Our new contributor, Harry Wroth from Somerset West has another tale to tell.
DEAD ENGINES, LIVE GAME
My wife and I had sailed from Cape Town bound for Antwerp, fifteen days sailing
away. We were the only passengers on an Italian container ship. It was a beautiful
clear early winter's evening when we sailed. We enjoyed an Italian cuisine five
course dinner in port. The lights of Cape Town with the lit up backdrop of Table
Mountain fading into the Twelve Apostles profile was awe inspiring. After that first
supper on board the Capitano gave us free access to anywhere on the ship, from the
bilges to the bridge.
We had sailed for five days when all of a sudden the main engines stopped. I knew
from the satellite navigational tracker on the bridge that we were thousands of
kilometres from either the African or South American coasts and that there was at
least 5000 metres of water below our keel!
As a landlubber I was alarmed. I dashed up to the bridge to enquire and was told that
the engines would be stopped for thirty six hours to effect repairs. I was assured that
it was quite safe, that the current was drifting us towards Europe and that we would
arrive at Antwerp on schedule. It was eerie to be on a large ship in mid-ocean with no
subtle throb of the main engines and propellers but only the hum of the small diesel
powered alternator to fill the void. Thirty-six hours to the second, our main engines
came to life and we sailed merrily on, into the blue.
Some evenings later the Canary Isles came into view as dark profiles with scattered
lights dotted about. On our left was Tenerife and on the right Grande Isle. The all
Italian crew except for the bosun who was a Pole, were avid soccer followers and
coming over on the TV was the opening match of the European Cup being played in
Copenhagen, between Denmark and Germany. The commentary was, of course, in
Spanish.
We watched the next match going through the English Channel and docked on time
in Antwerp.
Engines are only machines, after all!