Coming aboard a new ship as a crew member for the first time effects an emotional transition as well as the mere physical stepping from the dockside. I well remember this internal struggle as I joined my first ship P & O ss Canberra 46 years ago. Despite my long experience this transition from drab landsman to smart seaman took me by surprise.

I arrived at the meeting point for this voyage outside the marina office some four hours early because of timetabling of available flights and sitting with my bags in a strange zone of silence in the untended cafe section of the adjacent supermarket I tried the phone number in the joining instructions, as prescribed for early arrival. Using my UK phone the internationally prefixed number rang briefly with a strange tone, but then a voice – mercifully in English – told me that the number was not available. The phone displayed the message: call failed.

I was not uneasy as I told myself that phone service is often chancy. There is little likelihood of this whole setup – for which I have paid in advance – is some internet scam in which unsuspecting trainee seamen are fleeced of their small resources. Putting aside this type of thinking and also the lesser problems such as business failure, I determined to ‘man up’ and make inquiries at the Marine Office.

Clambering up to the second floor of a smart square blue building, following signs to the Marina Office I entered a large space tenanted by a single woman who delayed looking up at me until the last possible moment.

“Hello, I am looking for Mr Wickett of Kay Sira. I cannot contact him through the telephone number I have been given. Can you help me?” I inquired courteously.

“If you student must wait downstairs” was her gnomic utterance in reply.

“Ah, no, I don’t think you understand. I have arrived four hours early and I need to follow the instructions in this paper to make contact with Mr Wickett. I only have a UK phone – can you ring this local number and ask Mr Wicket to come?” I showed the lady my joining instructions, and borrowing a highlighter from her desk, I helpfully indicated the local number. Very reluctantly, she reached for a phone and dialled, but alas, she got the same message as I.

“Must wait downstairs. Cannot stay in office,” she said and at that moment a radio telephone started to squawk and she lovingly picked it up, offering her lips to it like a lover, and spoke in rapid Malay. When the radio conversation died down, I rejoined:

“Can you please show me where Mr Wickett’s boat, Kay Sira is berthed?”

“No cannot”, she immediately replied, with some satisfaction, as if she had seen a pretty obvious trick designed to catch her out.

Fast forward to the next morning. The crew is awaking and I must make tea.

More later.