Mutiny

Mutiny on the Empire Woodlark - Durban, South Africa, August, 1942 - I'm in the R.A.F. enroute to the Far East  -  from our campsite in South Africa
The order to pack kit, came as a surprise to everyone.  On Saturday, August 15, reveille
was 5 a.m.  Breakfast was skipped. Dressed in our 'blues' and carrying full kit, we marched (and
it was hot) to a rail-siding at Clairwood and boarded a train.  It was stifling inside the old coaches.
It seemed an eternity (it was several hours) before our train pulled out.  We missed lunch
and it was 3 p.m. before 1,440 of us were at the docks in Durban, alongside the ugly 7,000 ton
Empire Woodlark, built in 1913.  Surely we weren't going to embark on this tub?  It seemed
hardly large enough.  There was more delay in getting us aboard.

While we stood in the sun, sweating under our blues and full-kit burden, we heard
rumours.  Rumour #1 - The Woodlark had just unloaded Italian prisoners of war.  Rumour #2 -
The Woodlark's crew were leaving the ship as they felt it was unsafe, or unseaworthy.  You can
imagine none of the above brightened our day.
We boarded the ship and took an instant dislike to it.  What struck us most was the lack of
above-deck space, which was covered with parts of aircraft and crates of military equipment.  If
we were bound for India, 20 days away, we wondered how much fresh-air-time above deck we
would get; and in shifts at that.

Below deck our quarters were cramped; parts of the ship were actually rotten; the 'walls'
and 'ceilings' were covered with condensation.  Cockroaches were in abundance everywhere.
By 5 p.m. and we had still not eaten since our skipped breakfast (tea only) 12 hours
earlier.  Hunger, coupled with rumours and the living conditions we now faced, lowered our
morale considerably, and fast.   A buzz started, gradually increasing to a loud chant of discontent:
"WE WANT A SHIP - WE WANT A SHIP!"  Troops surged to the top deck and by sheer
weight of numbers, forced the orderly officer at the gangway to give way to the pressure.  We
swarmed off.  About 200 left the ship before someone, somehow, managed to stop the flow.(See
Durban, 1942 - A British Troopship Revolt, by Gerry R. Rubin).

We stayed together on the wharf, quite orderly, almost in ranks, waiting to hear the
outcome of our action.  Later, for some unknown reason, more of the lads were allowed to trickle
down in small groups, and soon we had near to 1,000 on the dockside.  It didn't take long for
word to spread.  Hours passed.  Crowds of locals lined the wire fences ringing the docks.
Obviously sympathizing with us they handed us fruit and candy.
A local army unit put in an appearance and took up a position between us and the dock
gates.  They looked ready for action.
Soon a few officers were circulating amongst us.  We were very orderly allowing
ourselves to be formed into groups.  We were very disciplined in that respect, as our beef was
with the ship, not the Royal Air Force.  I recall it was a very man-to-man situation with Wing/Cos
offering erks cigarettes and chatting about family and home and stating conditions would be
improved if we went back on the ship.  Similar conversations took place in small groups all over
the wharf.  Gradually the lads filtered back up the gangway.

There were now only about 100 of us left.  There was one other Canadian with me and we
stuck together, refusing to board.  After more talk we were told if we boarded now no action
would be taken against anyone who had left the ship, and our request for a better ship would be
considered.  It was after midnight.  We weakened and rejoined the ship.  Tea, corned beef and
crackers were waiting for us and we spent the night aboard the Woodlark.
In the morning, Sunday, August 16, not only was our breakfast not so great, but a very
strong rumour became fact.   Many of the crew leaving the ship because of its condition, told us
the Woodlark was to be taken away from the wharf and anchored to await a new crew.  This was
confirmed when we felt the throb of idling engines beneath our feet.  It was also noticed that the
gangway had been raised.  Panic set in immediately.  We felt we had been tricked.  Men rushed to
the side of the ship.  Jacob's ladders were dropped and over the lads went.

I guess cool and sensible heads prevailed among the ship's C.O. and staff, because the
Woodlark didn't pull away from the wharf and the gangway was quickly lowered; no doubt to
prevent injury to the hastily departing troops.  Fifty of us reached the wharf before the flow was
once again stopped.  I suspect many of the 1440 men were still below deck and were prevented
from leaving.  I can't be sure of that though.
Once again there were hours of constant negotiating between senior officers and
servicemen.  Again, quite a few of the lads, swayed by a better offer, returned to the ship.  About
20 of us were now left including my new Canadian friend, and we were given one last warning to
board.  We refused.  We were marched away from the ship to a point out of earshot of the crowds
at the fence.  We noticed the local army unit of the previous day were now almost encircling us to
assert their authority.

 Searching my memory of that time 70 + years ago I seem to recall fixed bayonets.  We were
joined by senior Army and R.A.F. officers with one or two senior N.C.O's.  We were paraded in
two columns.  The same procedure was followed as in an inspection, however the senior officers
stopped in front of each man at which time name, rank and number were taken, along with each
airman's pay book.  I remember the remark of the local army officer who said to me, on seeing my
CANADA flashes:  "A Canadian eh?  I might have known it."
The next thing that happened really shook me, as I am sure it did all of the lads who were
standing there.  The Riot Act was read to us and then in a short talk the local Army Commandant
reminded us in no uncertain terms, there was a war on, and we had sworn allegiance to the King.
If we refused to obey the order to board the ship and to stay on the ship, and go to our designated
war zone, we could, at the worst be shot, and at the best, go to prison for at least the duration of
the war.  Up to this point I don't think any of us had given any consideration as to the outcome of
our actions.
The crowds of locals at the fence had now increased.  They must have sensed our
dilemma.  We could hear a buzz of support for us, then a cheer, and several called out:  "Give the
boys a break."

We were stood at ease and then quite suddenly all senior officers and N.C.O's departed,
except for one sergeant.  At that particular moment I think we must have convinced ourselves
they were bluffing, not realizing that we could be faced with the firing squad or prison.  On
looking back on that day, I don't think they knew what to do with us, nor did they wish to do
anything to us.
The sergeant chatted with us, asked our trades and where we were from, interspersed
with: "You stupid buggers.  What you want to get in this mess for?"  Every so often he would say,
"They're not kidding you know."
A considerable time lapsed and then from across the wharf came the cry, "Sergeant!"  He
left on the double to join a small group close to the bottom of the Woodlark's gangway.  Twenty
minutes later he doubled back carrying our paybooks.  He called out our names and returned our
books as we answered.  He had a big smile on his face.  I can't remember his exact words, but
they were something like: "Everyone is being taken off of the ship.  You're going back to camp."
Back at Clairwood Camp, we were paraded in front of the C.O.  We were told we were a
disgrace to the Royal Air Force (probably true).