大象传媒

IN THE ARMY NOW
1940-1945

My father鈥檚 account of how he spent his time
during World War 2

Delia Woodhall

Say Goodbye to Blighty

Boarding the SS City of Paris, a dirty-grey rough looking ship, along with about three thousand other men, we slipped out into the Atlantic Ocean under cover of darkness. When dawn arrived there was not a sign of land, the sea was heaving and most of us were suffering badly from seasickness.
By now we were getting used to the battledress we had been issued, after being sized up by the Quartermaster (Army stores). It was made of rough sacking-like material, but it was all that we required for our first training session before being transferred to the units that we were destined to serve.
After 6 weeks of training at Endcliffe Hall in Sheffield we were allocated a second uniform and drafted into No 1 Light Field Ambulance, which was attached to the First Armoured Division stationed at Scarborough. Our duty was to patrol the cliff top between the castle and the Floral Hall. All the cliffs from top to bottom were choc-o-bloc with so much barbed wire that even the rabbits had trouble moving around.
After a week our orders came through for sailing, in what seemed like no time at all we were straight on to the train bound for Greenock on the Clyde, where we arrived about midnight. We were transferred to the ship with Redcaps (Military Police), lining the road on each side. This was to stop anyone from changing his mind.
We sailed west for about four days. The chaps who understood the ocean reckoned we were heading for America. But then the ship changed course to a southerly direction. The seasickness had gone as quickly as it had come and now it was like being on holiday, we even played bingo to pass the time. After another four days or so, and in much better weather, the ship turned east heading for the coast of Africa. Thankfully a few days later, and in absolutely stunning weather, land came into view 鈥� a sight for sore eyes.
At Freetown on the coast of Sierra Leone, tons of provisions were brought on board; after all 3000 men can eat a great amount. Two days later it was up anchor and away still heading south. It was even hotter now, so hot that I came out in blotches and had to go into the ship鈥檚 hospital. That鈥檚 where I was when we crossed the Equator, missing out on all the celebrations that were going on up on deck 鈥� mainly dunking and ducking in the swimming pool. After another four days we sailed into very bad weather and after passing Cape Town had to negotiate the Cape of Good Hope. Having achieved that safely we realised where it got its name.
Sailing north up the east coast of Africa we called in at Durban for more provisions and refuelling. We passed the island of Madagascar and five days later crossed the Equator in the opposite direction. I didn鈥檛 miss out on the celebrations this time. A quick call in Aden for more provisions then we turned west and headed for the southern entrance to the Red Sea. The water here was like a millpond and very, very clear. Ships passing in opposite directions acknowledged each other by sounding klaxons. A few hours later we arrived at our destination 鈥� Geniefa at the southern end of the Suez Canal.
Altogether the journey had taken the best part of six weeks. The reason for sailing out into the Atlantic and around the Cape of Good Hope was to avoid the German submarines that lay in waiting for 鈥榚nemy鈥� shipping. The 鈥榚nemy鈥� being us.
We travelled alongside the Suez Canal heading for Cairo 鈥� a place I had always wanted to see but under better circumstances. We arrived at the transit camp at Mena across the Nile from Cairo, which was very near the pyramids at Giza and after we had settled in were off for a 鈥榮hufti鈥� (Egyptian for have a look). In no time at all, being a fit bloke back then, I climbed to the top of one of the pyramids for a bird鈥檚 eye view of the surrounding area.

