Fifteen Months Aboard Seladang

I signed indentures as a Deck Apprentice with the Anglo-Saxon Petroleum Company in November 1945 and joined my first ship in early December to begin a career that spanned 39 years. I left my final ship in late 1984 having served aboard 57 ships and made 1,258 port visits. My career comprised a gamut of oil tankers, LNG carriers, an LPG carrier, a bulk carrier plus an OBO (Oil/Bulk/Ore). The company embraced Eagle Oil making it the largest unit of the biggest maritime organization in the world, Shell International Marine. Of all those appointments to so many ships, three stand out in my memory, Opalia, the Cadet Training Ship, the Methane Progress and most unforgettable, Seladang, a CHANT.

CHANTs were developed with experience gained by building the Tug, Inshore and Dock vessels (TIDs). As with the TIDs, CHANTs were built from prefabricated sections which were manufactured at various factories across the United Kingdom. A total of 28 sections made up into a ship. The largest sections weighed 13 tons which enabled them to be delivered by road. To simplify construction, they were built without compound curves. All plates were either flat or curved in one direction only, with the exception of the skeg at the stern. All joints were welded, with the final 10 inches (254mm) being left unwelded at the factory to enable final adjustment of joints when the ship was assembled by the shipyard to minimise any chance of leakage. Each CHANT had 4 sub-divided tanks and was fitted with 2 derricks and winches. They were not the most stable of ships, and needed to carry plenty of ballast. CHANTs were assembled at five different shipyards, and launched between February and May 1944. Some cargo version (Empire-F type) were built with a “Chant” prefix name which added some confusion about the real type of vessel, i.e. CHANT 41, CHANT 14, CHANT 39, and CHANT 49 were all Empire-F type despite their initial names.

I arrived in Singapore in late January 1955 having disembarked from Oranje, a Dutch passenger ship. I was a fairly senior second officer in the fleet, having no idea of my next appointment. I anticipated that I would join a ship as Second Mate. I reported to the Shell Tankers office the following morning and was interviewed by the Fleet Manager who told me that I was to be promoted to Chief Officer on one of Shell Singapore’s local fleet namely Seladang. I was, however, to receive Second Officer’s salary. This wasn’t such a bad deal, as I would only pay income tax on any money I sent home. Further, the sea time would count towards my Master’s Certificate. So began the most colourful and often desperate period in my entire seagoing career, hence the title of this article.

CHANTs were built specifically as support supply ships for the Normandy invasion in 1944. The tanker version carried gasoline/ diesel in the centre tanks and fresh water in the saddle tanks, and by their very nature they were expendable. Those that survived the war were snapped up by coasting companies, which included Shell Singapore who operated two of them, Seladang and Rusa. These little ships of 400 gross tons were wholly used to supply a number of small Indonesian ports in Sumatra, Java and Borneo, loading exclusively at Pladju, a major refinery port some forty miles upstream on the River Musi, near Palembang, the main city in southern Sumatra.

I joined Seladang at Tanjong Rhu, Singapore’s small craft harbour on 26th January 1955. There were junks, coasters and launches bobbing about in the choppy waters like so many birds on the surface. Strange looking craft, none stranger than ‘my ship’. She was flying light, dancing about, mooring lines twanging, fidgeting, with a gangway moving back and forth. I was taken aback, gob smacked even. The Maierform bow, with a vertical stem cut away at a steep angle was the first oddity (to be used for beaching on the Normandy shore). The funnel was woodbine, the transom stern, unusual. A trunk main deck, two derricks plus a boxy accommodation block. The ugliest seagoing duckling you could imagine. Strangely, it was love at first sight! I should add that the Malay (Indonesian) word seladang is “a wild bull that charges at the slightest provocation”, a misnomer if ever there was!

