Thursday August 3, 1922

Lat: 5° 2’ N. Long: 3° 32’ W. 276 Miles travelled.

 We reached Grand Bassam this morning. Far away from the coast earlier in the day we passed a little tiny canoe with one occupant – an African. The canoe must have been about 10 feet long and yet I am told they go up to 10 miles from land into the Atlantic. They are said to be the smallest ocean going craft in the world. Certainly it looked almost like a cork as we passed it!

Three boats paddled by Africans came out to us as we anchored in deep water some distance from the shore. Each man had a paddle looking like a large arrow with a very broad head. The appearance of the boat as it approached (the Paddlers arms and paddles all seemed one) was that of a huge spider crawling on the water!

The passengers who came on board and those who left were transported to and from the little boats in a wooden pannier using the ships tackle (crane) just as luggage and mail bags are hoisted!

There were two English boats lying off Grand Bassam. I think every group of ships we have seen so far has included one or more British ships in its number. It gives one a peculiar pleasure to see a distant ship flying the English flag – and fortunately these ships are plentiful in all the waters of the world.
“…the merchant fleet of the British Empire totals 11,135 ships,
with a gross tonnage of 22,058,112 tons.
the ships of the rest of the world only total 22,372
 with a gross tonnage of 43,108,126 tons. So that one
in every three ships met on the Ocean is British.”

“There are always about 1,000 ships
Of the British register traversing the
trade routes at any given moment and
these trade routes have a length of
                                       80,000 square miles” 
               - Excerpts from two news clippings


We are now sailing in the equatorial waters known as the Doldrums. This region was much dreaded by sailors in the old days before steam ships were known because sailing ships were sometimes becalmed for days or weeks in a perfectly helpless condition.
This is a dull day, with grey sea and leaden sky almost the same colour. There are no waves and the surface of the sea is quite smooth except for the undulations of the Atlantic rollers which heave up and down. One can quite imagine what dread these waters running along the equator had for the ancient mariners. With our steam driven propeller we cannot understand what travelling meant to them in those days. Far out at sea in this belt of water the wind has practically no direction (except upwards!). As we are really fairly near land (though we cannot see it) we enjoy the cool air produced by the land and sea breezes previously mentioned (July 29) while the coal fires send us further onwards.

Indeed we are steadily steaming off the map! At the point where we cross the equator (i.e. 0.0° of latitude) we shall be almost exactly on the Greenwich meridian of longitude 0.0° .
The view from "nowhere"

Thus our “address” will be 0° Lat, 0° Long. The depth of water in this region is 20,000 feet (3000 fathoms). In other words we shall be nowhere! This is the only spot on the Earth of which this can be said, so we are really very privileged in visiting this on our first ocean trip.

“Now a sounding of 3000 fathoms requires seventy-five
minutes for its accomplishment, and the approximate
time of descent will be thirty minutes. The Imagination
grasps more readily the tremendous significance of such
a depth as the wire runs out steadily and rapidly, minute
after minute, for half-an-hour; while the seventy pound lead
plunges downwards from the lambent blues and greens
of the surface waters to the black depths below; while it
passes through a magic world
‘…where the branching coral hives
Unending strife of endless lives;
Where, leagued about the ‘wildered boat,
The rainbow jellies fill and float;
And, lilting where the laver lingers,
The starfish trips on all her fingers’
Thus, the spirit of true romance inspires even such a prosaic
proceeding as sounding the oceanic depths, where strange
creatures flit through the black darkness by the light of their
own phosphorescence; where reigns a stillness like that of the
farthest depths of space, untroubled by the thundering
tempest overhead; where even the dominion of man is still
in evidence, in the stretch of the submarine cable which links
two continents together, hung in catenary curves across the
hollows, or lying half-buried in the ooze of the oceans bed.”
- Excerpt from news clipping.

So far it has been nothing like so hot as I expected. At present it is considerably cooler than much of our home summer weather. There is, however, a moistness in the air that makes one feel perpetually more or less “sticky” – apart from this we have had practically nothing that could be called “trying”.

The clocks are forward another half an hour today.

On a long journey as ours is – 6 weeks or more – we come up against the question:
Why?
Why bother?
Why come?
Why care at all?
The last 3 pages of the Jungle Book (Kipling) suggest a key to the answer (ch. On Her Majesties Servants). It is a Kings Command that Christianity to a man “carries on” with the work, ones not to reason why. It is also a desire – a longing – of a heavenly father that this thing should be done and it would be mean not to.


