Tag / silverwillow

by Mary James

27. India, Part II: Awe at the Taj Mahal: The Letter Home, Jan 1938

With ten days of shore leave at hand, Helen embarked on a complicated, multi-day side trip inland — traveling over 1,200km each way — via boat and train. She reflected upon it all quite colorfully in both the after-the-trip letter and the day-to-day journal. So much color in fact, it will take two posts.

First, the shorter after-the-trip summary…

The After-the-Trip Letter

(I mentioned in the last post about the unfortunate state of things for many in India at the time. That state of things is reflected in her observations below.)

The ship went into dry-dock in Calcutta, and while hundreds of coolies swarmed over the boat day and night, riveting, hammering, scouring, repairing, and refurbishing, the passengers had ten days "on their own”. 

Three of us, Lysol bottle in hand, braved the so-called perils of travel by train. 

“You must travel 1st class, and you MUST take a bearer (servant)", everyone said, so we went 2nd class, without bearers -- you have to take your own bedding on Indian railroads...we rented bedding rolls from American Express for one rupee ($.38) a day...the natives steal everything on the train that is not securely fastened, so the comforts thereof are negligible, if not non-existent. 

We found the trains unbelievably dirty, the sleeping accommodations thin (the berths were 2 in. thick, and the mattress...well, to be generous, maybe one-half inch...these came with the roll of bedding), the beggars persistent, the station platforms crowded with squatting Indians surrounded by their luggage, and innumerable peddlers who urged us in all the dialects of Hindustan to buy knives, bangles, brassware, guavas, betel nut (one walks the streets of India mentally holding in one's skirts, for chewing betel nut is the national pastime, and you never can tell from where he sits how far the chewer is going to spit the bright red juice whose spots give India's pavements a perpetually gory aspect). 

We wouldn't have missed the experience, and we learned to bargain, and to accept only good rupees (about half the currency is counterfeit, and you have to “ring" every coin before you take it, or they will "take" you…) and how to get off a train without tipping six porters and their uncles and their cousins and their aunts. 

Side note: She was warned! By ‘everyone’! But see… up there she says she wouldn’t have missed it.

Oh, and ‘we’ in his passage of the letter is not about Shag, but instead about her two female traveling companions on this side trip. They are both fellow civilian passengers from the boat. Which two right now I cannot recall, but they will appear in the next post in some detail.

And lastly, a public service announcement: The betel nut, like many consumables that are fun and/or frowned upon, can be addictive and harmful to the health.

In Benares we sat in wicker chairs and were rowed up the Holy Ganges River past the spectacle that is the sacred city of the Hindu (for a Hindu to die in Benares is to assure his salvation, and they come in countless thousands, pilgrims of every age, to bathe in the holy river -- pardon me while I hold my nose). It is the bath, the laundry, the medicine, the chapel, the lavatory and the crematory AND the drinking water! UGH! 

Side note: Here is a video of what she might have experienced, taken in 1937. I found some photos that aren’t all Benares, but there are great photos from India in the 1930s.

Let's escape to Agra. I'd heard so much about the Taj Mahal that I expected to be disappointed, but that evening has a page all its own in my book of memories. The setting sun shed a rosy glow on the white marble as we saw it first...then it was almost dark inside the mausoleum when we entered, and I had a momentary feeling of stepping into the past...a voice called 'Allah, Allah, Allah', and ages later the echo came back hollowly. By candle-light we examined the exquisitely carved marble screen surrounding the sarcophagi, and the wall panels inlaid with lapis-lazuli, carnelian, jade, jasper, in delicately wrought patterns. 

Side note: The Taj Mahal was built in 1631 (!) in honor of the emperor’s favorite wife. I don’t know when I thought it was built, but that is older than I expected.

And did she just know the names of those inlaid rocks and how to spell them? As a child in Colorado, I used to go to a rock and mineral shop almost weekly with my mother — each for our own reasons — and I’ve never heard of lapis-lazuli or carnelian. 

Our companion, a young Indian professor of Physics from Ahmedabad, lighted our way with a dim pocket torch up a circular staircase to the top of a minaret. We had not long to wait for the moon to cross the river. It touched the marble with a caress, softening the lines until the Taj looked like a rare old ivory carved by a master craftsman. 

In Delhi we saw acres of marble buildings inlaid with semi-precious stones, built by the Mogul Emperors five hundred years ago. 

Our eyes stood out on stems and our chins rested on our chests. It was so gorgeous we lost the power to react to it. 

Side note: We’ll talk more about this young professor in the next post, but for context, at some point her little group ends up in First Class on the train and there she meets a young professor who is headed to the same place they’re going. And the four of them then travel to the Taj Mahal together.

Another side note: The bit about the phrase, ‘Our eyes stood out on stems…’ evokes old cartoons, no? And it’s fitting. The art and architectures that humans build for their myriad gods are some of the most eyes-on-stems and chin-on-chest inducing of any, even for non-believers.

“Our eyes stood out on stems and our chins rested on our chests. It was so gorgeous we lost the power to react to it.”

The trip back to Calcutta is a volume in itself, so don't get me started on our compartment mates with their 14 suitcases, the garden flowers, the lunch hamper, the tepees, tennis rackets, basket of vegetables, raincoats, birdcage and catch terrier. 

Side note: Tepees?

by Mary James

26. India, Pt I: Cocanada, Budge-Budge, and the Hooghly River, Jan 7-9, 1938

After the round-the-world trip ended, Helen sent a three-page, airmail letter to family and friends to summarize it all. Word count and word choice were important back then — each ounce mattered — unlike now where we can just plod along forever and then absentmindedly click send and a typo-laced missive instantly transmits to the nearby and/or far-flung.

Almost one whole page of her three page letter was devoted to an overly complicated in-land side-trip to the Taj Mahal.

  • Two of the three pages consisted of: colorful descriptions of all of the world that she saw except the part about getting to the Taj Mahal.
  • One of the three pages consisted of: getting to the Taj Mahal.

She did other things in India though that don’t get covered in the letter, but do in the journal, where there was not a word or weight limit. And we can’t miss the whats and whos of Cocanada and Budge-Budge back in early 1938, can we??

The Day-to-Day Journal

Side note: We start here while still on the Motorvessel Silverwillow and we are forging ahead towards Coconada, India (now Kakinada — both of these similar sounding names came from the British and Dutch). This port town, like so many, has long suffered the deeds of those looking to stake claim and/or pillage — land, resources, women, men, jewels, crops, minerals, power, etc. 

Fri. Jan. 7: 

Capt. up at 4:00, not long after the engines stopped (we'd been creeping along on one most of the night so's not to arrive too soon). With dawn came barges sailed with lateen rig, from Coconada, 4 miles away. 

On one barge breakfast was in progress, process of washing plate with water from a small glass jar, wiping it off with dirty hand, scooping white meal from common bowl, pouring on some water, eating with hand, plantation, betel nut. Four fires kindled in the bottom of boat, iron pots boiling water, cooking rice, spoons of coconut shell with bamboo handle, drain in large mat baskets.

Side note: The above is a window into colonialism and the caste system at work, with the former taking advantage of tenants of the latter (we’ll see more of this, in much more detail, in the next post). The people on the boat were likely Labourers, which is the lowest official caste, but there are countless others who don’t get a caste. 

[Present location:] Lat. 20° 22' N; Long. 87° 22" E; Dist. 341 mi.; Av. Speed 14.44 mph. 

Sat. Jan. 8: Study in a.m., boat deck at 2:00 for a lesson on "Day's Work". Hooghly River pilots have a very handsome yacht, they're a snooty crowd. Came on board at 4:00 and we start towards the Ganges River, 30 miles away.

Side note: the Hooghly River is a tributary of the Ganges and they are heading up it to Budge Budge on their tug tug. And they are meeting some puffed up yacht snooties along the way.

BUDGE-BUDGE 

Sun. Jan. 9: 

At 2:30 a.m. woke when the pilot took over my hammock saying, "You shouldn't be sleeping out here, it's the best way to get malaria" — then clutched me in an embrace. 

H [a pilot] stayed until 4:45, sitting on the floor talking. He's a fool and an overbearing braggart, if this is the Englishman in Gov't service abroad, heaven preserve us. At breakfast he appeared again — to tell us of the 23 glasses of champagne at the Governor's ball.

Side note: This was all between 2:30am, 4:45am, and breakfast? If this ‘pilot’ is all the same person, we don’t like him. Handsy, overbearing, braggart. There might be more than one pilot being mentioned though, but we definitely don’t like English Pilot H.

