Chapter Fifteen

Our group traveled by train to Cardiff in the Bristol Channel, Wales. We were to be passengers on a Norwegian motor ship, the M/S Tai Shan, about 9000 tons. She had cabin space for twelve passengers, among them a Norwegian doctor and his wife as nurse. They were to open a medical office for Seamen at Bombay. our group was distributed among the regular crew. I wound up among the gun crews in quarters constructed below the regular aft crew quarters. I consoled myself it was a temporary setback, sort of, because generally a Radio Officer at ‘worst’ would only have to share with one other Radio Officer. Usually he would have his own cabin, often on the same deck as the Captain’s quarters, or on the bridge next to the radio station. (I briefly wondered if I already was taking on airs of having taken a step ‘above’ the regular ship crew?).

The Tai Shan sailed up the Irish Sea to join a convoy bound for Gibraltar sailing out into the Atlantic, north of Ireland just before Christmas. Any notion of aforementioned airs succumbed to my old friend, seasickness, never mind mal-the-mer! Because this was, again, Atlantic winter-time-seasickness, numbing, relentless, two day’s worth...

I remembered my father’s admonishing about the unforgiving sea, again. Despite our almost passenger status we were asked to pitch in doing lookout duty, one hour at a time. One of our number was uncomfortable climbing up to the crow’s nest and would elect to spend two hours so as not having to climb up twice. I was curious about why the height did not bother me, so far as the seasickness was concerned; it was wintertime and even one hour as a lookout was a cold time. And the movement of the ship was accentuated at that height; perhaps it was better to leave well enough alone...

This was my third convoy. Don’t know how many ships were in the convoy; we seemed to have ample Navy support. The look-out post from the crow’s nest offered a panoramic view, albeit a cold one. So it wasn’t exactly, deja vue. Because of the German airforce operating from Brest in France the convoy took a wide westward swing before heading east towards Gibraltar. We were to arrive there just after Christmas, enjoying the festivities prepared for that holiday at sea.

It was my fourth Christmas away from Norway. But a lot had happened in many different places to this young Norwegian and I seemed to remember it was almost difficult to envision what could be happening at home in Odda. At least I was where the Holiday was being remembered and taken note of. The previous Christmas was, as noted, my lost Christmas.

There were three English women in the Steward’s department, two in their low twenties, one probably -thirty. They were occupied with the Officers’ messroom duties. The older girl seemed to act as sort of the mother hen. It was joked about by the rest of the crew, perhaps likely envy, that the ‘old’ girl couldn’t always be around...

I was on lookout duty on top of the bridge ‘house’, there were railings, during the Christmas Eve party for the Officers in the Captain’s quarters. In the dusky darkness I could see someone taking one of the young girls through the area separating the mid-ship structures to his cabin. But that was not the area I was supposed to be watching... (I was surprised they wouldn’t be missed... ) My watch relief came and I joined the crews’ festivities; the Captain was making his holiday rounds to the crews’ quarters. (Gallantly?, I "stored" my observation).

The convoy turned in to Gibraltar where we would wait for a convoy through the Mediterranean. The anchorage was near the Spanish coast. One got used to noise from small depth charges the English detonated at regular intervals. Motor launches would cruise slowly among the ships at anchor and drop these small depth charges in order to deter people from swimming out from the Spanish coast to attach underwater bombs to the stabilizing keels of ships at anchor. Several ships had been sunk in that manner.

The Spanish area called "La Linnea", bordering Gibraltar, could be clearly observed from the Tai Shan. La Linea was fully lit at night, street traffic observable. Gibraltar under a wartime blackout. We were also close enough to observe much of the Naval comings and goings at Gibraltar proper. Two halves of a Norwegian tank ship could be seen ‘tied’ together at a pier, borrowing field glasses on the bridge. We were told the ship broke into two halves when torpedoed and the two halves were towed to Gibraltar. The two halves at were to be joined again when drydock space would become available; apparently Navy ship repairs were presently a priority.

