大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Jenny Ford on behalf of Ivor W Chappell and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

I was a gunner on an oil tanker, we were known as D.E.M.S. This stood for Defensive Equipped Merchant Ships. We loaded up in North Shields on the Tyne, with, so I was told, 10,000, yes! tons of high grade aviation spirit, a very dangerous cargo, one of the worst you could get, it made a change from the high explosives I'd been sailing with for a couple of years on ordinary 10,000 ton ships out in the Med!

We sailed down the North Sea in a small convoy, I didn't know it then but this was my last wartime voyage. We made for Belgium, sailed up the big river Scheldt and docked at a smallish village where we discharged our dodgy cargo and very glad to do so. This village was I think about south east of the big port of Antwerp. The current was swift and strong and as the tugs were manouvering us alongside they couldn't hold us, so we swung and hit our stern heavily (10,000 tons!) on the quay side. After we'd emptied we were taken back down the river by tugs, who could now handle us very much better, here we tied up alongside to await for repairs. We were told that there would be a new rudder and a new screw (propeller) coming out from England and that we would be going into dry dock eventually for repairs. The war was still going on, whenever we went into Antwerp it would be full of all sorts of soldiers of all nationalities from all over the world, sailors too. The bars made millions and so did others, but that's another story! The time wore on, the longer we were in this situation the better we liked it, the war was going well for us. We were laying out in the sun or swimming, it was like a holiday for us, I think we'd earned a rest. The war was some miles away men were being killed but we were safe, how long for? What was to be our fate, what did the future hold for us, now old salts.

We'd got some sea service in. Then one day it was all over, we'd beaten them! I spent my VE Day quietly aboard the old "British Statesman". Now the talk turned to the war ending, demob, rumours, going home for older men with low demob numbers. Mine was 47 so I had a way to go yet!

Now the story was that some of us would be going home and transferred out of one service and all going into the Army, into the P.B.I. (Poor B..... Infantry!) to go out into the Pacific to fight the Japs, true or not I never knew. So now the Whitehall warriors decided to start disarming some ships ready for peacetime activities after six years of war!

Antwerp is a big port, lots of ships in those times, so one morning a P.O. (Petty Officer) comes aboard, he's looking for a working party (as they were called) to go into the docks to certain ships to start the disarming programme, the first thing to take off was all the ammunition, this was liable to sweating and could become unstable and when it did as I understood it, a bit of rough handling could become very dangerous and nobody wanted that, the b..... war was over, we wanted home! All in one piece! So one day we had an unloading chore down in the dock area, the dry dock it was, here was a beautiful Norwegian tanker, she'd unfortunately hit a mine and had her bottom blown out up forrard, she'd managed to limp into port and was now in dry dock. Me and some of my mates climbed right down into the dock, down the great big steps where she was shored upright, we were only in our 20's so fit as could be. We stood under looking up into this great big hole, I've always said, big enough to drive a double decker bus through and that is no exaggeration. What an experience, right under a 10,000 ton ship, never forgotten it!! So up on deck we start the unloading.

So we unloaded all the ammo etc. off this and smart Norwegian tanker, stacked it away in our lorry. We were taking all this high explosive in crates and boxes out to somewhere on the outskirts of Antwerp. This in pre war days I would think had been an ornamental garden with flowers, water fountains and such. As I looked around I could see what had once been a pretty feature, but now it was all overgrown and untidy. But what it had got for us was a hillside with caves, it was into one of these caves we were stacking away all this high explosive, until I assume it would in the course of time be taken out by the ton into the Atlantic and disposed off. Poor old fish!

Now on all these ships there would be a gangway guard or sentry to check passes, identification, etc., on people coming on board. In his spare time he would wander around keeping an eye along the quay side and also over the other side for any activity in the water, it was called anti sabotage watch. The sailor of watch duty today was a very young lad, age 18 years old, we got chatting, it was his first trip he was so proud to be doing this, proud to be serving his country when she needed him. Funnily enough he was disappointed that he'd missed out on the war, not being old enough for the European war when men were needed. But now he might get into the Pacific to fight the Japs! He was so keen, let's get out there and sort 'em out once and for all!

