Chapter 15 Secret Weapon; Brotherhood of the Air; Farewell, My Public;

SECRET WEAPON

SOMETIMES stupefaction paralyses one's reactions. We were thunderstruck at the temerity of H.M.A.S. M-. As we passed her on entering harbour she sounded off to us with a bugle. With a bugle! The vaunted prerogative of a cruiser, no less. We had no answer to this. Not immediately that is. But
it was definitely necessary to administer a lesson and our ship's company, by no means having an inferiority complex, felt that we were just the ship to do the job. Besides, we could not afford to miss a chance to get one home on our chummy ship. When we slipped our buoy to leave harbour later the same afternoon everything was on "topline" to "sink" M----. The chosen instrument of our
vengeance, Able Seaman McGregor, stood ready at his post, dour anticipation written on his face.

As we swept past M- and tamed close to her on our way out, "Scottie" from the flag deck sounded off on his bagpipes a hideous "Still". There is only one word to describe the result. M- was shattered. Everywhere on her decks figures watched, immobile. The pibroch immediately swung into "You are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine", and swing is just the word to describe the rendering. From the bridge our triumphant Captain had the Aldis lamp flashing out a message: "What price your ruddy bugle now?" From the now humbled M-- came back a reply of but two words: "Going cheap."

"RUFUS."

BROTHERHOOD OF THE AIR

BEFORE the war clamped down on his activities, and he received his call-up for naval service, Telegraphist F. L. was a 'ham' the name given to those enthusiasts who spent night and week-end vigils searching the ether for radio contacts in all parts of the world. Armed with a thermos-flask of hot coffee, chocolates and cigarettes to help them while away the long hours, they coaxed their low power transmitters to give that "little extra" which meant another Q.S.L. card-the visiting card of the air. So extensive were the activities of the "hams" that the W.F.S.R.A. (World Friendship Society of Radio Amateurs) was started in America, and when war came its membership ran into thousands.

On one occasion a Jap "ham" with whom F.L. had been in frequent contact said: "Our countries go to war, Fred, you wear your callsign, me no kill you." Crudely expressed, that was the spirit of W.F.S.R.A. Many of its members are now in the Services, but are looking forward to the day when they will again address all men, irrespective of nationality or colour, as friend. Like the ether which is their medium, they want all men to be free and in close contact. More power to them when they again go "on the air".

"RAFFER."

FAREWELL, MY PUBLIC!

SCENE: A wharf at a Northern Port. Alongside, a small auxiliary vessel recently commissioned for special duties, but owing to a run of bad luck once more back in port with defects after three attempts to sail for its ultimate destination.

However, it is anticipated and even more devoutly hoped that this time she will make a good start and complete her voyage without trouble.

The commanding officer makes his farewells to his departmental heads and steps aboard with a determined air. Lines are cast off and the ship slides away from the wharf. Suddenly a large blackboard appears on the stern-sheets and the startled send-off assembly on the wharf read:

H.M.A.S. MELBA
POSITIVELY OUR FINAL APPEARANCE

"ANOPHELES"

HOISTING - AN ENSIGN

THIS story should be entitled "Just Hoisting an Ensign". The incident it relates occurred at the Battle of Matapan in H.M.A.S. Perth. The White Ensign, sixteen breadth (i.e. eighteen feet by nine feet) was our battle ensign, which was to be hoisted free and clear to the mainmast truck when in action against an enemy surface ship.

For two months I had been sleeping with that ensign. Every night found me answering the bugle call "Close up to second degree of readiness". From the flag deck, along aft past the four-inch gun deck, up the vertical ladder to "Y' deck, and then up another vertical ladder to that after conning position supported on its steel trellis.

All this while wearing overcoat, duffle coat, two jerseys, seaboots and stockings, balaclava, and carrying a 1038 signal lamp.

Arriving at my position I usually gave the searchlight, which occupied practically all the platform, my head or some other part of my anatomy as I groped round to the carbon locker and pulled forth a bar of chocolate to nibble before turning in. Next I arranged the two portions of canvas, the one to lie on, the other to pull over me, and a canvas bag into which I cunningly inserted my legs up to the knees. And now the crowning glory-the PILLOW.

Ah, what mysterious things are pillows. Cried into, whispered into, beaten in rage. Pistols, money, and love letters are placed under them. What secrets Mata Hari learnt? Oh, noble PILLOW.

I slept indeed on a noble pillow. That 162 square feet of bunting which is the symbol of British sea power. I pounded it every night; protected it from the weather guarded it jealously. Because it was to be, if need arose, our battle ensign.

