IN HIGH SPIRITS

Otago Daily Times, Issue 24221, 13 February 1940, Page 5

IN HIGH SPIRITS

THE SOUTH ISLAND CONTINGENT DEPARTURE FROM LYTTELTON STIRRING FINAL SCENE (From Our Special Reporter) CHRISTCHURCH. On a calm sea on a still, warm afternoon, the Burnham contingent of the first echelon of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force sailed from Lyttelton. Outside Lyttelton Heads the transports met their escort, H.M.S. Leander, and two minesweepers, and before dusk the convoy had disappeared from view on its way to a rendezvous with the other New Zealand transports.

Indelibly impressed on the memory of the thousands who saw the historic sailing was the wonderful cheerfulness of the soldiers. They gave New Zealand a rousing farewell. Unforgettable scenes were the singing by the men on the troopships as they moved slowly through the moles. The cacophony of whistle blasts and ecstatic cheering in the port and on the accompanying mosquito fleet was silenced when the men on one of the ships, which sailed at 4.40 p.m., sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Profoundly moving was the magnificent demonstration of loyalty when the hundreds of men on a later vessel, which left port at 5.10 p.m., stood as one man and sang “ God Save the King.” The great grey ships silhouetted against a clear eastern sky, with the waiting convoys in Pegasus Bay mere dots on the horizon, made an unforgettable picture of the final scene for the official party which went out into the harbour on the dredge Canterbury 11. It was a sad scene, too, for many on the dredge, for they were the wives, and parents of men who were sailing away to war. Emotion was not restrained at the final moment. They had cheered as lustily as others while the ships were leaving the wharf, but as the transports steamed beyond range of hearing and clear vision, many of the party were overwhelmed by the poignancy of the occasion.

The wharf was barricaded and guarded and, until shortly before the sailing of the last transport, only troops were allowed on it. That, however, did not prevent scenes of remarkable heartiness and enthusiasm. As the troop trains were shunted on to the wharf at hourly intervals, bursts of cheering were given by the advance party on the first vessel and a traditional welcome was given by a piper. The soldiers were in wonderfully high spirits. Three months of training were finished, and at last they were on their way to the theatres of war. Chalked on many of the carriages of the troop trains was a variety of exhortations to Hitler apd Germany to watch put for the arrival of the New Zealanders. “ Berlin or Bust ” read one notice to the world in general on a carriage carrying Otago men; others were “Berlin, First Stop,” “ Look Out, Adolf,” and “ Berlin,. We’re Coming.” The embarkation plan worked with the greatest of smoothness and, although excited, the men carried out their instructions as smartly as they would on ordinary field manoeuvres. Detraining in orderly lines, the units paraded on the wharf until embarkation officers gave their commands. The First and the Last The historic command for the first of the troops to go aboard came shortly after 1 o’clock, the call being for 119 men from the Machine Gun Battalion. The honour of being the first soldier from Burnham officially to embark went to Corporal P. H. Manoy. of Wellington. The 27th Machine Gun Battalion, the Divisional Supply Column and A.S.C. Motor Reserve Details were embarked on one ship, and the 20th Rifle Battalion and the 4th Field Ambulance boarded another

on which the Divisional Signals Company, trained at Trentham, had embarked the previous night at Wellington. Private A. W. Adams, of Little River, was the first of the Rifle Battalion to embark, and the last of the Burnham contingent to ■embark under the organised programme was Colonel J. H. Will, commander of the Field Hygiene Company. Actually, the last man to go aboard was a defaulter from Burnham who had disappeared from the camp after the final roll call at noon. “I’ll be there,” he had said, and with one minute to spare a dishevelled, weary soldier, laden with gear, ran along the wharf. As he clambered up the gangway he was given a riotous reception by soldiers on the two ships. “A body for every name” had been accounted for, and 10 minutes later the ship sailed. Enthusiasm Unrestrained Packed from stem to stern, from lower deck to crow’s nest, by soldiers in sea dress, she glided out of her berth at 4.40 o’clock. Scenes of memorable en-

thusiasm broke out. The soldiers’ reply to the burst of cheering was deafening in the port, and was heard more than two miles away. Another ship, on which soldiers were swarming on the rigging and up the masts as high as the wireless antennae, made a noisy contribution with her whistle. Every ship in port blasted furiously, railway engines piped their merry farewells, and horns of motors on the hillside roads shrieked in a variety of notes. As the final vessel moved into the basin the vociferous cheering of her soldiers stopped, and they sang with real feeling the plaintive farewell “Aloha ” and then, with grand fervour. “Auld Lang Syne.” The scenes when the first ship cast off her mooring ropes were even more stirring, for the public had rushed on to the wharf to give a closer farewell to the soldiers. No scene of that memorable afternoon was more pregnant in its effectiveness than the singing of the National Anthem by the soldiers. The farewells by the vessels in the stream over, the transports gathered speed and headed for the open sea‘, to where the naval escort was waiting. Then, as many wept, the lament from a piper on an gfterdeck came softly hcross the tranquil water.