Rampant Rhino

All too soon our time at the pyramids came to an end, we headed for Amaria, a railhead depot about 15 miles from Alexandria on the northern coast of Egypt. Boarding the train and heading west it was not very long before we got our first taste of the real desert. Hundreds and hundreds of miles of nothing but sand. A godforsaken place if ever there was one.
Being attached to the First Armoured Division we were issued with their motif 鈥� a rhino with its head down and large horn sticking out in the charging position. This left us in no doubt as to what was expected of us. It soon became known as the rampant rhino but by the time we had chased up and down the desert for the best part of 2 years it was a very tired rhino indeed.
After being supplied with lorries, ambulances and cars, we were now on our own. Each vehicle was equipped with sand skids, metal plates about 1 foot wide and 5 feet long, turned up at the edges for strength. They were drilled with lots of holes enabling them to grip in the very soft sand, which there happens to be a lot of in the desert!
My job was to drive the Colonel. This required us to take the lead travelling in echelon formation, three columns abreast, one hundred yards apart, fifty yards behind each vehicle - just like ships at sea, but we were ships in the desert. Our objective was to relieve the Seventh Armoured Division who were holding the front at a place called El Agilia in Libya. As we, the First Armoured Division, were pulling in and the Seventh were pulling out, the Germans started to hammer us with all they鈥檇 got, catching us with our trousers down as you might say. (Crafty fellow that Rommell.) It was either retreat or die where we were so the powers that be decided to retreat.
For three days and nights we were pushed back, at one point almost being cut off. The Sergeant Major, sitting behind me, kept prodding me in the back to keep me awake 鈥� drivers were few and far between in those days. At the end of this gruelling journey I fell asleep in the driving seat. The SM wrapped me in a blanket and left me where I was to get some well-earned kip. This retreat we christened the Mesus (pronounced Mesuse) Handicap and we made our stand at Tobruck defending the El Adam airstrip. The Generals in command at that time were forever changing and this is one reason why we never made any advance. But this was soon to change.
After about twelve months of yoyo-ing across the desert, we were getting a bit browned off 鈥� in more ways than one. We did not even get anything fit to eat or drink. Bully beef (corned beef) was the main item on the menu, but when it came along, however hungry we were, we would open it up, have a couple of spoonfuls and then throw it away, burying it in the sand. Mind you the full crates came in very useful for constructing makeshift tracks to help the vehicles negotiate the soft sand. Extremely hard biscuits the size of a cream cracker kept the wolf from the door. Drink was a pint and a half of very warm water when the tanker came around, and even that more often than not tasted salty. I would have given all my worldly goods for pint of my favourite liquid 鈥� Guinness. Being a Yorkshireman, Yorkshire pudding was sorely missed and Sunday dinner had gone by the board. I even got it into my head that nobody in the world ever had Sunday dinner any more. The desert does funny things to the brain; it was called 鈥榮and-scatty鈥�.
Wherever we were in the desert, we would dig our 鈥榬athole鈥�, (hence the name Desert Rats). This would be about six feet long and eighteen inches wide, depending how big you were. The depth of it would depend on how brave you were when the tanks rolled over you. Wrapping up as well as I could and sliding down into the hole every night, I would look up at the moon and think to myself, that same moon will be shining down on England and this is the nearest I can be to the folks back home.
In the morning the first thing to do was knock our boots on the ground. A really good bang would, more often than not, produce a nasty looking scorpion, cheated out of his first bite of the day.
Being pushed back again, losing Tobruck and the airstrip, we took up positions at Alemain, not a town, just a ridge across the desert. It was the most barren place I had ever seen. I am sure if an atom bomb had dropped on it no one would know where it had landed. It stretches from the Mediterranean south to the Qattara Depression. It is 120 miles long and we had to hold it at all costs. On one occasion the Colonel and I were detailed to survey the southern end of the Front Line, which ended at the Depression. The enemy were doing a survey of their own but they were in a half-track vehicle with a two pounder, (a large gun), and we were in an unarmed car. We had no option but to scarper.
We raced down into the Depression taking it at an angle in low gear, but giving it everything we had. We managed to get to the top of the other side and kept moving until we reached the western end 鈥� shaken but not stirred, and no sign of Jerry.
After milling around this area for quite a long time and changing the high command once again we were refurbished with all the new equipment we required. The tanks were replaced by the all-American Sherman type, which had to be broad side on to fire its main gun, and the Churchill type, which had very thick armour plating but only a very small gun. This one, surprise, surprise, was christened the big man with the small prick.
Field Marshall Montgomery was put in charge of the Eighth Army and Churchill came to give us a pep talk. When we asked him what about going home for a spot of leave he pointed to the west and said, 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the way, all you have to do is move 250,000 Germans and 100,000 Italians.鈥�
Rommell, the Desert Fox, outsmarted Alexander and Auckinlee, but Montgomery was having none of it. He picked his own time for battle to commence. Rum ration was brought round at about seven in the evening and we all knew this was it. At midnight the guns opened fire. The night sky lit up as bright as day and the ground virtually shook with the pounding. The last thing I remember was being dragged into the medical tent unable to see a thing.

