大象传媒

World War Two, The Western Desert, 1941.

鈥淭his story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by a volunteer from Cleveland on behalf of Robert Hogg, and has been added to this site with his permission. Robert fully understands the site鈥檚 terms and conditions.鈥�

My unit, 1st. Battalion Royal Northumberland Fusiliers, a motorised machine gun unit was part of the garrison in Tobruk along with the 9th. Australian Division and various other units.

It was quite a large defensive perimeter and some sectors were much quieter than others. During the nine months siege the only relief a company got was to be moved to a quieter sector for a spell.

Each gun section had three gun positions. One was the normal day time position, the second was a night firing position nearer to the enemy lines and the third was an alternative day position to which the section could be moved if it came under intensive shelling if it had been spotted by the enemy. There was a saying; a machine gun found is a machine gun lost. This meant that if the enemy found a position he never let up until it was destroyed. That meant it was lost to us.

On one occasion when we were being shelled, the Platoon Commander, who had recently joined us asked me if one ever got used to it. I could only speak for myself, of course, but I said no, each attack was as terrifying as the last.

Our camouflage must have been pretty effective, as we rarely had to use the alternative positions. During the day we lay daggo. Even when an enemy spotter plane came within rifle range, we chose to leave him alone rather than make our presence known.

Talking of shooting down planes, on St. George鈥檚 Day 1941, we counted twenty-one enemy planes shot down over and around Tobruk. One of the pilots who had baled out landed a short distance in front of one of our guns positions. He did not move and was left until dark. He was alive and had a pistol in his hand under his jacket but he made no attempt to use it. He had a broken leg and kept repeating schwein-hund as he was carried away.

When we moved forward for a night shoot the Australians would send out a patrol to observe the effect of it. On one occasion they came back jubilant as we had caught Jerry in the act of changing over units and both were in the open totally unprepared for attack. There was nearly always an argument when a patrol was going out, as all the Ozzies wanted to go, and were annoyed if not chosen. Even in Tobruk they could find time and place for a game of pitch and toss.

Half an hour before dawn we always 鈥榮tood to鈥� prepared for a dawn attack. I remember one occasion, when we stood down. I went forward to the Australian positions in front of us to find everyone asleep. There was not even a sentry to challenge me. They said they were not worried because we 鈥楶ommies鈥� never slept.

Early one morning, before stand to, we heard tanks moving into our vicinity. A sergeant went to have a chat with them but came racing back to say they were Jerries. Soon we heard our own tanks approaching and we witnessed a tank battle over our heads. One armour-piecing shell went into our background cookhouse. Luckily, no one was astir and it passed over them and buried itself in the wall of the dugout. Fortunately the Jerries were driven back.

We surfaced only at night and as Platoon Sergeant, I visited each of the sections. One night a shell fell quite close to me which made me jump right into a tangle of barbed wire. Then a flare went up and I felt sure the enemy would see me. Then a Spandau opened fire but its tracer bullets showed it was not me he was after.

Another night as I reached a section, a lad called Scott was holding forth as they sat on the side of the gun pit. As I listened to him, his voice seemed to ring a bell from the past. I asked him if he had a brother who used to work on a farm in East Heddon. He said yes his brother Billy. I knew him very well. He used to come to our farm to play quoits and he entertained us with his mouth organ. Scott said he was a fighter pilot.

There were no facilities for training in Tobruk, and the Commanding Officer was not satisfied with the standard of replacements we were getting. He got permission to set up a machine gun training wing at No 6 Infantry Base Depot at Genefa on the Suez Canel. To this end, Captain Bonham- Carter, Company Sergeant Major Jim Harris and myself were detailed to go and set it up.

We could only leave by destroyer at night, which did a quick turn round as the harbour was shelled most nights. Once clear of it, we travelled at full speed to get as far away as possible before daylight and possible air attack.

Many of us were seasick and lay on the deck rolling in our own vomit. A Petty Officer asked Jim and me if we would like to go down to their mess for breakfast. We said yes but when we smelt the hot bacon and the hot fumes coming from below decks, we decided to give it a miss.

We arrived at Genefa without incident and started from scratch. The Captain was in command; CSM Harris was in charge of stores, administration and training programmes. I was the chief instructor assisted by NCO鈥檚 passing through when necessary. All reinforcements for machine gun units were assessed and if necessary given further training before joining their units. It was a welcome break for me, but after some ten or twelve weeks, I was recalled to the battalion on promotion to Company Quartermaster Sergeant.

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