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By Root 91 0

no news where we were going. Gunner Simms thought we were on the fringe of Biscay. I’d suffered the Bay many times. I knew how bad it could get and get it did. On the night of January 13th, already in heavy seas, we hit a force nine gale. Christ. Seas became mountainous. We listed alarmingly. Furniture broke loose. Crockery shattered on decks. A sliding table broke Sergeant Hendricks’s legs. So he was out of it, though, of course, he could fight lying down. Ha! Ha! Seeing a man upright was a thing of the past. I went round saying “What’s your angle, man?” At night the hammocks swung like violent pendulums. The top of Gunner Jack Shapiro’s came undone. His lovely head hit the floor. He lay there. Was he asleep? Or unconscious and asleep? To bring him round we would have to wait till he woke up and became unconscious. With true military gallantry we left him there. On Captain’s orders, we all slept in life-jackets. Bloody uncomfortable. You realised what a woman with a forty-two inch bosom felt like sleeping face downwards on her back. (Pardon?)

That night, the storm raging, I fell into a not-too-peaceful sleep. Next day. Oh dear. Men sick everywhere; some managed to get to the toilets, but as the days passed and they weakened they were sick where they stood. I was all right, but I kept having to leap clear. It was my turn to collect breakfast. With two heavy containers I swayed like Blondin over the Niagara. To complicate matters, it was another boot day. Decks were soaking wet. Containers full, I left the galley. The ship tilted. I started to slide at increasing speed towards the red-hot stoves. “Quick,” I yelled. “Phone Lloyds of London and insure me against catching fire at sea whilst carrying porridge!” A hairy cook grabbed me just in time. “This could mean promotion for you,” I told him. There was food for twelve, but only two takers: Edgington and me. We enjoyed liberal portions of sausages, bacon, bread and butter, tea, jam. Then started all over again. All to the sound of great agonised retching groans. Feeling fine, we tried to bring joy to our less fortunate comrades by saying “Cold greasy tripe and raw eggs!” We had to be quick. Edgington and I promenaded the decks Harry stopped: “If only I had a tube.”

“Why?”

“It’s quicker by tube.”

With eighty per cent illness we had to take turns on the antiaircraft guns. The night I was on was a frightening affair. One of the men on Bofor guns forward was washed overboard. Next morning, there was a service in the canteen for him. Poor bastard. The storm never let up. It was only this that prevented U-boat attacks, though I know many a sick-covered wreck who would rather have had calm seas and been torpedoed. A poor green-faced thing asked, “Isn’t there any bloody cure for seasickness?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sit under a tree.” I had to be quick.

Gunner Olins had been told deaf people never get sick. He spent the rest of the storm with his fingers in his ears. The ship, now, was one big vomit bucket. On the night of the 14th we had passed through the Straits of Gibraltar into the Mediterranean—and gone was the gale all was calm. The Med????

This threw the speculation book wide open. Bombardier Rossi was taking bets. Malta 6 4, India 20-1, Libya 6 4 on, Algeria 11—10 on, Bournemouth 100 1. Most of us thought it would be Algeria. As we passed further through the Straits, the sea went calm like a satisfied mistress. Darkness gathered quickly, and lo! across the straits were the glittering lights of all-electric Tangiers! The port rail was crowded. We hadn’t seen so many lights since they went out that September in 1939. I thought sadly of blacked-out Britain, but look at the money we were saving! With Doug Kidgell I watched the magic glow of Tangiers.

“Think you could swim to it?”

“Yesss,” he said. “It’s only about three to five miles.” He was a superb swimmer and, for that matter, so was I (100 metres Champion, Convent of Jesus and Mary, Poona. I could swim any nun off her feet). I told him if we did we’d be sure of ending the war alive. “They’d make us,” said Doug, “do time