大象传媒

DIARY STARTING JANUARY 12TH, 1944

This account begins in the small encampment of Newton Camp: four miles from St. Anne's, and seven from Preston, Lancs. It finishes in Bombay, India many miles from Preston, seven thousand, in fact.

Wednesday, Jan. 12th, 1944

This is the first day of this account; an account not of pecuniary value, nor perhaps of interest to the reader, but risking this probability, and perhaps inevitable boredom, I'm hoping to portray my travels as a signalman in the Army. All being well, and time permitting, my ideal plan is to compile this account of a journey from England to a place, at the moment, unknown. The War Office, for better or worse don't divulge their plans to mere privates, far less to signalmen of the RCOS. So it being, at the time of writing, my future destination is as clear to me as it is to the reader whom I'm holding to his good faith not to turn up a later page and so perceive that which to me is, as yet, unknown.
As this will be written in the present tense principally, thereby being a living experience at the time of writing, I'm hoping the reader will forgive any undue elaboration on detail.
At the moment, I'm writing from a "holding" camp in Lancashire only a few miles from a very famous seaside resort. Life is routine, but each one is tensely awaiting the order to move from our present station, and to relieve the boredom and anxiety of uncertain security, and of our destination.
Today we have been confined to camp, and we expect to be warned to be ready to move off any moment. Rumours as to our ultimate destination are rife - personally I care not, as wherever we travel we'll be still separated from our near ones; what does matter is when we are coming back. The war is to the best part, nearly over - are we to fight Japan or be "stand-ins" for our colleagues in North Africa, Italy, Palestine, etc. West Africa is popular with the men, for though the climate is foul, they tell us we'll only be there eighteen months. Conjecture is livid and plentiful, definite news infinite. Suspense for the order to move is growing in intensity. We hope our night's sleep won't be disturbed.
We've been paid our weekly allowance and given embarkation cards on which we write the addresses of people whom we wish to be notified of our address. It's all very realistic: and one has the empty feeling of leaving for another world, as indeed I believe we are. A world where native customs may dwell, and white man's civilisation may be a mockery. Sometimes we think it is. I think of the time when I'm coming back and wonder the eternal question, "How long? ".

Thursday, Jan. 13th, 1944

The order to move came soon; this afternoon we moved to Liverpool by special train, drawing to a standstill at Riverside station. There were many of us and I recognised one friend - perhaps there'll be others on board ship. The feeling is that we'll go straight on board today. I was conversant with the names of the docks but found them very different from my imaginary pictures. We met the fussy RTO. It was his field day. They say every dog has its day. He reminded me of a Pomeranian.
Ourselves and kit were transferred into a troop lorry and within half an hour we were standing on the quayside where a little railway engine amused itself with many trunks. It seemed to be in high glee. I think we were too, as the experience of boarding a troop ship was awe-inspiring and one鈥檚 curiosity grew as we saw Indian troops embarking onto our ship. Tea was given to us on the quayside. Army tea.
Within thirty minutes we were trooping up the steep gangway and found ourselves lost in the bowels of the ship. She was a converted P&O boat and smelt of tar, oil and stale cooking. We were given a place on one of the decks, a hammock each and reshuffled all our kit. Some of it went down into the holds, but we kept most of it and squeezed it into inadequate racks. A meal was provided and mess orderlies, who drew the food, were hurriedly detailed. It consisted of sausages, half-cooked, and white bread on which we gazed with suspect - you'll remember we had been eating national bread for two years and white bread was a startling change. It tasted doughy but pleasant. Tea was worse than Army tea, which is comparable with halving nothing. Army tea was our lowest conception of how tea shouldn't be mashed - "brewed" perhaps I'd better say, for the benefit of non-Yorkshiremen.
We sat and watched other troops filling up our deck. Chaos reigned supreme. Officers ran "hither and thither", and back again. Finally we settled down as best we could in the cramped space, and attempted to sling our hammocks. Language was rife and tempers high, for we were tired and utterly "browned off". We slept in our clothes- that was the order. It was very stuffy and unpleasant; the ventilation system wasn't working.
P&O S.S. "Majora" quietly left her berth at noon and the tugs fussed around like sheepdogs with a stubborn cow.
We crowded the upper decks; stevedores waved farewells to us from the quayside. The ships canteen opened and cigarettes were sold at ten for 4d. It wasn't until we were well out in the Mersey that we felt the yearning of home ties - like strings becoming taught, tighter and yet tighter until we were a few miles out at sea.Then we faced the facts. We were on our voyage. The tugs had cast off, leaving us lonely with the other ships that were to form our companions in convoy.

