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This story was submitted to the People`s War site by Alan Magson of Age Concern Bradford and District on behalf of Jack Toothill and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site`s terms and conditions.
Amongst the clover, the boys would find an edible plant growing, which they put on one side for their midday meal.
The girls job was to collect the animals droppings on a concave tray, about a yard across. When full, this tray was hoisted on to the head of one of the girls, who staggered off to an earthen bank, facing the sun. There she would mould the dung with her hands into pancakes about eight inches across, and place them on the bank to dry. This was used as fuel for cooking purposes back home where she lived. One day we gave the boys a bar of soap ; straight away they threw off their 'galabiahs'— a long gown, jumped into the water -filled irrigation ditches, and had a good bath. Normally they had no money for soap. Their parents worked for the owners of the land for 8 piastros a day—which is about two shillings, which, when you come to think of it, was the same as we got, 14 shillings a week.
Our train stopped at Almaza, a transit camp. A few miles out of Cairo .hundreds of tents had been erected, 10 men to a tent, which had a fly sheet to take the worst heat out of the North African sun. On our first parade we were asked to give a pint of blood for our comrades wounded in the Western Desert campaign. The German forces under Rommel, were almost within striking distance of Cairo, and although Cairo was not a military target, we were soon deployed round the city on anti-aircraft duties. This was in July, and what we didn't know then, was that Montgomery was planning his great offensive which was to knock Rommel for six. The Port of Suez was due to receive hundreds of tanks, guns and troops, for the big push in October, and we were soon moved back to Suez, to provide anti-aircraft forces around the port, while all the armour arrived there, to be transported by rail to a huge storage area at Ismalah in the Canal Zone.
Our searchlight site was a few miles out of Suez beside the rail track.; day after day, scores of trains trundled past, loaded with every kind of hardware for one desert campaign. The Suez Canal was quite near, and as the weather was very hot—100 degrees or over, a small party of us went for a swim in the canal for a cooler. It was 95 yards wide and looked very inviting, so we decided to have a race across. All went well, until we were about 15 yards from the far side, when facing us was a black oil slick, which we later learned, was from ships sunk in the canal some months before. Black glutinous stuff it was, and as we were a bit puffed with racing, we decided to swim through it, and got out onto the far bank black from the neck down. We had nothing to clean ourselves up with, so there was nothing for it but to swim back through it for a second time, and gather some more black oil on the way. On our arrival back at camp we were greeted with ' It's the Africa Corps'! The big clean up began, but it was some time before we were anywhere near back to normal, and for some time, our detachment was known as ' the Suez Canal Kentucky Minstrels'. The Company Sergeant Major gave us a good telling off, and said it was a pity the sharks in the Canal had missed us. We realised then, that we might have had a narrow escape.
Then occurred one of those things, a twist of fate, that though it seemed bad at the time, was to turn out a life-saver. Somehow I contracted a dose of dysentery, and went into a military hospital in Suez, along with other lads suffering from the same complaint. I will spare you the description of the symptoms of dysentery, but the cure is bed rest, and no food, only water for a fortnight. Gradually food comes back into the diet in very small amounts, until you feel better, and tests show that you are o.k. In the ward, each patient had a fly swat, and any fly to alight on the bed was quickly despatched, and a count taken at the end of each day.—it helped to pass the time. It was the 7th October when I went in, and November before I came out. Monty started his big push on the 21st October, and it was not until I came out of hospital, that I learned that my mob had taken a big part in it. News was very sketchy, and all my old friends were gone . I never heard what had happened to them until long after the war. It seems that searchlights were used as markers, shining across the desert to show infantry the way they had to go, and many were killed in the minefields laid by Rommel. But for an attack of dysentery, I would have been among them. So, that was another twist of fate to show my number had not yet come up.
Having lost all contact with my old mob, I was posted, together with a few more odds and ends, to join the anti-aircraft company defending Alexandria on the northern seaboard of Egypt. Again, we could not believe our luck. Alexandria, is without doubt, the most beautiful city in Egypt. For many centuries, the Greeks have had a great presence in Alexandria, and all the magnificent hotels were built and owned by them. They seemed to have skills the Egyptians lacked, and they created the Benidorm of the Mediterranean in the 18th and 19th Centuries for the rich and famous of those times. On a two mile frontage of a curving bay to the west, a British Naval Station was installed in the glorious days of Nelson's supremacy on the high seas. Now, as then, the Naval Station keeps a check on every ship that enters the bay. Our searchlight site was between an anti-aircraft gun battery, and the naval station; on a beautiful stretch of sandy beach, a gentle sea breeze tempered the heat. Cyprus was still occupied by German forces at that time, not really very far away; they used to send a reconnaissance aircraft on the nights of the full moon, drop parachute flares, and take photographs of Alexandria harbour, just to check on new arrivals and departures. We tried to locate them with our searchlights, but the flares were a nuisance. The Gun Battery sent up lots of 3.7 exploding shells, but to no avail. Once the full moon began to wane, the activity stopped.
