Mementos of a seafarer tell the story of a bygone era
Wave of memorabilia testimony to remarkable parson Joe Warton who sailed the oceans
A CALL from one of the most respected people in the shipping industry led to my receiving a fascinating collection of postcards, Christmas cards and memorabilia.
The original recipient of those cards was another highly respected maritime figure.
The caller was Chick Breetzke, who, after a distinguished 40-year career in shipping that began in Union-Castle’s East London office in 1954, retired as chairman of the Conference Lines, an association of shipping lines serving South Africa and dating back to 1883.
Besides its role in rationalising services, the conference played an enormous part in the containerisation of the South Africa-Europe trade.
Prior to her passing away, Chick’s dear wife Dawn used her exceptional musical talents to play the piano or organ for several church services, including services at the Kendrick retirement home in Thornton.
A resident at the home was Reverend Joe Warton who conducted some services for which Dawn provided the music. Although the parson passed away 26 years ago, Chick Breetzke showed me a small box containing Reverend Warton’s mementos that recently came to light.
Although I never met him, the letters and cards in the box revealed that Joe Warton must have been a most remarkable man. Born in Southampton in 1906, he watched the huge passenger ships arrive and leave from the docks, and probably witnessed the last – and only – departure of Titanic from that port in 1912.
Despite that tragedy, he realised his dream to go to sea when, in 1921 and aged just 15, he joined Cunard’s passenger steamer Berengaria, formerly the German liner Imperator that had been seized by Allied troops in 1918, and after several trips repatriating American troops, was handed to Cunard as part of the war reparations. The impressive ship could carry 4 234 passengers, many of whom were emigrants travelling to America in steerage accommodation.
Having served in Berengaria for eight years, he joined Union Castle who appointed him to the four-funnelled mailship Arundel Castle. Four years later, Joe felt called to the ministry and came to Cape Town where – with his wife Lilian, an equally devout Christian – they established the Immanuel Mission to Seafarers. He simply wanted to assist those who, as he had done at a tender age, were at sea and far from home.
Apart from some Union Castle memorabilia in the box that Chick Breetzke gave me were dozens of cards and notes from crew members serving in ships of many companies. All expressed appreciation for the padre’s visit to the ship, for hospitality shown to them when ashore in Cape Town, and for the sincere Christian ministry to them by Joe and Lilian.
The wife of a crew member serving in P&O’s magnificent Canberra – then diverted to the Cape because of the Suez Canal closure – wrote to thank Reverend Joe for his work; a card to Joe and his wife and signed by 14 stewardesses aboard Kenya Castle thanked them for their visit to the ship in Cape Town; another card was from 24 crew members aboard Pretoria Castle. And dozens more cards conveyed warm appreciation, some from seafarers who had been aboard regular callers in Cape Town, but later moved to vessels trading elsewhere. They still remembered the chaplain’s visit to the ship.
That box’s contents reminded me that many seafarers still value highly the work of the current Mission – a place to escape from the confines of the ship for an hour or two and a place where a listening, empathetic ear and wise counsel are available.
Although many ships have email and video links for their crew members to keep contact with family and friends, life at sea is very different from the days of the Mission run by Joe and Lilian when British or German ships were crewed by their own nationals and South Africans predominated on locally flagged ships. A single crew list now may reflect umpteen nationalities representing a variety of languages and cultures, hardly conducive to engendering the spirit of camaraderie that once prevailed aboard many ships.
Some seafarers become reclusive and lonely, preferring the solitude of their cabins to trying to converse with others who have no common interest apart from matters relating to the current voyage.
Personally carrying pots of hot food up the gangway, the local Mission chaplain fed crews on ships abandoned by their owners, while chaplains sometimes helped to resolve disputes aboard ships.
Few seafarers get ashore now, confined to their ships by the Covid-19 pandemic, thus culling the previously busy evenings at the local Mission to Seafarers near E Berth. Indeed, the Mission’s revenue is down, but there are still costs involved, even for an empty Mission building.
I understand that ports now must have a seafarers’ welfare organisation within their precincts. The local Mission is well placed to render those much-needed services – as Joe and Lilian Warton did all those years ago.
Ingpen is the author of eight maritime books and a freelance journalist.