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Extracts from ‘Recollections of an NCO’ by Eric Whatmore

Unlike many of the brave men and women who served in the forces during the Second World War, my father Eric Whatmore survived to tell the tale. Although he often told stories of his adventures to his family and friends it was not until he was in his eighties that he recorded his memories on audio tape. These are due to be published in 2006.

Eric Whatmore served in the ‘A’ Company No. 3 Holding Bn. R.A.S.C. He eventually attained the rank of Corporal. He served in North Africa, Palestine and the Middle East.

From the tapes I have selected an account of Eric’s first brush with death when he was on his way from Glasgow to the Middle East in 1940:

“We got off the train at Glasgow and marched up this steep hill to what I understand was called Mary Hill Barracks. Great big tenements on the left hand side, inside the door, a few women hanging around the door — I suppose they were looking for business, but there were no chance of that because no one was allowed outside the barracks room. We kipped down there overnight, nobody told us what was happening, no one ever did — we were just numbers and names and that was it. No questions to be asked - just do as you’re told. You’d got to be careful, you lost all sense of identity if you weren’t careful in that sort of a carry on. No books to read, no separate existence, nothing except army doings and carryings on. But, there we were in Glasgow. I think we were guessing then what was going to happen to us.

The next day I think it was, we were marched down to a quayside and there we were, loaded onto a boat. I think it was a 19,000 tonner called Oronsay. It would have been both a passenger and a cargo boat I think — damned big hatch at the front, damned big hatch at the back — and we climbed down all these ladders onto the mess decks, well down below inside the boat, not every pleasant at all. Men everywhere, packed full. Hell of an experience. All packed in, I think we were the last to get on. Mess decks! I don’t know how many there were but there must have been more than one. The mess deck we were on was well down below and it was a large area full of long tables screwed down and forms screwed down alongside each side to eat your meals from and screws in the roof above to hold hammocks. We all had a hammock. The idea was that at night you had your meals down below and then you put your hammocks on these hooks and just climbed into them if you didn’t fall out. Touching up against each other, one mass of men swinging on hammocks. The air to me was fetid. The fresh air was pumped in channels all along the sides of these places. As for meals - two men took it in turns to fetch the food for the table and you shared it out. I suppose the meals were OK. We were never expected to help with the cooking, they had staff for that. We had boat drills all laid on but we never got very far with that,

I don’t know whether it was the first day out or the second, but we came out of the Clyde and we were turning North between Ireland and Scotland to get up into the North Atlantic which was the convoy route presumably at that time — terrific weather, mountainous seas, and this particular boat we were on didn’t seem to be on a level footing when we got on it. There was as slight lisp already. I don’t know whether the cargo had been stored wrongly, if there was any cargo but there seem to be a bit of a lisp on the boat to start with. Any road we were at the back end of this convoy as well when we got out into the open sea. There were escorts, I don’t remember which type they were, but we ploughed on — we seemed to be at the back end of this convoy — all the ships lined up in lines — it was a terrific sight. Everybody was sea sick or seemed to be with the motion of the boat, it was awful. You can imagine the mess all over the place. The men tried to get into the lavatories which were long areas of toilets all lined up together with wash basins opposite in one area. There were people completely unconscious through sea sickness, lying about the place: it was a bit of a shocker. It didn’t affect me, I thought I had a weak stomach but it didn’t bother me at all — sea sickness — so I was OK.

For some reason or other, I believe we were kept below decks, I don’t know how long for, so we didn’t really know what was going on outside. But, eventually we were allowed out on deck and we saw all this weather and the heavy seas. I was with another young fellow who had sort of cottoned on to me or chose to stay around with me and so we had become friendly. I can’t remember his name now — somewhere in the Midlands he came from. Any road, we staggered out on deck and all these chaps came out on deck and we clutched our way to the back of this boat / ship however you’d like to term it — this other chap behind me with other fellows. The sun was shining, not very warm obviously, but we were glad to get out into some fresh air and we made for this big hatch at the back of the boat to shelter from the wind. I lay down on the starboard (the right hand side if you are looking at the ship forward). They’re massive things these hatches, the covers stand perhaps a foot high all around the sides and then they slope into the middle, covered in tarpaulin, so you could lie on the sloping top or lie along the sides. I chose the starboard side to lie along and this chap who was friendly with me, he chose the port side, the left hand side to lie on. There were other chaps lying on the deck, not being very well a lot of them. Then there was the sound of an airplane and right forward coming out of the sun was a German airplane dive bombing the ship. It came down the port side, machine gunning all the decks and dropped an aerial torpedo. We had both been lying on the top for an airing, and I rolled over onto the starboard side and my mate he rolled over onto the port side and he got bullets through his ankles, well at least one ankle, and there were people shot — officers sunning themselves on the boat deck on the port side. At the end of the boat deck was an area set aside as a hospital and that was all shot to pieces. This German torpedo bomber, whatever its name was, flew off down past the ship then turned around and came back and did it again coming up on the same side. Well, fortunately as I said I was on the side it didn’t come along, so I was lucky.