Every Cloud has a Silver Lining

How long I was out of action I don鈥檛 know but when I came round I was in a hospital 350 miles away at Geneifa. The first thing I heard was someone singing 鈥楢mopola my pretty little poppy鈥�. I鈥檒l remember it all my life. What a relief, no bones broken, no scars, no blood lost. After two weeks to recover in the transit camp alongside the hospital, I was allowed to take any posting on offer so when a driver was required at GHQ Cairo I volunteered. Home from home! The only fighting I did was with bugs and mosquitoes. Unfortunately they always won, so it was a case of living with bug powder and mossi nets.
My main job now was ferrying officers from GHQ mainly to Sheppards Hotel in Cairo, where they were billeted, or to wherever their units were. One particular officer, General Norman always seemed to be on my list. After driving him around for three weeks he asked me if I would like to be his driver, but I declined. I told him I had already spent two years in the desert and wasn鈥檛 keen to go back, and that when he got there he would find out why.
I have to say I was very pleased when he let me off the hook as my present duty was like being a taxi driver in Civvy Street. The only time I knew there was a war on was when one of the officers wanted to be taken to the front line. On one occasion an Australian captain wanted to see how his 鈥榖oys鈥� were doing 鈥� only a matter of about three hundred miles away! We eventually found them, with lots of prisoners wandering about. They didn鈥檛 have to be penned in because they knew the game was up for them. After three days the captain came to me and said could I find my own way back as he was hitching a lift back on a 鈥榩lane. He gave me a note to show to any Redcaps the reason for my journey.
On the way back I had the misfortune to break a rear spring and had to limp on until I found a 鈥榬epair shop鈥�. My little note came in very handy. I stayed the night with them while my truck was repaired and 鈥榯anked up鈥�, and in the morning pointed my nose towards the next cairn. (Mounds of stones spaced across the open desert marking the main track). If a sand storm blew up it was either stay put or risk it by the compass. I was getting used to this part of the desert so it wasn鈥檛 very long before the 鈥榬oad鈥�, a tarmac strip, came into view, but I must say I was still very relieved to see it. The worst of the journey was over; it was tarmac all the way to Cairo via Alexandria. When I arrived the sergeant in charge asked me how I had fared. He was not very pleased to hear that I had been abandoned and had to drive back all that way on my own.
A short time later I was turning my car around in a side street when one of our own soldiers stopped on the footpath. As I came level with him a voice said, 鈥淗ague from Thurgoland鈥�. I looked at him and said 鈥淒immock from Deepcar鈥�. He was stationed at Heliopolis, a few miles away. When I mentioned this back at the office the captain generously said, 鈥淚f you want to go and have a night out with him it鈥檚 alright with me.鈥� So I did, and we enjoyed a few drinks and a nostalgic chat about back home.

