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An autobiography of a Radio Officer in the British Merchant Navy during World War II
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"Lycaon" For the Third Time
1/6/43 - 28/9/43.
On the first of June 1943, just five days short of my twentieth birthday, I rejoined the "Lycaon" and of all the lousy luck she was headed back to West Africa. Just what I did not want, another brush with the malarial mosquitoes and weeks of the stinking muggy heat.
Nothing worthy of note happened on the voyage down to West Africa. The convoy plugged along with the occasional sub scare, but no ships were lost, nor any subs sunk.
Late one afternoon, I had just had a shower and was all nicely lathered up for a shave when the bells clamoured for "Action Stations". Taking a towel and life jacket, I sprinted barefoot for the Bridge. Half an hour later, having been the butt for rabelaisian remarks, had my shaving soap "set" on my face, and got decidedly chilled in a stiff breeze, the "All clear" sounded and I was able to return to my ablutions.
Freetown, Accra, Takoradi and Apapa were just as they were last voyage. The heat and humidity every bit as overbearing. Malaria began to strike down members of the crew and I too succumbed to another attack.
There was one small comfort in all that purgatory, someone had discovered that the human body, which has difficulty in absorbing quinine, will do so more readily, if a tot of rum is taken at the same time as the quinine.
The Company, not usually renowned for its generosity, at least came to the party in that instance, and so each day, shortly after we had left the UK, we were given our daily dose of quinine plus a tot of good overproof rum. Marvellous stuff. Guaranteed to lift you from the depths of despair, especially if like me, you managed to get a double issue. How come I got two tots? Simply because my room mate could not abide rum, and preferred to take his chances with the malaria parasites.
We went to more ports on this voyage, and just to make life a little more complicated, we kept taking on cargo and then discharging it at the next port or so. To keep the records up to date with the incoming and outgoing cargo we R/Os were kept busy drawing up the ever changing cargo plans. There were at least three copies of each plan, one for Head Office and one each for the Stevedore and the Chief Officer.
The crayons I had bought in New York were a godsend. Do your colouring in the conventional manner. Rub over the crayon work with little pieces of blotting paper to smooth out the lines and then go over the colour with a damp paint brush. The result, a lovely flat bright colour that did not smear or block out the Indian ink used in describing the nature of each section of cargo.
Amongst the local cargo, we carried on deck a herd of cattle. I doubt whether the R.S.P.C.A. would have approved of the method of loading and discharging the animals. The cattle arrived in deep sided lighters which tied up alongside our ship. Native boys carrying rope snotters (short endless circles of rope) walked about on the animals backs and looped and secured the snotters over the beasts' horns. Three animals at a time were hooked together and lifted by the ship's derricks and swung on board.
A cow hoisted by its horns looks ridiculous at the best of times, but three cows in a bunch, their bodies crushed together and their necks twisted awry was not a pretty sight. Sometimes in their struggles an animal's horns would accidentally penetrate anothers hide. To my surprise, only one beast had to be put down.
Cattle have a distinctive smell and to me, not that unpleasant, but to the West African flies it was a joy and delight and they arrived in numbers that almost equalled those of the mosquitoes. Above the lowing of the herd was a continuous audible buzz of countless beating wings. Once we had delivered the cattle, we collected a deck cargo of goats. There is nothing like having a herd of goats just outside the Dining Saloon, the "pong" was so strong it completely obliterated the taste of whatever you were eating.
Remarks were made about the "Lycaon" becoming an ark or a mobile Zoo, and that prompted someone to narrate a tale about a Radio Officer and a tiger.
Apparently a Blue Funnel ship had loaded a consignment of animals and birds for transport to a Zoo. Amongst the animals was a magnificent male tiger. Instead of it being confined in a small cage, it was contained in a room up in the forecastle. There were steel bars facing the deck and a metal door to give access. In accordance with instructions, all the animals were fed and watered daily and their cages cleaned out. But no one, naturally enough, was game to go near the tiger other than to shove meat through the bars with a pole and to pour water into its drinking trough.
Now tom cats, as we all know, can produce the most unpleasant odours. Tom tigers do the same thing only proportionately more so. The Radio Officer, a kindly soul, felt sorry for the tiger cooped up in the room, and as no one was game to go near it, the smell became horrific.
Sparks armed himself with a fire hose and approached the tiger's quarters. He had the hose turned on gently and let the water flow into the tiger's room. The tiger showed interest and came to the bars to see what was going on.
