大象传媒

Extract from Cliff Gascoigne's RAF memoirs, 'The Life of an Erk.'

Having travelled up and down the desert for the last 3 years I'd got a little bit fed up with being a scruffy nomad and asked for a posting to the delta to see what civilization was like. I was posted to Helwan a few miles out of Cairo.

I went into the office with my arrival chit to be met by the flight lieutenant and the warrant officer who both looked down there noses when this apparition appeared in front of them. I was wearing my best khaki battledress, which I was now wearing for the third Winter and had not been cleaned since it was issued to me. Mind you, I had kept it well creased even if the creases were not in the right places! I also had two days growth of beard. 鈥淵ou had better get cleaned up before you see the disciplinary warrant officer because he is a bit keen on smartness.鈥� They also did not realise that I was a corporal as I had no stripes on my battledress. As I was about to leave I informed them that I was a corporal fitter armourer and that I had already had about 20 minutes chat with the disciplinary warrant officer who had spent some time up the desert with 33 Squadron. I then got out of the office quick before I burst out laughing, as it was clear I was not going to be the blue-eyed boy.

I had not been there that long when volunteer drivers were wanted to take vehicles to Tripoli, so I volunteered to get away! My vehicle was an American petrol tanker. When we got to Benghasi, the transit camp people asked if we would take some passengers. My passenger was a little cockney corporal who kept me amused for 7 days. I slept in the cab and he slept just under the vehicle in case of rain. If I woke up in the night I could guarantee that he was either smoking or lighting a cigarette. The best thing about that trip was that I was away from that armoury for about 3 weeks.

I mention the rain because most people think of nothing else but sunshine when a desert is mentioned, but I can assure you that it can rain quite heavily. Also in Winter if we put a jam jar of water just outside our tent at night, the next morning it usually had a thin layer of ice on top. We also wore khaki battledress all through the winter months.

I managed to stay at Helwan for about six months and was quite happy apart from the fact that I could not get over the 'spit and polish', and the fact that these people had no idea of the desert war going on a few miles away.

Helwan had a very nice Japanese garden that we would sometimes visit for a Sunday afternoon walk. It also had a sulphur bath and some of the lads decided to go for a swim. I had a septic foot and didn鈥檛 think they would let me in , but the lads said they would because sulphur baths are supposed to cure things like that. I did not believe them but decided to give it a go as I had not been able to cure it myself. When I saw the water - it was black and looked like thin mud - I did not fancy going in, so I sat on the side and put my foot in the water for about an hour. I did not think it would do any good but a few days later it began to heal.

By now our troops had got a foothold on Europe, on the island of Sicily, so a transit camp was opened just outside Tripoli. It was called 鈥淐asualty and Replacement Pool for Sicily and Italy鈥� and about six of us were posted there. It was quite pleasant as the tents were pitched in an orchard of olive trees, giving us plenty of shade. We had very little to do for most of the day once the morning jobs had been done. These jobs were allocated every morning at parade. I always stood towards one end of the parade (not always the same end) and did not get picked to take charge of one of the working parties for some time. The reason being that I knew the Warrant Officer who was in charge of the parade from when we had been on 49 Squadron at Scampton.

Eventually, he had me detailed to take a party to the Officers鈥� Mess to move some seats and take them to the makeshift stage which had been erected for a show in the afternoon. The officers鈥� seats were about six or eight yards back so they were in a very good position to see the show. There was to be nobody and nothing put between the officers鈥� seats and the stage.

The entertainment was a one man show by George Formby. At the start of the show he noticed the open space between the officers and the stage, and told the ones at the back to come to the front and fill the gap as he had come to entertain the troops not the officers.

He told us he had just come over from Italy and was very proud of the fact that he was the first entertainer to do shows on mainland Europe since 1939. He had insisted on going up to the front line lads to do a show for them. He also said that he would be telling some of the other entertainers to come out and do a show for the troops. His wife was there too and from what was said she went everywhere with him. I was outside the Officers鈥� Mess when he came back from the show and the CO asked if he wanted a meal, "No thanks, a cup of tea and a sandwich please, haven't got time for a meal, I have two more shows to do today.鈥� He had already done one show before coming to us. Who said an actor鈥檚 life was easy?

