Chapter Five

As the work proceeded with the installation of the degaussing cable around the periphery of the deck we were informed that we would be bound for Le Havre. After discharging the coal we would take on general cargo for New York. Feelings were mixed. Moral took a downward turn as it became more and more evident that the Germans were well prepared for the taking of Norway, even at this early stage. Today’s expression, a real downer, was that Norway appeared to have been rather unprepared for any type enemy action; that we had a neutral tradition was not even a crutch... Rumors and bits and pieces about the progress of Norwegian resistance were not promising. Attempts at a stiff upper lip attitude would not dispel a nagging feeling at the pit of one’s stomach. When Germany entered Poland the news had widespread impact because of an almost "next door" happening to Scandinavia; the war now had "hit home", especially to those of us away for the first time.

Uncertain times for the crew with families back home...

The Second Engineer tried to anticipate the heavy drain on the generator to supply current for this new cable that he, particularly, could not see much use for anyway. It seemed he was talking just to have something to say being concerned about his family in Norway, like everyone else. A later event will show, though, that his intransigence about this current, i.e. power requirement, almost led to a disaster. But it was a trying time for everybody.

The short trip to Le Havre, during the first week of May, seemed insignificant. Views of the White Cliffs of Dover the coast of France 25 miles away with Calais and Cap Grisnez, almost a so what. The Chief Mate wondered how I was; I expressed more concern for the older people with families, I was a bachelor. My father was at home while these men were fathers with families back there. And even if their families were accustomed to absences, as families of Seamen, the war now surely exerted unknown pressures and anxieties. Our mutual concern seemed reassuring. The Chief thought I had grown some, -I’d be all-right. The Second Engineer seemed to appear much older; I kept clear...

War at closer quarters...

Le Havre is not a natural harbor. The city is situated at the mouth of the Seine river, on the north side of the bay of Seine; the river, of course, is famous for ‘running’ through Paris. Shipping thus must enter the harbor through a series of locks, generally at high tide. I did not as yet know the expression, ‘deja vue’, but that’s what it was. The excitement of coming to a different harbor was gone. This time it was not the second last stop before returning to Norway. At this time, also, the Germans were closing in. They were turning on the pressure by way of steady bombing of this important port city.

The bombing by the "Luftwaffe" of this strategic harbor was to continue, and increase, during all of May. (The "Luftwaffe",, i.e. ‘"Airweapon", already had become infamous because of the bombing of Warsaw, Poland, after this city had been declared an open city, i.e. not defended). Reconnaissance planes would come over in the day time, seemingly too high for the fire from the several English anti-aircraft batteries around the city. I would walk out to these batteries on days off, surprised at being able to be so close, watching the operations of the British gun crews. Operating like clockwork, loading, firing, and re-loading, yet never seemingly coming close to the reconnaissance plane they were shooting at; the planes just continuing above the exploding shells. I learned later that these were the "ack-ack batteries", commonly named, short for anti air craft.

After the coal cargo was discharged our ship would be shifted around to different piers for varying types of cargo bound for New York; two tugboats would arrive and do the honors.

It seemed that during the next bombing ‘sortie’ the bombs would fall near the dock we just had been shifted from. (We wondered, could they really be that good?). Incongruously, as an expression, it seemed also that we became accustomed to await the bombers every evening, as if for a show to begin.

One Sunday evening wending my way back onboard, crossing over railroad tracks, over or around narrow locks, just at dusk, reason enough to stay sober... Once onboard I sought the company of the deck crew at the aft hatch. We were as if awaiting the opening of the night’s show. A three-story building, perhaps 200 yards away, was said to be an Army barracks. The whole front seemed to be taken off after a direct hit. We could see bodies thrown through the air like rag dolls; my hands gripped the railing a little harder... (Fires always followed every bomb attack; one could find the smaller, burned-out, incendiary bombs all over the cobble stone harbor surface come day light). Getting ready for the sack this time, instead of changing my clothes as usual, I decided to lie down on top of the bunk; maybe the attack would slacken off. Usually, after changing clothes I would repair to the deck under the bridge structure where one felt reasonable safe, the bridge three decks above, I could sleep soundly there rolled up in a canvas.

