Through the eyes of the Junior Cadet

The tragic loss of the passenger ship Dara 62 years ago, was one of the worst peacetime disasters to British shipping since the Titanic. It was made worse because it was a terrorist atrocity, a bomb placed in the second-class accommodation. No one in the United Kingdom seemed interested in the 60th anniversary in June 2021, as though it had never happened. I thought, as the last living officer I should do something, but I was wrong, the chief officer and the assistant purser were still alive! After much thought, and with encouragement from a friend, we flew to Dubai and chartered a motor boat and crew.

We left the Dubai Marina and had a bumpy but fast ride the 30 miles to the Dara wreck buoy, now a cardinal mark, but with Dara written on it. There was no skyline 60 years ago, only desert, but now it is full of high-rise modern buildings.

I scattered flowers in memory of the 238 dead. It was a strange and humbling moment for me. The screaming is no longer in my head, and the spirits of those who died are long gone, as are their remains. The stripped wreck is now a diving site.

I thought back to the day in December 1960 when I had flown out to India, in a BOAC Boeing 707, and joined the Dara in Bombay, an impressionable 17 year-old Junior Cadet.

India was a shock. Nothing I had been taught or heard prepared me, not so much for the heat, I was young and fit, but for the mass of brown humanity, the hot and sweating bodies, the beggars, the noise, the hustle, the bustle and the smell. I had to make a conscious decision not to be frightened, not to be daunted and overwhelmed, if I was to stay in the east. I would have to get used to it.

The Dara was a single screw passenger cargo ship of the British India Steam Navigation Co. permitted to carry 13 first class, 65 second class, 948 unberthed passengers and 132 officers and crew. She was built in 1948 by Barclay Curle, Glasgow, and her length was 382 feet, breadth 55 feet, depth 24 ½ feet, and gross tonnage 5,029. She was classed A1 at Lloyds.

I was thrown in at the deep end shortly after my arrival, when we shifted the ship out of the dock to Ballard Pier, with its great Gateway to India arch. The Junior Cadet’s station was on the bridge manning the telephones, long before the days of walkie-talkies. The Captain, Pilot, Third Officer and myself were all dressed in immaculate whites, wearing caps, hot in the morning heat, the secunnies smart in their white tunics. I passed on the Captains and Pilots orders to the Chief Officer forward and the Second Officer aft and relayed their reports back. Mistakes were not allowed, and I concentrated hard to repeat the messages word for word. It was a long manoeuvre with tugs, along the dock, into the lock, through the harbour and berthing alongside the pier, but it was exciting the first time.

Sailing day was always pandemonium, but organised pandemonium. The departure of the weekly mail ship to Basra was an event. The BI ships were the main way to travel around the Persian Gulf, to some places was the only way, so they were an important link between India, Pakistan, Oman, the Gulf states, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Iran and Iraq. The ships were always full of passengers, mainly deck passengers. It was a busy day, with everything seeming to happen at the same time, and the shouts and babble of hundreds of people, men, women, children, servants, the cries of the porters carrying the luggage, huge bundles on their heads., and the street traders hawking their wares.

The Cadets supervised the loading of the mail with the Second Officer. To lose a mailbag was unthinkable. There was a steady stream of humanity coming aboard by the gangways, and shouts and sometimes scuffles as men staked out their part of the deck for the voyage. Of course the more privileged or richer went second-class and had cabins. Europeans were not allowed to travel on deck. First-class passengers came onboard by a separate gangway, where the duty secunny kept watch. The ‘tween decks where the deck passengers lived seemed a form of Bedlam to me on my first Gulf trip. The ship had a couple of holds forward, for passenger baggage and cargo,and the winches worked at full speed, swinging the cargo on board by the derricks, the stevedores sweating in the holds stowing it.

At long last, everyone and everything was onboard, the ship was fully bunkered and watered, and the trip to the money changer completed for there was a nice little earner, exchanging Indian rupees into Gulf rupees, and in the Gulf the other way round.

The Pilot was on the bridge, I was showered and wearing my spotless whites for departure stations, the tugs were made fast fore and aft, the gangways were put ashore, and with much shouting, wailing and waving from the passengers aboard, and the families left ashore, the ship moved off the pier. She was turned, the tugs were let go, and with a last blast on the ships foghorn she steamed out through the busy harbour, crisscrossed by country craft with their ragged sails, or if there was no wind their crews toiling at huge sweeps, all laden with cargo trading up and down the coast, and when the monsoon was fair to East Africa, past anchored ships waiting for a berth, the buildings of Bombay to starboard and so out into the Indian Ocean and up the coast to Karachi. With the north-east monsoon the weather was fine, and it was calm.

