Part 17

A torpedo-boat destroyer engaged on transport duty in the Channel in 1916 had been cut in two by collision whilst steaming with lights out. A handful of men on the after-part, which alone remained afloat, were rescued after several hours by another destroyer, just as the after-part sank.

A howling gale was raging and some of the survivors had to swim for it.

As the first swimmer reached the heaving side of the rescuing ship he was caught by willing hands and hauled on board.

When he got his breath he stood up and, shaking himself to clear the water somewhat from his dripping clothes, looked around with a smile at the "hands" near by and said: "Well, ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss me?"--_J. W., Bromley, Kent._

The Fag End

The captain of the troopship _Transylvania_ had just called the famous "Every man for himself" order after the boat had received two torpedoes from a submarine.

The nurses had been got off safely in a boat, but our own prospects of safety seemed very remote. Along came a Cockney with his cigarettes and the remark, "Who'll 'ave a fag afore they get wet?"--_A. W. Harvey, 97 Elderfield Road, Clapton, E.5 (late 10th London Regiment)._

"Spotty" the Jonah

On board the s.s. _Lorrento_ in 1917 with me was one "Spotty" Smith, A.B., of London. He had been torpedoed five times, and was reputed to be the sole survivor on the last two occasions. Such a Jonah-like reputation brought him more interest than affection from sailormen.

Approaching Bizerta--a danger spot in the South Mediterranean--one dark night, all lights out, "Spotty" so far forgot himself as to strike matches on deck. In lurid and forcible language the mate requested him "not to beat his infernal record on this ship."

"Spotty," intent on turning away wrath, replied, "S'elp me, sir, I've 'ad enough of me heroic past. This next time, sir, I made up me mind to go down with the rest of the crew!"--_J. E. Drury, 77 Eridge Road, Thornton Heath._

He Just Caught the Bus!

After an arduous spell of patrol duty, our submarine had hove to to allow the crew a much-needed breather and smoke. For this purpose only the conning-tower hatch was opened so as to be ready to submerge, if necessity arose, with the minimum of delay.

Eager to take full advantage of this refreshing interlude, the crew had emerged, one by one, through the conning-tower and had disposed themselves in sprawling attitudes around the upper deck space, resting, reading, smoking.

Sure enough, soon the alarm was given, "Smoke seen on the horizon."

The order "Diving stations" was given and, hastily scuttling down the conning-tower, the crew rapidly had the boat submerging, to leave only the periscope visible.

The commander kept the boat slowly cruising with his periscope trained on the approaching smoke, ready for anything. Judge of his amazement when his view was obscured by the face of "Nobby" Clark (our Cockney A.B.) at the other end of the periscope. Realising at once that "Nobby" had been locked out (actually he had fallen asleep and had been rudely awakened by his cold plunge), we, of course, "broke surface" to collect frightened, half-drowned "Nobby," whose only ejaculation was: "Crikey! I ain't half glad I caught the ole bus."--_J. Brodie, 177 Manor Road, Mitcham, Surrey._

Dinner before Mines!

"Somewhere in the North Sea" in 1917, when I was a stoker on H.M.S. _Champion_, there were plenty of floating mines about.

One day, several of us were waiting outside the galley (cook house) for our dinners, and the cook, a man from Walworth, was shouting out the number of messes marked on the meat dishes which were ready for the men to take away.

He had one dish in his hand with no number marked on it, when a stoker rushed up and shouted: "We nearly struck a mine--missed it by inches, Cookey." But Cookey only shouted back: "Never mind about blinkin' mines nah; is this _your_ perishin' dish with no tally on it?"--_W. Downs (late stoker, R.N.), 20 Tracey Street, Kennington Road, S.E._

A Philosopher at Sea

We were a helpless, sorry crowd, many of us with legs in splints, in the hold of a "hospital" ship crossing from Boulogne. The boat stopped dead.

"What are we stopping for, mate?" one man asked the orderly.

"The destroyers wot's escortin' of us is chasin' a German submarine. I'm just a-goin' on deck agin to see wot's doin'." As he got to the ladder he turned to say: "Nah, you blokes: if we gits 'it by a torpedo don't go gettin' the ruddy wind up an' start rushin' abaht tryin' ter git on deck. It won't do yer wounds no bloomin' good!"--_E. Bundy (late L/Corporal, 1/5th L.F.A., 47th Division), 4 Upton Gardens, Barkingside, Ilford, Essex._

Extra Heavyweight

Amongst the crew of our mine-sweeper during the war "Sparks," the wireless operator, was a hefty, fat chap, weighing about 18 stone. One day while clearing up a mine-field, laid overnight by a submarine, we had the misfortune to have four or five of the mines explode in the "sweep."