I remembered having read about tank ships breaking apart at the pump room just aft of the mid-ship. The pump room being the weakest section of the ship, a room from the bottom deck, as wide as the ship, all the way to the main deck and about 8 feet along the ship. This is were the pumps are located, electric or steam, used to pump the oil ashore, which same pumps also are used to pump sea water into the tanks for ballast.

One incident about "our" gun crew must be mentioned. One of them, a Danish fellow taller than I at 6 foot one, thought a Spanish rowboat was passing too close to our ship and motioned the rowboat away. One of the two in the rowboat called back: -"this Espania!" The Dane lifted his rifle and, to my surprise, fired. The bullet split the Spaniards’ port oar. They, thinking better of it, hurriedly rowed away with their oar and a half. The gun crew Officer was supportive, in a sense; may be the Spaniards needed a lesson...

War at sea, again:

The Tai Shan joined a convoy of some forty ships sailing eastward toward the Suez Canal. There seemed to be an abundance of escort ships. One rebuilt light cruiser I thought almost looked like a porcupine because of the number anti aircraft guns. There were several batteries of so-called "Pom-Pom" guns, four or six barrels in a battery. When they were fired, the barrels would move up and down in sequence, hence it was nicknamed ", the Chicago Piano" by the British. During the first of two air attacks, maybe three, this particular ship fairly looked like she was ablaze with all her batteries firing away.

One German bomber was brought down ahead of the convoy during the first attack at about dusk in cloudy weather. A life jacket with its small light floated in the middle of the convoy as we passed by. It was too dark to see if it also held anyone. Nevertheless, one of the ships opened fire at the life jacket, other ships joined in, and soon tracer bullets could be seen bouncing off the water causing everyone on the other ships to duck till orders to cease firing were issued and relayed. "Damned idiots", I uttered about those who would fire at, even an enemy, someone helpless in a life jacket. The firing likely was due to someone nervously firing first, then others joining in, perhaps not to be left out.

I had been asked to join one of the gunners on watch in the port side pill box for a 20mm Oerlican, (anti-air craft gun). My duty was to change cartridge magazines, about 8-9 inches wide and about 12 inches diameter. But this never happened because our Captain issued orders not to fire unless an airplane was seen approaching our ship. I wondered how this could be possible with darkness approaching. The gunner announced he wanted a cigarette. To light it he had me bend over him to make sure the light from the match was not visible, also cupping his hands. He was about my age and had gone to gunnery school because he liked duty as armed guard, thought the Navy would be too restrictive. The position as a gunner apparently offered some status.

A guard rail made from about one inch diameter pipe "surrounded" the pill box. It was formed above and half way around the -ship-side of each box, about two and a half foot high. The gunner advised this was to prevent the barrel of the gun from traversing the ship, and the gunner from shooting down his own rigging in case he followed an aircraft flying across the ship. This apparently had happened during fervor of following the airplane, hence the guard rail.

I recalled one of the fellows at the radio school who had been partly invalided serving on a British corvette sunk while guarding a convoy to Malta. Why he was on an English Navy ship did not come up. His injuries would prevent him from serving on a ship in war time.

All the convoys bound for Malta and beyond had to pass through the narrow waters between the Italian island Pantelleria and Tunis, a strait about 50 statute miles wide. German bombers operating from both sides, made this a veritable gauntlet if there ever was one. To supply Malta under those conditions was an almost unbelievable feat. The stories of the frequency of bombing attacks on Valetta, the capital of Malta, sounded like legions in numbers...

Tai Shan also served as the convoy Vice Commodore Operation’s ship. The Vice Commodore’s Chief Petty Officer had made 40 runs between Gibraltar and Malta and back. He was a slim, intense, Englishman about five foot five inches tall. He seemed to fit the average build of English men borne after World War I. I seemed to have read about this condition brought on by scarcity of food, etc. To me his many trips to Malta and back seemed like an attempt to tempt fate.... ; there was hardly room for any more service ribbons on this man’s jacket sleeve.

