大象传媒

MY LIFE MY WAR

By
Bernard Hallas

Chapter 5b - My First Big Ship (Cont.)

The 鈥淏ay of Biscay鈥� at it鈥檚 best, is no place to do a continual patrol and it was necessary for the morale of both officers and men to spend some time ashore for recreation. One of the most popular spots was Golf Juan. It was here that I discovered the Hotel Palace, a small but very popular bar in the main street. The patron was a short fat man by the name of M鈥檚ieu Macocco and his daughter Madeleine, who was certainly not short and fat, assisted him.

She had already considered it her patriotic duty to entertain the English visitors and she had dressed accordingly. With long slender tanned legs, a much shorter skirt and a cleavage that locked ones eyes, you had to make an effort to look her in the face. It was well worth that effort, small and delicately formed and with eyes that were full of mischief she had no use for make up of any kind.

We had already decided, that is, I and my boson buddy by the name of Ray Colbourne, to book a room for the night and consequently, there was a long night of drinking ahead of us with our newly found French friends.

One of the 鈥淗ighlights鈥� of our trips was to send postcards depicting our travels in foreign climes and this was to be no exception, the only problem being that we had no idea where the stamp machine was. Madeleine to the rescue! Taking me by the hand she led me down the street to the level crossing and then along the railway line to the local station.

For me, an eighteen year old in a foreign land, it was exciting, but not as exciting as that short walk to obtain a stamp. Madeleine was an expert at rousing a man鈥檚 expectations, with fingers entwined, her body was making contact from knees to shoulder and she exuded a body heat that was as entrancing as the gentle perfume that surrounded her.

As we stood at the stamp machine in the dark, it was unavoidable, I put my arms around her waist, drew her close and we kissed. It seemed to go on forever, and then it happened. My friend Ray, or he was, up to that moment, had followed us to the station to make sure that we did not get lost. The moment had gone and we returned to the bar, by the time we arrived, it was closing time and Papa was preparing to lock up. Madeleine was sent to her room, and no doubt locked in and we retired much the worse for wear. Ray was still sulking from the verbal lashing he had brought upon himself and we went straight to bed.

The next morning was a catastrophe, my good friend feeling the urge to go in the middle of the night, no doubt after the large amount of French beer he had consumed, used the bidet instead of the toilet and once again he received a verbal lashing to encourage him to clean out the bidet and open the windows before we went downstairs to enjoy our first continental breakfast, served up by a perky Madeleine. After the experience of the bedroom we decided that we would call it a day and give the hotel palace and the lovely Madeleine a miss and on our next watch ashore, a small party of us took the bus to Cannes, not so famous in those early days but to us uneducated youngsters, it was the ultimate in foreign travel.

During the course of the evening, four of us were attracted to a rather glitzy bar, entering rather timidly we were immediately surrounded by a bevy of heavily made up ladies, not so young and certainly not Madeleines, who promptly ordered on our behalf, drinks all round.

Needless to say we were flattered and allowed the drinking and cuddling which was intended to overcome our sexual inhibitions and to lure us into the small bedrooms at the back of the establishment, where these well-worn ladies would initiate us into the various aspects of carnal novelties. The fun and games went on for the remainder of the evening until it was time to catch our bus back.

This was not as easy as it looked, the bill for the evening was like a toilet roll and we would have had to rob a bank to pay it. Our 鈥淕litzy鈥� bar was in fact a rather expensive Nightclub. We were not very happy; the Police were called, followed by the Naval patrol and we were escorted back to the ship to face a very angry Major of Marines.

It has to be said, that as he himself had had a very pleasant evening in the infamous Madam Regina鈥檚. He was very lenient and on condition that we agreed to the deductions from our pay he dismissed the charge and put it down to our ignorance and youth. Needless to say, after that we always checked the prices on later visits.

Gibraltar was our next port of call and there, we felt more at ease, the atmosphere and the prices were more to our liking. For the princely sum of ten shillings (50p), I became the proud owner of a pure silk dressing gown, heavily embroidered in gold wire with fierce looking dragons and a pair of slippers to match. It was to be my first take home trophy.

