Chapter Two

Finally, after 17 days across the North Atlantic in the winter time, New York harbor. I was standing on deck in utter amazement. The view offered far more than travelogue pictures and texts had illustrated. It seemed like the meeting place of the whole world, ships arriving and leaving, numerous ships at anchor, tugboats of all sizes, and ferries going to and fro. The Ringulv wound up docked at Pier Thirteen, Staten Island. Someone, perhaps as a pun, mentioned this island got his name from a German immigrant after his question: "iz-dat an island?". It seemed to fit, whether fact or fiction. This, then, was New York!.

The first trip ashore included introduction to canned beer, 15¢ a can, which I accepted not wishing to act like a greenhorn, at least not too obviously anyway. I was headed for the Norwegian Seamen’s’ Church in Brooklyn hoping to find my brother. Leif had his mail forwarded to this place and also knew one caretaking lady well known to all sailors as "Aunt Klara".

Norway and the other Scandinavian countries had established these churches as part of their mission activity to the many Seamen on the high seas. Norway, for instance with only three million people, had the third largest merchant marine at that time after United States and Great Britain. Many of these ships never visited Norway and their crews sent to man them from Norway. The churches thus were meant to establish a meaningful area of contact for the Seamen with reading rooms, some with banking or saving operations, and newspapers from Norway.

To have my brother there immeasurably enhanced the visit to this metropolis, the word itself now taking on a real meaning. We went to visit our Uncle Kris and his family in due course; the Sub-Way system under Manhattan Island overwhelming this greenhorn. My brother and Uncle and aunt were impressed with my high school English and I had no difficulty getting around after the first few days. Many years later, well established at home in the U.S., whenever people talked about visiting foreign lands, I would mention that the only way to really come to learn about a foreign land was to arrive through its ports, whenever feasible.

And New York, situated as a gateway from Europe, was a revelation for this man-boy from Norway. The hustle and bustle of the harbor activity carried an aura of unanticipated adventure, to put it mildly. Activity of some of the crew, whose drinking more than once erupted into fisticuffs and brawls, almost interfered with the cargo work; this seemed part of the hustle and bustle too. It was not entirely unexpected because some of the crew signed on at Odda were known for their drinking and brawling; as if this were a part being tough.

A situation developed because of some action by a renegade group of Seamen on some Norwegian ships, not supported by the Seaman’s Union, attempting to initiate strike activity among the several ships’ crews. Their attempt floundered even with dire threats against those who refused to go along with their scheme for higher pay. Hence a few of the original crew members from Odda signed off and were readily replaced, with some foreigners, particularly among the engine crew.

The replacement among the deck crew were all old-time Scandinavian sailors and were to become a source of further education in the ways of the world at sea for this greenhorn. Finally, fully laden, with all available deck space full of flatbed trucks, I bid my good-byes to my brother and Uncle and family. With their wishes for "God Speed," New York was in my mind expected to become the source of a discourse when I arrived back home…

The ship moved to a coal supply pier to take bunkers for the trip across to Europe. The three boilers consumed more than 28 tons of coal every 24 hours. The coal was loaded into the bunker hatch between the bridge and the mid-ship areas via a large chute from the coal pier; the operation was almost unavoidable because the hatch was adjacent to our regular ‘hangout’ in the galley. As the ship was ready to leave I was doing some work for the Chief Mate in his cabin. The Chief Mate entered and I was surprised being shown an envelope with some large denomination dollar bills. The Chief Mate explained he received this money for signing off for the coal delivered. The Chief Engineer also had received an envelope. It was custom too that the Stewards receive moneys from the ship chandler supplying the food, all at the ship owner’s expense.

I was not really surprised that this was going on as much as the fact that the Chief Mate proffered the information so readily. But the Chief Mate and I had developed a sort of mutual understanding through many discussions about life generally. He seemed intrigued that I had chosen to take a trip to sea rather than biding my time drawing "unemployment". In addition he was surprised that I was sober all the time we were in New York. The Chief Mate trusted me and the relationship seemed to develop as long as we were on this ship.

