大象传媒

This document was written by my late father, a wireless mechanic in the Royal Air Force. The narrative ends when he reached South Africa but he subsequently went to North Africa and was stationed in Libya, Cairo and Alexandria.

Voyage to Africa on a troop ship

June 17th 1942.
2.30 a.m. 鈥淲akey., wakey鈥� cries the Corporal on his way through the hut and we realise as we tumble out of bed that this is our last day in a shore camp for some time 鈥� how long we do not know. 鈥淏reakfast鈥� is at 3.30 and we are surprised and rather pleased to see the C.O. and other officers up and about to see that we get away properly and in good order.After breakfast we collect our rations 鈥� a liberal supply in three paper bags. After a final look round we complete our packing and at 4.30 parade on the square with full pack and our personal kitbags. Our deep sea kitbags, containing things we shall not require on the voyage had gone by motor lorry on the previous day.As our names are called out we join our respective parties, and shouldering our bags, move off to the station. There is little talking and except for one or two attempts to whistle 鈥淛ohn Brown鈥檚 Body鈥� and 鈥淭he Stars and Stripes鈥� we move quietly and through the silent and misty lanes to Wilmslow station. We are detailed in orderly groups into the waiting carriages. There is ample room and we dump our kitbags in the corridor. At about 5.30 the train moves towards the south. I suddenly realise that for the first time in my life I am travelling in a railway train to an unknown destination.

It soon becomes clear that we are on the main GWR line and speculation about our destination is likely. Is it Plymouth, Falmouth, Bristol, Cardiff 鈥� or where? At Hereford we have a welcome cup of tea on the station and eat some of our rations. After passing Pontypool Road I am roused by someone saying we have left the main line. I look out of the window and we do seem to be passing an unfamiliar town. However, in a few minutes we enter the Severn tunnel, so we are on the main line after all. A short distance on the other side the train stops, the engine is transferred to the other end and we move in the opposite direction. In a few minutes we go through Severn Beach Station, and it becomes clear that our destination is Avonmouth. At about noon the train stops alongside the quay and we file off through the customs sheds. We hand in our shipping index ticket and identity cards and receive our berth ticket and meal ticket. We board the ship and are shown our quarters. I am on D deck amidships and have a bottom bunk in a room for 44 men. Space is very cramped, but when we get settled down we shall be better. I take up my life jacket and go to the mess room where I have dinner. The ship is the former Union Castle Liner 鈥淎rundel Castle鈥� plying between this country and South Africa. I discover that my berth is on what used to be the promenade deck. After tea there is the business of handing in kit and papers and then on the deck again to pass the time somehow. Shortly after 8pm another heavily laden trooper flying the French tricolour and containing a large numbers of Free French Forces is pulled this way and that way is nosed through a narrow dock by two or three fussy little tugs. There is a great deal of backchat between our men and the soldiers on board and she eventually passed beyond my view. The tugs coast off and wait for us to move. About 9.15 we are similarly guided through the dock and glide gently into the Bristol Channel. The sky glows red from the setting sun and I turn in about 11pm. I fall asleep almost immediately and the next thing I hear is a member of the crew swabbing the deck outside our door. It is 6am I doze again but at 6.45 I decide to get up. When I go on deck I find we are anchored in Barry Roads. We have passed the French trooper which is anchored some distance astern. The food is quite good, but I am staggered by the amount of bread we are given 鈥� a quarter of a loaf at least, in a huge chunk. I stroll round the ship for a time, until towards 10.15 amid the firing of guns 鈥� some sort of signal I suppose- we weigh anchor and glide down the Channel again. We soon stop again and remain in the same spot all the day. There is little to do and the time passes slowly. I turn in shortly after 9.30.

June 19 I get up at 6.15 and find we are gliding fairly swiftly down the Channel. We pass Mumbles lighthouse, and in due course turn North into the Irish Sea. All the day we steam up the Welsh coast escorted by a former American destroyer and a smart little corvette. As I turn in for the night we are steadily steaming past the Isle of Man.

June 20 We slept a little late this morning not waking until 7.20. When I went on deck I find we are anchored among a large number of ships in the Firth of Clyde. We can see Rothesay, not far away. All the day long we remain in the Clyde, replenishing our water supply. For a short time we cruise in and out of the country, but eventually drop anchor in our original spot. The day has not been very interesting, except for a good view of an aircraft carrier which steams up and down. Towards the evening a small submarine crosses our stern and we have occasional flights across our decks of Catalina and Sunderland flying Boats. We have our usual daily lifeboat drill. A fairly large convoy seems to be assembling and we expect, or at least hope, we shall move off when darkness falls.

