Winter: Biscay, Trafalgar, Fitzroy; South Westerly (Violent) Storm Force 11 (Exceptionally high waves (37–52 ft, 11.5–16 m). Very large patches of foam, driven before the wind, cover much of the sea surface. Very large amounts of airborne spray, severely reduced visibility)...
Increasing South Westerly (Brobdingnagian) Force 12; (left) 
“Midshipman Kennington on the bridge SAH”. Sixteen years old, homeward bound, full of beans-even in a gale I still had a ‘full english’ served on china plates by my Kowloon steward, in full uniform of course, the only concession to the ships antics was to dampen the white linen tablecloth!- and almost transfixed by the majesty of the phenomenal seas I staggered to my station by the telegraph to take up my duty of recording every order, comment and observation for use in the marine investigation that would surely follow if we got back to Liverpool.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday” heard over the VHF radio means someone is in very, very serious trouble close by, maybe only a few hours away, and the law of the sea (and most countries) is to go to their aid but could we actually get there?

We had already upset, literally and emotionally, the galley when we, the deck officers, forgot to tell them we were altering course to heave to. We had been running with the seas on the port quarter (giving us a long, slow comfortable roll-20o to port across to 30o to starboard plus an associated bow up/bow down pitch of course) when the Old Man wisely chose to heave to. He had given the bridge watch the order to alter course to port having, in a seamanlike manner, waited for a ‘calm’ moment i.e. guessed, BUT DIDN'T TELL ANYONE ELSE. The chefs and stewards had been setting up for the next meal, china plate of course-we were British Merchant Navy, like The Royal Navy but superior- when soporific rolls (it’s like being in a gently swinging hammock once you get used to it) changed to prodigious drubbing ones.

The first thing that happens in a fast turn to windward is the ship leans out of the turn, in this case out to starboard, then the wave crests (60’+) start pushing at right angles to the superstructure, to starboard, resulting in the roll to windward, to port, being almost zero but to leeward, to starboard...well...let’s say I can still visualise, 40 years later, the chef ninjaing his way onto the bridge, covered in broken china flakes, screaming dockside Mandarin curses, to go nose to nipple with The Old Man, it was much, much, better than any Grimsby Dock fishwives fight. The Old Man actually cowered, blenching, behind his precious throne (bridge chair).

Back to “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday” (another one), The Old Man deliberated, waiting hopefully for somebody, anybody, closer to rush to save some souls...two did. Same happened a few times then a couple of days later “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday”, this time we were close enough... we altered course to the north...the chef came back to the bridge...we ate off paper party plates for the rest of the trip.