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World War 1 One ww1 wwII greatwar great 1914 1918 first battalion regiment
Pte. James Mason Seddon
British Army 1st/6th Btn Northumberland fusilliers
from:Liverpool
(d.3rd Dec 1917)
James Mason Seddon served with the 6th Battalion Northumberland Fusiliers.
Pte. James Robert Seddon
British Army 11th Btn. Loyal North Lancashire Regiment
from:Little Hulton
James Seddon enlisted in the Loyal North Lancashire Regiment on 11th November 1914 when he was 20 years old; he had worked down the mines as a collier from the age of 13 and thought that signing up to do his bit would be a great change and an opportunity not to be missed.
He fought and was wounded three times at Ypres and the Somme. He was discharged at the end of the war but due to his injuries he was not able to go down the mines again and worked as a general labourer and later a postman. By the autumn of 1930 his health had started to deteriorate both physically and mentally and he spent an increasing amount of time out of work and in convalescence homes recovering from neurasthenia or shell shock.
Finally in October 1930 he asked if he could have a War Pension this was refused and on the back of the envelope which held the letter refusing his pension he drafted this letter, where I cannot read the writing I have put x's.
a) 15th November 1916 Mailly-Maillet in the fight for Beaumont Hamel I was sent to General Hospital at Le Havre and from there I was sent to XXX Hospital in Le Havre where I was x rayed and a piece of shrapnel was taken from xxx left eye. I stayed in hospital in Le Havre about a month and then I was xxxx xx Royal Infirmary Edinburgh then on to convalescence at Clifton Park House B/pool (King's Lancashire Military Convalescent Hospital, Clifton Park, Blackpool. Under orders of Western Command, for men whose homes were in Lancashire or who belonged to Lancashire regiments from any command, Blackpool). Rejoining Reg(iment) May 1917
c) As I was able to follow my employment I never xxx but I have always suffered from pain.
He was again refused his War Pension but then his local Labour MP Alexander Haycock,heard of his story and intervened and one month later he got a letter awarding him his pension of 12 shillings (about 60 pence) per week.
PO Stkr. William Alfred "Sedgie" Sedge
Royal Navy HMS Mary Rose
from:3 Waterloo St, Gravesend, Kent
(d.17th October 1917)
Pte. J. Sedgewick
British Army 24th (Tyneside Irish) Battalion Northumberland Fusiliers
from:Framwellgate Moor
J Sedgewick was wounded in 1916
Pte. Â James G. Sedgwick
British Armyh 18th Veterinary Hospital Army Veterinary Corps
Rfm. Joseph Sedgwick
British Army 7th Battalion Kings Royal Rifle Corps
from:Bedworth
(d.6th Jul 1915)
Joe was my Grandma's brother who she never met. I'm going through the family history and trying to gather as much information as I possibly can. A long shot but can anyone give me any information on what or where Joe could have been. What battles? All we've got is Flanders France, like so many others there is no body no grave. Please email me..
Sgt. George Sedwell MM
British Army 171 Siege Bty. Royal Garrison Artillery
from:Parkstone, Poole, Dorset
(d.28th November 1917)
Cpl. Ernest See
British Army 10th Btn. Lancashire Fusiliers
(d.12th May 1917)
Pte. Robert See
Australian Imperial Force 37th Btn.
from:Biggleswade,
(d.10th Jun 1917)
Bob See is my wife's great uncle. He had emigrated to Australia in 1914 on the ship SS Indrapura and had settle in Sale, Victoria. He was being used mainly as a runner at the Battle of Messines and was wounded and died of his wounds on the 10 June 1917. He is buried at Trois-Arbes Cemetery Steenwerck France.
Pte. Harry Seed
British Army 2nd Btn. Northumberland Fusiliers
(d.8th May 1915)
CSM. William Frederick Seedman
British Army 12th Btn. Manchester Regiment
from:Ashton under Lyne
(d.25th Apr 1917)
Rifleman Albert Edward Seeger
British Army 12th Btn Rifle Brigade
from:Hackney
(d.20th Sep 1917)
Pte. Harry Seeley
British Army 2nd Btn. Suffolk Regiment
from:Drinkstone
(d.16th Jun 1915)
Harry Seeley of the 2nd Suffolk Regiment was the son of Elijah and Fanny Seeley of Heath Road, Norton, Bury St. Edmunds and husband of Mary Ann Seeley of Shop Corner, Drinkstone, Bury St. Edmunds.
Pte. William Seels
British Army 10th Btn. Sherwood Foresters
from:Collingham, Nottinghamshire
Bill Seels was a journeyman baker and trained as a company cook at Fort George, Inverness prior to being sent on Active service. He served with the 10th Battalion, Sherwood Foresters in WW1. He was gassed on the Somme on 15th of August 1918 but recovered and lived to the age of 79.
