大象传媒

I HAD joined the 8th Army just in time to be pushed back for the last time by Rommel. Life was very confusing for a chap who had hardly got his knees brown. Jerry gave us a bit of a pasting with his Stuka dive bombers and 88 millimetre multi-purpose guns. He pushed us back to El Alamein with his superior tanks, even his superior petrol cans. His tanks had thicker armoured plating and a much bigger gun. A fair comparison of guns would be:- his 88 mm., a telegraph pole, to our 2 pounder, a broomstick. Our blokes had to get almost close enough to shove their guns up his exhaust to knock him out. As for the petrol cans, well, his Jerricans were made of heavy gauge steel and could withstand some really hard knocks. Ours were called flimsies, and if you sneezed they sprang a leak. The floor of the truck was forever soaked in petrol. A sobering thought, with all the fireworks going off. By now old Monty had assumed command of the 8th Army and apart from telling us we would hit Rommel for six, he also said there would be no more retreating. The order was, 鈥淗ere we stand or die鈥�. Sounds a bit dramatic, but that鈥檚 what the man said. We nearly sat down and died, due to 鈥渇riendly fire鈥�. The Free French were one side of us, the Greeks were t鈥檕ther side. A small group of us British were sitting quietly, having a smoke and a chat, when a bullet kicked up the sand bang in the middle of our social circle. We told them where Jerry was, and that was the way their guns should be pointed. Foreigners! You can鈥檛 trust 鈥檈m.

WELL WE stood, we didn鈥檛 all die. Our lads got some better tanks, Grants and Shermans with bigger guns - 75 millimetres. The tide had turned. The artillery barrage, laid down by hundreds of guns, began on 23rd October, 1942, two days before my 21st birthday. I knew that my brother Jim鈥檚 regiment, 3rd RHA was involved with the barrage. We were told to follow on behind the last tank and replenish anybody, so long as they were on our side. The generals knew what was happening and what they hoped would happen. We were just confused most of the time. For a time we were bogged down between minefields. It was good to go back to the Royal Army Service Corps to fill up with a load of petrol and oils. Trouble was, we had to go back to the front where there was a lot of hot metal flying about. El Alamein was a dodgy old place but once we got clear of the minefields we were off into the wide blue yonder.

NOW 60 years on it is difficult to remember what happened and when, so I鈥檒l just summarise and generalise from El Alamein to Tunis. Most of the time we travelled on the desert. Sometimes it was rocky and strewn with large boulders, sometimes we could go flat out on salt marshes with a hard, dry crust of salt, sometimes it was slow going in soft powdery sand with emergency low gear and four-wheel drive engaged. Sometimes it was 鈥榙rive carefully鈥� down escarpments (cliffs but no water), or drive carefully over Wadis (river-beds but no water).

OCCASIONALLY WE would travel in style along the coast road which seems to go along the whole top of Africa. Jerry held us up occasionally and it was on one such occasion that two South African officers nearly brought our war to an end. These two blokes were supposed to lead a convoy back to replenish supplies. Off we went, travelling westward. We should have been going eastward. We nearly went west! Straight towards a German tank unit we went, all that was missing was a shout of Tally-Ho! Old Jerry was so surprised he couldn鈥檛 shoot straight. Some were shaving, some were having a cuppa. Lathered faces turned towards us, mouths were agape, razors were halted in mid air whilst coffee cups were also halted away from the waiting stubble. As a man, our lorry drivers did a smart about turn and we sped back through our own lines, helped on our way by Jerry鈥檚 88 mm. guns plus his tank cannons. We never saw the South Africans again.

WE SOON got the impression that our advance was unstoppable. Place names slipped by into memory, names like Fuka, Mersa Matruh, Sidi Barrani, Hellfire Pass and Bir Hacheim. We did a detour round Tobruk, a place I would have liked to visit. Later on we passed through a large oasis where we did some bartering with the Arabs for luxuries like water melon and salad foods. The unhappy memory of that place is the hundreds of tortoises that died beneath the wheels and tracks of our lorries and tanks. Soon we were heading for Bengazi which Jerry was loath to leave. It was round about here that our unit moved out suddenly whilst we, four trucks, were back at the RASC loading stores. In the kerfuffle we became lost for just over two days. The desert can be a lonely old place, also a mysterious and mystical place. No better place to watch a sunset or study the stars. Anyway, on the second day of our dilemma we noticed a small collection of Jeeps and other soft vehicles approaching carefully. Turned out to be our Long Range Desert Group, forerunner of the SAS. We had a little chat, they scrounged a few cigs. (nobody parted with any water), then off they went to bypass Bengazi and shoot up Jerry鈥檚 supply columns. Before they left they pointed us in the general direction of our own troops and we were soon reunited with our mates.