“The helmsman stands like Hosea draped in a long robe and standing high above the oarsmen at the stern, makes a strange solitary figure against the sky.”

Went ashore at Budge-Budge when finally we got alongside (it took 3 hours) to the customs house to phone to the city about rooms, with not much success. Wild wind and rain storm while we were there.

Side note: I just learned that Budge-Budge got its name from the sound Portuguese boots would make in the local marshes. 

Shag and I walked in Budge-Budge: squalid huts, innumerable people in sanitary arrangements on whatever spot is convenient at the moment. We did find a moon shining on the water off a lagoon. 

Mon. Jan. 10: Out in the stream at 11:00 a.m. after three hours getting away. 1/2 is carried aft and we are made fast to the wharf chains by them, a very slow process. 

The helmsman stands like Hosea draped in a long robe and standing high above the oarsmen at the stern, makes a strange solitary figure against the sky. Men come down from inland villages and live on the boats and work on the river for months. There are no women on them. 

River channel narrow with dangerous shoals, sharp turns, quicksand's (the James and Mary) necessary to wait for tide. Directly to dry-dock. So we had to get off at once. To Grand Hotel on Chowringee, high ceilings, marble floors, dingy, eccentric plumbing — Lysol! 

Out to see about travel in India.

Side note: That is the Royal James and Mary, thank you very much. It is also my name reversed. We’re going to ignore that Royal James and Mary refers to quicksand, because I am afraid of quicksand and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Instead we will imagine how wonderful it must have been to stay at a hotel after the months on the hammock.

But she wouldn’t be comfy for long, as soon she’d be on her way to the Taj Mahal, where she’d make a misstep or three….

by Mary James

24. Ceylon For Good Tea (and Frangipani), Jan. 3-4, 1938

The After the Trip Letter

Across the Indian Ocean to the garden city of Colombo, on the beautiful Island of Ceylon. A harbor teeming with shipping, for here the vessels of all the world stop to refuel, and most visitors have only a tantalizing breathless glimpse of it.

Side note: In 1972 Ceylon was renamed The Republic of Sri Lanka*

*Sri Lanka has had many names over the centuries. My very favorite is Serendip. Was it found unexpectedly, or perhaps… serendip-itously??

The Day to Day Journal

100 cents = 1 rupee
Mon. Jan. 3: Woke when the anchor chains started clanging, my first daylight sight of the island was a huge neon sign -- Ceylon for Good Tea. 

Out for a look at the harbor, a mass of boats: British, a French gunboat with a seaplane that buzzed about all day, German, the President Pierce of the $ Line, a Chinese ship that was flying the Japanese flag when she sailed in the p.m., twelve large freight and passenger ships at the mushroom buoys at 7 a.m. Continual arrival and departures. 

Had our passports stamped and harbor police examined them at the head of the gangway.

Side note: That very day, Roosevelt spoke of the troubled world. Soon, many of those boats and planes buzzing about the harbor would be at war.

Tourist agent came on board, made arrangements for a 3-hour ride at 1£ for the car. Ashore in the passenger launch for a rupee. The first picture was the quay swarming with bullock carts. Thru the customs gate to a wide plaza flanked by the Grand Oriental Hotel and business buildings, in a 7 passenger touring Chrysler, out past the lake, the handsome race track to the Cinnamon Gardens. Leaf and a twig from the cinnamon, rubber, ebony, acacia, mango, frangipani, coffee, cocoa, coconut (here they use the yellow ones for milk, the green for oil, copra), banyan (the shoots hang down and take root, so the tree has a huge trunk and a maze of small trunks), giant bamboo, papaya, bread / fruit, the rain tree. Huge canna, coxcomb, bougainvillea in rosy red and pink and orange, much prettier than our purple. Hibiscus - not a very large flower, gardenias - not in blossom. 

Out to Mt. Lavinia, large mansions in luxuriant tropical setting, Colombo is like one large garden.

Side note: It all just sounds so perfectly colorful! I had to look up half the plants she mentions… and what they all have in common is color.

Speaking of, frangipani is not only fun to say, it is also the lovely and fragrant flower that is known, among other things, for its use in Hawaiian leis (which I’ve just learnt). Personally, when I think of tropics, I think of that flower and its extra aromatic fragrance and delicate curly bits. It always was frangipani! Stupid me never asked what the flower was called.

And the banyan, not only is it a magical canopy with a trunk maze underneath, but also it is a badass, resilient old-soul kind of tree. The famous one that recently burned in Lahaina, Hawaii, is showing signs of growth just five weeks after the fire. Don’t mess with banyans!

The Grand Oriental Hotel is still around and was built in 1870s. And Cinnamon Gardens is a fancy neighborhood, not a garden of cinnamon.

Here’s a British-y video about Ceylon from 1940, just two years after she was there. Watch it, but imagine it’s in color.

Stopped at a gem store, watched the ebony carvers chipping elephants with a chisel. Bot some straw bags, a tortoise shell cigarette case. Back to town thru the Indian Bazaar, past Buddhist temples, Moslem mosques, Church of England, Methodist church. 4 million people on the island: 3 million are Buddhists (the shaven headed men in the bright orange robes are Buddhist priests), 1 million live in Colombo. Very dark-skinned, bare-footed, the men wear wrap-around skirts belted at the waist, even when they wear European coats.

Side note: Diospyros ebenum, or Ceylon Ebony was/is highly sought after. The harvesting of it is now super restricted, because the usual suspects over did it.

The women bright colored sarongs, or a tight blouse like our old fashioned corset cover, leaving some skin exposed above the gay skirt. The men (from Madras) wear long hair hanging to the waist, or knotted in the back of the neck, often held by a tortoise-shell comb. In the native quarter we see the history of transportation on a single street: men carrying huge baskets on their heads, other pulling primitive carts, diesel trucks, bullock carts, Buick cars, bicycles, motorcycles, and from one shop comes the shrill piping of oriental music, from another the tinny bleating of ‘I can’t give you anything but love, baby."

Side note: Observation mode! Close your eyes and imagine shrill piping on one side, tinny bleating on another, and in between the whole history (up until 1938) of transportation in action. 

Celluloid toys from Japan mingle with glass dishes from a Woolworth fire sale, and luscious oriental silks are separated by a single wall from a market where the flies drone over tracks of uncovered meat. It's a heterogeneous confusion, but fascinating if you can stand outside looking in. 

The old Dutch fortifications are 300 years old and descendants of the Burghers, are very - shall I say sunburned. The marine drive (Galle Dr.) has some attractive hotels, might be resort hotels inside South U.S. 

To the boat in the Silver Launch, at 4:00, to find the last oil would not arrive before 6 and sailing at 9: and so much to be seen in town. We didn't go back, tho, we stopped here only for fuel oil for our engines, 2700 tons. 

Shag in a boiling rage about today.

Side note: I don’t know if Roy Shadbolt (aka Shag) was wheeling and dealing at this port on this trip, but many decades later, Helen would find herself back in Colombo, and her reason was related to Shag and rubber. But she would not travel there with Shag. Stay tuned for more about that!

Was Shag in a boiling rage about ship stuff… or perhaps over rubber dealings??

The M.S. Silverwillow would push off from Colombo after the last bit above.

Then, just five months later, a small group of Nazis, on a racially motivated research expedition, would arrive on that same lush, frangipani-scented shore. Ceylon was a stopover on their way to India, where they were looking for the origin of the aryan race. The Nazis wanted to stay a bit in Colombo, probably to measure heads, but the British stopped them, and they continued on their fools’ errand. How has Werner Herzog not made a film about that trek??

by Mary James

23. New Year! Time at Sea is for Magnetism and Dead Reckoning, Dec 28, 1937 – Jan 2, 1938

We have nothing from the after-the-trip letter this time, as we are back at sea. Lots is happening though.

For context, we have just left Mombasa and we’re headed east and a little bit north to Colombo in what was then known as Ceylon, now known as Sri Lanka.

Day to Day Journal

Tue. Dec. 28: 

[Present location:] Lat. 2° 35' S; Long. 49° 54" E; Dist. 383 mi.; Av. Speed 16.23 mph. 

Went topside to study, but was sidetracked writing up the past few days. 

After lunch called on the invalids, Bath who has a touch of the sun, Jim who has an infected foot. 

Evening with Shag. 

Capt. bot finches in Lourenco Marques and Mozambique for an official of the Co. who is a fancier in San Francisco. Twitter, twitter, they are pretty little things, but the mortality is high. 

Lourenco Marques 100 Centavos = 1 Escudo; 5 Escudos = 1 Shilling 

Side note: On a ship with no medic, I wonder if the remedy for the sun-touched and the extremity-infected was whiskey.

