NORTHERN IRELAND TO THE SKAGERRACK

One fine morning [about 1 Sept 1944], while at the breakfast table, the anchor was dropped, and I hurried upon deck. There were the green hills of Northern Ireland, and a lovely little village nestled at the foot of the hills where a wide river met the sea [probably Castlerock at the mouth of the Bann River in Londonderry County]. Our brief call here was to take aboard a group of British [medical] corpsmen who were to assist on the return voyage.

We were soon again on our way and sailed through many craggy islands north of Scotland. They disappeared and returned again through flimsy curtains of fog, and on one island I saw a magnificent natural amphitheater capable of accommodating the population of several cities.

Then followed several memorable days as we sailed southward on the North Sea. She elected to be calm and serene, and the sunsets were never-to-be-forgotten riots of color. The seagulls followed constantly in our wake, dipping and conversing in their squeaky dialect. One [evening], following a midnight smorgasbord, my group of coworkers went up on the afterdeck to relax, and the Aurora Borealis gave a prismatic performance.

We were now reaching the end of our eastward journey, and as we neared the southwestern fjord-studded coast of Norway, enemy [German] vessels and submarines appeared on the horizon. We kept a rendezvous, where we took aboard a German pilot who cautiously led us through the mine infested coastal waters, through the mined Skagerrack, and up to the Swedish territorial coast [3].

A humiliating incident, which occurred, made it difficult to maintain a neutral composure. The last evening's meal was a bountiful turkey dinner reminiscent of the many gala Thanksgivings at home. The huge dining room was arranged so that our disturbed passengers could leave their quarters, dine together and return again through a wide passageway and stairs. One ingrate had scribbled "Remember Pearl Harbor" on a napkin and placed it at the table nearest the stairs where it was gleefully scanned by each man as he left the dining room.

One section of men pooled their resources to present their favorite waiter with a German war bond. Little did they realize that General Eisenhower would render it sterile the following spring.

THE GERMANS DEPART AT GOTEBORG

The German passengers were meanwhile becoming gayer and organizing for their departure [2]. A few Swedish Nationals, who had taken positions aboard ship in order to return home, were excitedly gathered about the deck-rails. Thus we sailed into the port of Goteborg, Sweden [afternoon of Thurs 7 Sept 1944]. We slid gently into our birth at the long dock, and what a sight greeted us!

High Nazi officials in full regalia - some monocled, uniformed women, and many youngsters in Nazi Youth Group outfits were lined up along the dock-front. Several colorful bands were blaring forth "Deutchland Uber Alles" and "Horstwessel" while the welcoming groups gave the Nazi and "Heil Hitler" signs. The noise and confusion were intensified by loudspeakers. This sanguineous ritual had a narcotic consequence on our passengers, and they were eager to follow the Pied Piper of Berchtesgaden.

After the formal greetings of German, Swedish, and Swedish Red Cross Officials the exodus began. The carefully tagged-for-identification Germans were taken in hand by the well organized Swedish Red Cross workers and escorted to exceedingly comfortable electrified trains which were drawn up along the opposite side of the docks. Curious onlookers and photographers peered thru high, secure fences.

The invalids and stretcher cases were transferred to a well equipped and well staffed hospital ship, the "Prince Eugene", which was drawn up alongside. They were to be transported across the Baltic Sea to a northern German port. Swedish Boy Scouts gave admirable assistance wherever possible. By five pm, the ship had been cleared of Germans, and the personnel were given passes to the city of Goteborg.

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