大象传媒

We moved on a journey north by train. This was a really memorable experience. We had carriages with observation verandas at each end and the countryside was as we had seen in Biblical pictures in books from our childhood. We travelled beside the Canal for most of the way but here and there we had glimpses of the local people at work with their oxen. These great beasts were pulling ploughs and harrows over the arid soil that mainly circulated around wells around the base of a pole while spurts of water came up from the depths.

We eventually arrived somewhere in the sand east of Alexandria. Here we lived in tents just over a sand hill. Ablutions were in the open, concrete troughs with a tap, and it was not long before we were pestered by a number of locals wearing night shorts and red fez鈥檚 selling birthday cards. The prize card was the one that read, 鈥淭o my dear wife from her loving brother鈥�.

These boys, in conjunction with the occasional whirlwind that darted over the camp area, sucking up anything it could find, were the pests of our lives. Eventually we complained to the police, to discover that the night-shirted boys were the police off duty. We spent most of our time doing gun drill and my detachment was the fastest thing in the district, prodded on by my advice, 鈥淚 don鈥檛 give a damn how fast you go, but if some day you find a plane diving down your barrel, it will be you on him鈥�. Our little Major on several occasions stood looking at his stopwatch with astonishment. We knew certain tricks and when wee Major Harding disappeared scanning his watch, we would return to our tents to chuckle.

We had a couple of diversions to our routine; one was the visits to the Sergeants Mess in a building down the road where the Sudanese served dinner. The other was a cinema that showed out-of-date films in the open air on a screen beside the road. We sat in the sand and cheered in song as the occasion arose.

Our glimpses of the locals were also remarkable. We would drive along a desert road, stop and over a sand dune would appear two or three lads in nightshirts selling birthday cards, leather purses and other trinkets. We were puzzled about where they actually lived. We would often come upon squads of men and women working in the 鈥榝ields鈥�.

One morning after a few weeks in this place, I was called to the side, and was given a secret set of orders. I was dispatched in charge of a convoy of some 30 vehicles to an 鈥榰nknown destination鈥� . All of this caused great speculation among my immediate friends but I wasn鈥檛 talking. I travelled in a jeep, my driver was Charlie Smirke, a one-time jockey for the Aga Khan and he was also the winner twice at the Derby. Apart from being a great jockey, and an athlete with the girls, he was a first class boxer, and a really excellent driver.

We set off from Egypt early one morning, the general perfume of the countryside being best described as 鈥榗urry powder鈥�. Behind us stretched some 30 vehicles and drivers spread at 50 yard intervals in convoy. Our job in the jeep, apart from leading, was to drop off at the side of the road and count the vehicles, then make our way to the lead again. Fortunate for us, there were few forks in the road, and across the desert there were warnings that read 鈥渘ext water point 80 kilometres鈥�. We travelled via Tel Aviv, past Jewish Kibbutz, where Charlie was obviously mistaken for a Jew. Little Jewish girls in gave us heaps of Jaffa oranges.

Our only incident during this trip was in the middle of the Sinai desert, when we pulled off the road to count the convoy, and after the convoy past we discovered we were bogged in the sand. We had a four-wheel drive but we were still stuck for about an hour until a lone British water truck discovered us and towed us out.

Further on, I was 鈥榣ost鈥� for about half-an-hour in the dark desert after straying from a roadside canteen. Determined not to wonder into the wilds I sat and waited until someone flashed the sidelight of a truck. I was immediately on a beeline for the truck, frozen in my shirt and shorts; I soon discovered it was my own mob. It was quite frightening at the time, especially as I was full of Arab wine.

Driving into Beirut, I as Sergeant in charge of the convoy, eventually found my way to an Army Headquarters where, according to the N.C.O who let me in, the officer in charge was 鈥減unch drunk鈥�. On presenting myself in his hut, I found him to be a fluid-faced Captain of some 45 years with a strong Irish accent. 鈥淵ou have a convoy of vehicles?鈥� he said. 鈥淚 have sir鈥�, 鈥淗ow many?鈥� 鈥淭hirty five鈥�, 鈥淚s there anything peculiar about them?鈥�, he said. 鈥淭hey have pitch over the batteries, sir鈥�. This waterproofed them for invasions. He loved this. 鈥淰ery good Sergeant, take them down the road to your right, take the second turn on the left鈥�. 鈥淲hen a red cap challenges you, say to him 鈥楻ed B鈥欌��. 鈥淲here do you come from?鈥� he said. 鈥淒ungannon, sir鈥�, I replied. 鈥淚 come from Tipperary, good luck Sergeant鈥�.

