Tag / south africa

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

16: ‘At Sea’ to afloat-off-Africa, Nov 22 – Dec 2, 1937

The letter

First, the perfectly concise bit from the after-the-trip letter:

One night I woke suddenly...something was different, and then I realized the engines had stopped. I went on deck and there to starboard twinkled millions of lights around the crescent of Table Bay. Overhead hung the constellation of the southern Cross. South Africa!

Side note: Land ahoy!

Table Mountain, South Africa, after 23 days at sea, December 1937

The journal

She’ll do most of the talking here, but I will say, the last sentence of the first paragraph below is another example of why journals are great. We transition effortlessly from heavenly skies to more backhouse trots (remember, those aren’t a dance).

And look who figured out how to imbed maps!! (Not me, but a certain husband did.) This is where she is:

Mon. Nov. 21: 

[Present location:] 
Lat. 5° 43' S
Long. 26° 04" W
Dist. 314 mi.
Av. Speed 13.24 mph. 

The water tonight a delicious inky black, the curling foam a swift white flash with an occasional phosphorescence. Watched the moon come up. A cloud bank gave the effect of a mass of liquid white heat, poured into fantastic shapes etching a silver pencil line around the cloud making it glow with some inner light. At last its final form emerged in golden radiance to begin its nightly voyage across the heavens. Four passengers laid up with diarrhea this morning, something they ate, no doubt.

Side note: Masterclass level transition, no?

Tues. Nov. 22: - First planking on Capt.'s boat this a.m. Using the sextant for the second time, I took the Altitude and worked the latitude within 2 min. of the official one on the bridge. Capt. seemed pleased.
Helen Skinner, M.S. Silverwillow, somewhere on Atlantic Ocean (this might be the Planking she mentions? Her planking must be different from the planking that is core strengthening and/or a dumb meme from 2010ish)
Into my monkey suit after lunch and did some more painting on the life boat. Read "Silas Crockett". Morse at 7:30, Jim sent while Roy took it down, and after numerous unsuccessful struggles, I managed eight words a minute. Marked a course on the chart, learning to apply deviation and variation. Had my first trick at the wheel for five minutes. Slept in the hammock.

Wed. Nov. 23: Lost my favorite scarf overboard in the interests of navigation — while I had the sextant in my hand, and nothing could be done about it. Found the Lat. within 1 min. of the official one, again. Capt. bragged on me at lunch. Spent the p.m. painting gear from #1 life boat. Lesson in Morse with two assistants. Chatted with the Engineers on my way "home" tonight. Finished "Silas Crockett". Turned in early. Saw the inside of the funnel today.

Side note: Sextants are still carried on ships and crew should know how to use them. Actual vintage ones are expensive, but I found a replica made to look old that is neat to look at, fun to play with, good for storytelling, and a nice knick knack. But also incredibly complicated and with no autofocus. As for finding altitude and latitude and the other things with that little device, here’s a 25 minute video of numbers and maths and calculations and complexities that make my eyes glaze.

Here is my replica sextant:

It is upside down in one of the photos, but 100% right side up in the other

Thru. Nov. 24 My first bloater for breakfast today, very good. Figured compass courses, correcting for leeway, variation, deviation. Painted about 1/3 of lifeboat #1. Thanksgiving -- saloon decorated with British, U.S., and Union of South Africa flags. Each setting had a place card with a jingle, done by Daisy Mount. Topside afterward. Capt. let me read the letters he has written to the school he has adopted. A number of British Captains under the "Adoption Society" have schools to which they write, about once a month, telling of activities on board ship and places visited. What a stimulus to the study of geography. Capt. let me check a code radiogram he is sending. First time I've seen an official code book. Drew names for our share in the Christmas party.

Side note: A bloater is not gas, as I first assumed (she is very open about bodily things!). It is a smoked herring.

Also, the book she finished above, Silas Crockett, is about generations of maritime families and the women who ran them.

This must be the place setting at Helen’s Thanksgiving seat: 

Helen’s place setting at Thanksgiving, 1937, and it’s perfectly personalized — nice that aviation and navigation rhyme.

It’s a wee blurry, so:

Skinner, Miss Helen
She has studied aviation
And its twin art, navigation
The code de Morse
Is in her course
So she works like all tarnation
M.V. Silvervillow
Thanksgiving Day. 1937.

What would your placard say? Mine, maybe:

James, Miss Mary
She has big aspirations
But even more procrastinations
In the self-help aisle
She’ll put books in a pile
And they’ll guide her big transformation!
Brooklyn Apartment
Saturday, May 6, 2023

Send yours in.

