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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"

El Alamein
We were told that on 23 October we were to launch an all-out offensive. On that day I wrote in my diary: 'Well, now dawns the great day. Troop Leader gave us all the "dope" at 8 a.m., then at 9.30 a.m. church parade. After dinner got tank all fixed up for the beginning of the fight. Played cards in afternoon. Supposed to sleep but none of us can.'
During the day we gradually moved forward, then along a track which had been cleared through one of our minefields. Ahead lay a German minefield, and when the Regiment came to it, the tanks lined up along the edge, nose to tail. By 8 p.m. we were in position, and I wrote in my diary:

There's a glorious sunset tonight. What a mad world. Who would think we're on the eve of a great battle - perhaps the fiercest we've been in yet. May it be God's will that I come through these few days alive. If I have to die, I'm not afraid, but my heart aches for Jessie and my mother and dad. God comfort them. Above all I pray to God that He will bring Ronnie through this safely, so that he and Emily will be able to live happily together for many years. God give me courage.

The enemy were at the other side of the minefield and our Engineers were clearing a way through it for the tanks to follow. Our Regiment was only part of the huge operation that was about to take place, for the whole front stretched for forty miles, from the sea in the north to the edge of the Qattara Depression, a big area of soft impassable sand in the south. This was the reason why this particular place had been chosen for us to dig in.
It was quiet. Then at ten o'clock our artillery opened up, firing over the top of us. The flashing of the guns lit the sky, the noise was deafening, and for four hours we sat in the tanks and listened to it.
Messages were given over the wireless in code, and the code to inform us we were about to advance was 'We’ll now take a drink’. We sat there and waited for those words, tense, excited, and fearful of what was to come. The words came at 2 a.m. as the artillery barrage stopped. We started to move forward.
Our squadron was leading, and the first tank to negotiate the corner to go through the minefield misjudged it and hit a mine. It blew the track off, so that tank was already out of action. We had to make our way around it, and moved very slowly forward. The air was thick with sand and dust, and although we followed closely behind each other it was almost impossible to see the tank in front. The edges of the track had been marked with petrol tins, some of them with dim lights inside, to keep us from straying onto mines, for the track was little wider than a tank.
The plan was to be through the minefield by dawn, but because of the damaged tank and our slow progress it was already getting light before we reached the end of the track. We were being heavily shelled, but made the other side, and then spread out and gradually edged forward, firing as we went. The fighting grew fiercer and the barrel of our turret machine-gun began to glow red, and then became white hot as the bullets passed through it. Ron worked like a demon, and I was firing the guns as fast as he could load them. We moved like robots – no time to think. The noise both inside and outside the tank was horrendous, and added to this was the smell and sting of the burning gunpowder. The sky was alight as from a huge firework display.
Fighting alongside us was an Australian infantry unit, and we were cheered to see American planes come over. They dropped their bombs but we had advanced further than they realised and the bombs fell amongst us. Luckily none of the tanks was hit but the Australians suffered some casualties.
Late in the afternoon we came to a halt after what my diary describes as ‘the worst day of my life’. The diary also notes: ‘It is now about 5 p.m. There’s stuff flying everywhere, George and I had a hectic half–hour brewing tea and dodging shells.’
We could only move back a short way at night to close leaguer, as we had the minefield behind us. It was a noisy, uncomfortable night, for the shelling from both sides continued and planes kept up their bombing raids. Next morning at first light we were back on the attack. We drove the enemy back, but then were held up by heavy anti-tank fire. Our tank was hit, but we were in the thick of the fighting and kept going. Once the clutch slipped, and for half a minute we were stationary until, to our great relief, the clutch gripped again. The day wore on – still fighting, firing, slowly but surely pushing forward. Then late in the day the 10th Hussars took over from us and our whole Regiment withdrew.
Now we had a chance to assess the damage to our tank. We had been hit in at least six places, and were in no doubt that we were the luckiest crew on earth because one hit had taken a huge chunk out of the side, right over the petrol tank. The hole was about a foot long and three or four inches wide – so big we could put a hand through it and swish the petrol around inside. Why the tank didn’t catch fire we’d never know. We also found we had a few scratches and bruises between us. We were very upset to find that another tank from our troop had been hit, killing all five of the crew. Other troops had suffered casualties too. Pierson and Reeves from No. 2 Troop were there with their tank from which they were the only survivors. Their Troop Leader, Lieutenant Christie-Miller, and the other two crew members in the turret had been killed; Christie-Miller they said, had been ‘cut in two’ by the shell. The Regiment had suffered many casualties. We, with ‘B’ Squadron, had led the attack, and out of twenty-nine tanks between us only twelve were left. It was necessary for the Regiment to regroup with more tanks and men brought in to replace the casualties. We were to take our tank back to workshops about seven miles away, and one of us had to go with it, with George the driver. A new tank arrived for our troop and Nobby took this over. Ted and I tossed up to see who went back with George and who went forward with Nobby. The outcome was that I went with George. However, when we arrived at the workshops he wasn't well, and was sent to the hospital where it was found he had a burst eardrum. It was several months before he rejoined the Regiment, but instead of returning to the tanks, he was put in a scout car troop attached to 'HQ' Squadron.