The ship at sea was a world of her own. It was quiet on deck, except for the noise of the diesels, unlike the babble below.

The Dara carries 1,026 passengers. The majority are on the ‘tween deck, and on the lower ‘tween deck. They camp out there for the duration of the voyage, and in consequence, there are lots of stalls below selling anything from a tin opener to silk.

It is interesting to watch the different people chatting away, I only wish I could speak their language to hear what the arguments are about. They sit and squat there with their coloured trunks, budgerigars, parrots, and some have live food in the form of hens, and one even had a couple of geese. One day when I was down there. I watched one kill his hen by the simple expedient of chopping off its head, and letting the blood run in to the scuppers.

The sea routine was very pleasant. The Senior Cadet, Grimwood, was a few months older than me, a tough white Kenyan. He showed me the ropes and reported to the Mate for the days work. We got on quite well together, just as well in our small hot cabin. We had to change into whites for all meals, all silver service, and were expected to be in the saloon on time. When off duty I studied and worked the correspondence course we had to complete.

On New Year’s Day 1961 we were at sea. We were awoken by the boy at 0630 with tea and coffee. I got up at about 0740 and went into the first-class lounge to nab some books, for cadets are not allowed into the passenger accommodation.

The boy swept the floor and dusted the cabin ready for the Mate’s inspection. There was a nine course dinner that night and crackers on the table. Of course, we mess in the first-class dining room!

On Monday the 2nd January 1961 we arrived at Muscat. At the far end of a narrow bay between steep cliffs on either side was the town. There were yellow, flat roofed houses facing the sea. We slipped slowly between the the high cliffs and anchored a quarter mile off the shore, just before the forts. The cliffs were devoid of any vegetation, and the only things on them were the names of ships which had passed through, painted in white paint.

I took the motorboat away as a lifeboat drill exercise. We could not go ashore because we were only there from 0700 to 1200. Anyway a party did try and land and a jeep rolled up with a party of troops in it with submachine guns cocked. The white agents who lived there are under escort all the time.

After calling at Dubai the next port was Um Said. It is an oil place. There were no shops, I was informed, and anyway we were there only during the day. At first when we came near the place, it appeared as just sand and nothing else, but as we neared the land I saw ships anchored off, and on the land there were silver painted tanks. A little further along there was a spit of land on which there were more tanks. About half a mile off the peninsular stood a beacon on a sandbank. Otherwise to the right and left, in fact as far as the eye could see was just sand, the monotony only broken by the dunes. I wish I could have gone ashore but it was not possible.

After breakfast we finished off the bath room and then start painting. We were not particularly pleased with our handiwork, although the mate passed it, but it would do for the engineers.

At Bahrain, the senior cadet and I were allowed to go ashore on a tug that first called at another BI ship the Dumra, a sister ship of this old girl. We landed at a jetty where hundreds of shouting Arabs were loading themselves, parrots, luggage and anything you care to name onto dhows to take them out to the ship. Some of the dhows were deep sea with very deep hulls and high sterns looking not unlike 15th century caravels.

At the next port we had to watch the loading of a cargo of beer. The stevedores were a surly lot of individuals, and when I told them to stop throwing bananas up into the ‘tween decks, I thought that I was going to get hit, but he shied off when I stood up and looked as though I might hit him back, although I would probably have been the worse off in battle.

We arrived at Kuwait at 8am on Saturday 7th, and it was a very cold, believe it or not. I had to write the log up and answer the telephones. A strong crosswind was blowing us onto the wharf. Two tugs were holding us off, when suddenly the bow began to swing in. The Captain told the Pilot to get the tug to pull it off. But the tug master didn’t believe in half measures, and so pulled the bow right off, letting the stern go in. The poor wretched pilot got cursed to hell and back by the old man. The Pilot still got it wrong and this time the old man really started shouting, but the Pilot answered back, and the old man went on until I thought the pilot was going to start crying. Eventually the old man laid-off, and in quick succession, gave orders for the outer anchor to be dropped, and ropes to be sent ashore fore and aft, and at last, we safely berthed.

