Approach of the storm - Chapter 16

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Thomas Arthur Russell, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Approach of the storm Chapter 16
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

"Special sea duty men prepare for leaving harbour," had been piped and, "all men out of the rig of the day, clear the upper deck."
So, once again we were on the move. The familiar throb of engines faintly pulsated through the stoker's mess deck. "Buzzers" were rife. We were going to the Pacific to join up with the battleship Prince of Wales, the battle cruiser Repulse and the Dutch East Indies Fleet. We were going to deliver a troop convoy to Singapore and so on. We were going to help build up the Naval strength of the Americans after the damaging attack on Pearl harbour.

Japan attacked at dawn of the 8th December, 7th December British time, and Churchill had announced an immediate declaration of war on the Japanese, but the buzzers were all proved to be wrong. Now I was to experience an old Navy custom and to take my part in "Crossing The Line".

A large canvas pool had been rigged up and pumped full of water from the fire main. Some boards and steps had been arranged around it and a large stool had been placed at its edge, several old hands mostly on the burly side surrounded it while two waded up to their waists in the pool. Then a party armed with home made rope ends softened with rags, set off hunting out the uninitiated among us.

They were all dressed as pirates. They roamed around pretending to haul us to King Neptune’s court. One was sat on a chair dressed as King Neptune with trident in hand. A bit of harmless buffeting with the rags followed, then a character with a large cardboard razor pretended to give a quick shave after which a pill made of soap was popped in the mouth. Then you were tipped into the pool and ritually ducked.

Now you had been accepted into King Neptune’s domain, it was a bit of fun and the certificate we received was a source of pride to men who, a short time before, had hardly seen the sea.

My crossing the line certificate is dated the 27th day of December 1941. Longitude l1 deg 22’ W. I was to cross the line a few more times yet, it now seemed eons of time since I'd first joined the Ramillies in the Med. I'd seen the gales of the Atlantic, the large convoys, I'd been to Iceland, where Churchill had addressed us from the top of the 15inch turret, after which I visited an American battlewagon, "The New Mexico"; a great experience, for their messing arrangements made ours look primitive.

At that time you could have lain on their mess decks and I doubt if you'd have got dirty. The soda fountain was there with different colours of mineral water. We had a meal with a menu and it was served up like a restaurant.

A return visit from our opposite numbers filled me with shame. They came aboard at tea time to a meal of bread and jam and we were that short of crockery, some of us had to drink from condensed milk tins with the lid pared back, and you even had to lock it in your locker, or it could go missing.
Still, in all fairness, we had been at war a year or two and the U-boats had hammered our convoys. It was war and we had to manage best we could.

Things were now much better after our refit at Liverpool. New crockery adorned the mess deck shelves, and Captains rounds made the mess deck sparkle, with cutlery and spoons polished and tea chests and mess kettles you could use as a mirror.
The good old blue bell metal polish was applied with great effect, the days were warm, but as our tans developed, we grew into a kind of self-developed tropical routine. The bathrooms for officers and men were only opened up for half an hour at the end of each watch. We’d learnt to "dhobey"(??) our sweat soddened vests, underpants, and the white cap covers we wore as boiler room or engine room head gear, along with a quick rubout of boiler suits at the same time as we bathed.

Water for drinking and washing was strictly controlled, for we had to depend more and more on the water distilled by the evaporators. We even put nuts and bolts in the mess deck drinking tanks in the belief that this would add mineral salts to the distilled water. These tanks were locked at times too. We couldn't help but use much more water in these tropical conditions; you could use a special issue of soap, salt-water soap that was supposed to produce a lather.

Try as I could, I never found it lathered well and I think it increased the risk of prickly heat, so I soon passed that idea by.
We passed the island of St Helena. The weather was keeping good. Alarms were now very infrequent, although exercising action stations to keep us on our toes caused a few inevitable grumbles.