Fri. Nov. 25: Chipping paint on the deck below us — sounds like a boiler factory. Worked problems in the Meridian Altitude. Apprentices have half day off to study, so I sewed sail for the new boat. Another Morse lesson until rain drove us inside — 185 letters, 4 mistakes. Cold, we had on coats, wrapped in blankets. Passed 100 mi. west of St. Helena today. Read "Thirteen Women" by Tiffany Thayer. Myrna Loy played in the movie, the book is trash with some very clever lines.

Side note: ‘Trash with some clever lines” is actually quite kind from her.

Sat. Nov. 26: Chief took me on a tour of the engine room at 9:00, have been trying for weeks to get to it, seems to me diesel is far superior to steam. Started by compressed air — enormous engines at 115 rpm drive us thru the water. Saw the refrigerating plant, the fresh water distiller. Wish I could remember it all. Sewed sail instead of study, but went up on Monkey Island at noon to see the sun at 87° Altitude, probably the highest I'll ever see it. Could see it in the sextant all around the horizon (my Latitude was way off). Jim and I peered at the Weems Air Navigation book. More Morse considerably faster, but it still gets away from me. Phosphorescence on the water.
Helen and the sextant, figuring latitudes, 1937
Sun. Nov. 27: At noon Capt. said, "come on, Navigator" — to Monkey Island, and saw the sun to the north instead of the south, and even higher (88° 49' observed Altitude) than yesterday. Found the Lat. with no help whatever — no formula. Finished the second seam on the sail. Hiked on boat deck after dinner with J., T., S., it was still light at 7:30 p.m. Up at 3:00 a.m. to see the Southern Cross, cold today, wore a suede jacket, came out in a wool dress for dinner. More up and down movement than any time thus far. 

Mon. Nov. 29: Every page in the navigation book uses logarithms, and I never met them in my progress thru math. Spent the morning learning to do them. Found it not so difficult as I expected. Officers came out in blues today. Not warm enough to be on deck except in the lee of the boat deck. Took my letter writing around this p.m. found Shag working on the motorcycle.

Side note: A++ in classes. That old time latitude stuff ain’t for amateurs. And how convenient that when innocently on her way to pen her long overdue correspondence, she just happens upon Shag, hunched over his motorcycle, in coveralls, likely clutching a greasy wrench. And since she’s there she might as well be polite and ask what makes the bike go vroom. From that likely scenario we get very detailed and specific drawings like the one below (spark plugs indeed). I posted this one preemptively in the last blog, but here is where it is supposed to be:

Distributor illustration, presumably by Shad/g, M.S. Silverwillow, 1937
Tue. Nov. 30: Collected a few autographs this a.m. Continued my pursuit of logarithms. Production has sped up, I can sew canvas twice as fast as when I started. Hiked miles with J and S, and more miles on our own deck. Had my first attack of indigo. Called on Ruth, whose innards are miserable. Cold tonight in my green checked jacket.

Side note: I think indigo means indigestion, but if someone knows more, let me know. Ruth is a civilian passenger, who I’ll be introducing in the next post along with the others. So far it’s been all engineers and Captains. You’d almost forget there were seven civilians elsewhere on the boat.

The passenger and crew autographs she mentions collecting, M.S. Silverwillow, 1937
Wed. Dec. 1: First rough day. Alternate clouds and sun pushing into blue water, piling it into mountainous ridges where the wind whips off the top and flings it into shining rainbows of spray before plunging it in swirling foam aft. The nose plows under a wave, tosses up a white spray to crash over the fo'castle head and rip along the deck on a flying sheet of water. Sin [sine], cos [cosine], tan [tangent], coses [cosecant?], cot [cotangent] took up the morning. Shag and I walked in a gale, and then stood in the lee of a boat watching the elemental forces heaving, piling, crashing, surging away. It was glorious. It's a little moment of ocean I'll always remember. 

Thru. Dec. 2.: Problems in parallel sailing, and using traverse tables. Lone hobnob with Morton, had a tour of the wireless room and couldn't understand the ship's call letters when they came in, --., [GQVY]. The sea is much more calm, a few bumps and some lovely spray.

Side note: Who needs moving pictures when you can paint a scene like that? And then pepper it with trigonometry? And that walk in the gale, my goodness. You can feel the sparks. 

Fri. Dec. 3: 3:00 a.m. — woke with a start when the engines stopped. Looked thru the port to see hundreds of lights sparkling dead ahead. Land, after 3 weeks of ocean, went on deck and saw the jeweled crescent of the bay, under the Southern Cross.