It makes the old man sound like a tyrant, but remember, this all took place within five minutes. Although he is very strict, he’s quite decent, at least so far!

Khoramshar was our next stop. It is on the river to Basra. A vile smell of oil overpowered the place. We were anchored in the middle of the stream. The river was yellow, and one can see the sediment suspended in the water, what a difference to the clear water outside!

On our port side (Iraq) was a wall and road just behind it. Beyond that the naked tree trunks, with their green foliage perched on top, a palm oil plantation which stretched for miles in both directions. I watched a man, punting his canoe, up against the tide, close inshore. He was being encouraged by the shouts of two small boys sitting on the wall, clapping their hands.

To starboard (Iran), a fleet of motorboats were waiting to come alongside. Towering into the sky, were a number of silver painted chimneys belching forth smoke. This was the oil refinery. Large tankers were alongside the bank, filled with the world’s life blood.

We left Khoramshar and continued on up the river. The scenery was the same as before, line upon line of palm trees, occasionally one could see the bare desert behind the trees, where the land rose higher.

Basra was rather like a miniature London, except that there were many dhows. We tied up alongside a wooden jetty. On both sides of it there were landing stages with motorboats and canoes tied up. The canoes, which carried people across the river, were all of one type, rather like miniature Viking ships with painted prows at both ends and a very pronounced sheer, the hulls white, varnish, or bare wood.

I went ashore and had a look around the town. I went through a couple of streets lined with hovels and came into the shopping area. I bought a couple of books and went to a film.

We left Basra the next day and went back down the Gulf, visiting all the places we had gone to on the way up. The round trip normally takes about three weeks with a night in Basra and six nights in Bombay.

We were going into dry dock in April and would be there five to six weeks, so I needed some contacts.

In fact on leaving Karachi southbound in February, we hit the Sind buoy and shed a propeller blade. We limped into Bombay and dry docked. I damaged my hand and had to go to hospital, and almost missed the ship on her next voyage up the Gulf.

On 7th April 1961, the Dara was southbound and anchored off Dubai. I went ashore in the agents launch. Dubai, appeared as a crowd of houses, set amidst the sand of the desert. As we came closer, individual houses became apparent, the typical hot country house with its flat roof and square shape. Small stakes marked the way into the harbour. On the port side was a crane or pile driver, making a breakwater.

The Sheik of this place is obviously more progressive than some of his compatriots.

On the other side a dredger was at work, and just a little further out of the dredger was a fountain of dirty water. Evidently the mud from the bottom was being put into shallow water to make more land. We hugged the outer shore of a large bend. On the beaches were a few larger dhows. Houses were built on either side and a busy water traffic was apparent.

Dubai is a free port and we can buy radios etc. for half the price you pay at home. The chief trade of the port is smuggling to Persia and India. We landed at a very small jetty and walked into the town. It was completely covered over, protecting the shops from the sun. The shops were not the type we know. They were more open with materials and clothes hanging outside, and the shops themselves were small and devoted to one set of goods. The radio shops were more like our own, but nowhere near as well kept.

There were Arab women dressed in black with veils across their faces, a couple of beggars, a man with a huge load on his back, moneychangers sitting with glass cabinets full of money, a European style dressed Arab sitting at a table with a telephone alongside, next door there was one dressed in pyjama bottoms. And next to him, an Arab dressed in the traditional headgear and long white, but dirty, robes. The old among the new, and the ones who had some of the Western ideas but retaining a splattering of their own.

Back from Dubai, I was on the bridge, looking down on the foredeck covered with its canvas awning, shelter for the deck passengers. A storm had blown up suddenly in the afternoon, and it was now just before darkness set in, the normally clear sky covered by low cloud. The tugs were towing away the barges, before they were damaged or they damaged the ship. I can still see in my mind’s eye the Zeus, a Panamanian cargo ship, dragging slowly towards us. Collision was inevitable, and her black hull crunched into a lifeboat on the port side forward and scraped down the white painted hull of the Dara. As soon as the Zeus was clear the anchor was weighed and Captain Elson took the Dara to sea, the ship pitching into the rough weather. When well clear of the coast he hove her to to ride out the storm for the night.

It were the bells which woke me at 0443 in the morning, the incessant ringing of the fire alarm bells. It was dark, and the bunk light did not work when I switched it on. I jumped down from my top bunk and went out into the alleyway, the noise of the bells was louder. The ship was rolling heavily and it felt as though she was stopped. The shocked face of the Third Officer appeared in the dim light of the emergency lighting.

