PRIVILEGED TOUR

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume 52, Issue 3258, 3 May 1943, Page 6

PRIVILEGED TOUR

NEW YORK HARBOUR TEEMS WITH SHIPS & MEN PORT OF A THOUSAND SECRETS A privileged tour of New York Harbour, which just now with ships, men and material moving out to war—by Ernest Poole in the New York Times Magazine. Faster and faster every month here in New York Harbour, America’s sons and munitions of war move out in great masses overseas. On Army trucks, on ferries, tugs and Navy speed boats I have gone by waters swarming with fighting craft and cargo vessels to closely guarded pier sheds roaring with war activities all day long and through the

night. To the rattle of winches and thunder of trucks, in bales and boxes, crates and bags, banging, jarring, crashing, come the war products of this land. Hundreds of coils of barbed wire for Russia, hundreds > of huge truck tyres, cases of tommyguns, stacked high. On one was a charcoal sketch of Hitler’s head and underneath —“Here’s a little more hell for you.” On lighters and in yards are long rows of tanks and aircraft, both fighters and bombers; trucks, ambulances, mobile canteens, howitzers, anti-air-craft . guns and others of many types and sizes, from little automatics up to monsters 40 feet long. I’ve boarded ships loaded heavy and deep, with all hatchways filled to the brim and light tanks and aircraft in hufe cases stacked 20 feet high and lashed, down with steep cables on the decks. And I have been aboard transports which were packed with troops on their way to distant fighting fronts. Loading Ammunition

Ammunition is loaded- not from piers •but from lighters into ships anchored far from Manhattan. Out there is a grim isle-arsenal with prisonlike walls and from it lighters go to Navy vessels anchored nearby. With a young ensign as my guide. I boarded one being "combat loaded.” In open hatches on her deck were great stacks of ■boxes of shells for rifles and machineguns. On one I read this message scrawled:

. “You Berlin —-—there’ll be plenty more where this came from!”

In open frames were long black shells for heavy guns of various types and for aircraft countless rows of yellow painted bombs. In a lot which filled the entire top of one great hatch were yellow monsters weighing half a ton each! Carefully placed in nets on lighters and carefully swung on board, carefully lifted, two men for each monster, and very carefully stowed in the hold. Where do they come from, these supplies ? All over the port, on crates and boxes are the name of cities east and west and of booming little towns. All their products rushed by fast freight here. Have you seen such trains? They roar through stations at a pace that makes you think they may jump the tracks. Where will they go, all these supplies? Army announcements give us ideas of Russia and England, North Africa, the Persian Gulf, Australia. Fighter Control

Bombs and shells, guns, tanks and aircraft more out to both our coasts in tides that mount from week to week. Have we ships to carry them all? We have not yet, but more rapidly each month our new Liberty Ships come out of the yards; and ever since we entered the war the Navy, Army and Maritime Commission have, been requisitioning all our seagoing merchantmen privately owned; and through arming, routing and convoying ships the Navy exercises over them all an increasingly tight control. Hundreds of cargo vessels have already been converted and armed, gun emplacements built on decks, and big new life rafts, orange coloured with black kapoks hung at steep angles over the sides. One jerk on a trip lever and the raft plunges into the sea. Such speed means life saving, these days. Gunners are trained by the Navy at Little Creek, Va., then come up here for. assignment to ships. With them go signal and radio lads and an ensign in command of each crew.

For the further protection of war supplies the Navy routes all merchantmen going put of this port and this they do from inf drmation which from coast, stations and ships at sea, by radio and teletype, pours into the Port Director’s station all .day and night to. officers, at telephones. Most of the vessels leaving here go north or south by inland waters which for more than half the time keep thein well inside our submarine nets and mined areas through which the enemy cannot come. Ships crossing the North

Atlantic are gathered in convoys bound for Iceland, Ireland, England and North Russian ports. South, some of them cross to West African ports, while others go round the Cape of Good Hope and so up to the Persian Gulf.

