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This story was submitted to the People’s War website by Peter Quinn of the Lancs Home Guard on behalf of Bill Dixon, and was added to the site with his permission by the staff of Blackpool Central Library.

I joined the Merchant Navy after my seventeen birthday, otherwise it was conscription into the Army and very poor pay. I had served a period as a commis chef in a Blackpool hotel.

My memories of the War at Sea cannot be tragically highlighted by torpedoings and bombings — I survived my 5 years as a wannabe Ship’s Cook continuing my interest in the noble art.

My Blackpool Head Chef had written a glowing report “To whom it may concern” - whether to assure my acceptance as a junior cook or pleased at my departure — I’ll never know! The fact was he dropped me right in it! People couldn’t get my signature fast enough — to join a Dutch coaster as a Cook!

Let’s face it, what does a seventeen year old kid know about ships, watches, tabnabs, blackpan and 7 or 8 bell meals, with only three months experience in a Blackpool kitchen on parade in starched whites, check pants and a big chef’s hat?

I was to join the ship in Neath, South Wales, so when my rail warrant arrived my mum helped me pack a battered suitcase, tied with string and choking back the tears, said “goodbye” to the second son to leave. “This bloody war!” Her words and sobs stayed with me all the way to the train station.

After a dreadful journey through the night, jammed in the corner of a carriage bursting to the seams with smelly humanity from all the services, I arrived in Neath, unwashed, unshaven and hungry. My financial situation was grim; poverty was the norm down our street. And where was that damn ship I didn’t want to join?

This was a tidal basin and there she was below me - a dirty old tub, the original rust bucket! A fat guy, in work pants, ex-navy sweater and a battered nebbed cap, was on the deck some ten feet below me. I shouted, “Hello, good morning, can I see the Chief Cook? Name’s Dixon — I’m assistant Cook…”

“You DIXON,” he shouted with a trace of a foreign accent,” YOU Chief Cook!” “Come aboard”, he growled belligerently, pointing to the quayside iron ladder. (I realised very soon why young cooks spent weeks and weeks at Sea School in Liverpool, learning about life aboard — watches, cooking and baking in rough weather - how to cope with hungry sailors and being seasick on the lee side!)

The Captain ignored me and left me to find my own way around. Seeing the kit.. galley, I headed for it and fell over the sea-door, disturbing a carpet of coal, ashes and fag ends. The facilities were ancient — a double oven coal-burning stove athwart ship hard up against the forward bulkhead, alongside it’s very own coalbunker. The dirty black work surfaces bore evidence of many years of knife work and burnt cigarette marks covered every nook and cranny. A general picture of filth and squalor — how the hell was I going to manage?

Two Royal Navy guys appeared — to man those popguns either side of the bridge, they told me. I brewed some tea in the huge enamel teapot and went to look around below. The cabin held a few double bunks, top and bottoms; the scattered bed linen evidence of the crew’s quick escape as soon as the ship was alongside, except for one top bunk (just bare boards!) — my bed. I soon learnt you were expected to supply your mattress and sheets, I couldn’t believe it!

I went ashore hungry and tired, and nearly skint and without a bed! I managed to get a six feet square horsehair blanket and a straw pillow at a ship’s chandlers just off the dock road. As God is my judge, this was my bed linen until some kind soul lent me a couple of items later on. Life was getting hard and it would get a lot rougher after we sailed for Belfast that night.

The rest of the crew had returned from leave and boarded and bunked when I got back. Watches were to start as soon as we put to sea — 7 bells, breakfast for those going on watch; 8 bells, breakfast for those coming off watch, BUT NOBODY TOLD ME, I DIDN’T KNOW!

I was roughly awakened from a troubled sleep, about 8.30am, to face a not very convivial crowd in the galley, waiting for the “Old Man” to finish cooking sausages, bacon and beans. The look he gave me should have killed me — at that moment I would have liked that!

“What the **** are you playing at?” He yelled, belly shaking with anger, along with the beans and galley pans. Some of the crew who had eaten had disappeared on watch, the others eased back to let the Captain’s wrath wash over me. He had now resorted to Dutch obscenities — maybe he didn’t want to hurt my finer feelings, I thought! My eyes were glued to the food - I was starving hungry. He's read my bloody mind! His screaming reached fever pitch — I was expecting my beans, sausages and frying pan all at the same time!

I made my retreat, stepped back over the sea-door on to deck. I was beginning to feel very, very sick — and we hadn’t left the river yet!

[The author of this piece has written a number of other contributions to the People’s War website. They are:

My last day ashore
My first ship — M. V. Wim
Jumping ship then the Ocean Volga
Convoy preparations
A Lancastrian in New York
Thanks Yanks!
Voyage around the world
I meet the "SS Grodno" and the cook!

He has also contributed two poems:

The SS Grodno — one more trip 1939
The last day of SS Kingswood]

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