Category Archives: travel

Pilgrimage to Gdansk, 2025

Last weekend, we took advantage of Poland’s November 11 (= 11 Listopad ‘leaf-fall’ month) Independence Day holidays to make a pilgrimage to Gdansk, where my father and (doctrinally pacifist) Quaker/Mennonite/Church of the Brethren volunteers aboard the S.S. Carroll Victory Liberty ship arrived in 1946 to help deliver horses and chickens to devastated Poland.

My principal mentor in linguistics, Byron W. Bender, who was raised a Mennonite in Pennsylvania and later attended Quaker meetings in Honolulu, also arrived in Gdansk in 1946 on a similar mission aboard another Liberty ship, the S.S. Stephen R. Mallory.

These UNRRA efforts, including the delivery of goats to postwar Okinawa by my dad’s Quaker crony, Herbert Nicholson, a prewar missionary to Japan known as “Yagi-no-ojisan” (Uncle Goat) in postwar Japan. During the war years, he helped AJA internees in the U.S. After the UNRRA program ended, its participants founded the Heifer Project, now Heifer International.

The granddaughter of one of these Church of the Brethren volunteers, Peggy Reif Miller, has gathered many stories from other participants and built a very informative website titled Seagoing Cowboys.

I long ago started my Poland album on Flickr with scans of photos from my dad’s trip. Someone gave him a camera to record some of it. We managed to visit and photograph several sites he took photos of. Here are links to a few of his photos and our photos of the same sites, all much improved in 2025.

Oliwa Cathedral in 2025 vs. 1946. We managed to arrive there just in time for the noontime pipe organ concert on what was once the largest pipe organ in Europe. The cathedral was jam-packed.

Gdansk Old Town Hall in 2025 vs. 1946.

Hala Targowa (Market Hall) (under renovation) in 2025 vs. 1946. A string of kebab shops now obscures the old building from across the street.

We took a sleeper train (first class in our own 2-person compartment). It ran from near-midnite to near-dawn in each direction and required long waits in stations with no amenities except floors and benches and restrooms after 9 p.m. Nor was there any lulling clickety-clack, but lots of lurches as we lay down to sleep. That’s another story.

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Filed under Japan, military, NGOs, Poland, religion, travel, U.S., war

Ubiquitous Street Signs in Poland

Zapraszamy lit. ‘We invite’ (= ‘Welcome’) is on nearly every storefront, but I haven’t seen it on welcome mats. One also sees Dziękujemy ‘we thank you’.

Among the most common prohibitive streetsigns are: Zakas Parkowanie ‘No parking’. Many streets have paid (Płatny) parking zones with one interactive Parkomat meter per zone. Blue signs with P mark the beginning, and often specify whether parking is parallel, angled, or perpendicular to the sidewalk. The ends of paid parking zones are marked with blue signs reading Koniec ‘end’.

Many shops and restaurants also display Zakas Palenia ‘no smoking’. Lots of Poles smoke or vape and you often encounter groups of people standing around outside taking smoke breaks (in the cold) before going back inside. It took me a while to figure out that the Papierosy advertised at many stores are ‘cigarettes’. What gave it away for me were signs advertising e-papierosy.

Lifts are labeled Winda (sg.) or Windy (pl.). Ground floors (parter) are numbered 0, and basements are numbered -1. Each upper floor is a piętro and the newly upgraded elevator in our building announces piętro zero at the ground floor and piętro minus jeden in the basement where the recycling bins are.

Our rather nice building also has signs that warn residents not to park their rowery ‘bicycles’, hulajnogi ‘scooters’, or deskorolki ‘skateboards’ in the hallways. Hulajnogi elektryczne are as much a danger to pedestrians on Polish sidewalks as they are everywhere else.

Poles have a reputation for being heavy drinkers, and all manner of liquor is readily available even on Sundays in the ubiquitous Żabka convenience shops, but we have been surprised to see so many varieties of very tasty beers and wines (and even hard liquor) on storeshelves and in restaurants that are labeled bezalkoholowe (0,0%).