“Tell Grimwood to get the breathing apparatus and go with him to your fire station, the CO2 control panel on B deck”, he shouted, his voice difficult to hear over the noise of the ringing bells.

“Yes sir”, I shouted back, sticking my thumb up, my hand on the bulkhead to steady myself.

I returned to the cabin and shut the door, lessening the noise from the bells. I shook Jos’s shoulder in the lower bunk.”Wake up”, I said, “We have to get the breathing apparatus and go to our fire stations. There is smoke in the alleyway. There’s a fire”.

Jos was instantly awake and out of his bunk. We quickly dressed in our working gear by the light of a torch, it was a pity it had not been our uniforms. I followed him out of the cabin.

The noise of the bells was as loud as ever and the smoke in the alleyway was thicker. It was a relief to get out into the cool air on the boat deck, away from the ringing of the bells. I followed the light from Jos’s torch, the sound of the wind blowing around the accommodation and funnel louder as we went aft, until it was overtaken by the sound of the screaming, a sound that has haunted me. The ship was rolling heavily stopped in the rough seas.

We climbed down the companionway ladder onto the main deck and into the midst of the screaming, shouting, milling passengers. It was dark. We had picked up the breathing apparatus on the way and pushed and shoved our way through the throng down onto B deck. We stopped in the glow, and could hear the roar of the fire and I helped Jos put on the breathing apparatus. There was smoke in the air and it was hot.

The Second Engineer instructed Jos how to set off the CO2 fire-extinguishing gas into the engine room. The box was further forward up the deck on the side of the engine-room bulkhead. He gave a thumbs up and disappeared into the smoke, a ghostly figure in the red glow of the fire. People ran past, fleeing the flames, and there was a screaming man covered in blood. I wondered what had happened to him. I still felt no fear, in fact quite calm, only that we were in the midst of some ghastly emergency.

Some time later Jos returned, appearing out of the fiery red glow like some figure from hell, his face covered by the mask. He tore it off and gasped, “I found the box but I couldn’t find the key to open it”.

The Fifth Engineer had appeared and gave him a piece of metal to smash open the control panel. Jos put the mask back on and disappeared again into the thickening smoke. The continuous ringing of the bells stopped, to be replaced by the emergency signal, boat stations. It was hot and my clothes were soaking with sweat.

“Abandon ship”, I thought. It was only eight minutes after what turned out to have been an explosion from a bomband the speed of the fire was terrific. Jos reappeared, staggering, and I helped him off with the apparatus. “Couldn’t make it, too much smoke, too hot”, he cried, sweat pouring off him. “It’s boat stations”, I shouted over the roar of the fire.

We went up and back into the throng on the main deck, and to the motor lifeboat which was our boat station. It was chaos, in the darkness and the rolling of the ship, more pronounced on deck.

People were shouting and screaming and running around, some already in the lifeboat and some trying to get in, although it was not turned out, let alone lowered.

“You go aft and I’ll go forward and get it turned out”, shouted Jos.

The Second Engineer had disappeared and we were alone amongst the passengers. The boat was incredibly heavy, and no one took any notice of us. I wished now we had worn our uniforms, it might have given us more authority the whites standing out. I grabbed a man to help me turn the boat out, as did Jos, and we managed to get her hanging over the edge of the ship.

“You get in and take charge”, shouted Jos. “I will lower.”

I climbed up and in and fought my way aft to the rudder. I found the tiller under a passenger and pushing him out of the way I shipped it.

“The plug”, shouted Jos, his voice difficult to hear in the tumult.

I pushed and shoved my way through many legs to the bottom of the boat and found the metal plug. Even though it was even darker in the bottom I could feel the hole and screwed it in.When I regained the tiller I shouted, “Plug is in”.

Jos lowered away and stopped at the embarkation level. More and more passengers got into the already overcrowded boat, with people shouting and screaming and waving their arms around. The boat swinging out as the ship rolled leaving a big gap for people to fall through and then smashing against the side, knocking people off their feet if they were not sitting down on the thwarts.

“Lower away”, I heard a voice shouting, and the boat disappeared below the level of the deck. People were still jumping in as she went down the side of the ship, the rolling making the boat hit the hull of the burning Dara with sickening jolts, and making the already panicked people more frightened. My efforts to calm the passengers were a complete waste of time.

