Bills Memories: Chapter 6 -Home and football in Panama.

Home and Football in Panama

Just before Christmas 1943 the Commander had me in the office and told me it was time I went home as I had been there six months, my allotted stint. I was to join a ship, a tanker named Macuba and join the gunners already on. A Jeep had been sent to take all my gear from the Biltmore Hotel. I packed everything and said my goodbyes to all my friends. I was pleased to get back to sea again. The Dutch skipper was called Captain Bakker, a real nice man with whom I had a chat and then on to meet my mates, one in particular. A gunner called Howard Ricketts, who I took home with me later to Thurcroft, for a few days and then I went to his home but that’s much later on. We sailed next morning and we were bound for New York to meet other ships that were gathering there, for going home in convoy to England. Now it was getting really cold as it was wintertime and December. We stayed there two days and then left in convoy, each ship, twelve of us, taking vital supplied back home. When we got sorted out each ship 200 yards apart and in line with two destroyer escorts. Then a day came it began to ‘storm.’ I have been in some rough weather but none like it was now. It was storm force 12 and mountainous seas and each ship was ordered to head into it as it was customary. First you would hit a wave at least 20 feet high and then head down into a trough and climb the next. We could not have a cooked meal as the cook could not keep the pans on the stove. We had to make do with sandwiches and ay least we had some tea to go with them. I must admit I have never seen seas like it. After two days the storm subsided and we had to form convoy routine again, and the convoy could only go as fast as the slowest ship to keep in line and no stragglers. We got together approximately one hundred yards apart with destroyers who sped up and down the lines of ships listening and watching for submarines. The next day we were attacked with subs. They fired two torpedoes. One hit a British tanker called Empire Gold. There was a hell of a blast. The tanker was engulfed in thick black oil smoke and then blew up in a ball of flame. I felt terrible about it for there were no survivors and imagined they had Christmas presents for those at home. The other torpedo hit an American ammunition ship, which blew apart with an almighty blast and knew no one got off that. The destroyers were dropping depth charges now. You could see great plumes of water going into the air as they went off, some of the ships scattered, but came together after that lot. I thought we could have been blown up too, for we had a cargo of high octane for fuelling our planes back home. There were no more incidents after that lot and we were pleased to see a Sunderland flying boat that patrolled the coast, so we were glad to reach there, sparing a thought for those who had not made it. We got back to Belfast and docked. The customs men came aboard and that scared me no end for I had a 1000 Yankee fags in my kitbag plus presents from abroad, but luck was on our side.

When our transport, the ‘Navy Wagon’ came and fetched us and our kit, took us to the HMS. President, a shore base in Belfast. We reported to the Master at arms, we had a medical and asked me “How long is it since you had home leave?” I told him 20 months since the last time I had leave. “You will stay overnight, then in the morning you will see the Paymaster, who will fix your leave ticket, money and tickets for train and ferry to mainland England.” I packed my suitcase and packed the Lucky Strike American fags. 1000 of them, with two pairs of silk pajamas and a handbag for mum. Also a plug of tobacco that weighed nearly a pound.

Next morning I went to the Paymaster, who gave me all the tickets for the ferry and train plus £100 and I felt great. The ferry ticket was from Larne to Stranraer, Scotland and then the train to Sheffield. We got aboard the ferry in Larne and four hours later in Scotland. I asked Howard Ricketts if he would like to come home for a short stay to our house and then vice versa to theirs. He said OK and on the way on the train we opened a bottle of Jamaican rum for it was a long way on the train. An Air Force bloke kept looking at us and we gave him a drink as well and we finished it off between us. The Air Force bloke was about pie eyed when he got off. When we finally got home everyone was pleased to see us and made a great fuss. I gave mum £20 to buy a new rig out, ie. coat, shoes, frock etc. I don’t think she had seen so much money before. Off she went to Rotherham and we took her to the pub at night to celebrate. Dot and Mabel liked the pyjamas I gave them. I gave our Joe the pipe tobacco, he raffled it off making sure an old pipe smoker won it. The old bloke scraped the old tobacco out of his pie and lit it with a new pipeful. He said it was great and thanked me. We stayed at our house a week and Ricky, his nickname, was taking a shine to our Dot, although she was courting a bit herself.

We eventually left and after saying our goodbyes we headed for the train and on to Birmingham, to Ricky’s place for a few days and then the train back to Belfast via the ferry and across to Ireland. I only took my little case back as I had no need for the big one. I had left 200 cigs in my duffle bag just in case as cigs were hard to get over there, and I was running short. We arrived back in Belfast, rigged up our hammocks, as we had to sleep in them, as there were no bunk beds there. After the usual routine, ie. drills and gunnery practice, we went out at night for a pint of Porter, like draught Guinness. Once again over the tannoy, “Will Leading Seaman Young go to the draft office.” I thought when, where is it to be now? “Collect all your gear, your ship is in dock and waiting for you to board.” I hoped Ricky was coming along also, but it wasn’t to be. I shook hands with Ricky and left, the other chap who went with me was called Jim Spiers, who turned out to be a laugh a minute man.

