大象传媒

Chapter Four: A Desert Rat

Although there was no official word of our intended destination no-one doubted that it could be anywhere else but Egypt. I was generally made welcome as a newcomer and paraded before the Squadron Leader who hoped that I would soon settle in, that I assured him I intended to do.
Everywhere was bustle and haste, everything being packed and bagged for the voyage. It was then early August and aerial combat was taking place in the skies above. Throughout those days we watched many dog fights before we left by train to Liverpool.
On arriving there we boarded what was in peacetime a luxury liner, the Duchess of Bedford, then converted to carry troops. There were other ships of that line, the Duchess of York, Richmond and Atholl; whether they were part of our large convoy I had no idea.
Once on deck we lined the rails and waved to the many people gathered there to see us off, and to take our last look at our homeland. I remember one lad saying that he could almost see his house which he pointed out was near to the Liver Buildings, which could be clearly seen.
When out in the open sea we were able to take stock of our surroundings. It could be seen that it was a very large convoy. The sight of so many ships of all sorts and sizes with their escorts was quite appreciable.
On board with us were the 3rd Hussars who worked closely with us in the desert, the 4th Royal Horse Artillery and the 7th Battalion, Royal Tank Regiment, all part of the 7th Armoured Brigade which we formed in the desert, one of the armoured brigades of the 7th Armoured Division who were to become known as the 鈥楧esert Rats鈥�, whose red rat on black background became the divisional sign.
When at sea there were few duties for us to perform, some boat drill, physical training, lectures and various competitions devised by the officers to combat the likelihood of boredom. The concerts proved popular and revealed quite an array of talent. One sergeant-major with a deep bass voice recited The Little Yellow Idol and on that occasion we were privileged to hear a clean version; a trooper sang for us The Road to Mandalay; there was a pair who entertained us with a reasonable presentation of Flanagan & Allen鈥檚 Underneath the Arches.
It was usual for the concerts to end with a sing-song which gave us all the opportunity to let ourselves go with some lusty singing of numbers like Roll Out the Barrel, Quartermaster鈥檚 Stores, Bless 鈥榚m All and Roll Me Over. Two of the popular dance-band tunes of the time were Deep Purple and Indian Summer.
During PT one day when we had been at sea for possibly two weeks I noticed that the boxing team trained under their own leader separately. After making inquiries I was given permission to join them and trained with them for the remainder of the voyage. We made a makeshift ring and I had a couple of bouts which gave the lads something different for their entertainment. I found it very easy to settle down with my new mates and felt pleased to be one of their number.
The issue of tropical clothing was a most hilarious occasion, when trying for size the old Army rule seemed to apply 鈥榯hat鈥檚 near enough鈥�. The fitting of topis caused the biggest laugh when trying them on for size, the first one handed to me fell over my ears so that I was unable to see while it rested on my nose, the next one seemed to perch neatly on the top of my head. Much swapping and changing among ourselves took place until each of us had something little near to being presentable.
The khaki drill shorts were anything but shorts, because when unfurled they let down to reach the ankles and were wide and baggy, the turn-ups were best part of two feet deep and were held up by side buttons; the idea was that at sunset the buttons were supposed to be undone allowing the turn-ups to fall to cover the legs and thus avoid mosquito bites and of catching malaria. We must have looked like those actors in the television series a few years ago called It ain鈥檛 arf Hot Mum.
To my knowledge those topis were never used, I don鈥檛 remember seeing a British soldier wearing one, I know the Italians did and and some Germans too, but as far as I know none of us. It was not practical for tank men to use them, they were too cumbersome inside where space was at a minimum. Strange to relate but they were never asked for on kit inspections. They probably became a War Office write-off, I saw many of them during a sandstorm being blown away across the desert.
Our voyage took us around the Rock of Gibraltar because a passage through the Mediterranean Sea was far too dangerous. The first port of call was Freetown for refuelling, we were not able to go ashore but I will always retain the memory of the brilliantly-lit and colourful scene. Especially bright after the dreary blacked-out country which we had recently left. As the red, purple and orange hues of the wide sunset quickly faded into night the whole town area was aglow and sparkled with numerous lights which were reflected over the sea and caused the sky to shimmer above, a glorious sight. During the day the young natives entertained us by diving for pennies when they came alongside in their many small boats.
