Lest We Forget

         In honour of Remembrance Day, and the men and women who have served and continue to serve their countries, I offer up a different blog today. My father was a tank commander in the 10th Hussars during WW2. This is an extract from his account of that time.

 

        ......... We formed part of a large convoy of troop carriers and merchant ships, escorted by frigates and destroyers. We had to head out to the mid-Atlantic to avoid land-based bombers and enemy battleships, because France was now home for German planes. We could not use the shorter route through the Mediterranean Sea for the same reason, and Italian submarines. The journey was 12000 miles to Port Suez on the Red Sea. The weather was pleasant and duties few. On deck, we watched dolphins and flying fish; a new experience for most of us, as was seasickness. The first 2 or 3 days were wretched. I was in the bottom of the ship, close to the propeller shaft, expecting every night for an enemy torpedo to finish us off.

           The voyage was uneventful and we rounded the Cape of Good Hope and stopped at Durban, South Africa. We had a few days ashore and were adopted by the townsfolk, taken to tea and the cinema, and shown the sights. Our next stop was Port Said after travelling through the Suez Canal, where we took a train to a camp near Cairo. The tank drivers had to go back to Suez to collect the tanks, which arrived on a merchant ship that had docked at Aden. We were allowed day trips to Cairo and I visited the pyramids.

          At this time, the Germans were in retreat over 400 miles away across the Western Desert at Cyrenaica, so we had a long journey. The tanks were loaded onto transporters because a tank is a heavy consumer of fuel, 1 or 2 miles to the gallon. We were part of a very large contingent of artillery and anti-tank units. With the other units, there would be over 100 tanks. Orders came to engage the enemy. Our little 2-pounders were ineffective beyond 400 yards and our shells just bounced off the enemy tanks, so we had to get closer to the Germans before we could attack. They could pick us off at 1000 yards with their heavier guns. All we could do was lay down a curtain of smoke to confuse the enemy gunners.

         As with the fiasco with the expeditionary force in France, (Dunkirk) the result of our engagement was inevitable. Tank after tank was disabled or set on fire. In my squadron alone, we ended the day with 10 tanks out of 12 lost. I was the lucky driver of one of the 2 tanks that survived the battle. My view was restricted to a small periscope with no lateral vision. What with the crack of the 2-pounder and the rattle of the machine gun, communication was not easy. How we got out of it unscathed I do not know. Those in the military who were responsible for arming the tank with such a poor gun have much to answer for. Several officers and many other ranks were killed, wounded, or taken prisoner.

         Other units had suffered equally as badly and when orders were issued to withdraw, the regiment could only muster 7 tanks out of an original 40 in working order. We retreated some 50 miles and the enemy was willing to let us go; they had their own wounds to lick. We had learned a bitter lesson for the second time. Without a better gun, we had no chance of winning. I was now a sergeant and tank commander.  

          The enemy was retreating westward and we were advancing slowly but not engaging, so there was a lull in fighting. An open truck would turn up with a load of bread, full of sand but a welcome relief from army biscuits. Each tank was a kind of island, with 4 men living in close proximity, all orders by wireless. My gunner was a regular soldier, while the driver and wireless operator were from civilian life, like myself. We got on well together. One day a water tanker turned up and the driver said, “Want to take a bath?” We scooped a hole in the sand, lined it with the tank’s tarpaulin, and had a make-shift “garden pool.” I carried a small vest-pocket camera and took a snap of my crew disporting in the water like a bunch of children. I had many snaps, taken at different times, ready for developing but all my kit disappeared when I was rushed to hospital at El Alamein.

            I developed a sore throat. “Nothing to worry about,” said the medical officer, “Go back to your tank and gargle with salt water.” I did as I was told and shortly after collapsed. This time, the MO realized his mistake and diagnosed diphtheria. I was rushed to Cairo at high speed, barely conscious. I still remember the nightmare ride. I was half conscious and delirious. I learned later from an orderly that two doctors argued over my fate. One said, “He’s gone beyond saving, let him die in peace.” The other said, “Give him a chance.” He won; I was given a massive dose of anti-toxin and left to nature. I was 25 years old........