Voyage of no return

Linton's longest letter home is twenty-four pages long, describing what the voyage from New Zealand to Great Britain was like. He writes beautifully, with vivid anecdotes.

My favorite part of the letter is when he talks of having to do his own washing. He promises to buy his Mother a washing machine when he returns, or go broke! Another highlight is Linton getting a shave with a cut-throat razor while the ship is pitching and rolling.

He often mentions missing home, and wanting to come home, and how they're going to have one hell of a party when he gets back. In several letters he writes that he'll "save a few stories for the family fireside". It's heartbreaking that he, and so many others, never got home to their family firesides.

Above & below: The ship Linton travelled from Wellington, to Bournemouth, England on.

Above: A note & photo Linton sent to his mother. (Linton on right, man on left unknown).

Linton's letter:

My Dear Family,

When I post this letter, I will have arrived in Britain, our destination. Although there has been little of interest to see on the trip, I will endeavor to picture for you, what we have seen.

I posted one letter to you from Balboa, but as the trip was only half completed, a very rigid censorship was imposed.

The weather since leaving New Zealand has been fairly good, although fairly warm in the tropics. At first we sailed in a more or less southerly direction, and crossed over toward the coast of South America well below the Chatham Islands. This part of the trip was very depressing as we saw no sign of land for two and a half weeks, when we came up the South American coast, and arrived at Panama.

The actual arrival at Panama, was the biggest thrill of all. For days we absolutely hungered for the sight of land, and the prospect of at last seeing it, even if it was not our native New Zealand, was indeed something to look forward to. We were timed to sight land at daybreak and as I had been on watch until five in the morning, I remained up until the actual time of arrival, about eight in the morning.

Just before dawn, we saw in the distance, someone signaling with an aldis lamp, and as we drew nearer, could distinguish small islands in the gloom. Then we were actually in the harbor, and as the light improved we were almost besieged with small boats of the U.S. Navy, with various officials frantically waving semaphore flags, clicking aldis lamps, and shouting through megaphones.

Then came the biggest kick of all, planes of every type started their morning patrols, and dipped and dived all over the harbor. Some came low over the ship, and circled round us, as we crowded round the sails to get a better look. Next we heard a sullen roar, and saw approaching us, a fleet of U.S. Navy patrol boats - small high powered motor boats - and believe me they're fast. They flew past us in a wall of spray, and disappeared out to sea.

We finally dropped anchor in the harbor, and had breakfast as usual, and were issued with shore passes by the U.S. Immigration authorities. All day, we waited for the ship's representative in Balboa to come on board, and give us permission to leave the ship and go ashore, but I personally think he was non-existent, as we haven't seen him yet, and so we remained on board all day, with a perfectly good town about two miles away.

About four o'clock, a pilot came on board, and took the ship into the small harbor, at the entrance into the canal, and right alongside Balboa. Ashore at last! Like hell!

We were told that we were unable to go ashore in Balboa after all, but would get shore leave in Colon, at the other end of the canal. And so with muttered threats, we retired to bed, about a hundred yards from a good nights fun.

It is very pretty around this harbor, and not unlike our own Sounds. There are many small islands with tons of trees and things growing on them, which I am told, habit all kinds of wild animals. The city of Panama, is a few miles inland, but of course we didn't even see that.

Balboa, and the canal itself, are just one mass of huge barrage balloons and they certainly look very nice, even if a trifle grim. They are just the same shape as an airship, and painted silver, and with the sun shining on them, they sparkle like great white birds.

One thing I forgot to mention, and that is that the harbor is absolutely full of huge sharks, needless to say we didn't swim.

The next morning we were up bright and early to see anything that might be about. The harbor is just one mass of motor boats of every shape and size, all bent on some official mission. The petrol used here in one hour, would run the V-8 and the Massey for a lifetime. There were boats to collect the ship's rubbish, boats to bring aboard the doctor, boats to bring out stores and fruit, and many other boats as well.

About midday, the sabotage crew came on board, and we knew that we would soon be leaving. The sabotage crew consists of a party of heavily armed American soldiers, who scatter themselves throughout the ship, in case some bright individual should decide to scuttle the ship in the middle of the canal, and so disrupt the shipping. They certainly leave nothing to chance.

About one o'clock we pulled out into the stream, and had soon entered the first lock. Now to attempt a description of the actual canal, on paper, would be futile, and I will leave that for the family fireside. Sufficient it is to say that there are four locks one end, a large lake in the centre, and three more locks the other end. The whole thing must surely be one of the world's greatest engineering feats, but again, I will tell you all about that soon, when I get home.

