大象传媒

The following forms part of an account written by my father (Laurence Coates)shortly before his death in 1981.

On the nineteenth of June, I was doing a spell of duty on guard. All was very quiet. In fact, it was a lovely peaceful evening, not a breath of wind to stir the dust and, of course, there was seldom a cloud to hide the sun which shone all day. But, at this time of day, the sun was losing its power and it was pleasant to stand and look out over the town and up the escarpment.
Normally, clouds of dust would be rising up the escarpment as traffic of one kind or another moved around, taking rations or ammunition to the front lines - front lines that consisted of old bomb or shell holes protected with any lumps of rock that happened to be handy. That was how they came to be named "The Desert Rats"; they hid up in holes all day and came out at night.
I looked up towards the fort and saw someone walking down, someone I soon identified as Joe Iredale, our battery runner. I knew he was coming for a chat. There was nothing said if one of the lads came down and had a few words with whoever happened to be on duty. "Now then, Joe" I said as he came up to me. "It's a very quiet evening; it's very strange is this silence.鈥� "Yus" he replied in his Colne Valley dialect "I don't like it. I'll tell you what, we'll all be treading grapes in Italy in a week." "Do you think so?" I replied, knowing that if I offered him a little bait he would pass on some of his information - information which had a bigger ring of truth to it than that passed to us by our superiors. "Yus" he carried on. "Our lot are going as fast as they can back to Alex and, in a day or two, Jerry'll start on us and there'll be nowt to stop him. South Affs aren't in the same street as t鈥橝ussies." We talked on other things and then he said "I think I'll be off to bed" and off he went.
I was to stand around and see the tanks roll down the steep road that led into the town.
By five o'clock, orders had come through from General Clopper that he had capitulated. Tobruk was now in the hands of the enemy and it was every man for himself. But where could we go? How could we get out? Our troops were miles down the road, going much faster than we could make it, and the enemy was using the same road. No one made any attempt to get away; we were surrounded all the way, and the desert is a very inhospitable place. There was nothing to do but just wait and be picked up.
We all managed to get into the tunnel where we spent the night - a couple of the officers standing guard outside. I had a very good night's sleep, relieved that the bombing and shelling could now be over and wondering what life as a POW was going to be like. I had been into our dug out and put into my valise the things I thought I would need most: the things of sentimental value, socks, shirts. I got as much in as it would hold and I thought I could comfortably carry, and brought with me one blanket. The cook did us well for breakfast. He'd cooked all the rations we had none of us knew when we would get our next meal, or what it would be. We filled our pockets with biscuits and water bottles with water and awaited our fate.
It was not long coming. A lorry rumbled up the road and out stepped half a dozen Jerries, shouting and bawling. All the officers climbed onto the back of the lorry and, as it drew away, we gave them a cheer. Two of them, Lieutenant Barlow and Lieutenant Lindsay Whyte gave us a farewell salute.
We were marched off into the town; there to begin a new life, sometimes very hard, when freedom seemed to be years away and your stomach was really empty. I looked on it as an adventure - some new places to see, a new language to learn. Little did I realise at the time that I should have to learn a new way of living, learn to take things as they are today and see what happens tomorrow.
We were marched, in column, from the town up onto the escarpment, passing, on the way, burnt out lorries and tanks. I remained, along with thousands of others, on the tops, burnt by the sun during the day and cold at nights; no food except the few biscuits I had in my pocket. I had emptied my water bottle on the first day. The Jerries had brought a small amount of water in cans which had previously held diesel, and that made your thirst worse than ever.
By Tuesday, some lorries with trailers had started to come into the barbed wire enclosure to take prisoners away. I had had enough. I could see that there was no chance of a big push to release us some had the na茂ve hope that would happen, but my hopes could never reach that height. I felt that if I didn't make some effort to be moved soon, they would move me further along the tops, tied up in a blanket, to the war cemetery. I could only persuade one of our mob to come along with me a lad called Frank Romm. Telling the others who were staying behind that we would see them some day, we made our way to the waiting lorries and climbed aboard.
It was around five o'clock when the convoy of lorries started up and, as we moved up the Derna road, I turned my head to take my last look at Tobruk.

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