It was the morning of the 28th March, 1941. The time was 0755, the watches were changing.

"Anything doing?"

"Just sighted three ships on the port quarter, and we are going to action stations any minute."

The bugle raised its clarion voice and disturbed the ants of men, who came boiling up from below, filling every steel ladder with the clamour of urgency.

I reached the bottom of the last ladder leading to my island of action, when the first cracking salvo landed across our stern.

I arrived first, followed by the Commander and the lieutenant. Grasping old PILLOW from his canvas bag, I looked across to the enemy and saw the eruptions of fire leap from their grey blurry shapes. Still I waited, watching for'ard until up, proud and clear, went the enemy signal in flags: "Three enemy cruisers bearing 215 degrees." Swiftly beside it rose a flutter of blue - the Australian blue ensign.

Then, grasping PILLOW, I bent him quickly to the truck halyards. My great moment had come. I thought of the honour. I had hoisted the White Ensign in battle. Thus I thought - even if my hands were perspiring as the immense expanse of billowing flag rose steadily.

It stopped! I tugged! Tugged again, harder. The Commander screamed, "Get that b--y thing up." The lieutenant and I both tugged, and tugged again.

No! It refused to move and stayed six feet above our heads. The perspiration broke out on my forehead. It wasn't the ominous sound of eight-inch "bricks" swooshing across. My great moment was come and ...

The Commander joined the lieutenant. We tugged again and again. I climbed two feet up the halyard, nearly howling with frustration. "Dear PILLOW, I have slept on you, dreamt on you, laid my head in trust on you, made you the recipient of all my most Intimate thoughts and this is what you do."

I climbed down and faced the Commander, defeated. "It refuses to go up, sit." He glared. I wilted and suggested, "Perhaps on the topmast yardarm, sir."

"No b-y good. You may need that for after action if we catch anything up for'ard. Haul it down and make sure next time that it will go UP."

Slowly I gathered PILLOW in and piled him in the comer. Surreptitiously I dug my toe into him.

I hate pillows now. Never sleep with one.

Ask my wife.

"SALTY"

TERMITES

It may have been the day we were alongside taking in oil-then again it might not have been.

Anyway, they, apparently seeking refuge from the hustle and bustle (?) of the great metropolis of Darwin, came aboard.

As you know (or should, dear reader) these little creatures are quite famous for their misdeeds in this area, and build their blocks of flats with the aid of a compass, with the ensuing result that they invariably face north and south. But this isn't the issue that concerns us; as the two W.R.A.N.S. said who fell in with the new entries being kitted up.

Of course even Termites have to live, and as their diet consists mainly of wood they were assured of a feed on board us, as our ship is built of considerable amounts of this material.

In the wardroom, various officers swear that Termites were the contents of suspicious parcels sneaked aboard at the dead of night by sundry ratings in an attempt to commit sabotage, and thus cause us to fall due for a refit (which most of us deemed well overdue).

If my soup was filled with bits of deckhead, and pictures began to fall when their suspending hooks were relieved of the timber that normally provides the means of the hooks' support, I too, would swear.

There is no need to attach any significance to the fact that a certain "sparker" on one occasion had been noticed to glance furtively about him, make in the direction of the GO's cabin, and reappear wearing an innocent and angelic look. It is felt that no connection with this matter exists with the fact that the CO's favourite chair collapsed under him, due to the workings of Termites, just on a week later.

But, however they came on board in the first place, after they had been in occupation for nearly a month they really began to get organized. Lying awake at night, I could hear them steadily munching away, and was fearful lest the deck head should shower down leaving a yawning cavity through which someone was bound to fall atop of me.

One night I was particularly fortunate, for as I lay there I heard the Jaunty Termite running in some poor O.D. (I know he was an O.D. for he was the only Termite present who didn't have a "Darwin Star".) ". . . you did slack on your allotted task in as much you did not eat the prescribed portion of chair leg assigned, as laid down in K.R. and A.I., article 901, paragraph V, and in consequence shall suffer death or such punishment as hereinafter mentioned. Six days number eleven."

I can imagine the poor O.D. munching away on the teak decking for jonkers.

Then, after a series of mishaps, including the "Jimmy" putting his foot through a particularly thin spot in the decking, termites dropping the unappetizing portions of their repast on to the Skipper as he lay asleep on the deck (they had already eaten his bunk) and the navigator discovering that only the covers remained of his library, things really began to look serious.

Of course, the boys weren't without their misfortunes either, and it became quite common for someone to display the waistband for a pair of slacks, or a cuff of a jumper, as the sole remaining remnant of a suit.