In Constant Touch

“On that long run and on this coast we cannot yet convoy them all, but we keep in constant touch with them,” a Navy officer told me. In a chart room he showed one great chart with long lines of white pins. “These are all vessels out of this port and these we move from day to day; for by knowing the weather conditions and the speed of each ship and her route, we can plot her position here and make a close guess as to where she is. Now look at this chart.”

The chart bore tiny red circles all through the Atlantic, each circle with a date inside.

“These are enemy submarines,” he . said, “and the dates when sighted last, andaXhe new arrows show the direction or course of each when last seen. It’s our job to keep the white pins as far as possible from the red. This demands frequent route diversions, so in code dispatches we keep in touch with every ship and if need be reach her by radio with warnings or orders to change her course.

To such dispatches she never replies, for radio silence is imperative. Only when she makes contact with the enemy does a ship send out an 5.0.5., and then through the nearest naval district we get help to her as quickly as we’-can.” Course In Detail I’ve seen six or eight shipmasters come here for instructions at one time, a few young but more with hair grizzled or grey. Neat, powerful men, with faces .tanned; quiet faces, quiet eyes. The instructions given them covered four big closely-typed sheets. By island waters and outside, by miles and even half-miles, by countless bell and whistling buoys, light buoys, beach and shoal and reef lights and by light ships, the course was given in detail. There "were warnings of mined areas and instructions on how to swing the ship in case of torpedo attack in order to give a smaller target to the enemy and a chance for the gun crew to work their guns.

“Dangerous business,” one officer said. “I served on a sub in the last war and iny hat is off to the masters and crews of merchantmen these days; But all over the Atlantic, with the rapid arming of ships, increase of sea and air protection and sinkings of the enemy, we hope to have the worst of the danger behind us before so long.” All over the port I have heard the same thing from men facing the critical months ahead. In the rush of the first year the work could not all be done at once, nor is it all finished yet; but everywhere I have found it being driven at nerve-racking pace .to meet the mounting demand for ships to carry both our war supplies and our armed forces overseas.

For “the Yanks are coming” now by hundreds of thousands, “moving out” from both our coasts. From camps all over the country they come to “staging areas” near New York and from there by train or lorry to embarkation points in this port. Several times I have gone to one. There, from two great warehouses, each of them 1000 feet, long, troop supplies day and night pour out to d row of giant piers. Between the warehouses and the piers is a vast long open space called the Farm. Youth of America

There one sunny afternoon long trains and lines of canvas-topped trucks rolled in from staging areas distant and near, and out of them piled American boys in field equipment—steel hats and heavy overcoats, canteens, gas masks, Garand rifles, cartridge belts, first-aid kits, haversacks and huge blue barracks bags on backs. They dumped them down and sat on them. Long ranks all up and down the Farm. Infantry, field artillery, tank and air troops, all were there. , Another long train of cars rolled in and to a chorus of “Yippies” the green uniformed Marines piled out and joined the rest. Now there were dense masses of troops all up and down the Farm, sitting or standing or moving to places; citizen soldiers, most of them, with a good sprinkling of veterans; detachments from many divisions sent to make up the unit here. “What’s your outfit ? Where are you going ? When do we eat?” I heard in snatches as I walked along the lines. Citizen soldiers from East and West, from cities, towns and villages, cattle ranches, plantations and farms. Short and stocky, lean and tall, all tanned, hard muscled, smoking corn-cob pipes and cigarettes. . Among them wise guys from big towns but , many more straight from .the, soil. Long Trains *The raw youth of America! Ahd watching I felt, as never before the

crude power of this boundless land! A heart-gripping multitude, some glum and silent, more wise-cracking back and forth from line to line, but most of them just watching with keenly-interested eyes the activities of this “moving out” over an ocean they’d never seen to a war so strange and far away.’