2nd Lt. Frank Reginald Seely
British Army 1st Btn. Hampshire Regiment
(d.13 April 1917)
2nd Lt. Frank Reginald Seely served with the 1st Battalion, the Hampshire regiment and was killed in action at the Battle of Arras on 13th April 1917. He is buried at : Haute-Avesnes British Cemetery, Pas de Calais, France
2nd Lt. Frank Reginald Seely
British Army 1st Btn. Hampshire Regiment
(d.Apr 1917)
2nd Lt. Frank Seely served with the 1st Battalion, Hampshire Regiment. and was killed in action in April 1917 in the Battle of Arras aged 21. He is buried in the Haute-Asvesnes British Cemetery in France. He was the son of John Edward Bernard Seely, 1st Baron Mottistone and Emily Florence Crichton
Dvr. Charles Henry Seer
British Army A Bty. 266th Brigade Royal Field Artillery
from:Newport
(d.5th Sep 1918)
A/Cpl Joseph Sefton
British Army South Lancashire Regiment
from:Liverpool
I have done some research on my Grandfather Joseph Sefton I have a record from Ancestry.co.uk stating he was regt no 2029 on attestation to the 1st Btn South Lancs in Oct 1886, but it mentions that he had served with the 4btn Liverpool Regiment (saying at the age of 18). I also have several other Regt numbers appearing on his records. 124 (1901 record) 8109 (1905 record) and 267813 (1914 record). He was discharged in Oct 1898, re joined in 1901 given Regt no 124. He subsequently went to to Gibralter, Malta, Egypt and South Africa and was discharged in 1906.
He then joined up once more 1/10/1914 He lied about his age and said he was 44 when he was 46, he had six children (one my mother) He was posted to South Lancs and also served in the Labour Corps (I think) and stayed in until Feb 1919.
Unfortunatly I have been unable to gather any information regarding the following: What(if any) medals would have been awarded for all or any of his service? Was he actually in the Liverpool Regiment? Are there any photgraphs of the South Lancs? I Would love to find out more about him or the South lancs. Can anyone help?
L/Cpl. Frederick Francis Seiffert
British Army 18th Btn. King's (Liverpool) Regiment
from:South Boston, MA, USA
(d.1st July 1916)
Frederick Seiffert served with 18th Btn. King's (Liverpool) Regiment.
Joe Sekel
Merchant Marine
from:Pleasant City, Ohio
Dads WWII Story
History had recorded times when a man's selfish ambitions has given him control over his fellow man and subjugation of nations. Adolph Hitler was among the worst having conquered all of Europe. England was rapidly losing the ability to defend itself. Its supplies of food and energy were nearly depleted.
Here in America we were going about our usual who cares way of life. Our leaders knew that we had to do something. Sooner or later it would impact us. The attack on Pearl Harbor galvanized us into action and as time would tell, we mobilized the greatest arsenal of war in the shortest time in history.
Suddenly, everything was rationed. You had to have coupons to buy anything; gas, tires, sugar, you name it. People had to register (I don't know where) to get coupons. Those with need got adequate coupons. Farmers, those that had to drive a lot, got enough gas allotments. Victory gardens sprang up everywhere. Schools and kids had scrap drives for everything and that is the way the home front operated.
It so happened that I was the right age (draft age was 18 to 30) to become a part of the effort. I was working in Cleveland in a factory and rooming with my brother, Mike. When the war erupted, Mike enlisted in the Army Air Corp. I didn't seem to have any aim or direction or ambition in life. I moved to the East side and roomed with a Buffalo friend, Emil Scrapjansky. Shortly afterwards, we decided to join the service. A downtown Cleveland building housed all the enlisting offices. Army, Navy, Marines, and Coast Guard turned us down for silly defects (I had an overbite). The top floor had a Merchant Marine office, totally foreign to us. We applied and were informed we would be sent to New York that evening. That stopped us cold. What kind of an outfit was this? Later we found out German subs were having a field day on our East Coast. "Hell no" Emil says. "We have to go home and hoe corn first." So we quit our jobs and went back to Buffalo (Ohio) for a couple of weeks, then back to Cleveland. By way of Akron, we found Maurice Williams, my life long friend and the three of use were on a train that night on our way to New York and the US Maritime Service on Hoffman Island for a three month training period that would make us experienced seamen (not a big joke, just a little joke).
he seriousness of war had not gotten through to me as yet. The military part wasn't bad. We marched, drilled in lifeboats, gunnery, studied ship stuff, got time off in town to booze up, etc. I got sick on the parade field and wound up in the Marine hospital on Staten Island for 16 days for appendix surgery. When I got back to Hoffman, my class had been shipped out including Emil and Maurice. I was sent to the Seaman Institute to await a ship. This was in the coldest part of winter when I was assigned to a ship being overhauled. I was the first crewman on a totally dead ship, no heat or anything. There may have been officers that were already assigned, but not present.