It wasn't long before Sparks found that the tiger loved playing with water, so the water pressure was turned up a bit, the room hosed out and the tiger had a shower bath. After a few days of these aquatic sports, the tiger and Sparks were getting along famously. The tiger apparently not only liked the water, but he also enjoyed a bit of company and used to press his body against the bars and allowed Sparks to stroke and pat his body and tickle the back of his head and ears.
Sparks thought it would be good if he could get into the room and change the straw in the tiger's bedding. While people outside kept guard with the fire hose, Sparks, carrying a broom opened the steel door and entered the room. No problems. The tiger just sat and watched proceedings while his bedding was changed. By the time the ship reached port the two of them had become firm friends.
The Zoo Authorities arrived, took the other animals away and put a small cage down on the deck outside the tiger's quarters. The idea was to open the door to the room and get the tiger to enter the cage. All sorts of elaborate precautions were taken to prevent the animal's escape. The only thing that went wrong was that the tiger retreated to a far corner of the room and refused to budge. So the officials lifted the cage off the deck and put it back on the wharf, hoping that the tiger might be more co-operative after they and the tiger had eaten lunch.
Sparks came into lunch late and the meal was almost over when an excited Zoo Official burst into the saloon, said that the tiger had escaped and was on the loose.
Everybody started to head for the door except Sparks who said "Are you sure? Have you checked the cage on the wharf?" The Zoo Official scooted outside, but was back in less than a minute. "The tiger is in the cage! How did it get there?" "It walked" said Sparks.
Further interrogation revealed that Sparks, taking advantage of the peace and quiet of lunch time had entered the tiger's room, put a rope round its neck and with very little coaxing had led the animal along the deck, down the gangway, across the wharf and into the cage. All that fuss, noise and pandemonium in the morning had frightened the beast, said Sparks, all it really needed were little bits of meat and some tender loving care.
The Zoo Official had difficulty in believing what had happened. The Captain was not amused and gave Sparks a lecture about being foolhardy and the risks he had run in putting his life and that of others in jeopardy, plus the chance that a very valuable animal might have escaped and caused all sorts of turmoil.
Life was ever thus - do someone a favour and get a clip over the ear as a reward.
Back to the "Lycaon". We proceeded to Libreville in French Gabon and there we struck a problem with the currency. The ship's agent came aboard with the money supply and we three R/Os set about doing the currency conversions. One Engineer wanted to get ashore in a hurry so we gave him his allowance ahead of everybody else. Just as well we did, for he was back on board very quickly and came to see us in a state of agitation. What sort of money had we issued to him? The French speaking shopkeepers would not accept it and refused to do business with him.
Not speaking French he could not make head or tail of what they were saying or why they were waving their arms about. Equally puzzled we rang the agent.
The story we were told was that there was to be a change in the local currency and that the money we had been issued was to be no longer legal tender after midnight that night. The shopkeepers should accept it, but perhaps, because the bank was closing shortly they might not want to be stuck with it. We had a few words with the agent, none of them too polite. If he did not get a supply of negotiable currency down to the ship pronto, we would enlighten enlighten the crew as to the circumstances and let them take if from there when they discovered that the money he had provided was worthless.
We frantically recalled the money we had issued and waited for the agent. A somewhat sheepish individual arrived fairly quickly, exchanged the old currency for the new and raced off to the bank before it closed.
It was a Friday afternoon, the bank closed early, and would not reopen until Monday. We were to sail on Sunday and if it had not been for that Engineer, we would have all been caught with worthless money in our pockets.
The agent's defence was that at the time of the issue, the currency was still legal tender and therefore he had committed no wrong.
In the confusion with the double issue of unfamiliar currency and everybody wanting their allowance as soon as possible, we somehow dropped a stitch and handed out too many francs to somebody and consequently ended up short. We had a fair idea of where we had made the mistake and later asked the individual whether he had received more francs than he had expected. He denied it. There was nothing we could do about it, and we had to make up the loss. It cost the three of us roughly one week's pay each.
French was one of my weaker subjects at school, and school boy's French bore little resemblance to the language spoken by the shopkeepers of Libreville. Nevertheless I managed to buy some nylon stockings and a bottle of Van der Hum to take home.
Van der Hum was a South African liqueur much enjoyed by my parents. It was also worth a fortune in wartime England. A bottle of that liqueur on the black market could fetch £30, about three months basic pay. Tempted I might have been to sell a bottle, but since we were allowed to take into England only one bottle of spirits per voyage, my parents always got the Van der Hum.
