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An autobiography of a Radio Officer in the British Merchant Navy during World War II
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"Telemachus"
28/10/43 - 10/2/44.
A whole week quickly passed, then a second went by followed by a third. No word from Head Office. This was the longest leave I had ever had. A fourth week passed, still no telegram.
We used to receive two and a half days leave pay for every month we had been on Articles, so my ten days leave pay for the four months I had served last voyage, had long since been spent. Fortunately I had a few bob tucked away and the "rent" at home was minimal.
It was always difficult to know how to budget your money when on leave. Should you spend up big early in the piece in case you soon got called back, or be frugal and try to make the few quid last longer. If you chose the latter course and were sent for early, then you still had money in your pocket, but you would have missed out in taking the girlfriend to shows that you could have seen.
By the end of the fourth week I was getting a bit concerned. Was Head Office teaching me a lesson for objecting to returning to West Africa by making me wait, unemployed and payless, for a ship? If so, how much longer could I hold out without having to tell my father that I was short of funds.
I remembered that Head Office had told me that I might have to wait for a ship if I did not go back on the "Lycaon", so I guessed that that was the case and in all probability I wouldn't be going back to West Africa.
My cash reserves were really low. I had been paying my father back the advance that he had lent me to buy my uniforms two years ago and I had only just finished paying off the loan. Mum had had a stint in hospital and Dad had mentioned how useful my monthly repayments had been in helping to pay the bills. Hardly the most propitious time to broach the subject of my pecuniary difficulties. The problem was solved next day. I was summoned to Head Office, given a railway ticket and told to proceed to Dundee. There, I was to join a brand new ship, the "Telemachus". Well, here was a surprise and a step up in the world. From serving on the tatty and ancient ladies, "Antilochus" and "Lycaon" I had been allocated to the most fashionable beauty in the Company's fleet.
The "Telemachus" looked anything but glamorous when I arrived on board. There was the usual dockside activity of stores and equipment being taken aboard, but added to that, the ship was swarming with welders; riveters; carpenters; electricians; painters; plumbers; glaziers and even firemen to quell any minor conflagrations caused by the welders. There were Naval gunnery and degaussing experts on deck, not to mention Customs Officials and a bevy of Bowler Hatted types representing the Ship Builders and Head Office. The ship was draped in electrical cables; hoses; ropes; scaffolding; steel cables; riveters' portable forges; welding generators; gas bottles and pots of paint. Only one thing was missing - there was no coal dust. The "Telemachus" was a motor ship of 8263 gross registered tons, and as such, consumed diesel fuel, not coal.
I made my way to the Wireless Room where I met the Chief and 2nd R/O. The latter showed me around and took me down to our quarters. After what I had got used to on the other ships, here was luxury indeed. Big wide full length bunks, plenty of floor space, cupboards, a dressing table with drawers and a tall fixed mirror, a good sized wash basin with running hot and cold water. No scungy tin tank under the basin to catch the slops, this basin was fitted with conventional plumbing. Another mirror and shelf were above the basin. A huge porthole that you could easily climb through in an emergency and a handle welded outside the porthole to assist you in wriggling out. The cabin was panelled in wood, and had a curtain over the porthole. Another curtain could be pulled across the doorway should you prefer to use that, rather than shut the door. The door was louvred and had a large loose panel that could be removed to give you an emergency exit if the door should jam shut.
Later that morning, the 28th October 1943, we went ashore, signed on and had lunch ashore. The catering facilities on board were not yet fully operational and no meals would be served until breakfast next day.
There was still hectic activity on board when we got back. So many last minute things to be done, and so little time for them to be completed. The Bowler Hatted brigade looked grim and foreboding as they conversed with foremen shipwrights and emphasised what still needed to be done by pointing and prodding with their furled umbrellas.
Come dinner time there were fewer artisans about and the clutter was somewhat reduced. There is inevitable chaos with a new ship - to start with, few of the crew knew for certain just where anything is. Sure, you have a general idea, but until you have actually located a particular item and checked it out, you could not be positive. Much of the equipment was far more modern than the gear I had been using. I spent a fair bit of that first day locating things and trying them out.
The lifeboat transmitter, for example, was a case in point. Instead of the familiar great gut bursting suitcase, the "Telemachus" had a "Gibson Girl", so called, because its fancy curved shape resembled the figures of a group of chorus ladies of World War I vintage! The transmitter was bright orange in colour and was designed to be strapped between your knees when sitting in a lifeboat. Power was generated by turning a handle on the top of the transmitter. Also located on the top was a morse key, several switches and instructions.
