EN ROUTE TO SOUTH AFRICA ~ 1942

This is an absorbing account of a young RAF airman's trip to a posting in Africa ~ taken from a diary recently found in his wife's effects following her passing on. See Guest Book entry No.95.

AT LIVERPOOL
 
On July 26/1942 we boarded the “RANGITIKI” a boat of the New Zealand shipping line, some 15.000 tons in weight and that evening we made our way up coast to the Firth of Clyde.
 
Remember seeing Blackpool Tower standing out like a huge lighthouse on the horizon as we passed some 15 miles out at sea.
 
It soon became dark so we all went below there to make the most of the very limited mess space allotted to us. After a meal, hammock slinging began and for a bunch of amateurs I guess we made a fairly good show.  It was a certainly comfortable bed and it wasn’t long before we all turned in. At that time I had pretty mixed feelings myself. Just lay thinking of when I should next see home, would we have a safe voyage, would I be seasick and lots of other things.

The following morning I awoke to find we were moored in the Firth of Clyde. The Scotch hills looked super, the whole scenery was perfect and I thought what a topping sight it must be for people of other countries arriving there. After hanging around there for five days waiting for the rest of the convoy we set out for the open sea. Believe I had mixed feelings again that night.

Soon land was left behind and for the first time I found out what a lonely place the Atlantic Ocean is. Of course so far it was all very much of a novelty, which later very soon wore off. A couple of days later and we were in the western approaches which is a treacherous region. Of course from the first day aboard we’d had life boat stations and kitted out with life belts, a type that fits over the head and is fastened under the armpits.  One fellow described them a “brassieres”; quite fitting.  Well in these approaches we had a Sunderland Flying Boat to escort us. Unfortunately we “had it” for a very short time. I saw it through one of the portholes circling around but before I had reached the deck it had crashed into the sea.  There were many speculations as to how it happened. Most probably it had encountered enemy action so that when it came upon us it was sort of on its last legs.  There were no survivors. Well this was bad luck at the very outset, but apart from a few submarine scares everything went well.

Then followed days of nothing but sea, our escort of destroyers and cruisers doing great work. One morning we learnt that the escort had destroyed a U-boat that morning about 7-30am, I liked the quiet and efficient way they do their job.
After a few days I found I wasn’t going to be sea sick and was getting used to the swell and roll of the boat; up to now lots of the lads spent most of their time hanging over the rail and believe me they weren’t admiring the scenery.
Later we came to some heavy seas, at least I thought them heavy but the ships report was a mild gale.

Conditions on board weren’t good, neither was the food but there are some things in life I like to forget; and anyway it’s of no interest.
The course we took I shan’t describe in here in case this falls into other hands!

Aug 11/1942 

On the eleventh day from leaving the Clyde we sighted land. We knew it was Africa and our guess of Freetown was also correct. First impressions were that it was very much like Scotland. How green hills partially covered with mists and a slight drizzle of rain. We dropped anchor in the harbour and soon we were inspected by lots of natives in their fragile craft. More rain descended and I doubted if this really could be Africa, seemed at that moment more like Swansea.
For six days we hung around there and not being allowed ashore we were very fed up and eager to continue to our next port of call.

Our next journey was the longest, but now the weather had improved and most of the time was spent in sunbathing. All this time constant watch was kept for lurking ‘subs’ but except at one time when we saw depth charges going off from one destroyer, nothing exciting happened.

One day we were told we should in a few hours ‘cross the line’. Well contrary to my expectations this particular day was quite cool, (later I was to form my usual opinion of the Equator). Anyhow this day was cool and I’m afraid that I wasn’t impressed. At this stage our lads had got their concert party cracking, in fact they had given the first show in Freetown harbour and it was a huge success. A programme of the items is overleaf.  

Days went by and there was much speculation whether Cape Town or Durban would be our next stop.

Up to now we’d had smooth sailing but all of a sudden it became choppy. From choppy it became heavy and from that - well it doesn’t matter. So this, we said is the cape. We tossed and pitched for two days and those who had recovered their seasickness suddenly discovered that life again was not worthwhile. Pretty good idea by now that we weren’t calling at the cape so settled down for a few more days sailing. 

Aug 31/42

At long last we sighted land again and this time it was Durban, it looked good mighty good. Everyone was thrilled to pieces. Perhaps it was the sight of super buildings which lined the front, the expectations that lay behind them or it may have been that it was just land and the yearning of stretching ones legs on good old ‘terra firma’. Well we wasted no time in the harbour but just steamed into the dock. 

As we were nearing the jetty one of the most memorable sights I’ve yet seen took place. On the extreme end of the jetty stood one solitary woman of middle age, dressed in white with a red sash.
She was singing with the aid of a megaphone.
What a voice, it was colossal. It came drifting over the water as distinctly as it would in an auditorium. To the strains of “Land of Hope and Glory” we came alongside and did we join in I’ll say we did. It was a welcome fit for a king, at least we thought it was.  

A few hours later we left the good old Rangitiki. Looking back now she was a good boat. One coincidence was that she was marked on the stern “RANGITIKI, PLYMOUTH”. Funny I should have been posted from there.  To continue, we then boarded a train at the dock side which took us about 12 miles out to a huge camp at Clairwood. Here we were under canvas but we were on land so who cared. Food was good, fruit was plentiful, conditions compared with the boat 100% better yes - it would take a lot of this to hurt us. 

(NOTE: The two photographs below came with the story.  In the first, Mr. Lewis is on the extreme left ~ the others are not identified.
The second photograph looks mighty familiar (See Gallery) and was presumably acquired by Mr. Lewis long after hostilities ended.)

In a follow-up message to me, Mr. Lewis' daughter Michelle added the following information: