Part Three

 

 

 

 

Village near our transmitting station

 

With the loss of the "expert", the chief P.O. (Called Goebbels but no relation of Hitler's man) said to me "Right, Geordie, switch off and tell the receiving station that there will be no VHF for 24 hours." He had a good idea what was wrong and worked at it all day. Next day we switched on and it worked perfectly, from that day on. He had noticed that one coil had an extra piece, which threw out the whole circuit, as they were in "push-pull". Obviously the set had left the factory in that state.

Life became very calm once we settled in, but Jimmy James and I kept a low profile as we were amongst P.O.s and Chiefs and the odd Killick. (All leading hands are called Killicks), Mr Owen, who knew Tom at Fairfield's, decided that I had to sit an exam for a "Killick's hook", and get promoted to keep the balance of the staff right. I had to go down to the Edinburgh Castle for the exam with great trepidation, as I hadn't read any Morse or used a key for several weeks. All went well and I got the job of testing about 10 ratings from Ordinary Tel. to telegraphists. They were all excellent, so 1 got my "hook" and one good conduct badge for 3 years of service. This boosted my pay to 4/10d a week plus 4d for good conduct and 6d a day for "hard layers" (discomfort in tropical climes). Total 5/8d a day instead of3/9d. I was rich. (I still had to allocate 10/- a week home to mother to protect her pension rights)

Life with the P.O.s and Chiefs gradually became more friendly, as I was now L/Tel Johnson. We acquired a dart board and competed in a variety of games, the most popular being "cricket", where one '"batted" or "bowled" by a system of darts. I was useless at darts. Someone gave us game called Totopoly, a horse racing game that became popular for those off watch. We had a Chief ERA Hirst from Sheffield, who was ex-submarines and had done something wrong to result in him being sent out foreign for punishment. We had an EA (P.O.) looking after the electrics, who was from Witton Gilbert, near Pittington, Co. Durham. I was given the job of reading the Totopoly rules, which turned out to be too complicated, as in Monopoly. It was all about buying horses, stables, saddles etc, and so we dispensed with all that and just ran the races, that being the climax of the game. We agreed to buy the "funny money" at l/2d for £200. That meant that at most you could lose l/2d in a night. They made me the bookie, as I didn't drink and retained my equilibrium. Some downed quite a few bottles of Export in a night and some borrowed their tots of rum in advance. We threw a dice to race our horses and amazingly I was invariably a winner on the night. This was quite a lucrative source of enjoyable income, at the expense of those who imbibed too much and became reckless with their bets.

CPO Blomley, whom we called "Bloms", and Chief ERA Hirst, called "Hirsty", often engaged me in arguments, them against me, but as watch keeper I had to turn in quite early, especially middle watch (midnight to 4 a.m.) Once they had had a few "Exports" I could easily twist the topic and leave them arguing with each other. (There is a sequel to this in 1944, when Joe was up at Norse Road for the England-Scotland game). P.O. Jan Gaynor was another good friend to me, an ardent Welshman of about 27, and very keen on football. He wanted me to join a team at Freetown, but I reneged because (a) the temperature was 115 to 125 deg F, and (b) fear of injury as I was due home in August.

Occasionally Jan and I used to go out at night to test the sentries who guarded the entrance to die station which was via a deep ravine. PO Gaynor, being pukka RN, was trying to teach the African sentries the correct challenge, viz "Halt, who goes there?" - reply "Friend" - "Advance Friend and be recognised". We advance and the sentry gives the command "Halt", usually within two feet of a fixed bayonet. He shines a lantern in our face and says "Pass Friend". That is the theory. What we got was, "Alt, who go dar?", we say "Friend" and then silence. There was a shuffling of feet and then a lantern whipped out with the enquiry, “Dat you Boss?” PO Rayner, now hopping mad, demanded the rifle and the sentry handed it over. Jan gives him a lecture about handing over his gun, as we could have been Jerry paratroopers!

It got no better as time went on, but good fun at the time- Jan Rayner got his nickname from Janet Gaynor, the famous film star of the era. The Andrew always associated certain handles with certain surnames, such as Chalky White, Pincher Martin, Shiner Wright, and Bungy Williams.

One of the more distasteful necessities was to drink an egg-cupful of quinine every night before supper, and supervised by CPO Goebels, who was the senior Chief. This was to counteract the possibility of contracting malaria. The only one who wouldn't drink it was CPO Blomley who always maintained that McEwan's Export was full of quinine, and he drank plenty of that. Sadly, I did hear that long after I had left, Bloms did get malaria and passed away, leaving a wife and 5 children at his home near Chatham. It was very upsetting news for me as he was such a gentleman, kind and thoughtful and a good friend to me in our endeavours to meet the needs of the job.

7. Back to Blighty

in July our relief came, mine being Reg Boardman. a scouser, RNVR like me, and Mr Owen gave me a sign that I would leave in August. I got on well with Reg, and reassured him that alt was well with the staff at RN Transmitting Station, a great bunch of men. I left about 15^th August and boarded the Monarch of Bermuda, built on the Tyne at the Naval Yard. A very fast liner but packed with about 5,000 Italian prisoners, captured by the Eighth Army, and guarded by Polish soldiers who roughed them up at any opportunity. We had a nice sun deck and at night the "Eyties" would send a choir up and give us a couple of hours of opera. This was better than playing tombola. I might say that the Poles did not attend the concerts, having little sympathy for the enemy after what the Germans did to their cities.

The only incident of note that I reported to the Army MO was trouble with one of my teeth. He couldn't do dentistry, but there was an Italian Officer MO prisoner who could, and I was welcome to try him. I said, "OK", and the officer and a helper came to the cabin, lanced round the tooth and took it out - no bother. He spoke perfect English and had been trained at Edinburgh University. He quizzed me about our destination, but I was non-committal. We found out that the Eyties were terrified of the Aussies and NZ soldiers, who had roughed them up without mercy in the desert. They stole all their gold rings, and if the rings didn't come off easily, they just cut off the finger neatly with a bayonet.

The only other job we got was for the Tels. and Sigs. to take turns on tile bridge as lookouts for submarines. Not a nice job but very necessary, as we were steaming on our own and making good time as a result

Blighty at last and down to Chatham Barracks only to find that the Signal School had moved to the country to Cookham Camp, outside Rochester. I got there eventually, only to be told that there was no room and I had to report to Eccles Block, Borstal, half a mile down a country road. I got myself a wheelbarrow and off to Borstal. A figure approached me, all smiles. It was Archie Howes, active service, now a CPO Tel. and my teammate on the school team at Jarrow Central. We had walked home together almost every day until he joined up as a boy Tel in 1933. I was allocated a Borstal boy's cell along with two other Tels., and all our gear. What a shambles!

After a medical the next day, (passed, less one tooth) I got all my back pay, having had only subs for 2 years. I now had a Naval Savings Book with more than £50 credit. I collected my free travel warrant and set off for 4 weeks leave, from my wee Borstal cell. What a lovely feeling when the train stopped and the station sign read "Hebbum". The first leave since Christmas 1939.

Churchill announced that all servicemen would get I/- a day pay rise, but only 6d immediately and the rest after demob. (A paddy's rise, because you had to survive to get the back money). I lost my 6d a day hard-layers on leaving Freetown, so that cancelled out the 6d rise. Pay stayed at 5/8d.