Oddly, it crossed my mind, we had become accustomed to judging how far the bombs could be away by the whistling sound, caused by air friction as they hurtled downward, just before they exploded. If the whistling stops one knows they’re close!

This time, suddenly the whistling did stop. Momentarily I felt increasing air pressure on my ears, apparently caused by hurtling bombs. But before I could react to the racing thoughts, two bombs exploded. One flattening the dock-side warehouse raining cobble stone and debris over the ship, as observed the next morning. The other bomb landed in the water causing the ship to heave on the swell caused by the explosion; a 500 pound bomb means business’. I thought later, I was sure before she settled down again, I was out on deck a suitcase in each hand!. Seeing nothing was really wrong I quickly scrambled back into the cabin with the suitcases and ran up to the Second Mate’s cabin, he already awake, to report that some of the moorings were broken. I wondered where the night watchman could be but the Second Mate just said: "OK, we have work to do". After a while some of the crew appeared. I got ready for the sack again, this time under the mid-ship; the canvas like a safety blanket?.

Refugees from Northern France were streaming into the city ahead of the advancing Germans. Reports and evidence of German planes having strafed the streams of refugees along the roads preceded the regular war reporting. The first shock of this news was a feeling of stunned disbelief: strafing, i.e. machine gunning, helpless people on the road in the open!, "they are no better than the Italians in Ethiopia, the atrocities in Spain", I thought. My thoughts turned to the family -up in Norway and my youngest brother, Charles, only nine years old! "Damned Germans", I thought to myself, and it seemed to be echoed by the French expression "le Bosch". in contempt.

The amount of drinking among some crew members was dismaying. Sure, I had both heard of this and seen the same with some of the crews from the ships calling on my home town. Here one could drink oneself into stupor for one dollar, be it cognac, Curvosier at that, or Benedictine liqueur. May 17th, the Norwegian Fourth of July, I was helping serving breakfast for the deck crew. The bosun, he preceded Gus mentioned later, also had come onboard in New York. He boasted he had not been in Norway for 25 years, always wished to know where I had learned "book"-English, adding a little scornfully that perhaps I was showing off. In his fifties he had a drooping mustache, was rather lean and wiry; but respect for him as a Seaman waned with his drinking. (One of the older A.B.’s, Oscar, who will be a big part of this story later had complimented me on my facility with the English. He, too, was one of many sailors who had been away from Norway for years).

We had bacon and eggs for breakfast for the holiday of May 17th. The bosun was still hung over from the previous night but, as he said: "I’ll show I still love Norway", grabbed Olav, an ordinary Seaman my age, and kissed him on the mouth, egg dripping from his mustache. Olav reacted by heading outside for the railing sick to his stomach. He had to be restrained from taking hold of the older bosun after the incident. This bosun generally was scornful of these new type sailors, those of us who stayed sober, Olav among them. Gus, the Swede, became bosun when this fellow decided to change ships. The Chief Mate felt it was good riddance because he was much it a saucer.

The Chief Mate asked me ashore as before, as if to continue educating me to the finer things, the Second Engineer notwithstanding. (The Second Engineer also had expressed some disdain that ‘a mere messboy’ would dress up like an Officer going ashore. The Chief Engineer thought the Second Engineer was off base. The lesson?, -old habits, cherished customs of rank, seem to die hard). It had crossed my mind being ashore once as the bombing started, that it might be more than a laughing matter should one be caught in one of the bordellos either hit or damaged during the bombing... But, then again, who would know in the worst case? Occasionally I enjoyed just sitting in a restaurant, with a light meal, watching people. The waiters complained business was way down. We would revisit the Seamen’s Church thinking of getting more information from Norway; the usual letter writing from the reading room was thought to be just futile.

