Part Four – Ships’ Agent

In 1972 again, out of work I responded to a job advertisement for a Shipping Officer/ships Agent with Wigmores Limited an international shipping agency in Fremantle. I was interviewed and offered the position. It was to be a big learning curve for me as it involved being in total charge of the port operations of a ship. My sea going experience had always been that the ship arrived off a port, was manoeuvred into its allocated berth, commenced cargo operations, finished cargo operations, and then sailed away to the next port. I had no idea what else was involved as it didn’t concern me. Now it did concern me. This job was totally different. A shipping officer/ships agent works for an agency that acts on behalf of the ship-owner and has the role of overall responsibility for the commercial operation of a ship during its time in port. I needed to have a wide range of expertise in Customs matters, Quarantine Regulations, and Immigration statutes. I also needed to have a good working relationship with harbour masters, towage companies, stevedores, waterside labour allocators, cargo shippers, surveyors, providores, the regular processes of crew signing-on and signing-off, of clearing inwards and outwards through Customs along with the competing demands of inward cargo consignees, outward cargo shippers and the ships’ owners and others. Communications were a vital part, especially with Forms that had to be completed accurately and on time. While I didn’t have to be an instant expert, I certainly needed to be alert to what needed to be done and more importantly when it had to be done. One overlooked Form or survey would throw the whole loading schedule out and delay sailing as I was soon to find out.

On one occasion I forgot to tell the Government Surveyor before we commenced loading a consignment of loose pig iron ingots which was classified as a ‘dangerous cargo’. I had lodged the Dangerous Cargo Form well in advance but had completely forgotten to have the space inspected by the Government marine surveyor before loading, only realising this after we had already tipped in about 60 tonnes!! I immediately instructed the stevedore supervisor to stop the loading, telephoned the surveyor and explained the situation to him. The surveyor shouted at me to unload the cargo and call him when the space was empty. The stevedore shouted at me because it threw out the loading plan for that cargo hold. The waterside workers shouted at me because they now had to manhandle the 60 tonnes of pig iron ingots one at a time back into skips for discharge. My manager shouted at me for making the mistake. The cargo was unloaded, the surveyor approved the very same stowage space and we started over again.

In this job it was also important that I maintained a friendly but firm disposition when dealing with waterfront unions and in some cases I had to be careful how far I went because, as is common with human nature, they press for an advantage but then just as easily think less of you when they gain it. One of the most usual situations I would encounter was with the Ship Painters & Dockers and revolved around what was called a ‘job and finish’. It worked something like this. One of the ships under our agency would arrive in Fremantle to discharge general cargo and then sail overnight to the Port of Bunbury to back load several cargo holds of bulk cargo before returning to Fremantle to load the other cargo holds with general cargo. This would mean having to have the particular cargo holds cleaned and surveyed before sailing from Fremantle so that the loading of the bulk cargo could commence immediately on arrival in Bunbury. Any delay would mean having wharf labour standing by on pay. But the hold cleaning could not be done until the particular cargo holds were empty of incoming cargo in Fremantle, and this meant they were usually not available until sailing day. The cleaning had to be done by shore side members of the Ship Painters and Dockers Union who worked for a ship repair and maintenance company.

I would arrange for the company to supply sufficient labour on the day to have the job done and completed before the time of sailing which was usually at 10pm. The labour would start the cleaning at 1pm with plenty of time to have the holds cleaned by 9pm. At around 4pm I would be approached by the foreman of the cleaning company who would say with mock alarm, “I don’t think you will be able to sail tonight skipper. Best put the sailing back to tomorrow. The boys have been working flat out but there is more to be done than I anticipated, and we just haven’t got enough time to complete the job by 9pm”. Then he would suggest that maybe, just maybe, if they had a ‘job and finish’ they could possibly make it on time, all the time knowing full well that I had no alternative but to agree because if I didn’t it would delay the sailing.

Of course, I also knew full well that once I agreed to the job and finish, they would have it done in a couple of hours. And sure enough by 7pm the cleaning would be completed, and the labour would be rushing down the gangway knowing they would be paid until 9pm.

Another of my roles in this job was handling crew matters. I recall an occasion when on the day before the arrival of one of the Japanese ships contracted to our Agency, we received a message from the ship advising that one of the engineers was behaving strangely and had isolated himself in a corner of the engine room and would not be budged. The message went on to request the presence of the company doctor on arrival in Fremantle the next day. I advised the doctor of the situation and he joined me at the ship on its arrival. The doctor went to the engine room where he (the doctor) managed to sedate the engineer who was then removed and transported by ambulance to Fremantle Hospital where he was monitored overnight in a special ward. The next day we were told by the head of the hospital emergency department that he could not be kept indefinitely and strongly suggested we arrange for him to be repatriated to Japan. Telex messages flew back and forth between us in Fremantle and the ships owners in Tokyo with instructions to organise his repatriation with the company doctor and a medical assistant as escort. I became the ‘medical assistant’.