Life was very good for a whole month and I met some of my mates Archie Howes came from Signal School for leave, so we ploughed round together up to Newcastle or to the coast, mainly to the pictures or to shows. Jackie Gillespie was home on crutches, having been bashed up on the Worcester trying to stop the Bismarck and the Prinz Eugen coming up the Channel in February 1942. He was lucky to survive as there were 80 ratings killed in the action- It took 2 years to patch him up and then he was out of it and back to Reyrolle's. Time passed all too quickly and I was back to "Borstal" at the end of September. We never had an air raid all the time I was at home-] suppose they knew my boss was called Goebels! Archie Howes was still in Cookham. and wanted me to join him as he was training young Tels. to go to land in Yugoslavia. I told him I had had my fill of landing parties and took potluck on a draft. That didn't take long and I was sent to Draft 01. I had no idea what that was, but there were quite a lot of Tels. and Sigs- wanted. Archie was well in at Sig. School, and by now one of the senior Chief PO Tels. in the Regulating Office. After a few days he told me, in strict confidence, and not to utter a word to anyone, that we were heading for Yankee land but no details.

Part Four

9. To America

We had known for months that the Yanks were building minesweepers for the Andrew. Sure enough we were sent back to Chatham Barracks, piled into a train in the dockyard at midnight, and off to the north. (We got one fruit tart, but no drinks for the whole journey) Nobody had a clue where we were as all the station names had been removed. We eventually reached Greenock and the Queen Mary was in sight on the Clyde. Archie's info was spot on and we boarded the QM that day. We were off next day escorted by two destroyers, which gave up after 36 hours, as the QM was distinctly faster than them. In five days we were in Boston. Earlier, the QM had sliced through our cruiser, the Curacao, and needed repairs to the bows, which could be done at Boston Dockyard. We reported to Fargo Barracks, Boston, (US Navy), which were first class in every way, lovely bunks and more importantly lovely grub. I had sustained an injury to my right hand and had to report to the sick bay, under the auspices of Petty Officer Albert Frank Jr who soon pushed me to the front of the sick parade. He was active service US Navy and had his own desk in a rather posh office, (which I was allowed to visit.) I chummied up with him and we went ashore together at night It was like fairyland to me - places all lit up, good restaurants and lots of shows, cinemas and dance halls. I called him "Red" as he had really red hair. One day he came and said he'd been on the phone to his mum and dad and I had to go with him on weekend leave to Deep River, Connecticut I thought it was just out of Boston, but in fact it was 200 miles to Saybrook on the NY state line. There Mrs. Frank met us at the station and took us another 9 miles to Deep River, a lovely little American town, mostly wooden houses painted white. On Saturday we went to a Night Club with his pals far into the country, and had a great night, lots of dancing etc- and a great band. Someone told them a "limey" sailor was there, and I had to pick a tune. I picked "Bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover" and to my surprise they knew it. We got home about 2 a.m. The family were catholic, so they were off to church early on Sunday, leaving me still comatose. 1 found a note from Mrs. Frank to say that my breakfast was on the table and my tea was in the fridge! Red had a lovely girlfriend, Kathy, who was of Italian stock, and we went for dinner and found another 3 sisters like Kathy. They seemed to like my Geordie accent and I got repeated requests to "say something". They liked my departure when I said, "Well, cheerio, well", and back came a chorus of "well, cheerio, well" followed by peals of laughter.

Red married his Kathleen after the war, and moved to Crystal Lake, Chicago. They had two lovely girls Judith and Maureen, and Red had a good Job with plenty of travel. He wrote to me every Christmas great long letters, and had a great to desire to come to "little old England". Sadly, on 12 June 1970 he went on business to San Francisco and was murdered by two youths. What an end for a great bloke who served through the war mostly on destroyers in the Pacific.

After a month we moved to Asbury Park, a seaside town in New Jersey, into a hotel run by the "Andrew". About 10 bunks to a room, the place was bare and the food very austere. We had about 100 Newfies (Newfoundlanders) join us, rough as badgers, when boozed up causing trouble. In 2 weeks 19 liquor stores were out of bounds to British sailors- One day 1 was running down to breakfast and bumped into a matelot struggling up the stairs with his bag and hammock. and he told me what he thought of me in typical naval language. I couldn't see him properly but I recognized the voice of my old mate Don Rayne from Ascension Island, whom T had last seen in August. He had come straight to New York on the Queen Mary, that week in November. I told him to wait for me before going to sign in, and 1 went with him and asked the PO to give him the same watch as me.

I had an invitation to see a family in Berwyn, Maryland (l5 miles from Washington DC). I had met a lady on the Saybrook - New York line earlier in the month and got talking, and she told me she had a sister in "little old England" at a place called Jarrow. I don't suppose you know it, she said. I told her I came from a wee place called Hebbum, joined on to Jarrow. We had a few minutes to spare in New York, and it transpired that this other sister in Berwyn had a huge caravan site and would I go to see her, as they hadn't seen the Jarrow one for many years. I gave her my phone number in Asbury Park and she did all the arranging. As Don R had 40 dollars on arrival and we could get special cheap fares for service personnel, I inveigled him in the scheme. Everything was fixed and off we went to Washington DC and hence to Berwyn. We found the caravan site and met Mrs. P (a Greek name, so long that it was unpronounceable). All the caravans were occupied by forestry workers, so she took us to see the Manager, Charles D Green, and his lovely wife. They took us to their house which was brick built and right in the country. Charles ran us all round Washington to see the places of interest, the White House, Washington Monument etc. Mrs. P loaded us with goodies from her stores at the camp for her sister in Franklin St, Jarrow. One item, a pillow case full of sugar, weighed about a stone, and I had to lug this with me all around America. Our weekend was thoroughly enjoyable and an added bonus for Don and I in our travels.

Back in Asbury Park we did enjoy the delights of the USO Club, an organisation instigated by the White House for all servicemen in many towns and cities throughout the land. There was free food and drink (not alcoholic though) and a nightly dance, with selected hostesses as partners. (One girl told me that they had to have two references to quality as a hostess - very above board)

One day we were strolling on the board-walk (promenade) with two matelots from another draft, and were stopped by an elderly couple (in November) obviously Brits who asked us if we would care to go to a Thanksgiving dinner at their home. They were a Mr and Mrs. Birtwhistle from South Orange, NJ about 50 miles away. We agreed readily and Bert came from us on the last Thursday in November. He had a lovely home and every house in the street was flying the stars and stripes. except Bert - he had a huge Union Jack! Bert never did become a naturalised American, nor his wife. He did tell me that he did go to Ellis Island NY in the 1920s, but the guards pushed him around that much with all the flotsam and jetsam coming from Europe that he lost his temper and told them that he was better than any Yank as he was a Brit, walked off and never went back. Mrs. B was very British, actually from Northern Ireland, and had a room festooned with pictures of our royal family, dating back to Victoria and Albert. We had a very good dinner, as Mrs. B was an excellent cook. After dinner she invited us to visit her cousin Mr McCiuan and family in Maplewood, a suburb of Newark- He was vice-president of the Newark Bank and had a house in keeping with his status. This time he had a huge stars and stripes flying in the garden (see photo below)

