大象传媒

LADY LUCK
Part one
BY
T.HULBERT
September 1939, the Prime Minister has just announced, that we are at war with Germany. My father, mother, sister, and brother, are at home in Potters Bar, when the warning siren goes off.
My brother who is only a few months old, does not know that in twenty years from now, he will be in Kenya, fighting the Mau-Mau, doing his National Service.
We all make a dash to the Anderson shelter, a false alarm, one of many. The shelter was at the bottom of the garden, supplied by the government, was made of corrugated iron about eight foot square and sunk roughly three feet in the ground. The earth that was taken out , was put on top of the shelter, in the winter, it was flooded three feet deep, absolutely use-less.
A few month鈥檚 later they supplied us, with an indoor shelter, about the size of a king-size bed ,and three feet tall; we put it up in the front room. It was made of thick steel, like a big coffin. with two open sides, that were covered with wire mesh, inside you had a mattress, blankets, water, and a whistle, the Idea being , that if you was not, gassed, drowned, or electrocuted, you blew the whistle until somebody came to dig you out, luckily it never came to that, our nearest bomb landed about 400yards away.
Luck was to play a big part in this war.
I had known Stan since I was 11 years old, he was my best mate, and we went everywhere together, did everything together. We both started work at fourteen years of age in 1937. Stan was working in the city, at a lock smiths, round the corner from ST. Paul鈥檚 Cathedral, I worked as a Toolmaker improver at Barnsury Square, Islington, near Kings Cross, my father was the supervisor of the tool-room.
It was at this time, at the factory, that I met a young lady, named Florrie Williams, little did I know that in ten years time we would marry, and stay together for fifty two years, but, that鈥檚 another story.
When the bombing started, Stan鈥檚 mother, sister, and brother were evacuated to Wales, Stan did not want to go, so, him and his ration book came and lived with us, his father stayed at Dagenham, to look after the house.
Stan and I and my father, traveled from Potters Bar station to Kings cross every day , a journey that should have taken about an hour and quarter, sometimes it took us three hours, because of bombs on the line. On the night the City was set on fire with thousands of incendiary bombs, Stan鈥檚 factory was burnt to the ground, his foreman told him to get another job, so, he turned up at our factory in the afternoon, dirty and tired, after climbing over all the rubble ,and was taken on as a toolmaker improver.
The next day, it took us ,six hours to get to work, there bombs on the line, at East Barnet, and Wood green, and a land mine ,in Font hill road, at Finsbury Park, it took three trains and three buses to finally get there.
The next day Stan suggested we cycle to work, which I thought was a good idea. So, for the next eighteen months we rode fifteen miles there and, fifteen miles back, six days a week, it took us fifty five minutes from door to door, with week-end cycling we were doing about ten thousand miles a year.
On the way to work, we used to stop, and pick up shrapnel, some of which, was still hot , we had between ten and twenty pounds of the stuff by the time we got to work. We sorted it out on the bench, the Idea being, to find a piece with a Swastika on it, we never did find any, most of it had English writing on it, from our own ack-ack guns.
One day, on the way to work we were cycling down the Archway road, a block of luxury flats was hit during the night with a five hundred pound bomb. The firefighters and A.R.P. (Air raid Precautions) were still digging out the bodies as we went by; rumour was that over fifty people were killed that night.
During the day at work, if the siren went off, Stan and I, had to go on the roof of the factory, on incendiary watch, we had stirrup pumps, and sand bags, luck was with us again, we never had to use them.
During the winter of 1941, Stan and I were cycling home in the blackout, we got as far as Wroxham gardens in Potters bar when we heard two bombs whistling down.
Stan, who was by the nearside curb swerved to his right to dive behind a wall, I swerved to the left to dive behind a wall, we both smashed into each other and finished up in a heap in the middle of the road , the bombs landed about five hundred yards away.
It was Saturday afternoon; for a change, we were going home via Southgate. We were cycling up the Cockfosters road, but found a barrier across the road with a notice stating unexploded bomb, detour this way.
The detour meant going about four miles out of our way, as there was nobody about we decided to take a chance, the bomb had landed on one side of the road, so we ducked under the barrier, got on the pavement and pedaled like mad.
I looked down into the crater as I went by, but I could not see the bomb because the earth had collapsed in on top of it. We went under the wooden pole at the other end, and went on our way, nobody was any the wiser.
1942
In May 1942, Stan and I were both 18 years old, we decided to volunteer for the armed forces, Stan wanted to join the Navy, and I fancied the Air Force, so we compromised, and joined the fleet-air arm.