The explosion shattered every piece of glass in the ship, put the engines out of action, and nearly blew the ship out of the water.

"Bill," one of our stokers--a Cockney who, being off watch, was asleep in his bunk--sat up, yawned, and exclaimed in a sleepy voice: "'Ullo, poor ole 'Sparks' fallen out of 'is bunk again! 'E'll 'urt 'isself one of these days!"--_R.N.V.R., Old Windsor, Berks._

Three Varieties

The boat on which I was serving as a stoker had just received two new men as stokers.

On coming down the stokehold one of them seemed intent on finding out what different perils could happen to him.

After he had been inquiring for about an hour a little Cockney, rather bored, got up and said, "Now look here, mate. The job ain't so bad, looking at it in this light--you've three ways of snuffing it: one is _burnt_ to death, the other is _scalded_ to death; or, if you're damn lucky, _drowned_. That's more chances than they have upstairs."--_B. Scott (late Stoker, H.M.S. "Marlborough"), 29 Stanley Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex._

He was a Bigger Fish

The battleship in which I was serving was picking up survivors from a torpedoed merchantman in the North Atlantic. They had been drifting about for hours clinging to upturned boats and bits of gear that had floated clear of the wreckage.

Our boat had picked up three or four half-drowned men and was just about to return to the ship when we espied a fat sailor bobbing about with his arms around a plank. We pulled up close to him and the bow-man leaned out with a boat-hook and drew him alongside.

He seemed to have just strength enough left to grasp the gunwale, when we were surprised to hear him shout, in an unmistakable Cockney voice: "All right, Cockey, un'itch that boat 'ook. Wot d'yer fink I am--a blinkin' tiddler?"--_Leslie E. Austin, 6 Northumberland Avenue, Squirrels Heath, Romford, Essex._

The "Arethusa" Touch

During the action off Heligoland in August 1914 the light cruiser _Arethusa_ came under a hot fire. A shell penetrated the chief stoker's mess, knocked a drawer full of flour all over the deck, but luckily failed to explode.

A Cockney stoker standing in the mess had a narrow escape, but after surveying the wreckage and flour-covered deck all he said was: "Blowed if they ain't trying to make a blinkin' duff in our mess!"--_C. H. Cook (Lieut., R.N.V.R.), 91 Great Russell Street, W.C.1._

His Chance to Dive

During the early part of 1917, whilst I was serving with one of H.M. transports, we had occasion to call at Panama for coaling purposes before proceeding to England via New York.

One of our many Cockney sailors was a fine swimmer and diver. He took every opportunity to have what he termed "a couple of dives."

Owing to the water being rather shallow immediately along the quay, his diving exhibitions were limited to nothing higher than the forecastle, which was some 30 ft. His one desire, however, was to dive from the boat-deck, which was about 60 ft. Whilst steaming later in the front line of our convoy, which numbered about forty-two ships, we became the direct target of a deadly torpedo. Every soul dashed for the lifeboats.

After things had somewhat subsided I found our Cockney friend--disregarding the fact that our ship was badly damaged and was now listing at an almost impossible angle--posing rather gracefully for a dive. He shouted, "Hi! hi! Wot abaht this 'un? I told yer I could do it easy!" He then dived gracefully and swam to a lifeboat.--_Bobbie George Bull (late Mercantile Marine), 40 Warren Road, Leyton, E.10._

Wot Abaht Wot?

In 1917 our job on an armed merchantman, H.M.A.S. _Marmora_, was to escort food ships through the danger zone. One trip we were going to Sierra Leone, but in the middle of the afternoon, when about two days out from Cardiff, we were torpedoed.

The old ship came to a standstill and we all proceeded to action stations. Just as we were training our guns in the direction of the submarine another torpedo struck us amidships and smashed practically all the boats on the port side.

"Abandon ship" was given, as we were slowly settling down by the bows. Our boat was soon crowded out, and there seemed not enough room for a cat. The last man down the life-line was "Tubby," our cook's mate, who came from Poplar.

When he was about half way down the boat was cut adrift and "Tubby" was left hanging in mid-air. "Hi!" he shouted. "What abaht it?"

Another Cockney (from Battersea) replied: "What abaht what?"

"Abaht coming back for me."

"What do you take us for," said the lad from Battersea; "do yer fink we all want the sack fer overcrowdin'?"

