The Sixteen (35 page)

None of us had used a hammock before and we had a lot of laughs trying to get into them. By the time we did manage it, we were so worn out that we just lay there with our arms hanging over the sides chatting to one another, cracking jokes. This went on for hours until we finally docked at Malta, the place where it had all really started for me.

Some of the lads went ashore in the brightly coloured gondolas that came alongside the ship. All they could talk about before they left was a place called ‘The Gut’ – a notorious area full of bars and prostitutes! But that wasn’t for me and after they’d gone, I lay in my hammock thinking – nothing had changed for these guys, they were all two years older but none the wiser. Yet everything had changed for me and about me!

We stayed overnight in Malta and then were on the move again, our next stop being Gibraltar. About an hour out of Malta all hell broke loose, the sea became so rough that most of us were thrown out of the stupid hammocks and crashed on to the deck. The waves were huge and
The Devonshire
was tossed about like a cork. Then the seasickness started! Hardly anyone escaped it and even those who did still felt pretty rough.

It was with immense relief we finally docked at Gibraltar. Again some of the lads went ashore but most were just too ill to move. I was OK, just a little queasy. None of us thought it could get any worse than what we’d just been through.

‘If you think that was bad wait until we hit the Bay of Biscay!’ one of the ship’s crew cheerfully informed us! He was dead right!

We left Gibraltar and steamed into the Atlantic. Things were uneventful for a few days then the ship began to be thrown about like a matchstick. It was much worse than before and I really felt sorry for the lads who had just recovered. Again, I wasn’t actually seasick but it was a pretty awful few days. Apparently, even the captain was ill.

Eventually, the weather improved and things settled down again after a couple of days but by now everyone was worn out, bored and fed up with a journey that seemed to be taking forever. Suddenly someone came dashing in.

‘It’s land, it’s Blighty!’ he yelled.

Everyone flew up on deck and there it was. At last, we were home! It was 4 January 1960 and the journey had taken us twelve days.

By now just about everyone on board was on deck, excitedly talking to each other. The sky was grey and leaden, it was bitterly cold and I was shivering, but I didn’t care, I was almost home! The icy wind was clear and fresh and I felt that it was blowing
away the last remnants of heat, flies, sand, dirt and sweat. It was wonderful.

As we sailed closer we began to see hundreds of people waiting there on the jetty, waving and cheering as the ship drew nearer. All of a sudden, everyone began dashing about, rushing below deck to grab their gear; we all just wanted to get off this flaming bucket as quickly as possible.

The ship slowed almost to a stop and then began its docking manoeuvres. We had to parade on deck as the gangplank was put in place. People were shouting and screaming as they saw their husbands, boyfriends and sons, and lads were shouting back as they spotted their families in the crowd; there was even a military band playing for us. The noise was incredible!

Everyone seemed to have someone to hug, someone waiting to greet him. I stood alone on the cobbled jetty, glad to be back on terra firma but I knew that there’d be no one waiting for me. Mam just couldn’t afford the cost of a journey down to Plymouth. I glanced down at my feet and there to my surprise I saw words engraved on the piece of marble I was standing on: ‘The Mayflower left here in 1620’, it said. I stood there looking down at it, wondering for a moment what that ship must have looked like and whether any of those people felt as I did right now.

All around me lads were hugging and kissing their girlfriends, wives, mothers. I suddenly I felt very cold and desperately lonely. Although my mother had written to say she’d be unable to afford the fare down, it was still a bit of an anticlimax as I stood alone surrounded by a sea of happy faces. I couldn’t help but think how lucky they all were, and realised just how much I longed to be home to see my family for the first time in two years. It was a very long while since I’d thought of my father but now suddenly he came to mind.

What a shock that little waster’s going to get when I get back, I thought. His days as a tough guy are well and truly over!

I took one last look out over the sea and thought of Dynamo, Chalky and Spot, then made my way with everyone else towards the huge convoy of waiting trucks.

It had been two long, incredible and unbelievable years!

Born in 1938, the son of a rag-and-bone man,
John Urwin
was brought up in the tough back streets of Newcastle’s Byker. At the age of eighteen he was called up for National Service, which he completed in Cyprus. While remaining part of his ordinary regiment, John also secretly became part of ‘The Sixteen’. Following the completion of his National Service he returned to England where he married, had three children and became a successful stock-car racer. He later began a survival and unarmed-combat club which includes survival courses, in the Outer Hebrides. While writing
The Sixteen,
John met Helen, who is now his second wife. They live in Newcastle. To contact the author: [email protected]