BLUE FUNNEL "SPARKS"

An autobiography of a Radio Officer in the British Merchant Navy during World War II

CHAPTER TEN

"Glenartney" and "The Fleet Train"

20/1/45 - 8/12/45.

For some reason that eludes me now, the crew of the "Glenartney" did not sign articles at the Shipping Office. Instead we signed on after we had boarded the ship at Liverpool on 25th January, 1945. I rejoined early in the morning and my Dad took the unusual step of accompanying me in the taxi to the dock.

He had never been on board any of the ships on which I had served and was eager to see just what a merchant ship looked like on the inside. I managed to convince the constable at the dock gate that Dad was harmless and was only going to have a quick look around. I would be responsible for returning him to the dock gate.

We climbed up the gangway and dumped my baggage in my cabin. The next few minutes were hectic for Dad, for I took him around as much of the ship as was possible in less than quarter of an hour. He had to get to the bank to help open it up before 9am, so time did not permit him to go down into the Engine Room, which he would dearly have loved to see. Still, he did get up to the Bridge and Wireless Room. He had a quick peek at the radar, but there wasn't time to make it operational.

We hurried back to the dock gate and completed the formalities with the constable. Dad wished me well, said he was sorry that my leave had been so flat. He climbed into the waiting taxi and was gone. The good thing about having your Dad come and see you off was that he footed the taxi bill.

We sailed as an independent ship, headed well out into the Atlantic, turned south and made for South Africa. All was uneventful until one night when I woke up, fully alert and with that dreadful feeling that something was wrong. My flesh was creeping. I jumped out of my bunk and quickly put on my shoes and battle dress jacket. I took my life jacket and went out on deck. All seemed to be normal and there was nothing unusual to see in the calm balmy night. I wandered along the boat deck, still feeling uneasy and to my surprise met the midshipman from my watch. He too had awoken with a feeling of impending disaster and had got dressed.

We strolled around for a few minutes and called into the Wireless Room. Nothing out of the ordinary was coming through there either, so, as our feelings of trouble subsided we went back to our bunks for the remaining half an hour of our sleeping time.

At midnight I went on watch. Twenty minutes later, over the radio, came a loud distress call. A ship had been torpedoed some miles astern of our position. Just about where we were when the Middy and I had got up.

That gave us something to think about. Had a submarine commander got the "Glenartney" in his sights earlier that night? Had he fired torpedoes and missed? In which case, why hadn't the watch keepers seen the tracks? More likely we had been spotted and an attack set in motion, but by good fortune and perhaps aided by our speed and zigzag course we had not presented a sufficiently favourable target for the U-boat's attack to be pressed home. The U-boat Commander had perhaps decided not to risk wasting his torpedoes.

The Middy and some of the others were convinced that a sixth sense had woken us. Personally I prefer to put the happening down to some form of mental telepathy. But what ever it was, we were grateful that we had not met the fate of the other ship.

We called into Cape Town and having completed our business there, made our way up the East African coast via Lorenço Marques and Beira to Durban.

The Naval gunnery school at Durban possessed a "Dome", so those of us who made up the guns' crews were sent ashore for a refresher course. The novelty of being in a "Dome" had long since passed, but we all found that a session in there worked wonders in improving your accuracy and making one proficient.

The war in Europe was going well. Slowly, but surely the Germans were being driven back across the Continent, while the Russians hammered their rear on the second front.

Some time in April we left East Africa and sailed for Australia via the Indian Ocean. V.E. Day, the 8th of May, when victory in Europe was declared, passed us by almost unnoticed. We were at sea with no opportunity to celebrate, besides, Europe was a long way away and we had much more immediate troubles with the Japanese.

We called into Fremantle before heading for Sydney. Once there, we commenced unloading our cargo of munitions. As soon as the 'tween decks were cleared a veritable army of carpenters came on board and started to make alterations to the ship. Accommodation for dozens of men was installed in the 'tween decks complete with mess decks and toilet facilities. What was going on? Nobody was saying much. Rumours and scuttlebutt were rife, obviously we were being fitted out for something a little different from our usual way of life.

It wasn't too long before we were put partly in the picture. We were to become part of the British Pacific Fleet and as such, we would no longer be sailing under the familiar Red "Duster" but instead, would be flying the Blue Ensign of a Royal Fleet Auxiliary.

We had to sign new articles for this exercise and only volunteers were accepted. One man, a steward declined to sign and was replaced.

There was a shortage of wharf labour in Sydney, mostly caused by strikes by the wharfies. The Navy required the "Glenartney" in a hurry, so to get the ship discharged, gangs of naval ratings were sent down to the ship to handle the cargo. The naval lads were unskilled but enthusiastic and I along with other officers were each given a squad to instruct and supervise.

It wasn't long before competitiveness between the squads began to emerge. I bet a carton of beer that my gang on the wharf aided by their counterparts down in the hold, could discharge and stack more 250lb and 500lb bombs per hour than the gangs working the adjoining holds.

The Navy lads got no extra pay for doing this work, but in my case it was different and I collected a stevedore's pay packet. It all seemed unfair, so to even things up a bit, and to induce my charges to try harder, I treated them to icecreams and "Coke" at "Smoko" and meat pies for lunch. We worked well and I too handled some tons of bombs. Our stacks of bombs got just that little bit bigger than the others. We collected our prize of beer.

There was one bit of excitement. Four bombs were swinging over the ship's side when a guy rope parted, and the derrick supporting the bombs swung wildly over the wharf. The winch driver must have ducked to avoid the flailing rope and inadvertently took his foot off the brake. The bombs dropped thirty feet on to the concrete wharf. I was over on the far side of the shed when I saw the bombs start to fall, instinctively I dived for cover straight over the edge of the wharf and fell some four feet down on the railway lines. Nothing happened. Nor should it have for the bombs were not fused and fitted with their detonators. Still, I wasn't taking chances, I had had enough experiences with bombs and didn't fancy standing around when four of them were bouncing about amongst hundreds of others.

The Navy lads thought it was a huge joke when I climbed back on to the wharf with my white uniform looking a real mess. They agreed however, that had the worst happened I might have survived while they would have been wiped out.

We finally got the ship discharged and commenced loading what was for us an unusual cargo. A strange conglomeration of foodstuffs, both fresh and tinned.

The "Glenartney's" title was now that of Victualling Stores Issuing Ship, and as such was expected to deliver as and when required, any type of food-stuff that might be ordered by any ship of His Majesty's British Pacific Fleet. We had become a floating supermarket-cum-pub, for we could also supply beer; spirits; cigarettes; tobacco and chocolate from a supply of N.A.F.F.I. stores.

Stowing the cargo was a work of art. The carpenters had made partitioning and alleyways down in the holds. It was in these compartments that the different items were stowed. Everything had to be accessible easily and quickly. The holds became a veritable rabbit warren of alleyways and storerooms.

Naval Canteen Services Officers and N.A.F.F.I. officers had joined our crew. They were responsible for overseeing the loading and ensuring that the goods were properly stowed. They took pride in their work and it was no idle boast that they could locate and gain access to any item on their long inventory within five minutes of being asked.

Staircases with weather shields were built into each hold so that access into the temporary accommodation in the 'tween decks was quick and easy. Far more practical than lifting hatch covers and climbing down vertical steel ladders.

Our armament was checked over and some additions made. We sported a 12 pdr on the forecastle and a 40mm Bofors on the poop together with a Pillar Box multiple rocket launcher. Four Oerlikons in turrets were sited amidships as were two sets of twin half inch Browning machine guns. There were smoke floats aft and a Pig Trough 2" rocket launcher above the boat deck. The Radio Officer's curse, - a pair of F.A.M.s launchers were located amidships waiting the chance to bring down our aerials.

Ammunition by the truck load came aboard. There was so much of it that two extra wooden magazines had to be built in the 'tween decks to stow it away. Up until then, our "Ready for use" lockers close to the guns had never been more than half filled. Obviously, someone of authority thought we might be heading into a combat area and was giving us the where-with-all to put up a bit of resistance.

An extra transceiver was put into the Wireless Room. This was a TBS (Talking Between Ships). It worked on an ultra high frequency and its range was theoretically limited to visual distance. Provided your aerial could "see" another ship's aerial then you could communicate. In practice the range was a few miles more and quite frequently it was possible to talk to ships whose aerials were out of sight below the horizon.

Large tall wooden platforms were built on each side of the "Glenartney" on the forward and after decks. Those of us not in the know were a bit puzzled as to their purpose, but all was soon revealed. The "Glenartney" was being further modified so that she would be able to reprovision vessels at sea. Stores would be brought up from down below, trolleyed and then hoisted on to the platform, placed in cargo nets and then be hauled across the intervening space to another ship via a flying fox.

Sounded feasible, but we all wondered how it would work in practice. We knew it was possible to transfer men from one ship to another by this means. Providing the weather was reasonable that was a fairly easy task. However, sending a cargo net containing some hundredweights of stores across the space between two ships was a much greater problem. We were told that according to naval history, transferring stores by this method on this scale, had never been attempted before. Somehow we were to make it work and what's more, we were to do it while we were going "Full Speed Ahead", with a ship on each side of us!

There was much discussion amongst the deck officers and the naval personnel concerning the foreseeable problems. For example, how close could ships approach each other without damage to either. Within a few feet if the sea was like a mill pond, but what if there was a heavy sea running and they were both rolling about?

How could you keep the flying fox stay taut between ships when they were rolling? If it were to get too slack, then the stores being transferred would at least get a dunking in the sea and might get swept away. If the stay got too taut, it could break equipment on either ship, or worse, if the stay parted under the strain it could whiplash and badly injure anyone in its path.

If fast moving ships on a parallel course got too close together and within a critical distance, would Bernouli's law apply and bring them clashing together to the detriment of both their hulls and superstructures.

Gradually they came up with what they hoped would be solutions to a myriad of problems. Only a practice run would find out whether they had the right answers. The catch was, there wasn't going to be any practice run. We had to get it right first time.

