me. It had become a jinx, a bad omen. She was berthed in Tilbury Docks when I very nearly came to permanent grief, but thatâs another tale. Yes, the SS Himalaya really was the ship that never loved me.
11
A RTHUR AND THE
S TEAM T RAIN
I NCIDENT
A rthur was a big man; he wasnât very tall, but he was big. He stood about 5 feet 9 inches in height, but he had big muscles all over his body. His biceps and triceps bulged inside his coat and made it look as though the sleeves were trying to strangle his arms. When he walked, the muscles of his calves and thighs gave the impression that his trouser legs were filled with potatoes. His posterior sagged down at the back, over the tops of his legs, and his stomach bulged and hung down at the front. His jowls drooped prominently, similar to those of a bulldog. This gave him a permanent hangdog expression. He had black hair that was, or had been at odd times, combed back. He had blackish, brownish eyes set like two dates in his jelly-moulded face. His teeth were the same colour. He always had what appeared to be an obligatory three daysâ growth of beard. His two younger brothers resembled him in looks and manner, the poor sods.
Arthur was as strong as an ox, tough as any human being could possibly be (both physically and mentally) and as violent as an electric storm when he was upset. By nature, however, he was a gentle person. (He had an aviary in his garden where he bred canaries.) But anyone reading this tale can see that it didnât pay to rile him, not Arthur â especially if one was privy to the fact that during the Second World War he had been a physical training instructor (PTI) and an unarmed combat instructor (UCI) to British Commando units training in Scotland.
Now, I have to explain that Arthur was a loner, not a mixer. He had never worked with a regular shipâs gang. This made him vulnerable to the out-of-sector allocation system used by the Dock Labour Board to supplement labour shortages in other docks within the Port of London or even in other ports, if the Boardâs sector manager was required to do so. It was on a very hot day in June that Arthur found himself issued with a railway warrant to take him to the King George V Dock in the upriver docks complex of the Port of London.
When he had received his orders to report to the King George V, he made his lonely way to Tilbury Town railway station on foot from the Dock Labour Board compound. There he met several other dockers who had been allocated to the same ship as him. They all got into the same compartment of an antiquated railway carriage that was to be pulled by an equally antiquated steam engine. Arthur sat in one corner while the rest of the men who managed to get a seat sat at the far end away from him. Oh, I forgot to mention that Arthur always had a sweaty smell, which wafted from him in the same way that scent exudes from flowers â it just didnât have quite the same pleasant aroma. I would say the smell emitted by our heroâs torso represented more Polecat No. 5 than it did Chanel No. 5. No one who knew Arthur ever had the nerve to tell him about his aromatic condition. Well, be honest! Would you?
I have to say, it was always a very interesting exercise, travelling with oneâs fellow dock workers on public transport, even if it was only to observe the antics, sneers and general facial expressions of other passengers. From the time the train left Tilbury Town station till it arrived in Barking, at every stop would-be fellow-travellers looked in through the carriage window, or even managed to open the carriage door, saw that it contained what appeared to be several escaped convicts or pirates and beat a hasty retreat to another compartment. If there were passengers already in the carriage when dockers got in, several of them would get out and go to another carriage. The dockers never took umbrage at this slight because they happily sat down on the vacant
11
A RTHUR AND THE
S TEAM T RAIN
I NCIDENT
A rthur was a big man; he wasnât very tall, but he was big. He stood about 5 feet 9 inches in height, but he had big muscles all over his body. His biceps and triceps bulged inside his coat and made it look as though the sleeves were trying to strangle his arms. When he walked, the muscles of his calves and thighs gave the impression that his trouser legs were filled with potatoes. His posterior sagged down at the back, over the tops of his legs, and his stomach bulged and hung down at the front. His jowls drooped prominently, similar to those of a bulldog. This gave him a permanent hangdog expression. He had black hair that was, or had been at odd times, combed back. He had blackish, brownish eyes set like two dates in his jelly-moulded face. His teeth were the same colour. He always had what appeared to be an obligatory three daysâ growth of beard. His two younger brothers resembled him in looks and manner, the poor sods.
Arthur was as strong as an ox, tough as any human being could possibly be (both physically and mentally) and as violent as an electric storm when he was upset. By nature, however, he was a gentle person. (He had an aviary in his garden where he bred canaries.) But anyone reading this tale can see that it didnât pay to rile him, not Arthur â especially if one was privy to the fact that during the Second World War he had been a physical training instructor (PTI) and an unarmed combat instructor (UCI) to British Commando units training in Scotland.
Now, I have to explain that Arthur was a loner, not a mixer. He had never worked with a regular shipâs gang. This made him vulnerable to the out-of-sector allocation system used by the Dock Labour Board to supplement labour shortages in other docks within the Port of London or even in other ports, if the Boardâs sector manager was required to do so. It was on a very hot day in June that Arthur found himself issued with a railway warrant to take him to the King George V Dock in the upriver docks complex of the Port of London.
When he had received his orders to report to the King George V, he made his lonely way to Tilbury Town railway station on foot from the Dock Labour Board compound. There he met several other dockers who had been allocated to the same ship as him. They all got into the same compartment of an antiquated railway carriage that was to be pulled by an equally antiquated steam engine. Arthur sat in one corner while the rest of the men who managed to get a seat sat at the far end away from him. Oh, I forgot to mention that Arthur always had a sweaty smell, which wafted from him in the same way that scent exudes from flowers â it just didnât have quite the same pleasant aroma. I would say the smell emitted by our heroâs torso represented more Polecat No. 5 than it did Chanel No. 5. No one who knew Arthur ever had the nerve to tell him about his aromatic condition. Well, be honest! Would you?
I have to say, it was always a very interesting exercise, travelling with oneâs fellow dock workers on public transport, even if it was only to observe the antics, sneers and general facial expressions of other passengers. From the time the train left Tilbury Town station till it arrived in Barking, at every stop would-be fellow-travellers looked in through the carriage window, or even managed to open the carriage door, saw that it contained what appeared to be several escaped convicts or pirates and beat a hasty retreat to another compartment. If there were passengers already in the carriage when dockers got in, several of them would get out and go to another carriage. The dockers never took umbrage at this slight because they happily sat down on the vacant
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