Brigadier
‘
Our Spirited Infantry’. C. Coy., 20 Battalion, Nov. 1941
Author
Brigadier
Major-General
Sir
Howard Kippenberger
k.b.e., c.b., d.s.o. and bar, e.d.
Geoffrey Cumberlege
Oxford University Press
London New York Toronto
Oxford University Press, Amen House, London E.C.4
Glasgow New York Toronto Melbourne Wellington Bombay Calcutta, Madras Cape Town
Geoffrey Cumberlege, Publisher to the University
First Published
Second Published
To my wife
Mr. Chamberlain's voice stopped. I looked at Jimmie and at my wife, whose face had gone white. ‘That 's the end of the old pleasant days,’ I said. Next morning we fully expected mobilization, but for three weeks nothing happened and I worked very hard at my practice as a solicitor. Then it was announced that New Zealand was raising a ‘Special Force’ for service at home or abroad and I promptly enlisted, passed the medical examination with satisfactory ease, and prayed hard for a command. My tour in command of a Territorial battalion, the First Canterbury, was nearly ended and at forty-two I might have been thought too old.
It was announced that there would be three rifle battalions, the third to be raised in the South Island, and it was that on which I had my eye. After a few days' suspense I called on G. 1: the senior Staff Officer for operations or training in a division or equivalent formation or command.
On 26 September the selected officers and N.C.O.s were called into camp. The South Islanders went into Burnham, which for some years had been the principal military depot and ordnance store for the South Island. It was situated in the midst of the Canterbury plains, in big stony fields, and surrounded by belts of blue-gums, a most unattractive spot. Hundreds of workmen were building hutments, cook-houses,
In my inexperience I had not insisted on having a say in the selection of officers; probably it would have made little difference, as only Territorial officers who had volunteered were available, and there was little choice. I had a look at mine the first evening, found that I knew only a few, and started to learn their names. They looked a useful lot and indeed so proved, with only a few exceptions. The New Zealand Army List contained the names of about eighty regular staff officers and some 600 Territorial officers, and with these, and a smaller number on the Reserve, a division had to be raised and trained and a great expansion carried out. Thousands of new officers were trained, all coming through the ranks, but throughout the war the best of the pre-war Regulars and Territorials kept their lead. There were few battalion or regimental commanders who were not one or the other.
Dornwell, who had been my second-in-command in 1 Canterbury, came in with the same appointment, Frank Davis, a regular, as Adjutant, and Bert Steele, another regular, as R.S.M. Between them they supplied most of the knowledge of routine and the drill-book with which we staggered along in those distant days, all of us keeping just one jump ahead of our subordinates. The rifle company commanders, also selected for me, were Archie MacDuff and Jim Burrows, whom I knew, Ralph Paterson and Mathewson whom I met for the first time. Bob Orr, also a new acquaintance, was Quartermaster, and a curious little man whom I could never discover and who eventually disappeared without anyone mentioning the matter to me, was R.Q.M.S. Peter Speirs, who was regarded with awe, having a Military Cross from the old war, commanded Headquarters Company. Ray Kirk, just getting on his feet as a consulting physician, closed his door and came in as R.M.O. I decided to letter and not number the companies and the company commanders drew lots for their letters. MacDuff, with the Canterbury Company, drew A.; Burrows B. for his Southlanders;
Next morning officers and N.C.O.s started to drill, the first thing obviously being to get saluting right, with and without a cane. I doubted whether I would be any good with the cane and thought it wiser to stand by and observe, and continue with the learning of names. There was no doubt that our saluting was a horrible sight until we had all been induced to conform to the book.
The N.C.O.s were a very mixed lot and only a few subsequently retained their ranks.
We had a week before the men came in. The huts were barely finished, showers and ablution stands not completed; but the carpenters took their kits with them one evening and the drafts to form the Third Rifle Battalion, the Machine-gun Battalion, a Field Ambulance, and an A.S.C. Company came in by special trains. Most were ending a long journey. All were in old civilian clothes and many were far from sober. As I watched some of my men trudge in I remarked to Gordon Washbourn: ‘This is going to be the best infantry in the world.’
