大象传媒

A Holiday with Pay; moments from a war

鈥淲e landed in Salerno
A holiday with pay,
The Jerries brought the band out
To cheer us on our way;
Showed us the sights and gave us tea
We all sang songs, the beer was free
To welcome D-Day Dodgers
To sunny Italy - - - -

In loving memory of 10707264 Sgt. Ernest Harry Adams

Royal Army Ordnance Corps 1942-1947

27-10-1923 - 14-08-1994

NOTES TO READERS;-

All dates in round brackets ( ) are fairly certain, by reference to Dad鈥檚 memories, official records or some other of the sources listed at the end of the text. Dates in square brackets [ ] are conjectural.

PART 1; ENLISTING AND TRAINING

(16th June 1942)
Dad, a newly-enlisted volunteer, set off from Friary Station in Plymouth for Waterloo. His Mum had made him tomato sandwiches and an apple pie. He still used to talk about how good they tasted, fifty years later.

(18th June 1942)
(Deemed to have been enlisted into the Royal Army Service Corps embodied Territorial Army)

(18th June 1942) (Posted to 2nd Training Battalion 鈥淒鈥� Company)

One surviving photo has on the back in Dad鈥檚 handwriting, 鈥淲oking, Hants. Jan 1942鈥�. The date of his enlistment suggests that he meant to write 鈥淛une鈥� and that he was at Woking at some early stage of his army career.

(2nd July 1942) (Posted to 16 Primary Training Centre)

(1942)
Every night during initial training at Aldershot, there was a Pontoon game. Dad joined reluctantly at first, just lying on his bunk one evening with nothing to do, when he was invited to join in. In the end they were sorry they'd asked him - he had a long run of good luck and sometimes even doubled his wages - to 15/- a week!

(30th July 1942)
(Passed Trade Test as Motor Transport Clerk Group C Class IIIA) This was fortunate as according to the History of the Royal Army Ordnance Corps (Fernyhough), 鈥淭he course consisted of four weeks technical training after which the men were classified as Clerks or Storemen. Those who showed insufficient aptitude for technical work were classified General Duty鈥�.
If this had happened to Dad he would not have been able to reap the huge rewards celebrated by 鈥淛MK鈥� in the RAOC Gazette in August 1942;

鈥淲e have finished all our training to be Storehousemen or Clerks,
We have sat our final exam and have all obtained full marks,
We are sure we all deserve them, it means ninepence more per day,
It will gladden us receiving this increase in our pay.鈥�

There were four groups of trades for the RAOC (to which Dad was soon to be transferred). Clerks were part of Group 鈥淐鈥�, along with Saddlers,Harness-makers, Shoemakers, Storemen, Textile Refitters, Tailors and Driver Mechanics.

(30th July 1942) (Posted to Number 12 Training Battalion)

It鈥檚 not quite clear where each of these postings during Dad鈥檚 training was actually located. This stay with No. 12 Training Battalion lasted quite a while, so perhaps it was Chilwell, which Dad remembered well in after years. Some more items from the RAOC Gazette illustrate something of the flavour of life while training. First Cfn.E.Baker on 鈥淪pud bashing鈥�

鈥淧otatoes are the staple item of our national diet. In the army we get them morning, noon and night. We get them fried, baked, cooked, half-cooked, mashed and hashed. We have fritters and various bags of mystery served up to us, but careful investigation will always find that they are nothing but disguised potatoes.鈥�

Napoleon must have been right about armies and their stomachs because not only some of Dad鈥檚 memories, but many of the others I have found recorded while researching, centre on food, the lack of it, the quality of it, or the desire for it. More later, in the section on Africa ( And the one on Italy.) (And the one on Greece.)

(7th October 1942) (Posted to Number 1 Holding battalion RASC)

All this time of course, the War itself was getting a little nearer. Back to the Gazette for a reminder that life at training centres such as Chilwell may have been very pleasant on the surface, but that there was an end in view - first from July 1942;

鈥淪everal companies have now been installed in the tented camp for over a month, and the baptism over, seem to be settling down very nicely with the sunny weather making them look very fit and healthy. Our stalwart campers now scorn the use of hot water for shaving - such is the choice of the weaker fry in brick buildings.鈥�

and from the August issue;

鈥淔rom the Middle East have just arrived the citations that earned [two] Military Medals - - - these citations tell the story of the bravery and perseverance of all those who have gone from the depots at home to the Middle East and elsewhere.鈥� Training would soon be over for Dad and his intake, and postings would be decided.

(18th October 1942)
(Transferred to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps and posted to the sixth Battalion).

