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our people Johnny Mac shares tales of the past BY CAROL FORSYTH I might have been rich had I wanted the gold, Instead of the friendships I've made; I might have had fame had I wanted renown Instead of the hours I've played… – Harry Scott, a mining poet of the 1880s. Johnny Mac is a prolific storyteller. Many readers will know him from articles in Port News, radio talkback shows, or small newsletters. His engaging stories bring to life an era now gone forever. "I joined a small 500 tonne Liverpool coaster MV Edgefield in Dublin. She was clewing up ready to sail as I stepped aboard. The mate was in the galley when a loud clashing noise was heard, the drunken cook had hit his head against the hanging pots and pans. The mate saw me at the doorway and dropped old 'Russian George' who folded like a sack of spuds." "'Give us a look at your Discharge Book, Ok, get turned to' – 'And we'll have no nonsense out of you.' I glanced down at the cook and thought 'too bloody right you won't.'" Johnny Mac spent most of his working life either on or close by the sea. Born in Glasgow in the 1930s, Johnny went to school to eat his lunch or he could be found on the River Clyde in a converted lifeboat with his father. Little did they know, as they sailed past the great shipbuilding yards, that Johnny would one e day sail on those same ships. Johnny's first ship was Bloemfontein Castle where he served d as deck boy. She was one of a fleet servicing Africa. "We were in Durban, sailing mid-day, and another ship p Klipfontein, a cargo-passenger ship like us, about 11,000 tonnes, s, left at 1000 hours. We waved her away. It wasn't long before we e followed and as the ship cleared Durban, we received an SOS S from Klipfontein. "She had hit something, maybe a mine from Word War II, or r o an underwater pinnacle. We reached her as she was about to go e under. The passengers and one dog were in her lifeboats and we watched as the ship dived beneath the waves." Undeterred, Johnny spent the next two years at sea. On his s 18th birthday, the young Scotsman found himself alongside at Queens Wharf, Auckland. "It was a happy ship, but one night a big bovver boy [senior r ordinary seaman] pretending to be drunk, tried to kill me. There was something evil about this guy. He came staggering along the deck and tried to throw me down the hatch. I thought 'stuff this' and decided to get off." Knowing he couldn't get through Immigration, Johnny packed his sea bag, took a couple of sea blankets and, "hid on the back of a veggie truck amongst half a tonne of spuds." Once on Customs Street, Johnny disembarked and purchased a one-way ticket "into the burning interior of New Zealand – Te Kuiti." 44 Professional Skipper September/October 2013 "By this time I was a bit apprehensive about what I was going to do. I slept under some trees and in the morning went to the first farmhouse to ask for work. That day I started milking cows, shearing sheep and building fences." For the next five years Johnny Mac was happy working in quarries, building bridges, shearing sheep and working as a linesman laying power lines across the King Country. One day he received a letter from his mother saying she hadn't seen him for six years and asking when he was coming home because his tea was getting cold! Johnny Mac made the decision to turn himself in. "I gave myself up to the police, received a month's hard labour breaking rocks and the magistrate said 'that will make a man out of you McMillan.' Then I was deported back to England on the MV Otaki, a fine vessel, while they paid me a shilling a month." Johnny Mac was soon back at sea on small coasters and then delivering ships around the world. "We were sailing the whale chaser Indus 19 through the Caribbean and I had the 8-12 watch with the captain. Going up to the wheel I took a mug of coffee and should the sun come up, a pair of shorts to get a bit of a bronzie. The bridge was open, that is to say, no wheelhouse – giving all round vision. It was eight steps above the chartroom directly aft and below. As the glorious sun rose, I thought it time to drop my jeans and slip into shorts – still holding the wheel, I shucked down but tripped backwards, losing my grip on the wheel, careered down the steps, my bum resting neatly in the chartroom porthole. The captain was doing chart work and took a stern view of me!" Johnny's tales continue. "Going through the Panama Canal, we lined up for convoy. A Yankee pilot came up on our bridge dressed like he's just come from a barbie, hula shirt and long Johnny McM illan www.skipper.co.nz