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First Flight, September 1915

From The Other Trench: The WW1 Diary and Photos of a German Officer, by Alexander Pfeifer and Philipp Cross (True Perspective Press, 2024), Kindle p. 95:

Seemann flew first, and then I. I was in the air for about 15 minutes, namely at an altitude of 400 to 500 metres, and it was simply wonderful. You don’t notice the ascent. You suddenly see everything deep down below without any jolts, and the landscape very slowly glides away beneath you. The forests, villages, and the many castles surrounded by moats look delightful, and the roads stand out sharply — a very indescribable, beautiful sight — no trace of dizziness. You feel completely safe and travel much more smoothly than in the best car. The only unpleasant moment is when the engine is turned off for gliding. You thereby have the feeling as though you are plummeting down forwards. The ground literally flies towards you, and you are suddenly rolling on the ground again. I am very happy that I was able to experience this. I would prefer to fly every day. You thus understand why everyone is rushing to go to the aeroplanes.

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Weekend in Łódź (alliterative)

Poland’s large branch of the International Association of Teachers of English as a Foreign Language (IATEFL) held its annual convention in Łódź last weekend. So we took a local train up through the countryside to get there before noon on Friday. Our return trip after the conference ended on Sunday had to be routed through Warsaw because of heavier weekend ridership. We didn’t have reserved seats on the final leg to Kielce, but managed to find seats for the whole trip, which arrived about a half-hour late. That long train had started in Vilnius and would end in Krakow.

Łódź became an industrial powerhouse during the early 1800s, with many textile mills employing thousands of German and Jewish immigrants. The largest plant, Manufaktura, just across from our hotel, was founded by Izrael Poznański, whose family built a palace adjacent to it that now serves as the city’s history museum. The huge brick buildings of Manufaktura have been nicely restored and repurposed into a major market and entertainment district, while some of the older brick buildings nearby have been abandoned. (The Łódź ghetto was the second largest in Poland during World War II, and the last to be liquidated because it was so productive.) I spent a day exploring and taking photographs around Manufaktura and the city museum there while my wife attended the conference.

On Saturday, I explored the major pedestrian mall, Piotrkowska Street, which runs north-south, starting above Liberty Square (Plac Wolności), with its Tadeusz Kościuszko Monument, where a band was playing when I first passed. On my way back, I heard a preacher shouting loudly in English, with each utterance translated into Polish (somewhat less loudly). Signage showed that the city was that weekend celebrating Kocham Łódź (I Love Łódź) Festiwal Nadziei (Festival of Hope).

On Sunday, I explored the University of Łódź area near Fabryczna, where the huge central train and bus station is located. We had time between the conference and our train departure to enjoy a traditional meal at Imber Restaurant off Piotrkowska. The rustic Zalewajka soup and Łódź-style pickled herring on sour cream were wonderful.

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Outliers in Poland, Week 2

We arrived in Kielce in Świętokrzyskie (‘Holy Cross’) Voivodeship in (Lesser Poland) on a Friday, after a fast 2-hour highway drive south from Warsaw past lovely green countryside. We lodged temporarily in Jan Kochanowski University’s welcome center dorm while we looked for a local apartment. A very helpful recent graduate helped us navigate the Otodom real estate site and called to line up three possible sites to visit the following week. We lucked out with a spacious, fully furnished apartment in the center of town that had been rented out as an AirB&B. The owner was happy to have a ten-month rental by an older couple, and we signed the lease on the Friday before we left for a weekend language-teachers conference in Łódź.

The welcome center dorm had no cooking facilities, but just up the street were four grocery stores: a large Polish-owned Lewiatan, a German-owned Lidl, a smaller Portuguese-owned Biedronka (“Ladybug”), and a tiny Żabka (“Froglet”). The last is Poland’s ubiquitous convenience chain, one of the few stores open on Sundays.

Kielce is a very walkable city, but is also well served by buses. We first took a bus ride to the main terminal by the train station, where we found out that bus rides are free for anyone over 70. (The age limit may differ in other Polish cities.) We also see lots of families with children on the streets. There are at least two large, enclosed shopping malls (Galleria) within walkable range, with many international brands. Our apartment is near the intersection of the Silnica River and the long Sienkiewicza pedestrian mall that runs from the train station to the top of the hill. Across the river is a line of nicer restaurants, including one featuring food and wine from Georgia.

