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An autobiography of a Radio Officer in the British Merchant Navy during World War II
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"Glenartney"
13/3/44 - 25/12/44.
Elvira was expecting me when I rang her front door bell. My reception was, as usual, warm and welcoming plus some sympathy for the somewhat difficult time I had had with my skipper. She turned me towards the light and had a good look at my nose. She found that it had, and still has, a small dent on the bridge and was slightly skewed to the left. She reckoned that while the accident had not done much harm, it unfortunately had not improved my looks either!
My leave was off to a good start and we made plans for seeing various shows and films. Elvira had done the spade work and knew what was worth seeing and what wasn't. All that remained to be done was to put the shows into the order we would like to see them. There had to be a degree of flexibility, for visits to surviving grandparents, godmother and great aunts had to be allowed for and sometimes the old folk could be a bit over possessive and wanted to detain me. Making diplomatic disengagements to enable me to rendezvous with Elvira was at times extremely difficult, but she, patient lass, understood what the problems were and was most compliant.
Elvira and I had been going steady for some years by now. We had gone through the stages of holding hands in the pictures and the good-night peck. The gentle embrace, had at times developed into a bear hug, and the tentative kiss had blossomed into a real passion rouser. I felt that it was time for further developments and at what I thought was a suitable moment, shifted a hand from her back and gently slid it across a fully clothed breast. That action brought results! But not the ones I was hoping for. Elvira grabbed my hand and planted it firmly behind her back. I was told to behave myself. There was no mistaking the tone, she meant what she said. I let my advances rest. So far, but no further.
However, having been led to believe that members of the opposite sex do not always mean what they say, I decided I would put the theory to the test. I made a second attempt towards the end of my leave. That advance too met with just as much firm resistance as the previous attempt. At that juncture there was seemingly no progress to be made on the amorous front - "Status quo" held the fort.
Radio officers are, in one respect, perhaps fortunate in that they frequently get longer periods of leave than some of the other officers. There is less for them to supervise, maintain, have repaired, and not so many stores to check on board. They are regarded as a necessary evil, required by maritime law, and non profit earning - unless they serve aboard a large passenger liner in peace time. From the Company's point of view, the less time they are on the payroll, the better. We might have got slightly longer leaves, but as a consequence, we also had less opportunity for earning money.
Three weeks had passed since I had signed off the "Telemachus" when a telegram arrived and instructed me to report to Head Office. A visit to Head Office could be full of surprises and this one turned out to be no exception. A return railway ticket to Glasgow, a living allowance, some food coupons and the address of a boarding house were handed to me. My instructions were to get myself to Glasgow and report to the Admiralty Signal Establishment, Sherbrooke House to undertake a five day course. Upon completion of the course, I was to get back to Head Office as soon as possible. I enquired as to what sort of course I was to undertake. Enlightenment was not forthcoming. All I had to do was to stop asking questions and to shift my carcase northwards on the first available train.
Glasgow was a grey sombre city and many of the inhabitants spoke with such broad accents that I had difficulty in understanding their speech. The boarding house had but a few lodgers, mostly seafaring types like myself. For the most part, we remained aloof. If you do not talk much you are less likely to be giving away any information to strangers who presumably were on your side of the war, but who on the other hand, just might be enemy agents.
My room was sparsely furnished. A boarding school type of bed with horse hair mattress, chest of drawers, wardrobe, and a chair. A basin and jug of cold water, soap dish and towel were provided for washing purposes. Breakfast and dinner at night were adequate, but nothing to write home about. Still, it was war time and at least fish seemed to be plentiful in Glasgow.
At the Admiralty Signal Establishment I was issued with a special pass and sent to a lecture hall. There were only a handful of people undergoing the course and we were told that what we were going to learn was top secret and that on no account were we to discuss what we saw and learned with anybody outside the establishment.
The five day course was to be intensive and for reasons of urgency, had to be so. What we were about to study was usually spread over a period of six months! We students must have looked a bit non-plussed, for the instructor then added, that as we all held Radio Certificates of varying proficiency then at least we all understood and had a working knowledge of matters pertaining to radio transmission and reception. There was an audible sigh of relief.
"Gentlemen, you are about to be introduced to the mysteries of Radar. (Radio Detection And Ranging). Up to now, Radar has only been installed on shore based locations, capital ships and some other vessels in the fleets. In future, all Naval vessels will have radar fitted as soon as equipment becomes available. Some merchant vessels are also to have radar installed. You are probably aware, that the Battle of Britain would have been lost if it had not been for the fact that our limited number of fighter aircraft managed to be at the right place at the right time to intercept the German bombers. Radar, gentlemen, directed them, and without radar we would not have won that vital battle. Now, let's get on with it."
For five days we were lectured and given demonstrations on equipment. We took no notes - in case they might fall into enemy hands - nor did we have any homework to do, for the same reason. All we had to do was to sit there like sponges and absorb all that we were told and shown. The evenings were our own, and after lectures, once we had been searched, we were allowed to leave the establishment and head for our billets.
There wasn't much to do in Glasgow at night time during the war. Leastways, I only discovered some picture shows and a variety theatre. I was fortunate in that I had been given the address of a friend of one of my parents' neighbours and I wasted no time in getting in touch with her. She was a grand friendly soul, a few years my senior, and quite the life of a party. We spent some evenings going to cafés for a bite to eat, for she needed some sustenance after working all day, and then we would take ourselves off to the cinema.
There was a shortage of men in Glasgow at that time, and those lassies who did not have an escort used to space themselves one seat apart in the picture theatres so that, with any luck, a single male might select a seat next to them. Within moments of being seated, he would be offered, from both sides, cigarettes, lollies or a dip into a bag of Smith's potato crisps. A very easy way to establish introductions, especially as smoking was permitted in the cinemas and the act of lighting a cigarette in the dark gave you the chance to give the donor a quick look over. The disadvantage was, that if a pair of you entered a cinema, it was difficult to find adjoining seats.