In theory, you turned the handle with your left hand and used your right hand to operate the morse key. Rather like trying to perform that game that children play - rub your tummy in a circular motion with one hand while you pat the top of your head with the other.
It was a virtual impossibility to single handedly transmit a message with a "Gibson Girl". You could get the stiffly turning generator going nicely, but as soon as you pressed the key the load came on, and that made it much more difficult to turn the generator. As you keyed your message, the load simultaneously came on and off the generator and that upset your rhythm in turning the handle. Drop the revs, and the "Girl" just didn't transmit.
Small wonder then, that some boffin had designed and built into the contraption, a device that could automatically send out several selectable types of distress messages, while all you had to do was crank the handle using both hands. This had the advantage that anybody, even on their own, provided they were physically capable, could operate a "Gibson Girl". If you really needed to send messages, giving details of your position etc, then it needed two of you to achieve a readable transmission. One person to provide the brute turning power and another to operate the morse key.
The "Gibson Girl" was a whole lot easier to carry, was more robust and not dependant upon batteries which became exhausted after a few transmissions.
When evening came we took turns to go ashore for a meal. There was not really very much for us to do on board other than the usual routine typing of the lists for "Boat Stations" "Action Stations" and "Fire Stations". Still, there was always the chance with all those Head Office types around there might be something that they wanted to check, or perhaps the Captain might require some typing done. Better that we were to stick around instead of going ashore - just in case.
By morning, many of the workmen had finished their tasks and departed. Shortly after breakfast we left the fitting out basin and moved out to anchor in the Tay River. There the Naval experts fine tuned the degaussing coils, thick electrical cables that were fitted around the ship's hull and neutralised the ship's natural magnetic field, making her less susceptible to magnetic mines.
Once the degaussing was finished, the Compass Adjuster had his turn. While a tug slowly swung us around our anchor and lined the ship up with various markers on the shore, the Adjuster made corrections to the magnetic field around the compass by adding to or taking away small bar magnets from compartments surrounding the compass housed in the binnacle.
In addition to the more conventional magnetic compass, the "Telemachus" had a gyro-compass. This device had advantages and disadvantages. The advantages were that "slave" or repeater compasses could be linked to the master gyro by electric cables to any point in the ship. The "Telemachus" had a repeater in each wing of the Bridge, which made the tasks of taking bearings just so much easier for the navigating officers.
The disadvantage was, that after being shut down in port, it took some hours for the gyro's flywheel to build up to maximum revolutions and for the needle to settle down and stop hunting to and fro for North. Once it had lined itself up, all went well, and only a power failure or mechanical breakdown would upset it.
Something else that I had not met before, was the smoke detector. Air samples were continuously sucked from each level in the holds and other parts of the ship. The samples were ducted by small diameter pipes all the way up to the wheel-house where they terminated in a glass fronted cabinet. Each pipe was numbered to correspond with a diagram which showed the layout of the pipework. To indicate that each pipe was functioning, small captivated celluloid balls wobbled about in the airstream flowing from the individual pipes. If there was no air issuing from a pipe then the corresponding ball did not move and indicated that something was amiss. Smoke coming out of any of the pipes warned that there was trouble in the relevant area.
After lunch we started to undergo the acceptance trials. The ship sailed up and down the measured mile at various throttle settings to check whether she came up to the specifications laid down in the contract. She was down to her marks, laden with water ballast to simulate a full load of cargo. The "Telemachus" passed her tests with flying colours much to everybody's relief and particularly the Bowler Hatted brigade.
As soon as the "Telemachus" was tied up at a cargo handling wharf the Bowler Hats settled in the passenger lounge with the Captain, Chief Officer and Chief Engineer to sign documents and wet the ship's head.
The next few days were taken up in loading cargo. Nothing much for us to do, but I discovered that brand new brass is not easy to polish. Apparently it takes months of rubbing before the surface gets truly smooth and really gleams. At nights I went ashore and spent my last few shillings by going to the pictures.
One afternoon the Captain sent for the Chiefs of each Department. When the Chief R/O got back he said to the 2nd R/O and myself that the Old Man was not satisfied with the standard of dress on his ship. He had said that his ship was not a tramp steamer and therefore battledress was not to be worn in the Dining Saloon. In particular he disliked my navy blue polo necked sweater and he never wanted to see it again - ever. At meal times we were to wear our full uniforms, but a white polo necked sweater under our coats would be acceptable.
