Item 04: Memoirs of a Colonial Boy by Robert Joseph Stewart, ca. 1971 - Page 367
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[Page 367]
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particularly so. I spent much of my time up there with them, singing and chatting in their big six-berth cabin. We were joined frequently by some gay stewards from the first-class dining saloon who often sneaked surplus luxuries to us from the Captain's table. We were a very happy, and at times hilarious, band.
One of the berths in this cabin was occupied by a quiet, well dressed, middle-aged American, who looked more like a bank manager than anything else. One day he told us that he was really a machinist and was going to Honolulu to seek work, having been paid off, without a pension, by an engineering firm in which he had served his apprenticeship, and with which he had remained all his working life. His employers thought that at his age of forty five years he was slowing up a bit at his work. The United States was certainly a hard country for the underdog in those days.
On my return to Honolulu, for a whole day, I took the opportunity of further exploring the outlying parts by taking some more long tram rides : as was general in the United States, the fares were flat-rate irrespective of the distance travelled.
Our next port of call was Levuka, the principal port and town of the Fijian Islands. We berthed for only a few hours in the afternoon, just time enough to go ashore for a quick tour around.
Auckland, New Zealand, was the next call, and we were there for a day and its night: many of the British migrants got off there. In four more mornings we entered Sydney Harbour in glorious, mild, sunny, late-July weather, which showed the beauty of the foreshores to perfection. Those seeing it for the first time were loud in their praises and admiration as we passed one point after the other on our way to tie up in Darling Harbour.
With only the one suitcase of luggage, I was quickly off the ship to the Customs. When an officer was about to examine my suitcase, I heard a commanding voice behind me say, "Have a good look at that chap's bags!". I turned around and met the smiling face of one Scott, an old Second Battalion N.C.O. and now a senior Customs Examiner. So the underling chalked his initials on my luggage without further ado, and away I went.