We berthed in Colon, at ten o'clock that night, and were immediately given leave until eight the next morning. Unfortunately most of the shops were shut, but the night life of the place was just about to begin. Unfortunately again, they would accept only American currency, and our supplies of Oscar were hopelessly inadequate. We all thought we would be able to cash our English notes there, but were sadly disillusioned. However, we managed, although if I had had the money, I could have sent you some lovely things from there, as we got two hours leave the next day, and the shops had some lovely goods.

Dressed in our khaki, for it was too hot to wear our uniforms, we walked timidly down the gangway. As each one touched land again, we seemed to become demented, and all frisked round in circles, like sheep that have been shut in a shed.

After being inspected to see we were all neat and tidy we pushed off, and soon arrived at the wharf gates, where we had to produce our shore passes and things. First of all we went to the Y.M.C.A, and bought cigarettes - they are of the best American brands and cost only fourpence for twenty.

Suitably equipped with smoking materials, we next proceeded to see the town. Actually it is a filthy place, and possesses a most unpleasant aroma. About every second shop is a saloon bar, these sell every kind of liquor you can possibly imagine, and seem to do a roaring trade. Why, I can't think, as there are literally hundreds of them.

There were five in our particular party - Jack Pettit, Gordon Forbes, Ralph Lane, Jock Horn, and myself. After a good look round we went into a shop to buy a soft drink. The proprietor, a Spaniard, could not speak English, and had a tall dark man act as interpreter for him. We got chatting to him, and he invited us to see his shop, which consisted of a very nice saloon bar.

We enquired the price of a bottle of American whisky, as Jack Pettit wanted to buy a bottle. As we were unfamiliar with American whisky, the proprietor suggested we should all try a glass at his expense. Now as you all know, I don't like whisky, but before I could even protest, he had five icy cold glasses laid on the counter. Jack Pettit bought a bottle, and feeling as though we owned land we started off, presumably to go home.

Although there are plenty of taxis there, there are also many conveyances drawn by small sleek ponies, not unlike the old "hansom" cabs. Jack Pettit and I were breaking our necks for a ride in one, but could not persuade the others to come with us, so finally climbed in on our own. The driver turned up the wicks in the lamps, cracked his whip, and we were off. Every time we came to a corner, he pressed a series of pedals on the floor, which worked an arrangement of bells, which in effect, were very similar to a multi toned car horn.

After a few hundred yards we came to a standstill, and the driver got out and lowered the hood, giving us better visibility. Soon we were clicking along again, and Jack and I bowed right and left to the crowds, much the same as royalty. God, but I have never laughed as much in all my life, particularly when the old boy rang the bells!

After we had been riding for some time, we saw in one of the streets the "Monte Carlo" nightclub, and wonder of all, white women, the first we had seen since leaving home. We immediately ordered the driver to take us back to the other three, and when we told them what we had seen, they decided to come back too. I asked the driver of the "Victoria" if he could take five, and he said "Yes, but one would have to sit beside me." We made Gordon sit up beside him, and we all piled in the back. The springs went down and the mudguards touched the wheels, but eventually we were all in.

Again the driver cracked his whip, and the little pony stretched out like Ben on a stump, but she managed to start it, and so we moved off to the Monte Carlo, with Jack and I acknowledging the greetings of an admiring crowd. The first corner we came to, the driver failed to ring the bells, and as we wanted the other lads to hear them, I had to admonish him.

After that, we couldn't stop him ringing the damned things, and we swept through the town like a miniature fire engine, with Gordon looking most uncomfortable and afraid, clinging to his perch beside the driver. The rest of us were howling, smiling, and raising our hats to the crowd, while all the while the little pony padded softly along, and the wheels scraped on the mudguards. Soon we arrived at the Monte Carlo, and having paid off the driver, proceeded within.

We found ourselves in a huge room, with a dance floor in the centre, and tables and chairs and a very elaborate bar, round the outside. The whole building was dimly lit, and a waiter coming for our order told us the big show was timed to start in a few minutes, (one o'clock). We ordered gin and lemon, which was supplied to us in small glasses, with a glass of ice to mix it with.

Soon the lights went even lower, and a large band, hitherto unseen, started to play, and the show was on. For an hour we were entertained with dancing, singing, hulas, and efforts by very (VERY!) scantily clad maidens. And then dancing was started by all concerned.

The place was attended by members of all the services, but mostly by officers of the U.S. Navy. We were introduced to a very nice American lady doctor, from the big military hospital there, and after a couple more iced gins, we decided to tread a measure, and what a measure!

