Short Story re Sicily, The Long Way 'Round 2

Aboard the S.S. Silver Walnut, Part 2

Operation Husky: Allied ships approach Sicily in July, 1943.

Photo Credit - worldwar2today

Leading Seaman Doug Harrison (member of RCNVR and Combined Operations) continues the story of his trip aboard the S.S. Silver Walnut around Africa on his way to Port Said, before the invasion of Sicily, 1943.

The Flying Fishes Play

One day as we lined the rail the sea appeared to boil and flying fish by the hundreds broke the surface of the ocean. Many flew into the ship, some onto the ship, and others flew over the ship. Those that didn’t appear hurt we tossed into the sea again after first having a good look at them. Up until this time I thought that flying fish were only a myth and appeared only “On the Road to Mandalay.” The Silver Walnut was compensating us for her breakdowns; she was showing us the sights of the sea. There was water as far as the eye could see for days on end, and yes, that was only the top of it.

Chief Petty Officer Nash and I played a lot of cribbage and I recall a certain game. The chief needed 24 to go out and had first count; I needed only a few to peg out. I didn’t peg enough and unfortunately for me the chief loaded with 4s, 5s and 6s, which made a 24 count. He laughed until I thought his sides would split, and to make matters worse I missed as I aimed the deck of cards at a port hole.

Hot

The food was heavy, the mess deck was sweltering, and after the meal some sat at the table and snoozed. It was our turn to break the monotony. We chose a happy tar and placed a match between the sole and the upper of a well-polished boot. The match was lit and we watched as the flame burned slowly toward the shoe. Suddenly, the shoe began to burn and a faint smell of wool sock was evident. About this time the poor soul must have been dreaming that his house was afire. We rushed to the upper deck just as a hellish howl and the stamping of feet was heard from below. This is called a navy hot foot, and what a surprise.

Repairs had gone well at Freetown and the Silver Walnut sailed on. A day or two after seeing whales blowing spouts, the ship tied up safely at a coal dock in Cape Town, South Africa. It was in full view of Table Mountain. The Walnut appeared to need the rest as she lay secure against the coal dock in Cape Town. The ship was built in 1927 and so was only halfway through the average life of 30 - 35 years that a merchant ship could attain, depending of course on the care she received and the will of the sea. Perhaps until now the sea had sometimes been unkind; however, so far on this long voyage the ocean had been like a mill pond.

I feel certain that when the time comes for the great sail past of all ships, the Silver Walnut will stand tall, as well as the merchant crew who sailed her, for they were all part and parcel of an ailing ship which had a lot of heart. We Canadian sailors became very attached to her as well; her engine room misfortunes became our good fortunes as we enjoyed many hours in Cape Town and Durban, while our comrades suffered dysentery in navy camps in the desert where temperatures dropped to near freezing each night.

Words of Warning

I can remember so well the coloured posters on trains and buses in Britain during the war; one depicted a young lady with a finger pressed tightly to sealed lips. The caption read: Loose Lips Sink Ships. Our officers reminded us of that poster as we went ashore in Cape Town.

Photo Credit - Loose Lips

Peril of Late Nights and Sweet Drinks

I had become friends with a Scottish Engineer Officer aboard ship and we toured the dockyard area each night for something to drink other than water tainted with oil and rust. Mr. Hastings had been there before but that didn’t allay my fears as he carried a straight razor in his blazer pocket for protection if perchance we were set upon by dockyard workers. This was indeed a strange new world for me, far from home. For the most part the large dockyard was well lighted but buildings made shadowy areas which we avoided if possible. We had to climb to different levels in the dockyard by short ladders to crosswalks, surrounded by fast tide-driven waters. Upon descending a ladder one night Hastings lost his new cap trimmed with gold braid. I quickly discarded boots and hat and dove in the water when the officer shouted “Sharks!” As I emerged from the water I asked him in no uncertain terms why he hadn’t shouted before I dove in the water, not after.

Before we had descended the ladder in the dark, Hastings had voiced his concern about black men who waited below the ladder pretending to be fishing and could attack at the time a person left the ladder. There was a lone black man there that night but he didn’t bother the two of us, and no doubt heard me as I scolded the engineer about the sharks: “Next time leave your hat aboard ship.” (We both did.) However, we could both have paid a dear price for the thirst. Further excursions were earlier, and shorter. The Canadian officer with us, Mr. David Rodgers, put in an appearance once in awhile to give us casual payments so we would have money to go ashore (nice chap).

Taxi!

The people of Cape Town were predominantly black; the remainder were Dutch, German, French and English. The blacks resided in areas outside the city. At that time, in late May or June, 1943 the taxis we Canadian sailors used to tour the city were called Gharrys. These high-backed carts with rubber tires and shafts on a racing sulky were capable of carrying two people comfortably. The Gharry was pulled by a black man adorned with a huge feathered head-dress, bracelets of small bells, and other bangles on his wrists and ankles. The black man spoke English well. The Gharrys were lined up at curbside, much as taxis here, waiting for fares. For a shilling or two the riders could tour Cape Town for an hour. By paying as we went we could stay out longer and next time we took a different route and saw a great deal of the city.

"L/S Doug Harrison enjoys a Cape Town tour" 

It caught our attention that the Gharrymen had developed callouses on the soles of their feet more than half an inch thick as a result of pulling their carts on hot asphalt. It required some effort to start the cart but after that they jogged around the clean, thriving city with very little effort. As long as we Canadian sailors were properly dressed and behaved in proper seamen’s manner we were free to go ashore at any time until midnight. I bought souvenirs, toured stores and walked.

“Varnish, Eh?”