As there were no direct flights from Perth to Tokyo the three of us embarked on a flight to Sydney, a long wait at the airport and then a flight to Tokyo. A long and tiring journey as the engineer was seated in the middle of the three seats with me on one side and the doctor on the other. The engineer was quite calm throughout the flight having been sedated before and during the flight by the doctor and on arrival in Tokyo he was duly handed over to some hospital staff and taken away.

I join the Royal Australian Navy Reserve Forces

In 1977 I made an application to join the RANR. After passing the medicals and psychological tests I waited for a call, fully expecting to be offered a billet in the Seamen Officers Branch. The call came but it was to ask if I would be interested in joining a Special Branch, Naval Control (and Protection) of Merchant Shipping (NCS), a unique branch of the service consisting of a cadre of naval reserve officers and ratings with specialist knowledge of merchant ship operations and concerns. An interview with the Commanding Officer and his Executive Officer at the HMAS Leeuwin barracks in Fremantle and I became Lieutenant Bevis RANR C102864. All naval shore establishments are treated as ships, in order that their occupants abide by naval rules and regulations.

I was immediately posted to HMAS Creswell in Jervis Bay to complete the mandatory orientation course, known in Navy speak as the ‘knife and fork’ course. For two weeks I was taught how to march, salute, and give orders and how to behave during a mess dinner. On my first training night back in Fremantle I was placed in charge of a company of 40 sailors for ‘parade divisions’. If there is one thing you need to know about sailors, it is that they are very proud of their marching ability and this company was no exception. I managed to get the first part right, bringing them to attention, dressing to the right, doing a right turn into threes, and then marching off behind the navy band. The first command was a ‘left wheel’ and I got that right. Then it all fell apart. The next command should have been ‘into line left turn’ but I inadvertently gave another ‘left wheel’. Despite the ‘leading seaman’ who was at the back of the parade shouting ‘obey the order’ some of them carried out a left wheel as ordered and others, knowing the order was wrong, disregarded my order and did a left turn. If all of them had obeyed the order it would still have been a problem because I would have been ‘alongside’ the parade instead of ‘leading’ the parade for the march past salute, but it would not have been as bad as it was. Anyway, the parade was called to a halt, and we went back and started again.

Annual Continuous Training

The RANR required presenting for one training night per week, one weekend every month and one two-week annual continuous training exercise. I attended every year including Kangaroo ’89 which was a major exercise. Once a loaded ship left her berth to head for her convoy assembly anchorage, it came under the Naval Control of Shipping unit. It was the purpose of these annual exercises to put these procedures into practice.

Exercise Anchorman Annual Continuous Training HMAS KUTTABUL

During this 2-week exercise I was the Plotting Officer responsible for a 12 hour ‘on’ watch with 24 hours off. On commencement of the Exercise, I was handed a list of all the actual merchant and military ships that were presently known to be within the Australian area of operations, in this case a total of 400. The data showed their position (latitude and longitude) course, speed, and destination. With the assistance of two reserve WRANS we had to place every ship on the plotting table in its correct position and then every 6 hours move each ship along its projected course at its estimated speed while at the same time removing any ships that had arrived at their destination and adding any ships that had sailed from any Australian port or entered the Australian area of operation’s and adjusting the ‘dead reckoning’ position of any ships that had sent in signals, basically showing a panoramic map in real-time representation of what was actually occurring at sea. This meant reading incoming signals and generating the required signal traffic to MHQ advising them of the arrivals and departures. At some point in the exercise a ‘hypothetical’ communications failure was introduced which meant we had to maintain a paper list of all the ships with their updated details every 6 hours. Then when the communications failure was lifted, signals had to be manually generated for all the current positions of the ships. It was hard and tiring but was a worthwhile exercise.

Registered Publications Officer and Harbour Defence Officer

In 1989 I was given the responsibility for the control, maintenance and issue of Registered Publications held by the Fremantle Port Division RANR. This meant having to attend a training course at HMAS Harman in Canberra and a Staff Management course at HMAS Stirling. In 1990 I relinquished my position as the RPO and was given the position of Deputy Harbour Defence Officer and later as a course development officer and instructor.

The award of the ‘dove’

There is a strong institutional identity at the heart of the Navy’s character. When you join up you enter a unique community with its own venerated history and culture, by the nature of naval society. Unfortunately, probably because of this, I quickly found that some permanent navy officers were unenthusiastic about reservists especially those who came with a merchant marine background resulting in a rarity of respect between both being sometimes difficult to achieve.

I took the attitude that I was trained and competent and that this would get me through. As far as I was concerned, I joined the reserves to ‘do a job’ not to ‘get a job’. But it is also fair to say that during my 16 years of service while I found some regular officers retained their prejudices, many were greatly appreciative of our service especially those who rose through the ranks as sailors. There is little better preparation for understanding the mentality of the ordinary sailor than to have been one.