I was ushered to my cabin by a quartermaster, who appeared to be about eighty years of age, to the palpable delight of the man I was to relieve. The cabin was tiny, everything in miniature, none of your polished wood and brass handles, rather painted boxwood furniture comprising a miniscule bunk, closet and chest-of-drawers. I was suspicious of the incumbent’s hearty enthusiasm. I think he was afraid I might walk off! A shock awaited me when I reported to the Captain. His cabin was up one deck, accessed by a vertical metal ladder, between the wheelhouse and the funnel. Knocking on his door I was greeted by a fruity peremptory “Come”. It was dark. Very little light managed to illuminate his room because of its situation twix wheelhouse and funnel. When my eyes were accustomed to the gloom I discerned a person donned in a beret, sunglasses, sarong and flip flops smoking a cheroot. “Welcome aboard Number One”, says he, “Care for a pinkers?” I was so taken aback, having been used to ship’s officers wearing uniform, to be confronted by the vision of a figure who would be better suited to a seraglio! I said “No, thank you Sir” and skedaddled back down the ladder. This gentleman was a post war recruit to the Company, ex Royal Navy.

I was in a near panic, totally bewildered. There was worse to come. My predecessor made a speedy exit after briefing me in the broad about my duties. I barely had time to unpack and change when I was faced with my first major challenge. We had orders to unberth and move to an anchorage in the roads. So I thought I would be stationed forward, but no. The Captain called me to his cabin and said “Righty Ho Number one, take her away, will you!” Remember, if you will, that I was completely unprepared to carry out this job. I had no experience in ship handling, or command. However, necessity being the mother of invention, I did it! We unmoored, wended our way through a forest of junks and other craft and successfully anchored in the designated spot. During the whole operation, my boss supped pink gins, and benignly viewed the world through a soporific daze.

We lay at anchor until 31st January. Those few days allowed me to familiarize myself after my baptism of fire! Not that there was much to learn, she was simplicity itself, everything was rudimentary. The navigational equipment consisted of one magnetic compass, situated above the wheelhouse with a projector into the deckhead of the wheelhouse for the helmsman, plus one chronometer and that was it! We had an Aldis lamp for use at night, otherwise daylight communication was carried out by International Code flags when we were at anchor and needed to contact the office or port control. It was great fun! Otherwise our contact with the outside world was with a domestic radio receiver. Whilst in service, communication depended on the postal service. Even ETAs were sent by letter! The radio was intended for the reception of weather reports, so we navigated by the skin of our teeth. We had our sextants of course.

The steering gear was hand-o-magic, rod and chain with a geared tiller on the poop, operated by turning a huge steering wheel in the wheelhouse.

The physical details of the Selandang were, 141 feet long, 27 feet wide, hull 11 feet deep. The main engine was a Polar Atlas diesel, 240 hp turning a four foot six inch propeller at 450 rpm.

To improve the stability of the craft, a lining of 80 tons of cement covered the tank bottoms. This reduced the design deadweight tonnage of 480 to 400. There were two derricks matched by a winch aft and a similar winch forward which also acted as a windlass! These winches were extraordinary! they were driven by a single cylinder diesel engine of 14 hp. To start them we had to use an utterly untanker-like expedient, which was the insertion of a glowing tube of salt petre blotting paper, which was lit in situ by a match, at the same time cranking the thing to life! The exhaust piped aloft, spewed a mixture of sparks, rust and dense smoke when the thing coughed into action – remember we carried gasoline! The windlass was another fright. The former said winch was connected to the windlass by a chain, which passed through a block slung from the foremast about ten feet above the fo’c’sle deck, attached to the mast by a wire grommet, which occasionally parted and down came the whole works! In the context of equipment, the most bizarre feature were the two lifeboats. They had been removed from a 12,000 ton ship that had seen the end of service. In the case of a CHANT, they were huge! Anyway, we had one lifeboat drill and the ship heeled over so alarmingly when the lifeboat was lowered over side, that we took a rain check on that operation. Needless to say that we made sure that everything was shipshape and Bristol fashion with regard to davit maintenance. We did, in fact, make use of one of these lifeboats for a totally different purpose than the safety of life, more later!

Whilst 18 months was the norm for fleet service, Management considered that the service aboard the Shell Singapore craft should be limited to 6 months, primarily because of psychological stress arising from four people living in each others pocket. Commendably far-sighted! That was until staff shortages threw this out of the porthole! I served 15 months aboard this little bucket.

