We had a group of Black British Troops from Jamacia on board. They didn't believe in using the bathroom facilities but used the darkout exits at each hatchway--very smelly. Also, they were to furnish food for all the troops. They served Boiled Kidneys--not too appetizing.

On the way overseas while we were sitting on the deck of the troopship with several flight members around, we discussed what we did in civilian life before we got in the military. My "student" of the .45 incident said to my surprise that he had been a cop in Detroit. I said:

A cop?! And I was to train you in shooting the weapon?!"

I said that although I got him to qualify on the .45, I had never shot one before in my life. He said he understood that, as he could tell as soon as I opened my mouth that I didn't know a damn thing about shooting a .45. I asked why he didn't qualify the first two times we shot, and he said that he had had a bad night the night before. He also said he hoped I would never again tutor anyone on the .45.

When we passed the Rock Of Gibraltar, the ship's gunnery crew sounded air raid sirens. A plane flew over but turned out to be friendly. They told us that on their last trip through that area the same thing happened, but it was a German plane and it sunk the sister ship to this one--our first feeling that a war was really going on and we were in it. Before that, war was something you heard about on the news.

We docked in Naples, Italy ten days after we left the USA--it seemed like a year. We docked next to a sunken ship in Naples, as the docks and ships in the harbor had been blown up by the advancing Allied Army troops several days before. We had to walk on the side of the sunken ship to get on shore.