When all was in readiness we sailed and made our way to Manus Island. We had nearly twice the number of our normal crew on board. In addition to the naval officers, we had extra D.E.M.S ratings to man the guns, signalmen to handle the flags and Aldis lamps on the Bridge, and a whole host of men ready to man-handle the victualling stores when the time came for us to deliver.

We anchored at Manus. A large flat island could be seen stretching away into the distance, it did not look inviting and in any event, no time ashore was allowed.

We topped up our fresh water supplies from a barge, had a second TBS transceiver squeezed into the Wireless Room and were each given a Will Form to fill in and hand to a padre who gave you a blessing in return.

In a day or two we hoisted the anchor and were away - destination unknown. In the Wireless Room we tried to come to grips with the extra equipment. No problem with the gear, it was easy to operate. The sixty-four dollar question was, how could one man on watch listen to four receivers and take down several messages at the same time if the situation arose where more than one set was to simultaneously broadcast a message for us?

Worse, we did not have to observe radio silence on the two TBS transceivers, so we could also expect to be sending messages and acknowledging receipt of incoming traffic. Just to make life tougher, all signalling was to be in accordance with naval procedure. Quite a different system to MERSIGS or the International System with which we were familiar.

Did we have any manuals on naval signalling? We had a look in the big bag of confidential books with which we had been issued. There were code books; maintenance books; operating manuals; lists of frequencies and schedules that we were to keep plus a whole stack of other information including the verbal call signs for the Fleet. Our call sign was "BARTENDER 9", most apt, we liked that. But of information on signalling procedure there was not a skerrick.

Nothing to do but to select the correct frequencies on all the sets and start to listen out. There was a fair amount of traffic on the two TBS sets, so we pinned our ears back and listened. It didn't take long before we at least got the hang of the basics for procedure. Just in time too, for someone called "BARTENDER 9" and the Chief R/O had to acknowledge and take a message.

We were by then in company with an Escort Aircraft Carrier and two destroyers. Three warships to guard one merchantman? I had been in convoys with less protection than that.

The "Glenartney" carried enough fresh water to last a month with her standard complement. Now she had almost twice that number of men aboard and being a motor vessel had no equipment to distil seawater into fresh. Therefore, a little over two weeks supply of fresh water was all we had. Then we were told the bad news. Our meagre supply would have to last us at least two months! Henceforth we could drink as much water as we liked, but for all personal hygiene and laundry purposes, we were to be restricted to one bucket per man per day. Shower in salt water if you wished, but be cagey about contracting saltwater boils when in the tropics.

It didn't take us long to come to the conclusion that shaving took up too much of your precious daily water ration. With the Captain's permission most of us grew a weird motley of beards and moustaches. Many of the crew thought it was cooler and easier to keep their heads clean if they cut off all their hair, so we also had an assortment of skin-heads, who were bald on top and fur-lined around their cheeks and chins. After a month, given a bit of fancy dress, most of us would have passed muster on a pirate ship. We looked a real scruffy bunch of seafarers, but worse was to come. If the master of the "Telemachus" had seen us, he would have thrown a fit.

During daylight hours most signalling between our escort vessels and ourselves was done by signal flags or Aldis lamp. Most of the messages concerned frequent alterations of course and speed as we zigzagged across the ocean. At night things were different. Changes in course, given in a coded message came through one of the TBS channels. Each ship in turn acknowledged receipt and passed the information quickly to the Bridge.

In our case we used the telephone and then wedged the telephone handset against the radio loudspeaker so that when the command came to "Execute" the manoeuvre, the officer on the Bridge heard it immediately and took the appropriate action.

This was good training for what was to come. We got used to the Navy's way of doing things and found out how to use our limited manpower resources to the best advantage. Frequently we kept two of us on watch in the Wireless Room and at times even used the services of a middy to write down spoken messages that came in on a TBS while we were busy receiving morse on one of the other receivers.

Day after day we headed steadily northwards. We kept well away from the many Pacific Islands whose names we knew from the bloody battles that had been fought upon them. We just kept on going in a northerly direction - straight towards Japan.

The 2nd R/O was a radio fanatic. His knowledge of theory and the workings of all things related to radios far exceeded that of most Radio Officers. Not only was he a theorist, but he excelled in a practical way. His main joy in life was making minor modifications or adjustments to equipment and thereby making said equipment produce results that were beyond its supposed capabilities.

His mind and his manner were sharp. Mentally he lived on a lonely plane some floors higher than less endowed mortals. 3rd R/Os like myself, whom he classed as morons, had hell's own game trying to follow his reasoning and carry out his instructions. A teacher he was not. He always expected you to know far more than you did, and couldn't comprehend how anyone could be so ignorant or dumb.

Anyway, be that as it may, he was determined to experiment with the two TBS aerials. He had an idea that ran somewhat contrary to that in the hand book. He proclaimed that if we were to incline the aerials a little from the vertical, the degree of incline dependent upon the metal in the ship's superstructure, then we should increase the set's range.

I spent hours mucking about adjusting the aerials this way and that until "His Intelligence" was satisfied. Had his theory worked? My word it had. Reception and transmission had increased by some miles. He was as pleased as Punch, and for a couple of hours I was not the butt of his sarcastic comments.

We continued northwards and by mid July were between 150/200 miles off the Japanese coastline - slap bang in the middle of enemy waters, but no sign of any opposition. The monotony of just sailing quietly along was broken when we received a signal advising us that we were soon to meet up with some other ships.

As it happened, we were the first ship in our group to make contact with the other convoy. Our greater aerial height above water together with the 2nd R/O's fine tuning had given us the advantage over the other ships. There was a catch of course - we immediately became the relay vessel, and had to pass messages to and from the Commanders of both groups until the gap closed between the groups and direct communication could be made. A feather in our cap perhaps, but it added to our workload.

Come the morning when I awoke and looked out we were now in a much bigger and spectacular convoy. This was the British Logistic Group (1) and included tankers "San Ambrosio"; "Wave Monarch" and "San Adolpho"; V.S.I.S "Glenartney"; escort carriers "Ruler"; "Arbiter" and "Striker"; destroyers "Napier" and "Nizam"; sloops "Pheasant"; "Whimbrel"; "Redpole"; frigate "Findhorn" and a fleet minesweeper "Gawler". Just to make this spectacle more impressive, the mighty aircraft carrier "Indefatigable" and destroyers "Wakeful", "Wrangler" and "Barfleur" had temporarily joined the group. So there we were, three tankers and one victualling stores issuing ship with an escort of fourteen warships.

On 19th July we were told that we would be joining up with Task Force 37 during the night and that replenishment of the Force would commence at dawn. At long last, what we had come to do was about to begin.

As the night wore on we started to hear faint twitterings on one of the TBS and it wasn't long before we were able to contact "FANGTOOTH" the code name for the battleship "King George V". Once again we became relay ship passing messages. As soon as the groups came more together and direct contact was established our burden eased somewhat, but only for a little while.

The "shopping lists" began to pour in. These were the list of stores required by each ship in the Task Force. So many bags of potatoes, carrots and onions; umpteen cases of apples and oranges plus sides of beef and lamb; cases of tinned goods of all descriptions, and last but not least, beer; cigarettes and chocolate. As each list came in, it was sent down to the Naval officers so that they could start their working parties getting the goods ready for delivery.

Not only were there the shopping lists, we were also given timetables and "pecking orders" for the arrival of the various warships and details as to which side of our ship they would approach. Quite a hectic night, particularly so when the two groups merged and there was a flurry of manoeuvring signals. We seemed to be changing course or speed every few minutes.

Admiral Rawlings had his flag aboard the "King George V" and all the signals relating to changes of course and speed came from that ship.

Over the last few weeks we had learned that when a Naval vessel broadcast a message concerning a whole group of ships it immediately began a rollcall as soon as the message had been despatched. The call sign of each ship in the group was called in alphabetical order in quick succession and each ship acknowledged receipt. Sounds simple, but in practice it was not quite so easy. It took the transmitting part of your TBS a few seconds to warm up, but as soon as you pressed the button on the microphone to get the transmitter ready, it automatically cut off your receiver, so that you became "deaf". The way to overcome this problem was to listen for the call sign of the ship listed two ahead of you on the list, and as soon as that was called you pressed your button, mentally counted to five and then said "Bartender 9 Roger Out", keeping your fingers crossed and hoping that you had made your acknowledgment immediately after your unheard call was made. Ships that muffed it were called a second time after the first rollcall was finished.

One night when there was a lot of traffic going on, a Chief Petty Officer on the "King George V" considered it would be a good idea to smarten everybody up and lift the standard of signalling a notch or two. Boy, was he a stickler! Within moments he had "booked" a couple of ratings for being tardy in replying to signals and he followed that up by nailing others for minor breaches of procedure. You could sense the tension as his awesome voice called for offenders to identify themselves.

It had to happen of course. Sure enough I dropped a procedural stitch! "Bartender 9 report your name, rank and number. Over" "Fangtooth.Bartender 9. Alcock. D.M. Radio Officer R237609. Over". There was a stunning silence that seemed to last for ever. Then back came the reply almost sotto voice. "Bartender 9. Begging your pardon Sir. Out" and from then on, everything settled back to normal and the voice of the C.P.O. was heard no more that night.

Next day I spoke to the Yeoman of Signals about the events of the night before. What would happen to the unfortunates who had been booked? He advised that they would probably be docked a day's pay at best, and possibly get a day of solitary confinement in the brig when they were next due for a day's leave.

"What about me?" "You? What happened to you?" I told him. At that he nearly bust himself laughing. "You - you must have caused the best entertainment the lads have had for many a day. You caught a Tartar. That C.P.O. is now wondering what you, an officer, are going to do about him. He is probably suffering as much mental anguish as his victims. You must have given him an awful start. He has probably never communicated with merchant ships before and would have expected any operator to have been of a lower rank than himself." There the matter ended, but from then on I wondered if "Bartender 9" wasn't treated a little circumspectly.