I NOTICED my DR skills were being required more often. After being down-sized from a five ton truck I was given a Jeep with which to drive liaison officers about. One such job was a bit hairy. The narrow road was hewn out of the side of the mountain, with a sheer drop a long way down to ground level. To add a bit of spice to the journey, the young liaison officer got his verbal instructions wrong, instructions which I had overheard. He told me to drive along a track to where we should find our rendezvous point. I asked him if he was sure. 鈥淥f course I鈥檓 sure鈥�, he replied huffily. A little further down the track I spotted something which convinced me we were on the wrong track. I pulled up. He said 鈥淲hy have you stopped?鈥� huffily. I said, 鈥淲hat do you think that is across the track?鈥� politely. It was the remains of a camel blown up by a mine. Now was the time for man to man talk. I said, 鈥淩ight, you got us in here, now you can reverse the Jeep out, carefully. I鈥檒l walk back along the track, well away from the Jeep and give you some hand signals,鈥� cautiously. He was a little paler and a trifle hotter than me by the time we were safely back on track. After a pause for a smoke we resumed our journey in a more friendly atmosphere. By the time we got to Agheila my Jeep鈥檚 engine had succumbed to desert weariness. I was being towed by our cook鈥檚 truck when we were forced off the road by a tank transporter. We had only travelled a few yards along the sandy verge, when - Wallop! Up we all went on an anti-tank mine. Both vehicles went up in flames. Luckily, the occupants escaped just slightly singed, although it didn鈥檛 do my ear much good. The next job was at Marble Arch on Christmas Day. Marble Arch was a triumphal arch erected by Mussolini鈥檚 mob when they colonised that part of North Africa. We, a wireless op, with myself and another chap as guards, plus a signal truck were perched on a bank and designated a listening post. The wireless op had to tune in at frequent intervals and monitor radio traffic. None of us really knew what that was all about. Soon we were heading for Tripoli and there was a tasty rumour that Tripoli would be the stop-off point for the 8th Army. The plan was that 1st Army, consisting of Yanks and British, should advance up from Oran and take Tunis. It didn鈥檛 work because Jerry dug his toes in and wouldn鈥檛 budge. So we trundled out of Tripoli and headed for Tunis. The country was different, it seemed more hospitable. There were more oases and the Arabs spoke French instead of Italian. Our advance, as usual, was often impeded by enemy action. We travelled mostly on the desert but towards the end of the advance we passed through picturesque little coastal towns like Gabes, Sfax and Sousse. Finally, one of our tank regiments took Tunis. It was either the 1st RTR or the 5th RTR.

AFTER A few days of celebration and a quick look at the ruins of Carthage, we set off back down the road, passed through Tripoli again and landed up at Homs. This was a clean area of sand forming the shore of the Mediterranean. Men and vehicles were given a good rest for a couple of weeks. Then, for a couple of months, everybody and everything was brought up to a state of fighting fitness. Six motor-bikes were acquired and a DR squad was formed, of which I was a member. Our old Brigadier had long since been posted, on promotion, to another division. The current Brigadier, Looney Hinde, decided he would borrow a motor-bike and lead the squad on a swan-out in the desert. We swanned - right through a mob of our infantry who were practising lobbing live hand grenades about. No casualties, thankfully, and no laxatives needed for a couple of days. One of my mates did become a casualty though. He fell off his bike in the deep sand, burnt his leg on the exhaust, and the whole of his calf became one large desert sore.

A NEW element was introduced into our busy training schedule. This consisted of scrambling up nets to get on board a Landing Ship, Infantry. A pleasant exercise, not without its humorous moments. I remember wading through the Med., fully clothed, lightly equipped. By my side were two Royal Signallers, Lofty and Shorty. Suddenly there was a minor commotion and there was Shorty peering down at a string of bubbles coming from the depths, up to the surface of the water. Lofty, six foot plus of him, had stepped into a deep hole and crash-dived. He surfaced and we all waded on towards the ship. It鈥檚 not easy trying to scale a sagging rope net whilst the ship is swaying with the motion of the sea. One or two chaps were left hanging upside down, others lost their footing and ended up sitting astride the mesh. A sad sight, watching big, bold baritones turned into sopranos.