I’m still very tongue-tied in conversation, but I’m recognizing lots of words on signage. For instance, I correctly guessed that nieruchomość ‘real estate’ literally translates into ‘not-moving-ness’ (Fr. immobilier), after having seen many street signs warning pedestrians about Strefa Ruchu (traffic zone) driveways and parking lots.

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Outliers in Poland, Week 1

Last Monday, the Faroutliers arrived in Warsaw. We flew United Airlines on the first legs from BWI to ORD (!) to FRA(nkfort), then I flew the last leg to WA(rsa)W on Poland’s Lot airways while my wife arrived on a later United flight.  My Lot plane was a long, narrow Embraer, which perhaps didn’t have enough room for my second large checked bag of winter clothes and other things we wouldn’t need until we find a place to rent. I filed a claim at Lot’s lost baggage office and they delivered the bag to our hotel a day later.

We were lodged at the fancy Presidential Hotel in the center of the city, across the street from Warszawa Centralna train station, with a good view of the Stalinist-era Palace of Culture and Science. After a day of rest to mitigate severe jetlag, my wife went off to attend orientations for her yearlong teaching position, and I took a long walk down to the Wistula River, taking more photos of Polish signage than of the river itself.

Among the most frequent words on airport signage were Zakaz (Verboten, Prohibited, 禁止) and Uwaga (Achtung, Attention, 注意). After months of Polish self-study, I could recognize many words, but cannot converse easily at all yet. I started with Duolingo, but its lack of any grammatical explanations left me frustrated, especially, for instance, given the expanded role of the genitive case to cover not just partitive (like French du vin), but negative and irrealis nouns, as well (like things you don’t have, or that you need or want). I turned to Youtube, which has many, many Polish lessons on various topics. Among the clearest grammatical explanations for English speakers I found are those at Learn Polish with Monika.

On our last free day in Warsaw, we walked to and then through the very impressive POLIN Museum of the History of Polish Jews, next to which is a monument and square dedicated to Willy Brandt, respectively labeled Pomnik Willy’ego Brandta and Skwer Willy’ego Brandta. We walked back along aleja Jana Pawła II (John Paul II Avenue, a bit like Warsaw’s Fifth Avenue, it seemed). I haven’t yet found out what that avenue was called before it was renamed for the Pope.

Our last evening in Warsaw we found ourselves next to a table with a young Romanian-speaking couple who were enjoying a multicourse meal. I couldn’t resist interrupting them between courses, and we had a long, pleasant conversation in Romanian and English. Our Romania stories echoed those their parents and grandparents had told them about the old days.

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Cabral’s Armada to India in 1500

From Conquerors: How Portugal Forged the First Global Empire, by Roger Crowley (Random House, 2015), Kindle pp. 85-87:

JUST SIX MONTHS AFTER Gama’s return, a vastly larger fleet was ready to depart from the shores of Belém: thirteen ships, twelve hundred men, and a capital investment by Florentine and Genoese bankers, now eager to participate in the opportunities of the Indies. Manuel could be irresolute, easily swayed, and perverse, but the year 1500 resounded with messianic portents, the eyes of Europe were turning toward Lisbon, and this new armada, led by the fidalgo Pedro Álvares Cabral as captain-major, was a swift follow-up aimed at winning material advantages and the crusading admiration of the Catholic world. Cabral’s expedition marked the shift from reconnaissance to commerce and then conquest. In the first five years of the sixteenth century, Manuel would dispatch a volley of overlapping fleets of increasing size, eighty-one ships in all, to ensure success in a life-and-death struggle for a permanent position in the Indian Ocean. It was a supreme national effort that called on all the available resources of manpower, shipbuilding, material provision, and strategic vision to exploit a window of opportunity before Spain could react. In the process, the Portuguese took both Europe and the peoples of the Indies by complete surprise.