The band wailed and emitted strange sounds, as we capered giddily about the floor, but it was all good fun, particularly after nearly three weeks enforced idleness. We stayed there until four thirty, and then as the crowd started to dwindle off, we wended our way back to the ship. What fun we could have had if you and Jenny Wren, and Malcom had been there. However it was a diversion, and we quite enjoyed it.

Later that morning we were given two hours more leave, when we were able to do some shopping with our limited funds. I bought some stockings for you and Jenny Wren, which I will post with this letter. They are good ones, and they told us that they had received their last shipment of silk stockings until after the war, so you had better get hold of all you can.

At two o'clock that afternoon we pulled out from the wharf, and lay at anchor in the stream all night, leaving at seven thirty next morning, on the start of the remainder of our journey.

The trip through the Caribbean Sea, was uneventful, happily enough, although we were expecting trouble at any time. We were convoyed for a day, by a U.S. airplane. It was a beautiful thing, and kept circling around all day. When it came to the end of it's patrol, it came right down low over the water to about twenty feet, and then raced up alongside, and the pilot and crew raised their helmets to us, as we crowded round the sails. It was a beautiful aircraft, and certainly took my eye as she swept past.

We were privileged during this voyage to see a section of the U.S. Navy, consisting of destroyers, cruisers on aircraft carrier, and America's biggest, newest, and fastest battleship. God! But they looked high class.

We sighted a submarine the other day, and things certainly moved for a while. It was some distance off, and only had its periscope out of the water. The ship was put to full speed ahead, and swung stern onto the enemy, and we loaded up our gun. We were on duty at the big gun at the time, and scuttled about like flies, getting it ready.

It took us about two minutes to load up, and then we all stood ready and peered down the barrel. However, he didn't come to the surface, and we outpaced him. And five hearts beat easier, and five very dirty hands were wiped across five very wet brows. Made the Jones knees knock anyway, at the prospect of an inglorious dive down to Davy's locker.

It was a great thrill to see this huge ship racing along at full speed, suddenly turn in her own length. She is very fast for a cargo vessel. The Captain stood high up on the bridge, in plain view of everyone, and calmly directed operations. He is a New Zealander, and one of the most lovable chaps in the world. He is a little thin man, with a bald head, and a lovely grin. Rather reminds me of you, Dad.

Mrs Ritchie will probably be interested to hear, that the port we are going to berth at, is only a few miles from her home town. If we should stay around these parts, I will doubtless have plenty of opportunities to see her relations. When you write, please send me old "Williams" address, and I will drop him a line from here.

After so many weeks at sea, we are all longing to land again, even though it is the wrong land. Like Peter Dawson, "we never get seasick, but we're awfully sick of sea."

When we leave to come home, I am going to get a big oar, and row over the side for more speed. There is no ship built yet, that will be able to bring me back to New Zealand fast enough. What a celebration! You had all better get in good trim, and we'll have a real Jones party, with Malcom, Sandy, old Eric, Charlie, and all the others. You had better get your cheque book handy, Dad.

I suppose you are up to your necks with feeding stock etc. Every morning when I get up, I work out what time it is at home, and visualize just what you are doing. There is one other New Zealander on board this ship - the fourth engineer. He showed me all over the engine room, a couple of times. He is quite young, and is engaged to a girl who used to come from Helensburgh and now lives in Glasgow.

You, Innes, would be very interested in the main engines. They are each of ten cylinders, and develop about fifteen thousand horse power. They are so big that you get inside the crankcase to carry out repairs. The bore is roughly two feet three and the stroke about four feet two. The piston rings cost one pound per inch to buy, so new rings would be a pretty expensive proposition. You open great big doors alongside each big end, and you can see them working. The main engines are two stroke verticals, and turn at just over a hundred R.P.M.

Next there are two huge four cylinder, two stroke, horizontal, refrigerating engines. They develop about five hundred horsepower, and look just like a very large version of a Douglas. Finally, there are three high speed, six cylinder, four stroke engines, five hundred horsepower, to drive the electrical plants - very very nice jobs indeed.

All the auxiliary appliances are electrically driven. There are twenty four electric winches for loading purposes alone. The two boilers that supply all the hot water etc are heated by the exhaust gases from the diesels and boil all day. When the engines are not running the boilers are fired on diesel oil. Pity you couldn't put the exhaust gases from the Blackstone into the speedway gas cooker to take the chill off the water, before you lit the fire.

