大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Pam Riding of Kirklees Libraries on behalf of Jack Merewood and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Extract taken from Mr Merewood's book "To War with The Bays"

On 23 May 1942 we were woken at 4.30 a.m. by the guard and told to be ready to stand to by 5. There was tension and expectation in the air, for we knew that a German attack was imminent. But we didn't move. The next day this happened again, and this time we did move, about thirty-five miles west, to within only five or six miles from the front line. On the morning of 27 May the enemy launched the expected offensive, and were moving our way. We went to meet them. Our squadron was leading the attack, with 'A' and 'B' Squadrons behind and to our left and right. It was scorching hot and soon we could see German vehicles in front of us shimmering in the heat. We shelled them and really wreaked havoc among them. All hell was let loose as we exchanged fire; the noise was deafening and the dust rose in clouds. It was an exciting experience, but also very frightening. We were fighting with the best tanks we'd had so far, and had confidence in them, but our confidence was soon shattered. Through my periscope I saw a spurt of sand from the ground in front of us. Within seconds the next shell hit us. It was certainly an A.P./H.E. because it came straight through the front of the tank and exploded inside. I looked at Jim; he had taken the full blast of the shell in his face and was dead. I had blood on my face and arms but what was hurting most was my leg. It felt as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer. On looking at it I saw a hole in my thigh an inch or more across.
In a situation like this one doesn't stop to think, automatic reaction takes over. There was a door in the side of the Grant, behind the gunner, and also one above it. For some reason I crawled out of the top door, then lay on the back of the tank and rolled off on to the ground, a drop of about six or seven feet. Lieutenant Radice, Rowney and Hardwick had baled out. Radice was slightly wounded in the leg and Rowney in both ankles. They said that Gristock had been killed. Hardwick was unhurt. The battle was raging, another of our tanks nearby, commanded by Lieutenant Halsted, had been hit. He was wounded, and one of his crew, Harry Mounsey, a boy from Leeds, was killed. Our tank was still moving forward with Jim and Tommy inside it. Then it caught fire, and the ammunition started to explode.
There were scout cars running about, and one driven by a very courageous Sergeant Harris picked me up and took me back several hundred yards, where medical soldiers were helping with the wounded. Sergeant Harris immediately left, to look for anyone else he could see in trouble. I owed him a great deal. The rest of our crew were picked up, though I didn't see them.
I was laid on the ground alongside some other men, none of whom I knew, and an M.O. gave me a shot of morphine to ease the pain. There were three ambulances there, and we were lifted into them on stretchers, perhaps six in each, the stretchers fitting in racks, like bunk beds. One man in our ambulance was a German soldier. It was late in the evening when the ambulances set off across the rough desert, and soon it was pitch dark. We came to a stop and I heard the drivers get out and start talking to each other. We were lost. In the distance they could see a few lights, and decided that with wounded men on board the only thing to do was to drive over to them. If they were Germans, we would give ourselves up. The bumpy journey continued, and we arrived at the lights to find that they were a few abandoned German vehicles with their lights left on. There was another conference on what to do next. If we drove north we would eventually hit the coast road, and if we got there without mishap, we should turn right and head for Egypt. The ambulances had no compasses, so which way was north? Fortunately there was a clear sky and someone had the bright idea of finding the North Star and following it. We had no idea where we were or how far it was to the coast, or even if there were Germans between us and it. After several more bumpy miles, out of the blackness in front of us there was a shout: 'What the hell are you doing here?' It was the voice of an officer of a Scottish infantry regiment. The Scotsman said it was a miracle we hadn't been shot up but that we were now near El Adem, and would indeed hit the coast road if we kept going. He wished us luck.
The coast road at last! We headed east. It was nearing daylight and soon ahead of us was a casualty clearing station. This was one of many temporary units set up to deal with wounded soldiers who would be on their way, eventually, to a permanent hospital. This C.C.S. was a South African unit, and the men there were absolutely marvellous. I asked one of them about the German in our ambulance. He told me not to worry about him. He had died during the night.
I'd had a piece of shrapnel - which I'd pulled out - stuck in my left cheek, just below my eye. Another piece had cut my right temple, and they put stitches in this. Yet another piece had gone in my left wrist and was sticking out of the other side; they took this out too. My right arm was also cut, but none of these things bothered me as much as my leg, which was very painful. They bandaged me up, but didn't attempt to do anything with my leg. Later in the day I was on my way to another C.C.S. where the wounds were dressed, then another C.C.S., and another, and another, and five days after being wounded arrived at the railway station at Mersa Matruh in Egypt. From there I went by hospital train to a hospital near Ismalia, about seventy miles east of Cairo.
I will never forget the day I was wheeled on a stretcher into that ward. The 'ward' was a big marquee - and to me it looked like heaven. Bright, cheerful, flowers on the tables, and the sister was the nearest thing to an angel that one could imagine. Her name was Sister Furnival. How old she was I don't know. I was twenty-three and at that age anyone over thirty is old, but I would guess she was somewhere around forty. She was one of the most wonderful people I have ever met. I was given a bath, then five days' growth of beard was shaved off by an old Arab with a cutthroat razor.
I suppose there were about twenty beds in the ward. I was one of the first casualties to come in from the fighting, and I got on really well with everybody. Everyone was so kind and helpful - there wer other sisters besides Sister Furnival, and all were marvellous.
I wasn't feeling too well, and after a couple of days' rest was taken to the X-ray department where they found I had some shrapnel in my thigh. On Thursday 4 June the surgeon told me they were going to operate next Monday, when my leg had settled down a bit. On Sunday they decided not to do the operation next day as my leg was 'unsettled'. Things were pretty painful, and I had trouble sleeping. They took the stitches out of my head, my leg was dressed daily, but it was Thursday 18 June before they finally did the operation. I have those dates in my diary, but didn't write in it again until the 27th, when I did my best to bring it up to date. They had taken two pieces of shrapnel out of my leg, one of them measuring well over an inch across, and a smaller piece, and they gave them to me as souvenirs. The small piece I lost, but I still have the other. And another piece too - left in my leg, which they must have overlooked.
I was very ill after the operation and had to have a blood transfusion. I then became delirious and came round to find what seemed like the rest of the army holding me down. My Commanding Officer wrote to my parents and told them I had been wounded and that a blood transfusion had saved my life. I couldn't eat. My legs were like matchsticks, and I thought I'd never be able to walk again. The sister tried to tempt me.
'Is there anything at all you would like?' she asked.
'Yorkshire pudding,' I said.
She left, and it wasn't long before she came back with a plate with a cover on it. And underneath the cover? Yorkshire pudding! She had got it from the officers' mess. She brought me ice-cream, lemonade...With this sort of care and understanding I slowly improved.

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