WELLINGTON TO SUEZ

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 29, 12 January 1940, Page 4

WELLINGTON TO SUEZ

Life Aboard A Troopship

(By 23/762)

OW that we know the 2nd New N Zealand Division is to leave for an unknown overseas destination, every old soldier will recall no doubt with some emotion, his own departure from New Zealand and his voyage to the war zone. This time, however, the departure will not be heralded by the publicity it received during 1914-18, I sailed on the Maunganui, Troopship 30. It was the beginning of nearly four years of constant movement-by train, by troopship, by motor lorry, and on foot-a great many weary miles by foot over the sands of Egypt and the pavé toads of France. We sailed from Wellington at 6 o’clock on the morning of October 10, 1915, for a@ new and strange world after an emotional send-off the previous day. I had never been out of New Zealand before and, because of my youth perhaps, I still remember details very vividly. At Sea Our first day at sea was really grandit had, for me, a real taste of adventure. I remember that I lay in the sunshine on some sacks of vegetables stacked in the bows of the Maunganui, watching the New Zealand coastline until it became only a grey smudge behind us on the horizon. Next day we began our voyage seriously when the usual routine of exercises and drill came into being, but our days were never really strenuous. Albany was our first port of call, but we saw little of it, except on a march to the town and back. Not that I cared personally. The town is drab and the day was dull with rain. Better luck came our wa: at Freemantle, where we were let loose on the town for three hours. Most o/ us made the most of that short leave and a very "bright" ship sailed out into the Indian Ocean that evening. Suez was to be our next port of call. It was an amazing trip for me, though completely without excitement of any kind. Day after day the Maunganui ploughed through the vast blue plain of water. I saw my first flying fish, one accidentally popped through a porthole. Giant fish were seen sleeping on the surface; frequently porpoises followed us for miles, marvels of grace in the clear water. Giant mountains of cottonwool clouds heralded approaching tropical storms which came towards us in a grey wall, soon blotting out the other ships of the convoy, but as quickly disappearing again. Many of us took.a bath on deck in that warm, tropical rain, as a change from the salt water in the bathrooms and showers which worked overtime when the temperature rose as we neared the Equator. One Glorious Sunset But best of all I remember one grand and glorious sunset off Cape Gardafui, our first glimpse of Africa. All day the Maunganui had steamed through an ocean which was like polished steel, not a ripple, except the wake of the ship ‘stretching miles behind us, disturbing the oily surface. As we neared the coast

a few beds of giant kelp appeared like reefs. Then, as evening fell, sea and sky became one in a blaze of peacock colour, changing swiftly and violently as it does in the tropics. We lined the rails to watch the grand panorama, the ship curiously still except for the beat of the engines and the hiss of water. It was impossible to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began, so perfectly were the reflections blended into the horizon. I felt that the sky had fallen flat in the water. Then, just as quickly, the grey night settled over the ocean and peppered its vastness with reflected stars. We had seen the Southern Cross disappear; we had staged the usual Father Neptune ceremony when we crossed the line. The canteen on the ship had supplied us with all the extras we wanted.

Cigarettes were forbidden, because of the danger of fire, but the more or less adventurous souls had managed to bring a supply with them and furtively enjoyed a smoke with their heads through portholes, overlooking the propeller. Others took refuge on the boat deck to enjoy the banned cigarette. The Red Was Blue Stories are told about the heat of the Red Sea. Certainly the heat had increased as we crossed the Indian Ocean, but canvas awnings and chutes had kept the ship more or less cool. We never noticed the temperature as we passed through the Red Sea-a sea so richly, intensely blue that Mr. Reckitts might have been credited with taking a hand in its manufacture. In the distance we could see the dun and mustard coloured coast, with here and there red-roofed towns huddled: on the shore, but it was only a distant view of those historied places, where Lawrence of Arabia was then adding to their glamour. Not till

years afterwards until I read " Revolt in the Desert," did I know this. The East And then, on the morning of November 14, 1915, we dropped anchor in Suez. In a little over a month we had reached the smelly, grimy, but glamorous East; we were really "at the war." Round the Maunganui surged an_ indescribable collection of small native boats and their screaming occupants who performed slick diving feats in the water, as they had done as part of their stock in trade for passenger boats. Some of us were foolish enough to buy tins of cigarettes from the native hawkers, but the less said about those the better. They tasted like nothing on earth and the smell was vile. We soon discovered the reason. The only tobacco in these wretched cigarettes was tucked into the ends, the remainder of the cigarette being filled with a foreign substance produced by the camel. When at last we left the ship it was to begin a seven-hour journey by train to .a camp near Heliopolis, following the

Suez Canal for some distance. Even the discomfort of that journey could not dispel my wonder as I watched, like a small, pop-eyed boy, the tillers of the soil, following their oxen and primitive ploughs exactly as in the days of the Pharaohs; the clumps of picture postcard palms; the endless wastes of sand. That landscape was to become increasingly familiar in the next few months, but Egypt was never to lose its charm for me, despite the arid wastes of sand through which we tramped afterwards on route marches and manoeuvres; despite its filthy city quarters and its beggars. Egypt has an eternal beauty and mystery which all its sand and squalor can never dispel. Time seems to stand still there because at almost every turn some building, some monument, some swift glimpse of the River Nile, the very natives themselves seem to belong to the beginning of Time itself. My first glimpse of the Pyramids was by moonlight and that is one of my most moving recollections of the last war,