大象传媒

The business over at the Oil Company agents office, we remaining ex-'Pinna' crew, which now included Arthur Greene, were found accommodation at the Mount Lavinia hotel at Mount Lavinia, just a short train ride from Colombo. I did that short train journey so many times during my stay in Ceylon that even now the station stops from Colombo station of Slave Island, Bambalamatia, Colapatia and Moilnt Lavinia are still locked in my memory.

Upon arriving at the hotel, there was another happy re-union for me; this time, 'Pinna鈥檚' cadet Shorty Armstrong, and Les Clayton the captain of the 'Ribot' responsible for evacuating the Bukom demolition party and some of the Oil Company staff. They had been lucky in getting away from Bukom unscathed and across to Sumatra, and like Arthur and party, they were fortunate in getting prompt transport help across country to Padang. At the docks, they were not quite so fortunate in that the vessel they boarded - the HMS Encounter' took them backwards to Batavia and not their preferred destination, of Ceylon. However they did get away quickly which must have been about a week before my arrival there in the 'Pengar'.

Although not possessing operational navigational experience (although he was studying the subject) young Shorty accurately piloted a boat load of evacuees in a small craft named the 'Ho Kwahg' out of Tanjong Priok and across the Indian ocean, arriving a short time after Arthur Greene in the collier. Eventually arriving home, Shorty (Ralph Armstrong.) was awarded the BEM and also the Lloyd's medal which he well deserved, not only for his navigational expertise, but also for his stoical work that day on the 'Pinna'

After our varied experiences on and off the water, it was a happy and relaxing interlude, drinking together and enjoying the afforded amenities. The Mount Lavinia hotel, was (and I expect still is) on a rocky outcrop right on the sea shore with the beach framed on one side with the white surf rollers of the Indian ocean, and on the other, coconut palms prolifically endowed. If there was anything that could make us forget there was a war on, it was the millionaire style existence which we enjoyed -for me, six weeks. Those six weeks more than compensated for the worries of the previous six. Mind you, I would not have enjoyed the existence so well if I had known during that time, that the occupation of Ceylon and Australia, the latter via Darwin, was on the Japanese agenda. Also, that they had, between the first and last weeks in March (after their occupation of the Dutch East Indies from northern Sumatra to eastern Java and Timor) occupied the Nicabar and Anderman islands in the Southern Bay of Bengal west of Malaya

Had I known, I might have thought that they were catching up with me again! Had I harboured such a thought, I would not have been so surprised when it materialised that Sunday morning, 5th April. I had awakened quite early to the sound of lashing rain and thunder and had dozed off again, but became conscious again later, thinking that the storm was really developing into a heavy one. Then 鈥楬ells Bells鈥�, that not still the storm, its gunfire...lots of it. Looking through the French window door, I could see that the dark sky was riddled with flack. That didn't bother me immediately because I felt there was something else more important to be concerned about. It was those loud rumblings that seemed to be coming across the water, the low flying aircraft, and the long and short bursts of gun-fire from different directions, together with two large explosions behind me.

'Invasion' .. . . . . In thirty seconds flat I was ready for the road. I had travelled about 3000 miles to get away from danger; I wasn't going to get caught on another island. By the time I had got to the bedroom door I was more awake and thinking sanely. A beleaguered Singapore situation just could not have developed overnight....or could it? Out on the veranda I did a quick look-see, but scanning the whole beach left to right and then out to sea, there wasn't a single landing craft or ship to be seen. What was all the noise about, and where were all those aircraft coming from?

I went out into the corridor and banged on George's door and nearly banged him in the face as he it opened and came out. I then made a quick dash back to my room grabbed my skin-out bag and joined George outside. Flights of Japanese aircraft were sailing over the hotel from the direction of the sea without any apparent opposition, and so low that I could see figures inside the cockpits. It seemed that their only target was the RAF base at Ratmalan in the distance somewhere behind the hotel.

Ack-ack guns were now barking with greater intensity it was getting really noisy. One aircraft crashed down in the garden behind the hotel and one plopped down in the sea at the front. Smoke could be seen rising in the direction of the city resulting from a separate flight of aircraft which I learned later, also attacked ships in the harbour.

It really did seem that the battle for Colombo at started Then suddenly, at 9.15, all the activity stopped. the raid sirens wailed the 'all clear' and then the quietness sounded so quiet. Later that day while looking around, we came across the aircraft that had come down. It was a burnt-out shell. so amazingly intact, with the two men inside looking like two skeletons with a few parts missing. A soldier was also wandering about and helping himself to a piece of skull, 'Souvenir', he said.