Aline Stanley in Portland Park

Aline lived in the student nurses’ home, and they occasionally had a dance, to which I was invited. By sheer chance, our Master-at-arms (Jaunty) had a nurse friend and I got to know him quite well. The almoner used to say to me in the foyer "Your friend is here tonight". Now the jaunty is the most powerful CPO on the ship and is really the ship's policeman, responsible for dishing out punishment and in the main not very popular. MAA Clements became a very good ally in our later dealings aboard. If there were any invitations for a few matelots for a function where there was food going, he came to us and we always got first pick. Call it what you like, but the Sigs and Tels never let Clements down. My new friend Aline used to invite me out to see her friends in a lovely flat,

Margaret and Don Brown. Don told me he didn't like limeys, as they talked la-di-da. I said, '"Not where I come from. unless they're putting it on". He was a welder in the shipyard but was really a first class musician and played the trumpet in a classy orchestra, which was in limbo during the war. I told him to come on board Tracker and I'd show him 20 limeys, none of whom spoke la-di-da. I soon won him over and he would try to mimic my Geordie accent

Aline used to take me to see her aunt and uncle who lived quite near and who were a lovely couple. Aline worked long hours and told me that student nurses got no pay, just their uniform and keep. Later she qualified and became a lieutenant in the Army Nursing Corps, but that was after we left Oregon. Life was very good in Portland, as it was in the whole of Oregon, Oregon is really Wild West and steeped in history. With plenty examples of totem poles and relics of outposts, timber blockhouses and wooden forts. There were of acres of forests and deep rivers teeming with salmon etc. Mount Hood towered up northwards, about 15,000 feet high. Portland had beautiful parks occupied by herds of bison, suitably penned in. They looked ferocious. We were told that Portland was known as the city of rose. No doubt this is helped by the amount of rain that falls on Portland in winter. (We vowed that we would not complain about Manchester again.) Life was good in general but some of the old hands were fed up with the delay in getting to sea.

Part Six

 

We were on full alert and given out "abandon ship" stations to practise on the way over. Mine was a 20 ft by 20 ft rope net, only guaranteed to keep you afloat for 12 hours. The idea was you chuck it overboard and jump in with life belt on and hang on to the rope net. Hopefully someone would pick you up.

I complained, in a mild way, to the Chief, and he said, “You should grumble, that's where the skipper has to go."

Well at least I was in good company, both destined for Davy Jones' locker. After 10 days we reached Casablanca, what a dump, got rid of our cargo and sailed for Gibraltar, where we joined a large convoy and headed north through the bay and within 10 days landed at Harland & Wolf’s shipyard in Belfast. What a lovely sight sailing up Belfast Lough, and seeing all the shades of green of lovely Ireland in the late spring. In a couple of days the skipper announces that one half would go on leave for 10 days and then the other half, until he found out his orders, and which squadron of the Fleet Air Ann would be assigned to us in the Clyde.

In Portland one of our crew was given a wee husky pup, but by the time we reached Belfast it was a somewhat larger Husky called Scranbag. The scranbag is where your mislaid items are kept and you paid a fine of 3d to recover them. To the delight of the matelots, Scranbag used to invariably do his business in the Ward Room. Poor Scranbag was forever getting booted out by some officer. The owner smuggled his dog ashore the night before leave and a friend kept it overnight, We were first leave, and we passed through Customs with all out "rabbits" (presents for home), and went off to Larne for the ferry to Stranraer and thence to various parts of the UK. The Customs officers were very decent and put the words into our mouths what to declare which amounted to a few shillings. I had to buy a cheap case in America to house all my "rabbits". At one posh store on Fifth Avenue the manager gave me quite a lot of ladies stockings, some of them nylons, unheard of in the UK at that time. He just said it was in appreciation of the fact that we had stood firm against the Germans in 1940. Perhaps he was Jewish. It was really great to see the Hebbum station sign. Only the third leave in four years.

Elsie, Mimie and Belle got a fair amount of the cosmetics and stockings. Pa got some navy tobacco and Ma got Hershey's chocolates. I brought some modern records for Jack Gillespie, who was home after a disastrous encounter with a German warship in the Channel. He had been a gunner on HMS Worcester

Most of my other pals weren't home, so it was good to have Jack, hobbling around with a huge plaster on one leg. We saw Stella, who had had an operation on her gammy left leg. A fine trio, Jack on crutches and me having to push Stella in a rickety wheel chair.

Back to Belfast and to half a ship's company. We liked Belfast, there didn't seem to be much rationing and restaurant meals were as in peacetime. No doubt they were getting the food from Eire. We found a nice cosy dance hall, called Club Beverly, and believe it or not on our first visit the owner asked Davy Wade "Were there any Geordies?" Davy sent for me and it transpired that he was called Colin Hillcoat and came from South Shields. His father was Town Clerk for the Borough of Shields. He proved to be a very good friend to us and we had had a meal at his home, sometimes four or five at a time. On shore the sparkers and bunts went their own way, but we all made tracks for the Club Beverly at about 7.30 p.m. Colin's wife Helen had been in ENSA and was from Kensington, so she was pleased to see the London lads.  I met a very nice colleen called Jean Evans (Evans? - she should have been Welsh) She worked in the main street in a ladies' shop called Hall & Kyle. but lived a long way out on the Antrim Road. I would see her after work. and sometimes she seemed tired so we went to the departmental stores which had good restaurants and I would buy her high tea.  This was very expensive, at least 7/6d each.

Occasionally we went to a cinema to give us a rest from dancing, and then I put her on the Antrim tram about 9 p.m. She was a lovely girl and I met her each time I was lucky enough to hit Belfast in 1943-44.

Part Seven

                                                      

Duty launch had to get the men out of the water and it is

sad to relate that in one or two cases they failed to get there

 in time.

                                                                                                             There were some mishaps and some of the kites landed in the drink,

                                                                                                                  sometimes demolishing our receiving aerials.

Our skipper was also a casualty when, as we were catapulting off a fighter, the hawser snapped and hit him. His relief was a Captain McGrath, a wee fierce looking man with steely blue eyes and a full set beard and moustache, more like a pirate of olden days. He informed us he had lost about six ships, all destroyers, and we would probably be number seven. That cheered us up no end. Soon we were off on convoy duty across the Atlantic with Dangerous Dan McGrew, our pet name for the skipper. It was our first encounter with Captain F G Walker and his five Bird-class sloops, the Starling (Capt D), Wild Goose, Wren, Woodpecker and Kite, all built at Fairfield’s, I think. They were the best U-boat hunters in the Andrew. With the advent of ASDIC he had perfected his system of attack to a fine art. Everyone liked to have "Hookey" Walker in their convoys, especially Russian convoys. We kept flitting in and out of the Clyde quite often, which suited Davy and I. I could sometimes get up to 105 Norse Rd on weekend leave. Being watch-keepers, we were allowed until 10 a.m. on Monday, all others having to be back by 8 a.m. Jock Dixon of Danes Drive showed us a good racket - scrounge a lift on a truck to Renfrew, cross the Renfrew ferry free to Yoker, and down to Scotstoun on the tram, max fare for servicemen 1d  total cost from Greenock to Scotstoun 1d. The return was more expensive,  l/9d on the train. We enjoyed our Saturday nights as Jock would take us to the Albert Ballroom, quite good dancehall and we met all his pals and girl friends so we had plenty of partners. Jock would get a bit tipsy with his pints and wee halves, but we always got him onto the bus for Danes Drive. Later in 1943 it was our turn to report to Scapa and join Russian convoy. We got an extra blanket - such extravagance. The first two days were quiet, we had Hookey Walker with us, then suddenly we were being shadowed by a 5-engined Blohm-Voss bomber, obviously reporting our position to a shore station in Norway for re-issuing to U-boats. I don't think the Germans realised that we had Spitfires on our carrier. Up went our valiant pilots and at 350 mph they soon caught up with the reconnaissance plane. Exit Blohm-Voss. This went on for seven days, shooting down seven German planes. Captain Walker was delighted and signalled "Well done, Tracker". After seven days the Germans gave up. We reached the Barents Sea and our aircraft were within 500 miles of the North Pole, a straight run east to the Kola inlet and Veanga, our destination. All 53 merchant ships were intact, about the first convoy to reach Russia without loss.