The course finished on a Friday night. I reported to Head Office on Saturday morning. Entertained Elvira over the weekend and on Monday 13th March, 1944 I signed on board the "Glenartney", a motor vessel of 8991 gross registered tons - it was to be her 13th voyage. Strangely enough, the figure 13 was to feature over and over again during the voyage. Probably we were all on the lookout for the number, but we did seem to encounter it on an extraordinary number of occasions. We berthed at wharves numbered 13 at several ports, dockside cranes would be numbered 13, we would be the 13th ship to do this or that. We would arrive or depart on dates bearing the unlucky number. Details elude me now, but because the number 13 turned up so frequently, with no adverse effects, it came to be regarded as a lucky omen instead of the reverse.
The "Glenartney" was a modern ship and was being built when war broke out. She was damaged during an air-raid in March 1941 whilst docked in Liverpool. On April 6th 1941 in company with the armed merchant cruiser "Cormorin", the latter ship caught fire and had to be abandoned. The weather conditions were atrocious at the time with a heavy swell driven by gale force winds. In spite of the shocking conditions "Glenartney" managed to rescue 109 survivors while two destroyers, H.M.S. "Broke" and H.M.S. "Lincoln" picked up 180 and 121 seamen respectively. Twenty souls were lost.
The "Glenartney" in December 1942 had taken part in one of the famous Malta convoys. The convoy was repeatedly bombed but the "Glenartney" was not hit. As a memento, the "Glenartney" carried a teakwood shield which had been presented to her by the grateful people of the island. With a history like that behind her, one wondered if, like the "Lycaon" she too would be lucky and bear a charmed life. We shall see.
There was the usual dockside commotion when I went on board. A few artisans pottering about putting finishing touches to this and that. The cabin I shared with the 2nd R/O was almost as sumptuous as that of the "Telemachus", and the Wireless Room had similar equipment. It was located at the after end of the boat deck.
The "Glenartney" was the first ship in the Blue Funnel Line to be fitted with radar and the set was located in a special tower forward of the funnel. Head Office had told me that Lawrence Holt had spent £5,000 in purchasing the instrument, and that the other two operators and I were fortunate in being given the chance to look after such a valuable piece of equipment. To emphasise just how valuable it was, and to get my view into perspective, it was pointed out to me, in no uncertain manner, that the machine cost more than twenty times my annual earnings. I was also given the impression that Junior R/Os were expendable, radar sets were not.
Once I had settled in and gone through the routine task of finding out where everything was located, the Chief R/O said "Go up to the radar, warm her up and get it ready for when we sail later today. What ever you do, don't touch the red switch!" The switch to which he referred, would trigger off a small charge and destroy some top secret components that were on no account to fall into enemy hands.
I took the key for the Radar Room and opened it up, and walked into the small cabin. It wasn't fully ship-shape and there was a bit of tidying up to be done. No major problem, just some boxes of spares to be placed in the store room below, bits and pieces of off-cuts of wires to be picked up, some loose wiring on the bulkhead to be secured - shore side electricians never seemed to finish a job properly.
I had turned the room light on and looked around for the main power switch for the radar set. There it was, as it should have been, on the far bulkhead. I sat on the operator's chair and reached over to the switch and turned it on. "Bang!" I nearly died of fright. I had destroyed £5,000 worth of radar! Why wasn't the switch painted red as it should have been?" Badly shaken and ashen faced I left the Radar Room, locked it and went to confess to the Chief R/O. I was worried sick. The disgrace of damaging a brand new radar was bad enough, but the thought of having to pay for it was terrifying. Blue Funnel practice was that anything you damaged through thoughtlessness or carelessness was to be made good at your expense and I had seen a few examples of that.
The Chief R/O reacted calmly - I had expected him to hit the roof. "Take it easy" he said. "The same thing happened to me this morning. The shore-side electricians stuffed up some wiring. They were supposed to have fixed it and obviously have not done so. You blew a main fuse. The radar will be quite OK - come with me".
We went and located the electrician and the Chief R/O goaded him into correcting the offending circuit. That done, we both warmed up the radar, - a twenty minute task - and got it operating. I was that shaken I was hardly game enough to throw a switch.
By modern standards, the early models of radar were large cumbersome creatures. Ours was no exception. Below the Radar Room was a store room almost as big as the Wireless Room. It was stuffed full of boxes of spare radio valves, components and co-axial cables. The Navy in its wisdom issued lashings of spares in quantities directly opposite to your particular requirements - as we were to discover.
Above the store room was the Radar Room in which the operator sat. Facing him on his left was a tall grey cabinet housing the power supply, plus the rectifying valves, the transmitter and receiver. Directly in front of him at eye level was the 6" diameter Cathode Ray Tube which glowed green when the set was switched on. Slightly to his right a shaft came down from the deckhead. At shoulder height there was a handle attached to the shaft. Turning the handle made the cheese head aerials in the lantern above the radar room, rotate through 365° - a full circle plus a little bit extra.
Modern radar sets rotate their aerials mechanically and the return echo signals are electronically plotted on a Cathode Ray Tube. Your ship is shown as being in the centre of the tube face and displays objects at various distances and bearings from the centre of the tube. Thus, you can see at a glance where everything is in relation to your position - leastways, that's what theory would have you believe.
Our set worked quite differently. Our Cathode Ray Tube displayed a green horizontal line across the diameter of the tube. Our ship was always on the extreme left of the screen and the far right hand side of the screen was the limit of the radar's range. A scale on the screen enabled you to read off distances, and bearings engraved on the aerial shaft showed in which direction the aerials were pointing.
When your outgoing radar beam struck an object, the reflection would be shown on the Cathode Ray Tube as a vertical spike rising from the horizontal line. The bigger the object, the better the echo, the more obvious the spike. Trouble was, that every wave gave a reflection and created a spike. The horizontal green line became a series of undulating little green spikes that oscillated up and down. As the effect was somewhat similar to a cross section of a lawn, this phenomenon was referred to as "grass". Picking the echo spike of a ship out of the "grass" was easy, but the echo from a periscope was well nigh impossible to spot amongst the "grass".
Another short coming of the early sets was that it took a while to swing the aerials around. You were "blind" for 355° around you, while the radar was "looking" out over a 5° arc.
We had Naval ratings to operate the set, while our task was to keep the beast functioning.
