大象传媒

Chapter 7

Borganes

I was sitting outside my tent enjoying the lovely sunshine when Ashy called my name and beckoned to me. He was sitting on a tussock outside his tent and, like me, he had his sleeves rolled up and his shirt open at the neck. His face, like mine, had caught the sun and was beginning to peel. I got up and strolled over to him.
"What's up, Ash?" I asked. "Done on one side, are you?"
He laughed. "Not quite. Get your kit packed immediately and be ready to move at two o'clock. Mr. Murdoch and his batman, Les Morgan, are going to Reykjaskoli with Sergeant Speake and I want you and Charlie Clayton to go with them as far as Borganes as advance party.
"O.K. Ash, that suits me fine." I was as pleased as Punch, and I dashed back to my tent in high glee and started packing my kit immediately. Borgames was reputed to be the best station on the island and I was delighted to know I was to go there.
We had an hour in which to prepare for the move but Charlie and I were ready in much less time. There remained only our blankets but we managed to roll them all into one bundle. To conform strictly to army regulations there should be no more than twelve blankets in a bundle but we decided that as we had only four blankets each, we could afford to ignore the regulation. Besides, one bundle of sixteen would be less likely to get lost than one small extra bundle containing only four.
We left the camp just after two o'clock with the advance parties of the Carrier and the Mortar Platoons from H.Q. Company and the advance parties from "C" and "D" Companies with the signallers who had been attached to them. At three o鈥檆lock we halted on the quay and then had to tolerate a three-hour wait while the ship was being loaded; we occupied most of that time watching Icelanders loading a large freighter with fish for Britain.
At six o鈥檆lock we were all safely on board and the ship pulled smoothly away from the quay, but because there was not enough room for all of us on the small deck some of us had to sit in the hold where, in spite of the restricted space, we managed to make ourselves reasonably comfortable for the short journey round the south-west corner of Iceland.
A small stove had been positioned on the deck and when we had been at sea an hour or so one of "D" Company's men staggered below with a dixie of steaming hot tea and urged us in a stentorian voice to "come and get it. We needed no second bidding and there ensued a hurried scramble to get mess tins out of haversacks, then a lot of pushing and shoving as we tried to form some sort of queue.
"Are you "D" Company?" the tea disher-out asked," as he eyed my crossed flags suspiciously when I arrived at the dixie.
"He's one of the signallers attached to "D" Company," a man called Curtis replied, before I could speak. He had mistaken me for somebody else, but I didn鈥檛 enlighten him, and when H.Q.'s dixie arrived some time later I was able to enjoy a second welcome drink.
The little ship, named Alouette, slipped steadily north-west through the green coastal waters while the sun blazed down with undiminished splendour. It would have been a most enjoyable trip but for a bitterly cold wind that swept suddenly down from the Arctic and compelled us to wear our greatcoats.
The trip was uneventful and we passed the time singing to the accompaniment of several mouth-organs until we tied up to the quay at Borgarnes, where, when we stood on the deck and saw the place for the first time, someone voiced the thoughts of all of us: "Where the hell have we got to?"
It looked a desolate place. The "docks" was the small stone quay at which we had moored. A few straggling buildings stood forlornly at the side of a cart track of a road, and just across the fiord behind them a range of high sombre-looking mountains frowned down on us. It was not a cheerful prospect at all, but I had to laugh when I saw Charlie's expression.
"Cheer up, Charlie. Things could be worse," I told him. "Remember, this is the best station on the island."
"Then if this is the best, heaven help the poor buggers who've got the worst," was his doleful reply.
We filed down the gangplank and Sergeant Speake, Charlie, Lee and I stood apart from the others, who were going further on to more distant stations, and awaited further instructions. The ship's winches were already clattering away as they lifted our kit out of the hold in big rope nets and dumped it on the quay to be sorted out by the others. We four had got nearly all ours when a sergeant- major from the Durham Light Infantry battalion whom we were relieving approached us and asked, "Are you the signallers for Borgarnes?"
"Yessir," we replied, in unison.
"Got all your kit off?"
鈥淣ot quite, sir. There's still our blankets and the officer's kit to get off."
"I see. Well, tell your officer that if you can get the rest of your stuff off immediately you can dump it in my truck and I'll get you away from here.
"Thank you, sir."
Lieutenant Murdoch, our signals officer, descended the gangplank at that moment and we told him of the Sergeant-Major's offer. 鈥淥h, good,鈥� he replied. "Nip down into the hold and get the stuff out, if you can. It might be quicker than waiting for it to be brought out."
Charlie, Les and I arrived in the hold just in time to see our blankets disappearing through the hatch. "Hi, Dick. Those are our blankets. Grab鈥檈m," I yelled.
"O.K.," Dick鈥檚 round sunburned face, glowing like the setting sun, appeared for an instant at the open hatch. I've got 'em."
Leaving him to lock after them we spent several busy minutes locating Mr. Murdoch's kit, getting it on deck and dumping it in the 15. cwt. truck. When everything was safely stowed 'On board we clambered in the back while the Sergeant-Major and the officer sat in front beside the driver.
With a jerk that almost dislocated our necks the truck shot away from the quay and bumped alarmingly along the pothole infested road. The Sergeant-Major seemed to be oblivious to the roughness of the road and pointed out various places for us to note as we went along.
"That low building on the right is the cafe where the boys spend their money. That Nissen hut on the left is the Army Post Office where you can change the postal orders the wife sends you." The truck bumped down a slight slope and across the rippled surface of a concrete bridge beneath which the waters of the fiord swirled restlessly as they met the waters of the incoming tide; then round a bend and up another slight incline.
