大象传媒

Beach鈥檚 War Chapter 2 鈥� The Journey to the Front

Note: A volunteer on behalf of Fred Beacham has entered this story. The author has seen and agreed to the People's War House Rules.

On first joining the army, I had been in the General Service Corps - a purely training title. But on arrival in Yorkshire,we were then transferred to the Devon Regiment and most of us felt a sense of pride in belonging to such a famous unit. However, after much speculation and rumour, some weeks later we were moved across country and were stationed a few miles from Liverpool. This was not to last. Issued soon after with tropical gear, which the 鈥榗omedians鈥� amongst us said was 鈥渇or fighting in the North Pole,鈥� we suddenly found ourselves in Liverpool docks. As we formed up on the quayside, it seemed to me like organised chaos. Embarking on the 鈥淒uchess of Bedford,鈥� a fairly large liner, I fondly imagined the cabin I would be allocated. As we stood in lines upon the quay, in full marching order, including full packs and kitbags, I felt fit to drop under the weight. It was with a profound sense of relief that I eventually found myself literally staggering up the steep gangway on to the ship.

What a shock I got! We were shepherded down into what seemed to me to be the bowels of the ship, a large mess deck. Talk about the Black Hole of Calcutta! There were men strewn everywhere; grabbing hammocks and marking out their territory like the Klondike gold diggers. I quickly followed suit, along with my young soldier friend, Albert Jenniss and erected my hammock. What a pantomime it was to see soldiers practising getting in and out of hammocks. My own use of the hammock was minimal.

I am not a good sailor. That was plain for all to see because I was seasick. This was due to a combination of the ship鈥檚 motion and the smell of the engine, even before we cast off from the quay! It was several hours before the ropes were released and when it happened, I suspect we all reflected that we had parted company with England for some time.

It was dark as we sailed out of Liverpool Bay, where a naval escort awaited us. We formed up with several other cargo ships and slowly moved off, travelling south, close to the shore. Several hours later and after a short delay, the whole convoy of some forty ships moved off heading south. I spent the night as many others did watching the 鈥榝orming鈥�-up鈥� process. We then spent the best part of the day in fitful sleep, anywhere on the deck where we could crash down.

At the evening mealtime, I went down below to the second sitting. I had not eaten since embarking. I lined up with my friends in the ship鈥檚 alleyway, clutching my mess tin. The smell of the ship's engines wafted our way towards the dishing out table and I began to feel a bit queasy. As we approached the table, I felt steadily worse. I held on right up to the table and thrust my mess tins out to be filled. The man dishing out scooped down into the dixie and slopped the concoction into my dixie with a resounding slop. I immediately turned to Albert who was standing behind me, thrust my dixie into his hand and made a hasty exit to the toilet, where I was sick yet again.

From then on, I literally lived on the open deck, as did many others. I slept on one of the hatch covers and was woken by a seamen, who hosed down the deck at 6 a.m. I ate almost nothing for several days and very little for the rest of the voyage. I simply felt too sick.

There was a boat drill from time to time. Everyone lined up in orderly fashion at his respective boat stations. I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if the ship were actually attacked 鈥� not as orderly as this, I suspect! As the ship moved further out and the weather got progressively warmer, we played card games on the deck and a game of Housey Housey was organised on a daily basis. This certainly helped pass the time.

I spent a large part of the day, sitting at the stern, watching the everlasting wake disappearing into the distance and thinking of home. During the evening, I would invariably be at the ship鈥檚 rail, looking into the now dark, blue-greenish waters as they hissed along the ship's side, the white foam throwing up a million dancing lights. Perhaps things were not so bad after all, for someone like me, who had no chance to travel, it had its compensations.

After about eight days of sailing, in what I thought was a southwesterly direction, (some 鈥榳ags鈥� said we were going to America) we changed to an easterly course and eventually passed to the southern part of the Bay of Biscay. The weather here became quite rough, so accordingly, I changed my location from the stern of the ship to the bow. Here, it was fascinating, with the great ship rising and falling in huge troughs and the spray breaking above the forecastle head and spewing along the length of the ship.

During the whole of the trip, so far, we noticed nothing-untoward happening. Sometimes, the escort vessels would sheer off to the horizon and speculators said that they had sighted a submarine. For my part, I saw and heard nothing. We passed Gibraltar at about 10 p.m. and from the ship's rail, we could make out the bare outline of the Rock. Whilst looking south, we could see the bright lights of Spanish Morocco 鈥� what a contrast!

At dawn, the next day, we were a short distance from the North African coast, when a warning given over the Tannoy system said the crew must prepare for action against enemy aircraft and all other personnel must report to the respective quarters. All of us troops went to our mess decks and shortly afterwards, the ship began to shudder as the guns鈥� commenced firing.