Above the Radar Room was the perspex lantern housing the aerials. Access to the aerials was made by climbing a vertical steel runged ladder inside but at the back of the Radar Room. By opening a hatch in the deck-head above the ladder a manhole was revealed. Squirm through that and you were in the lantern where at a pinch it was just possible to squeeze two of us, provided we let our legs dangle down through the manhole.
There was just enough height in the lantern to permit sitting and kneeling, but standing was out of the question. It was not possible to get into the lantern at all unless the aerials were turned to face away from you.
The magnetic fields in the proximity of some components were remarkably powerful. Any watch taken within a few feet of the set stopped. The hairspring would have become magnetised, contracted into a tight spiral and ceased to function. Watchmakers could rarely figure out what had happened to a watch so affected and we were not at liberty to enlighten them. Modern battery driven digital watches would perhaps not be bothered by magnetic fields, but even so, I wouldn't be taking them close to an apparatus that could pull a steel screw driver out of your hand from a distance greater than a foot. For making adjustments and repairs we used tools made from non-magnetic materials.
We sailed as an independent ship and headed out into the Atlantic. The Captain and the older Mates were not too sure about the radar. How could that new fangled contrivance "see" things that they could not? They were sceptical and were very cautious about trusting it. However, once we were clear of the land and all on our own, there were times when we picked up "echoes" of ships that were over the horizon and reported their presence before the watch keeping officers on the Bridge saw them.
Slowly they became convinced that the radar did work, but the first time we ran into fog their confidence evaporated and they slowed the ship right down. The Chief R/O pleaded the radar's case in vain and the ship continued to crawl along. However, we picked up an "echo", took evasive action and the fog lifted enough to reveal the other ship some miles away, just where the radar indicated it to be. From then on, it was full speed ahead, fog or no fog, unless we were sailing in confined or busy waters.
The radar set, like so many new pieces of equipment, had more than its fair share of teething problems. The Chief and 2nd R/O were kept busy servicing the beast and I had to relieve them from normal watch keeping duties while they worked on the radar and kept it functioning.
In bad weather, when the ship was rolling, the operators found that turning the aerials had its difficult moments when you tried to turn them against the roll of the ship. Turning them "up hill" was hard work, but when the ship heeled over the other way it was all too easy, and if you relaxed and let go of the turning handle, the weight of the aerials spun the geared handle round and round and cracked it against your fingers and knuckles.
We reached the Panama Canal without any drama, filled our bunkers with diesel fuel and took on fresh water. The passage through the canal followed the same procedure as I had seen previously on the "Antilochus", except for one variation. As soon as your ship had passed through a lock, winches on the lock sides, hauled up huge nets that had been resting on the lock's bottom. This was a precaution to check that you had not dropped or released any explosives that would go off at a later time and put the lock out of action.
The Americans were merely being cautious. To have had the locks sabotaged and the Canal put out of action would have been a disaster for the Allies.
We headed for Australia, but on the way we were to stop at Pitcairn Island. To visit that island once was unusual, but for me to have the chance to see it twice was a bit of a rarity. The weather had been overcast for some days and the navigating officers had not been able to "shoot" the sun or sight the stars. Consequently, they did not know exactly where we were and instead of finding Pitcairn dead ahead, where they expected it to be, we passed to the south of it.
We headed north and then doubled back on a parallel track. The radar operators picked the island up before the navigating officers and it wasn't too long before the islanders' boats were alongside and the ship was swarming with curio sellers.
I recognised one or two faces from the previous visit, but was taken aback by one of the islanders who not only remembered seeing me before, but recalled my name and that of the ship I had been on previously! Sure, they don't get visited by many ships, but even so, they must have seen hundreds of faces a year and to recall one, put a name to it, and say on which ship he had previously seen it was no mean feat of memory.
As on the previous occasion, we did not stay long and soon resumed our journey to Australia. I was looking forward to visiting Sydney again and the memories of my earlier visits were pleasantly fresh.
Once we arrived I wasted no time in calling into the Victoria League Rooms and renewed my friendships with the young ladies I had met before.
The stay in port was hectic. Tallying cargo during the day and sometimes into the night and getting ashore whenever I was able to see my friends. All too soon we sailed up the coast to Brisbane and then returned to Sydney to finish loading a cargo for the Middle East.
My 21st Birthday was coming up and I received two invitations to attend parties to be thrown for me at the homes of two different families. Here was a dilemma. To accept either invitation would have caused a slight to the other family, and since both families knew each other, the word would soon have got around that I had accepted the other's invitation. My Chief solved the problem. "Your night on duty - no shore leave!" And so it happened.
I stayed on board all day and night, but it turned out to be quite a day for it was the 6th of June 1944 - "D-Day". The day the Allied invasion of the Continent began. We R/Os were busy in the Wireless Room gathering all the communiques that we could from all round the world. The Wireless Room was a popular location for all and sundry who wanted to hear the latest war news.
There was a secondary reason too for the herd to congregate, it was my 21st and because of that, it was my duty to "push the boat out" - offer drinks to all hands and the cook. A birthday on a ship can be an expensive business, and my grog bill for that day took a whole month's pay. Lucky that I was able to pick up some extra money by doing tally clerks work, or I would have been flat broke.
One way or another it was an eventful day and happily I had been able to avoid offending any of my friends.
We left Sydney shortly afterwards, visited Melbourne, Adelaide and Fremantle before departing for the Middle East via the Indian Ocean.
Amongst our few passengers was a Free French General, his wife and their children. There were also other French youngsters aboard with their mothers and a Free French Beauty Queen. The latter caused quite a stir when she came aboard, for it was a rare event to have anyone so easy on the eyes to be included amongst the passengers.
The 2nd R/O had a wonderful way with children and it was not long before he, like the Pied Piper, had them following him about. The fact that his ability to speak French, was, like mine, of the school boy variety, caused but a minor hindrance. The children had a smattering of English so although communication was a bit slow, both sides were able to get their messages across.
Talking to their parents was altogether a different kettle of fish. Why is it, that the French, once they find out that you know a few words of their language will persist in speaking quickly and leave you floundering in the morass of verbiage. Your pleas of "Lentement, lentement, s'il vous plaît!" in an endeavour to slow them down, falls on deaf ears and they prattle on, full speed ahead, leaving you to glean very little from what they are saying.
