大象传媒

When we received the order to pack all our kit it was close to midnight, and by three o鈥檆lock in the morning we were packed like sardines in the compartments and corridors of railway carriages. but we managed to get some sleep on the journey. At twenty past seven, the train came to a sudden halt. Curiosity getting the better of me, I wiped the condensation from the carriage window and to my surprise I was looking direct at my own bedroom window. Looking down the embankment on to the lane below I saw some of my old workmates making their way to work. To attract their attention would have been a serious breach of security, as it was obvious we were bound for Liverpool Docks. I had no choice but to remain out of sight. On arrival at the docks we were ushered into a cold and draughty warehouse and as we sat a little bemused and bewildered at the speedy turn of events in the past few hours, our spirits were raised when the administering angels of the Salvation Army gave us hot tea and hot bacon 鈥渂utties鈥�. We were than told we could write one letter, with a warning about strict security and that our letters would be censored. Ballpoint pens had not been invented at that time and trying hold a writing pad on your knee in a a cold place was not conducive to writing a cheerful letter home by any stretch of the imagination.

Our letters were duly collected and then huge sliding doors opened giving us a view of what was to be home to five thousand Marines. In peacetime the ship had carried frozen meat from Argentina and had there been any luxurious fittings aboard, they had certainly been removed. Our living quarters consisted of sections in which one hundred and twenty men would have to live, eat and sleep. The only storage spaces were the overhead hammock racks where we also had to store our Marching Order Packs. Our kitbags and rifles were stored in the hold. Each section had six long mess-deck tables with long seats on either side, all of which were bolted to the deck and to the bulkheads. Apart from the lamps that were also fixed to the bulkheads, there were no other fittings except the hooks from which one hundred and twenty hammocks would hang in a festoon fashion.

Before nightfall we were steaming
northwards, then we steamed up the Clyde to a place known as The Tail Of The Bank where we saw a huge convoy in formation. We took our place in the convoy and off we went, listening to the Merchant Seamen crew plaintively singing 鈥淎uld Lang Syne鈥� little realising that most of the pathos in their voices was largely due to the empty casks that had formerly held McKewan鈥檚 Strong Ale. Within thirty-six hours of putting to sea we hit one of the worst Atlantic storms in history. Huge waves lifted the bows so high that the mightiest of the ships rose to the crest of the wave, leaving the sterns dangerously low in the water. Then the huge, heaving wave would disappear sending the bows crashing down in to the deep troughs with such force we expected the back of our ship to break at any moment. It was frightening to see the propellers thrashing the air above the trough and then to hear the indescribable smack as the belly of the ship met the rising wave. Moat of the men suffered violent seasickness with the result that the mess-decks were in a vile and stinking state. The sudden onset of the storm had left many men helpless on the upper decks, and the few who were not affected could barely cope with the numbers of men who had to be carried to the safety of the lower decks. The pitch and toss of the ship combined with its rolling from side to side was so violent it was difficult to carry the sick men below, we were walking at angles that would have defied the laws of gravity had we been walking on dry land. It was my first sea journey and I was very surprised that I wasn鈥檛 seasick, but I must admit my head swirled and ached like it had never ached before. The tempestuous seas and the howling wind that tossed the ships round like corks seemed to be threatening to blow us off the deck as we retrieved the helpless men. Down on the mess-decks it was absolute chaos; heavy mess-deck tables and seats had been torn from the bulkheads, anything not lashed down was being hurled as if some giant hand was throwing everything things in all directions. Hammocks, packs, mess-deck utensils were being thrown with such ferocity it looked as though some unseen demonic creature was hell-bent on destroying anyone in the line of fire There was a terrible filthy mess to clean up when the storm abated. Repairs had to be carried out with great emergency.