THE TRAINING eased off but I wasn鈥檛 quite finished with North Africa. I was detailed to go, with an Australian liaison officer, up into Algeria. We, Major Logan and I, selected a 15 cwt. truck, checked the water, petrol etc., loaded our weapons and bedding on board and off we set without a fanfare. Back we went, yet again, along the coast road through Tripoli and on to Tunis. My Aussie mate was a quiet, congenial type who shared the chores of driving or preparing meals and he also made his own bed then stowed it before we set off for our day鈥檚 journey. He couldn鈥檛 resist the opportunity to spend the night in a hotel (Officers only). So, after borrowing some money from me, he toddled off for a luxurious nights sleep, whilst I dossed down in the back of the truck in a deserted back street of Tunis with a loaded Tommy gun and a revolver for company. We set off bright and early and once clear of the town the road was almost free of traffic. A strange sensation after the hustle and bustle of the war time situation. It was so quiet that even though I overtook an ox-drawn cart slowly and cautiously, the poor old beast of burden turned his head to see what noisy thing was approaching and speared the side of the truck with his horn. After a second night out, under the stars this time, we proceeded to our destination, a camp well inside Algeria where a Combined Ops conflab was being held in connection with the invasion of Italy. After being duly briefed the Major returned to the truck and we started the long journey back to our unit. We made good time until, just after Tunis, the Major driving, we smashed into a horse, a cart and three Arabs all on the wrong side of the road. There were two casualties. The oldest Arab had a nasty head wound and the poor old horse had a nasty gash near his mouth. We decided that the Major would drive the old Arab back to Sousse or Sfax for medical attention, whilst I waited with the other two Arabs. It all ended well. The old boy seemed quite proud of his neatly bandaged head and the three of them were happy with the generous helping of sweets and cigarettes we handed them. Apart from a flat rear tyre which burst and caught fire, we managed to return to camp in a cloud of smoke, with the sarcastic cheers of our comrades in arms ringing in our ears.

MY BROTHER Jim managed to pay me a visit at Homs, before he left North Africa for the invasion of Italy. As for me, well, my safari into Algeria had gained me a few Brownie points. Therefore, when Brigade HQ embarked for Salerno, Italy, I was allowed to stay behind with the rear party. Our job was to clear up the camp site or 鈥檒eaguer鈥� as the tankies describe it. The final clearance was the burial of six cases of bully beef. They would have been worth a fortune in Italy, but our few trucks were so heavily laden the springs were groaning in protest. A short drive along the coast road and there was our ship with its bow on the beach, waiting for us. She was a Landing Ship, Tank (LST.). No scrambling up nets this time, just a gentle drive up a ramp straight into the ship鈥檚 hold. Off we sailed to the land of spaghetti and ice-cream.

IT WAS dark when we reached Salerno and the transport people seemed anxious to get us off-loaded and away from the port area. We obliged by driving a few miles inland, knowing all too well that old Jerry loved bombing port installations. We spent the night in a field which turned out to be a field of tomatoes, so we enjoyed a good breakfast of tinned bacon and fresh tomatoes. The mosquitoes were troublesome during the night but not so vicious as their desert counterparts. My old BSA was off-loaded from the truck, off went the truck with my kit packed in it. I followed on 鈥︹�︹�︹�� whoa, wait a minute. After about two yards I came to a halt. My chain had broken and was laid out in the road behind me. It鈥檚 a messy job, putting a spare link into an oily chain. However, I had a full tank of petrol and could spare a couple of pints to get cleaned up. I finally contacted the rear echelon of my unit, i.e. B echelon, where the R.S.M, Quartermaster, clerks and cooks(?) live. They decided one day in that rarefied atmosphere was enough for me and I was ordered up the sharp end to TAC HQ. Thus I assumed my dual role of DR/Liaison Officer Driver. It took a little time to adjust to a more civilised way of life after our nomadic existence in the desert. Another thing I noticed was, a bomb or shell landing on buildings was more dangerous than landing in soft sand. Apart from the shrapnel, there was the flying masonry to contend with. We had sessions of intense activity followed by sessions of utter boredom. That鈥檚 why most of us enjoyed a cigarette. Sometimes we drove all night, in fits and starts. On one such occasion we were told to bed down in the streets of a suburb of Naples. With a few other blokes, I laid in the road using the kerb as a pillow. Sleeping the sleep of the just, we were awakened by a torrent of rain water gushing down the gutter under our shoulders. There were a few impolite comments about sunny Italy.

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