On the first night we did nothing more than give them their army numbers, feed them, and get them to bed, in beds, for the one and only time in their service, made up by the officers and N.C.O.s; all slept very well. Next day, with the aid of a big chart showing the establishment of a rifle battalion, we organized and allotted jobs.
The rifle companies were made up by their Provinces, but Headquarters Company was not so easy. Officers kept rushing into the Orderly Room, consulting the chart, and dashing out to collect another driver or signaller or watercart man or range-finder or some such, those already acquired being left seated in puzzled groups under the strictest injunctions not to stray. Gradually the parade ground emptied as the completed platoons were moved away, some already being asked to do so in step; and about midday there were only a few stragglers left who collected and sat themselves down together. Frank Davis and I checked our chart and
Three months later we embarked at Lyttleton in the first transport to leave New Zealand for the war. In the meantime, the mob which had tramped in that afternoon had become a battalion, very young, very partially trained, but already possessing its own memories and beginning to be proud.
We worked from week to week on a progressive syllabus. Once the initial recruit training was over, my guiding intention was to foster the independence and initiative of the companies and then to weld them into a team.
There were pleasant experiences that we shared—a delightful week camped in green fields beside a sparkling stream at Cave where we joyfully heard we were going overseas—a week of exercises at Tai Tapu when, in turns, the companies held the township and sustained attacks by other companies, while Battalion Headquarters sensibly and cosily umpired the operation from the hotel parlour—days and nights in the open, in lovely weather—the years that have passed leave a nostalgic glamour in memory. None from that time will forget the campfire concert when first we heard ‘Now is the hour when we must say good-bye’, feeling for a moment the cold hand of fate and the shadow of the long years ahead.
There were jokes that we shared. Having taken over from the Adjutant on battalion parade, I said ‘Hats off’ and turned to face the padre and found no padre, whereupon the battalion, which had been waiting hopefully, chuckled with me.
There were things of which we were proud. We felt certain that our leave parties were better turned out and more soldierly than those of our neighbours, the Machine-gunners.
Also, there was one incident that gave us a common indignation. The O.C. District rang me up and curtly directed me to have officers and N.C.O.s paraded, he would be out in half an hour. He arrived, did not return my salute, and spoke to the parade. We were about to go on final leave and it appeared that a number of men had sent a joint telegram to the Minister of Defence protesting against their rail warrants being made only to the place of enlistment. He had thought that we were going to be a good unit, but was evidently wrong, we were unsoldierly, undisciplined, there was no goodness in us, and he had come out to let us know. He stopped speaking and glared. I said ‘Thank you, Sir’ and saluted. He did not return the salute and departed. I dismissed the parade and, after a little reflection, went round the mess-rooms and told everyone how naughty they had been. All were very contrite, the action had been natural enough for the New Zealander, accustomed to approaching his Minister or Member whenever he felt aggrieved. Perhaps they didn't quite take the point, for that evening each company sent a telegram direct to the Minister protesting its regret and more or less indicating that it was quite willing to walk home if necessary.
We had now become the Twentieth Battalion, just after furnishing ourselves with paper headed ‘3rd Rifle Battalion’. Seventeen New Zealand battalions took part in the First World War and with a commendable sense of the continuity of history our numbering was started from there. The Auckland Battalion became the Eighteenth, that raised in Wellington the Nineteenth, and we the Twentieth. After the Libyan campaign of 1940 I saw captured papers which showed that Italian intelligence officers, having identified
General Freyberg called on his tour of inspection, gave us a speech in which he told us what a fine army the French had, and interviewed all the commanding officers, including those nominated for units not yet formed. His talk with me was short.
‘Do your men drink beer?’ ‘Yes, Sir.’ ‘What sort, do they mind?’ ‘They say they prefer Speights, Sir, but I don't think they really mind.’ ‘H'm…. Well I suppose we'll see a lot more of one another.’
The officer commanding the Machine-gunners had a long interview and had come out downcast so that I was satisfied with mine.
A few days later Lindsay Inglis, who had undergone a grave operation to get himself fit for active service, took command of the Machine-gun Battalion. He had commanded a machine-gun company with distinction in France and was a thorough soldier. He had for years been my C.O. or Brigadier in the Territorials, and I had learned more of soldiering from him than from anyone else with whom I had served.