Friday, Jan. 14th, 1944

We commenced our journey and set course for Scotland, so I gather. I was given a job today in the ship's galley which I'm to hold for the duration of the voyage. Got ample time off duty and wrote to Dad. Rumour has it we're bound for Bombay and is strengthened by presence of Indian troops. They're a happy crowd but very unorganised. By now we are in some sort of order but the officers continue to run round in circles, RCOS officers more so than the rest. Met an officer who is nicknamed "Teeth and Trousers" - loses his temper easily but no one takes any notice - he is stupidity itself. Our draft officer turns out to be a decent sort. Fellows buy loads of sweets and cigarettes. I bought some tobacco and found a quarter pound was 1/- cheaper than I would buy an ounce for on shore. Tinned foods sell well at the canteen. We all make pigs of ourselves at the ease of obtaining chocolate. Slightly dizzy with the motion of the boat. Am having my food in the galley and living on the pick of the boat.
We think we're going round Ireland. Other ships have joined us and the convoy has taken form. Mostly troopships. Our destination seems pretty certain to be Bombay, India. We all hope we'll disembark before the ship reaches Bombay. Saw Indians preparing their own food. They are Mohammedans and strict followers of their faith. Won't go near our cookhouse (galley) owing to presence of beef etc. They live on goat's meat killed as per their religion and "chickati" (or "chipati"). A sort of dry pancake made from meal. It is well and truly slapped in the cook's hands and wiped on the floor before being baked on the oven top. They have their cookhouse on the deck. Eat with fingers - a thoroughly messy business to our custom. All Indians are friendly and seek to practice their English on us. We learn certain phrases of Hindustani.
Fellows feeling browned off. Me too. Sea rough to my way of thinking. Feel seasick.

Saturday, Jan. 15th, 1944

Have been seasick several times today. Everyone the same. Told to force as much down my throat as possible so as to get over sickness. Feel bad - so do we all - eating very little.

Tuesday, Jan. 18th, 1944

Feel fine now and have recovered from seasickness - life much brighter and take an interest in happenings on board ship. A recreational deck is organised where a piano has been installed. Community singing of "Bless 'Em All" and "She'll be Coming Round the Mountains" etc. is very popular - Army versions especially. Library is opened and spend most of my time in the evenings reading and writing letters. Think of home and wonder what they will be doing tonight. A week ago tonight I rang them and heard their voices on the phone. Have read two of their letters again tonight. We have lifeboat drill daily now and it becomes more monotonous each day. Officers usually make a mess of the whole show, "Teeth and Trousers" especially. He's both dumb and stupid. Someone suggest shoving him overboard. The fellows think it鈥檚 a good idea.
Canteen sales of chocolate and cigarettes have fallen as many fellows have gorged to their satisfaction on chocolate all day long.
Mineral waters made their first appearance today - ship is a dry one as far as alcohol is concerned. Minerals welcome as drinking water is either flat and/or salty. Tea putrid. I drink coffee made by myself in the cookhouse. Sea calmer and rumours that we'll be going through Straights of Gibraltar on Friday.

Friday, Jan. 21st, 1944

Pay day today and drew 14/- -the maximum allowed. Rest of our pay goes to our credit. Worked mine out and find I'm 拢6-10 in credit. Something wrong as I should be in debt but the Army insists that I'm in credit and so I don't argue. No signs of Gibraltar - crew say it will be Sunday now before we reach Gib. Several depth charges dropped by escorting destroyers. Cause great commotion amongst fellows as these are the first we've seen and heard. Everyone surfaces to the decks to see what there is to be seen. There's nothing.

Saturday, Jan. 22nd, 1944

An old friend of my army days at Seacroft Camp and I go to the Musical Evening held on board ship. Talent is compiled from fellows on board. Show passable and one private in RAOC first class. Said he'd been on the air 18 times. The ship today has gone round in circles for four hours - so has the whole convoy. Believe we're all lost or that is the suggestion forwarded from the mess decks. (Mess decks are the quarters of the "other ranks").

