When The In Group visited the Pacific Islands…

This is the second instalment in James’ set of stories of his days as a young musician on the cruising circuit… To read his previous post, click here. 

‘The In Group’ had played its first gig on P&O’s SS Orcades – a British ship touring the south Pacific out of Sydney in the 70s. It was the era of big hair, big shoes and even bigger egos; mine included! Balmy days, balmy nights, balmy musicians and even balmier sailors!

After our first debacle of playing in the ship’s disco, it was decided that at the end of the evening we would pack up our gear and take it ourselves to the next venue on the ship. Yes, that’s right – the next venue. As we found out, we were expected to play at a different location on the ship almost every night. I’m quite sure that the tour directors, who were responsible for these arrangements, had absolutely no idea of what they were asking. Granted there were lifts to move from one deck to another, but they were continually in use during the day. Consequently, apart from running into the odd ‘bewildered’ passenger trying desperately to get back to their cabin, it was far easier to move the gear in the dead of night when we, more or less, had the run of the ship to ourselves. Now it would be reasonable to assume that we would have had assistance from the crew to do this, and, indeed this was available from time to time but, not always. Although after one particular evening, we decided that it was prudent to do it ourselves…

As guest artists aboard the ship, we were in a unique situation of being considered crew as well as being passengers. Consequently, we were also obliged to provide an evening of entertainment for the crew as distinct from the officers who mingled freely with the passengers. So down we went one evening into the bowels of the ship to the crew’s mess where the concert was to be held.

Whilst the Orcades was showing signs of wear, it was still considered to be an ocean liner of class and comfort. It reminded you of a once grand hotel that had become a little shabby, down at heel. The ordinary crew’s quarters and facilities, in stark contrast to the opulence of the upper decks, were a complete disgrace; in disrepair, unkempt, dingy, dirty and… dangerous? Not really, nonetheless we were all on our guard – especially Merrin our singer. Anyway, we played our usual twee set and even managed to give them a bit of rock ‘n’ roll.

What we discovered, to our astonishment, was that none of the Goanese sailors were present at our performance. Black and white, dark and light; there was a class system in microcosm at play on the ship. Someone asked where they were and one of the crew replied, ‘Cor mate no; we don’t have the fookin’ Gogos here, they do their own thing. East is east and west is west – you know all that palaver!’ Anyhow apart from the racism displayed quite openly, the evening which was drunken and rowdy went very well indeed.

The crowd began to chant for a drum solo and so Dave (the bass player) was pressed to sing Running Bear – a song he loathed incidentally, and I was pressed to play a drum solo in pale imitation of an Indian drum beat. Now I must stress that I’m not a great soloist. However the vibe was in the air and so I bashed everything in sight, especially the tom-toms and to my amazement at the end I received a loud and raucous cheer. In appreciation, I was slapped frequently on the back and complimentary drinks came from many directions. At one point, I had six pints of beer lined up for my exclusive consumption. I think I managed to polish off one and perhaps half of another before my bladder and brain packed it in! In desperation, I fobbed the rest onto the other guys who were better equipped to absorb copious amounts of amber fluid than I.

That was the climax of the evening. We had ended on a high note and it was time for us to ‘escape’ the underworld and return to the faux gentility of the upper decks. The crew, who were now well and truly ‘Brahms and Liszt’, insisted upon carrying our gear, back up the narrow gangways (no lifts here) to the next venue. A few moments later a loud crash was to be heard followed by a sickening thump. One of the sailors had stumbled and dropped my bass drum down a stairwell.

As well there was a crash of cymbals – but not the sort that you wanted to hear. My heart sank. When the last of the gear had been deposited at the ‘B’ deck Ballroom, I was able to survey the damage, which, surprisingly was slight. On the bass drum, one straining lug only was bent at a right angle that had taken the full force of impact. However, the clutch that held together the cymbals for the hi-hat was bent beyond salvation. Worse still – I hadn’t a spare. I was obliged to play the hi-hats in the closed position from thereon. A few nights later, one of the drummers for one of the two ‘in-house’ bands on the ship took pity on me and leant me a spare clutch. When the ship put in at Suva, I was able to purchase another, at considerable cost, at one of the few music shops.

Later, whilst we were in Suva market buying a few native tourist items, we were approached surreptitiously a few times by young local lads wanting to know if we wanted to get our hands on some ganja (cannabis). I daresay with our hair down to our shoulders, we kind of looked the part of white, feckless, hippy musicians. Dave, who was up for just about anything, feigned interest. He asked for a look and one dark-faced guy with an enormous Afro and a flattened nose wider than a dinner plate, flashed a small plastic bag with what appeared to be green to brown herbal material inside. We declined as politely as we could and moved off sharply. Quite apart from not wanting to take contraband back on the ship, it turned out that some gullible passengers and crew did buy some stuff in similar circumstances; only to find they had bought bags of local parsley or oregano mixed with actual dried grass and traces of tobacco. We on the other hand kept our money and squeaky-clean image intact!
By the time we reached Papeete on the island of Tahiti, we were all feeling a little ‘high’ anyway; time to feel the solid earth underfoot. Interestingly, I now had my ‘sea legs’ and so Tahiti felt as if it was still undulating like the ship out on the open sea. There was an interesting moment as we came into the harbour. The Orcades’ brakes failed or perhaps someone wasn’t paying attention and the ship almost ended up in the main street. One could hazard a guess that proper maintenance was not being carried out to the propellers, as she was due to be sold for scrap in late 1973. Papeete at that time was lacking in proper maintenance also; the streets were narrow, filthy and subject to congestion.
We hired a VW and set off on a tour around the island. Dave was immediately coerced into being the driver, despite the fact that he had never driven a left-hand drive vehicle before. The tropical beauty of the countryside was in stark contrast to the squalor of Papeete. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen bigger hibiscus blooms – absolutely stunning. We had all relaxed; glad to be off the ship for awhile. There was one ‘hairy’ moment though when we rejoined the main highway after stopping for fuel. Dave forgot that he needed to drive on the right hand side of the road. A fully laden lorry was heading towards us at full speed; horn blaring. At the last possible moment I screamed, ‘Left!’ Dave pulled to the left with just inches to spare. It was one of those black and white moments, light and dark. But ‘The In Group’ survived yet again.

Have you travelled around the pacific islands? What was it like? Where did you enjoy? Tell us in the comments below…