THE NEA HELLAS IN WORLD WAR TWO The TSS Nea Hellas served as a troop ship during the Second World War and many of those who traveled on her have vivid memories they have shared of their experiences during those troubled times. Below are excerpts from personal journals shared by some who have found this site. Kevin Ayers Brisbane Australia Thank you for your dedicated site and to those who have contributed to it. I have a first-hand account from my late father, Bernard Francis Ayers, who paused his Officer commission with The Salvation Army in the UK to enlist with the RAF Volunteer Reserve and serve in the war effort overseas. Life Aboard the Nea Hellas from Glasgow to Capetown in WW2 Glasgow where we embarked on a turbine steamship. It had been one of the Cunard Line but had been bought by the Greek Line and renamed the Nea Hellas (New Greece). In 1941, she was put under allied service as a troop transport, carrying over 60,000 troops during her wartime service. Being servicemen, they said we were as “near hell-as we could get”. It wasn’t all that bad, however, and we had quite a pleasant trip. As the ship was rather overcrowded, we had to sleep in hammocks or wherever we could find room. There were sufficient places for hammocks to hang but, because airmen were not experts in hanging hammocks, other sleeping arrangements were made. On 28 August 1942, we sailed down the River Clyde and out of “the tail of the bank”. We journeyed out into the Irish Sea and south into the Atlantic Ocean but, after that, we never knew where we were going. No information was given. If we wrote to loved ones or relatives, we were not to give any indication of our whereabouts or where we had been. One of the wartime posters said, “Be Like Dad, Keep Mum”. On 9 September 1942, we entered port at Freetown, Sierra Leone on the African coast for a four-day stopover. We crossed the Atlantic, close to Brazil, before sailing in a much more southerly direction. Life on board was active because all servicemen had to be kept in a fit condition. Apart from physical exercises and games on deck, they kept us occupied with lectures and briefings from our leaders on the voyage, as well as quizzes and spelling bees. The nature of the ship had resulted in us being split into smaller communities or teams. There was a team from every troop deck or area, each of which contained fellows from related units. As an NCO, I was appointed captain of the team on my troop deck. It was most fortuitous that we won all of the competitions we took part in. We had a good bunch of well-educated fellows and I was fortunate to be associated with them. Every serviceman was supplied with a life jacket, on which many of them wrote their name. I wrote “John 3:16”; a text from the Bible, which became the topic of many conversations. On the troop deck, life jackets were useful. Sometimes we sat on them or used them as pillows. One hot and steamy night (we could have been crossing the Equator), the temperature down below was so high that I went up on deck to find a cooler spot. I lay down under one of the lifeboats that was hanging above the deck, put my life jacket under my head and went to sleep. During the night, I awoke and, as I opened my eyes, realised I was looking straight down into the sea. I had rolled to the edge of the deck and there was no ledge to prevent me from rolling any further. Had I gone a few more inches, I would have fallen overboard. They wouldn’t have missed me until roll call the next morning, by which time it would have been too late. I would have been miles behind and, with so many troops on board and submarines hovering in the area, they certainly wouldn’t have turned the ship around to look for me. Early on the morning of 25 September 1942, I was on the deck just as the sun was beginning to rise. Outlined against the sunrise was Table Mountain, so I knew that we had recrossed the Atlantic and come around the Cape of Good Hope, South Africa. They took us off the ship and transported us to a transit camp at Pollsmoor. What a time we had at Cape Town in our three-month interlude there before being transported on to India. Pauline UK I’ve been cataloging my late father’s photo albums and found this programme, see below. He was a stationed in India during WW11 from Dec 1939 until April 1944 seconded to the Indian Royal Air Force.I thought you might like a copy of the attached programme for your archives. Malcolm Lewis 80. now living in Pembridge, Herefordshire I was born in Cape town in 1940. My father, a clergyman, for a time was in charge of The Missions to Seamen there and was a padre in the South African Navy. After the war and I think in 1946 the parents decided to return to England. I had a brother who was still a baby. The voyage from Cape Town to Gllasgow was memorable on various accounts. It sailed as a troopship and my father was allocated a cabin on light airy Adeck while mother and her two young children were put down below and when mother complained of the excessive heat, father made enquiries as to the location of his wife's cabin, to be told it was over the galley and next to the smokestack. After docking at Durban we were not allowed off for an overnight meeting with an older brother and had to shout our conversations down to him on the quayside. Shortly after the ship left Durban the propeller became damaged and the ship had to limp into Mombasa for repairs. It was so hot we could no longer stand our cabin as all the metalwork of the bunks was too hot to touch, so we were joined by my father and were allowed to sleep out on the open deck. The only food my mother could get on board for my baby brother was this white bread and butter and milk. We sailed up the Suez Canal at night and remember the bleak sand shore slipping by. Arriving at Suez we were allowed off the ship and I remember visiting a cool and elegant hotel and while Mother went shopping I somehow found myself in a small party sailing round the harbour.in a glass-bottomed motorised dinghy.and getting a ride on a camel. The last highlight that I can remember is the liner berthing in Valletta Harbour where once again we were not allowed to disembark as next day we were off on the last section of the voyage to Glasgow. Because of all the incidents described, the Nea Hellas was near Hell for my parents. but I suppose because of his courtesy rank of a padre being Lieutenant Commander he got bargain tickets.on this troopship. Alistair Hunter UK Like John Cullen, whose memories are already on your website, I was on the Duchess of Atholl on 10 October 1942 when it was torpedoed in the South Atlantic. Unlike him, however, I was only 6 years old and travelling with my mother, coming from Egypt. We had been evacuated from Egypt because the Afrika Korps had entered the country and no-one was to know that they would be repelled at El Alamein in October. There were many other women and children from Egypt on board. John’s account of the torpedoing confirms what I had already learnt from other sources. The ship’s radio had been put out of action by the first torpedo, and there is no indication that distress signals sent were picked up. A young RN signaller on Ascension Island, called Trevor Liney, picked up an SOS being broadcast on the wrong wavelength (under Brazilian dance music) and we quite possibly owe him our lives. He is now (2021) in his ‘90s and resident in the South of France: he and I have concluded that the SOS may well have been sent by the captain of the U-boat, when he discovered there were women and children on board. We were rescued by a British armed merchant cruiser HMS Corinthian, and taken to Freetown, where as John states we were transferred to the Nea Hellas and taken to Glasgow. John Mitchell, Bedlington, Northumberland My Father, George Mitchell, was a Royal Naval, Chief Petty Officer on the Nea Hellas in April 1944. It appears that he was assigned to the ship when it docked in Port Glasgow. While there, he met my Mother, who was a WREN, stationed there. They were attending a dance, held at the Greenock Town Hall, where they met for the first time and married in 1947. Michael Krupa UK My father, mother, and sister departed the UK in July 1956 to start a new life in Canada. Their final destination was Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. They left with a suitcase of clothes and some cash in their pocket to get them to their final destination. Trevor Whittley UK My father-in-law, Murdo MacIver from near Stornoway, crewed aboard the Nea Hellas c.1942-44, becoming Quartermaster. A quiet and humble man he rarely talked about his experiences. Sadly he passed away in 1995. Does anyone remember him? Towards the end of WW2 the Nea Hellas joined an arctic bound convoy but she developed engine trouble and had to return to Glasgow. That convoy was attacked and several ships lost; the Nea Hellas had a lucky escape. Jason Fernee UK I have only just discovered my Grandad sailed for a time on this ship as Crew (Naval Gunner) and I have found a ships roster with his name on it. I don’t know if he did more than one voyage on the ship as he was moved around protecting Merchantman throughout the second world war and I have at least one other log doing the Atlantic Crossing in 1941. He also operated on the hideous Arctic convoys. He lived at the address given on the listing here all his life and passed away in a local hospital in 1985. His name wa Charles Cecil Ferne. Kay Fisher UK I came across your very helpful site (thank you) while researching my grandfather’s WW2 experiences (he was British). I noticed that one contributor, Ian Kelly, mentioned that his father, John R Kelly, was a merchant seaman and joined the ship in Glasgow on 6 November 1942 but didn’t know where the voyage went, other than it being a foreign trip (see below). I think I can help as my grandfather was on that ship, but the dates are a bit different. He was posted with RAF 152 squadron who, according to their unit operational records, boarded the ‘HMT Nea Hellas’ in Glasgow on 10 November 1942, then anchored ‘downstream’ for a couple days before sailing for North Africa at 4pm on 14 November. They were part of a large convoy of ships carrying thousands of allied troops (air, sea, land) for Operation Torch, the allied invasion of North Africa. The ships had dropped off troops at a number of strategic points along the coast from Morocco to Algeria. The Nea Hellas was part of the easternmost landings I think. They arrived about a week after the 14th on a beach in Algeria (~20/21 November), near the Maison Blanche airfield. The troops camped on the beach (and their tents got strafed by German planes) then walked to the airfield. The likely reason why the voyage box was so non-specific is because it was kept very secret where they were going, even the troops didn’t know until they were onboard (and some had been given ‘tropical kits’ and so thought they were off to Asia). They were trying to fool the Germans about their plans (perhaps also trying to avoid German u-boats?) so they took a convoluted route, apparently going a long way towards New York before doubling back through the Straits of Gibraltar. I havn’t researched this in detail yet but I think the ships got attacked quite lot, including from German airplanes, so allied squadrons were actively defending them. If John Kelly was aboard it would have been an eventful trip. It might also explain why he decided to leave the merchant navy after this trip. To make sense of the dates that you have from the log of the trip, I wonder if the 8 Dec 1942 was actually the disembark date on the ship’s return to Glasgow? Unfortunately there is not a lot of detail about the trip in the 152 squadron leader’s operational records because he left the ship early (in Gibraltar) with a contingent of pilots to provide air defence for the convoy and coast. But below are the few short snippets:
Thanks very much, Jim. This website has been the source of some valuable information for our family. Unfortunately, my Father died in 1977 and didn’t share a lot of his experience of being involved in WW2. We just came across my Mother’s diaries recently and she mentioned the name of the Nea Hellas but her writing was not very clear. Thanks again for your work which has revealed a small, but very important, part of their lives so long ago, to our family. A Story of a Mother's Dangerous Trip to Reunite With Her Son During Wartime Verena Morgan Rybicki In February and March of 1944, I was a passenger on the Nea Hellas, traveling from Bombay, India, to Greenock, Scotland. My name was then Verena Robison Morgan, ten years old, going on eleven, having lived in India since 1939 with my mother, Janet Morgan, and father, William Stanley Morgan, who was a doctor in the Indian Medical Service. Ordinarily an English family like ours would have returned to England every year or so, but this was made impossible by the war. In early 1944 my mother decided to return to England to be reunited with my older brother, Keith, who had been separated from the family since before the war, when he was left in an English boarding school at age ten. It was a dangerous time for anyone to travel during wartime, especially civilians, but she felt that she must do it. During January and part of February 1944, my mother and I waited in Bombay for a ship to take us back. During the war it was essential to keep a ship's movements secret. There were concerns about Japanese spies in Bombay relaying the time we sailed, so we weren't told anything about our ship until just before we were to leave. We had to pack our belongings every night, just to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. The summons finally came in mid-February that we would sail on the Nea Hellas. We didn't know then that this ship had originally been British, had been sold to the Greeks before the war started as unfit for service, and taken back when the war started because the British were so short of shipping. We took a taxi down to the docks and I was able to escape my mother's guard while she dealt with the baggage. I quickly found that this was not going to be a voyage for civilians alone. As I approached the ship, I saw Italian prisoners who had been interned in India, filing up the gangplank of the Nea Hellas. They wore gray uniforms with a black diamond on their backs. The British Tommy on guard at the end of the gangplank, slammed his rifle butt on the concrete and yelled, "'Alt, you bloody Eyties, this young lady is going onto the ship!" The line halted immediately, and I looked up at the face of the first prisoner. His eyes were brown and he was smiling, and he looked like my father. I was too frozen to smile back. He looked so friendly, and I realized with a shock that these sad-eyed men were the ENEMY. I walked self-consciously up the gangplank while everyone watched. We discovered that our convoy was to be only seven ships, but at least we wouldn't be alone. We saw that there were many women and children on this voyage. It was only recently that the government had allowed civilians on such dangerous trips, and they told us this was to be the first with civilians through the Suez Canal since 1941. Before this, it had been open only to military vessels, and carried men and materiel to fight the Japanese in the Far East. Our cabin was minute, about a third of the size of a normal cabin. My mother took the lower berth and I was delighted to climb onto the top one. Getting out of the upper berth, I had almost landed in the washbasin, so it was a wonderful game just being sure I missed it. We had to sleep in our clothes every night in case we were torpedoed during the night. The water for taking baths was desalinated, and we were only allowed one a week. But I never took one, because there was always a queue at the bathroom door and I was too impatient to wait. Besides, the water smelled strange, and I worried about being torpedoed while I was in the bath and having to run out in my birthday suit. Of course we had life boat drill every day except Sunday, when we sang hymns like "Eternal Father, Strong to Save," with the line, "For those in peril on the sea," which curiously mesmerized me. I could hardly bear to think about how dangerous our journey was. They were always talking on the wireless about ships sinking with the loss of all hands. I heard my mother talk about the letters she expected and which never came, and I knew yet one more ship had been sunk. I visualized those white hands waving on the surface of the water, with sharks swimming beneath them. We could see sharks following the ships in search of anything edible thrown overboard. Our small convoy was chased all through the Indian Ocean by Japanese submarines. One morning I saw a column drifting up from the ocean. My mother said it was a waterspout, but it looked more like smoke to me. I felt frightened, because I was sure they had sunk a ship. My suspicions were vindicated, for we found out later that an oil tanker had been torpedoed and caught on fire, and hence the smoke. When we reached Aden we picked up the survivors, still black with oil, wrapped in sheets, and our crew had to hunt around for clothes for them. We were told that it was the third time in the war that the cook from that ship had been torpedoed. I wished my mother would tell me the truth. I suppose she thought it would frighten me, but I was frightened anyway. Besides, even at age ten I could tell it was not a waterspout. We entered the Suez Canal at Port Suez. When the Japanese entered the war by bombing Pearl Harbor, the canal was closed, which meant that ships had to go round by South Africa, which was even more dangerous. Sometimes the canal was broad, sometimes narrow, the sides littered with vehicles destroyed during the fighting. Some had German swastikas, and some were British and American. I don't remember any one else being near me on deck, but I wished they were, because I had so many questions to ask. I had heard about the North African campaign but I knew so little about it. All I knew about the war I learned from the radio and by overhearing my parents' conversations. But they shielded me and were careful of what they said. When the canal was narrow, one could almost reach out and touch the camel trains. I watched the supercilious camels with as much fascination as the detritus of those desert battles. The camel drivers looked straight ahead as though we didn't exist, and the camels lurched along looking disagreeable. When they turned their heads toward us and snorted, you could smell their foul breath. Finally we reached Port Said, which is the port at the Mediterranean end of the canal, where there was a huge cargo awaiting us. We were told that we were taking on thousands of American troops for the voyage to England. We did not dock, but they came out in landing crafts. When I looked down, I saw khaki helmets, massed so that they covered every inch of their transports and the uniforms below. The American soldiers climbed the rope ladders with their bulging kit bags and came over the side of the ship. I was glad it was calm for them. We set out through the Mediterranean. We had boat drill every day. Ill-tempered March gales harassed us, the sky was gray and cold, and the water raged beneath us. Every day there were bombing raids, the dreaded swastika above us. Meanwhile, the Germans were fighting their way north in Italy. And then there were the submarines, which were chased by other boats in the convoy. The Nea Hellas shuddered as depth charges went off. I looked down into the gray waves and hoped I would die before I hit the bitter sea. There were many storms on the ocean that year. We had not gone far into the Mediterranean when I woke one night to a lot of noise. My mother was standing at the door of the cabin, and I thought we must have been torpedoed. The corridors were running with water knee deep, and people going along them were losing their balance, heads under the water, toes waving in the air. Chairs were floating around and any thing not fastened down was mobile. My mother was laughing as they went down, and there were shrieks from the corridor. I was shocked that we weren't all getting ready to abandon ship and wondered why we weren't running for the lifeboats. My mother had built a barrier against our door with a pile of towels, grabbing more as the water rose. She explained that a deck door had been left open mistakenly. The next morning we discovered what had happened. The problem was that during a raging storm a GI on deck duty had run off to find his new civilian girlfriend and left the deck door open. The waves were so high that they burst over onto the deck, and ran down to the bottom of the ship. The British were very amused that the Americans were fulfilling their reputation for being over-sexed. We were astounded to find the dining room in its usual order when we came down for breakfast. The crew had roused the stewards in the middle of the night, and when we arrived for breakfast there was absolutely no evidence of the flood, nor any bad temper, even though the stewards had been up all night restoring order. The whole of our passage through the Mediterranean was very rough, but fortunately we didn't have another wet experience like that one. On March 12, I had my eleventh birthday in the Mediterranean. In contrast to my fifth birthday, also in the Mediterranean, I realized that this one would be different, because of the war. Sweets were severely rationed, and we had no coupons. But to my delight and amazement the stewards who waited on us had rounded up some chocolate, so it was a real celebration for my birthday after all, even though I had to share the chocolate with the other children. One day as I made my way up on deck I was stopped by one of the American soldier's who said, "You stand here and listen to me." I was scared and then shocked when he said, "I saw you going up on deck with a flashlight. You're a spy!" At eleven, I was a shy and fearful child, much younger than my years and terrified of the Germans. The last thing on earth that I would do would be to spy for them. I fled to find my mother, who said, "Don't be silly dear. He's daft! Just ignore him." To my relief I never encountered him again. Our entire journey through the Mediterranean was over rough water. During drills we had to go up on deck, put on our life jackets and hope there weren't real bombs to hit us. One day standing there I thought about the Italian prisoners and asked one of the men taking the lifeboat drill what they would do with the prisoners if the ship was hit. He said, "We'd lock 'em up Missie and they'd go down with the ship." I felt sick! Every day there were submarines attacking, torpedoes coming up and depth charges going down. Mercifully, the enemy's aim was bad and no one in our convoy was hit. The constant threat of submarines was frightening, so we were delighted to see the Rock of Gibraltar and the straits we would pass through to reach the Atlantic Ocean. There we joined an enormous convoy, over sixty ships: battle ships, aircraft carriers, destroyers, troop carriers, and amongst them all our old tub, the Nea Hellas. Although we did not know it then, this armada was bringing troops and supplies for D-Day. We sailed through the straits of Gibraltar, but the whole convoy immediately started to sail round and round in circles. Lingering there seemed to be tempting fate, making us a sitting target for all those submarines, but finally, to our relief, news came through that a lost ship had been found and we steamed into the Atlantic. We set off west in a huge arc, almost to America, to avoid the U-Boats, which were concentrated near their bases in Europe. The cold gray days passed with such slowness, and every night we still slept in our clothes for fear the ship might be torpedoed. I heard two people talking at a daily boat drill. They said it was stupid to think we would be rescued if we hit the water because we wouldn't survive but a minute in the bitterly cold water. When we almost reached the American coast, we started back for Britain. We finally arrived at the Firth of Clyde in Scotland around the 21st of March, and we sighed with relief, for surely we were home safely. All the passenger ships made for the docks, but the Nea Hellas remained anchored out in the Clyde, much to our dismay. We watched, appalled, as they raised the yellow quarantine flag. We were not free to go; we would be in quarantine for three weeks because of measles! That day on the Nea Hellas was bitter in every sense, for after six weeks at sea, we could see HOME, but landing was forbidden. As a last straw, in the grayness of that March chill, we learned there was no more fuel to give us heat on the boat. However, the next morning, when we came down for breakfast, we were ordered to take our cabin baggage as soon as we had finished and assemble on deck at our lifeboat stations. Once there, we went over the side of the ship, to climb down rope ladders into the heaving landing craft below. It was terrifying. The ladders swung in the wind from side to side as we clambered down. I clutched the rope until I skinned my hands while the yellow quarantine flag still streamed triumphantly in the breeze. We discovered the reason for lifting the quarantine was that the ship's cook had developed polio, which trumped the measles! We went to shore in a boat that tossed on the waves. It was frigid on shore and our coats and wraps barely warmed us. We took the night train from Glasgow to London, during which there was no light visible, for the whole country was under blackout. When we arrived in London it was morning, and we made our way to the station restaurant to get breakfast. I had heard about how strict rationing was, so was surprised to find a real fried egg on my plate. But before I could cut it, the air raid sirens started wailing. Forget about air raid shelters, we took our places under the table to enjoy our first meal on land and hungrily consumed it in safety until the all-clear siren went. We soon caught a train to Reading for the happy reunion with my brother Keith, now fifteen and so much bigger than I had remembered him! We were in time to see him in his school's production of Gilbert and Sullivan's Iolanthe, which has remained one of my favorites. After living in England for about ten more years, I came as an occupational therapy student to America, where I met my American husband, George Rybicki. We have lived ever since in Massachusetts, mostly in Lexington, but lately in Peabody. A STORY OF ROMANCE IN WARTIME ON THE NEA HELLAS Iain MacPhail's Mother's 1941 Journal When I was a lad, my mother wrote her recollections of 1941, the year I was born. It seems that I have a close relationship to the Nea Hellas, see the below story, which is an extract from her writings. We arrived at the place of embarkation and we were informed that transport J-D-65 was our ship; at such-and-such a wharf, but we must wait until we were told to go aboard. We were kept waiting on that cold wharf for one and a half hours, and believe me; tempers were very frayed before we got aboard. Our men had all vanished; where no-one knew. We found out later that they were all aboard and quite comfortable, thank you. I had always considered our medical men were stinkers, but after that