We finally boarded a Dutch tanker named Ena. She was a Royal Fleet auxiliary tanker, oiled the ships at sea, in the Pacific and that gave me the idea as to where we were going next. They had Dutch gunners aboard and we introduced ourselves to everyone and settled in. Now the Dutch seem to drink a lot of gin as they seem to make a lot of Bols they make in Holland and comes in stone bottles. They each gave Jim my new body and myself a drink. We toasted their health and worked our watches on lookout. We sailed next morning for America, the land of the almighty dollar. It was a quiet trip to the States and nothing untoward happened. The skipper this time was called Captain Rous who was a good captain and nothing ruffled him. There was one of the gunners called Pieter van Vleet and another called Jan der Hertzog. We got on well with all who spoke English. After getting his orders from ashore we sailed south to Corpus Christi in Texas, a place called Beaumont. My buddy Jim was chuffed, saying “We’re going to cowboy country.” We tied up to an oil jetty and got ready to load from an oil refinery there. The skipper gave us shore leave so off we went to a bar for a beer. Jim would make conversation with a plank of wood, I’m sure and was soon chatting to a local who owned a small spread of cattle just out of town and, in talking, the bloke invited us to his spread. He took us in his huge car and on the way stopped at a shoe repair place and yelled, “Hey, Mike mend my boots, I’ll call for them tomorrow.” And off we went to his ranch. It was not far, he introduced us to his wife and two teenage daughters. We had a good meal with them and Jim then said “I’ve always wanted to ride a horse.” I wish he had kept his big gob shut, for it was not long before they had horses saddled. I declined the offer, but they said, “Aw, it’s easy, come on.” With that, the sight of the big one they had saddled for me made my hair curl. “He’s as gentle as a lamb.” Jim went on with his at a gallop so I thought it’s easy until one of the girls gave it a slap on the ass and it went like a steam train. It frightened the hell out of me and how I hung on I’ll never know, but it stopped when I shouted, “Whoa!” I managed to turn it round and rode back. Now I know why cowboys walk bow legged and my ass was sore for days. Jim for bravado kept going and came back later looking a bit sick, and almost fell off. The girls laughed their heads off but said not bad for sailors. We stayed for tea, roast ham and home made pickles and then their dad drove us back in his bare feet. We stayed two days and took all that time to straighten my legs and get rid of the soreness.

We sailed away down to the Panama Canal and waited for the American pilot to take us through the locks again to Bilboa Pacific side of the canal. The more I saw of it the more I marvelled at the engineering that took place to make it. We arrived and off loaded onto a Yankee tanker that was to oil the different ships in the Pacific Ocean battle zone. Then we went back through the canal to Colon again. Then we sailed to the Dutch West Indies to Curacao for a cargo of crude oil, then back to the canal. This time we unloaded the cargo at a refinery at Colon. We had leave at Cristobel, the capital. Jim and I went to a nightclub called Copacabana and we enjoyed the South American singers, rumbas. The singers all played guitars and harmonised. It was wonderful. We went to Aruba, another Dutch island in the Indies to fetch another load of oil and back to the refinery. While we were unloading this it was my turn to guard the gangway that went down to the dock to stop strangers coming aboard. When to my astonishment a big pot-bellied Padre with a big sombrero on, and astride a mule, came along and took off his sombrero and said, “Buenos dios senor” to me, “I would like to speak with ‘El Capitan.’” I told him I could not but I would find out, so I called out to a Dutch engineer and told him about the Padre. “Sure that’s alright, let him come aboard.” So he went and saw the Captain. It appeared he had come from an orphans home and wanted us to pick a team to play the orphans at football in Silver City, eight miles away and the Captain agreed.

Now he left it to us to make a team up. The Captain bought everything, boots, shirts and shorts, along with a cranky old crate of a bus and I never thought it would get us there, never mind get us back. Banging and clouds of smoke came from the exhaust, but we did. Eight miles was a long way in the contraption. Now word had got about like wildfire and where the crowd came from I did not know. Their lads were around sixteen and could make a ball talk. We were a team of misfits and the skipper was in goal, but we did our best and only lost 6-2. One of our lads pointed out to a young Padre who was refereeing that there were fourteen of them on the field at one time. “No each one has ten minutes and then swap.” Everyone wanted to play us. Every time they scored the crowd roared. It was enjoyable though. We managed to get back to the ship alright and have a laugh about it later. I was wondering where we were going next, it was mid-July 1944 now and that’s when they have lots of rain and I mean rain with thunder and lightning all the time.

Anyhow we went twice more for oil, once to Catagena, Colombia, at a place called San Juan and sailed up a river just wide enough to take a ship, empty, and then had to run into a river bank, turn the ship round to load it for the trip back as the river was not deep enough to turn round loaded. It was one hell of a place, I saw one of the biggest bullfrogs I have ever seen. Jim, my buddy, saw it first, sat on the gangway, and showed it to me. When we went to look closer, it leaped into the air off the gangway and into the brush. We only stayed a day there, it was hot after the rains, a sticky heat. Everyone was pleased to get away and we sailed back to Panama. Then to Colon again. We were almost locals there by now. Went ten-pin bowling at the local drome and it was not as easy as it looks, if like we, you’re not used to it. Jim almost did not let go of his first bowl and we laughed as he fell flat on his face down the runway, but managed to stay up off the floor. And when his ball struck the pins and four went down the crowd yelled “Bravo!” I did not fare much better, but it was enjoyable. Then we had a couple of beers.

On the next day who should come through the main gates again was the Padre on his mule again. How he knew we were in port again we could not fathom but we guessed it must be the guards on the dock gate. Captain Rous saw him and agreed for another football match. We did go along in the old banger again and as we got there the crowd showed us a great welcome and we were elated. But they decided not to beat us so heavily this time and we drew 2-2 each. It was to be our last match there, as we went back to the States when we sailed. That was the last time I was to see the Canal and South America and it was almost 1945 when we arrived at New York, and we were to celebrate the New Year tied up to a pier and Captain Rous gave us shore leave. What a night it was to be. We could not buy a drink, you would have thought the war was over. One good thing in our favour, we were not far from the ship, so we had not far to go. The guard on board said we were in a right state when we came back and no wonder.

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