Chapter Fourteen

Matriculation time arrived. I bid good bye to the Captain thanking him for the chance to serve on his ship. The crew told me, good naturedly, not to become uppity and forget them; they felt I had done my duty. I felt the Captain was interested in anyone who had my seeming pervading interest nurtured through the experience in North Africa. The Second Mate also felt I had tried, the Chief Mate was noncommittal. Don’t recall that I let them know it was never my intention to become Seaman; they might just agree too readily I ought not to...

The radio school was housed in two rented, three storied, former homes, one on Clarence Street, the other on Atkins Road, within walking distance of each other, located between Clapham and Stretham Commons, in Southwest London. There were about thirty guys in each of two classes, one just finishing as our class was about to start. The class room facilities were in the Clarence Street building. The Atkins Road building had a tennis court. One of the classmates, Svein Solberg and I became buddies that would take us through the school, and to Bombay, India, where six of us were sent to a Radio Officer pool. The two of us were the most frequent users of the tennis court, the head of the school was able to obtain hard-to-get tennis balls. These young Seamen were all of about the same age now together in a boarding room type setting. Some also were regular Norwegian Navy personnel. Two other schools, one for deck Officers and one for engineers, were situated in the vicinity, all operated by the Norwegian government in exile at London.

The schools were in session Monday through Saturday noon. Evenings were often spent practicing receiving code, trying to improve one’s speed. The aim and requirement for a second class license was 20 words a minute, cursive, 18 in code, mixed letters and numbers in groups of five. Required radio theory consisted of learning to know several type receivers and transmitters including the maintenance of batteries for emergency transmitter power.

During the break periods, weather permitting, we would play soccer on a diminutive field, part of the grounds adjoining Clarence street. We were invited to play local teams on two occasions at a stadium some place, suffering two defeats.

Our instructors at the school praised us, just the same; I played left forward because I was "ambidextrous" with my feet..., (which expression follows, in a sense). The instructors were all former Radio Officers. One or two had served as operator at shore stations in Norway. One was a former whaler Radio Officer. I remember he used to have a chalk in each hand as he instructed, using each hand at different times on adjoining corner chalkboards. (Ambidextrous became fixed in my mind from then on as I also remembered my father shifting the hammer between his hands as he resoled his work shoes).

Shortly after the start of the school I developed a severe toothache in one of the molars gold crowned by a Danish dentist at Casablanca. As noted earlier I visited a Danish woman dentist, at London, for necessary "repair".

Saturday nights some of us generally were to be found at the "Locarno", a dance hall in the vicinity, by tram. At times semi-professional dance groups would have exhibitions in ballroom dancing in full regalia, i.e. ballroom gowns and tuxedos. This was a first for many of us, even as some, including me, fancied ourselves good dancers. Friendships were formed with English girls. One often wondered about how seriously these might develop because of the wartime situation. But, at about 24 years of age it likely is no small effort to be calculating as nature, to put it mildly, tends to be coursing at a pretty good clip. It seems as if Mother Nature herself is bent on throwing out a few sprinkles of confusion.... The school was to last seven months.

There were a few entanglements tending to remind others it was far too easy to become involved; a couple of fellows were married to English girls which did as much to serve as a reminder to the others that it was, after all, a foreign land. It was made known the immigration laws of England were not conducive to emigration to these islands, and the general consensus among the boys were that English mores were quite different. Norway was home, no slight intended.

Generally speaking boozing was not a problem; it seemed that the Seamen attending these schools, at least for the time being, were of a mind to improve themselves and willing to expend the extra effort. I was unsure, at the start of the school, if I should have enough pocket money saved up to last me for seven months, I had only been working two months. I made mention of this to the head of the school upon entering, as a possible problem. He advised that this was anticipated and that a loan program would be available, to be paid back against future earnings as Radio Officers. It was like a big load off my shoulders, at the same time keeping in mind that frugality would be like a constant companion. As an afterthought, it may be noted that out of our class, Svein and I finished together in the third spot. I remember that a small token was given as a good effort commemoration.

I am unsure what happened to this item, if I offered it to someone as a keepsake, or to keep for the time being...