Children make good interpreters. They are not usually verbose and they are quick at catching the main gist of a sentence. So, whenever we had to talk to the parents it was beneficial for both parties to have at least one child present to act as a go between.
We had not been long at sea when the Captain sent for the Chief R/O. He was soon back in the Wireless Room. The French General had made his wishes clear. He could not (or would not?) read or speak any English. Therefore our daily news bulletin produced for all on board was of no use to him. He, not unnaturally, wanted to know how the Allies were progressing on the Continent, so, would we please produce a special bulletin in French especially for him.
That caused a bit of a stir in the Wireless Room while we worked out the best way to satisfy his request. We could tune into French shortwave radio stations, but none of us could take shorthand, and even if we could, our knowledge of French was so poor that we would not have been able to transcribe the verbiage. Nor could we translate the English bulletins into French. We had no French dictionary, so words and phrases like "minefields" "machine gun posts" and "pincer movements" had us flummoxed. Our only hope lay in the chance of finding radio stations akin to "Reuters" which despatched French news services in morse. Locate one or two of those on the shortwave receiver and we would be in business.
One of the great advantages of morse, is that provided a language uses the conventional alphabet, all the receiver has to do is to write down the letters he hears. Whether he can understand what he has written does not matter. All he has to do, is to pass what he has received on to the appropriate party.
The search for news bulletins in French began and it was not too long before we located a couple of stations on the radio. Our first news sheet in French was nothing to get too excited about, but the next day, the Beauty Queen stuck her head into the Wireless Room and offered to help us produce a better version. She could listen to the spoken news casts, make notes and then type out the information she had received. Her English was excellent, so she could also listen to the English broadcasts and make translations. Without her assistance the French General would have only got a fraction of the news sheets that we were able to have ready on his breakfast table.
The French children had a Monopoly set. Each evening straight after dinner, they gathered in my cabin and we played the game until just before 8pm when the 2nd R/O had to go on watch, and I had to get some sleep before relieving him at midnight. As there was rarely enough time to finish a game, we played at a furious pace. Bargaining was done very quickly, usually to the disadvantage of the 2nd R/O and myself. It was a lot of fun and because the children seemed to have difficulty in pronouncing my name, they nicknamed me "The Clock".
Provided children have reached a responsible age and can be trusted not to do anything foolhardy, they can have a wonderful time aboard a cargo vessel. "Hide and Seek" was very popular, for there were dozens of places where one could hide, and the seeker had a difficult time in locating those who were well hidden.
A trip down into the Engine Room always created excitement and by popping into the Galley, the kids were usually rewarded with some biscuits or cake that the cooks had made especially for them. I doubt whether the children ever had a dull moment, for there always seemed to be someone willing to show them how the ship's equipment worked.
The voyage was uneventful until we reached the Red Sea. There, in company with other ships we headed towards the Suez Canal. A sand storm struck us and visibility was severely reduced. There was more "grass" and clutter than usual on the radar, but the "echoes" from nearby ships came through quite well.
Because there were other ships close by, the Captain had ordered one R/O to be on the Bridge ready to use the Aldis lamp to pass messages should the necessity arise. It was unpleasant on the Bridge. The wind was strong and grains of sand and dust swirled about and got into your eyes, ears and nose. It didn't seem to matter which way you faced, the sand forced its way into your clothing and every bodily crevice.
Visibility was poor and when I had to send a message I could not even see the ship I was "talking" to and could only aim in the direction in which I had last seen the glow of his signalling lamp in the enveloping dust. It took time, but I did get the message through before the sand blotted out any further chance of communication.
Some ships after passing through a violent sand storm have lost most of their paint and rust and are down to the bare metal. We were more fortunate and after the storm passed we had lost but little paint. We did have a yellow coating of dust all over the ship and pockets of sand were in all sheltered corners. It took days to clean the ship properly and for a long time after the storm we kept finding sand in the most unexpected places.
We proceeded up the Suez Canal, not much to see except sand and the occasional sign of human activity, and arrived at Port Said. There we anchored and commenced unloading cargo into barges. There was the usual collection of "bum" boats that came along side with pedlars who tried to sell you souvenirs - mostly rubbish. They were a bunch of thieving rogues and unless you kept everything locked up it would vanish, never to be seen again.
One of the Engineers, annoyed at having had some of his personal effects stolen, decided he would have his revenge. He rigged his porthole in such a manner that by pulling on a piece of thin thread, the heavy brass rimmed porthole glass would slam down on an unsuspecting intruding arm. He then climbed into his bunk, pretended to be asleep and waited.
Within minutes an arm came through the open porthole and tried to take the bait - a tin of cigarettes. The Engineer pulled the thread, the porthole glass slammed down, pinning the arm. The Engineer leaped from his bunk, grabbed the arm and forced it down against the bulkhead. There was a yell of pain from the thief and a call for assistance by the Engineer.
When help arrived the Engineer handed over the arm for someone else to hold down while he went out on deck to see what he had captured. The would-be thief was in considerable pain with his arm well and truly caught between two metal surfaces and being forced against one of them by the Engineer's enthusiastic helper.
To call the authorities would take too long and entail all sorts of rigmarole, so the Engineer took the law into his own hands and gave the man a thorough beating before letting him go.
To get ashore, you hired a "bum" boat and had to haggle about the price. It was better if two or three of us went together, that brought the price per person down a bit and also gave us the physical advantage over the owner oarsman should he decide to take you out to midstream and demand more money before proceeding further.
I went ashore for a gunnery course and another session in a "Dome". Port Said had no appeal to me. I disliked the filth, squalor, and ever present swarms of beggars pleading for alms. The touts, who if they were to be believed, could arrange for your pleasure "Virgins, hardly been used!" to old hags, "Very much experienced". Small boys or old toothless men were also available if you were so inclined.
I hated them and had little sympathy for the beggars with festering wounds covered in flies and infested with crawling maggots. They deliberately kept the wounds exposed and infected as a ploy to provoke sympathy and hopefully extract money from you. I was pleased enough when we had finished our cargo work and returned to Australia.