At first, I had to commute from the institute 'til we got heat. Gradually it came to life. More people came aboard. I spent my time down below in the engine room and fire room and it was a new strange environment. I was to work under the Second Assistant Engineer. The ship was the U.S.A.T. Colorado a converted lake vessel for sea duty. It had been outfitted to include refrigerated cargo.
It would soon be time to take the required shakedown cruise out in the harbor to insure every thing was sea worthy. This would take about two hours. This event took place on my watch. A short description of my duties is needed to explain the event. The ship's routines at sea were set at sea watches of four hours on and eight hours off. The First Assistant Engineer with his crew worked the four to eight shift. The Second Assistant Engineer and his crew was twelve to four and the Third was eight to twelve. The fireman's duties were to maintain steam at all times. There was a red mark on the steam gauge at 180 pounds and you were to keep the needle exactly there at all times (I never read that in the fine print) and that was no easy task. Sudden engine speed-ups depleted the steam as sudden slow-downs did the opposite. The fireman, racing back and forth between two boilers with four burners each, opening and closing valves and watching the gauges, had a busy time. This was mostly when the ship was port maneuvering, etc.
Out at sea everything held pretty steady. The fuel oil was similar to that sprayed on roads for dust control. It had to be heated to a certain temperature to burn. But I've gotten ahead of my story. A couple of days before the trial run, the Second Assistant instructed me to light up the dead boilers and gradually bring them up to steam. This was done by opening valves, starting the pump, and filling the boiler till it showed in the gauge glass. In a cold boiler, the fires were started manually with a lighted kerosene soaked torch and inserted through a port to ignite the fuel oil as the burner was turned on. All the burners were alternately lit one at a time. After some time had elapsed, the Second Assistant came by to see my progress. Water should have been showing. He started checking and I heard a huge, very loud yell from back of the boiler. "You S.O.B.!! You're supposed to open valves!" There is a shutoff and a check valve in each line. I forgot one of them. What a blow to my self esteem. Anyhow, I finally got the steam up. The trial run was performed on my watch.
As I said, all the activity was new, the engine running, the telegraph ringing commands from the Bridge. I guess we got out into the harbor. Again I was being yelled and hollered at. Even the Chief Engineer came down to the engine room. We were belching a huge black cloud up and down the harbor and the Port Authorities were raising hell about the smoke. I couldn't help it. The fuel oil was not hot enough and the air supply was not right. All of this was fixed in time and that was what the trial run was for. I was finding out that this was not going to be a pleasure boat ride on Seneca Lake. Also, there was no such thing as quitting your job if you didn't like it!
The ship with a full crew including a Navy gunnery crew was ready to start its voyage. No streamers or confetti or a band playing. We just left silently in the night and were heading south to Charleston, SC, to load up. A new experience, being out on the vast expanse of the water all alone and for the first time, getting that feeling that someone was watching you. The ocean was getting a little choppy and the ship started rolling. Another new experience, without warning I was seasick, an awful feeling. Your guts come out through your mouth. But, you know, I got over it and never had another bout with it.
We pulled into Charleston, docked and all the confusion of loading began. The cargo consisted of huge Block Buster bombs on the bottom of the hold. Then progressively smaller bombs until the fore and aft holds were half full. Then drum after drum after drum of high-octane gas filled the holds. On deck, many crates of jeeps, air craft, train engines, and metal runways all piled high with cat walks built on top for us to get around. Also, our refrigerator was filled with frozen turkeys.
Our duty watches in port were 8 hours on and 16 off. The weather, from snow bound frigid New York to balmy, sunny, warm South Carolina over night was strange. For about a week that we were there, I tried every which way to reach my brother Mike who was training at the air base in Greenville, some 50 odd miles away. Not allowed to leave the area, I exhausted all my options and failed to reach him. Later, I learned that he got to the dock less than an hour after we departed.
We were leaving port and headed to Key West, Fl to form a small convoy to cross the deadly Caribbean with a stop off at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. A breakdown of our steering engine caused us to return to Key West and a few days later we were on our way again in another convoy. We later found out that the convoy we aborted was annihilated by the subs. I don't remember the length of time it took to cross what was called Suicide Alley. The German subs were concentrated in all of the Caribbean as it was the center of shipping lanes to the Mediterranean, Africa, South America, etc. All of this area was called Suicide Alley. All the guys (myself included) dreaded going below to stand our watch. On my watch as I relieved the fireman, we were to exchange okays before being relieved. He was gone. He had zipped out of there before I could say, "Hi. Well, I didn't see any fireworks", but the noise was thunderous. The pipes and equipment, in fact, the entire area banged, clanked, and vibrated. I guess all the ships in the convoy zigged and zagged to evade the torpedoes. What I was hearing was depth charges exploding all around. There is no way to describe one's emotions. You watch your gauges, water, steam, and fuel in a detached way. Every explosion makes you jump with you- 4 - expecting the worst. If this ship blew up would you know it? Be aware of it? So I would sing hymns and pray. The longest 4 hours of my life finally ended and I, too, zipped out of there and on to the deck. No orderly convoy was seen, just ships going in different directions. The escorts were still dropping depth charges. All subsided as Guantanamo came into view. I never ever found out what the convoy casualties were.
