ROYAL TANK REGIMENT

June 1 1943. Faded airmail. MEF.
Dear Mother and Dad,
we’re not so busy now and I can get down to a spot of writing. I wrote to you yesterday and twice more last week, so I reckon you’ll be well supplied for news by now. I hear, and it’s practically certain, that Tpr Brown has malaria and is down in Tripoli. Did I ever tell you how he came to be in Tripoli? I have a vague idea that I did.
We were at Medenine facing Mareth at the time, and he was sent down with his lorry on a job. The lorry broke down and after various exchanges of instructions between workshops and the unit, it was decided to send it back to base or a scrap and salvage unit. Old Brown was now stranded and unfortunately the battle was on, so there was no time to bother about him. After the all clear up here, papers etc were exchanged again, but this time it was Brown and not his lorry, and before anything definite could be fixed up, we hear he has gone in dock with malaria. So if he’s ill, I guess he won’t feel like writing home. I do believe he’s been ill for 3 weeks now, but as I say, it’s fourth hand news, but originated from the Orderly Room. Which equivalent to the Head Office of a factory. I’ve been to Tunis at last and don’t ask me to often. What it is like. I shall always remember it by this. The sun was as white as this paper, simply dazzling. All four of us had real headaches. We all had sore feet. We were all hungry and tired, and we were all swindled everywhere we went.
Let me explain all this.
Everywhere and everything was white, the buildings, the pavements, etc, and you can imagine an African sun in a cloudless sky, although it wasn’t unduly hot, that is, not as hot as Cairo or Alex, 120° in the shade for weeks on end.
Well, what with the sun and nowhere shady and nowhere to sit down, you can imagine the sore feet and headaches. The place is really bare, there’s no food anywhere, no amusements, no places of interest, just nothing. But we did find food and amusement to our disadvantage, as I will tell you.
We found a cafe in an out-of-the-way spot and things looked fine, about a dozen tables with white tablecloths, glasses and glass water jug. And in French the menu looked good, but, alas, here’s what we had. Boiled rice with onions to start, we all had a struggle to get it down. Then bits of meat and watery, lifeless marrow, parsnips and onion again, not even enough if it had been good. That was the Table d’hôte price, 50 francs (5/-). And for the drinks, no tea or coffee, but a bottle of non-alcoholic bitter wine, 50 francs. We were in and out of the place in 15 mins. The bill came to 256 francs (25/6) for 4 of us. The next place of “Swindlery” was a revue. A mate of ours who had been some days ago said it was a good 20 francs worth. When we got there the 20 francs on the ticket was crossed out, and 30 francs inserted in pencil. Worse to come, though. The place was small and low and stuffy. The actors were four men and two girls for the entire show and the programme consisted of singing, monologues and jokes in French, no dancing or chorus.
We also had a few drinks at a cafe, price 6d each for nothing more than coloured water, not even iced. So that’s what our allies do to us. Of course we mustn’t judge the entire nation on those few people, but it’s a bad show for all that.
I hope you will excuse the writing. I’m still using plasters and bandages. I can hardly hold the pen tonight. I’ve given up hope of ever getting rid of these sores and whatever they are, it seems as though I want a new supply of blood, because just as I think they’re better, I have pain and a red streak down my arm, and off we go again for endless weeks. I wish I was in Civvy Street. The Army is useless. It doesn’t bother about what is causing it. It just is content with healing. But still I guess 2½ years of tined food and the climate doesn’t help much, plus millions of flies every summer. As I’m writing this I’m doing the St Vitus dance trying to keep them away. Roll on the boat. I think 2 more years and I shall go mad.
The parade this morning was devoted to the reading of the Army Rules and Regs concerning riots and mutiny. There’s good reason for this. All our Brigade thought we would come home or at least have a decent leave, but we’ve had neither, and I can see plenty more action before long, while millions of others who haven’t seen an angry Jerry still sit on their backsides. Still we can take it. We had to finish it off up here and I guess nothing can get us down.
I’m OK for everything so don’t worry. Remember me to everyone. Love and best wishes to you all.
Yours ever, Alb. Xxx.