The ships of the Commodore’s section of the convoy separated as we neared the route to Malta. The rest of the convoy proceeded towards the Suez Canal without further incidents. The Tai Shan had proceeded to anchorage at the northern end of the Suez Canal, Port Said, to pick up a pilot and await our turn to proceed southward. Adventure, the word seemed to become - shopworn. Yet this was the Port Said of many lurid stories and films. The war-time aura did not change this much despite the Navy ships and war materiel being unloaded from cargo ships.

While waiting to get clearance to proceed southward Egyptian boats came alongside with a member of the crew ‘sitting’ in the mast hawking wares and sundry tourist type items. Among them were aphrodisiacs which the doctor going to Bombay shook his head about, both because he said were ineffective, and likely unsanitary. Getting underway we noticed the anti aircraft batteries along both sides of the canal, interspersed with dummy tanks and gun emplacements. But the war itself seemed removed.

The ship had to anchor up in the so-called Bitter Lake, about two thirds way through to let northbound, perhaps of higher priority shipping, pass. I never learned the origin of the name of the lake, maybe the water had once been bitter when it was an inland lake... The port of Suez just seemed like a row of houses, all white, with some minarets of worship places at intervals. Business seemed to go on as usual though there was also a lot of military traffic moving to and fro, some place.

Mount Sinai, of Moses and Ten Commandment fame, became a subject before leaving the canal; don’t recall if the mountain was visible. At 24 it likely was not an important subject, except in passing (by), as it were.

Svein and I were always eager for some exercise and the Second Mate turned up two pairs of boxing gloves. He was surprised when we two took to sparring on the poop deck, often to everyone’s amusement. Svein was declared the eventual winner because I wound up with a ‘shiner’ blooming into a black eye.

The young girls, likely just about my age, were asking if I felt badly about ‘loosing’; explaining it was a sparring exercise only was a lost effort... I thought I had detected an ambiguous interest by the crew about women on a cargo ship, especially in a war-time situation. Oddly, the Danish gunner seemed defensive about the girls when it was expressed they had no place on a ship because of the war, placing them at perils with extra efforts required in emergencies. A precursor to arguments about women in service, 45 years later? The girls did compliment me on my English, which was something, anyway, somehow. Evidently the extra, even fleeting attention, was OK. I kept my distance, though, in case it should rub some Officer the wrong way; we were newly turned out Radio Officers, there was a hierarchy among some of the regular Officers...

We were glad to have the continuing job as look-outs although once into the Red Sea the look-out position seemed to become less of a necessity. I had become friendly with the Chief Radio Officer; the ship also had two English Radio Officers. The two groups, the sparks on the ship and the passenger ‘sparks’, enjoyed each other’s company. It offered a break from a usual routine. The resident sparks, was something of a genius to me. He was an old-time sparks and his evenings were occupied with repairing sundry electrical items, such as rewinding the armatures on broken electric fans. My mind was like a sponge taking everything in, salting it away. It might come in handy some day in the future.

The resident spark’s routine was of long standing, many years at sea, which easily was outside my future plans. Having read a lot about Seamen’s lives at sea, I had already perceived a type of connection between lonely cowboy type songs and songs I remembered as lonely Seamen type songs before I left Norway. The resident sparks was like a long time employee of the Wilhelmsen Line, owners of the Tai Shan, one of the biggest shipping companies in Norway. At 24, again, that prospect was definitely not a part of my future...

I was keenly aware that I reveled in this new experience; I felt I had just breezed through the school. And the ‘now’ was like a continuing change. At my age I was, like any young man, just looking straight ahead; the world -my oyster, which expression I had as yet not come across, even. The adventures on the horizon, sure to be there, were like a promise; fifty years later the expression, -like a high-, would come into vogue, perhaps defining my feelings, in -44....

Our first port of call in India was the port of Cochin, almost at the southern end of this huge peninsula. It did not really look like a port. The ship was tied up to buoys, fore and aft, in a river with a lot of forest around. Lighters came along side to take the cargo destined for this place. The Captain did us a favor by letting us draw money on our standby salaries, because we were not really part of his crew. (The resident Radio Officer informed me of this and I told him we really appreciated that). The Captain had learned that Svein and I both had been prisoners, Svein by the Germans, on a "fraider" and I in North Africa.