Side note: End scene! Doesn’t that last bit sound familiar? She wrote something similar in the letter summarizing the trip and it’s up at the top of this post.

And in addition to being an engineer, she shoulda been a writer. But now she kinda is being one, here in the blog. And we have plenty more where that came from so stay tuned!

by Mary James

14. ON A BOAT! NOLA to ‘at Sea’, Nov 9-13, 1937

By now I thought we’d already be to South Africa, if not further. But here we have just shoved away from The Big Easy’s decadent docks. There are just so many good bits to share.

From a distance, we are now steaming steadily ahead, eastward ho, on the three-week salt-water-y trek to Cape Town, South Africa. Shall we peek in?

The Letter

(As a refresher, we look at the passage from the nice and concise after-the-trip letter and then the corresponding bits from the day to day journal.)

The passengers were left to themselves to get on as best they could. I chose to take part in the daily routine of the ship. During the 23 short days on the Atlantic I studied navigation with the Captain every morning, painted lifeboats with the apprentices, peered into the intricacies of the engine roam, learned to send morse signals, sewed canvas with the quartermaster, made myself a sailors hammock and slept on deck under the southern stars. 

End Scene!

Kinda like a movie trailer, right? Just giving the highlights. But then the lights go down, and we watch it all unfold, one morse signal at a time.

The Journal

Lights, camera, action! 

[Present location:] 

Lat. 26" 57' N 
Long. 87° 52" N 

Wed. Nov. 10:  

8:30 — Breakfast — prunes.  

Wander over to watch the apprentices work and get a job setting grommets in a piece of canvas that's to enclose the Captain's deck.

Side note: She did wait until after prunes to find the engineers and land a job, but this was her first morning at sea, so she certainly didn’t waste time.

The apprentices are the ‘clean, intelligent looking youths from Canada’ from the last post, mind you. We will get to know (at least one of) them plenty. 

After lunch the Captain tells me he has discussed with the Mate my studying navigation — decided they'd experiment and see if an inexperienced person of normal intelligence can really learn how to steer a course in five months.

Side note: Normal intelligence. Pfft. Her two degrees from Columbia U would beg to differ! But maybe five months is a short amount to learn to navigate a freight boat? So if she could do it she was not just of normal intelligence, but extra?

Sadly, this was probably the only way she could learn ship navigation. Women weren’t navigating boats in 1937 (and barely even today). I looked this up, and a few women were ‘allowed’ to navigate when they got stuck at sea because the Captain became incapacitated or dead. And a few women disguised themselves as men and got to navigate… until they got found out. You may read more about it here.

But Helen got to learn while dressed as she pleased and while all the men on board were at full capacity. Good on you, men of the Silverwillow!

She was clearly meant to maneuver ships, as you can see:

M.S. Silverwillow, 1937, with its Captain and with Helen Skinner, learning to navigate with a sextant (this must be the Captain she went dancing with in NOLA??). 
Listened to "One Man's Family" and the Chesterfield Program on the Capt.'s radio.

Side note: I love when she mentions movies, politics, radio. It puts a timestamp (era-stamp?) on things. One Man’s Family was a radio soap opera, that, like the soaps still do, ran forever (silly me didn’t know they had soap operas before TV!).

The ‘Chesterfield Program’ means ‘Chesterfield Time‘ radio variety show (named after their sponsor, Chesterfield cigarettes). And I’m listening now to Chesterfield Time, and I suggest you do too, as it is leg shaking, fast talking fun. Era-stamps are important.

And then note that she is listening to these programs ON THE CAPTAIN’S RADIO — I hadn’t caught that before. Nice mood music, too. Hm. 

Weather: wind force 4. 

Sun in a.m. It may just be the day, but there is almost no sensation of motion of the ship. The engines throb through your conscience, but unless you look at the water you can't be sure you're moving. 

Inspection of after deck with Capt., the ship's potatoes are kept in a huge bin. News: Ramsay McDonald is dead. Brazil set up a dictatorship on the Nazi pattern.

Side note: a lovely thing about random journal entries is how they jump from topic to topic so effortlessly. From throbbing engines, to potato storage, to Nazis.

You can almost hear the staticky Walter Cronkite crackly type voice, more static, and then ***ATTENTION: We interrupt this programming with breaking news out of Her Majesty’s England. We have just learned that the former Prime Minister, Ramsay McDonald, has died. I repeat…***

Maybe they wouldn’t break in for Ramsay? But you can still hear the voice, can’t you?

And on November 10, 1937, Brazil’s Getúlio Vargas did indeed make for himself a new constitution and cancelled elections. Not good.

