Approach of the storm - Chapter 7

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 7
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

By then, we must have been about amidships, and were conducted down to the stoker's mess deck. This mess deck was in two parts and connected by a cross passage. I was allotted to a mess on the starboard side of the ship and shown to the hammock netting which was below the mess deck and contained lockers for our clothes and gear from our kitbags. A large steel bin held the hammocks and I could just imagine having to hunt among that lot if they weren't stowed away tidily. We made our way back to the quarterdeck and fetched our hammocks, and then we were mustered outside the Regulation Chief Stoker’s office, which wasn't so far from our mess deck.

We were allotted jobs and liberty cards with parts of watch, which were either 1st or 2nd part of port or starboard watch, red for starboard, green for port, and G for the rum drawers, T for the non-drinkers, and UA for under age marked on one page. Then we were given the rest of that day off to get to know our way around. Frankly I thought I never would for she seemed so huge after the Carlisle. But after a few days things started dropping into shape and I was beginning to find my way around.

My place of work was down in No.1 boiler room and could be reached from the cross passage by an electric lift or down a hatchway through a system of steel ladders gratings which was the way that anyone wishing to dry his clothing took. Then you hung it on lines over the big lagging covered steam pipes overhead in the boiler room. My first impression of the boiler room was of its size, six great Babcox and Wilcox water tube boilers back to back fed into the funnel trunking, pumps and gauges, valves and small wheels on long steel rods seemed everywhere.

Brass work shone and the metal plates we stood on were polished by the liberal application of shale oil rubbed clean with waste or old rags. The Chief Stoker kept an eye over everything and made sure his beloved boiler room was kept up to scratch. Everywhere smelt of oil and steam. The great boilers were fed by oil, three small valves at each side of each boiler passed the oil through pipes direct to sprayer which sent the oil in a fine spiralling spray into the furnace, immediate and constant combustion being achieved by the pre-heated oil resulting in the terrific flame needed for the pressures required to generate the steam for the engines of the ship. The steam itself was passed through super-heaters. In harbour, only the boilers required to keep the auxiliary machinery ticking over were in use, and yet the boiler rooms were very hot then. I wondered how much hotter it would be at sea with all the boilers flashed up and going full blast. Steam turbo fans produced from high overhead, and controlled by means of the wheels on the end of the long rods from down on the boiler room floor. The amount of air passed down depended on the speed of the ship, for the more oil needed meant more forced draught, for without the extra draught, we would be making smoke anathema to a naval captain at sea in wartime, for we dare not give our position away. Mirrors set into the side of each boiler and checked regularly showed any smoke, which might appear. Smoke was a very important part of a ship's defence, for it could be used for cover of a convoy or indeed in a battle to use her. A prime example of using it as an offensive weapon by using its cover to dart in and out, was the Battle of the Plate, when lighter gunned cruisers had to take on the pocket battleship Graf Spee. The engine room telegraphs had it included in their orders, so it could immediately be signalled to boiler room and engine room from the bridge; either make smoke or stop making smoke as the case might be. It was May and our time was spent working part of ship. Shore leave was pretty generous as long as the money lasted and Alexandria wasn’t a dear place. Drinks were pretty cheap, especially at the Fleet Club, which really was a misnomer, for the Army, and Air Force also used it. It was a large building and a meal of half a chicken, green peas, chips and bread rolls and butter cost about 1/6 (1 shilling and sixpence (7 ½ p). It was brought by an Egyptian gentleman wearing a red fez and spotless white gown. On his breast, he sported a round metal badge with his number on it. If you wanted Lager he'd go and return a few minutes later with a bottle of cold Pilsner and a glass, and he'd pour it for you while the chill still put dew on the glass. They were very efficient and courteous. Of course you tipped the man and he made a point of reminding you of his number so you asked for his service on future visits. Some of the lads seemed to strike up very good friendships with them.

Tombola was played in the evenings and the lucky ones, who called a full house, won a substantial sum of money, so much in fact that to avoid the danger of being mugged, you were advised to avail yourself of the services of the shore patrol and return to the ship with it, so you could bank it or spend it as you preferred. Another thing, which Alex was renowned for, was its Sister Street with its brothels; I remember my first run ashore in Alexandria and Sister Street very well. I happened to be watch ashore and we had just been paid, so I felt flush with a fortnight’s pay in piastres or " ackers” as the lads called them.

