大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Roger Marsh of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Harry Wood and has been added to the site with the author's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MEMOIRS OF A GUNNER
BY
HARRY WOOD

Chapter 2

Flies, flies and still more flies, millions of them. Wherever we went, even in a virgin piece of desert they found us. The regiment was now settled in the Alamein Line at the southern end, about 25 miles from the sea. Royal Engineers had helped blast gun pits out for us in rocky terrain. Ammunition was scattered and buried, slit trenches dug, camouflage nets erected, the vehicles had all gone to the rear and we settled down to a stalemate position for the next few weeks.

I was now in Sergeant Davero鈥檚 gun-team. A Londoner of Italian parentage, he inspired confidence and, like everyone else, got stuck into any task that came about. Archie Pitt was our Command Post Officer, a mild mannered looking man whose voice grated on your nerves, but having eyes in the back of his head gave him quite an advantage. Tannoy speakers were run out to each of the four gun-pits from his post to relay orders, and being a stickler for regulations we found him rather irksome.

The Battery Commander came around every day, Major Fawkes, an ambitious South African - unsmiling, large black moustache, he already had the Military Cross. We all feared and respected him at the same time. Sergeant Major Ted Short had moulded his troop into a good unit. He was the sort of regular NCO that makes the British Army into a first class fighting force. Advising the junior officers, taking his shirt off and helping unload tons of ammunition, making sure that the rum ration was not far away when needed, Ted Short led by example. I was lucky in my seven years service to serve under so many good senior NCO鈥檚, but he was the best of the lot.

The nights were bitterly cold but they did offer relief from the flies. We all 鈥榮tood to鈥� just before dawn every day and of course everyone did a two-hour sentry duty every night so no one ever had a full night鈥檚 sleep. We soon learned to snatch odd hours during the day if things were quiet. Our biggest shortage of course was water. Each morning the water cart came on the position and we were allowed one water bottle full per day, this is how we used it:
Each man filled his pint mug with water and cleaned his teeth, before breakfast of course. Shaving came next in the same water and using the shaving brush you attempted to have a wash. About half a mug of dirty water was left and this was poured into a punctured empty petrol tin with sand in the bottom. The water filtered through into a tin buried in the sand and after a fortnight we had enough for bath night, about two buckets. This entailed putting six numbers into a hat. Number one was the lucky draw number, he had first go at the accumulated water, but can you imagine what number six had to try to have an all over wash in? Even the remnants were not thrown away but the whole process started all over again.

The meals were always the same, a scoop of porridge, pot of tea, one soya link and a packet of hard tack biscuits for breakfast. Lunch, a piece of cheese and packet of hard tack with the usual bully beef stew at about six o鈥檆lock, and that was it for 14 hours. Everyone was losing weight. I had lost about two stone, yet I felt pretty fit, and of course having the 鈥榬uns鈥� didn鈥檛 help. I tried the desert cure, drinking a mixture of flour and water, and this helped but some of the lads became constipated. The days were monotonous, although a mobile canteen came as far as the gun position one day, bearing the Red Shield of the Salvation Army - God Bless 鈥榚m. And this enabled us to purchase a couple of razor blades and a few odds and ends. Most things were in short supply, but everyone was strictly fair in sharing things. Fifty fags a week were issued free, and I always gave mine away but what with the flies and the monotony of the existence, I started to smoke, hoping the flies would keep away. No matter how careful we were, they floated on our tea, dropped into our stew and settled on the desert sores on our hands. The slightest scratch turned into a sore with flies settling on the puss as they went sceptic. It was no good going sick as everyone suffered, the fair skinned people most of all.

One particular morning, a Jerry plane flew over the position, so I picked up my rifle and let him have a few rounds. The Major was there at the time, 鈥淧ut that man on a charge,鈥� he said.

I was given seven days CB for this, fancy being confined to barracks in the middle of the desert. The whole thing was ludicrous. For seven days instead of being on the gun, I helped the cook with his meals, which suited me fine. I could eat better and there was the extra pot of tea to be had. We lost count of the days and usually reckoned the time by the position of the sun. At last we were going to put a barrage down of about 80 rounds per run. Before dawn our infantry was attacking in strength to test enemy defences and bring in prisoners for interrogation. It was still dark when we opened up, the flashing from the guns lighting our position up. I could hear the whine of enemy shells as they replied in kind. One dropped just in front, another just in the rear and we all prepared to drop, for the third would be bracketed on us.

