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CHAPTER 5

Suddenly tragedy struck. It happened during the night, or at least very late in the evening, and I did not hear about it until the following morning. It appeared that a friend of ours called 'Nobby' Clark was asleep in the back of a lorry, when he was awakened by a few drunken soldiers. He got out of the lorry and there was a fight with the most aggressive one. 'Nobby' who was superbly fit and quite an athlete, knocked the soldier down and turned to climb back into his lorry. As he turned his back, the soldier who had been knocked down, picked up his rifle and shot 'Nobby' in the back. The bullet made a small hole on entry but tore a huge hole in his chest at point of exit. Poor 'Nobby' had no chance. They drove him down the mountain to Khanaqin, because at our camp we only had a small first-aid station. The journey was about forty seven miles, and took them around two hours, but he died soon after arrival. I expect 'Nobby's. parents received a telegram simply stating that he died 'while on active service'. The soldier responsible for the murder was arrested, and the rest of us had to take turns in mounting guard over him. This went on for at least two weeks and was not a job we relished. He was held in a tent and on every shift, two of us, with our rifles, had to be with him. It was only a small tent and such close contact with someone who by any judgment, was a murderer, was not much fun. How do you react to somebody who had just killed one of your close friends? We later heard that the killer, whose name I forget, was sent to a prison camp in Basra, and was shot while trying to escape. After a month or two I was suddenly transferred to one of our Brigade Headquarters. There were three brigades in the Division, two were Indian and one was Ghurka. The one I was attached to was Indian. The Signals Section only had four Englishmen in it, two sergeants in charge of operations and two cipher sergeants. The remainder of the section were all Indians. They came from villages all over India and seemed to speak umpteen different languages or dialects, but they appeared to understand each other — just! As we could speak only a few words of Urdu, we had to rely on the havildar (sergeant) or naik (corporal) who spoke reasonable English. In my position as a sergeant I was entitled to a motorbike. I was lucky, it was a Matchless Square 4, four cylinder and brand new. I had the Indian mechanics look after and maintain it, and I am sure they drove it around when they thought I would not know.

From time to time there was an issue of rum to every soldier. As we knew that the Indian with their Muslim background, would have to refuse any alcoholic drink, we used to line them up, about thirty soldiers and then tell the havildar to ask them if they wanted their rum ration. He would say something to them, not a word of which we understood and then turn to us and say 'no Sahib, they do not want it'. It was a bit crafty on our part but we always thought it a bit of a joke, as we drank their two or three bottles of rum as well as our own bottle.

One day the order came through for us to move. We found out that we were to travel through to Egypt to join the 8th Army, facing Rommel in the desert. This was to prove a very exciting journey. On the designated day we were all ready at 0630 in our fully loaded lorries when the signal was given to move off. What a thrill this was. Not knowing what was in store, nor exactly where we were going, except that we would finish up in Egypt.

Each day we did well over two hundred miles, and our route appeared to be as straight a line as possible through Iraq, Jordan and Israel. We travelled through all types of terrain such as scrublands, dust deserts and sand deserts. We travelled through dozens of villages and over many bridges. We slept each night either in our lorries or in one-man bivouac tents, which were all right if you managed to avoid kicking down the supporting pole at each end. Our rank of sergeant entitled us to the use of an Indian batman. My batman was called Kas and I shared him with another sergeant. He was very good and a nice man, but he had no status in the Indian Army. He came from a class called the 'untouchables', the lowest class in the Indian hierarchy. He was proud to be in the Army but I am sure hated his lowly position and job. I am sure he told his family that he was a real soldier, but of course, he never was, and under the system ruling at the time and for centuries past, he never could be. I would like to think that the caste system has now changed but I doubt it.

We left Persia and crossed the border into Iraq. I cannot remember any border but I believe there was a border post but it was not manned. We just drove straight on as if there were no boundaries. We did this all over the Middle East. The next boundary to cross was that into Syria, where we followed the old pipe line (not now in use) and continued right across the Syrian Desert. There were no roads, only tracks in the dust or sand. There were dozens of these, leading off in apparently all directions. Because of this, our convoy spread out with each lorry going its own way. After a few miles I looked around and there was not another lorry in sight. We were completely on our own. It was a bit disconcerting but on and on we went, all the time going at what seemed to us to be at breakneck speed, but was probably about fifty to sixty miles an hour. It was all rather weird to be driving like mad over a flat desert, with nothing to see. If you turned a circle of 360 degrees looking towards the horizon all the time, you would not see a single tree anywhere. The land was as flat as a pancake, and to describe it as godforsaken would be to flatter it. After driving for about half an hour, I suddenly noticed another dust track to our left and another one to our right. A few minutes later a lorry appeared to our left, and then one to our right, and shortly after, more and more lorries, and very soon we were surrounded once again by our convoy, each lorry almost hidden by its own cloud of dust. The incredible thing was that about an hour later, the same thing happened again. We were once again on our own with no other lorry in sight. As it came out all right the last time and all the lorries joined up together again, we were not worried this time. As this was just flat desert with no roads, each lorry followed the tracks it started in and we were all reluctant to leave these tracks, even though at times we seemed to be driving at right angles to the others. This pattern continued throughout the day, but needless to say we did finally meet together as a complete convoy.