The RAOC, in which Dad spent the rest of his time in the Services, is now amalgamated with the RASC and other corps to form the Royal Logistics Corps. It has a long and varied history and can be traced back as far as the 13th century when 鈥渢he King鈥檚 Armoury was controlled by an official known as the Keeper or treasurer - - - 鈥�. The motto on the badge of the Corps. 鈥淪ua tela Tonante鈥� (to the thunderer his weapons), expresses its responsibility for the control and supply of all arms and ordnance. It was during the Second World war that the Port Ordnance Detachments (P.O.D.s), in several of which Dad served, were established, separating out the duties of handling stores and ammunition. (The latter became the responsibility of the Port Ammunition Detachments that were established at the same time.) Both P.O.D.s and P.A.D.s would form part of the command of the O.O.P (Ordnance Officer Port), who bore the overall responsibility for the unloading, handling, and moving up to the front line of massive amount of ordnance stores. (Imperial War Museum). Dad鈥檚 role in these procedures was mainly clerical but no doubt the exigencies of war involved him in fetching and carrying as well - he certainly got involved in driving. More details below, where available.

(25th November 1942) (Posted to the 7th Battalion)

(1st December 1942) (Posted to the 23rd Battalion)

PART 2; NORTH AFRICA

Dad鈥檚 service in North Africa took him to Algeria, Tunisia, Libya and Egypt. He arrived in Algiers (Alger) in the nick of time to be considered a member of First Army, although 鈥淥peration Torch鈥�, the Allied conquest of Axis armies in North Africa, was officially concluded on 13th May 1942 and Dad arrived on 28th May. 鈥淔irst Army was - - - officially disbanded in Tunisia, on the field of its great achievements, on 25th July 1943.鈥� ((c) 1st Army Association 1992).

(27th April 1943) (Posted to 7 Docks Group Royal Engineers)

No. 7 Dock Group is recorded in WO/175/554 (PRO) as sailing from Birkenhead on 15th May on HMT Samaria for Algiers, at sea from 16th-26th, disembarking on 27th and beginning to take over the Port of Algiers from No. 1 Dock Group on 28th May.

Some lines from John Jarmain鈥檚 "Embarkation" give some of the feeling of the parting from familiar shores;

"Then in a callow dawn we stood in line
Like foreigners on bare and unknown quays,
Till someone bravely into the hollow of waiting
Cast a timid wisp of song;
It moved along the lines of patient soldiers
Like a secret passed from mouth to mouth
And slowly gave us ease;
In our whispered singing courage was set free,
We were banded again and strong.
So we sang as our ship set sail,
Sang our own songs, and leaning on the rail
Waved to the workmen on the slipping quay
And they again to us for fellowship."

(From "Oasis into Italy", p43) (all credits at the end of last section when posted)

(26th June 1943)
The 鈥渇ield return of officers鈥� for No.7 Docks Group lists Lt.(Acting Captain) Harris, E.G., RAOC as having been Port Ordnance Officer since 12th May 1943. The same Lt. E.G. Harris is listed as sailing on the Samaria with Dad and this may be the occasion of Dad鈥檚 meeting with the man who, as 鈥淢ajor Harris鈥�, featured prominently in Dad鈥檚 reminiscences.

(4th October 1943)
This date is written on the back of a photo, but no location is given. Still, the background is obviously North African. Inscribed on it also are the words; 鈥淚t鈥檚 funny I know but it鈥檚 sent 鈥榃ITH ALL MY LOVE鈥欌��.
It show's Dad and a mate; I don't know who the mate is but I do know he鈥檚 improperly dressed, as he is in shorts at the wrong time of year while Dad is properly turned out in 鈥渓ongs鈥�. Well, he always did think he had knobbly knees.

The dates set out below have proved impossible to match to locations and to particular 鈥渢ales Dad told鈥� about North Africa. We do know that 鈥淎FHQ [Africa Forces] finally moved to Italy in July 1944鈥� (Fernyhough) so this is the latest date for Dad鈥檚 move - it may have been a little earlier but all records are incomplete. So first the dates, and then some memories from Dad and from supporting sources;

[1943-1944] Major Harris and other adventures.

The reason for Dad鈥檚 wartime friendship with one so far above him in rank was that they both came from Plymouth. This sort of link could assume enormous importance in wartime. Although Dad was qualified as a Motor Transport Clerk Group C (IIIA), he also learned to drive by the gentle army method of being put inside a fourteen-ton truck and told 鈥淒rive that!鈥� Major Harris would sometimes request Dad as his driver and they drove together, in total, many hundreds of miles through the desert and the mountains. It is pleasant to think of them chatting in an egalitarian and non-military manner of how nice it would be to see the Hoe again.

In the desert it was so hot by day that you could mend punctured tyres with petrol and they really did fry eggs on the bonnets of the jeeps. At night it was freezing cold. The desert looked empty and dead from horizon to horizon, unless by chance you stopped your vehicle. Then by the time you鈥檇 cut the engine there would be Arabs everywhere, sitting silently on the crests of the dunes and waiting for you to drop something - or drop dead. Bolder spirits would approach;
鈥淵ou got cigarettes, Johnny?鈥� or; 鈥淢onjary, Johnny?鈥� - this latter from the French manger , 鈥渢o eat鈥�. In Cairo in 1987 children were still asking for 鈥渂ons-bons鈥�.