I have got ahead of myself so let's go back to the night of 19/20 July. The "shopping lists" and "time tables" kept coming in. Not only did the lists vary in size and content, but so did the voices of the shoppers. There were Scottish accents, broad Yorkshire and Lancashire dialects, plus some hoity toity voices from the South of England. Quite a conglomeration and it took a bit of getting used to.

It was easy to understand the orders for fruit and vegetables and meat and fish, but some of the requests for the rarer lines of canned foods were baffling, particularly if they had a nickname. You then had to get that part of the list repeated, sometimes even spelt out. "Walkie Talkies" are wonderful in their way, but folks with outlandish accents can cause problems that good old fashioned morse never encountered.

When dawn broke, what a sight there was to behold. We had now linked up with Task Force 37 and there seemed to be warships from horizon to horizon. In addition to our group of fourteen ships the Task force (2) comprised the battleship "King George V", aircraft carriers "Formidable"; "Victorious" and "Implacable"; cruisers "Newfoundland"; "Black Prince"; "Euryalus"; "Achilles"; "Uganda"; and "Gambia"; destroyers "Grenville"; "Undine"; "Urania"; "Urchin"; "Ulysses"; "Undaunted"; "Quiberon"; "Quickmatch"; "Quality"; "Quadrant"; "Tonbridge"; "Tenacious"; "Termagent"; "Terpsichore"; and "Teaser" plus the rescue tug "Weazel".

What a magnificent sight. We were surrounded by warships. There must have been thousands of men on those ships and we were to keep them supplied with fresh foodstuffs. A daunting task, but there wasn't time to think about the logistics, our first two customers, destroyers, were already sailing parallel to the "Glenartney" and were almost ready for operations to begin.

The modus operandi was basically as follows: As soon as a ship was close enough, one of her crew, using a rifle would shoot a metal rod attached to a heaving line across our decks. We were warned by loud hailer when the rifle was about to be fired so that we could take cover. No one had any desire to be harpooned by the metal rod. Once the line landed it was picked up and hauling it in commenced. Tied to the heaving line was a rope, and as soon as we had that on board we attached a steel wire runner and a rope. Both the runner and the rope were then pulled over to the warship where the steel runner was made fast, preferably well above the main deck.

As soon as the runner was secure we hauled it taut by means of a winch. The runner was rigged so that it ran from a winch drum, up to a pulley block at the head of a derrick, across and well above the sea between the vessels. The winchman kept his eyes glued to that span of wire between the ships. His task was to keep it at the correct tension. Too slack and we could lose cargo. Too tight and disaster could strike. It was a job requiring good concentration and anticipation of both ships motions. Half an hour of continual heaving in and slackening off of the runner by controlling the winch was about as much as it was prudent for a man to do before being relieved and given a rest doing something else.

Meanwhile, the storemen had been using other derricks to winch foodstuffs up from the holds. The goods were barrowed to the wooden platforms and heaved up ready to be loaded into cargo nets. The men on the platforms were handicapped because they were made to wear life jackets and had safety lines attached around their waists. These were necessary precautions, for there was nothing around the platforms to save them from going over the ship's side should they lose their foothold or get knocked off balance.

They would lay a cargo net flat on the platform and quickly fill it with sacks of vegetables, cases of fruit etc. The four corners of the net were then lifted on to a hook dangling down from a pulley block riding the stay, the winchman would put more tension on the stay thereby lifting the laden net off the platform.

A swarm of sailors on the receiving warship would run like a crazy tug-o-war team and pull the net over to their ship. Once the net had made the journey the winchman eased off the stay and landed the net on the warship.

The net was immediately unhooked and the pulley and hook were pulled back to the "Glenartney" where a second net had been loaded and was awaiting the hook. By the time the second net reached the warship, the first net was empty, ready to come back for a re-load and take the place of a third net which had been loaded.

It all went like clockwork. Well, almost. Sure there were snags and unexpected problems which gradually got sorted out as we gained experience.

The destroyers and smaller ships were far easier and more satisfying to provision. They could come much closer to us, so close in fact, that when a case of apples was dropped and burst open on our decks, some of our crew not actively engaged at the time were able to salvage the fruit and lob the apples across the intervening gap to men on the destroyer's decks and in the gun-pits. That went down well, and any other breakages of fruit were similarly disposed of. The odd potato that some humorist tossed over for good measure was not so well received and came hurtling back laden with venom from the disappointed catcher.

The men on the smaller craft were grateful for what they received and our Captain was always thanked by his counterpart using a loudhailer when he was about to cast off. Sailors in the gun pits would give us a "thumbs up" and farewell wave as their ship pulled away.

It was with a Cruiser that we really first struck a real problem. She managed to come fairly close and all that bulk of metal so near to us upset our magnetic compass. As we were not fitted with a gyroscopic compass we unknowingly were steering a course slightly different to that of the rest of the fleet.

The Cruiser's Commander told us to watch our helm and became quite testy when we continued to transgress. There was some somewhat acrimonious discussion between both parties before the penny dropped.

When the Commander realised that we could not help it, not being fitted with a gyroscope, he arranged for a frigate to station itself some distance ahead of us and ordered us to keep in line with her. That fixed the problem.

The bigger the ship, the bigger the hassle. Firstly, because of their size they were less manoeuvrable and were unwilling to come too close. That meant the stores had to be hauled over a greater distance which in turn slowed proceedings down. The lengthier distance necessitated considerable manpower on the warship to be made available to haul the laden net up the long slope of the runner. Secondly, their crews were much larger and they needed proportionately more foodstuffs.

The big aircraft carriers had derricks available and by rigging the runner through them, they were able to get the goods hauled up directly on to the flight deck.

The "King George V" was the worst of the lot. She had a whacking great space on her foredeck. Ideal from our point of view. It would have been an almost down hill run to that deck and there was heaps of room for working parties. But was that ideal spot used? Of course not. The stores had to be landed on to a most inaccessible cramped little area. The result of course, was a very slow transfer of goods.

We never heard officially why things were done that way, but on the grapevine - and more of that anon - the reason given was that the "King George V's" foredeck was made of teak, holystoned to perfection and absolutely immaculate. It was sacrilege to even think of doing anything on that deck that might cause the slightest blemish. Good grief, if that was correct, was the "King George V" a warship or a beauty queen? We always thought that there was a war going on and that speed was the essence.

The only other difference of opinion between ships that occurred was with another cruiser. The Commander of that ship felt that we should keep abreast of him, not he with us. He kept giving us instructions to increase or decrease our engine revolutions by one or half a revolution per minute. Unlike warships, our engine throttle was not designed to make such fine tunings, and to do his bidding was neither possible, nor even practicable in view of the fact that we did have another vessel on our other flank. Any change in our speed was in turn going to upset that ship. This reasoning was accepted without much grace and we got no thanks for the provisions when we parted company.

Most decidedly, the officers and men of the smaller ships were far more friendly and amenable than the superior, nose in the air, do as I command attitude of the Capital Ships and a few of the cruisers.

All was not going well with the oilers. Over the TBS networks we heard of pumping rates not being maintained and fuel lines either bursting or parting. The whole fleet had reduced speed to ease the problem. The "Glenartney" might have had its setbacks, but they were all surmountable, and were nothing compared to the difficulties that the tankers were experiencing.

Throughout the long day, tucked away in the corner of the Bridge was our Yeoman of Signals. Making himself inconspicuous, but ready for instant action if required. His team had little to do while we were actually transferring provisions, but he was not idle. Far from it. His eagle eyes would spot one of his ilk on a ship visiting us and the pair of them would pass the latest scuttle-butt by a most ingenious method. Using their clenched fists with the forefinger extended, they mimicked, on a small scale, the movements of a man wielding a pair of semaphore flags. Their dexterity and speed was amazing and left less skilled signallers bewildered. No white gloved tic tac man at a racecourse could have passed the odds at anywhere near the speed of these men.

What did we glean from all this manual manipulation? We gathered that the "King George V" and some of the cruisers had been bombarding installations on the Japanese coastline. That aircraft from the carriers had been making raids, and although bothered by bad weather had been bombing enemy airfields and strafing aircraft on the ground. Strangely, there had not been much sign of enemy aircraft in the air. That the Americans had a huge fleet to the north of us and that their battleships and carriers were also engaged in giving the Japs a belting. That as soon as Task Force 37 was replenished, they would leave us, the Logistic Group, and go and make another series of attacks. Provided we were still afloat and made the next rendezvous position, we would go through the replenishment procedure again when the Task Force rejoined us.

So, although we were not part of the direct action, we could at least get some satisfaction from learning just what was going on, and how our efforts fitted into the overall picture.

Daylight ended and provisioning stopped for the night. Things had gone pretty well that day on the "Glenartney". Much had been learned about the ways and means of getting stores from one ship to another. We had found out what didn't work too well and had discovered ways to cut corners and save time. We had also got a much better idea of how much cargo could be put into a cargo net. Too much at a time made it very difficult for the receiving ship to haul it up the slope to their landing. Too little cargo at a time, while comparatively easy to handle required too many trips to and fro to complete the full delivery.

Someone armed with a watch, had been timing each load as it was assembled, despatched and arrived at the receiving vessel. A list of each load's contents had also been noted as had the type of ship receiving the goods. While it would never be an exact science, there was at least an indication of the best weight of goods to be loaded per net for each class of ship.

As the day had progressed we had gradually increased our rate of tons per hour of stores despatched. Tomorrow we would do better.

The night was passed with manoeuvring signals, and we rarely stayed on one course for long. There was the occasional amended shopping list and revisions to time tables.

Next day, 21st July, revictualling commenced at dawn. We had our act really together now and there was a marked improvement in speed in supplying our customers. If only the big ships had been as enthusiastic as their little sisters, we would have done even better.