One hot, blistering day I watched as four of my buddies wrestled a high demi-john in a wicker holder up a gangplank. I thought, somehow Chief Petty Officer (CPO) had procured enough money to purchase this container, filled with 25 gallons of varnish. This CPO, with his naval ingenuity, was capable of almost anything. To this day I believe that no money was involved; it was buy now, pay later. I asked the Chief what we were going to do with 25 gallons of varnish and he said it was going to be mixed with the grey paint for our landing craft.

I replied, “Golly, Chief, it will make the paint too thick.”

“Yeah, I know, Harrison,” he replied. “But they sure will shine.”

We really had fun with the paint and varnish. Anthony Bouchard from Cornwall said the paint was thick and we suggested he add more varnish. He said that only seemed to make it worse and we said, “Add some more then.” Finally the painting halted. I don’t know where the demi-john went, but knowing a bit about Navy ways I’ve got a fair idea, but the Chief was none the wiser.

The Walnut remained in Cape Town for two weeks. We all enjoyed ourselves and I purchased a guitar and brushed up on some chords that I knew so my friends could share time singing navy ditties and other songs. The ship left Cape Town on her own and we continued around the Cape of Good Hope. I supposed that I was in the same waters that my dad had sailed when he served aboard a Royal Navy ship as a boy during the Boer War.

Durban Harbour

The Silver Walnut lay safely in Durban Harbour. But ships are not meant to lay safely in harbour and near the end of the third week of June 1943 we moved slowly into the Indian Ocean and headed north alone, and without much fear of enemy subs. The Canadian sailors aboard had become accustomed to every creak of the Walnut as the deck plates and bulkheads stretched and complained of the easy-rolling sea, and the vast load in the cargo holds.

At times we began to discuss where we and our landing craft might be going and what ‘was in the wind.’ On trips such as this, our names and other information pertaining to us would be known to naval authorities in Britain so that in case something happened to us, our next of kin could be notified. This was heartening.

Quiet Engines Again

One dark night in the Mozambique channel between the Island of Zanzibar and the coast of Africa, I received a ‘wakey-wakey’ call from a friend who said that something was wrong. Something was wrong because there wasn’t any of the usual familiar sounds; only the sound of lapping water against the ship. We were stopped ‘dead’ in the water. Soon after the engineers were scurrying up and down the ladder to the engine room, and the captain was cussing out the orders in no uncertain terms ‘to get her moving.’ The ship was at rest for about an hour as work proceeded feverishly in the engine room. I sweated it out with my buddies. Finally, there was a throb from below and old faithful gained strength once more. The propellor thrust us ahead slowly, and we were underway again. What a relief! I wonder where old ships go when their days are done; the scrap dealer, I suppose. And what a sad day, for ships are such wonderful things.

We were getting more variety in our meals now, and even soup on occasion. There was one variety of soup we labelled Siren Soup - because it was all clear. The complement of Canadian sailors aboard The Walnut represented nearly every Canadian province and I often wondered what attracted them to the sea.

Rope Work

In earlier days and on long trips such as the one we were on, sailors worked with rope to fill their time, which causes me to suspect that they may have invented macrame. Our officer now had a supply of quinine pills which he said we would soon be taking to prevent malaria which was transmitted by mosquitoes.

"Jim Malone (possibly, on left), Doug Harrison (right)"

In the navy, when possible, there is a short morning and afternoon break during which sailors may smoke, take tea or cocoa, or cookies. This is called a ‘Stand Easy.’ On other occasions, sailors receive an afternoon free of duties in which to do washing, or to mend clothes. This break was known as ‘make-and-mend.’ This voyage had been unusually long on make-and-mend, and the feeling was growing that it would soon be over. We were now in the Gulf of Aden, which would lead us to the Red Sea near the south end of the Suez Canal.

A Long Term Loan Returned

One of the merchant officers, James Robertson, had borrowed a hammock during the trip. It reappeared 43 years later in Melbourne, Australia. During Navy Week October 1986, Canada sent a warship - the HMCS Yukon - to represent the country. After a naval exercise at the Shrine of Remembrance, Officer Robertson made a presentation to Commander K.A. Nason; it was the hammock upon which the officer had painted his version of the Combined Operations Insignia and the names of the Canadian sailors who had served aboard the Walnut many years ago.

Aforementioned Navy hammock resides at Navy Museum, HMCS Naden,

at Esquimalt, B.C. "where it may be seen upon request"

"17 names appear on the hammock, ‘D. Harrison’ among them" 

In making the presentation of the commemorative gift, Mr. Robertson expressed hope that it might be of some historical significance and that it be turned over to the curator of a maritime museum in Canada. The hammock was returned to Canada aboard the Yukon to be left in the care of the museum at Esquimalt, B.C. where it may be seen upon request. Some residents of Norwich have seen the hammock and supplied me with photos.

I do not know the fate of the Silver Walnut but I do know for certain she was not sunk or in the words of my dad, “She did not go to Davy Jones’ locker.” And whenever I attend a naval reunion, talk usually turns to ‘those lucky guys’ who sailed aboard the Walnut and who called her home for three months.

I wish to conclude the story of the adventure aboard the Walnut with a poem which was sent to me by brother-in-law Arthur Catton. He served aboard a Canadian destroyer during the Korean War. The poem expresses my feeling about ships.

     I don’t care if it’s north or south,

     The Trades or the China Sea;
     Shortened down or everything set,

     Close hauled or running free;
     You paint me a ship, as is like a ship;
     And that’ll do for me.

Link to Short Story re Sicily, The Long Way 'Round 1
Unattributed Photos by GH