Sure enough it came and landed on the edge of the gun pit bringing down the camouflage net but no one was hurt.
All through the mayhem Archie Pitts' voice came over the Tannoy, so calm and reassuring, asking for casualties etc. He went up a hell of a lot in my estimation. The man had guts. Our only casualty was the lad who helped the cook, Curly Jones. He had shrapnel in his arm and the lucky devil was grinning all over his face. This meant a hospital, clean sheets, good food, plenty of liquid, oh how we all envied him.

The build up for the big offensive was taking shape. The 51st highlanders had arrived from England and were already in the line. The 44th Division arrived but was broken up and divided amongst other units. We received one of their batteries putting us up to full strength now with three batteries and a total of six hundred men.

Being able to drive often meant I was pulled off the guns to do a bit of relief driving. I didn鈥檛 relish the job of taking the armoured car containing the OP officer and his ack (bombardier) to their hide at the edge of no-mans land but it was an order.
Under the cover of darkness I found their hide on a ridge facing enemy lines.
The vehicle was parked a few yards away, just below the ridge and when it came light I had to use a primus stove to make tea, fry some soya links and crawl on my belly to pass them their breakfast, on no account to show myself or raise any dust as we were under constant surveillance. So far so good, I had performed this task OK and was just going to eat my breakfast when the Major roared up in his jeep and walked up and down on the skyline deliberately showing himself. As he got back into his jeep he shouted to his OP officer, 鈥淲hen the buggers start shelling you, take a bearing to their flashes.鈥� Then he was away.

Sure enough the shells came over thick and fast and as I dived under the armoured car for cover I knew that my breakfast had gone for a 鈥楤urton鈥�.

Shrapnel dropped like rain all around but no one was hurt. I never found out if the officer plotted any enemy guns firing, perhaps like me, he had his head down.
Another morning I was detailed to drive the 鈥楳ad Major鈥� on a reconnaissance in no-man's land. The regular driver had gone sick but he told me afterwards that this was a ploy to prevent him going on what was really a crazy mission.

I drove the armoured car to the forward infantry positions, on a slight rise adjacent to our own observation point. On the forward slope, fronted by a huge barbed wire fence, a minefield had been laid. I was instructed to follow a white tape towards the wire, as this was free of mines. Then a few heads popped out of the ground and moved part of the fence. We passed through into no-man's land, a hard flat sandy patch overlooked by troops on both sides. After about a mile I was told to stop and the Major took out his binoculars and took notes. It was eerie, nothing moved in any direction, no sound, just rock and sand, yet hundreds of eyes were peering down at us, probably puzzled as to why we had put ourselves in this situation. After half an hour, we turned back and I drove in my own tracks to the safety of our lines. No shots had been fired at all. If the enemy had tried the same ploy, we most certainly would have given him several rounds of gunfire.

Incidents like this helped to relieve the monotony, but I was glad to get back on the guns; being an 鈥楢unt Sally鈥� is carrying provocation too far.

October now, and it was good to see Mitchell and Boston bombers going over to bomb the German rear positions. At least the desert Air Force was gaining over the Germans. Ammunition was piling up and we knew the big push was imminent. October 22nd and everyone was briefed on the next day鈥檚 happening, gun pits were cleared to receive the expected piles of empty shell cases, night sights tested and shells stacked with nose caps off where they were ready to hand. Rum was issued early next morning, barrage programmes issued to the Sergeants and on the order, Fire! The whole front line lit up, each gun trained on a particular target. We fired about 120 rounds per gun, that鈥檚 approximately 1陆 tons, then we had a respite clearing up whilst the infantry went in. If we were not needed much during the day then all was well and objectives were being taken, and that was the only way we had of charting the progress.

The heaviest fighting seemed to be further north as Monty seemed determined to break through on the coast-road, although the Germans were at their strongest here. It is all history now, but thousands of prisoners were taken and Jerry, having commandeered all available transport, started pulling out. The 7th Armoured division and the 5th Highland division were ordered off in pursuit, supplies being the main factor. Two divisions were as much as he could keep active over the hundreds of miles to come.

Meanwhile two 15-hundredweight signal trucks were ordered into the old enemy lines to salvage discarded signal wire. I was a driver of one of the trucks, the oldest army truck I had ever seen. A signaller was with me; we had plenty of water, petrol and three days' rations.