There were stories relating to the exchange of moneys, etc., from the thirties in the shipping towns in eastern Norway. The shipping agents supposedly would award scarce jobs on ships in exchange for a sack of potatoes, leg of lamb, or tub of butter. But all these exchanges had to come out of someone’s pocket, I mused, drifting off to sleep; perhaps enforcing a stereo-type idea about Seamen and their life generally.

Similarly, on the deck one day, having learned about ‘Sandy Hook’ on Staten Island as we were heading out, one of the young sailors complained of having been "‘taken" by paying far too much for his clothes purchased from vendors onboard selling for different suppliers ashore. These vendors were former Norwegian Seamen now working ashore, many illegally, that is without proper papers to stay ashore. Their salaries were paid by the amount extra charged to the sailors. Many sailors generally were at the mercy of these vendors, who became friendly speaking the same language - and all that for the simple reason that by the time they were ready to ship out again most had spent their money, one way or another. They would sign vouchers against their pay, honored by the shipping agent. The first time, then, they knew what the outfits cost them was when the draft appeared on their books the first week of the next month at sea. The Chief Mate said it was an old story at sea, almost as old as shipping, by the sound of it.

We proceeded to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to join a convoy across the Atlantic. I learned that most of this port had been laid waste by an exploding ammunition ship during World War 1. It was like a reminder of the war just exploding in Europe, with the incident about the German sub after leaving Norway. We now had a cargo of war material destined for the German enemy. That time the ship was in ballast and the sub just wished to know our name, possibly to ascertain information already in their possession.

Halifax appeared a beehive of activity because of the seeming innumerable ships arriving to join the convoy slowly forming and getting under-way, a hub for convoy activity. Some ships had been at anchor, too many to count, others were just arriving. The Captain going ashore several times for information about convoy operations. I was able to spend some time with the third mate who also doubled as Radio Officer. My interest had been aroused while watching the third mate operating the signal lights answering the German sub; I had studied electronics during night courses while I was working. Thus, because of this knowledge, I almost felt a kin-ship with the third asking him to explain some of the maintenance operations in the radio shack. (Three years later, coming to England after internment in North Africa, I went to radio school offered by the Norwegian Government in London and became a full-fledged Radio Officer).

The Convoy;

My job afforded opportunity and time to experience the forming of the convoy to number 80 ships. We were now a neutral ship engaged in carrying supplies to a warring nation and a fair target for the other party. Sailing four ships abreast with ample room for maneuvering "both fore and aft" seemed as much an exercise as a protection at this stage. The convoy was escorted by only one large English destroyer. The feared U-boat "wolf packs" were not yet a problem. We did hear later that the German battleship Gneisenau was out patrolling from the Denmark Strait, (between Greenland and Iceland).

Fortunately she never found, or may be did not know about, the convoy because in all likelihood there would have been few survivors to tell about any encounter.

The convoy was designated as a 10 knot convoy; but old Ringulv could only manage 8 knots under a full head of steam. Consequently, when the convoy was zigzagging, i.e. alternate turns for fixed amount degrees, and distance, to starboard or port so as not to give submarines a steady target, Ringulv was just managing to keep up by proceeding straight ahead, apparently with permission from the Commodore. Even at this early stage of the war there had been reports of ships falling behind convoys being picked off by waiting U-boats; it was on one’s mind...

One incident, likely because of lack of some organization: The Officers on Ringulv had problems reading the signal flags passed down the convoy, ship to ship, from the Commodore. But after several days as certain dated envelopes were opened it seemed that all dated envelopes apparently had been opened at the same time by the other ships, as well as the Commodore. The Captain mentioned something about it being a war on and all that. The crew was under some discomfiture, they said, that this old tub could not keep, up but the Chief Engineer just shrugged it off. I wondered at times how one would be able to see from ship to ship during the night and during fog and rain, but there seemed to be no particular problem.

I heard from the cook that the Second Engineer had volunteered he thought the Chief Mate was on too friendly terms with -just a mess-boy. But the Chief Mate answered he found him interesting and easy to converse with. (As an aside I remember the Second Engineer’s attitude remained much the same even during the camps later in North Africa). My attitude towards him became one of correct politeness. I’d catch him looking at me quizzically, like. But I had a job to do...

