Cayman Net News would like to offer its condolences to the friends and family of Mr Ira Walton who sadly passed away at George Town Hospital on Friday 22 September, but in his honour we will be continuing the serialization of his memoirs and hope that our readers continue to enjoy the adventures Mr Walton has recorded for history.

Part Six: At this point in the story, Mr Walton is trying to sail a ship safely into harbour in heavy seas.

"The crucial moment had arrived to turn the ship around and head for the channel, so I braced myself for the worst, because in that kind of weather it's always three heavy rollers (seas) one after the other.

I had hardly made the 180-degree turn when a huge waver caught the ship on the starboard bow, almost completely covering the foredeck. I was then about half a mile off the entrance to the channel.

The entrance to the channel was rough, really rough, and I was just nearing the entrance to the harbour when a huge sea caught the ship on the starboard bow, almost turning her over.

Fortunately before another sea caught us we were inside but with about 15-degree port list. Safely inside we began making preparations for docking.

It was Christmas and we needed money (plenty of money), and as was the custom, we were all called into mess hall to get our draw.

When the Captain stated that each of the crew would only get $5.00, the crew almost mutinied, but with the promise of another draw later on in the week, the crew headed for the bar room to guzzle draft beer that was sold for $1.50 per gallon.

Days passed, but there was no money forthcoming. Then the crew started selling anything that could be disposed of, including bed linen, mattresses, etc.

Things went from bad to worse; our food supply was diminishing and in order to survive we used to go on the dock and catch catfish to use for bait, and we made baskets out of crocus (sacks) to catch shrimps.

We sold some shrimps, but the remainder we used on the ship.

After three weeks we got things straightened out and departed for Kingston.

The ship broke down seven times between Tampico and Swan Island. We eventually ran out of 2" pipes to make boiler tubes. We remained anchored off the Swan until a tugboat (The Rescue) came, and towed us back to Jamaica.

I took my wife and headed for the mountains in St Mary, where my in-laws Mildred and Conry Forester were living in a little hamlet called May River.

We spent three weeks enjoying a wide variety of fruits, and various types of ground-produce.

The cool of the morning breezes was heavenly. What I enjoyed most was watching the stream from the river, 30 feet below, rushing past the foot of the hill.

We got our meat from the river, eel and little shrimp-like things called Jonga.

The Foresters also raised Goats, and no one can cook curried goat like a Jamaican from the mountains.

The time had arrived when we had to say goodbye to the mountains and to all that we enjoyed.

Back in Kingston we got a room on Waltham Park Road and I went back to work for JS Webster and Sons, for thirty shillings per day, this time not as a seaman, but as a member of the shore gang.

I worked there for a few months, and during that time my wife died.

The loss of my wife was a stunning blow that left me in a confused state of mind, and I wanted to put as much distance as possible between me and Jamaica.

First I thought about going south to Colombia, but the SS Caymania was plying between Jamaica and Belize via Grand Cayman.

I decided that it would be a good idea to get lost in the Belize Jungle, and drown my sorrows there.
The Caymania was docked at Number Three pier and Captain Hadley Foster was the master, and he agreed for me to work my way to Belize.

We arrived in Grand Cayman early the next morning and we were scheduled to leave at 4:30 pm the same day.

After clearing Customs and immigration I went ashore to look for some friends I knew from my days in the army. I did not have to do a house, it would have been a waste of time, so I headed straight for the Northern Bar, and there found Uric Solomon, Molison McLean, and some others, guzzling beer and Jamaican White Rum.

Everyone was happy to see me, including 'Smithy' the owner of the bar.

We got a couple of bottles of rum, and started driving around, just raising hell.

I lost track of the time, and when I realized it was passed sailing time I rushed to the dock, but the ship had gone, along with most of my frugal sayings. I wasn't too disappointed because it wasn't as if I was in a foreign country, I was home in the Cayman Islands, and among friends (or so I thought).

To be continued next week.