大象传媒

Chapter 9a

Settled In

At 11.00 hours next day Charlie officially took over as switch- board operator and I as signal clerk. We were kept very busy because there were many messages to deal with, all of them in cipher and most of them dealing with the Durham鈥檚 impending move. Ken stayed with us long enough to see we could do the jobs properly and to give me new instructions necessitated by the removal of one of the wireless sets from the Royal Signal鈥檚 wireless hut. In a way, the job was made much easier by the removal of the set, because it dispensed with circuit NUW-NUL and left only circuit LLR-LLA- LLB-LLS to carry all messages. I thoroughly enjoyed the job once I had got the hang of it, for it involved a certain amount of responsibility and I found that in actual practice it was much more interesting than the training sessions had implied.
Lieutenant Murdoch, our signals officer, who had travelled down from battalion H.Q. at Reykjaskoli to satisfy himself that we had settled in comfortably and were conversant with our new duties, sat at a table in the far corner of the office checking up on the messages I had registered before passing them across to the cipher clerk to be written afresh in cipher. Suddenly he called my name, and as I glanced round with an interrogative "Sir?" he held up a white "OUT" message form and asked: "How is it this message has been transmitted in clear?"
Puzzled, I walked across to him and accepted the message form. One glance sufficed to convince me that I had not handled that message before, and I told him so.
"You ' re quite sure," he asked .
"Quite sure, sir," I replied, with emphasis.
"Let me see your signal register."
I showed him the register and together we checked up on the messages I had dealt with. No message with that particular originator's number had been registered; it lacked a serial number; the instructions LLR. V. LLB. Z. ICW. G. were not in my handwriting, and neither was the group number.
I glanced at Mr. Murdoch. "This message hasn't seen the inside of this office before, sir," I told him.
He turned to the cipher clerk. "Have you seen this message before?"
The cipher clerk accepted the message form, checked his register, and answered in the negative.
"I think I know what's happened, sir," he suggested. "The man who brought it in here apparently didn't know it should have come to us first to be enciphered, and took it straight to the wireless hut for transmission before bringing it here. It's the wireless operator who's at fault. He should know that any message should come here to be enciphered and registered before he sends it, and he should have known that, as this one is in clear, it had not been done."
"Yes, I think you're right," Mr. Murdoch answered. "I'll go and have a chat with that bloody operator."
Off he went to the wireless hut, and returned ten minutes later grinning all over his face. "He admits it was his mistake, so I've been blowing him up. I'm glad it wasn't one of my signallers who did such a bloody daft thing," he added.
Charlie and I exchanged satisfied grins. Since joining the battalion the signals platoon had earned a reputation for efficiency and we had no desire to have that reputation tarnished.
The morning sped with pleasant swiftness and the irresistible notes of "Cookhouse" were sounding before we realised it was dinner-time. During an infrequent slack period in the afternoon session Charlie plugged in to the civilian exchange and engaged the Icelandic operator in conversation. Not to be outdone I went across to the switchboard and plugged in the local operator's telephone that stood on my table and listened in to their conversation. The First Commandment of all signallers is "Thou Shalt Not Eavesdrop." But I picked up the handset and listened as Charlie rang. A pleasant, rather husky voice, not unlike film star Jean Arthur, answered. "Number please?鈥�
"Borgarnes, four-three," Charlie requested.
"This is Borgarnes four-three."
"I know. I only wanted to chat with you."
"Oh, I see." A short laugh, then a pause followed. "Who are you?"
"I'm me."
"Don't be silly. What's your name?"
"Charlie. What's yours?"
"Uppa."
"Uppa, eh? Are you alone?"
"No. Nunna is with me."
"Who's Nunna?"
"My friend. She works here with me but her home is at Akureyri."
"Anyone else?"
"Only Netta."
"And who is Netta?"
"My sister."
"I see. How old are you?" "Ah, that is my secret."
"Come on, be a sport. How old are you?"
"No, I will not tell you." There was a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Then how old is Nunna?"
"I cannot tell you that."
"Why not?"
"Because she is listening-in on another telephone."
"Oh, pulling a fast one on me, are you?"
"That's right." Again there was laughter in her voice.
"Two can play at that game," I interrupted.
"Who is that?"
"It's me."
"What, again? What's your name'?"
"Doug."
"How do you spell it?"
"D-O-U-G-" I began.
"-L-A-S." She finished it for me.
"You've heard it before."
"Yes. One of the D.L.I. boys is called Douglas."
"Oh, yes. I know the one you mean."
"Well, how are you, Douglas?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"
"I'm very well too, thank you."
"Good. Did you enjoy the film on Saturday?"
"How did you know I was there?'"
"I was standing quite close to you."
"You were what?"
"That's surprised you, hasn't it?"
"Yes, but how did you know me?"
"Do you remember talking to Ken when the lights went up?"
"Yes."
"Well, I was the chap standing near Ken. "
"Oh, I see, Yes, now I know you. You have brown hair, brown eyes, and a dimple in your chin. And you smoke a pipe."
"That鈥檚 right. You seem to have taken a good look, anyway."
Glancing up at that moment I happened to see the look on Charlie's face. I had to laugh it was so comical. His eyes were popping out like organ stops and his mouth was sagging at the corners as though he had lost control of it. His whole expression was one of complete incredulity. I knew he had only rung Uppa with the intention of getting in first and he was flabbergasted to know I had beaten him to it. Several calls came through the switchboard just then and kept him busy for some time. Uppa and I were chatting away like old friends when Charlie suddenly interrupted us with "Sorry, but I need this line now," and disconnected us. One of the calls was for Reykjavik and he needed the line we were speaking on.