On one occasion, when we had all joined up together again, I was driving as hard and as fast as I could, when I passed a few lorries and suddenly found I was way out in front of all of them. I was even in front of a car leading the whole convoy that had the senior officer in it. I had a quick feeling of panic and slowed down. I knew that I would have been in trouble if I continued to be in front of the leading car. In any case with all the lorries, it was 'follow my leader' because none of us had any idea as to exactly where we were going. Our exact route was only known to the officers in charge of the convoy. How accurately they followed their planned route I will never know. Occasionally they would bring the convoy to a halt and then walk out into the desert, spreading their map on the ground and lining it up correctly with their compasses. They had to get well away from the vehicles, as they would have affected the accuracy of their compasses.

We stopped each night and slept in and around our lorries. We saw no villages or signs of life except when we came to pipe line stations. These pipes had been laid right across the desert and the stations were numbered Hl to H5. One remarkable thing about the desert was that, although most of the time it was dry dust, as soon as there was a small shower of rain, or even a heavy dew, in a few hours the ground was covered in grass. The grass was only an inch or two long but the effect was miraculous. Just as quickly, after an hour or so of sun, the grass dried, withered and disappeared. Apart from the tracks in the desert dust, we discovered that every few miles there were beacons built of lumps of stone. They were about ten feet high and six feet in diameter and loosely built. There had been no cement used in their building and the stones had just been laid one on top of the other. I know they were built in that fashion because on one occasion I went to sleep at the wheel momentarily. I suddenly awoke with a start and saw immediately in front of me one of these beacons. I swung the wheel hard but failed to miss the beacon completely and just clipped the edge of it. It was enough to loose a shower of stones on to the lorry, but no real damage was done, except to my reputation. My excuse for going to sleep was that it was extremely hot, but it taught me a lesson and I vowed never to do it again. We finally crossed Syria and entered Jordan. Our route took us across Jordan, travelling just south of the Dead Sea.

We appeared to have very few mechanical problems or punctures, but if we did, there was always a lorry with motor mechanics and spares following way behind. They had to look after any lorries that broke down on the journey, but of course, all the lorries were new. We had no old 'bangers' in the convoy. Our next destination was Egypt and we quickly picked up the road that took us right across the Sinai Desert. This was a fairly narrow strip of tarmac laid on the sand. If one accidentally drove off the tarmac and into the sand, it was big trouble. Inevitably, we did this at one point, but fortunately we were well equipped to deal with the problem. We had metal sand channels to put under the wheels, and several spades and shovels. We also carried chains to put over the wheels in order to get a better grip. We used these on many occasions on the mountains in Syria during the winter months. Speeding along this road I well remember the occasion when I felt a sudden sharp pain above the knee. I had been stung by a wasp, which in a rage I immediately squashed. Remember we were all in shorts and a wasp sting is no fun. Another memory of this journey was that the metal of the lorry cabin itself was so hot that it made you jump if you accidentally put your bare forearm on it. The final incident that made this trip memorable was when our lorry suddenly came to a crash stop, almost sending us through the windscreen. This was even though we had not touched the brakes. We all jumped out thinking that the engine had seized up. None of us knew anything about the internal combustion engine. At that time hardly anybody in England possessed a car, and our knowledge of them was nil. We only knew how to drive them and that we had learnt in the Army. We all gathered round and we noticed that the wheels were smoking, and for fear that something might blow up, we threw a bucket of water over them. Miraculously, this did the trick and we assumed that the brake shoes had clamped on due to the extreme heat. In a few minutes everything seemed to be all right and we were once again on our way.

After the desert, we were on our way to Ismaillya in Egypt, which was at the southern end of the Suez Canal. We carried on over a swing bridge crossing the Suez, and on towards Alexandria, which was about one hundred and fifty miles away. Our route passed to the south of Alexandria and we were still driving until well past midnight, when we arrived at our destination, a mile or so East of El Alamein. In actual fact it was so dark that night that we drove past our proposed stopping place and without realising it had reached the front line We had to reverse the whole convoy and retreat a mile or so.

After reaching our designated location and snatching a few hours sleep, one of the first things we had to do was to dig out the sand to provide protection for our lorries. For this we used local labour and it was the first time I had seen two men working on each shovel. One of the Egyptians tied a rope to the blade end, and the other held the handle, and between them they did what in most countries would be done by one man. In this way they dug sloping pits into which we could drive the lorries to protect mainly their engines and tyres.

We were now part of the British 8th Army under General Montgomery and the German enemy under Field Marshall Rommel (he was probably only a General at that time) were only a few miles away. We were camped between the one coastal road and the sea. This was the only proper road and so far as I understood, it continued along the coast for fifteen hundred miles or more, reaching Libya and Tunisia. There were tracks over the desert one could use but these led everywhere and nowhere. Driving over the desert near the camp was very bumpy because of the tufts of vegetation growing up through the sand. We, that is, us sergeants, had the use of a portable latrine, which was looked after by our batman Kas, another of his jobs which, understandably, he did not like doing. I appreciated this and on many occasions I took a lorry complete with shovel, and drove about half a mile into the desert to relieve myself. It was simple and effective but in the flat landscape and almost always in bright sunshine, we were not exactly inconspicuous, and we felt we stood out like a sore thumb. All in all it was a little embarrassing, but in the Army you quickly learn to overcome such inhibitions.

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