Sunday, Jan. 23rd, 1944

A day of great activity. Many depth charges dropped in late afternoon. Two corvettes circle round a spot about two miles away. Later they are about a mile away and depth charges dropped again. Counted 12. Afterwards a column of white smoke is seen arising from water for ten minutes. Corvettes circle around this spot. We are all of the opinion that we've bagged a submarine. Sea as calm as a millpond. Paravanes dropped from ships to pass through Straights of Gibraltar.
Have noticed many different units on board - a sprinkling of nearly every unit in the Army, some RAF Aircrew too. Naval Signals and Marine Commandos and a load of sky pilots (Paras).
11.00pm - An hour ago I went on deck and saw the semi-blackout of Gibraltar on our left. Many Spanish fishing boats about. On our right we could see the brightly twinkling lights of Tangiers, Spanish Morocco. It is a glorious sight to see lights again and it makes us rather homesick in memory of the days before the blackout. It is now over four years since we saw a town in the distance with lights and no restrictions. It looks fine. The convoy ploughs it's way majestically through the phosphorescent waters leaving white swirling pools of glowing light in it's wake.

Monday, Jan. 24th, 1944

Today has been a glorious day. Hot sunshine and everyone sunbathing on deck. On our right one can see the coast of North Africa. It looks fine, stately and aloof. The ships fly barrage balloons and several planes are seen. They don't bother us and we presume they're "ours". At three o'clock the tall range of red brick coloured cliffs of Oran are seen from the starboard bow, rising proudly from the sea, dotted here and there with white; towns about seven miles from us. More destroyers join our escorts. Range upon range of fine clear cut rocky coast is revealed to us. It's a glorious scene, and to me it is like technicolour, only contrasted with the deep blue of the Mediterranean and sunny sky the red cliffs of Oran appear too beautiful to be true. How we all wish we were going to Algiers. First port of call is rumoured to be Port Said. We all wonder if the mail will be taken off here as we realise our people at home must be anxious for news of us, as we are of them.
8.00pm Depth charges heard again but nothing is to be seen on deck. Recreational deck is crowded. Gambling very prevalent. Padres ignore this breach of regulations. Presume it would continue if they intervened so they don't. Smoke haze on recreational deck very heavy. This deck is below the open decks and after blackout is the only official place to smoke. No smoking is allowed on mess decks. This rule is strictly enforced.

Tuesday, Jan. 25th, 1944

Nothing exciting has happened today. The coast of Africa on our starboard bow grows monotonous now. Saw snow-capped peaks and contrasting with the red cliffs, blue sky and royal blue of the Mediterranean this sight provided the one glorious sight of the day. Many complaints from mess decks re food but believe cause of same due to fellows eating too many sweets and chocolate prior to meals.
Wednesday, Jan. 26th, 1944

Wind was the moving feature today. Dust blew into one's eyes, ears and hair on deck and one wondered how so much dust could blow from the deck of a ship. It was too bad to stay reading in the sun. The sea is very rough today-presumably this is caused by the wind.
At four o'clock precisely we passed Pantalleria-the scene of bitter fighting a while ago. Passing close to the island we could see the steep dark brown rock climb swiftly from the sea to a rambling plateau on which were dotted white encampments. I wondered how the invading forces had found a foothold on those steep cliffs rising straight from the sea. No beach or sand - just a sheer drop. It was an impressive sight, strong, definite, fearless. The sky was a torrid blue as usual. Several depth charges dropped but apart from this nothing unusual happened except I had jelly for tea.

Friday, Jan. 28th, 1944

The day opened with a normal Mediterranean sea-blue sunny sky. There was a nip in the air which felt clean and healthy.
Suddenly at 2.00pm the wind increased in strength and the sea became violent. A storm broke loose and though the Libyan coast was barely seven miles away, the boat was tossed as a cork in a pond. Fellows violently seasick. Custard, peas and potato crisps on the galley floor. Returned to cabin and found someone had left the porthole open. It is forbidden to open same but we must have air. The sea gave us water too and two beds were well and truly soaked. I was lucky as mine escaped. Three inches of water on the cabin floor - like the beds and floor, our feelings were dampened and stomachs reeled with the dizzy swinging of the tossing ship. The most violent sea we have experienced and this condition was new to crew who had their most violent passage in this part of the world.

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