Doctor at Sea

‘em the nylons as well, and cor! they’re all over you.’
    ‘I assure you these are destined for middle-aged relatives.’
    ‘Used to do pretty well out of nylons during the war. Some of the blokes on the Western Ocean made a fortune flogging ‘em in Southampton. The places they thinks of to hide ‘em! Down the chain locket in the fo’c’sle’s usual. One of the lads put a dummy pipe across the deckhead and filled it with nylons and fags. Lovely job he made of it. Painted it up just like it was real. But the Customs boys copped him. Oh, they’re very fly, they are. I’ll get you an empty beer-case from the Chief Steward.’
    ‘Thank you, Easter.’
    I sat wearily among the disheartening jumble. Well, this was the end of the trip. What had I got from it? Some corned beef, some nylons, a cure for headaches, two stones in weight, and a deep sunburn. But much more than that, surely I had found for the first time that the world isn’t divided simply into two classes - doctors and patients. Three months at sea had taught me more than six years in a medical school. I had learned to give and take toleration, to grapple with grotesque predicaments, to appreciate there is some goodness behind everybody, that life isn’t really so serious, and that doctors aren’t such bloody important people after all.
    The Customs man - young and keen - came in and rummaged my cabin. He did so like an old-fashioned physician searching for a diagnosis with an irritating air of professional detachment.
    ‘Where did you get these from?’ he asked, holding up my best pair of pyjamas.
    ‘Swan and Edgars.’
    ‘Umm. Have you any spirits?’
    ‘Bottle of whisky.’
    ‘Opened?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    ‘Umm. Have you a watch?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What, not one at all?’
    ‘I lost it one night in B.A.’
    He looked at me narrowly.
    ‘Watch your step, Doctor, 5 he said, leaving me alone. I managed to throw my packing together before paying-off started in the saloon. It was more a ceremony than a business transaction. We were theoretically not entitled to any pay until the end of the voyage, though we could draw foreign currency at the pleasure of the Captain. Our wages were set out in a long narrow sheet, with additions for leave and Sundays at sea and deductions for advances, Channel money, bar bill, stores account, and anything else the Chief Steward thought he could add without protest.
    The pay was distributed by the Fathom Line officials, under the eye of the Shipping Master. They sat at the big table behind exciting piles of five-pound notes, looking like the tote about to pay off on the favourite. Also on the table were the ship’s articles and a pile of discharge books - the sailor's personal record - signed by the Captain with a comment on conduct like a school report.
    The crew lined up eagerly, all in their best clothes. I had difficulty in placing the clean, modest-looking men in smart blue and grey suits as the half-naked roughs who strode round the decks with paint pots in the Tropics. The Carpenter was particularly baffling: he wore a
    dark herringbone tweed, a hard white two-inch collar, and an artificial rosebud in his buttonhole, giving the appearance of a moderately liberal-minded clergyman on holiday at Sandown.
    Nothing gives such a pleasant feeling of false prosperity as paying-off a ship. By the time my wages had been reduced by deductions I had less than a month’s salary in general practice, but I stuffed the notes into my pocket and felt like Lord Nuffield. Then I signed off the book of ship’s articles opposite the space where I had signed on them three months ago. My contract with the Commander of the Lotus was broken: I was quit of my obligations to him to obey his lawful commands, to work the ship in emergency, to abstain from bringing my own liquor on board, and to check myself from using foul language in his presence. For his part, he had no longer to trouble about feeding me at the required standards, avoiding carrying me into Arctic or Antarctic latitudes, and returning me to my own country within a period of eighteen months. I was free - out of work, but free.
    I said good-bye to as many of the crew as I could find; sailors’ farewells are brief and shallow, for they make up half their lives. Easter shook hands heartily and impressed on me solemnly the importance of speed whenever I should come to do the three-card trick. Almost everyone left the ship - to go on leave, to quit her for good, or