Further down the African coast we entered the mouth of the Congo River. A river so large and deep that it is navigable, for vessels of up to 10,000 tons, for a distance of some 250 miles inland to the town of Leopoldville. At times, the river was so wide that you could not see the low lying banks, and on other occasions, the deep channel passed close to the tree lined shores and monkeys could be seen in the trees.
We were six degrees south of the equator, the weather was hot yet I was shivering away. Another attack of malaria, not violent enough to confine me to my bunk, but sufficient to make me rest and not take too much interest in what we were passing.
Actually I did not miss much, for most of the time, apart from low lying banks there was not a great deal to see. Somewhere along the river we passed the spot where a great uncle of mine was drowned when his ship capsized, many years before I visited the Congo.
Leopoldville is in the Belgian Congo and there, the native labourers were fairly smartly dressed in comparison to those of other West African ports. The Belgians ran the port in a teutonic style. Discipline was strict, but fair, nothing slovenly about the wharf and the cleanliness was in marked contrast to the other ports. We loaded ingots of lead and some general cargo.
One evening I went ashore for a stroll. The nights were quite cool and pleasant after the sauna bath atmosphere of other ports. Some of the natives sat huddled under blankets in front of wood fires playing home made musical instruments. One such instrument was made of wood, perhaps a discarded cigar box, on which were mounted strips of spring steel of various lengths. The musician held the box in both hands and with his thumbs, depressed and quickly released the unmounted ends of the spring steel strips. The resultant sound was not unlike that of a Jews Harp, but the "boing" of each note was crisper.
Flying around the few street lamps near the wharf were moths. Huge insects with furry bodies twice the length of a man's thumb and a little wider. Their grey-brown wings were each the size of a hand and their eyes, like jewels, reflected the light from the lamps. Becoming disoriented from flying round the lights, they would spiral downwards and were easy to pick up and examine.
We left Leopoldville, sailed back down the Congo and commenced the return voyage via Apapa, Takoradi and Freetown.
It was in one of these ports that a native cargo handler had an accident. The ship was discharging 44 gallon drums of oil, six at a time, gripped by their rims by hooks that slid along chains. A labourer did not get one of his hands clear before the drums started lifting, and had the hand trapped between the ends of two of the drums.
The first I knew of the incident was when a middy came to the Wireless Room where I was working on cargo plans. As the Surgeon was ashore, would I please open the Surgery and fix up a bloke who had cut his hand a bit. I obtained the keys and opened the Surgery door just as a native, escorted by the middy arrived.
The man's hand was wrapped up in a most unsavoury looking singlet. I sat him down and unwound the cloth. Not too much blood, but I was horrified to find that the "bit of a cut" the middy had let me to expect was more serious. The pressure of the drums had cut across the palm just below the wrist and as the drums had lifted, the flesh had been peeled back in one piece to the tips of the fingers and thumb. There the flesh hung dangling off the fingers like half a glove. The mechanics of the hand were exposed revealing sinews and bones, but seemingly on a superficial examination there was no major damage. The wound was mostly clean, only a little dirty at the commencement of the cut so I gently folded the flesh back into place, cleaned off the dirt and lightly bandaged the hand.
A lot of stitching was needed to sew the palm back in place, and I not being a very good seamstress wasn't going to do the job. That was a task for the local hospital a mile or so away, I sent the middy off to see what transport was available.
The native was suffering from shock and had turned grey instead of black. He kept gesturing for a drink, so I offered him some water. That was not what he wanted, he had in mind something stronger and pointed to medicine bottles to get his idea across.
I knew the local rules - no alcohol to be given to the native populace - so I poured him out a generous slug of Sal Volatile. Poor unsuspecting soul, he thought it was going to be something pleasant. He got it down in one swig, instantly realised it wasn't what he expected and called me some very uncomplimentary things in French.
His colour began to return, but whether it was due to the Sal Volatile or his rising temper I never found out. I fitted him with a sling.
The middy returned and as luck would have it, he had managed to intercept a rare commodity, a taxi, and had talked the driver into standing by. So while the middy took the injured man ashore to put him in the cab and told the driver to charge the account to the ship's agent, I locked up the Surgery and went back to the cargo plans.
The next thing I heard of the matter was when a very irate Head Stevedore came banging on the door. Who was I to send one of his men ashore to hospital and in a taxi of all things! He was furious. One of his men with a little scratch sent to hospital and in a taxi no less. Never before had he heard of a native labourer travelling in a taxi! I did my best to quieten him down and explained how the injury was beyond my limited first aid capacity. He was not to be easily soothed and kept ranting on about the taxi.
