Cliff sent Dorothy a postcard, postmarked Wellington, as they were about to move out into the stream.
They were “very, very lucky” — six of them in a flash, first class twin cabin with four additional berths fitted. They had a porthole, shower, hot and cold water and a bath. Two flash dressing tables, mirrors and wardrobes. Cliff was in one of the original bunks with two thick mattresses, sheets, pillows and pillow cases. Only one blanket but that was plenty.
§
Cabin 99 was amidships on the main deck, which meant less motion than elsewhere — but Cliff was having six meals a day nevertheless, three down and three up.
Other units weren’t as fortunate. Some were sleeping below in cramped hammocks, others on the promenade deck, where no lights were allowed. It was hot and stuffy below and most of the boys were as sick as dogs. Cliff’s lot brought a couple of ASC (army service corps) chaps into their cabin one night. They’d been on fatigues and couldn’t find their hammocks in the dark, or get a shower.
A day or so later the gale had died down, the ocean was much calmer and it was a novelty to look out at nothing but sea, sea and more sea.
He could enjoy bacon and eggs for breakfast again but it was still a relief to get back up in the fresh air.
One bit of good news was that Div Sigs had been excused all fatigues as they were able to continue their training while on board. Also good news was that tobacco, cigarettes, chocolate and fruit were very cheap. And he hadn’t had a chance to feel homesick yet — he was too busy feeling sorry for himself.
§
Everything the men wrote would be censored from now on, so Cliff started his next letter by telling Dorothy that he couldn’t name their first port of call, a beautiful place. They’d dropped anchor and laid in the harbour all day, and been very disappointed not to get leave.
He told her he’d rewritten one page completely, but the very next had the useful information scribbled out:
“There is some doubt as to whether we will call at XXXXX or not, but if we do we should arrive sometime XXXXXX.”
That letter was mailed while the Mauritania was berthed in Fremantle, where they did get a day’s leave.
He wrote an additional brief note in a Perth tearoom, presumably to evade the censor. Thinking the sightseeing would be better, he and a mate had paid for the bus from Fremantle rather than take the free train. There was a convoy in port, there were soldiers everywhere, the Aussie beer was stronger than back home, and some of the boys were getting under the weather.
Airmail was expensive so Cliff shared an envelope with his friend, and his letter was forwarded to Dorothy from Dunedin.
Back at sea he wondered in his next letter whether or not his writing would pass muster. Further down the same page the censor scissored out a short passage where he seems to have been wondering about time zones. Another scratching out followed where he’d slipped up and mentioned Perth by name.
He also wondered whether the censors found reading all this stuff boring. The censor didn’t respond.
§
There wasn’t much to write about, but Cliff still managed ten pages en route to their next port of call. The meals were good — no complaints about bacon and eggs for breakfast. Gambling was prohibited but nevertheless rife. He had black eyes from a boxing tournament and was thinking of growing a moustache.
The crew were all Lancs, or certainly had Lancastrian accents, even the skipper. They’d seen several whales and quite a few flying fish.
One day visibility was very poor, with thick fog. There was another gale, and with it more seasickness. You could look on the bright side — if you didn’t get sick there might be an extra helping of dinner. In the end the food was so poor that day that it wasn’t worth going back for seconds.
Div Sigs had commenced training. It was pretty difficult to do much under their conditions but anything was better than idleness. They had lectures on map reading, and a little about navigation. That was interesting — he’d like to study it if he got the chance. But the army was a curse in that there seemed to be little or no scope for people with ambition.
They were in the tropics by now, and with it the heat and humidity. They were sleeping naked and sweating in their cabin, or when possible up on deck — Cliff looking at the moon and stars and thinking of Dorothy.
The Germans claimed they’d sunk a troop ship but she shouldn’t worry — those announcements were usually incorrect.
He’d have a lot to tell Dorothy when he had the chance.
“We are seeing sights that people will very rarely see in peacetime in this part of the world.”