A MEMORY OF DIFFERENT ERA.
It was October 27th 1954 in the port of Vittoria do Espiritu
Santo, Brazil where I had my
encounter with a Duenna and Margarita. We had discharged the wheat from Russia
in Rio and headed to this port to queue and thence load iron ore for South
Wales. And so it was just three days
before my 17th birthday when I had this adventure.
Since we were waiting the Master, Captain Harry
Marshall, gave me permission to go and see the town with three other apprentice
lads. And so we set off and ended up outside the beautiful building that was,
and I believe still is, the university. We could hear laughter and, in looking
for the source of the amusement, found a group of young people looking up at us
from a classroom that was below the level of the steps. It was a class of
students studying English. The cause of the laughter was the size of our feet
and in particular mine! Apparently all Latin people are small footed compared
to Anglo Saxons.
The lecturer soon invited us into the class – it was a golden
opportunity for these students to practice their English. It was fun.
There was also an opportunity to ask one of the girls for a
date and so I asked this attractive black girl, Margareta, if I could see her
that evening. She agreed saying that we could meet at the evening promenade
that took place in the town square – an informal meeting place for families and
friends etc to literally circulate and chat. I was also informed there would a
chaperone.
I went back on my ship, the “Eastern City”, to have my tea
and to seek permission from Captain Marshall to go ashore that evening.
Fortunately the Old Man had his wife on board, Millie, an American Southern
Belle, fragrant in chiffon, and kind to us lads. The “Sheriff” [or nickname for
Capt Marshall] agreed and I had to report to him before I went ashore again. He
insisted that, being English, I had to have a tie on which required a carefully
starched and ironed collar and studs etc, and black uniform shoes shining with
gloss.
I met Margarita and there, two paces astern of her, was this
formidable black lady clad in what appeared to be bombazine and taffeta, this
was the duenna. There was to be no holding hands and certainly no such thing as
a kiss or a hug. God Forbid! But do you know it was nice? It was real fun? And
we talked and laughed as we stumbled through broken English. The Brazilians
were very taken with England having a Queen. This is a great memory to have.
Almost
a year later I told my Father that I had walked out with a lovely black girl
and duenna. It was sad to hear that he really did not quite approve and I often
wonder what he would have said had my elder brother, Jack, had married the
beautiful Coptic girl that he had met in Egypt!
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