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Living in a house that looked out over the Derwent River and having access to the many trading ships that unloaded their cargoes in Hobart, it was hardly surprising that Brian Cane became a merchant seaman.
What was surprising was that he served on merchant ships throughout World War II and survived. Life expectancy for merchant crews was not high during the war.
Many of the whaling fleets from England and Norway obtained their supplies at Hobart before heading for Antarctica. As a child, Brian was a regular visitor to these ships and spent many happy hours on board. "We would go down to the wharf during the school lunch hour and look at the huge mother ship and its attendant fleet of whaler chasers," he wrote in his autobiography.
"The far-away-world of the ships, the smell of salt, engine fuel, ropes and symbols of countries that lay on the other side of the earth filled our minds with strange adventures and excitement. P&O passenger liners, Orient Line passenger ships, ships of all nations and sizes, we would explore the lot." He continued to mess about in boats during school holidays and when he was 16, he became an apprentice. Brian Cane wrote: "My parents had paid the fifty pounds sterling for my apprenticeship and I found myself at the age of sixteen on the zinc works wharf at Risdon, Hobart, about to board this huge grey hulled ship, the MV Port Gisborne, for what I thought would be the adventure of my life on 30 October 1938,"
"The crew on these ships consisted of about 40 to 45 men, one captain, four mates, one bosun, one lamp trimmer (who looked after all the deck stores and canvas), one chippy (the carpenter), three quartermasters (kind of senior sailors), about 10 sailors and a peggy boy (he used to clean up the forecastle and bring food from the galley for the sailor. He was generally about 15 years of age and a kind of apprentice sailor), about another eight firemen who also lived in the forecastle, five stewards and chief steward (who catered for the food stores), seven engineers, and finally, at the bottom of the list, the apprentices, usually three of us." Brian Cane served on a number of ships during his apprenticeship, making seven voyages ranging from 135 days to 271 days. His first voyage took him to Brisbane to load frozen meat, tons of butter and large quantities of sugar before sailing to Melbourne for a load of wool. Then he was off on his first trip to England.
After another trip to Europe and a visit to New York and on through the Panama Canal, Brian Cane was in Hobart when war broke out.
On his next voyage he had his first taste of what was to come. As his convoy neared England two ships blew up and sunk after hitting magnetic mines off Dover. "I can't recall any particular emotion," Brian wrote, "a bit of astonishment at hearing the thump and seeing bales of wool come shooting out of the hold into the water." With the advent of war, the financial situation improved for apprentices thanks to "danger money", an extra two pounds ten shillings each for the apprentices, added to the four pounds a month they already received. This money covered laundering of white uniforms, shoes, buying clothes from the ship's slop chest and all other necessities. Cigarettes were 30 shillings for 1000.
His next ship, the Port Alma, had degaussing coils fitted to help repel magnetic mines. On a voyage to Montevideo the ship's lookouts were doubled due to the presence in the area of the German pocket battleship Graf Spee, which had already sunk several ships in the South Atlantic. "Most convoys had some scares," Brian Cane wrote. "Occasionally a ship would get sunk. There would be many alerts, depth charges would go off. The escorts would put up their black hunting flags but we never knew if there really was a submarine or they were just blowing up a whale. We were never told. One of the most unfortunate things was that if you did get sunk, unless you were in a convoy with a rescue ship, no one ever picked you up as a ship that stopped was a sitting target." Carrying troops, his ship fuelled and stored at Cape Town before heading for the Suez Canal. "Originally, I think, we were supposed to go to Piraeus in Greece but the Germans beat us to it," Brian wrote. "We arrived in Port Said at the same time as the returning soldiers from Greece and Crete.
"The German air force used to mine the Suez Canal most nights, so, in the morning, our aircraft used to fly low over the Canal. The aircraft used to have huge rings of wire going from half way out on their wings, around the nose and through the fuselage. It was magnetised and would explode the mines underneath." During stop overs in London, Brian experienced the total darkness of a blackout during enemy bombing raids. "If it was an overcast night and I was in a built-up area, it was totally dark," he wrote. "Even wandering around Soho [in central London] looking for a restaurant that I had been in only the day before, was hard. All I could see, if I looked very hard, was a small illuminated sign in the door saying "Hong Kong Restaurant" or whatever, and I would not know if it was tiny or big.