Our Yeoman came up with a bit of news. The escort carriers are with us to serve a dual purpose, not only did they provide scouts and air cover for the Logistic Group, but they were flying off planes to replace the aircraft losses from the big carriers sustained in the raids over Japan.

Demand for our services diminished and either late that night or early the following day the Task Force left the Logistic Group to make further attacks while we moved on to the next rendezvous.

Now, the Japanese were not stupid. They must have gathered from the first attacks, the size of our fleet and in all probability had a fair idea of which ships were involved. They, from their intelligence, would also have known the range of our vessels, and the distance they must have travelled from their bases to make the attacks. Simple mathematics must have shown them that the fleet would have to retire to base after the first series of attacks unless they were being re-fuelled at sea.

A second series of attacks would confirm their suspicions of a tanker fleet being utilised off their coast. Therefore, all they had to do was to locate the tankers, sink them, and the fleet, short of fuel oil, would have to retire to base.

So, once the Fleet left us, we reckoned that in a couple of days or so, when the Task Force had made its second round of sorties we could expect retaliation. Once we were spotted trouble would probably come in the form of a concentrated Kamikaze air attack with each enemy pilot hell bent on a suicide mission determined to plunge his plane with its full load of bombs or torpedo right into your ship.

Our gunners tested their guns, the fire fighting parties practised their drill, the damage control teams made ready and the first aid parties looked to their dressings and blankets.

Two days later a plane was sighted low down on the horizon. Those officers with telescopes reported it as being a small seaplane with one main float beneath its fuselage. The identification charts showed it to be a Japanese aircraft nicknamed "Peg Leg Pete". Well, that was it, he must have seen us and would have radioed his base quick smart. It wouldn't be long now before the sky would be filled with planes wearing the "fried egg" motif. Ah well, at least we had successfully revictualled the Task Force once and we had been told that if we did that then we would have served our purpose. Anything over the one session would be a bonus.

Strangely the day passed without incident. Why? Were the Japanese short of planes? Were they assembling a huge group of aircraft to attack us at dawn? Had the Task Force bombed their flying fields and made them unusable? Were the Japanese aircraft too engrossed in attacking the Task Force and the American Fleet? Had Peg Leg's radio been out of action and the carrier based planes shot him down before he got back home?

We could think of all sorts of questions, but did not have the answers to any of them. Long before sun-up everybody was prepared for the expected attack. It never came - quite an anticlimax - and we pressed on to the next refuelling position.

The night of 25/26 July was another hectic one in the Wireless Room. The Logistic Group met Task Force 37 and again there were the "shopping lists" to be received.

The make up of the Logistic Group had changed since the last refuelling had taken place. The tankers "San Ambrosio"; "Wave Monarch" and "San Adolpho" had left the group after the last refuelling and escorted by the escort carrier "Arbiter"; sloop "Whimbrel"; frigate "Findhorn" and the mine sweeper "Gawler", had gone to reload.

The Logistic Group's number had increased to twenty ships as other vessels had joined the convoy (3). The group then comprised the tankers "Cedardale"; "Carelia"; "Wave Emperor" and "Eaglesdale"; V.S.I.S. "Glenartney"; Armament Stores Issuing Ship (A.S.I.S.) "Robert Maersk"; escort carriers "Speaker"; "Ruler"; and "Striker"; destroyers "Napier"; "Nizam"; "Nepal"; sloops "Pheasant"; "Crane"; "Redpole"; frigates "Parret" and "Plym"; minesweepers "Whyalla"; "Pirie"; and "Launceston".

Daylight on the 26th July brought the customers. Those ships that had visited us before, knew what to expect and like ourselves had made improvements to their methods of handling the stores. Some had welded an "eye" to a vantage point above the landing area so that the stay could be secured well above the deck. One way or another, improved techniques and co-operation between all parties was better that second time around.

There was a bit of a swell running, but not enough to really bother us. It did make the task of the tankers that much harder. At least one of them was unable to keep up with the rest of us and the group's speed had to be reduced. Doing similar work to the "Glenartney" was the "Robert Maersk", but she was delivering "food" for the enemy - shells, bombs, and ammunition.

We had a bit of an anxious moment when the frigate, acting as our marker, signalled that she had just seen a floating mine passing by her port side.

Observing it was difficult, for it was almost totally submerged and by the time we had spotted it, there was really not time to take evasive action. In any case we were working a ship on either side of us and to alter course one way or another could have caused a collision. We approached the mine. The bobbing black sphere arose and sank, arose and sank in the swell. It was going to come uncomfortably close to the port bow. We crossed our fingers and hoped it wasn't fitted with long electric feelers or a proximity fuse.

It missed the bow by a few feet and still slowly bobbing up and down was swept away from our hull by the bow wave. The warship's bow wave on our port side also caught it and the surge from the two waves encased it in the eddies between the two ships.

Work was momentarily halted while the unwelcome visitor drifted past and out of our sight. One of the escorts was given the task of disposing of it and since I never heard a big explosion, I guess it must have been sunk by rifle fire.

The "Glenartney" continued working all that day and throughout the next until Task Force 37 left us and went to make more attacks. The Logistic Group settled down, some members departed, others arrived as we made for the next rendezvous. We had now gone through the replenishment exercise twice. Surely the Japanese nest would be stung into action following the forthcoming bombardment and air attacks.

From our point of view, we could not understand why we had not been subjected to the most horrendous air attacks. There we were, at times less than 150 miles off the Japanese coast and were getting away with it. Unbelievable.

The Logistic Group headed north east, up past the Japanese main island of Honshu to the next replenishment point. Still no enemy action, and all that relieved the monotony was the arrival of other ships joining our group.

When the Task Force arrived on 31st July, the Logistic Group (4) comprised the tankers "Wave Governor"; "Carelia"; "Olna"; and "Wave King"; V.S.I.S. "Glenartney"; A.S.I.S. "Robert Maersk"; and "Corinda"; Radar maintenance ship "Arbutus"; escort carriers "Chaser"; "Speaker" and "Ruler"; destroyers "Queenborough"; and "Norman"; sloops "Pheasant"; "Redpole"; "Crane" and "Woodcock"; frigates "Odzani" and "Derg" plus a minesweeper "Pirie". The tankers "Cedardale"; "Wave Emperor" and "Eaglesdale" had gone to reload, and the destroyers "Napier"; "Nizam" and "Nepal" had left our company as had the escort carrier "Speaker"; frigates "Parret" and "Plym" plus the minesweepers "Whyalla" and "Launceston". Of the group that formed up in mid July only "Glenartney", the escort carrier "Ruler" and sloops "Pheasant" and "Redpole" remained. All the other ships had either gone back for further supplies, or been given other duties.

There was now a regular shuttle service going between Sydney and Manus Island and Manus and the strike zones off Japan.

On 31st July replenishment commenced after the usual rigmarole of meeting the Task Force and receiving the shopping lists and schedules.

This was the season of typhoons, and while we were not directly involved with one, we could feel its effects in the shape of a gigantic swell. This slowed down the rate of our work considerably. Ships were rolling very heavily and those that were "stiff" with more dead weight or water ballast stowed low down, rolled further and more violently than those more conventionally stowed. The whole force turned to face the swell. That helped to reduce the rolling but increased the amount of pitching.

The tankers were having a bad time, their fore decks were frequently awash and when their bows plunged into a swell their sterns rose and exposed the propellers. On the "Glenartney" we had problems as well. It was difficult for the men on the platforms to keep their footing, and a laden net, just lifted off the platform, often had the nasty habit of swinging about and pinning anyone in its path against a bulkhead. Extra ropes, (bull ropes) were tied to the nets and were held by men who struggled and strained to keep the nets and their contents under control until they were over the ship's side where they could cause no damage.

In spite of these precautions, we had some minor casualties in the form of crushed ribs; bruised arms; legs and feet; rope burns and the odd bit of skin scraped off here and there. Nothing serious, and the men were fortunate that no one was badly injured.

The winch men were having a difficult time. The heavy rolling of the ships caused the stay between the ships to rapidly become slack and sometimes lowered the stores right into the water. Next moment it would tauten to such an extent that there was a real danger of it parting.

To ease the situation, ships receiving stores kept further away from us than was ideal, and that of course, meant a longer haul for the foodstuff. For safety's sake the winchmen tried to keep the wire stay fairly slack and that too was detrimental to our discharge rate, for the sailors on the receiving ship not only had to contend with the longer haul, but for half the distance it was all up hill.

The bad weather aggravated the problems that the tankers were having. The hoses and supporting equipment kept breaking or bursting from the strain imposed by the rolling vessels. Naturally there was frantic repair work going on, but the breakages were happening more frequently than the repair crews could cope with. Over the air on the TBS we could hear the tankers requests for extra spares and for more men with experience to be brought to them to assist.

Then it happened. "SILENCE! SILENCE!" came over the TBS. Instant shush, and all the carrier waves of the transmitting ships switched off. All was deathly quiet. "Man overboard" said "FANGTOOTH" and followed that up with instructions to one of the escorts to go and rescue a man who had been knocked over the side of one of the tankers. I never heard whether he was picked up or not.

Normal traffic, with "FANGTOOTH's" permission resumed after a few minutes. Slowly, but surely we continued our work in spite of the difficult conditions and finished issuing supplies on 1st August.

Next day Task Force 37 left us to go and make more attacks. The Logistic Group headed for the next rendezvous and underwent its usual metamorphosis so that when the Task Force came back on the 6th August, it then comprised (5) the tankers "Olna"; "Wave King"; "Dingledale" and "San Amado"; V.S.I.S. "Glenartney"; and "Fort Wrangell"; escort carriers "Arbiter"; "Chaser" and "Ruler"; destroyers "Nizam" and "Norman"; sloops "Pheasant" and "Crane"; frigate "Barle"; minesweepers "Ballarat" and "Burnie" plus the hospital ship "Tjitjalengka".