The transports kept station day after day as if bound by some invisible magnet. It seemed more like a peacetime cruise. The weather had lost much of its fierce heat though it was still very warm.

The whole ship's company was now looking bronzed, some more swarth were nearly black. A few pale faces still showed among the stokers on the mess deck who spent most time off watch napping on the mess deck.
These men seemed more susceptible to prickly heat. The fittest were those among us who preferred to keep a regular routine of pacing the fo'castle between resting and watching?

It wasn't long now before the weather got a good bit cooler, and the Cape came into sight, a sight unforgettable after the long days at sea. The flat top of the plateau adorned by a layer of thin wispy cloud and the land scent carrying a promise of new experiences ahead. The talk was of shore leave, beer and the illusionary delights of the South African "parties" as Jack called the women folk. We had heard tales of the South African hospitality and how generous a people they were, so we were eager and raring to go.

We were granted shore leave after the ship tied up. We had a lecture on South African law and were warned against the serious view taken of whites who fraternised with the black populace. To men who had been under the impression they were fighting for freedom, it seemed rather hard to understand, for South African servicemen were fighting in the Western desert and in the air as our allies and the newsreel pictures of Jan Smuts, their leader showed him as a decent sort of chap. Nevertheless, the main deck echoed to the bustle and noise of the lads preparing for the first run ashore in South Africa. Cigarettes and the odd bar of nutty were secreted in that triangular pocket inside the left breast side of the tunic. You never knew what these commodities would buy. Warning was given not to enter the No. 6 District - this was an out of bounds area and no whites entered there.

My first run ashore was in reality a disappointment. Three of us sampled the lager, Lion and Castle Lagers. He tried the wine and the Commando brandy produced there. The girls didn't seem particularly interesting and the place just didn't live up to what we had expected. A few cards were the only souvenirs I brought aboard at 2300 hours. The weather seemed quite cool after the warmth of the tropics; the three of us were soon in our hammocks.

Reveille next morning, and after breakfast all hands not watch keeping turned to cleaning ship. Several of the boys had claimed to have made a hit with the girls, but some of their yarns took a bit of believing. At stand easy I popped up to the upper deck with my "cuppa" and a seaman standing near, having a quick smoke before, "Out pipes, carry on working," was sounded, said, "Eh, Yorky, look at that F****** thing in the water." A round shining head looking black and slick, with two large pupil-less black eyes, had popped up and was gazing up from the water. It was a seal, something many of us had only seen in a zoo.

Shore leave found Bill, Tommy and me deciding to find out the risks of entering the out of bounds area after dark. It was an all black place on its outer fringes we came across a few Cape coloureds. They were of mixed blood and the girls we saw were really beautiful, more like Latin type women.

Our attempts to chat them up brought smiles and laughter, white teeth and dark hair enhanced their smiles and good looks, but they soon made it plain we were way off the beam and we moved on. Contact was finally established when we met up with two black women and it was touch and go whether we followed them further or went back.

I didn't relish the idea of proceeding further in this place. We had left the bright lights behind and now the lighting was dim. Furtive shapes flitted among the odd mixture of buildings which appeared to have plenty of corrugated sheeting among their composition. We heard slight shuffling noises in the darkness.
I now knew how easy it could be to vanish here, I always associated dark skins with gleaming knives, why, I wouldn't know.
Maybe the cinema of those days gave that impression. My companions didn't share my unease and so, in response to the, "You come along sailors, you no afraid," we followed them and soon came to a dwelling, if I could call it such, composed of a brick like substance and a corrugated roof.
This was their home. It had a bed in one corner and what appeared to be a home-made stove for cooking on, more like a small watchman’s fire. Even for two, it was small and I couldn't help feeling sorry for these two women.

I had never up to then seen a more miserable place, a bit of netting on the floor and a few pans hung up and one old chair, that was about it. I decided to get out and tried to communicate my feelings to my companions without causing affront to the two women whom I knew for all their quiet dignity, were two whores. My mind was finally made up when they suggested we have a bite to eat. The "bite" turned out to be something, which looked like corned beef and was kept in a large square tin from which came a few blue bottles.

