Payback in Alexandria

by Douglas Barrow D/JX 340355

In 1943/44 the 42nd M.G.B. Flotilla returned to C.F.B. H.M.S. Mosquito, Ras-el-Tin, Alexandria. I was the W/T Op aboard M.G.B. 357. Our Skipper, the Flotilla S.O; had dispersed the remainder of the M.G.B.s and M.T.B.s before we left the combat area of the Aegean where we’d operated for 2 or 3 months, refuelling at Kastelorosso and sheltering in Turkish inlets. By the time we reached base, the rest of the flotilla had been able to collect their pay and start enjoying well earned shore leave. The Tel off the M.G.B. alongside us came aboard and said “Will you be able to get ashore tonight?” “Yes” I said, “but we’ve not been paid yet.” He offered me a loan, which I gleefully accepted and off we went. It was a good night out - Feast at the Fleet Club, followed by a session of Tombola, a few drinks and a floor show. A beaut run ashore.

It was arranged we’d meet the next day at the same table where we’d played Tombola and I could repay my loan. The next day I made sure of our table and reserved a seat for my “oppo” with my gas mask. The place soon filled up and the only remaining seats were at my table including my “reserved”. Two 3 badge Hookies and a 3 badge came up to me and asked was I waiting for a mate? I said “yes, but I’d given up on him coming”, so they asked if they got another chair could they join me? That was fine by me, so we settled down to drink and play Tombola. Chatting, they soon knew all about me and, as soon as I mentioned Ras-el-Tin (C.F.B.), they didn’t allow me to buy another card or a drink (Stella Beer).

Time passed and I noticed that the glasses on our table were filled as soon as they emptied. I asked the Stripey sitting next to me “Where’s the beer coming from?” He put his finger to his lips and said “shush”. Behind us, I think it was part of the crew of either Turbulent or Truculent; they’d come ashore in a group, placed a load of tables next to each other and sat facing each other, must have been about 60 of them. They’d also stacked dozens and dozens of Stella under the tables and were drinking and playing away. Most of them must have been well “primed” even before coming into the Fleet Club. So there it was....my new ‘oppo’ old Stripey had been recognised by a fellow 3 badger from the tables behind us who’d said “you’d better help these poor sods out” and with that he’d been doling out their beer to us.

I’d just worked this arrangement out and thought it pretty good, when behind me there was a loud howl a matelot had suddenly realised what was going on. As he roared his anger, he jumped up, upsetting his table and chair. I spun round (I used to be quite a bit quicker in those days) to see him raising a bottle to crown me with. Instinctively I grabbed my chair and was able to thwart him by getting in the first strike. I’m sure that if he’d been sober I would have been history. As it was, my new friends bustled me out, saying “we’re dead if we stay”.

We heard ALL HELL broke loose after we left. Glasses, bottles, chairs and tables all becoming missiles as some 2,000 Servicemen sought to relieve their pent up nerves by instinctive survival reaction and settling of outstanding grievances. It was truly bedlam.

I returned to base, met my ‘Oppo’ the next day, repaid my loan and asked him why he’d not turned up the night before. He said he was late getting there and wasn’t able to get in. He said “I’m glad I didn’t because there was a big riot and police from all services were called in! Were you mixed up in it?” I told him the story.

Next day I was told to report to the Skipper. Full of apprehension I duly reported and the Skipper invited me in to the Wardroom, put me at ease and said “Sparks, how is it you’re the lowest paid man on board this vessel? Why is it you’re still only an Ord/Tel?” I explained I could only be advanced in rating by sitting a W/T examination conducted on a major ship or bases with adequate facilities. I had never had the opportunity because on completing my initial training, I volunteered for Coastal Forces, where I took a radar course aboard H.M.S. Attack, from there a course on Motor Launches, then a toughening up course at Fort William. On completion I was drafted to M.G.B. 326 as a trainee operator for about 6 months doing the “Z” patrol in “E’ boat alley and the occasional Cloak and Dagger run as well as escort to M.L. mine layers around the Channel Isles. I lived very rough on 326, my only bed was a mess deck table, the only chance of a bunk was when its occupant was on watch, on leave or sick. In all this time I never had the opportunity to apply for an examination.

1. I didn’t know how to apply.

2. I was never in the same place long enough to find out.

3. No-one thought of telling me.

The Skipper, a volunteer, by occupation was a Solicitor and a very respected yachtsman, heard my tale of woe, asking the odd question now and then. Before he dismissed me he asked when would I like to sit an examination. I answered “Tomorrow would be fine sir.”

The next morning I was told to report to H.M.S. Canopus, the main R.N. Base, at 9 am. I don’t know how he managed it, but in 24 hours he’d arranged a W/T exam for all Ord/Tels for advancement to Telegraphist. With 20 other ratings, who I didn’t recognise, I fronted up to the C.P.O. Tel who took the exam. He explained the procedure etc, then said “Right boys, go to it, you’ve got 2 hours, you can leave when you are satisfied, then this afternoon we’ll do the Buzzer Test.” It was at this time I noticed he’d got a beaut black eye.

I picked up my paper and my heart sank, in all honesty I don’t think I could have answered one question. It was all about Fleet Procedure and types of different radio, receivers and transmitters. In fact it was advanced stuff I’d struggled with in my first training days. Since those days I’d only had small ship procedures and coding etc.

So I wrote my name and details on the paper.. put 2 heavy lines through the paper, re-read it, then walked up to the C.P.O. Tel and handed it to him. “Why this?” he asked, so I told him. He nodded his head and looked at me very hard. Then he said “you were at the Fleet Club the other day?” I said “Yes.” “So was I” he said, and pointed to his eye! and it’s all your fault! So go and sit down ‘til everyone else is finished.”

Eventually I got back aboard and requested to see the Skipper. I told him what had happened (not including the Fleet Club bit). The upshot was, the C.P.O. Tel. had agreed it was not a fair test for Coastal Force Ratings and he would recommend that a Special Test for C.F. Base Tels should be arranged. My Skipper must have been happy with my work, because I was immediately given the Telegraphist Rating, and next time in Alex I sat the special test and was promoted to Tel.T.O. having excelled in Flashing, Flag signaling and recognition of hoists as well as passing with V.G. in all aspects of W.T. work and procedures including use of Special Coding.

So in my own way, I title my tale:

“PAYBACK IN ALEXANDRIA”

• I only wanted to repay a loan

• The Jack who swung the first blow only wanted to repay the thieving of his beer.

• The Rating who slugged the Chief P.O. only wanted to repay his hatred of chiefs in general.

• The Chief P.O. Tel only wanted to repay the Tel. O.D. responsible for all the above.