A bit of research tells me the Vietnam was one of three sister ships built in 1952 and she was destroyed by fire in the mid 1970’s. There was accommodation for 117 in first class, 110 in tourist class and 120 in steerage class. She could cruise at 21 knots.
I was16 years old when I boarded the ship on which I was to share an eight berth cabin in steerage class, right up front near the anchor lockers, for the 31 day journey to Marseilles.
I managed on several occasions to sneak into the tourist section to watch films in their cinema and wander through the first class accommodations, despite the formidable defences designed to keep the unwashed hippies of steerage class from doing so. The ship was luxuriously appointed in first class and tourist class; I remember gorgeous pale wood panelling and colourful tapestries, elaborate chandeliers. Not so in steerage, however. We had painted steel walls and floors and the mess hall was fitted with Formica benches and tables. Perhaps strangely for a French ship the food wasn’t memorable although we did have loads of bread and French red plonk on the table at mealtimes.
My companions were a mixed gang; a group of Japanese ‘transistor girls’ heading to Europe, various back-packers from Britain, France, Canada and Australia, a professional surfer from Hawaii on his way to a competition in Australia accompanied by his photographer friend. Excellent company.
My 8-berth cabin was never fully occupied and between Colombo and Bombay the only other resident was an insane man who took to his bunk with a bottle of Fanta and refused all food, convinced he was being poisoned. They took him away in Bombay strapped to a stretcher.
The ship had set off from Yokohama, picked me up in Hong Kong, and continued to Saigon, Singapore, Colombo, Bombay, Djibouti, Port Said and, finally, Marseilles.
The Vietnam War was in full swing so my three days in Saigon were particularly interesting – a night time curfew, firing squad in the market place, lunch at an American Forces canteen, (courtesy of the Hawaiian surfer dudes) and seeing people having their pictures taken alongside the wreckage of the floating restaurant recently bombed by Viet Cong guerrillas. Fascinating stuff.
A group of five of us left the ship at Port Suez and took a taxi (yes, a taxi!) to Cairo to see the museum and then on to Giza to see the Pyramids and the Sphinx before catching up with the ship again at Port Said, perilously close to its sailing time. It cost us £3 each – a journey of 200 miles during which the Canadian had to take over the driving because the taxi driver had become inebriated over lunch! Looking back, it was a highly hazardous journey but it seemed like fun at the time.
From Marseilles I took the boat train to London and then north to take up my engineering apprenticeship. Great memories, amazing what a chance encounter with a bit of ones past can conjure up!