Veanga was a miserable place, very desolate and poverty stricken. Toilets were in the middle of a square and communal. There were thousands of women prisoners on the outskirts, all guarded by soldiers with loaded rifles. Four of us tried to converse with them in stilted fashion. They knew we were British and from London. We gathered that they were political prisoners. Ginger Walker, our bosun, gave them cigarettes. The guard took them and Ginger grabbed him through the barbed wire and he handed them back to the girls. I had visions of ending up in a Russian jail, so we scarpered. The little children were lovely and we used to save our NAAFI chocolates for them. It was only blended chocolate in those days, but it was like gold to them. Their cry was “chocolate or cigarettes", but we didn't give them cigarettes. Some of the lads wanted stamps from the post office. The lady wouldn't sell them, but as soon as we offered soap, tobacco or paper we could have had the shop.

The lads played one game of football on an icy pitch at about minus 20 degrees. The Russians were tapping their heads as if to say we must be mad. We had Bud Maxwell on our team, the 1930s Scottish centre forward, who used to play for Kilmarnock and Preston North End. I got on well with him as I knew Bob Batey from Greenhead who played for Preston with Bud. In fact Bob had been Bud's Best man. Bud was a fine chap and 1 heard that he took over a pub in Preston after the war. (Incidentally, Preston lost the 1937 cup final to Sunderland by 3-1).

The Russian sailors came aboard and gave us a choral concert on the hanger deck. We heard that six of their destroyers were to come out and escort us round the North Cape, but one sank in the storm and the others went back to Kola Bay. HMS Keppel went out to try her luck with the U-boats and was "tin-fished" (sunk) within hours, and we lost one merchant ship on the journey back home.

The war was now hotting up, the 8th Army were doing fine in Italy, and the Andrew were now getting through to Malta more easily, though our destroyer losses were very heavy. There were still reports of heavy convoy losses, especially off Canada and USA. The Jerries were now employing large U-boats that would stay at sea for long periods. About the end of September 1943 we were sent out, together with Captain Walker and his five sloops, to go "fishing" on our own. It was unique to see HMS Starling leaving the Clyde with the other "birds" in line ahead, as they had a record of John Peel playing from each ship and blasting out "Tan-tivy, Tan-tivy a-hunting we will go!". Hookey Walker had a very original and strange sense of humour.

HMS Starling

 

This was a harrowing task for us as we felt that we were the bait in the trap. The weather was foul and we had a sequence of autumn gales and at one time heeled over 39 degrees, saved only by our Ginger Walker at the wheel, who swung the ship to ride with the storm. This meant that our escorts were going east and we were going west The five escorts also suffered as they lost ammunition lockers and guardrails. The sparkers were flung off their seats. We had a large cupboard of 12-vo!t batteries just outside our office, and they cascaded into the office, spilling all the acid onto the deck. We were standing on the chairs when the chief arrived and he unwittingly waded through the lot using some naval language. He did arrange for some seamen to bring soda to neutralise the acid and all was well. Not quite, next day he discovered that the acid had rotted the soles of his shoes. More naval language and muffled laughter from the sparkers- We never heard the last of it, how much it had cost him for new shoes. The storm abated and we had some success as our HF DF operators had got a bearing on two subs, and Starling & Co were on to them. They got one straight off and the other the next day, so the Admiralty were well pleased. The sad thing was that we had to prove it, and a duty boat crew had to search for evidence floating around, i.e. human remains or other items with traces of blood. There is no sentiment in war.

We were sent to Argentia in Newfoundland for emergency repairs to the sloops and us. We'd rather have gone home. The Yanks had a base there and the sports officer actually built us a soccer pitch in 24 hours, using the CBs (Construction Battalions). Marvelous treatment. Our Chief was always boasting that he was a good goalkeeper in his younger days in the Navy, and we offered him the job. He declined forthwith and who should volunteer but "Woody" our Latin and Greek man. He'd never played football in his life but was always game for anything. There was no danger as our lot were pretty good and beat the stokers about 8-0. The ground was ice hard and poor Woody was frozen stiff.

We left Argentia at mid-day in a blizzard with the Flight Deck covered with about 8 to 10 inches of snow, and the sky pitch black.

Clearing the Flight Deck                                                                                                  Blizzard conditions

Going home? Not so, we headed for Norfolk Virginia. Our camouflage was fading and the Yanks got the job of re-painting it. They did the whole ship in a week with spray guns, and it washed off in a ten-day convoy going home. We rolled from port to starboard all the way home like a drunk. Someone remarked that "This ship would roll on wet grass". The admiralty ordered a Lloyds tilting test in the Clyde. This involved the whole ship's crew mustering on the flight deck from stem to sternand running across from port to starboard several times. Lloyds sent a report to the skipper that it was one of the most balanced and steadiest ships that they had done.

About this time we parted with our skipper and got Captain Huntley in charge, a welcome change from Dangerous Dan McGrew. We also lost the FAA squadron and took on American Avenger bombers and Wildcat fighters, so we had to spend a lot of time in the Clyde practising with our new toys.

                                  Avenger bombers                                                                                                 

 

 

 

That suited us fine because we got numerous visits to Norse Road, leading up to Christmas 1943. We also had wee trips to Lamlash and Brodick on Arran, Dunoon and Largs. Sometimes we slept in air raid shelters when we were on all night leave. It was a bit rough and ready but cost nowt. On one trip to the Albert dance hall I met a nice young lady who invited me to her staff dance in a very select dance hall in Glasgow, which had as its main feature a fountain in the middle of the hall. This sounded great, especially at New Year and there was food on the menu. I was to meet her in Bath St about 7 p.m. Such are the vagaries of war at sea, all leave was cancelled on the 30^th of December and we pushed off on urgent convoy duties down to Gibraltar. I never saw the young lady again at the Albert, nor had the chance to explain what had happened.  I missed a good night out and on top of that we had an awful trip through the bay, very stormy but no mishaps.

Part Eight

There was a pleasant surprise at Gibraltar, as we anchored right astern of HMS Calpe and knew that Ernie Cash was aboard. Davy and I paid a visit, asked the duty officer for permission to board and directions to see A/B Cash from Hebbum. He shouted down to the mess-deck, "Any Geordies down there?" and got an affirmative reply. His face was a study when I appeared down the companionway. I had not seen him since The Kelly was sunk in 1941. He got his bottle out and gave Davy a good tot, they got neat rum on small ships, and lots of the lads bottled it for home leave. (In big ships the rum is watered and won't keep) We enjoyed a few days in Gib. in the warm sunshine, raided the YMCA for papers and cut out as many crosswords as we could, a favourite past time on the night watches. We visited the RN wireless station to see what life was like there, and managed to get a game of tennis on their court.