Any difficult relationship between permanent navy officers and reservists is often bought into sharp focus during combined exercises when close co-operation is required. On one particular occasion I was asked to represent my unit Naval Control of Shipping at a weekend ‘task group exercise’ at HMAS Stirling navy base. The exercise was primarily for permanent navy officers but as it involved ‘convoying’ which was the task of NCS I was to contribute. There were about 25 PNF navy officers in the exercise room and me. The exercise was being moderated by a US Navy Officer. On greeting the attendees, he mentioned that a Reserve officer would be in attendance and said, “Is Lieutenant Bevis here”. I said, “yes” and stood up only to hear a PNF officer immediately in front of me say, “Well that’s the only question he’ll get right this weekend”. This of course elicited several sniggers. It was then that I decided I wasn’t going to let them crush me into a patterned mould and I would use this exercise to prove it. The exercise was meant to be conducted in a hypothetical period of ‘tension’ and to simulate the protection of a convoy of merchant ships across the top of Australia to the Cocos Islands. As the exercise progressed, a series of hypothetical incidents were thrown in (low flying aircraft, acoustic reports, approaching warships from different nations) to present our reactions.

The PNF officers were quick to take some form of aggressive action while I was more cautious. The one that clinched it was a simulated explosion onboard one of the ships, a vessel by name of HMAS Jervis Bay (above) that I was familiar with as I had served in a smaller version of this ship type the Princess of Tasmania. With the PNF immediately assuming it was some form of attack and prepared to retaliate, when I was asked, I said I would do nothing until I had more information as it could have simply been an internal explosion on the ship as it was carrying military vehicles and it was easy for fuel to leak or the vehicles to shift. The moderator then said that that was the exact situation (an internal explosion). This type of thing played out all weekend and at the end of the exercise I was given the ‘Award of the Dove’, meaning I was too soft. I gracefully accepted the award despite its intended meaning as I believe that the manner in which an individual accepts success or praise even though given with ill intent provides an index to character. To me an exaggerated sense of importance or overbearing manner are signs of weakness, and the real test of a person is how they meet the approval of those around them.

Promotion to Lieutenant Commander RANR

The normal progression of promotion from Lieutenant-to-Lieutenant Commander was 8 to 10 years, depending of the number of billets allocated to that particular unit. As my unit (NCS) was quite small there were only three positions available at the rank of Lieutenant Commander. In 1994 one of these billets became vacant and I was given the promotion. The List of Promotions is closely scrutinised by very senior officers of the particular force. Most naval reserve officers don’t rise above the rank of Lieutenant Commander.

Lecturer

I’m not quite sure what prompted me to become a lecturer. I seemed to have been ‘lured’ into it by accident, but it became my most important life’s decision. While working for the shipping agency in Fremantle I would often walk past the Fremantle Maritime College. It occurred to me in September 1977 that I might get some casual lecturing, so I wrote a letter to the senior lecturer setting out my qualifications and interest. I heard nothing, no acknowledgement or response. I forgot about it until at around 3pm one day in February 1978 (5 months after I had lodged my letter of interest) I received a telephone call that went something like this, “Good afternoon, sir, this is Captain Tilley. I would like you to teach marine meteorology starting at 7pm tonight, can you be here by 6.45pm”, and he hung up. At first, I didn’t know who he was or what he was talking about. It took me about 30 minutes to make the connection between his call and my application of September the previous year for some casual teaching. But I hadn’t been to sea since 1972. My knowledge of marine meteorology was rusty. I didn’t even have a syllabus. I walked the short distance to the college and presented myself to ‘Captain Tilley’. After a quick discussion I realised there was no getting out of it and with the syllabus in my hand I quickly ‘refreshed’ my knowledge of the first objective.

Presenting at 6.45pm as suggested I was pointed to a classroom by Captain Tilley. At 7pm I was facing a class of about 20 adult students made up of doctors, lawyers, and company directors as well as yachties who had just commenced this subject as part of the course for a Yacht Master Certificate. I started by explaining what the course would involve, what textbooks to buy, where to buy them, and other general information as you do on the first lecture. After a long coffee break, I told them as it was the first night we would finish early, and they seemed happy with that. The result was very little teaching and a lot of talking, a long coffee break and an early finish. It gave me the breathing space to prepare for the next weeks lesson.

I came to respect Captain Tilley as a brilliant man and good friend. I owe him a great debt of thanks because he set me on a 25-year career as a Maritime Lecturer. I often think of what could have been the outcome if, in that first telephone call he had simply said to me, “Would you like to teach a class of meteorology at 7 pm tonight?” I would probably have said “no” as I was totally unprepared and that could well have been the end of it. By being straightforward and making it appear that he was asking rather than telling he saved me.

What started out as one night class per week very quickly became two, then three and by the end of that year (1978) I was teaching four nights per week across different subjects including coastal and offshore navigation, radar plotting, ship construction and ship stability. It was keeping me very busy as I was still holding down my day job as a ships’ agent. As these were night classes there was always the potential danger of a ‘clash’ between a ship arriving or sailing, at which I had to be in attendance, and a class that I had also to be in attendance, both occurring at the same time. Fortunately, this situation was able to be managed even if it meant having to finish a class early by about 15 minutes so as to get to the arriving or departing ship.