Not knowing my way round the place and hearing dire tales of what could happen to young inexperienced sailors, I had to find a mate whom I thought could take care of me, but this problem settled itself for another Yorkshireman older than me by several years, and of a strapping build sporting a "set", as we called beard and moustache, and looking as if he could be a rough tough customer, asked me if I wished to go ashore with him. I accepted his invitation on one condition, that was we kept away from Sister Street. I'll always remember that man for his smile, it really looked secretive but I knew I’d be safe with him if trouble popped up.

We fell in on the quarter deck at 1600 hours, for I'd only my blues and I seem to remember you could only go ashore at 1300 hours if you had No. 6's. He looked smart and of course he had his stripes and leading RATE badges in gold, and I saw he'd a diving badge up as well, so he was a leading stoker and diver. "No wonder he looked tough," I thought. I know his name but he may still be alive so I'll refer to him as "R", the first letter of his surname. We passed the customary exam and made our way down the gangway to the liberty boat, which was slowly bobbing up and down and being held steady by her crew who used their boathooks to hold her into the ship's side. This was a real adventure for me. I'd never felt like this since I was a youngster looking forward to the annual Sunday School trip to Cleethorpes.

We all set down and with a throb of her engine, we were off. As we left the ship's stern and described a half circle. I looked back and wondered anew at her size, she was massive. It was hard to imagine she wasn't some sort of Steel Island with the greenish water rippling along her light grey hull. We were well up the harbour and arrived alongside the jetty after a journey of 15 minutes whereupon the "midi" in charge of the boat said, "Don't forget, last boat 2500 hours. Don't be Late." So we scrambled ashore in a fever of expectation, our piaster lined pockets ready to purchase any delights Alex had to offer and in the hubbub of voices, I realised Sister Street was high on the list. I heard the latest to my collection of naval slang, some referred to Sister Street and going for a "Bag Off", and I realised they were referring to visiting the whore houses lining that notorious street. "Back Shanties" as they called them. Now I’d heard tales of what happened to the unwary, yes and even the wary who spent a few minutes between the thighs of these dusky charms, and frankly what I’d heard about the various diseases steadied my inclinations in that direction. I didn't fancy going blind or mad, or suffering from painful swollen genitals. We walked for a while through the streets, the houses had that sun baked appearance. Here and there were shops with folding steel shutters instead of doors, a slight smell of horse manure hovered in the sunlit air. Here and there, a beer bar, with the chant of ice cold beer.

"Johnny, you drink with young girl?" Now and then from among the passing natives, we would be accosted by either a man or boy with the offer of, "Nice small boy Johnny?" We all seemed to be Johnny to them. Yorkie soon shifted them with "Yalla Yalla. F*** off you gyppo bastard," to which you got a reply after a safe distance had opened between us, something in the context of, “You English navy b******.” If you turned round they'd run off. Yorkie said never follow the bastards, they're likely to lead you into a few of their mates and they can be handy with a knife. Sometimes they'd try to sell you leather wallets and sandals, which if you bartered them down, could be good value and fruit was cheap and good.

Most beer bars provided roast peanuts with your beers if you asked, at a small charge. Some gave them free. I remember one bar not far from the dockyard which went under the name of the "First and Last", and two good looking girls waited on. You got roasted peanuts and as you sipped your beer got fondled under the table if that's what you wanted. One visit in here found them with a box with a handle on and two wires with small grips on them. "This good for you Johnny, get hold please not cost much." Yorkie R went first, taking a wire in each hand. I watched his face as the girl turned the handle, soon he yelled, "Right that's enough." She grinned and gave it a couple of fast turns. "Stop it or I'll kick your c*** up, you Gippo cow." She stopped. I couldn’t show the white feather so I had a go and she made me yell before she stopped.