Cabral was able to apply all the knowledge gained from Gama’s voyage. The timing of departure was no longer decided by the auspicious calculations of court astrologers but by the rhythm of the monsoon. The route was to follow the looping westward sweep undertaken by the ships in 1497, and to draw on the experience of pilots and captains such as Pêro Escobar, Nicholas Coelho, who had accompanied Gama, and Bartolomeu Dias himself. Cabral’s fleet carried back Malayalam-speaking Indians who had been taught Portuguese, with the aim of cutting out the Arabic-speaking middlemen. The Jewish convert Gaspar da Gama was aboard, knowledgeable about the intricate politics of the Malabar Coast, and another converted Jew, Master John, Dom Manuel’s physician, sailed as astronomer to the fleet, with the duty of studying the stars of the Southern Hemisphere for the purposes of future navigation. After the hideous embarrassment of the gifts offered at Calicut, Cabral carried choice items to entrance the samudri. It appears that the Portuguese persisted in believing that the samudri was a Christian king, albeit of an unorthodox kind, and in accord with the remit of the pope, a delegation of Franciscan friars accompanied the expedition to correct his errors, so that “the Indians…might more completely have instruction in our faith and might be indoctrinated and taught in matters pertaining to it, as befits the service of God and the salvation of their souls.”

Equally important was the commercial mission. The personnel, secretarial resources, and goods to establish a trading post in Calicut accompanied the expedition. With the cautionary example of the failures of the previous voyage, calculated attempts were made to load wares that might be attractive to the Malabar Indians. These included coral, copper, vermilion pigment, mercury, fine and coarse cloth, velvets, satins, and damasks in a whole range of colors, and gold coins. A highly experienced factor, Ayres Corrêa, who spoke Arabic, headed up this commercial initiative, supported by a team of clerks and secretaries to keep records and accounts. These literate subordinates—such as Pêro Vaz de Caminha, who wrote the first account of Brazil—provided some of the most riveting, and sometimes heartbreaking, narratives of the deeds of the Portuguese in the years ahead.

Cabral himself was no seaman, rather a diplomat with a carefully framed set of instructions, some of which had been drawn up by Gama to smooth the troubled waters in the wake of his expedition to Calicut and to establish peaceful and lucrative relations with the “Christian” samudri. Vastly better informed than his predecessor, Cabral could consult this multi-page document, which contained branching options in the case of a whole range of eventualities. It also directed him to take peremptory and high-handed action against perceived enemies that was likely to lead to trouble.

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Filed under Brazil, economics, language, migration, military, Mozambique, nationalism, Portugal, religion, South Asia, travel

Preparing Vasco da Gama’s Voyage

From Conquerors: How Portugal Forged the First Global Empire, by Roger Crowley (Random House, 2015), Kindle pp. 34-40:

What Münzer witnessed [in 1497] was not just a glimpse of an exotic world beyond the earth’s curve but the industrial infrastructure of shipbuilding, seafaring provision, and arsenal facilities that gave Portugal its maritime punch. He saw

an enormous workshop with many furnaces where they make anchors, colubrinas [cannons] and so on, and everything necessary for the sea. There were so many blackened workers around the furnaces that we thought ourselves to be among the Cyclops in the cave of Vulcan. Afterward we saw in four other buildings innumerable very large and superb colubrinas, and also throwing weapons, javelins, shields, breastplates, mortars, hand guns, bows, lances—all very well made and in great abundance…and what enormous quantities of lead, copper, saltpetre and sulfur!

The ability to produce high-quality bronze cannons and techniques for deploying them effectively at sea had probably been developed by the energetic King João, whose inquisitive mind and wide-ranging interests included practical experiments in shipborne artillery. He had developed the use of large bombards on caravels and carried out test firings to determine their most effective use on the decks of pitching ships. The solution was to fire the guns horizontally at water level; any higher and the likelihood was that the shots would whistle overhead. In some cases, if the guns were positioned sufficiently low down in the bows, the cannonballs could be made to ricochet off the surface of the water, thus increasing their range. The Portuguese also developed berços, lightweight breech-loaded bronze swivel guns, which could be carried by ship’s boats and had the advantage over the conventional muzzle-loaders in their rate of fire—up to twenty shots an hour. The superiority of their artillery, which was augmented by recruitment of German and Flemish cannon founders and gunners, was to prove a telling advantage in the events about to unfold.