I was quite decided. There they were, "all nice and cosy like", while we froze on the quay side in a Glasgow fog (which I forgot to mention when we got off the train). At long last Miss Grey appeared and we were allowed to embark. I often wonder; had I known that fate, in the form of a very tall, good-looking Australian sergeant who was standing at the top of that gang plank, was waiting to play so many tricks on me, I would have gone up quite so gaily. Probably I would. When told we could now get aboard, I looked up and said to Strongo, who was with me, "Look at that handsome, conceited-looking brute up there. I bet he thinks he is the cat's pyjamas." Little did I dream then that these same pyjamas were to haunt me all my life. But this is getting away from the point: when we reached the top of the gang-plank, which incidentally went up like the animals going into the Ark, a voice snapped, "Name and number!" No please or thankyou. This was the last straw! My temper, never the best at any time, just flared. I turned round and in my very best Sister Lawson voice said, "Are you by any chance talking to us, sergeant." It was the good-looker, and he did not like it. "Sorry, Sister," he said. "May I have your name and number, if you please?" Of course I realised he was being highly sarcastic, but I could not do anything about it, so I told him as coldly and haughtily as I could, and we were directed to our respective cabins; Strong to share a three-berthed cabin with comparative strangers, and I to share a four-berther with three others, one English and two Scottish girls, named Allison, McMillan, and Anderson. Allison was tall, like myself. Andy and Mac were small, dainty people, and to add to it all Andy was years older than us and very demure. Needless to say, she was not so demure before our journey was done. Strongo and I were rather peeved at not sharing the same cabin, but there was nothing we could do about it as it had all been arranged and listed in the usual triplicate so loved of the army. Anyhow, it did not matter much as things worked out as I spent most of my sleeping time on deck. I mean that we slept on deck, but again I'm running too far ahead. Our cabins allotted and inspected, bunks chosen, etc. we had to sojourn to the lounge where we were given afternoon tea, then a talk by O.C. Troops regarding lights, etc. All portholes had to be closed and screwed down at dusk, smoking on deck was forbidden after 4 G's had sounded; that was official black-out time, sounded by the bugle. Anyone breaking these rules would be court-martialled and dealt with accordingly. We were then issued with life belts, which with our gas mask and tin lid ere never to leave our side for one moment while we were aboard ship. Many times I was sent back for mine. We could not even go to the dining saloon without them unless the ship was in port. The ruling on the tin lid and gas mask, or to give it its correct title, "service respirator", was lifted and we could leave them in our cabin but easy to reach; they must not be tucked away out of sight. We were told that lifeboat drill would begin the following day, and that dinner would be at 7:30pm. It was then we discovered that there was another hospital on board, No 7 General Hospital. This was not such good news. They had been on board a day when we embarked, and probably were not very pleased when we arrived as it was not a very large vessel; 20,000 tonner at the most, I should think. As it happened we got on fairly well together, or it may be nearer the mark to say we ignored each other's presence very well. One week they had first meals, second week No 6 had them, so it was equal all round. There was a roster for the irons, of which the ship had two. Can you imagine! Two irons between 110 girls all wearing white most of the trip. Surprisingly it all worked out and we all managed to look spick and span all the trip. How, we never quite knew, but we did. (I am away in white uniform, and really we have not left the wharf yet.) After this issue of life belts and afternoon tea we were allowed to unpack and stow our kit to the best of our capabilities in our respective cabin space. We were told we need not dress for dinner while the ship was in port, which was just as well, but that when she put to sea we must be regimentally dressed for dinner. That meant mess dress: grey dress and shoulder cape, white collar and cuffs, black silk stockings, and our veil. When we got into tropical waters it was our white mess dress for dinner. Personally I thought it a little cracked getting dressed for dinner at sea, and not in port, but that apparently only showed my "ignorance" of correct procedure. Dinner time came at last and you can believe me we gave it full benefit as it was the first really hot meal in nearly 24 hours. After dinner we did more unpacking, had a hot bath, and filled our hot bottles and crept into bed. Personally, I don't remember hitting the pillow. I was awakened next morning by the sound of bagpipes and wondered where on earth I was. When I fully reached my senses I discovered, or rather realised I was not on earth but on water, and that we were as yet not sailing. Getting dressed, I went on deck to find where the pipes were playing and discovered they were on another ship lying out in the river, which incidentally could just be seen through the fog which still held Glasgow in its grip. At breakfast we wee told we could go ashore if we obtained permits from Matron and O.C. Troops, but that we were not to visit or communicate with any friends or relatives we may have nearby, and that we must not give any information as to where we were, or who we were. All very important, as if people could not see we were army nursing sisters and as if the people on the Clyde did not know that there was a convoy of about 30 ships lying in the river. More army taradiddle! Can you imagine how annoying it was to know that a telegram would have brought my sister to Glasgow in little over an hour and we were more or less honour bound not to send one? Strongo and I had done our middie in Glasgow, so we naturally had a soft spot for it, and knew a few good places in which to eat, so we joyfully went ashore, taking with us some of the girls who did not know the town. We decided to walk into the city proper, and our companions were fascinated by our knowledge of the Glasgow slums, 'til we enlightened them that we done our district midwifery round them. We had a whale of a day in town, buying bits and bobs. I bought a lovely piece of striped taffeta to make a dressing gown, as I did not have a really pretty one for tropical wear. It cost me 1/6d a yard! The last I ever bought at that price. Glasgow looked much the same, cold, dirty and foggy, but a very kindly city in spite of all that; the people with their slow, soft drawl and hospitable hearts. They were very curious to know if we were staying in Glasgow or if we had come in from some of the hospitals round about. As far as I was concerned I was on leave and most surprised to hear about the ships in the river. "Fancy that now. Three days? Well, well, well. Held up by fog you say since Sunday, and it's now Wednesday. Poor souls, they must be sick of waiting. Yes it would be nice to know where they were going. Some sisters and nurses going too, did you say? Ah, well, some girls have all the luck." A cough from Strongo, who is nearly having a fit of hysterics. "I think it is time we went," said she. So I politely bade our garrulous shop assistant "Good morning," and departed to laugh my hat off outside. Strongo informed me that I was a complete ass. And I was merely being polite! At sea! 4 January 1941 We had five days ashore, then one morning when we awoke the ship was under way. The fog had cleared, and there lay Clydeside before our eyes. Down we sailed, and workers waved from the banks. There were many sad-eyed and sad-hearted girls lining the rail that morning; watching the coast slip gradually past us. Many were openly in tears. I'm afraid I must be a heart-of-stone type of person 'cause they left me cold. They had joined of their own free will for overseas service and they knew hat they may or may not return, so why weep about it where everybody could see them? Certainly it did give you a rather hollow feeling in your tummy, but why wear your heart on your sleeve? We were off on a glorious (or otherwise) adventure. Down the Clyde we slipped, without fuss or palaver, and picked up the other ships in our convoy en route. Thirty in all; the largest convoy to sail from the British Isles up to that date; it truly was a splendid sight. There they were, strung out in line, heading for... where? That was the question. No-one knew, except I suppose O.C. Troops. The Captain was sailing under sealed orders. There we were, beyond the ship-building yards of the Clyde now, nearing its mouth. Breakfast had been swallowed in a great hurry that morning, as everybody was eager to watch the last of the land, our home-land, fading from sight, just hating to see it go. At last it is gone, and we are at sea proper, a large target for enemy planes or submarines! It may seem strange, but I don't think many of us thought much about that. If we did we seldom could talk about it. That night we dressed for dinner, and did so every night for seven weeks after that, with the exception of four days we berthed in Durban, and two days in Sierra Leone, or I ought to say lying off Freetown, but I am way ahead again. We steamed along quite steadily. The sea was very calm and the weather very cold, colder than anything I had ever felt. We thought we must be sailing north. Most certainly we could not have been sailing south. Rumour ran all over the ship as to where we might be going. At one stage we were supposed to be very near the coast of Canada, but whether that was so or not I cannot say, only I know that for several days it was extremely cold. Although in the light of where we eventually first saw land, I am afraid the Canadian story was a Furphy. On and on we sailed, and saw no land for many days. Then early one morning land was sighted and one of the ships left the convoy. We learned later that the land we had seen was Gibraltar, but we were not very close in, and that the ship which rejoined us later had put in to pick up survivors from a convoy ahead of us which had been torpedoed. How much truth there was in that we never knew, but the ship most definitely did leave, then rejoin us. If I remember correctly it was the Brittanic. We had come to know all the ships by their correct names by this time. Our own one was the Nea Helas. The Cameronian was our sister ship. There were several of the Castle line, but their names I am afraid are forgotten. The next time we saw land was again early morning, and we were virtually surrounded by it; and believe it or not, an air raid siren was wailing and guns were firing. "Stay below in our cabins, and put on your tin lids!" was the order. We stayed below in our cabins, but all of us had our heads stuck out the respective portholes at one time or another during the raid, if it was one. Can you picture three people with their heads through one porthole, and work out where our tin lids were! Away up in the sky, so high that it looked like a bird was a tiny dot, which we were assured was an enemy aircraft, a reconnaissance plane from Dakar, and the firing was to keep it too high to be able to take any photographs of our convoy. Freetown We had arrived in Freetown, port for Sierra Leone, and my dear the heat was terrific! I forgot to mention that we had been wearing whites for several days prior to our arriving in Freetown. I suppose we never did actually "arrive" there, as we lay off in the harbour. To our intense disgust we were not allowed ashore because of the malarial danger, which was very acute. We also lay outside the flying distance of malarial mosquitoes, or so the best authorities informed us! I would not know. We may have been outside the flying distance of the mozzie, but we most certainly were not outside the rowing distance of the natives in their quaint little boats, piled high with the most tempting-looking fruit which we were forbidden to purchase, either by fair means or foul, but it was very strange how much of that forbidden fruit we seemed to be having to eat. I acquired mine by means of the ship's barber, a person I heartily disliked, to say the least of it; a very lovely basket hand woven in gay yellow, red and black, which I used for various purposes 'til I left it with a friend not long ago, much to her delight. There were bananas everywhere you looked, mangoes, pawpaws and what have you. Naturally, when you stop to think that most of the troops were "wild Australians" who could never obey an order which said "thou shalt not", we must have fruit if only for the devil of it. The barter went on all day, in spite of the duty officers ordering hoses to be turned on these frail little craft. Many of the blacks were swamped, but they just roared with laughter, turned their craft right side up, clambered in and went back for more fruit, if they lost any. It was really most amusing to see an old shirt go over the side on a rope, and up would come a huge bunch of bananas, for which the shirt could never have been enough payment. Next you would see a great big black fellow struggle into a shirt about six times too small for him, or maybe it would be the other way round. Whichever way it was, they were always mighty pleased. The Tommies on board did not do so much bartering as their Australian brethren, whether from lack of material, or greater discipline I do not know; probably a bit of both. We lay