I went outside and led the whole convoy down the second road on the left, and then we were lost. He had meant the second road on the right, facing south, the old fool, where did he think we had come from, Russia? After sorting this shambles out, we found ourselves encamped on Beirut racecourse. We slept under our trucks, after a full feed. The weather was fine and warm. Each morning a lad appeared and shouted 鈥淐onvoys 124, 129, 131, etc. assemble at the Main Gate ready to move off鈥�. Where they went was a mystery to all of us. As a local N.C.O. told us, 鈥淭hey go off down that road and don鈥檛 come back鈥�. Security was evidently good. As a diversion from this routine Charlie Smirke organised an unladen Jeep race around the racecourse, he won hands down. A posse of officers with their usual wee sticks and supporting loud-mouthed N.C.O.鈥檚 rapidly terminated this entertainment. We had one trip into Beirut, apart from the odd escapes under the wire, and ran into some sort of full-scale riot. We weren鈥檛 sure who was fighting whom.

Eventually one morning our convoy number was called out. Packing was easy and we soon found ourselves at the docks. Here each vehicle was lifted aboard the ship in a net while we were left standing on the dock, with minimal kit. One is never so completely left stranded as we were in the armed Forces. No money, no tickets, no food. Come and get us! Hours later we were aboard a goods train heading once again to an unknown destination south. The train steadily puffed south. By day we sat swinging our legs through the open doors of the goods wagons, admiring the verdant landscape, until suddenly it dawned on us after 48 hours that this train never stopped. We urinated and even deficated through the open doors. We kept wondering when we were going to get any food. The train stopped twice, for some unknown reason, and on each occasion there was a mad dash of lads with 鈥榗har-tins鈥� to get hot water from the engine. This process consisted of persuading the engine driver to let off steam into the char-tins. Then there was a dash up the train with the 鈥榗har鈥�. Except for the odd biscuit in our kit, we had no food.

As night fell we settled down inside our wagons with our heads resting on our kit bags and our bodies wrapped in two blankets. As a Co. Tyrone farmer would have said, it was at least 鈥渄ry under foot鈥�. In the early hours of the morning we arrived at an unknown station where it was announced we could change our Syrian pounds into Egyptian currency. A night shirted man did all this by gaslight and where we, of course, were robbed in the exchange rate. Some of the lucky ones were able to buy an edible substance that was christened by the soldiers as 鈥榯urd鈥�. It was a type of sweetmeat that was highly prized. We chugged on again into the night.

Dawn found us still hungry and thirsty, 鈥榩eeing鈥� out the doors and looking out at the expanse of sand. Responsible for this move, we all knew there was some stupid 鈥渜uilt鈥� of an officer who either hadn鈥檛 thought that troops in a non-stop train needed sustenance or he didn鈥檛 care.

Everything comes to an end and eventually we arrived at a way-side station in the sand. A fleet of trucks waited for us, we were transported some miles west into the sun, and dumped on the side of a desert road. Our patch was beside an east-west tarmacadam road bordered to the North and South with sand. The patch was equipped with open ablutions and latrines. We had neither food nor tents.

Shortly after we arrived a dispatch rider arrived on a motorbike. He bore a message from the officer in charge of the next camp, which was a mile up the road. If we cared to walk up, he would supply us with tea and sandwiches, he apparently had been similarly dumped a week prior to us. We were really starving so we queued up with our tummies rumbling and mugs at the ready. The last few yards were torture and when we got a full mug of sweet tea and a large thick corned beef sandwich, we thought we were set. Never before or since have I enjoyed anything better. We were so very much grateful to the unknown officer.

We settled down to a life in the sand, somewhere west of Alexandria, and after a night in the open our officer produced tents, floorboards, food and eventually some mail. Once we got our tents established, we sat down to write censored letters home and spent most of the rest of our time disappearing over a sand dune to a N.A.A.F.I. tent manned by a N.A.A.F.I. sergeant and locals in nightshirts and fez鈥檚. It was here we talked, drank tea and ate buns, whilst waiting for something to happen. To our delight we discovered that the locals did not know the difference between Syrian and Egyptian money. After a couple of days of this luck there was an appeal to say that the N.A.A.F.I. sergeant had lost 拢56 and would we kindly bring his money back. The idea of bringing money back to a N.A.A.F.I. sergeant had us rolling in the aisles.

The local assistants were always short of change and would give us our change in buns. A smart English sergeant went up to the counter, ordered a number of packets of cigarettes, and with the assistance of a few learners, payed for his purchase with several dozen buns. Typical of the British Army, we had nothing to do and nothing to look at, what an Ulster man would call 鈥済reat crack鈥�.

