British Nuclear Test Veterans Association
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From First Class to No Class at all
David Halliday (4086)
17th August 1957
Having spent one night at Woolwich Barracks, a sort of UK equivalent to B & B at Alcatraz, we were coached out to Heathrow Aliport to start the first leg of our journey to Christmas Island. The MOD was apparently filling all West bound aircraft to the States with troops en-route to Honolulu and I was fortunately assigned to a BOAC Monarch flight to New York. Of course, in 1957 I had no idea what a Monarch flight was but was delighted to discover it was a grade above first class. We had been required to carry our Great Coats as hand luggage and to stay within the 66lb. allowance. So there we were on a Boeing Stratocruiser, a few squaddies dispersed amidst the very rich travelling to New York. Those were the days before air hostesses were allowed anywhere near first class flights and all attendants were stewards dressed smartly in 'Whites'. My ticket begrudgingly thrust into my hand by some envious sergeant showed a purchase price of £273.00 (I can still get to Honolulu for less than this price, forty-five years later). Before take-off the steward had served me with a large Scotch and the Royal Engineer seated next to me with a large Brandy with an olive floating on the surface. Hardly into the flight the same steward inquired whether we needed another drink. My RE pal replied 'Yea John, but this time will you put two Gherkins in the Brandy'. Without a smile or inflection in his voice the steward replied 'Of course Sir'.
After our fuelling stop at Reykjavik we continued on to New York where we were given $4.00 as an allowance to 'see the city'. Being in uniform we must have stood out like sore thumbs and on Broadway I was stopped by a very pleasant American lady who inquired whether I was a Boy Scout leader - so much for the quality of UK uniforms. Completing a tour of New York City courtesy of a YMCA bus, it was then time to set off for Los Angeles the next leg of our journey to the Pacific. On board the American Airlines DC6 the cabin crew introduced themselves as 'Babs and Julie' and thus service, good food, and efficiency went straight out of the window of the aircraft. Without so much as a dollar trip on the YMCA bus around Hollywood we were again airborne, bound for Honolulu and regrettably again with American Airlines. My new RE friend and I was now getting very critical about the sort of service we were getting and how quickly the drinks arrived. Little did we know what waited for us in Honolulu: a troop ship by the name of Empire Clyde, no stewards, not even a sub grade air hostess just an old rusty tub which should have been scrapped many decades before.
After four nights on the rusty ship and three old movies shown on a make shift screen located on the deck we
arrived at the Port area of Christmas Island. My first sighting of this desert Island, apart from the palm trees, sun
drenched sand and blue sea was a native girl dressed simply in a short skirt and literally, nothing else.
Goodbye
rusty tub, hello paradise...