The "Fort Wrangell" was another V.S.I.S. Was she to be our relief? Speculation ran hot and our hopes were confirmed when later that day, after work when we were ordered out of the Logistic Group and were escorted back to Manus.

Early in the morning of the 6th of August, when the bomber "Enola Gay" dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima, the "Glenartney" was some 550 miles away to the north east. No one reported seeing the flash nor hearing the explosion. Hardly surprising, for some of the Task Force were engaged in testing their guns. One bang or rumble more or less would not have evoked any interest.

By the time the second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki on 9th August the "Glenartney" was well on her way to Manus. Probably she would have been on much the same latitude, but some 700 miles away, eastwards from the point of impact.

We reached Manus without incident, anchored and took on fuel from an oil barge. VJ day -Victory over Japan - came on 15th August. We were all tired and exhausted after the tension off the Japanese coast. My weight was down by over a stone, but none of us was too tired not to have a little celebration and enjoy the tot of rum issued to all hands. That evening there was a display of outdated signal rockets and parachute flares set off by the ships at anchor.

The war was over. After the wave of euphoria passed through me, life seemed suddenly very flat. We guessed that the "Glenartney" would be returning to Sydney, and after being stripped of the extra accommodation etc, would most likely load a cargo for England. What would I do then? My life at sea would be over, along with those of hundreds of other 3rd R/Os and 2nd R/Os. Merchant ships other than passenger liners would no longer need our services and we would be dumped.

I was to have gone to university, but the war had dragged on so long, that there were now more applicants waiting to be admitted than the universities could possibly handle. Ex-service men were entitled to a priority, merchant seamen, being civilians, got no preferential treatment.

What about a job then? During my last leave I had made some tentative inquiries and encountered disturbing responses. "Why would I want to employ you? You know no more about this business than a boy fresh from school. If I took you on, I would have to pay you more than a school boy - that would not make economical sense. What's more, you are more worldly wise than a youngster and might not conform as readily to my requirements". or "Ex-service men will get a priority over you. If you were stupid enough to stick your neck out and go to sea a year before you were due to be called up, then more fool you. Idiots like you don't deserve to be employed. It will be bad enough having to take on ex-servicemen and train them without having the likes of you around".

That last remark had really stung. I thought of all the sacrifices and suffering that men and women had made to keep England free, and then to find there were bastards like that with cushy, safe jobs, it was just incomprehensible.

Life looked bleak - No Elvira, no chance of university, no job prospects - I was down in the dumps.

Then we got our orders. The "Glenartney" was not going back to Sydney. We were instead to travel independently to Hong Kong and assist in the relief of the colony. The signallers, some of the D.E.M.s ratings and the men who had handled the cargo were taken ashore. We sailed shortly afterwards.

Although the war was over, we were warned not to let our guard down. There might be Japanese submarines about who might not be aware of the cessation of hostilities, or even if they were, might choose to disregard their orders and continue fighting.

We were disappointed in not going back to Sydney, but were cheered up no end by receiving a signal from Rear Admiral Fleet Train (Rear Admiral D.B. Fisher CB CBE) addressed to "Glenartney" which read "Although official report has not yet been received, I hear from many sources of "Glenartney's" performance and excellent service while supplying the fleet. You worked long hours cheerfully and efficiently. You did great credit to the Fleet Train and you contributed materially to the success of the operations."

An extract from the Fleet Train Gossip Sheet No. 3 of 15 September 1945 read as follows: "V.S.I.S. "Glenartney". The good ship "Glenartney" put up what we consider to be a rather good record in the transference of stores at sea. When the Fleet was operating off Japan, between the 18th July and the 7th August, ships were taken alongside on 99 occasions, including destroyers, cruisers, carriers and battleships. Altogether she passed 12,000 packages across to ships, amounting to 532 tons gross. Over the whole of the working period she averaged nine tons per hour, but the best performance was put up with a destroyer, when two tons were taken in eight minutes. This is good going, and yet they say that if only the war had gone on a bit longer they'd have beaten that record."

Earlier I mentioned that this was typhoon season and we had encountered some very heavy swell when undertaking one session of transferring stores. We were to experience far worse as we headed to Hong Kong. Weather reports had indicated that a typhoon was building up to the north of our intended course. When it began to intensify the navigating officers asked the Chief R/O to get as much detail as we could concerning the storm.

The typhoon was well away from us and although there was some swell running, the ship's movements were nothing unusual. The Captain and Mates pored over the charts plotting the courses of both the typhoon and the "Glenartney". There was much discussion about "Curving" and "Recurving". If I got the drift of the conversations correctly, then I understand that there are laws of nature which tend to make tropical storms proceed along a more or less straight path and when they reach a certain degree of maturity they veer off course.

Storms being what they are, do not always conform to the norm and sometimes do the unexpected. This typhoon gave every indication that it was a conformist. Our officers in their wisdom accordingly plotted a course to avoid the worst of the weather.

The typhoon behaved itself and held its course until we were well and truly committed and then it suddenly became a rogue and broke all the rules of the game and headed straight for us. There was nothing we could do to avoid it and we just had to put up with it until it blew over.

The weather was not too bad to start with. A heavy swell and a strong wind, but as the hours passed the swell increased and the wind reached gale force. We rolled and pitched more than usual and it was fascinating to watch the ship reach the top of a swell, lean into the enormous hill of water, slide down the glassy slope to the bottom of the trough, roll the opposite way and climb the next hill.

The rolling gradually became severe. After one particularly heavy roll the Chief R/O noticed that our main transmitter was starting to pull its hold down bolts out of the desk. We quickly lashed it down with rope to prevent it breaking free. At much the same time, the stewards found that the upper bunks in some of the passenger accommodation were pulling away from the bulkheads. The Carpenter fixed that problem by cross bracing the bunks with lengths of timber. The gunners discovered that some of the welding and steel brackets holding down the "Ready for use" ammunition lockers were cracking, unless something was done quickly there were going to be steel lockers heavily laden with fused ammunition sliding about the decks.

Dealing with the worst case first, all the ammunition was removed from the lockers and taken down to the magazines. Not an easy task, for ammunition is heavy, the decks and steel ladders were wet and slippery, the wind was howling and the lurching movements of the ship unpredictable. Life lines along the fore and after decks had been rigged earlier in the storm, and the time had now come to head diagonally into the swells to ease the rolling and pitching.

The typhoon continued to intensify. The wind moaned and shrieked continuously, the hilly swells became mountainous. From crest to crest they spanned the best part of a quarter of a mile, and from the top of a swell to the bottom of the trough was well over sixty feet. The wind blew a flurry of foam and spume from the surface of the water.

At night the ship's movements became more pronounced. The helmsman, unable at times to clearly see the oncoming swell would mistime altering his helm and the ship instead of riding or slipping the punch would take the full impact of the oncoming water.

When I was called just before midnight, to go on watch, I avoided going outside as much as possible and made my way along the alleyways in the passenger accommodation. To my amazement, the ship was rolling so far from port to starboard that it was impossible to walk properly along the alleyway's deck. For a few seconds your right foot would be on the deck, with your left foot placed on the port bulkhead. You stretched your arms out to match the placement of your feet. The ship would swiftly roll back the other way. You would get both feet back on deck and take a couple of quick shuffles before the ship heeled in the opposite direction and the starboard bulkhead leaned so far over that you had to place your left foot on it. Progress along the alleyway was slow.

The "Glenartney" must have been rolling almost 45° off the vertical in each direction. She was creaking and shuddering as she ploughed her way through the typhoon. I didn't like it at all. How far could we roll before the worst happened and we capsized?

Up in the Wireless Room the movement was more pronounced, for it was two decks higher than my cabin. The chair was chained to the deck and the other R/Os had tightened the chain so that the chair was held firm. The transmitter strained at its bonds with each extra heavy roll, but we had secured it well, and it was in no danger of breaking loose.

Back in my bunk when my watch was over I encountered a new problem. My bunk was lined up across the ship, so that as she rolled I slid up and down the mattress. Normally this was no big deal. Just place your back against the bulkhead, curl up and wedge your knees tight against the bunk board and you stay more or less in place. However, this technique was no match for this extra heavy rolling. You just became unmoored and at times almost airborne as you slid ungainly up and down your bunk with every likelihood of being deposited on the deck.

I solved the problem, after a fashion, by using my dressing gown belt to tie my feet and ankles to a post at the foot of the bunk. I stuck my hands and wrists between the headboard and the mattress and by hanging on managed to stop the sliding movement. It was a weird sensation though. Although one's externals had stopped shifting about, your internals still responded to the ship's movement and you could literally feel your guts pushing up into the chest cavity and then retreating downwards towards your legs. In daylight you could see the movement under the skin of your belly.

The typhoon having got us in its clutches wasn't going to let us go. It had obviously never read the handbook on tropical storms, for it did all the wrong things at the worst possible moment and counteracted all the efforts of our officers to escape from its grip.

Because the swell was so mountainous, there were few options available to us. There was no way we could make a major alteration to our course for it would have been far too risky to have placed the ship anywhere near beam on to those onrushing mountains of water.

On one occasion I had to perform some duty up on the Bridge. Once there, I took a look around. When standing in a wing of the Bridge and the ship took a really deep roll, it was possible to see clean over the top of the binnacle on the Monkey Island and view the horizon on the far side of the ship.

If you looked downwards over the ship's side when she was just over the top and leaning into a swell, the view was awesome. From that side of the ship away from the swell, you looked straight down past the accommodation, then the hull with all the Plimsoll marks showing, right down past the coating of barnacles and weed to the level of the bilgekeel and below that was a terrifying space of thirty or so feet to the water at the bottom of the trough.

The ship slid rapidly down the slope to the depths between the swells, the view changed, and you were now entirely surrounded by huge towering foam flecked grey green walls of water with one of the monsters rushing towards you, threatening to engulf the ship. "Glenartney" would nose into the oncoming swell and swiftly ride sixty feet up the enormous slope.

