The Cruel Sea

Photograph courtesy of https://www.philippe-ships.com/casualties/chaton-urrugne-1977.html

In last week’s edition of Life in the Kitchen, I remembered M.V. Chaton, the ship I had worked on during my 1977 summer holidays with my Greek friend, mature student, Nikos. 

After a couple of months in the port of Brest (France), patching up the bullet holes that put an end to her contraband days and repairing the engine, we sailed to Gravesend past the Thames Barrier which was just starting to be built. Chaton performed well and we picked up our first cargo, tonnes of wheat to transport to Lisbon. 

The Bay of Biscay was so unusually calm the captain entrusted me with the wheel between midnight and 2 am. I sailed past a few Portuguese fishing boats bobbing up and down and hauling their catch of sardines and squid in the dark.
Never having visited Portugal before, I was really impressed with Lisbon and its beautifully tiled pavements and squares. 
The Carnation Revolution had ended decades of dictatorship a couple of years earlier. Despite civil rights and political freedoms having been achieved, Portugal was left in dire economic straits. As soon as Chaton was moored alongside the quay, a jolly customs officer began yakking in Portuguese. I half understood being asked if I liked sardines and wine to which I nodded. The following morning, he landed with a few kilos of fish and a large raffia-clad flask of Vinho Verde. I realised that this was the way he topped up his meagre wages, so I gave him a few escudos. I then entrusted the sardines to Michalis, the cook and kept the wine in the crew dining room.

Nikos, who had been to the Portuguese capital several times before, showed us around the usual sailors’ haunts, where large quantities of beer and wine were consumed. Most bars had “petiscos” the Portuguese version of tapas, which came free with every drink ordered. 
I didn’t see much of Lisbon during the day as I was working in the engine room. 
From there, we sailed North to Porto, a town so pleasingly depicted in Rick Stein’s Long Weekends TV series. 
Once again, Nikos dragged me and Michalis to a cavernous taberna where dozens of hams hung from the ceiling.

My last trip on M.V. Chaton took us to Gloucester. A long four-hour trip along the 16-mile canal from Sharpness in the Bristol Channel. The small ship, loaded with cork, ran aground and had to reverse several times. 
After a night out with the crew at a local discotheque, I got the train back to Sunderland to start my second year at the Poly. 

M.V. Chaton went on sailing until it hit some rocks on a terribly stormy night less than two months later in the treacherous Bay of Biscay just off the French Basque town of Hendaye. Despite the captain’s advice not to abandon ship, four of the crew jumped into two life rafts which capsized almost immediately. Nikos, the only survivor of the four, battled the raging waves for nine hours before managing to drag himself onto the beach. He was later discovered by a passing workman and lived to tell the tale.

The following summer, we headed to Greece together in a second-hand Land Rover.