The bath procedure: Bucket of hot water, placed in rack in tub, sponge off or dump it in the tub. For a rinse fill the tub with sea water.

Side note: like I mentioned, a no frills trip. 

Present location: 

Lat. 22" 22' N
Long. 85° 04" W

Thru. Nov. 10

10 a.m. at the Captain's desk — I am set to work learning definitions for my first lesson in navigation. Study until 11:30.

Side note: For what she’s gonna be learning, this eighth grade level short on nautical navigation was way too much for my brain.

At dinner lettuce cooked with a fried onion and tomato sauce, artichokes. 

Pacing the Capt.'s deck after dinner. Learned how the Dutch are displacing the English in South Africa, since all in govt jobs must be bilingual — Africans and English, and the English won't bother.

Capt. says I may follow the 'prentices — do what jobs I want, and he'll have them practice Morse code sending with me. 

Side note: How about the Dutch and English just leave it all well enough alone?? Also, the Afrikaans language is derived Dutch so it’s not like they’re making a big effort to learn it.

And now the promising young men from Canada have been ordered to teach her whatever she wants, whenever she wants. And she wants to know everything.

Nov. 11 Foster taught me 4 knots: bowline on a bite, the knot used for handcuffs, hangman's noose, crown. Capt.'s wife expecting a second child momentarily.

Side note: The ‘prentices get right to work helping her do what she wants. And again, a married captain! Hm.

Notes from journal on ‘Capacity of Tanks’ and ‘Anchors’, perhaps taught to her by ‘prentices
Present location: 

Lat. 20" 23' N
Long. 30° 11" W
Dist. 330 mi.
Av. Speed 13.95 mph 

Fri. Nov. 12: I begin my pursuit of navigation this a.m., The Capt. explains the ecliptic and in a flash it is mine permanently.

After lunch — on the Engineers deck, had a try at Foster's hammock. It was a delightful sensation, mentioned it to the Capt. and he said, "why don't you make one?'. Within 5 min. the canvas was cut and ready. Service!

7:30 p.m. — "Not to be opened until Fri. Nov. 12" — so the box of candy Kay and Ann gave me made its debut in the Capt.'s room tonight.

Side note: The ecliptic is a navigational thing I just read about but don’t understand (not ‘in a flash mine’), so see the link from the beginning of this sentence.

And also, enter… the hammock! She mentioned it in the letter snippet above and here it is, happening, on day four.

Lastly, she is back in the Captain’s room, eating candy. Hm.

Helen (right) hanging out on the M.S. Silverwillow. (Yes, the woman on the left seems to be missing an arm, but I think that is a photo illusion, as Helen describes all the passengers, and with her level of detail, that would have come up).
Present location: 

Lat. 18" 21' N 
Long. 74° 48" W
Dist. 330 mi.
Av. Speed 13.96 mph 

Sat. Nov. 13: Woke at 4:00 a.m. Up and had a look at the stars, they seem so much closer in these southern skies. Up again to see the sunrise and watch the boat come to life about 6 a.m. 

In a haze off to starboard lies the mountain that looked like a cloud bank, but is Jamaica. Started figuring GMT, and am painfully dumb at it. Navassa Is. to starboard this a.m. and shortly after the beautiful slopes of Haiti loom up to port. Low banks of cumulus clouds give the effect of a volcano from the highest peak. Foster undertakes to give me some help in navigation, until tea time working problems. 

4:15 — Worked on my hammock with one eye on the clouds. The last view of Haiti was a soft gray mist with purple shadows on the land as a peak shone thru here and there. This morning the water was sapphire, and the waves so smooth it seemed you could slide on the surface. At sunset: puffs of pink cloud all around the horizon, and the water almost motionless, a turquoise color with iridescent reflections.

End scene!

“This morning the water was sapphire, and the waves so smooth it seemed you could slide on the surface.” – Helen Skinner

And side note: if stars look close in a good way, that means the heart is full. I just made that up, but I’m gleaning contentment from her writing. If the stars were close in a bad way, they’d feel claustrophobic, and that is gleaned nowhere in her writing.

I’m also sure she’s not dumb at GMT (Greenwich Mean Time). They are moving around the world, slowly, so the time is constantly changing. How, without Google, would anyone know the time!?

I am ending this one here, as I believe Haiti is the last bit of land she sees for about 20 days, and that seems a good place for an intermission.

Next up: latitudes, handwriting analysis, a tiny bit more land (oops), the backhouse trot, and engineer intrigue (not just the how of it, but some of the ‘who is this smart hot cute engineer’ of it?’). Stay tuned!!