Memories

Five P.M. on September 23, 1942 terminated for us the temporary period of army life glamour and began the more sober interlude of a soldier's life during time of war. We were alerted for overseas duty! That night consisted of a series of short naps and interruptions; dog tags were checked, new equipment and impregnated uniforms distributed, passports and identification cards issues and sailing instructions and regulations read. We didn't need a bugle to wake us up the next morning at 5 A.M. After breakfast and the last minute rush and confusion of packing and moving, we lined up in front of our barracks and began that never-to-be-forgotten hike to the train, which was to takes us to the boat. Our barracks tags seemed to get heavier as we walked that last mile to the station.

The scenes along the way left a vivid impression upon our minds as we boarded the train. We had heard and had seen in the movies stories about the departure of the troops during the last war and marvelled at their spirit. But here we were, going through the same experiences never once realizing the real import of the situation. The people along the way seemed to sense that we were going overseas. Crying women, excited children and sober-looking me lined the tracks trying to do their bit to make us cognizant of the fact that they appreciated our predicament. They seemed to realize exactly what was in store for us. We however, had become celebrities and heroes overnight and seemed to enjoy our newly-acquired glory and honor.

But the novelty quickly wore off. Our train reached Jersey City and we were ferried across to the Fourteenth Street Pier in New York. The so-called "shake-down inspection" which we expected and which was so publicized was lacking, however. We climbed aboard a 19,000-ton Dutch boat, the Marnix Van Sint Aldegonde, which already was practically overflowing with soldiers. "Marnix" is a Dutch word meaning memories. The boat seemed to have been named just for us.

The low point of our army life up to that time arrived when we were escorted to our "suite", a room which formally contained eight cabins and two lavatories. There we were, over 300 strong (or weak), being introduced to troopship life with the following statement by a transport officer: "Fellows, this is where you will eat, sleep and provide your own entertainment for the balance of your trip". Our hearts sunk. We often had read of the crowded conditions aboard troopships, but we never expected such an initiation into our life overseas.

We remained in New York harbor the 24th and 25th, with Staten Island to our left and Coney Island's Half Moon Hotel to our right, only a stone's throw away. On the morning of the 26th, with the rest of the convoy which had come into line during the night, we sailed past the Statue Of Liberty and left the "land of the free" with tears in our eyes and aching pains in our hearts. We were beginning to realize what America really meant to Americans.

On September 28th, we dropped anchor in Halifax harbor which was filled with British and American troopships, including the old liner Manhattan. We recieved further instructinons, took on water and continued on our way. This stopover was a second heartbreak for a group of fifty men who only a week before were inducted into the army and who were erroneously sent to the boat instead of a train. They had appealed to land in Halifax since their presence was obviously a mistake, but since no new instructions had arrived, no one was permitted to leave the ship.

The food on board ship was atrocious, something about which the less said the better. We ate from our own messkits and cleaned them off with cold salt water. All the food had a disgustingly fishy smell and taste, most of which was left over after each meal. The only decent food was stale bread and strong English tea. As a result, we bought most of our meals, which consisted of Pepsi-Cola and Hershey bars, at the ship's PX.

Although hammocks had been provided for sleeping accomodations, many of the boys who did not prefer "swinging in the hammocks" slept on the floor, on deck, in the lounge rooms, or any other place where there was floor space. The nightly odor of human bodies was replaced during the day by stale fish odors. The only fresh air was out on deck, but this too was crowded since everybody stood there as long as they could. The less-crowded, roomier decks were reserved for the officers and nurses.

The gambling element aboard ship kept the boys interested day and night with crap and card games running around the clock. The boys with the dough did manage to get good food and pleasant sleeping accomodations from the ship's crew. Even on board a troop ship during time of war, money seemed to talk. Evidently, the "goodies" were being saved by the members of the crew just for that purpose.

Our convoy, as far as we could see, consisted of about twenty ships. Each boat seemed to have a definite position in the convoy pattern and every few minutes each ship would change its course without changing its position, just in case a German submarine was within accurate torpedo range. We later read that we were part of the largest convoy to go to England up to that time. Our protection consisted of a light cruiser and several destroyers and corvettes. The trip was uneventful except for a radio report from Berlin stating that our ship had been torpedoed and sunk.

On October 7th, we sighted the rocky hills of North Ireland, then the peaceful Firth of Forth and finally, the river Clyde, featured by its beautiful green landscaping and the hundreds of shipyards lining the waterfront. We docked at noon in Glasgow harbor and debarked, happy to be on land once more.