大象传媒

When the war began I was living with my parents on St. Vincent, in the Cape Verde Islands, where my father was Assistant Manager of Cables and Wireless. When he completed his tour of duty there in December 1941 we were faced with the problem of finding transport to get home to England, as shipping was then very erratic. Fortunately a coal boat, the Langleetang, had just unloaded supplies for the island鈥檚 bunkering service to shipping, and the captain kindly offered to take us to Freetown from where we could join another ship in a convoy home.

The coal ship was thick with coal dust; you could feel it everywhere you trod. And being a coal ship it was not equipped for passengers. My mother and I had the captain鈥檚 cabin, my father slept in the captain鈥檚 lounge, and the captain slept in the chart room. We ate with the officers. We had entertained two of the cadets from the ship for Christmas dinner the day before we sailed on 26 December. I often wonder whether they made it to the end of the war. I hope so.

From St Vincent to Freetown we were in the sole charge of a corvette, as we were not in convoy. I remember it used to bustle about, zigzagging and chivvying us along like a mother hen. We did not arrive in Freetown, Sierra Leone, until 8 January 1942. We could not continue our journey aboard the Langleetang as it was collecting iron ore from up the river and if it had been hit it would have sunk immediately. So we had a two-week wait in Freetown for a convoy to gather for the voyage to England.

Most of the Freetown hotels were occupied by the services, so we were sent to a place just outside the town where we were told we could stay. When we arrived the house was full of colourfully dressed and very friendly ladies, gin bottles filled with water, and a piano. I was thrilled at the sight of the piano and was keen to stay there but my mother and father refused. I did not realise at my young age what the house actually was. The attraction for me was the piano. We left there and went instead to stay with the manager of Cables and Wireless.

We eventually joined our new ship, which could cater for four passengers. My mother and I shared a cabin and my father had the other one. We had to sleep in our life-jackets.
Mine was cork and wasn鈥檛 very comfortable. My mother was given one stuffed with kapok and it had a little red light on it which meant it could be seen if it went into the sea. This was great for being rescued, but enemy planes would come down and gun the red lights.

Our new ship had a crew of Lascars. They made their own curry so the ship reeked throughout of ghee. This curry was very hot and brought tears to your eyes and steam from your ears! The rest of the menu was pretty limited. I have never since felt any strong desire to eat pilchards - with or without tomato sauce.

There were some Royal Marines on board to man the gun on the stern of the ship. They were very kind and high鈥攕pirited. One evening, I think just to entertain me, they decided to dress up in all the 鈥渨inter comforts鈥� which kind ladies had knitted and sent them. Unfortunately, many of these garments were of strange shapes and sizes and caused a great deal of amusement. Just at the height of this fashion parade the alarm bells sounded and the ship shuddered. The convoy was under attack. The marines raced to their guns, ripping off garments as they ran. All hell was let loose. Rockets, flares and bangs continued for some time. My parents gathered our bags containing the essentials for days in a lifeboat: tins of fruit juice, toiletries, first aid kit, jumpers and so on. Then we sat in the lounge with some of the very frightened crew. But the Portuguese steward remained calm and told us he had been on a ship under attack before. He assured us that all would be well. The next morning we discovered that one ship 鈥� a Royal Navy rescue vessel used for picking up survivors - had been sunk by a torpedo.

The convoy slowly made its way to the UK. There was such a variety of shipping in these convoys that often we had to slow down to wait for stragglers.

I can now sympathise with the crews of the two ships we travelled on. The presence of a woman and a twelve-year-old girl on board must have cramped their normal style. My mother said, 鈥淲hatever you see or hear, forget!鈥� What a hope! I learnt a lot on this trip home: how to play gin rummy, which proved very useful in later life, and a number of swearwords that were frequently uttered when an old rust bucket of a ship fell behind or belched out black smoke which could be seen over the horizon and give way the convoy鈥檚 position.

We arrived in Liverpool on 9 February 1942 鈥� three days before my thirteenth birthday. As the ship docked, the air-raid sirens sounded. Welcome to the UK, the Raine family!

In November 1942 my father and mother sailed aboard the Ceramic for St Helena, where my father was due to take up the post of Manager of Cables and Wireless on the island. Their ship was large and fast, and despite the captain鈥檚 request for an escort, the powers that be decided it could look after itself. It had a large number of passengers on board 鈥� soldiers and nurses, etc. It was sunk on 26 November 1942 and my parents lost their lives. We did not know exactly what had happened until after the war when the sole survivor from the ship returned home to Surrey after spending two-and-a-half years in a prison camp in Silesia.

My aunt was my legal guardian, and I lived with her and my uncle in Kent, where we had the excitement of doodlebugs.

In November 2004 I returned to St Vincent and was delighted to find my former governess was alive and still sprightly at the age of 85.

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