in for three days, during which time we literally fried; our clothes were never dry. It was my first experience of great, sticky tropical heat, and I did not like it. I still don't. Freetown lay there in front of us, tantalising in the sunlight with its green tropical vegetation right down to the water's edge. How I would have loved to get ashore. The town gives the impression of being built up a hillside, which I think it is, because it was quite hilly round the harbour. Perched on top of the hill was a white building with a red roof, which we learned was the government hospital. Houses clung, or appeared to cling to the face of the hill, but alas, as I have said before, we must just look at it from afar; tantalising 'cause I love to explore new places. Burn's Night It was January 25th when we reached Freetown, and we had sailed on the 4th; so where we had been in the 21 days between, goodness knows. "On a troop ship at sea," without any doubt. As I say it was January 25th and that being to all Scottish hearts quite a day, since it is the birthday of our great bard Robbie Burns, great celebrations were afoot, as we had a Scottish crew. They threw a Burns Supper, and that my dear does not consist of cold meat and salad. When the dinner gong went both hospital units tripped down to the dining salon en masse. My dear what a crowd, and the heat! because all portholes were shut and screwed down and light were lit. Suddenly the skirl of bagpipes and in marched two Australians just about blowing their lungs out piping in the haggis, and the thermometers registering somewhere about 115°F (or C, or whatever they registered). After dinner a dance was held in the lounge and we danced nearly all the Scottish dances it was possible to dance; Lancers, Eightsome Reels, Quadrilles, Schottisches, and what have you. It was heavy work, because most of the girls in the units were English and did not know the square dances; however, they did their best and there was a lot of fun. When the evening was about done somewhere round about 1am Miss Grey had the brilliant idea that an exhibition eightsome reel must be danced by four members if the ship's crew, and four Scottish sisters. Well, I knew what that meant, as there were only three Scottish sisters in our unit, two of whom danced, and there were only two in No 7. We were ringing wet by this time, our white tricotene dresses were simply clinging to our backs. But, nothing daunted! Into the Eightsome we went and although I say as shouldn't, gave them a really good demonstration of how an Eightsome Reel should be danced. So much so they wanted us to do set of Lancers for them, but we were not playing. We did oblige by a short Schottische with our respective partners. It was at Freetown that we requested permission to sleep on deck. Miss Grey said that she would have to ask O.C. Troops, and if he gave his permission she was quite willing. That tore it! We were quite sure he would not grant it, but much to our surprise he did, but not until we had sailed again. If you had seen the scramble to get our camp beds up on to that sundeck before anyone else, you would have laughed. It was a case of pegging your claim and sticking to it. I think there must have been between 50 and 60 beds on that deck. There was scarcely enough room to move between them, but it was heavenly sleeping out under the stars, coming near to peep at you, then hurriedly withdrawing as if they had been too curious. Probably they saw things that made them twinkle a little more 'cause there were many romances aboard our old Nea Helas. Many flirtations went on under these stars. The Sergeant on Brens was a funny little man and looked after us on that deck like a father, shooing away anyone he thought would not be welcome, and closing his eyes to those that he knew were; up to a certain time limit, then they were all shooed away, and we were told it was time to get ready for bed. He always kept the gangway clear of troops until we had reached the deck all pretty in our housecoats, and there were some very pretty ones. Must have been tantalising for the boys! They were always around in the morning when we went down to our cabins to dress. Strange how broadminded Matron was about us more or less roaming around the ship morning and evening in our pyjamas and dressing gowns. I wonder what she would have said had she ever caught any of us having supper in quaint little hidey holes with Australian Lieuts and Sergeants. She would most probably have told us we were forbidden to sleep on deck, but luckily for her peace of mind she never ever discovered it, although she may have suspected. As I said in the early part of this epistle she was a charming person. She never snooped, nor did the Assistant Matron. No 7's was also a non-snooper, so I suppose we were lucky. The three days in Freetown are well behind us now and we know that we are sailing down the West Coast of Africa. Lovely, lazy days, and I had acquired a most glorious suntan, really I was a deep walnut brown, which heightened the white of my uniform. There was a spot of excitement. Some of our escort had raced away and there were noises of distant explosions - depth charges. We were later told subs had been tailing us, probably notified by the plane we saw in Freetown, but nothing untoward happened, much to our relief. It was not a very nice feeling to think that underwater enemies were so near. One of our escort ships was H.M.A.S. Sydney, a nice compact little vessel carrying one aircraft. Days drifted slowly by, and all we saw were sea and ships of our own convoy. No other ships had passed us, or if they had they passed us during the night. One day Matron told us that O.C. Troops had issued an order in conjunction with the Master of the ship that we sleep in our cabins that night as we were about to round the Cape and indications were for a storm. We put up such a howl of protest that O.C. relented and the Master said that if we wanted to risk a sudden tropical storm it was OK by him. He was a pet. We rounded the Cape during the night without any undue disturbance. The sea was a bit rougher than it had been at any time during our journey, but that was all. When morning dawned we had lost more than half our convoy; they had put in to Cape Town. We did not see the Cape at all, much to my sorrow. Durban We sailed on about another day and berthed in Durban about 4 in the afternoon. There is a town! We were granted shore leave at once, and believe me we were ashore as soon as it was possible. We had to be back on board by 1am. Durban! Beautiful, fairy city; all lit up. After the blackout at home it really looked like something out of a fairytale to see all those lights. Allison, Mac, Andy, Strongo and I went ashore together. Naturally the first thing we thought about was food. Strange, because we had splendid food on the ship. Anyhow we ate, and tasted our first pawpaw with ice-cream. Lovely and I have loved it ever since. Then we set out to window-shop. All the shops were lit up and packed with good things to eat and to wear. We decided then to do some buying next day, if we were still there, which we were. We were strolling along, Mac, Strongo and myself with Allison and Andy in the rear somewhere when a car drew up opposite the three of us and a man stuck his head out the window and asked in a very charming and cultured voice if we would like to see Durban by night. Of course we hastily assumed our very insular dignty and began to politely refuse when another laughing voice said, "It's quite all right. We often do this, my fiancé and I," and up bobbed a laughing, pink-faced lass of about 25 or 6. Naturally, that changed the complexion of things, and our own complexions too, I am afraid, 'cause we felt a bit silly. "Come on, climb in"' she said. The car was not very large, but when we told her there were five of us she said, "Never mind. We can all pile in. The old bus is really quite sturdy." So we all piled in and away we went. They drove us out to see one of Durban's most beautiful gardens, where dancing was conducted in the open every evening. Unfortunately that had been somewhat curtailed owing to the war, but that did not spoil the gardens any. They were glorious. The lawns were like velvet carpets, and the flowers were a sheer delight. I saw the gardens again in daylight, so I know. After we had toured around their many acres, 'cause they were huge, the lad and lass decided to take us to the highest point available in traffic, and which was right on the edge of the bush. Durban was slowly but surely claiming land from the bush. Up we climbed, round winding roads 'till we reached this point, and there below us lay the fairy city. The streets were laid out parallel to one another and each had its own colour of lights: blue, orange, green, white, yellow. The buildings all seemed to built of white stone, which added to the illusion of fairyland. After we had feasted our eyes on lights and shadows, our hosts thought we must be hungry, so they decided that they must take us home to the house they were to occupy when they were married. It was his house, if I remember correctly, anyway, it doesn't matter. It was a glorious home built high on the hillside. The ground floor consisted of a large dining room, sitting room, kitchen with all mod cons. Upstairs were the bedrooms and bathrooms built round the side of the house, reached by a staircase which went up to a balcony which ran along three sides of the sitting and dining rooms. The bedrooms all went off this balcony, which gave extra height and coolness to the rooms below. I am afraid I have not described this very well, but you might be able to picture what I mean. They told us it was built as an exact reproduction of an old-fashioned Boer homestead, and believe me, it was very lovely. After a wash and tidy up which was much appreciated 'cause it was hot, we had some cool beer, which I was just beginning to like, the lass turned on a beautiful supper; fruit and more fruit, savouries of every shape and form. By this time it was after midnight and as we had to be aboard my 1am we had to dag ourselves away. Back into the car we piled, and were driven back to the docks after a truly delightful evening. We never saw that couple again, but it seems they were only one of the many Durban families who set themselves out to give as happy a time as possible to troops passing through. All the girls had had much the same sort of evening as ourselves. The South African people, at least those we met were truly charming. We heard from various sources later that they did it all through the war years. Bless them for a happy thought. Next day we were again allowed ashore, and as we had been paid we were very rich so we had an orgy of shopping. White shoes, stockings, gloves, handbags, seemed to be the order of that day. More large meals in cafes or restaurants. The people must have thought we were starved to near exhaustion. Next day I went ashore without Strongo, she being otherwise engaged and I after the same pursuit. My escort and I explored Durban inside and out, I think. The war memorial was a lovely thing, white stone carved most exquisitely. The Town Hall and Post Office were also white stone. We paid a visit to the snake garden. Horrible place! Snakes of all kinds and sizes. Ugh! We did not spend much time there, I can assure you. We then decided to have a ride in a rickshaw. They are quaint to ride in. The boys seem to ride on the shafts and they travel at quite an amazing speed. The boy we had was not very elaborately dressed, but the head rickshaw boy was most elaborate. He was no boy. He looked older than Durban did and probably was. He had beads and feathers and shells strung round his neck and draped around his waist, ankles and wrists, a ring through his nose and each ear, face heavily scarred by tribal markings, and to crown it all a huge, beautiful feather headdress. What the feathers were I do not know. He, I gathered had been a figurehead in Durban for many years. Our final day ashore we went on a more or less organised trip to the Valley of a Thousand Hills. There was grandeur; hills rolling away behind each other towering up into the sky. It certainly was well named. The furthest and highest was the range which resembled a woman lying on her back. It was said to be the Queen of Sheba asleep. The figure was there quite distinct. While we feasted our eyes on the various colour formations and heights, Sheba was suddenly cut from our vision. Our guide told us to watch, as it was a rainstorm. It would cut out each group of hills as it approached. This it did until the valley was almost hidden by rain, which luckily for us did not reach the hills we were on. It ceased almost as suddenly as it had started and there before us was the valley again in all its splendid rain washed beauty. We went on board that evening drunk with the beauty and wonder of it all. Next morning we left Durban and as we sailed out the boys of our escort were lined on deck and their band played us out. It was most impressive. The lads had on their whites and looked very splendid. The ships from Cape Town had come round during the night and joined us outside Durban. More lazy days of sea and more sea. One morning when we came on deck we were the only ship on the ocean. Horrible thought, where was the convoy? It had gone on. We were the lame duck and it seemed that the order was that the lame duck fell behind and the convoy went on. However later in the morning H.M.A.S. Sydney joined us, and that felt better, thank you. Apparently our engines were giving trouble, and if they could not be repaired we were to put in to Port Sudan. This was good news; another town to see. Previously I had always been proud of the skill of Scottish engineers, but I was not proud of them then, because we did not see Sudan. They patched the blessed thing up with chewing gum and string (so they said), and we rejoined the convoy towards evening. Several of the ships had left us by this time; they were bound for India, we for the Middle East. Up the Red Sea we steamed. It was as hot as Hades. Land was very close to us on either side, too close in parts to be quite healthy, but we sailed up past Aden, looking very barren. How much so I was to discover nearly three years later but I did not know that then. By this time I was engaged to the Cat's Pyjamas, believe it or not! Egypt, 3 March 1941 We dropped anchor at Port Tewfik harbour nine weeks after leaving Glasgow, some trip! We lay there for nearly a week and were bored to tears. We were not allowed ashore as a debate was going on whether to take us up the Suez to Port Said, or entrain us from Suez (Tewfik being the port for Suez) to our destination. Finally they decided to disembark us. The Australian troops went first. It was sad-making and many tears were shed openly and otherwise. Mine were otherwise. The boys disembarked in the evening, and that left a shipload of lonely women! We went early to bed that night, and we disembarked next morning. |