Those first days with the Mediterranean Fleet were idyllic. We had hands to bathe regularly where we went swimming. Never being a diver, I entered the water by sliding down the torpedo Bluster, you got out by means of a scrambling net and walked along the boom. The motor launch and picket boat were tied up too. We had water polo teams. One of the best players came off our mess deck, a tall West Indian who was like a fish in the water.

The heads’ lavatories were situated forward, towards the bow section and to avoid inconvenience to the swimmers, one side would be shut down during the bathing period, but all this would come to an end soon. On June l0th, 1940, the Italians declared war and immediately promoted a flurry of activity as meetings were held and small boats sped backward and forward, lighters were towed alongside with ammunition and stores. Ships were refuelled as the tankers moved alongside, taking the thick black fuel oil aboard through armoured hoses. I couldn’t help marvelling at the great shells being hoisted inboard. They looked immense. Everything went like clockwork and soon we were prepared and eager to be off. Morale was high; we'd show these "spaghetti yaffling bastards" they weren't fighting a few "blackies" now. With the naivety of the young, we didn't realise then that there were brave Italians and that we'd see many human tragedies and terrible sights before this war was over.

Action Stations and Damage Control and Fire Party stations were posted up on the mess deck notice board, so every man knew his place when the call came. We were still allowed to sleep on the upper deck in harbour and my first introduction to the war was the night I was suddenly roused by a terrific crash. I remember seeing a red glare, which soon vanished over by the Jocks, and searchlights, pinning a small silver speck in their beams. Somewhere on the roof of one of the flat topped buildings, a machine gunner was pumping a stream of glowing red and white tracer whose arc was curving and falling away thousands of feet below the plane, a bloody stupid "Gyppo" with the wind up I thought.

This brief action was soon over, one or two desultory rounds had been fired, just a nuisance raid. I cursed that plane for disturbing my sleep. A total blackout was imposed at night and large black curtaining shut the ship’s interior lighting off from the upper deck. At all the large steel doors, which opened out to give access to the upper deck, blue painted bulbs were used.

We had another alarm one evening as I was returning to the dock after an evening’s liberty, I and Enoch B, a Scot had been for a drink or two and were more than a little merry. As we staggered along, we heard the sirens start wailing. It acted like a signal on the local population. Steel shutters clanged and doors shut. Some of the Gyppo barrow boys fled, leaving their wears parked at the kerb side, and from behind the doors of houses could be heard wailing and calls to "Allan" as if the end of the world was here. We seemed all alone; everyone had vanished in a rustling flash of white. The night and the streets seemed empty. The searchlights sprung to life and picked up once again, a small lone silver speck flying high. One or two guns fired from the direction of the harbour and we saw the small red flecks of anti-aircraft bursts and heard the “wop wop" of their explosions.

We took advantage of the barrow boys' departure by helping ourselves to some of the fruit they'd left behind. As we arrived back at the quay, more of our men turned up and soon there was quite a crowd, many very drunk and dishevelled. The scene was reminiscent of a film that had been sparkling white. No. 6's would now be dirty and scruffy and mixed in a heaving mass with blue and white, as each liberty boat approached, the coxswain would yell her name and the mass would surge forward amid laughing and cursing. Some simply got shoved into the drink and floundered about till hauled out by a boathook. How no one ever drowned I don't know, I've seen odd ones jump in shouting "F*** the liberty boat, I'm swimming back," till they've been hauled back out, wet through and dripping. Sometimes a fight or two would develop but never with any serious injury.

Usually the antagonists would be too drunk to do much damage to each other. You had to be careful on returning to the ship, you had to salute the quarterdeck as you stepped aboard, and as you fell in and lined up, "Returning liberty men for inspection sir."

We all tried to stand steady on our feet, as the officer of the watch and the CPO inspected us. I suspect beneath the stern eye and the bullshit, they kept tongue in cheek for it was obvious most of us were either drunk or on the borderline. Odd times, a rating would get commander's report for losing an article of clothing, then he would qualify for so many days ten A, which meant stoppage of shore leave, and be found a job in the evening, plus he had to go to the slop room and buy the article or sign for it to be stopped out of his pay. More serious cases were Captain’s report and I attained the dubious qualification ... but more of that later.

Pr-BR

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