The sleeping and eating accommodation being one and the same place made this the most 鈥渓uxurious鈥� part of the ship. There was endless queues- for NAAFI tea, beer dispensed from metal casks into enamel mugs, for washing, shaving and shower facilities, for Sick Bay and dental treatment-there were queues for everything. The queues for tea were so long that they either ran out of tea or what was left was stone cold, the very idea of drinking warm beer from an enamel mug offended my stomach so much it did not warrant the brave effort of standing in a queue for either of the these beverages. Before we set off on our 鈥渃ruise of a lifetime鈥� we were given four weeks pay in advance. A princely sum of one shilling per day (5p) for four weeks amounted to the small fortune of twenty-eight shillings (拢1.40p) I believe King George V1 got a bit more than I did, -but then- he was an Admiral of the Fleet. So having nothing to buy with my newly found fortune- and being young and foolish- I succumbed to the delights of learning how to play poker. True to the maxim that a fool and his money are soon parted, my four weeks pay and myself soon bade each other a fond farewell. Penniless for the rest of the voyage was of no earthly consequence to me at that time.

To avoid the unwelcome attentions of the U Boat packs that were hunting on the high seas, the convoy followed a zigzag course across the Atlantic. All we saw was sea and sky in equal proportions, day in, day out. Night and day, sea and sky- just another of the endless monotonies of life aboard a wartime trooper. The days and nights of endless zigzagging to nowhere made us believe that we did not belong to anywhere else but the open sea. Then one morning an excited cry had us all rushing on deck. 鈥淲e are about an hour鈥檚 sailing from New York鈥�. We all waited with bated breath looking for the Statue of Liberty to appear on the horizon. But life dealt us yet another cruel blow, instead of the American coastline- another huge convoy appeared. In due course another huge convoy joined ours and we continued with the monotonous study of sea and sky. Days turned into weeks with no sight of land, then we noticed the rising change of temperatures, and we were given the luxury of changing into our tropical clothing. A few days later we pulled into Freetown and began to take on fresh water and supplies. Sierra Leone as it was known then was dubbed as 鈥淲hite man鈥檚 Grave鈥� and as I preferred the monotonies of life aboard a wartime troopship, I felt relief to see sea and sky once more.

We left Freetown under cover of darkness to re-commence our zig 鈥攝ag course; I was blissfully unaware of what lay ahead for me. So close to the Equator, the temperature had risen to a very high level. Early one morning we did our usual drills and physical exercises. In need of a cold shower after all these exertions; I went into the showers that adjoined my mess-deck. Fresh water aboard a trooper is too scarce a commodity for showers, and some bright spark had invented seawater soap to ensure our bodily cleanliness in such crowded conditions. To create lather with this weird and wonderful soap, particularly with cold seawater is quite a feat. So armed with my bar of seawater soap, my towel and lifejacket I persevered in creating lather on my head. I had rubbed and rubbed and at the zenith of my success, the urgent call to 鈥淏oat Stations鈥� was broadcast over the ship鈥檚 Tannoy System. The strident call urged immediate action and I became the victim of efficiency. The seawater spray came to an abrupt end and the watertight metal door clanged shut, isolating me from my only means of modesty and my only protection from the blazing sun. With nothing else except my little bar of soap my all-important life jacket and my towel, I mad a dash for the nearest gangway that would lead me to my appointed Boat Station. So did five thousand pairs of army boots that showed no respect for bare feet. But my sore toes and the burning hot deck doing its best to make two fried eggs out of my feet was of no consequence in comparison to my major problem. The boiling hot sun was baking my soap filled hair more rapidly than the One Minute Quaker Oats advert. Within a minute it was as hard as quick drying concrete, and all I could do was hope and pray that the danger would soon pass. Eventually the 鈥淪tand Down 鈥� order came, and that was my cue. Five thousand pairs of army boots could do their worst as long as I could make a quick dive to the showers. But it was all to no avail. Super glue had not been invented then but I am convinced to this day that seawater and seawater soap are its chief ingredients. A kind-hearted Sick Bay Attendant gave me some olive oil but proved to be useless and as I lay in my hammock that night, deep in thought I was wondering how I could resolve my problem. In the still of the night I thought I could hear the tick-tock of a clock. But there was no such luxury on our mess-deck. Then it struck me that it must be a dripping tap. I took my enamel mug and on finding this great treasure I left my mug to collect the drips from the tap and in the morning I had almost a pint of fresh water. While I was applying it my hair, one of my pals left his mug to collect more of this precious liquid. Every drop of water from that dripping tap was collected and by the time we had reached Capetown my hair was still as stiff as strands of spring steel wire.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.