大象传媒

Seven-Day Wonder by Mr B W Burnell

One grey and miserable day in November 1942, I boarded the ss Cynthia in company with several thousand other members of His Majesty鈥檚 Forces for destination unknown.

Contrary to the popular belief that troop ships left port to the sound of music by brass bands, and the ever present cheering crowds, the only 鈥渄ignitaries鈥� to wave us farewell were two unhappy looking dockers who had probably seen it all before!

The sea voyage at His Majesty鈥檚 expense lasted several days with the monotony broken only by the occasional U-boat alarm and the various games of chance which took place on board. Money changed hands at a very fast rate, especially in the American 鈥渟chools鈥� where dice were thrown at $1,000 a throw. 鈥淪hooting crap鈥�, as they termed it, appeared to the rather lowly paid British troops to be gambling with fortunes!

The large convoy we were part of nosed into the Bay of Algiers in November 1942, in support of the invasion forces who were clearing the enemy from Algiers and the surrounding area.

My own unhappy predicament at this time, in company with the thousands of other troops waiting to disembark, was that we were confined below decks during the constant action, and one had the sensation of being trapped and pounded by an unseen enemy.

The docks were lettered 鈥淎鈥� to 鈥淔鈥� all packed with expectant and nervous troops waiting for the opportune time to leave the ship and set foot on foreign soil. The unnatural environment led to the following bizarre situation which I feel I must put to paper.

It was during the early hours of the morning, following a night disrupted by the indistinct sounds of battle, that we were hit by an aerial torpedo, resulting in the ship giving a sickening lurch and spilling bodies from the swinging hammocks onto the deck, with confusion reigning supreme.

We had found during the frequent boat drills that time required to reach the upper deck from ours was a minimum of twenty minutes, which seemed a lifetime in an emergency such as this. It was then that panic reared its ugly head. A number of men rushed the gangway leading to the upper decks, an action which in itself was hopeless owing to the crush of troops converging from the other decks.

I firmly believe that in all situations or emergencies there is always one person who will take control and induce others to follow his lead. On this occasion it was a burly United States Sergeant who forced his way to the head of the gangway and brandishing a black and deadly looking automatic pistol, threatened to (I quote), 鈥淪hoot any yellow-bellied b*d who moves!鈥� Although this action was reminiscent of an Errol Flynn in the standard Hollywood style it had the desired result, and brought some calm into a somewhat confused and dangerous situation.

When order had been restored, we wended our way up through the various decks until we reached the top and formed up ready to abandon the ship which, by this time, was listing badly. The scene on this bright moonlit night was further illuminated by several blazing vessels which were also victims of enemy attack and had been 鈥渟itting ducks鈥� on a moonlit pond.

As I wondered whether we would have to swim for the distant shore, a voice over the loudspeaker system announced that the immediate danger of sinking was over and that we would be towed into port.

Incidentally, the ill-fated Cynthia was later to be sunk by enemy action on her way to Gibraltar for repairs.

I am glad to say that the loss of life on the ship was comparatively small, the only casualties being several members of the RAF Regiment.

This voyage ended for me and my fellow travellers to the tune of anti-aircraft guns and the whistle of bombs dropped by 鈥渨elcoming鈥� German aircraft as we landed at Algiers and my trip overseas ended some four years later when I returned home a wiser and, I might add, a more experienced man.

(Published in 鈥淒ocks鈥� Magazine of British Transport Docks Board, October 1971)

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