大象传媒

Continued from Chapter 3a

Chapter 3b

There was nothing to do but stand by the guns and keep a sharp lookout for enemy aircraft, but my turn passed uneventfully and when I was relieved by the oncoming guard I decided to curl up in a sheltered spot and try to have a nap before going on duty again at 01.00 hours. While looking for a likely place to get my head down I found four wooden boxes not unlike dog kennels, except that they had neither door nor floor, so I pulled one of them to a place near one of the lifeboats where the wind was not so strong, turned it on its side, and crawled inside. Wrapping myself tightly in a blanket I had "borrowed" from a bundle I had found under one of the seats I was soon fast asleep.
One o'clock found me standing by the guns again, shivering in the bitter cold wind in spite of the fact that I was now wearing my heavy Tropal coat over my greatcoat. My feet were like lumps of ice, for gym shoes were never designed to keep out the cold. I danced about in my efforts to keep warm, my hands thrust deep into my pockets and my coat collar turned up above my ears. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night except the whistle of the wind and the swish of the water against the ship鈥檚 sides. The darkness was so complete I could only just see the shape of the lifeboat across the deck. Nothing relieved the blackness; no moon; not even the faintest of distant stars. It was as though I was alone in that black void, sailing on an invisible ship over an invisible ocean into nothingness.
The minutes dragged by with frustrating slowness, with nothing happening to relieve the monotony until, just before I was due to go off duty, the ship slowed down perceptibly and an intermittent flashing of lights stabbed the darkness on either side. Not until daylight did I realise two more troopships and our escort of destroyers had joined us.
As I was not required for duty again until 07.00 hours the guard commander gave me permission to go below for my few hours sleep. Reveille was at 06.30 hours, so there was no likelihood of my being late.
Only two small electric lights illuminated "K" Mess but they were sufficient to enable me to pick my way through my sleeping pals to reach my hammock. Those who had chosen to sleep on palliasses on the deck instead of in hammocks were being rolled slowly from side to side with the movement of the ship and it was obvious from their occasional twisting and turning and muttered expletives that it was disturbing their slumbers. They had been warned what would happen when the ship was well away from land and into deep water but they had scoffed at the advice to choose a hammock, saying that they would rather rollout of a palliasse already on the floor than fallout of a hammock four feet above it. One of my London pals, George Walker, of East Ham, had struggled manfully for several minutes before managing to insert himself into his hammock with a triumphant cry of "I'm in." Then the ship had rolled violently and he was out again, landing on his back with a thud and only just missing hitting his head on a length of iron rail that lay there.
I managed to perform the tricky job of getting feet first into my swaying, hammock, and pulled the hairy blankets up to my ears. Like most of the others I wrapped my battledress tunic around my lifejacket for a pillow and slept with my trousers on; a little precaution in case some thoughtless U-Boat commander mistook us for a practice target and put a torpedo into us.
I fell asleep almost immediately and was oblivious of everything until the Orderly Sergeant came into the mess promptly at O6.sO hours and exhorted us in that imperious voice that only an Orderly Sergeant can adopt to 鈥渟how a leg.鈥�
One still semi-conscious lad accepted the words literally and thrust a hairy leg out from under his blankets and waggled his sweaty foot right under the sergeant鈥檚 nose. The sergeant鈥檚 expression remained deadpan as he placed one hand firm1y on the man鈥檚 ankle and pressed down hard. The man rolled out of his hammock mulch quicker than he intended and hit the deck with a dull thud. Another lad fell out unintentionally, forgetting for the moment that he was in a hammock and not in his camp bed in the billets.
After a quick wash and a shave I hurried back, at least I tried to hurry back, to my appointed place at the gun position. The ship was being tossed about more violently now and I must have looked like something, from the morning after the night before as I struggled to keep my balance on my unsteady way along the heaving deck. The ship would roll first to one side and send me reeling against the walls of the deck cabins, then roll the other way and hurl me against the rail. I reached the iron steps leading to the boat deck and tried to mount them. Three steps up, and the ship dipped her bows deeply into a trough and I slid back again. This unsteady manoeuvre was repeated several times until, when I had nearly reached the top of the steps, the bows rose with unexpected suddenness and I was deposited with a rush onto the boat deck.
