大象传媒

Bob Borthwick decided to join a foray into the desert to locate some British to look for spare parts. An armoured car patrol had given directions to where they had seen these vehicles, both British and Italian some twenty-five miles due south of the 48 mile marker. It was normal to give direction with relation to the railway.

鈥淲e set off in the morning, taking our lunch with us. After an hours uneventful run first along and then away from the railway steering by sun-compass, we came across two Italian wrecks. To be more exact they were skeletons as they had been stripped of everything useful except springs. We decided to leave them for the time being and look for the British vehicles a bit further on鈥�

鈥淲hile eating, one of the youngsters pointed to the west of our intended route to what he said looked like truck wrecks on the skyline, so we set off to investigate. They turned out to be two Bedford lorries abandoned one with a broken spring and the other with a half-shaft gone. Both delivered up their spring sets and other spare parts that might come in useful for our vehicles.鈥�

鈥淭he last of the springs had barely been loaded when there was a shout from one of the men and looking to the south. An amazing sight met our eyes. A huge, brown wall, stretching from horizon to horizon and reaching high into the sky, was gradually shutting out the sun in a golden haze. We all knew what it was even before hearing the increasing hissing sound of the approaching sandstorm, but obviously one outside our previous experience. We gazed at it in awe for a minute, it was truly menacing, before coming to our senses.鈥�

鈥淓veryone leaped for the truck to put the canvas hood up while the driver started up, and drove off north for the railway line. The race was on. Harry in the back was shouting through to me that the storm was catching up. We were loosing and when the sand struck, everything went dark, forcing the driver to slow down with visibility ahead becoming almost nil.鈥�

鈥淲e had two choices either to stop and ride it out or to keep going until we hit the railway to guide us home. Whichever was chosen, we were going to suffer from sand getting in everywhere but we would probably suffer less by keeping on the move. On the other hand it was impossible to see where one was heading, one could easily get lost and even go round in circles.鈥�

鈥淔ortunately the storm was roughly moving north, the direction we needed to go. So we used it to navigate. This was one of those storms carried by the Khamsin, a wind blowing north from the Equator over the Great Sand Sea, generated in the early months of the year, by a depression in the Mediterranean. If we kept going with the wind and sand in our rear we would eventually meet the railway.鈥�

鈥淎nother problem was soon encountered, without being able to see ahead, even travelling slowly, we were unable to see and avoid any soft patches of sand and consequently getting stuck. In the relative safety of the cab and in the back with the canvas drawn, there was still more than enough sand flying about, but nothing compared with outside. Nobody was volunteering to walk ahead to warn of soft patches. We just had to keep peering to the front and hope for the best. As it happened many of the soft patches of sand must have been picked up in the wind for we only became stuck once and that, we all agreed, was our most anxious time.鈥�

鈥淚t was soon evident our worries of being permanently stuck were unfounded, the rear wheel drive had taken the front wheels through and had settled in themselves. But the metal sand channels we carried soon had them out. The sense of relief on getting back on board was more due to leaving the unpleasant conditions outside than the fact that we could now begin to move again.鈥�

鈥淢eanwhile with the sun about to set, although we could not see it, it was certainly getting darker and even more difficult to see ahead. We slowed even more but this was now causing the engine to overheat and it was not long before the driver insisted on an unscheduled stop to cool down. Up to then, running with the storm, the sand still managed to get inside everywhere, but this time when we stopped, it was to find a more disconcerting fact.鈥�

鈥淣ot only was sand getting into the cab but a very fine dust, evidently from the arid wastes to the south, was covering everything. Everyone was covered from head to foot, the dust getting inside clothing, nose and mouth and, had it not been for wearing sand goggles, into our eyes which could have been much more serious.鈥�

鈥淭hese sand goggles, with the green shade, made famous by Rommel always pictured with a pair on his cap, were proving to be one of the more sensible items on issue. The dust gave me one more worry, although nothing was said, and that was the possibility of it getting through the air filter to the engine.鈥�

鈥淎fter three hours or so crawling, it was with considerable relief when we eventually struck first the beaten track alongside the railway, and we nearly ran onto the lines. Guessing that we were west of the Camp, the driver turned right along the track looking for the first mile marker. It seemed an unusually long time before I spotted one, with the poor visibility it was probable that it might have been missed, but stopping to look, it was the 49 mile marker. We were four miles west of the Camp.鈥�

鈥淏y now it was quite dark but thankfully the storm seemed to be abating, the fury dying down to a more continuous rush of sand and although dark, the visibility had improved a little. The 48 and succeeding markers were found until we came to the sleeper crossing at the 45th. Here we turned west of north across the railway but it was not possible to hold direction, after a couple of hours casting around it was decided it was better to wait for morning and we would settle down for the night. Despite the sand a meal of biscuits was eaten, washed down with water. It was impossible to brew tea and everyone settled down in the back of the truck to sleep.鈥�

鈥淓arly the next morning everyone awoke with relief at the realisation that the sandstorm had passed and imagine our surprise when we peered out of the truck to see the Camp over to the west just a couple of miles away. We must have wandered about gradually drifting east away from our destination.鈥�

Four weary but thankful travellers, eager for breakfast, drove into Camp to be welcomed like lost souls. This sandstorm, the worst experienced that season although it heralded a whole week of storms.

This story was submitted to the people鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from CSV Oxford on behalf of the late Bob Borthwick. It is a transcript of his own diary and he gave written permission for the material to be edited and published.

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