The expedition in prospect was modest in scale but carefully prepared. It was based on decades of incremental learning. All the skill and knowledge acquired over many years in ship design, navigation, and provision for Atlantic voyages went into building two stout ships, and [King] Manuel drew on a talented generation of practical experience in their construction. The caravel had been the agent and instrument of all this exploration, ideal for nosing up tropical rivers and battling back up the African coast against the wind, but horribly uncomfortable on long voyages across huge seas. Dias’s rounding of the Cape had exposed their operational limits: the crews would go no farther.

It was Dias who was charged with designing and overseeing the construction of two stout carracks, the sailing ships the Portuguese called naus, to lead the voyage. The brief was clear: they had to be durable enough to withstand the pounding seas of the southern Atlantic; roomy enough to accommodate and provision the crews better than the rolling decks of a caravel; small enough to maneuver in shallows and harbors. The ships under construction on the banks, their frameworks chocked up by wooden scaffolding, had tubby rounded hulls, high sides, a tall aftercastle, and three masts; they were nevertheless of shallow draft, and not outsized. They were about eighty feet long, and each probably weighed about 100 to 120 tons. Their square sails made them less maneuverable in a contrary wind; the compensation was their sturdiness against the unpredictable battering of unknown seas. A supply ship, intended to be broken up near the Cape, was also constructed.

It seems that no expense was spared in the construction or provisioning of these ships, or the recruitment and payment of the crews. “They were built by excellent masters and workmen, with strong nails and wood,” remembered the mariner Duarte Pacheco Pereira.

Each ship had three sets of sails and anchors and three or four times as much other tackle and rigging as was usual. The cooperage of the casks, pipes and barrels for wine, water, vinegar and oil was strengthened with many hoops of iron. The provisions of bread, wine, flour, meat, vegetables, medicines, and likewise of arms and ammunition, were also in excess of what was needed for such a voyage. The best and most skillful pilots and mariners in Portugal were sent on this voyage, and they received, besides other favors, salaries higher than those of any seamen of other countries. The money spent on the few ships of this expedition was so great that I will not go into detail for fear of not being believed.

The barrels rolled up the gangplanks on the shores of the dockyard contained sufficient food for three years. Gama received two thousand gold cruzados for the venture, a huge sum; his brother Paulo, the same. The seamen’s wages were raised, and some of the money paid in advance to support their families. It was perhaps a recognition that many of them would not be coming back. No detail was omitted. The ships carried the best navigational aids available: as well as sounding leads and hourglasses, astrolabes and the most up-to-date maps—and possibly copies of Abraham Zacuto’s recently printed tables for determining latitudes from the height of the sun. Twenty cannons were hoisted aboard, both large bombards and the smaller breech-loaded berços, along with plentiful supplies of gunpowder tightly sealed against the sea air and quantities of cannonballs. The skilled craftsmen—carpenters, caulkers, forgers of iron, and barrelmakers—who would ensure the security of the ships were recruited in pairs, in case death thinned out their ranks. There were interpreters to speak Bantu and Arabic; musicians to lead sea chanteys and blow ceremonial fanfares; gunners and men-at-arms and skilled seamen, supported by an underclass of “deck fodder.” These comprised African slaves, orphans, converted Jews, and convicted men, enrolled for the menial heavy work: hauling on ropes, raising anchors and sails, pumping out the bilges. The convicts were particularly expendable; they had been released from prison specifically to be put ashore to make first inquiries on uncharted and potentially hostile coasts; priests also went, to lead the prayers and consign the souls of the dead to the sea with a Christian burial.

There were four ships in all: the two carracks, christened São Gabriel and São Rafael after the archangels, according to a vow made by King João before his death; with them went a caravel, the Bérrio, and the two-hundred-ton supply ship. Gama called on seamen he knew and relatives he could trust, to lessen the possibility of dissent in a tightly knit expedition. These included his brother Paulo, commander of the Rafael, and two Gama cousins. His pilots and leading seamen were the most experienced of the age. They included Pêro de Alenquer and Nicholas Coelho, who had rounded the cape with Bartolomeu Dias, and Dias’s own brother Diogo. Another pilot, Pêro Escobar, whose name was carved at the Yellala Falls, had been a navigator with Diogo Cão. Bartolomeu Dias was also scheduled to accompany the expedition on the first leg of the voyage in a ship bound for the Guinea coast.

