we could meet Irish nurses. Many
years later someone who had been with me at that time asked:
“Do you remember the members of
bands that played in the Cavern at that time?”
“No - because I was looking at
the nurses and not the band. Why do you ask?”
“Because some of them were the future Beatles.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"What
a surprise to see the photos of the trip around the world on this vessel. I was
4th. eng. for 13 months and remember "Noreen Bawn" Eddie Duffy, Cadet Peter and
many others. Sorry to read Jimmy was lost at sea as I remember his face quite
well. The Doxford ran the 27 days without a problem from Panama to Japan, and I
recall the heat aboard a ship built for the Atlantic and serving in the tropics.
How ever it was a good training for my future at sea as an engineer. Where have
all the crew gone?
as the song goes"
Larry Flood.-- March 2008
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IRISH POPLAR
A Summary of Voyages
-
For my second period in this vessel, I joined
at Rushbrooke in the spring of 1961. We sailed for
Dublin then across the
North Atlantic to
Canada . Our
first port was Sorel , then
Montreal . Continuing upriver we
entered the St. Lawrence Seaway and across the
Great Lakes to load grain at Port Alfred. Back through
the St. Lawrence Seaway and across the pond to our
discharge ports in Ireland :
Dublin,Waterford and Cork .
-
From Cork it was back across the
North Atlantic to Canada, through the
St. Lawrence Seaway again, across the Great
Lakes to load grain at Port Arthur
and Fort
William . Having loaded grain in both
ports, back across the Great Lakes , through the
St. Lawrence Seaway and a stop at
Montreal . From
Montreal we sailed to
Cork where I left the vessel.
I returned to the Poplar for
two trips to the Great Lakes . Concerning the St.
Lawrence Seaway I don’t know if
they still do it now (maybe it is considered an “unsafe practice”) but at that
time there were no shoreside mooring gangs when one tied up for the night or
while waiting one’s turn in a lock. Instead each vessel had a long-armed davit
for’d with a block though which a rope passed attached to a bosun’s chair. On
approaching the berth whoever was designated to take the lines ashore was swung
out over the side and lowered to the quay. Great fun!
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The grain
berth, Lakehead,
Thunder Bay
,
Lake Superior
, May 1961.
At the berth on the other side of the elevator, the “Irish Oak” was
loading! |
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Welland Canal St.Lawrence Seaway, May 1961
A study in baggy trousers!
The Master Capt. Simms
(on the right) with the two pilots.
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On return to Cork after the second voyage myself and another apprentice jumped
ship. We didn’t jump because we were not happy on board or fed up with the sea,
no, it was just one of those impulsive actions of youth. My fellow jumper didn’t
go back to sea but ended up joining the Rhodesian police. Last I heard from him
was when I received a photo, showing him on horseback somewhere in the African
bush! I often wonder where he is now – Greg White from Carricktoole (actually he
was from Cobh , Carricktoole being part of his nickname),
where are you? His father was a commander in the Irish Naval Services. I still
have a book on seamanship he gave me.
©Tony Clements 2007
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RECOLLECTIONS OF AN IRISH SHIPPING APPRENTICE –
PART 4
© A. Clements 2007
IRISH PINE
1961
A Summary of Voyages
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I joined in Liverpool in the autumn of 1961, from
where we sailed to Glasgow before crossing the North Atlantic to Montreal.
From Montreal we passed through the St. Lawrence Seaway and across the Great
Lakes to Port Arthur and Fort William to load grain. On the way back a stop
at Toronto before entering the St. Lawrence Seaway then a call at Montreal
and Three Rivers before sailing for Ireland. Our discharge ports were Dublin
and Limerick.
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Having discharged
the last of our grain at Limerick it was back across the North Atlantic to
Newport News, Virginia where we loaded grain
and tobacco for Dublin and Cork. And at Cork I paid off.
Having jumped the Poplar, and after
various adventures with Greg in Killarney and Limerick, I returned home and
passed my EDH and lifeboat exams. Then Irish Shipping, in the goodness of their
heart (and I doubt any other company would have done likewise) took me back,
this time as an AB on the Irish Pine. The first trip was up the Great Lakes and
when we left Toronto we were one of the last group of ships before the seaway
shut down for the winter. The weather was bitterly cold. The Pine had been
converted some years previously from steam to motor but they had left the steam
winches. And very glad we were to have them. You just had to open the drain cock
to be enveloped in a cloud of hot steam. And another plus to warm us was that
the Pine had in the crew quarters aft, two salt water baths which you could fill
full of hot sea water and relax in – but only in calm weather!
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Funnel colours that have, alas, joined the long
list of extinct shipping companies. Little did I know then that it was
the last photo I would take with Irish Shipping.
I paid off on our return to
Ireland , went
to study for my 2nd. Mates and thereafter sailed under
foreign flags. |
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At Sea,
North Atlantic
, December 1961.
All unknown except for third from right, Tony
“Clem” Clements (AB).
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Norfolk
, Virginia
, December 1961.
