大象传媒

After six weeks of basic parade-ground bashing, twenty-one of operator training and ten days embarkation leave, our lot assembled at Kirkburton, a big Signals base, and entered upon a rather frenzied forty-eight hours of preparation for departure overseas. The pace never slackened, night or day, from the frenetic. Half-hours of sleep were snatched whenever and wherever possible.

We were measured for extraordinary nineteenth-century style khaki drill uniforms with a row of brass buttons down the jacket front. Topees were issued (a hot destination?). Then came a medical, including an FFI (freedom from infection) which required the rude bits to be intimately examined. All was well. Next came injections. TT and TAB, which we had already had, were boosted, and a yellow fever vaccine was added. Their combined effects converted a queue of happily chattering young men entering the Nissen hut into a pale, vomiting crew issuing from it. All was far from well.

I dimly remember a full kit inspection being held at 3.30a.m., and I distinctly recall having to write out my Will on an official form. Since my worldly goods comprised my clothes at home and 7/6 in my bank account to keep it alive, this was an extravagantly superfluous exercise.

During the course of one day, all personnel were addressed, first by the padre and then by the Medical Officer. It was quite a simple matter to condense what they had to say into very few words: the padre said, "Don't", quickly followed by the M.O. who said, "But if you do . . . "

The reason for the almighty rush now became apparent; it was simply that we should reach our embarkation point in time. Entraining on the evening of the second day, eight to a compartment with full kit, We travelled very uncomfortably through the night

Edinburgh's Waverley Station hove into view. On the platform, even at an unearthly hour, were the ladies of the W.V.S., ready with hot tea and life-restoring sandwiches. Then on to Glasgow and the Shieldhall Docks. A great liner in camouflage colours lay alongside. It was the Empress of Scotland. (It had originally been the Empress of Japan,but recent events had required the alteration of this now embarrassing title.)

After sailing we were shown to our quarters. Down, down and down again we went, to a deck well below the water line. It was painfully obvious that if torpedoes were to strike at night, the thousands down in the bowels would be fortunate indeed to struggle up these endless stairs in time.

A crew member showed how to sling hammocks from the hooks provided. When all were in place, they made an almost solid layer of canvas. Those late in turning in had to force their way up between adjacent, protesting bodies.

Those collecting meals moved in a slow queue which unfortunately passed the galley where the food was being prepared by Chinese cooks. (What were their feelings about serving in the Empress of Japan?)Through the open door one could observe large cockroaches climbing the streaming walls, then attempting to negotiate the ceiling. Some of them lost their grip, falling either on to the floor - or into the huge cauldrons of soup or stew. In the mess hall, every plateful was examined for extraneous protein.

The ship followed a zig-zag course - the usual manoeuvre to complicate the calculations of a U-boat captain.The Empress had started off from Glasgow as part of a convoy, but, being capable of high speed, had been allowed to forge ahead on its own. Had affairs pursued their planned course, we would have followed our rather erratic, sharp-angled route acroos the equator, round the Cape, through the Suez Canal to Port Said. But a few of us were suddenly plucked from the thousands of our fellow-travellers.

"WILL ALL WIRELESS OPERATORS IN THE ROYAL SIGNALS REPORT TO THE OFFICE ON 'A' DECK." Of those obeying the Tannoy message, sixteen were selected, including myself. A ship's officer told us that an urgent message had been received from GHQ in Cairo, requesting that this group should be transferred to a coastal steamer which would rendezvous with the Empress the next day. When asked about our kitbags, he shrugged and said they were deep in the hold and unobtainable. That was the end of our tropical uniforms and all manner of personal belongings - we never saw them again.We were to collect our small packs, containing shaving kit, etc., and hold ourselves ready.

The steamer duly appeared alongside, the Empress slowed down, a scrambling net was lowered over the side, and down we went to the rising and falling deck below. Immediately the Empress picked up speed, and soon diminished to a dot on the horizon.

Our route to Takoradi (Ghana) was through the Gulf of Guinea. U-boats prowled here, and bombers from the German base at Dakar were frequently to be seen. To afford some protection from sea or air attacks were a pair of substantial quick-firing guns - probably Oerlikons - mounted on a platform amidships. On the second day I was told to report to this platform, and relieve the person on duty. This turned out to be a mate of mine, and the conversation went as follows:

"Here I am, Jimmy. What am I supposed to do?"
"You're in charge of these guns for the next four hours."
"What do we fire at?"
"U-boats or attacking planes."
"And how do you work the guns?"
"God knows. Nobody told me. Cheerio."

And that was that.The mechanism appeared horribly complicated, and there was no instruction manual. Even if there had been,the scenario would have read:

"A few minutes, Kapitan - I'm only at 'Naming of Parts. Can't fire yet."

There was a brief stay at Takoradi, and then another easterly trip along the coast to Lagos. Here we transferred to the airport, where an official of British Imperial Airways informed us that they had been asked to pioneer a new route from West Africa to Khartoum, and that ours was the first group to make the trip. And since B.I.A. was a civilian company, we would have to revert to civilian status for the duration of the journey.

I and my fellow civilians duly boarded a large plane with all our luggage - one small pack each. Expecting to travel in cushioned comfort, we were distinctly disgruntled to find that, to save weight, all seats and linings had been ripped out, leaving the bare metal fuselage. Strawfilled palliasses lay along the floor. Much colourful profanity.

We flew at only a few hundred feet, crossed the Niger, and watched forest gradually give way to
savana. The first stop was at Kano, where B.I.A. had a luxurious hotel-like building near the airport. After a shower, we sat down to linen-covered tables and were served a gourmet meal. This was the life!

Next morning, it was back to the plane for another day's flight, terminating at Fort Lamy, where we enjoyed much the same level of treatment and accommodation. Then to El Fasher,in what was then the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, followed by the final leg to Khartoum. I will never forget the blast of fiery, unaulterated heat that hit me when the aircraft door opened - this was July (1942).

We now re-reverted to military status, beds and rations - not a happy experience. A day or two living like roasts in an oven ended when the RAF produced a bomber which happened to be en route for Cairo. Rising above Khartoum and the spectacle of the the Blue Nile meeting the White, we flew north over the virtually featureless desert, which, we little guessed, was to be our home for many months.

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