大象传媒

Continued from Chapter 2c

Chapter 3
Troopship

The order to move was given and we were marched out of the station and along a jetty to where a tug lay alongside. Many and various were the humorous and sometimes caustic comments as to our ultimate destination when we were ordered to board it.
It was impossible to estimate how many of us were crowded onto it, but as our weight gradually pressed the tug deeper into the water we began to get a bit alarmed. When only three inches of freeboard remained the tug's powerful engines throbbed into life somewhere beneath our feet and we began to move slowly away from the jetty. Smooth rollers surged quickly across the river as the tug pushed the waters of the Clyde contemptuously aside, which did little for our confidence or our nerves. If it should push its nose under with us lot on...
To take my mind off that possibility I concentrated on watching the congregation of ships on the river. As a teenager I had once had a brief spell as a cabin boy on a 2,000 ton North Atlantic freighter, and I still liked the sea almost as much as I liked the countryside. There were vessels of all descriptions; freighters, coasters, tugs, destroyers, patrol vessels, and a large passenger liner of the Union Castle Line. One of the patrol vessels had three inverted stripes painted near the top of the funnel and I wondered what they represented. The number of enemy aircraft it had destroyed, probably.
The tug slid quietly alongside one of the ships and we were ordered brusquely to get aboard. As we stared up at the ship in sheer amazement we didn't believe it. It was the S.S. Maid of Orleans -a paddle steamer! We must all have had the same thought at that moment where the hell do they expect to take us on this bloody thing?
They didn鈥檛 take us far, only six miles further downstream to Gourock, where we were again transferred to another ship, a much bigger one this time, the S.S. Polaski.
That was when we realised how we had been deliberately misled about our real destination. When rumours of a possible overseas posting first began to circulate some of the battalion had been allowed to see ( accidentally on purpose, of course!) the new kit that was arriving. Bush shirts, khaki shorts, khaki stockings, etc. and that could mean only one destination -the Mediterranean - and that meant either Malta., Gibraltar or North Africa; and as the Worcesters had always been a famous front-line fighting regiment -second only to the Guards someone had told us during our early training days -North Africa seemed the most obvious. Now, heavy kapok-lined Tropal coats and down-filled sleeping bags replaced the tropical kit. We were evidently bound for a colder climates not a hotter one, and that could mean only one place. Iceland.
Late in the afternoon, after we had settled into our allotted
places below decks, I stood on the boat deck and watched the constant manoeuvring of the many ships on the river until my stomach told me it should be nearing time to eat. A glance at my watch confirmed this, and I went below decks to where most of my pals were already settled at their long tables clamouring for grub. Those who were not beating a tattoo on the table with their eating irons were emulating a kettledrum on their mess tins. As if that were not enough noise the men at the twenty-three other tables were singing at the tops of their voices and beating time on the deck with their feet.
Tea, when it eventually arrived, consisted of soup, bread and margarine, jam and tea. The tea ran a close second to the soup for weakness, but our table had the best dixie of tea -we could see it had tea leaves in it. The meal was a very noisy affair, with cross-talk predominating. Sarcastic comments about the food were shouted from table to table and equally sarcastic replies were shouted back Even the noise of the soup being slurped down was scarcely audible above the din.
Despite the adverse post-mortem the meal went down very well, and it was with a feeling of complete satisfaction that I went up on deck in search of the ablutions room some forty-five minutes later. The evening had grown chilly and I shivered slightly as I trotted along the port side of the fore well-deck, but a cold wash and vigorous towelling soon sent a lovely warm glow coursing through me and I felt really fresh and invigorated.
The Polaski was a Polish ship and the Polish flag waved almost defiantly from the stern in the strong breeze that blew in from the sea. It was a twin-funnel, oil-burning vessel of some 12,000 tons and was painted unattractive shade of wartime grey. It had had an eventful career since the outbreak of war; When Germany marched against Poland it was serving as an auxiliary vessel with the Polish Navy. Later, it was captured and taken to Dakar, but its captain "stole" it back and took it to a British port, since when it had served as a troopship.
The ship was being loaded all that night and all the next day. At about six o鈥檆lock on the Thursday evening, as I went towards the washroom for evening freshening-up, I happened to glance across the rail at the murky waters of the Clyde, and stopped suddenly. The opposite shore was moving. The little cluster of houses that had sat huddled at the foot of the dark, rather sombre green slope had disappeared; so had all the ships. I glanced quickly across to the other shore. That too was moving. A large tramp steamer slid slowly past, moving backwards, but there was no froth being churned up by its screw. I realised then that our voyage had started, that the Polaski was gliding slowly and silently down the waters of the Clyde on the first stage of its voyage.
I cannot adequately describe my feelings at that moment. I climbed the iron steps on to the forepeak where the breeze, much stronger now that the ship was moving, blew forcefully about me, tousled my hair, and whipped my towel sharply against my face. I was seeing what I knew might be my last glimpse of home and I looked long and wistfully as the land slipped slowly but relentlessly past. Goodness knows what sort of a place we might find ourselves in at the end of the voyage.
I stayed on the forepeak as long as I could, for it afforded an uninterrupted view forward and I was keen to see as much as I possibly could of the Scottish shore before we reached the open sea; then, having made my way to the washroom and completed my evening ablutions, I hurried down the two companionways to "K" Mess and dressed quickly, putting on greatcoat, steel helmet, gym shoes, and slinging my full water bottle from my shoulder before fastening my lifejacket; I had been caught for guard duty and this was the regulation dress.
The deck was alive with soldiers. Some were sitting on the hatches reading and some trying to write letters, but most of them were leaning against the rails singing their hardest as they watched the shore glide past. I took my usual place on the forepeak, where most of the signallers were congregated.
Right up near the bow was a cylindrical iron block about two feet high, and above it stretched three thick hawsers, two of which reached from the bows to a point just below the crows nest and the third to the masthead, Standing on the iron block grasping the masthead hawser to steady myself, I managed to ease, myself comfortably on to the two lower hawsers and settled back to watch the passing panorama.
From my elevated position I had an uninterrupted view. The shore on the port side was inhabited and the buildings looked rather drab and uninteresting. It was the beauty of the starboard shore that commanded my attention. A ridge of high hills rose steeply from the water鈥檚 edge, the bright evening sun shining on the alternating shade of green and thrown elongated shadows across the deep hollow. The sharp contours of protruding ridges were made more conspicuous by their shadows, while the duller green patches of gorse resembled deep pools in which were reflected the stars of the golden bloom. Further away in the distance a higher range of hills, almost indistinguishable in the distant haze, pointed blue-grey peaks to the sky. It was like the Malverns all over again. but on a much grander scale.
I remained there as long as I could, admiring the scenery and inhaling the fresh tangy air, but duty called me away. Reluctantly, I eased myself down from my perch and went below to read Company Orders for tomorrow before reporting to the guard commander at 20.00 hours.
The wind was very strong and chilly up there on the boat deck and I wondered what it would be like in the early hours of the morning. I had first turn on guard and was posted as No.1 gunner on No.4 gun position, which was on the port side of the boat deck just below the navigating bridge. There were two machine guns, both of a type I had never seen before. One was an American Hotchkiss of 1914 vintage and the other a British 1915 Lewis Gun. When I asked Sergeant Parker how they worked he cheerfully informed me he "hadn鈥檛 a bloody clue" as he hadn鈥檛 seen either type before, but that he thought "that thing" was the safety catch and if I moved it one way or the other and pressed the trigger 鈥渟omething might happen. 鈥淚 earnestly hoped nothing would.

To be continued . . .

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