For over an hour he was kept busy dealing with calls, but each time he had a brief moment to spare he would glare in my direction with mock ferocity and hurl epithets at me. "Double-crosser." Then, some time later, "Body-snatcher," and after that, "Home-wrecker."
To all his invectives I remained serenely unperturbed and answered only with smiles of beguiling innocence. He tried to pump me for more information but I remained steadfastly uncommunicative, much to his chagrin. He had no further opportunity to chat with Uppa that afternoon because a stream of calls kept him fully occupied until tea-time, when we were relieved.
I was so busy next morning checking a sixty-nine group message that I failed to notice the arrival of a 15 cwt. truck that came bumping into the camp and stopped near the door of the office until a familiar voice yelled out "Worro, Doug!"
I glanced up sharply, and through the open door I saw Ronnie Hall, his round face glowing like a polished Worcester Permain, grinning broadly, about to leap off the back of the truck. Others leapt off after him in quick succession, and I was pleased to recognize them as Corporal' Ashy' Warman, Frank Handley, Bert Haines, Les Morrison, Arthur Mills and Nobby Clark. They were covered in dust and looked as though they had been dragged through a hedge backwards. They wore greatcoats and F.S.M.O., their weapons and their kit- bags were just visible above the sides of the truck, and their blankets were piled in an untidy heap near the tailboard.
I returned Ron's cheery salutation and asked him what they were doing here.
"We've come to look after you," he replied.
"You mean you've been posted here permanently?"
"That's it."
"Oh, great: Welcome to the great metropolis of Derwent Camp. Make yourselves at home."
"What else would you expect us to do?" Ron's grin broadened and he followed the others into our Nissen hut.
"Who was that, Doug?" Charlie asked, when he had a moment to spare.
"Some of our platoon from Reykjaekoli. They've been posted here."
"Is Nobby with them?" He was particularly interested in Nobby, because they were the only two Londoners now stationed with the signal section at Borgarnes.
"Yes. And Ashy, Ron, Frank, Bert, Les, and Arthur."
"Oh, great. We couldn't have a better lot."
"You're telling me!" I was as pleased as he was, for things were bound to liven up with so many of us thrown together again. We had shared the same billets most of the time since our posting to the battalion and we both knew there would be very little dissention with such a decent crowd. Once we had all settled in together after the departure for pastures new of the D.L.I. life became routine again but infinitely more interesting. Settling down in a new location in England soon became monotonous once the newness of the location had worn off, and the routine of battalion life continued very much as before, but this move was vastly different.
We were in a different country, with a different climate, different scenery, and people who spoke a different language and had different customs. Even those of us who had never learned a foreign language knew a few foreign words or phrases from books we had read, but Icelandic was something we had neither read nor heard before. We knew little about Iceland. During our schooldays the geography lessons about Europe had somehow omitted it. We knew where it was, that its capital was Reykjavik, that it had a volcano called Hekla, that it had a thriving fishing industry, and that it was from where the weather forecasters always got their deep depressions. It was just an unimportant little island hanging just below the Arctic Circle and of no special significance to the rest of the world until military necessity catapulted it into world prominence and transformed it into a vital area of strategic importance. We decided we might as well try to find out some more facts about this North Atlantic island that was to be our temporary home .
Shaped like a distorted duck looking south-west towards North America, it measures approximately one hundred and ninety miles from north to south, three hundred miles from east to west, and has an area of about thirty-nine thousand, six hundred square miles. It is about two hundred and fifteen miles from Greenland, two hundred and fifty from the Faeroe Islands, five hundred and twenty from Scotland, and six hundred and forty from Norway. Its most northerly point, Rif, is on the same latitude as the island of Grimsey, on the Arctic Circle. The east, north and west coasts are as irregular as the coast of Norway, being deeply indented with a multiplicity of bays and fiords, but the south coast has no such natural harbours; only sandy beaches, as we had seen from the Polaski.
It is a very mountainous country, the only lowlands being in the southwest corner, where we were stationed. The interior consists of high mountains and high plateaux and is totally devoid of human habitation. Glaciers cover a vast area of the highlands, the biggest one being Vatnaj枚kull, the biggest glacier in Europe, in the southeast. Most of the rivers have their sources in the glaciers and are unnavigable because of the fierce currents.
Because of the many rivers and the mountainous terrain waterfalls are numerous and imposing, the most famous ones being Gullfoss in the south and Dettifoss and Godafoss in the north. Being the
most famous, Gullfoss is, therefore, the most photographed and appears on many picture postcards as Iceland's premier beauty spot. The highest mountain is Hvannadalshnukur, 6,950 feet high, at the extreme southern point of Vatnaj枚kull.

continued in 9b

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