After being embodied for three weeks we had to send candidates to the first O.C.T.U. One or two nominated themselves and were duly turned down, and I had to select twenty from some fifty nominated by my company commanders and the Field Ambulance, whose C.O. preferred not to make any selection. I told each candidate that infantry platoon commanders at the beginning of a war had poor prospects; if they seemed to mind, the inquiry went no farther.
This worked very well and we sent away a very fine draft, about a third of whom died in due course and nearly all the others did good service. Several ended the war as battalion commanders. On my last parade with the Division, five and a half years later,
Only one officer had to be dispensed with, a melancholy individual who never spoke. I tired of trying to cheer him up.
Final leave passed like a dream and at last came the day when I told the men that the battalion was now their home and we started our wanderings. My wife waved from the roadside till out of sight and then drove home, running through her tears into a mob of sheep on the way.
On 5 January 1940, with Fourth Field Ambulance and Divisional Signals, we embarked on the Dunera, the first transport to leave New Zealand; Inglis with the Machine-gunners and A.S.C. went with us on the Sobieski. I went back down the gangway to say good-bye to the O.C. District, who was speechless, a band played ‘Auld Lang Syne’, and with the whistles of all the ships in port blowing, we pulled out into the stream. The last I saw of my own kin was my small son dancing up and down on the bridge of a tug.
Next morning, in Cook Strait, we joined the other transports coming out from Wellington and the first New Zealand convoy set out for the wars.
TheDunera was a regular troopship of some 11,000 tons. In the old style, the officers had ample accommodation (mine was luxurious) and more than enough deck space, while the men were crowded in the holds. The other ships were passenger liners not yet converted for trooping and later the Twentieth read with disgust of its luxury voyage to Egypt. For we had guessed right: it was to Egypt we were going; as in the previous war we would doubtless train there, even do some fighting in the vicinity, and then go on to France for the great battles. So it had been and so it would be—more prophetically than I knew—I warned my officers that we would share in a disaster. We shared in four before the tide turned.
Except that it was the first, there was nothing remarkable about our voyage. Remembering that in 1914 one of the troopships of our Main Body, as our first echelon of that war was called, had made an impression by dressing ship when entering Albany, I did the same when entering Fremantle. I doubt if it was noticed though we thought it looked well and were pleased to hear that some wharf labourers approved. The Eighteenth marched from Fremantle to Perth, twelve miles on a hot day, and had many sore feet and stragglers, and we felt superior and wiser in being satisfied with the trains.
There was a gay night in Perth, the first of very many with which it welcomed passing soldiery. A stuffed kangaroo arrived on board somehow and there were no men missing when we sailed; in fact a few extra—Australians.
At Colombo, one private got more drunk than most and tried to kick Ken Manchester, for which he was lucky only to get my first sentence of twenty-eight days' detention. Privates Fowler and Jack were the only absentees when
We crossed the Equator without celebration, had a few parties in the saloon, played an over-ambitious but amusing war game, drilled and had church parades and lectures and boxing contests, sweltered in the black-out, constantly practised boat stations, played deck tennis and quoits (officers only), admired the sunsets, stared endlessly at the convoy, blushed for our poor Dunera, the slowest ship and always being spoken to by the Commodore; there is little to distinguish one such voyage from another. In the Red Sea the rest of the convoy went ahead and on 12 February, five weeks from New Zealand, we anchored in Suez Roads.
There were fewer troops in Egypt than was generally realized, and we were welcome. General Wavell, Sir Miles Lampson, Mr. Eden, and our own General came aboard to greet us and, I hope, felt reassured. On 14 February we entrained, passed through Tel-el-Kebir—so that I completed the circuit begun when I left that dismal spot in 1916—were much interested in the sights later to become so commonplace, and detrained at Maadi, then new to us and little more than desert. The band of the Highland Light Infantry met us and played us into camp: as the step was ninety to the minute we marched very badly and must have upset General Freyberg watching. On a gusty, sandy evening, we settled down in our new home.
