My father’s other tale of travel, also a wartime event, was a particular favourite, as he felt he had been delivered by a Divine Providence.
It was 1942; he was now a captain in the Pioneer Corps, and had been posted to Sierra Leone. He was sent to Liverpool to catch a ship and he and another officer were duly sent by launch onto a waiting trooper. They had barely been aboard when a message came over the loudspeaker system telling both of them to report immediately with their baggage, to the Embarkation Station Staff Officer, ashore.
Fortunately, the launch had not left the ship and was able to return them to the dockside.
When they reported to the E.S.O., he asked them what they wanted. When they replied that they had come in response to his summons, they were told he had no idea what they were talking about and told him to return to the ship.
The ship had sailed – it was subsequently torpedoed, Father was told – but the two men travelled by a later boat to Freetown without any further problems.