Much depended upon the personalities of one’s shipmates. I would not have survived long with the initial Captain, but he left before we quit Singapore anchorage. The next Master was a shy, some would say, melancholy man, of great integrity and intellect. He had an Extra Master’s Certificate, having been a college lecturer. The Second Mate was a bright, efficient young fellow. The Engineer-in-charge was very experienced in the trade and was a most likeable man. So it was a pleasant and enjoyable experience to sail with this team.

In my time aboard Seladang, I loaded 58 cargoes, all at Pladju in Sumatra. As an odd fact I actually loaded 92 cargoes at Pladju in my career as Chief Officer. The discharge ports were Djambi (Sumatra), Poniianak, (Indonesian Borneo), Cheribon, Surabaya and Semarang (Java). By far most cargoes were delivered to Djambi well up the River Djambi, and to Pontianak, right on the Equator. Each voyage we delivered one of three cargoes, gasoline, kerosene or gasoil. The time taken to load was usually between one and two hours, discharge up to six hours.

Passage up and down the Musi and Djambi rivers was carried out by ourselves, which of course was a great joy. It provided experience that we would otherwise have gone without. It wasn’t at all straightforward as there were many hidden obstacles to be avoided, particularly in the deltas. The transit of the Musi was forty nautical miles and the Djambi, 85 miles. The passages were undertaken in daylight as there were no navigational markers to ensure navigation in the dark. In fact the Admiralty Sailing Directions describes the navigation of the Djambi as tortuous. The distance between both river mouths was about 100 nautical miles so we deep sea men spent more time in fresh water than at sea This was a constant concern to me because I was trying to get sea-time for my Master’s certificate. However in the event, dispensation was allowed by the examining authority, so I didn’t lose out.

We did have a sea voyage from Pladju to Pontianak across the southern China Sea. We were able to navigate with sextant and compass to arrive at the mouth of the Klien Kapuas river, thence a short river passage to Pontianak. This was fine and dandy during the good weather monsoon, although crossing the bar was always difficult, sometimes we got stuck. The wet North West monsoon between November and March was a vastly different kettle of fish! Living was terrible, the little floating box would roll and jump around like a bronco. No sextant observations, an unsteady compass, two geriatric helmsmen, no sleep, plus a genuine concern as to our position. We landed up mostly well south of our objective, so we constructed an outline drawing of the background mountain peaks, to aid us on subsequent visits during this monsoon. The return voyage to the Musi was equally hairy! The trips to the Javanese ports were uneventful and greatly appreciated.

We faced serious hazards. Both rivers had great islands of water hyacinth. One had to go through these very attractive carpets of bright leaves and white flowers. They were so huge that they were unavoidable. The consequence was that often they stopped the main engine. The trails of underwater roots used to entwine around the propeller shaft and stop the engine. We became aware of this and informed the drivers (Chinese engineers) of the possibility in timely warning. The trick was to put the main engine astern to free the propeller shaft. This could not be done in an instant, so occasionally we found ourselves careening down the river broad side on.

The ship’s structure was a cause for constant concern, the scantlings were minimal to paper thin! On a gasoline trip to Djambi at the height of the day, the heat would cause tiny fountains of cargo to spew in all directions from the cargo trunking. However, we had an answer. We would mark a circle around each leak and on the ballast voyage, plug those leaks with saucepan repair kits! I kid you not!

Although, being young one meets danger in a more expectant and almost carefree manner. With all the present day concern about ship piracy, even in 1955 it was an ever present danger when anchored or alongside ay Pladju. Armed men would scale the ship’s side and set about rifling everyone’s cabins. The Second Mate and myself kept a vigilant watch during darkness. We armed ourselves with homemade staves which we kept in a rack and confronted any villains that fancied their chances! One of our most effective ploys was to wait until they put their hands over the lip of the top hull strake, then to stamp on their fingers, a very effective measure! Others were not so lucky. A Third Mate was stabbed to death whilst anchored off the berths. When I was relieved, the person who took my place was later transferred to one of the new craft that came into service. That ship was lost with all hands, without trace, thought to be the victim of seagoing pirates.

