“…the directors decided to receive on board each of their ships from three to five apprentices…. Our object is to get good steady lads, who will work their way up in our service, and become in time efficient officers and commanders of our ships.”
This was the fledgling New Zealand Shipping Company in 1876, and at the company’s annual general meeting two years later, the chairman was able to report that there were 45 apprentices employed in the fleet, and that demand for places had been encouraging, enabling the directors to, “be careful in the selection made,” and subsequently to note, “we have every good reason to be satisfied with our officers afloat.”
That, as set out in Alan Bott’s The Sailing Ships of the New Zealand Shipping Company 1873-1900, was then, and this is now, but it came to mind this week reading yet another heartfelt complaint about the difficulties modern day cadets suffer, in trying to obtain the sea time necessary to progress their careers.
This latest sad observation came from the new seafarer social media platform The Hood. It pointed out that such was the difficulty in obtaining sea time, that many cadets were being exploited and asked to effectively pay for their time afloat.
Nothing about this 21st century industry is entirely surprising and the sea time problem is both longstanding and global, but is there not something shameful about people who run expensive pieces of capital equipment like ships failing to look to the future?
The old NZS was, when it began, not a rich company, but like so many of its contemporaries, it knew that trained officers did not grow on trees and that they had a responsibility to the coming generations.
Even giant ship management companies tell of trouble in placing their own cadets aboard their clients’ ships.
And it was their responsibility, not that of any government or external agency, although their cadets would have to satisfy Board of Trade examiners of their fitness. Indeed, Alan Bott points out that the company even ran to providing a hostel for their apprentices while their ships were in London, all properly staffed by a fierce matron, to keep the young blighters in order.
The reasons why shipping companies are reluctant to provide berths for cadets are many, varied and imaginative. There is no room for a couple of trainees aboard a ship that has been constructed to precise specifications for the smallest possible crew.
Some number cruncher has worked out the cost of an extra cabin or two, and it is the work of seconds to strike out the notion. It is too expensive to take aboard cadets, who will require food, and practical tuition from an already busy “skeleton-sized” crew, with no responsibility for their ongoing employment.
And is it not the responsibility of the government, or the trainees themselves, to acquire this qualification? So, the excuses rattle on.
Even giant ship management companies, which take their training responsibilities very seriously, even to the level of running their own training establishments, tell of trouble in placing their own cadets aboard their clients’ ships.
The owners will not permit unqualified officers aboard; the usual excuses of a lack of accommodation will be trotted out and the charterers, many of whom have strict rules about the in-rank qualifications and experience, and no interest in other people’s employees, may have objections.
The directors of that old sailing ship company knew that it was their duty, and nobody else’s, to ensure that their ships had competent and diligent officers.
Like so many areas these days, it is so much easier to say no than to look for sensible solutions – too easy to say that the training of a new generation is someone else’s problem. Isn’t it somehow the government’s responsibility?
When EU governments resorted to bribing ship operators with schemes like the Tonnage Tax, it merely encouraged others in the belief that they could slough off the training of a new generation to others, at someone else’s expense.
It could be legitimately argued that the costs of training cadets had become far too expensive over the years, with the “academisation” of the cadetship requiring longer and longer time in college, whereas the old-style apprenticeship with more sea time, saw the young person as an increasingly useful member of the ship’s company.
My colleague Alan Loynd has pointed out the virtues of such an education in these columns, but there can be no doubt that an apprentice, who had been instilled with the “company way” of doing everything, would be instantly able to contribute as a junior officer when qualified. How often is it said that the newly qualified officer today has to be closely supervised?
And in the end, we must return to the matter of responsibility. The directors of that old sailing ship company knew that it was their duty, and nobody else’s, to ensure that their ships had competent and diligent officers.
And they could only be sure in fulfilling this aim, if they grew their own, rather than trusting to those they did not know. And, unsurprisingly, such a policy served them jolly well.