Peggy on the Mulcra

The SS Mulcra wallowed her way across the grey ocean with a strange corkscrew motion, unlike any other ship that I had been on, at each heave of the stern there would be a huge shudder before the propeller sank back into the trough of the black, foam flecked sea… not enamoured with this as I struggled with my mop,broom and bucket along the companion ways. I was 'Peggy on the 'Mulcra''. When they had called for this job, no one had slouched forward or stood lazily up from the gutter where most of the men sat slumped against a broken wooden fence which gave some shade from the Sun.
The waterfront, completely dominated by the Seaman's Union.
Had left the 'Hawk', the romance had really gone ... Felt that I needed some money. Max had been upset "Going on the Steamers are ya ... ?" he then said something about having the water tank moved from the hold, forward, which had always made such hard work when attempting to pack the wheat bags in ... he even offered "more money", more than the eight pounds a week. I shook my head, surprised that he was reluctant at my going, collected my few bits and pieces and drifted down to the 'Pick Up'.

The Union official was the man in charge. No one else. Everyone adamant about it, only one trouble, where to find this person? They nodded towards the pub at the end of the road, shaking their heads for me not to approach it. Evidently everyone had to wait at the man's convenience. We waited.

Late afternoon before any movement, several men leaving the 'Water front Hotel' together ... all with trilby hats, all with braces supporting the trousers over their huge bellies ... open shirts, perspiration and beer stains down the front .. all moving towards us.

As if a signal had been given, some men roused themselves sufficiently to stand, others not bothering. From the other end of the road, from another pub, emerged the ship's officers, both groups meeting outside the dockyard gate.
From then on, a great deal of shouting, mostly seamen in demand. The Union official vetting every man. He gave permission whether or not the man would be able to take the job offered. A lull, spoke to Mr. Big, showing him my discharges, explained that I wanted to join the 'club'. He looked at me carefully, indicating that I should go and sit in the gutter with the others.
The afternoon crept by, Sun standing high overhead. Began to think I was forgotten and would have to appear the next day and so on indefinitely. Had been told that if your face did not fit you could wait forever, otherwise it could be anytime, turning up each day in anticipation. I had more or less resigned myself to a very long wait ... I was a 'Pomm'.
The man had been surprised at my RN discharge but no way would he let me get near an engine room on the strength of that. The ketch discharges, he dismissed out of hand.
Mr. Big was looking at his watch and down the road towards the pub, hitched his trousers again over his huge belly, puffed frequently at the long thin cigar. Eventually, only one officer left. Mr. Big called out, without much enthusiasm "Peggy on the Mulcra." No one stirred, he called it once more and then shook his head. The officer started to walk away. The 'Mulcra' would be tied up until he obtained another man. The Union man was looking about. He beckoned in my direction. Thought he was after someone else.
"Do you want it or not Blue?" I jumped up.
"You will be the last man to join this union for a very long time" he said patting me the back. "Come over to the office and get your card."

Unable to believe my luck, followed him along the street, into the pub, into a back room. Across the walls were posters. The usual Tory in top hat whipping the workers - the usual slogans "Workers of the World unite…you have nothing to lose but your chains ... "
The man unlocked a safe which was barely concealed behind several empty beer crates, took out a card and proceeded to laboriously write on it in a large scrawl, the sweat dripping from his heavy, red, flaccid face onto the paper. He reached behind the chair pulling out a bottle, knocked the top off unceremoniously pouring the contents down his throat.. Still one or two people were at the open office door, waiting.
"There's no more ... that's enough" he shouted. They drifted away ... so much flotsam.
"All right Blue ... Peggy on the Mulcra ... see the bosun when you get aboard, tell him I say he is to look after you."
Surprised at this last remark, I hurried away before he changed his mind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

No doubt about it, the crew of the Mulcra were a very rough lot. They hung over the side of the ship, elbows on the guard rail, cigarettes hanging from their lips, watched as I clambered my way up the ladder swinging at the side of the ship.

Topside, clean enough, nothing more or less than any other tramp. Below, I was surprised to find very comfortable quarters. Two man cabins, well fitted out and painted white. Adequate toilet facilities ... no pissing in a tickler tin and throwing the contents out of the nearest scuttle. A large comfortable mess deck with fitted refrigerator which was my duty to keep full of cold drinks, ice cream, sandwiches, by way of anyone wanting a snack.
More like a passenger ship ... so much for the power of the unions. I was quite sure that Virginia's uncle had not provided such comfort simply from the kindness of his heart.

The crew was dubious about me, which was nothing unusual. The fact of keeping to myself, was in itself, an affront on any ship. Made quite sure that they never had anything specific to work on. My cleaning and scrubbing, always impeccable. They tried wiping their fingers along the steam pipes that ran through the mess, looking for dirt ... even the rats and cockroaches finding it hard. They carefully inspected the plates and cutlery for the slightest speck ... looked under their bunks for dust, shouted along the companion ways that the fridge was out of iced water.

But slowly I wore them down, stopped trying to wynd me up, stopped asking for things the moment I sat down at the scrubbed white mess table. Really, a doodle. Starting at seven a.m., dish up the breakfast, wash up, clean up the quarters and I was finished.

We shuttled between Melbourne - Adelaide, general freight, a slow leisurely business, often taking ten days to turn the old tub round, always a few hours overtime for everyone, every day, although the ship appeared deserted other than for the watchmen. Tied up, the same... all ashore, sharp in the afternoon ... still on overtime.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


It was on one of these afternoons that the routine broke for me. There isn't much too do in Melbourne, or anywhere else, come to that. We had been tied up a few days ... the whole business had become very hum drum, maybe even more so than on the Ketches, at least, on them, always the thought that there was a good chance of hitting a rock, he skipper more paralysed than usual
"Get forard Blue with the spot light ... if you see the shags fly up, shout loud and I will try not to put this thing on the rocks".
Or we would "lay to" in some sheltered idyllic bay with nothing to do other than swim in the clear green water, watching first for the sharks and barracudas. Barracudas are extremely prevalent in the two Gulfs, the sharks being, without question, the biggest in the world. We would do little for days on end waiting for the weather to abate. Plenty of fresh fish ... the tommy roughs bit at anything thrown over the side. Lobsters, by the dozen, dropped into a boiling pot in the galley. The life millionaires seek ... the secret of our success being there were no women aboard.

None of that atmosphere on the steamers. We ran more or less to a timetable; whatever the weather, no contact between the upper and the lower deck. The crew, a different breed, they wanted 'real' romance ... "off, after the 'Sheila's" ... they didn't want sheets in the wind, only sheets to the wind. Never managed to quite fit in with them, but that had always been my case and I knew how the situation would run, gradually they would leave me alone ... which they did ... even becoming quite matey ... coming out finally, with the classic "show us yer ditshonary, Blue" this from the big, burly, bosun, always slightly under the weather, think not once before knocking someone out. Just the man for the job.