It is also the word of a Gentleman of the strictest honour: We must go on.
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Wednesday August 2, 1922

Lat: 4° 20' Long: 7° 59'. 360 miles travelled.

We have now finished sailing west and have begun going east. We are therefore now meeting the sun and it necessary to put clocks and watches on. Thus today the interval between breakfast and lunch was shortened by half an hour.

It is interesting how large an importance is given to meals when activity in other respects is curtailed as it must be to some degree on board a ship. Nothing goes by the clock, everything is timed by on meal times. Since the meals are served on the tick of time I suppose all this is merely two ways of saying the same thing!

We are not so isolated as you might imagine when at sea. Periodically there is published on board news from the British Wireless Press – and other countries  - notably France as far as we concerned here – issue similar communiques.

For some part of today we have been sailing within sight of the African coast. We can just make out the long sandy shore and the dark green of multitudes of trees beyond. With the glass one can distinguish the typically tropical trees. The sea dashes on the sand (much as it does at Woolacombe) making a conspicuous white line all along the shore. This sand stretches for hundreds, even thousands of miles. We could follow it from here to the Cape if we cared to!


We cannot see far inland as the ground is not high until one gets a good way inland - that is quite far out of sight. The African continent is rather like an enormous inverted saucer with the addition of a flat edge:  at present we can only see the flat rim. We shall gradually climb the inland plateau as we go up the Congo river, but as we only rise 12 inches (approx.) for every mile we go it seems very flat although we are really (or shall be!) rising steadily all the time.
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Tuesday August 1, 1922


Lat: 7°13” N. Long 13°16”W. 157m to noon.

We are at sea again and out of sight of land. It is necessary for ships to keep fairly far out even when “coasting” as the currents in this region are strong and variable in their direction. With a light one can actually see the course of some of the currents.

Watching the waves formed by the ships bows cutting the water is an endless fascination. On the ship one is “behind” the waves as they break and roll away from us. The water heaps itself up – deep blue in colour – mounts higher, curls over – showing a most exquisite edging of bright green for a moment before spreading itself out in a mass of dazzling white foam on the dark blue surface of the sea, while a shower of spray, blown backwards by the wind makes fairy rainbows of the softest hues. All along the ships sides little tiny wavelets curl and ripple like little children trying to copy the action of some great giant.

This is the 41st voyage of the S.S Albertville.  She weighs 7500 tons. There are 98 first class passengers. The crew includes a number of African Natives.
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Monday July 31, 1922

Lat: 10.8N, Long 15.29W. 342 Miles travelled.

A dull, rainy day – quite a new experience for us! But it makes the weather quite cool – remarkably so for our position and the time of year.

We were about 3 hours late in leaving Dakar. But with increased speed we have made up a good deal of our delay to reach Conakry by 8.0pm tonight thus keeping up to our time table.

It was interesting to reach a port in the dark (it is quite dark by 8.0pm now) though it prevented us from seeing anything of the port except a lights and the dark outline of hills against the sky, faintly lit by the young moon shining through a thin film of cloud.


A motor boat came out and took off the passengers and luggage for this port. We remained at anchor in the harbour for some 4 hours and left again just after midnight and continued on our way.
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Sunday July 30, 1922

At Dakar. Till noon: 207 miles.

We reached here something after 5.0am. I, of course, was where all respectable people should be at that hour, but the slowing down of the ship roused me. I looked through my porthole and had my first view of Africa.



Just opposite was the small rocky island guarding the entrance to Dakar harbour: beyond was the low sandy African coast reaching far far away into the distance till sea, sky and coast line all merged into one another indistinguishably. It was a grey cloudy morning, but a brightness in the east showed where the sun was peeking through the clouds and a faint patch of sunlight water stretched from the distance to the ship.