I was in the transit camp for three months. There could not have been as many casualties as someone had anticipated, there did not seem to be any mass exodus from the camp. Then suddenly things began to move and our crowd were split up. I was dumped with a few others at what had been Tripoli Airport to see if we could get a lift on an aircraft going down to the delta. Being dumped somewhere and told to make your own way was regular up the desert, sometimes it could be a 500 to 1000 mile trip. We were lucky, a Dakota came in on its way to the delta and the pilot agreed to take us. They only had an aircraft engine on board. (They had landed in the desert beside an aircraft that had forced landed. A recovery crew had removed the engine from the crash and had been left to get the rest of it onto vehicles and get it back to the maintenance depot). It was a night flight so as there was nothing to see or do we tried to get some sleep on the floor of the aircraft, not too successfully I'm afraid. It landed at an aerodrome a little way up the Alexandria road from Giza.

Eventually we got to the transit camp at Abukir. This was a tented camp inside the main camp. Once again I met up with some ex 55 Squadron chaps for a drink. When we had had one or two beers some of them started on whisky, pouring it into their beer. I reckon they must have put some in mine because I finished up with the Provo-Marshal in a cosy little room called a cell. They let me out next morning, but I never found out what I had been up to. Since then I have never drunk whisky because of the peculiar effect it has on me.

Just after that I was posted to 38 Squadron at Berka, a few miles west of Benghasi. When I got there I found that a charge sheet had already arrived for my misdemeanour. I went up in front of the CO, a very nice gentleman who asked, "Drunk?"
"Yes Sir鈥�
"Case dismissed, fall out."
I did not argue. I think that most officers who had charges like this, which were sent up from the delta, dismissed them. Most of the officers themselves used to let their hair down a bit when they went down the delta on leave. Apart from that, what was the point of confining someone to camp, it made no difference as no one went out. There was nowhere to go and we did not have any RAF Police or a guard room for anyone to report to.

By now I was hoping to be static for a while, the war in North Africa was over but 38 Squadron had Wellingtons and did sweeps right up the Aegean, which meant they were gone for long periods. I was static for about 12 months and moved out of the tent into an old Italian fort (see picture above). I got a cosy little room all to myself. It had been a look-out at the corner of the fort, and was round with about three look-out slits in it. One of the slits looked out over a few ramshackle buildings which I suppose was some sort of Libyan Arab village as there were plenty of natives wandering about.

I got myself a steady little number in the photographic section (also in the fort). The photographers plied me with beer and I operated the glazing machine. The photographers hated that job.

One day a Group Captain came into the fort and approached our Warrant Officer, who had no hat, no shirt, and no badge of rank on.
鈥淐an you tell me where I can find the armament Warrant Officer?鈥� he asked.
鈥淚f you would wait here sir, I will find him for you.鈥�
He quickly went back to his billet, put on his shirt, hat and badge of rank, returned to the Group Captain, saluted and said, 鈥淵ou want to see me Sir?鈥� Goodness only knows what the Group Captain thought, but he said nothing.

In November 1944 we were to go into Europe and were sent to the transit camp at Abukir for shipping across. I was sent with a wagon and driver to collect some stores. As we drove into the transit camp on our return, people kept looking at us and we both wondered why. When I got out of the wagon someone asked 鈥淲hat are you doing here?鈥�
鈥淲hy shouldn鈥檛 I be here?鈥� I said.
It seemed everyone thought I had gone home - posted home I was!!! I did not really believe it until I was told by the orderly room staff.

We had a quicker trip home than when we came out 4 years before, as we came back through the Mediterranean. I was most disappointed at not going to Europe - but happier to be going home.

We docked at Liverpool on December 5th 1944 and were sent to Kirkham for dispersal. I was only there for a few days and then went on disembarkation leave for a month. I took the train home and on arriving at the station I saw someone coming towards me that I had not expected to see again, after I went to the Middle East. Of course, it was May, the young lady I鈥檇 met on the bus in 1939. She had waited over four years and sent me 165 letters plus 3 greetings telegrams. I was very pleased to see her although it was very strange for both of us as we had not seen a lot of each other before I went to the Middle East, and then of course nothing for over four years. It was a lovely feeling to see someone who has waited four years for your return.

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