"As for finding an address at night, just forget it. The pictures used to start at 7.30pm and threw us out at 9.30pm so everyone could get home before the raids started. Even then, on going down to catch the underground, people, men, women and children, would be sleeping on both sides o0f the corridors with just walking space between them. On the platforms they would be sleeping head to the wall like rows of sardines, with just enough space for the passengers to catch the train. In some stations they had double bunks against the walls.
The underground trains would come in with a terrific blast of air, a rumble of engines and a squeal of brakes then take off again. What a way to spend nights, month after month, year after year." Having completed his time as an apprentice, Brian studied for his second mate's ticket. He was horrified to learn that at 19½ years of age he was too young to sit for it. The Board of Trade eventually let him sit the exams with the proviso that his ticket be marked temporary until he turned 20.
Having passed the exams he signed on as a Third Mate on a tanker carrying fuel from the US to England. "Our tanker only did 10 knots," he wrote. "We were pressing to keep up if ever we were in a 10 knot convoy which we sometimes were.
"We liked the 10 knot convoys as it was harder for the submarines. They could easily surface at night, go ahead, and wait for an eight knot convoy.
"Prior to a convoy departing, a convoy conference was held at which the latest naval information was issued. When we departed from a port after final loading, we did not always know where we were bound until a day or so at sea, when our secret envelope was opened. This envelope also included the secret codes that would be used for the convoy routine, usually a different code for every day or so.
"I think convoy duties in the winter of the North Atlantic are one of my most unpleasant memories of the war." There would be a string of ships, seldom with more than five ships in a vertical line. Trying to keep in the right place in a convoy was a nightmare. "For instance, when you see your own ship catching up to the ship ahead, you can only put the engine down about two or three revs or you will go back on the ship behind you. By the time your ship has slowed down your bows are very close to the stern of the ship ahead of you. Then the ship ahead finds he has dropped back out of station and increases his speed to get back on station. So, now you have to increase speed by about five revs to catch up. This goes on endlessly.
"Worse was still to come if you were in a submarine area. The convoy commodore might decide to zigzag the convoy so you would get the orders to use a zigzag code number when the commodore pulls down the flag. Then you had to set your zigzag clock to a set speed. This was fine if you could ensure the whole convoy was all on the same time." In heavy fog the ships used to trail little fog buoys which floated at the end of a 1000ft wire. The ship behind kept this in sight from the plume of water thrown up by it to avoid ramming the ship ahead.
In January 1945, Brian's ship had unloaded in Antwerp and was heading out of port. "It was a perfect cold clear day and a few miles past Antwerp we could hear the sound of aircraft."
"I was leaning on the port side bridge rail and saw a column of water speeding towards the ship. I assumed some of the shore guns were firing into the water. The penny dropped and I connected the aircraft and the guns and looked up to see fighters with guns going off, homing in on me.
"At the same time as I went for shelter, the guns hit the ship and the fighter passed over us at masthead height. I actually saw the pilot as he banked slightly to see what he'd done. I missed the next few moments as I fell down the ladder from the bridge some 10 feet, injuring my knees and back on the steel deck below." Brian Cane was docked at Gravesend on 5 May – VE Day and took part in the celebrations in London. "This was an unbelievable day," he wrote. "I went up to Picadilly Circus on the afternoon of the 5th and joined a throng of thousands of people just moving around the circus and Oxford Street doing nothing. With the feeling of relief and exuberance that was generated in the atmosphere by the people, it was an exciting feeling." Brian Cane sailed to Japan to deliver fuel for the occupation forces. He managed to visit Hiroshima to have a look at the damage caused by the Atom Bomb. "We first went up to the building under the point where the bomb exploded, which was a concrete shell with some steel girders and the roof missing," he wrote. "We looked around at complete devastation. It was if someone had taken a swipe at the city with a scythe and cut everything off at about two feet above the ground." Brian eventually returned to Australia but discovered that as a professional seaman he had to pay his own fare of 150 pounds sterling to fly on a converted Liberator bomber. This was close to six months pay.
On his return to Hobart he was told that he was not regarded as an ex-serviceman and was not entitle to any of the benefits available to returned sailors, airmen and soldiers.
Brian was keen to get away from the sea but work was hard to find so he decided to sit for his Coastal Master''s ticket and took a job as Master of the Tasmanian Government Research Trawler. He found the life dull and returned to the sea for a further two years, finally coming ashore in 1950.
The material for this article was supplied by Eleanor Coombe of New South Wales
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