It was rather eerie picking our way through the debris. Discarded ammo, grenades, broken down vehicles, clothing and paper everywhere. And so quiet, there wasn鈥檛 a soul within miles. On the second trip the bombardier told me that the regiment was moving up to the coast road and we were to return there in two days time.

Billy Beaumont and I set off back, hoping to make half the journey before dark, but the truck was playing up and I had difficulty starting the engine.

Anyhow, we got underway following painted petrol can signs over the rough tracks when we hit one shell hole and sheered off the water tap at the bottom of the radiator. As far as the eye could see, there was no one in sight so we did our emergency drill and brewed up. About four hours later a break down lorry came up the track and towed us into their workshop. Food, a bed for the night, radiator welded up and next morning we were on our way. We found our old position all right; now deserted. A sandstorm was now blowing up and landmarks were hard to find but we saw some more vehicles and joined them heading north when our wagon packed up again. One of the lorries stopped and Beaumont, the lad who was with me, accepted a lift to our unit and proposed bringing help. No more traffic now, so I started tinkering with the engine and after clearing the petrol filter out, I managed to start up again.

Here I made my first mistake by deciding to find the regiment instead of waiting for help. Mile after mile rolled on without seeing anyone, the storm was abating. I was on a track of some sorts, but as far as the eye could see only sand and scrub, and I knew as the sun was going down that I was lost. I pulled up at the top of a slight rise, ready to bump start the engine next morning. My only rations were water, tea and sugar, no food, so as night closed in, I made a fire with petrol and sand and placing my rifle by my side, prepared for a lonely night. The only disturbance during the night was the barking sound of a pack of jackals but as I couldn鈥檛 hear a hyena in their pack I felt pretty safe. Just before dawn I heard the sound of a train whistle.

"Impossible," I thought, "this is a dream, but there it was again." As the sun rose, there on the horizon, to the north was a small building of sorts, and picking up my kit, I set off in that direction. About five hundred yards from the building, which turned out to be a Nissen hut, a shot rang out and whistled over my head, so I dropped to the ground wondering what the hell was going on. No more shots rang out, so I stood up and kept on walking. Several Arabs were clustered around a sergeant, a rifle in his hand and a look of concern on his face. I was furious. This was an RHSC ammo dump and I had been mistaken for a wandering Arab up to no good. Only the keen eye of the native helpers had stopped me dodging more bullets. Anyhow a huge meal soon mollified me and when my truck was fetched in and repaired, I was soon ready to go.
The place was Burg-el-Arab, 40 miles away from my destination and the railway was quite close; this being the line that, when in use, ran from Alexandria to Tobruk.
At last I was on the coast road and something approaching civilisation. The whole of the 8th Army seemed to be clustered up here now, Aussies, New Zealanders, Africans, etc. and I was on the lookout for my division sign, the TT 50th the TT meaning Tyne Tees. After 30 miles and right outside the HQ of the 4th Indian division the old 15-hundredweight packed up once more.

This time I reported my story to their office that said they would take the truck and me into their workshops and inform my unit of my whereabouts. For the next three weeks, life was very good, bathing in the sea cured my desert sores, food was good as I ate with the few white men in the unit and all NCO鈥檚, and I had the use of a stretcher to sleep on. It was getting colder now and I felt a little out of place when everyone was now in battle dress and my shirt and shorts couldn鈥檛 be replaced by anyone but my own unit.

Eventually it was decided that the truck couldn鈥檛 be repaired and was scrapped. All moveable bits were removed and as the 4th Indian division was moving up to Tobruk where it appeared the 50th division was now stationed, I was to hitch a lift where I could eventually join up, after a month, with my mates.

Sollum, Halfaya Pass, Devna, all famous names that we passed on our way to Tobruk; the saddest sights being the cemeteries containing the victims of earlier battles, until we arrived at El-Adem, my old batteries station.

What consternation saw my arrival, but it wasn鈥檛 until the Sergeant Major put me on a charge to face the Major the next morning, that I realised that I was treated as a deserter. Anyhow there had obviously been a break down of communications, my mates were disappointed that I hadn鈥檛 been living it up in Palestine or somewhere exotic, and the Major was furious that he was now a 15-hundredweight short and there was no charge he could find me guilty of.

Pr-BR

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