Well, that edict was going to make life a little more difficult on two counts. One, it meant wasting time getting changed before and after meals, and two, it was going to increase my laundry in as much that I was going to need more clean white shirts. We all grizzled a bit, but the 2nd R/O came up with a revelation. The ship was fitted with a couple of drying rooms located in the funnel housing and heated by the exhaust pipes. Hang up a dripping wet shirt in one of them, and by the time your watch was over, it would be bone dry. That at least was something and it would have been absolutely marvellous if drip dry shirts had existed in those days.
It has been said, that an old ship is a happy ship, while a new ship is an unhappy ship. This aphorism is based on the fact that an old ship has proved herself, her crew know her idiosyncrasies and her capabilities. A new ship is an unknown quantity. No one knows for sure just how well she will perform, or where her strengths or weaknesses lie. The crew do not know each other, nor to what extent they can depend upon their mates. Above all, Head Office demands that the ship shall perform better than expected, and because of that, each man is under continual pressure. No one relaxes, everyone is edgy, the atmosphere is tense, small wonder that there is an undercurrent of unease.
To add to our joys we had a number of nuns included amongst the dozen passengers who had come on board. Sailors are a superstitious lot and apart from Jonahs (people with each eye of a different colour) who were always regarded as unlucky, anyone connected with religion was considered to be bad joss. So there we were, an unhappy new ship with, as the Bos'un put it, "A flock of bloody penguins on board."
Actually, it was the nuns who gave us our first few laughs, but not to their faces. We had sailed, and by dinner time that night we were well out of the sight of land and heading north to skirt the tip of Scotland before making for the Atlantic. Because of our speed, some 15 knots, we were travelling independently and not restricted to the speed of the slowest ship in a convoy.
One of the nuns at the dining table asked where the ship was going to tie up for the night? As there was no land about did we drop anchor as soon as it became too dark to see where we were going?
To their credit, not one officer permitted a flicker of amusement to cross his features. The Chief Officer, on getting the nod from the Captain, explained that we did not stop at night and that even if we wanted to do so, anchoring was out of the question for the water was too deep for our anchor chains to reach down to the seabed.
The nuns were amazed, but still puzzled. How could we tell where we were going? Did we use lights to find our way? Did some of the crew have to stay awake all night to keep the ship moving? The Chief Officer did his best to enlighten them of the true state of affairs and the Captain spoke with considerable emphasis on the danger of a light being exposed at night time.
In fact, he took advantage of the opportunity and made it very clear to all the passengers that they must each evening make sure that their porthole deadlights were securely fastened.
The following day we were well out into the Atlantic, and as there was a bit of a sea running, the ship was dipping her bow into the water and rolling with quite a lively motion.
The "Telemachus" had a hull shaped quite differently to that of my previous ships. Instead of being box like with a point at one end and a rounded stern, the tapering for her bow commenced just forward of a line level with the Bridge. Likewise, she started to taper towards the stern from a point just aft of the boat deck. No doubt her streamlined figure helped her to cleave through the water, but it made her more inclined to corkscrew through rough water than the other two ships. Took a bit of getting used to, and the nuns were not finding the motion too pleasant.
Only one "penguin" appeared for lunch. She expressed the comment that she and her sister nuns were surprised that the ship rolled so much. On being asked "Why?", she replied that since the ship was new, they did not expect it to roll, and that that affliction should only occur in ships of riper years.
The Chief Officer did some more explaining, and to those of you who would rush to the nun's defence, let me remind you that in those days stabilisers were not yet invented, and in any case, the "Telemachus" was primarily a cargo vessel, not a passenger ship. No profit minded ship owner would have spent good money on such an unnecessary luxury as stabilisers.
We R/Os had far less work to do as the ship was not in convoy. There was no additional watch keeping or signalling to be done on the Bridge, but we did have more radio signals directed to us and they had to be decoded. Mostly they were concerned with telling us to which of a number of prearranged positions we were to head for next. Naval H.Q. rarely knew exactly where you were, for we never broke radio silence, and unless a warship spotted us and informed them, Naval H.Q. just estimated where we should be and advised us if they thought we were heading towards danger.
Today, it would be a different story - satellites - eyes in the sky, could tell you the exact position of any ship on any ocean.
We did have a couple of extra chores though. The "Telemachus" had amongst her armament, two anti-aircraft devices, known respectively as "Pig Trough" and "F.A.M.s". Both were fired by pressing electrical switches on the wings of the Bridge. Our task was to daily check that the electrical circuits and batteries were functioning correctly.