As we pulled into the tropical port, would you know it, we ran onto a sand bar. We were stuck on it until next high tide and received a pull from a tug. No damage to our bow, but as luck would have it, our engine room caught on fire, the most dreaded thing at sea. Everyone had a station. Mine, of course, was the engine room. I put on my gas mask and headed below. On the way, was the First Assistant Engineer screaming through his mask, "I can't breathe!" I told him to take it off and go outside. (He was a little old Greek guy). Down below, the bulkhead (sidewall) was on fire. The fire was one side of a fuel oil storage tank and many coats of paint fueled the fire. We quickly put it out. If that steel wall had gotten red hot and ignited the oil behind it, the explosion would have been heard all over Cuba.
A short stay there at anchor was really appreciated. Balmy weather, clear water, locals in boats selling stuff, and the guys on deck with ropes and buckets hanging over the side made us forget there was a war going on. Cigars, porno picture packages, rum and souvenirs were purchased at very low prices. We left there on our own for Panama on a very rough and windy trip. This made it safer from submarines, but the thought of them lurking nearby would always remain with me.
It was hot in Panama - very hot! We docked for 2 days while waiting our turn through the canal. On the Atlantic side of Panama, the cities were Crystobol and Colon (American). The Pacific side was Balboa. Going into town was another new experience. The people were Indian descendents. There was a hooker district a full 2 blocks. The crew would go ashore and get boozed up. The ship took on a load of bread. It was loaded on skids, stacked like blocks, not wrapped and winched on board. It made the best toast I've ever eaten. I'd eat it when I got off watch at 4am and fixed it in our crew mess room.
We went through the canal, an all day job, tied up with a submarine, which was my first. Hot!! The Army had soldiers swarming over the ship as it went through. They watched and questioned each move for sabotage actions. At that time the Canal was U.S. Government property and operated by the Army Engineering Corp. No huge aircraft transports existed then, so the Canal was very vital. They were armed and menacing. The hot is what I remember. It was 120 degrees in some places. Now the fire room had 2 pipes about 2 feet in diameter that went up to the top deck and Bridge area. There, it became funnel-shaped, 90 degrees with the pipe. This funnel could be rotated from the fire room to hunt for the wind flow. These pipes (ventilators) also had rope ladders up through them for escape purposes. Now, as I mentioned, the ship would go through the canal starting and stopping many times requiring constant firing changes. When the ship moved, we would get some wind even though the outside temperature was around 100 degrees. When we stopped, the heat hit you like a hot flame. All this time a soldier is running with me and I'm yelling what I'm doing as any fool could plainly see. You had to keep moving to keep the heat from burning your feet right through your shoes. Anyone that's ever gotten a hot foot can relate to this. Now, the steam popoff valve was near the smoke stack on the top deck near the Bridge. I confess to letting the steam gauge go past the red mark and popping that valve. I again caught hell, but enjoyed the commotion I caused. "Go ahead and fire me!"
That evening we were anchored at Balboa in the Pacific. Finally, cool breezes. Every one had sweat enough to fill that canal. I'd like to insert a couple of information points here to help all of you that intend to become fireman. After the boilers get heated up, the combustion chamber lined with a ceramic coating, gets red hot and shutting off a burner to replace with a clean one or whatever, a torch is not needed to relight it. Just spin the valve open. Caution! This, only when the chamber is red hot. To repeat, the boiler is a large steel box. The bottom part is the combustion area. Above, the area is filled with water pipes all connected one to the next and so on that allows water to flow through and become steam. At the top is a dome or chamber that super heats this steam as it flows through. When it goes to the engine, it is a very hot, highpressure invisible gas. One other item before I get on with the trip, in rough seas as the ship rolls, the water level in the gauge glasses rises and falls with the roll of the ship. Sometime this happens so quickly that you only get a glimpse of the water. You try to judge how long the gauge is empty to how long it's full in comparison to the length of the roll. There are times that this can get hectic.
eaving Balboa, we headed North to Salina Cruz, Mexico. We found out later that the orders were to head south to the coast of Chile and then west to Australia. The Captain, being an old coal burning ship sailor, wanted to stop at Salina Cruz, an old coaling port for old times sake. This was a bad move on his part, because later, as soon as we docked in Sydney, Australia, two MPs came aboard and led him off the ship and a new captain came aboard. The Pacific was very calm compared to the Caribbean. In the moonlight the water would glow in streaks from the phosphorus in the water. By day, flying fish by the thousands were all around us. We were to sail all alone to Australia.