I must confess that life was more like a holiday in the South Seas. Our camp was close to the shores of the Med. When our morning duties were done, we spent the afternoons fishing , lounging on the beach acquiring a golden tan, or swimming out to a little island a hundred yards away. The sea was transparent, and full of shoals of mullet and bass... we were short of Hula Hula dancing girls, but then, you can't have everything. One day we noticed some extra activity among some shoals of fish, just off-shore. We saw a long dark shape in the water, and fish were jumping out all over the place, "it's a shark" someone shouted, and so it proved to be. So, for the second time, we had been swimming in shark-infested water. Swims to the island suddenly lost their charm, and from then we posted look-outs before swimming in the sea.
It was too good to last; after a week or two we were posted to an Infantry Training Camp at Ismailia in the Canal Zone, where they showed us life was not all beer and skittles. Forced marches over the desert jn full packs, carrying Bren or Thompson sub-machine guns soon sweated off any fat we had accumulated on the beaches of Alexandria. About this time, Rommel had been beaten out of North Africa, and was fighting a rearguard action in Southern Italy, In an action on the beaches of Anzio, the 8th Battalion, the Royal Fusiliers, made an unsuccessful landing attempt. More than half were killed or wounded. The remnants, just a few officers and men, were sent out to the Canal Zone. The plan was, as far as we could, to replace the men lost at Anzio, plus some new infantry, trained lads from the UK. We were a motley crew, but after two months hard training, we were deemed to be a credit to the Royal Fusiliers, whose record in past wars was second to none. At some time in the past, a Company of Infantry had the distinction of being the first foot soldiers to be carried aboard a Naval Man of War .For this, they received the honour of being called ' The Royal Fusiliers', and were regarded as the first Marines. To mark this honour, whilst on duty in hot climates, they were allowed to wear Navy blue hose tops.
Our training completed, we were sent out to Iraq on a goodwill mission. They had all the oilwells out there at that time, which were vital to our war effort, so there was to be a big demonstration of our friendship with Iraq by presenting them with a gift of Silver trophies, to be competed for by the Iraqi police force. With brass buttons polished, and blancoed belts, headed by a military band, we marched through the main streets of Baghdad, and finished up at a huge football stadium. There, on a stage, in the Arena, was the boy king, Prince Faisal of Iraq, with his royal entourage and Government ministers all around him. At that time, Iraq was a monarchy — the king had recently died, and his son, ten year old Prince Faisal , was proclaimed king. A Regent was appointed to act on his behalf until he attained the age of 21. This he did, and reigned formany years as King of Iraq. He was a great peace-maker for the rest of his life.
When all the speeches had been said, and the trophies formally handed over, we marched out of the stadium and on to the streets of Baghdad, with the band playing, flags flying, and all the pomp and ceremony of a Royal occasion.
Our real job out there was the protection of oil wells from sabotage, by elements who objected to Britain using their oil. We were based in a purpose-built camp at a place called Kermanshah, 5,000ft up in the mountainous country of Iran. Here for the first time in my army career in wartime, we had real beds to sleep in. Up to that time, it had been a blanket on the sand, and the whole of our personal possessions in a kit-bag. Now we had football fields, swimming pools, every device for keeping fit. We were fully mobile, able to travel quickly to any place where trouble might be brewing.; we had training in 'hostile crowd control', without resort to guns, which could only be used as a last resort, and then, only over the heads of a hostile crowd. Twenty mile route marches were the order of the day, in countryside hard and stony, with little or no vegetation; .our feet had blisters on the blisters, and we longed to be back on the beaches of Alexandria. We had to simulate moving about, as if in an enemy country. Scouting out the countryside ahead before moving on. A sense of reality entered our game of make believe, when unseen tribesman fired bullets over our heads, just to let us know who were the real bosses in those parts. When a bullet passes overhead, it sounds like the crack of a whip, and too close for comfort.
