Chapter 10 About Johnny; Early Days of the RAN; then the WRANS came; Stoker's Lament

ABOUT JOHNNY

LOOKING back, it was rather strange; although, at the time, weeks of gruelling watch keeping had somewhat dulled the senses. Johnny Nolan was a sensitive kid and we were sometimes inclined to forget his tender years.

He had joined us in Melbourne-rather scared looking and with not much brawn about him. We learnt later that perhaps a sailor doesn't need calloused hands and tattooing to make him efficient. In those days the fo'c'sle mess deck was no place for a reserve rating by himself. Still, after the first few weeks of seasickness and clumsiness, he settled down and became popular-even respected among his messmates. His quiet persuasive voice had turned many a heated argument into an intelligent debate. The sailors reckoned he should have been a "sub-loot". But he seemed quite happy.

For months we continued the eternal convoys across the Bight and into the Indian Ocean. Mostly the crossings were rough, with "greenies" which made even the old hands' dits seem totally inadequate in their colourful descriptiveness. Still, it served as a good basis to test our seamanship. Closing up at dawn action stations, groping along tilted decks and passageways-loading, unloading, training to every Point of the compass-testing communications, exercising rapid fire with S.A.P. and H.E.

It was hard. The discipline strict, with the master-at-arms and chief bos'n's mate watching with hawk like intensity for the slightest display of carelessness or skulking. I remember we saw the first lieutenant laugh one day. We talked of the phenomenon on the mess decks for weeks afterwards.

At long last the buzz had eventuated - we were to proceed to Alexandria to take our station in the Mediterranean Fleet. Long leave and a refit had compensated in no small measure for the irksomeness of those dull convoys. Now we were expectant - almost jubilant about our new assignment. Our guns and tubes would be given a chance to repay the Hun to some extent for what our cobbers were suffering in the Atlantic and North Sea. Our ship's company had their opportunity to prove their worth.

With one exception, we were all as keen as mustard on what we termed "having a go" -even the married men had roused themselves from their continual complaints and shown signs of interest. But Johnny Nolan was trying for a shore draft. We felt somehow aggrieved with him. After all our training and encouragement too ... But he was quite determined on his line of action and no argument could sway him. He wanted to get ashore - and that was final.

However, as is usual in His Majesty's Navy -the Powers That Be thought Johnny would be more useful aboard. If he had been ashore and trying to get to sea, then that would have been different. . . . In a way the mess deck felt satisfied. But Johnny wasn't invited to other messes any more. The lads had gone silent on him. And nothing is worse than that. A man can take any amount of punishment from the "Old Man" - but he can't for long take it from his mates.

I remember when we first got word of that never-to-be-forgotten twenty-four hours which heralded the evacuation from Greece. We had been mucking about with convoys to Malta-doing anti-submarine patrols and a hundred and one jobs that fall to a sloop in His Majesty's Royal Australian Navy.

Up to now we hadn't been bothered much with aircraft. The cruisers had had a bit to contend with from them. But somehow we had always been some place else when they were about. Occasionally we had brushed with submarines-the "Old Man" had claimed a certainty, in fact. We were rather blown up about that. The canteen at Alexandria heard all about it - and some more. The fact remained, however, that we had not been in contact with aircraft.

And that's where Johnny Nolan came in. As was to be expected, the topic was discussed from dawn to dusk in the mess decks-tactics and reactions were pulled methodically, sometimes luridly, apart. Strangely enough Johnny never entered our conversations on the subject, although he had by now been accepted into our midst again. There was not much difference in him except that he sometimes appeared more thoughtful, and to have retired into himself to some extent..

As a fighting ship we were now at our very peak of efficiency. Training had been hard the working of the ship itself, in the torrid conditions prevailing, had been tough. The "Old Man" and the first lieutenant had seemed to become less aloof. Or perhaps we understood them better. Certainly our discipline had not been relaxed, but unconsciously we seemed to know what was expected of us what our duties and privileges were. Altogether we had settled down to war-time conditions and accustomed - ourselves to the many vagaries of the life.