I just learned that if the Mozambican finches were young and made it through the voyage, they could live another 15-20 years, which leaves plenty of time for twittering!

Centavos and escudos sound of Latin origin, but shilling, that’s very Anglo-Saxon-y sounding, no? Oh, maybe she’s talking exchange rates? Can you exchange between and among these ports in Colonial times? Like between the Dutch and British?

ChatGTP says sometimes yes, sometimes no. So there you have it.

Wed. Dec. 29: 

[Present location:] Lat. 1° 46' S; Long. 55° 52" E; Dist. 356 mi.; Av. Speed 15.00 mph. 

Lecture on magnets. Ship has magnetism lying in field in which boat was built. Very strong when boat is sailing in that direction, partially overcome when sailing another direction several days - varies with every change of course. 

The ship's compass is corrected by vertical and horizontal magnets to overcome magnetism of the ship and by balls on either side which gather oblique magnetic paths so they will flow straight thru the center of [the] magnet. A piece of soft steel forward the compass overcomes magnetism of ships funnel which changes from + to - as the ship crosses from N to S hemisphere. A new ship is swung on the points of the compass and its deviation noted and its compass set. This changes with the change of course, cargo - may be affected by any metal - a knife, bucket, chipping hammer near the compass, the list of the boat. 

Shag, Jim and I read "The Nile" in p.m., chewed the rag in the evening.

Side note: Doesn’t a magnetism analogy work here? Helen might be more right brained, Shag more left…their path might have been oblique, but their connection is magnetic. Get it??

And my goodness the amount of science in those paragraphs. Like a semester of it. I do recognize those words above individually, but certainly not strung together.

Thru. Dec. 30: 

[Present location:] Lat. 0" 55' S; Long. 62° 12" E; Dist. 383 mi.; Av. Speed 16.33 mph. 

Satisfied with a good morning's work. Worked 15 problems on setting courses (true to compass) from the Masters and Mates' book, and no mistakes. 

At noon Capt. gave me the sextant (1st time since Capetown) and I didn't even know where to look for the sun. Found it and derived a latitude, to Capt.'s surprise and my own, it was identical with the one on the bridge! 
Visited the chartroom, couldn't find Koilthotham, bottle of Lion's. 

Crossed the equator about 11 p.m. a lovely balmy black night with myriads of stars.

Side note: Remember last time when she crossed the equator, two of the crew had her pulled in two directions so she could be in both at once? Just a mere five weeks before. The atmosphere is still novel and frisky now, but in different ways.

Fri. Dec. 31: 

[Present location:] Lat. 0° 21' N; Long. 68° 18" E; Dist. 374 mi.; Av. Speed 15.85 mph 

Many more problems with no mistakes - so pleased. Found a Lat. Again -1 min. off. 

Finished reading "The Nile". 

Saw the New Year in with Shag on the boat deck. Ships bell rang 16 time, 8 for the old year, 8 for the new. 

The horn bleated once - that was all.

Side Note: “Saw the new year in with Shag on the boat deck,” sounds like a fine ole’ time. Bleat bleat!

Sat. Jan. 1: [Present location:] Lat. 1° 35' N; Long. 73° 36" E; Dist. 327 mi.; Av. Speed 13.83 mph. 

Happy New Year. Wrote Mary. Slept most of the afternoon. Good dinner. Aft with S.

Side note: Mary, remember, was Helen’s baby sister, eight years her junior. Mary was also my grandmother (and namesake). On January 1, 1938, Mary was three months pregnant with my mother, who would, some 23 years later, go to visit Helen. And then stay… for 15 or so years. During which, voila… me!

But back on January 1, 1938… there was much more about magnetism to learn, in the literal and figurative sense(s).

Sun. Jan. 2: [Present location:] Lat. 3° 16' N; Long. 77° 55" E; Dist. 341 mi.; Av. Speed 14.38 mph 

Spent a very busy morning working on my notebook and just at lunch time Capt. Started me on "Day's Work" (i.e., dead reckoning courses). So interesting I went back up after lunch and worked another couple of hours. 

Aft with Shag in the p.m. Sat on the new deck paint with disastrous results. 

Aft until 10.

Side note: Sitting around with paint on their afts!

Dropped anchor at Colombo at 11:00 p.m. Brightly lighted P&O boat passed. Bright lights. All of our lights on, so light I had to go in to get any sleep. Today to learn there's a lookout on the fo'castle head all night, standing 2 hour watch, he rings the hour bell and 1 bell for a light on port bow, 2 bells for light on starboard, 3 for light dead ahead, 4 if any of the ship's navigating lights is out. He reports to Mate on watch before he goes forward. The 16 sailors rotate the watch.

Side note: I am surprised she hadn’t been up there ringing bells all this time.

by Mary James

22: Mombasa, Kenya, A Slow Motion Rescue, and Time at Sea, Dec 26-27, 1937

The After the Trip Letter

Mombasa: the harbor rimmed with verdant tropic foliage...lush mango trees, grace of coconut palms silhouetted against the sky. The Island reeks with history..for 500 years the Arabs and Portuguese pillaged and massacred to hold the key-port for the ivory and slave trade. Since Britain has made Kenya a crown colony they live peaceably enough...English, Arabs, Hindu, Greek, Mohammedan, Portuguese and Goans (from Portuguese India). The native children learn 5 languages in school, and charming modern European buildings rub elbows with native bazaars. 

Side note: A ‘harbor rimmed with verdant tropic foliage…’ likely has a salt and sea-breezy odor; the reeking comes only from the savagery of the ivory and slave trades.

And speaking of things that are glossed over in history, I’ve just learnt (or relearnt) what a crown colony is, versus a regular colony. And as it implies, it is a colony directly represented by the crown and there is a governor for it. Whereas a regular colony doesn’t have that. Also, Mombasa was the first captial of British East Africa. Lesson complete!

The Day to Day Journal

Sun. Dec. 26: Munitions factory at Nairobi working overtime shipping arms to Ethiopia during the war. 32,500 pop, 6 sq mi island, Arabs, Indian, Turks. Brazil coffee shipped here, mixed with Kenya (some of best in world).

Side note: Ethiopia was defending itself against an aggressive Italy (Mussolini era). Kenya was helping Ethiopia.

And blended coffee even back then!! 

The ringing of coins everywhere, so many rupees are bad it is necessary to test every one before accepting it. 

The red teeth and spit of betel nut chewers. The children beating on their tummies, ‘no mother, no father, hungry, backsheesh m’sab’ [backsheesh = small sum of money]. “Help the poor blind man, please, m’sab”. ‘Chota Hareri’ the pre-breakfast breakfast. 

‘Water for hindus’ - ‘water for moslems". The bedding rolls the brass bowls. 

The bathing in the water, then drinking it. Sleep in the streets. 

The honking of rubber auto horns.

Side note: The above is what 500 years of pillaging and massacring will get you. 

Shag got the bike off, we toured the island, bot oranges in the Indian market, ate them under a mango tree. Took the road to Nairobi and got a thrill over travel inland in Africa.

Side note: Remember in the last post, on December 23rd, she said they were going to ‘see less of each other’, but now on December 26th they are back on the bike. Maybe he got in trouble for being late for his watch so they’re just being more chill? And it’s not something big and dramatic?

What happened to Christmas, btw?? 

Capt. and apprentices sailed in ship's boat across to mainland. Tide went out and left them high and dry, could see it thru the telescope. Agent went in launch, brot Capt. back, pilot (in whites, with shorts) took us out to anchor in stream, Capt., 14 natives went in a launch, with ropes and shovels to take the boat off. Return of very sunburned tired apprentices with coconuts, bananas and maize.

Side note: I feel like this ‘ship’s boat’ was mentioned before? It’s a mini-boat, aka a ‘tender‘, that lives on a boat and is used for small jobs.

That particular day, the tender went out for errands and got stuck in the med. Then enter the ‘launch‘ boat, even smaller than the tender, that fits just a few people, and its job was to unstuck the mud-moored tender. But to do that, the tender needed the right men on board. So the launch goes out and picks up the captain and pilot, who don’t do mud. They are returned. Then it heads back to the tender with natives, hired to do dirty work.

It goes back and forth until everyone – including the tender, the launch, the men, and the loot – are back upon the Silverwillow.

Remember that riddle about the small boat and getting the corn and the fox and chicken to the other side without anyone/thing getting eaten? Reminds me of that.

[Present location:] Lat. 3° 35' S; Long. 43° 41" E; Dist. 238 mi.; Av. Speed 15.29 mph Mon.  