ERNEST SPACEY's 1942 JOURNAL NEA HELLAS POSSIBLE! Any student of Greek will tell you that "Nea Hellas" means 'New Greece". Not many students of the language will know that it was, in 1942, a troopship. It was hardly a 'new Greece' then, probably having done too many voyages packed with members of the forces going overseas. The ship set sail from the Clyde on February 13th 1942, packed with 3,000 troops, airmen and soldiers, and possibly 300 officers and Wrens. Being the 13th and a Friday it was not an auspicious day to sail. We shuffled aboard laden down with webbing and packs of various sizes strapped to our backs, and each of us bearing a small kit bag marked with two blue bands which meant 'Wanted on voyage'. Once up the gangway we were shepherded somewhere into the bowels of the ship until we reached "K" deck. Once there we were had to sit down and shove along the tables, ten men to each side to await our next instructions. With all that paraphernalia hung about us it was difficult to squash on in the required numbers. We all sat there surveying the scene and I remember thinking, "Well, this must be where we eat, but where do we sleep?" Little did I realise that was IT! We ate there and when the time came for sleep we slept there, stacked in three tiers. The top tier slept in hammocks, the middle 'boudoir' was on the dining tables, and lastly some of us slept on the deck itself. We did have portholes, but, being February they were closed. It wasn't until well into the voyage when we were in a flat calm sea that they were opened and we found that our deck floor was just about level with the waterline. So there it was, one blanket each and either a mattress or hammock to lie on. Our 'pillows' were our life jackets. These were not 'blow up' affairs, but simply two bags of kapok taped to fit front and back, which some Jonah assured us would not keep us afloat for more than two hours. Sailing down the Clyde we went, waving to all the workers who were building the ships. They'd seen it all before and nobody waved back. We had no idea where we were going. Some said we were heading for the Arctic, as in the wisdom of the Air Force, we had been issued with tropical kit and solar topees. Perhaps this was a ploy to foil the spies? When we reached the open sea, a convoy of ships built up and we ploughed out into the Atlantic. The ship tonnage would be about 17,000 tons and she certainly did pitch about quite a lot in the Atlantic rollers. A complete blackout was observed on the outside decks and I found it fascinating to watch the trails of phosphorescence in the wake of the ship at night. I may have been just that bit queasy on the first day, but then, and ever since I have never been seasick. Two airmen at each table had to take turns each day to be mess orderlies and go down to the galley to collect the meals. So many men were laid low by sea-sickness for the first seven or eight days that our table of twenty was much depleted at meal-times. It become a sad joke to see those who suffered come staggering to the table, taking one look at a dinner, then departing hurriedly for the open air. I hated having to go down into the cook's galley in the heat. How the cooks managed to work down in that fug I cannot imagine, what with the heat and the added hazard of avoiding the hot stoves as the ship bucked and rolled. Two or three minutes down there was enough for me. Either the sea calmed, or we got used to it and our lives settled down to a set routine. Each morning we had boat drill at 10 o'clock. At that time we would all drift towards our boat stations to be ready for the blast on the ship's siren, there to be inspected wearing our flimsy life jackets. We were eventually 'all present and correct' at the mess table and soon new friends (and enemies!) were made. One chap surnamed Michel, a rabid communist, possessed a 'wall eye' i.e. an outward squint. He was an enthusiastic arguer on anything and everything. He would commence his flow to the chap opposite him and get him involved, but of course as he was doing so, his other eye had, as it were, travelled further up the table, 'collared' someone else and before we knew it, (and finally 'tippled') the table was in an uproar. There was little movement of air below decks and we spent as much time as we could up on the open decks. The "bar" (it was just a hatch really), which had little attraction for me was always busy and no wonder - beer was fourpence a pint. Hugh Porteus had spent the early days slumped, sea sick, in a corridor and occasionally calling "Water" in a weak voice to any passers by. After about a week he was fully recovered, and he would, after tea, wash the tea can out and go to the bar and get it filled with beer. The can would probably hold a gallon. Hugh would cart it around with him, tapping off his mugs of beer as required. Any lad who didn't want to join the long queue at the bar could purchase the odd pint at his 'retail' price which was fivepence a pint, which financed Hugh's venture somewhat. Whether purchases came or not didn't worry him - either way he finished the can before turning in for the night. Hugh was such a character that he really deserves a book all to himself. We pitched and rolled southwards in the Atlantic. Some said we were heading for the Azores, but if we passed them nobody saw them! About three weeks into the voyage we sailed up a murky smelly river mouth into Freetown, Sierra Leone, which was then picturesquely called "The White Man's Grave". Coming up the river there I saw for the first time a man actually 'swinging the lead' from our ship as he sounded the river depth. Fortunately we only stayed to pick up fresh water and it wasn't long before we were back out at sea. Such a short visit makes it hard to think of anything of note that occurred there, except that it was in Freetown where I first remember hearing the song "Red River Valley" sung in perfect English by one of the natives who was begging for money as he worked on the water ship pumping new supplies aboard, obviously learned by listening to a gramophone record. Drinking water was always available on our troopship, but fresh water in the ablutions' taps only appeared for two one-hour periods a day - breakfast and tea time. The rest of the time we could bathe in the showers as much as we liked but, of course, it was salt water. We did buy "salt water soap" but it just wouldn't lather. We had to use this for our laundry as best we could. We were heading southwards and the weather was improving so every day the deck was covered with wet shirts and shorts which soon dried in the hot sun. The troopship used to change tack every so oft and one day I fell asleep on the deck, in the shade, and when I woke up I found I was in the blazing sun. For a day or two from then on I seemed to be seeing things through an orange glow, but in time my sight returned to normal, but it was a worrying thing at the time. The warmer days eased the sleeping situation as many of us slept on the open deck under the stars. Mattresses could not be taken on deck until 7p.m. so it was a mad scramble to get a good pitch. Even so, once you'd staked your claim for the night, nobody would take your place. I guess we all had to stick to some rules or it would have been chaos. Come mornings there would be a cry of "Rise and shine for the Anchor Line" as the crew arrived to swill the decks and woe betide any sluggard who lingered. Almost a month after we set sail, we were called to attend a lecture to hear that, within a short time, we would be landing in Capetown. We were all excited about the prospect but rather surprised to learn from the Education Officer that 60% of the people would like us, but alas! 40% of the people wouldn't! Brought up as we were at school we believed that all the people who lived where the red splodges were on the world map loved us ! The day before we landed, we had a pay parade. It amounted to 10/- (fifty pence) each. This was not a great deal of money even by the standards of the day. However, we stayed for seven days and at the end of that marvellous week I ended up with 9/10 (forty-nine pence) in my pocket! Each day we were there we were let off the ship after lunch, supposedly to be back before midnight. Three hundred airmen had to remain on board each day for various duties and they were chosen quite simply - being the last three hundred to get back on the ship the previous night. For my part I made sure I was never in the last 300 as I didn't want to miss one day in that delightful place. There were no shortages in South Africa and no blackout, - at night the city was ablaze with light. Where did my three half-pence go? On the largest apple I'd ever seen!. I bought it on the way off the dock within a moment of stepping on shore for the first time. I know now that my apple was so big it was too large to be saleable. As the saying goes "You don't get a lot of those to the pound" - believe me you wouldn't get one of those to the pound ! Having been warned to look out for 'baddies', friend Tony, from Nottingham, and me were a bit wary about just what might happen. A convoy of cars was massed by the dock entrance and some foolish airmen were getting in them and disappearing to what fate we knew not. One lady asked us if we'd like to come to her house for dinner. We said "No thank you". We thought we might go to the pictures and we were studying the programme when another lady approached us and said "There's only one show tonight in Capetown boys and that's at 8 p.m. - come to our house for dinner and we'll all come back down here for the film" Again we said "No thank you" and walked off down the road to look in the well-stocked shop windows. We just happened to look in the window of one store which sold furnishing items and curtaining. I was just pointing out to Tony some Lister's velvet and saying that it had come from my home city, when the proprietor, one Cyril Williams, opened the door and asked us to come in. We explained that there wasn't much point in us doing so as we only had about a pound between us. He assured us that didn't matter and that, because he was from Birmingham, he'd like a chat with us. The upshot of our chat was that we finally relented and accepted his invitation to come for tea. For the rest of the week he entertained us right royally. He lived near the "Lion's Head" with his sister, and the two of them did all they could to make our stay a happy one. I was obvious that he (and many of his friends) made this a regular habit when troopships called. Whether it was to get more of us to go back there after the war I don't know (remembering the 60/40% thing) or whether it was simply the goodness of their hearts I don't really know. Cyril had his shop to look after during the day and we were left to our own devices, so we spent most of the day sightseeing. He gave each of us a typed list of snack bars, sweet shops and newsagents, etc. Cyril had signed this and told us "Go into any of these places, get anything you want, within reason, show them this slip and they'll charge it to me" (About fifteen years later when I was living in Scholemoor Road, I came back from a two-week walking holiday to find a postcard from him waiting for me. He was home on holiday in Britain and asking if he could contact me. I wrote back immediately, but alas heard nothing more - he must have returned home by then) The only sour note that comes to mind was when the three of us were walking down the main street in Capetown. Tony was about to put some money in the hat for a black jazz band which was playing by the road side. Cyril said "Don't do that and don't ever do that again!" We didn't know we were leaving but Cyril and his friends somehow must have known and they gave us a superb farewell party. As you can imagine it was with some regret that we all left Capetown the next day. The view of Capetown harbour with Table Mountain behind it must be one of the finest in the world. I say "we all" but indeed not all of us did leave Capetown. Some jumped ship and were never heard of again and it was also said that quite a few had strayed down the wrong quarter and never went anywhere again. I mentioned earlier that once we were in warmer climes we were able to sleep on deck, but, any night we were in port this privilege was withdrawn