I travelled with a new ally, Peter Bolton, who was to be my assistant: a delightful bloke with a great sense of humour. That night the Adelphi bar was filled with three-ringers and Captains R.N. and of no interest to us at that moment.

The next morning, I had an appointment with a Mr Hobbes, Senior Registration Officer for all the seamen in the port. His office in the Shipping Federation was in the dock area. He was a charming and most helpful man. We explained the purpose of our visit and left a synopsis of the story with him.

It is an odd fact that once it is known that a film unit is interested in a town, a village or what you will, a glint comes into the eye and morale seems to rise. Someone outside is taking an interest in their part of the globe. Mr Hobbes was delighted that, at last, someone was concerned about the poor old merchant seaman, who had been taking so much stick. Immediately, he gave us the run of the place and suggested that we should sit and watch the men as they came in to register. If there were a face that interested us, all we would have to do would be to wave to the chap behind the counter and he would arrange for us to meet him in an adjoining office. Then he said: ‘The pub's the place, isn't it, if you want to catch them off guard … see them as they really are.’

‘You should be in our game, Mr Hobbes, I can see that.’

‘Well who wouldn't … must be marvellous.’

‘It has its moments, Mr Hobbes, I will admit.’

‘Must have, all the people you meet, places you get to see, my goodness me, and the things you must learn about the other chap's way of life. Marvellous. I'd better shut up or I'll get really cheesed off. The Angel, Mr Jackson, that's the pub for you. They all go there. Landlord's a great pal of mine. Anderson; mention my name, he'll do all he can, I'm sure of that.’