The meals on board were quite good, early on in the voyage a few men suffered from sea sickness, we who were unaffected found it possible to eat an extra meal, the ration of the poor unfortunates who were unable to partake of any food at the time. Unless you were holding on to your plate when the seas were any way rough it would slide away from you in the direction of the ship鈥檚 incline and then as it righted itself you hoped to catch it as it returned, but never being sure that it was your own plate or that of someone else, we soon became adept at grabbing any one that came within reach.
At our next stop, Cape Town, we did go ashore, but only to march round the town. It was said that we did so as a showpiece for the population who until that time had not had tank men on shore. We were disappointed all the same at not being able to have an hour or two just to wander on our own; a few hours leave to see the sights would have been very much appreciated, no doubt there was good reason why that was not possible. We were able to see the Table Top Mountain however.
It was in the early hours of a September morning that we docked at Port Said and stood at the ship鈥檚 rails waiting to disembark, looking down the long stretch of the Suez Canal. We had been at sea almost six weeks. The sights ashore were all new to us younger men, everywhere was bustle and rush, amid the noise of the traffic and the shouts of the vendors haggling with their trinkets, watches, fruit, and lemonade; the traffic noise, the beggars, donkey carts, cattle and garys, they were soon to become an all-too-familiar sight to us.
Our destination Cairo, was reached in the evening after a long hot dusty train journey. We didn鈥檛 at all appreciate the first taste of sand which had blown in our ears, eyes, mouths and every other crevice that it could settle in, that was something else that we were to become accustomed to over the next few years.
I would estimate that the distance marched from Cairo station would be about six miles to a tented camp at Almarza. We were stationed for two weeks in order to become acclimatised; once there stopping only to drop off our kits into the tents it was off to the cookhouse with mess tins and mugs, and to join the queue.
As I moved along holding out my dixie to the Orderly who served me I had a surprising encounter because as he looked up he said 鈥淗ello, Dig, what are you doing out here?鈥� And I found that it was a schoolfriend of mine who lived just around the corner at home, we had played in the street together as kids, he was Doug Driver, a Territorial soldier who had been in Egypt since the outbreak of war.
As soon as he came off duty he found me and as can be imagined we had lots to talk of, he wanted more recent news of home and I was able to bring him a little up to date. We had a wonderful long chat during which he was able to enlighten me on the general conditions which applied and of some of the customs and mysteries of Egypt.
Within a day or two of being at Almarza we were granted leave to go into Cairo and Doug was only too willing to show us around; he鈥檇 been there long enough to know of all the places of interest, we didn鈥檛 on that occasion go out as far as the Pyramids but confined our visit to Cairo itself.
Jock Gorman and Batty, one of my new-found mates, came with us; Doug said that the visit had to include one notorious place for certain, and that was Birka Street - the Red Light area: all was medically-controlled and was patrolled by the Army Military Police. He took us there and we saw it and smelt it, it was all throughout the streets and alleyways appallingly filthy, a place not to be seen a second time, other than that everywhere else was most enjoyable.
The first few days at Almarza were not too pleasant for any of us because I don鈥檛 think anyone escaped the effects of 鈥楪ippy Tummy鈥� (that was a polite way of describing it). Our days and nights were spent visiting the latrines, in fact that is where most of the regiment could be found at any given time in those first few days; it was not just as the song says 鈥楽and in My Shoes鈥�, it was sand in our food, it was sand everywhere.
An equal menace which was thought also to be a factor which contributed to the upsets was the swarms of flies which descended onto food. In the state we were in at that time it would have been difficult to perform any duties had we been called on to do so. We were soon to recover from it however and were ready to move off again.
It would have been at the end of September 1940 that we went into the desert or as it became known 鈥楿p the Blue鈥�. We made our first leaguer on a piece of scrub just south of the coastal road, shown on the map as Bire Kanyas. Being only a short distance from the sea, swimming trips were laid on; there we were, dozens of us at a time, stripped to our nakedness, racing over the white sandy shore to splash away like children in that great calm blue ocean.