Each of us said we weren't hungry. Each of us tried to pass the buck, trying to get one to take a mouthful, so as not to offend the women. I'd never been in a situation like that before, trying not to offend two whores by not partaking of their offer of putrid food, never again would I walk into such a situation.

It's now or never I decided. Rising to my feet I said, "I'm off back to the ship and you two can please yourselves." A bit of arguing and they decided to stay, the older looking of the two offered to escort me and I was glad of her company, for a tall dark shadowy figure followed us and what he was saying I couldn't understand. He was either a pimp or some type of thug.

She kept answering back in a language I couldn't understand. On a corner nearer civilisation again, I met up with another sailor and felt a sense of relief at the safety in numbers theory. "Going to the dockyard Jack?" "Yes." "So am I." With that, we made our way back together, back to the old hammock and security of the ness deck.

Bill and Tommy stayed all night and I saw them next morning when they returned aboard from their seven bells leave. "Why didn't you stay? We had a right good time." How, I can only imagine in that cramped apology for a garden shed. Significantly they hadn't a penny to their name, and a couple of days later, Bill got the wind up on noticing a slight colourless discharge when he went to urinate. He was lucky, on examination the sick bay cleared him. It was only a "gleet", a strain of some sort. Nobby wasn't so lucky and only proved what we expected. We had spotted him with a black girl who reminded one of a black doll. She had flashing dark eyes framed by cheeks, adorned by a large area of rouge, giving that impression of a doll.
Where will power was concerned, "Nobby" was deficient. Nobody would have a bet on him coming off shore leave and keeping clear of the CDA mess.

This trip proved no exception and he was soon "squeezing up," a mess deck term describing the gonorrhoea, and he was in the CDA mess again. As he packed his toilet articles to leave the stoker's mess deck, the boys derided him. "You dirty b******. You’ll learn Nobby." But you have to hand it to him, he would just laugh and retort; "Somebody's to keep the sick bay Tiffys happy." Someone said he had only to look at a "party" and he caught the boat up, I once saw a photo of his wife and I remember telling him what a bloody fool he was. She was a lovely looking woman. Nobby, where are you now. For all his faults he was a great guy.

Soon we were out at sea again and heading North in the Indian Ocean, we were back to cruising routine, interrupted by A.A. exercises, giving the recently fitted Oerlikons(??) and their gunners some training.

The weather soon warmed up again and the ship rode easily through a moderate blue sea in which her wake showed up startlingly white. Our destination was Durban and the mess deck was agog with the usual "buzzers". We were going to join the far Eastern Fleet at Singapore. Some said we were going to Ausie Land. Some of the older hands passed on their knowledge of Durban and it sounded, as it was a good deal better than the Cape. It did a lot for morale. Everyone was looking forward; collars were washed to achieve the palest blue. Lanyards were scrubbed white, white caps were blanched, everyone on the mess deck was excited and the glummest faces were those under punishment whose shore leave was stopped, and the men of the CDA mess whose chances of leave were nil till they were passed as clear of VD.

Off watch at night, I wandered at the heavens as I paced the fo’castle. The swish of our wake, the slow arc of the masts against a dark blue velvet sky, and all against the most brilliant and numerous stars, I could ever remember seeing, you could even see the heat shimmering over the funnel. It seemed a world of its own; you could even forget that under your feet below decks were hundreds of men.

I loved those walks and feel sorrow that old friends, thousands of miles away were not here, living the experiences I was living. My walks weren't always smooth though. When the ship was pitching, you sometimes walked uphill a bit and next minute you nearly broke into a trot as water foamed over the bows and round the feet leaving the deck planking, anchor chains and capstan gleaming and wet, with face smarting and damp from the spray as the wind carried it back, flying and giving a polish to the great 15 inch for’d turret and the armoured conning position.

Pr-BR

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