The convoy was reformed in Halifax, Nova Scotia. There we changed ships and boarded a U.S.A. liner converted for troop-carrying. She was a sleek vessel. Even though the Yanks were doing convoy work in the Atlantic, we found it rather odd to be sailing under the Stars and Stripes. If the two Governments were transgressing in military matters, we thought, it was not for us to worry.

The American liner sailed hugging the American coast towards the Equator. The easy life on board was interrupted only by routine chores and duty rotas. It was pleasant in the warm climate. There was the usual ragging at the "crossing the line" ceremony-new to me at that time, as it was for hundreds of others.

There were daily gramophone-record swing sessions and special requests programmes relayed over the ship's inter-com system. The only complaint on board from the British personnel was about the daily bread ration. At the three meals each man was allowed two slices. The American bread mixture was very light and compared with the British, seemed to us to 'lack' body; but this was only a minor complaint. The rest of the food was excellent. For reasons which will become apparent as this narrative goes on. food was to become a subject of vital importance to some of us.

A day or two after the Equator crossing we learned that a patient in the ship's hospital, a Briton, was seriously ill because he could not perspire. Soon afterwards a huge shark was sighted. It easily kept abreast with the ship as it ploughed through the water at a steady 18 knots. For three days, on and off, the shark kept up with us, sometimes moving away, but always returning. I remembered talking to an American sailor about this. He insisted that its presence boded no good and that there would be a death on board. I looked on this as fatuous superstition and told him so. On the fourth day the Briton died and he was buried at sea with full military honours. The shark disappeared and we saw it no more. First port of call was Cape Town, where four days leave were eagerly accepted. There were the usual warnings about behaviour on shore and places out of bounds. Sightseeing and visits to the homes of British settlers kept us busy. Invitations were plentiful and hospitality was lavish. The days of relaxation went all too swiftly. The one regret in many minds was over the terrible class distinction in Cape Town and the subjection of the black population. To me the "EUROPEAN ONLY" signs were like fingers of shame. But this is no story of politics.

Again the convoy restarted its journey. This time the Royal Navy cruiser 'Dorchester' was our sole escort companion. Some days out from Cape Town the American Troop Carrier and destroyer escort had turned about and made for home port, about the time of the Pearl Harbour incident. The Dorchester, making graceful manoeuvres up and down the convoy, was always a welcome sight whenever we looked over the rails.

A day out from Cape Town news flashed through the ship that our original instructions had been cancelled. We were now steaming east towards Bombay. The whole convoy altered course. There was plenty of talk and speculation about our ultimate destination. Would we stay in India? What were the chances of finishing up in Singapore or even Hong Kong? Then we reflected that this was a division trained over many months for desert warfare. The riddle seemed insoluble to us. All we could do was to shrug our shoulders and accept the fact that orders were orders. What went on in the minds of the 'brass hats' was not our concern. So we steamed eastwards without any clear instructions - that is for the other ranks. Chatter about the changing of course petered out as Christmas Day dawned in mid-ocean.

It was an unusual experience for most of us - eating a Christmas dinner of pork and turkey, the usual trimmings, and Christmas pudding and white sauce in the equatorial waters. There was plenty of fun. Christmas carols were sung to a late hour. The following day we tied up in Bombay. Within a few hours we were bound by train for Ahmednager, an old fort in the hills above Poona. I remember that rough journey well. We travelled in coaches with wooden seats which could be converted into bunks for the one night journey. We gazed in wonder as the train puffed and groaned its way out of Bombay. The stench from the drab, dirty tenements, overcrowded with grown-ups and children, was overpowering. As the city was left behind I noticed the flat open spaces alongside the railway track were packed with shanty town and hutments. Thousands of natives with their live stocks lived in these stinking hovels. It was a pleasure to reach open country and leave this squalor behind. The few remaining hours of daylight in the warm air passed sedately, although the wooden seats felt harder and harder as the journey went on. Evening brought little comfort, since the temperature dropped alarmingly. One blanket, a wooden bed, and a swaying and jerky train did not induce perfect rest. Village after village passed until our destination was reached.

There we saw the sort of scene some of us had often read about, but had never been able to pictured in its starkness; the bare, parched land, and the gaunt outline of a huge river bed, with only a trickle of water idling its way on its long, long journey. We saw women making the best of limited washday supplies, beating their clothes on the rocks along the murky brown patches at the riverside. Cattle searched lazily for food; grass was almost non-existent on the barren land. We were told no rain had fallen in the area for close on eighteen months. No wonder it looked barren.

Our first night in fort headquarters was one of disturbed sleep and discomfort. The temperature fell rapidly. A single blanket and a greatcoat taken from one's kit bags gave inadequate covering to the shivering body on a shrouded charpoy bed beneath a mosquito net. The night dragged on painfully to the accompaniment of groans and disgusted comments. The following morning there were requests for more protection against the cold, and on our second night there each man found comfort and welcome sleep under the weight of four additional blankets. Office clerks and storesmen settled down in the thick-walled white buildings to the routine work of a divisional ordnance unit. There were ceiling fans in the office block and showers to help one to keep cool during the day - but, I regret to say, neither hot water bottles nor central heating for the bitterly cold nights in the nearby sleeping quarters.This camp was our home and working quarters for about three weeks. We found evening and weekend relaxation in the cafés and "NAAFI" of the nearby town, and on the camp football field. Games were played in the cool of the evening.

Orders came for another move. Kit was packed again, and soon the whole division had returned by train to Bombay. The ships which had brought us on our long journey from Nova Scotia were still in Bombay harbour. The Division sent on board again. This time we knew our destination. We were on our way to add to the garrison at Singapore. Malaya was being attacked by the Japanese.

Several days went by as we sailed along in peace. The journey was almost at an end when they came - enemy planes who had spotted the convoy. Every ship turned to full speed. The convoy scattered and zig zagged. The 20,000 tons of steel of the former liner Manhattan shivered and pulsated as she ploughed through the water when the attack began. But we were fortunate; there were not many planes, they inflicted no damage, and the convoy raced clear to Singapore. The real excitement had started, and we were in the war zone. It was fine to feel the land under our feet again.