Our nearest recruitment centre was at Edgeware, so one Saturday we cycled down there, I was the first in the door, which was our first mistake; I gave my Potters-bar address and then went into the next room for my medical, Stan came next and gave his Dagenham address, our second mistake.
The recruitment officer told Stan, 鈥測ou cannot enroll here you have to go to Romford鈥�, I had all ready signed up as an aircraft mechanic. It was about 3 pm so we jumped on our bikes and pedaled like mad to Romford.
We got there with about half an hour to spare; Stan went in and signed up and said he鈥� wanted to be a aircraft mechanic鈥�. The officer said 鈥渢here is no such thing your鈥漧l have to be an air-frame fitter鈥�, that was our third mistake.
Three weeks later, I went to Cheshire, two weeks after that Stan went to Dorset, and we did not see each other for the next four years.
I had to report to the Edgeware road recruitment office, when I arrived there I found another five young lads there, the officer said to me, 鈥測ou鈥檙e the tallest so you鈥檙e in charge, and you鈥檙e on your way to Warrington鈥�.
Promotion already and I had not been in the navy five minutes that was not bad, but Warrington where the !!!! In England, was Warrington?
The officer gave me the travel warrant, and gave me instructions, we got the underground to Euston station, there was a wait of about two hours for the next train, one of the lads said鈥� I only live just up the road I鈥檓 going to pop home for a few minutes, that was the last we saw of him
We finally got to Warrington, and for losing a recruit, I was de-promoted; I think that was the reason why I never quite made it to an Admiral...
All shore bases are named after ships; the one I went to was HMS Gosling.
I was there for three months doing basic training, which involved .303 rifle shooting .22 shooting, throwing a live hand grenade with a six second fuse, very frightening, square bashing, three days night manoeuvre鈥檚 and mathematics鈥�, that I failed.
On the rifle range, I got nine bulls out of ten at 100yards, seven at 200yards, five at 300yards, not bad for a beginner. There were thirty young lads in a class, one day we went to a arms factory, we crawled along a trench and was told to crouch down, and go forward one at a time.
When it was my turn, I went to the parapet, there was a Chief-Petty officer (CPO) there, and on the ground was a box of hand grenades and fuses, he told me to look over the top. We were on a fairly high bank; down the bottom were three oil drums, the Idea being to lob the grenade into one of the drums, I should be so lucky! I got down behind the sandbags, the CPO put the fuse in the grenade slapped it in my hand, and said 鈥淚ts all yours lad鈥�, that鈥檚 when I started shaking.
I stood up, and took the lobbing position, I pulled the pin out, I gripped the grenade as hard as I could in case I dropped it, and waited a few seconds. I was a bit reluctant to let it go, as I lobbed it my hand hit the parapet and the grenade just rolled down the bank.
I ducked down behind the sand bags, the CPO said 鈥済et up and have a look at it lad, you have another three seconds yet鈥�, I took a quick look and got down again, there was a mighty explosion. Shrapnel was whistling about all over the place, was I glad that was over.
Having failed the mathematics course and given the choice of general duties on an Aircraft carrier, or, transferring to the Royal Navy, I chose the Royal Navy, and was sent to H.M.S. Raleigh in Torpoint near Plymouth.
I did a six-week crash course on seaman-ship and sea duty watch keeping; I completed the course and was transferred to H.M.S. Drake in Plymouth on 7th February 1943, as ordinary seaman T.Hulbert D/JX 104015. I was paid three shilling and sixpence a day (approx. 124p metric, per week).
The dockyard and barracks area was known as Devonport, the barracks H.M.S.Drake, the place was filled with hundreds of matlots {sailors} all trying to find something too do.
Meal times was one big push and shove, I think that is where the old saying came from, f!!! you jack I鈥檓 all right. The mess{ dining hall} was called Jago,s don鈥檛 ask me why, sometimes if you got there late and there were left-overs you could get second helpings, but if there was nothing left all you got was sympathy, and you had to go too the canteen and buy sausages and chips.
You was not allowed to queue until the bugle sounded, so, just before meal times, it was funny the number of matlots that had jobs walking up and down outside the mess hall. Mind you if you looked close enough you would have seen me, I was the one with the broom.
One morning, I was marched down to the docks with about thirty other matlots; it was swarming with pongo, s {navy slang for soldier} they were all armed with Thompson sub machine guns.