June 5 1943. Airmail paper. MEF.
Dear Mother and Dad,
Today I’ve had three more letters (6d), one off you, one off Eve, and the third off Prue “Arley”. Yesterday I had about 24 newspapers at once. The letters I received today were all May 6th. I se you had had six weeks of no news from me, but I dare say the spell has been broken now.
Prue tells me of her wedding and home etc. They should be able to get a good start, both at home and working. Good luck to them. Someone has to make Hitler’s medicine. Frank Holland must still be the same old Frank. I can see him coming down to earth with a bump one of these days.
You’re not the only one with pets. My mate has a beautiful black and white puppy. My other colleague (can’t call him a mate, he’s a Serg. Major, regular) he has a brown Dachshund like Nurse Woodville, and now to crown it all, I’ve been asked by an officer to look after his “breakfast” for a few days. The breakfast is a hen and it lays one per day. I’ve had this morning’s off her.
I’m not used to fowl and it started squawking this morning so I made her a nest ready to lay, but no, it wouldn’t have any. It must come up in the lorry and find a roost, so I dusted her off several times, but she insisted, so I made her a nest with a blanket and almost before she got in, there was a beautiful egg, like a Blighty one. Don’t you wish you had a hen or two? Quite a lot of chaps have them in the Bn. Some poor fowl have to travel in the tool locker when we move. They’re not cramped, just that it seems odd, and some chaps have even made a little ladder for them, so when we stop, down goes the door, up goes the ladder, and 1 -2 - 3 - 4, and sometimes 5 or 6, fowl fall out, get on parade and get down to some egg-laying.
It’s a queer life at times. We have fun and set-backs of course; in Greece one chap used to have a lamb which really was like Mary’s lamb. It never left his side, even came on parade with him, until alas, our Major was about to give us our fighting orders prior to the “do”, and just as he opened his mouth, a loud “baa” was heard from behind him. I’m glad to say he saw the humour side of it. That was major Wilson, the chap who I did a few weeks batman to.
It’s English weather up here in Tunisia. Yesterday after lunch it rained, and My, how it rained; simply poured down for hours on end, thunder and lightning too. Didn’t we grouse and grumble, or at least 99% did. The others no doubt were thinking of drier times when we were in the desert with a good roasting sandstorm in full swing. How we wished it was cold and raining, but I still say English weather is by far the best in the world. A bit of everything and nothing too severe. That’s the trouble out here or Egypt or anywhere in the ME. We get a god dose of whatever is going.
I heard Mr Churchill last night speaking from the USA. Remember the last time they met? “Action stations”. We’re ready for it, just let him say when. We’re not due for home so let’s get cracking and get it over with quick.
The most astounding piece of news, of the entire war I think, was the smashing of the two big dams in the Ruhr. I jumped for joy when I heard of it, it was a real blow in the solar plexus. I’ll bet there’s some panicking around that way now, going to work in boats, etc.
I haven’t seen Arthur Pickin since (go on - since I saw him last) no, since I saw him in hospital. I went twice to visit him and before I had a third chance, he was out and with his unit, plus the fact that we moved up. He just about managed to keep out of the battle I reckon. It collapsed like a pack of cards when we got steam up. My mate has had the rare luck of visiting Tunis today. They’re allowing 10 chaps a squadron daily. I guess when it’s my turn we shall be on the move to our next distant area.
You mention Mrs Smith’s nephew Brown. Do you know, I haven’t seen him since we were in Medinine facing the Mareth Line. He was sent down to Tripoli in a lorry on a job for the unit and about a month later we heard he had broken down and was in a workshops. The next time was another month later. A letter from an officer he appealed to, saying his lorry was beyond repair and could we arrange to fetch him, but we were many hundreds of miles away, and the battle of Enfidaville was taking shape so no-one could fetch him. I believe he’s still in Tripoli. Maybe he’s having the time of his life.
We’re doing all right for canteen stuff now. Plenty of cigs, choc, biscuits, soap, etc. Did I tell you how cheap fags were? Players and similar only 4d for 10, and Woods 10 for 3d. I have enough to start a shop.
Well, Mother, I guess we must weigh in here. There’s not much news now. I’m hoping you at your end will be in the headlines soon.
Remember me to all and tell them I’m sorry for not writing, especially Uncle Levi, Auntie Ethel and Jack and Auntie Polly and millions more. Cheerio and all my love.
Yours ever, Alb. Xxx.

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