I did meet a young girl, her name was Pamela. A hilarious incident occurred when Irving Berlin’s musical, "This is the Army, Mr. Brown", came to London. The show was making the rounds of major U.S. military installations, and also to London generally. Pamela had obtained tickets through her boss at the brewery where she worked, they did business with the ‘Yanks’... The musical had a renown, from running in America, and was performed by an all male cast of the USO.

One skit sort of got me involved, in an unexpected manner. The skit opened with a WAC, (Women Auxiliary Core), sergeant saluting her lieutenant WAC daughter, intimating to the daughter that she ought not pull rank on her sergeant husband in their bedroom; he had complained... The skit changes to the bedroom. She, tall and very "muscular" in a slip, he shorter in an undershirt, (and pants-). He sidles up to her, looks up and asks: "Ann, do they put that stuff in your coffee too.?".

As if on cue, I leaned back in a full belly laugh, it fairly echoed in the theater. And for a second I realized I was the only one laughing. Trying to slump down into my seat the whole theater burst into laughter and applause. Pamela nudged me asking: "What are they laughing at?", as a lady in front turned and winked at me. At the end of the show I thought it fortunate Pamela and I sort of could blend into the crowd. But we enjoyed reliving the moment, even as to Pamela’s question, all the way to her home. Irving Berlin’s use of the old story of additives to the coffee, (rumored "saltpeter?", potassium nitrate), to slow the soldier’s sexual desires was unknown to her...

A Sunday excursion on the Thames river, as part of our summer outings came quite close to a real problem. Svein accompanied a Danish girl from the Danish Consulate. Pamela knew about a place one could rent rowboats for the river excursion. The boat was like a racing type shell with two sets of oars, and of course the two lads were to show off their rowing prowess.

Not being mindful of the current and tides, we found we had ventured too far downstream, passing under a couple of bridges with people waving to us. We were showing off too, feathering the oars in expert fashion. Realizing it was high time to return upstream, the now ebb current had increased markedly. Maneuvering under the last bridge the water came together with a venture-type force, that is, quite higher in the middle between the bridge columns, forced up by the increasing current. We handily kept the boat right in the middle despite the increased current. As we nosed the boat forward against the force of the river, clearing the water ridge, the people on the bridge applauded and an older man shouted approval of our Seamanship. But, we felt a little sheepish not having paid attention to the problem we had in fact created...

Returning the boat the people took part of the blame for the lateness of returning the boat; they should have advised regarding the current and the tide problem though they didn’t realize that the two were real Seamen. But the girls were impressed by our ‘boatmanship’ nevertheless and what else could matter?

A Norwegian lady cook was in charge of the food preparation and in charge of the two women serving our food. We would return to Atkins Road for lunch every day. The sleeping accommodation were bunk-type, two high, eight boys to a room with a large bathroom on each of the two "sleeping" floors. Compared to what I was accustomed to in the camps, even on the Tordenskjold, this was like living in comfort. A custodian was in charge of the house, a former deck Officer on sick leave from sea duty. He also was in charge of overseeing the parties we were allowed to hold with invited lady guests to assure that bounds of propriety were being adhered to, whatever that could mean for us at the time. Food was rationed because of the war time and the food allowances made available according to British authority governing rations.

The Seamen were allowed ration cards and were able to purchase some foods for our parties. (I remember we were sort of amused getting ration cards for chocolate, which we would purchase and often would give to children in the area). We would be dancing till about eleven pm, according to the rules enforced by our custodian. It was always orderly and no one misused the privilege we felt we were allowed in this wartime environment.

The incident of the straight razor, mine, may be noted briefly. Razor blades were scarce items. I bravely purchased a straight razor and the necessary strop to keep it sharp. I managed to become quite proficient using it, almost as a dare. There were, however, a few times as the other guys were hazing me, in a friendly way of course, that I would show the marks of a little lack of skill. A nick, here and there, was no problem; but when the nick sort of extended almost from near the ear to the mouth it was suggested that maybe a return to the usual safety razor and blade might be safer.

We endured the bombing likely because it was generally directed towards the dock and the industrial areas, though it continued all the while we were there. During raids we often would move from room to room to see if we could see where the bombs were falling. (A while after we left England we learned that the Germans began launching the infamous Vl, or Buzz Bombs, and later the supersonic V2, a type missile designed to terrorize the civilian population).

