On board the “Green Goddess” during the 1964 Autumn Mediterranean Cruise, there was a crew magazine produced on 10 pages of typed and duplicated foolscap paper. This page is a an article written for issue No.3 of this magazine.
As mentioned on the introductory page, it's not my intention to transcribe the entire document. Only selected articles will appear here.
The incidents I'm about to relate happened about 12 years ago, but I think they are interesting enough to bear retelling. The R.M.S. Samaria on her last run of the year was on her way down the St. Lawrence from Quebec. It was a cold winter's day, its buoyant qualities healthful and invigorating.
We had aboard a number of non fare-paying passengers, namely a group of sparrows from Quebec's waterfront. For some reason, they had decided to emigrate. Some of them had gathered on the after deck, which was also a recreation space for the crew. Everyone was watching the antics of the little creatures as some of the crew fed them tidbits. So long as one did not get too near them, they were quite happy.
Suddenly, there was a stir among the crew and everyone looked upwards. Soaring just above the ship two Hawks materialised. They hovered threateningly above our little feathered friends. After about ten minutes of reconnoitering, one of them suddenly swooped down with the speed of a jet fighter. Then followed one of those strange circumstances that there seems to be no explanation for.
One of the sailors was perched upon the cross-trees of the Mizzen Mast. He had a length of rope in his hands, with what appeared to be a heavy shackle at one end. As the Hawk dived, he swung his rope out in a half circle, and his timing was perfect.
At precisely the right moment the rope made contact with the Hawk's neck and the momentum generated by the shock twisted the rope around it. As it fell towards the mast, the rope uncoiled and the Hawk fell to the deck with its neck broken. A member of the crew picked the body up and dropped it over the side.
For a while we watched the other Hawk as it circled the ship and around its dead mate. The poor thing seemed to be almost frantic. Perhaps in its own way it sensed that they had paid a high price for following their natural predatory instincts.
In the meantime, the sparrows were everywhere on board. Their favourite spots being the corners and openings in the deckheads of the Public Rooms. These were beautiful upon this ship; relics of a bygone age of elegance and gracious living. Gradually, the birds became tame enough to fly down to the deck and partake freely of the food and water offered to them.
They settled down to an easy existence, quite unconscious of what lay before them. We got beyond the banks of Newfoundland. As every seaman knows, this great stretch of water in the Northern Territories, with its bleak forbidding aspect is indeed the home of the God of Fury. The energy contained in the elements here must be prodigious indeed!
Well, we hit one of those gales, or it hit us. I happened to be out to the front of the Library, which if my memory serves me right was on Main Deck. It was at the height of the gale and I could never resist the fascinating sight of the power of the elements when in this mood.
There I saw one of our feathered friends frantically trying to get in to a place of safety. He kept fluttering against the Library windows. As cautiously as I could, bit by bit, I crept forward. He was terribly frightened and I wanted so much to help him. I got the window open all right but at that moment he flew over the side, the very thing I was praying he wouldn't do!
I watched his brief, futile struggles with infinite pity. The wind took hold of him as if he was just a wisp of spray and dashed him against the vessel's side. He tumbled down out of sight and a great wet hand reached out to settle the issue forever. The puny effort against such gargantuan odds is something I will always remember.
When we reached Southampton there were still a number of survivors amongst our feathered fraternity.
Their immigration worries were over once we got near the pier, and I sincerely hope that they
soon merged and settled with their British counterparts.
J. Fallon.
I bet you monkeys thought John was going to write about another kind of bird, didn't you? Not the feathered kind. You were suckered that time, weren't you? -- The Prof.
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