Danny nears journey's end.
Knowing that W/Cdr Richey was on board, and still fondly believing the "Spitfire Wing" story, we waited eagerly for him to introduce himself to us and to give us all the "gen" on air combat. But the days and weeks passed by and he did not appear. At first we reasoned that, as OC Troops (for he had been lumbered with that job), he was too busy with his admin duties to spare time for us. But the weeks went by and hope slowly faded - in fact I don't think I ever saw the man.
My "oppo" on the trip was a Ronnie Bray. I hadn't known him at Hawarden as he was on a different Flight to mine. Curiously, we never talked about our families and home backgrounds - or I've forgotten - rather we grumbled endlessly about our present woes and speculated on our futures. He was a nice chap, and a good friend. Sadly our ways were parted when we got to India: I don't think I ever saw or heard from him again (but I heard about him, as may crop up much later in my tale).
We left Bahia and raced across to Durban. I think we joined a convoy at some point, for just after "turning the corner" at the Cape, we ran into an absolute Sargasso sea of wreckage (from a recent U-boat kill ?), and the ships unaccountably stopped ("hove-to", I suppose, is the technical term). Why - to check for survivors, perhaps ? The silence was deafening, after the engines had been running for so long. It seemed to us that this was the height of stupidity; if a U-boat were lurking about, we were giving him a perfect no-deflection shot.
This lasted some twenty minutes then, thankfully, the engines restarted and we continued on our way to Durban. Sometime in the last week or two my twenty-first had passed unobserved. But we were allowed ashore in Durban; a party of us formed to celebrate the event (and mine may not have been the only 21st involved).
It was no drunken revel, our interest was more in real good food after six weeks of ship's rations (mainly bully beef). We booked a slap-up dinner in a posh restaurant (no problem on our accumulated unspent pay) and ate till we burst. All I can remember about that night is the restaurant ceiling: it was midnight blue covered with little silver stars which glittered in the table lights (perish the thought that good Cape wine might have played a part in my selective amnesia).
All that was mssing was feminine companionship; the only female troops on board were a party of Wren junior officers en route to Naval HQ in Ceylon. Very smart they looked, too, in their white tropical rig. But they were Officers: we were Other Ranks, and never the twain shall meet (socially) !
To the best of my knowledge, there were no ATS or WAAF in India during the war, only QAs and their RAF counterparts, officers of Princess Mary's RAF Nursing Service. The WRNS were all in Ceylon. In major cities like Delhi and Calcutta, the Army had a locally recruited womens' service, they were kitted out much like US WACs, but I forget what they were called. Anglo-Indian girls flocked to join this service, for the chance of "catching" a British NCO (or even an Officer) was too good to miss.
We did not stay in Durban long, and left alone with our escort - the biggest warship I'd seen on escort duty. It must have been a battleship, or at least a very heavy cruiser; we made a dash for Bombay together - perhaps it was after dark, for I don't recall the famous "Lady in White" of Durban singing farewell to us as we sailed away.
The last lap across the Indian Ocean was smooth and uneventful. Indeed, the sea had been kind to us during the whole of the voyage. There had been no U-boat scares. I don't remember any spells of rough weather and sea-sickness was never a problem. But there's no getting away from it, sea travel is boring. When you've seen one lot of sea, you've seen 'em all. Another fortnight , and we would be disembarking in Bombay.
That'll do to be going on with,
Danny 42C
If you're so smart, why ain't you rich ?