Diary transcript of Reginald Harriman Heywood, 1917 - Part 8

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at the business end is what counts with the judge. Nurse 
her along to the distance and then get your whip out and 
push the poor old thing all she knows - she's game and
will finish as straight as a line.

Eight weeks out ↑today from the Land of long distances,
tall language and long beers.
We soon passed out thro' the boom past "Thorshavn"
along the very pretty shores and past the lighthouse
and out on to the briny - and was a sea breeze good again?

Sierra Leone, with its rain clad mountains, its
steam, its smells and its picturesqueness was soon down
the track - considerably unwept and a whole lot unsung.
July 8th, 1917.
Sunday and Church Parade again, and what ass
said misfortunes never come singly - there's a lovely
cool breeze.

The Matron, poor old thing, is very poor in the
coat - she would go ashore at Sierra Leone. The dispositions
of women run regular to miscalculation, don't
they? What she wants is souvenirs of something that
never happened and then reminders of things she never
heard of. She must have something you're out of, and
wants it harder than ever if its scarce. After that it's
keepsakes of someone that never existed and she loves to
talk about has-beens and never was-ers. Yes a natural
 

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angle view of the subject is altogether disjointing to
the female make-up. That reminds me you should never
run after tramcars or women - there'll be another along
directly.
The advent of more or less suspicious looking
craft is now a common occurrence and this eve the cruiser
fired a shot - could only manage 5 courses at dinner we
were so excited tho'. Consequently Knowall seems
condemned to the perpetual use of language - he appears
to be personally responsible for the discovery and identification
of everything. I never saw anyone so full
of knowledge with so little sense.
The opening of the doors leading to the deck is
now forbidden - and we have to poke about like a lot of
bats - and find our way to the cabin via the underworld.
July 9th, 1917.

Perfect weather - and we have relapsed into
resigned inertia and plaintive comment again. I do wish
you could see Bib enjoying 40 winks this morn, bolt upright
in a deck chair too, with his gastronomical impediment well
out and his head back same as he does after an unusually
good meal. He was gazing heavenwards but as for conveying
adequate description of the engaging charm of his
expression an inventory must suffice. I'll bet he was
dreaming of the menu or other literature doomed to please
the digestion of man. Hallucinations of Hash and Phantasies

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of fricassee were evident.
We were cheered by the glad tidings that we are

to take turns in charge of the submarine guard, that
looks like business doesn't it: but as far as I can make 
out we are to withhold the order to fire until pretty
nearly everything is awash. When you see anything suspicious
you've got to mentally run thro' 7 or 8 pages of
instructions and then proceed to the officer in charge on
the bridge - commune with him and await his orders - then
go back and hold a council of war with the N.C.O. in
charge and so on. After that I expect you go to dry
dock and get the barnacles scraped off.
But its all more or less gloomy.
July 10th, 1917.
Quite a blow today and we have gone back to
civilized garb again. That's a relief in one way because
we can get into our most valuable garments now and straighten
up the rest of our things for the grand plunge.
The submarine guard lists are up, and the only
cheering part of them is that there will be no guard
required between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m.
The first watch is from 3 till 5 - I don't
know how Snowy will get on with his punctual discrepancies.
The evenings are drawing out in an alarming
fashion - and it takes a terrible time to get dark.
This is bad for the inveigling business and I'm afraid
 

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poor old Walrus is going to be left at the post.
Other matches which show some promise are the
O.C.'s and Macfarlanes. Mac has drawn Pharoah's daughter -
it's a good job we don't all think alike isn't it.
I wouldnt be so ungentlemanly as to say she's not a looker
but she has a disadvantageous appearance. It is said
that in buying a horse and choosing a wife, shut your
eyes and commend yourself to heaven - but you might as
well have a good looking one. A plain one can only
look plainer than usual, but the best looker will look
homely sometimes and you do get a little variety. I might
add tho' that you don't snap up a horse becos' he looks
good - that should only make you wonder what's wrong with
him and why the other fellow wants to sell out.
Wound up the day with a concert on No 2 troop
deck - quite a success. The Star performer was Steward
H. Reid who has toed the boards with vaudeville.
July 11th, 1917.
The submarine guard is now in full swing and
the men are stationed in the boats with 75 rounds of
ammunition, but I do hope they'll be disappointed. I'm
glued to the theory that you want to see all you can
but I can easily do without seeing a submarine.
Things are beginning to drag now alright - quiet!
you can hear the shadows creeping along the deck but as
 

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long as we get in somewhere thats the thing.
We've infested this old craft now for 60 days
and in some ways I'll be quite sorry to leave her. Must
apologise for calling her old as she's only four or five -
but I hope she'll live to get well into the sere and
yellow leaf.
July 12th, 1917.
The weather - faithful fallback - continues
very pleasant - but conversation and amusements have
languished. It's somewhat depressing to have to lug a
lifebelt round with you.
Did a turn on guard tonight but fortunately
saw nothing untoward, but the way these ships are running
up their fences and zig-zagging all over the track is
cruel.
Robbie is having a great night. Inspired by
his own barbarous melodies he has consented to judge
some vocal efforts by the munitioners. He sallied forth
all contaminated with dignity, and copiously important -
goodness knows how he'll return. Bibulous is laid aside -
I wonder if it will ever dawn on him that you can't overwork
things for ever - he thinks he's got neuralgia of
the stomach but that's a mistake, its pure overwork.
Talking about mistakes, if you do make one, don't make a
second by keeping it in the box, but get if off your
chest. The time to sort an oomy-boo can is at the