The convoy proceeded without incident across the Atlantic with Ringulv valiantly keeping up as best she could. The Firemen were called on to keep a full head of steam despite the fact that some who had signed on in New York were not really of the caliber needed for the old tub. But there was at least one old timer on each watch I found out through the grapevine and with extra effort they managed somehow. One of the Firemen, Lars from Kopparvik, (copper-bay), near Haugesund in Norway, I remember as one who seemingly could keep the fires on the three boilers going, with the help of the two other Firemen. Lars was skinny as the proverbial rail. It was said he could hold a pail of water by the long finger of his left hand and chin himself by the long finger of his right hand...

The Chief Engineer bemoaned the loss of the regulars in New York; -"these foreigners don’t amount to much", he would complain.

Storm again...

South-west of Ireland another fierce ‘Northwestern’ scattered the convoy and damaged three of our four wooden lifeboats hanging out in their davids because of the war condition; -"but we still have four rafts," the Chief Mate said reassuringly. And he noted that a couple of the boats probably would float anyway because of the flotation tanks. But like the saying, -it isn’t over till the fat lady sings and even though the storm was abating the steering mechanism broke early one morning. One of the flat-bed trucks on the aft deck, lashed cross-wise just ahead of the #4 hatch broke loose damaging the steering mechanical rods mounted on the deck along either side of the aft hatches.

On a more modern ship steering is accomplished electrically. So, the steering had to be done by two sailors from the poop deck, the emergency steering system. I was fascinated by the work of the deck crew just as the dawn was breaking. Having worked with repair crews at the factory I readily appreciated their skills as Seamen under pressure.

The storm over we proceeded east along the English coast till we could turn south across the Channel to Le Havre. But not before a little unexpected excitement for everyone. Next morning the lookout in the crow’s nest hollered: "-four engine bomber heading straight for us!". And sure enough, a bomber was seemingly just skimming the water. I just happened to be out on deck, unsure how to react, in fact almost not having time to. But as it came closer the plane banked off to our port side and started signaling; it was an English plane wishing to know our name apparently because the convoy having been scattered during the storm and to ascertain where the ships were.....

Recounting this story, many years later, I was asked if I was scared on this first encounter with a bomber. I answered in the negative, but thought that I probably was trying to crawl under one of the rivets holding the deck plates together, tongue in cheek... Perhaps the expression ‘being riveted to the deck’ would be appropriate?

The look-out in the "crows nest" was an ordinary Seaman named Odd who later became almost a mentor, being a year older, and about whom I’ll be writing much more in this story. His job as the look-out this time was also to be on watch for possible mines; war was getting closer, closer than we could possibly imagine at this time...

Don’t recall if the English coast was in view as we turned southward towards France. Approaching this second harbor after which we were to pick up a cargo of coal in Wales for the return trip to Norway was more on my mind...

Le Havre;

Le Havre was a busy city. It seemed remote from the war, just very busy. There were, of course, the renowned bordellos I had read about. But I also remembered the booklets my parents had given me to read, at about fifteen, when venturing some questions relating to sex. The quite graphic descriptions of venereal diseases in those booklets dampened intentions to get involved. Furthermore, one who sort of got involved with a barmaid turned up to ask to go to the doctor, for a "sore back". The third engineer, in his fifties, shaving off his mustache at this same barmaid’s request, also came up with a "sore back". This was an adequate signal even as one was told that the girls at the bordellos were under once-a-week inspection, the law, by a doctor. But much could happen in a week’s time...

Some incidents are worth noting. The engine crew mess-boy who joined in New York was Japanese. He disappeared a few days, was reported to the Police who found him in Paris. One of the crew noted he thought it odd that a mere messboy would go ashore with a briefcase. The expression "courier", per se, did not come up even as there was speculation he had business at the Japanese Embassy. (Leaving Le Havre for Swansea, Wales, he was no longer with the ship, no explanation). The Chief Mate, perhaps as a show to the Second Engineer invited me ashore on a couple of occasions, almost as an educational undertaking. We would enjoy a light meal with a glass of wine or a drink and usually visit the Seamen’s Church to meet other Norwegians.

The third mate was married to a woman of German descent back in Norway. on occasions some of his remarks about the Germans did not sit well with the Chief Mate and Chief Engineer. In an imbibed state while at a bar the two decided to report him to the Police. The third mate had to explain himself at a Police station, but the incident was dismissed and ascribed to too much alcohol.

