‘WE ARE SINKING’

It’s been 30 years since the dramatic events that led to the sinking of the Oceanos off the Wild Coast. Moss Hills recalls the events as if it were yesterday. By Wendy Maritz

‘What is your position?’ ‘We’re somewhere between East London and Durban.’

‘No, I mean your coordinates.’

‘We don’t know.’

‘What rank are you?’

‘I don’t have rank. I’m a guitarist.’

‘What are you doing on the bridge? Get me the captain. Who’s there with you?’

‘Er, it’s me, my wife and a … magician.’

This interchange between entertainer Moss Hills and Captain Detmar from Nedlloyd Mauritius might sound scripted from a comedy, but the events unfolding on board the Oceanos on the night of 3 August 1991 were anything but funny.

The cruise ship had left East London Harbour earlier that day en route to Durban. As she headed into the open ocean, weather conditions became increasingly foul. Traditionally, the entertainers would host a sail-away party on the deck, but the weather was so bad, they relocated to the Four Seasons Lounge. ‘The ship really comes alive at night,’ says Moss, ‘and there was a great vibe despite the weather.’ The plan was to wrap up their session, have dinner and get changed for the evening show. Around this time, the ship began heaving from side to side – more than one would obviously expect during a storm. From the entertainers’ dining hall, Moss could hear the sound of plates and trays being dropped by the waitstaff in the main dining area, something he’d never experienced before. Moss began to wonder whether they’d even be able to play and decided to check on their equipment. ‘Stuff was sliding around the stage.’

And then the lights went out. The entire ship was in darkness for a few throat-constricting moments before the dim emergency lighting came on. People began to spill out from the dining room and their cabins to gather in the Four Seasons, which was getting fuller. By this time Moss was joined by his wife,Tracy, and magicians Robin Boltman and Julian Russell. The group thought they’d entertain the passengers while waiting for an announcement from the captain. Then a loud rumbling noise drew everyone’s attention to a large window. A lifeboat was being lowered into the water.

While Moss’s first thought was ‘don’t panic’, he knew they needed to find out what was going on. The ship was listing to starboard and everything that wasn’t fixed began sliding and collecting in one area of the room. Moss and Julian decided to investigate what was happening in the shaft tunnel, a descent that would take them through the engine room, which was ominously empty. In the tunnel, they came across a large steel door. ‘I thought I could hear water sloshing on the other side,’ Moss says, ‘but I couldn’t be sure.’ Right then he realised ‘we had to get everyone off this ship’.

What followed was a harrowing few hours of organising passengers into manageable groups and lowering lifeboats into the stormy sea below. The ship was listing so badly that the lifeboats, once lowered to the embarkation deck, were swaying out and then bashing against the side of the ship. Moss stabilised the lifeboats by hooking one leg into the lifeboat while holding on to the railing so passengers could get on, one by one. They filled and launched the lifeboats on the starboard side, then went to portside to launch those.

The problem, however, was that the lifeboats were taut against the side of the ship as it leaned to starboard. They did manage to launch one with about 50 people in it, but only because the ship had rolled, allowing them to release the cable. ‘That lifeboat plummeted into the ocean,’ Moss recalls. ‘It was awful. I honestly thought people had lost their lives.’ It was too dangerous to launch anymore. And so it was that Moss, Tracy and Robin were on the bridge sounding the Mayday alarm. There were still 228 people on board.

As it turned out, the captain had already sent out a distress call and the South African Airforce had been mobilised. His crew had notoriously abandoned ship. The captain had one foot in the lifeboat himself when someone spotted him and asked what he was doing. He had remained on board, but seemed to vanish as the drama unfolded.

Moss remembers helicopters started arriving in the early hours of the morning. At that point, everyone was ordered on deck. Moss did one last check on the water levels, and as he got to the Cruise director Moss Hills. dining area he could see the water in the stairwell – everything was glistening in the semi-darkness.

Back on deck, two navy divers had been lowered from the helicopters and airlifts were organised with 114 people each on the bow and stern. One diver launched a Zodiac boat, the other ran the stern airlift. Moss and Tracy ran the bow airlift, and one by one, the passengers were airlifted to safety. When there were only 12 people left, the ship started to tip up at the bow. ‘We scrambled to the back of the ship and then finally we were off too,’ says Moss.

Every one of the 571 souls on board was saved. Moss has high praise for his wife, Tracy, in particular. ‘You don’t know what a person has inside of them until there is a crisis.’ Of his friend, the late Robin Boltman, Moss says, ‘You’re unlikely to meet a funnier guy. He really helped keep people calm.’ (Robin famously uttered the words ‘Ons is nou almal in die k*k’ from the bridge.)

It took the Oceanos about 45 minutes to disappear. Incredibly, it was down to a group of entertainers to organise one of the biggest civilian maritime rescue operations in history.

THIS YEAR, we had the honour of recognising the Oceanos entertainment crew who mobilised the rescue of more than 500 passengers onboard the stricken vessel. For the full list of recipients of the bravery awards, please see page 36. For indepth accounts of the rescue, read Andrew Pike’s Against all Odds and Robin Boltman’s Do these stairs go up or down, available at https://shop.searescue.org.za/collections/books.