The lowering slowed and then went down with a rush. The lifeboat hit the water with a splash and the lifting hooks swung clear both forward and aft. We were lucky. But then unfortunately a nearly empty boat appeared in the glow of the fires raging in the accommodation. The passengers saw it and made a rush to the side of my lifeboat, heeling her over. And then I was in the water. My boat had capsized.

I began to swim. I was not wearing a lifejacket. It had not occurred to me to pick it up when I left the cabin for never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I would be swimming for my life in the Persian Gulf. After the bedlam and noise and screaming on the ship and the panic in the lifeboat it was suddenly quieter. What had happened to all the passengers in my boat? I could still hear shouting and screaming but it was becoming faint as the Dara drifted away, surprisingly quickly. It was rough, and waves were breaking over my head. I tried to swim back to the ship but it was no use and I soon gave up, treading water to preserve my strength. I was a strong swimmer but I found my shoes and dungaree trousers a hindrance so shook them off. It was much easier without them. I kept facing the burning Dara, smoke pouring out of her, the wind and sea behind me, the occasional wave breaking over my head. It became darker as the Dara moved away and I could no longer hear the screaming. It was silent except for the whisper of the wind and the rustle of the sea my body enclosed by water. I was alone.

It was eerie just myself and the surrounding water, black in the encompassing darkness, waiting for something to happen, I knew not what. In the dim light of the early morning darkness, the sky now clear, the stars shining brightly, the wind still blowing but not so hard, I saw a shape close by.

A shark, I thought. “Don’t panic”, I told myself. “Do nothing, don’t move. I am not bleeding, maybe it will go away”.

Occasionally I had to kick my legs as it was too rough to lie on my back but I did it as slowly and as little as possible, just enough to keep my head above water. I felt very vulnerable with no trousers, not that it would have made any difference if the shark attacked. I watched with exaggerated concentration as he moved closer to me. I felt utterly helpless as I waited, wondering if it would hurt when he attacked. After what seemed an eternity, but in reality could not have been many minutes, I realised the shape was wrong and the movement towards me was my heightened imagination. It was not moving. I cannot express the feeling of utter relief as I realised it was not a shark, and I was not about to be attacked. Fear is a funny thing and I was pleased I had not panicked, but faced it and kept calm.

I quickly swam the short distance towards the shape and caught hold of the oar I found, at the opposite end to the head I had seen, not the fin of a shark.

“Hello”, I said as I clutched the wooden oar, but there was no answer.

“Hello”, I said more loudly, and shook the oar. There was still no answer, and the corpse slid off and sank. I realised it was the back of his head I had seen.The face, which I never saw, was in the water. I felt sorry for the lost person but grateful for the oar. I was alone in the darkness.

There was nothing in sight except the glow from the now distant burning Dara, like a false dawn. I felt a lot safer with the oar, and it was no effort to keep my face above the water, the waves occasionally breaking, the salt drying. Daylight could not be too long away. It was just a matter of settling down and waiting, alone with my thoughts, my eyes constantly searching.

I did not feel frightened now, the horror on the ship was in the past, I felt quite safe with my oar. It was only a matter of time before something happened. The water was not cold and I felt quite comfortable, slowly moving my legs to keep the circulation going.

Some time later slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, there was a lightening of the darkness, my unceasing searching seemed to expand its horizon until in the east there was a definite brightening in the sky, the sea becoming less black, the ship in the distance more distinct with smoke billowing out. The slowly rising sun felt warm on my face, and eventually I saw another shape, which turned out to be a lifeboat in the distance. At first I set off still holding onto the safety of my oar, but progress was slow and I soon abandoned it. I swam strongly, the lifeboat, people and safety a huge tonic.

“Ahoy there”, I shouted to attract the attention of the people in the lifeboat, but no one seemed to have seen me and there were no oars out. Brown faces peered over the side as I approached and helping hands assisted me onboard.

Hello, Ian”, said the Assistant Purser. “Thank God you are here. You are a Deck Cadet. You can take charge.”

Some kind person handed me a pair of swimming shorts, noticing I was only wearing a shirt.

“We’d better get organised”, I told the purser. “Tell everyone to keep a good lookout for anyone else in the water”.

