Also WW1 submarines please.
Were they able to use deodorant with aluminum or was it already a problem? Are there accounts of body odors?
On early American S-class submarines, admittedly a WWI type, the atmosphere could be decidedly foul, which is one of the reasons they were called pig boats:
With no air conditioning, poor ventilation, and few provisions for personal hygiene, the pig boats were woefully unsuited for tropical conditions. The onboard ecosystem was fecund. Within the overall miasma of diesel, bilge odor, battery acid, unwashed bodies, garbage, and "something indefinable but sickly sweet" grew mold and mildew of various shades, as well as "finger-length stud cockroaches" that could be "stunned but never decimated by fumigation."
This account from a British sub is appropriate as well:
“We have lockers about the size of coffins… and a small table in the fore-ends. Hanging from the ceiling there are about fifteen hammocks, so if you want to move around you have to do so in a crouched position… Potatoes and cabbages are piled in one corner and, as it is as damp as Eastney beach, after six days there is the horrible smell of rotting vegetables… and on top of that there is the smell of unwashed bodies. At the moment we are doing about eighteen hours dived every day so you can guess that it is pretty thick at night. What a blessed relief when, at night, comes the order ‘diving stations’ and about ten minutes later ‘blow one and six.’ The boat shudders as the air goes into the ballast tanks and then up she goes! I am at the bottom of the ladder and then the captain opens the hatch and up rushes all the foul air just like a fog… Beautiful, marvelous air. We are provided with top-notch waterproof gear, but the water always seems to find a weak spot to trickle into. Up on the swaying bridge, with a pair of binoculars which you try to keep dry to have a look around between deluges of water, soaked and frozen you say to yourself ‘why the **** did I join?!’ Then when you are relieved, you clamber down the ladder, discard all the wet gear and go into the fore-ends, have a cup of cocoa, turn in and, as you fall asleep, you think ‘well, it’s not such a bad life after all.’”