On the way back we had a practice shoot which could have resulted in a nasty accident. The 12 pounder gun on the forecastle had fired one round and was smartly reloaded for the next shot when the D.E.M.S Sergeant noticed that the gun barrel, after firing, had failed to return to its normal position. He immediately ordered "Cease firing" and got the gun's crew and himself out of harms way after turning the gun to a safe angle. Had the gun been fired with the barrel jammed in the recoiled position, there would have been nothing to absorb the shock and the barrel would have torn from its mounting and most likely injured some of the men.
There was a slight possibility that the gun could fire of its own volition if the residual heat from the previous firing could cause the propellant to "cook off". So, it was everybody out of the way for twenty minutes until it was agreed that it should be safe enough to extract the charge and the shell.
That was done without any mishap. However, there was still the problem with the recoil mechanism and until that was fixed the gun was unserviceable. The Naval Hand Book for the gun specified that such a problem was only to be rectified at a Naval base. The Sergeant told the 2nd Mate that he knew how to strip the gun down and make the necessary repairs, but he would need the assistance of some Engineers. Further, while he could do the job OK, no question about that, he would be breaking King's Regulations by doing so, and would leave himself open to a Court Martial.
The matter was discussed with the Captain. No one liked the idea of the gun being out of action, particularly as the Sergeant was convinced that all it needed was stripping down, its internals to be cleaned and greased and a few minor adjustments made. The Captain made a note in the ship's logbook to the effect that the Sergeant had drawn his attention to the requirements of the King's Regulations, but he, the Captain had considered the matter and in view of the circumstances had ordered the Sergeant to carry out the repairs to the gun. Under the Sergeant's guidance the Engineers rigged sheer legs, dismantled the gun, cleaned and greased its vitals and put it back together, less the sand that had got into its system.
The moment of truth had arrived - would it fire properly? There was only one way to find out. The Sergeant got everyone clear of the gun, loaded it and pulled the trigger. The gun went off, the barrel recoiled fully and then slid back to its correct position for reloading and firing. Sighs of relief all round. We were all pleased to have the gun functional again. After all, it was, apart from a 40mm Bofors gun on the poop, the only gun we had that could really discourage a submarine from making a surface attack.
We were having problems with the radar. The coaxial cables leading down from the aerials to the Radar Room broke periodically and we had run out of spares. The continual turning of the aerials through 360° and back again kept twisting the cables first this way and then that. In time, the continual twisting built up fatigue in the single strand copper core in the cable and caused it to snap.
We were getting desperate, we were using our last cables and Australia was hundreds of miles away. It was only a matter of time and then the radar would be unable to function. Theoretically, coaxial cables cannot be repaired. They are made to fine tolerances and any mucking about with the outer woven metal sleeve or the core, causes trouble and the cable won't function as it should. Nevertheless, we decided we would have to try and see if we could repair a cable. First we located the position of the break by using a test meter in conjunction with a heated needle which we probed through the woven metal outer cover and melted a fine hole through the thick plastic insulation surrounding the core.
We had to make a number of these tests before we could locate the break to within an inch or so. Once we were certain where the break was, we slit the outer sleeve lengthways for three or so inches. The sleeve could then be eased away from the plastic. By using a razor blade it was possible to cut away sections of the plastic and expose the broken copper core. We soldered thin strands of copper wire across the break and bridged the gap. The plastic was replaced and rejoined by melting and reshaping it with the soldering iron, and similarly the woven sleeve was soldered back in place. The cable was not so flexible at the repaired section as it had been, and that stiffness probably assisted in keeping the joint intact.
We tried the cable out, and to our relief it worked perfectly. It took time, but we managed to effect repairs on all the broken cables, and with one exception they all worked well.
We arrived at Fremantle and stayed there working cargo for a few days. A Naval Lieutenant came on board to adjust the radar and to see what spares we needed. We told him about the trouble we were having with breaking cables and how we had managed to repair some. He was intrigued to learn of our technique, because other ships were reporting the same problem and as replacement cables were very scarce - he could only give us one new spare - a method for repairing cables was welcome news for him.
To make some adjustments to the radar, the Lieutenant climbed up into the lantern. I followed and we both sat on the lantern floor with our legs dangling down through the manhole. Adjustments were made to the set and the operator in the room below us kept us informed on the quality of the signals he could see on the screen.
The Lieutenant had nearly finished tuning when he accidentally put his hand too close to the high voltage condenser. There was a flash as the condenser discharged, a puff of smoke, the smell of burnt flesh and the Lieutenant collapsed against me.
I called to the operator to close the set down and run for the Surgeon. The Lieutenant was still breathing, but there was not much I could do until help arrived. It was very cramped in the lantern, but I managed to get my legs up through the manhole and got into a kneeling position. That gave more room in the manhole so that the Lieutenant could be lowered from the lantern.
The operator came back plus the Chief R/O and the Surgeon was on his way. It wasn't easy to extricate the Lieutenant, but we somehow managed to work his limp body through the manhole and lower him down the vertical ladder.
By the time we had lain him down on the Radar Room deck the Surgeon had arrived. The Lieutenant was regaining consciousness. The Surgeon gave him some concoction and sent for a mug of tea with plenty of sugar. He also wanted blankets to wrap around his patient.
The Lieutenant looked at his hand. Near the middle of the palm was a burn. "Not too bad" he said with a rueful grin. "Saw a fellow get a worse one the other day - could push a pencil clean through the hole in his hand".
After he had drunk the tea and had his wound dressed the Lieutenant was all for carrying on working, but the Surgeon counselled otherwise. "Better that you rest up on a settee for half an hour and have another hot drink. It could happen that you may get a delayed reaction and shock might set in".
The Lieutenant protested a bit, but finally was persuaded to take the advice. We guided him down below to a cabin where he lay down for a rest. By the time the half hour had elapsed, the Lieutenant had changed his mind about working. He was OK, but shaken and submitted to being sent back to his base by taxi. He was back next morning though to thank the Surgeon and to finish adjusting the radar.
We sailed to various Australian ports, putting down and picking up general cargo. We expected to be going home once we had cleared Sydney, but it was not to be. We finished discharging and then took on a full cargo of wheat for India.
The voyage across the Indian Ocean was uneventful and we called in to Colombo, Ceylon (Sri Lanka) for fuel before heading for Calcutta. Entering Colombo Harbour we passed the superstructure of another Blue Funnel ship, the "Hector", sticking up through the water. The "Hector" had been sunk by Japanese bombers on 5th April 1942 and was resting on the seabed in shallow waters.