During this episode in Iran in 1944-45, D-Day had come along, and Hitler found himself on the run against British, American and Russian forces, and the outcome was never in doubt—he came to a sticky end in the Berlin Bunker. Japan conceded defeat later that year, 1945, and there was talk of demobilisation .It was a case of first in, first out, and as I and thousands more had been in since Day 1, we answered the call to return to the U.K in the early days of 1946, and about a dozen of us left Kermanshah in an American truck, for the hundred mile journey to Baghdad, the first leg of our journey home.; from there we faced a journey of nearly a thousand miles in an open-backed truck, passing through Iraq, Syria, Palestine and Jordan, into Egypt and Port Said at the top end of the Suez Canal. Here a Liberty Ship was waiting for us to board, with a few more hundred men due for demob in the UK. This ship was no Queen Elizabeth, and as we pitched and rolled in a following gale, only a few brave men answered he mealtime calls. The ship finally dropped anchor at Toulon, in Southern France, and we all felt a lot better. Then started a nightmare journey to Dieppe, which took the best part of two days, and we found the weather there far worse than in the Med; all cross-Channel ferries were cancelled. The transit camp was not too bad- there was a barber's shop, so we all went for a haircut and discovered that the staff were very attractive French girls, who smelled gorgeous; it was along time since we had been in close proximity to girls like that, and we hoped the gales would go on for another month! We could then justify another trip to the barbers. . . . I was tempted to try out my schoolboy French on my female barber, but thought I might put my foot in it. As they say — 'Faint heart never won fair lady' — but in a couple of days I would be a few hundred miles away, so it was a case of 'San fairy ann' —— It doesn't matter anyway. But no, the weather cleared up, and we were crowded on to the cross-Channel ferry for the last sea-journey of our homecoming.
We disembarked at Whitehaven, and went straight to a Demob centre, close by. Here we handed in all our Army gear, and received a grey chalk-striped suit, black shoes, a trilby hat and a gaberdine raincoat, a rail ticket to the old Exchange Station in Bradford, and my war was over. I had a feeling of unreality as I sat in the train, looking out at the green fields and dull winter landscape. No victory marches, no bands playing to welcome us home; I was missing the company of mates, all engaged in a common purpose. Now it was all over and a sad emptiness hung over me, until we arrived at dull, smoky, mucky Bradford. There was nothing here to raise my spirits, it was dark, raining, and very cold.; there was no-one to meet me as my time of arrival could not have been forecast, even to the day; very few people had phones in those days. ... .As I waited for the Clayton Bus at the end of Thornton Road, I looked at the people in the queue around me. They were all looking sad and dispirited, and no wonder after years of rationing and shortages of every kind. I was filled with a great sadness for what they had endured, whilst I had enjoyed every minute of a great adventure, but now facing an unknown future which required far more courage than I had needed in the last few years.
And so my memoirs of the war come to an end, and I thought how lucky I had been to come home without a scratch.
Whilst in the Middle East, any leave that was due to us could be spent at special camps. There was one in Cairo, and one in Jerusalem,. Trips out could be taken to places we had all heard about, but never thought we would ever see. The tomb of Tutenkhamun with its gold sarcophagus , and all the artefacts found there. We stood in awe at the Pyramids and the Sphinx, and marvelled at the Aswan Dam, controlling the flooding of the Nile. We visited Jerusalem, and saw what had been marked as the Stations of the Cross, where Christ had rested with his burden, before being crucified. We visited the Garden of Gethsemane; and went to Bethlehem, seeing the Church built over the cave where Jesus was said to have been born. There are many caves in Palestine in the soft limestone rock, and sheep and other animals were stabled there for safety at night. Our conception of a stable as a wooden structure above ground, is not quite like the stables in Palestine. We saw the Sea of Galilee, where they still fish with nets from a boat. We swam, or really floated in the Dead Sea; we spent some time in a 'Kibbutz', a Jewish settlement in Palestine, and marvelled how they had turned the desert into fertile soil, growing orange trees, and green vegetables of all kinds.
Taking it all round, there were of course dangers to be faced, but. like Mr Magoo, of American cartoon fame, I always seemed to dodge the dangerous bits. That is why I have called my reminiscences' The Artless Dodger'.
I have always believed everyone is born with the same amount of good and bad luck; I also think that all my good luck was used up during the War years, except when I met and married my wife Renee in 1952, giving my life some purpose and direction that it had lacked before.

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