"This long hut is the gym-come-recreation hall and this place just opposite is your old friend the N.A.A.F.I. That white building over there with the tall chimney is the dairy and opposite that is the local Post Office and Telephone Exchange. Some nice girls on the exchange. If you chaps are switchboard operators you'll be speaking to them quite often. My boys always do, the buggers"
Charlie and I exchanged knowing glances. We had just decided to be permanent switchboard operators. The truck bumped and jolted past a few scattered houses, opposite which a military camp of Nissen huts had been built, then up a short hill and a left turn into a group of more Nissen huts. We had arrived at our destination - Derwent Camp.
The sergeant-major leapt from the truck, pointed to one of the huts and told us that was ours so, grabbing our kit, we walked quickly across the intervening rough ground and barged unceremoniously in, startling the occupants, who had been having a quiet discussion.
"Signals?" I queried, as we burst upon them.
"Ay. Coom on in lads," a homely north country voice replied.
We dropped our kit in vacant places then went back for the rest. When all had been brought in we took off our greatcoats, sat on the roll of blankets and heaved sighs of relief.
"We're in," I announced, with great satisfaction.
Charlie leaned back against the wall; closed his eyes, clasped his hands across his middle, and murmured a fervent "Amen."
鈥淗ad any grub?" one of our new companions asked, as soon as we were settled. His name, he told us, was Ken Blackmore.
"Not since dinner," Dick replied.
"Better get off to the dining-hall right away, then. I believe there's a hot meal all ready for you."
"Oh, good. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse," said Les.
"You probably will," grinned Ken.
As we started to open our haversacks to get our mess tins out Ken stopped us.
"Don't bother looking for yours. You can use ours."
And instantly all our new friends offered us their knives, forks , spoons, plates, and mugs.
"Mugs?" we enquired, as we accepted them gratefully.
"Oh, aye. There's some hot tea for you."
"That's what I want more than anything else - a good cuppa char," observed Charlie.
"Do I go with them?" Dick asked.
"Oh, aye, Sarge. Saves having another cook on duty in the sergeants' mess," Ken explained.
Tired as we were after having been constantly on the go since 06.00 hours we were not too tired to appreciate the dozens of newspaper photographs and coloured illustrations from glossy magazines that covered the dining-hall walls. What an eye-boggling array of feminine pulchritude! There were dazzling blondes and attractive brunettes in various stages of nudity, film stars in gorgeous costumes or the briefest of briefs, photographers' and artists' models wearing only knickers and brassieres, and many other charming young ladies in suggestive poses or various stages of dishabille.
And what some of the topless ones wore down below was rarely enough to cover their embarrassment.
What a sight for sore eyes. Just to look at them was enough to take one's mind off matters military but did nothing to appease our appetites, so we did full justice to the excellent meal provided for us which did not include horse, despite Ken's forecast, and returned to our new abode and got more fully acquainted with our new pals. They were a good-hearted, jolly bunch of lads and their friendliness soon made us feel completely at home.
Their Battalion, Ken told us, had "got a bashing" in France and they were now made up of the remnants of three or four different regiments who had also been decimated during the final stages of the fighting in France. Of the signallers who had been in France with him only four had survived, and had returned home via Dunkirk. He himself had lain in a ditch for four days and nights while Nazi mechanized units roared along the road, then, deciding to make a break for it, he had set off across country, making a wide detour, only to find himself back where he started. He eventually reached a village still held by the French and fought with them to Dunkirk. He then proceeded to tell us something about the conditions in Iceland. If you think it's a bed of roses up here, away from any fighting, you're in for a shock," he said. 鈥淲e all thought the same when we first came here, but we鈥檝e learned different. It's not so bad in summer, when the weather鈥檚 good and you can get a bit of fun outside, but the winter's just plain hell. We lost forty-three men last winter. Some froze to death while on guard, others met with accidents. One man was taking a, flask of hot cocoa for the guard one night. The wind had reached a hundred and twenty miles an hour. When he was crossing that bridge down the road - you remember driving over it when you came up from the quay? - the wind lifted him off his feet and dropped him in the fiord."
Here he paused a moment, a distant look in his eyes, as if he was re-living the incident.
"He froze to death before we could get him out."
He paused again to light a Woodbine and settled himself more comfortably in his sleeping bag. Then he continued.
"Some of the chaps went barmy. One of them went to sleep one night and there was nothing wrong with him, but in the middle of the night he got out of bed and zoomed around the hut with his arms outstretched like aeroplane wings and pretended to dive-bomb us, just as he'd been dive-bombed in France. The poor bugger's in a lunatic asylum in England now."
We remained strangely silent, for we felt there was nothing appropriate for us to say. It was not pleasant, sitting there listening to such tragic details, and we decided to terminate it by turning in. One by one we sorted out our blankets from the bundle and made our beds on the floor. Dick gathered his up, bade us good-night, and went to sleep in the sergeants' quarters. The quiet murmuring of conversation in the hut gradually diminished as the occupants nodded off one by one. Silence descended on our first evening in Borgarnes, but not before we had hung gas capes and greatcoats over the windows to keep out the blazing sun!

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