Svein’s story was the far more adventurous. A seaplane from a German raider had torn their antenna off with a hook device and had sunk their ship after they had been ordered off, taking the crew prisoners. This had taken place in the Indian Ocean. (After one or two incidents with seas planes ripping off the antennas, British "aerials", ships were rigged with reserve antennas below the mast level to allow sending of SOS with position of the raider). ‘Svein’s’ raider in turn was intercepted by an English warship and the crews were freed. Svein also had gotten me interested in trying to get a ship sailing to Australia, (which never happened). He would relate stories about having visited that fascinating land, having had opportunity to visit a ‘sheep station’ on an excursion. Cochin really was no place to visit and spend our money. A hotel, "some place in the woods", with a lot of waiters was the only diversion. Not interested in drinking the passenger sparks soon repaired to the ship anxious to get on to Bombay.

Except for the almost three months onboard the Tordenskjold I had been unemployed for some time, since we were taken off Ringulv at Safi, North Africa. I was anxious to become useful. Of course, a lot of sailors would say that the Radio Officer’s job, or position, if you will, still was not work...

Bombay, India;

Arriving at Bombay we shook hands with the crew all around thanking them for the hospitality bestowed on us. We were quartered at a small Norwegian rest type place, with room for about 12 guests. (The expression R&R was unknown to us, at that time). We were served hand and foot by Indian servants, the ‘hotel’ being run by a Norwegian former missionary couple. There was an esplanade in front of the house, facing part of the ocean, or bay, with similar housing along for a distance. During our stay there we could watch American ‘GIs’ practicing formation and parade drills on this convenient esplanade.

The Norwegian shipping office provided us with necessary cash; we were employed now, just waiting for duty. It was necessary to visit the Police Headquarters to obtain a permission pass to stay ashore while awaiting ship duty. The Police Chief’s uniform was that of an Army colonel’s. (He was English).

We were called in, one by one. He had a folder in front of him. It seemed to me after a while, that he had more information about my whereabouts since I left Norway than I remembered; even about my stay in North Africa. He corrected me a couple of times as I detailed where and when I had been, here and there. But he was very friendly and wished these young people good luck in their future "endeavor".

It was a big city, diversions depended on what one was looking for. A modern movie house was air conditioned, our first experience with that system. But customers were warned to bring a jacket, apparently the system only worked full on, with the result that when one finally left, the outside heat made it feel like walking into an oven. One couldn’t wait to get to the hotel to try and take a shower. Dining at restaurants was expensive for our taste, catering mostly to the better off, it seemed.

We were advised about a good size swimming pool located near our hotel ; soon a lot of our time was spent there, in the English section of the city. I daringly tried the 10 meter dive which the others said I managed, after a fashion; they thought as divers go I needed a lot more practice on the 3 meter board. The missionary felt it was not necessary to be introduced to the race track, but it was there...

It was a new for some of us, hence of interest. I wondered briefly how the well-to-do could be there gambling away, as if this was Haut couture, high fashion, 100 rupee notes in their hands, while it seemed that the Indians around the dock areas were existing on a couple of rupees, (60 cents) a day. I had seen poverty in North Africa, but not on such a pervasive scale as in Bombay. The seeming multitude of people apparently overflowed available housing into the streets. One wondered where they disappeared to as the monsoon season with driving, unceasing, rain arrived. Discussing this aspect with the former missionary at the hotel, he advised that one ought not to get involved about local customs or systems. Philosophically, perhaps, one may contemplate a statement from religion, -there will always be the poor around...