In Salina Cruz, a small town with dirt streets and huts and not much more, those not on watch went ashore and found a cantina. Before going to the cantina, we all found the Post Office and bought cards and mailed them. All except me. I got the card for home written ok, but for the life of me, I forgot Mike's address. I always remembered it before. That card was written and I kept it for many years. Later on I found out, after arriving in Sydney and the mail finally reaching us, that Mike had already died in a plane crash. The owners of the cantina quickly rounded up a couple of musicians, both playing a long stringed instrument and the tequila flowed and we got zapped. I was to relieve the fireman on watch. That thought must have poked through my foggy brain and I headed back to the ship. How, I don't know. In total darkness and 3 or 4 turns in direction along the way, I got down to the fire room, not even seeing the fireman I was to relieve. There was a pipe crossing the boiler area that I would hang on by my hands and as I fell asleep, my hands would relax and I would drop and jar myself awake. Singing, "On top of Old Smoky" as loud as I could kept me going. Or so I thought. I awakened some time later behind the engine and rushed to look at the boiler gauges. The steam was down, the water was very low and the generators had slowed down just a little. I proceeded to get everything back to normal. I found my glasses in the shaft alley, bent but usable. Luckily no one came checking on me. I think the entire ship was drunk and asleep. I still shudder when I think of what could have happened. The catastrophe would have made world headlines.
Many times as I go through life I reflect on how an entire crew depends on one person doing his job right. A pilot of an airliner comes to mind as an example.
We left Mexico and the Americas next day, still alone for Hawaii without incident and docked in Honolulu on a beautiful day. The signs of war were evident, barb wire everywhere, total blackout, curfew. The Port Captain welcomed us and said they had followed us all the way. Our Captain says, "You're a damned liar!" Just like that. "We aren't even supposed to be here!" Which was true. If we had sunk or something, no one in the world would have known it. The two or three days while in Honolulu were spent walking the streets. Nothing going on. I remember Diamond Head in the distance, the King Kameamea Statue, and the Aloha Tower. We would swim in the harbor, dive off the ship until I saw a turd floating by and that ended swimming. We left Honolulu with a rainbow reaching from shore to our ship. The farther we went the longer the rainbow got. We hoped it was a good omen.
We plodded along at a top speed of about 10 mph and I keep saying, all alone, heading southwest in super balmy weather, nothing to show that there were any more humans on the planet. All we saw were the flying fish and huge areas solid with jellyfish. Sometimes we saw faint outlines of South Pacific islands on the horizon. We moved our sleeping stuff outside on top of all those crates. Rain squalls would make us scramble back inside. Now we were finding out that the Captain's decision to go the long way was almost disastrous. Our water supply was nearly depleted. It was shut off for everything except cooking and the boilers. We flushed toilets with buckets of seawater as well as tried to wash in it. There was a tank in the engine room that used steam to boil sea water and make fresh water. This was called an Evaporator (of course). It replenished some water, but two days out of port the boilers exhausted their supply and the Chief Engineer gave the order to start using sea water. An ominous condition now existed. The salt in the sea water caked the pipes. This took more heat to make steam. The pressure started dropping, engine slowing down, boiler tubes began to warp and twist. We knew that a disabled ship so close to land was easy prey to subs. Also, if the boiler tubes cracked; well, it did not happen and we limped into Sydney harbor, shut off everything and the tugs docked us for a 6 week stay to repair the boilers.
Sydney was a great city, full of our service men and women there for R & R. There were many things to do and see. Theaters, botanical gardens, pubs, restaurants, great beaches, and very friendly people made us welcome. Very few Australian men in the city. They were in the jungles fighting Japs. I could write a book on our activities there. I'll touch on a few things, in no order, as I think of them. I can't recall when, but along the way I received a slight promotion and became an Oiler (a new ballgame for me). Some of our crew went back to the States and were replaced by Aussies. Tom Shearman replaced me in the fire room; we became close friends.
We made several trips to New Guinea with usually the same kind of cargo. The rear end of the ship, stern, fantail or any other name, had a one-floor deck (poop deck) and that was where the Firemen and Oiler's living quarters were. Above, on deck was a 50mm gun tub and a Navy sailor stood watch there full time at sea. One of these Navy sailors was a Kentucky guy and from the time we left dock until we returned, he was very seasick. I could hear him dry heaving all night. I sure felt sorry for him. He was never replaced. I often wondered how those supplies got to Australia in the first place. Such huge amounts and Australia was not that industrialized. We would head north through the Great Barrier Reef in small convoys and come back empty and alone. An empty ship in rough seas is really something. Pretend you're a bug in a sealed bottle and on one of those white water rivers! You get the picture. On one of those return trips we were being escorted part way by a small military plane when it suddenly dropped into the water. We circled for quite awhile looking for the pilot (I think there were 2 crewmen), but nothing ever surfaced. I don't remember if it was on this return trip or another one that stirred us up again. It was a dark night around 10 pm that suddenly the night was made bright as day. Someone on another ship had fired a couple of signal flares and they were floating above us. You can bet everyone except those on- 8 - watch was on deck and expecting the worst. Then a distant ship signaled us to identify ourselves by signaling back a certain word from a page of a code book.