June 21 We are still in the Clyde. Shortly after 11am we start to move and soon we are gliding quite swiftly down the river. Presently we steam past the lonely rock of Ailsa Craig at the river鈥檚 mouth, our last sight of Scotland until we return. Still we steam on with nothing to see except the miles of rolling and heaving sea and the other members of the convoy and our escort.

Tuesday. Same weather. The ship rolls considerably in a heavy swell and there are a few casualties from sea-sickness. The afternoon turned warm and sunny and we lounge and doze on the afterdeck. After tea I listen to the usual gramophone recital and am refreshed to hear once again the lovely 鈥淟鈥橝rlesienne鈥� suite of Bizet. A mild sunny evening and the same limitless view. Tonight we put back our watches for the third consecutive night 鈥� 2 1/2 hours in all. We are now half an hour behind Greenwich meantime. We try to estimate our course by the sun, but only succeed in ascertaining we have zig-zagged in almost every direction. How far from land, and whereabouts we are, we have not the slightest idea. A queer situation when one stops to think of it. Hot sunny days and excruciatingly hot nights. Some men sleep on the decks. On the Sunday 鈥� exactly one week after setting sail from the Clyde, we change into tropical kit. One morning we waken to find the battleship 鈥淢alaya鈥� has joined us. Two ships have left us, bound presumably for Gibraltar. On Tuesday afternoon we are diverted by the antics of a large school of dolphins diving and leaping in and out of the water. I think it is the following morning that we get our first hint that we are approaching land 鈥� a sea bird. On Thursday, July 2nd at about 11.30am we get our first glimpse of Africa 鈥� a hill in the distance, immediately ahead of us. The convoy now forms into a single line. We steam steadily on and at about 2 o鈥� clock enter the river on which Freetown, the capital of Sierra Leone stands. We have our first close view of Africa and the coast is exactly like that of Wales, particularly the Harlech district. It is p raining, the hills are shrouded in mist. On our starboard lie the battleships Rodney and Nelson. Now we are in port certain regulations are relaxed. We need no longer carry our lifebelts, and we may smoke on deck until 10.20. There is only a partial blackout in the town, and it is a treat to see twinkling lights again. We remain in Freetown until Monday morning. The weather is hot and steamy and the ship swings gently round and round. We are too far from land to see any signs of life, but the place does not look very inviting. On the Sunday evening we have our first church service in the recreation room. The heat is excruciating and I am wet through with perspiration. The time passes slowly with occasional diversions from the natives who dive for sixpences - but not for pennies. It is while we are at Freetown that I make the acquaintance of Clifford Brook, the man in charge of the gramophone programmes. He is a professional pianist who was in the ship鈥檚 band in peacetime, but his sole duties now are playing records for two daily sessions of 1 陆 hours each. I soon find I am able to play any record I please and I have a good time with 鈥淟鈥橝rlesienne鈥� 鈥淟e Cottillon鈥� by Chabrier, 鈥淟e Corsair鈥�, 鈥淗ansel and Gretel鈥� and some other classics. A few days previous to arriving at Freetown I had put my name down to teach French, and I now find alternative afternoons happily spent with a class of a dozen or so. I casually mentioned this to Brook and found he was interested, so most of my evenings are now spent in a sort of French lesson with him in the record cabin.

On Monday, July 6th towards noon we leave Freetown and head once more to the open sea. We hear the interesting news that our next port of call will be Durban. Day after day we sail on with never another sight of land or a strange ship. The time passes slowly and I am very grateful for the French class. One evening as an experiment, I announce the titles of the records over the ship鈥檚 microphone. It seems to be much appreciated, and henceforward I announce during every evening session. I also announce special messages to the troops. I am told my voice comes over well, and I am soon recognised as the announcer. Once again the story gets around that I an a school teacher,

