I was a reinforcement for the 2/13th Inf.
Battalion sailing on the Queen Mary for the middle east on 2/11/41. After a 3
week uneventful journey, arrived at Tewfik and then by train to Mughazi for
training while awaiting the arrival of the Battalion from Tobruk.
Finally the unit arrived and was encamped at “hill 69”. From
there the next move was to various places in Syria near the Turkish border and
then back to Tripoli where I became one of the Battalion.
Here we has a very enjoyable time manning Pill boxes (which
were situated in a defensive box) by day and by night, guarding oil manifolds
and Vichy French, which left a lot of time on our hands. Here I learned to
drink and suffer some very potent liquor, Almaza beer and cherry brandy being
two of the brews I recall.
This state of affairs didn’t last very long and one day we
found ourselves bound for Aleppo and allocated guard duty at petrol dumps etc.
The heat was shocking, which seemed to dry us up like prunesand glad we were to
hear we would be moving south in the near future. Some of the ‘furfies’ were to
the effect we would be going home but the old hands knew better and said: “Its
back up the line we go.”
At this time the Germans had captured Tobruk and driving
towards Alexandria but had stopped some 60 miles away at El-Alemein where the
British army had established a defensive position in depth and had intended to
stay.
From our positions around Aleppo we were assembled at the
German Barracks and from there, taken by truck to Baghdad station. There we were
introduced to our cattle trucks, 40 persons per. Which was to be our home for
quite some time? The cramped conditions were bearable, but the ‘pong’ of sheep
dung was to be overcome in a period of time. To break the sour note, some chap
started to bleat like a sheep and soon all joined in and my mind wandered back
home to Flemington on a sales day.
Yes I remember the trip past Damascus to Haifa, Gaza, Rafa,
over the Sinai desert to El Qantara where we had one of our hot meals of the
trip. We crossed the Suez canal and moved to Sidi Bishr and then to a camp site
just out of Alexandria. Here we prepared for battle as we were chosen as mobile
Battalion. All thoughts of returning home had vanished a few days ago.
I can vividly remember most of those days and nights that
followed when we were sent from one position to another. Most of the places we
stayed at seemed to be miles from the front but still we had to ‘dig in’ and
next morning move off again. Sometimes we travelled by night, when nearing the
front and at one stage found ourselves behind the Indian division where the war
became much closer, as one could hear shell fire and planes dropping bombs and
by night, tracers and small arms fire in the distance, looking like bonfire
night when the planes dropped parachute flares, seeking out our armour.
We moved again, sometimes on the tarred road and sometimes
over the undulating sand dunes. At last we arrived at our destination sometime
in the early morning, when at its darkest. Here we were met by guides and after
scrambling from the trucks, making a hell of a racket, we were led away in
single file to take up the positions that were manned by the 2/28th
Battalion. After a few words of greeting and a hurried explanation of the front
and situation, they picked up their gear and moved back to the rear where they
were swallowed up by the darkness. Soon it became light and we were able to
sort ourselves out in section defensive positions.
I remember the next two days and nights for the rest of my
life. In the distance I could hear the sound of our gunfire and then the
continuous swish overhead and instinctively I ducked. The chap sharing my
weapon pit, remarked, “Dont worry, they are ours. You can tell by their blue
tails trailling them. Its the ones with the red tails to worry about as they
are the Jerries”. I looked up, but couldn’t see anything, only hear the
continual “swish swish” and the distant explosions as they landed on the other
side of the hill in front.
It was then I saw a sight that will long live in my memory.
It was the advance of the 2/28th Battalion moving towards the hill
occupied by the enemy. They were all big fellows and the ones I saw close by,
were all dressed smartly an clean looking and all moving steadily in an
extended line toward the hill. The enemy were soon to open up with their
artillery, of which most were the dreaded 88mm’s. In a short time they found
their range and shells were seen to land and explode amongst the advancing 2/28
Battalion.
I saw some of these men falter and drop, to be attended to
by stretcher bearers as the remainder moved steadily on to disappear over the
hill. It was a most spectacular sight. It was then the enemy lifted their range
to land their shells in our Company position. One of the first shells fell
amongst our Pioneer platoon, killing ten in one blast. Over on my right, my
mate was hit in the head and died instantly.
Then a shell burst right above my head and the force of the
blast hit me in the stomach, doubling me up and slamming me to the bottom of my
weapon pit. My “pit mate” was treated in
the same manner. We both recovered at the same time and I heard my mate say:
“Are you O.K?” I said “I think so,” then looking down over my body to my horror
saw five shrapnel holes in my shirt, running from and through my pocket down
diagonally across my chest to my belt. I remember crying out “Shit I’m hit” and
then pulled the shirt away to reveal not a scratch. I nearly fainted with
relief.
The blast, causing me to double up, saved my life but didn’t
do much for my nerves. The shelling eased after a time and finally stopped and
while all was quiet one of our platoon sergeants went out on a two-man
reconnaissance patrol, toward the hill and all were shocked when he was killed
by a sniper.
After a short lull the enemy shelling started again with
more intensity. Shells were landing in our position one a second and I knew
every one was aimed at me.
Lying on the bottom of my weapon pit, with my hands over my
ears trying to shut out the terrible crash of the shells and sand falling in my
eyes nose and mouth, I felt I would never survive another minute. As every
shell burst, it seemed to be just outside my weapon pit.
When my nerves were at breaking point and my prayers weaker,
I faintly heard another noise, strange to all the bursting of shells and
screaming shrapnel. With my mouth open and ears alert the sound grew stronger
and I recognised it as someone whistling. Then I recognised the tune. It was
“me and my Shadow”. I found the courage to lift my head above the parapet and through
the bursting of shells, cordite, smoke and whirling dust, a figure casually
approached and when a few feet away stopped whistling long enough to say “How
are you doing down there?”
I knew who it was when I first recognised the tune of “me
and my Shadow” and when I looked up and saw the calm features of my platoon
sergeant, I wasn’t scared anymore.
JCC.