Coming home from the Locarno, or after having squired Pamela home during periods of the famous thick London fog, the conductor would have to walk in front of the trolley car with a torch to warn people were they were. We were under a sort of curfew. Staying away from our quarters had to be with notification to the authorities, that is, anyone staying away overnight had to give the custodian name and address of the people they would be staying with. Accordingly, the so-called bounds of propriety were adhered to, so far as I was aware of. But, then again, I was not a very nosy person; besides, I had come a long way and was becoming a man of the world, whatever that might imply.

I did stay over with Pamela and her mother on a couple of occasions. One occasion was when her RAF navigator brother, whom I had met, had been shot down during one of the 1000 airplane raids by the British Air Force on Berlin, as it was learned later. Pamela’s mother was widowed and working part time at a cafeteria. Information that her brother was safe, now a prisoner, was obtained through her cousin whose husband was working in the War Department.

There was an "igloo" type air raid shelter in their backyard holding 4-6 people, maybe. On occasions Pamela, her mother and I, would repair to the shelter during air raid alarms. (Stationed at Bombay, India, after the radio school Pamela advised me in a letter that the rear of their home had been damaged by a buzz bomb, the two were safe in the shelter, and that the house had been repaired by the government). Apparently, as a moral booster, one could observe the American planes leave in formation in the morning and the British bombers leaving at night. The latter had no armor protection, hence the night bombing.

Pamela had a cat. Whenever air raid warning sounded this cat would head for the door to a closet under the stairway and remain there till Pamela or her mother would let it out after the all clear was sounded.

During nice summer weather Pamela, her girlfriend Barbara, and I would go to a nice outdoor swimming pool and while away Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Barbara and Pamela were neighbors and the three of us often would visit some park around one of the castles. I had, in fact, first made their acquaintance at the dancing place, Locarno, becoming steady weekend customers. I had obtained a small Merchant Marine insignia to wear on the lapel to indicate I was in the service, as I walked around in civics.

School over it was time to bid good-byes to friends and acquaintances. I had been away from Norway just about three years at this time. I was still thinking myself rather young for binding attachment. I had to sort out -conditional involvement-. As if I had to find out whether absence in wartime, with uncertainty about return... somehow could justify, I probably could have used the term "temporary attachment", not as yet a part of my vocabulary,..(-like circumspection, as an expression).

I wondered what my old friend Odd would have said. It wasn’t that Odd was so much older; more that he seemed to be able to sense what I was uncomfortable with and with a word or two sort set things on an even keel, allow for a feeling of equanimity, for the time being. That is a lot of remembrance; but Odd was there during that learning period and in a sense a teacher. (I learned later that Odd, too, had attended the Radio Officer school but I never ran across him again)...

Svein, Sigvart Syvertsen, I, and three other new Radio Officers were picked to travel to Bombay, India, as a pool of available Radio Officers. Sigvart had been one of my closer buddies with Svein, because he came from an area in Norway not too distant from where my mother came from. Sigvart had to me a remarkable ability to redraw schematics as we were learning the different type transmitters and receivers, from memory. I thus learned about photographic memory, which is what Sigvart was exhibiting, which expression thereafter always reminded me of Sigvart. (Sigvart and I became shipmates on the "ill-fated" Braganza described later, sharing a cabin).

Before leaving London I had a chance meeting with the Second Mate from Ringulv at the Seamen’s Hotel. He recalled a talk we had in North Africa, after a failed escape attempt, how I was determined to attend the Radio Officer school. I was surprised at his mention of this; for some time I had thought it had been a dream, that we had talked. In a wishing mode, so to speak, we were looking forward to a possible meeting just at this place, the Seamen’s Hotel, we had heard about. It almost seemed more than coincidental...

I learned later that he had been on one of the two rowboats built at Port Leautey escaping to Gibraltar, together with our Captain. Also that he was our Captain’s brother-in-law. The difference between the two of us was striking. The Second Mate, likely with 25 years at his calling at sea, now a Chief Mate looking forward to a Captain’s position before the end of the war. On the other hand I, in a sense barely coming into manhood at 24, was looking forward to the end of the war to get back on shore...

I made one of a couple of visits to our Captain from Ringulv. He was working for Nortraship and renting from a couple at London. It was like I had to report my progress to him and that I had finished in third place with Svein. We had been through a lot, there still was a type of bond... He was very pleased, also that I took the time to visit. The Second Mate had already informed him about my progress.