Now on gangway duty we were always armed with a Lee Enfield .303 rifle to give us sentries a bit of muscle if you know what I mean. This young boy, for that's what he wa, hadn't got a rifle, they in their wisdom had armed him with a Colt 45 revolver. Now he, like us, had done a course on armaments, etc., but he had never fired a shot in anger, so he was so proud of his weapon and knew how to handle it. He took it out to show me, I'd handled a few guns in my time but never one like this, shades of crooks and gangsters from films comes to mind. It was loaded, so I checked the safety catch was safely on and handed it back to him. "Now you just be careful" this old sweat (me) said to him. "It's OK" he said, "I know!" So we chatted away he was full of fun and refreshing to talk to. We, almost the same age got on well for an hour or two, then as in war time, we parted. He to continue his watch keeping duties, there had been at that time some trouble in the docks with striking dockers, me with my mates out to unload all this ammo, H.E. (High Explosive.
I always liked the Norwegian ships, they were always so neat and smart. So we eventually got back as usual on board our floating hotel, "The British Statesman" and carried on with our lives.

About maybe a month or so later a P.O. came aboard, he wanted another working party but this was different. He lined us all up and checked us all for height and strength so he chose seven of the tall ones, I was too short. They'd be ready by 9am the next day in full rig, No.1's. So off he went, leaving some puzzled men behind. Next day up rolls a naval lorry and off they go, they all came back about a couple of hours later, very subdued and quiet, no laughing and joking now. Their job had been for a funeral party, they'd buried that young 18 year old off the Norwegian tanker! I understood, he was playing about with that Colt 45, the safety catch came off somehow and it seemed he'd accidently shot himself! So one of our last jobs was a funeral party off "The British Statesman."

So this young 18 year old would never know the thrill or the fear of combat! He'd never be going home anymore, "Hello Mum, Hello Dad", saying "our boy is home again. oh thank the Lord. Back in England once again!" 18 years old, what did he know of life? Now he lays in a plot of land that is forever England! He is 18 years old forever. He is a name on the local war memorial, remembered every November 11th. His name will have little meaning as the years roll by!

Who he was, where he came from, I have no idea. A little mystery. On that day all those years ago; when our lads came back they were talking about the funeral they were all intrigued as to whom the three elderly ladies with veils over their faces were? They just faded away after the service. We'll never know. I can imagine mum and dad at home all those years ago receiving the dreaded telegram. Would it be, H.M. War Department regrets to inform you that your son ..... .......... has died on active service overseas! My view on this so many years later, one of the cheapest commodities in wars is the human lives they cost, but those that are left will slowly dwindle away and all this will be a memory for right now that is what I have, as I say, so many times, ahh Memories. For this is what us old World War 2 oldies have now, not many people care nowadays, but they do!

"One among Thousands"

You were only eighteen, just a lad it seems
As we talked you told me of your life and dreams
How you felt so proud, so many things to do,
The world stretching out ahead of you.
You're Mum and Dad, proud too, of their beloved son,
A young lad whose life had hardly just begun.
You were pleased and happy, a DEMS gunner, just like me
The pride that you felt was there for all to see.
You said, "Now for the Pacific and to sort that one out."
To get there and play your part, you had no doubt.
You said, "There's more to do, so let us move on -
Time to leave here, time we were gone!
Out to the Far East, that's where I want to be,
Now I'm a gunner aged eighteen, you see."
That's how you told it as I listened to yu,
One war was over but there was still more to do.
You'd never fired in anger, this, you very first trip
You felt so good standing guard aboard this, your ship.
But you wanted more action, adventure still beckoned.
"There's another war to fight yet," that's what you reckoned.
But perhaps God and man don't see eye to eye
For yur life was planned differently and I wonder why
We all make our plans that often come to nought
More travel, more adventure, that's what you sought.
And so we parted, "So long, all the best, may the future stay bright."
Me and this lad ... ships that passed in the night.
But our days and our future; who knew what lay ahead?
On what voyages of fate would our young lives be led?
We heard, no long after, this young lad had gone,
From his brief eighteen years, had suddenly passed on.
That valiant lad, laid to rest, in foreign soil to stay
So I write of his memory and that far off day.
His name on a memorial, in his town, wherever it be
All he wanted was to fight for his land's liberty.
Now he's still eighteen years old, he will never age more
And he rests his young head on that far foreign shore.

This boy, like thousands of others, is resting is a small piece of foreign soil, that, it is said, "Is forever England."

Ah! Memories.

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