Dec. 27: Back to work on navigation, started on my notebook.  

At dinner learned that a misunderstanding resulted in no invitations, no sandwiches for party! Some speedy maneuvers, changing to evening clothes and with a calm front we receive the guests, who have no previous engagement, in spite of the lateness of the invitation.

Side note: I imagine there aren’t many other engagements on a ship with only nine civilian passengers. And what are they celebrating on December 27 when there are holidays on either side of it?! Belated Christmas?

Capt. starts the ball rolling with plenty of liquid refreshment and some songs. Bill comes to the rescue in good voice, and the evening is saved. Capt. relieves Norfolk and Chief arrives to carry on, which he does with gusto. 

Milian sings lustily, James' voice swells in song, eventually it is midnight (by setting the clock up 20 min.) 

The party buys a ticket on the Irish Sweepstakes. Grand National Mar. 21, "Willow Party", XP02905, 02906. 

Marconigram from Capt. Cross of the Silvercedar!

Side note: Liquid refreshments, crooning, gambling, and radiotelegraphy! 

Waving palms, emerald green grass, huge baobab trees, brilliant shrubbery, all under a cool African sky — that is Mombasa: an enchanting coral isle washed by the waters of the Indian Ocean, swept by cool sea breezes. Mombasa is called by the natives, "Kisiwa Cha M'vita" — "The Island of War".

Side note: Such an enchanting place should not have that nickname. Below are Helen’s notes on the history of Mombasa, and it helps explain the unfortunate ‘Island of War’ moniker.

In 2786 B.C. Egyptian King Sankhhara sent an expedition to Land of Punt, probably Mombasa. Later came Arabs, displaced by Portuguese in 1498 with arrival of Vasco da Gamma. In 1500 Portuguese sacked the town, came under Portuguese control 1528 when Nuno Da Cunha attacked and destroyed it. 

* 1585: Ali Bey, Turkish pirate drove out Portuguese
* 1589: Return of Portuguese, capture Ali Bey, massacred people 
* 1592: Erection of Fort Jesus
* 1630: Yussuf Bin Hassan, King of Mombasa, had all Christians on island put to death 
* 1631: See return to control by Portuguese, who ruled cruelly 
* 1696: Muscat Arabs set siege to Fort Jesus, stormed it 33 months, thru 2 reinforcements, broke in to find only 11 men, 2 women, who they killed (Dec. 1698). 2 days later a Portuguese rescue fleet from Goa arrived too late to help
* 1699, 1703, 1710, 1728: other Portuguese expeditions, the latter captured the town, but again driven out by Arabs in 1729 
* 1823: First British ship, Arab Sultan asked for British protection, was refused
* 1887: Imp. Brit. East Af. Co. began administration of Kenya and Uganda
* 1896: British Capt. took control. Slave trade flourished until 1896. 44,000 pop. (1100 Europeans, 11,000 Indians, 6,600 Arabs, 1,500 other nationalities, 24,000 Natives). Island 5.5 sq. mi. - principal port of Kenya Colony finest harbor in East Africa: Kilindini Harbor, also name of main st.

Side note: Whew. Storming for 33 months sounds pretty tiring for both sides.

Here is a cool picture of Kilindini street from the 1930s.

And study all of the above because there will be a pop quiz later!

by Mary James

21. Lourenço Marques & Beira, Mozambique, Dec 17, 1937 (featuring a snake lady AND A TWIST)

The After the Trip Letter

Lourenço Marques, Beira, Mozambique: Portuguese...tropical...apple-green water over coral shoals...coconut palms against blue sky and puffy white clouds...lacy-leaf’d royal poinciana trees topped by masses of flame-colored blossoms...the ancient fort whose gates sagged open on rusty hinges, tho it's used as a jail...a prisoner lolled in the doorway of his cell at the noon hour drinking lukewarm tea from a battered "Flit" can! 

Again: slamming doors, swirls of dust, window panes crashing to the yard below, and we dashed for shelter as a brief but violent "shower" whipped in from the sea and drenched us before we could find a roof. 

Side note: You can kinda smell the rain, huh? The internet and my husband confirm that ‘Flit’ was an insecticide, not a beverage, which would make the exclamation point make sense.

The Day to Day Journal

Fri. Dec. 17: 6 a.m. docking at Lourenço Marques.

Side note: Lourenço Marques was a Portuguese explorer, who, in 1544, explored a land he would creatively call Lourenço Marques. I say, if you land at a place with people already there you should not get to name it after yourself. In 1975 though, the city became Maputo. It was and is the capital of Mozambique.

The back says “Mozambique, Lourenço Marques, At The Foot of the War Memorial”. Also, look at her cute shoes.
Shag and I to town - the war memorial across from the R.R. Station appealed to me as no other so far. An heroic figure of a woman on a round base with 4 fine plaques.

Side note: The war memorial had its debut two years earlier, in 1935. Though a heroic figure of a woman indeed, it represented the Portuguese fending off Germans, and not struggles of the local people.

It was to be demolished as the city shed colonial relics, but it turned out too fortified, so it stayed. But over time, its significance changed to represent a strong woman fending off snakes in order to save locals, and she was deemed ‘The Snake Lady’, where she fends to this day.

The streets are wide, 3 flank-columns of red plumed royal poincianas standing at attention down the avenue. Most shops have roofs over the street - they're needed, for shade. The workers are prisoners, two men with ankles' chained together - clank, swish, clank - makes an ominous sound.

Side note: Mozambique had horrid colonial history and though slavery was abolished, prison labor doesn’t seem much different. 

At 5:00 Shag and I taxied to the beach, made arrangement to be picked up at 11. Thunder and lightning and a full moon! Tropical rain. Shelter under a tin roof at a picnic table. The taxi did not come back - we walked back in 1 1/2 hours! - most amusing. But Shag was an hour late for his watch.

Side note: That beach date sounds like a plot for a romantic comedy, maybe even one with dance numbers in the rain?

Sat. Dec. 18: Lunch at Polana Hotel, high overlooking beach: prawns (like large shrimp, lobster flavor, delicious).

Side note: Her first prawn! I was also in my 30s the first time I had a prawn, but for different reasons than her.

Big wind blowing up as we drove back along the beach, and wavy as we returned to the ship. Up anchor at 7:00 p.m., got into swells that made us roll. 

Boat deck with Shag. One wave caught athwart boat deck spills over engine room ventilators. Bottles and dishes rattled back and forth all evening.

Side note: Athwart is a good word

Sun. Dec. 19: Read pages of "The Nile" to Shag.

Side note: Now she is reading The Nile TO Shag. A book about Egypt… where they want to motor off to together. So cute.

Beira

Mon. Dec. 20: Dawn in Beira. The anchor is swung from the bow and the anchor chain fastened to an enormous buoy. 

Took a tattered bus for sixpence over bumpy roads. Poked into several unattractive stores and just then the heavens opened, a deluge descended, wind blew, doors banged, glass broke. Shelter in a store until a taxi rescued us, took us to the Savoy Hotel. Lunch back to the ship, very wet - afternoon in Shag's room, reading. Typed cargo lists topside this evening, fascinating - timber, refrigerators, Ping-Pong tables, apples, wax, paint.

Side note: Her love of lists is endearing, and it has been passed down through the generations.

Tue. Dec. 21: a.m. on the boat deck, reading "The Nile" with Shag. I read him yards of figures: r.p.m., per day, per hour, generator, valves, etc. Reading in the hammock, a lovely day, wore shorts for the first time. Peered down #2 Hatch while rolls and crates of paper came swinging out on the lighters.

Side note: When I first read the second sentence above, I thought she meant she was reading to Shag the ‘…yards of figures’, like as pillow talk, which for them, could very well be. But then just below she says ‘more figures for Chief’ so most likely she was studying for Ship Shop (get it? like Wood Shop or Metal Shop in school, but about ships?). Whichever way, it’s cute.

And for our trivia for today: define ‘Lighters’ (in relation to shipping).

[Answer key: Lighters = a mini boat used to move stuff back and forth. Maybe its name derives from it being lighter than the boat it resides on??]

An amber moon cut off on top, sliced its way up thru clouds to sail off majestically into the soft black night

Sailed 6:00 p.m. More figures for Chief, then Shag. An amber moon cut off on top, sliced its way up thru clouds to sail off majestically into the soft black night. 

At Sea 

Wed. Dec. 22: Very hot in the sun. Engines stopped 1/2 hour during Shag's watch. Paced deck with S., wrote numerous cards, typed more cargo lists. Reading more "Nile" in p.m. with S. 