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abattoirs. The deeper you hide it in the packing the
longer it stays in circulation and the worse impression
it conveys when it finally reaches the menu.
Poor old Bib - he looks as tho' ^he has slept in
his hair; and when you look as tho' you've slept in
things you can't get close enough to people to explain that
your mind is full of temperance and elevating thoughts
that you've got no time to bother with the bristles on
your chin.
July 13th, 1917.
FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH. - oh scold me. I'll let
you know what happens tomorrow.
July 14th, 1917.
We've survived Friday the 13th - if we don't
get in now I'll go out and eat grubs. It's grand to be
able to look out the port in the morning and see that -
in the words of that old ass Wordsworth - we are still
seven including the "Mantua".
If the Gods ever wept there's no reason for
them to be smiling now - these lifebelts are beginning
to weigh a ton.
Just got our first dinkum scare and 'struth am
not pining after any more. Was dozing on my lifebelt
and thought the first four blasts was more or less of a
joke. A second four almost at once, made me swallow my
 

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chewing gum and then I noticed the lookout in the crow's
nest tick-tacking to beat the band, and then the guard
commenced to fire. Jolted! why one minute I was up in
the clouds and then I'd come down and hit bottom with a
bang - I don't know anything more dead than someone who's
fallen 2 or 3 thousand feet off the edge of a cloud.
In the next few minutes I was up and down so many times
its a wonder I didn't meet myself coming back. Thank
goodness something gravitates me towards my valuables.
It turned out that a dark object was sighted
going N.W. and resembling a sub: For some obscure
reason we proceeded towards it, yes, towards it and it
turned out to be a whale, we hope. The cruel part was
to see the other ships off in the opposite direction.
It's not the game its cracked up to be, and my cardiac
apparatus got right down till there were only my boot
soles between it and the deck when the Ascanuis finally
turned the cold shoulder on us and made off.
Tuck was having his hair cut and had to appear
half shorn and there were several well-lathered faces on
view but Bibulous drew the winning ticket in his little
pink nightie and life-belt.
July 15th, 1917.
Sunday some more and my watch happened along
from 3 till 5 a.m. Consequently I missed Holy Communion,
 

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and Church parade was somewhat spoiled by my noticing
them slew the 12 pounder round on something. I then
noticed a long dark shining object steering in the same

direction as we were. I continued the hymn poco-tremulo,
till I saw the cursed thing spout. Robbie reckons they
ought to fire on every mortal thing they see in the water,
and make enquiries later - me too!
I must mention a concert held in the munitioners
mess last night. On top of the afternoon's events it
fell that flat you could have pressed it in your bible
without being able to find it. One man sang a comic
song, one verse in a key too high and the next in a key
too low - the last verse was adjacent - but not comic.
What's the use anyway, if we don't get torpedoed we'll
run the "Shropshire" down - I'll bet this ship is wedded
to danger and has committed bigamy with trouble.
July 16th, 1917.
Wrote dozens of letters home to-day - and quite
newsy too but find I have mentioned about everything I
shouldn't - so will have to scratch them all. That'll
tell you: and then they'll let this ship go round from
Devenport to London without an escort, don't they deserve
to starve?         
Poor old Robbie - he seems to have made a lifelong
study of the art of truculence. He never shows any
real enthusiasm except perhaps when he's cussing, and
 

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he's as enthusiastic as a Carlton F.C. barracker now.
The question which perplexes him is whether he's a combatant -
and whether when we take to the boats and the
superior combatant officers and the ships officer have
died off he'll be in command, or will the senior private
supersede him. If so - he wants to know why he should
be on submarine guard and why shouldn't he be the first into
the boat instead of last as at present. I wish someone
would reassure him as to his status - or he'll be non compuis
mentis and non-combatant both.
No particular scares to-day bar Robbie's and we
are more settled but will be glad to see those destroyers.
July 17th, 1917.
In spite of rain and mist the six destroyers
struck us right on time, and they did look grand. Poor
Sparks - he gets more and more despondent as the chances
of being torpedoed are slipping away.
It turns out that the object which caused all
the stir on Sat: was a submarine - at least the Old Man
says so and he ought to know. He's been on the bridge
ever since too.
We are still sticking together and are putting
our best foot forward. Got the whips out now. Mr Free
the 4th mate manfully backs up Sparks and says we are now
in the most dangerous locality - worse than round the

English coast he considers. Still we manage four meals
 

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a day and Phillips and I at least refuse to turn in all
standing.
July 18th, 1917.
Still all afloat, but talk about tinctured with
anxiety. Sparks got three submarine warnings in five
minutes, and we've seen enough wreckage go past to build
a town.
It is said that a submarine was sighted at
4 a.m. from the bridge - but I don't think they like the
destroyers much.
We are on the outskirts of the Bay of Biscay now
and the weather is very dirty. I'll sell out of my
lifebelt very cheaply when we pass the post.
You musn't run away with the idea that we are
bowed down with care - we still play quoits and eat our
four meals, but Subs are an interesting topic and to see
these ships twisting about like a lot of inebriated snakes
is a monumental reminder.
At 2.45 one of the destroyers turned like a
hare and fired a shot or two and then twisted about like
a swallow. It turns out that she sighted and rammed one
of these blasted U boats. This all occurred between us
and the "Marathon" - they would love the "Benalla".
Just about lights out (11 p.m.) we saw the Lizard
light on our Port bow - I was just thinking of dear old