"Pig Trough" was a rack of fourteen 2" diameter rockets. Mounted vertically in two rows of seven projectiles. The head of each rocket contained an explosive charge equal to that of a hand grenade. The rack was slung in gimbals, so that no matter how much the ship rolled the rockets always pointed straight up. As the rockets could not be aimed in the true sense, "Pig Trough" was a purely defensive weapon, and was only of use against an aircraft flying directly over the ship.
In the event of such a happening, an officer had to judge the right moment to press the firing button to launch the fourteen rocket salvo straight up and hopefully, at least one of the rockets would strike the enemy plane.
I believe that some ships did have success with "Pig Troughs" and it would have come in handy in dealing with the dive bombing attacks on the "Lycaon".
"F.A.M.'s" - Floating Aerial Mines - the conception of these monstrosities must surely have been spawned in a nightmare suffered by the late Heath Robinson. On each side of the ship was a ten foot tall, almost vertical, rocket launching rail, in to which you placed a 2" rocket. The rocket towed a stirrup which in turn was attached to the conical top of a bright yellow canister some 2½ feet tall and about 8" in diameter.
In theory, this is what was supposed to happen when you were about to be strafed by an attacking aircraft. At the appropriate moment the firing button was pushed, the rocket screamed into the air towing the stirrup, canister lid and some hundreds of feet of piano wire plus a mine at the wire's end. Having reached a height of a couple of thousand feet or so, a parachute emerged from the canister lid and supported the wire with the mine dangling below. The rocket and lid took themselves off and played no further part.
It was then the attacking plane's turn to get into the act. If it did the right thing, one of its wings should have struck the vertical length of piano wire and the resultant shock caused a second, but smaller parachute to emerge, upside down, from a compartment located in the lower half of the mine. The two parachutes would then be towed along by the plane, but because the upper and bigger chute created more drag than the lower one, the mine was hauled up to the plane's wing where it exploded and blew the wing off. No, I am not kidding, these weird contraptions did really exist. Whether they ever succeeded in bringing down a plane I have my doubts.
Rockets are strange creatures and behave quite contrariwise, in as much that they veer into the wind instead of drifting with it as do bullets and shells. They take off slowly and quickly build up to a maximum speed. Shells have their maximum velocity when they leave the gun barrel and gradually slow down.
We learned very soon that if a decent wind was blowing across the ship when the F.A.M.s were fired, one of the two rockets would tow its piano wire across the aerials and cut at least one down. That was annoying enough, but it could be worse. Sometimes the aerials survived, but the rocket left in its wake the mine and hundreds of feet of piano wire entangled in the aerials. That necessitated the aerials to be lowered, the piano wire to be cut away and the mine tossed over the side.
The mine was fitted with a wind arming device. In other words, it would not go off until a little propeller, fitted to its casing, had made a prescribed number of revolutions. Normally, its flight through the air armed it, but when it got hung up in the aerials and dangled there, no one knew for sure whether it was ready to go off or not. What to do? Lower the aerial smartly so that the mine hit the deck fairly hard. If it went off, it obviously had been armed and some dents in the deck and loss of some paintwork proved it. If it didn't go off then it presumably was not armed and could be approached with caution and cut free with a pair of wire cutters.
No one particularly relished this task, and fortunately it rarely happened for if we knew that there was to be a test firing, we lowered the aerials beforehand.
A couple of weeks in the tropics made the F.A.M.s useless. The heat and humidity upset their innards to the extent that the contents of the canisters became stuck together and when the rocket fired, the whole lot took off en masse, and heading skyward vanished from view.
We were on course for South Africa and as we sailed southward the weather became warmer and pleasant. The Captain commenced taking a daily walk about the boat deck as soon as he had finished his breakfast. I used to pass him on my way to the Dining Saloon.
One morning, as we met, I bade him the usual "Good morning Sir". His response - "And what pray, makes you think it is a good morning?" - took me aback and I hastily concocted platitudes about the clement weather. My remarks were greeted with a "Humph!"
I proceeded to breakfast. Afterwards, I discussed the occurrence with the other R/Os. General opinion was to the effect that the Old Man must have been suffering from a bout of S.O.L., otherwise known as liver lurgy or the hepato-faecal syndrome.
The following morning was overcast and when I passed the Captain, my comment "Not much of a day, Sir" did not improve his humour at all. "When I want a weather report, Mister I will ask for it!"
On the third day, having been counselled by the other R/Os I passed the Captain without saying anything. "Just a minute Mister. Is it not customary to greet your Captain in the morning?" "Yes Sir" "Then why did you not do so?". "Sir, my remarks on previous occasions apparently caused you displeasure and I thought therefore that you might prefer that I remain silent". "I demand respect. In future you will greet me accordingly". "Very good Sir".