The trouble with Gib. was that the Spaniards had a huge wireless station at La Linea, 2 miles from Gib, and they were letting Jerry know the movements of shipping. (I reckon they cost us thousands of RN and MN personnel). Our only loss should have been leading coder, Harry Laver, who imbibed too much on palm wine and on coming onboard Tracker with his booty of oranges and bananas, saluted the duty officer on the sponson and then very gracefully toppled into the harbour. A Leading Writer dived in and kept him afloat until the seamen could get him out. The L/Writer promptly swam around and rescued his oranges and bananas. Poor Harry had to be rubbed down with lard or butter to get the oil off.

We left on a homebound convoy escorted by Calpe for about 12 hours, and then they turned tail and went back. Poor Ernie, out there for over two years and never a home convoy. A few hours out, disaster struck in the early hours as one of our escorts, HMS Asphodel a corvette, was torpedoed and was lost with all hands. The convoy home was quite pleasant and the weather was great. To our surprise, on reaching the Clyde, we were granted seven days leave, as we were due a boiler clean. We now had another Geordie on the mess deck, an Ordinary Signalman "Pud" Morrison from Gateshead, all of 18 ½ years old and first time away from home. He asked me to take him along, as he would be lost in Glasgow. The only snag was L/hands leave the ship first and he would be left behind on board. I devised a plan that if he was brave enough to gamble, he could wear my blue overcoat, with a Killick’s hook on the sleeve, and I would wear my Burberry. Thus he could muster with leading hands for inspection by the duty officer and then march off first in the liberty boat. It worked a treat, but poor Pud was still shaking when we boarded the Newcastle train at Queen St Station. We had a few "rabbits", like oranges and bananas which raised a few eyebrows with the other passengers. I offered a banana to a wee boy about six years old, and he refused it, as he had never seen one before. His mother couldn't convince him it was a fruit Our Elsie soon made use of it and she made banana and custard pudding.

Leave soon passed and we were back for our next adventure. The Clyde was now full of warships of all shapes and sizes, and large troop ships bringing thousands of American servicemen. The war was swinging in our favour and the Eighth Army was being brought home; it was obvious to us that there was only one reason, a landing in France. Rumours were aplenty.

We did one more convoy across to the USA, and then back to Belfast for some ER. (Emergency repairs). Back to our friends Colin and Helen Hillcoat and the Club Beverly and some great eats at their home. (Colin has gone but I still see Helen at the Customs House theatre. South Shields as she is still going strong on the stage and has small parts in films). I met up with Jean Evans again at the dance, and a couple of nights at the rather good restaurant in the large store. That was our last visit to Belfast and all had happy memories of the city and its people. The only places out of bounds to us were the Falls Road and Ma Kelly's bar, haunt of the IRA.

Back into action again and another issue, another blanket, which meant one thing, Murmansk. We all assembled at Loch Ewe, about March 1944, and with us again EW3, Hooky Walker and his 5 Birds led by Starling- No doubt he had downed a few more U-boats since our first meeting, and it was rumoured that the Jerries had a price on his head. All went well for a few days and quite a large convoy was involved, mostly stuff to back up the now successful Russian drive. Our planes were up every day, scouring the ocean until one day an Avenger bomber mis-judged the flight deck and crashed in flames on the quarter-deck, with flames shooting up 30 feet high. The convoy sailed on and the Commodore ordered a destroyer to stand by us. We couldn't steam ahead as this would have fanned the flames. Two petty officers tackled the blaze with foam and got the navigator and telegraphist/air gunner out but not the pilot, who perished. The Avenger was carrying two depth charges, and with great bravery some armourers detached the depth charges before the flames reached them. Otherwise they would have blown the stern off. We also had about 40,000 gallons of high-octane spirit under our mess deck. The Newfies were running around like headless chickens calling on the Lord Almighty to save them. Tubby Owen, one of elderly coders (newcomer) asked me to blow up his life-jacket, as he was so shaken. I told him not to inflate it until the skipper gave the order to abandon ship. Then, as an afterthought, I told him that if the fire reached the high-octane, we'd be in Russia before the convoy. After what seemed to be a life-time the POs did their stuff and the fire was put out. The gun crew on the quarter-deck had ditched the depth charges just in case, but some of the crew were slightly singed, being feet away from the aircraft. The "stand-by" destroyer (standing by about 3 miles away) and ourselves caught up with the convoy next day. Message from Commodore "Welcome home!". I can tell that at the church parade on the next Sunday Woody had a full house. We were all very thankful to survive. It was with great sadness that we had to have a sea burial to cast the pilot into the cold northern waters. The rest of our journey passed off all right, and we had our usual run ashore at Veanga in Kola Bay and our repartee with the Russian bairns, giving them as much chocolate as we could spare.

Our home run convoy was uneventful and we reached the Clyde in one piece with just minor repairs need to the stern where the fire took place- There was a floating dock at Garelochhead to which we were directed. This meant that we could get a telephone on board and close down the wireless office. The SDO (Signal Distribution Office) was still manned and the skipper, whose cabin was only a few yards away was apt to wander during first watch. He didn't seem to relate to the officers' ward room and seemed to prefer our company at times. We were always quizzing him about prospective leave, without much joy.

About this time I got a signal from HMS Rajah (another carrier built at Portland) from Hank to say that he was now a navigator's yeoman on Rajah. This was a new branch to help the navigating officer and he had fiddled his way into it. By means of a private arrangement, sparkers and buntings could always get private messages sent to other warships by use of an Aldis lamp (I think it was called the XI 24 procedure). I sent a message to say that Davy and I would see him ashore at Greenock and go up to 105 Norse Road. Liberty men came ashore - but no Hank. Ten days passed and we got an XI 24 to say that he would see us at 1 p.m. We were ashore first and the Rajah men arrived a while later, all eager to be off. I said to Davy "No Hank" until we saw one lone figure meandering at dead slow/stop rate along the quay. We asked about the previous ten days. It was a sorry tale. He had been to India and carried lots of Army RAF and Navy people home as passengers and their gear was littered in the hanger deck. It was Hank's birthday on the way and as was customary, we got "sippers"' of rum from his mess-deck ratings. This proved too much and he crawled to hanger deck and fell asleep on the hammocks littering the place. The MO passed by and hauled him up and Hank, without even opening his eye, punched him a real pearler. The officer put him on a charge and would have sent him to the glass-house for at least 60 days. However the skipper intervened and asked the MO if he would settle for 10 days in the ship's own cells, first 5 days on bread and water. This was agreed. The skipper and navigator must have liked Hank and wanted to keep him on board, so he got away with (almost) murder. So that was Hank's tale of the missing 10 days.

