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The Last Waltz of
The 'Cyprian Prince'
By LAURIE JACKSON
The first two weeks of January are noted by the local fishermen of Mallorca for their idyllic calm, and I experienced the warm days of the first two weeks of the year in 1975 along its shores. So when I was approached by an exhausted member of a salvage crew', asking if I would care to go out as 'man on watch' on the still-smouldering hulk of what had once been The Cyprian Prince (2358 tonnes) - in the first days of the year following - I accepted with the confidence that only hindsight can give.
The Cyprian Prince - its latest name being Fulmar Trader - had caught fire off the coast of mainland Spain. The crew had abandoned the ship, and she was later described as 'being red-hot from stem to stern' - her cargo of tinned sardines among other things - providing a highly-combustible fuel.
A tugboat, being delivered to Piraeus from Scotland - and called Triton - was the first on the scene, and the crew miraculously managed to get the fire under control with mostly bare hands and little else. Six men altogether fought the blaze - David Smith, Bob Tombari, Oivind Ek, John Scrivener, the First Mate - (name untraced so far) and the Skipper, Jim Capel.
They managed to get the ship under tow and arrived near Palma Bay, in Mallorca, where they were forbidden by the port authorities to approach nearer the port of Palma, due to its dangerous condition. They then anchored the Fulmar Trader about a mile off Portais Veys and took the limping tug (one engine had failed) and a burned out crew to rest up - to await instructions and advice from the new owners of the tug and by law the new owners of the Fulmar Trader. (Conservative estimates of the scrap value of the ship and cargo ranged around the $1-million mark.)
I was taken out to the ship at dusk. I saw nothing until we were almost within a few yards of her. There were no lights - just a mass of blackness in the gloom and smoke winding skywards for'ard and amidships from the deck.
The stench of burning pervaded - as I climbed onto the ship at the stern - the only section not completely buckled and blackened. Oivind would he bringing me supplies daily - if possible.
I found a cubby-hole, to put my things in and sleep, and after I had lit the paraffin lamps - fore and aft - I walked around a little. The small boat that had brought me disappeared, and I listened to the sound of its outboard die away as I stood alone on the deck. It was January 4, 1976. I thought back to this time, the year before and the calm sea.
I kept a diary of day-to-day events, but at times I lost track of the precise time-due to the fact that my watch never went for more than an hour or two. Concentrating on living amid burnt ashes and soot-and keeping one eye open and one ear tuned for any sound which could not be logically explained took priority over times and days - after a while.
The first day I wrote: 'Occasionally the scent of the trees from the land reaches me, and it is so good, because here on this ship there is only the stench of burning, and ashes which lie all over the decks. The plates of the ship are buckled and misshapen-tortured by the intense heat. If you go down into the steerage locker-you can hear breathing-as if a man is trying hard to get air into his lungs. Air is sucked in and out, and it is as though the soul of the ship is trying to survive an operation and breathes hard. It sounds still alive - just.'
As the first week progressed my calculations and those of the fishermen, about the weather proved correct. Midweek, I wrote to a friend: 'I remember that last January the weather stayed mostly calm-so I hope there will be a repeat. On odd occasions I feel like, and probably look like, those homeless poor people around Charing Cross-sleeping on the grime-covered ground. But if you let your imagination run a little, I have also become, by some ironic twist of fate-"master of all I survey"'.
Via Oivind, who appeared most days to bring me food, I sent back a message which I repeated a number of times-to the effect that the anchor (only one anchor was down) was most probably lying on thick undersea vegetation-not to be relied upon if the wind came up. Secondly, as I was still alone on the vessel, an emergency could occur while I was sleeping. Therefore, a second person should join me-to minimise risks.
The reply came back that no crewmember could be spared from the tug-as they were working full out to prepare it for the rest of the journey to Piraeus-and that any day now the tow would recommence.
The days passed as shipping company fought it out with insurance company, and they with the salvage company, and the salvage people with the agents.
Then suddenly the weather changed. The boat with the supplies didn't arrive and the sky and the sea turned dark grey. The wind whipped up the waves and I stayed on watch as long into the night as I could. I took the precaution of letting out as much anchor chain as possible-but after letting out only a few metres-the chain jammed. I checked and prepared the second anchor-which I had been instructed not to use unless there was no alternative. (The second anchor, if possible, was to be kept in reserve for the second tow.)
I decided to get some sleep while I could. While I was sleeping, I suddenly felt a hand pressing on my back and I assumed it was Oivind. I sat up and said hello-but there was no one there. The ship lay still and completely silent-and I felt relieved that the wind had gone down-but decided to get up and have a look around just to be sure.
I stepped out an deck and could hardly believe the scene. The ship was completely steady but the sea was raging.
Her list of around 20º seemed unchanged-but I decided to play safe and bring the inflatable lifeboat nearer to my 'living area'. Among all the twisted metal and obstacles-this took a lot of effort.
A plane from the Spanish coastguard flew over, and I resisted the strong temptation to wave-in case my signal of 'All O.K.' was misinterpreted, deliberately or otherwise-and they would have an excuse to board her.
