TinnerStreet

In 1963, I would under no circumstances have been classed as a seasoned traveller. I did like salt though. I would not even have been classed as an unseasoned traveller, as the farthest I had been at that stage was the Isle of Man, and the trip from Liverpool to Douglas, Isle of Man on the packet steamer did not qualify me for a life on the ocean wave. The longest I had been away from home was seven days, on various holidays, and I always knew that me mam and dad would be waiting at home. Until 1963.

Now 1963 was to be a highlight in my life, though I barely realised this in January of that year. That was to be the year that Herself and I were to be married, the year that I shook the rain of the Old Dart from me wellies, and the year that I was to spend a whole month on board a vessel registered in Italy, with a chef who would not have known what a Yorkshire Pudding (note the capitals) was if it hit him in the eye. That vessel was the Sitmar Line's Castel Felice, the smallest of its fleet, and also the least known. Others, like the Fairstar, the Fairsea and the Fairsky, became famous, on the Australian route, and then the American cruise market, but the Castel? Now, my Italian not being the best, I may be wrong, but Castel Felice roughly translates as "Happy Castle", doesn't it? I missed most of the happy part of the voyage. Not that I was terribly sick, or anything, but it was a month at best forgotten. However, like all bad memories, that has been easier said than done.

Castel Felice, the smallest of the Sitmar Line Vessels on the Australian Migrant run.

But, I get in front of myself, as the saying goes, though I would think that is a pretty difficult thing to do. Back to the early part of the year, or even the last two weeks of 1962, and we find that Herself and Yours Truly have announced their engagement. That was on the birthday of one Pamela Wilson, on 21st December, after Yours Truly had to go through the purgatory of asking her dad, PC Joseph Wilson, for her hand in marriage (That is another stupid phrase, when you come to think about it, if you do; you want more than her hand, don't you?). Anyway, after putting myself through a lot of torture for quite a while, he said "Yes, well, we all wondered when you would actually get around to it." What did he mean, I thought, 'we all'? Had the whole of Kiveton Park been waiting for us to 'make it official'? Or was the 'we all' referring to 'the family'?

Just before the engagement date was upon us, the two of us, between us, in conjunction, decided that once we were married - at that time, not expected for another year, even eighteen months - we would migrate to Australia. We realised that the Australian Authorities would jump at the chance of getting their hands on two such upstanding young people, but we were not aware of the timing to be followed. The first obstacle, though was to break the news to Pam's parents, and we did not look forward to this. OK, we knew that my mum and dad would be pleased, as dad had told we three boys to migrate, but Bobby Wilson and his wife? Oh dear. When I bravely announced to the two of them what our plans were, they both laughed. 'There's something wrong here," I quickly thought to myself, as such thoughts usually are, "It's probably nervous laughter. I have heard about that in books." But, no the laughter was due to the fact that their decision had also been made; when we were married, they were going to migrate. The outcome, we both applied, and the authorities decided that we should travel together (I think someone got a discount, or something). So we married in less than six months, which probably set all the tongues wagging in Kiveton Park, which all the housewives would be pleased about (clothes would dry quicker) and in September, we set off from our idyllic pit village in South Yorkshire for a Land Down Under.

Moving on a few hours to miss out on all the very sad stuff at 202 Wales Road, we arrived in Southampton in the early hours of the morning, after passing through London in the dead of night. Oh, in an aside, one workmate in my first job in Melbourne asked me what London was like. I answered that it was dark. He asked me what I meant by dark. I said 'Well, it was the night we passed through it'. He was astounded that we had never been to London. He could not understand when I told him that we had no reason to go to London. We could buy anything we wanted in Sheffield. If I don't stop 'asiding' like this, we shall never get past the Indian Ocean.

Anyway, we joined the Castel Felice in Southampton Docks, and were shown to our quarters, down on D Deck. D Deck has a porthole through which you could look when the sea wasn't covering it. E Deck was definitely under water (the in-laws were on E Deck). Have you noticed the maritime jargon flowing from my keyboard? 'Joined', 'quarters', 'porthole'. These are all terms that we matelots use as a matter of course.

I don't know how the captain managed to get the ship away from the dock, and down the Solent without tipping it up, because all the migrants stood up on deck, looking back at Southampton, as if they could still see their own houses. Silly buggers. Of course, we did the same. After a time, we were faced with a great problem; we would have to go down to our cabins. This again was not a part of the trip to which I was looking forward. You see, we had found out that we - Pam and I - would not be together. I will start a new paragraph to let you consider the implications of this set-up.

