大象传媒

VOYAGE TO INDIA (1945) PART 1

At 3 o'clock next morning all hell was let loose, as NCO's and even the odd junior officer clattered about banging on doors and shouting at us to get moving. Bleary-eyed we staggered about, had breakfast, cleaned our room and swept the corridors, packed the last of our kit, crammed the day's rations into our mess tins, and by 4.30 were climbing into 3-tonners lined up in the deserted Marylebone Road. Canvas covers were drawn tightly across the backs of the trucks, strict instructions on pain of death not to speak to civilians.
The vehicles set off on the short journey to Kings Cross Station, muffled in the thick snow, and freezing conditions. There we debussed. "GET FELL IN THERE" the NCOs shouted quietly! "NO TALKING." "STAND STILL."
And we waited. And we waited. And we waited, bloody freezing by this time. After a time we were allowed to 'fall out', and sat around on our kitbags, muffled up in our greatcoats, and clinging to our rifles.
These rifles - American manufacture, but .303's British Army pattern, had been issued at the Centre, a couple of days before we left, after our own had been taken from us at Maidstone. It made for full employment, I suppose. They were absolutely smothered in thick grease, and we had to get them cleaned up, fast. One thing about the Centre, it may have been a bit basic furniture-wise, but the bathrooms had limitless hot water, steaming hot. So, - we filled some of the baths with boiling water and just dumped the rifles in. Most of the grease eventually floated to the top, we scooped it off, lifted out our weapons, cleaned off what was left, and dried them!
The baths looked TERRIBLE! I wonder who had to clean them..........

Anyway,....back to Kings Cross. Inevitably a group of us began to sing that old favourite ''Why Are We Waiting? 'to the tune of 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' until a horde of maddened Majors descended on the 500 or so of us shouting "STOP IT! STOP IT AT ONCE!" Our secret journey in darkness to catch the boat at Liverpool had fallen apart. It got lighter and lighter as the hours passed. Cafe's opened. We sauntered out to buy cups of char and wads - tea and cakes to you, -to be greeted everywhere by cafe staff, and newspaper sellers with 'Lucky sods, you'll be nice and warm in India.' So much for security!
Eventually our train arrived and we piled in. It was pretty cramped, 8 to a compartment and all our kit, and naturally, being a freezing cold day, the heating didn't work. Who said private railways are better than public? Some things never change.
I don't remember exactly how long the journey took, but it was very long and very cold, and we blessed the WVS who seemed to be at every station lashing out tea, wads and sympathy.
As officially Officer Cadets now, we discussed seriously what sort of accommodation we would get on the troopship. Some had it on 'good authority' (!) that we would be 6 to a cabin, and we began to look forward more than ever to the trip. Ho! ho! ho!
At Liverpool we detrained on the docks, marched through ice and snow to the ship, the S.S. OTRANTO, which looked vast. Then began the inevitable queuing to get, first, onto the gangways - (which snaked endlessly up the sides of the ship like a hairpin mountain road) - , then up them. It took about 2 to 3 hours shuffling onwards and upwards, freezing cold,
VOYAGE TO INDIA (1945) PART 1

At 3 o'clock next morning all hell was let loose, as NCO's and even the odd junior officer clattered about banging on doors and shouting at us to get moving. Bleary-eyed we staggered about, had breakfast, cleaned our room and swept the corridors, packed the last of our kit, crammed the day's rations into our mess tins, and by 4.30 were climbing into 3-tonners lined up in the deserted Marylebone Road. Canvas covers were drawn tightly across the backs of the trucks, strict instructions on pain of death not to speak to civilians.
The vehicles set off on the short journey to Kings Cross Station, muffled in the thick snow, and freezing conditions. There we debussed. "GET FELL IN THERE" the NCOs shouted quietly! "NO TALKING." "STAND STILL."
And we waited. And we waited. And we waited, bloody freezing by this time. After a time we were allowed to 'fall out', and sat around on our kitbags, muffled up in our greatcoats, and clinging to our rifles.
These rifles - American manufacture, but .303's British Army pattern, had been issued at the Centre, a couple of days before we left, after our own had been taken from us at Maidstone. It made for full employment, I suppose. They were absolutely smothered in thick grease, and we had to get them cleaned up, fast. One thing about the Centre, it may have been a bit basic furniture-wise, but the bathrooms had limitless hot water, steaming hot. So, - we filled some of the baths with boiling water and just dumped the rifles in. Most of the grease eventually floated to the top, we scooped it off, lifted out our weapons, cleaned off what was left, and dried them!
The baths looked TERRIBLE! I wonder who had to clean them..........