The situation was bothersome and I did not know how to handle it, so for the next two mornings I avoided the boat deck and went down to the saloon via another route.
That worked fine until he intercepted me in an alleyway. "Good morning Sir". "Have you been trying to avoid me Mister?" What would you have said? I took him head on. "Sir, you did not like it when I greeted you with a "Good Morning", nor did you approve of my comments on a dull day. You have made it clear that you do not wish me to pass you without a greeting. I am at a loss to know just what you require of me, therefore I have deliberately kept out of your way to avoid giving offence." "Hurrumph!" And there the matter ended - or did it? Were the seeds sown for what was to eventuate later in the voyage.
The ship arrived at Cape Town and when I was free to go ashore, I went and visited a family whose address had been given me by my dancing instructress. My impressions of Cape Town were that it was a very bright and clean city, so different to grey dingy old Liverpool. A noon day gun was fired daily and a one minute's silence observed, when everything stopped in remembrance of the fallen in World War I.
One thing bothered me. The treatment of the coloured population by the whites. Whites had plenty of the best of everything. Blacks got the worst end of everything and not much of that either. Segregation applied where ever you went. "Whites" this way. "Blacks" that way. Even seats at the bus stops were marked "Whites only" or "Blacks only". To me, it was unbelievable the way the coloured population were bossed and bullied about. Resentment was smouldering and I felt that to live there must be akin to camping on an active but dormant volcano and not knowing when it was about to erupt.
The family I visited lived in a luxurious flat overlooking the bay and down in its gardens was a swimming pool, built amongst the rocks skirting the harbour.
One evening I was having a swim in the pool and had been diving into the water. No one had mentioned that the bottom of the pool was uneven and so, on my last dive I was unlucky enough to hit a protruding rock with the bridge of my nose. Nothing serious, just gave me a jolt and knocked a bit of skin off. The only problem was that it made my nose bleed both internally and externally. The internal bleeding stopped quickly, but checking the external flow proved to be difficult. However, we finally got it to settle down with some vaseline and a cigarette paper.
By the time I was back on board the bleeding had stopped, but both eyes had puffed up a bit. I turned in. Next morning a middy woke me. "Sparks, what ever happened to you?" I didn't understand what he was getting at until I saw my pillow. The nose had resumed bleeding during the night and there was a fine old mess on the sheets and pillow.
On looking in the mirror, I could understand the middy's concern. My face was streaked with dry blood and both eyes were half closed. I cleaned myself up and went for breakfast.
As bad luck would have it the Captain was still present. "Been in a fight have you Mister?" "No Sir" "Hit with a bottle were you?" "No Sir - I struck the bottom of a swimming pool" "Humph - a likely story - see the Surgeon after breakfast". "Yes Sir".
Later, Sawbones gave me the once over. "Bit of skin missing, some bruising, not even a busted nose, but it might be a little bent. Swimming might help to reduce the swelling but don't try dredging any more rocks".
At lunch time the Captain made remarks to the effect that he expected his officers to behave like gentlemen and not to get themselves embroiled in fights in pubs. In future, any officer so engaged, would be refused any further shore leave and he glared at me.
That night I went ashore to see my friends and to have another swim. The daughter of the house was most indignant when she heard that the Captain did not accept my explanation for my appearance. Her father was a friend of the local Admiral and she would see to it that my Captain was put right about that matter, and while she was at it, she thought it would be a good idea if I was to have the weekend off and accompany the family on a trip up into the country. I could rejoin my ship at another port if it sailed meanwhile.
I was more than happy to have my reputation reinstated, but to have a weekend off was out of the question. There was cargo paper work to be done, and if the ship sailed, watch keeping to be kept. If I was not there the other two R/Os would have all that extra work to do. No, it would not be fair, and if it was granted, I would never hear the end of it for the rest of the voyage. I wondered if I had convinced her, for she was a very determined person and was used to getting her own way.
Two days later the Captain went ashore for a meeting and returned by lunch time. During the meal he addressed those present. "It would appear that our junior operator has friends in high places. Is that not so Mister?" "I believe so, Sir" - (So the Admiral had been briefed) - "You are fond of swimming too I understand". "Yes Sir" - (Oh no, not the weekend in the country) "I gather your friends have a swimming pool at their place. Such luxury. You are a fortunate young man." "Indeed so Sir". There the matter came to a halt. What a relief, no mention of a weekend thank goodness, but the Captain had more or less admitted that he knew what had happened at the pool.
