Royal Air Force Repatriation Depot, Moncton, New Brunswick
In one way I was glad that there was so little advance notice off our transfer overseas. It avoided having to say goodbye all over again. So I wrote a letter home on September 22 and mailed it at the old Bonaventure station in Montréal. As we boarded the Moncton train, Jim Dobie muttered that we'll soon know the stretch of track to the Maritimes better than the engineer. We rolled into Moncton on time and made our way up>to the RAF Repatriation Depot. To the many Canadians in our group it wasn't repatriation at all but it being an RAF station it was the point of departure for thousands of Britts who had trained in Canada. I was only there five days and didn't think much of the place. The food was very poor, both in quality and quantity and it almost seemed that we were being conditioned for wartime rations in Britain. Even the RAF guys with us felt it was a poor show. After all we were still in Canada where food was quite plentiful. We ate in town a lot and the Austens invited me to supper the evening before our draft left for Halifax. It was nice to see this hospitable, friendly family once more.
This time there was no doubt that we were going overseas and I stocked up on chocolate bars and oranges. The train delivered us to a siding in the Halifax dock area, and after lining up for roll call, we staggered up the gangplank with our kitbag and other gear, just like in the movies. The Awatea was a good size Australian passenger liner that had been converted to a troopship. I can't recall what deck I was on but we were jammed in like sardines. This we accepted, knowing the scarcity of shipping space. We weighed anchor sometime during the night and in the morning the convoy had joined up with ships from New York. We were on our way, saddened to be leaving Canada but quite elated to know there were exciting times ahead.
My recollections of the voyage are dimmed somewhat after all these years but I remember vividly that it was a very rough crossing. The captain was reported to have said that it was the worst autumn storm in 40 years. I have since heard of other captains saying the same thing so perhaps it was just a way of describing the North Atlantic. But rough it was and no place for a weak stomach. I wasn't deathly ill as were some of the guys, but I didn't venture far my bunk for a couple of days. I remember looking out of porthole one day to see a smaller ship tossing and pitching in the angry sea. The bow would completely disappear with the stern rising out of the water and its propeller churning in midair before settling back in the water. This process was repeated again and again and went on for several days. It must have been a roller coaster ride for the merchant seamen aboard.