There is a very good chef on the ship, and also a good baker, he makes all the bread, and although it is very good, it can't come up to yours Mother. The kitchens and bakehouse are all electrically fitted, so there is no smoke of any kind.

You should see me doing my washing. First of all I strip to the waist, and then tie a large towel round my waist in the approved style. Next I fill the hand basin with hot water and soap, soak the required articles and commence.

I personally wash on the washing machine principle - that is oscillate the clothes in the water for about five minutes and then hang 'em out. The results... well... fair. By God! Mother, I'll buy you a washing machine when I get back, or go bankrupt.

Tell all my friends I will write to them when time permits, and would be very pleased to receive a weekly budget from them all. Write often won't you. I want to know all the news - how many cows are in, how many calves you kept, whose got new babies, how many puppies "Whitie's" dog has got and all that sort of thing.

Now that I am so far away, even the most trivial thing will be of interest. Also, I would like a day to day account of what you all do at home. I am looking forward to seeing old Bertie, when we arrive. I only hope he is not out at some far distant station. It will be like a breath of home to see him.

And how are you all keeping? Look after yourselves won't you, and if you are not feeling too good Dad, cut the cows down a bit, so as Innes can manage on his own. We'll scratch up a few bob after the war, from somewhere, to buy some more.

And as for you Mother, if you like to get someone to give you a hand occasionally, you can pay them out of that money I sent home. Keep fit, for God's sake. That is the worst part of being so far away, wondering if you are all well.

If you should feel the desire to take unto yourself a wife, brother, don't worry about my not being there for the ceremony. About time you took the matrimonial plunge anyway, and you wouldn't be quite so lonely.

Just one thing, if you should do so, warn the old girl that the other half of the bed is still mine, and she will have to sleep on her own, when I get home - most times anyway!

And are you making a good job of looking after Jenny Wren, Dad? You had better, or else we might lose her. Have you seen anything of her lately? I was thinking that perhaps she might like to come up to you for Christmas. She's a grand girl, is Jenny Wren! So keep up the family traditions.

The forth engineer, whom I mentioned earlier, was charmed with her photo, and also told me, I had a very handsome brother, although he couldn't see where I came into any good looks. However, he agreed with me when I said I had once been told that I had "a dear ugly old face."

I tell tales of blood and gold here about my homeland, in which we, the Jones's always figure prominently. And then out comes my photos, and I stand and wave explanatory arms and thrill myself, then when the audience is at a peak of admiration, I gather my photos, and stroll back to my cabin, a small wasted figure, in faded air force blue. Blarney! Did you say? Believe me, New Zealand, the Jones's and their descendants, and a certain member of the Wilkins family will always be on the map, as long as I retain the power of speech.

Up the Jones's - them and theirs.

My cigarette lighter works well, and I got a supply of flints for it in Colon. How is the petrol situation at home? I hope Roy and Poy and Walter are behaving themselves, and not causing you to waste too much profanity Dad. I suppose Uncle George is still going for his life in the wood business. Tell him I will give him a holiday, when I get home.

There are some quaint types among the crew of this ship. First there is "Lampie" a tiny wasted old man, who cannot realize that he has grown old, and still goes to sea. He is the ship's storeman, and gets his name I imagine, from a pair of tremendous high power spectacles, which always adorn his nose. He vies with "Chippy" the ships carpenter, for the honors as ship's barber.

Now where "Lampie" is slow and very efficient as a barber, "Chippy" is a slapdash and of immense proportions, about seventy, has a huge flowing moustache, and rosy red cheeks - it was to him I took my patronage.

He was pushed for time, when I craved an appointment, but said he would do me right away. Out came a soap box and a small suitcase. From the suitcase came a neck towel, scissors, neck clippers, comb, and a villainous looking razor.

As layer after layer of hair peeled off, I began to think I had been a bit hasty, but the biggest thrill was yet to come. HE FINISHES WITH THE RAZOR. The ship was pitching and rocking, and one minute the gleaming blade was caressing my adams apple, the next had missed my carotid artery by a hair's breadth, and then was buried deep in my neck, but he didn't even so much as nick me.

And finally, I staggered away, a nervous wreck, minus a lot of hair, sideburns gone entirely, and a shilling poorer.

All morning, we have been creeping along the coast of Ireland, and now with Scotland in sight, I must bring this letter to a close.

Cheerio for now, and please please look after yourselves.

My love to you all, my mother, my father, and my brother,

Linton xxxxx

PS: The old wahl is out of ink and misbehaving a bit.

Above: Linton and Innes, 1942, colorized.

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