Previous chapter: On the RMS Andes, bound for North Africa
January 1941
First glimpses of Egypt from the deck of the Andes whilst travelling through the Suez Canal confirmed all that we had supposed – hot, dusty and dirty.
It was quite a wrench when it came to leaving the ship, so used had we become to the surroundings and the routine. We assembled on the quayside at Port Said carrying everything we possessed, rifle and full pack, plus our kit bags and precious sun helmets. We were to march to the railway station. Hordes of small boys sprang from nowhere offering every kind of service and selling bread and eggs etc. They cried” Eggsybread”, “Ice Cream – very hygiene!” and such things as “I’m Jock McTavish fra Glasgow”, and “Och aye the Noo”, presumably under the impression that we were Scots.
As we marched off, they pestered us to be allowed to carry our kit bags. The one or two who let them were simple souls who never gave it a thought that they might not see them again. A week in Egypt soon opened their eyes. The train journey through the delta down to Cairo gave us another view of the country – amazingly green and fertile, with incredible crowds of people everywhere all seemingly dressed in white for the men, and black for the women.
We arrived at Cairo in the early evening, having had no food since breakfast on the ship. We marched out of the station to find two large tramcars in the street. This was to be our transport for the next stage. The sergeant major knew the correct order to give when boarding a bus – “prepare to embus – embus” and he simply corrected this to “prepare to entram – entram” and we did. Off we went for about fifteen miles through gathering darkness to Mena, the terminus of the tramline right under the Pyramids. We reassembled and put all our kit bags on a truck, then struck off in column in a direction, which turned out to be about 180 degrees away from where we should have been heading.
We were going north when we should have gone south. Way across the sandy desert we marched, now in almost total darkness. Slowly it dawned on us rank and file that the officer who was leading us didn’t know where he was. Far in the distance a light was showing and we marched toward it, to find that we were in the outskirts of a tented camp being prepared to receive a division of the Indian army. Rows of tents had been pitched, but so far were only half erected, no walls or “brailings” being there.
It was now about ten in the evening. We were cold and fed up and huddled together under the tents with a cold breeze blowing through. An officer came looking for his batman. “Is so and so in there?” he called. A voice replied “There’s sod all in here”. The officer responded “And there’ll be a lot more sod all in there if I find out who said that.” Respect for officers was at a low ebb that night. The night was so cold that my pal, Jack Edwards, and I got up and walked about to get warm. We found the lorry with our kit bags and rooted through them in the starlight until we found our own, got out our greatcoats and felt a bit better.
At five in the morning, by some magic, the cooks had produced some boiled potatoes (there must be a story there, but I don’t know it). Everyone stirred up and received one hot spud apiece. Later that morning some trucks arrived and transported us back past the Pyramids and some ten miles further on to a large regular army camp at a place called Beni Youssef where there were large wooden barrack huts and a proper mess hall. We were greeted with cries of ‘Where have you been, we expected you last night, and had a hot meal ready!” We soon settled to the usual army routine, enlivened at meal times by the kites who, worldly wise lurked along the roof of the mess hall to snatch meat from any unguarded plate.
We moved into large tents known as EPI – Egyptian Pattern Infantry, each giving sleeping room to about twenty men. A delightful custom existed, whereby each morning a voice crying, “Hot tea, hot tea – Deeeshh” was heard outside. Lying in bed, one could push a tea mug containing a one-piastre coin under the brailing of the tent, and draw in a mug of lovely, sweet hot tea. The tea vendor was a gnarled old Egyptian who had a portable urn on his back, assisted by a young lad who ran to and fro with the mugs. Free enterprise at its best!
After a week or two we were moved to a spot right alongside the Suez Canal, entirely tented. Here we received our vehicles and the rest of our stores and equipment. Our vehicles were made up by some of our old friends – the Morris CDF six wheelers, and some Austin 30 cwt. K2 trucks for general haulage. We also had a 15 cwt. Bedford water carrier, three or four Morris 5 cwt. pick-ups for the officers, and some 8 cwt. Ford trucks with V8 engines. These latter were not a success. They had three speed gearboxes, and it was possible, by taking off from a standstill too enthusiastically, to strip teeth from the final drive crown wheel, such was the power output of the 30 HP V8. A modification was supplied, which consisted of a blanking plate to be screwed to the gear stick turret preventing the engagement of first gear. This certainly prevented damage to the crown wheel, but made starting off in second gear so uncertain that clutches began to suffer instead. One wondered how such an ineffective vehicle could ever have passed acceptance trials, or whether the Ministry of Supply had thought about their possible use on soft or heavy going. They were soon withdrawn.
At this time we had no vehicles with four wheel drive except the CDFs which drove the rear four wheels. All the others were rear wheel drive only, which made them pretty useless on any kind of soft going. At that time we had no idea what desert terrain was like, and when the time came to move up to the Western Desert, we set off without a care, Jeff riding his motor cycle, and each section having a motorcyclist despatch rider or DR. The bikes were Norton 500 cc. side valve CH models, and BSA side valve 500s.