More abstract for Chief at 4:00, first scotch & soda visit topside after dinner - heard the news Frank Billings Kellogg is dead. 

To the boat deck, passed a vessel, saw the Morse light work for the first time, could read it, which was a bigger thrill. 

Another moon rise, a soft glow swelling to a crescendo of light, lines of cloud-like sooty brush strokes across the sky, the moon-path so bright as to seem elevated from the water. Slept out tonight with the moon in my eyes.

Side note: Frank Billings Kellogg helped usher in a bill (named after him) that would stop wars from being waged. You can ask the year 1945 how that went. But the bill was used to charge people responsible for the war with a Crime Against Peace (or Crime of Aggression) which was, ironically, punishable by death.

And that moon rise she watch from her outdoor hammock, I wish she’d bottled that so we could all live it.

Mozambique 

Side note: She’s been in Mozambique this whole post, but is now docking in Mozambique?? I, too, was confused. But it turns out Mozambique is the name of the country and a town in it. Welcome to Mozambique, Mozambique! 

Thur. Dec. 23: Katy, Dreyer, Shag and I went ashore - 2 shillings round trip, paid a penny at the gate. The town different from any we've been - no motor traffic, narrow streets, phaeton hooded rickshaws, everything looks clean and newly washed, no wind to stir the dust. Buildings mostly built in long rows, houses distinguished from one another by the color - lovely sun-mellowed shades, crushed raspberry, dull gray-green, terra cotta, mild yellows. The triangles where streets come together with green grass plots and young flamboyance. The yellow wall and the palm trees against most glorious puffs of cumuli. The brick church with its white spire.

Side note: Pottery Barn must have a color called ‘sun-mellowed’, no? And ‘crushed raspberry’? But maybe not ‘dull gray-green’. She was on a tear in that paragraph — the ‘young flamboyance’ of the street corners. ‘Puffs of cumuli’ clouds.

The walk along the beach, the avenue of tall spreading trees with poincianas in between. Looking up thru the lace patterns of the leaves and the flame-red blossoms toward the sun. The marble war memorial "Aos Mortes da Grande Guerra", the ancient bullet scarred fort (1502) its iron gates swung open. Inside-barred doors hanging open while prisoners scarcely guarded carried plates of black beans and rice form the line at the mess hall door some patch of shade for lunch. In one corner of the hot open square a small chapel, one door for "Europeaos", the other for natives.

Side note: Separate doors in a church?? How so very pious of you, Europeaos. 

Back to the ship, the P.O. closed 11:00 — 2:00 for siesta — "for only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun", and it was hot! Not humid, like Beira, but blazing white heat — the Portuguese wouldn't let me go ashore without a toupee, borrowed one of Shag's. Under way at 1:00 p.m. along the beach the most vivid apple green water I've ever seen, over coral reefs and dark green water until we'd cleared the bay. Most gorgeous banks of cloud and on the water the exotic touch of lateen sails. One running before the wind like an enormous bird, wings spread. On a coral reef right off the light hangs a freighter much like ours, abandoned last October. S. and I decide not to see so much of each other.

Side note: So first… WHAT!?!? I’ve read all this before and kind of remember that last sentence, but don’t remember it being so matter of fact. It even has the same measured handwriting as all else (her handwriting is tidy, to say the least). My journal would have had one of two things woven into that sentence: a weak, pained chicken-scratch or an heavy-hearted bold. And in both cases, a splash or two of wine. Maybe she was doing the breaking off and Shag is off somewhere with a wine stained journal?? Stay tuned!

Lastly, that song lyric is from by Noel Coward and is about traveling near where she is traveling, but oooh boy the lyrics are a lot dated.

by Mary James

20. More Durban, South Africa, Dec 11 – 16, 1937

In 1937, for most civilians on a freight boat, docking meant wandering the port town, or, at more touristy stops, perhaps embarking on an organized tour. But on this freight boat, a certain crewman has a motorcycle, and on it, he and this story’s heroine skip the docks and zoom off where the roads take them.

The after the trip letter

"...there was a hair-raising ride on the "rumble" of the motorcycle miles out of town, off the main road on a more goat track, into the "Valley of a Thousand Hills”. 

Side note: The first several times I read that sentence, my brain saw ‘rumble’ and thought she meant their ride was rumbly (like bumpy, because of goat tracks and such).

But no, she is ‘on THE rumble…’ and ChatGTP says this was a folding seat added for extra passengers of cars and motorcycles. And the person often sat backwards (but how on a motorcycle??).

I bet her trip on the rumble did indeed feel rumbly (both meanings!).

And the goat tracks… I’m no goat expert, but they jump around aimlessly a lot, not making road-like tracks (at least on Instagram). Goats make rumbly tracks, I’m going to guess.

The blow by blow journal

Traffic in Durban directed by microphone from a balcony above the street “Hurry along there, don’t cross when the light is red.” 

There is to be a drive for less traffic noise, starting with ‘hootless’ Fridays.

Side note: From the “Hurry along there…” realtime traffic scoldings to ‘hootless Fridays’, British Durban, at least how she paints it, seems a bit Monty Python (that is a compliment).

“Traffic in Durban directed by microphone from a balcony above the street, ‘Hurry along there, don’t cross when the light is red.'”

Helen Skinner, Durban, South Africa, December, 1937
Sat. Dec. 11: 6:45 a.m. — To the customs with Shag while he cleared the bike. Wide streets, attractive window displays, numerous tall buildings, many modernistic. Charming English type houses set in lovely gardens, a profusion of flowers in bloom — glads, snapdragon, morning glory, jacaranda, hibiscus, royal poinciana, stopped at a tea garden run by a Dutch lady Shag knew, had scones, hot chocolate and honey.

Side note: They were able to somehow coordinate a scone meet up with Shag’s friend in 1937!? Maybe she said, “Shag, do stop by my tea garden near Durban next time you travel around the world…” and then she just happens to be there. I lived for half my life without phones, but the latter me cannot recall how the former me got anywhere. Please ask my husband about when I arranged for a dinner date at a restaurant we like, and he found me waiting for him at a different restaurant, annoyed that he was late. This was in like 2016.

To the Valley of a Thousand Hills — like nothing I've ever seen — round, green and treeless, and surrounded by mountains in an endless succession of plateaus. Off the main road (where the native dwellings are like the shacks in Southern USA except that they're made of corrugated iron -- and the costume is fairly citified) headed for Zululand. 

The going becomes precipitous, don't look now but it's 500 ft. to the bottom, we're on a narrow path cut with a chisel out of the cliff, and momentarily I expect to slide forward over the handle bars.

Side note: “Bond…. Helen Bond.” And this is where goats come in handy… the craggy rock stuff.

The road narrows to a wagon track, then to a foot path, and we are in the midst of Zululand. The native kraals are built on a circular spot of ground, the huts are round, made of mud and thatched. Sat and feasted our eyes on the valley and on the plateau beyond. 

Numerous Zulu passed, asked for cigarettes "ticky", the men are handsome stalwarts, the women sturdy, costume varies. Most wear a cloth draped around the waist, falls below the knees, all bare footed, naked above the waist. Some have bustle-arrangements that wag when they walk, babies carried in a sling on the back. 

Probably covered 75 mi. today.
“Helen and friends” Zuzuland, 1937

Side note: Wouldn’t you think these days a ‘children as scenery’ should seem dated? Sadly, it’s still all too common.

Sun. Dec. 12: Drove in the Reo down the South Coast. Hiked down another 300 ft. thru jungle growth — wild bananas, cactus, palms, to the beach and on down to a special cove. Beautiful rock formation, gorgeous surf. Stayed until 11:00 p.m. (and I had date with Shag for the evening — visited with him in the engine room a bit).

Side note: Jungles can have cactus. I just looked it up. And ‘visit… in the engine room a bit’ oooo. Note the time! She was at the beach until ELEVEN pm. Also, ‘a bit’ is still a classic ‘mention-but-minimize’ technique that remains contemporary. No? 

Mon. Dec. 13: Ruth and I to town at 9:30, bot decorations for the Christmas party, noise makers for all. 

Shag and I drove out into the sugar plantation country, miles of it, like Iowa corn. S. and I were going dancing, but at the last moment decided on a bike ride, instead, wonderfully exhilarating. Out to the beach, sat and talked, listened to the roar of the surf.

Side note: So much roaring (she uses that word more than once) adventure for these two. Can one absorb so many core memories in such a short time?? All the senses at once. I hope so.