Soon we were tearing along at full speed, loaded with "swaddies" - soldiers to most people - and the A.I.F. blokes to those at home. Some weeks before they had embarked on the destroyers to try and stem the tide in Greece. They hadn't known then that the position was practically hopeless. Those lads had been through hell, and physically they appeared all in. We gave them what we could -cigarettes, chocolate and so forth. They were tremendously grateful. As I was looking at them, noting their casual nonchalance, I thought of Johnny. He was cleaning his Oerlikon gun as it happened, and as I was off watch I went up to the platform to have a yarn and lend a bit of a hand.

"Johnny," I said after a while, "there's something that's been worrying me for months now."

"What is it, Jack?" he asked, looking up with those serious blue eyes of his. He knew what was on my mind.

"Well," I blurted out, "why were you so anxious to get ashore when you heard we were coming over here?"

Johnny didn't answer for a time, then he said, "You remember I was communications number on the telephones at the time?" I nodded. "Well ... I was scared. Dead scared that in action I wouldn't be able to go through with it all."

"But, man alive," I cried, "the job wasn't hard - you could have done your bit easily."

"Yes, theoretically I could, Jack," mused Johnny. "In training, yes - but in action no. You see, old man, I'm one of those unfortunates whose speech is quite O.K. in normal circumstances. As soon as I get excited, however, I stammer and stutter dreadfully simply can't speak coherently - and as communications number, well . . ."

"So that's why you swotted for your anti-aircraft rate - just to avoid the telephone job." I understood. My father used to stutter. Of course Johnny would have been quite useless, in fact a dangerous nuisance in such a ship as ours.

I'm still a bit vague as to how it happened, but just then Johnny spotted them. Small black specks on the horizon-bombers undoubtedly-and Stukas at that. Johnny, I remember, hadn't said a word, but had excitedly thumped my arm and pointed. I stared at the man as if transfixed, as the realization of his previous words struck me. His face seemed to contort horribly and his mouth twitched with quick nervous movements as he struggled to speak coherently.

Collecting my startled wits I looked in the direction he indicated . . . and grabbed the telephone, shouting: "Starboard Oerlikon platform to compass platform - aircraft bearing green 90 -angle of sight 2 -approximately three formations."

Immediately the alarm rattlers sounded off.

Rapidly descending from the gun deck I tore along to my own action station, like everyone else shouldering and shoving my way through the open frames of the bulkhead doors and along the narrow passageways. Everything seemed pandemonium for a moment, with hoarse voices yelling orders and curses filling the fetid air of the 'tween decks, as men stumbled over each other in their hurry.

Arriving at the transmitting station I donned the headphones and commenced rapidly relaying orders from the control parts of the ship. Now the seeming panic had ceased, and an air of breathless expectancy pervaded the atmosphere.

Those of the soldiers who could walk or lift a Bren gun had attached, themselves with ready adaptability to various positions and parties. For a moment I caught a glimpse of Johnny-his eyes glued to the gun-sights with feverish intensity.

Then it started, with that never-to-be-forgotten high-pitched wall that invariably precedes a bombing run. Down they came, plummeting onwards with demoniacal fury to mast height-straightening out at the last moment as they dropped their deadly missiles. Their hideous whine rose to a crescendo-and finished with a sickening crunch just off the port bow. Great columns of water gushed fountain like in the air, as our ship rocked and reeled under the assault.

Holding their fire to the last moment, the Oerlikons suddenly crackled and spewed forth hot tracers, making a fantastic pattern in the sky. The four-inch had of course barked into action immediately the range had closed sufficiently for them to bear.

