Recollections of an Unsuccessful Seaman. Dave Creamer
slabs, each one said to be the tomb of a crusader. Leading from the magnificent chancel are numerous chapels, each one dedicated to a nation. There are golden altar ornaments and the great brass gates that Napoleon once shipped away. The wonderfully painted dome is said to be the life’s work of some old Master, but when we come to the realistic life-size painting of St. John the Baptist minus his head, we think time for refreshment is indicated.
The cargo of wheat is discharged at the rate of a thousand tons a day and stored where the Venetians once housed their galleys and prisoners.
We are accompanied by one other ship and two navy escorts to Sfax in Tunisia. The enemy submarines are reported to be particularly active and many ships have been sunk in the area. Sfax is quite a small place with French the only language and demijohns of cheap wine the only drink, but the bathing is delightful in the saltwater lake, warm at night and so salty that one cannot sink. One morning we had a false alarm: the chief engineer was mistaken for an enemy submarine when he was seen floating whilst taking his early morning dip! We load 6,000 tons of phosphate rock, beastly and dusty stuff, by means of an endless belt from the factory on the quay.
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