Re-fuelled, the "Glenartney" sailed up the Indian coastline to East Pakistan, entered the Hooghly River and sailed fifty or so miles up the river to Calcutta.
The Port Authorities were pleased to see us. Food was scarce in the area - nothing unusual for India - but of five or six ships laden with wheat from Australia we were the only one to have successfully made the journey. The other ships had all been sunk by the Japanese.
I went ashore once, and once only. The heat, humidity and flies were not to my liking. Nor were the beggars who followed you about, or the sacred cows which wandered around and generally added to the confusion by lying down and blocking traffic or helping themselves to foodstuffs in the open markets. Their dung was everywhere to the delight of the swarms of flies.
The insect life was overwhelming and while it might have brought joy to an entomologist, I found it over-powering. At meal times, the only way we found to control the flies was to spread jam on to a slice of bread and pass it slowly around the table to attract them. While the flies occupied themselves by swarming over the jam, one could eat your own meal with only having to contend with a few strays trying to share your food. Continually circling above the wharf areas of Calcutta were hundreds of kites. Large brown birds with voracious appetites. They are by nature scavengers and do much good in cleaning up scraps of rotten food, offal, defunct rodents and other unsavoury items. Their eyesight is as sharp as an eagles. Any sailor seen taking an exposed plateful of food from the galley to his quarters had trouble coming. The birds would swoop down and seize in their talons whatever food they could grab. To try and beat them off was hopeless for they were far too many in numbers. By the time you had fended off a couple of birds, the plate would have been cleaned up by half a dozen of their screeching mates.
Covering the plate of food with another plate was the best way to try to hang on to your meal, but it was not an altogether fool-proof method. The birds well knew where the food was hidden and would buffet the bearer about his head with their wings in an effort to get him to spill the goodies. The sailors eventually went in pairs, one to carry the covered food, the other to beat off the marauders with a broom.
One night, whilst I was sitting stripped to the waist in the Wireless Room working on the cargo plans, a visitor flew in. A huge black beetle a couple of inches long, droned around and finally flew into the fan. There was a "clunk" as the fan blades hit the insect and the beetle fell on to the desk, stunned but seemingly none the worse for the encounter, for it took off again shortly afterwards. The fan suffered a good sized dent on the edge of one of the blades.
Mosquitoes were bad at Calcutta, but the sandflies were worse for they were small enough to get through the mosquito nets and there was no way to stop them biting you. It was a relief when we got away to sea and headed back to Australia.
When you are an independent ship one day follows another with regular monotony. The events of one day blend into those of the previous days and nothing memorable gets recorded on your mind. Happily nothing unusual occurred and the voyage to Australia was quiet and uneventful.
Amongst the Australian ports we visited was the small township of Port Lincoln. We tied up at a long pier late in the afternoon and were surprised to see the number of civilians standing on the wharf watching us berth. We were to be even more surprised when we started to go ashore.
The good folk of Port Lincoln welcomed us with open arms and the hospitality offered was unbelievable. As soon as you reached the bottom of the gangway and stepped off on to the pier, you were invited to somebody's house for a meal. The invitations came thick and fast and social events were turned on for us throughout our stay in the port.
We loaded frozen meat and filled our freezer holds with carcases. We were each given the opportunity to purchase, at cost price, a frozen turkey to take home to England. The Engineers and Stewards managed to arrange sufficient freezer space in the domestic fridges for us to carry the frozen birds.
The turkeys were available in three sizes which I can only describe as being "large", "enormous", and "gigantic". I chose a "large" one, for I had doubts whether anything bigger could have possibly been fitted into the gas oven at home. The provider was disappointed that I didn't take a bigger one and suggested that I could always cut a big one into halves. That seemed to be a bit difficult to me, and as we had no refrigerator at home to keep half a bird frozen, I declined the kindly suggestion and settled for the "large" sized bird.
We left Port Lincoln regretfully. The "Glenartney" had been up till then, the largest ship to visit the port. A great number of the local inhabitants came down to wave us "Goodbye".
We sailed up the Spencer Gulf to Port Pirie where we loaded lead ingots. Not the choicest of cargo in wartime, for lead is very heavy, takes up but little space and leaves a lot of room for water to gain access should you be torpedoed. We felt more at ease after we reached Sydney and loaded wool to fill up some of the empty space.
After Port Lincoln, where we had been run off our feet with hospitality, Port Pirie was relatively quiet and as in most ports, we were left on our own to find friends. For much of the time in port I tallied ingots of lead and copper.
The atmosphere was laden with the sulphurous fumes of the smelting works and at times the air was so foul and acrid that we had coughing fits. The locals thought nothing of it and must, over the years, have developed lungs of leather.
I was fascinated by the local railway line which was laid down the middle of the main street. If I recall correctly, a passenger train only came two or three times a week and stopped right in the middle of the town to pick up or put down passengers. Must have been quite an exercise for the elderly when climbing aboard for there were no platforms.
We did not go home via the Panama Canal after we left Sydney, instead, we headed west, crossed the Great Australian Bight, refuelled at Fremantle and traversed the Indian Ocean to Cape Town in South Africa. We refuelled again and then crossed the Atlantic to New York. There, we discharged and loaded cargo.
The Chief R/O, as usual, went ashore with the Captain on ship's business and he had some news for us upon his return. An officer of the Royal Navy had buttonholed him after a naval conference, led him to a room in company with other R/Os and given him an exam paper to complete! "An exam, on what?" the 2nd R/O asked. "On signalling procedures - you will find out soon enough for you and Junior are both to front up as soon as possible and go through it!" What sort of questions?" we asked. "Can't help you there, I have been sworn to secrecy. However, you had better know your signalling procedures from A to Z and don't forget about dotting the i's".
The 2nd R/O and I hastily quizzed each other on all manner of things relating to "MERSIGS", the wartime bible for all matters relating to signalling for merchant ships. We couldn't consult "MERSIGS" for verification of our answers, because being in port required our copy of "MERSIGS" to be locked away in the Captain's safe along with the other confidential books.