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Emigrating from Liverpool by Sea

From The Famine Ships: The Irish Exodus to America, by Edward Laxton (St. Martins, 2024), Kindle pp. 229-232:

The modern Catholic cathedral in Liverpool is known irreverently but affectionately as Paddy’s Wigwam, in deference to its shape and to the antecedents of the masses who worship within the diocese today. The six years of the Famine sailings saw a million Irish emigrants arrive in Liverpool’s port. The majority had just completed the short trip across the usually turbulent Irish Sea – the first stage of their journey to America or Canada. Nearly a quarter of them would have nothing more to do with that cruel sea and those inhuman ships. Some travelled to England and Scotland but many an Irishman and his family remained in Liverpool. For some the city symbolised the end of all their travels and a section of the city came to be known as Little Ireland.

For nearly two centuries, from c. 1700–1900, Liverpool’s port enabled Britain to dominate rival maritime nations. Liverpool sent out ships to explore the world but also ships full of human cargo, first slaves, and then emigrants. Known as the slavers’ port in the 18th century, Liverpool rapidly became an emigrants’ port in the 19th century, though Liverpool’s ship owners continued to trade in slaves until slavery was abolished by Britain in 1807. During that final year, 185 ships transported as many as 50,000 slaves. Soon the commercial rule of ‘slaves-out and sugar-back’ gave way to ‘emigrants-out and timber-back’. On ships bound for New York or Boston during the Famine, it cost 6 cs to insure US $4 worth of baggage but only 4 cs to insure your life. But the Irish were only part of the emigration story. During the 19th century, a total of nine million emigrants spilled out of Europe, sailing from Liverpool to America. Liverpool enjoyed unique commercial and geographical assets. Sited strategically close to the Irish Sea, the city lay only 3 miles up the River Mersey. Liverpool was also one of the first posts to forge a rail-link with Hull, 100 miles away. Hull, in turn, enjoyed busy trade with the ports of Hamburg and Bremen, Gothenburg and Danzig, from where a remarkable ethnic mix of people journeyed, sometimes fleeing their homelands for various reasons. The crossing from Europe to Hull over the North Sea, was as short as that over the Irish Sea, and the rail fare was only a few shillings. Of course, at this particular time the mainland Europeans formed only a minor part of the emigrant population in Britain.

It was logical for the Irish to aim for Liverpool as their launching pad into the New World, not merely because it was the nearest port of convenience, but also because it was a familiar site and source of summer work. Thousands of Irish farmhands regularly crossed to Liverpool, seeking work at the back end of summer on England’s farms. Too few opportunities existed at home at harvest time and the wages in England were better. Additionally, many more ships were available in Liverpool, with its big, fast vessels and speedy American packet ships. The fast packets grabbed a good half of the emigrant trade towards the end of the Famine years, averaging 40 days westward and 23 days eastward. Liverpool was also one of the world’s busiest shipping ports, with over 36 miles of quays and a massive ship tonnage registered as three times the overall tonnage owned in America at that period. Into this teeming city sailed the Irish families from their rural communities. Already overawed by the Irish cities of Dublin, Belfast or Cork, the rural emigrants had to survive the streetwise con-men and racketeers of Liverpool, and later of New York or Boston. At various levels the Liverpool fraternity was engaged in the business of exporting people and, as human cargo was regarded as a commodity, every trader sought to extract his ounce of flesh from that commodity. Yet help was at hand, if only the emigrants knew where to look and who to ask. Various publications offered guidance, and government circulars advised on how to find lodgings, how to seek a passage and buy a ticket, where to exchange money, what to avoid at the docks, on the ships and on arrival.

