大象传媒

CALLED TO THE COLOURS

PART 6 Over the Water

It was a strange awakening. I was swinging gently from side to side and wondered where I could possibly be! Looking along each side I saw that I was in one of a row of hammocks slung above a long mess table with wooden benches each side. This would be my living space, along with ten or eleven others for the time I would spend on board the troopship.
We must have slipped anchor during the night. We had left the Clyde and were making our way to join a convoy for our 鈥楯ourney into the Unknown鈥�.

One of the first jobs of the day was to un-sling the hammock, neatly roll it and stack it in a rack allocated to the mess deck. Saltwater showers were provided for the use of troops and for these we were issued with a piece of seawater soap. It didn鈥檛 provide a very good lather and I often wonder how on earth we managed to get a decent shave. Meals were brought from the galley by orderlies to the end of each mess table and served out onto plates, or whatever and passed down to the lads sitting each side of the table. I will not comment on the meals too much. They were, I suppose, wholesome and the surprising thing was that the bread was white! Something we had not seen in a long time.

Boat drill was one of the first main parades and by now we were well at sea and the ship was starting to pitch and roll. Most of the members of the mess table were affected and crawled away somewhere to suffer alone. I fortunately was not troubled and together with only four or five others on the table enjoyed plenty of food as full rations were still delivered. Days passed before the mess table was fully occupied.

I was located near the stern of the ship and my favourite viewpoint was leaning on the stern rail at night in the pitch darkness. No lights were allowed on the deck at night or smoking as these may have shown up to enemy submarines. Also nothing could be thrown overboard during daylight for the same reason. As the stern of the ship rose the propellers sometimes came churning out of the water and left a foaming wake that brought to the surface millions of fluorescent particles flashing and sparkling way back where the ship had travelled. I would stand for long periods looking at this wonderful sight.

We were informed that our convoy was well out in the Atlantic, zigzagging to avoid U-boats, and after about two weeks we had moved South and East into the Mediterranean Sea. That night we were attacked by aircraft and after a noisy couple of hours it was reported that a ship that had only joined us at Gibraltar had been sunk.

The morning came when I awoke to find we were tied up in dock at Phillipville in Algeria. We disembarked and formed up in full kit on the quay. As we marched off we passed under a large semi-circular sign which proclaimed in large letters:-
鈥榃ELCOME TO NORTH AFRICA
LAND OF鈥�.
(Then followed a list of the most horrible diseases
we had heard of and quite a few that we hadn鈥檛.)

Our march took us in an Easterly direction along the coast road for what seemed like miles. Before leaving England we were issued with a new style of steel helmet without a rim. It was supposed to be designed for tank crews but I never knew it to be worn in a tank. Anyway we were ordered to wear them when we left the ship and along the way we were cheered by odd groups of squaddies shouting 鈥淲here did you get those piss pots?鈥�

At last we turned off the road, up a rough track into some rolling sand dunes. We were halted at the bottom of a slight hill on which were laid in neat rows on the sand, two-man bivouacs. We were fallen out allocated two men to a bivouac and had to erect it and make it liveable !

These 鈥榖ivvies鈥� as they were called were only about 2鈥�6鈥欌�� high to the ridge, approximately five feet long and less than three feet wide. They were just big enough for two men to crawl into. To find room for all the kit as well was quite a problem.
It was found that we were located in a transit camp where we would stay until posted to a Regiment. My subsequent Army service made me all too aware of the 鈥榩leasures鈥� of Transit Camp life, but this would be my baptism of fire.

The cookhouse was quite a walk away over the sand dune and every meal involved waiting in a ling queue with mess tins at the ready. I think the meals were the worst of my whole Army experience, both for quality and quantity. All of us were famished and I think that this was the time of the 鈥榲anishing emergency rations鈥�.

Part of each soldiers鈥� kit was an 鈥楨mergency Ration Pack鈥�. This was contained in a flat tin about four by two and a half by three quarters of an inch thick. It was found that the tin contained a slab of fortified chocolate which was quite satisfying to a hungry soldier!
I wonder how many tins of sand were handed in after the war?

Someone said that there was a village not too far away where a religious order had established a forces canteen. Three or four of us decided that it would be worth a walk if we were able to obtain something to eat, as we were ravenous. We were given the general direction and route to take and set off. On the way we met an Arab who was selling tangerines. We bought a couple of handfuls each and wolfed the lot. To us they were delicious and of course the first we had seen for years.
The village was found after a trek across the sand hills. A small canteen had been set up in a crude native shack and we did manage to obtain a rather stale bun and a drink of tea served in a cigarette tin!

After some weeks at the Transit Camp (which seemed like years) I was fortunate enough to be posted to the 12th Royal Tank Regiment based a few miles inland from Port of bone at a location named 鈥楻ochers du Lyon鈥�. I hope my spelling is correct. It should translate to 鈥楻ocks of the Lion鈥� and is reputed to be the place where the last lion in North Africa was killed. Well that鈥檚 what we were told.

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