It was about this time that our Joe had been up to Scotland for the Scotland v England match and he had a very funny experience. He had gone in the city on his own (to gargle his tonsils) and at a later time was heading home on the tram in Dumbarton Road. This CPO tagged onto him and between them they fought their way onto a late tram. Joe said the CPO followed him upstairs and

Sat next to him. He realised that Joe wasn't a Scot and queried his abode. Joe said "Newcastle", and the CPO rambled on that he had known a Geordie in 1942. (This was interspersed with attempts to sing "The Blaydon Races") Then he said something about Hebbum, Joe replying that that was where he came from. When Joe asked who man was that he knew, the CPO said Johnson. Joe took out small photo of me from his wallet and the CPO said "Aye that's him". Then he told Joe of how I was in Freetown WT station in 1942, and used to get him and CPO Bloms in trouble with the senior chief (see earlier). It turned out to be CPO Hirsty, from Sheffield. (that being the way he pronounced it) He told Joe he was stand-by on a new destroyer being built at Clydebank. That was some coincidence to happen. Joe forgot to tell him what ship I was on or where I stayed in Glasgow, so I never saw Hirsty again.

About this time there seemed to be a lot of activity in the Clyde and we managed to get out repairs finished by June 1944, and had all our replacement crews to fill the complement. (We were always losing aircraft over the side on every convoy and sadly not able to rescue the crews. The losses in the Fleet Air Arm were very high).

Part Nine

12. D-Day

About 2nd June we sailed into the Irish Sea and turned to port for the first time. On 4^th June all aircraft were hauled to the flight deck and painted with black and white stripes on the wings. The skipper then told us that all allied aircraft would be similarly decorated and the invasion of France would be on 5^th June. That raised a lot of blood pressure. We were all on station on 5th June along with a huge navy of all types of craft. Then they announced that the weather was too bad for the landing craft and the invasion was postponed for one day. Sure enough, about 4 a-m. on 6^th June, overhead went hundreds of fighters and bombers, all with Newcastle United stripes. One wag said to me 'They're all your lot". It was glorious sight, literally hundreds of ships and aircraft and LSTs and LCTs all on the move. I believe that all told 2400 ships took part in the initial assault and thousands of small craft. We patrolled from Plymouth to Cap Griz Nez on the look-out for U-boats with 4 destroyers as our escort. The wireless office was a hive of activity with reports of U-boats and beach landings.

We were OK for a few days until about the 9^th when one of our escorts, a Canadian destroyer HMCS Teme crossed our bows in the darkness and we crashed into her. There was a momentary panic and it transpired that the Chiefs' and PO's mess deck was taking in sea water. When daylight came, the Teme had gone. (It turned out that the Teme was badly damaged but not sunk). Our skipper was ordered to sail for Liverpool, slowly as the bows were stoved in. That was us out of the battle. The rest of the invasion is history. (Please refer to A S Christian memoirs for this story.) The skipper had to attend a court martial in London, but was exonerated as the Teme skipper admitted that he had forgotten we were there and thinking that he had detected a U-boat, he turned to port instead of keeping station. We were now in Brocklebank Dock in Liverpool to assess the damage.^{4 (4} See Appendix 4 for the commander of the Teme's version of this event.)

We had now got a Warrant Telegraphist in charge of us, with one thin gold ring on his sleeve. He was officer class, lived in the ward room and was addressed as Mr Payne. He was OK and very supportive of his division. I once had words on the phone with an officer who rang the wireless office and bawled me out for not addressing him as "Sir". I told Mr Payne of this dialogue and he said "I'll soon sort him out", and no more was heard. Whilst in Liverpool we had runs up to Southport, lovely resort and very accommodating for sailors. Free food in the Church hall in

Lord Street, free dance for servicemen and a bed for a shilling in the YMCA. Cost? Two shillings for Friday and Saturday, since we didn't drink beer. There was also a good dance in the Hotel Statler in Liverpool. There was also a very good class restaurant where, on request, the waitress would put tables together to accommodate eight of us. The businessmen would peer at us over the tops of their newspapers. We were always on our best behavior, or the skipper would have tanned our hides if ill reports had reached Tracker.

A ship's dance was arranged whilst undertaking repairs at Liverpool. We had never had a ship's dance before. It was both hilarious and horrendous. It was held in Litherland Town Hall, a huge palace, Victorian in appearance and up a winding stair case. Furthermore it had a bar. The money must have come from our "comfort fund" via a percentage of our tombola games. The question was, who would be the Compere? One volunteer, the majestic Woody, who couldn't dance a step but turned out to be brilliant MC. Every matelot got 16 free tickets for half pint, a grave error of judgement. Hundreds of females turned up as it was free, and we had a great night. I was very popular as they scrounged all my 16 tickets from me bit by bit. The Newfies were getting boisterous so I warned Davy that we should leave a little early. A good move as we found that the Newfies were pouring pints of beer down the staircase onto the guests as they were leaving. Some of the cooks and stewards physically objected and got beaten up. One steward was barely recognisable on board the next day, with a face of various shades of purple and blue.

About 10 days after, our Warrant/Tel Mr Payne, informed us that he had "caught the boat up" after the dance and was due in "Rose Cottage" for a while. Actually, being an officer he was privileged with proper treatment in a Liverpool hospital. Good-bye Mr Payne.

Capt Huntley banned any more Ship's dances, as it had caused more casualties than Jerry had inflicted.

It was at this time that we heard the sad news that the great Capt Walker of HMS Starling had taken ill and had died in Liverpool hospital. There was a big funeral for him in Liverpool Cathedral attended by some of our officers. I think he must have been literally exhausted as he was on the bridge whilst at sea at least 16 hours a day, pushing all his sloops to the limits. A truly great sailor and the scourge of the U-boats. It was estimated that 7 out of 10 U-boats never got back home. Every time I hear the song "John Peel" I can imaging his 5 sloops leaving harbour, playing it as their battle cry.

After our skipper's court martial ordeal he came to tell us in the SDO that we were getting 12 days leave for each watch. It was supposed to be 10 days, but that would have meant coming back on Bank Holiday Monday, which would not have been easy for travel from the south. What a good skipper. I enjoyed the leave and went to see Mrs. Howes to enquire about Archie and Wilfie. Archie was still in Yugoslavia with the "raggy lads" (resistance fighters) but Wilfie was in a very precarious position behind Jap lines in Burma and no news of him for months. Mrs. Howes told me that her sister Nora was living in Blundelsands near Liverpool, and I should go to see her. I went to see the mates in Reyrolle's office and ended up going out with Evelyn again. Someone had told me that she had jacked her long-standing boy-friend and so that was the start of me being her "first mate". (I did go with her in l936 for a while but lost touch). She was made very welcome in No 68 and even Joe had nothing to say as she wasn't a left-footer. Evelyn came to Liverpool with me and stayed with Nora for a week, so shore leave was more enjoyable. That's when I found out the tuppeny pies cost fourpence, but being now a rich Leading Tel, I didn't. mind. Evelyn went home and we set off for the Clyde visiting Lamlash and Brodick for oil.