It is one of the occasions which I still treasure, being one of those rare and pleasant memories of that war in the desert. I travelled with what were known as 鈥榮pare crews鈥� who were based with 鈥楤鈥� echelon, the supply column of the squadron who were responsible for the replenishment of the tanks and their crews, delivering to them food and water, ammunition and petrol and any other such requirements included.
In its complement were the medical officer and his orderlies, the clerks, fitters, the quartermaster, the cooks, the officers鈥� batmen and us spare crews. I was hoping that I would not have to remain with them too long before a vacancy occurred for me to become a tank man although some of my friends were batmen I still wished to join the tank crews. Some men were quite content to remain with 鈥楤鈥� echelon but I preferred otherwise, even so I didn鈥檛 expect an early move because there were men older than myself who would probably be sent up before me.
I travelled with 鈥楥hesty鈥� Speller, so called I suppose because he was very thin; 鈥楥hesty鈥� was a Reservist therefore, much older than me. He drove a petrol lorry, a well-used Bedford, the petrol containers in use at that time were very flimsy, thin metal four-gallon cans which easily leaked at the seams, they being unable to stand up to the continual jolting and jarring as we bumped along.
They were not at all as robust as those which the Germans used yet even with the leaky cans we still smoked on board, in fact it was common practice when stationary for us to cover the cans in the back with a blanket to form a card table and still we lit our fags there in the interior, it was just something we lived with and no thought was given to it.
While the tanks were out on patrol we had little to do in the day but we would be out taking supplies at night. Something which did help the day-to-day monotonous routine was the discovery of an abandoned heavy Italian despatch rider鈥檚 motorbike; the fitters had it in, repaired it and made it serviceable, after which we took turns on it to belt round the perimeter skidding through the soft sand or bumping off the stones and rocks; I had never previously had the opportunity to ride a motorbike.
Brother Ern had always owned one and it was a popular form of transport in the inter-war years, many families used one with a sidecar attached. I had always relied on pedal power so this was something new. I did after many spills learn to ride the big thing and in spite of all the cuts and bruises enjoyed the experience.
One night while in leaguer there I got drunk on guard. I was paired with trooper Leslie for my two hours on. The sentry鈥檚 duties were to patrol the vehicles; Leslie was quite a lot older than myself, an 鈥榦ld soldier鈥� and an officer鈥檚 batman. He had spent much of his time in India and was one of those men who could always be found in the services who could scrounge anything at any time from anywhere.
He would somehow just wander off and bring back something eatable even though one would assume there was nothing to be had. Knowing such men as these was an advantage, especially one who would share his pickings with you, and that is what happened that particular night. I witnessed at first-hand my fellow sentry鈥檚 ability to produce something and to share it with me, this though was responsible for my later drunken state.
As we circled the trucks he quietly uttered something and suddenly left me to wander on thinking that he had gone just to relieve himself, actually when he reappeared I realised that he had relieved someone else, because he produced two bottles with the words, short and clear, 鈥淭here you are, get that down you,鈥� and with the additional 鈥淐ome on鈥� we moved swiftly to the outskirts of the leaguer away from the vehicles and sat down on some rocks where I found that in my hand I was holding a bottle of gin. He had one of whiskey. Then we began our drinking session, I hadn鈥檛 tasted gin before but then had ample opportunity to do so and was constantly being urged to 鈥淐ome on, drink up鈥�.
How long we were out there I had no idea, nor in my case, as the bottle slowly emptied, did I care. The bottles when empty were flung far and wide hoping they would never be found. I was too drunk to fully realise what was happening, I did have though a vague recollection of being half-dragged back to our tent and it was almost light when we got down onto our groundsheets. We had done everyone else鈥檚 guard for them, and yet no-one seemed to ask any questions or made any enquiries as to why they had not been wakened to do their spell.
I know though that I was very sick, it was indeed fortunate that there were no parades and that discipline was slack. I guessed later that the most likely reason why no-one showed any concern over their missed tour of duty was that over the years they had become accustomed to trooper Leslie and his habits.