"Tubby" was, of course, picked up after a slight immersion.--_C. Phelps (late R.M.L.I.), 36 Oxford Road, Putney, S.W.15._

Water on the Watch

I was one of the crew of a patrol boat at the Nore in the winter of 1915. Most of the crew had gone to the dockyard to draw stores and provisions, and I was down in the forecastle when I heard a shout for help. I nipped up on deck and discovered that our Cockney stoker had fallen overboard. He was trying to swim for dear life, though handicapped by a pair of sea boots and canvas overalls over his ordinary sailor's rig. A strong tide was running and was carrying him away from the boat.

I threw a coil of rope to him, and after a struggle I managed to haul him aboard. I took him down to the boiler room and stripped off his clothes.

Around his neck was tied a bootlace, on the end of which was hanging a metal watch, which he told me he had bought the day before for five shillings. The watch was full of sea water, and there was an air bubble inside the glass. As he held it in his hand he looked at it with disgust. When I said to him what a wonderful escape his wife had had from being left a widow, he replied, "Yes, it was a near fing, ole' mate, but wot abaht me blinkin' bran' noo watch? It's gone and turned itself into a perishin' spirit level, and I've dipped five bob."--_W. Carter, 55 Minet Avenue, Harlesden, N.W.10._

A Gallant Tar

An awe-inspiring sight met the eyes of the 29th Division as they came into view of Gallipoli on the morning of April 25, 1915. Shells from our ships were bursting all over that rugged coast, and those from the enemy bespattered the water around us.

While I gazed at the scene from the deck of the _Andania_, carried away by the grandeur of it all, my reverie was broken by a Cockney voice from the sailor in charge of the small boat that was to take us ashore. "'Op in, mate," said the sailor. "I've just lorst three boats. I reckon I'll soon have to take the blooming island meself."

His fourth trip was successfully accomplished, but the fifth, alas! was fatal both to this gallant tar and to the occupants of his boat.--_G. Pull (late 1st R. Innis. Fus.), 20 Friars Place Lane, Acton, W.3._

A Cap for Jerry

Dawn, September 1, 1917, H.M. destroyer _Rosalind_ was engaged with enemy ships off Jutland. I was serving on one of the guns, and we were approaching the enemy at full speed. The ship was vibrating from end to end, and the gun fire, the bursting of shells, and the smell of the cordite had got our nerves at high tension.

When we were very near the enemy one of the German ships blew up completely in a smothering cloud of smoke.

At this time something went wrong with our ammunition supply, and we had used up all that we usually carried on the gun platform. One of the gun's crew, a Cockney, put his cap in the breech, and said "Quick! Send 'em this to put the lid on that blinkin' chimney." We all had to laugh, and carried on.--_W. E. M. (late H.M.S. "Rosalind"), 19 Kimberley Road, Leytonstone, E.11._

Give 'im 'is Trumpet Back

After the _Britannia_ was torpedoed in November 1918, and the order "Abandon Ship" had been given, the crew had to make their way as best they could to a destroyer which had pulled up alongside.

Hawsers were run from the _Britannia_ to the destroyer, down which we swarmed. Some got across. Others were not so lucky. One of the unlucky ones who had a free bath was a Cockney stoker nicknamed "Shorty," who, after splashing and struggling about, managed to get near the destroyer.

To help him a burly marine dangled a rope and wooden bucket over the side, this being the only means of rescue available. The marine, who was puffing at a large meerschaum pipe, called out: "Here y'are, Shorty, grab 'old o' this bucket an' mind yer don't drown yerself in it."

"Shorty" makes sure of bucket, then wipes the water from his eyes, looks up to the marine, and says: "Garn, give the kid 'is trumpet back."--_G. Lowe (ex-R.M.L.I.), 18 Brocas Street, Eton, Bucks._

Getting the Range

It was on H.M. monitor _General Wolfe_, my first ship, and this was my first taste of actual warfare.

We were lying anchored off the Belgian coast, shelling an inland objective with our 18-in. gun, the ammunition for which, by the way, was stowed on the upper deck.

All ratings other than this gun's crew were standing by for "action stations." Just then the shore batteries opened fire on us. The first shot fell short, the next went over.

A Cockney member of my gun's crew explained it thus: "That's wot they calls a straddle," he said. "They finds our range that way--one short, one over, and the next 'arf way between. Got a 'bine on yer before it's too late?"--_Regd. W. Ayres (late A.B., R.N.), 50 Lewisham High Road, New Cross, S.E. 14._

Coco-nut Shies

Early in 1915 I was attached to one of our monitors in the Far East. We had painted the ship to represent the country we were fighting in. The ship's side was painted green with palm trees on it, and up the funnel we painted a large coco-nut tree in full bloom.