Word must have spread about the ship concerning the rough time I was having in the Wireless Room, for a middy arrived with a message that the Chief Officer would like to see both of us in his cabin.
We entered the Mate's cabin. The Stevedore was offered a drink, which he accepted. The Mate heard my side of the story and then I was dismissed. Later, the Stevedore emerged from the Mate's cabin, perhaps a little unsteadily, but certainly in a better frame of mind.
After a while, the Mate sent for me again, and suggested that in future, in similar circumstances, it would be better if I didn't go full steam ahead off my own bat, and got an employer's approval before sending one of his employees off to hospital.
The end result would probably be the same, it might take longer perhaps, but at least protocol would be observed. Only in a matter of life or death should I proceed without authority.
We finished loading palm oil, cocoa and coffee beans and sailed in convoy for England.
There was at least one good thing about West Africa that I remember. The coast stations had native wireless operators whose ability with a morse key was fabulous. Perhaps their wonderful sense of rhythm helped, but their morse was fluid and easily read - copperplate morse. You could be taking it down at 30 plus words a minute with comparative ease. Their morse must have been some of the best in the world, and for all I know, may still be so.
In convoy, there was the usual morning routine of burying the dead, but once again we lost no one on the "Lycaon".
All went well until we were off the Bay of Biscay when a small black dot appeared above the horizon. It gradually and warily approached and then circled around the convoy at a safe distance. It was a Folke Wolfe Kondor long range bomber. Not there to bomb us, but fitted with extra fuel tanks instead of bombs, its job was to shadow the convoy and report back to base information about the ships in the convoy, our course, speed and details of the escort.
There was not a thing we could do. We had no aircraft carrier, no C.A.M. ships and we were far beyond the range of our shore based fighter aircraft. The bomber kept well out of the range of the escort's guns. We plodded along while the bomber slowly went around and around and around the convoy hour after hour.
Later in the day its mate arrived and the two of them went round for one lap together, exchanging gossip before the first bomber headed for home. We all knew full well what the shadowing portended. The Germans were plotting our course, informing their U-boats and trying to get the submarines into position so that we could be subjected to a wolf pack attack.
Wolf pack attacks had been highly successful, six to a dozen or more U-boats would simultaneously attack a convoy. Their numbers were often greater than that of the escort vessels and when that happened their attacks on a convoy could be devastating.
The second bomber was still there at dusk, but not at first light in the morning. However, it was not long before a F.W. Kondor appeared and the shadowing recommenced. Someone called it up with an Aldis lamp and wished it "G.M" (good morning). A reply came back "G.M.H.H.". Later when it was relieved it flashed "G.B.H.H." (Good bye. Heil Hitler).
The second bomber would not acknowledge an afternoon's greeting and remained aloof. The following day the first bomber was back at dawn and exchanged greetings. Later in the morning some wag had a bright idea and flashed a message to the bomber. "You are making us dizzy. Please go round the other way". The mighty plane dipped its wings left and right in acknowledgment, turned and went round the convoy in the opposite direction.
That was the third day of the shadowing, the attack must surely come soon, most likely that night. We all slept uneasily, fully dressed and ready for the worst to happen. Most unsettling to be expecting a massive attack and not knowing when it was going to commence.
Unexpectedly nothing happened, and come the dawn there was no sign of the bomber. The planes did not appear all day and we never saw another one until we got nearer home, and that one turned out to be a friendly Catalina flying boat come to give us protection.
We could only guess that the Germans had been unable to muster a group of U-boats in time to make a concentrated attack and that the convoy, like the "Lycaon" was just lucky.
We arrived back in Liverpool almost four months after our departure and I signed off on the 28th September 1943. During my interview in Head Office, it transpired that I was to rejoin the "Lycaon" for a further voyage to West Africa. Now I had heard rumours that it was not the Company's policy to send men on more than two consecutive voyages to that awful place, particularly if they had suffered malaria.
I decided to put the rumour to the test, for in no way did I want to go back to West Africa. I reminded my interviewer that I had just done two trips to West Africa, was having attacks of malaria and was not in the best of health. - my thin and gaunt appearance supported my statement - would it not be possible for me to be transferred to a ship with another destination.
My request was received with tut tutting and teeth sucking disapproval, followed by remarks about such a suggestion being most inconvenient for everybody. It was unlikely that another ship would be available for some time. I was not to hold out any hope for a transfer and as always I was to be ready to go to sea at a moment's notice. In the meantime I could go on leave and make every effort to restore my health, as the Company did not employ malingerers!
Chapter Eight.