We were told Mahatma Ghandi was working to improve the lot of the people under the caste system, except it seemed such a huge, unmanageable, task as to "boggle" the mind. The missionary told of examples where the English attempted to set up a trade training system for the Indians, who generally are quite adept, quickly becoming skilled crafts people. It developed that "these" people could not possibly work or train with "those" people, who were of a different caste or religion. And the numbers of differences often caused abandonment of the venture. There was a story about an attempt by the English wishing to spray ponds and pools of stagnant water with kerosene, while we were there, in order to kill the larva of malaria carrying mosquito. They had to shelve the effort because it almost developed into a holy war due to the varied religious beliefs. It was quite observable that the success of the former British hegemony in India, now seemingly on the wane, depended on their not mixing in internal affairs of India proper. But forthcoming changes also seemed to be in the offing. War-time brings changes one would otherwise not attempt.

The English singing idol, Vera Lynn, came to entertain the British troops. We were able to attend the performance. The songstress came in escorted by a British colonel and the welcome by the troops was overwhelming. This was ‘big time’ with a singer we just barely had heard about now being almost rioted over by the British Soldiers. The enthusiasm exhibited by the British service men was not unexpected.

While attending radio school I remembered being near a hotel just off Leicester Square in London, near the Picadilly Circus as I recall. Clark Gable was staying at this hotel. As he exited from the hotel one evening the street in front of the hotel was completely blocked by the enthusiastic G.I. service men. Such adoration of performers was generally not a tradition with the Norwegians; perhaps I was unaccustomed to this being from a small town. But I was surprised to learn that Clark Gable, the actor, was a tail gunner on one of the American bombers. And, I thought it might have been OK to get to see the guy; I was not really that blaze... We did get to gaze at Vera Lynn, though, and listen to her songs....

The time in the Radio Officer pool became adventure time, again. This time it was more like a real paid vacation; the time at school had not been any hardship. I had taken to the school work without much problem. The thoughts about relatives in Norway became less frequent, as if a condition it was useless to think much about; the absence of any news, -remote.

One Norwegian ship, about 3000 tons, apparently formerly sailing around these waters with Indian crew and Norwegian Officers was ‘laid’ up at anchor in the huge harbor. The Captain and one Indian crew member were ‘tending’ the ship. The Captain invited the new Radio Officers onboard to see if the radio station could be made operable again, "and to give you something to do", he advised. But the equipment had gone through a period of non-use and corrosion appeared worse than could be reasonably cleared up in the time we thought available.

All the equipment would have to be disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled. We deemed the extant, pervasive, humidity soon would undo the necessary work; the ship was not expected to leave in the foreseeable future. We were not sure the Captain accepted our assessment even as I noted that the equipment might be left disassembled in case ships came in requiring our service, as intended. We did not really look forward to long, sweaty, work in a cramped radio station. Besides, we were anxious to become "real" Radio Officers, not repairmen. It would have been a rewarding peace-time job, real on-the-job training.

Part of our diversion in this big city was one of several dance halls were one could dance with young girls, mostly Anglo/Indian. They were the results of union by English Soldiers and Indian mothers. Without exception these girls talked about going ‘home’ to England, a place they had just heard about. I was reminded of a similar condition about 45 years later when England absorbed a lot of individuals from former colonies. The condition of the Amerasian children left behind in Korea and Vietnam by American Soldiers exemplified a similar problem, misfortune even; apparently always a sad reminder, and remainder, of war...

The first call for a Radio Officer was on a ship, around 3000 tons, sailing coast-wise around India. Likely because of the visit to the laid up ship not one of us volunteered for the job, it was as if no one could see being tied to this part of the world... I pulled the -short straw for the job. I never remembered whether I had a stomach problem on the visit to the doctor, going through the pre-hiring check-up, or if this was a convenient condition just coming up...

I thought the heat and the food in this region was my problem, but I often thought later the region itself might have had as much to do with the condition; perhaps a convenient incident? I remember trying to rationalize that the doctor would have seen through that excuse... The result was that another straw routine was taken to fill the job.