Although there was a repeat raid on the Naval base at Trincomalee on the other side of the island a few days later, where the HMS 'Hermes', a corvette and two tankers were sunk, Ceylon was not raided again. Strategically both the Japanese attempts were failures, but we did lose 35aircraft.; the Japanese may have lost 25. If they expected to do a 'Pearl Harbour' on our fleet at Trincomalee, they must have been disappointed it was not in port

I learned later that both attacks had originated from a Japanese task force, I00 miles south of Ceylon, and I wondered how such a surprise attack could have happened, and a bevy of ships get so near without being detected on radar or by patrolling aircraft. Perhaps the RAF did not patrol, for we didn't see a single aircraft or Naval vessel as we crossed over in the 'Perak'. However, I learned many years later, that a patrolling Catalina aircraft spotted the Japanese fleet, three days before the attack. It was shot down, but not before the signaller had transmitted a report back to base - yet our defences were still taken by surprise!

Well perhaps that was a small price to pay for the surprise the Japanese experienced. With no British fleet at Trincomalee on which to do their 'Pearl Harbour' attack, and the fact that reconnaissance had pin-pointed the position of the task-force, their worry must have been, where was the British fleet? History now tells us that the Japanese having lost the surprise initiative, were not again able to attempt an occupation of Ceylon.

The attack on Ceylon was described by Winston Churchill as 'His most dangerous moment'. For an enemy base there, could have, made a serious difference to the war in the East. An account of this 'Dangerous moment' is covered in Michael Tomlinson's book of that name, from which I have obtained some of the above information.

After the raid on Colombo, the Governor, in a broadcast speech, praised the brave behaviour of the populace, but by the following day they were not so brave as to remain in the city, for there was a grand scale exodus. Thousands left and all kinds of workers downed tools and filled every form of transport moving out of the city. The trains which dwindled to just a few passing through Mount Lavinia station, were packed and bulging with bodies half out of windows, or sitting on the buffers between carriages: there were some perched even more dangerously on top of them.

By this time, George and I were the only ones left in the hotel, all my other companions 'The Singapore harriers', plus the chaps that had arrived before us, had all left for home or joined other ships. George had only recently arrived in the hotel. He was a Blue Funnel line employee recovering from an appendix operation.

I don鈥檛 know why it was that I was the last one to leave out of the Singapore party. Up to that time I had not been a bit concerned as to how long I stayed at Mount Lavinia, provided that the trouble in my middle didn't get any worse. After the raid,(and this was before we were aware of the permanency of the Japanese withdrawal) the idyllic walks along the palmed beach collecting fallen coconuts for their milk or lying on sand to be washed by the surf, ceased to be the relaxing interlude it had been. My thoughts had now changed to 'I must get away from here - to keep moving...', that even the relaxation afforded by the hotel service, and its ever open bar, would not dispel. I started to make frequent visits to the Agent's office, on one pretext or another, to ensure that it would not be a case of 'out of sight, out of mind'. I was fed up with islands. They were not a bit safe!

The week laboured on, as did the next one the only change in circumstances were the loaded trains, bulging again, with habitants returning to Colombo. Then suddenly without any previous hint, I received a telephone call late one evening and the following day, April 20th, accompanied by George who had received similar advice. We were to travel on the troopship SS 'Devonshire', bound for Bombay where George and I were to re-embark.

At Bombay, I was glad to leave the very over-crowded and uncomfortable 'Devonshire' in favour of an Australian passenger liner, the SS 'Awatea'.(The 鈥淎watea was later sunk during the North African Invasion in 1942) We sailed on my birthday, April 25th. 1942 bound for somewhere in the UK, unaccompanied because of the 'Awatea's鈥� high speed, and blacked-out.

After calling at Durban, and then Capetown where I equipped myself with wardrobe more suitable for weather at home, we then jig-zagged our way at high speed west, far into the Atlantic in order to present a more difficult target for German U-boats. Like the 'Devonshire' the 'Awatea' was also 'full to the gunwales鈥� but this time, with Polish military personnel, with some room left for civilian passengers. The Poles were a courteous. happy. cheerful and noisy crowd, taking over all that was available by way of the amenities aboard which included the few female passengers the latter with much bowing and heel clicking. Remembering the voyage now, it seems that George and I who shared a cabin, spent most of our time reading every book in the ship's library, with occasional exercise on deck, when it was not too congested. In addition to that exercise, I made many extra compulsory walks between my cabin - which was three or four decks down - and the open deck, and also from the library and dining room, so that I knew every straight, bend, corner and stairway in detail. My experiences to date had left me with an extreme sense of self-preservation phobia, coupled with my Boy Scout motto of 'Be Prepared'. I wasn't going to trust the emergency lighting should we be torpedoed; the last one had not worked.(George said he hadn't been a Boy Scout!)

Just when I thought that if we didn't alter course we might be seeing the South American coast we headed north, after which we approached 'Home' from around the north coast of Ireland. We sailed up the Clyde; the green hills were beautiful in the morning sun. We docked at Glasgow the date was the 31st of May 鈥� exactly three years since . I departed from London on the 'Corfu'. Sadder and wiser?, not particularly. A bit older? yes. Experienced? .. , very much so.