The next camp we went to was occupied by a battalion of Congo troops who marched and sang hymns all day, they were as black as coal. They were punished for the slightest misdemeanours by being put off drill parades and church services.

We were suddenly, one morning, provided with trucks and driven to the docks of Alexandria, where we were ferried out to a large cargo ship. We had no idea what was going to happen to us. In July 1943, we joined a convoy outside Alexandria and sailed west.

It was not long after we had set sail that a letter was delivered, addressed to the 鈥淥fficer In Charge鈥� of Ship No. ____鈥�, there was no officer aboard except me, Sergeant Johnston, G.N. 1573402. I was instructed to gather the troops that were aboard the ship and to inform them the contents of the sealed orders. I carefully opened the envelope, which was printed with,

ON HIS MAJESTY鈥橲 SERVICE

Bigot Husky Most Secret

Detachment 66LAA Regiment

From HQ. 2 AA Brigade

Inside were the orders for operation Husky dated 18 June 1943.

Major Corbett, R.A. on behalf of Brigadier, Commanding 2 A.A. Brigade, had signed the letter. I opened the orders, the copy I had received was marked 鈥楥opy No. 66'. It instructed us to the map references for Italy.

I read the order to the troops these order detailed the assault landings which were to be made on beaches to the SOUTH and S.W. of SYRACUSE, in SICILY, by TWELFTH ARMY. Comdr. TWELFTH ARMY is General B.L. Montgomery. TWELFTH ARMY will revert to its correct title of EIGHTH ARMY immediately a landing has been made. At the mention of the name 鈥淢ontgomery鈥�, the boys cheered, a most unBritish reaction to any information. It was a relief that someone who knew what he was doing was in charge of the excursion.

We chugged on in convoy for some 10 days. The black 鈥榮ubmarine about鈥� flags flew frequently, on one occasion the leading left ship was torpedoed but safely ran aground on the North African coast. We appeared to have submarines within our ranks also, so the destroyers attacked them with depth charges. During this incident I was down below deck, inspecting vehicle batteries with a torch. The first depth charge felt as if the bottom of the ship had been hit with a huge hammer. We hurried to the deck like scalded cats, but only some of the hatches were open which necessitated a mad scramble in the dark from the rear to the front of the ship.

There were times when the steady 鈥榙ub dub鈥� of the ship suddenly stopped and the vessel suddenly swung to the right. In the time it took the Scottish engineer to tinker with the engine far below, we lay alone with a solitary destroyer circling around us. It took us at least 12 hours before we got back in line. We slept on deck, close to a hatch cover. It was not until we started to unload that we discovered that the cargo below this hatch was mortar shells of various sizes.

In the early hours of 10 July 1943, after a rather rough night, we lay off the Sicilian coast. The airborne troops and commandos were already ashore and some fires burnt along the coast. A monitor, which is a large flat-bottomed boat carrying a large gun, kept pumping shells out, while Jerry and the Italian planes came in waves. They were concentrating on the ships lying off the coast as well as the troops on the beach area. Here and there floated gliders full of drowned troops, the Yanks had shipped them too soon and dropped them in the sea. We waited our turn to go ashore, landing craft came alongside and the vehicles were lowered into them, it was not until midnight that Bob Grigsly and I went down the rope ladder in the dark onto the catwalk to the landing craft. There was sudden bump and moans from below, we realised we had fallen with our full kit, down 8 feet into the well of the vessel amongst the trucks. We found our vehicle and I helped Bob into the passenger seat; I with great trepidation got behind the steering wheel. I was no truck driver, no sir.

In the darkness the vessel stopped with a thump, truck engines were started up and we followed each other off in turn like one would come off a car ferry. Under Bob鈥檚 instructions I kept her moving and to my horror found myself driving in about three feet of water. I steered the vehicle towards two lights on the beach, there were different coloured lights for soft vehicles and tanks. We eventually arrived on a narrow road, with no clue as to where we had to go. There seemed to be a lull in the traffic, we spotted an olive grove on our left so we turned into it, took our boots off and went to sleep in the cab of the truck. We were occasionally woken by the noise of bombing on the beach, but we were about a mile inland. The thought that we were on enemy territory started to cross our minds, but we were asleep in seconds.

We were awoken in the early hours by a fierce banging on the roof of the truck. Bob went for his revolver and I for my Tammy gun. Through the window appeared the face of a redcap corporal, his face puce with rage and his language deplorable, 鈥淭his is a fg invasion鈥�, he said 鈥渘ot a fg picnic鈥�. I thought of pulling rank on him but it wouldn鈥檛 have worked. Bleary eyed we headed for Syracuse.

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