My first 鈥淪pring Cruise,鈥� was coming to an end and our last port of call was to be the Canary Islands. As previously stated, Spain was in the middle of a civil war and consequently goods were hard to come by. We were however allowed to go ashore where we discovered that domestic items especially soap, were very much in demand. With our pockets discreetly stuffed we could demand our own price from the more than grateful senoritas, and get it. Unfortunately the island had one small drawback. Franco had assembled his Moorish troops there and this created a minor problem.

An occasion arose when the Moors, having consumed the very cheap wine, were waving their arms about and shouting the praises of Franco, 鈥淰iva Franco鈥� was the often-repeated cry. Eventually it became obvious that it was getting on the nerves of the visiting sailors and rising to their feet and holding their glasses high, they replied with gusto 鈥淔* Franco鈥�. Unfortunately Among the Moorish troops there were many who had served as deck hands aboard British merchant ships, and of course they had been well versed in the dockside language, To them 鈥淔*** Franco鈥� was an insult to their beloved leader and they rose to the occasion.

Being very much in the majority they turned on the British Tars, much to their regret they found the Tars were fighting fit and soon took the upper hand, but more Moors were rushing to their comrades鈥� aid.

By this time the Royal Marine detachment, fully armed and carrying entrenching tool handles which could I suppose be classified as a smaller pick axe handle had landed on the jetty, mounted machine guns at either end and strategic points and sent snatch squads into the bars to quell the disturbances.

Recognising that they were up against a far more disciplined and tougher force than they could muster, the Moors senior officers ordered their troops to withdraw off the streets and the royal marines escorted the victorious Tars back to the ship.

During the brief stay one of the items coveted by the British Sailors was a small bamboo cage containing one or two canaries and for a tablet of soap it was a bargain. There were so many that the executive Officer arranged for one of the six inch gun casements to be turned into a canary storage room. Strung on lines from bulkhead to bulkhead, they were looked after by two members of the crew and fed and watered daily.

Unfortunately this special care was to no avail. As we arrived off Finistere, orders were received to call in to the Port of Brest and we were delighted to be given leave. We were soon adopted by the local people and it was my good fortune, along with two friends to be invited into the home of the local green grocer, Andre Renault and his more than beautiful wife Madeleine, who was a 100% flirt.

I am ashamed to say that during our very short stay in the Port, there were more than a few furtive kisses. The next-door neighbour was an American, Walter Sayers who was the manager of Pelly鈥檚 shoe shop; on leaving he presented me with a pair of miniature wooden sabots, or clogs, which I still have to this day.

On the day that we left, our hosts escorted us down to the jetty and as our launch sailed across the harbour both hosts and guests rendered a very good French national anthem, sung in one particular case, through her tears.

As I stated earlier, the special care taken to look after the birds was to be of no avail. The authorities ashore in England signalled that no live birds were to be allowed to enter England. It was a sad state of affairs reluctantly, birds were released and the cages thrown overboard, freedom from the confines of the cages was short lived, flying around the rigging with no land in sight, they became the victims of the ever hungry gulls and suffering from the extreme cold and dropped to their deaths on the steel decks where they were washed down the scuppers by the incoming sea.

By time we arrived back in Plymouth there was no evidence they had ever existed and we arrived in port cursing customs and excise, which soon faded as we prepared to go on leave. The days soon passed and my first leave was an experience to be remembered.

First, I had to find somewhere to live, I had no intention of returning to the area of squalor that I had discarded only months before. I was not against paying it a visit, after all, the friends that I had made in my early teens were still living there, and I was looking forward to meeting them again and savouring their astonishment at the obvious transformation that had taken place by kind permission of His Majesty鈥檚 Royal Marines.

My first port of call was to the family that had been so kind to me before I left home. They were both delighted and astonished and without any hesitation, invited me to stay as long as I wanted, and considering they had seven more than lovely daughters, who was I to refuse. This then was my base as I travelled daily to various parts of the city doing the necessary rounds of my friends and relations.

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