I returned to the question of the liferaft. The instructions written on paper by the manufacturer's were obliterated. (Why wasn't plastic used with the instructions indented?) I pulled the wire to inflate the raft but it was jammed. Date of manufacture was something 1973. Tested '73. Beaufort (Air - Sea) Equipment. Log-book No. 4R/UK - 3219.
I looked up at this point. There were no ships that could be seen. But the island to starboard and astern was now larger than I had ever seen it before. The ship was on the move.
I went first to collect my gloves, as I would have to handle heavy equipment. One must be logical. Then dashed for'ard. Burnt pieces of metal were crashing down and the tiles in the holds were smashing up. Luckily it was only burnt paint that fell on me.
The ship was now broadside to the wind. I decided first to try the anchor chain that was already down-and I released it, and because the ship was being thrust with such force, the jammed chain freed itself. The ship waltzed on-but finally the anchor held.
That evening Triton arrived within hailing distance-but the sea was too rough to do any more than exchange pleasantries. It was estimated that the Fulmar Trader and I had covered a distance of two miles. The local fishermen had been right-the first two weeks are always calm. The force 8/9 gale started on the 15th-I think.
An excerpt from The Mallorca Daily Bulletin
I was very dramatically reminded the other day of the fact that sometimes journalists have to live - or even choose to live - a story they are writing.
Perhaps readers take for granted the risks that are often taken to bring them news. Witness to this is the number of reporters buried in all the conflict areas of the world.
Whether by luck or calmness of character, journalist Laurie Jackson is one who survived.
I was very pleased to meet Laurie Jackson again when he recalled his most recent "assignment" which had taken him from Palma and almost to the bottom of the sea.
Laurie Jackson is one of those journalist-writers who likes to take a break now and again from full-time writing.
For me, the sea and ships at times provide a very refreshing contrast from journalistic activity. But sometimes it can push you straight back into the necessity of recording unexpected events!' he explained.
'I chose Palma and boats, and finished up in charge of the burnt-out hulk that lay just off Magalluf,' he recounted.
- The Fulinar Trader, formerly the Cyprlan Prince? I asked.
I remember the events leading up to the abandonment and fire aboard this Cypriot vessel, about a month ago. She had been brought to Palma, but was not permitted, due to her dangerous condition, to enter into port.
'Yes,. It was by pure chance that I was standing on the Paseo Maritimo a month ago, when I was asked if I would go out and live' - or should I say survive? - on the burned-out hulk of what had been the fine cargo vessel, the Cyprian Prince.
'It is difficult, perhaps', he reflected, 'to imagine a vessel which has completely burnt from Stem to stern. The air is thick with a smell of burning, and soot falls over everything and gets into everything. After a while, you begin to feel more like an animal than any 'human being in a human environment.
'It you take a piece of bread the bread becomes covered with soot and you have. to accept that ones diet is. 'soot' with everything'.
How long were you out there alone on the vessel?
Around two weeks in all. The first week was one of almost idyllic calm, apart from one uninvited visitor who turned out to be a shark!
'The second week, the weather deteriorated and I was unable to be supplied from the tug with the usual food and other necessities. About three weeks last Thursday, around one o'clock, the gale appeared to be reaching Its maximum velocity - force 8-9 and the 3,200-ton vessel and myself commenced a Strauss Waltz around the. bay.
'The anchor had failed to hold. I let out more chain and after travelling about a mile, the anchor finally held. It was just as well. The lifeboat turned out to be useless.
'The decision was taken by the salvage company to lake the. boat to Greece, and a few days later, myself and five others - so extremely courageous crew, who were to risk their lives many times later, headed for Piraeus with the burned-out ship in tow.
'During the next few days, there were only a few hours of good sailing weather the rest was storm
'Near Sicily, we sought the protection of a lee and stayed there while the storm continued, and we tried to get the pumps to work. There was now a severe list due to the buffeting of the storm of the previous days. All the crew worked to the point where they could hardly stand.
'With only about one foot to go before the waves poured over the listing side of the vessel, the crew were taken off and put on the tug.
The vessel, though sinking, was again taken in tow as there was another tug some hours distant which could possibly help.
'The Cyprian Prince, went down, just after midnight on Friday, February 13. A tug coming to our assistance arrived with lights flashing, and much noise and gesticulation. An hour too late.
In financial terms, the
loss to the salvage company was to represent one million dollars. But as they themselves said, no lives were lost, and that, in spite of what cynics might think, was the main thing.
'When the full details are published - and I am working on them now - It will be possible to see that only by a miracle did the crew survive
- Laurie, looking back at this experience, did anything positive emerge?
'I know it is fashionable to think that in this day and age, some of the old positive qualities of individuals are gone. But when the details are finally set down, we will be able to see that this crew, for example, varying in age from 16 to 50, displayed the kind of fortitude and courage that people mistakenly think only exists in books.
'As for me, the challenge was not so much the materials odds, because basically there is an element of the gambler in me, but an opportunity to see how people react when driven to the limits of human endurance, and I have a greater insight now into fear and the degree to which one can grow inured to it.
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