It was as if I was aware that I had aged somehow; finishing my chores I would start to seek out the other crew members having gone ashore earlier as if having a need to belong now that we seemed destined to spend more time together. Several of the deck and engine crew members were also some whom the Second Engineer had directed his remarks against, as behaving differently than he had been accustomed too. And, certainly, neither Elias or Hans whom I had grown up with were not just going ashore to drink and carouse, as it were. None of us had experienced wartime conditions, especially as being now from a country with a war condition forced upon it. It was not any comfort that we now were a part of the war. I remembered having read negative reports about -neutrals trading profitably with both sides in time of wars...

The conditions in France, as I understood them, did not offer much encouragement for being in a new fraternal relationship, if that’s what it was. The walks in the parks among the French, which I had enjoyed during the first visit were no more. That time there were young people laughing as the ducks were busy on the ponds with the procreation routine. Children were there with their parents, some with baby carriages; now, the Germans were pressing uncomfortably closer. Some French Soldiers on leave, would carry loaded rifles and advise this was for shooting "bosh" air plane crews who might have bailed out of damaged planes; we never heard of any. We did see a German bomber hit a barrage balloon and disappear westward, over the water. Perhaps the loaded rifles bolstered their moral, which already seemed to have taken on a grayish tone"...

One incident, bordering on being amusing, occurred when our cook was suffering from a hangover. The galley boy and I told the Steward we would handle the galley chores, despite a complaint from one of the A.B’s who cited a union requirement regarding an absentee cook. The galley boy and I just waved him off, "get away from the galley if you want to eat", a warning he heeded after a threat of bodily removal, if necessary.. We heard nothing more and had no complaints about the food. The Steward offered his compliments and the Chief Mate laughingly wished to know where I had learned about cooking as the supper was served. The old grouch, the Second Engineer, was noncommittal.

Odd, an ordinary Seaman who hailed from Trondheim, and I spent a lot of time together. We were just about the same age with much the same interests. He had been to sea for a couple of years. The galley boy was green, like me, and the cook older’. I was quietly aware of a change; was I to become a Seaman, anyway? Odd became like a steadying, needed company, like a mentor of sorts.

After a while the two of us became unwelcome at the bordellos for not being good customers, just visiting rather than doing business. After all, it was a business venture. The reason for this "cold-shouldering" was due to our antics, in a way. All the places had sort of an anteroom where the girls met their customers. Two girls joined us at our table one evening. Odd said I should sit tight while he paid for and took -his’ girl upstairs. The madam was the cashier. He added I should be on guard for him coming downstairs again and be ready to head for the door. The girls of course could not understand what he was saying; it had gone too far for me to disagree. A little while after he went upstairs with the girl I could hear some commotion. Shortly, Odd comes bounding down the stairs motioning me to head for the door. An older lady stationed at the door to keep out drunks was moved aside rather brusquely. Safely out on the sidewalk I asked Odd what in the world he had been up to. Once in the room he stated the girl took her clothes off.

He just stood there. After a little while the girl apparently thought he was up to no good and called for help. Pretty soon there were several girls outside trying to get in, but Odd had his foot on the door. As they pushed, the commotion increasing, he suddenly pulled his foot away and the scantily clad girls came tumbling into the room, at which time Odd headed for the stairs. It was funny then, perhaps indicating both unnecessary disdain, even disrespect, including some unsophistication?

The reaction to the continuous bombing varied. I do not remember any ship being damaged in the harbor while we were there. Some of the older fellows were taking it in stride. Odd at times would drink during bombing attacks while in his cabin. He would play his guitar and sing after which he would become quiet; as the bombing started he would just put a bottle to his lips and drink till he fell over backwards. I would remove the bottle, then his shoes, lift his legs into bed and cover him up. Must be fear, I would think; being sober was an advantage.