The 2nd R/O went ashore, sat for the exam and came back looking well pleased with himself. He, like the Chief had passed with flying colours. It was my turn. I followed instructions and found the skyscraper where the Royal Navy had some offices amongst a lot of American Navy offices.
The place was swarming with American sailors wearing fathoms of gold braid and medal ribbons. I later found out that American Chief Petty Officers wear at least twice as much gold braid as a full blown British Admiral, and that a ribbon with several bars hanging down from it probably signifies that the man wearing it has managed to shoot straight at target practice, every time he has undergone a refresher course. Chevrons, issued for years of service were massive, and long serving old timers with a lot of service behind them could hardly bend their arms for the gold braid sewn on to their sleeves.
I felt most insignificant amongst all this magnificence. I was totally ignored, not even saluted by lowly ranks, and fortunately managed to find the office I needed without having to make any inquiries.
After establishing my credentials, I was seated at a desk and given an exam paper and told to start answering it. A stopwatch was started. The exam paper was fairly straight forward and I got stuck into it. When I had finished I took it to the Lieutenant in charge. "Finished already have you? Well, let's have a look and see how you have gone". With that, he departed and took my paper with him.
He was back in a few minutes. "You did well, so well in fact, that I suspect you must have been told the answers by your superiors!" I denied such allegations. "In that case, you won't object to sitting for a new paper that no one else has yet attempted?" Of course, I couldn't object, so I had to go through the whole process again.
Some of the questions were the same as in the first paper, after all, there were only so many questions that could be asked about "MERSIGS". That helped a bit, but I put pressure on myself in as much that I wished to prove a point and finish even earlier than I had done on the first paper.
The Lieutenant was mildly surprised when I handed back the paper in less time than I had taken over the first one, and even more surprised to find the result was almost 100% correct. He asked me to wait while he went to consult someone and came back with a sheaf of completed exam papers. "We have been looking through the results of past tests and we find that those Radio Officers who serve on Blue Funnel ships always score well above the average mark. Can you explain why?"
I thought for a moment and suggested that possibly it might be because we were directly employed by the Company and were not hired from the pools of Radio Officers employed by the Marconi or Siemens companies. We were proud to serve on our Company's ships and woe betide anyone who did not deliver his top performance. Every Chief R/O I had ever served under always made sure that his subordinates had a thorough working knowledge of "MERSIGS" and every other facet of his job. I apologised for not scoring 100%, but could only offer the excuse that I was a trifle rusty on convoy procedures, for the simple reason that I had not been in convoy for a long time and had been concentrating on individual ship procedures instead.
The Lieutenant brushed the excuse aside and said that he wished everybody was as conversant with signalling procedures as Blue Funnel R/Os. I enquired as to what happened to those R/Os who were not up to scratch. "Ah, they are treated to a fate worse than death!" I raised an eyebrow. "They are sent to a barracks under the supervision of a fierce old Chief Petty Officer, a real martinet, who eats Sergeant Majors for breakfast. There they stay under the toughest discipline and get trained at all hours of the day and night until they satisfy his standards. By the time he has finished with them they not only know "MERSIGS", they can recite it from cover to cover, backwards or forwards and standing on their heads if the CPO wishes it so. Men who have been through that course come back here looking years older, but they certainly know all about "MERSIGS". There has been a lot of inefficient signalling in the convoys, particularly amongst some of the Allied ships. We are determined to make every R/O an expert. Thanks for coming along. Good luck and a safe voyage".
We sailed a couple of days later in convoy and made our way up to Halifax where we anchored and awaited a convoy bound for the UK. Every time a ship comes into port, the arrival of the ship's agent is eagerly awaited. With any luck he will be the bearer of mail, and letters from home were always welcome. The Chief Steward was always given the bundles of letters and he and his assistant would quickly sort them out and get them delivered around the ship.
Sometimes one would be lucky and get several letters at once. Other times you could be right out of luck and not receive anything. The latter state of affairs always brought doubts to your mind and you wondered if all was well at home or had your folks succumbed to a V I or V II rocket bomb.
At Halifax I received two letters. One from my parents and the other from Elvira. I read my parents news first and kept Elvira's letter for last. Her letter wasn't a long one, just some news to start with and then the surprise packet. She was sorry, but she had found someone whom she preferred to me. It was all off between us. She would not be writing any more and did not wish to see me again. I couldn't believe what I was reading, but there it was in black and white and no matter how many times I read it, it changed not one whit - I had lost her.
The 2nd R/O sensed something was amiss and asked me what was the matter. It was not uncommon for fellows to get bad news of one sort or another and sometimes a sympathetic ear helped to get someone over the worst. He knew of Elvira so I showed him the letter. He did his best to cheer me up. "It's not over yet, we will soon be home and you can go and see her. We have been away a long time and she has probably forgotten how much she loved you before this other character showed up. Chin up and send a cable to her, that at least should show her that you are not just going to fade out of her life."
After dinner that night I tried to draft a cable. I was having no success and I couldn't get the words right. The 2nd R/O and an Engineer offered to assist. We all agreed that for the cable to have any real impact, it would have to be out of the general run of the mill. So, after considerable head scratching we concocted the following message: "RECEIVED COMMUNICATION CAUSING CONSTERNATION STOP HOPE RECONSIDERATION BRINGS RECONCILIATION". That text plus the address and signature just squeezed into the limit for cut rate cables. One word more and the expensive cable would cost more than the few Canadian dollars I had available.
I took the cablegram to the cable office next morning when I had a chance to get ashore. I hoped and prayed it would perform miracles.
Late in the afternoon a high speed launch came out to the ship and two business suited gentlemen came up the gangway and requested to see the Captain. As he was ashore, they settled for the Chief Officer. Within minutes of their arrival a middy sought me out and said that the Chief Officer would like to see me. I reported to his cabin and was introduced to the two men who had come aboard. They were members of the Canadian Mounted Police, in mufti, and had come to ask questions about a certain cable that I had lodged at the cable office that morning. Because of its unusual nature, someone had shown it to a superior who in turn had handed it over to the Special Branch of the Mounted Police!
This was most embarrassing, but there was nothing I could do except explain what the whole thing was all about. The Chief Officer was amused, but the Mounties were deadly serious.
