On the voyage down from Santo, Bill (Bill Martin) was training me to look after the engine. It was a lovely old Gardiner 8L3, quite elderly and burned a bit of oil along with the diesel fuel. So every few hours my job was to go down and top up the oil. We used an old aluminium teapot as our measuring jug – one pot full every three hours! It was rated at 150 Horsepower, but these were BIG horses, with a massive amount of torque, which pushed the Onewa along at a fair clip. Owing to its narrow hull and long waterline it could manage a steady 8 knots in fair weather. The reason Bill was training me was because poor old TC (Barry Tween Cain)used to get seasick in anything rougher than mirror calm, and the engine room fumes would set him off. I don’t recall ever seeing him in the engine room while the ship was at sea!!

After sleepy Santo, Port Vila was a bustling metropolis with a long main street and a lot more traffic. The town had two large hotels, real ones – The Rossi and The Vaté – as well as several small bars scattered throughout the town. Most of the small shops and stores were run by Vietnamese. There was a large Vietnamese population in Vila, descendants of the plantation workers brought over by the French before the War, whereas Santo’s Asian population were mainly Chinese. The town had a distinct French atmosphere, despite it being mainly Anglophile.

After we unloaded the Toyota, we berthed at the end of the small ships’ wharf, this would be my home for the next few months.

Port Vila is nestled at the bottom of a large bay, and had a small island close to the town, this was Iririki Island. It was occupied by the British High Commissioner. A shallow reef to the north of the island meant you could not sail around it in anything bigger than a canoe. There was no overseas terminal or wharf, and all overseas shipping had to unload into an assortment of barges and small vessels which brought the cargo ashore. It was laborious and expensive. There was a joint British and French team surveying the other end of the Bay with the intention of building an overseas wharf and a connecting road along the Bay to join the town to the wharf. The road was actually being built while we were there, having being started a few months earlier.

Everything in New Hebrides was duplicated by the British and the French; police, customs, immigration, public utilities, schools etc. You name it, there were two!!.

When all the machinery and equipment for the Onewa arrived, Des (Des Woodley) came down for a couple of weeks to help Bill with the installation. I helped, mainly with the pipework, and took instruction from Bill and Des. It was a great learning curve and I enjoyed being part of it.

Along with all the equipment, Bill had also bought a 17 foot aluminium work boat. It was fitted with a 20HP outboard, and had a flat plywood sole which made it very easy to move about in.  It was also fitted with a small winch, driven by a Honda industrial engine; the cable ran through a tube in the middle if the boat. The winch was stowed on the Onewa when not needed; it was a really useful piece of equipment.

Bills wife Dee came up and they rented a house on the hill, close to the British Ex- Servicemen’s Association Club – The BESA (pronounced ‘beeza’) Club – as it was known. This became his ‘watering hole’, but it was too far away for me. I mainly drank and ate at the Rossi. Bill and TC ate there too, but rarely stayed after the meal.

I wasn’t there long before I bought a second hand motorbike from a guy who worked at the Burns Philp store. It was a Garelli 100cc, Italian and temperamental, but it was very handy having some kind of transport in town and I did a lot of exploring on this noisy smoky machine.

Bill had recruited two more Fijian crew. One was related to Tom, the skipper – this was Apete, he was a deckhand – the other guy was Misa, he was cook and bottle washer. Skipper Tom lived on Fila Island, which was located further up the Bay. Married with kids, he used to paddle to and from in a small dugout canoe. I had a go at it once and promptly capsized; it was VERY tender, despite having a small outrigger on one side. Tom was large and burly, but he managed it.

Most evenings I would go to Cookies Bar with Apete and Misa. It was the local bar in town; cheaper beer, but it could get a bit rough towards closing time. But I had my two bodyguards, and apart from a couple of verbal encounters, I was not bothered by anyone. Besides, Cookie – the half local, half Chinese owner – had his own security. He ran a tight bar, having already been closed down twice for unruly behavior. Remember, he had two police forces to keep onside with !!

I also made friends with an expat Aussie, Dave Neave, he was married to a local girl and had two kids. He was the town’s pest control man, among other, often shady business. We used to meet up at a French run bistro and bar called the Bar Sportif for lunch or a beer or two, often extending into late afternoon. We would play pool and quaff the local beer. I always knew when to quit, which was when Dave ordered Pastis. That meant he was going to stay until the owner kicked him out. I had one session with him – it was awful stuff. After sleeping it off overnight you would wake up parched, drink a glass of water, and you were drunk again! I hated it.

Another friend I made was Bruce (McGurr), he worked for the ANZ Bank, the only Australian bank in Port Vila. Yes, there were two currencies and two banks (the other was the French bank, Banque de l’Indochine). We would meet up for a beer at the Rossi, and occasionally head out to the nightclub at Mele Beach, looking for girls. We actually had a good track record there!! Bruce had a two bedroom flat overlooking the harbour, which was handy for me as it was easy walking distance to the Onewa. I often spent the night in his spare room.