Occasionally we see schools of porpoises and once or twice a whale blowing off. Flying fish are very common. We soon get to know we are nearing the Cape when the ship begins to roll heavily. Early one morning a part of the convoy leaves us for Capetown. Now we are rounding Cape Agulhas and the rolling of the ship increases. There are several casualties from sea-sickness and I myself feel 鈥済roggy鈥� one night. After rounding the Cape we enter the calm waters of the Indian Ocean and towards noon on July ? we enter the harbour of Durban. On the port side is a long wooded hill, whilst on the starboard side are the quays. Beyond the quays we see a fine sandy beach, and a sea front lined with tall buildings. Durban is built on a huge spit of land and thus has two beaches. Excitement is now intense and dinner is eaten without knowing it. At 2.30 we hand in what money we require changing into South African currency. English silver and copper is acceptable but not Treasury notes. I am lucky enough to get a pamphlet giving a map of Durban and a list of the sights. We wait anxiously for our shore leave passes and at four o鈥� clock we get them. I leave the ship with Archie Condy and Roy Gifford and we feel like schoolboys as we step on dry land again. We are at once intrigued by the rickshaws drawn by Zulus. They are somewhat shaky looking cars on two wheels pulled by gaudily dresses natives, who pad along in bare feet. Some are fine specimens and are profusely decorated with feathers and skins. We saw one who had a toothbrush dangling from each ear! They have a peculiar whistle which they use as a motorist uses his horn, and many of them utter raucous cries as they go along. As the rickshaws are built only for two people we walk into town. As we get our first real view of a semi-tropical city our interest increases. The streets are very wide and each pavement is under a veranda. Many of the buildings are of the most modern design and we pass huge 鈥渟kyscraper鈥� blocks of flats and offices. We eventually arrive in West Street, the main street. On Our right is the Post Office and on our left the city buildings 鈥� a fine domed hall with the war memorial in front. We continued the main street looking in shop windows and keeping a sharp watch for a bookshop. Eventually we found a small caf茅 where we and a nice tea. It was growing dark as we left and we wandered round the town until we came to the Victoria League Club, where we luxuriated in armchairs for nearly an hour 鈥� the first we had seen since we left home. After another stroll round, during which we had an iced drink in one of the many milk bars here, we took a bus 鈥� free to forces 鈥� to one of the beaches. It was a lovely moonlit night and the tide was full in. We stood and looked across the Indian Ocean for some time and then slowly made our way back to the ship arriving about 10.30. Our first taste of 鈥渇reedom鈥� had been very refreshing. It had had a different effect on two other men who almost naked were fighting furiously on a lower mess deck.

About 10 o鈥檆lock the next morning our draft left the ship and boarded a train on the dockside. Troops had been leaving since about 8 o鈥檆lock and we were the last to go. We were driven out to Clairwood Racecourse, about 8 miles away passing such curiously named suburbs as Congella and Umbilo. Incidentally, I had a curious reminder of home as the first advertisement I saw in South Africa was for Cussons鈥� soap 鈥� a Salford firm! The station at Clairwood was attractively situated in a wood. We were wearing full pack and greatcoat and carried our kitbags and as it was a very warm sunny day we were somewhat breathless. We were lined up on the racecourse and had an example of the worst side of service life. The C.O. of the camp insisted that we keep our ranks, even march in step 鈥� by no means easy on a cool day, but particularly impossible on a hot one. Eventually we reached the camp proper 鈥� all under canvas 鈥� and were allocated nine to a tent. They were fairly small bell-tents and there was only just enough room for us all with our kit. After unloading ourselves we went for our dinner, using our tin plates for the first time. The food was poor, the meat being nearly black, and looking and tasting like lumps of rhinoceros. In the afternoon we got our money, which had been changed for us into South African currency. We were confined to camp and there was little to do. After tea we strolled about for a time, visiting the Y.M.C.A. which was crowded to suffocation point. When night fell the camp presented an extraordinary spectacle. It was well lighted and resembled a huge fair ground, except for the lack of roundabouts. Here and there were the weird tableaux of groups of blacks round blazing field kitchen ovens, preparing the next day鈥檚 breakfast. I went to bed early partly from feeling tired and partly boredom. My first night in a tent was not very happy. The ground was very hard and my bones ached the next morning. I had a brief breakfast and spent the morning getting airgraphs and generally hanging about. From the break of day natives appeared at the camp fence selling oranges, bananas and pineapples which were very cheap and very nice. Owing to the poorness of the camp food I nearly lived on fresh fruit. The sanitary arrangements were crude in the extreme, the lavatory consisting of a 40 gallon oil drum sunk into the ground within a foot of the top. The 鈥渟eat鈥� consisted of a triangular hole cut in the top. On some of the 鈥渂etter ones鈥� were a few sandbags on which to sit. There were about six closets enclosed in a grass fence. At about 2pm we received passes for Durban available until midnight and once again Gifford and Condy and I got away early, without waiting for 鈥渢iffin鈥�. A special train was run for the troops 鈥� 6d return and as can be imagined it was packed, men even travelling on the luggage racks, which were very wide. The trains run on narrow gauge lines and have plain wooden seats in the third class, as on the continent. The whistle has two notes like the American engines.

漏 Eric R. Knowles

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