The "Telemachus" finished her business at Cape Town and sailed to Port Elizabeth. The padre from the Flying Angel Club came on board with some comforts for the crew and an invitation for us to get a soccer team together so that we could play a match against some of his local boys. "No excuses now", he had plenty of boots, jerseys, shorts, socks etc and he would be back just after lunch with his van to pick up our team.
One of the Mates was given the job of trying to find eleven men who had played soccer and were still fit enough to run around a football field. He managed to rustle up nine fellows of varying ability and in desperation to get the required eleven he had to conscript me and another rugby player. Since we knew little about soccer, we were told to play in the fullback positions. We were to let no man get past us, were to boot the ball, whenever we got it, to the other end of the field, whatever we did we were not to let our hands touch the ball or get hold of the opposition.
The padre duly arrived, we got kitted up and climbed into his van. We were driven to a pretty hard baked football field where we met the padre's team, some of the local lads, great big negroes, with superb physique, glistening muscles and bare feet. No boots for them, their feet were tougher than any boot made!
I do not remember too much about the game, and I suspect that we were soundly thrashed, but there was one incident I do recall. The other side's goal keeper in clearing the ball gave it an almighty towering kick. I estimated that it was going to land just ahead of me. If I let it bounce, it would pass miles over my head so, I should have either trapped it or headed it. My lack of skill ruled out the former option and I suspected that thinness of skull would be revealed if I attempted the header. I tried something else. I ran forward and kicked the ball on the full as hard as I could. The result was most satisfactory. There was a resounding "smack" as leather met leather and the ball soared high into the air, even higher than it had gone on its way to me. Away it went, all the way back to the goal keeper. Everybody thought it was hilarious, particularly the negroes, for the kick left me hobbling around for a minute or two while the circulation returned to my foot. It took two days for the imprint of the boot laces to fade from my instep.
That night at the Flying Angel Club we were introduced to some of the local white lassies. I struck up a friendship with one, and on New Year's Eve we went to a picture show and afterwards walked up to the top of a headland where we could look down on to the harbour and see the ships.
Fireflies, which I had never seen before, flitted through the bushes, switching their lanterns on and off. At midnight the ships blew their whistles or sounded their horns while "Sixteen bells" were struck. "Eight bells" for the passing of the old year and a further "Eight bells" to welcome in 1944. Distress rockets and flares have an expiry date and old stock were always saved for such an occasion. The sky was soon lit up with red rockets and parachute flares.
We sailed on and moved further up the coast to Durban and thence to the ports of Lourenço Marques and Beira in Portuguese East Africa. One afternoon, just before I came off watch, a middy popped his head through the Wireless Room door. "The Old Man wants to see you on the Bridge as soon as you are off duty" "OK - any idea what he wants?" "No, haven't got a clue". "Thanks, I'll be there". Most peculiar, the Old Man never sends for me, only the Chief. Wonder what he wants?
I duly arrived on the Bridge. "Sir, you wished to see me?" "No, I have no wish to see you, but I did send for you. You Mister have committed a crime!" "Sir?" "Think about what you have done and then confess". Nothing of a heinous nature sprung to my mind, and my blank expression prompted the Captain to say "Well Mister, what have you to say?" "Nothing Sir" "Then think about it" and so saying he walked over to the other wing of the Bridge.
I stood and thought, racked my brains but could turn up nothing, for once, my conscience was clear. What was the criminal offence I was supposed to have perpetrated? Quarter of an hour went by and the Captain came back to my side of the Bridge. "Well Mister?" "Sir, I cannot recall any wrong doing". "Continue to think then". "Sir, in five minutes I am due to open the Library for the passengers". "Very well, go about your duties and report to me in my cabin as soon as you have closed the Library. I will expect your answer then."
I scuttled off the Bridge and went and attended to the passengers' requirements. My mind was only half on the job, for I was upset and worried by the Captain. I was beginning to suspect that he had attended the same school that had trained Torquemada of the Spanish Inquisition.
