TO EGYPT AND BACK

The following is the 9th installment of the Memories of my Uncle Jim who served in the 1st and 8th Army, who as agreed that they may be posted.

CHAPTER NINE

TO EGYPT AND BACK

We landed at Port Said on 22nd June and the next day arrived at our concentration area, Qassasin. This place was desert, with temperatures regularly over 100o F in the shade, but it was a decent tented camp, with a NAAFI and a cinema. The cinemas were known as ‘shaftos’ and used to break down every ten minutes.

From here leave parties went either to Cairo, Alexandria or Ismailia. After our leave we were to spend two months training in Palestine. While we were in Cairo the lads went on the rampage, causing several thousand pounds of damage, fed up with treatment from the profiteering tradesmen etc. Young lands working as shoeblacks weren’t against throwing liquid polish down your KD if you said no. They were up to all kinds of tricks — they would sell you a newspaper then we would find it was out-of-date. I went to see the pyramids while I was in Cairo.

After leave we moved to a camp in Sidi Bishr which is near Alexandria. While there I was sent to the 1st Battalion Irish Fusiliers. I wasn’t really happy leaving the Skins, but thought myself lucky as I was the only NCO to get in their Anti-tank Platoon.

As I have mentioned earlier, I badly injured my knee in North Africa but asked to be released from convalescent camp while still limping, which I continued to do through the rest of Africa, Sicily and the part of Italy that we had already done. The camp in Sidi Bishr was sand and walking on it, at times my knee would suddenly lock and the pain was murder. But I said nothing about it until one morning the platoon were on PT. I stopped in the tent when a young Officer came asking why I wasn’t out. I tried to explain that in my own Battalion that I wasn’t forced to. His reply was “You’re going to here”. So I replied “I shall have to go sick”, which I did. I was sent to hospital where the doctor examined the knee and said “You will have to stop in for treatment”. I said “I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t want to stop in as I don’t want to lose my Battalion”. His reply was “I can’t do anything for you then”.

When I got back to the Company the CSM said “The CO wants to see you.” He asked me about my knee and I explained the position. When I first joined the Irish Fusiliers all us from the Skins were lined up to be told which Company we would go to. This information was given to us by a Major Richards, whose first words were “I don’t suppose any of you chaps know me”. I thought “Come, Dick lad, we were together in the Sergeants’ Mess in Cumnock in the Skins.” But credit where credit’s due. He was a first class man and worth his promotion and won the Military Cross and the Military Medal. After the line-up I was marked in to see the Colonel who was sitting behind a trestle table. He was reading a paper and didn’t look up but said “Sergeant Hughes”. I replied in the usual way — “Sir”. He then said “They tell me you’re an anti-tank expert”. My reply was “That is not for me to say, but I do know my gun”. The fact that I complained about my knee cost me the Platoon, as they brought my mate back to take over. But as things worked out it was for the best.

One incident comes to mind that occurred while we were in Sidi Bishr. The local cinema advertised a Big Crosby film, so a lot of chaps went to see it. After several features the Egyptian Anthem struck up demoting the end of the performance and no Bing Crosby film. That did it — the squadies gave their version of the anthem which was far from complimentary, throwing chairs from the balcony into the middle of the floor, making a right mess while the chap in charge issued tickets for a free show.

A day or two after we got orders to take our six guns and trucks to a camp at Moascar which is near Ismailia. To get there we had to travel along a road through the desert which will be familiar to a lot of old soldiers as there was a tent at the halfway mark where we got a drink of tea. We were billeted in bell tents in the camp, for each gun we had a tool kit and a spare firing mechanisms. I wrapped mine in a piece of cloth and placed them at the bottom of the tent pole. On getting back to Sidi Bishr I realized I had left them in the camp. I didn’t report it as I thought when we go into action I’ll look out for a gun that’s been knocked out and get that mechanism. Although it would be the wrong number I would please ignorance. The move to Palestine was cancelled as we were needed back in Italy.

On 9th September the Brigade embarked on two ships, the Irish Fusiliers on the Durban Castle, for Taranto.

While in Egypt the Brigade were informed of forty three awards being won since Cassino.