There was plenty to watch for boys from farms. At the row of piers lay ocean liners converted into transports, all camouflaged in curious ways and bristling fore and aft with guns for defence from attack on sea or from air. All but one had been loaded with supplies, but to that one, which took no troops, long lines of tanks rolled on flat cars down the pier and so into her covemous hold. They were followed by ambulances and jeeps, low, ugly little cars with machine-guns. More troop trains rumbled into the Farm, but now those .masses I had watched were all in motion. Piercing whistles and sharp commands could be heard from far and near; and with ranks formed and big bags shouldered lines were moving to the piers. As they entered the pier sheds they broke ranks and speeded up, laughing, wisecracking, sweating and panting, hundreds of them on the run. Groans came from panting lads as heavy bags dropped off their shoulders. Buddies helped to heave the bags back; still others dragged the bags along. Deafening

The vast dim pier was -deafening now! Huge trucks with ship supplies and scores of whizzing little trucks came clattering by. Ship winches rattled and roared. But to whistles and sharp commands troops dumped bags and formed again and sergeants all along the lines shouted roll-calls in each platoon. Each boy was called by his last name and he answered with his first. /

“Seventy-two —McFarlan!” . . . “ John ” . . . “ Seventy - three —

O’Reilly!” . . . “Dan!” The shouts came faint but clear in the din. The roll-calls over and equipment and bags slung up again on sweating backs l the long files began moving to gangplanks, where at desks each lad was checked upon lists and’, with a tag given to each, they moved up gangplanks on to the deck and so down to their quarters. But faster than they moved on board, from behind them others poured on to the piers and formed in masses ten ranks deep.

I boarded a transport with my guide and was shown by a bluejacket to the troop quarters below, a dozen great low ceilinged rooms crowded with rows of four-decked steel bunks. In them, with steel hats and equipment, big husky lads asleep, many snoring, some naked or half-stripped but most of them still in clothes and boots. Dog tired now. Some were readingin bunks or talking, or just looking lonely and glum. One had a little radio playing “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.” He asked if I knew when home mail came aboard. In several bunk rooms I found groups throwing cold hands or rolling the bones and other groups talking of parties with swell little “gadgets” (girls) in New York. To one such group a gloomy young “moaner” from New England said:

“Come on down out of your clouds of bliss. It’s back to the walkin’ hell for us and we’ll walk plenty.”

“Aw, forget it, knock it off! Gotta be done and enough said,” muttered one lad and I think he spoke for most of them. I talked with some from Texas, lowa and the Old South who were all set for a good fight and with others from Illinois and Ohio curious about this ocean that they’d never seen before. “Where are we going?” All over the ship I heard in low voices discussions like this:

“It’s go’n’ to be hot spots for us. I saw mosquito tents come aboard.” . . “Hell,” said another, “I checked that up. There’s mosquitoes in Iceland big as your eye.” A third said: “We’re going further than that.” . . . “Where did you get it? . • . “From one of our cooks. We got such a lot of chow aboard.” At this a “chow hound” woke up with a start. “Heigh! When do we eat?”

It acted like magic! From bunks all about me they leaped and all discussions were swept aside. Two hells struck. “Heigh, Swab Jackey (sailor) what are them bells for?” one of them asked our blue jacket guide. “Two bells, Dog Face (soldier), 5 o’clock.” Time for chow! In less than a minute all were out and down long row passages to the big mess room they pushed their way. There -lilting up they took tin trays and were served with huge helpings of hashed brown potatoes and string beans, oyster stew, coffee, slices of bread and slabs of jam. Soon at long tables they stood eating—-the stocky, the lean, the little ones, huge ones, handsome and homely, tanned, hard muscled, ravenous all.

Heart-Gripping Crowd A heart-gripping' crowd, 'orenrn-

ners of millions of others perhaps—going where, and for how long? Danger on the ocean ahead. The big ship went slowly and silently out from her pier—r*' bands, no cheers, not a boy to » seen, all of them ordered to sta below. No troops on deck fcr enemy agents to watch go by. Grim business. This war is like that

So from this big port and from others on both our coasts, in convoys with sea and air protection, these forerunners have already gone to Iceland, Ireland, England, Africa and the Near East, Australia and other stations out that way. Their lives will depend on the aircraft, tanks and guns, shells and bombs that we send them for battles close ahead. Can we be in time? The answer will come not here alone but from factories, mills and shipyards all over this big America.