From the other side of the ship the view of the downhill slide of the ship was quite different. Instead of looking down into an almost bottomless pit, all you could see was water pressing hard against the hull, up to and sometimes over the railings on the main deck. This seething liquid mass seemed to be so close to the wing of the Bridge, that it was hard to believe it was beyond arm's length.

At meal times, the stewards dished out small helpings so that at least you had some chance of keeping your food on your plate before you ate it. You could always come back for seconds and most of us did.

There were tales of previous encounters with typhoons by the more experienced as they compared this storm with others they had seen. General opinion was that this one was at least as violent as the worst of the others and could perhaps top the list. However, there was agreement that this typhoon could not match the one that had blown the smoke stack clean off a Blue Funnel ship, snapping the holding down bolts like carrots and parting the funnel stays. Said wire stays were reputed to have a breaking strain of 80 tons each.

Nor could this typhoon equal the one which had endangered another Blue Funnel ship causing her to heave to. When heavy seas breaking over her bows became threatening, a midshipman managed to take a drum of oil into the forecastle. There he stayed for some days without food or sleep, just spooning out small quantities of oil through a latrine to calm the ocean and save the ship. Attempts were made, but no one could reach him until the worst was over.

After several days this storm got tired of playing games with us and took itself off to cause bad weather elsewhere before gradually dissipating. In the aftermath, the heavy swell gradually abated and it was only then that you realised how sore your stomach muscles had become, and how tired were your legs. I suppose this state of affairs was brought about by the constant effort of trying to keep your balance.

The typhoon had delayed us, but "Glenartney" arrived off Hong Kong about 1st September and was escorted into the harbour by a minesweeper. We nearly had a mishap. A strange looking canister surfaced in the wake of the minesweeper and banged gently against our hull before drifting astern. It was some form of Japanese mine, but luckily for us was a dud.

We proceeded to our anchorage and were the first cargo vessel to enter Hong Kong after hostilities had ceased. The TBS sets were abuzz with messages as we were now under local Naval control and had our hands full in keeping up with all the different schedules.

The minesweeper had warned us that there were still some Japanese snipers hiding out in the office buildings in the Victoria area, but the Kowloon side of the harbour had been cleaned up.

A ship at anchor swings with the tide, so depending upon the flow of the tide the "Glenartney" presented different aspects of her superstructure to the Victoria water front. Definitely a point to bear in mind when going out on deck, lest you gave a sniper the chance of a shot. We were all careful to ensure that we kept to the Kowloon side of the ship.

The entrance to the Wireless Room faced aft at the rear of the boat deck, so there were times when the ship, swinging slowly around her anchor, presented the Wireless Room door to Victoria.

Just my luck. I was due to commence my noon watch right at the time when the Wireless Room door was offering itself as a target. I hadn't really given it much thought, except to ensure that I approached the Wireless Room from the Kowloon side. Once you turned the corner at the end of the superstructure on the boat deck you were exposed.

There was a distance of about ten feet to traverse to the Wireless Room and that gave just enough time for a sniper to have a shot. One did just that, and the bullet bounced off the mastic compound protecting the Wireless Room, six inches above my head.

It must have been a difficult task to round up the snipers. The Chinese population were celebrating the relief of Hong Kong and were continually driving out devils by letting off long strings of firecrackers. The long chains of crackers hanging down the sides of buildings produced a rattle of small explosions, sounding not unlike that of rifle fire. With that racket going on day and night, what chance had an observer got of locating a sniper.

Sweeping the windows of the building with binoculars produced no results either. There was far too much activity going on ashore. I can only assume that the snipers were eventually disposed of by the locals either taking their own action, or telling the Naval patrols where to look. Whatever happened, we had no more trouble on that score.

Many of Hong Kong's inhabitants lived in sampans and junks, rarely, if ever, going ashore. Whole families were raised in these craft in very cramped conditions. They made their living by making or selling a vast range of products, fishing and ferrying passengers about the harbour.

We soon had a few of these craft tied up alongside us and the Chinese members of our crew were engaged in very earnest discussions and bartering.

I came off watch to find a young Chinese mother and her small daughter sitting down in my cabin. With very little English at her command and my complete lack of Cantonese, she eventually made me understand that she was a "Sew Sew" and for a few coins she would darn my socks, sew on buttons and generally maintain my wardrobe.

She demonstrated what she had in mind with a well worn needle and some thread. I nodded in agreement and produced my hussif complete with an assortment of needles, cottons, wools and buttons. I would hardly have caused more delight than if I had put a treasure chest on display and offered her the opportunity to take her pick.

My steward appeared. He had put the lady in my cabin because he thought I could use her sewing ability and also because the Chief Steward in the cabin next to mine had some work for her to do, and would supply her with meals. No need to pay her. Just let her keep a couple of needles, they were hard to come by in Hong Kong.

Each evening the "Sew Sew" and her child climbed down into her sampan and sculled away to wherever she moored for the night. Each day she came back and worked her way through each officer's wardrobe.

The little girl had a very worn pack of playing cards. She played patience most of the day unless she could con someone into playing a high speed game of "snap" which she always won. Probably knew every card in the pack from the stains and wear marks on the back of the cards. The Chief Steward fed them well, and always gave them a parcel of leftovers to take away with them each evening.

"Sew Sew" was a widow whose husband had been taken to a labour camp by the Japanese and had eventually been killed. She, as did all the women who lived in the sampans, kept her shiny black hair plaited. Some women had a single plait, others, twin plaits. All the plaits were meticulously made, never a single hair out of place. The styles they adopted with the plaits varied enormously, some hung free with a ribbon tied near the tail end, others were coiled into elaborate buns and secured with combs on the side of the owners head. Whatever the coiffure, I never saw one that looked untidy.

Two or three of the European men who had been prisoners of the Japanese in the Stanley Camp came out to the "Glenartney". Most notable was the Harbour Master who was trying to resume his former position. None of them, mere bags of skin and bone, could climb the gangway and had to be helped aboard.

The Surgeon was very concerned about their condition and discussed the matter with the Chief Steward to ensure that only the lightest, but yet most nourishing food was to be offered to them, there was not to be too much of it, for their stomachs would be unable to handle it, and in case their teeth were loose in their heads, the food should be soft. Everybody else sitting at their table was to keep them company and be served the same menu.

Actually the ex-prisoners ate very little at that meal, they would gaze at their plates and had to be encouraged to eat. They were rather shy and hesitant and volunteered very little information. Gradually they became a bit more communicative and that awful zombie appearance began to fade. It would take months, if not forever, for some of them to get back to full normality. Before they went back ashore we loaded their pockets with cigarettes and chocolate.

Back in Sydney a group of girls, members of the Young Contingent of the Victoria League, were known as the "Hong Kongers". They, together with their younger brothers and mothers had been evacuated from Hong Kong before it fell to the Japanese on Christmas Day 1941. Since that day nearly four years earlier they had heard nothing of the fate of their fathers or elder brothers.

Several of us who knew the "Hong Kongers" tried to find out whether their loved ones had survived the ghastly conditions of the Stanley Prison Camp. At first our inquiries did not meet with much success. We were not allowed ashore, which made information hard to get. However, we gradually built up small lists of names of people who had survived. These lists we despatched to the "Hong Kongers" in Sydney.

There were those of us who had photographs of some of the "Hong Kongers" taken at picnics and dances. We collected these snaps together and sent them via an ex-Prisoner of War to the prison camp. Many months later we learned that a few of the pictures did reach the appropriate fathers and that was the first news that they had had of their families since being captured.

The hospital ship "Oxfordshire" was in port busy embarking the seriously ill men from the camp. We managed to sneak one of our officers aboard in an effort to collect more names. He was successful in getting a whole lot before he was "discovered" and asked to leave. His list joined the other scraps of information sent to the "Hong Kongers".

A women's magazine in Sydney got to hear of our efforts and published an article about the Victoria League, the "Hong Kongers" and how men on the "Glenartney" had tried to repay the hospitality meted out to us by the League, by locating some of the "Hong Kongers" relatives.

The "Glenartney" sat at anchor for a day or two with nothing to do. Then, as conditions ashore gradually became organised we were ordered to commence discharging our cargo into barges. Labour to assist in unloading would be forthcoming.

Our derricks were raised, the hatches opened and we were ready to start. The "hired help" arrived. Japanese P.O.W.s escorted by armed members of the Chinese Forces. We had very strict instructions, that under no circumstances were we to strike any of the Japanese, no matter how much we were provoked or tempted.

The Japs climbed down into the holds, supervised by our officers. The armed guards stayed on deck and kept a watchful eye on proceedings down below.

The Japanese, not surprisingly, were subtly uncooperative and by playing "dumb" and moving slowly succeeded in reducing the rate of discharge to a snail's pace, and a rheumatic snail at that. This would never do.

Our Chinese crew had shown considerable interest in the Japs from the moment they came alongside. They had given them a reception of profane comments and gestures and as soon as they were in range a volley of spittle.

The Chinese sailor has long since figured out how to get the best out of the English language. He is fully aware that you can't speak his lingo, and he makes sure that you never know how much English he understands. Usually far more than your best guess. Therefore, he cottons on very quickly if asked to do something of which he approves, but puts on a blank expression and says "No savee" when confronted with a task not to his liking. At times, this sort of situation can be extremely frustrating, but on this occasion it had its advantages.

The Chinese Bo'sun was sent for and was told that the Japanese "No workee too good. You and your men fix?" Would they ever! The Bo'sun was full of enthusiasm. Then came the bit about not being allowed to strike the Japs and the blank look began to form on the Bo'sun's face, but faded a bit when told that each man could take a length of 2" x 2" timber down into the hold with him for defence purposes should the Japanese try to start anything.

The Chinese went down into the holds. There was much yelling and a stream of invective issued by the Chinese emphasised by blows on the steel decks with the 2" x 2" timbers. The Chinese and Japanese may or may not have too much in common, but our men got their point across and the cargo began to move - rapidly.