The Library half hour passed all too soon and again I stood before the Captain and still without an answer. "Very well" said the Captain, "Let me refresh your feeble memory - what did you do at 12:30 pm?" "I went to lunch Sir". "And how did you go to lunch?" "I walked from the Wireless Room down the internal stairway to my cabin and - " "Wait! What did you do on the staircase?" What did I do on the staircase? Ah, Oh, yes. "I passed the 2nd Mate Sir". "And what did you tell him?" "I told him that we had just received a radio message, were busy de-coding it and that he could expect another change of course." "Very good Mister. You have now admitted that you have divulged the contents of a message. You have broken the law in as much that you have not preserved the secrecy of correspondence as is required by the Postmaster General in accordance with the Merchant Shipping - Wireless Telegraphy Act of 1919. An offence punishable by a jail sentence. Now Mister, what have you to say?" "Sir, it is customary, for all incoming messages to be sent to the officer on watch, and as the 2nd Mate was about to resume his watch, I thought he should be made aware of the fact that we had just received a message that was going to concern him". "That is not the point. I overheard you. A passenger could have overheard you. Anybody could have overheard you. You broke the law and I shall consider having you put ashore in Cape Town and jailed". With that I was dismissed and went to the Wireless Room to seek solace.
There was not much comfort to be had. True, I had not divulged the content of the message, only indicated that it existed and what it probably contained - a technical point and perhaps arguable. The fact that it was customary to send messages to the officer of the watch was probably irrelevant and certainly not covered by the Act. We thought that the Captain was perhaps bluffing and getting his revenge for the swimming pool episode. We were still batting the subject about when the Captain sent for the Chief R/O.
When he came back he said that in future the Captain wanted to be given each and every radio message we received before anybody else. He would decide who needed to know about the contents. "He wants to see everything?" "Yes". "Including signals that can't possibly affect us?" "Yes." "At all hours?" "Yes." "You are having us on!" "No. He was adamant - everything to him as soon as received."
For three days we kept the midshipmen busy running with messages from the Wireless Room to the Captain's cabin. Messages about ice bergs on the loose; storm warnings and weather reports from all over the world; sunken buoys; submerged wreckage; distress signals from ships thousands of miles away; failed lighthouses and beacons; new reefs; uncharted rocks; dangerous bars; magnetic anomalies and very rarely, a message that did concern us.
The Chief Officer got annoyed. What were we doing, taking up so much of the midshipmen's time? The Chief R/O explained.
At the end of three days and pretty sleepless nights, the Captain changed his mind and said that all messages were to go to the officer on watch. None of the mates liked that very much and quizzed the chief R/O. "What's all the garbage you keep sending up to us - stuff that you must know has got nothing to do with this ship?" "Sorry about that, - Captain's orders". "We will have to get that changed - bloody ridiculous, waste of paper and manpower - doesn't he trust you fellows to discard what is of no concern to us?" It took a few days, but things did revert to normal.
Lorenço Marques and Beira were neutral ports. At each place the local British Consul Official came down to the ship and presented us with lists of pubs, shops and places we were not to frequent, especially those marked with an "X". British seamen had been known to visit them and had never been seen again. We were not to go ashore wearing uniforms and had to don civvies. Whatever we did, we were to avoid trouble, steer clear of any situation where a brawl was taking place and above all, we were to resist the temptation and NOT to attempt to haul down the Nazi Flag at the German Embassy.
Neither port was really inviting, but I did go ashore one night with a couple of the middies and a junior engineer. One of the middies had no civilian socks, so he had overcame the problem by talking the Bo'sun into letting him have some green paint to cover his calves and ankles. It looked fine at the time, but it began to crack in a day or two and peeled off, taking a fair bit of skin with it.
We headed back to Cape Town. Nothing further had been said about my going to jail and I, least of all, was not going to raise the question. I wanted to buy a bottle of Van der Hum to take home to my folks, but somewhere along the line I learned that it was not permissible to take alcohol out of South Africa.
I mentioned to my friends that I was disappointed about the Van der Hum and not being able to take a bottle home. The daughter of the house, ever a stirrer, said that that was preposterous and that we would have to evolve a plan to overcome the problem. We did just that, and here is how I became a smuggler for the first, and I hope, last time.
On my final visit, my friends drove me down to the dock side and parked on the road some twenty yards from the Customs gates leading to the wharves. I climbed out of the car, laden with bags of fruit; cakes; biscuits; razor blades; toothpaste; new underwear; etc., and walked up to the Custom Officers. While the officers rummaged through the bags, I was hailed from the car - "Your costume, you forgot your swimming togs." So, saying "Excuse me" to the Customs fellows, I went back to the car. When I got near the daughter threw me my costume, soaking wet, and all rolled up in a beach towel. I caught it, tucked it under my arm and as I sauntered back to the gates, the car drove away.
"That was lucky" I said "I have no spare gear and not too many places allow you to swim in the nude". There were funny remarks made about me splashing about naked and during that exchange, I picked up the bags, made some jocular reply and walked through the gates.