Force 281

I met all kinds of officers in this job. The one I really got on with was Brigadier Moffatt. A real gentleman he was and he asked me if I would be his personal driver. After ascertaining what this would entail, because I didn鈥檛 want to go back to the desert at any price, he told me he was in GHQ to form a small striking force to be known as Force 281. The objective was to take the Dodecanese Islands in the Mediterranean back from the Germans. I accepted straight away. But first he wanted taking to where the Battle of Alemain had been fought, to examine the terrain and to see how the battle had been waged, taking particular notice of where the tanks were knocked out. Looking around, I wondered how I ever got away from it alive.
When the Force was complete we set off for Tripoli on the coast of Lebanon, crossing the Suez Canal and the Sinai desert, heading for Gaza. Our pace was very slow because we could only travel at the speed of the slowest vehicles, the tanks, about ten or twelve miles per hour. The Force included a brigade of Ghurkhas, one of Indians and one of Pakistanis, tank corps and drivers, etc. After leaving Gaza we headed up the coast road of Palestine, now known as Israel.
Commander Moffat (or the Old Man as he was known) suggested that he and I take the road to Jerusalem and let the Force carry on at its own pace. We headed for Bethlehem and a bit of sightseeing. There wasn鈥檛 that much to see then apart from where Jesus was born. A very small building about ten feet square with a hole in the corner about a foot in diameter and a foot deep. At least, that鈥檚 where the locals said he was born.
Leaving Bethlehem we headed for the Dead Sea. The road started to descend steeply and soon we passed the sign telling us we were at sea level. We descended another quarter of a mile and the Dead Sea came in sight. Stripping off we gave the water a try, but only for a few minutes as it was like swimming in a very salty bath. The best description I can think of is that it was slimy and impossible to sink in. After drying off we tucked into a tasty trout dinner in the only caf茅 there. Leaving the Dead Sea behind, we headed back to re-join our army at Tel Aviv, near the Lebanese border.
Oranges. Oranges spread all over the ground, this was Jaffa. We took advantage of a good swim in the Mediterranean to clean up, and washed our shirts, shorts and socks 鈥� the only clothes required, before we were on our way again.
Still keeping to the coast road we passed through Haifa, Tyre and Sidon heading for Beirut and then finally Tripoli (Tarabulus). On arrival the heavy gear camped near the coast road and the lighter units about two or three miles inland. Our HQ was based in a little village called Amyun, where the locals were very pleased to see us. In the 鈥榖ackyard鈥� about ten miles away were the Lebanon Mountains, snow-covered all year round for about three quarter of a mile down from the summit.
When we had settled we were allowed one week鈥檚 leave, spending most of it in Beirut at the good old Salvation Army. The Kit Kat Club 鈥� which I believe is still going strong 鈥� also got a lot of our attention when we managed to drag ourselves away from diving and swimming in the warm waters of the Med. Back at camp I developed a verucca under my right foot and had no option but to go into hospital in Tripoli to have it removed. And a very good job they made of it too.
Then the 鈥極ld Man鈥� said we were going to Damascus, which is as far on the eastern side of the mountains as we were on the western side. The idea was to tell the Syrians officially what we were doing so that there would be no cause for them to be alarmed. He said if the Germans didn鈥檛 know what we were up to, by telling the Syrians, it wouldn鈥檛 be long before they did.
Whilst driving in Damascus a woman ran out in front of the car from behind a bus. I braked quickly to avoid her and the 鈥極ld Man鈥� ended up in the footwell. I apologised profusely but he would not hear of it. 鈥淣o, no,鈥� he said, 鈥淭hat鈥檚 why you鈥檙e driving and I鈥檓 not.鈥�
On returning to camp in order to pass the time until the Dodecanese had been won over, the whole force in turn, went to the ski training school at Bsharri for a fortnight. Once in the mountains there were certain times when you dare not move at all. The worst time I remember was when low cloud came in and we couldn鈥檛 even see each other. We had to shout so that we knew exactly where the other chap was, and wait till the clouds cleared. During our stay here we were issued with twelve blankets and shown how to fold them to make a large sleeping bag. Even then we still felt the cold having come from one extreme temperature to another.