We sailed slowly into the harbour and dropped anchor. Meanwhile I returned to bed, appearing again at breakfast time!
After breakfast we were fascinated and amused by the diving boys of Dakar (Photo 17) who came out in canoes and would dive most cleverly for coins (or almost anything else) thrown into the water. They balance their unsteady canoes with great skill and dive off almost without rocking the canoe.
They seize the coin in their hand and then use their mouth as a purse for their collection, periodically returning to their canoe to deposit their “earnings”. Sometimes they put the coin in their mouths before rising to the surface, giving the appearance of having caught it in their mouths. There is much friendly rivalry and taunting between the competing canoes which the boys enjoy as much as their spectators lining the ships sides on each deck.
We are delayed here longer than we expected for some necessary repairs to our engines.
We are now in a tropical ship. The transformation is practically complete: the ships officers and (European) crew are now entirely in white so the change is now official. Our party is in white and all the ships fittings pertaining to the tropics have now appeared.
Electric fans are going everywhere in the saloons etc, (each cabin has a fan also) white cotton covers have appeared on chairs, sofas etc. Bright curtains have replaced the darker and heavier blue ones with which we started – and iced drinks are in evidence.
The portholes in the lower parts of the ship are fitted with special “scoops” to catch the air current made by the ships advance – and divert it into the rooms. The top (boat) deck is covered by double awning and most of the passengers are resplendent in in white or khaki with their “lids” on (i.e. with helmets). From now on we must wear our helmets whenever we go out from 2 hours after sunrise to 2 hours before sunset, whether it is cloudy or clear.



We have really begun African life today.

We saw great numbers of porpoises this evening leaping some feet into the air from the sea and falling or diving back with a loud “splosh”. These huge fish were most fascinating to watch and could easily keep up with the ships speed – indeed one or two could have out-run her. I attempted to photograph a group of three as they leaped in the air. They seemed to just be enjoying themselves: quite 20 could be counted within a few seconds, seemingly playing hide and seek among the waves.
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Saturday July 29, 1922

Lat: 17.57 N. Long: 17.30W. 308 miles.

A perfect summer day – and hot! A blue sky, hardly any cloud and a smooth blue sea.
We saw shoals of flying fish today leaping from the water and skimming along its surface in groups and singly for quite considerable distances. To the unaided eye they look almost like sparrows flying until the little streak of white foam marks the spot where they dived again into the sea.

These fish lead an unhappy life:
Leaving the sea for a moment to escape some marine enemy they become the prey of sea birds. But the numbers we saw showed that plenty swim on, in spite of their precarious existence!
Another example of sea life of which we saw was the Argonaut  - a floating shell fish,  fan shaped and of a beautiful pink colour it sails edge up among the waves like a little canvas sail (hence the name). A wave would sometimes knock one flat but it would quickly right itself. They passed singly at intervals of some hundred yards – quite small but very pretty especially with the glass.

The heat caused a curious illusion hardly perceptible with the naked eye but markedly visible with the glass. This was a jagged, uneven appearance of the horizon instead of the perfectly straight line was are accustomed to associate with the skyline at the sea side at home. The appearance is of course just the hot air rising and causing distortion of objects in the distance. This is the same as the “watery” appearances seen on hot days on land, or over the funnel of a steam roller or locomotive.

We passed two big ships today, they seem so companionable when there is nothing else in sight by sea.


Our smoke is drifting away at right angles – that is today eastward as we sail southwards. We can see no land but we are on a level with the Sahara desert and its baking sands which cause (by day) a great upward current of air which draws in cooler streams from the sea and so our smoke is drawn towards the great continent – thus we can feel its presence although we cannot see it. Overnight the conditions are reversed and we shall have a land breeze since the land cools quicker than the sea. The clouds go south (approx.) as at Tenerife. 
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Friday July 28, 1922

Lat: 23.05 N Long: 17.21 W. Distance: 326 miles to noon

There is much about Tenerife which did not come under yesterday’s date which I am gradually recalling. So many fresh scenes and experiences makes it very difficult to give a complete description in any sense of the word.

The variety of animals seen in the streets was remarkable: dogs, cats, goats, fowls, donkeys, mules and camels were among those we saw on our drive. The Kaktus grows abundantly and forms hedges in some places; palm trees gave an added tropical appearance to many of the gardens, oleanders   grew by the roadside and we passed through two avenues of eucalyptus trees. Those latter are especially valuable for pier purposes as they are very resistant to the action of the sea water which causes rot in other woods.

As we left the island it was interesting to note that the clouds were traveling in the opposite direction to our smoke. This phenomenon is due to the circulation of air between the equatorial regions and the poles. Hot air rises and passes northward in the upper layers of the atmosphere whilst cooler air flows southwards from the poles nearer the earth’s surface. Thus our smoke drifted on ahead of us (southward) while the clouds floated gently toward the north.