Soon after this the ship heaved and shuddered again. It was clear to us all that we had experienced a near miss. I had the most awful feeling of being trapped, and it was at this moment that my Platoon Officer came to me and took me to the mess deck exit where he said, 鈥淚f the ship should get a direct hit from a bomb and the order is given to abandon ship, you must ensure that the troops on the mess deck leave in orderly fashion.鈥� I replied, 鈥淵es sir鈥�, but under my breath, as soon as he had gone, I said to myself, 鈥淢ate, if that order is given to abandon ship, I shall be leading the mess deck troops up the stairs.鈥�

The bombing lasted for about an hour and, when it finished, we were not allowed back on deck. We stayed below until the next morning and when I went on the deck the convoy had dispersed. I saw that one large transport ship on which a large number of American servicewomen had been travelling had received a direct hit and been sunk, with considerable loss of life.

We sailed along the North African coast, and finally docked in the small port called Phillipville. I felt a sense of relief that the voyage was finally over and I spent several hours standing at the ship's rail watching the unloading on the quayside and waiting for the order to disembark. When the order finally came, we formed on the quay in columns of three, in full marching order and ready to move off. After a short delay, we marched off.

Leaving the small town, we found ourselves on a coastal road, with the sea no more than 30 yards to our left. The view was lovely with a clear blue sea breaking gently on the shore. It was difficult to imagine that a war was in progress, until we saw a large military hospital a mile or so along the road and started to pass small groups of blue-capped nurses. Some of these were accompanied by wounded service personnel. On passing the hospital, we carried on marching for another two miles and then we came across a large area just off the road. The area was neatly laid out with small tents to which we were allocated.

It was all quite pleasant for the first day, which we spent mainly cleaning weapons and trading for oranges that were brought right into the camp by the local Arabs. The next few days were spent in carrying out route marches. During one of these marches, we arrived at the top of a place called Marble Mountain. It was a mountain almost made of marble, with sheer sides, where marble hewn out over the years, left chasms 100 feet deep in places. The view from the top of the mountain was fantastic, although it would have been much better had we not been so heavily laden!

The war news at that time was about the fighting that was taking place in the south of Italy. On several days, we went to the docks, where we unloaded wounded soldiers, on stretchers, on to the quay and into the ambulance. It was here that I saw my first German soldier; he was lying on a stretcher, on the upper deck, all by himself. It would have been a stony-hearted man who felt no pity for him, despite the large number of British wounded who were taken off the same ship.

We spent Christmas at this camp. Shortly after the New Year (1944) started, we were ordered to pack and be ready to leave. We had the feeling that the next stop would be Italy.

Taken to Phillip Ville, we embarked aboard a sleeker-looking liner, rather smaller than the 鈥淒uchess of Bedford.鈥� As we left the harbour, I had the same feeling of impending seasickness, but the feeling passed off this time, so perhaps I would make a sailor yet!

It was a surprise to find that we had no escort, indicating the confidence of the hierarchy at this stage in the war. As the ship sped across the calm waters of the Meddy, I found it quite enjoyable. I believe that the reason we were unescorted was the speed of our ship. She slipped through the water at a tremendous rate of knots far outstripping the capability of a U boat. Nevertheless, it would have been a comfort at the time to have an escort.

As mealtime approached, the dubious privilege of collecting for our mess deck table was given. I went below to the mess deck and collected five round mess tins, which stacked on top of each other. I carried them along various alleyways with no trouble, but in order to get down to the mess deck, I had to negotiate a fairly steep ladder. As I started to descend, I felt the ship start to roll and I started to roll with it. I lost my balance and the top mess tin fell off and fell towards the bottom of the ladder. At this moment a sergeant happened to be standing there; he looked up a little too late to escape the mess tin that turned upside down and struck him square on top of his head. All the contents came out, including some spaghetti and sauce!

I took one look at him with this mess running down his face, he looked up at me and I hurriedly handed the other mess tins to the nearest man; made a hasty retreat to the lavatory, and was promptly sick. It is greatly to the credit of this sergeant that he never mentioned the incident when I eventually returned to the mess deck.

The rest of the voyage was uneventful for me. We called in at the port of Syracuse, in Sicily, where many ships sank, including two hospital ships. It was a sad sight to see just the superstructure and the funnels with a large red cross upon them lying in the harbour. I could not help wondering if they had been empty, or loaded with wounded at the time of sinking. What rotten luck for the wounded had it been loaded. We did not stay long in the port, not more than an hour. We sailed, heading north easterly, taking us to southern Italy, and a few hours later, we tied-up at the port of Taranto.

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