THE ORMONDE

Otago Daily Times, Issue 23002, 3 October 1936, Page 23

THE ORMONDE

TROOPSHIP MEMORIES RECALLED

By Vrumao

The thrilling accounts of the outbreak of fire aboard the Orient liner Ormonde, when she was on her way from Melbourne to Sydney, will recall to hundreds of New Zealand troops other thrilling adventures associated with the Ormonde. The 15,000-ton liner must have figured in many dangerous situations during her career as a transport in the Great War, and as a result of reading her latest experience in peace time I have been looking over my diary written up nightly during the war period to jog my memory regarding the passage from Alexandria (Egypt) to Taranto (Italy) in the middle of 1918. The 36th Reinforcements, after five weeks at Suez, received news one day that they were. to strike camp and travel by train overland through Egypt to Alexandria to board a transport—where to go we knew not. This glorious uncertainty in the army of what awaited one next week or where one’s lot would be cast a few days later made the life very fascinating to me. Dipping into my diary, I read:— Thursday, July 4, 1918.—Arrived at Alexandria, which is a large and historical Egyptian city, having a population of 332,246, and Immediately went aboard a fresh transport, the Ormonde, a modern steamer of 15,000 tons. New Zealand, Australian and Imperial troops are aboard, totalling 3000 men. The harbour is a fine and busy one—a circular basin, around which runs the city. The shipping Is very great; I counted some 30 large steamers, to say nothing of smaller craft. A battlecruiser, a monitor and about a dozen destroyers are in port. Many other transports crowded with troops are also lying In the harbour. The Khedive’s Palace is a magnificent one, standing near the waterfront. The beautiful Egyptian night was spent by the boys lolling around the decks, on which space was at a premium, on account of about 1000 troops from Mesopotamia being parked there —eating, sleeping and killing time in the small area allotted to each man of his own body’s length. New Zealanders were soon scratching acquaintance with these seasoned soldiers from the East, who were filled with strange tales of life in that sweltering land. The boys were undismayed by the orders issued that each had to wear his lifebelt all day during the crossing of the Mediterranean and use it as a pillow at night. It was at the height of the submarine menace and the defence authorities were experimenting with our reinforcement in an endeavour to get New Zealand soldiers to England with as little sea voyaging as possible. Hence our glorious experience of travel! Young New Zealand slept soundly aboard the Ormonde that night. Next morning was truly a wonderful day, both as regards weather and interest. But let my diary speak:— Friday. July s.—At 12 o’clock six destroyers moved out of the harbour of Alexandria, a transport slipping in between the destroyers alternately, till the Ormonde began to throb to the motion of her engines and she followed Into the line. There were nine destroyers and five large transports (all save one being double-funnelled), packed with soldiers. The spectacle was a fine one, the transports’ decks lined with khakiclad men. The destroyers then manoeuvred silently around the transports (their outward appearance giving little indication of the destructive machinery within ready to spit forth fiery Indignation should occasion demand it). Four aeroplanes soared gracefully overhead, their occupants’ eyes peering Into the depths for hidden dangers from the enemv—all contributing to the drama of war. Despite the stern orders and the serious faces of the officers, who patrolled the decks with loaded reto use them on anyone starting a panic should submarines attack the convoy—my diary discloses that the experience was stirring rhapsodies within me. It reads; — Thus we made our acquaintance with the Mediterranean, upon whose bosom sailed many eventful and strange expeditions, and In whose depths are burled Innumerable secrets the world hath never fathomed; whose shores have beaten time to the rise of .empires and their brief day of Imperial glory and has sung a dirge over their decay and oblivion. The diary also reveals the wild rumours aboard. They have been jotted down under the heading: “ Rumours “They say”:— That the harbour master at Alexandria was shot for treachery: that a dozen pilots were also shot; that this vessel, the Ormonde, was chased several times by submarines, and escaped a torpedo by a yard once; that the captain of the transport is quite nervous: that England Is on the verge of starvation, etc., etc. We had been sailing the Mediterranean since Friday, secure in the knowledge that the little Japanese destroyers, slipping along like greyhounds in a circle round us, were on the qui vive for anything in the nature of danger menacing us. On Monday

morning we entered the historic harbour of Taranto, at the foot of Italy—that was the time when Italians regarded the British as their lifelong friends. Their welcome was delirious —up from below tumbled the Italian seamen on * the warships to wave us a glad salutation and cheer us. Men and women of Taranto—the signorinas especially—fluttered arms, handkerchiefs. etc., as the transports steamed through the narrow entrance from the outer harbour into the inland sea. Taranto, with its inner sea—the “mare piccolo”—is rich in literary and historical associations. Virgil and Horace lived there and dreamt of “ molle Tarentum.” So, too, did Leonides suffering from nostalgia: “1 lie far from the land of Italy, my country, and that is harder for me than death,” he wrote two thousand years ago. But let the diary speak again:— Monday, July B.—. . . Submarine nets, the floats of which could be seen, filled the spaces close up to the sides of the entrance to the harbour. On approaching the town in the glorious weather prevailing, it is the finest sighl we’ve yet seen. . . . The five transports followed by the escorts of destroyers formed into single file and, steaming in, presented an imposing spectacle. A number of submarinechasers, aeroplanes, and launches came out to meet us. One of our escort (they were Japanese), circles round when we anchored and the boys gave volley after volley of cheers for the little brown men in whose hands our lives had been for the last three days, and they smiled back and waved in appreciation of the ovation. . . . Then the bridge was swung clear and we steamed slowly into the inner sea, the soldiers standing to attention lining the deck, the band on the Ormonde playing stirring tunes, and the residents of Taranto cheering and waving sticks, hats, and handkerchiefs. After they had disembarked and taken farewell of the Ormonde, it was not long before the youth of New Zealand had acquired some Italian and on all sides were heard: “Buono giorno, signorina,” “ Buono sera, signorina,” and “ Buono notte, signorina,” as the salutation was uttered at different times—morning, evening, and night. Young Buono Zelanda and Young Italy had met.