One day Dad and Harris did get a puncture, and while Dad was doing clever stuff with petrol the Major marched bravely up and down and round the jeep, comforting the other rank at intervals by muttering, 鈥淣o need to worry Adams! Don鈥檛 panic! I鈥檝e got them covered!鈥�

(I don鈥檛 mean to imply that Harris wasn鈥檛 in fact brave - there was the time later in Alexandria when a ship caught fire and he rushed gallantly up the gangplank waving his hands and calling, 鈥淔ollow me, men!鈥�. Just like Jack Hawkins. Only when he stopped at the top and looked back they were all standing there on the quay looking up at him interestedly.)

The Atlas mountains were treacherous. One day Dad and Harris were on the way to Phillippeville, which is on the coast east of Algiers, towards Tunis, and proceeding with care along a a track with a cliff above to the left and a precipice below to the right. Suddenly two G.I.s in a jeep shot past them waving and yelling, 鈥淗i fellas!鈥�

They disappeared into the rock tunnel ahead.

Dad and Harris looked at each other and got through the tunnel as fast as they dared. They knew the road. You had to go slowly because beyond the tunnel the track bent right sharply, so that the cliff was on your right and the precipice on your left.

So when you emerged from the tunnel, the precipice was straight ahead.

There was nothing they could do. By the time they stopped and got out and looked over, the truck was still falling and the G.I.s were still screaming.

[1943-1944] Food and other details (as promised).

Not only were eggs fried on bonnets and tea brewed on home-made stoves of petrol-soaked sand in half a petrol tin; there were other cordon bleu delights too. Baked beans could be easily heated up by stabbing the tin with the pigsticker on your army knife, and propping it against the cylinder block by means of the electric leads, so that the beans were nice and hot by the time you got to where you were going.

The food they were served included endless bully beef, often delivered in tins clearly marked 鈥淯NFIT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION鈥�. This recalls the entry in a War Diary from Cairo in October 1942 recording 鈥淐ontract No. 180/42 for the purchase and removal of flour sweepings in bakeries.鈥� Admittedly this was in a crisis situation when a whole Operational HQ had to be set up in Cairo in less than no time; but small wonder that a few days later there came reports of 鈥渦nacceptably high levels of weevils in the flour鈥�! Impossible not to wonder whether the exposure to this kind of food, along with dysentery and the other intestinal problems of hot climates, contributed to the prevalence of such conditions as colitis in the later years of Dad鈥檚 and other veterans lives.

Speaking of disease, Dad contracted impetigo in North Africa and they shaved off all his hair. It grew back curly and he was scared to touch it for weeks in case the curl came out. In the end his mates in Algiers chucked a bucket of water all over his head on the steps to the baths. Elegant waves remained, however. The marks of the impetigo were visible on Dad鈥檚 neck for the rest of his life.

There was known to be an old fort in the desert, a few miles south of Algiers, where some deserters had a good thing going selling Axis and Allied equipment back to their rightful owners. All the War Diaries and other sources confirm that pilfering and black marketeering were major problems all through the war in every country.

Another memory from the aftermath of Operation Torch is of a long long column of Italian POWs marching willingly along with one Allied soldier every half-mile or so by way of guards. This scene was repeated on an even grander scale in Naples later.

Yankees - Dad paid tribute to their efficiency in some areas; they could get an airstrip laid out in the desert and planes flying in and out before you could blink. The strips were made from a kind of closely intermeshed metal strip affair like giant chain mail, rolled out across the sand.

Things kept disappearing from the barracks at night - clothes, small change, equipment, photos, bedding, boots - everything. One night some of them stayed awake on watch, and they heard no sound at all. Only for a second at a time was each intruder in turn silhouetted against the square of night sky as they slipped in through the window. When the lights went up they were found to have removed the bedding from under a sleeping man, without waking him. Dad lost all his own little personal things at this time, including his photo of Mum.

The name of this barracks was the Creche Gambetta, and while staying there the men had to go on rat-hunting detail, catching monstrous specimens in butterfly nets and dropping them into a fire kept burning in an oil-drum for the purpose. Dad didn鈥檛 find this much fun, but the threat of bubonic plague was deadly serious. Because of it, they all had to have the worst inoculation in the world, a giant needle into the abdominal muscle and 24 hours of horrible side-effects. There was a Warrant Officer who tried to sneak off without his after sending all his men in - he did not succeed. The inoculation was called, inappropriately, 鈥渉alf keene鈥�; it should be noted that when the WO had his, he passed out.

(Continued in A2668142)

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