Down to the Sea in Ships by Horatio Clare

Singapore was also held to be special: ‘Beautiful girls,’ says the Captain.
    â€˜South America,’ says Shubd, dreamily. ‘Brazil.’
    As often, mention of the Old Days brings further reminiscence of their glories. When they broke down in the Old Days everyone started fishing off the boat. They don’t break down so much now, and the fish are harder to find. In South American ports, Shubd says, you can be besieged by fishermen offering catches, and also peddlers of very high grade marijuana, he hears.
    It is very hard not to whistle. Nobody else does. Coming out of the crew mess with a cup of coffee, heading for the saloon where we eat, a few notes escape – barely notes, more like a pursed prelude to more tuneless humming (semi-tuneful humming is one of the commonest sounds of the ship). In the saloon the Captain, Andreas the chief engineer and Sorin all raise their gazes from their plates. Their faces are expressionless: alarm and disapproval is conveyed psychically, with considerable force. I hum and ‘sing’ louder, as if trying to drown out the memory. There is the smallest pause before Sorin chomps a chunk of melon. Breakfast continues.
    Lifeboat, fire and man overboard drills are all publicised in advance. When the alarm goes at ten thirty I hurtle as carefully as possible down to the ship’s control room on the main deck to find everyone lounging around waiting for their name to be called. This achieved, Sorin informs the Captain, now alone on the bridge, that all are present.
    â€˜Very good, carry on,’ says the radio.
    We divide to our assigned lifeboat stations, port or starboard, where we don life jackets. I have seen more pathetic buoyancy aids but cannot remember where.
    â€˜This is a piece of shit!’ I pronounce over the four blocks of foam held together by a scrap of orange plastic, pleased to be able to demonstrate something like expertise, having spent time on lifeboats.
    â€˜Well,’ Shubd says, ‘it is very economical.’
    We check that the lights switch on and that the whistles blow, then we file into the lifeboat. An orange capsule like a suppository with a little turret, the lifeboat is painted pistachio-green inside. No one can see out except for the helm, who would be Shubd or the Captain – Sorin and Chris are on the port boat. We strap in. Every face betrays the same feeling: this is ghastly.
    â€˜The first thing that happens is we issue seasick pills,’ says Andreas, ‘otherwise someone will puke and then everyone will puke.’
    There is no doubt about that. Strapped in, facing each other, blind to the sea, acting as a kind of meat ballast in the bottom of a capsule which would be upside down half the time, in any sort of storm, you would certainly puke.
    Shubd starts the engine. It runs first time, the only piece of good news, as far as I can tell. The engine is capable of five knots – five! You would be lucky to keep the boat’s head to the wind.
    We are all relieved to conclude lifeboat drill, but now the horn blasts and bells sound again: fire alarm. The ‘fire’ is in a container. Two of the crew, ‘smoke-jumpers’, pull on breathing apparatus and flame-retardant suits. They mime attacking the fire. Moving urgently, one holds a spike against the container while the other pretends to strike it with a sledgehammer. Others connect hoses and pretend to cool down nearby containers. A perforated nozzle is then held over the ‘hole’ in the burning container and a hose connected to it. It is easier to imagine the smoke-jumpers being horribly injured than it is to picture them suppressing the blaze, but everyone knows what they are supposed to do and everyone takes it seriously. The Captain would turn the ship so as to create a lee between the fire and the wind. Sorin would be his eyes, and to a great extent his judgement: the Captain remains on the bridge, the chief commands the fight.