There was a hell of a mess in these really tempestuous seas, and the boat took another heavy list to port - it was really heavily listing. There were fellows moaning and complaining all over the place. All those who could get down were forced below. I don’t know how many were wounded but my mate obviously was one of them and how they treated them all I don’t know, as we were down below on the mess decks. The electricity supply to the ship had failed, so we were practically in complete darkness, except for red lights which were on the side of the ship. The fresh air system didn’t seem to be operating so we were really hot and everybody sat down on the floor, or the benches and tables — there wasn’t a word said. There were no officers came round to see if we were ok, or anything. We sat there in dead silence, there was no panic — nobody panicked, nobody started screaming or shouting. We never expected to get let out. There were guards on the stair ways so we weren’t allowed to get back out, and I don’t know how long we were there, it seemed to be hours and hours and hours. The ships engines had stopped and she was rolling away in these heavy seas and we never thought that we would survive at all, but nobody ever said that, nobody said anything; we just sat in this practically complete darkness except for these little lights — hell of a thing really.

After some time, maybe some hours, I don’t know, we were allowed out of the mess decks higher up onto a deck where there had been a ballroom, and we all sat around that. We were not on the outer deck, but I, clever devil of course, went out onto the port side to see what it was like. I clung on to the rails of the ship otherwise I would have gone overboard. The seas were practically coming up to the deck on that side and the ship seemed to be towing something at the back. Later on somebody said that the sailors had got all sorts of rubbish and had piled it up and thrown it over the back to make what they called a sea anchor so that you could steer into the waves and sort of get the ship straightened up. All sorts of things were fastened on, heavy weights to tow behind and steady the ship, which, as I say, was lying over pretty well.

We all sat around there inside this ballroom, which must have been the first class accommodation area I should think, and the only fellow who came around chatting to us was the one we called ‘Farmer Joe’ who was the officer in charge of the workshop section of our Company.

We sat around there, and eventually they got some sort of a spare engine going, emergency engines, I don’t know, and gradually they got the ship turned around very slowly in all those heavy seas, and heading back home. I noticed that one ship was standing off in case we needed any help. It’s a good job we didn’t because with that load of men on board there would have been no chance of anyone surviving. The life boats as far as I know were all caved in, smashed in with the machine gunning. I forgot to say that this air torpedo apparently burst alongside the ship and let some water into the engine room or something or other but anyway it wasn’t sufficient to sink the ship immediately but it was certainly putting a heavy list on it. They got the ship turned around and we got back into the Clyde Basin and up the Clyde and we were taken off in tenders. I never saw my mate again, and I can’t remember his name and what happened to him — whether he had to lose his foot or feet, I don’t know. We were told that the lad up in the crows nest of this ship, first journey out, cabin boy, was just cut in pieces - shot right through, poor devil — first trip out on a ship. We were put on a train and taken to a town north of Glasgow, and put into a deserted school room or place there. It seemed down below ground where we were ordered up in this school room. We were there overnight and eventually we were given passes to go home, I suppose while they decided what they were going to do with us. So we had what was called seven day survivors leave, a free railway pass and a ration card, and on the train we got and off we went. So that was my first sea saga in my six years of army life.�

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Becky Barugh of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Rhys Whatmore and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

See more of Rhys’s family’s stories and photographs:

• Cairo 1941
• The Great Pyramid of Giza, 1941
• Palestine 1942
• Stuck in the middle
• Burnt out tram cars

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