Liners in Arms
By F. TENNYSON JESSE "They that go down to the sea in ships: And occupy their business in great waters ; These men see the works of the Lord And his wonders in the deep."
THIS, one of the most beautiful sayings of the Psalms, remains true today. Ships have altered, but they have always remained the life and strength of an island. Sir David Bone's book,* though not easy reading, for it is tightly compressed and covers the faces of many waters, is the best so far that I have read. Sir Muirhcad Bone's drawings are as clear, as accurate and as exquisite as ever. These two brothers would seem to have salt in their veins. They arc not amateurs in their work any more than they arc in their handling of ships.
Sir David's first annoyance—if that be not too small a word— was when he discovered that at the age of sixty-five he was con- sidered too old to put to sea again. He did not relish the thought that, as he says, he was " redundant." He preferred sailing a ship to sitting in an office. He won. He sailed those most dangerous vessels, armed liners. At the outbreak of the war in 1939 it is not surprising that the war at sea took on a very different pattern from that of 1914. A severe censorship was imposed on all ships. Sir David was not allowed to keep a diary, but when the war was over he could read his carefully guarded letters because, he says, " there springs out of the creased and crumpled sheet of paper a thought that transcribes an apparently senseless phrase into a vivid remem- brance of the day and its incident."
Sir David first had serious apprehensions of war in August, 1939, when he was Master of the 'Transylvania,' a ship of 17,000 tons. She lay in New York, and he came to the conclusion that war would undoubtedly break out on the passage home. He determined to make his vessel as safe as possible. He ordered from a delightful old man called Felix, who was the company's purchasing agent, a thousand sandbags, shovels with eight-foot shafts attached, rubber hoods and forty suits of oilskins. " Jeez," said Felix, " th' clothing trade too ? Ye'll be in cloaks and suits next. What's th' big idea ? "
Sir David explained that the sandbags were for the protection of the bridge and wheelhouse and the engine-room skylight, that the shovels were long-handled to keep the operator at a distance when dealing with incendiary bombs, the hoods and oilskins were in case of gas from the air. What worried Felix most was the item of thick black paper. He became excited, and his charming personality is well described by Sir David. The things ordered were put by Felix in the hands of a gentleman called Max Fertigs. "Everything Pr th' Ballroom ... masks an faces. raper hats .. . Fertigs kin do it, Captain . . .tol' me he knew all about fittin' black paper t'ship window sizes . . . Pr the ' Bremen.'" S.S. 'Transylvania' sailed in broad daylight. Not till she was four days out to sea did the news come. Sir David had kept for a year an envelope addressed: " To the Master S.S. 'Transylvania '" and marked: "Not to be opened until instructed by wireless mes- sage." He opened the envelope, which told him that war against Germany was declared. In a way he was relieved ; action was better than anxiety. He had made all his plans, which conformed with the instructions of the defence course. He now had the secret call sign by which the 'Transylvania' would in future be known. The ship was crowded, there was no chaplain, and Sir David conducted the service and told the news. A group of people wished to go straight back to New York, but the recital of the Sailors' Prayer may, says Sir David modestly, have done something to allay their fears, as ;t had always allayed his own: "Correct us in our judgement, 0 Lord, and incline us always towards our duty ; that we may be a security and a safeguard to all who pass at sea upon their lawful occasions."
The Atlantic seemed empty of ships as the S.S. 'Transylvania' zigzagged back and forth on a south-east course. Sir David wrote,
Merchantman Rearmed. By Sir David Bone. Illustrated by Sir Muithead Bone. (Chatto and Windus. 21s.)
in one of his best passages, that he was carving out a tantastic pattern on the flat of the leaden sea."
In December, 1939, Sir David was given another ship, the S.S. 'Cameronia.' There is no seaman whose heart would not have lifted at that moment. Sir David had watched her construc- tion in 1919, and had once commanded her and knew her. In his own words: "With this severance of the last link with the land, I recovered a measure of buoyant spirit." There is nothing that presses so hard upon the spirit of a sailor as inaction. By 1940 the danger of U-boats had become much more serious in the ocean. Like wolves, they hunted in packs, and the great liners were easy quarry for them. Some of these were sunk with their precious cargo of children ; indeed, it must have been one of Sir David's most anxious undertakings that ended at New York, where the generous Americans were waiting for the children they adopted for the duration. The pilot off Sandy Hook, when he was cheered by the children, said: "What's this ? Have you brought the whole Royal Family across with ye this trip, Captain ? " " I said I had," is Sir David's remark on the incident.
Fps next ship, the S.S. 'New Hellas,' though she flew the Red Duster, was thought by some to be Greek. This was not remark- able ; the free ships of the world were by then fighting against the enemy. Greece was a good ally, but the 'New Hellas' was in bad shape. Her blood-stream was polluted, and when she arrived in Suez Bay Sir David was not proud of the arrival. We landsmen may be proud of it. Round Africa she went, ordered to make the utmost despatch and to load to capacity. Her boiler tubes were repaired at Cape Town, and Sir David had the brilliant thought of pumping out her ballast water and storing a thousand tons of suit- able cargo. He went to Gibraltar, where he was told he had to embark about a thousand passengers for Britain. This crowded the vessel seriously, but when embarkation was completed she sailed, and the usual zigzag began. " We did," says Sir David, "acquire a modest confidence as we joggled our way from Gibraltar to the Clyde."
Sir David next took over the aged U.S.S. 'Catlin,' being refitted as a troopship in the Navy Yard at Philadelphia. He found the 'Catlin' unpopular, and her nickname was 'Rip van Winkle.' On December 7th, 1941, the British Consul called to tell him that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbour. The 'Catlin' was renamed the George Washington,' and Sir David took her to Halifax in the bitter cold and the grinding ice.
His next ship was the 'Circassia,' and he dropped the pick in Bombay Harbour in October, 1943. In the 'Circassia ' he felt once more at home, for she was a fine ship. She sailed in convoy, made a fast voyage, and carried two thousand officers and men. She did much to help the critical position at El Alamein. For the four years in which he handled the 'Circassia' he knew Poles, Russians —who were then our allies—all sorts and conditions and colours of men. Those four years were great years of which Sir David must always be proud. Hither and thither, sometimes under fire, he went, until the great moment arrived known as Operation Torch. There were many losses of ships and men in Operation Torch. The French were pleased to see him, and he was pleased to see the French.
Of course, Sir David found himself again at the Clyde, but he was not to stay there. Sicily, Italy and its beach-heads were yet :o be his lot. He carried Sikhs, Hindus and Mohammedans, thus add- ing religion to his troubles. First Italy and then Germaqy were beaten by ships like the 'Circassia ' and by men such as Sir David Bone. The true French who had remained French, the Italian Underground, the Poles, the great fighting men of India, of the Dominions and the Colonies, the Americans released at last to give gallant expression to their feelings—all these joined in a world of war of which Sir David and his ships were a symbol.
Finally, safely back at Glasgow, Sir David took his last look from the bridge upwards to where the flags still fluttered. It is under- standable that he rang off himself, and gave his last command to haul all down. Everything seemed over, and for once time, space, ships, aircraft, army, civilians, all met and fused in a moment of perfection. Long may that moment hold, like the fabled quiet heart in the centre of a cyclone.
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