While at Taranto before moving up the CSM held a tool check. Of course I was minus mine as they were still in Egypt. Again I was Lucky Jim, as he took no action against me. We made for a place called Faro which took us through some of our old battlefields — Termoli, The Trigno, and Sangro. From Faro we were making our way towards Imola and after thirty six hours of continuous driving anybody who could drive would take the regular driver off. We paused for a time at Assisi. Our next stop was a place called Castel del Rio, but before we could get there we had a river to cross and as usual the Germans had blown the bridge. The Yanks were able to ford the river as they had four wheel drive trucks. Ours only being two wheel drive couldn’t do it. So once again the lads of the Royal Engineers came to the rescue. They put up a Bailey Bridge which was the highest ever built. Owing to the muddy state of the roads the trucks had to use chains which had to be removed before crossing the bridge. People think of ‘Sunny Italy’ — the snow and mud we had to contend with had to be seen to be believed. If we hadn’t had mules we would have been in a fix many times. Even they had all on to deal with the conditions.

I don’t remember how many days we were at Castel del Rio, but we did spend a couple of nights in the old castle there. Also our Division Rear HQ was there and all the transport was parked in a side street. And according to a book that I’ve read all about our Division, and English illustrated magazine had published a photo of the village and given its name, and mentioned the number of vehicles. So for an hour and a half Jerry gave it a pounding with a big gun, destroying a lot of transport and records.

From Castel del Rio we moved along a track which was so deep with mud the trucks had great difficulty in moving at all. Eventually I remember crossing a small river and ending up in what I would call a small hamlet, a few cottages and a barn. I still only knew two officers in the Irish Fusiliers, that was the Colonel and Major Richards, who I mentioned before, who was in the Sergeants’ Mess with me in Scotland. An Officer came to me one day and said “Do you think we could get two guns in?” I said we would need to have a recce. So off we went along a track which was a bank on one side and a drop on the other. When we got so far one of our tanks was half and half off the track, blocking it. He said “You won’t get past”. I replied that I would lower the guns down with the towropes. We went by the tank and lower down the track were two more of our tanks which had been knocked out. He suggested that I place a gun behind each of the tanks. My reply was that I would only need to fire once and the Germans would assume that the tanks were alive. So I got the usual reply “Do what you think”. Further back up the track was a big house that had been knocked about a bit. I believe the Argylls had had a battle in that area and obviously tanks had taken part in it.

So my plan was to put a gun on two corners of the house facing the German positions. I told the crews to dig them in so they weren’t so obvious. I told the Lance Sergeant who would be manning one of them that we would keep nipping out and giving him one or two HE rounds, and then get back under cover. This we did and for a time we got away with it very nicely. Because at the same time one of our tanks came up on some high ground somewhere behind us firing in the same direction. So I like to think he got the blame.

The room we used was on the ground floor and the ceiling was propped up with a big square balk of timber. I was lying on the floor having a nod when there was a bang and out came the prop, falling across my knees, just as the Officer came through the doorway. He asked if I was alright, and I replied “Yes”. Off he went but was soon back and said the Colonel said I should go to A Echelon, which was still in shelling range. I was there for a day or two and then was sent back to B Echelon, which further back in a village called Borgo San Lorenzo, where I made myself comfortable in an old cottage. I got friendly with a couple of Yanks: one of them name Donald Hopkin sent me a food parcel when I came home. I’m afraid I said the wrong thing when I told him that we weren’t exactly starving, because I got no more.

I enjoyed this break for about a fortnight until one morning I was told the Officer wanted to see me. It was Major Dick Richards, my old Sergeants’ Mess mate. His first words were “Don’t you think it’s time that you went back up there, Jimmy”. So back I went. Still having trouble with my knee, it wasn’t long before I had to see the MO and the next thing I was put on an airplane and flown to a hospital in Florence. From there I went to a hospital in Salerno, where we had to wear hospital blues, a white shirt and a red tie. I think I spent Christmas there, and met a chap who I had met previously in Shakers Wood in Norfolk. He was an electrician in the hospital.

From there I was sent to a convalescent camp near Naples. It was a big tented camp and conditions were a bit rough as the weather was rather wet. As in the other convalescent camps the Army physical training staff took us on exercise. One the edge of the camp was a large hill and one morning the APT Sergeant said “We will be going up there”. My reply was “You are, I can’t get up there with my knee.” His reply was “You will have to report to the Medical Officer” which I did. I cam out being regraded to A2 from A1. That suited me fine as it meant that I missed the last big battle that the Battalion did in Italy. I had been lucky so far, having come through North Africa, Sicily and through Italy up to this last battle, with nothing worse than a damaged knee. I was sent to a re-allocation centre to be given another job.

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