大象传媒

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The Free French down South at Bir Hacheim were taking a hammering, so in order to create a diversion it was decided to mount an attack in our sector.
Alan Morehead in his book 鈥楾he Desert War鈥� is critical of the Allied High Command for not having launched a full-scale attack from the Gazala line at that time. The 2nd Brigade was fighting fit and ready to go, but all we engaged in, using Morehead鈥檚 words, were 鈥榩enny packet patrols鈥� which were ineffective and could only result in heavy casualties.
Our platoon B9 was chosen from 鈥楤鈥� Company, and since we had been in dugouts for about two months were keen to get off our bums and get into action. The monotony had been relieved at the end of May when the Italians attacked in strength on the flats to our right, between us and the R.D.L.I. It was an abortive effort dealt with by our Vickers machine guns with their new Mark VIII ammunition. The enemy withdrew in disorder with heavy casualties. Their turn was to come.
On the morning of June 7th we were ordered to rendezvous at 3:30am at a position in front of our lines known as 鈥極utpost Wadi鈥�.** Most of us knew this area well having previously patrolled there.
I had picked up a German Mauser rifle on one of these patrols. It was in beautiful condition and I used it to fire at low flying enemy aircraft. I loaded the magazine with one ball, one armour piercing and one tracer to indicate where my shots were going.
Our platoon was on the left flank, C.11 on our right with A5 on the flats on our right. We downed a mug of coffee before we left, and little did we know that this was to sustain us for the next sixteen hours.
* Later to win the Military Medal for other actions.
** The Polish troops before our occupation had called it 鈥楥ossack Wadi.鈥�
The attack was doomed from the start. The signallers failed to arrive so we advanced without proper communications. In the dark, we overshot our objective without knowing it as the enemy laid low and let us pass. On we blissfully went into 鈥榯he Devil鈥檚 Cauldron.鈥� We came up against a minefield and a few of the enemy on outpost beat it as we fired on them. Then all hell let loose. As it became lighter we discovered that we were up against a heavily defended position. It later transpired that it was an Italian machine gun battalion.
I have never known such concentrated fire from such an assortment of weaponry. Light machine guns, heavy machine guns, anti-tank guns, twenty millimetre Bredas, forty millimetre Bredas, you name it, they let us have the lot. The anti-tank gun was firing tracer shells from the right flank. The shells were whooshing past like an express train, great balls of fire grinding their way into the distance as they ricocheted off the hard ground. The C.T.H. on the ridge to our left were taking a similar pounding, and before long they were withdrawing under heavy shellfire.
Before we set out we were each given a rack of two-inch mortar bombs to carry. These were to serve the two-inch mortar that was operated by Nigel Downes. The mortar was a simple contraption consisting of a base plate, a spirit level, two-inch pipe and a protractor-like gadget to measure the angle of fire. Nigel went into action immediately, and we were only too pleased to keep him well supplied with bombs and thus get rid of our lethal parcels. Why they picked on the biggest man in the platoon to do this job I will never know. He was magnificent. Lying there on the open ground he must have been a prime target, whilst he methodically plonked his bombs into the enemy positions. Our riflemen were finding targets, and Pooch Marais firing the Bren hit the box of ammunition a man was carrying on his back. Man and box vanished in a ball of flame.
Our casualties started to mount. Geoff Frank was hit in the arm; Johnnie Chowles in the head, and Peter Edmonds our corporal in the knee; all three were attended to by a medical orderly by the name of Folkey. He went from man to man cursing as the bullets whizzed around him. It was an absolute miracle he wasn鈥檛 hit. For his bravery he was awarded the M.M. Jock Gordon Cumming was hit by a shell from the anti-tank gun, and I think Ron Brown died a similar fate.
A Basuto medical orderly was looking after Peter Edmonds and Johnnie Chowles in a shell crater, when a shell from one of our own 25 pounders burst next to them. I remember the black man鈥檚 tin hat bowling across the desert. It must have been the end of all three of them. I remember thinking some time later, what must have gone through the mind of that black medical orderly. There he was mixed up in the white man鈥檚 war devotedly serving his white masters.
Geoff Frank was a brilliant pianist. He died of shock the following day in Italian hands. There was simply no way we could move him under such murderous fire. Peter Edmonds was a very popular section leader. He was full of fun. We used to sit outside our dugouts in the Gazala Line at night watching the Italian anti aircraft guns firing tracers at our planes. Peter used to shout 鈥渢here go the goofu guns shooting shit balls at the moon.鈥�
Johnnie Chowles another fun loving youngster had only recently joined us. I think he must have had a premonition of what was to come. He was very silent when we set out from our dugouts early that morning.
It was obvious that we were serving no purpose staying where we were. We had lost contact with our platoon commander and sergeant, having simply left them way behind in the dark. We were being carved up, and the shells from our own artillery meant for the enemy, were falling amongst us. I shouted to the chaps to withdraw section by section, with the other two sections giving covering fire. I recall Brian Keal crawling towards me whilst I was standing, firing my tommy gun over his head. His eyes seemed to be pleading 鈥榢eep that bloody gun up!鈥� Suddenly, the gun bucked in my hands and blood was spurting out of the top of my left thumb. I thought the drum must have exploded. In fact an enemy bullet had hit the drum magazine plumb centre thus preventing it from giving me another navel.
We gradually got ourselves out of trouble and headed for the shelter of Cossack Wadi. On the way I met a very dejected Pooch Marais. He was very down at the loss of his friend Johnnie Chowles whom he knew well in civvy life. I relieved him of the Bren. We were being shelled heavily but under cover of the forward slope of the Wadi were fairly safe. We were short of ammo, and before long an armoured car was on its way. As it entered the Wadi the anti-tank gun on the flats scored a direct hit. In seconds the car was a blazing inferno; the poor driver and his mate didn鈥檛 stand a chance. Another car followed shortly and was hit in the wheel. The driver, an F.F.B. chap by the name of Naude baled out, but later returned and drove the car in. He was awarded the M.M. for his brave act. I went to fetch some ammo for the Bren when a shell exploded close by. I felt a wrench on my left arm. My bunny jacket sleeve from the cuff to the elbow was in shreds and my arm hadn鈥檛 been touched. I began to think I was immortal.
I grabbed some ammo for the Bren and went to the edge of the Wadi to try and get a sight of the anti-tank gun that had knocked out our two armoured cars. Bob Bluett our platoon officer shouted across, 鈥渁re you trying to win a gong?鈥�
I replied that I wasn鈥檛 prepared to sit on my bum facing the wrong way when we had an enemy to our front. We made our peace about a month later when he took me out to dinner at a posh restaurant in Alexandria.
I didn鈥檛 have to wait long before I saw an Ito strutting nonchalantly across the desert 600 yards away. I put the sight up to 6oo yards and gave him a burst. I forgot to aim off, for the dust kicked up behind him and he dived into what appeared to be a gun pit. At that moment an artillery officer came up looking for a target. I gave him the range and within minutes the 25 pounder plastered the gun pit.
We were sporadically shelled for the rest of the day, and at sundown our artillery hammered away at the enemy position prior to our withdrawal to our starting positions. At about 9:30pm we pulled out, and at about midnight were back in our dugouts, worn out and totally demoralised.
Five of the chaps from our platoon we would never see again, whilst five were wounded. It was a fruitless exercise which, if it had been properly planned and supported with armour could have resulted in a major success, thus relieving the Free French at Bir Hacheim.

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