The war was going well and one morning at 7 a.m. the skipper sent for me at the double being leading hand of the watch. I had never ever been in any captain's cabin of any ship - it was really posh. He had a radio set on the bulkhead and was trying to get the Forces Network, fiddling with every knob on the set. I couldn’t reach the set so I asked for paper to stand on the settee, "Just jump and do it", he said. I discover that it was a Yankee set, using kilocycles on the tuning condenser, whilst we always worked in metres. 1 asked the skipper for pencil and paper and explained that I had to work out the wavelength of BEF in kc/s. I turned all the knobs back to normal, tuned in (saying a wee prayer) and got the last 3 minutes of the news loud and clear. Then I made a mark on the dial and advised the skipper that the station was where the mark was. He made some uncomplimentary remark as I was leaving, "Who the hell wants to do higher Maths just to get the news." The sequel to that was the CPO Walky said I should have sent for him (At 7 a.m.!) 1 told him I had no idea what the skipper wanted when he sent for me, and then could handle the matter when 1 knew what he wanted, so it was no use him getting out of his bunk at 7 a.m. He muttered something about big-headed Geordies thinking they knew everything. Sour grapes. He didn't know that I had been on a W/T transmitting station in Freetown in 1942, for six months, with PO Tels and Chiefs, some very clever blokes who were excellent at their jobs and taught me many things, even though I was only a Tel. (Way down on the pecking order). (I was very good at Totopoly)

During our stay in Liverpool I did manage a trip to Lancaster to see Bell and Georgie (with Alison in the offing). We reached Greenock in Mid-August and had a "Saturday-while" at 105. There was now a large infant in a pram glaring at us. I said to Davy "He thinks we're from Nelson's press-gang looking for recruits." Anne's friends were now battering Davy.

13. Convoys again

Very soon we were off on a convoy to USA and Newfoundland and one south-bound which all kept us busy for September and October, little knowing that our commission was almost over. I got mail from my American Nurse Aline to say that she was a lieutenant in the Army and was now in France. She had been sent to a castle in Wales as a base and hated it as it was cold and ill-equipped. Not a very good impression of Britain. I think they would have a very rough time in France as the Yanks had had a good hiding at Omaha beach on D-day. I got some kidding from the lads about having a lieutenant writing to me. They had no idea it was a girl.

14. Goodbye Tracker

Back to the Clyde at the end of November, and most of us were going back to Signals School leaving only a skeleton crew and no Fleet Air Arm on board. Tracker was to be used as a supply vessel from San Diego, California to Australia, carrying mostly aircraft for an assault on Japan. We finished up in Cookham Camp in the woods near Rochester in Nissan huts, not exactly Butlins. The only saving grace was that we could now sit for W/T 2 and qualify as POs, but we then found that we must pass W/T 3 (higher standard) first. Back to school again and the PO instructor called PO Tel Cannon, who was light heavyweight boxing champion of the RN, used to threaten us with a thick lug if we displeased him. 1 got on well with him as he loved dancing (very light on his feet) and I used to toddle down with him to the Palais de Danse in Rochester. He was also very good as a body-guard in case of a fracas.

I got a job as the Accommodation Clerk, allocating hut numbers to the new entrants and dishing out weekend ration cards. 1 could pick up one or two "spares", when Davy and I could go to his home at Chadwell St Mary's near Tilbury. His mother was very, very nice and old-fashioned, the sort that believed everything we said. I thought his pa had a comer shop, but when I saw it, it was bigger than our co-op and employed about 8 people. His pa used to leave two bikes at the ferry for us and we would cycle about 2 miles to his home.

One bonus to come was Christmas leave, at last after 5 years, and to resume my friendship with Evelyn and her sister Edna, who had married Bob (RAF) and had not seen him for 3 years, as he was posted to India. They were married the same day as Arthur and Elsie in 1941. Just after Christmas, Davy got a draft to HMS Queen, thus ending a long friendship of 2 years and lots of adventures on the Tracker. I still had my "job" and an odd weekend leave, but disliked signals school. The heads were a hike from the huts, it was winter, there was snow, freezing cold going for a shower and a shave, and the huts had one coke fire in the centre. Anything more than 6 feet from the stove was threatened with rigor mortis. We had very poor WREN cooks who could hardly boil water. I was disliked by the chief cook for complaining that the bacon was raw. (And that was an issue for 8 men) I offered to go into the galley and cook it myself and he threatened to put me on a charge for insolence. Another time I asked the duty officer to look at the spotted dick (plum pudding) as it wasn't even cooked. He replied that it was raw but edible. (No way could you win). It was suggested that the WREN were comforts for the officers. The WRENerie was outside barracks, close Borstal village, and we had to send three ratings with the WRENs each night to guard them against break-outs by the Borstal boys. The boys were after money to aid their getaway. I got raked in as Leading Tel in charge of the sentries and had to get up and take them a large kettle of "kye" (navy slang for cocoa) at 2400 hours and 0400 and to make sure they were awake. I got the usual challenge "Halt, who goes there etc" and I replied "Kye boat coming in".

Just before Easter, T got a welcome leave as the signals school was filling up. Lots of ships were standing down after the success of D-Day. At this period Evelyn and I were got engaged, which pleased her and her family and made a dent in my PO savings book, but well worth it. Annie Spearman invited us up to Greenhead for a few days which we enjoyed immensely. Evelyn got a posh guest room and I was pushed in with Jimmy Hindson (the Hind) who ran the farm. That was my usual room since I was about ten and spent holidays there. Jimmy and I were great pals and used to go cricketing at Haltwhistle long before the war. It was good to get news of Colin (RAF) and Bertie (Army) not having seen them since 1939. Leave over and back to Signals School (Stalag B) for another session of dodging doodlebugs launched from Holland.. You could see the flames from the engine and then silence and down they came. Then came V2 rockets, no warning and then any within 10 miles made the bunks jump. You could feel very sorry for the London lads who sometimes came back from leave only to be sent home as the Reg officer had word of direct hits where they lived. Many of them lost their whole families.

15. VE Day

It was a day of great rejoicing on 8^th May when the speakers broadcast about 11 a.m. that the Germans had capitulated. Dinner was piped and everyone got a double ration of rum, even the tee-totallers. This was "splicing the main-brace" and only done on very special occasions. The gates were thrown open and everyone got shore leave until 8 a.m. next day. I took one sip of the rum and I gave it to the chap next to me who cheerfully downed it Two tots of that stuff and he'd be lucky to make it to the bus into town. .

About June there was a shortage of huts in Cookham, so about 100 of the older hands were packed off to HMS Ganges at Shottley Village, about 10 miles from Ipswich. This was the home of the boy sailors who joined up at 15. The layout was quite nice, as they lots going for them. A very classy school, nice swimming baths, good sports field, football pitch and running track.

They were near the sea and had plenty of rowing. Mind, for them, it was wakey wakey every morning at 6 a.m. in shorts and singlet’s doing PT on the parade ground. There was an old fashioned ships mast about 100 feet high and they had to climb it. The top boy got the honour of standing on the button on the top, it terrified me just looking on. We had to go to school and were the auspices of WREN officers. We did get IQ tests, and none of the matelots took it seriously enough and gave such stupid answers. (Who is the present prime minister? Answer Hitler.) That soon ended our scholarly activities and we went back to doing Morse. I met up with Geordie Breen, a schoolteacher from Chopwell, Co Durham, known up there as "Little Russia", fall of "comrades". He had the DSM and bar from service on MTBs in the Med, and declared that he "cut the cards" for them. One of the crew had to get the DSM and skipper made them all cut cards to select the lucky one. There were two DSMs on two actions and he won them both with an Ace and King. A nice way to get a gong. He was an out and out communist and couldn't care less about any medal.