At 2:00 Shag and I went in on the bike, visited the Royal Auto Club, listened for two hours to plans for a trip from Cape to Algiers. He discouraged trying Cairo, too much swamp to go thru. Stimulation of the imagination to the boiling point, it almost sounds feasible. Think of seeing the mountains of the moon at the headwaters of the Nile.

“Think of seeing the mountains of the moon at the headwaters of the Nile.”

Side note: Remember talk of the 10,000 kilometer road trip from a few posts ago? It’s sounding like more than just a pipe dream. Being a race car dude, Shag can likely name drop and such and have a bit more leverage than the average guy on port leave. 

Strung up my hammock and chewed the rag until 10 and I was so sleepy I couldn't hold my eyes open. Unloading went on until midnight, lumber and asphalt coming out. Stevedores had a chant which rose and swelled like some of our great Negro choruses.

Side note: I’m not sure what choruses she had seen/heard, but some lovely ones existed then. Beautiful and haunting.

And chew the rag, we learned before, means talk; while chew the rug means dance.

Wed. Dec. 15: Motor bike to the airport, several Gypsy Moths. Tariff: 10 min flight – 10 shillings each for 2; dual instruction – 3£ per hour; solo – 2£ 9/ per hour. Result: we stayed on the ground, rode across to the Durban Air Station, saw a Junkers take off – ugly things on the ground, corrugated metal like the old Fords. An S.A. flying boat flew over. Airport Adm. Building attractively modern, field small, bumpy.

Side note: she doesn’t seem too upset that she didn’t get to fly. The ship, the ports, the motorbike, and most probably Shag, seem to be giving her an equivalent rush. 

At 5:00 walked with Shag to the "Pommern" 4 masted barque (Clyde 1903) from Finland, much smaller than the "Viking", dirty, cramped quarters, shouldn't want to sail on her. A French gunboat, the "Bouganiville" tied up near us. A sleek, slim ship, carrying a seaplane. Jaunty costume of the French Navy, striped blue and white vests, red pompom on flat-top white caps.

Side note: jaunty is not really what the military goes for in a look. 

Thur. Dec. 16: Bed about 2 a.m. Woke at 4 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. Dressed and went for a walk on the quay – rosy sunrise. At 6:00 swung my hammock and read until 7. Wind blew in blustery fashion all day. I was very lazy. I visited Shag in the morning, heard about his brother Jack. Tried to sleep in the p.m. but was nearly blown out of the hammock.

Side note: Shag’s brother, Jack Shadbolt, was Roy’s older brother, who was still younger than Helen. The scandal! Jack was a well known artist and we will hear more about him later.

More about everything later! But for now, over and out.

by Mary James

19. Port Elizabeth & East London, South Africa, Dec 7-10, 1937

The After the Trip Letter

Port Elizabeth and East London are bustling, growing cities, thriving as ports for the diamond mines and South Africa's young export business. Durban is cosmopolitan, cultured, as modern as most large American cities. I went with our British Captain in a Reo driven by a Mohammedan to a South African theater owned by a Jew, to see an American movie...had supper in a Dutch restaurant where we were served by turbaned Indian waiters...and rode back to the ship in a rickshaw pulled by a Zulu.

Side note: In 1937, the passenger cruise industry was not yet hopping, so activities at the ports were likely catered to those in the import/export trade, the mining industry, the military… so men, and then all the people who cater to them and their whims. As is often the case, port towns are playgrounds of booze and flooze for some; hard labor for others.

An aside: While Googling about things she mentions in the paragraph above, I discovered the ‘Reo’ car she mentions is a REO SPEED WAGON! Who knew!? To me that is a band. But first, it was a car.

For supper she goes Dutch, literally. Get it?!

I had to look up what Dutch foods are. There are surprisingly few Dutch restaurants here in New York City, despite it once being called New Amsterdam. Of the top 10 Dutch restaurants in NYC on Yelp, only two are actually Dutch, and one of those is an hour into New Jersey. Another has ‘Dutch’ in the name, but serves American food. Three are Belgian. One is a food hall without any Dutch cuisine.

Poor Dutch food!

Have you heard of poffertjes? I have not. And I have been to Amsterdam and I worked for a Dutch company for four years. Poffertjes are the most popular food there, according to Google. If this rarity-of-Dutch-cuisine was true also back in 1937, then it might have been quite exotic to eat in a Dutch restaurant. She does not comment on the food, which is out of character. Is that good or bad?! Were the poffertjes pleasant or poor?

The Day to Day Journal 

Tue. Dec. 7: Washing - and high time too. Sewed sail in afternoon, cut out the jib. Hike on boat deck, then topside for more sewing — only one more day at sea before Durban, and it must be done by then. 

9:45 p.m. — went on the bridge to see the chart of the Cape, watch the plotting of tonight's course. Tennents and crayfish sandwiches.

Side note: I know from my incredibly short stint as a student of sailing (I should have asked Helen if she forced her students to purposely capsize in the middle of winter) that a jib is a canvas-y thing, and I believe it is connected to the boom (which is the part that hit me in the head more than once during said class). (The real reason I gave up on classes is that they were far too early in the morning for a college student. Like 8am or something!)

Helen is taking her self-appointed sail-sewing job very seriously, with set-in-stone deadlines. The chart and plotting are of course also jobs she’s taken on. No tipsy squabbles over cribbage with the retirees for Helen!

(I think Tennents is a beer.)

Port Elizabeth 

half penny
penny ticky = 3 pennies
six pence
12 pence = 1 shilling = 1 bob
2 shillings = florin
2 1/2 shillings = half crown
20 shillings = 1 pound

Wed. Dec. 8: 5:00 a.m. — woke to see land ahead. Engines stopped about 5:45. Fine concrete wharf with many loading cranes. Shag got the bike off early and we rode out to the beach past Humewood to a beautiful cove, rocky, breakers tumbling in. Sat on the beach — idillic.

Side note: Land ahoy again! The vision of Helen and Shag zooming along the coast to a cove, then the sitting and taking it all in… m’waw!

Time for a family related aside… Helen’s grand nephews, the two sons of her sister Mary’s son, Bob, used to run a motorcycle shop in California. And I purchased a motorcycle from them in 1997ish when I was in college (a 1984 Kawasaki 305), and I lived by the sea, and riding along coast, with the misty air, salty breezes, and white caps crashing into jagged rocky walls was life affirming.

And even extra for her, Helen was experiencing it all with her crush. 

Back to the boat at 11:45. 

Changed clothes and walked in to town again. 

Lunch with Ruth and Daisy at Cleghorn's on the market square. The town is spotlessly clean, many new modernistic buildings. The tall square tower above the jetty is "To commemorate the landing here of British settlers in 1820". It was one of the first towns in Africa settled by the British. Ruth and I visited the museum (poor taxidermy of native animals). Beautiful tropical birds in the aviary: a red-orange one — a velvety black with a red spot and long black tail. The snake garden was hemmed in by hibiscus bushes and trumpet vine. Cobras, pythons, puff adders dozing pretty peacefully in the sun.

Side note: Can hibiscus bushes and trumpet vine keep snakes away from humans?? They are skinny, slithery, and sly (but not slippery. An ex I lived with for many years had a snake so I know all this, reluctantly, up close and personal).

East London

Thur. Dec. 9: Shag and I went ashore at 9:30, walked thru the town, out to the beach, life histories. Small town, built up recently, ultra modern architecture.

Side note: life histories = looove 👩‍❤️‍👨

A note folded up in Helen’s files from the trip, dated Dec 9, 1937

The note above was written on Dec 9, 1937 (the day that the life-history-sharing was going on) and I want to think it was from Shag to Helen and that they met up in the sail loft, where all work on sails was halted so they could flirt. (The main part doesn’t look like her handwriting; but the date written at the bottom does, hence it was to her and she added the date for memory purposes.)

In the harbor are 3 square-riggers out of Finland, "Killoran", "Pamir", "Viking". Went aboard the "Viking" (built Sweden, 1907) she is unloading lumber, next goes to Australia for grain, (4 masted barque), crew of 16, young boys learning to sail, 2 Americans, Finns, Swedes, Danes, Capt. has his wife aboard, and an Australian girl is working her way home as mess girl. They are not radio-equipped, keep off the steamship lanes.

Side note: Seems well equipped to be a pirate ship, no? Lurking through the night with no radio… maybe ‘lumber’ and ‘grain’ are code names for types of illicit loot. 

Worked on sail in afternoon, and in evening, my usual hike and a game of ping-pong and Tennents with Chief. 10 — 45 knots tonight, have a 5-knot current. Many planes flying about. Mail plane came in Trimotor Junkers, some RAF formation flying.