By now the enemy had been turfed out of North Africa and the good news was they were pulling out of the Dodecanese, which of course, were of no more use to them now the strongest arm of their pincer movement had been removed. The main reason they took the islands in the first place was to have a link with the mainland, ie Lebanon, Palestine and Egypt, so that they could come in behind us and have us fighting on two fronts. However the Americans landed in Oran in Algeria and the Germans ended up in a trap. They had no option but to surrender, making this the first battle of the Second World War fought on a level playing field that the invincible German fighting force had lost. In fact, making it the beginning of the end for Adolph Hitler.
The Old Man鈥檚 strategy was working. 鈥淕ive them another month Hague and we鈥檒l move in. Three weeks later we were heading for Rhodes Island, from where the Greek mainland is visible with the naked eye. Quite a few ships were sunk in the harbour but we managed to get alongside. Not one shot was fired in anger and the people there all wanted food. The first bag of sugar ashore disappeared as if by magic.
If you鈥檙e ever in Rhodes, the first thing you see is the Castelo del Rhodi 鈥� Rhodes Castle, where I spent the next eighteen months. My first duty was to take down the Swastika, the German flag. Not entirely sure what to do with it, I folded it up and put it in my kit bag and brought it back to England with me. Unfortunately it has since disappeared.
My next job was to collect the German Commandant鈥檚 Mercedes Benz 鈥� an open-top tourer. This is where my appreciation of German engineering and Mercedes Benz in particular began. There were about half a dozen German prisoners hanging around and I thought they were probably staff left behind by their own officers. When they realized what I had come for they moved away; nothing else to do but wait for their next meal, courtesy of the British army. The Old Man took to the Mercedes right away pointing out that, as it was open-topped and he was able to see all around, we ought to have had one long ago.
Reconnoitring the far eastern tip of the island we came across a small landing strip almost hidden by olive groves. A couple of small German aircraft had been pushed back into the olive trees, both in perfect condition but not a drop of fuel in either.
The eighteen months were spent staying put, occupying the islands and visiting different companies at intervals. We didn鈥檛 even consider the mainland, the Old Man said the Germans would be pulling out and transferring to the front in Normandy and Italy, and that we would only have to feed them if we went, and that was a mammoth task already. 鈥淲e鈥檝e got them by the bollocks, Hague, and it won鈥檛 be long before we鈥檙e all going home.鈥� Four months later the war in Europe was over.
This affected us all, for my part I was flying high thinking I would be home in about a week. I had another think coming. The first thing I did was to go to the roof of the castle and sound the siren for about ten minutes to let the locals know there was something afoot. Three days later the Old Man wanted taking to the airstrip informing me on the way that he was on his way home. A small aircraft was waiting for him and on alighting from the car he shook my hand and said, 鈥淕oodbye, I don鈥檛 think I shall be seeing you again.鈥� That was the last I saw of him. I didn鈥檛 even know his first name. Nearly all of us were sad to see him go including the mechanic, Fred Kitt, a mate of mine whose family owned the Dainty sweet factory in Blackpool.
It was a different ball game altogether after he had gone. We were called to parade every morning and evening, the sergeant in charge would ask for volunteers for all different kinds of duties, mainly for the Far East and Burma. I wasn鈥檛 inclined to go further away, in fact my intention was to come much nearer home. On one particular occasion treble wages were offered for volunteers to be involved in creating a police force 鈥� the Palestine Police. Two or three men stepped forward but I stayed put. Many of these volunteers were never heard of again.

