大象传媒

The period prior to sailing offered a good opportunity for letter writing and to reflect now that we were saying good-bye to the Western Desert, on that land which had been our home for the past two and a half years. There were many things which I would miss and there were other things which I would gladly miss, of the latter there would be the dusty, stifling sandstorms, the disease-carrying flies and what a relief to find it possible to eat a meal without a film of sand settling on it, causing you to feel the grit grating on the teeth.
Those things apart, there were others of a more pleasurable nature, among them the freedom from dress restrictions, where a pair of shorts and canvas shoes were all that was necessary, where any clothing could be quickly washed in petrol laid out on a thorn bush to dry and wearable in ten minutes, crisp and bleached as white as any of mother鈥檚 washing.
As far as I was concerned the weather was ideal, even at its hottest I found it acceptable. Many men yearned for the climate of home, longing for the ice and snows of winter, even the unpredictable summers. There, too, were those 鈥榩ea souper鈥� fogs to contend with; I could remember the nights when people were reluctant to venture out because it was difficult to breath that heavy air. As much as I wished to be home I much preferred the land of the sun.
I would remember, too, when coming off guard the cool greyness of the mornings which quickly gave way to the sun鈥檚 heat, when in spite of thousands of vehicles revving up prior to the day鈥檚 action the air seemed clean and pure to breathe; that was particularly so in Springtime when the desert roses, the tiny flowers of the thorn bush shone their dewy brightness to colour the sand.
The evening skies I would especially miss for their unforgettable painter鈥檚 palette colours before the darkness of night descended. In the darkness, when on sentry duty, men would count the paces away from the vehicles so as not to venture away and wander off into that eerie still blackness of the desolate and featureless landscape.
So many memories in a land where such terrible scenes have been witnessed of carnage, death, and destruction, which due to the time that I was born caused me to be involved with; totally involved in the killing and destroying, for which those of my generation were taught and trained to do - to kill or be killed.
Then after leaving he desert we had been given to understand that we would be transported to take part in a war in a different type of battlefield, one to be fought over the fields, villages, towns and cities of Europe, so different from the desert where we were able to assess at a distance, much like ships at sea; there was no fear of what waited around the corner or behind a hedge or haystack.
It all caused me to wonder why I should have to be part of this abnormity: it was not the sort of life surely that any young man should be forced to endure. We ought to be have been able to be free, to do all those things which men of other generations had been permitted to do. Probably it is better if one does not have the time to ponder and reflect but just to 鈥榮oldier on鈥� because 鈥榦urs is not to wonder why鈥�.
About the time that we were withdrawn from the desert, the Americans with an Allied force under General Eisenhower (the First Army) had landed in North Africa.
News arriving from home told us that the Germans had made a massive assault on Stalingrad and the American Air Force in Britain had taken part in their first heavy bombing raid over Germany; also, there had been a daring but unsuccessful raid on the coast of France at Dieppe.
In the New Year (1943) we boarded the long-awaited ship which taking into account its size was not intended for a long sea voyage. It certainly wasn鈥檛 capable of transporting us home. It did however carry us to where we disembarked, at Limassol in Cyprus. The village of Kondia became our base.
The billets were whitewashed farm buildings, minus windows and doors, we very soon began to feel the cold. It was more comfortable after hanging blankets over the openings. The football field field became our barrack square, devoid of all grass, due no doubt to the many hundreds of feet which had marched and stamped there in the past. Our vehicles were ancient Mohammed Harrington armoured cars as it was intended to train us to fulfil a reconnaissance role for the future; also while on the island we strengthened the garrison there, because there had been and there still was a chance that parachutists could put in an appearance.
Training tactics were entirely different; we needed to accustom ourselves to working in built-up populated areas, close-wooded country, with hedges and fields. There would be street to street and building to building fighting. There were schemes carried out across the island and map-reading was an essential part. At the same time there was loads of 鈥榖ull鈥�. Full Dress Adjutant鈥檚 parades, parades for visiting brass hats, kit inspections, vehicle inspections and the inevitable route marches.
The vehicle inspections were ludicrous, we gave them the spit-and-polish treatment after which they looked sparkling new, but only about a third of them were runners, relics of the first war and of many years鈥� service in the Middle East in the inter-war years.
There came the day of an extra-special inspection for the benefit of some high-ranking officer, and our cars looked resplendent as they were lined up on a grassy field with their polished front wheels touching a white line and us crew members standing in line at their fronts, waiting for ourselves and the machines to be inspected. I wasn鈥檛 the only one on parade who was disgusted with the amount of effort which we had put in for the show to make the vehicles appear roadworthy when clearly about a third of them were not and many of them had to be towed into position.
Although all around grumbled about the farcical exhibition, I was the only one who was misguided enough to show my resentment by refusing to whiten my equipment; I should have known from experience that you cannot beat the Army and that ultimately I would be the loser and suffer the consequences. When the inspecting party stood before me the RSM told me that I was to report to him after the parade, which I did.