PART TEN

16. To Australia!

About the end of June we were warned that we were required in Australia to pursue the war against Japan. I told Evelyn and asked her if she would wish to be married before we went or wait until the Japs were finished, an unknown thing to estimate at the time. Poor Evelyn, what a quandary for her, for her mother, and for Edna as she had to do all the arrangements. She was set on marriage and we settled for St Andrews church. I got 14 days embarkation leave and we wed on 5 July 1945 with as many Johnsons and Slorricks as could make it, plus a few Christians. It was General Election day, but no-one was interested in that. Everything went well, but I think we were over-shadowed by a wee baby called Margaret Alison, who was the centre of attraction for all the guests. (All of 7 months old). We managed to get a honeymoon for about 10 days, one day at home in 195 Hedgeley Road and then off to barracks for details of our journey.

It was some trepidation that about 50 ratings (all Sigs & Tels) were sent back to HMS Pembroke (Chatham) for orders. This turned out to be a "Golden Hind" draft on Sydney Racecourse. I had had a letter from Hank and he was already there and expecting me. Everyone seemed to be going to Australia, we must be mustering the largest navy Britain had ever seen. Next day we went to Southampton to board the Strathaird, none of us very happy as we had all been in since 1939. On top of that we shipped about 500 rooky WAAFs. bound for Tunis. They had all the best quarters and we had the rubbish down below. In about 10 days we docked at Tunis and got rid of this lot of erks. The crew members said they found their quarters absolutely filthy - not a good advert for the RAF. We reached Malta in three days and to our surprise were told to pack our bags and hammocks and go ashore. We were sent to Vadella barracks, an old women's prison out in the wilds, and a real relic. Great big stone cells, 2-tiered like an old American prison. No heating and it is cold at night in Malta. There was a well in the quad and an old petrol can with a brick in the centre to drop down about 20 feet; that was our washing facility. We had a medical to join and next day we had another medical to leave. We were in the wrong place and should have been in Cameratta Barracks in Valetta, (Signals School). We reached there at mid-day and had another medical - 3 medicals in days must be a record.

Cameratta was parallel with "The Gut". The sailors haunts were full of honky-tonks and beer bars. The owners usual cries were " Here you are boys, singing and dancing and beautiful girls sixpence". There seemed to be little of interest in Malta and a few of us went swimming every day at 4 pm, once it had cooled a bit Two very ancient opera houses showing pictures, seats falling apart. There was one huge tombola hall at night where all ranks attended, except me. They said that if you won the last house, a doubler, it was worth £50, and you were assured of an escort to the ship or depot of your choice. One good thing came out of my visit, as I went to the education office and found information about joining the civil service or a limited exam to be a teacher. Davy and Ginger Hall were always on to me to get into the Civil Service. Davy was Air Ministry and Ginger was Admiralty. I sent in an application form from Malta and the rest is history. I gave Hank the teachers' forms and never found out the result, as Hank just disappeared. I had a bit of tummy trouble and MO said it had been the Med. He said that there was no tide and hence about 30 feet of silt floating about. Some of the army lads got ring-worm. Life was very boring and we had little to do, which led to me getting into trouble as they gave me a sentry job in a Maltese barracks. 10 p.m until 6 a.m armed with a torch and a baton. Malta had bubonic plague on the island and the barracks were full of rats. I was careful to do the duty and then put in a complaint on the grounds that Leading Hands do not do sentry duties. (Quote from Kings Rules and Admiralty Instructions). It was turned down by a duty officer, a first lieutenant (2 ½ ringer), and a commander (3-ringer). By then the Jaunty was getting worried and asked me to withdraw as I had now reached the Captain (4-ringer). He said I would get no more duties in barracks. I asked him to put it in writing and he refused, so in went my request to see the Captain. The jaunty was back next day for a withdrawal and asked how far I would go. I told him Admiral Cunningham, admiral of the Med fleet, would do me fine. I also told him my oldest brother in Glasgow was very friendly with Admiral Lister, head of all Aircraft Carriers. That was the coup de grace, as he came back with further guarantee and two witnesses in our mess deck that this was a genuine offer. I got my 2 witnesses and withdrew the request. End of battle but not the end of story. Next day was Sunday Divisions and church parade. No sign of POs and Chiefs and the jaunty came straight over to me and said "You're a Leading Tel - march the non-conformers to St Andrews church." I said, "You promised me no more duties." And he replied that church parade was not a duty, it was a tradition. (You can't win in the Andrew). I set off with 40 ratings via the Sunday quayside, all Maltese selling their wares and got to St Andrews with 5 of us, the other 35 having sloped off. We were faithfuls and attended worship. The bonus was a good feed in the church hall afterwards. I got back about 1 p.m. and found they had been piping for me for about an hour. I went to the Reg office, expecting a rocket for losing the ratings, and lo and behold the jaunty said "pack your bag and hammock, you're going home, with one PO/Tel". I'm convinced they were glad to get rid of me. I didn't care why, as I was elated. Good riddance to Malta for ever! A nice place to send your mother-in-law for a holiday.

17. Going Home

What a weird journey home. The PO and I got a rusty merchant ship to Marseille, in a transit camp for 2 days and then a train through France, stopping at transit camps on the way for food and sleep. Army tents and bare earth and eating out of billy-cans in the open. All dinner in one can, stew in one cornet and jelly and custard in the other, all eventually running together. I managed to get my hammock out of the pile and slung it between two trees. Very good weather and healthy living, (The pongos were very envious) The train was awful, a German trophy, all wood and cane like traveling 900 miles on a Glasgow tram. We got to Dieppe eventually and thence to Newhaven, PO and I now on our own and heading for Chatham. On 11th September 1945 reported back to HMS Pembroke for demob. I met Archie Howes who I went to Jarrow Central School with, and who was now a CPO/Tel, and he took me into the CPO's mess.

I went to see Davy's mother at Chadwell St Mary, and stayed overnight and she let me sleep in. The only time adrift in 6 years war. Mrs. Wade offered to give me a little note for the officer, that would have been hilarious in the Reg office. However my luck was in as the crusher (reg PO) was a Geordie. I told him 1 was due for demob and he just gave me my station card and told me to be off and catch up with the rest.. He shouted after me "Give my love to Newcastle". I should, in effect have had one days leave stopped and one days pay deducted. I passed the medical and dentist and lined up for my 2 suits, 2 shirts and a pair of shoes. I got my gratuity and back pay, (6 pence a day from August 1942 as per Churchill). Total £79 for blood, sweat and tears, and on 3rd October set off for home. I was very very happy to see the station sign "Hebbum". I got officially released on 28 October 1945 and had 2 months leave with my beloved Evelyn. I remained in the RNV(W)R until aged 55 in 1972. A.R. (.-.-. End of message in naval comms.)

Some small details may be missing, such as short spells of jankers, although my history sheets states "Conduct VG".

THE END

(Editor's note.) That, then, is the story of Gordon Johnson's war. There is more in the form of several appendices giving, in great detail, the specifications and photos of his various ships which is probably beyond the scope of this site but which may be added later when I have more time to spare (like after Xmas).  There is also a recently released document that George has acquired from the Admiralty (Friends in High Places) that we hope to slot in somewhere soon.

I hope everyone has enjoyed reading Gordon's words, none of which have been altered, and that you will join with George, myself, and those who've expressed their appreciation on the Message Board, in thanking him very much for allowing us the priviledge of, metaphorically slinging our hammock alongside his. Dec. 2007