Some 'orrible little man in some 'orrible little office had decided to find the five couples who had been married for the shortest time, and put the five blokes in one cabin, and their wives in the next cabin. That really set the scene for the rest of the trip. Now you have all heard about sailors, and what they get up to on long trips; and I was quite sure that I was not going to get caught up in any funny business. So, all my showers were taken with me standing with my back to the wall looking outwards. Not the easiest way to take a shower, but the safest, as far as I was concerned. OK, I was paranoid, but that is how I thought. Hell, and we are still in the Channel! Next morning, we awoke, and went down - I mean, up, for breakfast. Found a long table to sit at, and oh, soup, hey? The chef was good at soup. He could do four soups: a clear one, a clear one with bits in it, a thick soup, and a thick one with bits in it. And they all tasted the same. The rest of the breakfast has, mercifully faded into oblivion, and we wondered why we had risen at an early hour to have such a breakfast. That was the last time we had the 'official' breakfast. We found Mario!

We had been warned about the Bay of Biscay. Everybody gets seasick in the Bay of Biscay, we had been told. Most people did, but not Iron Belly Joe, Pam and I. We went in for lunch and dinner each day, and sat amongst ever diminishing passengers. When further south, and more found their sea-legs, numbers did pick up a bit, but that took a few days. But one thing did not change for the whole trip - our breakfasts with Mario. Mario was the barman in the Verandah Bar, which by night was the bar in which dances were held, and all the fun was had. Each morning, it opened at 10.00am, and each morning, we were Mario's first customers. Our breakfast consisted of one glass of rum and a cheese or ham roll, about six inches long, and freshly baked, for me, and a great big slab of fruit cake, also fresh, for Herself, and that certainly set us up for the day! And we didn't have to get up early for the privilege of getting up early.

One thing which became evident early in our 'cruise' was that the Castel sailed without the benefit of stabilisers. After all, who really needs stabilisers? Just add weight to the ship, don't they? We knew about it though, in the mildest swell, and slightly rougher weather meant that there was more room everywhere. When the Castel was fitted for cruising, or normal passages, she carried 900 passengers, while on this migrant passage, she carried 1350, with quite a fair proportion of children. But we were soon in the Mediterranean, and better weather, and reading on deck was pleasant, though after a few days, even that palled.

I don't know if everyone thinks the same as I did, but I had imagined that we would always be in sight of land during our sail through the Mediterranean, and I was surprised when we saw neither land nor other vessels during the whole trip through. But we had the Suez Canal to look forward to.

Most of the passengers were travelling under documents of identity; that is, they had a photo of each of the family (in our case, Pam's, and mine), which meant we were authorised to travel between England and Australia. This also meant that we were not allowed off the ship in other ports. So when we reached Port Said (silly name anyway, should be either spelled Port Side , or said Port Sed ), we moored off the docks, and were quickly surrounded by dozens of small boats carrying all sorts of junk which would be confiscated on arrival in Australia. But they certainly can barter, and really, always won. We moved on after a few hours, then moored again to await a north-bound convoy to pass up the canal before we could proceed (good word that). Off we went, into the Red Sea, and round the corner to Aden. Now, because, of course, Aden was a British Protectorate, we were able to disembark for a few hours. Once again, we moored in the bay. What's with this skipper? Can't he park alongside a jetty??? Mind you, in Aden, there isn't a jetty to park alongside anyway. So thrilled were we all at being able to disembark for once, and armed with all the warnings about not eating or drinking anything, we all arose early, and at 3.00am, we got into a launch for the short trip to the shore, only to find all the inhabitants asleep on their doorsteps in a ball of rags. Nothing strange in that, you may say, what are doorsteps for anyway? But this didn't last long, as when they realised that there were customers around, each ball of rags unwound itself to produce a shopkeeper, who opened up his shop to begin selling. And what a range of goods they had to sell. All sorts of cameras, watches, electrical goods, clothing, plus, in some shops, assorted junk. 'Care', and 'barter', are the watch words, as there are dodgy traders, but as long as you were careful and bartered well (Pam showed a real knack at this), you could do well.

I know we neither ate nor drank in Aden, and I assume that most others did not, but there was a near-universal stomach bug hit the ship on leaving Aden, which lasted for two days, and was pretty painful, but it did wear off, with the help of Mario, his ham sandwiches, and rum. Mind you, there was the joyful news that we were into the Indian Ocean now, and what was at the other side of this pond? Australia, or rather more importantly, Fremantle! We would be allowed off the ship, amongst people who spoke English. But we had not taken into account that Fremantle was thirteen days sailing away, and we were all by then sick of the sight of a beautiful blue sky, and endless seas, with the same horizon every single day. During our steam across the Indian Ocean, there was of course, the "Crossing The Line Ceremony". I cannot say much about it as I was in a prone position in my bunk, when not in the heads (lav, to you). Slowly but surely, we drew closer to our destination, and eventually, we sailed into Fremantle harbour, and the skipper surprised us all - he actually parked alongside a dock! Down went the gangplanks, only just beating the throng of passengers, who to a man rushed across the road from the dock, into the railway station, and entrained for the capital city of Western Australia, Perth.

