Murdo McCloud was a sailor on the Fortunato, a tanker, which sailed mostly between the Curacao, in the Caribbean, and the South American coast in the early nineteen sixties. I was the Third Officer.
Murdo was one of my aft crew who manned the poop deck when arriving or leaving port. Tall, broad shouldered and powerful, he came from Barra in the Outer Hebrides. Like many large men, he was surprisingly softly spoken and talked very slowly, as though thinking deeply about the effect his words would have on those around him.
I recall a time in South Shields when we had taken the ship into dry-docked after the long voyage. Murdo asked me whether I would come up the road as soon as we were off duty for a pint. Having endured weeks at sea, I agreed. In the pub, Murdo spotted a couple of other sailors and walked across to their table with me trailing in his wake. They greeted each other like long lost friends. Well, it took them so long to say hello, it was like the Ents in conclave.
In addition, Murdo was immensely strong. Over six feet tall with blond curly hair and a square jawed face, his neck to me was twice the size of mine and his arms seemed like tree trunks. Usually he had a dour expression on his face but his look could suddenly brighten when something amused him.
I recall a day when we were mooring the ship at a jetty near the port of Rio Grande de Sol in Brazil. One of the eight inch ropes used to secure the ship snapped as the ship was caught by the tide. The stern started to swing away from the jetty and I informed the bridge of what was happening. To my astonishment, Murdo hauled in the rope hand over hand, tied a bowline in the broken end to form a loop and heaved it back ashore before the other sailors could get the next rope ready. After that we tied up the ship without any other incident.
Murdo was slow to take offence. Once he did have a falling out with two other sailors, over what I have no idea. He challenged them to a fight the next time the ship was in port. I watched from the catwalk as the three disappear behind a shed after we docked. A few minutes later Murdo appeared carrying the two unconscious sailors on his shoulders.
Late one night as the ship ploughed through the Atlantic Ocean off the Brazilian coast on its way back to Curacao, I was awoken by angry voices outside my cabin. Opening the door slightly, I saw Murdo and the Chief Steward in the alleyway.
Murdo was angry. You could see that from the redness of his face, the tension in his body and the way he spoke much faster than normal. With his left hand he had the Chief Steward by the throat. What was astonishing was he had the one hundred kilo Chief Steward off the ground so that his feet dangled banging the heels against my cabin bulkhead. In the other hand, he held a two gallon fire extinguisher.
Between clenched teeth, he was saying. “ You are in charge of the food, you and that fat, lazy cook. What you serve up is uneatable rubbish. My mother would be ashamed to put that on our table. It is not fit for the animals on my Uncles farm. Either the food improves or I will be back again.”
With that he dropped the quivering Chief Steward and stalked out of the accommodation, placing the fire extinguisher back on its bracket.
I stepped out of my cabin and helped the Chief Steward to his feet. He was visibly shaking, his fat stomach vibrating like a jelly and his chins moving like waves breaking on the shore.
“ Are you all right?” I asked smoothing down his clothes.
He glowered at me. “ Why did you not rush out and help me?”
I lied easily. “ I had only been in bed a short while after coming off watch. Lets face it. I must have fallen into a deep sleep. By the time I was fully awake and realised something was happening outside my cabin, he had dropped you and was going back to his cabin.”
“ I will go and report this to the Captain!” he almost shouted.
“ Don’t you think it can be left until the morning?”
“ No!” he snapped and waddled off in the direction of the Captain’s cabin.
In the morning Captain Harris came to the bridge during my watch to have a mug of coffee. It was a morning ritual and done in such a way that I could not complain that he did not trust me. After checking that all was in order, he asked me what had happened the night before. I described what Murdo had done, adding what I took to be the reason for his outburst. When I mentioned the state of the food and that everybody on board had a great deal of sympathy with Murdo, I caught the hint of a smile. It was as though he agreed that one of the important factors in keeping a crew happy and harmonious was good food.
Captain Harris ordered me to report to the ship’s office at two that afternoon.
Unlike many Captains I have sailed under, Captain Harris was a man of principle. The disciplinary code was covered in various statutes and agreements. Under these laws, Captain Harris had the power to fine members of his crew for any breach of the rules. He would never do this without first holding a properly constituted hearing.
When I arrived at the ship’s office wearing my best uniform whites and my cap, the office was set up very precisely. A table opposite the door was laid out with the official log book to record the proceedings, a copy of the disciplinary code, a copy of the Merchant Shipping Acts and the Captain’s hat with the gold laurel edging. To the right at an angle was a table for the accused and a supporter, to the left at an angle a table for the witnesses.
Captain Harris was already seated behind his table. He smiled at me and indicated that I should sit beside the Chief Officer sitting at the table to his right. The Chief Steward came in shortly after I had and sat next to me.
Murdo arrived accompanied by Dick Hearn, the union representative on the ship.
Captain Harris called the court to order. The Chief Steward described what had happened to him. I then told the Captain what I had seen and heard. Then Murdo was asked to give his side of the story.
In his soft spoken way, Murdo explained. “ What they have reported is all true. I do not deny any of it. After being on watch for the eight to twelve, I went back to the sailor’s mess for my supper. It was almost uneatable. I was hungry. Then it all caught up with me. All those uneatable meals. The Chief Steward gets an allowance for food the same as every other Steward in the fleet. Why I asked myself is the food on this ship so much worse than every other ship I have sailed on? Either the Chief Steward is on the fiddle or the cook is hopeless. I decided it must be a bit of both though the cook says he can only cook the food he is given. Then I thought I’d go and have it out with the Chief Steward. You have heard what happened after that. I would not have hurt him. All I wanted to do was scare him into providing us with better food.”
Captain Harris looked around the room. “ Fined two days wages.”
He entered this in the Official Logbook and got the Chief Officer, me and the Chief Steward to sign the entry. “ You can all get back to your duties now.”
When the ship docked in Curacao, the Chief Steward and the cook were sent on leave and replaced. The food took a turn for the better.