We marched towards a Warship tied up along side the jetty. We went up the gang plank to a hatch on the quarter-deck, up came a hoist with some small box鈥檚 on it, both the officer ,and petty-officer were both armed with .45 Webley revolvers and clip-boards with numbers on. A rating picked up and handed me a box, about the size of a house brick, which I nearly dropped owing to the weight of it.
I suddenly realized we were unloading GOLD BULLION, every box was checked every 100 yards, we walked between two rows of Tommy guns, to a train about 300 yards away were it was finally checked against a clip board. The gold had come from South Africa to pay for the war. Somebody said each box was worth about 拢5000, I worked it out that I unloaded around 拢40,000 gold bars that day, and did not even get a thank you. I could do with one of them box鈥檚 now, to supplement my pension, still as Frank Sinatra would say, THAT鈥橲 LIFE!
In April 1943,I was sent on a six weeks gunnery course, I fired a Lewis machine gun,.500 water cooled, first world war machine gun, four barreled 2pdr {pounder} Pom-Pom , eight barreled 2pdr Pom-Pom, 20mm Oerlikon.
Most of the firing took place on Drake鈥檚 Island, In the middle of Plymouth Sound, where I also did anti-aircraft watches as habour defence Pom-Poms crew. When we were off watch, we used to launch the dingy and row across to the lighthouse keeper on the breakwater and have a chat and a cup of tea with him, just to pass the time away.
We had to fire at moving targets, mainly drogues, a long sleeve made of cloth towed by an aeroplane, a very dangerous job for the pilot. Some people got carried away with the adrenalin, and actually fired at the aircraft, some of which were shot down.
If anybody fired at the plane accidentally, he was dismissed from the course. One day we shot a drogue down, there was a big cheer from the lads, but we were reprimanded for hitting the wire cable and not the drogue.
Having completed the gunnery course and passed out, my pay was increased by three pence a day, one shilling and nine pence a week (9p). I then went on a four-week鈥檚 commando course some where in Devon. The first morning the Instructor walked us around the obstacle course, we then, came back to the beginning, changed into our P.T. gear and had to run around the course twice.
I thought I was reasonable fit, with all the cycling I used to do, but when I got back, I was exhausted, the next morning I was aching all over.
At the start of the run, you went over a swinging bridge, two planks suspended on ropes, then up a steep hill. Through a tunnel just large enough to crawl through, it was pitch black and zig-zagged inside so you could not see the end.
A couple of the lads were brought out screaming, dragged out by their ankles, by the Instructor, obviously suffering from claustrophobia, we never saw them again. We went hand over hand across a tidal river that was eight feet deep when the tide was in, woe betide any body that fell in with a full pack and a lee-Enfield .303 rifle strapped to their back.
We scaled 12ft walls, swung on ropes across trenches 3ft deep with water, and waded though mud and slime. At the end of the course, we had to run round the obstacles twice with a full pack, rifle, and twenty rounds of ammunition.
Then run down a steep hill, stop at two hundred yards, lay down and fire, ten rounds at a target, get up, run another hundred yards, fire another ten rounds, and with your heart thumping like mad try to hit the target.
In the afternoon, we had small arms target practice.
I started with the.45 Webley revolver. A difficult gun to shoot with owing to its kick, the Sten gun, a cheap throw- away gun, the Lancaster, a better version of the Sten with a wooden stock, and more precision built.
I also fired the Thompson sub machine gun, with a round magazine, used by the Chicago gangster in the 1920s, that kept getting jammed, and the straight magazine. The Thomson was also a awkward gun to fire, you could fire it singlely, or on automatic, the best way to fire, was in short bursts, if you kept your finger on the trigger to long you could not control the gun.
We also did hand to hand combat, how to kill a man with one blow of your hand, how to tie up a man with his boot lace, the best place to bayonet a man, and a few more gruesome things, all this, and I still wasn鈥檛 yet nineteen years old.
I passed out of the commando course, was drafted to Devonport barracks to await a posting to a ship. About two weeks later, over the tannoy, my name called out to report to the drafting office.
They told me to get my gear together and report to the dockyard where a train was waiting to take me to H.M.S. Norfolk an 8鈥� gun cruiser, berthed at Portsmouth dockyard.
When I got there the first thing I saw was three tall funnels, this was no sleek cruiser. She was built in 1929, at least 13 years old, she was swarming with dock yard maties, with welding torches, paint brushes, caulking chisels, riveting guns, you name it they had it.
There were wires, ropes, cables, gas bottles all over the place, the Master-At - Arms, said to me, you are only in the way here, take fourteen days leave, when you get back we will be sailing the next day.

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