For ninety minutes the savage onslaught continued, till the air was thick and rank with the smell of cordite and the stench of sweating bodies. And still the "Old Man" directed the fire with calm, unhurried accuracy. God, what a man. Through it all the four-inch and close-range weapons maintained their flaming barrage. Guns white hot, their crews working with almost inhuman abandon to feed them. Loading, reloading, elevating and training to every point of the compass, seeking out those hated Stukas wherever they appeared.

Then as suddenly as it had started it ceased. The attack was over....

Mere words cannot hope to describe the feelings of the men when the reaction set in. We cleared away the empty shell cases, hundreds of them, and mustered all hands with hollow, empty bellies.

The signal we sent to the C.-in-C. afterwards informed him that six soldiers and four ratings were killed and another twenty wounded. It also stated that two enemy aircraft had been destroyed by an Oerlikon gun, captained by the late Able Seaman John Nolan.

"SEAWEED."

EARLY DAYS OF THE R.A.N.

IN the early part of 1913, H.M.A.S. Melbourne left her cradle at Caminell Laird's yard, Birkenhead, and commenced her long voyage to Australia, where she was urgently required to show that the R.A.N. was a reality and not a politician's dream.

To many of us Australia was a sealed book. We did not know what to expect, and my personal anticipation ran to tall lanky men in red shirts and cabbage-tree hats, carrying stock whips and rounding up cattle.

We were soon, however, to know, for after a quick voyage we reached Melbourne, where we received a warm welcome. We always looked upon this city as our home, a voyage to Sydney being regarded in much the same way as an Eskimo would regard a visit to Sierra Leone.

In those days the Naval Base was at Williamstown, whilst that august body-the Naval Board-resided in Lonsdale Street. The Board at that time consisted of four members, two of whom were not on speaking terms with the other two. The staff was entirely naval, and consisted of forty at the most. There was no civil service, no finance branch, and no income tax. Gin was a penny a glass; beer two pence, and stores were procured by the simple process of ordering them from a shop and sending in the bill to Navy Office.

One of the chief features of "Navy Office was a large chief petty officer called Mooney or Moody who, with a bunch of coloured ribbons fluttering from his buttonhole, paraded the streets of Melbourne persuading likely-looking youths to join the R.A.N.

The great file game had started, and all documents were transferred from one floor to another by means of a rope and a bucket, a procedure which threatened the lids if not the lives of Navy Office visitors.

Many of the identities of those days have passed away, but possibly a few reminiscences may be of interest. One memory is of a captain at Williamstown Depot whose opening of morning prayers with the words, "Off hats. I am the Lord thy God," etc., always created a flutter of interest and anticipation. Another is of a medical officer of the Depot who was irreverently known to the troops as "Iodine and Onions", for this was his favourite-in fact his only-prescription for their bodily ills. Possibly there are worse, for iodine and onions at any rate do no harm except to one's social standing.

The medical officer of H.M.S. Encounter was the first doctor to join the R.A.N. He was a small man with a diffident manner; a capable surgeon, he was absent minded to a degree. He performed the first operation in the R.A.N. on board ship with tools borrowed from the carpenter and the plumber.

Years later I gave many an anesthetic for him whilst he removed appendixes in the North Sea during the war. His absent-mindedness was unique. I have known him come into the wardroom off the coast of Norway, dressed in plain clothes and seeking a partner for a walk to Edinburgh. I have also seen him ushering over the side a bewildered and lunchless guest whom he had asked to lunch but farewelled after a couple of pink gins in the anteroom.

Another character was the captain of one of the destroyers, who was the hero of the following story. In those days, after a theatre or a visit to the Savoy, it was the custom to have a hot pie at the barrow outside Hosie's, and then catch the last train to Williamstown. This officer, having missed the last train and being penniless, decided to walk. On the way he came upon a donkey, so taking off his braces and using them as a bridle and bit he started off to ride to his destination. Unfortunately, the donkey took fright and bolted, taking with him the braces. So the sentry at Williamstown in the early hours of the morning was surprised to see an officer arriving holding up his trousers with both hands.