When we went into action, a shell penetrated our funnel, and a splinter caught my breech worker in the shoulder. After we had ceased fire we carried him below on a stretcher. Looking at the funnel, he said, "Blimey, Tom, 'appy 'Ampstead and three shies a penny. All you knock down you 'ave."

Later I went to see him in Zanzibar Hospital, and told him he had been awarded the D.S.M. He seemed more interested to know if the German had got his coco-nut than in his own award.--_T. Spring (late Chief Gunner's Mate, R.N.), 26 Maidenstone Hill, Greenwich, S.E.10._

"Any more for the 'Skylark'?"

Passing through the Mediterranean in 1916, the P. & O. liner _Arabia_, returning from the East with a full complement of passengers, was torpedoed.

I was in charge of a number of naval ratings returning to England, who, of course, helped to get the boats away.

While some of my boys were getting out one of the port boats a woman passenger, who had on a Gieves waistcoat, rushed up, holding the air tube in front of her, and shouting hysterically, "Oh, blow it up somebody, will somebody please blow it up?" A hefty seaman with a couple of blasts had the waistcoat inflated, and as he screwed up the cap said, "Look 'ere, miss, if yer 'oller like that Fritzy will 'ear yer and he _will_ be angry. 'Ere you are, miss, boat all ready; 'op in."

Then, turning round to the waiting passengers, he said, "Come on, any more for the 'Skylark'?"--_F. M. Simon (Commander, R.N., retd.), 99 Lower Northdown Road, Margate._

Still High and Dry

Whilst patrolling on an exceptionally dark night, the order being "No lights showing," we had the misfortune to come into collision with a torpedo boat. Owing to the darkness and suddenness of the collision we could not discover the extent of the damage, so the officer of the watch made a "round," accompanied by the duty petty officer.

Upon reaching a hatchway leading down to the stokers' mess deck, he called down: "Is there any water coming in down there?" In answer a Cockney stoker, who was one of a number in their hammocks, was heard to reply: "I don't fink so; it ain't reached my 'ammock yet."--_J. Norton (late Ldg. Stoker, R.N.), 24 Lochaline Street, Hammersmith, W.6._

Trunkey Turk's Sarcasm

We were serving in a destroyer (H.M.S. _Stour_) in 1915, steaming up and down the East Coast. As we passed the different coastguard stations the bunting-tosser had to signal each station for news.

One station, in particular, always had more to tell than the others. One day this station signalled that a merchant ship had been torpedoed and that German submarines were near the coast.

My Cockney chum--we called him Trunkey Turk because of his big nose--asked the bunting-tosser for his news as he was coming down from the bridge, and when he was told, said, "Why didn't you ask them if they saw a tin of salmon in their tot of rum to-day?"--_J. Tucknott, 2 Wisbeach Road, West Croydon._

Running Down the Market

On board a destroyer in the North Sea in 1916. Look-out reports, "Sail ahead, sir."

The captain, adjusting his glasses, was able to make out what at first appeared to be a harmless fisherman.

As we drew nearer we could see by her bow wave that she had something more than sails to help her along: she had power.

"Action Stations" was sounded, the telegraphs to engine-room clanged "Full speed ahead." Our skipper was right. It was a German submarine, and as our foremost gun barked out we saw the white sails submerge.

Depth charges were dropped at every point where we altered course. Imagine our surprise to find the resulting flotsam and jetsam around us consisted of trestles, boards, paint-brushes, boxes, and a hat or two, which the crafty Germans had used to camouflage their upper structure.

The scene was summed up neatly by "Spikey" Merlin, A.B., a real product of Mile End Road: "Lor' luv old Aggie Weston, we've run dahn the blinkin' Calerdonian Markit."--_A. G. Reed (late R.N.), 15 William Street, Gravesend, Kent._

Five to One against the "Tinfish"

H.M.S. Morea, on convoy duty, was coming up the Channel when the silver streak of a "tinfish" was seen approaching the port side. The _Morea_ was zig-zagging at the time, so more helm was given her to dodge the oncoming torpedo.

The guns' crews were at action stations and were grimly waiting for the explosion, when a Cockney seaman gunner sang out, "I'll lay five to one it doesn't hit us."