Anyway,....back to Kings Cross. Inevitably a group of us began to sing that old favourite ''Why Are We Waiting? 'to the tune of 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' until a horde of maddened Majors descended on the 500 or so of us shouting "STOP IT! STOP IT AT ONCE!" Our secret journey in darkness to catch the boat at Liverpool had fallen apart. It got lighter and lighter as the hours passed. Cafe's opened. We sauntered out to buy cups of char and wads - tea and cakes to you, -to be greeted everywhere by cafe staff, and newspaper sellers with 'Lucky sods, you'll be nice and warm in India.' So much for security!
Eventually our train arrived and we piled in. It was pretty cramped, 8 to a compartment and all our kit, and naturally, being a freezing cold day, the heating didn't work. Who said private railways are better than public? Some things never change.
I don't remember exactly how long the journey took, but it was very long and very cold, and we blessed the WVS who seemed to be at every station lashing out tea, wads and sympathy.
As officially Officer Cadets now, we discussed seriously what sort of accommodation we would get on the troopship. Some had it on 'good authority' (!) that we would be 6 to a cabin, and we began to look forward more than ever to the trip. Ho! ho! ho!
At Liverpool we detrained on the docks, marched through ice and snow to the ship, the S.S. OTRANTO, which looked vast. Then began the inevitable queuing to get, first, onto the gangways - (which snaked endlessly up the sides of the ship like a hairpin mountain road) - , then up them. It took about 2 to 3 hours shuffling onwards and upwards, freezing cold,
hungry, fed up, tired, lugging our dam' great kitbags with us.
Worse was to follow! All talk of cabins turned out to be a sick joke. We were led down to a troopdeck constructed to house 280 troops. Unfortunately, there just happened to be 350 assorted Officer Cadets. A troopdeck is basically a long, low-ceilinged metal box, I don't know, - about 120 feet long by about 50 wide. Ours was about 6 levels down into the bowels - and judging by the stench for the next couple of weeks it is a very apt simile - of the ship. Long, fixed mess tables stretched out from the side of the ship to the centre aisle or passageway, which was, of course, open. The passage was not very wide, and left very little space for troops to get to exits, tables, entrances, the ablutions and the bogs. Or heads as the matelots called them.
Sleeping was to be in hammocks, with which we were issued in due course, grey canvas shrouds! They were to be slung from hooks in the metal ceiling. There were only enough hooks for the aforementioned 280 bodies, we were told, so the remaining homeless had to doss down on the mess table tops or the floor. Great! This was to be our home for the next five or six weeks.
When we actually got round to slinging our hammocks - the correct naval term -there was another little surprise for us. The figure of 280 referred to the number of bodies sitting around the mess tables, not the number of hammock hooks supplied. We ended up sleeping on the floor every third night!
Not many got much sleep that night. Apart from continuous noise and activity as more and more arriving squaddies tramped through our troopdeck in search of their own, the lights were on full at all times. There was also the business of adapting to the alien world of The Hammock. Getting them up, or slinging them, was simple enough. Getting into and staying in them was altogether a fish of a different kettle. Swaying perilously, trying to maintain balance, clutching the edge for dear life with one hand while with the other trying to cover up with the blankets was usually too much, and almost always ended with a headlong sort of bungy-jump to the deck. Usually, you grabbed at another hammock next to you, and brought the occupant of that down with you. Or he did to you. Whenever this happened, - which was pretty frequently, it was greeted with ironic and enthusiastic cheers by all and sundry, adding considerably to the general noise level.
In the early hours of next morning, to a maelstrom of sardonic shouts and catcalls from the assembled company, SS Otranto pulled majestically away from the dockside, and headed out into the Mersey.
We were off.......Or were we?

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