The old JWM was a converted banana boat that once belonged to the Delta lines out of New Orleans. During WWII they shoveled out the last of the rotten bananas in her cavernous holds (some thought they could still catch whiffs of bananas over the steam, Bunker C fuel oil and human sweat when later we were all jammed aboard her as our "troopship" - but I doubt it). It was also rumored that there were still tarantulas lurking in the overhead and ductwork but I never believed a word of it myself.

We went aboard in Staten Island one freezing winter day, after a short train ride from Camp Kilmer, NJ where we had been assembled. I have already told you we were about 50-50 black and white (but segregated!) troops slated for replacement duty in the ETO. There were thousands and thousands of us - together with, in the case of we infantrymen, all our packs and rifles and other gear. They served us a big dinner of spaghetti and tomato sauce that night.

"Stuck in 'eavy marchin'-order, sopped and wringin' --
Sick, before our time to watch 'er 'eave an' fall,
'Ere's your 'appy 'ome at last, an' stop your singin'.
'Alt! Fall in along the troop-deck! Silence all!

"Birds of Prey" March.... R. Kipling

Then we hit the sack. The bunks were pipe bunks that went up five or more layers - even more - one above another. To get in the top bunk (mine) you had to climb up each guys' bunk below you - usually stepping in his face along the way - which meant about 4.5 fights just to take a nap - so many of us slumped in gangways and slouched in cul d'sacs and niches... The Blacks who were confined forward of our hold immediately all began to suffer with violent seasickness - even though we were still fast to the pier. There was terrible commotion up forward there all night and you could hear cries like "Feel her roll!" and all that. They were really terrified of the whole thing. At dawn I went up on deck to take the breeze. I shall never forget that sight! The sun was just rising and its long slanting rays struck the outboard side of the ship full on. I thought I was in a grand cathedral somewhere! Why?

Here's why: during the night, the "seasick" black Quartermaster replacements had upchucked their spaghetti and tomato dinners over the rails - even several decks above where I stood. This had all cascaded down in festoons and frozen in solid sheets in the night! When the sun shone on these "panes" the effect was just like light through a stained (I do mean stained!) glass cathedral window. I shan't forget that sight ever!

Well later that day we sailed. And several days and nights later we were in the middle of the North Atlantic Winter Gales. So that morning I rolled out preparatory to going to breakfast.

Here's how it was done: you fished out your mess kit and joined long lines which like subdued conga lines wound everywhere along, down, up, around, doubled back on themselves and so on throughout the whole ship. This went on for hours. Up gangways down gangways, through bulkheads (will we ever find our way back to Compartment A? lol). There were no lights allowed save blue lights and every time someone opened a door or scuttle to the outside deck, even the blue lights went out! They were ghastly indeed, and we were rolling heavily. As we approached the mess hall, a steamy, sulferous odor from the eggs rose and wafted toward us. This, combined with the blue light on their companion's faces, the rolling and pitching - eliminated many would be diners right at the last moment.

And then one at last burst upon the McAndrews' mess hall. You entered through a hole in the ceiling sort of like coming down into a cave I seem to recall. Down and down a long winding slippery open stairs. Below was a dimly lit cavern (blue tinge) with parallel rows of narrow planks set on stanchions at about chest height and running athwartships. These were the "tables": you stood at a plank after you got your food and ate it direct while standing.

As the stairs ended, you passed between two giant cauldrons - I seem to recall them as maybe 6 feet high or more! Inside each cauldron were thousands of eggs! Boiled and boiling eggs! There was boiling water maybe a foot or so deep in bottom of each cauldron and the cooks and their helpers were emptying crate-loads of eggs into the cauldrons continually! Some eggs had been there for days: they were all cracked and fretted, and the cracks showed as fine black lines all over their surfaces. Other eggs had rolled around so much their shells were all gone. (It takes a while you see, for your average egg there to get its proper sea legs!) Other eggs were just arriving - and somehow mysteriously having been frozen solid wherever they were stored - hissed like stony meteorites as they plunged into the bath!

A stifling rotten egg stench of sulfur pervaded the air. Its effect upon motion-agitated stomachs and the general malaise of the diners is hardly to be imagined...

The shuffling line passed forward and two, sometimes three, hot eggs were dumped in your pan - some bread and maybe bacon - and hot coffee was aimed at your cup and likely poured all over your thumb and wrist as well - and then you headed for the nearest plank.

But now here is the vignette I wanted to share and which is etched on my neurons forever:

At this juncture 9 out of 10 diners gave up the ghost and fled these lower reaches of hell and escaped up the exit stairs. Their eggs - abandoned on the plank - would hover a moment or two - then crash to the floor (deck) as the vessel rolled. We were in a beam sea.

So what would happen is that all the eggs would roll toward the lee (downmost) side. The few hardy chowhounds who remained behind would just lift their feet alternately, as these platoons of rolling eggs rolled downhill. As the vessel continued to roll and the angle got steeper and steeper - more and more eggs hopped off the plank tables to join the legions on the deck - and soon a great rolling mat or sheet of eggs was everywhere pitching forward to the downside bulkhead.

Here they would fetch up by the thousands you understand! - like a big snow bank of boiled eggs - it was at least 3 feet high all along this low side of the vessel. As we reached our maximum down-roll - a veritable egg bank formed all along this side of the mess hall. Then we would start our counter-roll back.

At first, the egg bank would just hang there. Then here and there an errant egg would hop out and start skittering toward the other side of the ship. As the roll increased, more eggs joined in - soon whole detachments were sliding down... and finally when some obscure critical angle-of-dangle was reached, the entire egg bank would detach with a thunderous roar and threatening to sweep all before it into oblivion, would slide en masse across the mess room deck to the other side where it would fetch up as a new egg bank preparatory to repeating the cycle.

Now my second wife and I here have taken a number of luxury cruises in later years (she is really into cruises: I can take them or leave them, but get panicky if the lights turn blue during the musical acts, etc. etc.). But once at breakfast on a cruise ship, some old lady in our group began to raise the dickens over the ice sculpture at our table - hadn't been done right and so on.

Bon Voyage!

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