One day Bill told me that the Royal Yacht Britannia was visiting Port Vila. So when the day arrived and the Britannia steamed in, we were one of the small flotilla of boats in the Bay to welcome it. Now, I’m not a royalist, and when Bill told me to rig up all the signal flags as bunting, I told him I could spell “Get F****d”, just using one substitute for the extra ‘e’. He was horrified and amused at the same time, but he wouldn’t let me do it. “They will read it” he said, “and we could be in trouble”. So I gave the job to Apete; he couldn’t care less. The Queen was not on board, only Prince Phillip, who had a couple of beers at the BESA club that evening. I didn’t go, but Bill and TC were there, laughing at his corny anti-French jokes!

Later on Bill came aboard and told us that a Japanese fishing boat had run aground on Conway Reef. It was nearly 500 miles away, but Bill was keen to go and have a look. So we quickly topped the fuel up, got some stores onboard, and with Bill’s wife onboard too, we set off. It was going to be a three day there and a three day back voyage, so everyone was praying for fine weather. Our prayers were answered; the weather was perfect, flat calm and virtually no swell.

Bill was doing celestial navigation, and sure enough we were spot on, picking up the wreck dead ahead. But as we got closer it didn’t look promising. The wreck had been pushed right up the reef, and the boat was a modern design, which usually meant it would have a high speed diesel engine with a small propeller. As we anchored in the lee of the reef it was obvious this was the case. Even if we got the prop off, it would still be virtually impossible to carry or drag the prop over the coral to the edge of the reef where we could pick it up.

It was disappointing, but we were not going to waste the trip, so we launched the dinghy and slowly motored into the shallows where we could walk to the sand cay. The cay was bare of vegetation. It was an eerie and humbling experience to stand there in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on a tiny speck of land.

Bill, me and a couple of the crew made our way to the wreck, it was lying on its side – I forget which one – but we were able to clamber aboard and lower ourselves into the wheelhouse.

“Someone has been here before us” said Bill. The wheelhouse had been ransacked; the radio was gone, so was the steering wheel, and other equipment. Bill reckoned a yacht had probably been here only a few days earlier and had taken all the fittings. I pulled open a chart drawer, and there were still charts in it. We removed them and rolled them up and climbed out. Soon we were back on the Onewa.

Bill decided to circle the reef to catch some fish, and we caught heaps; they were snapping the lures nonstop. This was virgin fishing grounds. No wonder so many fishing boats ended up aground here.

With the freezer full of fish, we headed back. The charts were a mix of Admiralty and Chinese or Japanese, but they went into the Onewa‘s chart drawer regardless. It had been a great experience, and the weather held for the return trip too.

Back at Port Vila everything was ready, all the equipment installed and running like clockwork. As it was nearly Christmas, Bill said I could have a couple of weeks R&R in Sydney. But there was a catch; they needed rope, steel and nylon slings, shackles and other equipment, which they had ordered from Sydney and I was to collect it all and organise for it to be shipped back to Vila.  I was also to carry back some electronics for Bill’s ham radio, which his brother would give me. I agreed, and flew back to Sydney on the UTA Caravelle on Christmas day 1970. It was now approaching its 12th year of extended air-worthiness!!!. Gulp.!!

During the flight, I was given a plastic glass of (presumably) French Champagne by the hostess. Free. Because it was Christmas Day! It has been the only thing I have ever received free from any French person! Sacre Bleu!

I really can’t remember too much about the stay in Sydney, except Des was there and he did a lot of the running around. I was busy with Bill’s stuff. I stayed with some mates in Cremorne, and we were out drinking most evenings, either the Strata or the Oaks, on Military Road, or The Newcastle Hotel in the city.

Once everything was settled, I flew back to Port Vila, again on the Caravelle, we were becoming old friends! By now you could reach Vila in the same day, but had to change planes in Noumea. The old DC4 was still in service, but they had got their act together and the DC4 flew to Vila in the afternoon of the same day.

Back in Vila, Bill had been doing a couple of cargo runs to Epi Island, delivering building materials to a volunteer group who were building a school at one of the villages. This was just to earn a bit of cash to cover expenses and keep the crew occupied.

Sometime in February, Bill suggested I should sit for my ‘Mechanic First Class’ marine ticket; it would help with the manning regulations. We got the syllabus and had a look – all fairly simple stuff. Bill coached me for the stuff I wasn’t sure of and, when I felt confident, I applied to the British Marine Department. Captain Robin Bibby was the head of the British Marine Department at that time, and, yes, there was a French Marine Department too!

A date was set and at the appointed time I arrived. Captain Bibby had set aside a desk and chair in the outer office, and I got started. Halfway through one of the British staff walked in, saw me and stopped with a very puzzled frown. He asked me who I was and what was I doing there. “I’m sitting an exam!” I said in my best ‘isn’t it obvious’ accent.

“Oh, sorry, carry on” he flustered, and plunged into Bibby’s office. I passed and was issued with a certificate, I was thirteenth to pass that exam.

Later on that evening I was at the Rossi, having dinner with Bill and his wife Dee, when the same guy came over to our table. “I say old chap, did you pass?” he asked.

“Yes”.

“Oh, jolly good, you had me confused there for a bit,” he laughed and wandered off.

Well the old coot could have bought me a beer, I thought.

Copyright Peter Cole 2023. All rights reserved.