Now Perth was a marvellous surprise. It proved to be a clean, bright city, with, in the city centre, wide roads, and, being a weekend, little traffic. I did find out later that while Perth is a reasonable large city as cities go in Australia, it was never very busy due to its small population, compared with Melbourne or Sydney.

From the station, we wandered along these streets, and down to the public gardens and park alongside the Swan River, which at that point broadened to form quite a large lake, but after spending a couple of hours there, our stomachs told us that it was time to eat, so it was back to the centre. Spotting a large, pleasant looking restaurant, we headed for its doors, only to find that most of the passengers from the Castel Felice had the same thought: every table was surrounded by recognizable faces! We ordered a pot of tea. Made with real milk ! And chips . And an egg . And steak . Looking around, we noticed the orders of all other passengers: a pot of tea; chips ; an egg , and steak . It was absolutely lovely!!!

We also took back to the ship flasks of milk, so that we could have proper tea, made with proper milk. Let's face it, a cuppa made with powdered milk wasn't quite what we were used to! All in all, it was a beautiful day in Perth, the first day spent in our new homeland, yet it only made us more eager to reach our final destination. In our case, of course, that was Melbourne, a further four days sailing away, but four days did not seem too long to wait now, when we were so close.

On the morning of the fifth day, we awoke to find that we could see actual land on both sides of the ship – while we were asleep in the early hours of the morning, we had entered Port Phillip Bay, and were well on our way to the city of Melbourne, at its head. We were torn between packing our cases, and looking out at our new country passing slowly by. We carefully packed the cases in less than ten seconds, rushing back on deck to keep an eye on Victoria. So, early that morning, the ship was tied up at Station Pier, sticking out like a sore thumb into Hobson's Bay, at the top of Port Phillip Bay, and after quite a while, those who had come to meet us were allowed on the ship. They just wanted to talk, but our only aim was to get off the ship for the last time, and eventually we did.

The trip to Dandenong was, I suppose, an anti-climax. We were still excited, and enjoyed looking at everything we passed on our way through the suburbs of Melbourne, but the main thing was: we have actually arrived!

The nearer we got to Dandenong, the better we liked it. Houses looked newer, which they were, and cleaner, and we noticed a lot of parks, and closer to Dandenong, even a green belt between what could be termed the south eastern suburbs and Dandenong, a city in its own right. Our new home proved to be a mixture of the old and the new. There were many new homes, yet the main street still held all the old buildings, alongside a recently opened Coles supermarket, the first in Dandenong.

Houses were a revelation too. Virtually all of them were single story - why not, there was plenty of room - and we were quickly informed not to call them bungalows, as we had done in England. The Australian term 'bungalow' referred to a building in the back garden of a house, which could be used as extra rooms - usually two - and at that time usually made of fibro cement. Many of the newer single story homes were beautifully designed, with more brick veneer being built and less of the weatherboard, at that time. Now, there are almost no wooden ones being built at all.

I had written a letter to mum and dad from Aden, and another from Perth, and it didn't take too long to send another after we arrived in Dandenong. But the best letter was written some few months later, and sent from England, when, in response to a letter to them, mum and dad told us that, yes, they would start proceedings for them, Jim and Peter to migrate. That was great news, and helped set off our life in Australia.

Footnote:

The Sitmar Line (Sitmar = Societa Italiana Trasporti Marittimi) was formed by Russian emigre Alexandre Vlasov. Sitmar ships all carried a "V" for Vlasov on their funnels. He operated cargo ships under various flags (including Greek, Italian and British) before and during the war. After the war, numerous American wartime standard ships were available for purchase, and Vlasov bought two. These were suitable for emigrant carriers, since both had been troopships during the war. He chartered them to the International Refugee Organisation, run by the UN. These charters were coming to an end by 1952, so both vessels were put into service as emigrant carriers from Genoa to Central America, and then, in 1957, sold to the Spanish Line.

Vlasov also bought two American C3 ships, and rebuilt one as the 1800 passenger 'Fairsea' (1), initiating the naming style for future Sitmar ships. She initially operated IRO charters, and was then put on the Australian run. In 1955, she was given a long-term contract by Australia to carry emigrants from Southampton. The other C3 ship became the 'Fairsky' (1) in 1957, and also joined the Australian service. Also joining that service were the 'Castel Felice', (originally the Bibby Line's 'Kenya'), and 'Fairstar', (previously the Bibby Line's troopship 'Oxfordshire'). These four ships maintained this service until 1970, when the contract passed to Chandris Lines. On the loss of this contract, Sitmar tried to regain it, but failed, so changed its policy and devoted their activities towards becoming a major cruise company.

The number (1) beside the names of 'Fairsea' and 'Fairsky' indicate that those ships were the first to carry their name for Sitmar. 'Fairsea (1) was scrapped in 1969 following a fire in the engine room, and the 'Castel Felice' in 1970 following the loss of the Australian contract, while the Fairsky (1) was sold for scrap in 1977.