When I was sailing at sea as an engineer a hairdresser asked me what I do. So I replied “I am an engineer in the merchant navy”. A long silence ensued whilst the cogs turned and then she returned with “so what do you do when you are not fighting”. I replied with “we play cards”.

For the last three and more years I was a ships superintendent before I recently moved on and up the ladder to become a Marine Consultant based in Singapore. For three-years a myriad of people that I met never understood what it was that I did and turned the usual dull-grey look of non-comprehension as soon as I tried to explain.

I used to explain with:

I maintain a link between the ship and the shore. They typically reply with “but don’t they have a telephone and such-like nowadays? Or “so you do whatever the captain wants like an agent?

I troubleshoot problems and find solutions. They typically reply with “but don’t they have a chief engineer”? Or “so you help the captain to find the problem”?

I look after the ship and make sure that it sails in a safe, secure and environmentally friendly manner! They typically reply with “oh” or “so why do you have to travel so much”.

I eventually gave up trying. I imagine it is a bit like trying to explain to a donkey that if it went faster it would get there earlier!

There is no set answer. There is no pat all-conclusive, in a nutshell job description that builds immediate pictures in people’s minds. Yes, a hairdresser’s cuts hair and talk inanely, a soldier trains to fight and then sometimes fights and dies, a pilot flies planes and sometimes walks up and down to the aisle to publicly groom his feathers (and so he should) and well, a superintendent, well, he erm, he ah, yes, interesting question, I think he superintends.

Recently, in my new job as a consultant I met another Superintendent and I was immediately struck by how ill he looked. He was doing a ships docking, the repair period in which the ship is taken out of the water, and over the course of the six weeks period I met him perhaps once a week and I could see him being worn down – chipped at by an invisible hammer. He smoked continuously, his eyes got redder and redder, his legs could hardly support him at the end he was a shell of the man he once was - he nearly cried with relief as the ship finally sailed over the horizon without him.

The job is all-encompassing. Ships are highly technical and are governed by laws that not only stem from national output but also international, visited countries, owners and charterers. The crews are typically not of the same nationality with each other or the company and the ship tends to be either at sea or in a foreign port when everything goes pear-shaped, not just around the corner. Ships work 24 hours a day and the ocean can cause allot of commotion! A conditions to become a superintendent is not formed from having once seen a ship sail past, a superintendent needs to have been at sea, to be technically knowledgeable and to be pro-active when time is found but certainly to be very reactionary.

Patience is a virtue, speed is of the essence and an immediate ability to listen at the right moment and to completely ignore at another are all essential ingredients for a continued career.

The management ashore use the superintendent as their eyes and ears for the vessel. If something goes wrong they call the superintendent using their speed dials. If something happens on the ship the crew call their superintendents first, be it on speed dial, satellite phone or by pigeon if all else is failing.

If the cook decides to chase after the second engineer with a meat cleaver instead of chopping up the beef like he normally does then the superintendent’s phone rings. He must find a solution in-between coping with the management ashore who ring every ten seconds and who suggest solutions that only confuse the situation (is the cook allowed to have a meat cleaver on-board?). If the engine fails as the ship is leaving port and the ship smacks into a gas tanker then the superintendent must have the foresight to wear oven gloves as he answers the phone.

I remember one fine Christmas evening when a master called me on his satellite phone. He said “I’ve dropped the anchor”. I immediately replied with “yes, well done, why are you telling me”? It transpired that he had dropped the anchor right to the bitter end in three miles or more depth of water with an outside temperature of minus twenty. This was the only time that I lost my temper, I suppose because it was Christmas Eve but it was simply the whole stupidity of the situation – what did he expect me to do about it? Fly a helicopter out, jump in my personal submarine? He ruined my Christmas – he was inept yet by simply calling me on the phone he shifted the worry and responsibility onto my shoulders despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing that I could do to help him.

A superintendent will always answer the phone. He will offer solutions, he will listen to the invariably panicked and non-native English speaking master and/or chief engineer and whilst they are hammering away he will build a mental picture of where the ship is, what the cargo the ship is carrying, what dangers are lurking for the vessel and on-top of all that start to dream up possible scenarios for solution – whatever the disaster maybe. He will add to the picture with memorised data; horsepower of the engine; number of ballast tanks; type of steering gear; height of keel to mast; deadweight of the vessel; number of crew on-board and by the time he puts the phone down he will have an active plan to initiate a solution. And then invariably once the dust has settled he will jump on a plane to wherever the ship maybe and mop up the mess, be it smoothing things over with local authorities, paying bribes to corrupt officials to brush problems under the carpet or to arrange permanent overhaul and repair to some damaged equipment far up the Amazon river and without recourse to a spanner.