because of work going on around the ship. The night before we left Capetown, we all filtered back to K deck half-sensing that the next day we might be leaving. All the best sleeping spots were taken when I got back on board, and my "five star" accommodation for the night was to be a wooden bench alongside my mess table. I lay there quietly chatting to another chap, who lay, in luxury on the table beside me. It was warm down there and we all slept naked, (the highest temperature came later in the Red Sea when it reached 105 degrees). As we talked we became aware of someone repeating a phrase over and over again in his sleep. It ran "It wasna me, mither it was oor Tammie" We didn't know until later that this lad was a twin. He and his brother had been going out with a girl and one of them had left her in the family way. When this happened the twins' parents had decided that it was his fault and that he would have to marry her. From the fact that he was repeating these words continually in his sleep it seemed to the two of us that it was not his fault and this injustice was playing on his conscience. We raised ourselves up to see where the troubled sleeper was and as we did so, we noticed that he also had sat up on the table, stepped on the bench and then down on to the deck. He was sleep walking! I'd never seen a sleep-walker before, nor since, but I understand that they are not to be awakened. He started up the steps to the next deck with the two of us behind him, all three of us 'in the nuddy". It was late, but, being a troopship there's always one or two wanderers about, and those that we saw regarded us curiously as our small procession passed. We put our fingers to our lips as we encountered them and made our way to the next staircase, not knowing exactly what to do. Would we wind up on the open deck? Might he jump overboard? Two flights up we gently held his shoulders and turned him back on a downward path once more. All this took place in complete silence as we finally got back to the level on our deck where he had been sleeping. To our surprise he didn't go to his 'bed' but commenced to make for the steps further down which led to the bottom deck of all which was a dead end. That "dead end" was the armoury where all the rifles and ammunition were stored, guarded by a soldier twenty four hours a day. He was astonished to see the three of us (obviously unarmed and unclothed!) and raised his rifle presumably to utter a ridiculous "Halt, who goes there?" Fingers to lips once more, more hands to the sleepwalker's shoulders as we turned him round and he climbed the short flight of steps and back up towards his place. When we got there he made as if to lie down. His one blanket had slipped to the floor and one of the other chaps, with a movement which would not have disgraced a bullfighter, swept it swiftly under him as he settled once more on the table. Once there, he rolled over on to his side and slept on peacefully until next morning. To keep our boring life interesting there was always a lot of ribbing going on about one thing and another, but it was to everyone's eternal credit that nobody ever mentioned the incident to him. The journey from Capetown was long and monotonous. We stopped at Aden - a Godforsaken place - just for the day to take on water. There is a well-titled bagpipe tune "The barren rocks of Aden" and no wonder. The only patch of green we could see was a small lawn which was being continually watered, - a contrast to the surrounding country which was burnt and harsh. From thereon the trip got more tedious. We saw just the one island - I think it was Socotra - and by this time after nearly two months at sea the only thing we wanted to do was get off the ship and on to dry land. We hadn't seen a shot 'fired in anger' and it seemed all plain sailing as we neared our destination. We were to land at Port Tewfik which is located at the southern end of the Suez canal. As usual, the night before we landed, there was to be no sleeping on deck. Throughout the voyage all our kit had been stored in slatted wooden racks on the deck ceiling, and each man had only a small kit bag. The various items of webbing which we had been festooned with as we boarded had travelled in these kit bags for all those thousands of miles. We had all unearthed our individual trappings and clipped them all together ready for the 'off'' the following morning. That night the whole deck ceiling was a waving sea of air force blue webbing. And so to bed - I use the term more loosely than Samuel Pepys ever did! When the crash came I must have been fast asleep and the first intimation I had that anything was wrong was when I awoke with a start to see a stream of water shooting past me on the deck. What I didn't realise quickly at the time was that the water had been the contents of a large wooden tub placed to receive drips from our drinking water supply and this had overturned. Had we struck a mine? Had we been torpedoed? Whatever had happened the alarm bells were ringing and chaps were making their way as fast as they could to the steps leading toward the open air. I reached for my life jacket - which I used as a pillow. Gone! Gone, gone like the panickers one of them with two jackets maybe - just to make sure . . . Mac, kind soul helped me to find another. What had happened we had no idea. By this time the exit was crowded. Those who had led the rush were gone and to the rest of us there seemed to be no point in panicking for there was just a slow moving crowd in front of us. When boat drill happens on a ship it occurs at a set hour and all passengers amble to their boat stations, in broad daylight, to await the siren. Come darkness and the blacked-out exits were fewer and far more restricted. When a real emergency happens everybody is in the 'wrong place' as it were. The further up the ship's decks you are, the better off you become in the pecking order. It would be around midnight when all this was taking place and as we inched upward none of us had a clue as to how much the ship was damaged and even if we might be sinking. It took us ages to get up the one flight. My good friend Mac was beside me, and once there he decided he wanted to go to the lavatory. Toilets on troopships are matey affairs - they have no doors. Once Mac was installed, I sat on the outside sill at the entrance waiting for him. In time, an RAF policeman came along and said "Come on, airman - up on deck. What are you doing there?" "I'm waiting for my mate", said I "he's in there on the lavatory" The corporal went in to see him and the funniest argument ensued as the whether or not King's Regulations indeed said that a corporal could order an airman to vacate a toilet seat even if the boat was going down! He did see the funny side of it and we were left to our own devices to make our way with the slow moving traffic into the open deck and our boat station. Mac had timed our wait - twenty-three minutes it was from the crash time to get to the open deck - let alone our correct place. For the first time we saw that the deck was brilliantly illuminated. Way up on the top deck the WAAFs and WRENS were lined up with their greatcoats over their nighties singing heroically "There'll always be an England" Then we saw it. It was a smaller ship than ours. The bow of the Nea Hellas must have hit it smack in the middle, for there was a great gash torn out of it. It was drifting slowly away from our ship and we found out later that it had been damaged amidships where crew members were sleeping and not one of them had been injured. It was obvious that, although our ship was damaged it didn't look ready for sinking, so gradually we must have all slowly filtered back to sleep on damp mattresses on the wet floor. The Red Sea is roughly cigar-shaped and most traffic is along its length. There are very few towns and villages on either side of its width, but that night some ship must have been cutting straight across, with dire results for both ships. Also, bearing in mind that it was the last night of the trip, the chap on watch may have been celebrating with the rest of the crew, assuming that there wasn't really any danger from anywhere. When morning came there was a stiff breeze blowing across the sea and we saw that the small ship had been beached and the crew had taken to a lifeboat to row to our ship. Certainly the crew members of the Nea Hellas were wide awake by then and it was masterly how the ship's captain manouvered the ship against the wind so that the exhausted strugglers could get to us. Sadly one man was killed. He missed his footing and was crushed between our ship and their lifeboat. What a tragedy it could have been had the crash happened a couple of seconds later - there's no doubt about it, for, as we were on the waterline, I don't think I'd be writing this now. Further more with the Red Sea being shark-infested taking to the water was a prospect which didn't bear thinking about. Later in the morning we disembarked on lighters and as we moved towards land we were able to see the bows of our ship completely burst open and bent around - it was obvious the bulkhead had saved us. (Note:- As I was writing this some sixty years later I wondered "Is there anything about the Nea Hellas on the Internet?" and indeed there is - a whole series of articles from people who sailed on it for years and years afterwards) Ray Wilcockson UK Please find below my father's memories of his 1942 voyage as a soldier in Neo Hellas from The Clyde to Egypt. He was a Royal Signalman in the 8th Army. As his account says, Dad is still alive and well, aged 97. I researched the Nea Hellas for him and found your website because, amazingly, a fellow resident in Dad's care home sailed on the Nea Hellas 2 years after Dad! Dad would be delighted if you wish to publish his account on the website and gives permission for this and the use of the attached images of his late wife. Following is the account in his own words. ~Harold Wilcockson UK I am 97 years old, happily living in a residential care home in Harrogate, North Yorkshire. Among many other memories I recall the wartime voyage I made in that wonderful ship The Nea Hellas (or “New Greece”). She set sail down the Clyde on the 13th February, 1942 packed with 3000 troops of all kinds, including officers and wrens. Carrying a small kit bag and personal belongings, we were guided to the deck that was to be our quarters. Here we would eat and sleep. Your life jacket acted as a pillow whether you slept in a hammock, on a mattress or the dining table. Water and a blanket each were provided and some of us allowed to sleep on deck when the water was calm. We enjoyed this. As yet we had no idea where we were heading; but, after a fortnight or more, we sailed into Freetown. The stay here was short, only to take on fresh water from a pumping ship operated by the natives. While this was going on we were entertained by 3 or 4 local boys who, being expert divers, dived down into the depths to recover pennies which we threw in. They thought it was great fun. At last, when all was loaded, we left Freetown and headed South, the weather getting warmer by the day, allowing more people to sleep in the open on deck. Early in the morning, the crew would cry, “Rise and shine for the anchor line”, as they wanted to swill the decks. After almost a month at sea, we were called to a lecture and told that, in a short time, we would be arriving in Capetown. The day before we docked, there was a pay parade, 10s (50p) per man. After lunch each day we could go ashore to return by midnight. What a delightful place! Lovely people and beautiful houses. A highlight was the sight of Table Mountain, prominent when you enter the harbour. Ashore, 3 of us kept together and went sight-seeing –I remember from our week-long stay lovely shops, cafes and clean streets. I also recall one evening when we noticed a doorway lit up by a sign above that read, “Social Club”. Dare we go in? On entering we saw there was a dance in progress. Some of the girls wore uniform, South African ATS to be sure. Made very welcome, we were soon shaking hands, chatting, drinking and dancing with three of the girls. They asked where we were from and where we were heading. We were not allowed to tell them everything. After this very enjoyable evening, the time soon came to leave Capetown and head for the Red Sea. I can't, of course, remember every detail of such a long voyage so long ago, but I know the temperature went up and up to 105 degrees or more and that there were times we were posted on submarine watch. One incident of this otherwise boring last leg I really must mention. On board with us was a Sgt. Hannan who was very clever with pencil and paper. He went around asking the lads if they had photos of their wives or sweethearts. If so, He would happily do a drawing. I soon produced one of Margaret, my wife since June 1941. She would be 19 or 20 when the photograph was taken. He returned two days later with my photo and a wonderful likeness of her, which I put in a large envelope given to me by a mate. After all these years I still have here with me the very drawing Sgt. Hannan did for me. (see my illustrations which are scans of the original photo and the drawing he made). At the time, he signed the portrait. Over the years the signature has faded but the embossed coat of arms is still clear, showing he used army issue paper. Needless to say I treasure this fragile sheet that came through the rest of the war and another half century intact. Just like me! After taking on fresh water in Aden, we were informed we were nearing our destination, the port of Tewfik, located at the Southern end of the Suez Canal. It took some time to disembark with all our gear, but eventually our unit left Tewfik and the Nea Hellas far behind and headed into the desert to a place called Katatba.By the time I left North Africa we would have beaten Rommel at El Alamein. But, of course, I had no idea what fate awaited me or the Allies during that memorable voyage aboard T.S.S. Nea Hellas. The Nea Hellas (HR 190) in her wartime colors