He didn鈥檛 hesitate to tell me what he thought of me in quite plain Army language, so there was no mistaking his order to get my 鈥榝ilthy something鈥� kit cleaned double-quick and to report to him with it. I had never actually been what could be said to be the 鈥榓pple of his eye鈥�, far from it, and I knew that he had blocked my promotion on more than one occasion; then the present action had worsened matters and his opinion of me was as low as could be.
Unfortunately for me the cleaning of the kit was by no means the end of the affair, for while scrubbing away at the ablutions I managed to get myself further involved. It was my intention to make a good quick job of the cleaning so as to create a favourable impression with the hope that by doing so I might avoid being put on a charge, but obviously it wasn鈥檛 my day because alongside me having a wash day was a trooper who had just come off sick parade where he had been due to partial loss of hearing.
He asked what I was doing and I told him that the RSM (and I described him in a most offensive, derogatory manner) had told me to get 鈥渃leaned up鈥�. Unfortunately for me, the trooper being hard of hearing, I had to repeat it which meant that then I had to raise my voice and while doing so the man in question came round the corner of the hut.
I thought for sure that he would have heard every word including the defamatory words I had used to describe him. He came and stood close, towering above me and proceeded to give me a further lecture, a real dressing-down using the ripest of language.
He informed that he was giving me my last chance and if there should be any more trouble from me 鈥測our feet won鈥檛 touch鈥�; evidently he hadn鈥檛 heard all I had said about him for which I was most grateful; if he had then I think I might have been put away for a long time.
My kit passed inspection and without further comment, but a few days later I thought that I knew why no more had been said because names had been put in for promotion, mine among them and as I might have expected, it was rejected. Sergeant-Major Atkins told me his recommendation for my third stripe had once again been refused by the RSM, and he intended to turn down any further applications on my behalf until such time that I had smartened myself up and that I would never be permitted to enter the Sergeants鈥� Mess until it was evident that there was an improvement in my attitude. My refusals for promotion were a well-known event and I had my leg pulled after each refusal and men would shout to me 鈥淏eecher鈥檚 Brook鈥� because I had been 鈥榡umped again鈥�.
The padre had reformed the regimental choir and I joined, we used the Greek Orthodox church in the village for our practices and the Sunday Service. We performed at concerts too when we sang pieces of music such as Jerusalem and Ave Maria.
There was plenty of opportunity for sport; Football, Cross-Country running, Boxing, and other sports too, but they were the ones which interested me. Those taking part in all or any of those activities excused them from many parades and drills.
Boxing was my first choice, although due to my arm I had not been able to box even on the rare occasions when it had been possible. I was keen to try it out. It hadn鈥檛 been a problem, so I joined the boxing team. It was under the guidance of a captain who it was said had been a University Heavyweight champion, he took an interest in me and at times gave me individual instruction.
I rigged a punch bag up on a tree about half a mile from camp, a kitbag filled with sand. Each morning as Reveille sounded I jumped out of bed, ran to the tree, gave the bag a good thumping, returning to camp in time for the cookhouse and breakfast. It was a sure test for the arm, there was some some swelling after exertion but nothing more.
I fought for the squadron in a regimental competition in the Featherweight division. My opponent and myself were evenly matched in both height and build. The bout turned out to be a real ding-dong slog swinging punch for punch, wildly lashing out in all directions, both of us lacking in skill.
I won but merited no praise or compliments from the captain, who pointed out that I had ignored all he had tried to teach me; from the moment that I had stepped into the ring I had been drawn into what he called a brawl; he went on to tell me that I could have beaten him much easier if I had boxed him, applied a little skill and I wouldn鈥檛 then have ended up so bloodied.
I was pleased with my showing when I ran second in the regimental cross-country run because I had competed against some extraordinarily good long-distance runners and apart from a few runs for the squadron it was my first serious race since the Tidworth Garrison Cup race in 1940. Several times I played football for the squadron but couldn鈥檛 hold a regular place and was certainly not good enough to play for the regimental side, which was of a very high standard and included several professionals.
Some Saturdays were set aside for map-reading schemes and the method adopted was for a truck to drop us in the Troodos mountains in the morning and leave us to map-read our way back to camp. Any troop failing to make it back to base before the leave truck left for Nicosia would not be able to take advantage of leave passes. It was an ingenious means to make everyone conscious of the importance of being able to understand and to interpret their maps. It was in the interest of all of us to make our return as soon as possible, but there was one particular occasion when our troop made a false start, getting our bearings wrong at the very beginning, so that before long we were totally lost.
Neither the troop sergeant or myself were able to assist the officer. We were forced to make many backtracks after selecting what we thought was the most likely route. Eventually it was at a small village bar where a number of old men sat outside smoking, chatting and drinking their coffee that we were able to pinpoint our actual position with their aid. From then on we were able to make headway, arriving in camp in mid-afternoon. This was the cause for much mickey-taking and ridicule for our misadventure.

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