This officer later had the misfortune to ram Williamstown Pier with his destroyer, and on being called upon to give his reasons in writing, gave the somewhat original reply of: "Incompetence on the part of the Commanding Officer."

To those days also belongs-the story-probably apocryphal-of the staff paymaster who ran a mile inside a horse-drawn vehicle when the bottom of the vehicle had fallen out unnoticed by the driver. Also that of the chaplain who was prevailed upon by certain irreverent and leg-pulling members of his congregation to purchase a white frock coat and white cover to his mortar board and duly appeared at Sunday service in this rig. Yet another is of the medical officer, still with us, who whilst washing behind the curtain in the sick bay, and being thus partially concealed, was surprised and indignant when a young O.D. approached the S.B.C.P.O. with the words, "Hey, Doc., have you seen the b------- quack?"

To resume this chronicle. After a few pleasant weeks, the Melbourne proceeded to Sydney, and after our enthusiastic welcome at Melbourne we somewhat naturally expected an encore there. Instead, however, our reception was frigid to a degree, and we made our first contact with that interstate feeling which prompts a native of Sydney to inquire whether the Elwood drain is the Yarra, or the native of Melbourne to sneer at Our 'Arbour.

Actually my first acquaintance with New South Wales was peculiar. Feeling like a walk, another officer and I landed, and after climbing a high fence found ourselves in a green and pleasant parkland. Encountering a man, we politely inquired the way and were answered by a scowl and some gibberish which we could not understand. When we had an exactly similar experience with the next man we met, we came to the conclusion that New South Welshmen were somewhat peculiar, and it was not until we found that we had unwittingly trespassed into the grounds of Gladesville Asylum that we revised our views.

Leaving Sydney, we proceeded north to Thursday Island, engaged in the process known as "showing the flag". This appeared to consist of a series of hops from one mayoral reception to another, and we were glad to reach the serenity of Palm Island, where mayors existed not and the bathing was glorious.

Those early days of the R.A.N. were of interest. We had our teething troubles, but the material was there, as was shortly to be shown by the outbreak of the 1914-18 war, which welded the R.A.N. into a firm weapon and established in Australia a sea tradition which it is hoped will endure for ever.

"CYCLOPS."

"THEN THE WRANS CAME"

FOR weeks on end I had been hearing about it. For months my seniors had been drumming it into me. Like a drowning man I looked about for something to cling to. I reflected on the glorious past. Of Nelson and the days of wooden ships and iron men, of the sailor with the tarred pigtail, of Fleet floggings. The bloody battles when the wooden walls of England became locked with the wooden walls of a belligerent nation. The clash of steel upon steel as Britain's sons beat off their enemies. Of such actions repeated in modem times by the Swift and Broke.

I remembered how the electric iron crept into the mess decks of our fighting ships, the utter amazement of going to the bathroom and seeing the dhobying firm sitting there smoking a cigarette whilst a huge electric washing machine did the job.

Yes, the Navy was moving with the times. But this! Well, it just couldn't happen. It was impossible. It had too many barriers, barriers which to me seemed impassable.

I thought of the hundreds of other stations just as this one, of men going about their toil quickly and quietly. A haven for men in a man's world, a sanctuary where we could find comparative peace and quiet. Where a man could smoke his stinking pipe with only a few oaths good-naturedly slung at him by his pals. Where we could get together and spin a dit or take a load off our mind by hurling abuse at some unfortunate O.D.

As my thoughts travel back through the past, and the spirit of comradeship that exists amongst us, I shudder as I think of things to come.

D-Day. Yes, the day the R.A.N. was to be invaded by women. The stony silence behind the grim wall of tradition was about to be shattered. In fact, it has been shattered. The impassable barrier has at last been broken down by women.

