Number seven in the Mystery Skipper series

Chartering in foreign locations aboard large motor yachts can provide challenging times when it comes to communications. E Mail, the internet together with cellular and satellite telephones have made the job a great deal easier than ever it was but it is not so very long ago that we all had to rely on HF radio and the single side band. Larger yachts had telex over radio a device often called TORS but for many of us cruising in out of the way locations such as the Caribbean, we had to wait until we were in port before making telephone calls. Of course that in turn presented its own particular problems, because in those days if you wished to phone the UK it was common to visit the telephone office generally some distance from where the yacht was docked and book a call. Then you waited in line until such time as the operator could connect you and then having paid a Kings ransom for three minutes of calling you entered a small booth devoid of air conditioning and picked up the black bakelite receiver. I remember doing so in Hong Kong when cable and wireless put me through to HQ after an interminable wait. No sooner had I introduced myself, when the dear lady at the other end began to berate me for deeds she claimed I had done or, to be more precise, left undone before I had departed the home shores. Clearly she was very angry and did not pause for breath, any of the attempts on my behalf to interrupt her with denials were completely ignored. Furthermore the Cable and Wireless operator, thinking I could not be heard, had turned up the gain on the instrument which meant I had to hold the black earpiece several inches from my ear to avoid a painful perforation. The ear bashing went on for almost the entire three minutes of my call and after the allotted time was spent, the operator interrupted by saying “Your initial three minutes has expired caller, will you pay for a further three minutes?” I had hardly had a millisecond to form the response before the receiving end blurted out “Of course he is going to pay, I haven’t finished with him yet!”

Receiving mail was often worse, family and friends, to say nothing of head office, needed to know in advance, where mail for yacht and crew was to be sent. Captains had to set up Poste Restrant mail drops where mail could be collected and often, with last minute itinerary changes forced upon you by the demands of a charterer, one could be left waiting months for mail whilst it gathered dust in some humid marina office. Getting essential spare parts was often just as difficult made even more difficult that levied duty and import tax on everything imported. Even getting goods in using the duty free system of ships stores in transit often proved troublesome. I remember on one occasion having to explain the contents of a small packet to a rather officious and somewhat portly customs officer with more braid on his shoulders than an admiral in a banana republic. On that occasion my mother knowing of my love for a particular sweet found in the UK had sent me a small box of Jelly Babies, which was always a treat in a country where such delicacies were all but impossible to locate. Unfortunately the illustration on the side of the box where of cheeky chappies who looked a little more lifelike than the contents looked in reality. Clearly my inquisitors from the revenue had me marked down as a man eating carnivore and were reluctant to believe me when I described how the contents of the box were not really babies from England but were in fact sweeties that you eat. I began to get a little exasperated with the fellow and despite wanting to save the packet for my personal devouring later on I ripped open the packet picked one up bit its head off and announced triumphantly I like the black ones best they taste of currents. It was perhaps quick thinking on behalf of the chief officer who realising what the officer was thinking, snatched the box out of my hand, stuffed a red one in her mouth and said the red ones taste of strawberry officer, try a green one, they are very limey!”
I remember also leaving the Bahamas bound for Trinidad on a voyage that would see us calling at most of the major islands in the eastern Caribbean. Knowing that we needed a vital part for the radio I telephoned a well known large corporation in the US and passed the order for delivery at our first stop clearly explaining the address and giving our destination as one of the former British islands. Upon arrival a couple of weeks later I was perturbed to find the marina staff look at me rather blankly and say that no package had been received for us. I booked and made a long distance three minute call, which turned into six, and discussed the delivery, with the store, who said that there despatch department have refused to ship the parcel because I had omitted to quote the zip code. I kept calm; after all why spoil a day when one is cruising in paradise? I explained that not all islands in the Caribbean where under direct control of the mighty USA and very few had zip codes. He apologised and said he would ship it right away. I told him that by the time he got the box mailed we would be long gone so gave him a new and alternative address several islands down the chain. We chatted on about the weather and I told him how warm it was and we left each other with me confident that when we arrived at our next mail drop the package would surely be there. How wrong I was! There were no packages waiting for us a couple of weeks later. So I booked and made a long distance three minute call, which turned into six, and discussed the delivery, with the guy in the store, who in answer to my question read carefully; the correct address back to me and after reciting the line; British West Indies, added Puerto Rico. What has Puerto Rico got to do with it I enquired? Well Gee Captain, you said you were in the Caribbean and the computer asked which state you were in, but Puerto Rico was the only option it gave me in the Caribbean. I kept calm; after all why spoil a day when one is cruising in paradise? I explained that not all islands in the Caribbean where under direct control of the mighty USA and carefully gave the address of my last stop before reaching Trinidad. He read it back to me, and being the somewhat cautious type I asked; “You know where Grenada is don’t you Herb? “Sure” he said right here the computer says its in Spain” I kept calm; after all why spoil a day when one is cruising in paradise? I explained that Granada was indeed in Spain but Grenada was in fact an island country in its own right way down south in the eastern Caribbean. You must remember Grenada Herb after all it’s the island that under President Regan you sent planefuls of US Marines to conquer in a bid to free up some American medical students. Oh sure Captain I remember Grenada, I was there! Is it still hot down there? I kept calm; after all why spoil a day when one is cruising in paradise?