One, our signal man (also radio operator) could not be found. That ship kept repeating its request. Finally locating our man, the answer was made. A Navy ship then came along side and someone there on a bull horn informed us that we were very lucky. As we went our separate ways I realized how suddenly things could happen. I guess that was a U.S. destroyer out prowling the seas in pitch black darkness looking for the sub or subs that was giving us fits (the subs surface at night to recharge their quipment). You can appreciate how very dangerous it was to sail in total darkness. We were always glad to get into the reef and safety from subs. Each convoy going north would get attacked by a sub. Nearly every convoy would lose a ship. I remember the S.S. Port Morsby. She was sister ship to the Colorado. Identical in every way. She was right across from us in the next line of ships and carrying the same cargo as we were. Those of us on deck at that time (it was nearly sundown) saw the huge explosion and fireball that went skyward. The ship disappeared just like that. A Navy LST (Landing Ship Transport, larger than a barge that landed troops on shore) also got hit and sank. In no time, the black smoke was way behind us on the horizon. About 80 crew members and 25 on the LST went just like that. There's no answer to why it was them and not us. A decision of the sub captain.
Or, another time we got into the shallows of the reef and wound up on a sandbar, stuck there 'til tugs from the nearest port freed us. In the meantime, we suffered from hoards of mosquitoes. No one on the ship slept a wink. Then there was the time while unloading at Salamoa, New Guinea, a Lightening Pursuit twintailed fighter plane, crashed and burned on a hillside about a mile away. We went there and gathered small pieces of aluminum and short lengths of the plane's machine gun ammo (35mm or 50cal). We took the live rounds to our engine room and pulled off the bullets and dumped the powder and fired off the cap and reassembled the shells. I still have 3 of them, including a tracer round. An Oiler's duty was to keep all equipment in the engine room in operating condition. As the name suggests, all pumps, engines, controls, etc. had to be lubricated and maintained, steam glands tightened and (in port) repaired. Each Oiler had his squirt can (the kind that has a spout and a flat bottom that your thumb presses). We would polish the bottom with emery paper until it was paper thin and very touchy. We could squirt a shot of oil 30 feet easily. Well, the 3 cylinder reciprocating engine stood about 3 floors high, the cranks rotated at about a 4 foot diameter circle, all in the open. The piston rods, bearings, crank shaft parts, all had to be oiled every hour in operation. The Oiler would hold on to a rail and lean into the engine and reach into the bearings to make sure no black burnt oil showed. Then with his trusty squirt can, squirt oil into moving parts as they whizzed by. This had- 9 -to be done no matter how rough the seas. One moment the engine is hovering above you and the next moment you are on top of it. I shudder at the times when I think of those hot oil slick hand rails and rough seas. How easy it was to slip, squashed like a bug by the revolving cranks.
I would like to take a little time to blow my own horn a little. I became proficient with the machinery. Replacing steam packing glands, remaking Babbitt bearings, and doing repair as required became natural to me. One time I came to the Third Assistant,s aid in adding water to a boiler, which had to be done by a steam injector. This is a unit of pipes that allows a jet of steam to flow across an orifice and suck water through a pipe into the boiler. The steam had to flow at the correct velocity. He wasn't getting the right flow. He thanked me over and over for doing it. The Third Assistant (I can't remember his name) was a nervous wreck from the beginning of the trip. He lost his voice and never regained it the entire trip and just used a loud hoarse whisper to converse. He begged me to transfer to his 8 to 12 watch, but I wouldn't do it. To this day I am sorry for not doing it. I could have helped him regain his self-confidence and his voice.
