大象传媒

The Port of Embarkation

By
LT Westney

One wartime Sunday near Carthage, Tunisia, there was a lull in the telephone line laying activities of our unit of the Royal Corps of Signals. Recreation facilities were few and although not a Roman Catholic, I nevertheless hopped on to the Roman Catholic wagon bound for church in Tunis nearly twenty miles away. The Roman Catholics in the truck, a tight little community, slightly resented an intruder's presence and maintained a steady silence.

The journey did not take long however and I saw the Roman Catholics off into their nice little church before enjoying an adventurous little saunter into Tunis itself. The Catholics would go straight back to the Signals camp after their service, so of course I should have to make my own way back. I did not anticipate great difficulty in returning in the evening and indeed, no such difficulty did arise, but a setback was in store for me and quite an unpleasant surprise it was too.

A first look around any capital city enthralls and Tunis, with its Arabs, veiled women, churches, mosques and market squares, held even more interest than most capitals. I was well catered for too in respect of meals in as much as I soon found a NAAFI near the centre. Time passed quickly, interestingly, and after tea I made my way back to the road to Carthage to thumb a lift back to camp.

Early fortune was with me and a friendly Arab car owner chatted to me in quite fair English as he sped onwards.
I had noted landmarks at various stages of the way back and, rounding a corner, warned the driver that the field in which the Signals camp was pitched, was getting quite near. He slowed and, very soon, I asked him to stop. Not at the Signals camp but at a field that was conspicuous only for its vast and shattering emptiness. There was not a sign of a tent, vehicle, or even one soldier. Could it really be the right field? I looked around feverishly scanning every landmark. Yes, there was no doubt that it was the right field and that the birds had flown. But to where?

The Arab driver having commiserated with me in my very real predicament, went on his way and I looked around hopelessly trying to think logically. What if I could not track down the unit? Why, I should be classed as a deserter! Where on earth had they a1l gone to so swiftly, and so suddenly?
I tried to reason it out as I looked around. Across to the other side of the road was an American Army camp similarly situated in a field. It, afforded some little hope so over I went.

A short time later, I left the American Army camp, quite convinced that it was a "Salvation" Army as not only had I been given details of the embarkation port to which my unit had departed, but I had been plied with packets of cigarettes and chocolate biscuits, by well wishing allies.

It was now a question of whether I would be able to reach the unit before they actually embarked for Sicily. As all this happened around 1943, I have now forgotten the name of the Tunisian embarkation port. It is of little consequence but what was, of great consequence, at that time, was that I obtained a lift to the port almost immediately. I alighted in gratitude, raced down to the docks and peered anxiously around. There they were, large as life as ever, and all complete with packs, kitbags, rifles etc. I hoped they had brought along my tackle too. They were waiting for a troopship to take them to Sicily.

"You're on a charge," they said, in some criticism but in some relief as well.

A minor charge was of but small concern to me, considering that I could easily have had to prepare myself for a more serious charge if I had been less fortunate. Together with two or three other petty offenders, I was hauled up before the Commanding Officer shortly after we had arrived in Sicily.

I could not - and did not - grumble at a two day Royal Warrant sentence, which meant about four days loss of pay. That night a few tins of corned meat mysteriously disappeared from the Quartermaster's stores. I should say that the local Sicilians gained most from that action but my net pay deficit was reduced to nil. I had a quiet, reflective drink in a little Sicilian caf茅 next evening. First and foremost, I toasted the American "Salvation" Army camp which had saved the day.

Pr-BR

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