The priority for the emigrant in Liverpool was to obtain a ticket for a ship sailing within a few days. Space on most of the Atlantic ships was often sold in one block by the owners to the passenger brokers and competition was so intense that fares varied from day to day, sometimes changing by the hour. A berth in steerage ranged between £3 10s to £5 (US $17.50 to $25). The port authority licensed 21 brokers who each provided a bond plus two sureties totalling £200 (US $1,000). The brokers paid a small commission to dock-runners for each emigrant delivered to their office. Given half a chance, a runner would lead his unsuspecting victims from the brokers to a lodging house, and then on to a chandler for provisions and suitable clothing, earning further commission, if he could persuade his prey to part with his last few pennies. Before the day of departure, each emigrant had to appear before a medical officer who was paid by the ship owner or charterer £1 (US $5) for every hundred passengers he inspected. After a very rudimentary examination, he would stamp each ticket as proof of inspection. Passengers were entitled to board the ship 24 hours before departure. Once settled, if lucky to have among them a fiddler or a piper and while spirits were high, the passengers might enjoy a song and dance. Once out on the ocean, the sloping decks and strong south-westerly winds would soon restrict their activities. Occasionally, there were scenes at the quayside if passengers arrived late, after the gangway had been raised, the mooring lines cast off and the ship had sailed away. The late arrivals would be rushed to the dock-gate and as their ship passed close by, their luggage and boxes would be flung aboard, followed by the passengers themselves, hopefully landing on the deck. If they or their luggage missed the ship and splashed into the water, there was usually a man in a rowing boat positioned for a rescue, and a reward.

Steam tugs usually towed a sailing ship into position down-river. As tugs were not always available during these early days of steam, outgoing ships were sometimes steered by a practised pilot with a single-sail cutter in attendance. The pilot’s local knowledge of navigational hazards, tides, currents and winds and his regular practice in handling a ship were invaluable. During the short voyage down-river, the ship’s crew searched for stowaways. All legitimate passengers were mustered on deck during the search, while dubious bundles were poked with long, sharp sticks and suspect barrels were turned upside-down. Many a barrel or trunk concealed a body or two. Once discovered, the guilty stowaways were transferred to the tug and returned to shore where they would be tried before a magistrate. A lucky few survived the search and made their appearance two or three days later when the crew would be grateful as the successful stowaways worked their passage by doing the most unpleasant jobs on board.

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Filed under Britain, Canada, economics, Ireland, labor, migration, slavery, travel, U.S.

Ireland’s Oldest Lighthouse

From The Famine Ships: The Irish Exodus to America, by Edward Laxton (St. Martins, 2024), Kindle pp. 151-152:

In 1849, shortly before Patrick Kennedy left for America, the first three ships to sail directly from his home port of New Ross to America, cast off with their quotas of Famine emigrants. The Lady Constable, the Boreas and the Dunbrody were all bound for New York, and crossed the Atlantic at the same time as the Washington Irving, carrying Patrick Kennedy to his new life in America.

The Dunbrody was named after Dunbrody Abbey standing high on the east bank of the River Barrow, just beyond the point where the Barrow joins the Suir flowing down from Waterford. Further down the river where the calmer waters emerge into the swell of the Atlantic, stands another Catholic landmark, St Dubhan’s Monastery close to Hook Point. For centuries the monks took a vow to warn mariners of the dangers of the rocks below and maintained a lighthouse near the monastery. Caligula, the Roman Emperor who ruled at the beginning of the first century AD, built the world’s first lighthouses as his legions spread across Europe. Some 400 years later, St Dubhan established the oldest lighthouse in Ireland on Hook Point. The monks kept the beacon alight in those early days by burning coal, pitch, charcoal and tar each night. Later, the Canons of St Augustine took over and built an 80-foot-high tower for the light with a small fortress below. The monks continued to preserve the light until 1657 when the lighthouse passed into public ownership. The original tower, coated in white lime to stand out by day, is now 700 years old, and ‘in such good repair it will probably last another millennium’, comments the Irish coastguard service. The tower performed an essential service for all ships entering the delta on their way to Waterford, Wexford, New Ross, or any other harbour en route. For the emigrants on a ship sailing from Ireland on a southerly course, the ancient lighthouse served as the last memorable monument to their homeland. The kindlier captains allowed emigrants up on deck, to catch a last glimpse of their beloved homeland before she disappeared beyond the horizon. With dry mouths, damp eyes and hands clasping the rail, the tearful emigrants gazed in silence at the disappearing coastline. Eventually the silence would give way to the exciting hiss of the bow wave and the roaring seas and the sad men and women would be shepherded down below.

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Filed under Ireland, Italy, migration, religion, travel