The way the little blighters did their work, so methodically, so conscientiously, I'm sure the promotions were quick and fast amongst them.

They're all gone now . . . . .. Hands to cle-e-e-ean."

Sorry to dash off like this, dear reader, but I'm stepping off in the four o'clock liberty boat.

. . . Oh! By the way, we're doing a refit thanks to the "Toimites".

I wonder just who did bring them aboard.

S-7272

FILOPOLY A NEW AND FASCINATING ROUND GAME

THE rules are simple, and require little or no mental effort. Eminently suitable for Coventry Street Commandos or chair-borne troops of any description.

The only outlay needed consists of:
- bottle ink, one;
- pen, one;
- typewriter (blonde or brunette), one;
- and a working knowledge of th e principles involved in the Book of job.

Rules: Anyone may compete who possesses an official title authorizing them to initiate papers on any conceivable subject. The subject is immaterial, in fact the more trivial its nature the better chance of success.

This paper is directed or submitted to those who might reasonably be expected to take an interest-however faint-in it, or who are unlikely to resort to the well-known trick of locking it in the bottom drawer of their bureau and letting the problem solve itself.

This paper is now known as a file, and, after a christening ceremony in the mezzanine floor, is dispatched on its rounds.

The object of the game is to obtain the return of the file to its progenitor in the shortest possible space of time and with the maximum number of notations on it.

Points are scored as follows:	Points
File complete with notations returned within the space of I week	100
File complete with notations returned within the space of I month	50
File complete with notations returned within the space of I year	20
File complete with notations returned at all	5
(Note: All files returned on Melbourne Cup Day score double value.)
Additional points scored as follows:
Any "Concur" or "Approved" from Finance Branch	5
All others	1
Interim reminder, correctly addressed	5
Interim reminder, incorrectly addressed	½
All "Red Herrings"	2
N.B. A "Red Herring" is a totally irrelevant comment inserted on a file by an unscrupulous competitor with the object of obscuring the original theme, in much the same way as the octopus obscures its victim by exuding inky fluid. This strategy is frequently adopted by experienced players with the intention of delaying a rival file. The game is won by the competitor who amasses the largest number of points within the period of one calendar month.

Prizes are as follows:
First:	A TRIP IN A NAVY OFFICE CAR.
Second:	£10.oo

Intending competitors should note that invitations to free movie shows cannot be regarded as files for the purpose of this competition.

PATENT APPLIED FOR.

"CYCLOPS."

THE BUZZ

The Army call it a "Furphy", or they used to, but the Navy call it a "buzz". Where it starts is a mystery, where it finishes is amazing.

It may be a stunt that is coming off or it may be leave-the second most popular topic in the Navy. Whatever it is everyone is firmly convinced of its reliability.

No one is credited with definitely originating it, although very often its authenticity is assured by quoting the jaunty or the chief cook as subscribing to it.

In small ships it is generally the composition and venue of the next convoy and, in big ones, the possibility of a stunt being due in the near future.

Many times the "sparkers" or "sigs" are thought to be responsible for the origin of the buzz. Why, I don't know, because if such was the case how heavily would official retribution strike them. No, I don't think that the much abused communication rating is responsible.

The term "communication" is a misnomer as far as the lower deck is concerned. Getting information out of them is just like getting credit at the "slop store"; you just aren't in the race.

No, buzzes just happen. Jack is pretty observant and small incidents and seemingly inconsequential remarks by "heads of departments" take on a special significance to the buzz merchant.

Sometimes buzzes are the product of a fertile imagination and these, for some strange reason, are accepted with greater faith than one which has come from a genuine source.

Maybe the Q.0. is given orders to muster his ready-use lockers and give the gunnery officer an account of all his star shell and the fuse setting thereof. Immediately the buzz ~roes round, "They must be expecting a night bombardment." Someone remembers a soldier that he was drinking with, who told him about the practice that they have had in night landings, so the buzz merchants get out their maps and pick out the most likely spot and a-,Nay goes the buzz.

Who was responsible for it? You can't blame the gunnery officer. Quarterly reports and periodical routine check-ups are only an incident in his daily life. The Q.O., when he passed on the information was only airing his dislike for a routine check but the buzz hungry matelots didn't stop to reason it out that way.

Most times the buzz is blown up, but that doesn't stop the inveterate buzz merchant. Sooner or later he must be right and then his reputation is once again saved.

Still, whether we listen to buzzes or not, we are all of us convinced that our buzz, as to the month or year when peace is again to reign over a troubled world, is correct and no matter when this occurs, be it now or years hence, we will all of us be too happy about it to crow over the messmate who predicted a different date.

"STAN DEASY."