One night I walked into the deck crews’ mess-room, situated with the two-man cabins along the starboard side, just about to the stern, the engine crew quarters on the port side. The deck-boy bound, and gagged, was secured to a stanchion in the middle of the mess-room. It was just after an air attack. One of the older sailors was sitting there sort of watching over him. Einar, just 17, had beet ashore drinking, the older sailor had brought him back onboard. Einar apparently was just scared and the alcohol making it worse. "He was literally flying around the mess-room like a cat",, the sailor said; "we tied him to prevent him from hurting himself", indicating they would put him to bed when he quieted down. I thought quietly to myself that perhaps I did not have enough sense to be scared, and lucky me. I was also thinking about a brother, Einar, about the same age as this young deck-boy. I couldn’t think of my brother being at sea, yet, as noted before, it was not uncommon to find young boys that age, even 15, at sea. I remembered a saying about young boys, if incorrigible, that sending them to sea would either make them men or bums. It seemed heartless, and crude somehow; if it made sense, it seemed a desperate move...

Into the last week in May conditions were clearly worsening. Businesses would sell almost anything at whatever prices they could get. It seemed they figured that when the Germans came they might lose the merchandise anyway. I had my eyes on a fine camera with a fast lens but as I returned the next day with money I found the store shuttered’.

I had discovered something about drinking, for me anyway. A couple of glasses of wine, or a couple of drinks, and my interests in l’amour, as the saying goes, was turned off; it became like a safety factor. The girls in the bordellos who were said to welcome inexperience, would sense that the two of us were not ardent customers. In addition, the news of the prank we pulled at the "Chat Noir" apparently became known. All the "Places" had names. The "Cristal Palais" supposedly had been known also for its mirrors, now largely removed. Perhaps it was only our inexperience. There were many stories about life generally in countries where whorehouses existed, that young men were allowed, even were sent to these women to gain experience. These stories seemed to be boastings by older experienced sailors to egg on younger, generally first trip boys, for reasons not easily understood. Ambivalence, perhaps subconscious, seemed present about bordello visits; likely a reminder from graphic descriptions of venereal disease in the pamphlets I had read earlier at home; (as well as the two incidences during the first visit, to this town).

A number of women were "working" away from the bordellos; freelancing could be an expression, not known at that time. one would be accosted outside certain bars and on street corners in various areas. Most of these girls spoke English and would offer varied enticements. But the older sailors had warned the younger guys about these girls because they were not under doctor control like the girls at the regular places. Even so, with any sense, one ought to suspect how good once a week doctor visits could be...

Ringulv had two covered tanks in the number four hold, just after the midship, that would hold 500 tons each. During her whaling days these likely were used to hold whale-oil. The tanks had covers that were bolted in place with seals so that the tanks also could be filled with water for ballast purposes. The covers had to be lifted off by cranes. These tanks were loaded with varied crates containing some of the best liquors produced in France, to be exported to the U.S. There is quite a story to tell about these liquors as well as general cargo in the regular holds, -but, later...

The last Friday in May we received orders to leave Monday for Casablanca, French Morocco, for orders with only partial cargo onboard. The Germans were closing on Rouen, the huge oil facility, 40 miles up the Seine river. Sunday morning, the French apparently "fired" all the oil storage tanks and at noon the sun was not visible in Le Havre because of the smoke, it was like dusk. It seems some street lights were turned on despite the blackout.

Monday morning as the our ship prepared to leave French authorities asked the Captain that she take refugees onboard to be taken to Cherbourg. Some fifteen hundred, women, children, and older men who apparently had come from northern France came on board. Food came with them consisting only of a number of sacks of loaves of bread.