The bar hopping was just becoming a bore. Sightseeing, became as if aimless, different here from New York where I had relatives. Later in life I was to discover that just to visit some place, whatever there was to see, appeared of no particular interest to me unless I had relatives or acquaintances there.

Apparently I never was much of a tourist. I could not spend all the cash I had taken from my pay and some of it wound up in a box for poor people at the Seamen’s Church reading room. Some Seaman! I just barely could bide the time till we would get under way for the final trip back to Norway.

The galley boy and I occupied a roomy cabin about 20 feet long, eight foot wide, with bunk room for four. We had ample room. But it was an old ship with an old ship "ambiance". The trip only had amplified that life at sea, seasickness and all, was not for me.

A farewell coffee party was arranged at the Seamen’s Church with the Captain and some of the Officers and crew before leaving Le Havre. Don’t recall anyone visiting the church for religious reasons, per se; it seemed a place to meet and see people away from the tediousness of the bars.

We finally sailed for Swansea, Wales, to take on a cargo of coal for Oslo. (A Welshman is from Wales, not from England!, was a lesson learned there). A coal cargo is just plain dirty with coal dust getting into every nook and cranny, and then some. The loading was very interesting. A whole rail road car would be lifted in an elevator and tipped on its side so that the coal would slide into the holds through a large chute. Swansea was a mostly a coal shipping port so far as we could ascertain, or really cared to. In the back of my mind the idea was forming that in less than about a week’s time we should be back in Norway. Stories about experiences were already forming, almost in anticipation. I was quietly satisfied with my handling of the English language, yet fancied myself the same happy-go-lucky fellow ready to continue where I had left off, if indeed I had left off anything...

We made a cursory visit to the Seamen’s Church because the minister had visited the ship and we felt a duty to pay our respects. He was happy to see us, noting that too few of ships’ crews were regular visitors. But he was a young man, as ministers go, easily attuned to us younger fellows. He also shocked me one evening we were going ashore together after one of his visits onboard. Passing one of the several coal loading chutes I stated I had to ‘go to the bathroom’ and proceeded behind the chutes. He reminded me that this was against the law, for obvious reasons, but then shocked me by stating that -"no Norwegian Seaman pi....- alone", following me behind the chute; he was just like one of us, minister or no minister... After a couple of evenings he introduced me to the Norwegian shipping agent’s daughter, about my age. I felt privileged. It seems superfluous to merely state the rest of our stay there was greatly enhanced. I was also invited for a brief visit to her home. It seemed obvious that her father had made inquiries about before agreeing to let me squire his young daughter around.

Leaving Swansee behind we spent most of the time during the trip north through the Irish Sea trying to get rid of the coal dust. We passed by the Isle of Man which I remembered, from the history lessons in high school, had been a Norwegian Viking fife-dom. other readings advised that at the battle of Contarf the Irish King Brian Boru (926-1014] defeated the Norse ending Norse power in Ireland. I believe I kept this information to myself. Was unsure if anybody on an old tramp steamer could be interested, no slight intended. I had announced intention to leave this occupation. Talking about old Viking happenstance history might just be received as showing off...

The trip was interesting through the Hebridies islands, Western coast of Scotland, because one was reminded of the coast of Norway. The ship was heading for the English Navy harbor at Kirkwall in the Orkney islands to ‘pick up’ a convoy for Norway. Excitement was mounting. And there was to be more excitement than any one could have expected or dreamed of...

I was aware of harboring a feeling of detachment going through the daily routine. Discussing this with my friend, the cook, he agreed maybe this was not ‘my cup of tea : "you’re not even much of a coffee drinker!". Arne, the galley boy, thought he might stay for another trip, for the money now that there was a war bonus. He and an ordinary Seaman, Olav, were from a farming district south of Bergen. Wages on a ship generally were not worth more than just a job, a tenuous path for a career.

It was convoy time again, this time some 60 ships bound for Norway, but with obvious ample escort comprised of English destroyers and even a light cruiser. The convoy headed eastward into the waning hours, April 7, -40, and was expected to reach the Norwegian coast the next day. And this date would ‘forever’ be etched in every Norwegian mind.

Go to: Chapter Three - Norway Invaded!