Breakfast on the gun position was a cold affair in more ways than one. It had to be brought up from the galley and what was left of it after the steward had managed to stagger up to us with it was almost cold, because of the biting wind and the time it had taken to reach us,
We were now able to have a good look at the convoy that had joined us during, the night. The two troopships were almost identical, both being single funnel liners, but one was painted grey and the other black. They were about two hundred yards ahead of us, and four hundred yards apart. The two escorting destroyers were of the old four-funnel type acquired from America under the terms of the Lend-Lease Agreement and were positioned one on either side of us about four hundred yards away. The decks of the troopships were crowded with men watching us just as we watched them. The sound of singing was blown across to us as the lads enjoyed themselves in one of the few ways possible on a crowded trooper.
Despite the bitter wind, the day passed in golden splendour, and towards evening the sun transformed the sea into a burnished shield as we ploughed steadily between the Hebrides and the mainland; so different from the surging billows that had greeted us that morning. A sky of palest blue covered the scene and, to starboard, a lovely but lonely-looking landscape merged gradually into the distant haze inland, where little isolated farmsteads provided a gentle aspect of peace and tranquillity.
My next turn on guard should have expired at 20.00 hours, but at 20.15 the new guard had still not arrived to relive us. I asked Sergeant Parker if he knew why they should be so late and he growled something about hoping they had fallen overboard. Five minutes later the relieving guard commander arrived and cheerfully informed us that as we were now twenty-four hours out from Blighty, the clocks had been put back an hour to Continental Time and we would therefore have to do the extra hour's duty. Just our bloomin鈥� luck.
When I eventually managed to get down to "K" Mess at the expiration of guard duty I found Ronnie Hall sitting at the table with his head propped in his hands and looking extremely sorry for himself. 鈥淲hat's up. Ron?" I asked, as I started to shed my layers of clothing. "Feel1ng funny inside?"
"I feel funny all right, Doug, but I鈥檓 buggered if I can laugh at it," he moaned.
"Been sick at all?"
"Yes. That fish we had for tea has gone back to where it came from and everything else with it."
"Keep on eating then. If you want to throw up you've got something inside you to bring up. If you don't eat you'll be as empty as a drum and turn yourself inside-out trying to be sick."
Ron grinned ruefully. "If this is the sea, you can keep it. The only kind of sea I want when I get back to Civvy Street is the good old River Avon at Stratford."
鈥淚 quite agree. I like the sea and I like being on it but I prefer the countryside, especially my own part of it, the North Riding; but I love the countryside of Worcestershire and Warwickshire. I've had some lovely cycle rides around the lanes and I hope it won't be long before we can all go back again."
"I couldn't agree more. Give me mw job on the farm and my evenings at "The Red Lion" and any silly bugger can have the sea; and the army." He leaned across the table and lowered his voice as if about to reveal a confidence. "There's one bloke I'd like to meet when this lot's over Doug, and that's a bloke I've known for years. He'd never been to church since the day he was Christened until war came, then he started going every week. And when he was due to be called up he registered as a conscientious objector on religious grounds and got away with it."
"Oh, I know. There鈥檚 a lot like that. We have one where I worked. He was a coalman before the war, but when war came he chucked his job and came to our place and right from the start he was crawling to the bosses and offering to do their fire-watching for them. They gave him a fictitious title to keep him out of the forces so that they needn't do their share of the fire watching. It's not conscience, it's just bloody cowardice."
Ron nodded. "I've only ever heard of one genuine conchie. He registered as one early in the war and was excused military service, but when Dunkirk happened and he realised the country was in danger of being, invaded he renounced his objection and joined the army. Now that man had a conscience."
I felt the need of a good freshening-up after my wind-blown spell on guard so I hurried upstairs to the washroom. When I returned Ron was still looking rather green about the gills but I managed to persuade him to have a walk along the deck. The fresh air did him more good than the confined atmosphere of the mess deck.

To be continued . . .

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