This broke the tension, and, as luck would have it, the torpedo passed three yards astern.--_J. Bowman (R.N.), 19 Handel Mansions, Handel Street, W.C.1._

A Queer Porpoise

In September 1914 I was in H.M.S. _Vanguard_, patrolling in the North Sea. One day four of us were standing on the top of the foremast turret, when all of a sudden my pal Nobby shouted to the bridge above us, "Periscope on the port bow, sir." At once the captain and signalman levelled their telescopes on the object. Then the captain looked over the bridge and shouted, "That's a porpoise, my man."

Nobby looked up at the bridge and said, "Blimey, that's the first time I've seen a porpoise wiv a glass eye."

He had no sooner said it than the ship slewed to port and a torpedo passed close to our stern, the signalman having spotted the wake of a torpedo.--_M. Froggat, 136 Laleham Road, Catford, S.E._

"Hoctopus" with One Arm

At the time when the German submarine blockade was taking heavy toll of all general shipping I was serving aboard a destroyer doing escort work in the Channel. One night three ships had been torpedoed in quick succession, and we understood they were carrying wounded.

We were kept pretty busy dodging from one place to another to pick up survivors, and during our "travels" a ship's boat was sighted close at hand. In the darkness we could just make out the figure of a soldier endeavouring to pull a full-sized oar.

After hailing the boat someone on our destroyer shouted, "Why didn't you get some more oars out?" A voice replied: "Don't be so funny. D'yer fink I'm a hoctopus? Our engines 'ave all conked aht." Which remark raised a laugh from the entire boatload.

On getting closer alongside the tragedy dawned on us. This Cockney was the only man (out of about thirty) who was sound enough to handle an oar, and he only had one arm and a half.--_H. G. Vollor (late Ldg.-seaman, R.N.), 73 Playford-Road, Finsbury Park, N.4._

Interrupted Duel

The C.O. of my ship had his own way of punishing men who were brought before him for fighting.

He would send for the gunner's mate and tell him to have the two men up on the upper deck, in view of the ship's company, armed with single-sticks. The gunner's mate would get them facing each other, give them the first order of "Cutlass practice"--"Guard!" then "Loose play." At that order they would go for each other hammer and tongs till one gave in.

Such a dispute had to be settled one day while we were patrolling the North Sea. The combatants were just getting warm to it when the alarm buzzers went--enemy in sight.

The gunner's mate, who was refereeing the combat, said: "Pipe dahn, you two bounders. Hop it to your action stations, and don't forget to come back 'ere when we've seen them off."

Fortunately they were both able to "come back."--_John M. Spring (late P.O., R.N.), Bank Chambers, Forest Hill, S.E.23._

Enter Dr. Crippen

Our ship, the s.s. _Wellington_, was torpedoed on August 14, 1917, and we were a despondent crew in the only two boats. The U-boat that had sunk our ship appeared and we were wondering what was going to happen to us.

As the U-boat bore down upon us my mate, Nigger Smith (from Shoreditch) spotted its commander, who wore large spectacles, on its conning tower bridge. "Blimey," said Nigger, "'ere's old Crippen!"--_J. Cane (late Gunner, R.M.), 73 Rahere Street, E.C.1._

The All-seeing Eye

My pal Pincher and I volunteered out of the destroyer _Vulture_ for the Q-boats, and got detailed for the same mystery ship. After a lot of drills--"Abandon ship," "Panic crews away," etc.--we thought we were hot stuff.

Knocking about the Channel one fine day the order came, "Panic crews to stations." Thinking it was drill, Pincher and I nipped into our boat, when the after fall carried away, letting Pincher, myself, and crew into the "drink."

Pincher must have caught sight of the periscope of a U-boat, for on coming up (although he couldn't swim much) he said when I grabbed him: "Lumme, I'm in for fourteen penn'orth!" (14 days 10A, i.e. punishment involving extra work). "There's the skipper lookin' at me through 'is telescope, and they aven't piped 'ands to bathe yet."--_P. Willoughby (late R.N.), 186 Evelyn Street, S.E.8._

The Submarine's Gamps

While patrolling in the Sea of Marmora a British submarine came across several umbrellas floating in the sea, presumably from a sunken ship. Some of them were acquired by the crew.

On the passage down the Dardanelles the submarine was damaged in the conning tower by gun-fire from the Turkish batteries, and water began to come in.

At this critical stage I overheard one sailor remark to another, "I say, Bill, don't you think it is about time we put those blinkin' umbrellas up?"--_Naval officer retired, Hampstead, N.W.3._