No one ever saw a Japanese being struck. When it was knock off time a very weary but seemingly unmarked group of prisoners climbed overboard into the barge that took them to the lock-up. Our Chinese sailors were grinning from ear to ear and they had long animated discussions with the occupants of the sampans tied alongside.

There were a few corpses floating around the harbour. No one bothered to pull them out of the water so they just drifted upstream and downstream with the tide. You could always tell when one was coming for there would be a flurry of activity aboard the sampans and they would all cast off and get out of the way of the corpse as it drifted past.

One corpse in particular, a male. with arms and legs spreadeagled would slowly bear down upon the "Glenartney" as though attracted by a magnet. An outstretched arm or leg would foul the anchor chain and the body temporarily halted in its journey would be caught in an eddy and waltzed around the chain before resuming its journey.

This happened twice and there were bets being laid as to the likelihood of it happening a third time. The long odds nearly paid off, for the body appeared on time, but failed to snag the anchor chain by a few feet. We never saw that corpse again.

As far as I can recollect, it was now about the middle of September. A lot more ships had arrived in the harbour, many of them warships and some merchantmen like ourselves, part of the Fleet Train. In the Wireless Room we were still keeping watch over the four receivers. One of them on a Naval frequency had a lot of traffic being broadcast, but none of it concerned us. Fine you might think, but unfortunately, you had to take a lot of it down before it became fully apparent that it was of no concern to us. This was irksome, time wasting and frustrating.

We requested permission to close down on that frequency. The upshot was that we were told to send someone over to the "Indomitable" to discuss the matter. I was given the job, so I went down to my cabin, laid out my best set of "whites" which "Sew Sew" carefully inspected. Trimmed my beard much to the amusement of "Sew Sew Junior" who like most Chinese children found face fungus to be a source of merriment.

I shooed "Sew Sew" and her offspring out of the cabin so that I could change my clothes, but not before "Sew Sew" had picked up my best shoes and cleaning kit. By the time I was changed she was waiting outside my cabin, the shoes wonderfully shiny. Even the laces had been straightened, not a twist to be seen.

I put them on and stood up. "Sew Sew" gave me a critical inspection, removed some invisible specks from the uniform and then gave me a nod of approval. She looked worried though and asked "You come back?" I assured her I would, so she was all smiles again and settled down with her needle to a huge pile of somebody else's bent and battered garments.

A Middy, an Engineer and a couple of sailors had the motor lifeboat at the foot of the gangway, so I walked down and got aboard. The closer we got to the "Indomitable" the larger she loomed. By the time we got alongside we were dwarfed by her bulk.

Warships emit a sound unlike any produced by cargo vessels. In their proximity there is inevitably a continuous thrumming whirr which seems to emanate from all parts of the ship. Maybe it is produced by the turbines driving the generators, but I am only guessing for I never thought to ask.

The Middy steered the lifeboat close to the gangway, I jumped on to it, and the lifeboat backed away and stood off to await my recall. The gangway was very long and steady and I was glad to reach the top. The customary exchange of salutes was given and I stated my name and business.

I was taken through a maze of alleyways which were periodically traversed by water tight doors. We arrived at a cabin and I was shown in.

A Lieutenant Commander bade me be seated. He got straight to the point. Why had we requested to close down on one of the frequencies? I started to tell him, and as I explained he began to look a bit puzzled and cut my explanation short. "Why are you officers keeping watch? Why are you not using the telegraphists that joined your ship at Manus?" It was my turn to look puzzled. "I know of no telegraphists, Sir".

The Lieutenant Commander spoke to a Lieutenant who was seated at another desk. The Lieutenant went off somewhere and came back with a sheaf of documents and a Sub-Lieutenant in tow. There were a few moments of paper shuffling and finger pointing, stopped by an "Ah!" from the Lieutenant Commander.

"The men that were to join you at Manus were delayed and arrived too late to join you."

The Lieutenant asked how we managed to keep the two Naval frequencies open with only three of us. He was staggered to learn that at times we kept four channels open, albeit we sometimes had help from any available midshipman.

The Lieutenant Commander absorbed that and then asked the Lieutenant for a report on our signalling. More paper shuffling and a document was laid in front of the Lieutenant Commander. He perused it. "None of you fellows had previously had any experience in signalling with the Navy? "That is correct Sir". "Remarkable, According to this report your signalling has been very good. Well done."

He thought for a moment or two and had a few words with the Lieutenant. "You may cease listening on that frequency which rarely concerns you. Another ship will guard that for you while you are here in port. Any messages that do concern you will either be sent over by picket boat, or retransmitted on the Fleet Train frequency. The Fleet Train ships will no longer be required to maintain a 24 hour watch on their frequency, but will listen out for a short session every four hours. You and the rest of the Fleet Train will receive a signal giving the exact details later today. That should ease your burden." "Yes indeed. Thank you Sir."

I returned to the "Glenartney" and broke the good news to the other R/Os. What a relief it was to get back to our normal routine and to only have a little extra work load.

The signal about the revised schedule for the Fleet Train ships was duly received and each four hours found us listening out for any messages for our ships.

A few minutes before each session was due to go on air, the early birds would switch on their sets to warm them up. To test that all was well with the transmitter, you blew a couple of times into the microphone and that would cause a needle on a meter to deflect. To those who were listening, the sound of the blowing was a little like "Chuff Chuff". It was not long before some wag pressed his button and went "Chuff Chuff Chuff, Chuff Chuff Chuff, Whooo Whoooo, Fleet Train. All Aboard. Where's the flipping stationmaster?"

The stationmaster (control) was not yet on air so to fill in the few minutes before the schedule was due, a nursery rhyme game was played. Although no call signs were used, we had got so used to hearing the slightly different notes of each station's carrier wave, we could identify who was about to call as soon as his set started to warm up. In our correct "pecking order" one ship would say "Hickory Dickory Dock". The next ship on the list would then say "The mouse ran up the clock." and so it continued, ship by ship until the nursery rhyme was finished and another begun. Miss your cue or fluff a line and you were "out", and not allowed to play any more at that session.

This was all too easy so as the schedules passed the game got harder. Instead of reciting a whole line, you merely said one word. You could easily be caught out by this, for you will recall that before you came on air you were "deaf" while your set warmed up. If a ship two ahead of you on the list started a rhyme with "Little" you could be in trouble. You could not hear what the next ship said, and you would have to guess whether to say "Horner" or "Peep" or "Muffet".

Some of the versions of the Nursery rhymes were quite different to those found in children's books and would have made a governess blush.

The Japanese when in occupation of Hong Kong had strengthened the port's defence by making one man Kamikaze craft. These were fairly crudely made wooden high speed motor boats. Two depth charges were fitted on the bow. Being small and fast they presented a difficult target as they headed for their victim. The driver held a lanyard fitted to the firing pins of the depth charges which he pulled at the moment the little boat rammed its victim. A cheap and effective weapon, provided you didn't mind losing the driver.

Information provided by the sampan folks told the Carpenter where some of the craft were hidden in a bay. The Japs had attacked our fleet with some of them, but most had been destroyed by carrier aircraft and gunfire.

The Carpenter was a boating enthusiast, so at night he boarded a sampan and made a reconnaissance. Somehow he acquired one of these craft, sans depth charges and had it hoisted aboard. In his spare time and aided by the Engineers they repaired some minor damage, slapped on some paint, fitted a windscreen, got the engine to work and put the boat in the water.

The Japanese had fitted the craft with a Ford V.8 engine, a dog-clutch and no gear box. The Engineers started the engine and shoved in the clutch. The boat leaped forward and one Engineer lost his balance and fell overboard. The clutch was absolutely positive and savage. Even with the motor going dead slow, once the clutch was engaged, the boat just forged ahead.

The Engineer was fished out of the water and the little motor boat was taken for a spin. That ugly duckling could certainly move. Open the throttle wide, and it shot forward, lifted her bow and fairly skimmed over the water.

Its speed was to be its undoing. One day whilst scooting around the harbour it foolishly overtook and passed the high speed Admiral's Barge. The notion that anything should even dare to pass such a prestigious and illustrious launch was unthinkable. Within moments of the Carpenter's return to the "Glenartney" we received a curt signal to the effect that the motor boat was to be returned whence it came, forthwith.

There was much sighing amongst the enthusiasts, as orders were obeyed, strictly to the letter. Later that night, since there was no mention in the signal that we could not acquire another motor boat, a second one was surreptitiously obtained and was stowed, out of sight, out of mind, below decks. There it rested until we sailed out of Hong Kong Harbour.

A berth became available at Kowloon, so we moved alongside to finish discharging our cargo.

I missed seeing the ruckus on the wharf one morning, but I could hear the shouts, thuds and screams. When I was free to see what was going on, there was only the limp black clothed form of a woman lying fifty yards up the wharf. She was in agony, writhing about and moaning in pain. No one was going to her assistance. Why? We were to keep out of it. None of our business. That Chinese woman either by choice or by force had been fraternising with the Japanese during the occupation. Chinese soldiers had chased her up the wharf, caught her and knocked her down with their rifle butts. Once she was down they had spread her legs apart and literally put their boots in. The sound of crunching bone had been sickening. There she was left to die, lying in the hot sun. Those who passed her by, spat on her. Her ordeal lasted until late in the afternoon. By the following morning her body was gone - perhaps it had joined the others in the harbour.

Over 100 days had elapsed since I had last put my feet on dry land. So it came as a bit of a surprise when I was detailed off to go ashore and take some ship's papers to an office situated over in Victoria.

Sufficient money to pay for the ferry trips there and back was handed to me, plus directions to help me locate the office. Down the wharf I went and joined the throng of Chinese boarding the "Star" ferry. There I stood, jam-packed with everybody else as the ferry crossed the harbour to Victoria. It occurred to me that the ferry must surely be grossly overloaded, and that in the event of an accident the loss of life would probably be heavy for few Chinese ever learn to swim.