The Germans seemed to have stepped up the air attack, now during daylight, as Ringulv started to steam clear of the harbor area, heading westward. A light British cruiser at anchor outside the harbor area, with every available gun pointed skyward, provided protection. It fairly looked like she was ablaze with all the guns just firing away. Lucky for us, was not quite the thought on Ringulv, with only two usable lifeboats and a couple of rafts, and over 1,500 onboard. The story in the Bible about feeding the multitude with five loaves and five fishes almost seemed appropriate... The ship looked like an anthill.

I was trying to serve supper to the Officers with people just clogging my way to and from the galley. How does one refuse people food under these conditions?. Washing dishes after supper a couple of women asked if I had some "fromage" to have with their bread. I felt lousy; the Steward gave me strict orders not to hand out any food after I had shared left-over cheese with children. The women smiled at my wan excuse of no more, showing my empty hands.

The deck Officers, in an outburst of gallantry, offered two cabins to some important looking ladies; their demeanor and mode of dress just proclaimed class. The third mate bunked in the radio shack and the Second Mate bunked in with the First Mate. The engineers stood pat, -they had work to do...

There was a door to the deck from a little foyer between the cabins of the Chief and Second Engineers, port side. A couple with two young children had found room for the night in this little alcove. The Chief Engineer arrived for breakfast next morning relating that as he came up from the engine room at midnight he found this couple sort of getting ready for lovemaking. (I wondered briefly how he could tell, there was barely enough light to walk in the dimly lit alcove, though they evidently had to make room for him to get into his cabin). It was as if they were going to commit a sin!: "-to think that, under this condition, they could be thinking of THAT!; -these French"! he uttered. My thoughts were, -he is just an old man who doesn’t remember, somewhat surprised at my philosophy...

One of the sailors came looking for one of the mates reporting that the refugees were using a hand-pump outside the forecastle, doing their morning toilette. Partly described earlier, there were crew quarters for perhaps 16-18 sailors in the forecastle during the whaling days. It was now generally used for storage, but some of the refugees had found room there. one individual would pump continuously while others were washing up. The pump was pad-locked right away, lest they pump all our drinking water out on the deck. one older Norwegian and his wife, they had been living in Le Havre for some years, also occupied this area as their regular quarters. We were unsure how they had been hired, he as our carpenter. Apparently his wife was considered a refugee. It was unheard of, otherwise, for a carpenter to bring his wife on a ship.. There was some interest on our part about their life in Le Havre but they were sort of vague about it; -some story about owning, or keeping, -"a hotel" for ladies?. Perhaps a story in itself there?....

Later, one of the sailors recognized the classy dames the mates had given their cabins to as some of the most expensive girls from the Cristal Palais. -"No wonder the Officers didn’t recognize them", the sailor noted. His derision seemed misdirected and mere boastful. A little comedy, though.

The trip to Cherbough was uneventful, except for two French motor torpedo boats, cruising at high speed, seemingly going nowhere in particular; don’t recall, even, how someone knew they were that type of boats. After docking to discharge the refugees the ship was ordered to proceed westward to Brest with the refugees. Several sacks of bread were delivered, water tanks were refilled. We were hoping the Germans were to occupied to attack our ship. It would be a real nightmare, one just tried to push the thought of it away.

But it was exiting, just the same, highly unusual, a real experience to be involved with. Educational, too, I mused as I crawled into the sack.

I was supposed to have been back in Odda now, likely still reveling in what I had seen and experienced, could almost see myself holding forth for the "uninitiated".... Ever so briefly, too, would the girl still talk about getting engaged?, -worried?... But, ‘/sleep came easy" seemingly in the midst of wondering about tomorrow...

The refugees were discharged at Brest the following day. Leaving the ship they had taken up a collection to reward the crew for their effort. The Captain decided this money should best be turned over to the French Red Cross’ use. When this was announced to the refugees standing on the dockside they applauded, shouting: "bon chance, Norvege", with the Captain waving his cap from the bridge and the crew joining in applauding in return. So, on to Casablanca for orders. At least we should be looking forward to be able to return to New York, according to the information received leaving Le Havre.

But, the French were to have a different opinion...