African tribesman lined the beach with their spears aloft as Ronnie Giles and his shipwrecked crew drifted towards them in their lifeboat.

And as Ronnie, then a novice engineer in the Merchant Navy, waded ashore, so one of the natives came towards him with a strange knife.

"He made a small hole in a coconut and gave it to me to drink the milk," the 85-year-old recalls. "He was such a nice chap.

"They all carried spears and knives, but they were a happy lot. They just could not do enough for us. They treated us wonderfully."

Ronnie's African adventure was a world way from his Sunderland roots, where he grew up in Southwick, the only child of a miner.

After leaving West Southwick School at 14, the young Ronnie found work as an assistant for a racing tipster, earning 7/6d a week.

"It was a great life," he said. "I cycled all over giving out racing tips and collecting money. Sadly, when the season ended, so did the job."

Other odd jobs followed until, at the age of 16, Ronnie secured a five-year apprenticeship at Doxford's shipyard as a junior engineer.

It was always his ambition, however, to work at sea and, after completing his time aged 21, he joined the Merchant Navy in 1943.

"It was a complete coincidence, but I was assigned to a ship which I had watched being built at Doxford's, the Empire City," he said.

"I had even helped to construct the engine room and knew the place better than anyone else. She was a lovely ship, a beautiful ship."

The Empire City, a 7,295-ton cargo vessel, sailed from Sunderland on November 2, 1943, with Ronnie and a mainly local crew aboard.

The following year, having taken on a cargo of coal in Portuguese East Africa, the ship sailed up the Mozambique Channel in a small convoy.

"Within hours, the convoy broke up and our ship was torpedoed in the early hours of August 6, 1944," recalls Ronnie.

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"I was in my bunk, half asleep, when we were hit in the engine. The noise of the explosion was terrific; it fairly made my eardrums burst.

"I got the shock of my life when I then felt water around my feet. I thought the ship would go down at any minute at that point."

With the lights knocked out by the blast, the ship was pitch black as Ronnie stumbled towards what he hoped was the exit door to the deck.

"As we were sailing in hot weather, just south of the Equator, all I was wearing were my underpants. Some people had nothing on," he said.

Ronnie managed to escape the sinking ship in a lifeboat, bailing out water from the damaged craft as they rowed away to safety.

Seconds later, a cry of "There's another one!" was heard. A great column of water then shot into the air as a second torpedo hit the ship.

"It was a perfect moonlit night and I watched as the Empire City took its final plunge into the depths of the ocean," said Ronnie.

"We lost two men that night, our third engineer and fireman. They were both on duty in the engine room when it was blown up."

Just a few minutes later, the conning tower of the attacking U-boat started emerging from the water, followed by the whole submarine.

Speaking through a megaphone in perfect English, the Germans asked Ronnie and his crew mates to row their lifeboat alongside them.

After asking several questions about their nationality, ship and cargo of coal, they then politely inquired about the health of the sailors.

"They asked if anyone was injured and made sure we had supplies. Then they wished us good luck and said goodbye!" recalls Ronnie.

"We rode on the sub's wash after that, rowing towards a raft where the carpenter and galley boy, both completely nude, were thumbing a lift."

Ronnie and his shipmates drifted at sea for the next two days, before spotting land and finally coming ashore in Portuguese East Africa.

It was here that they found themselves welcomed by local tribesmen, who brought them food, drinks and even coconut mats to lie on.

"It was like a page from an adventure book," said Ronnie. "I gave my whistle to one of the natives and he immediately started blowing it.

"He was over the moon with the whistle, and I was over the moon to be given the coconuts and something to drink. It was wonderful.

"Although they couldn't speak English, they made signs that they would bring someone and we curled up on the beach on our mats."

The following day a trader arrived, who was able to communicate with the Empire City's chief radio operator in Hindustani.

Help was summoned and, just a few hours later, the survivors were on their way to Port Amelia, some 200 miles to the south, by lorry.

"We thought the Portuguese were going to intern us," said Ronnie. "But, in the end, we were rescued by some Royal Navy torpedo boats.

"They used the excuse that they had run out of water to pull into the harbour, and diplomatic negotiations went on all day to rescue us."

Ronnie finally left East Africa on a motorboat at about midnight, but it was to be several long weeks before he saw England again.

His journey home took him via Mombasa, Durban and Johannesburg, where he stayed with the manager of a goldmine for a few days.

"He took us down the mine while we were there, and I saw the gold being mined. It was only tiny slivers, but fascinating," said Ronnie.

"We travelled on to Cape Town from there, and the Empress of Scotland troop ship then took us back to Liverpool and home."

Ronnie eventually arrived safe and sound in Sunderland a year to the day after he had left, although he was soon back at sea on war duty.

The U-boat which had sunk Ronnie's ship was not so fortunate. Just a few days after the incident, U-198 was destroyed by depth charges.

"It was sad because there was one of our men onboard when that submarine was sunk," said Ronnie, who lives in Pallion.

"He was taken prisoner when the Empire Day, which was also built at Doxford's, was sunk at the same time as our ship. Consequently, the poor lad got blown up too."

Ronnie ended his working career back in the shipyards, but has never forgotten his "story book" encounter with the African tribesmen.

"They were the friendliest lot imaginable," he said.