Side note: Was she bugging the mailman for plane specs?? I hope she asked to fly it.

Fri. Dec. 10: Topside at 10:30 to finish sewing the corners on the jib. Put grommets in the corners of both sails and she's ready for action. At 3:00 p.m. we were being piloted into Durban harbor, dropped anchor, it began to rain. First word was we'd stand by for the Silvercedar to vacate her berth, but later it was decided to spend the night at anchor. Shag and I were going ashore, but it was too wet. Captain showed Ruth and me Mr. Dreyer's movies of the canal of New Orleans, of me painting the lifeboat. Called on Jim and Shag, saw some of their pictures.

Side note: If she’s only just heading up to finish the jib at 10:30am, she must have been quite confident she’d finish before Durban (her self-imposed deadline).

‘Vacate her berth…’ sounds more dramatic than it is, which is just a ship moving.

And a video! How cool it must have been in 1938 to see film of yourself moving around. I hope Mr. Dreyer’s relatives were bequeathed that film and that they kept it and that it is living somewhere.

by Mary James

18. Cape Town, South Africa, Dec 3-6, 1937

The Letter From After The Trip

Cape Town, crossroads of the world, lies in a perfect setting on the slope of flat-topped Table Mountain. It is a lovely 50-mile drive to the Cape of Good Hope, where we stood on a breezy headland and looked down at two Oceans. Sheer scraggy mountains, clean windswept beaches, cozy suburbs with exquisite rock gardens... the stately home of the Prime Ministers... the breath-taking 2 1/2 acre amphitheater of blue hydrangea in full bloom. One of the engineers had his motorcycle on board ship, and we wrangled it through Dutch Customs Inspection and roared up Table Mountain on it for one of the most exhilarating rides I've ever had (I had frowned on motorcycles for years!)
Helen, discovering the joys of motorcycles, Table Mountain, Cape Town, South Africa, 1937. Photo by “one of the engineers”

The During-the-Trip Journal

The journal picks up a few hours after she sees a cloud-flanked Table Mountain from the ship deck at 4am two posts ago. She goes back to sleep, but then:

Woke again at 7:00 when immigration officers came aboard. Much pro-ing & con-ing about sightseeing. 5 went this am on the 100 mi drive. Shag, James, and I went uptown. Adderley St is the main drag. A wise, interesting St, but clothes are hideously unattractive and very expensive. Displays garish. Most cafes seem to be in galleries above the street.

Side note: The civilian passengers go one way, she goes the other (with engineers tagging along). Like we’d expect any different.

And here are photos of what Adderley St looked like then, in all its wise- and interesting-ness.

5:45 — Shag and I walked up on the hill toward town, vistas down the streets toward Table Mountain, Dutch architecture, severe stucco buildings, red roofs, quaint chimney-pots — some spiraled. Crosses standing out against the mountain which is rocky, sheer, looks a wilderness.

Side note: I imagine it was strange, or at least different, for the two of them to be on land together, strolling around on their sea legs, going places that aren’t on a boat.

Types of people: Cape Coloured — mixture of Hotentot, original Portuguese, other tribes — all shades. Square, stolid Dutch, English, some of the stevedores are the blackest blacks I ever saw. Hindus in turbans — there are more Indians than whites. Boys in fez. The black boy on the mule cart singing Al Jolson to the life with the inflections, the gestures — he couldn't have been more than 11 yrs. old.

Side note: Racial nomenclature was of course quite different in 1938. We can never know Helen completely, but a personal journal can be a pretty good window. She strikes me as an observer and, of course, fact collector (you’ve seen those copious lists). I don’t pick up derision towards people in her (except towards civilian passengers who annoy her). 

In the evening with Shag and James in the Kloof Nek bus to Table Mountain, and climbed up to the cable station. Below us, the lights of the city, behind us the menacing shadow of Lion's Head, above: the luminous sheerness of the table.

Side note: What a picture. Shag and James and Helen on a bus up a mountain, which may have looked like this, zig zagging switch backs in slow motion. Would Shag and James, who’d seen these ports before, be doing touristy things if not for Helen?

Capetown — English style traffic, on the left, with right hand steering wheels. Many American cars, some Eng., little M.G. sportsters snort around, most intriguing.

Side note: Snort around.

Street signs in Dutch and English. Capetown Harbor: fancy maneuvers to get in from the breakwater. Handsome powerful tugs (15 knots at sea) do the trick. Praetoria — Deutsch-Afrika Line — large passenger ship in next berth — flying the swastika.

Side note. The Deutsch-Afrika Line was, as it sounds, Deutsch, hence the diabolical flag it is flying (with its stolen ancient symbol).

Praetoria was the name of the German boat, and good lord look at its history… The Silverwillow didn’t make it through the war, but a German ship gets to become all sorts of other types of ship until it retires in the 1980s? Not quite fair.

Sat. Dec. 4: Driver was to come at 9:30 to take Mrs. Sierist, Mrs. Dreyer and me on the 100 mi. drive. He came — his price having risen to 3£, we argued (the price having been set yesterday) in vain. We refused to go. We hired a car and I had the idea of taking Shag long. Came back to get the movie camera, picked up Shag at the P.O. started at 11:00.

Side note: This is brilliant. Remember, Mrs Sierist is the passenger that Helen, at some point this month, decides she doesn’t like; and Mrs. Dryer is Helen’s roommate. They are both over 60s. So, three women aged 34-70ish are inviting a 23 year old crewman to take a 100 drive. And he says yes. 

Out Victoria Road past the Lion's Head and the Twelve Apostles. Follow the shore line, passing attractive homes, bays where bottle green and sapphire waters mingle. The curves of the shore bring ever new vistas of mountain peaks, a dazzling stretch of pure white sand and ice green rollers curling in from the sea give no intimation of its dangerous quicksands. Inland a few miles thru barren boulder strewn hills to the Cape of Good Hope where two oceans meet. Stop at a little Dutch farm house for hot scones, fresh strawberry jam and large glasses of milk, served in a tea garden overlooking the Indian Ocean. Returning along False Bay thru Simontown, base of SA Naval Squadron. Took moving pictures of Muizenderg one of the most beautiful beaches — white sand, clear water, good surfing, as they say — and two stunning peaks rising behind it.

Side note: A 23 year-old man having scones with strawberry jam and large milk with the ladies is fun to picture.

Then thru the southern suburbs: Diep River, Winberg, Kenilworth to the De Waal Drive, where we stop at Groote Schuur, Rhodes House, in which the prime ministers live. Beautiful gardens — the jacaranda, wisteria just past its best but still lovely. Roses as big as chrysanthemums. The house, high ceilinged, is stately, sombre, panel walls of teak, ponderous furniture of teak, satinwood, stinkwood. Folding window blinds with superb brass fittings. Dutch wardrobes with silver drawer pulls, pieces inlaid with ivory, a clock of Napoleon's, and many handsome grandfather clocks. A gallery looking toward the garden with a row of wooden chests.

Side note: How can anyone spell chrysanthemums correctly in a journal just casually?

Proof that Helen was a super-speller
8 p.m.: Capt. and I went to the plaza. Saw Vogues of 1938. Modernistic theater, just misses being very attractive. News reels, shorts and ads from 8:15 — 9, then an "interval", and finally, one showing of the feature, ending with a picture of George VI, and playing "God Save the King". To Del Monico's, new Venetian restaurant and night club, spiral columns, artificial sky, Hindu waiters. A shilling for a chocolate ice cream soda, which was just a flavored club soda chilled — it never saw any ice cream.

Side note: 45 minutes of news, shorts, and ads! ‘Vogues of 1938’ was a technicolor musical about a fashion designer and his escapades. The theater the “just misses being very attractive” I believe is this averagely attractive theater.

And I think the George VI ‘picture’ was colonial propaganda like this God Save the King. 

Chief mechanist took us aboard the H.M.S. Amphion, a light cruiser — 7500 tons (3 mo. In S.A. — flagship), 72,000 engine horse power, 80,000 boiler H.P., 16 engines (oil fired steam turbines — quadruple screw) speed well over 30 knots. 12 6" guns (we went into the gun turrets), 4 4" anti-aircraft guns, 2 airplanes, detachable pontoons, catapult. He is also Chief diver and we saw diving helmets, shoes with 10 lb. of lead soles.

Side note: Remember what I said about fact finding?

A light cruiser, such as the Amphion, was a war ship, hence the guns. I did not know cruiser meant war ship. Learning!

The diving helmets, my goodness, look like torture devices.