Messrs. Fowler and Jack were presumably still in Suez where they had gone ashore without leave.
In those days there were no roads or buildings, store-houses, orderly rooms, messes, canteens, shower-houses, barrack huts, Y.M.C.A., or any other amenities in Maadi. All were building or projected. We settled in quite happily in wretched little ridge tents, and, to our astonishment, suffered from the cold!
The very next day we began with a battalion parade aided by our band with all its eight instruments. At that time it could only play ‘Sussex by the Sea’ and ‘Roll out the Barrel’,
One of my first problems was to deal with Fowler and Jack, who soon arrived from Suez under escort. Twenty-eight days' detention was indicated. I went up to the Citadel and carried out a personal inspection of the detention centre there. I did not like the Commandant, or the look of the staff, or the food, or the sight of soldiers frantically scrubbing latrine buckets and being stood facing the wall to answer questions, and decided to maintain discipline with as few detention sentences as possible. This may not have been right, and later I became less squeamish, but it worked well enough with the original Twentieth, my first experiment being with friends Fowler and Jack. To the unconcealed concern of Frank Davis, I merely asked whether they proposed to be soldiers and follow the rules, or not. They said they did so intend, and I dismissed the charges. Each kept his word. Jack was killed at Bagush by a dug-out caving in—our first death. Fowler was killed on the last
We had very little equipment and months passed before we heard of a G. 1098 G. 1098: the synopsis of the complete equipment of a unit, itemized and enumerated.
In March we did our first brigade exercise, some twenty miles away at El Saff. The march out, along the river road past Helwan, with all the flamboyants in blossom, tried us very hard and all three battalions had many stragglers. We thought we had fewest, but too many. The general opinion was that it was a lot farther on foot than by the Brigadier's car, which I have often since noticed to be the case. We had four days out, stormed the battlemented sides of Husain Migalli in a night attack from a taped start-line—a procedure only too familiar later—sweltered in the midday heat, learned quite a lot about handling ourselves in the desert, and went thankfully back in transport. John Gray, always independent, marched back with the Eighteenth, contrary to orders. Then, of course, we had a conference to consider the lessons.
We had parades for General Wavell and for Sir Miles
In April we had the first divisional exercise, according to the ‘General Idea’, a phase of the war between Puttagonia (commanded by Brigadier Puttick) and Milesia (whose leader was Brigadier Miles, the C.R.A. C.R.A.: Commander, Royal Artillery. The officer commanding the artillery of a division.
In June, to our delight, Italy came into the war. We were
Companies in turn went into Cairo on anti-parachute duties, pleasantly carried out at Gezira race-course. Then the whole battalion went in to share Kasr-El-Nil Barracks with the Scots Guards. This was not an enjoyable stay. The men didn't mix, the Guards Officers were shy and stand-offish, and the Barracks were bug-ridden. A barrel of beer disappeared from the canteen. I detailed an officer to search for it in my lines but without any more result than I expected, though I have since learned that a glance into C. Company's buckets might have shown something. The N.A.A.F.I. sent us in a bill which I repudiated unless the Scots Guards were charged with half. The management was scandalized at this reflection on a regular battalion, and dropped the matter.
We did our first tour of duty in the desert and dug a useless anti-tank ditch in the Naghamish Wadi: hard work, in great heat and under a plague of flies. Feeling very bold I made a trip to Sollum where Rifle Brigade posts were in occasional contact with the Italians. An enemy plane came over and I felt very timid as I took shelter in the shade of a rock. Matruh was haphazardly bombed in our sight, we heard of a man in the A.S.C. being wounded, and we felt that the war was getting closer. So we were disappointed to go back to Maadi again.
It was only for a few weeks. We got more equipment,
Then, in December, the blow fell. With mortification, almost as deep as despair, we heard that Fourth Indian and Seventh Armoured Divisions had attacked at Sidi Barrani, were sweeping forward from success to success, and we were not with them. It was incredible. We were really upset about this. Inglis said that the next fortnight was the most unhappy of his service and Wavell later thought it necessary to send a special message of explanation.