Don't let me mislead you. Really, I have no grudge against the fairer sex, and at times find their company very delightful, a colourful change to my drab surroundings. In fact in time of peace I, like many others, looked forward to visitors' day when, for three hours, the panatrope would blare forth swing and such other trash. The discord mingled with the girlish laughter of fair young damsels treading the sacred ground of our floating home was a welcome change to routine. Their colourful creations contrasted with the drab grey paint and the navy blue of our uniforms. But women in the Navy wearing a uniform and owning an official number-well, that was different.

I shuddered when I thought of it. But thinking didn't help me any. I even dreamt of it. No matter which way I turned I was confronted with the grim, stark truth. Men were to be replaced by women, and for once in my life my quick thinking and fast line of talk was of no avail. Well, let it come, I was ready.

D-Day arrived, and with it a gang of girls. I heard them coming and one remarked, "I wonder what the Chief is like. I hope he is nice." I panicked and looked around for moral support. My reward was the pained expression on the faces of the two watch keepers.

In they bounced in all their glory. I paled under my tan, swallowed hard, bit my lip and thought quickly for something to say.

"Haven't you Wrans been kitted up?" I blurted out.

"No, sir," they all chorused, as though they had rehearsed it for weeks.

I winced as though under pain of death, and a signalman sniggered. How I would have loved to have thrown a boot at him with my foot in it, but I must maintain my mock dignity.

I flinched, shifted feet, coughed and cleared my throat. "All right, signal Wrans over there, messengers over there."

Well, that was that. I had at last segregated the chorus.

"One at a time, give me your particulars."

With apparent good training they stepped up one by one. Mona Smith, Official Number 413- 1 recoiled, bit my lip, swallowed hard and thought. In the name of Allah, this is going too far. I must be crazy. Females, an official number, a ship book number, a part of the Navy. YES a voice mocked at me, a part of the navy and here to stay, for the duration anyhow. Little beads of perspiration showed out on my forehead. Quickly I dotted down their particulars.

"Right, go to lunch. Report back at 1300. Carry on."

With a swirl and a swish they left as quickly as they entered. I wiped my hand across my eyes, pulled at my collar. Phew, it was stifling hot, yet outside a cold easterly blew, and men moved rapidly here and there muffled up. Surely I was dreaming. If I was, it was soon shattered, for confronting me was one of their number still standing there. "Well, what can I do for you?" I just about yelled.

"Sir, sir," she stammered, "when I joined up I was promised I could be a V/S Wran, and I'm only a messenger."

I had reached the end, of my tether. "Well," I managed, flushing for the second time in a few minutes, "firstly, don't 'sir' me, 'Chief' please. Secondly, I'm afraid I can't do much for you."

On the verge of tears she blurted out "Thanks", and vanished.

"Well, Yeoman, how's the chaperon going?" gibed a voice.

"What the --" I cried as I jumped up to meet the owner of the facetious remark face to face. The rest of my remark froze on my lips when I noted the rank of my giber. I seized my hat and strode off for the nearest dispensary to drown my sorrows with a wee drop of the amber fluid. I was sick in the stomach, that's if I had one after that last half hour.

Yes, D-Day had arrived, and since then the hair at the side of my temples is showing signs of greying. I find myself going around in a stunned sort of way. I father them, mother them, listen to their troubles, admonish them and tell them their hair is too long. I no longer find myself saying, "You stood too close to the razor this morning," instead I say, "Your hand was a bit heavy on the puff and lipstick this morning."

Now I have had a new secret weapon launched at me, "Wran hairdressers". I'll find myself making appointments for them. I sincerely trust I shall be spared the day when I shall see sailors mustering for their manicure, before stepping ashore.

Despite it all, I reckon we will win this war.

"HALYARD."

TWELVE HOURS' LEAVE

THREE weeks of storm and rain, and many anxious hours guarding the convoy. Now we were in port; it was fine again, and I had twelve hours' leave. I would go to a beach, relax, feel the sun and the wind at the edge of the shore. For it was a good day.