The journey home by train was similar to the many journeys I was to make between ports of arrival and departure as the war progressed. Blacked-out carriages with either dim or no lighting at all, making it impossible when travelling at night, to read. Numerous stops some of short duration and some as long as a couple of hours due to an air-raid or the aftermath of one. Crowded carriages because of the volume of military passengers in addition to the civilians. If one were lucky, a seat, otherwise the guard's van or the draughty corridor.

I had almost forgotten the indigenous and familiar smell of smoke from the engine and the sound of escaping steam; the clanging of milk churns; porters opening and closing doors, calling and assisting with luggage rarely seen today. Then the poo..ooff of the moving engine. The blacked-out stations had their name-boards removed for the same reason that roads where without signposts, so it was always a puzzle as to where one was along the route of the journey.

Just off the platform and through the light-proof doors and curtains the station buffet was another world of brightness and seeming plenty. Spirits were hard to get but beer was plentiful and of course, tea by the gallon. I found the station buffets always a happy oasis in a desert of railway lines well, there was the occasional 'Hey don't you know there's a war on?'. From my experience a station buffet of today cannot compare with the cheerful atmosphere of the same place during the war years.

On this particular journey, I caught my train at Glasgow in the late afternoon, and travelling into the late evening, changing trains three times. Clickerty-clacking through a completely blacked-out world after dark was a new and eerie experience....like travelling through a pitch-black desert. Because the old railway lines still had their expansion joints, speed at night could only be assessed by the rate of the clickety-clacks. As the carriage wheels rolled over them. During the daylight it was a happy journey through pleasant countryside with which I had been so familiar in peace time. I don鈥檛 remember seeing anything untoward that indicated that I was back in a Britain at war. In consequence the dark foreboding I had experienced the night before docking, as to how I would find things at home, slowly melted away, and upon arriving at my destination, even dingy Grimsby Town was welcoming in as much as it was still dingy looking.

I was expected home since my telegram from Glasgow had heralded the event. When I stepped over the threshold - it was 2am - my father said 'They've been feeding you well', and my mother said 鈥淥h you've lost your golden hair鈥� (my hair was now quite dark) Next day, sitting in my ham shack in the garden, where I had first put my adventurous thoughts into action and burnt so many midnight candle hours studying, it seemed to have shrunk somewhat. Since all privately owned transmitting radio equipment had been impounded during the war, mine was also missing for the duration. Lying on the desk beneath a pair of pliers was my Marconi Telegram 鈥淩eport.........'. Was it only three years and a bit since I had responded to the instruction and closed the shack door?

As I sat on the chair where I had studied for so long and had fantasised adventures on the high seas, it crossed my mind that I never did lean on that rail and smoke a pipe.

The summer of 1942 passed all too quickly, amounting to four months at home, comprising accumulated leave (having been away for three years) plus a period of sick leave. A few things got in the way of complete relaxation in the form of a dose of shingles, my recurring problems in my middle which necessitated investigation, and air-raids. Interestingly enough, it was our dog who was agitating to get down the garden to the air raid shelter quite a few minutes before air-raid sirens could be heard by us. Being so near to the Grimsby docks- airborne time - frequent warnings were inevitable, but not always a hazard.

After being so well fed at sea, it wasn't easy to adapt to the war-time rationing (note 7) although I don鈥檛 recall suffering unduly. As the war progressed, the food situation in our house improved as brother Frank and I returned home from voyages abroad, particularly from Canada and America, loaded with a variety of tinned foods and other commodities that were hard to obtain, even on 'points'

There were two happy occasions when Frank's and my return from sea coincided with sister Olive's 48 hours leave from the WAAF. We made the best of wartime conditions of blacked out streets and roads and the lack of transport. although this was partially solved by borrowing bicycles. Frank knew a young lady by the name of Jean Hardy and he introduced me on a casual meeting, then later, we visited her home where her parents owned a long established photographic business and studios in Cleethorpes. It so happened that Jean was home on vacation from the teachers training college in Bingley, and so the friendship blossomed. I didn't know at that time that she was destined to be my wife several years later. Marriage at that time was not on my war time agenda 鈥� not knowing what survival points were being marked up for me in the great scheme of things.

During that summer went to London twice visiting the Oil Company and my employers, Marconi Company. As I wandered around, it was very disturbing sight be see the extent of the bomb damage caused during the worst of Hitler's blitz, and a unique experience travelling on the underground, where, night and day, access to the tube train was over numerous sleeping bodies occupying the platforms which were also serving as very safe air-raid shelters. The eerie sound of the air-raid sirens, and the ensuing activity on the streets as the populace took shelter, certainly brought home to me, more than the descriptive radio broadcasts what the people of London and other cities had endured night after night during the worst of the air-raids. There were no air-raids during my second visit ton London, consequently I slept peacefully at the Royal Hotel Kingsway. My accommodation cost me 12/6d a night, bed and breakfast. I doubt if 63p equivalent in today's money would now pay fur my return fare on the bus between King's Cross station and the hotel.

-- Next: Another Door Part 9: North Africa

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