大象传媒

I was coming up to 16 years old when war was declared on 3rd September 1939. Living in London and working as an office boy in a shipping office in Moorgate. Not surprisingly I was soon made redundant.
One year on and the Battle of Britain was being fought above our heads and my family remained in London, apart from Dad who was later moved to Harefield with the Air Ministry. We survived the Blitz, although with some near misses. There have been many Blitz stories so I now move on to 1942 when I applied and was accepted for aircrew training in the R.A.F. and duly reported to St. John鈥檚 Wood on 1st February 1943.
Volunteers were sought for training overseas and stepping smartly forward soon found myself at Blackpool and but a stepping-stone to Liverpool where we were to board H.M. Troopship Otranto. It was the closest most of us had been to anything larger than a pleasure steamer.
In happier days she had been a cruise liner but we had no brochures or return date. So began our Wartime Cruise.

F3 Port became our oceanographic address and floating reference point; mess deck, lounge and bedroom with no vision to the outside world. We filed in and seated ourselves along the mess tables. The last two airmen on each were to have the privilege of being the galley slaves 鈥� to collect the meals each mealtime for the 20 鈥榙iners鈥� at the tables.
At night the bedding storage bunks were emptied and the wise few claimed them for bed spaces. Alternatives were the tables or hammocks.
At this stage a casual bystander would have been amused for a good half hour.
To 鈥榮ling鈥� is the nautical term for the operation. The ropes were tied to appropriate bars, life jackets (never, never from which we were to be parted for the duration of the voyage) were wedged into the end strings as pillows, blankets were draped into the canvas, and at this point it was wise to pause and consider the next step 鈥� or rather leap. There was the gentle, nonchalant approach with a carefree whistle on ones lips, or the gymnastic approach with a 鈥渙ne, two, hup鈥� although this was often followed by a 鈥渢hree, four, down鈥� 鈥� and a smart return to deck level complete with bedding.
The nonchalant type, already cocooned and watching the antics in smug self-satisfaction, exchanged his expression to one of near panic as realisation dawned that the rope knots unmistakably were slipping.
Eventually thumps and curses died away 鈥� and how many bodies swung in suspended animation?
A mechanical and restricted routine was adopted as it became obvious that the passenger list was many times that of a peacetime cruise. We were to learn that deck space was at a premium and exercise was limited to clambering up to boat stations daily.
As we slid away from Liverpool it removed, for locals at least, the tantalising view of the Liver building. For the majority on board it was to be three or four years before returning to Britain. Some returned not at all.
What of the thoughts in hammock and bunk? The war, which had radically changed so many lives, now charted an unknown change of course. For the married men a heartache and a bitten lip at the thought of the children. How to count the precious hours lost with them? Hours 鈥� months 鈥� years 鈥� kids grow up so quickly. Our draft not so smitten. Younger and relatively carefree, bound for Africa and flying 鈥� eager for adventure were we.
At first it was very cold on deck as we shivered down into the greatcoats and gazed inevitably out to sea and realised we were not alone. So this was a convoy. There were unseen sailors whose heavy responsibility it was to shepherd and listen and search across the treacherous ocean. Boat stations were taken daily and action stations periodically, when R.N. ships sped with purposeful intent across and around the plodding convoy. We did not know if a U-boat was lurking. Down below we had briefly checked the odds if a torpedo should strike 鈥� then talked of other things.
Life settled into some sort of pattern 鈥� Captain鈥檚 Inspection whilst standing at morning boat stations: 鈥淭ighten that life jacket or you鈥檒l break your ruddy neck when you hit the water!鈥� Later we would sit facing outboard and stare out to sea, or read or talk before going below for lunch.
鈥淟illiburlero鈥� the signature tune of the 大象传媒 Overseas Service, preceded the news bulletins broadcast over the ship鈥檚 Tannoy. One night we listened to one of Churchill鈥檚 famous pep speeches. His voice ebbed and flowed like the sea upon which we sailed, the hiss of the waves being broken by the steel of the bows.
The stability of our home had been taken for granted but soon we were disillusioned; beams and fittings creaked and the deck was disconcertingly suspect to our step. It was when I looked out to sea and realised the alarming vertical arc of vision that I succumbed 鈥� and was not alone. For three or four days food was ignored.
The weather became hotter, the sailing pattern changed and there was a buzz that we were about to enter a port. Eventually, with speed decreased, it became evident that we were running down a channel. Great excitement as land appeared 鈥� then Freetown, our first glimpse of Africa. Some were to disembark but we remained aboard and portholes were opened, a welcome joy in view of the heat. So F3 was not below the waterline. What had seemed a cold metal prison in the murk of the Mersey now was a much better place with sun and air flooding in 鈥� instead of the suspected water.
Heading out again into the South Atlantic some jokers hinted at U-boats waiting to pounce. No incident and we relaxed mentally with speculation about crossing the equator.
One novelty, if not luxury, was a seawater shower. Special seawater soap was non-effective. One day a notice appeared in the daily orders to the effect that the Captain regretted the absence of freshly cut flowers on mess-deck tables. In restricted conditions certain social events got underway. No dances or dinners alas, but talks, lectures and even a boxing tournament. Various talents came to light and before long one comedian impersonator announced that he was Bob 鈥楥ape of Good鈥� Hope, a not too subtle clue to our navigational whereabouts.
Our cruise ended at Durban, bright and sparkling after a drab wartime Britain we had left a month before. We donned ridiculously long shorts, hid our embarrassment beneath enormous sun helmets and prepared to set foot in Africa. We heard the famous 鈥楲ady in White鈥� singing as she had welcomed so many troopships throughout the war. Perla Siedle Gibson who became a legend.

PS (for any who may think it was all a Cook鈥檚 Tour) After flying training in Southern Rhodesia we travelled by train, truck, boat and air north to Cairo and I eventually caught up with the war in Italy.

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