The harbour was full of rubbish of one sort or another, every month or so one of the unit vessels would sight and report a body so we were all aware of what was out their. One night approaching Kowloon Public Pier there was a screech from the gear box and the engine stopped, leaving us helplessly adrift, something was round the prop. Reluctantly I stripped off to my shorts and went over the side. Holding on to the rudder I reached under to feel the prop only to push my hand into something slimy, yielding yet firm to the touch. I was back aboard in double time hauling myself over the gunwale completely unassisted. We restarted the engine and after carefully easing her into ahead and astern a few times managed to get her limping along, the engine vibrated and complained but their was no way I was going over again. The following day we towed her to Stonecutters and beached to await low tide. Around the prop was an enormous lump of hessian backed paper cloth, slimy but firm to the touch. Thank God my worst fears had not been realised

The Chinese had a macabre sense of humour which seemed to arise from the low value they placed on human life. One winters evening having gone alongside K.P.P. Wong Tun Fat the coxn. and I popped into the warm engine room to open a flask of tea in anticipation of the deck hand whose name escapes me, joining us. Moments later we heard shouting, the nearest I can recreate is as follows “Why!Why!- Wong Tun Fat !- Aw beng ah”. We scrambled on deck to find the boat secured only by the stern, its bow facing out to sea and hanging on the ford. Line some feet above the water was our deckhand. Above him was a small crowd some in fits of laughter the others waiting till he hold on no longer. Not one had made a move to help him