(l to r): Chippy?, Jimmy Gorman (AB), Bosun?
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Norfolk
, Virginia
, December 1961.
(l to r): Chippy?, Tony “Clem” Clements (AB),
Bosun?
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Norfolk
, Virginia
, January 1962.
Loading hogsheads of tobacco
leaf for Dublin
and
Cork
.
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Norfolk
, Virginia
, January 1962
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When we sailed from Limerick on the
second voyage, we ran into a strong storm and not long afterwards the main
engine stopped. Quickly we were beam on to a huge swell, rolling our guts out.
It was night-time and around us we could see the lights of French trawlers,
bobbing up and down like corks on the swell. As we were still close to land the
order was given to don lifejackets and then we waited. Luckily we did not have
to wait too long nor make use of our lifejackets as the engineers got the main
engine started again – and that must not have been easy work with the way the
ship was rolling. It was the end of November and we had day after day of bad
weather right across the Atlantic. The seamen were berthed aft and being light
ship one moment the screw was in the water, the next out and the whole stern
shook and vibrated before the engine slowed down. Sleep was very difficult in
those conditions as you were either being thrown up in the air from your bunk or
being shaken from side to side by the vibration.
One job that had to be done, no matter
what the weather, was preparing the holds for the grain cargo. Holds and bilges
had to be swept clean and burlap placed over the bilges. Then, in the
tweendecks, the feeders had to be erected. With the ship rolling and pitching
all over the place, it was not an easy job getting the planks into place. And a
dangerous one as well, as one slip and you fell into the hold. But we managed it
with no worse accidents than splinters in our hands. This job was inevitably
done by Jimmy Gorman and myself as we were the youngest and had a good head for
heights. Carrying cargoes of grain there were always rats on board and the holds
and bilges could be full of rats’ nests. Sometimes we would literally throw
buckets of baby rats over the side (sorry about that if there are any rat lovers
reading this!).
Eventually we made Newport News and anchored in calm waters while waiting for a
berth. One day an American aircraft carrier came and anchored quite close to us.
During the night it snowed and the next morning we heard the tannoy on the
carrier calling out “Sweepers – man your brooms fore and aft!” And, lo and
behold, fore and aft on the flight deck a line of men with brooms formed up and
marched, meeting in the middle and then turning to sweep the snow overboard. We
thought no more of this until later when we were alongside. One evening some of
the crew, visiting the various bars in Newport News, happened on one full of
sailors. When they saw they were from the carrier, our crew called out “Sweepers
– man your brooms fore and aft!” They were brought back to the Pine by the
police in a rather battered condition!
Having loaded grain and tobacco, we sailed for Dublin after
Christmas and had the usual North Atlantic winter weather all the way home,
though at least this time we were going with it. Mountainous waves coming up
astern, looking as if they would poop the ship but at the last minute she would
stick her stern up in the air like a duck and the wave would pass alongside,
flooding the decks fore and aft. It was good to reach Dublin and there a camera
crew from Telefis Eireann (RTE) joined us for the trip to Cork, to make a
documentary film. But even from Dublin to Cork the weather was so atrocious that
the camera crew were seasick and the only shots I eventually saw had been taken
in port. I paid off in Cork to go and study for my 2nd. Mate’s
ticket. And so finished my career with Irish Shipping.
© A. Clements 2007
Back to top
Reflections on my time in Irish
Shipping Ltd.
© A. Clements 2007
The vast majority of British shipping
companies did not pay their apprentices overtime. They were paid a bigger set
wages than Irish Shipping apprentices but Irish Shipping paid their apprentices
overtime so we were the winners. Especially, as on the Poplar (I cannot remember
for the other vessels) the overtime book was kept by the senior apprentice! I
can remember the first time I drew a sub in the UK, getting paid in big black
and white English fivers – now that was real money!
Remember “Hungry Hogarth’s” and
Harrison’s (“two of fat and one of lean” - from their funnel colours)? I can
never recollect the ISL ships being hungry ships In those I sailed in, feeding
was always adequate though being growing lads we were always on the lookout for
something extra to eat and any food left lying around was considered fair game.
The main preoccupation of most
crewmembers before arrival in port was where to hide your extra cartons of duty
free fags. Many were the ingenious hiding places used but getting the best of
the British Customs was not easy - they were past masters at rooting out the
best hiding places. On the Poplar one of the apprentices had stuffed a carton
down the ventilation trunking in the apprentices accommodation. But for some
reason it slipped and could not be recovered. And for some other unknown reason
the packing disintegrated with the result that unexpectedly, every now and then,
a dried up cigarette would shoot out of a vent nozzle. In those days everyone
smoked liked a chimney, quite happily lighting up with no sense of guilt. You
light one nowadays and everyone looks at you as if you were indecently exposing
yourself! Still, I suppose that’s just due to the hypocritical times we live in.
