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I had no need of the German language to understand what was required of me. I stood up lifting my arms in the air as I did so. There was a second German who reached forward and made motions for me to hand over my revolver. Taking it from its holster and removing the loop of its lanyard from my neck, I passed it over.

It would be hard to describe my feelings at that time. In a state of shock I still could not believe what had happened. My mind was reeling with the utter hopelessness of the situation. I felt nothing but despondency and dejection, but above all else was the humiliation of being taken prisoner. I vaguely remembered being taken away and forced to sit with other prisoners that were being brought in. Their misery was etched on each of their faces as they struggled to come to terms with what must be one of the most unparalleled crises of their lives.

Later they brought in the wounded. Some had minor wounds and had treated themselves by applying their own first aid dressings. There were others more seriously injured who had to be carried in by their captors. There were two very badly wounded, the first an Indian soldier who was lying on his side with a gaping wound in his stomach and the other a British sergeant propped up against a bundle of equipment with a torn and nearly severed left arm.

The Germans brought along someone to tend to them, whether he was a doctor or a medical orderly, the others did not know. If there were any dead then they were left lying where they had fallen - out in the desert. Soon the blazing sun was causing extreme discomfort to the seriously injured. Those that were not wounded took it in turns to stand holding blankets above the wounded in an endeavour to try and give them some shelter from the now scorching sun.

Later the unwounded were formed up and marched in column across the desert. There was a small truck leading them, and on either side of the trudging prisoners were tracked vehicles. From time to time one of them would close in on the long drawn out line of marching prisoners and a German would point to a particular captive and beckon him over to the vehicle.

He had seen something that had taken his fancy, a watch perhaps, or an article of clothing such as a leather jerkin. In return he would pay for the item with a packet of English cigarettes or a can of beer, which without doubt was part of the spoils of war from Tobruk or from a previous triumph.

On the march I furtively went through my pockets looking for any correspondence I thought might be of use to the enemy. I was tearing up the paper and letting the torn pieces drop to the ground to be trodden into the sand by the tramping prisoners. Silent and with each one of us suffering his own personal mortification, we dejectedly stumbled on, losing count of all time.

Later they we were met and halted by the arrival of a staff car. Three German officers got out and proceeded to work their way down the lines of prisoners. There was no strict interrogation, each prisoner being keenly scrutinised with a few questions asked here and there. I was under the impression that they might have been looking for officers. Having walked through the whole column one of the German officers addressed the prisoners in perfect English. First he wanted all RASC personnel to fall out and then when none were forthcoming he spoke to them en masse.

The gist of his address was in actual fact a proposition. Telling them that it was known that the British had petrol dumps in the desert, he was asking the RASC amongst us to furnish particulars as to their location. To those who would provide the information he promised an easy time and quick transportation to a good prisoner of war camp in Germany. No one made a move or stepped forward, everyone stood impassive and indifferent to his proposition. Having failed in his first appeal, he tried again. This time it was to ask for drivers to drive captured trucks. The same rewards were offered, but again there was no response.

The gruelling march across the desert continued. Most of us had been without a drink since leaving Mersa the evening before and with the sun at its zenith the heat was becoming unbearable. Finally we came to some sort of an assembly area where the Germans were collocating their prisoners. Some had been brought in before the arrival of our party. It was here that the NCOs were separated from the men and were ordered to sit down in line formation.

Intelligence officers working in pairs moved down the lines of prisoners. The procedure was that when the interrogating team came to a prisoner he had to stand, and after emptying his pockets was searched. One of the officers would then examine any papers and personal possessions found on him. If an item interested them it was noted and kept by them, the remainder being returned to its owner. When questions were asked the reply was to give only the rank name and regimental number. When it was my turn I stood up and emptied my pockets, there was very little in them, but I did have my 'Army Book 64 Part One'. This was a small brown book issued to all soldiers and contained a record of service such as qualifications, dates of inoculations, last will and testament, etc.

Looking through the book the officer gave just a cursory glance at the snapshots of my wife Leah, but extracted a piece of paper from a pocket insert. I recognised it instantly as a receipt for a radio that someone whilst on leave in Cairo had purchased for one of the platoons and had passed to me to put through the unit account.

It had obviously aroused the Officer's interest. "So you have recently come up from Cairo", he said.

My reply was to repeat my regimental number, rank and name that I had given previously. The officer was not to be put off.

"You are part of the new Armoured Division from Palestine."

I remained silent, which seemed to infuriate the officer. He kept perusing through the small book, but returning to the same topic.

"We know that new forces have been brought from Syria and Palestine, you are part of that force..… Are you not?"

I remained silent. I was now worried and concerned at the way the line of questioning was taking.

The two Germans left me to move on to the next prisoner. I went to sit down, but was immediately stopped from doing so. My interrogator glaring at me, told me to keep standing

I watched them moving up the line. What was to happen to me now? I felt so conspicuous, the only one in the line to be standing. Why hadn't I put that bloody receipt through the account? If I had done so, it would now be with all the other documents in the back of the office truck out in the desert. Normally receipts such as this would have been entered in the unit account when received, but having been on the move I had not touched any paper work since starting the flap back.

The whole question was settled for me by the arrival over the location of three of our own planes. They circled high overhead and it must have been obvious to the pilots that this was a concentration of prisoners. One of them did a low level run over the long lines of sitting prisoners which set up bursts of cheering and waving from them and in the excitement of it all I sat down.

It was mid afternoon when we were crammed into captured British vehicles and moved out. There were a couple of stops on route during which time we had full opportunity of studying our captors. I was struck with the easy manner of dress of these Afrika Korps soldiers and also of their attitude towards us the prisoners.

Due to the fluid nature of the desert fighting a soldier through no fault of his own could be taken prisoner and there had been a great numbers of prisoners taken by both sides. Perhaps this was a deciding factor in the relationship now experienced between captor and captive.

The manner of these Germans towards their prisoners was friendly, they even apologised that they had no water to give them telling them that they were short of water themselves. They of course were in good humour, their morale was high and they were boasting of their early entry into Cairo.

"Soon we shall be in Cairo and Palestine," one of the captors said.

The prisoners could only listen and wonder. These Afrika Korps soldiers may be right they thought, their advance had been so sudden, quick and successful, anything could be possible. On hearing the soldier's boast of the Germans occupying Palestine set me worrying about my wife Leah. Was she still there in Palestine, or had Joseph her father taken the family to Syria?

It was late afternoon and the sun had disappeared over the horizon when we reached our destination - Mersa Matruh. We were unloaded outside the prisoner of war enclosures that still had signs on them differentiating the separate cages as being for 'Germans' and 'Italians'.

Before ushering us into the cages the Germans told us that we were being handed over to the Italians who would be responsible for us from then on. We had already gathered that there was little liking for the Italians from their German allies and this was borne out when one of the Afrika Korps escorts told us to watch out for the Italians.

"If you have anything valuable, then hide it, because they will have the socks from off your feet," he said.

How true we later found this statement to be.

It was here that we were able to get our first drink, but there was no food forthcoming. We then spent a restless night lying in the open on the hard ground. Early the following morning we were once more loaded on to vehicles, only this time both trucks and escorts were Italian. Somewhere along the road we were passed by a convoy of Italian feather plumed Bersaglieri who seeing the British prisoners, mocked and jeered them. So this was the calibre of Mussolini best soldiers, they thought.

Continues in Subjection and Dejection part 2

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