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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.

 

The convoy itself was an impressive sight. I'm not sure how many ships there were because at times the destroyers and the Corvettes were far out on the horizon. As a guess I would estimate there were more than 30 vessels accompanying the Awatea. We had lifeboat drill every day but didn't come close to having to use the training. We heard explosions one night, nothing more. It may have been there was a lot more activity out there than we realized but thanks to the Navy nothing got close.

The food on board was awful and not because I was feeling under the weather part the time. We had a lot of stew that I didn't find palatable at all. I've since wondered if some shipping company made a fortune shortchanging the government on the rations they were paying for. I wolfed down most of the oranges and chocolate bars I brought with me so I didn't starve. Another recollection I have is the poker games that seem to go on all night. When the guys tired of poker they switched to craps. There were a few big winners but mostly losers. So what else is new. I'm glad I stuck to cribbage - I hadn't yet learned to play bridge. I thought it was for high society people.

About our sixth day out, the weather cleared somewhat and the upper deck wasn't pitching quite as much. In the distance we could hear the unmistakable sound of aircraft engines. We wondered if it might be a long range German reconnaissance plane - a Focke- Wulf Condor perhaps reporting our position. A cheer went up as a four engine aircraft swooped over the convoy. It was a huge Sunderland flying boat out of RAF coastal command. From that time on we had air coverage, at least during the daylight hours. It raised the comfort level a notch or two. The following day we spotted land on the starboard quarter and it could only be the Emerald Isle. It was from there that most of my ancestors had sailed to the New World 100 years before to settle in Upper Canada. What brave souls they were to venture forth in fragile sailing ships. No U-Boats to worry about in the 1840s, but a three-month ocean voyage in a sailing ship was no picnic.

Next day we entered the Firth of Clyde and that afternoon saw a large passenger ship on a parallel course racing in the opposite direction. The vessel had a large gash in the prow well above the waterline. It was the Queen Mary and we heard that she had been rammed by a smaller ship in the estuary. The small ship went to the bottom and the stately Queen was high tailing it to New York for repairs. It was so fast it didn't need the protection of a convoy. Obviously it was felt that the Queen was perfectly seaworthy even though wounded.

Before docking at Gourock outside Glasgow, the captain and the padres assembled as many as possible on the top deck to thank the Almighty for a safe voyage across the turbulent Atlantic. Others heard the service of Thanksgiving through the loudspeakers on the lower decks. These expressions of reverence were well received. Most of the troops in those days, while not necessarily "bible bashers", had come from homes where religion and the church had been an important part of their lives.

I will now start part II of these notes - my recollections of wartime Britain and my experiences on operations.

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