CONVOY TO AFRICA

Timaru Herald, Volume CLIII, Issue 22475, 9 January 1943, Page 6

CONVOY TO AFRICA

Dodging The U-Boats

These are extracts from my diary, kept aboard a troopship with the recent great Allied convoy to North Africa, writes John Jarvie in a dispatch to the “Melbourne Herald” from Algiers. It is a grey day at the docks when we clamber up the gangway into the bowels of the big liner, which is already quarter full. Troops have been arriving in batches since the small hours. At breakfast the news passes from table to table that it is a "dry” ship. “What, no beer?” “No beer.” The tidings meanwhile flash to the men’s messes. The troops arrive from all sorts of units from all parts of Britain. With the last lot to arrive at dusk there is quite a shipload to stow away, but the ships are ready to sail without a hitch. There is no bad organisation. The wireless is our only diversion. As we settle down we feel an emotion akin to that of a new boy joining school, for we are one big group of companions setting off on a great adventure together. As we get under way the naval tenders come and go, signals flash from ship to ship and to the shore, sirens howl, and stealthy destroyers ferret around like tiny watch-dogs of great charges. As we lose sight of land there comes a stronger realisation of the job we are on. At any moment now we might get something that will leave us swimming in these heaving, chilly seas.

We are careful to obey orders to carry lifebelts wherever we go, to have our water bottles filled, and shipwreck rations of condensed food stowed in our haversacks with little odds and ends, such as a torch, extra woollies, and flasks—if any. We carry water bottles and haversacks in our hands and wear thin shoes —for the lighter you are the better you will float.

There is still no sign of U-boats, though we are almost at the Straits of Gibraltar. The only planes to be seen are our own Sunderlands, C'‘alinas, and Lockheed Hudsons ceaselessly scanning the sea. There is some excitement when a destroyer two miles to starboard disappears in a fountain of water. The spray clears, showing the destroyer intact. She dropped a depth charge, probably against a U-boat lurking in wait for unescorted vessels.

After a night of dazzling moon the sun rises to reveal the port we are making for a couple of miles away. We have made, perhaps, the greatest convoy journey in history without any enemy attack. It seems unbelievable, and as the tension eases we almost feel slighted.