We have lapsed back into our usual routine today. The sky is cloudy but the weather is fine.
Tonight at 9.0pm there was a concert in the dining saloon suitably transformed for the purpose. The singer (male) had a most beautiful voice; the violinist was good but most of the others were weak. Many of the passengers made this their first occasion of appearing in white (tropical) attire. The boat is gradually changing its appearance as we enter warmer regions: even the stewards and officers are beginning to change (also gradually!): they now appear in white trousers but with their dark blue jackets. It will be a day or two before these are shed and the transformation is complete!

Tonight the sea shows another characteristic of the tropics – little specks of phosphorescence among the foam along the ship's sides looking like little glow-worm lights among the waves. The phosphorescence is produced by a little water animal and is seen where the water has been stirred up by the ships “wash”.


We are travelling faster tonight.
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Thursday July 27, 1922

Tenerife.

Distance travelled 174 miles.
The sky last evening was grey and the sea an unbroken stretch of water.
This morning I was roused from bed by the stopping of the propeller. It was 6.0 am. A week ago today we were conscious of its action: now we have become so accustomed to it that its cessation strikes one immediately as something “new”. I jumped up and looked through my porthole.


Across a stretch of water of the bluest blue and deliciously rippled on the surface rose great mountains of rock rising right from the water’s edge and towering tier upon tier – higher and higher away back into the interior of the island (The highest peak is over 12,000 feet). In many places the mountain sides were bare jaded rock but for the most part covered with coarse vegetation, too far off to be seen in any detail. In the steep-sided valleys between these giant rocks one could just make out the dark green of great woods, flourishing in their protected position. The sun was low down away to the right and shining brilliantly not far above the horizon so that the whole scene was lit up from the side. The effect was really indescribable.
Magnificent
          The morning rose, in memorable pomp,
          Glorious as e'er I had beheld--in front,
          The sea lay laughing…. near,
          The solid mountains shone, bright as the clouds,
          Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light;
          And in the meadows and the lower grounds
          Was all the sweetness of a common dawn –
Wordsworth The prelude book IV.


All the hills and valleys facing east were enjoying the full sunlight and was clear and bright to the smallest detail the unaided eye could make out; all those facing west were in deep shadow – black and indistinct by contrast yet looking magnificent in their mystery, whilst the sharp ridges running down the mountain sides divided the one from the other by a line as clear cut as a knife edge.
I dressed quickly and went to the front of the boat and there before me the town of Santa Cruz was spread out: bathed in the early sunlight with dark blue sea in front and the great rocky mountains behind.

The houses, white, pink, yellows and a host of other shades, flat topped and crowded together made a living interpretation of pictures one had seen of Eastern cities in the Mediterranean or some Syrian town on the sea of Galilee…

-   We breakfasted at 7.0am and went ashore as soon as possible in one of the motor launchers which had come out for the purpose. Securing a Guide we were conducted to two good motor cars on the quay and dividing our party – 5 persons filled each car, away we went.
First to the market to try some of the island's famous fruit and then on for a most delightful drive. It was good to feel the earth under ones feet once more!

The market place was not unlike a corner of that at Barnstaple – with stalls numbered in a similar way – but the people – the waves, the languages and the customs of the market were all so different and therefore, so interesting.

After trying fruit - baskets and all for 2f we went a long winding hill to the former capital of the island: Laguna. Our car was a powerful Overland and the way she went up that hill was good for the soul. It was delightful to be motoring again – and so unexpected (with eyes shut we might almost have been doing some long climb with our good old cars on Exmore). The road was appallingly bad in surface as we know roads but on we flew up and up until we reached the Cathedral of the old town – a rather gaudy Catholic place of little beauty but considerable historic interest. 


Some sort of Morning Prayer was taking place; much mumbling and chanting which could hardly be called musical. I wondered how much the people understood and what benefit they got from a strange tongue and could not keep from feeling how much better they would have done by walking outside over the eternal hills at their very doors – with the great mighty ocean in the distance – away from the crowds and conventions of the life in the narrow streets to be even for a few moments of the glorious dawn:
“Alone with God amidst the mystic shadows the solemn hush of Nature newly born, Alone with Him in breathless adoration in the calm dew and freshness of the morn”.
The Cathedral is dedicated to St. Christopher and as we passed a little later on the return from our drive a military procession formed up in the square and fired a salute in honour of the Saint.

