A young man sails for the far side of the world
Post no. 7 from the memoirs of Tempest pilot Flt Lt Jack Stafford, DFC, RNZAF
Many days passed until we reported to the Air Department and were instructed to get our gear from the hotel and report back. We were loaded into a truck and taken out to Rongotai, where we were subjected to short lectures, prodded and poked at, and given some money. Then we climbed back into the truck which took us to the wharf and marched aboard the Shaw Saville Line's Akaroa, a passenger ship which ran between the UK, Australia and New Zealand via the Panama Canal. We were four to a cabin and very comfortable. The Prime Minister and the Minister of Defence visited to give short, unctuous and insincere speeches before scuttling quickly from the ship to the security of their homes.
The evening wore on, and we were all quiet. Some pilots wrote letters, hoping to get them ashore, while others played cards. I mostly sat in silence and thought. Strange sounds came to us from the upper deck as we sat around the lounge. Bells rang, voices with strong English accents gave orders, and the Akaroa quietly slipped away from the dock.
People playing cards stopped, we were all silent, each young man quietened by the importance of this moment in his life. Like assassins in the night we stole down the harbour. It was very dark, and no flicker of light betrayed us to the shore. A high, thin layer of cloud obscured the stars and the sound of movement along the ship's waterline seemed indistinct and muffled. It was solemn, brooding, yet strangely dignified.
I felt slightly insecure and apprehensive. I could not know that three long years would pass before I returned to this harbour, or that in a matter of months many of us would be dead. The graveyards of Europe would be the final resting place for a large proportion of my comrades. I shuddered as a bleakness crept over me. I was not prepared for the loneliness that chilled my heart.