I mentioned earlier about our lifeboats, well the time came when we had to put one of them to good use. In the wet season the rivers were full and fast moving. However, during the dry season the levels dropped alarmingly, particularly the River Djambi. We had a new Captain and we pointed out to him that we had to avoid a certain shoal, but he ignored our advice and Seladang drove into this bank just as it was getting dark. Because she had been designed to beach with her Maierform bow during the Normandy landings, no damage accrued. However we were stranded and by morning we were totally out of the water, therefore no cooling water. We were just a hulk on dry land! We had to wait until the water level rose to refloat. This happened rapidly, but insufficiently to refloat our little hulk. So we launched our port lifeboat. If this operation could have been filmed it would have become one of the most humourous displays ever! Remember we had a Bosun, in his sixties, and two sailors. One was as dim as a Toc H lamp, the other had lost one eye, and they comprised the work force! Anyway I had one QM, the Bosun and the two sailors to man the boat under my command. The object was to attach a mooring line to a stout friendly tree on the forest bank. As soon as we let go from the ship we drifted towards the bank without the assistance of the rowers. I jumped from the bow with a line around my waist onto a nice verdant patch, but it was a small swamp, and I sank to my waist. A large monitor lizard was nearby and I had the fright of my life. Fortunately so did it and it scampered inland. The lads pulled me out of the mire in so doing I lost my pants! We achieved our aim and the solution was, unconventional but successful and I was rather proud of myself, despite having lost my trousers! They hove the craft off the shoal using the aft winch which had an air cooled diesel, in case any technically minded person wondered. I wont go into details of how we recaptured our lifeboat. That was another story.

As already written, our cabins were tiny, We each had a small fan to provide circulation, but at the time we needed it most when the ship was at anchor, power was switched to a harbour generator, so the voltage dropped from 120 to 60 volts. Thus the cabin fans ran at half speed with reduced lighting, so we laid on our bunks in a pool of sweat, unable to even read! We four Brits had a cook and two stewards and were well looked after in that respect. The catering was reasonably good, providing we could obtain food items that appealed to our taste. This we occasionally obtained by cadging from deep-sea Shell ships that were berthed alongside at Pladju. Our saloon was on the starboard bridge wing. This arrangement was fine in the dry monsoon, but in the wet monsoon we wore plastic macs! The port bridge wing was our lounge, where we could sit on rattan chairs and chew the fat over a glass of beer. Because the ship had no camber, water lay everywhere there was a deck. Shoes lasted a few days, so were wore flip flops and developed ‘white foot’. We endeavoured to maintain standards, notwithstanding.

We humans were not alone. Aboard Seladang there lived a huge population of cockroaches. Even nastier were a colony of fierce ants that resided in the saloon canvas rolls, that were meant to keep us dry. I used to devote a morning each week going to war with the roaches. I would garner a bucket full of dying insects, so this measure probably kept the roach population static, as they reproduced at an alarming rate. Even more gruesome were the Bombay Charlies, large 2 to 3 inch long cockroaches. As we slept these horrors used to nibble at the dead skin under our toes! Also we had rats! I had a fright one dinner time when I felt something move across my feet, apparently they had a run which included the saloon deck. That was another battle I had to deal with. Incidentally, my uniform was covered in mildew and eaten partly by silverfish! Also, it seemed that anything that moved, bit, and elephant flies were a constant nuisance.

Now I may have given a picture of unremitting doom. There were many satisfying experiences to record of my service aboard Seladang. We visited Singapore for repairs and enjoyed the fruits of civilization. We anchored at a certain spot on our inward trip to Djambi at sunset. I loved going forward to the bow to watch monkeys frolic in the gloaming and to reflect on my loved ones at home and communicate with nature. I recall magnificent rice tables at the home of the manager in Pontianak.

Personalities played a greater part in our lives than aboard bigger ships. On the whole I had enjoyable, thoroughly competent companions. Despite all that I have written, it was an interesting, testing and rewarding period in my life.