he Second Assistant was a boozer. He would stock up a full supply of beer, etc. at the Officers Club in Sydney (only available to officers). Out at sea, we would get off watch at 4am and go to the crew's mess room. There, he and his cronies would play poker and I would stay and watch. I was his errand boy. He would say, "John, go snare me a gopher." I would go to his cabin (top deck of ship), get a quart bottle of beer, tie a cord to the neck, take it below to the refrigerator hold and put it into the brine tank for the maximum time of 6 minutes. It was then ice cold. At 7 minutes the bottle would crack - you can bet I was very careful after this happened once and go back to the poker party. The guys would give me a tip out of every pot. I didn't do too badly! As you can guess, the Second and I became close friends. As I think back to the time he chewed me out for not knowing how to fill a boiler with water, I also think of how I saved his (A--) neck, by really sticking mine way out. We had finished being loaded up and ready for orders to sail. I was on watch and the order came from the Bridge to leave in a half hour. Now, that is the time it takes to warm up the engine. So, since it was the Oiler's duty to go and awaken or alert the next crew for their watch, I would rush up 7 flights of stairs to call the Second. He was out like a light because he was boozed up, just muttering. Back down. I told the Fireman to start getting steam up. I started turning on engine valves, purging moisture from the cylinders, then back up to get the Second Assistant, and no luck. I go back down and start slowly turning the engine over; then back up and really shaking the Second. Back down, now the telegraph rings a command. I answer it and start the engine. The telegraph is a brass circular plate marked in- 10 -segments (commands) with a handle that pivots around it. The Bridge and Engine room have their units connected together. As the Bridge moves the handle to a segment (command), the Engineer responds similarly. The Bridge sent down commands: slow ahead, STOP, slow astern, STOP, half ahead, full ahead. All of those commands were executed. Then stop and secure the engine, finished the operation, and we were at anchor out in the harbor waiting for a convoy. A short time later the Second Assistant came down and asked where we were. "At anchor," I said. "How'd we get here?" "I did it, I couldn't get you awake." He never said one more word. He knew he could have lost his license and I had no authority to operate a ship engine. It was illegal and now about 60 years later I wonder where I got the nerve to do that. It wasn't a motorboat. The engine, as large as a house, had tremendous power. What if it had stuck on full speed? The ship, going in circles or slamming into a pier is okay on television, but not funny to think about.
Another time I nearly got into trouble by over-stepping my limit and it was that Evaporator again. I can't remember why we had to operate it. I was checking it out and realized it was dangerously hot! I immediately opened a valve to exhaust it to the atmosphere, this being on the top deck near the boiler popoff valve. This opened valve, being almost as loud as the popoff valve, caused the Chief Engineer to again rush to the engine room. After checking, he found out that we were in shallow water and as a result, sediment had been entering the unit. Yes, it could have blown.
I started writing this story and am surely getting wound up, so many things I could say, but I've got to stop somewhere. A Merchant Marine crew signs articles for a trip, in our case, a year. This was the time to re-sign or payoff. All except 2 guys elected to go home. Just like other activities, we gathered our personal stuff and quietly left the ship, got on a train and to Brisbane where the troop ship S.S. Matsonia (a former luxury liner) would take us to San Francisco. It was loaded with returning service people including many pregnant nurses. I guess they were over zealous in their care for the wounded. It was quicker from Brisbane to San Francisco than it was from 'Frisco to New York by rail. Back home it again was a cold winter from the heat of Australia. In later years I would think back. What if I had stayed on the Colorado? I am positive I could have gotten an Engineer's license. I would have been an Officer on the ship and staying in Australia. Or, could have been sunk the next trip! My life would not have been what it is, my family not existent. Ah, destiny! At any rate, I visited home for a short time and then on to New York and Philadelphia for another ship. I never had any leave coming. Sea duty was constant. Each time my tour ended and I left a ship, draft greeting were sent to me to report for induction. I simply reported to a seamen's hall and registered for the next available ship.
After Australia, I made 6 trips across the Atlantic on Liberty ships (same type of ship before, but now larger and more modern) to France, England, and Mediterranean with all kinds of cargo, mainly food rations and of course, always bombs and ammunition. Also, I encountered all sorts of crew members. Engineers that were Horses A's and also good guys. I reunited with Maurice Williams and we sailed together (he was the Fireman on the same watch with me. Our escapades, some really classics, could fill a book, so we'll leave them out of this.
The Atlantic was always rough. I dreaded the return empty run because the ships bobbed around like corks. Those Liberty ships did stand a lot of punishment. The bunks always lay left to right, not front to back (not seamen,s words). As the ship would roll, I would waken up standing on my head, waiting for the longest time for it to roll the other way and I'd be standing on my feet. What a way to try to sleep. We never even took our clothes off and we didn't dare bathe as we kept our life preserver always handy. Eating was a chore as we chased our utensils up and down the table. Sitting on the pot was done as fast as possible (no reading magazines), you'd hang on to hand rails and the water in the commode would slap you on your butt as the ship rolled. Fun! The convoys were getting bigger. Newer Victory ships were replacing the Liberty ships. They had turbine engines that were much improved over the reciprocating engines I was familiar with. However, I never had a chance to sail on one of them.
The Grand Banks of Newfoundland covered many square miles of the Atlantic. Most convoys went through them to avoid the subs. On one trip, we came out of the fog and not a ship in sight (we were expecting to be in the convoy). Boy, a feast for a ub. Maybe the subs were tailing the convoy. Anyhow, we got to England on our own. As it were, the submarine threat there was subsiding. My last trips were in convoys of 200 ships (unbelievable!). This time we joined the thousands (true) of ships in the English Channel preparing for the Normandy invasion. When the invasion happened, we waited our turn and were unloaded partly at Omaha Beach,s temporary docks and onto ducks (those amphibious vehicles) - then a fast dash back to the States for another load. The next time back, all the ships were gone. We could go ashore at Cherbourgh and view the abandoned German fortifications. I had a lot of stuff for souvenirs, but all was confiscated by the Customs in New York. Soon afterwards the war in Europe was over. The troops were being sent to the Pacific to bring that to a close. Then these men and women were being discharged and were returning home. Again, no big fanfare or bands present. As they left for war, they returned the same way, quietly taking up where they left off, getting a job, getting married, raising families, and gradually getting older. I worked odd jobs like highway construction, railroad gang.