We went up in parties to look at the battlefields and collect souvenirs. Some of us got under fire at the siege of Bardia, we supplied guards for the hordes of prisoners, lent our transport to the Australians, and told ourselves bitter stories such as the one of Australians mistaking our fern-leaf emblem for an olive branch, and got thoroughly downcast over the whole matter. General Freyberg returned from England and added to our depression by tales of the second echelon's Second echelon consisted of 5 N.Z. Brigade and attached troops diverted to England, while en route to Egypt, in the summer of 1940.
By Christmas-time we had somewhat recovered, or at least had become bitterly resigned to being treated as Lines of Communication troops, and we had a very good day and terrific parties at night. The mess was now a very happy one, we had been more than a year together with few changes and
We saw the New Year in at Bagush and then moved out of the Western Desert to Helwan and strenuously practised river crossings, street fighting, and attacking under a barrage. We felt that 1941 would be a fateful year and that we were fit for it and very happy. I attended the first combined training course at Kabrit, where my unorthodox opinion that landings were better done in daylight had the support only of three young Scots Guardsmen, all under the erroneous impression that I had been at Gallipoli.
I returned from this course to find the battalion at Helwan again and rumours busy that we were going—no one said where; but we were all certain it was to Greece. I was desperately anxious lest a bad tinea contracted at Kabrit should keep me back, but it improved just in time. Our first reinforcements arrived and were absorbed. I reviewed appointments and decided who was to stay in Egypt, and made an honest effort to leave a good team, sorely though they might protest. There came a final mess night, an uproarious, delightful night, with the men's lines all alight and songful also, while the victims of my injustice condoled wretchedly with one another in a corner.
Early one March morning we packed our trucks and entrained for Alexandria. I wrote to a friend in New Zealand: ‘We have not wasted our time. We are ready. My men will do their whole duty.’
The Twentieth embarked for Operation Lustre at Alexandria in the special landing ship Breconshire, later famous in the Malta convoys. A very heavy storm made the voyage secure against air or submarine attacks and also induced Jim and me to study the Book of Acts and read the Apostle Paul's account of a stormy voyage in the same waters. On the second day I was allowed to open some sealed papers and to tell the men, assembled in the hold, that we were going to Greece.
We landed at the Piraeus and for a few days camped in the pines on Mt. Hymettos, on the outskirts of Athens. Our camp was inspected by some smart-looking Evzones, the German Consul, and a number of half-starved citizens. 18 Battalion, the first to land, had already gone forward. It was impossible to do any serious training and we waited impatiently. At last orders arrived for us to entrain and also for me to leave six out of my forty officers and forty-six of my 813 other ranks. This meant more painful selections and I had to withstand some most urgent protests. But I was determined to have good people in the reinforcements and made no concessions, promising them all plenty of fighting in the good time to come. After a church parade I told the battalion what I could remember about Greece and what it stood for, and we marched through Athens past the crowded balcony of the German Embassy and entrained for the front, now being built up north of Mt. Olympus. It may be of interest, as an example of the fortunes that awaited soldiers of that time, to give here a list of the officers who went forward with the battalion
The rail journey was acutely uncomfortable but after some twenty-four hours we stiffly detrained at Katerini and marched to very dirty and crowded billets. I reported to the General and got a very warm welcome, for the Germans were in Bulgaria and invasion of Greece was plainly imminent. My battalion exactly doubled the force at the moment available to meet it. I was ordered to take over and prepare a front of some 6,000 yards about Ryakia, on the left of the Aliakmon line.
Next morning I went ahead with the company commanders to reconnoitre the ground and during the day Jim Burrows brought the battalion up. The position we had to occupy was very extensive, blinded by woods of stunted oak, and could be turned by the empty high ground on our left. It was vulnerable to infiltration tactics and I was very thankful that we never had to fight on it.