After about four weeks all the standby sparks had been assigned. Both Sigvart and I had been assigned to the M/S Braganza March 27,-44. She was the former "Pacific Trader" under English flag, now under Norwegian flag. The Chief sparks about 12 years our senior. She was a big ship, 9900 tons dead weight. As the Pacific Trader she had cabin rooms for about 30 passengers, all on first deck above the main deck, below the deck with the Captain’s quarters. Sigvart and I were assigned a passenger cabin on the main deck, nicely appointed. Our Chief had been eating with the other Officers. Apparently for lack of space the three of us now took our meals in a smaller 4 man messroom. Sigvart and I didn’t mind; if our Chief minded not eating with the other Officers we figured it would be his problem. We had not really gotten into our new position as yet. If there was to be any status change we’d take it in stride. Sigvart had been to sea for some time, I would follow his take on things. He had a ready smile and easy manner, sure of himself, tall and lanky like me. I trusted his judgment.

Braganza had been tied up in the Prince’s dock for engine, or motor, repair, a lube oil leakage problem. The Victoria dock was adjacent. The first dock, arriving at Bombay, was the Alexandria dock. Entrance to these three docks was by way of locks because of high and low water conditions and the construction of the harbor generally. Curious about when we would leave, the answer was very soon, which turned out to become three months....

One day while Sigvart and I were ashore a killing had occurred onboard the Braganza. A Latvian motor man was always taunting an Estonian second cook. He had been warned to lay off. But one day the Latvian was standing in the galley doorway threatening the second cook. The Estonian grabbed a large knife and gave chase. The Latvian ran up the first stairway to the mid ship, by the passenger cabins, where the Estonian caught him and ran the knife into his kidney area. The Latvian died before the medical help arrived. (The wooden deck had markings of being recently cleaned and sanded by the time Sigvart and I came back onboard).

The Braganza was still in Bombay as the trial took place, with witnesses from ship and acquaintances from shore. The Estonian was found not guilty; the papers reported self defense as a determining factor. He did not return to the ship, however, perhaps not re-hired. I did wonder, at times, if maybe the word adventure was being, over-used.

Some time after the killing the first ship to be assigned a sparks from our group had already made a round trip ‘down the coast, to Goa, Cochin, Colombo on Ceylon, (now Sri Lanka). The ship was tied up at a pier outside the dock areas because of a part cargo of sulfur. Our friend of course came onboard the Braganza to fill us in about his trip. Sigvart and I were anxious to hear about Goa and Ceylon, exotic places, and the first of our group as a new Radio Officer. But, India was beginning to wear thin for a long time visit.

Ammunition Ship Explosion:

Our friend was to experience the closest of escapes in an almost ancillary war experience. So far as we knew Bombay had never experienced an enemy attack of any kind. But an about 1500 tons ammunition explosion was a reminder of a war condition. The happening was like a totally unexpected enemy attack.

The explosion happened within the dock area because of a major miscalculation by the Harbor Master, in our humble opinions. An English ship came from Karachi to Bombay with a cotton cargo on top of about 1500 tons of ammunition. The cotton was smoldering and her Captain had asked permission to scuttle the ship at the far end of this huge harbor. (It seemed one could "hide’ New York harbor here). He was overruled by the Harbor Master who ordered the ship brought into the Victoria dock on high water at noon. He had four fire engines brought to the dock side. There was an about 100 foot wide pier span, with a large storage shed, separating the Prince and the Victoria docks. We three radio people were practicing signaling with handheld signal light in the bridge house, about two PM, when we were advised there was a fire on a ship in the Victoria dock. Getting out on the bridge we saw the flames emanating from the Englishman’s nr. two hold, virtually like a giant blow torch. The four fire engines were valiantly directing streams of water from their hoses into this enormous blaze. It appeared useless, the flames evaporating the water instantly.

The ammunition blew up around 1600 hours, (wartime hours), flattening people on the Braganza’s deck, we ducked behind the bridge front. The fire engines were never seen again, nor their people. Luckily, for us, the main explosion spent its force against the about 100-foot wide stone pier separating the two docks. A ship about 4000 tons, maybe about 200 feet long, immediately ahead, and inside of the exploding ship was lifted sternwise onto the pier, the bow hanging in the water, stern straight in on the pier, the ship broken at about the midship.

The cook on a Norwegian ship, "Belray", tied up between us and the exploding ship had been standing just outside his galley watching. As he recovered from the force of the blast he jumped inside the galley door opening; a piece of steel caught his hand on the side of the door frame opening severing the hand completely from the wrist.