Swimmers splashed in the sea, or dotted the beach, courting the sun. The warm sand, raised here and there into castles by industrious youngsters, crunched underfoot. Conversation trickled from beneath bent arms; a variety of straw hats and gay scarves sprinkled the beach with colour.

The sky was blue; the sea was blue.

An old skiff, sickened through neglect, had been hauled high on the shore to die. It was a maimed and sad thing. It would never again rejoice with those gull-like craft which here and there spread their wings over the sparkling bay. For sparkle it did, dispatching crisp waves into the beach to tell how fine it felt under the sun.

The dying boat served to make those others seem more alive. They skimmed the water, thrusting the wind, writing white lines on the blue satin of the bay. Their brown bodies gleamed, tossing feathers of spray, careless of their sick sister who would never quicken to the wind, nor dance with waves again. The south-easter filled their sails.

Then ho! Along the bay strode a three mast schooner, full canvas, tops'ls and all. On starboard tack she leaned to the wind with a glint of deck, sails in shadow, dun coloured. She tacked, threw her sails to the sun, afire. Folk stood still in small groups, gazing, telling each other. Soon she would be in the river, sails furled. Tomorrow I should see her there,

"Come as of old a queen, untouched by time,

Resting the beauty no seas could tire."

The cold, sharp water was good. Pottering about a mess of rock and coral was good. To lie in the spilled sun, watching gulls-that was also good. And the waves swished in from the blue bay, talking.

The home train was packed with a laughing crowd. Good companions. Standing, over a galaxy of gladioli and purple stocks I caught a pair of brown eyes, looking upwards. Later, we ate chung min in a Chinese cafe. She worked in a factory, she said, embossing circles in the ends of cartridges. She tended machines which do this for ten hours a day, and another shift took over at night. She did not know what the circle was for, nor did 1. Tomorrow I would ask the gunnery officer. He would not know either!

The cafe was full. Soldiers in khaki, soldiers in jungle green, and sailors in blue. All had their girls, decked in holiday garb, talking, flirting. A sailor followed the black, almond eyes of the waitress. Cigarette smoke curled, hazing the room with blue.

The maker of circles had brown, fine hair and a pert retrousse nose. Her neck glowed with sunburn. Her boy, she said, would perhaps come home on leave soon, and they would then be married. They would be together for two weeks, then he would go back to the war and she would go on making circles. But after the war they would live in a small house, have a little garden, and a family, as they had planned before he went away.

The brown eyes grew wistful. Perhaps he would soon be home. If only he hadn't to sail away again....

At her gate: "Thanks for the chung min. Nice to have met."

A passing ship with its cargo of dreams ... after the war.... a small house and a garden, a husband and a family. Girls may dream but sailors must go down to the sea.

Back to my ship. Along the river bank, then over the bridge spanning the river. The moon looked up from the water, and a sailor and his girl looked down at the moon. Beyond gleamed the city's myriad eyes.

Down to my ship, through lanes where riggers, shipwrights live. Past a dock with a ship high on the stocks. Past dark ships, sleeping in the river, funnels, masts, and derricks, gleaming ghostly under the moon.

Turn right. Pass the fitter's shop, pass the boiler-maker's shop. Pass great blanks of steel, old dead boilers. Cross the vacant land. Take the narrow path, weed fringed, riverwards. The jetty's there, feet in the water, old feet but staunch. Care, where a plank's gone.

Full moon, overhead; a big tide in the river, murmuring. . . .

What's that moored alongside my ship?

Three tall slips of masts; cobwebs of rigging snaring stars; finger of a bowsprit pointing skywards; sails curled in like a gull's wings.

"Evening, sir. Three-masted schooner alongside, sir."

"Thanks, quartermaster. It has been a good day."

Aye, aye, sir. A good day, sir."

Lieut. N. K. W.