John Bain, Glasgow
I noticed an entry on your web site from Kirk Spence U K saying that his father was a Troop Deck Officer on the Nea Hellas during WW 2. My Father was also a Troop Deck Officer on the same ship during WW2. On one occasion he told me that he observed some American troops punching holes in tins of fruit, drinking the juice then throwing the tins overboard. This angered him and he approached the senior American Officers and told them to put a stop to this immediately saying, back home our food was strictly rationed and we could not even buy tins of fruit. They appeased him by presenting him with a large carboard box full of packs of combat rations. When he came home, I, as a small boy had a great time prizing them open to get at the chewing gum, chocolate, tins of food, energy sweets, cigs, etc. Joseph Margel, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. On January the first, 1945 I was a POW, a prisoner of the Soviet army in my own Country, Hungary. We were marching to Siberia in a group of about 600 persons. Cold, hungry , had only two loaves bread under my coat. Temperature was freezing. I managed to escape after 6 days. From the center of Hungary I ended up in Eastern Hungary two weeks later. It is a long story, but I made it, thanks to the little Russian I spoke. My home was near the Austrian border, that I crossed before the Soviet Army reached there. I never stopped until I reached Carinthia, Austria on the Italian boarder. The German Army was on the run, the British Army behind them, coming from Monte Casino. I spoke some English and German so I ended up working with the British Army as interpreter for three years. I then decided to take advantage of the opening of immigration and applied and was accepted to go to Canada. It was in 1948 when I traveled to France, on a train with the help of the International Refugees Organisation. The roads and piers were still in ruins from World War 2. I arrived in Cannes where I stayed for 2 weeks. There were a few hundred people there of all nationalities, but mostly of slavic origins. Some spoke a little german so I could communicate with them. We had no information as to what ship will pick us up and bring us to a new life. We didn’t mind, as we were put up in nice tourist Hotels as there were no tourists in Cannes in those years. The food was good , and it was lovely spring weather. Then the news finally came to move to the piers and wait for the small boats to ferry us to the Ship. The ship was The NEA HELLAS. It took most of the day, but we were happy to leave war torn Europe to settled in Canada and many to the USA. The group to Canada was a couple of hundred. I was with a group of Hungarians, but spent little time with them. I met a group of young Greek Naval Officers who were traveling in 1stclass, who all spoke English. They were on their way to ferry some surplus ships back to Greece. One of them visited my group and we spoke english. So he invited me to their group, where I spent most of my time until we arrived at Pier 21 at Halifax. Yes, the waters were very rough, and most people were sea sick. The dining room was not full. We always had good food, also a bottle of wine at dinner for each two person. If one needed more, they served more. If it was not for the very rough ocean, it would have been a very pleasant trip. Oh yes, the cabins, below water level were, 4 person in each. We did not care, as we were going to make a new start. After starving a few years in different refugee camps, it was an unbelievable experience to sit down to regular good meals, eat all one wanted, washed down with a good quality wine. The staff was polite, served us as 'regular" passengers. There were always a number of people on the deck, watching the Pilot Fish swimming in front of the ship. Many others were rolling on the deck, sick as one may get on a rolling, bucking ship. The ship stopped and picked up passengers in Lissabon, Portugal, briefly to pick up more passengers. I married a Canadian girl, and we had four kids . The fact that I spoke English helped me when I arrived in Canada in 1948. I was the only one spoke English in my group. I had to use English very often, as we were obligated to working on the Canadian Railroad as a condition of allowing us to come to Canada. I eventually did complete my High school, and took three years of night course in Detroit Mich. In Engineering Technology, and Electronics. I established a business of electronics, mostly Television, in the Peace River Country. Later at the age of about 40, I studied at the University of Alberta where I earned my Teaching Certificate, and I spent 20 years of teaching at a local High school. I am now 89 years old, and have time to enjoy my life. I now have ten grandchildren. I have no regrets and have never looked back. I have visited Hungary many a times since then. One of my grand children has my large picture of the NEA HELLAS proudly framed in a prominent place in his home! Lisa Miller UK I have come across you site about the Nea Hellas, which i think is amazing as my grandad served on her when he was in the merchant navy. He is celebrating his birthday this month and i have been serching for every bit of info on her to present him with a book on her that i have put together myself. Unfortunatley, this is a little awkward as I’m trying to get info out of him without letting on as what I am doing! Thanks to your site, I’ve got a little more info now and the Nea Hellas was also nicknamed ' Nearer to hell' ! Brilliant site, thank you and the people who served in the merchant navy really should get some recognition! As their saying goes .... ' If blood was the price we had to pay for our freedom, then the merchant ship sailors paid it in full' thanks again Faye Ward Hamilton Ontario My mother and I had travelled in May 1957 from Greenock to Halifax, then took the train to Montreal where we visited my grandmother’s sister for a few hours before boarding another train to Toronto and then on to Timmins, Ontario, where my father awaited our arrival. The coal mines in Scotland were all closing down, but in Timmins I expected to find ‘streets paved with gold”! They were not. Life was very difficult for my parents in those early years, but Canada was a land of opportunity for me, their only child. I have been blessed in this country. I was seven; my mother was thirty-one. I cannot imagine how she felt leaving behind the only family and world she had ever known. We shared a small cabin with another woman and her child. For about eight days, we children explored all over the boat. I especially remember the movie theatre. One afternoon, I ate too much chocolate and was in bed for the next couple of days. When we arrived in Canada, I recall seeing two different hills---my pal and I assumed that they were the provinces and we would would be able to see each other and call out across the valley. (She was heading to Saskatchewan and I to Northern Ontario---probably a couple of thousand miles apart!) A few years ago, I was traveling with my husband on the west coast of Newfoundland, heading up to its northern point, L’Anse aux Meadows. As we drove along, I began to describe the TSS New York, and told him details of the voyage. He remarked that in thirty years of marriage, I had never shared any of that with him. We wondered what had triggered the memories. When we spoke with a guide at L’Anse aux Meadows (The place the Vikings landed and inhabited in Newfoundland) we realized that the TSS New York had likely passed that very spot on its way to Halifax. The sights and smells of land and sea had re-opened memories I thought were buried. Reading your website has also opened those memories...my dreams will be interesting tonight. Thank you! Linda Conti, Venice, CA My grandparents and father escaped from the Nazis in Poland in 1939/1940, traveling across occupied Europe, then waiting in Lisbon, Portugal for a ship. Passenger records show them arriving in New York September 12, 1940 aboard the Nea Hellas. Mick Beatwell, UK My late dad, Alfred James Beatwell, was one of the troops who traveled on the Tss Nea Hellas. He served in Africa an Palestine, but never talked about his time in the war, so I know very little. All I have are his medals and a few photo's, one of which is a postcard photo of the Nea Hellas. On the reverse in my dad's hand writing he say's this is the ship he is on an having a good time. He was a happy go lucky and resourceful man. He was a man's man, and I am proud to be the son of a man who lived through that God awfull time. Eden Mathews UK I was thrilled to come across your website. Attached is a chapter from my book 'MYTIME at SEA' which was published in March 2010, and included a voyage that I made did when I was aged 7 in 1944. I am not expecting anybody from that trip to get in touch, but all enquiries will be welcome. With best wishes, [email protected] TROOPSHIP 1944 ~We joined the troopship ‘Nea Hellas’ in Mombasa, and sailed 28-6-44. I was aged 7. She was painted in grey camouflage, bristled with anti aircraft guns, and a six inch gun on the poop. Apparently she had seen a lot of service in the war, which was not yet over, and I think she was carrying a lot of wounded from the Far East, but we didn’t see these until they disembarked in Glasgow. Boat drill was held immediately, as is normal, and we duly paraded in grossly oversized lifejackets. Pam recalls that the seafarers hymn was always played on these occasions. ‘Eternal Father’. This is still a favourite of mine. The lifeboat painters were always secured ready for use, and hung in great loops along the ships side, swinging out, and clunking back in as the ship rolled. Our cabin was internal, hot, airless, noisy, and we bathed in salt water. We were unescorted, and one evening they decided to set off outdated distress fireworks, which was great fun, but at the time I felt was a bit risky and there was no attempt at a blackout. Possibly there were escorts out of sight. Recently I have learnt that German and Jap U-boats were in the area, and on 28-8-44 sank an American freighter off Oman. We stopped at Aden for bunkers. Very barren, very rocky, very hot. Eventually we arrived at Port Suez, anchored, were fitted with a searchlight on the bow, and in due course joined the canal convoy. This was very exciting. The dessert sands came right to the edge of the waterway. A road, a railway, a freshwater canal all ran along one side, with occasional oasis of trees, camels, donkeys. It was here discovered that I had German measles. The first of many. I was taken into the Hospital which was on the poop, and directly under a battery of guns. We anchored in the Bitter Lakes as is normal, to let the southbound convoy through, and many crew and passengers had a swim. Then some idiot decided to have gun practice. And I wasn’t feeling very well. Metal to metal, bang to bang, even the shell cases made a hell of a clatter when they hit the metal deck. Life seemed very quiet afterwards. The nursing staff, which included a number of men, were very good and attentive. The ward quickly filled up, about 8 of us, and other rooms were requisitioned. Many people were affected with the outbreak. We continued our passage north, I don’t remember much of this, it could have been night, but I do remember the Johnny Walker sign lit up at Port Said. ‘Born 1879 & Still going strong’. We anchored outside, and over the next couple of days the convoy steadily built up with what seemed like hundreds of ships of all shapes and sizes, and small escort vessels dashing all over the place. We set sail and the ships took up there positions. We were in the middle, it was a big convoy and ships stretched to the horizon, it was possibly one of the last convoys of the war. Occasionally we could see larger escort vessels. No enemy planes, but there was a strong rumour that a submarine had been seen and dealt with. After a while I was up and about, and on one occasion I was shown how to work the big six inch gun, and pointed it at nearby ships. This rather concerned me, as I didn’t want them to get the wrong impression. Soon I was discharged, there seemed be a lot of people waiting to be admitted, including a number of adults, and I felt very sorry, that after what a lot had been through, that they had been knocked over by my measles. Shipboard life continued, the weather was pleasant, boat drills, another gunnery practice, which I did enjoy this time, as I could see what was going on, and wasn’t so close to the ‘Pom poms, bofors, oerlicans’ etc, all belting away. Some enthusiasts were trying to set up a concert. The ship only had two useable records left. There was little else to do. On one occasion I was playing on deck with some lead soldiers that I had been given. One had become separated and was only a few feet away. I left it there, as it was quiet, after a while an Army officer strolled by, saw it, stopped, picked it up, stared at it for a few moments, and then hurled it as far out to sea as he could. I didn’t say anything, as I sensed that soldiering and war meant something far different to him. After a while it started to get cooler, windier, and then wetter. We arrived at Glasgow and went alongside. It was summer, 