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My Signals Squadron was crossing from Oran to Taranto in a ferry appropriately called "Ville d'Oran". We started off in a small convoy, but our captain, frustrated by the slow common-denominator speed, elected to go it alone, and went 'Full Ahead'. As we left the convoy, the escorting destroyer sent a Morse message, "Maximum danger air attack 2000hrs".

We operators spread the chilling tidings, and, down below in the hammock-filled quarters, conversation grew more and more stilted, and died away altogether as the hour approached.

Then someone who was surely destined to become a psychiatrist broke the strained silence to ask a simple question:

"Would anyone like to buy a good watch?"

Foreboding banished: optimism restored.

No attack came.

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