Our tank, not surprisingly, was beyond repair, and that left me on my own, but not for long. I was sent in a pick-up truck back to where the tanks were, the crews were reshuffled and I was back with Nobby again. Ted was moved to another tank, to be replaced by Harold Balson, and our new driver was Colin Rawlins.
After a short respite, during which the Regiment was reorganised and reinforced, at 1 a.m. on 2 November we were under way, travelling all night. The choking dust was so thick it was impossible to see more than a yard or two - and was responsible for our having an accident. Our tank hit the one in front and the one behind ran into us. Though there was little damage to the tank, Colin was knocked unconscious, and Nobby had a bad cut on the head. The fitters' truck came up, the tank was left where it was, and we were all taken four miles back to 'B' Echelon (the area where the trucks etc. were) so that Nobby and Colin could have medical attention. The M.O. also said they needed a rest. We were sent a new tank commander, Lieutenant Dallas, and a driver, from 'B' Squadron, and told to stay where we were the remainder of the night we'd go back to the tank later. After just a couple of hours' sleep we were ready to move, but I wasn't feeling too good and Lieutenant Dallas sent for the M.O. who decided that I needed a rest as well, so another gunner was sent in my place. Jimmy Turner and Bob Buckland were also there on the sick list.
I had a welcome rest, but a brief one. Next day I was on the move with the fitters' truck, following the tanks. We caught them up and I was back in my old seat alongside the 75mm. Meanwhile the enemy were still fighting but on the retreat, being harassed all the way.
As we moved forward the desert was a scene of destruction and desolation - burned out trucks and tanks, dead German and Italian soldiers, guns and equipment strewn everywhere. Then came hundreds of soldiers, mostly Italians, streaming across the desert shouting and waving their arms. We moved through them urging them past us for the infantry to collect and put in POW camps. The German supply lines had been stretched to the limit. Now they were short of vehicles, and as they retreated they just left the Italians behind.
We had little rest when it was dark, for enemy aircraft flew over and dropped bombs and flares all night long. Rockets were going up - another firework display, but though the bombs dropped near we escaped being hit.
We pushed on, the Germans fighting a rearguard action. From time to time we ran into pockets of resistance, one German anti-tank gun holding us up for half a day. They were a brave crew, but eventually the artillery silenced them. Another tank in our squadron was hit and all the turret crew killed, but except for occasional skirmishes we were now moving west, the advance was gaining momentum, and the enemy were retreating so fast that we lost touch with them. Thousands of troops besides ourselves were pushing forward and some were soon many miles ahead.
When we had to move quickly or a long way, we loaded the tanks on to transporters, and this we proceeded to do now. The transporters were similar to those one sees today carrying six or eight motor cars, only these were big heavy vehicles and it was one tank on one transporter, each with its own drivers. At the back there were two short ramps on hinges so that they could be dropped down easily. To load the tank, one man stood on the transporter and guided the tank driver up the ramps by shaking either his right or left fist to indicate which tiller bar to pull. The tank then slowly climbed the ramps, like some advancing monster. The front would go so high that the driver went out of sight, and then as it reached the point where it overbalanced, it came crashing down to be guided forward until completely on the transporter. Once a tank driven by Jimmy Turner was guided wrongly and fell off the transporter. Jimmy was very lucky to escape injury.
My diary for 13 November says:'...Got news on the wireless...everything seems to be going OK. Still moving up coast road where there are plenty of lorries, guns etc. burnt and destroyed. Passed lorry loads of prisoners. Going all day with just a few minutes' halt here and there.'
That night we slept on the transporter at the foot of Halfya Pass (renamed by the army 'Hell-Fire'). This was a notorious pass, very narrow and steep, near the border between Egypt and Libya, so steep that we had to take the tanks off the transporters to climb it. My diary: 'What a climb. What an experience!' However, we made it and next morning: 'Up at 6 a.m. and moved off soon after... transporters left, so now travelling along coast road under our own steam. Bypassed bridge which had been blown up, saw biggest gun I've ever seen. Whew - what a monster! Bardia - that beautiful view we saw about six months ago. Very slow progress, thousands of vehicles on the road, can see them in front for miles...'
The weather turned cold now and it poured with rain, making life very uncomfortable as we made our way west. We had been bypassed by New Zealand units who were to carry on the chase, so now the fighting was far ahead of us. We listened to its progress on the wireless and a cheer went up when we heard that Tobruk had fallen.
On 17 November we were heading for Tmimi when to our surprise we were told we were going to hand over our tanks to the 22nd Armoured Brigade. They came and took all but three so that next day most of us travelled by lorry. My diary says: 'Buck and I rode on a lorry carrying diesel oil.'
Next day we went through Gazala where our Air Force were making good use of the airfield. There were dozens of destroyed German aeroplanes on the ground. Passing a German cemetery, on through what was left of Tmimi, finally reaching our destination, just another stretch of desert about twenty miles south of the coastal town of Derna, some ninety miles west of Tobruk. We were told we would be there for about three weeks and were supposed to be equipped with new tanks.
Later, we learned that out of 600 tanks the Germans had at El Alamein they had lost 450. 20,000 soldiers had been killed and 30,000 taken prisoner. Our losses had amounted to about eight per cent.

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