Joe Sekel.
Rfm. Edward Thomas Selby
British Army 7th Battalion, C Coy Rifle Brigade (The Prince Consorts Own)
from:St. Pancras, London.
(d.4th June 1917)
Thomas Selby died of wounds in hospital at Le Treport, he was 34 years old. R I P.
1Eng. Frank Henry Selby
Merchant Marine SS War Grange
from:10 First Avenue, Westcliff-on-Sea, Essex
(d.15th May 1918)
Pte. George Edwin Selby
British Army 6th Battalion Royal Fusiliers
from:Ealing, London
(d.3rd May 1916)
George Edwin Selby was my great-grandfather. He died aged 45, when my grandfather was only 3 years old. My grandfather never had the chance to know this man but was always immensely proud that he died whilst serving his country. My memories of my grandfather are tied up with his visits to the war memorial at Walpole Park, Ealing, that bore his father's name.
Lt. Meyrick Edward Selby-Lowndes
British Army 2nd Btn. Seaforth Highlanders
(d.27th October 1918)
Lieutenant Meyrick Edward Selby-Lowndes came from nobility and landed gentry. In 1911 his family lived at Highfield, Milton Avenue. In the 1920s his father, a Burnham magistrate, owned Marsham Manor and his sister Violet lived at The Corner House. Meyrick joined the prestigious 2nd Battalion, Seaforth Highlanders in 1916 but was mortally wounded near Cambrai in France. He died after seven weeks of suffering on 27th of October 1918, age 20 years, just two weeks before the end of the war.
Cptn. Hugh Ronald Selfe
British Army 8th Btn. North Staffordshire Regiment
(d.9th July 1917)
Hugh Selfe emigrated to Canada in 1903 and came back as part of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, he attested 28th September 1914. He was seconded to the 8th North Staffs.
Pte. John Sellars
British Army 2nd Btn. Lancashire Fusiliers
from:Litton, Derbyshire
(d.12th Oct 1916)
Pte. Frederick Abraham Sellek
British Army 14th Btn. Gloucestershire Regiment
from:Exmouth, Devon
Frederick Sellek was born in Withycombe on the 28th April 1896. He joined up on the 15th of May 1915 giving his adddress as 10 Park Terrace, Withycombe, Exmouth. He was single, 5' 0", 7 Stone 11 pounds, chest 34" and his occupation is listed as Gardener. He joined the 14th (Bantams) Battalion Gloucester Regimen as a Private. His Next of Kin is given as Eliza Sellek, his mother of 10 Park Terrace, Exmouth.
Frederick transferred to 194th Infantry Company, Labour Corps on the 31st of January 1917 at Dieppe. Then to KSOB on the 12th of July 1918. He transferred to the Z list on 14th of March 1919 giving his home address as 80 The Village, Withycombe Exmouth. Frederick died in 1976
Pte. Thomas Henry Sellen
British Army Supply Section Army Service Corps
Based upon Private Thomas Sellen's Medal Rolls Index Card and his Service Medal and Award Roll, he served in the Supply Section of the Army Service Corps. Additionally, the S4 in his service number indicates that he was enlisted into the fourth New Army. On either document, there is no indication of which theatre(s) he served in. Unfortunately, neither his service record nor a pension record were accessible, it is likely that his records were among those destroyed during the Second World War. For his service in the Great War, Private Thomas Henry Sellen, Army Service Corps, was awarded the British War Medal and the Victory Medal.
A/Sgt. William Charles Henry Sellens MM.
British Army 87th Brigade., A Bty. Royal Field Artillery
from:St Leonards, Sussex
Will Sellens enlisted in December 1914, and made his way up through the ranks from gunner to acting sergent. He served most of the war in A Battery, 87th Brigade, finishing in 190th Brigade. He won the MM some time towards the end of 1917 (listed in the Times in December 1917).
Rflmn. Percival James Sellick
British Army 3rd Btn. Royal Irish Rifles
from:London
My Grandfather, Percival Sellick was on the front line in Ypres for three years. He was injured with shrapnel an hospitalised but returned to the front line a few months later. He was shot in the pelvis in the summer of 1918 and was retired wounded. While he survived the war, he later died due to the complications caused by his injuries. He left a widow and seven children, some very young, including my father who was only six.
Page 16 of 87
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