Previous chapter: Life in Egypt – Food
February 1941
When we set off from our camp by the Canal, we knew that the Italian army had been driven from their positions some sixty miles inside the Egyptian border, and that they had withdrawn into Libya. Wavells “Western Desert Force”, as the army was then called, was feeling very cocky, and confidently expected to drive them clean out of Africa. Our worry was that this would happen before we could get up there to join them. We were very excited when, in mid-February, we had the order to move, and I can clearly remember the feeling as we bowled along the smooth road toward the pyramids and along the desert road to Alexandria. I was driving a Morris six wheeler. These trucks had no windscreen, and were not popular in the English climate, as the only protection from wind and rain was a canvas sheet, which could be pulled up under the chin. Here in Egypt they were the perfect vehicle, with a canvas hood to keep the sun off, but otherwise exposing us completely to the elements, a positive advantage in a hot climate.
The desert road to Alexandria was completely flat, very straight, and rather boring. It was just the sort of desert we thought a desert would be like, yellow sand as far as you could see in either direction, except for a very few clumps of palm trees, under which families of camels were standing around, to give a bit of local colour. A few white robed Arabs were with these animals and the scene was perfect for the filming of “The Desert Sheikh”.
The real desert to the west of Alexandria was different altogether. Not very flat or very sandy, and completely devoid of camels. An undulating stony plain, more white than yellow, with large areas where a small sage like bush grew, or clumps of some kind of grass, which had collected blown dust around them, forming quite solid humps. Through this the road ran, a narrow, tarred strip, which followed the easy course around small differences in height, and disappeared ahead in a shimmer of heat. To our right gleamed the sea, sometimes very close, at other points, miles away.
The beaches were pure clean silvery sands with low dunes behind, in which tamarisks grew, and the occasional fig tree. Of human or animal occupation there appeared to be none, and the general impression was of a vast untrodden land given over to a few small plant species. This was, of course, just an impression. The untrodden look was produced by the winds, which blew constantly from any quarter and smoothed out footprints and tracks quite quickly.
On this, our first sight, the Western Desert of Egypt had not been subjected to the treatment it was to receive later, and we were fortunate to be able to see it in its virgin state. Nearly all movement took place on the road or the railway. This was a single track line, marked by telegraph poles, and built to serve the small, delightful seaside resort of Mersa Matruh (“Matruk”) which was about 150 miles from Alexandria and home to retired Egyptian civil servants and the like. The track passed through a small halt called EI Alamein consisting of little but a name board and a tracklayers hut, about halfway between Alexandria and Matruk.
When we reached Sidi Barrani, about seventy miles beyond Matruk, we saw the first signs of the Italian rout. The press had heavily featured Sidi Barrani as the farthest point of penetration made by the Italian forces in Libya, and was usually marked on maps as an important town. Actually there was nothing there other than a ruined barracks which once housed an Egyptian army frontier force. Now it stood, roofless, doorless, and windowless, every scrap of wood in the building having been ripped out and used as firewood by one side or the other. Scattered around was a mess of tin cans, abandoned wrecks of vehicles and a smell of human occupancy, which was to become all too familiar.
About twenty of us were given the job of clearing a bit of Italian engineers’ stores dump from another “town” fondly featured by the press. This was Bug Bug or Buq Buq and, apart from the stores, which had been dumped about in heaps on the ground, was indistinguishable from the surrounding desert, having no building or made road of any kind. Our job was to move the stores, mostly piping and materials for water supply, back to Sidi Barrani, where we piled it in fresh heaps.
We had as transport a Morris 8 cwt. pick up, and some Italian army trucks which were conveniently lying around – two International 5 ton tippers, a smaller pick up, and a large Fiat diesel lorry. None of these had working starter motors and the morning drill was to bring up our Morris and tow start the first 5 tonner. This was then used to start the other by reversing up to the rear and finally the big Fiat was shoved from behind in the same way. Our motley convoy then wended its way to Buq Buq, about twenty miles, and all the trucks were left ticking over until we finished back at Sidi Barrani after unloading them there.
Being ‘on detachment’, with the rest of the company back fifty miles or so at a place called Bagoush, we were a happy as could be, doing our own thing and living the life of Riley. One of our chaps, Paddy Montgomery, took on the job of cooking for us all, and he showed a rare talent producing marvellous meals from our standard rations. So good was he that when he rejoined the unit he was put on the permanent cookhouse pay roll. All good things came to an end and after a couple of weeks, the company came up and we set off toward the Egyptian Libyan border at Sollum. Major Oliver led the convoy straight up the road, which from here on to Sollum (sixty miles) had been constructed by the Italian army engineers.
Unfortunately, they had never finished it, being disturbed by Wavell’s men, so that the first twenty miles or so from Sidi Barrani was laid with large white boulder-like rocks, awaiting a covering of smaller stuff. Undeterred by this, the Major ploughed steadily onwards with the rest of us bucketing and plunging along behind. The first to succumb were the motorcycle riders who could hardly grip the handlebars. Most of them were forced to give up because the continual banging over rocks had weakened the front springs so much that the bottom of the engine kept grounding, and we finished the day with all the bikes loaded on lorries.
The Austin and Bedford trucks suffered many broken spring leaves also, and we were kept busy doing makeshift repairs, as we carried no spare springs. I tried to improve matters by removing the hard rubber bump pads from the Austin axles, to give more clearance, but this only resulted in Dean Jeffery getting a rocket for permitting “unauthorised modifications”, and the bump pads were all restored.
I wondered then, and have done ever since, how it was that British manufacturing technology could not produce spring steel of adequate performance, for it was noticeable that the Canadian and American trucks with which we were provided later, had springs and chassis which would stand up to anything.
I am digressing, but I believe that this failure on our part, which I came across in many other forms, has been a major cause of our industrial decline, which has continued to this day. Rough roads may not have been usual in Britain but they were not confined to North Africa, most of our export markets being in the far-flung parts of the Empire, and it is not difficult to imagine the future choice any buyer of a British vehicle would make after one experience like ours.