I took over my first command, glad of all the sailing I had done from a young age The lifeboat was rolling quite heavily, beam-on to the sea and swell. I thought of using the sea anchor, but then decided it would be better to get the oars out. Keep the people occupied and busy. There were some crew in the boat, and getting the oars out was soon achieved. The activity seemed to have cheered everyone up. They all looked to me, facing aft.

“Remind everyone to keep a sharp lookout for others in the water”, I emphasised to the purser. He relayed my instructions in Hindi.

I soon had the crew rowing gently to keep the bow up into the wind and sea. The rolling was much reduced and it was much more comfortable. It became much warmer as the morning wore on and the sun rose higher in the sky. Later in the morning a tanker was heading in our direction and when she saw us she altered course and stopped, making a lee. The crew on my urging rowed with a will and I steered towards the lowered gangway.

“Tell the crew forward to have the painter ready”, I told the purser.

I came alongside the gangway, and the painter was handed over to one of the Japanese standing on the gangway and taken on deck.

“We are safe now”, I said to the purser. “We can let the men go first. It will be easier to get the women off then.”

The boat was soon empty except for myself and someone lying face down in the bottom of the boat . I thought he was asleep.

“Time to go”, I said. “You’re safe now.” I shook his shoulder, but he felt funny and there was no sound or movement. I pulled him onto his side and saw his face. His eyes were empty. He was dead.

“What should I do”, I wondered. Leave him? No, I’m sure the family will want the body. I must get him onboard.’

I saw the purser among the faces looking over the side.“Tell the Captain we have a dead body. We must put him in the freezer”, I shouted up to him.

The corpse was put on the stretcher that the Japanese crew brought into the lifeboat. I followed it up the gangway onto the deck of the tanker and watched him being carried into the accommodation.

I had never been on a tanker before and she seemed huge and strange to me, all pipework and open metal deck instead of wooden decks, hatchways and derricks. The Japanese were looking after the people and I went up to the bridge. The foredeck looked huge.

I thanked the Captain of the Yuyo Maru No. 5 for saving us and looking after the passengers and crew.

We arranged to make a list of all the survivors, which the purser did, and it was transmitted to the agents in Bahrein by Morse code that evening as soon as it was completed. Unfortunately my name was left off which was unfortunate for my poor parents, who thought I was a goner.

It was two days before they were told I was alive, two days of lurid newspaper headlines depicting attacks by sharks and sea snakes, and accounts of the many dead, 238 in total. I was given a cabin in the crew accommodation and went to sleep.

From Lloyds Casualty Reports, 1961

Dara – Bahrein, April 8 – British motor vessel Dara (Basrah for Bahrein). Following SOS received from steamer Empire Guillemot, via Cable and Wireless, Bahrein, at 0230 GMT ( 0630 local ) – closed on burning ship. Request all vessels stand by to pick up survivors. Name of distressed ship Dara, call sign GDTT. At 0700 local time – ‘Am closing to distress ship and sending lifeboat to pick up survivors.’ At 0710 – ‘We have already taken onboard some survivors.’ At 0740 -‘We have onboard 85 survivors. Dara (Master) informs originally 550 persons onboard, none got away in lifeboat.’ Master of Dara reported from motor tanker Thorsholm. At 0810 local – ‘Dara abandoned on fire in position Lat 22º55’ N, Long 55º13’ E.’

Dara – Bahrein, April 11 – Captain Desmond Law, Commander HM Frigate Loch Ruthven, said that motor vessel Dara sank yesterday as she was being towed for beaching. ‘About three miles off shore, the list in the Dara increased and she rolled over to starboard and sank. She is now lying on her starboard side with her davits just sticking out of the water.’

POSTSCRIPT

The Master, Officers and crew were all exonerated from any blame for the tragedy at the Enquiry,

“The explosion of a high-explosive bomb in peace time is something which no one would expect.”

When in Dubai for my pilgrimage to the Dara wreck buoy (above) I was invited by the Assistant Purser, John Suares to attend a memorial service in Goa as many Goans had died in the tragedy.

The large white church, standing on a cliff overlooking the river, was full, and I was made to feel very welcome. The service was a memorial service, for those who had died on the ship and a thanksgiving service for those who survived. John had been in the water for almost 8 hours. It was a very moving service, and at the end John, his  wife and I processed through the packed congregation to the main entrance overlooking the river. As I walked into the court churchyard the church band played

‘God save the Queen’, an unexpected, a much appreciated honour.