11-8-44, and we couldn’t’ get used to the late light nights. We watched whilst many wounded and patients were discharged, and eventually we boarded a troop train. It was packed to busting. We found ourselves at the end of a corridor and on the floor. We all settled down for the night. A Wren very kindly offered her lap for my head, and I thought that this was a very nice arrangement. Unfortunately some idiot found a seat for us. Penzance was a very long way. We arrived in the late evening, but it was still light. We alighted straigh to the tracks carrying our luggage. Kenya seemed very far away. From Geordie Whitwell, United Kingdom "I traveled as one of the 600,000 troops in late 1943 to North Africa. My memories were all not pleasant ones, I am afraid, as we were travelling in convoy and the weather through the Bay of Biscay was atrocious. From your photographs I can see where I was exactly quartered. One of the port holes could not be secured properly and every time the ship dug her nose into the water the anchor went clang against the hull and seawater came gushing in. I don't remember her as the Nellie Wallace. I thought ore of it as being "near Hell". However she was the first ship I sailed in and I will never forget her and I thank you for giving me the chance of finding out what eventually became of her." From Jitze Couperus, United Kingdom "The Nelly Wallace had at least one voyage in the fall of 1947 from Mombasa (East Africa) back to the U.K. - carrying amongst others many families who had become stranded or for whatever reason passed World War II in East Africa - e.g. many RAF pilots were trained in East Africa, (good weather for trainee pilots - and not bothered by enemy aircraft) and the training squadron based in Nairobi was one example of quasi-military folks getting passage back to the UK. Others were support personnel who became conscripted in East Africa to support the convoying of South African Army detachments overland to fight the Italians in Ethiopia and later Rommel in the desert. This was the first chance for my family to visit Europe and relatives after the war - I was 5 at the time, and arrived in Europe for the worst winter (1947) they had had in a long time. I can barely remember it - I know that as a 5-year old I had to bunk with my Dad in the mens' quarters while my Mom and Sister bunked in the Women's part of the ship. Nice to see her featured on her own web-site!" From Edmond Stawowy, Miami Beach, Florida "My name is Edmond Stawowy. I was aboard the Nea Hellas three weeks when she was part of an Allied convoy going from Algiers to Glasgow in March 1943. The convoy was attacked by German U-boats and all ships except the Nea Hellas were sunk because she carried over 100 German Africakorps prisoners of war. I arrived safely to Glasgow. I was especially interested in the Nea Hellas because I wrote a book that I am now trying to publish in which I mention the Nea Hellas extensively." Geoff Prater UK As a nineteen year old Trooper, I remember vividly boarding the Nea Hellas on the 15th of December 1943 at Liverpool Docks. As part of a large Convoy we set sail that night. After several days of pleasant sailing the weather blew up extremely rough, the poor old Nea Hellas took a real battering, everyone was sick, nothing was eaten, discipline went by the board, we all felt sure she would founder. However after four to five day's of this, calm weather returned, and on Boxing day, 26th December 1943, we disembarked in Oran, North Africa, a lot of the convoy carried on to Algiers, but I think they broke up the convoy because of U Boats in the Med. My experience of the Nea Hellaswas not a pleasant one, but at least she got us there. Geoff prater ex 51st and 8th Royal Tank Regt. John Cullen Glasgow Scotland (submitted through his son Jim Cullen) My Father John Cullen served onboard the Nea Hellas, his first ship as a crew member during WW2 This is a copy of the letter my Dad sent to me: "To James Cullen short summary of my war years as requested I Joined the Merchant Navy on 20/11/1940. My first ship was named the Nea Hellas. I joined her 10/12/1940 and sailed from Glasgow on 23/12/1940 with troops onboard bound for Middle East. The ship returned to Glasgow 14/06/1941 and I was then sent to Liverpool to join the " Duchess of Atholl" We sailed with troops for the Middle East on 31/07/1941 and returned to Liverpool 28/06/1942. On the way back from the Middle East we had stopped at Durban South Africa to load a cargo of oranges to take back to Britain when at 6 am on the 10th October off the coast of Africa we were torpedoed by a German submarine with three torpedoes. The first torpedo hit the engine room leaving us powerless. The second torpedo was fired approximately 20 minutes later and a hugh hole was blowing in the forward hold after approximately 20 minutes the submarine reappeared and fired its third torpedo at the ship. By this time the Captain had given orders to take to the lifeboats and abandon the ship. The ship by this time was beginning to list when we lowered the life boats. Rowing away from The Duchess of Atholl it was a sad sight to see the stern rising up and the ship slowly going beneath the waves We were 2 days in the life boats before we were picked up by an American Cruiser and taken to Freetown Africa and an other week before we were repatriated to Glasgow. We landed at Greenock at midnight and we were put on a train for Glasgow and landed at Central Station at 1.30 am to make our own way home with no money and all the clothes I had was an Army great coat Had to walk all the way from Central Station to Whitevale Street." (Given that My Father is 84 years of age I will not correct his spelling and the rescue ship was Hms Corinthian a former Ellerman Lines Ocean boarding vessel I bet it looked GOOD) Peter Dyson Stratford-upon-Avon, UK "My troopship the Duchess of York was sunk off Oporto on 11 July 1943. I was picked up by a Navy frigate and, after a couple of weeks in an American transit camp in Casablanca we re-embarked on the Nea Hellas, bound for what turned out to be Nigeria. We gathered the ship had been diverted from carrying prisoners of war. Our voyage was the most unpleasant I have ever had, we were chased day and night by submarines, the Navy escort was constantly setting off depth charges which shook the ship like a giant tin can, we had no fans or air conditioning and the food consisted mainly of weevily bread, black potatoes and pork, not ideal for the tropics in August, particularly when you have just survived the sinking of your ship. This voyage put me off ship travel for many years! I found your website through Google, researching what happened to my old troopships. To my surprise, thanks to you, I found more about the old Nea Hellas than the others. It is good to know other people have much happier memories of her than I do!" Sue Vrabel Pittsburgh, PA "My late father, Warren L. Custer, of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, was a graduate of Virginia Polytechnic Institute where he was in the Corps of Cadets. After early graduation he was commissioned a Lieutenant in the US Army and sent off to the China-Burma-India Theater. In his scrapbook and photo album of his activities during World War II he wrote "We landed in Bombay (India) sometime near the end of January '44 after a lousy trip from Algiers, North Africa on a "Limey" boat The HMS Nea Helas(sic)." His letters home indicate he was still on the East Coast on December 7, 1943 but his letter from North Africa, dated January 15, 1944 states he was "on the high seas" on Christmas and New Years Day. He made no mention of the route, or conditions of the trip other than what I have stated above. Obviously the ship sailed from North Africa to India in about a month's time My father returned to his hometown of Johnstown, PA . If you look in the National World War II registry under his name there is a brief statement of his activities in the CBI Theater. I am so glad I found the information about the NEA Hellas. Every now and then I recheck information on the net and once in a while I find some interesting information related to my Dad's service. I am glad to add to the history of the ship. Thanks so much! Sue William Aitken UK "I traveled on the Nea Hellas from Glasgow on 24 June 1945 en route to Bombay, India. As part of a complement of four thousand service troops I never reached India on the Nea Hellas because the rudder became displaced in the Red Sea and after voyaging on at reduced speed by propeller steering we reached Aden, where they turned us back to Port Said for repairs. This was only one of the reasons why we gave her the derogatory name 'The Nea Hellas Possible'. At Port Said we transferred ships so my contact with the Nea Hellas ended at this point. Your web-site has fascinated me being able to see this ship once more and finding out her ultimate fate. Thank you." Ken Parkinson, Cape Coral, Fl . "I have found the notes I made in a prayer book in 1943. I made a 20 day trip on the Nea Hellas as a soldier in World War I. A and H&S companies of the 1875 Aviation Engineers boarded the Nea Hellas in Algiers North Africa on December 24, 1943. The two companies were a small group in comparison to the total of 4,500 troops aboard during that trip. I was amazed to find that there was a large assortment of dogs, cats, chickens and two monkeys aboard. I was the owner of one monkey that I had purchased. The ship had three large balloons attached to the bow, stern and midship to prevent aircraft from strafing the ship. On the third night out of Algiers there was a violent storm and in the morning the balloons were gone. I never found out if they were cut loose or broke their moorings. We arrived at Port Said on 30 January We entered the canal 1 January 1944. Somewhere in the canal we ran aground on a sand bar. Attempts to refloat with the aid of the winches hawsers and land side bollards was useless. We had the canal blocked. Finally a tug got past the lineup of ships behind us, and got us on our way. We refueled at Aden on 6 January. We were served two meals a day. The evening meal was some sort of stew and we all wondered what it was. It was a great guessing game to establish what the source was of the meat fragments. It was horrible. Outside of Bombay India, an Indian quarantine official boarded and demanded the removal of all non-humans. They were sent overboard to certain death including my monkey." W.J. Thompson, United Kingdom Very interested to find your site. I sailed on her in October 1944.Embarked at Greenock for Bombay.The ship was part of the second convoy to go though the mediterranean after it had been opened up.The first convoy was attacked and badly damaged. The second passed through unscathed.The ship was very crowded with troops and we slept and ate in large open mess decks.Some lucky ones had hammocks while the rest slept on the deck. There was no air conditioning and going down the Red sea was unbearable below decks. The hottest part of the ship was the galley. How the cooks stood it I do not know. The voyage took just over three weeks." From Alan Northington, Macon, Georgia "In 1944 I landed in Casablanca with United States troops. We made our way by train, on boxcars, to Oran, in North Africa, to Algiers. In Algiers we boarded the Nea Hellas and sailed along the Mediterranean to Egypt, through the Suez Canal and Red Sea, around the Gulf of Aden, across the Indian Ocean and docked in Bombay, India. From there I took a train and traveled to Calcutta, where I served until 1946. My main memories are that the ship was so hot inside that we slept outside, on the steel deck, all the way. There was a British crew on the ship who sent us kidney stew to eat every day, which we sent back and would not eat. We subsisted for the entire voyage on good bread, butter and jam. From Ian Kelly, United Kingdom "I found the site when I was looking up the ships my father sailed on during WW II. The T.S.S.NEA HELLAS is the last entry in the Certificate of Discharge logbook issued to all merchant seamen. He joined her on 6/11/1942 in Glasgow and embarked 8/12/1942 in Glasgow. The stamp of the ship in the logbook says 'T.S.S. NEA HELLAS 146307 GLASGOW.' There is also an est. tonnage and BHP but the ink is smudged and I cannot read them. I have no idea where it went during the voyage and the description of voyage box is not clear but it looks like Fgn. I am sure this means 'Foreign' as there are more entries, which have the full word. The entry in the logbook after this last voyage says 'DISCHARGED FROM MERCHANT NAVY RESERVE AT HIS OWN REQUEST. CERTIFICATE ISSUED.' He had been in the Merchant Navy since 2/7/1940 and the description of some of the voyages are Trooping, Cape Mail, Foreign, OHMS My father's name was John Richard Kelly. DOB 30/6/1915." From Winnie Reid, United Kingdom "I was a nurse with the Queen Alexander Imperial Nursing Service, travelling from Canada to the UK in January of 1941 on board the Nea Hellas. My name at the time was Winifred Emma Barnfather. On board, also, were troops from the 2nd Australian Infantry Forces, 23rd Battalion. During the voyage one of the Australian soldiers, L. Rogers, did some artwork on a napkin (serviette) for me which I have cherished over these many years. I have recently framed this piece of art and wish to contact him if possible and send him a photo of his work and express to him how much I have valued it. I hope he has survived and that this message on your page reaches him. Like me he would now be well into his eighties. Winifred Reid's unique piece of Nea Hellas memorabilia from that historic voyage of 70 years ago |