Once on board and safely in my cabin, I unrolled the towel and took a bottle of Van der Hum out of the wet costume. If anyone wanted to know where it had come from, well I could have purchased it in Portuguese East Africa where there were no restrictions. Dad later said it tasted extra spicy, but in future I was not to descend to a life of crime to bring him back a liqueur. After leaving Cape Town we were homeward bound. Our South African passengers were not very war conscious and were rather casual about observing the rules concerning the blacking out of the ship at night fall.
One lady would persist in opening her porthole to let air in, and of course let the light out. The word quickly reached the Captain's ears and straight after breakfast one morning, he summoned all the passengers to the Lounge Room where he warned them of the dangers of exposing lights. He apparently laid down the law in no uncertain fashion and left them in no doubt as to what would be their fate if he so much as saw a glimmer of light coming from their cabins. He, personally, would throw the offender overboard.
That afternoon during Library session one of the ladies spoke to me. "The Captain, he was very rude this morning, such a fuss about a little bit of light! Threatened to throw us overboard! Is he always like that?" "No madam, not always. Today is one of his milder days. As for his threat of throwing you overboard, I can assure you that every member of the crew would be equally willing to do just that to anybody who leaves a porthole open and exposes a light. Do you realise that you could be putting the ship and all our lives at risk?" "Oh yes, I heard all that this morning, but I took it with a grain of salt!"
I spread the word and from then on, extra patrols were made to ensure that the passengers' portholes were tightly secured all through the night.
A few days out from England, the Captain sent for me. Oh, no! Was he going to have me jailed in England? "Young man, you were educated at a private boarding school?" "Yes Sir." "Not everyone has been as fortunate as you and been provided with such an expensive education." "No Sir." "I did not have such good fortune." "No Sir?" "You passed your University Entrance Exams and no doubt took English". "Yes Sir." "How was your English?" "I received a credit Sir." "Good. Now, you may or may not know, that my ship has been adopted by a school. I want you to write a letter to the pupils letting them know about my fine ship, my crew, my cargo and what life is like aboard my ship. Prepare the letter in my name and if it is satisfactory, I will sign it." "Very good Sir. Might I ask a question Sir?" "What is it?" "The children Sir, if you can tell me what ages they might be, I will try to couch the letter appropriately". Once that was settled, I was told to go and get on with it.
Back in the Wireless Room I concocted an epistle and the other R/Os assisted by making suggestions, both proper and improper, as to how the draft could be improved. While we were engaged in this pursuit, it occurred to us, that not infrequently, various Captains, Chief Officers and Engineers, had in the past sought our help in preparing reports. While their hand written notes contained the facts, the grammar was sometimes astray and the prose needed a little polish. As a matter of course, we made the necessary corrections when typing up their manuscripts.
Happily, the Captain approved of the letter and having read it through carefully a few times he applied his signature. I did not go to jail and I didn't see him again for some years. When I did, it was quite by accident.
The war was over and I no longer served in the Merchant Navy. Purely by chance I was taken aboard the "Telemachus" by a friend who wanted to see an old shipmate of his. We sat around having some drinks and reminiscing. The Captain's name was mentioned - the very same Captain was still Master of the ship, but this was his last voyage and he would be retiring once the ship reached Liverpool.
I mentioned some of my encounters with him, and that brought up the suggestion that I ought to go and pay him my respects. The very idea gave me the creeps. They egged me on and assured me that the Old Man had changed from the tyrant he had been and was now quite harmless.
I know sailors' humour, so I was very hesitant. However, after I had taken on board some more Dutch Courage they persuaded me to visit him. With visions of being strung up from the yard arm, I hesitantly knocked on the Captain's door. I was bade enter, and there before me was a man broken in spirit. Gone was the over bearing, pompous manner. Gone was the "My ship; my crew; my cargo," attitude. Here was a man, his lifetime career about to conclude. He had made no plans for the future. He was metaphorically sailing into uncharted waters and expected a maelstrom to devour him. He quizzed me about life ashore. He was extremely worried. All his life he had been at sea and for many years everyone had been at his beck and call. He was about to lose all that power and become a nobody. What was he to do? He had no interests other than the ship and that was about to be taken from his command.
I made a few commiserating remarks and tried to offer helpful suggestions. But no, he was deep into the slough of despond and unless he ever got expert counselling, I doubt whether he would have lasted a year once he had swallowed the anchor. I found it hard to believe that a man could have changed so much. There he was, sinking fast like a ship that had been torpedoed amidships. I bade him farewell and returned to my friends.
Chapter Nine.