The upshot was that they escorted me down to my cabin, searched it from top to bottom, confiscated all my mail and any photographs of relatives or friends that I possessed. Then we went back to the Chief Officer. They felt that my story was so unlikely that it was probably true. They would not arrest me, at least not for the time being, provided the Chief Officer could ensure that I would remain on board the ship. They would make investigations and have my family and Elvira's family checked out to see if they were any security risk!
They then departed. The Chief Officer gave me a bit of a ribbing and said that I owed him a drink because he had given me a good character reference.
The Mounties were back next day to return my papers. I had not yet been cleared security wise, but in future I was not to go ashore anywhere in Canada. What were they going to do about the cable, I asked. They gave me no assurance either one way or the other, and we sailed for England before I learned whether the cable was going to be despatched or cancelled.
On the voyage to England I got teased about my episode with the Mounties. All sorts of suggestions were made about the inquiries the security people would be making, and that by the time I got home, all my friends and relations would probably be behind bars. I felt miserable and guessed that any inquiry into Elvira's family could hardly bring me into a favourable light.
In a fast convoy, we made good time across the Atlantic,. My godmother was able to tell my mother that I should be home before Christmas and we would have been too, except that the powers that be decided to divert us round Southern Ireland so as to avoid some lurking submarines.
Much of the Irish Sea was a British minefield. The only safe way for a merchant ship to negotiate the narrow unmined channels, was to follow closely in the wake of a leading warship whose position was directed and closely monitored by Shore Based Radar. I had never seen ships keep their stations so precisely as they did during those sessions of "Follow the leader". The safe channels through the invisible mines were but a few ship widths wide and were tortuous to boot.
Each ship made it safely and we docked in Liverpool late in the afternoon of Christmas Day. Elvira had sensed that I was being delayed and had rung my mother to say that I wouldn't be home for a midday Christmas dinner and it would be just luck with the tides as to whether I would be home on Christmas day at all.
Mum planned accordingly and cooked a turkey she had procured for the midday meal. No good in hanging off until night time, there was no certainty that I would be home even then.
Before we left the ship, we were inspected by Customs Officers, the normal and usual procedure. This time though there was one minor difference. Before doing any searching or checking individuals baggage one Customs Officer made an announcement. " Bird seed! We are aware that it is becoming a habit for sailors to bring in quantities of bird seed for selling to pet shops. We are putting a stop to this practice. Each of you may bring in 1lb of bird seed, but any greater quantity found in your possession will result in you being prosecuted. We will start searching in ten minutes".
Well, did that cause a stir. Bird seed in Australia was plentiful and cheap. Nearly everyone aboard had bought at least seven pounds and some characters had even purchased a sackful. Seven pounds of the seed was all I had. It should have been a good investment and I had hoped to sell it for at least three times the price I had paid for it. Obviously I wasn't going to make a profit on that consignment and my seed along with a great deal more found itself floating on the surface water of the dock. There was so much of it and because it floated it gradually spread like a pale yellow carpet around the ship's waterline. A pretty but sad sight, enough to make a budgie weep.
In the evening I arrived home and presented the Australian turkey to my mother. She was amazed at its size and doubted whether it would fit into the oven. It did, next day, but only just, and that was after we had lent on it a bit to flatten it. I told her that by Aussie standards it was a fairly small bird. Dad suggested that perhaps there were some funny goings on down under between turkeys and emus. He was curious to know what sort of ovens the Australians had to accommodate such enormous poultry.
I spoke to Mum and Dad about my episode with the Canadian Mounted Police and asked them whether they were aware of any security checks being made. Dad thought for a minute and then commented that his manager had had to field some questions concerning him from some authority. He had not known what it was about and wondered if the authorities were considering calling him up for the Armed Services - in which case they must have been getting really desperate and short of manpower.
Mum said that she knew about Elvira's decision. Indeed, she had been most impressed by Elvira when she had called and had a long discussion with her about the matter. Dad said it would be a pity if I lost her - he reckoned my choice of girlfriends had always been good, but that this one was the pick of the bunch.
It was far too late to visit Elvira that night and I did not get to see her until the following evening. Her mother opened the door to my knock, welcomed me in, and to my inquiring look - shook her head and whispered "I'm sorry". Not a good omen.
Elvira stood up when I entered the sitting-room, but waved me away when I advanced towards her. Before I could say anything she handed it to me straight. She was very fond of me - BUT - there were a number of reasons why our relationship should go no further. She felt that my family was not closely knit like hers. There seemed to be no affection or caring between any of us. She could not understand that or be prepared to live with it at all. I was altogether too tough and heartless. She was at a loss to comprehend how I could get behind a gun and be disappointed because I had not shot down an enemy plane. She agreed that you had to shoot at the enemy, but the notion of enjoying it was foreign to her nature. She felt I was callous, bitter and out for revenge for the bombing of my father's home and the injury I had received. She had thought hard and long about our future. My cable - which had arrived - was ingenious, but had not changed her mind. She was sorry, but a quick clean break was best for both of us.
I was about to say my piece when the door bell rang and my successor was ushered into the room. I was introduced to a Fourth Mate from a shipping company other than Blue Funnel. Elvira said that she and the new boyfriend were about to go to a show and before I really grasped what was happening, she escorted me to the back door, took me outside, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, said "I'm so sorry about this."
The door closed behind her. It was all so quick. Less than five minutes since I had knocked on the front door. With hindsight, I later suspected the episode may have been staged. Anyway, whether it was or not, there was I on a cold winter's night out in Elvira's backyard. There was nothing to do except collect my bicycle and leave. I was so stunned and unhappy that I pushed the bike home, not being game enough to ride it, for my eyes were full of tears and my mind confused.
My folks were in bed by the time I got home, I guess they had seen the writing on the wall and taken themselves off to bed early so that I wouldn't have to confront them. Over night I would have a chance to get my composure under control.
The leave that followed was long, tedious and lonely. I did all the duty visits to various relatives several times over to fill in the days, but the nights were deadly. Going to the pictures alone was no fun at all - it brought back too many memories. Mostly I stayed home and moped. There wasn't even an air-raid to spark me up. After a long dreary wait a telegram arrived. I was to report to Head Office.
Chapter Ten.