Train back at 5:47. English style coaches, crowded with people going back from the beaches. Shag and I left for town, walked in, took bus to Kloof Nek again, and the lovely walk toward the cable station — evolved some foundations for a friendship. Back to the ship by 12:00 but S. wouldn't go aboard until 1 a. We walked up on the breakwater — waves rumbling in, stars bright.

Side note: Evolved some foundations 😍. This is what Cape Town Harbor looked like from above around that time. 

Mon. Dec. 6: 9:00 a.m. — Shag and I buzzed to town on the motorbike ... and roared off up Table Mountain to the Cable Station. It's as beautiful by day as by night. A layer of cloud like froth lay on it, poured over the side in a stream and vanished. Took some pictures — hope they'll be good. It was a morning to remember forever. I take back all I ever said about motorcycles, there's a tremendous exhilaration about it and our minds and hearts and appreciations were in tune to make it a quite perfect trip.

Side note: Pictures?? Why yes, some of them turned out just fine. Look who it issss…. SHAG! Told you he was cute, and he matures into Hollywood-dapper in a year or two. Just watch.

Roy (Shag) Shadbolt and motorcycle, Table Mountain, South Africa, 1937, photo by Helen Skinner

Is that helmet-head? I hope they wore helmets, but it was early days so probably anything went. Note the pirate laces on his shirt.

I always assumed there were two motorcycles, and they rode them up the mountain side by side. But ‘motorcycle’ is always referred to in the singular. So there must have been just one, and they took turns posing with it. Due to Helen’s dislike of motorcycles, I’m going to assume she didn’t know how to ride one. Maybe it was at Table Mountain where he showed her how. Vroom vroom!

Helen Skinner, 1937, Table Mountain, South Africa, photo by Roy (Shag) Shadbolt
Took the bus back to town after lunch. Took a look around numerous stores. Could hardly tear myself away from stinkwood pieces. Ivory figures from Rhodesia, lion skin bags, zebra cases, elephant hair jewelry.
A gale blew up this p.m. at 6 when the tugs came alongside the wind was just a beam in the entrance to the harbor. Water, wind blown in sheets thru the air, as dry snow is blown off the top of drifts. With port engine full ahead and starboard full astern we just cleared the breakwater. Wind at 65 m.p.h. all evening, cold as blitzen, Lion's Head and the Apostles very grand as we passed by. Not dark until 8:30. Exchanged experiences with Ruth. Bed at 10 with a murder story, but couldn't stay awake.

Side note: “Cold as blitzen” must derive from one of her schools, as it’s a pretty rare Appalachian saying, from what I can tell.

Ruth is either the woman about her age or her roommate. She introduces the passengers by last name only but then calls them by their first names quite a bit in the day to day.

And then they are again afloat! From Cape Town, they steer up the east side of the continent to see what adventures await.

by Mary James

17. Bobbing Towards Cape Town, December, 1937

We see land! But then we also must get to it… in the final miles of our first leg at sea, let’s quickly say hi to the civilian passengers and peruse some of the unbound parts of Helen’s journal like scribbles, clippings, diagrams, addresses, illustrations, instructions, and so very very many lists.

Here are some from this first leg:

Passenger Notes

After three weeks of travel, we cap off Helen’s evolving opinions of the civilian passengers, starting from one day in, and revisited twice more, the last being right around this point in time (whilst bobbing outside Cape Town). Most of them we’ve barely met, but now we can at least kinda picture the people she’s mostly ignoring as she bugs the crew.

Impressions Passengers:


Mrs. McGuire
* Nov 10 Widow from Portland, short white hair, typical joiner, chattery, flabby
* Nov 12 Whistling thru the graveyard, 73, social service for 30yr, diff adjusting to old age, motherly
* Dec Very kind. Keen sense of humor, understanding, amusing conversation

Miss. Mount
* Nov 10 Sweet little old lady, dainty, birdlike, speech a bit breathless as tho people wouldn't listen
* Nov 12 Pioneer stock
* Dec "I have a friend"

Mrs. Sparks
* Nov 10 Just slightly older than I, from LA, very thin, animation seems artificial, high pitched voice, plays ping-pong with Chief, interested in everything that goes on

Mrs. Dreyer
* Nov 10 Widow, grandchild 3yr, Polish, married at 16, little formal schooling, beautiful eyes, pretty curly gray hair, is keen, misses nothing, and the give and take of travel comes easily to her. I am lucky in my roommate. Speaks broken English but it is attractive in her, gives her some of her charm
* Nov 12 Nice taste in clothes and a nose for bargains

Mr. Cargill
* Nov 10 Tall, thin, fragile, silent, but there are living memories behind his eyes, and they still sparkle in quiet amusement. He fought in Boer war, is going back to Africa for the time since. Has been a ranger in Alberta but retired to travel. "Work and I fell out some years ago, and we've never made up"

Mrs. Cargill
* Nov 10 Prototype of a pioneer woman, has known hard work, back breaking toil - is sweet, serene, friendly

Mrs. Sigrist
* Nov 10 Stolid, widow, rises early, rd Shakespeare, walks deck 1hr after each meal, white hair, kind face
* Nov 12 Has traveled much, keen, fine sense of humor, widely read
* Dec Stubborn, dirty, rude, determined to have own way, does not know how to play, is mad if she does not win. Am in doubt about sense of humor. The engineers have dubbed her "Old Corrugated" and it fits her like a glove. Mrs. D. calls her Queen of Sheba all the time. She's a hag out of a Dickens novel. Would rather walk a mile than spend a nickel.

Side note: In Helen’s journal, these folks are sometimes co-stars but mostly extras. She does travel with a few other passengers by train to the Taj Mahal when there was a shore leave. I can’t remember which ones now so we’ll have to wait. It probably wasn’t Mrs. Sigrist though!

Each person has their own page so I suspect she planned to continue this analysis through the trip, but ‘something’ made her priorities shift.

Sadly, she didn’t write the descriptions for the engineers and officers, but she did get all of their autographs:

Is it just me or does the handwriting of the engineers (on the left) seem far more forward facing than the officers? And the officers more upright? Like a handwriting analysis person might glean into that the engineers are young and ambitious and the officers are buttoned up and confident? Or something?

Anyway, to round this part out, I sneak in another snarky quote from Helen about a man she met in NOLA before the boat left: “…a wet blanket, thinks he can tell stories, is interminable, deadly boring.” Quite a first impression!

Boat Notes

The ‘Silverwillow’ is owned by the Silver Line Ltd of London, Eng. and was built in the year 1930 by the firm of Joseph L. Thompson and Sons Ltd. at Sunderland county Durham. She is 450 ft. long and 61 ft wide, and is able to carry nearly 9000T of cargo. She is in every respect a modern twin screw motor vessel and is capable of a speed of 14 1/2 knots.

Side note: “She is in every respect a modern twin screw motor vessel...” – stamped and approved by Inspector Helen!

From Helen Skinner, pieces of letter or notes, typed Air Mail paper, 1937, pre-cut into those two sections by the time I got them

Cargo Notes

At this port we take in our supplies of oil fuel and there is quite a little work to do in this direction. In all we receive about 1500 tons of this oil which will be sufficient to take the ship about 3/4 of the way around the world. During the next day or so we see such cargo as goat skins from Madras, jute bags, pig iron and seeds from Calcutta, rubber, tapioca flour, coffee, kapok, tea and gum demar from Singapore and Java. Paraffin wax from the Borneo Oil fields and coconut products from the Philippines, such as copra meal, desiccated coconut and fiber.

Side note: “…quite a little work to do in this direction…” is both somehow proper but also “do you mind if I bug you for details while you work?”.

Weights, Speeds, Costs, and More Notes

We have so many lists. I’ll space them out some, but here are a few, with all the essential information that I’m sure every passenger gathers.

Costs of navigating a ship around the world, 1937

Found on some scraps of paper, like she was taking notes on the fly:

Twin screw diesel, 14 knots
Net 3.384 tons
Gross 6,373 tons
Dead Wt. 9,766 tons
Freight 8,500 tons 
Draft of ship 26' 5.8", 54.48 tons per in. immersion
Length 451' BP 465' overall 
Beam 61' 4


Total Cap all takes 4970T (inc double bottoms, deep tanks, side tanks, fore and after peaks), deep tanks: 25’6 deep, cap 1126T. Total Cap holds: grain 621,606 cu ft; bale 564,611 cu f

How many USAs can you fit in one Africa

Remember in the last post when Shag invited Helen on a road trip from Cape Town to Cairo? The sketch below, drawn on airmail paper, was folded into her journal. Perhaps it went along with their discussion? We shall never know.

Now, let’s see how land feels after 23 days at sea!