 We returned to Santa Cruz and saw the Cathedral there. Here the guide proudly shows us some English flags captured by the Spaniards from Nelson. Nearby is the sacred cross (whence the town gets its name) brought here from Spain on May 3, 1494. Dispensing the cars we went to the shops and learned the method of bargaining from our Elders in the art!
The shop keepers on principle ask up to twice as much as they are likely to get and the purchasers offer about half what he is prepared to give and gradually the two meet (or hope to!) at some common price somewhere between the two extremes. To watch (and hear) the Palmers (experienced here and well-remembered by the shops people) was an entertainment of the most amusing kind.
I made one or two purchases but have reserved most of any shopping for my journey home (otherwise we would pay duty on entering the Congo to no purpose). I have earmarked one or two choice things to bring back with me.


We returned to the Albertville just after 11.0 and sailed away just before noon giving three blasts on the hooter in salute as we left. We sailed past mountainous coast for the rest of the day but by nightfall we were out in the open sea once more.

It is good to feel these great mountains will wait here for us until our return journey and will look just as fresh and bright and wonderful when we next see them as now and will still be looking so to others all the time which intervenes whilst we are working in the heart of Africa.


Tonight there is a beautiful crescent moon in the west making a faint beautifully mysterious “path of glory” across the great waters. Venus shines close by with a brilliant radiance as we sail away with bows pointing south.   

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Wednesday July 26, 1922

Self 'Port'rait
Lat: 31° 05' N.
Long: 14° 49' W. Distance travelled: 280 miles.

- The ship is a place of many sounds. The vessel speaks officially with its hooter - with this it warns passengers, salutes passing ships and announces its presence in fog. Time of day is declared by bells, meals are sounded on a bugle. On Sundays bells and whistles may be heard, their meaning is beyond ordinary mortals but they seem understood by those for whom they are meant. Boat drill is announced by gongs.





We had our second boat drill today. Each cabin has some place in one of the boats corresponding with number. Boat drill councils in taking your life preserver with you to your boat and there answering your name at a roll call. The ships hooter then announces all is well and we carry on with our previous occupations or make the interruption an excuse for doing something else. Notices are pinned up before drill occurs, warning us of its imminence.

- The wind is still behind us, keeping us on. Our smoke (such as it is: we have good stokers who manage to consume practically all of it so that little waste of fuel occurs!) blows gently on ahead of us as we steam along. We are only going slowly now as we are ahead of time.

There are about 18 African Missionaries on board (8 British, the rest American). We had a little devotional meeting on the boat deck in a quiet corner after dinner tonight.

- It is getting appreciably warmer. Tenerife marks the beginning of "Tropical Regions". Even today one or two of the electric fans (which are fitted everywhere) were working for the first time this journey.

Tonight there is quite a strong coal wind blowing.
Looking forward from ship.

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Tuesday July 25, 1922

Tuesday July 25

Lat: 35° 28’ N. Long 12° 54’ W. Distance from Noon to Noon: 289 miles.
We passed today with our normal routine: after breakfast all sat in a row on the promenade deck and diligently studied our respective languages.

At 11.15 we formed two groups for a language lesson under –two words unreadable. - Rev. Palmer respectfully spent the afternoon asleep!
Vigorous game of croquet on the boat deck between tea and dinner.

A walk round the deck and a talk over some iced lemonade ended another day at sea.
Tonight we had the chance of sending home a “radio-letter”. This is a brief letter which is wirelessed over to a passing ship whose operator posts the message from the (passing) ships next port of call i.e. nearer England. We passed the Elizabethville (from Matadi) during the afternoon and our messages will be posted from La Pallice.
We saw three ships today. Shipping has decreased as we have come further from British waters. We passed a large ship in full sail the other evening: a truly magnificent sight and one becoming comparatively rare: it was like the picture 'Off Valparaiso' come to life.



Thomas J. Somerscales 'Off Valparaiso' Tate.


Some ships go east, some ships go west,
The self-same wind doth blow;
But rudder and sail, and not the gale,
Decide where the ship shall go.

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Monday July 24, 1922

Monday July 24.