I located the office, completed the business that had taken me there and immediately returned to the "Glenartney". Sightseeing was not on the agenda. Pity, I would have liked to have had a look round and a visit to the top of the peak where a large Japanese shrine had been built would have been interesting.

We left Hong Kong towards the end of September, but not before I had given "Sew Sew" most of the contents of my huswife and the odd coins of various currencies that I had. We did not get an advance in Hong Kong so we had no local currency available. "Sew Sew" was more than pleased to accept the needles and thread, a few tins of cigarettes and bars of chocolate also went down well. They would not be for her own use, but would be bartered on the local market.

The stewards had given "Sew Sew Junior" a pack of cards. Not a new pristine pack, for they had none, but one that was certainly more presentable, than the one the child possessed. Little "Sew Sew" thought that all her Christmases had come at once.

We sailed away on our own for Sydney, and as soon as we were out of range we closed down the second TBS and reverted to our normal watch keeping.

Fresh water had been taken on at Kowloon, not a full supply, but sufficient to ease the restrictions. We had been so economical with our fresh water that we had made it last three months, not two as originally planned. What's more, we could have lasted yet another month before being desperate for replenishment.

A ship carries a limited number of changes of bed linen and towels. Normally the linen got changed every week, and each time the ship reached port the laundry went ashore and came back the following day. The duration between ports having laundry facilities was rarely more than three weeks.

Here we were then, with over three months gone, no fresh linen left, and still over 5,000 miles to go to Sydney. The stewards had made the linen changes less and less frequently until all the supplies of clean linen eventually were used up.

They did their best to improve matters by hanging your towel and sheets on outside clothes lines to air them. Try as they would, the linen gradually became greyer and greyer and smelt more and more revolting. Weeks of being in the tropics with hot sweaty bodies lying on the sheets made them really "ripe" and towels too became pretty unsavoury. There was nothing to do but to put up with the smell and await our return to Sydney.

Somewhere off the Australian coast a few days before we arrived in Sydney, I removed my set of whiskers. If they had been resplendent, I might have thought twice about doing so. However, my beard growth was somewhat patchy and there were a few small areas where the hairs just refused to grow. This gave an overall effect of the beard looking as though clothes moths had been on the rampage and devoured some of the undergrowth. Once the beard was gone, the skin on my face felt very smooth, but was pale coloured, for the whiskers had evidently protected the skin from sunburn.

After we had berthed in Sydney, there was some delay while the ship's owners and the Navy haggled about who was going to need our services most. The Navy eventually decided that they would no longer need us and handed "Glenartney" back to Alfred Holt & Co. Down came the Blue Ensign and up went the Red. Carpenters came aboard and dismantled the platforms and temporary accommodation. Some of the armaments were removed by the Navy as were the TBS sets.

It was great to be back in Sydney. Everybody was telling us about the V.J. Day celebrations and what a pity it was that we had missed them. We were inclined to agree and did our best to make up for dipping out.

The "Hong Kongers" were not at the clubrooms of the Victoria League when we first called in. They were busy in their homes or flats joyfully ministering to those fragile and emaciated fathers and brothers who had been brought to Sydney. For some "Hong Kongers" there was no rejoicing for they had lost relatives in the Stanley Camp and all their hopes sustained over those years were shattered.

Word got around that the "Glenartney" was back in port and invitations to visit various "Hong Kongers" began to come in. While it was great to see the girls again, we were saddened to observe the state of the ex-P.O.W.s. Apart from looking like skeletons covered in parchment, they could only move slowly and often with difficulty. Malnutrition, leading to beri beri, dysentery and dengue fever, to name but a few of their diseases had taken a terrible toll of their bodies and were continuing to scourge them.

Their nervous systems were affected and a painful complaint known as "Electric Feet" caused them anguish. Mentally, they were frequently at a loss to fully comprehend what was going on about them and often just gazed into space with expressionless faces. It took months of tender loving care, but happily most recovered sufficiently for them to live reasonably normal lives.

By good fortune I was introduced to an incredibly wonderful woman. She was married to a R.A.N. Petty Officer, had a large natural family and had also adopted several other children. Dinner at night required two large roasts cooked in a pair of ovens to give everyone a helping of meat. Washing up and all other chores were worked on a roster system. A noticeboard displayed lists of who was to do what and when. Even the smallest children had their tasks to perform.

This amazing mother needed, and indeed had, a great organising ability to look after her herd. Her word was law, fair but strict. No one questioned her rulings. The children were obviously very happy and industrious. They had mixed talents and each one was given every encouragement to follow their own particular bent, be it musical, mechanical, academic or whatever. The family was a closely knit bunch and very supportive of each other.

I had been introduced to her because I was concerned about my future. There did not seem to be much of a life offering in England and I was contemplating settling in Australia. She was, I was informed, an expert in cutting red tape, knew all about the necessary application forms, gave bureaucrats a rough time, and had already organised the discharge and settlement of several British sailors, both from the Royal Navy and Merchant Navy.

She listened to my story, asked very practical questions, gave me sound advice and told me to think the matter over and to come and see her again in a few day's time when I had made up my mind. Also, the quicker I got discharged, the better the chances of a job, before all the thousands of other men and women in the forces came on the labour market.

I thought very hard and long over the next few days and gathered a number of opinions. All were favourable, but some folks wondered how I would feel about leaving my family, and where was I going to live? The latter question was quickly taken care of, for I was offered accommodation and full board at a friend's house. As for the former, well, I hadn't lived at home since I was twelve years of age. Just popped in for a few weeks at a time during school holidays or more recently when I was on leave. I hardly knew my parents, much less my young brother or sister. No, I wouldn't miss them too much, nor I felt they me.

I spoke to my Captain. He said Australia was a magnificent country - when it wasn't on fire or under water. He preferred New Zealand himself, but felt that there was a great future for Australia and that for a young man there would be more opportunity in Australia than back in England. However, he would not be able to let me go without getting a replacement, for the ship was still on a war footing and needed three R/Os.

After mentally going over the pros and cons, I finally decided that Sydney was the place for me to be. I called in on the "Mother of Many" and told her I had made up my mind to settle in Australia. "Good" said she, and got me to sign an array of forms and letters which she had already prepared. "I'll get this lot rolling and with any luck you will get your discharge before your ship leaves".

Back on board the "Glenartney" the Carpenters were still dismantling the accommodation in the 'tween decks. When all was ship-shape and back to normal, we sailed in ballast, up the coast to Newcastle. There the "Glenartney" entered the port's largest floating dry dock on 8th November 1945. The hull badly needed to be scraped clean of barnacles and marine growth prior to being painted with an anti-fouling compound. The dry dock was just large enough to take the "Glenartney" and the Newcastle Sun published photographs of the "Big Ship in Newcastle Dock". With her hull spruced up, the "Glenartney" left Newcastle and headed back to Sydney to take on cargo for Canada and the UK.

Days passed, but no word came about my discharge. Hardly surprising, the Ministry of War Transport would have to approve of it and the Shipping Company. There was also the question of finding a relief.

I couldn't for the life of me see how it could possibly happen before we were due to sail. Nor did it happen and the "Glenartney" sailed for Vancouver in the latter half of November with me still on board.

The scenery in the approaches to Vancouver Harbour were spectacular. Small islands dotted the waterways and all the hillsides were heavily wooded. Huge rafts of hundreds of logs, tied together, were being towed by small tugs to the sawmills.

It was winter time in the northern hemisphere and when we arrived at Vancouver it was freezingly cold with snow lying about and the ground so hard that your footsteps rang when you walked along the pavements.

In the evenings, hospitality was offered to us by the Flying Angel Club and those of us who managed to get ashore were introduced to a few members of the local populace. I chummed up with a lass who lived at New Westminster and was taken to her home to meet her family.

While we were sitting down eating a meal in a room warmed by a slow combustion stove, someone suggested that a cup of coffee might go down well. The younger daughter of the house went off to prepare the coffee and came back with a glass contrivance containing water. To my utter consternation she placed the glassware straight down on the glowing hot plate on the stove. To try and save it from cracking I shot out of my chair and snatched the glassware off the stove.

Everyone was startled by my actions and asked for an explanation. I said I was trying to save the glassware from destruction. To my surprise they all burst out laughing and took the percolator - for that is what it was - out of my hands and put it straight back on the stove. They then told the naive me about the mysteries of the inner workings of coffee percolators and why, when the outer casing was made of Pyrex glass, it wouldn't crack when subjected to sudden heat. They never let me forget this episode and every time they made coffee someone would say "Get ready to grab it David" and we would all laugh.

The "Glenartney" was almost ready to leave Vancouver when the Captain sent for me. "Got some news for you. The Agency has received advice from Head Office that you are to be transferred to the "Fort Duquesne". She will be Sydney bound and after arrival there you will be discharged. Better start packing your gear. You will be signing off tomorrow and your replacement will be coming aboard in the morning. You seem to have luck on your side, for I never expected your release to come through so quickly." "Thank you Sir. Perhaps Head Office wanted to be shot of me." "Could be, could be. Anyway off you go."

I went and told the other R/Os the news. The Chief already knew having been briefed earlier by the Captain. "You jammy bugger - how did you manage to get off the hook so quickly?" I had no real idea, but could only assume that the "Mother of Many" knew all the right strings to pull, the correct buttons to push and the necessary authorities to approach. Be that as it may, somehow my application had gone through, and to top it off, I was going to work my passage over to Australia instead of having to fork out for a fare, and that was a real blessing.

1. Details from "The Forgotten Fleet" by John Winton, page 319.
2. Details from "The Forgotten Fleet" by John Winton, page 309.
3. Details from "The Forgotten Fleet" by John Winton, page 324.
4. Details from "The Forgotten Fleet" by John Winton, page 331.
5. Details from "The Forgotten Fleet" by John Winton, page 334.

Chapter Eleven.