A Sight for Sore Eyes

Time was passing but at last my name came up on the notice board. It was 1946 and three and a half months since VE day. I was due to travel home with the group known as Python 21. The first part of the journey was by boat to Cyprus, then a Dakota twin-engine cargo plane bound for Beirut. We sat on anything we could find, mainly old boxes. After picking up a few officers in Beirut we headed for Heliopolis, the main airport for Cairo, from where we were transported to Port Said at the northern end of the Suez Canal, which is where we had set off two years earlier under very different circumstances.
The boat to France didn鈥檛 impress us one bit. It was a complete shambles and a miracle it was able to float at all. but it kept chugging along till it docked at Valetta in Malta. Staying overnight, we were allowed ashore for a little 鈥榮ession鈥� knowing only too well not to have too much to drink lest we miss the next leg of the trip to Marseilles where we disgorged straight on to a train already waiting for us. Packed in like sardines we set off across France in the middle of the night, and it wasn鈥檛 long before we were nodding off. Looking up I noticed that if the kitbags were re-arranged there would be room for one of us to climb up on to the rack, which I did with a leg up. One of the lads on the other side did the same so making more room all round.
Once in Calais we were straight off the train on to the boat 鈥� next stop Blighty. That鈥檚 when we realised how cold it was. We were nearing something we hadn鈥檛 seen for the last four years, and peeping round anything that would keep the wind off us, we kept an eye out for the white cliffs of Dover. Suddenly a great cheer went up; as far as I was concerned a miracle had happened. A voice came over the tannoy warning us to throw overboard any weapons we were carrying 鈥� guns, knives, bayonets 鈥� or else risk being sent back. There was a mad rush to the side of the boat, no one wanted to jeopardise going home. I had a small Italian pistol that I had acquired as a souvenir but in ended up in the Channel along with the rest.
Docking in Dover, we were called on parade on the boat to await our names being called out. I have never known such a long wait; I thought I was never going to be called. Mine was the last name on the list and when the sergeant shouted Sherrell Hague T/267685, my heart started beating again. I was the very last one off the boat.
Another transit camp. Every man was checked out, kit and all. Our particulars were also checked to make sure we were who we were supposed to be. It was just like a prison. After all the rigmarole of signing paperwork I was given a pass for Aberford in West Yorkshire, via Leeds, changing trains frequently. There were plenty of Redcaps about to make sure you were travelling in the right direction. Arriving at Aberford I was given a very thorough medical and told that I had haemorrhoids and would have to go into hospital yet again to have them 鈥榮een to鈥�.
I was taken to Pinderfields in Wakefield to have the dastardly deed performed. After a week of eating nothing but boiled eggs it was time to remove the bandages. The sister came along and after pulling and pushing for fifteen minutes decided she ought to have a look at the records to find out whether it had been stitched in or not. Apparently it hadn鈥檛 so the pulling and pushing started all over again. It did not move one fraction. Eventually she got four of the other lads to hold me down 鈥� one on each arm and one on each leg. The pulling began again in earnest and suddenly it gave way. If that wasn鈥檛 enough, I then had to have an enema. I was beginning to wish I had stayed in Rhodes.
On my recovery I returned to Aberford for my discharge, handing over all my kit, which was checked every time. Anything missing would have to be paid for. We received a new suit (civilian this time) from the Quartermaster鈥檚 and then on to the Paymaster鈥檚 to square up the finances 鈥� any money owing plus 拢75 bonus. Not much for four and a half years, but very welcome to someone who had now鈥檛, and worth much more then of course.
At last I arrived at Wortley Station, on the Sheffield to Penistone line 鈥� long gone now 鈥� with my pack on my back and my kit bag across the top, I set off walking the one and a half miles home. I had forgotten how green England was. As I walked along Old Mill Lane I was flabbergasted to see flags and bunting flying outside our house 鈥� No 8 Ramsden Row, and a 鈥榃elcome Home Shen鈥� banner strung across the doorway. It was then that I realised I had really made it. The neighbours and locals gave me a great homecoming. I was told to go and see Mrs Dransfield on Huthwaite Lane whereupon I received another 拢75. I felt like a millionaire, and imagine my surprise when, through the post, I received four medals, The Africa Star, the 1939-1945 Star, The Defence Medal and The George Medal.
I took it easy for the next six weeks acclimatising to civilian life, trying to study out what kind of job I could do. I was a plumber before being called up, but tinkering with pipes and lavatories didn鈥檛 interest me any more. I had spent so much time driving in the army I had developed a love for vehicles. But most of the locals worked at Sammy Fox鈥檚 steel works in Stocksbridge so I thought I would give it a try. The vehicles came later.

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