The particular friends that I had made at that time were Batty, Taffy Watkins and Jock Ormond. One of the squadron鈥檚 characters was 鈥楤enjy鈥� Brown, I suppose he would have been about forty-years old, he was not very tall but quite round, more of an oval egg-shaped body. He was a happy man, always singing. I saw quite a lot of him as he busied himself looking after his officer, he had apparently joined as a boy, becoming a bugler and then a member of the regimental band.
When going about his duties he would invariably be seen with cheeks puffing in and out, blowing at some imaginary instrument and the sound emitted could be a passage of classical music, an aria, a piece of opera or a melody from one of the old musical shows, something from the Merry Widow, The Maid of the Mountains and those sort of tunes, all of which he had no doubt played as a bandsman.
He was such a likeable man, some said he was 鈥榮un-tapped鈥� from too many years abroad, or others that he was 鈥榖omb-happy鈥�, but mostly it was believed that 鈥楤enjy鈥� knew what he was doing. He was 鈥榳orking his ticket鈥�, he had throughout all his long service avoided joining a tank crew and any shot or shell. He probably did know what he was doing but I always liked to see and hear him playing his melodies as he went about.
Our tanks were then about fifteen miles forward of us and were equipped with the A9s and 10s. A squadron of the 3rd Hussars were working with us and they had a smaller model, the A5. The Italian tanks were a little superior to ours but of course did not compare with anything the Germans had.
There had been an attempt by the enemy to break through the border wire but they were repulsed. The Australian infantry backed up the tanks; a matey bunch of men with whom we worked closely together, they running behind us clutching the back of the tanks and then made their charges with fixed bayonets.
Also in the brigade were the 4th Royal Horse Artillery, and the 4th Indian division, who were very keen fighters. There had been several minor skirmishes while on patrol but the Italians were forced to retreat and our tanks captured two forts, Capuzzo and Maddalena, after which there was a short period of calm while General Wavell, no doubt was preparing for the right moment in which to go on the offensive.
I was not the only one to go down with a bout of dysentery, most men suffered the experience at some time. It became a usual sight to see a man set off away from the leaguer with a shovel; if it happened very frequently it would be obvious to us all what the man was suffering from. I won鈥檛 try to describe it further than to tell of its effects, some men had to be sent back to the casualty clearing station, and although I had a bad dose I fought against being moved.
It was debilitating with no desire to eat, and languor and weakness. I was grateful that I was not a member of a tank crew and had the opportunity to bed down in the back of the truck between the many trips with the shovel. It is a disease which causes much suffering and sometimes it resulted in death. I think I was laid low with it for about ten days. It was at that time when one evening just before nightfall an Australian lorry and crew drove into the leaguer having lost their route and stayed with us overnight.
It was our good fortune that it was about the equivalent of our NAAFI and our lads were allowed to purchase from them; I didn鈥檛 attempt to get up from bed but someone bought me a large tin of apricots and I tasted a mouthful of the juice and then some of the fruit and later in the night some more, in the morning I felt a little better and a day or two later was much improved and credited the improvement to the apricots. Maybe I would have recovered just as well anyway but I like to think that it was all down to that big tin.
To this day tinned apricots take my thoughts back to that time and I still favour them. Although I had lost a lot of weight and very weak, I was allowed to resume my duties, which in fact amounted to little more than helping to load the petrol onto Chesty鈥檚 truck and to assist again when we reached the tanks. I would have liked to have driven and to have relieved 鈥楥hesty鈥� sometimes but he preferred to do so himself.
As the tanks were at the time stationary, 鈥楤鈥� echelon moved up with them and I was detailed to take the place of a batman who had also gone down with dysentery. I had no idea what my duties were so I had to quiz Batty and the other batmen.
My officer was Lieutenant Duncan. What I had to do was firstly to awaken him with a mug of tea from the officers鈥� mess cook鈥檚 lorry, and hot water for his shave. After breakfast his bed to be made up, the tent cleaned through, his equipment to clean and during the day any other requirements which he called me for.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.