Sunday
Inspections - remember them? At sea, on Sunday mornings the Master, accompanied
by the Chief Officer, Chief Engineer and Chief Steward would inspect all
accommodation, stores rooms and galley. Though we apprentices were considered
the lowest form of life on board, basically only good for cleaning bilges and
chipping, our accommodation was expected to be the cleanest. Some Masters even
wore white gloves to run their finger along some half hidden shelf to check that
no dust had been forgotten. For the junior apprentice there was always the
delight of cleaning the toilet bowl so you could shave in it! Though maybe not
appreciated at the time, it was great training and ensured that the majority of
us would not grow up to be slobs.
No names (person or ship) mentioned but
just to show how things have changed over the years: we were due to sail early
in the morning from a northern European port. I met the pilot when he boarded at
0600 and we went up to the Master’s cabin. Knock, knock, no answer. Knock, knock
again but still no answer. So we opened the door and looked in. There on the
deck was the Master, stretched out and snoring, an empty whiskey bottle beside
him. “Captain” says I, shaking him, “the pilot is here.” No sign of life. “Ah,
no bother”, said the pilot, “I’ll come back at noon.” You can imagine what would
happen today what with Port State Control, etc….!
As an apprentice I cannot ever remember
getting instructed in the finer points of navigation and other learned subjects
useful to becoming a merchant marine officer. Basically apprentices were a form
of cheap labour to be used in manual tasks and not there to have their heads
stuffed full of nonsense which they would not particularly appreciate learning
anyway (that came later when we had to study for our first ticket). But that is
not to decry the system, on the contrary, what we learnt in those four years was
far more important, the hands-on stuff: seamanship and experience so that when
in the future, as officers, we ordered someone to do a job, we knew what we were
talking about as we had done it ourselves previously.
And talking of studying allows me to
transgress a little. It seems that the majority of Irish Shipping apprentices
and officers went to Liverpool to do their tickets - bigger college, more
teachers, etc. But I went to the Irish Nautical College, West Pier, Dun
Laoghaire, for my 2nd.
Mate’s and Master’s (I took my Mate’s in Hong Kong but that is another story)
and had no regrets. Small classes, ably instructed by Capt. Walshe (God bless
him – what he had to put up with!) and his assistant. In addition there was a
factotum, who, for 2/6 a week, made you tea and coffee for smokos. The coffee
was made with “Irel” (remember the black liquid from a bottle, – great stuff,
now that put a lining on your stomach! I wonder does it still exist in this
modern age of expresso machines?) One morning (this was in 1967) we heard a
clatter on the waste ground outside and there lands an Irish Army helicopter.
The two pilots came in and asked to use the phone as they had an engine problem.
Once the call was completed they told us a car was coming to fetch them, they’d
be back in the afternoon with a mechanic and would we mind keeping an eye on
their machine so the kids didn’t climb all over it……!
A slight further transgression.
The examiner in 1962 at the Aston Quay shipping offices, where exams were held,
was a very elderly Master Mariner who had been in sail. I can’t remember his
name but he was a character. In those days (and maybe still today?) you had to
pass an eyesight examination before being allowed to sit for your ticket. It was
basically a colour test and for this a very ancient lantern, looking like
something from a magic lantern show, was used. It projected a red, green or
white dot on the wall. So one day all we candidates were waiting outside the
room where it took place. Being at the head of the list alphabetically, I was
the first called in. The room was in darkness and I could just make out the
lantern and examiner.
“Look at the wall in front of you
and tell me what colour you see” he says and with that pulls the lever on the
lantern.
I could see nothing. “Er, excuse
me sir, but I can’t see anything.”
“All right, we shall try again”
and with that he activates the lever again.
I still couldn’t see anything
“Sir, I still can’t see anything.”
“Clements, what do you mean
coming here with eyesight like that to sit a ticket – out you go and send in the
next candidate!”
In the room the other candidates
looked at me and just at that moment in comes the shipping office secretary and
seeing my face asks what was the matter. I explained the situation to him.
“Oh, he has forgotten to take the
lens cover off again.” And in he goes to see the examiner.
A minute later the examiner
sticks his head out and says “Come in, Clements, I’ll give you one last chance!”
CONCLUSION
Even though the ships and company have
disappeared and the crews I sailed with died or scattered around the globe, I
have great memories of those days and especially what a great crowd of lads were
the seamen who manned the ships in those times. They were seamen in the proper
sense of the word; seamen like Mick Murphy who had sailed in the Arklow
schooners and there was nothing worth knowing that he couldn’t teach you on
knots, splices and seamanship. Such seaman had no need for any fancy safety gear
or volumes of safety manuals and other rubbish that clogs ships nowadays. They
knew what they were doing and I can recall very few accidents. And if there was
an accident it was dealt with on the ship by the Master such as the time one of
the Masters of the Poplar reset a dislocated shoulder with no fuss or bother and
a drop of the hard stuff. Well, those days are gone, forever, but at least we
can keep our memories. Meanwhile the modern maritime world continues its way
where a man is judged by the thickness of certificates he can produce and not by
his seamanship.
© A. Clements 2007
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