When we neared the dock, three harbour tugboats with bulky bumpers on their prows, nosed up to the Aquitania. They slowly pushed her against the dock, where large ropes were used to moor her to the pier. In a very short period of time, the army soldiers on board filed down the ramp. They were carrying all of their gear, including their rifles. They marched a short distance to board a waiting train. The Air Force personnel were told to stay put and relax. We would soon have our evening meal onboard the ship.
Later, while I was standing in the queue, (our new British word for “line up and wait”), Jamie came up to me. This time, he didn’t have any dollars or pound notes to give to me for safe keeping. He asked me to give him the last $500.00 he had handed me last night, so he could continue gambling. I was to keep the rest until we all got off the boat. Jampolski was now having really bad luck, but continued playing dice. The next morning, he retrieved another $500. We stayed on board the ship for two more days. During that time, Jamie lost all his winnings, and borrowed $25.00 of my money! He wanted enough to change his fortunes on our train ride to Bournemouth.
Finally, we were told to get our gear together, and prepare to disembark. We filed off the ship, and deposited our large kit bags in a vehicle, referred to as a lorrie. We were also told we must keep our mess tins with us, as we would be fed on the train. The train they were referring to was the cutest little steam engine, with passenger cars unlike anything we Canadians had ever seen. We learned we would be riding this miniature train all the way to Bournemouth, on the south shore of England.
The seats in the coaches were arranged in cubicles that sat five passengers facing five others. An alleyway ran along one side of the coach, allowing the passengers to enter each of these cubicles through a small sliding door. As the little train picked up speed, two RAF men came into our cubicle carrying a large tub with handles on each side. They were bringing our evening meal. This was our first supper in the UK. You guessed it – weiners and beans! The RAF men sat the tub on the floor, and ladled a large scoop of mostly beans into each of our large mess tins. A small bun was dropped on top of the beans. Well, that was a change from two slices of bread! One of the guys gave us a big smile, and said, ‘Bon appetit!’, then quickly moved on to the next compartment. Later, the two RAF airmen came back with a container of sliced peaches and a big pot of coffee. We had them put the fruit into our large mess tins, which were still coated with bean residue. This kept the one remaining clean mess tin free to receive our coffee. We also received two large cookies to eat with our desert. I believe most of our group were pleased with the meal. We were all rather hungry. We speculated on what tomorrow would bring, as our little train sped along the tracks heading south. Soon, all was quiet. Most of these young men in their early twenties had dropped off to sleep. Some probably felt they were secure in their mother’s arms, as the click of the wheels on the rails, and the rocking of the coach put them in dreamland.
Early the next morning we arrived in Bournemouth, and filed off the train with our hand luggage. We lined up in columns of three for roll call. After finding we were all present, we picked up our large kit bags, deposited them in the back of a lorry, and climbed in. The lorry drove to the ocean shore, then up the side of the hill overlooking the water. It stopped in front of a small hotel, where we removed our stuff and lined up again. Sixteen names were called out, and these men were to fall out and enter their new domicile. Another sixteen names were called, of which I was one, and we were assigned to the next hotel. This went on until we all knew where they were staying, and with whom we would be sharing our accommodation. We dropped all of our belongings in our room, and once again, formed up in front of our hotel. With all of us assembled in neat rows, we marched away. We would be exploring our new location on foot, in a very neat, travel-weary group.
We passed through a lovely park, and ended up at the Bowling Green restaurant for breakfast. We broke ranks, then queued up inside, where we filed past the serving tables. A jolly group of English ladies divvied out our first breakfast. It was our first opportunity to see, and later eat powdered eggs, along with something new: fried bread! We also received two small sausages, that the Brits referred to as “bangers”. We then found a place at a table, and proceeded to eat our first English breakfast. It was OK, all but the coffee. We debated with each other as to whether it was coffee, tea, or maybe half and half. We enjoyed many things about this first breakfast in southern England. It was a pleasure to eat our food off regular plates with forks and knives, and to have our hot drinks served in a mug. The ladies also came around to talk to us, and offer us more food if we were still hungry. This hospitality made us feel right at home. We ate all our meals at the Bowling Green restaurant during the time we spent here at the Bournemouth Depot holding unit. We enjoyed every meal, and especially, feeling so welcomed by those friendly ladies who served us.
Back at our hotel rooms, we found our big kit bags had already been delivered. We were four men to a room, with single bunk beds. We had closets to hang our uniforms, and shelves for shirts, socks, and other things. This was luxury compared to the Aquitania! We selected our bunks, and proceeded to put things in their place. It was starting to look more like home. We were told we would have a parade each morning, and a roll call. If there was something specific for us to do, our names would be called, and we would go on from there. We were also given a time schedule for our meals at the restaurant in the park.
All of the aircrew guys in our group were sergeants. I had managed to score a mark of only 86% on my exams. This was high enough to be promoted to the rank of sergeant. However, the more intelligent fellows in flight #33 (the ones that studied), received commissions. For scoring over 90% on the final exams, they received officer status. They were labelled flying officers. This status gave them more pay, smarter looking uniforms, and they were billeted in a separate building where they also received their meals. However, they didn’t have as much fun as us non-commissioned officers.
Some of these brainy fellows who were our friends at technical school, would come over to visit us. They could get in on the card games, and rolling dice, gambling for money. This gave my friend Jampolski a chance to win some money from them. With this new group of gamblers, he was able to pay me the $25.00 that he borrowed when we left the ship.
To be continued....
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