A superintendent is not always coping with disaster. There is some manner of routine to the position in which he monitors the vessels mechanical and budgetary progress, suggesting improvements, ensuring that spares are ordered and received in timely manner and of course ensuring that dry dockings are arranged and undertaken at the correct times and within budgets. But even here, when the dry docking actually occurs, the superintendent once again becomes the half-way house, the crew calling centre and the dry dock management shoulder to cry on as they mess some job up or delays plague the vessel.

A superintendent’s job lacks routine. It is a stressful job and one that can wear any normal human being down like sandpaper to an apple. It can though be heart-warming as well. To solve problems, to see a broken ship once again sailing, to find out that the repairs have been below budget, to see captains and chiefs smile when all is back to normal and to see the fruits of the labour the job is without doubt the icing on a very soggy, non-rising, stale and over-salted lump of cake.

The real highlight of the job is when the superintendent is actually able (between all the phones ringing) to be pro-active and to make something better on the ships (or ashore) that helps the crew in their job and that ensures that he receives one less-pathetic phone call further down the line.And undoubtedly, to visit a ship that is working well and to see a happy and cohesive unit in command is without doubt the icing on the cake. Sadly this does not happen very often.

The superintendent sees the sharp end and perhaps the grimy side of the business. He is of course ultimately responsible for a vessel and so will come from a marine background, not only to build the respect required from the vessels crew but to be able to talk to them and gain immediate understanding of problems without daft questions being sprouted forth or misunderstandings growing to unimaginable bean-stalk like proportions. But he must also and most importantly be able to counter-attack possible wrongly built pictures by the shore-based management (who are mostly not practically-minded enough to the extent that they are nothing more than a hindrance) and to do this in a non-offending way brought on by complete authority (rising conflict does not help) and showing of being in complete command of the situation.

The best superintendents are engineers who have sailed up the ranks for many years to Chief Engineer and who have moved ashore to climb another rank of the ladder, who perhaps want more from life and who want to be with the family more often. The problem here though is that the salary is typically abysmal. A taxi driver in London who works a normal day earns more than a superintendent and shipping companies get away with it through reliance on the fact that chief engineers wanting to move ashore are a dime a dozen. And sadly superintendents have no common connection, no union to fight the cause so ……… a pay cut, oh, all right then!

A good Superintendent, given the leeway and the scope to look after his ships (which admittedly never happens) will produce economically viable platform’s for the company to make money on whilst conversely a poor superintendent will bring a ships budget to the next colour after red and all is brushed off as poor crew, a bad chief engineer, rising costs of spares and market variables.

In the three years as a superintendent I was never able to be fruitfully pro-active. Many of the ideas that I came up with to better the operational aspect of a vessel were dismissed by non-seafaring ranks in the office (it had to be them not me) and by seafaring ranks who hated to see somebody else have an idea that was not generated from behind a desk. I know that I did a good job – I saw the budget figures, I saw my vessels problem’s reducing and I have remained friends with many of the masters and chief engineers on-board who appreciated my never-ending assistance and ability to listen when the occasion demanded. I never shouted, I was always there for them! I have no reason to justify myself or my output; I would though suggest that many desk-bound managers would have to justify theirs.

After three years I decided that the office would never listen, that my salary was not going to rise above that of a deep-sea second engineer and that all companies are tarred with the very same brush. A change of career had to be looked at. This decision was enforced one day when I was invited to attend an office party to celebrate the opening up of the new offices. The managing director phoned down and I ended up being the chosen one to put a nail in the wall so that they could hang some (inanely expensive) picture on it. On that day I lost all respect for the management, I knew that they had categorised me as the handy-man, the hired help with a boiler suit on and so there was really no option left but to move on. I certainly could not join them.

It took a while but now I am now a Marine Consultant. My office does not suit pictures.

Perhaps I will now be talked down to by Marine Lawyers who will regard me as the boiler-suit wearing hired-help but at least I might get paid more than a superintendent gets, not much but enough to make the hard work and the endless travel bearable.