Lat 39° 59’ N. Long 10° 47’ W. 306 miles travelled during 24 hours till noon today.
Today has been a day of cause and effect. After rounding Cape Finisterre we have been sailing practically due south. This means that the waves strike us now broadside on – causing the ship to roll from side to side instead of the usual pitching and tossing. This is cause 1. Suggestion from stories, from the behaviour of others probably contributed its share
Effect: Mal de Mer.
This is a malady which effects those that go down to the sea in ships – particularly in the early days of their going down. It may be divided into the following stages:
1 - Feeling. 
2 - Being.
3 - Convalescence.
The onset may be sudden or gradual – usually there are premonitory signs. Stage 1 may be protracted over a period of hours or even days. Stage 2 is usually followed by a rapid recovery. The malady resembles appendicitis in raising the patient (or victim) to a higher state of fitness than was his case before the onset of the condition. Now let us pass from the general to the particular:

Woke about 6.0 am feeling uncomfortable, decided to remain in bed instead of attempting breakfast. Retrogressed during the morning and by midday saw everything with a “well jaundiced eye”. My cabin had become a miserable cupboard, the ship a place well-nigh on impossible to live in, and the sea – oh well I did allow the sea to remain, but the ship: if only it could roll clean over at least the monotony would be relieved!

Everything was annoying: the very roundness of the portholes was most irritating and the squareness of the doors & straightness of the deck planks almost unbearable. I got up at 1.0, stayed on deck till 7.0pm; then, omitting stage 2 altogether, suddenly passed through a rapid convalescence, took a walk, went down to dinner, ate a hearty meal, returned to bed fit and woke feeling fitter. Now my cabin is a jolly little room: the ship is A1 and the world a better place than even it was before. 
The only thing I fancied this morning was a big helping of mother’s kidney pudding (with plenty of pudding). The thought of fish nearly drove me silly. Now I feel I’m cured I could eat cod in a storm – and enjoy it.
Let the good ship corkscrew and twist as much as it likes – I care not now – I like it – at least so I feel at present: if we had a real storm my opinion might alter. At any rate “where ignorance is bliss…”
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Sunday July 23. 1922

Sunday July 23

Today they have started posting up our position so we have an address to put at the head of letters and correspondence, perpetual motion has its inconveniences however, and our address only remains accurate for one moment of time. Anyway it was as follows for an instant today:
S.S Albertville
Lat. 43.55 N.
Long. 7.18 W.
In the last 24 hours we have covered 291 miles.
All clocks and watches went back another 30 minutes today so we are now 1 ¾ hours behind home time.
This morning about lunchtime we sighted land again: in a gap in the clouds to the east of us the mountains of Spain showed faintly.  Later the mist cleared and the sun broke through the clouds and we could see a long stretch of Spanish coastline. It might have been a strip of Wales (or West Scotland) and looked so familiar with lonely mountains and rugged cliffs. What we would have given for a few hours walk on grass!
The sea is a deep deep blue. Somehow – after having once been out of sight of land – the water looks much more fascinating when backed by land. We see Cape Finisterre in the distance. When we pass that point we shall be sailing due South. The Spanish Armada saw the coast we are watching as it sailed northward for England. Fortunately for us it never sailed back in the direction we are now going.

Tonight we shall probably say goodbye to Europe for a little time. Our next land is the Canary Islands – four days sailing.

We have slightly more movement of the ship today. We are still enjoying a remarkably calm voyage.


Sunday at sea has been a quiet and restful day. We had a Protestant service today at 10.0am partly in English and partly in French. During the day I read Drummonds “Programme of Christianity” once again. We are not isolated here in the sea but are members still of a great society who serve by land and sea throughout the world.
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Saturday July 22, 1922

Saturday July 22.

We made our first call today at La Pallice which we reached about 10.30 am. We did not go into the harbour (apparently this was to save the heavy port duties) but remained outside (consequently only having to pay the deep water fees which are much more economical!). A small steamer came out with passengers, much luggage and merchandise of diverse kinds which was sold to passengers on board. A Large mail came aboard.

          


- The water was very shallow near La Pallice: we saw hundreds of jellyfish and a few seabirds.

- As we are still sailing west we had to put back our watches 15 minutes this morning.

- Games began today. After tea we played deck croquet: a good and exciting game.

- The evenings are drawing in rapidly as we get further south. It is partially due to the disappearance of summer time of course.


- The boat seems to have shrunk: at Antwerp the decks seemed so long, now they seem half the length. The ship seems smaller too, the further it is from land. Tonight there is none in sight – not even a passing ship on all the expanse of water round us. It is cloudy and the sea is a deep blue-black.


           Ben here..there won't be an update tomorrow, I could say it's so the days of the week will match - which is a nice coincidence, but  I'm away for the day. Stay tuned for Sunday!
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Friday July 21, 1922

Friday July 21.
We have been at sea now for over 24 hours and therefore feel like experienced sailors having all knowledge of “things nautical”!! For have we not been already many hours in the Bay of Biscay with none of our party “down”? Still with the sea like a mill pond one couldn't expect much else.

