My story mentioned going to Port Blair, in the Bay of Bengal. We also went to an uninhabited island in the nearby Nicobar Islands. That is where the shark was hooked.
Soon after arriving at Trincomalee we went to Rangoon, Burma (now Myanmar), for the Independence celebrations and to carry away the last British governor. It had been planned that Burma would throw off the British yoke on 1 January 1948 but astrologers determined that 4 January would be a more auspicious date.
I well remember my first trip ashore in an Asian city. With three companions I entered the Volga cafe in Phayre Street, Rangoon's main street, and ordered four bottles of beer. I proffered a ten rupee note only to be told "Another four rupees, please." That meant the beer cost five shillings and three pence a bottle at a time when it might have cost a quarter of that in Britain. The beer was made by McEwans in Scotland and called Revolver brand which I thought highly appropriate - it was a stick-up. We did not stay for a second bottle.
Fortunately, on the next night, help was at hand from the British army. Chief and Petty Officers were invited to the sergeants' mess at the army barracks. British army units were being withdrawn with the approach of Burma's independence and the sergeants were making sure their mess funds were well spent. I went with my friends Studwell, Hannan and Wheeler and we were greeted by each having two bottles of Bass thrust into our hands.
Ladies were invited and we met three very pretty girls, sisters of Portuguese - Burmese descent. Food was provided and just after midnight one of the girls picked up a meat sandwich only to be rebuked by one of her sisters, "Philomena, today is Friday". The girls were Catholics and at that time meat was forbidden on Fridays.
It is probably that incident that made me remember Philomena's name; I have forgotten the names of her sisters. Later we were invited to their house and in turn we entertained them to tea in the artisans' mess. We asked them about the years of the Japanese occupation and were somewhat astonished to learn that the Japanese had not behaved badly and that the troops were confined to barracks from early evening.
Rangoon is home to the famous Shwe Dagon Buddhist pagoda and a large party from the ship was given a conducted tour. The pagoda has a large dome which is covered in gold leaf and according to Encyclopaedia Britannica has a height of 326 feet. My main memory is of having to remove our shoes to enter the courtyards of the temple and being careful about where we put our feet as there were numerous pigeons.
Another, more gruesome excursion, was to see the embalmed bodies of assassinated Cabinet members. In July 1947 a gunman had burst into a cabinet meeting and killed several of its members. Their bodies were put on view in glass coffins and were not buried until independence was achieved.
I was standing at midnight on the jetty where the Birmingham was berthed when sirens and hooters sounded to announce the end of British rule. A Burmese man was standing next to me and with the arrogance of youth I asked him if he thought independence would be better than British rule. His dignified response was "Self-rule is more important than good rule".
The Union Jack was lowered for the last time by Birmingham's Chief Yeoman of Signals; a picture in the newspaper carried the words "Ben Hilton lowers the Union Jack." Next morning the last British governor, Sir Hubert Rance, came aboard. He was accompanied to the dockside by members of the new government and soon afterwards we left Rangoon. I cannot remember now if we took Sir Hubert directly to Colombo or to Trincomalee but I know he sailed for home from Colombo in a Dutch liner, the Willem Ruys which was on its maiden voyage.
Soon after arriving back in Trincomalee we learned we were to go on a trip to Madras and Calcutta in India - the official name for such excursions was "good-will" but to the men it was "flag-wagging".
In Madras some of my mess-mates met an Indian couple, Mr and Mrs Azariah, who invited them to their home for a meal and told them to bring another friend. So the previously mentioned foursome, Studwell, Hannan, Wheeler and Turner turned up at the Azariah house in the suburb of Vepery. Mr Azariah was a tax official and his wife Elizabeth was a lawyer but their house was, even by my working-class standards, very shabby.
But their hospitability was far from shabby and we had a great evening although I cannot remember what we ate. The Azariahs were Catholics and their four boys all had English sounding first names. The youngest was Eric and the oldest was Christian; I have forgotten the names of the other two. We did not meet Christian as he was in the army as an officer cadet. Later in the evening a friend called in; he too was a lawyer but Mrs Azariah explained that he did not practice in the courts as he came from the Bombay area and spoke Gujarati. That was the first time I had ever heard of that language but many years later I worked with a man who spoke it. In Madras the main languages were Tamil, Telugu and Malayalam. We paid one or two more visits to the Azariahs and took the three boys swimming and gave them a tour of the ship.
In Madras we had a visit from Admiral Lord Mountbatten, Governor-General of India. He was the last British Viceroy and was invited by the newly-independent India to stay as Governor General after independence in August 1947.
He gave the assembled crew a talk about the last days of the British Raj and told us of a Rajah whose hobby was breeding dogs and who gave his subjects a public holiday whenever he mated his dogs.
Mountbatten noticed an Indian reporter standing on a gun turret and making notes. He gave an almost imperceptible hint to his aide-de-camp who confiscated the reporter's notes.
We were inspected by Mountbatten; I was standing near to my chief, Jim Stead, who was wearing the ribbon of the Burma Star. During the war Mountbatten had been Commander-in-Chief, South East Asia, and he stopped to have a few words with Jim about the war in that area.
After leaving India, Mountbatten resumed his naval career and eventually became First Sea Lord, the highest office a naval officer can hold.
A day or so later, 30 January 1948, came the news that Mr Gandhi, who for many years had been a leading member of those seeking Indian independence, had been assassinated. India was plunged into mourning and it was decided that we should return to Trincomalee, leaving our visit to Calcutta until after the mourning period ended.
More memories to come from Cliff via Brigg Blog.
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