大象传媒

WORLD WAR TWO

It was not long after that we found ourselves in the Libyan Desert at a place called Fuka and there was an airstrip not far away.

One of our lads suggested the air strip had been built special so that Betty Grable or some of the other
film actresses could come and visit us.
Cries of, 'Don't yu wish' and 'Gawd, you must believe in bleed'n' Fairies mate'
We had been in the desert for months but it seemed like years, every day the same hot sand, the burning sun.

Warm water in water bottles that also contained tablets so it was drinkable, and someone said, 'Your ration of water is half a bottle so make it last'
I was loath to drink the evil smelling concoction but when thirst took a hand I had no choice.
We had moved from Palestine to Mersa Matru via El Alamein the last railway station in Egypt to this position in the desert.

The trip from Cairo to the last railway station in Egypt was more like a travelling circus, than an Army on the move.

There were Arabs running up and down the length of the train screaming 'Eggs a bread, eggs a bread, you want bread effendi, very nice, very clean, very fresh, or my friend, he have oran-ges'
These blokes were running bare foot on the roof of the train as its overloaded carriages were swaying from side to side as the train chuffed along. Heads were hanging out of windows trying to keep cool as the further away from civilisation we got the hotter it seemed to get.

The fact that the train was over crowded did not help the fresh air situation either, however we got to El Alamain and it was a pleasure to get off that over heated tin of sardines and by now it began to smell like one.

We moved from the railway to a position in the desert and almost immediately began to dig into what we thought was going to be sand, but under two to three inches of sand was solid rock.
The Officer with us was upper crust, young and knew it all.

'I'll take that pick Barker' he said, and he passed me the glasses he had been wearing, 'Here, hold those for me while I show you how to do this' he said.
When I suggested he wear the glasses to stop chips of rock hitting him in the eye, he stopped picking and snarled 'Then the bladdy rock would shatter the bladdy glasses, idiot, and I would get glass in my eye'
The other blokes had a titter at this and the Officer resumed his attack on the rock only to have the pick bounce off the hard rock and hit him on the ankle.

With a howl accompanied by 'S--t that hurts' and something about procreation but there were only four letters in it.
I dodged as in a rage he flung down the pick.
But I was on cloud nine for the rest of that day.
The next day a compressor and drill arrived.

All the blokes wanted a turn on the hammer, because one bloke who had a go remarked 'Oh I love this, it's like dancing with Betty Grable'
Having used this kind of drill in Civvy Street, I was not about to volunteer, so I edged to the back of the crowd.
'Lyin'pillock' snarled one bloke.
'What?'asked our mate with a hurt look.
'Yo ent not never bin to America' snarled the bloke glaring.
'I never said I had' replied our mate with a puzzled look.

'Then 'ow the bleed'n' 'ell could yu dance wi' Betty Grable, cos she ain't not never bin in the bleed'n' desert?' snarled the bloke.
'Oh that, that was just a figure of speech,' said our mate stepping back a pace just in case the other bloke stopped snarling and took a swing at him.
The bloke who came with the machine said' Yuz might fink different arter an 'our or two of digging wiv it'
The Officer said 'Cut all the crap and get the trench dug, the compressor has got to be returned in two days, so if it is not finished then we have to do it by hand'

A voice muttered, Yea 'loike every thin' else ra'nd 'ere'
"Ah'm gittin' sick of this,' said one bloke and suddenly scooped up a shovel full of sand and he heaved it wide so the breeze caught it and the Officer and a couple of bloke stood near him got showered with sand.

And I think the Officer knew it was done on purpose but decided it would be safer to sweep the far horizon with his binoculars and pretend it never happened.
We were labouring and sweating, and tempers were fraying, because the sand stuck to sweaty bodies and sometimes when a shovel full of sand was thrown out the breeze would catch it, and all in the trench would be covered with fine dust and sand.
Flies were everywhere, trying to crawl up the nose and into the ears.
And it didn't help to take off the shirt because the sun made the back red and when one asked someone to dust the sand from one's back it was as if he was using a hot wire brush.

We got the trenches finished, the compressor was returned to the Royal Engineers and we were tossing up who was going to sleep where in our new home.
And we all were looking forward to a good nights sleep after all our recent toil when our Officer rolled up in the P.U. and announced, 'Right, get dressed, we're moving.'
Everyone stood still there for a moment as if some one had flicked a switch .