However we have had some experience of shipping difficulties today by encountering two fog banks in the channel which necessitated those in authority sounding the steamers hooter every few minutes for some hour or so. The noise was more impressive to us than the fog but we “missed” the view.
We came out as suddenly as we entered – almost as suddenly as passing through a curtained door - & the sun was shining just as brightly from a blue, blue sky on a deeper blue of sea.

We saw several schools of porpoises: the big fish were having a great time diving in and out of the water as if playing touch with each other.

The seagulls left following us today. I watched them for a long time during the morning through my glasses – someone suggested this was quite sufficient reason for their subsequent disappearance!

Our places at table were officially allotted today. Our party have saved a circular table seating eight. So we literally sit round at meal times. The dining saloon is nicely decorated: the walls bear painting of faunas we connected with the Congo. From our table we can see Livingstone’s picture: his face set as if he were talking. Near him is Stanley, in the place of honour is Albert – King of the Belgians.

“Lives of great men all remind us we can make our own lives sublime…”

Today being that of Belgians Independence the dining room was specially decorated with flags. Towards the end of dinner the orchestra struck up the Belgian National Anthem. The entire company rose and stood in silence as the familiar music stirred our hearts and we honoured in the traditional way a small but gallant nation. The ship was gently rolling at the time as she felt the Atlantic swell: This seemed to add significance to the simple scene – I don’t quite know how or why.

We usually sit in the same order at our round table as follows:


Meal times:  Breakfast 8.0 am | Soup 11.0 am | Lunch 1.0 pm | Tea 4.0 pm |  Dinner 7.0 pm


We have decided to have some special topic of conversation at each of the main meals during the day and take it in turns to choose the subject.
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Thursday July 20, 1922 - Part 2

Gradually we gain speed. The two tugs are together now – in fact touching one another as they steam side by side pulling the ropes attached to our ship. We glide for two hours down the river – then one tug suddenly turns away & sails for home, followed a little later by the other. We are under our own steam now, but so gently is our own propeller revolving that still we seem to just glide along.
By the end of the morning we have reached the open sea. We stop for the first time: the Pilot boat comes alongside & we drop the river pilot, thanking him in our hearts for manipulating this long ship so successfully around all those corners of the Scheldt!



The morning has passed quickly enough. We have watched all the cabin trunks piled up on deck being carried off one by one to their respective cabins. We have been pleased to see our own arrive (I feigned ignorance of French when the porters said mine was very heavy!) (all “tips” are reserved for the end of the journey). Then there was the deck chairs to see to and place in position when a side had been chosen.

We were quite hungry by 11.0 am and went to the dining saloon to get a cup of soup – to find to our chagrin that summertime ceases on board a ship & the chef only considers it 10.0 am! We alter our watches and return in an hour and are not disappointed.

Lunch 1.0. Sleep from 2 to 4.

Wake for a cup of tea and find we are insight of England. We pass quite close to Dover and can make out with glasses the white ensign flying near the harbour.
Dover Castle stands out against the sky, beyond are the hills and woods of the English countryside. The white cliffs are in shadow and appear dark and grey. We are still looking as the warning bugle for dinner sounds.

Through the port hole of the dining saloon we catch through the circle a golden sunset behind the English hills. A walk around the deck after dinner and across the dark waters we can see the lights of some south coast town with a long row of lights indicating the promenade. Splashes of light show some great hotel…perhaps some are watching from the shore our boat – all lit up and bright as she steams to the west on their horizon.

The sky is clear with a cloud break in the Northwest; Venus as Evening star is shining with special brilliance. Gradually the decks are deserted and one by one the portholes darken as the lights are put out… the throb of the engines and the splashing of the sea against the ships bows are the predominant sounds.


 “The stars are shining overhead

-          Sleep sweetly then, Good Night”.


The S.S Albertville


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Thursday July 20, 1922 - Part 1

Thursday July 20.
Called at 6.0am. Dressed and visited the S.S Albertville and had our cabins allotted. Returned to the Queens Hotel for breakfast.
About 8.30am we collected our remaining kit and crossed the road to the wharf and went on board.

A Large number gathered on the wharf to bid us Bon Voyage from the distance; a lesser and more favoured company – armed with special permits, came on board to inspect the ship before saying farewell. Four officials examined these permits one after the other & the bearer then went on board with what remained of his ticket!