Our friend’s ship outside where Braganza laid was set afire, he just barely escaping. The ship’s load of sulfur was set afire by debris from the explosion. (Because sulfur on fire may not be extinguished with water the ship was abandoned and left to burn out.)

Conflagration was everywhere, exploding ammunition flying about. A four foot square, jagged, steel plate fell on our battery box on top of the bridge house and set it afire. This fire was put out and all our crew ordered ashore. The Second Mate and a couple of A.B.s to remain on watch. As I came down the gangway an Indian was supporting another with part of his shoulder torn open. He asked if I could attempt to drive a flatbed truck abandoned there, and help them get away. I told him I had never driven a car or truck, wouldn’t know how to start it even. He thought he could get someone else.

On my way out of the dock area I had just reached a gate in the 10ft high brick wall surrounding the harbor, when another explosion let loose. I instinctively dove headlong outside right next to the wall, covering my head. A whirring sound up in the air caused me to look up. A 6ft piece of steel, in windmill fashion, was "flying’ towards three huge oil tanks. The steel piece knocked some piping off on top of one of the tanks starting a small fire.

I thought later I probably panicked, expecting another problem from oil tanks on fire. (We learned later the tanks had been emptied). On a dead run at once, the nearest street was clogged with Indians of all ages streaming away from the dock area. These people, among the poorest of the poor, seemed to be living in the streets around the dock area. A bicycle with the chain off the wheel lay next to an abandoned street car. Hurriedly attaching the chain I took off pedaling the bicycle through throngs of people and usual cows roaming the streets, the thought of the fire on the oil tank driving me on. I did not stop till I was on the other side of the town at the small hotel where we had stayed arriving from England.

I spent the night and took a bus to get back onboard the next forenoon. Devastation was pervasive. We learned later some 600 Indians including the harbor master were killed; 34 ships were damaged, inside and outside the harbor, 16 beyond repair, unofficial. (A few years before writing this story I met a Norwegian former sea Captain at Oslo. He had been First Mate on a ship in the same dock, the Victoria, where the ship blew up. He gave me an article he had written for a paper describing their valiant, but in vain, effort to save their ship. I came to understand then that our escape was in the nature of extreme fortune, deliverance and miracles being beyond my ken).

None of the deck crew had yet arrived onboard as evening approached. I offered to take the watch job that first night. Dusk approaching, I found a coil of rope and sat with my back against the mid-ship bulkhead, eyes wide open, practically not moving all night trying to wonder why I had volunteered to be watchman, (wondering later if I had blinked at all)...

Fires were still burning around the dock area and some ammunition was still exploding. It was stated, later, that Indians were bringing 50 lbs gold bars to the port officials during the following days, also from the exploding ship.

The Captain I met at Oslo corrected me on this: one gold bar had fallen on the veranda of Farsi, (Persian), living there and he had brought it to the officials. It was reported later, that the ship had carried 155 gold bars.

Mahatma Ghandi:

A couple of days after the explosion two open limousines passed slowly by ‘our’ dock area We were surprised to spot this famous Indian and other dignitaries reviewing the area and devastation. Mr. Ghandi waved graciously. The limos almost passed out of sight before the significance of this man’s visit could sink in; we likely did not really understand the impact of this man on his country.

Our friend shipped out again just about right away. Years later, the expression, "ill-fated" about the Braganza, why did this thought stick in my mind? The thought occurred to me whenever someone mentioned that buying an old car could be like taking on someone else’s problem. Perhaps she had been sold because of the engine problem, low oil pressure, for which she was now laid up to be repaired....

It crossed my mind, too, we were going through a period of a lot of leisure, with plain just about nothing to do.

I knew very well what the radio position entailed, BUT, I’d be doing something worth while, if we were at sea.. Not that I was suffering any conscience pangs; I was anxious, nevertheless, to be where we belonged, at sea more than in port.

Go to: Chapter Sixteen - Radio Officer Duty, finally;