I think the Officer was as dischuffed as we were, and when our lads suddenly let loose with a barrage of abuse aimed at all and sundry who were above the rank of private it sounded like the opening bars of The Barber of Saville.

I was disgusted about this because we had put so much effort in the hot sun to get that trench dug and now someone else was going to occupy it without having moved a handful of sand.

Still the new surroundings would be different,
But just the same miles and miles of excreta coloured procreation was present while the rocks would be in different places.

The only relief we got was when a truck would come and take us to the sea where we could bathe and with our clothes on we washed them at the same time.
Only trouble with that tho' was if we did a lot of walking the salt tended to chafe and make the skin sore.
We beat the hell out of our clothes to get rid of the salt.
We had to keep an eye open for enemy fighter aircraft because the waves made so much noise they could dive on us without warning.
The heat of the day would dry our clothes in no time at all.
Sometimes we would send our clothes back to Egypt to be laundered but there were times when they did not get there due to enemy action.
Or got blown up on the way back to us, so that is why sometimes we had to make do with what we had on at the time
Then back to our position in the desert.

We had for some time now sent patrols out at night, sometimes we lost a man, sometimes we brought back a prisoner.
These groups would go out at dusk and find out where the Italian positions were and sometimes if a dust storm blew up we would not get back that night.
Also at home, you walk down a street and another day if you walk down the same street you think I was here yesterday.
But in the desert when you walk, it can change overnight and you come back the same way tomorrow but it has changed so much you think you are travelling the wrong way.

There is no wonder people get lost.
The wind can move massive sand dunes over night.
I sometimes thought that if some one were to take a movie of the desert, and speed it up, it would look like an enormous pot of yellow brown porridge boiling. studded with raisins (rocks)
Also men got lost in the desert due to dust storms, quicksands, snipers, booby traps, etc,
Later on in the piece some bright boy came up with a good idea, 'Why not motorise this operation'
The Long Range Desert Group was formed.

This move gave us some respite, but the powers that be thought we should not be idle so they gave us some more marching to do.
We would do a compass march to this spot, then when we got there we had to go to another point, then we could go back to where we started. And it kept us fit and on our toes.

These rambles or nature walks, call them what you will became to be known as stunts,
'We are going on another stunt tomorrow' said one bloke.
'Oh aye, that's nice, would you bring me back an ice cream?' Someone would ask, and another would add his two pence worth, 'If ye thenk ye wull find an ice cream ceart oot here, yer heed's fu 'o' wee motors an' they es aw' broke'
This would bring a guffaw of laughter and we would make light of it, but it was getting very boring.

We would take off our small pack and drop it on the hot sand and sit on it while we ate our hard tack.
Talk would drift to what some of us would be doing now at home if we had been there.
Funny how one talks of an alternative to what one is at present doing. But then I suppose it is but another form of escapism.

Then a voice would utter concern with, " Wid ye look at that noo!" and point to the huge cloud of dust that was slowly creeping upon us, and the hot breeze had suddenly dropped and all was still.
Then a voice screamed "It's a bliddy dust storm, get a shovel man, move it!"
We dug just deep enough to get our bodies below the surface of the sand when it hit.

It was like standing in front of a blast furnace as suddenly the hot breeze that had dropped was now replaced by a howling fury that was driving millions of particles of hot sand and stripped paint off any metal and indeed began to remove the skin that was exposed to it, and we wrapped our cardigans around our faces and necks so we could just breathe as we lay with our hands hidden in the shallow pits we had dug.

We had to move so that the hot sand would not cover and smother us.
Later we would rise like Zombies returning from the grave and dust each other off.
At Fuka Airstrip a British bomber was returning from a strike on some Italian positions but he had one wheel down and a bomb hung up.

The Pilot would go off into the desert and wiggle his wings but he could not dislodge the bomb.
Then we saw chutes coming down and the heavy bomber came back and we all stood with mouths open as he lined up and lost height coming up to the airstrip.

The one wheel spun as it made contact with the hard ground of the airstrip and as the weight of the bomber increased as it lost speed the other wing dipped and skidded on the ground and the plane began to spin and the wing broke up.

In a cloud of dust and sand the bomber skidded to a halt, then a tiny figure ran away from the aircraft and got down behind some dunes.
After about fifteen minutes when the dust had settled a group of R.A.F. lads reported the bomb was still hooked up and we heard later that it was blown up to clear the area and make it safe.

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