An inspection of the Party’s cabins; a walk around the ship, one or two blasts on the hooter & all too soon the time arrived to say Goodbye.
The deck is not an altogether happy place at this moment: I was glad I had no relatives to bid farewell as I watched other family circles for a greater or lesser time destined to be broken….

                “May there be no sadness of farewell when I put out to sea”.

All visitors have now left the ship. A Workman on the quayside is busy finishing the painting of the ship’s side with the aid of a brush fastened on a long pole. A part far below him has been omitted! He reached down to give it its white paint.        An official or two – evidentially feeling his own importance acutely – paces up and down the wharf; whilst the crowd remains at a respectful distance not daring to come beyond the limits of their roped enclosure. A merchant is however permitted to come quite close to shout some final instructions to some employee or partner of his on the top deck.
A sign from the bridge and the gangway is pulled ashore: our only connection with land now is a rope – and this soon disappears. On the other side of the ship two tug-boats are manoeuvring into position one at each end of the ship. A stout hawser passes to each and all is ready for the pilots’ word.

The old clock of Antwerp Cathedral chimes out 9.0 o'clock: the tugs receive their signal & the ropes gradually tighten and gently the big ship is pulled away. Quite imperceptibly: but gradually the gap between the ships side and the wharf begins to widen and we know we are moving.
The old painter on the wharf with his long brush becomes quite animated: he sees another tiny patch unpainted and almost runs to give a parting dab of paint where he feels it is needed. He gives his last poke… the gap widens, now even his pole is too short to reach the ship. Handkerchiefs wave: many are the shouts of Bon Voyage. A photographer on the quay is doing a good trade in taking groups along the ships side… and gradually we move out into the stream. Individuality of those on the wharf now becomes lost in the crowd, waving handkerchiefs agitate more violently as the distance increases. Cranes and other dock maintenance now comes in between us…we are really off.

        “We break new seas today –
  Our eager keels quest unaccustomed waters,
 And, from the vast uncharted waste in front,
The mystic circles leap
To greet our prows with mightiest possibilities;
Bringing us – what?
Dread shoals and shifting sands?
 And calms and storms?
 And clouds and biting gales?
 And wrecks and loss?
And valiant fighting times?
And, may be, death! – And so, the larger life.
And, maybe, Life,--Life on a bounding tide,
And chance of glorious deeds;--
Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;
Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;
Of succours given unasked and joyfully;
Of mighty service to all needy souls.

 So--Ho for the Pilot's orders,
Whatever course He makes!
For He sees beyond the sky-line,
And He never makes mistakes.

 For each man captains his own Soul,
And chooses his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
  And He will bring us through.”

 John Oxenham
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The Voyage to Congo: 1922

In 1922 My Great-Grandfather Frederick Gordon Spear travelled to Yakusu, deep in the Belgian Congo where he spent time at the Baptist Mission Hospital. This is his account of that time taken directly from his journals. Where I'm not sure of his handwriting I'll do my best guess.


Monday July 17.
Left Woolacombe 9.15. Took through coach on 24hrs combe train from Mortehoe to Paddington then on to Ipswich!
 Meeting in Schoolroom 7.30 (Missionary P.M) Spoke on "the Field is the World" and "Vessels meet for the Masters use."
Father sees H & Me off at Mortehoe. I noticed he wore his dark glasses though there was little glare.


Tuesday July 18. 
Left Hillcrest 8.0pm in motor to Harwich where we arrived 9.30 (25 miles) Left Harwich 10.20 with L.C.P. Rather too much noise to sleep well.


Wednesday July 19. 
Had Breakfast on board & went ashore walking with L.C.P straight to Queens Hotel Antwerp. Found our rooms still occupied by their previous owners so spent morning in Antwerp. Lunch at Hotel where the Albertville was berthed to see luggage. Found all mine quite easily (Eventually!) Many others were seeking theirs - I do not know how many found: the stuff was all packed in such huge piles with labels etc well concealed. Whether one saw luggage or not made little difference to action: Where sight did not satisfy - faith survived the deficiency: we shall know tomorrow if our trust was justified when we seek our goods on board.
Had dinner in Hotel 7.30. We were 12 in all including party and "Farewellers". During the meal we played "Telegrams" on the letters C.E.WILSON To be sent on to the Mission House as farewell greetings!
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