During the next few days the Division assembled for the first time. 4 and 6 Brigades were forward on the Aliakmon line, 5 Brigade prepared a reserve position in the Olympus pass. 4 Brigade had Eighteenth and Twentieth forward and Nineteenth in reserve, with 6 Field Regiment under command. We dug very hard, everyone taking things seriously but enjoying the work, the clean spring air, the sight of snowcapped Olympus, the budding trees, and the zest of anticipation. We dug hard, and, we thought, cunningly, practised patrolling into the woods ahead of us that soon would shelter an enemy, and rehearsed counter-attacks. I tried, secretly, to discover a way of retirement over the trackless foothills behind if the next battalion gave way and we had to go; but Jim could find no way of getting our transport out. Still, it would not be necessary: Yugoslavia had decided to fight, and we would doubtless soon be moving into Macedonia.
Germany declared war on Greece and to our surprise we still made no move forward. Across the bay one evening we heard the faint rolling thunder of distant bombing and saw the dull glow of fires in Salonika. It could not be long now.
Next day there was rain. About four in the afternoon I was ordered to report to Brigade Headquarters. On the
Map 1. Movements and Positions of 4 Inf. Bde. in Greece 18 March–28 April 1941
This was quite a difficult operation. It was dark and cold when I got back to my headquarters, having given by phone an order very cautiously worded, for our lines were being constantly cut or tapped and there were many fifth columnists about. The orders group Orders group: those officers of a formation or unit who must be given the Commander's orders before any operation or move. In a battalion the company commanders, signals officer, M.O., and adjutant, and the commanders of any attached sub-units. First-line transport: the vehicles carrying the fighting equipment, ammunition, and signals gear.
I reached the rendezvous at daylight just as companies, transport, and troop-carriers were arriving together at the same spot, complete except for two brothers who had gone to sleep during one of the halts and were next heard of in Germany. There was time for breakfast and a wash or bathe in a pleasant little brook. Jim went ahead with an advance party. We embussed, joined the long column in our correct place near Katerini, and very slowly and with many halts
The journey up the Sarantoporon pass was slow and unpleasant, in heavy rain at first and later snow, on winding, slippery roads. At one point an Australian truck had gone over the bank and half a dozen bodies were lying beside it. About midnight on Easter Eve the battalion debussed near the village of Lava in the midst of a traffic jam and dispersed to sleep in the mud. The more lucky ones found some nice shingle heaps to rest on. Gilmour, our young Medical Officer, said later that he was quite cheered by my remark that it was like old times.
18 Battalion and 19 Battalion had gone forward to position on the high ground south of Servia town, 20 Battalion was in reserve astride the road. In the morning we took up our positions and started to dig. Paterson with C. Company occupied the squalid little Lava village on high ground right of the road; Rice with B. Company, a bold spur on the left. Wilson and Washbourn and Battalion Headquarters were in the flattish ground in the centre. In front, the ground sloped away for two miles, fantastically broken by ravines as far as the black, sombre-looking hills held by the other battalions. There were two gaps in these hills: one where the main road came through, held by Bedding's company of the Nineteenth; another where a track from Servia wound through a steep pass guarded by an ancient fort and held by Lynch's company of the Eighteenth. The Eighteenth was in extremely difficult country and could only be approached and supplied through its own F.D.L.s. F.D.L.s: Forward Defended Localities—the line of the posts held by the forward infantry.
The weather cleared during the day, 10 April, and we
Next day, 11 April, the war at last reached us and we had our first casualties. Through the Castle gap we saw German planes bombing and machine-gunning transport in Kozani, some miles to the north. Then the stream of refugees thickened and began to include Greek and Yugoslav soldiers, including a dignified General and a beautifully equipped Yugoslav heavy anti-aircraft battery, which settled in unpleasantly close to my headquarters. German planes came over us, bombed Servia, and some tackled Upham's platoon and wounded two men. A nice little red-headed boy named Kelly was killed by a bomb—our first killed in action. A New Zealand machine-gunner arrived at Upham's platoon. He said he was the sole survivor of the Machine-gun Company which we had forward with the British light armour. I assured Upham that he was a runaway, and sure enough the machine-gunners came back later, in good order and with some astonishing stories of the
Two days later I was ordered to leave one company in position and to extend 19 Battalion's position westwards. I left Map 2. 4 N.Z. Inf. Bde. Engagement at Servia, 14–18 April 1941
During the morning of 16 April I was disturbed that my patrols found no one on the left. Far below we could see parties of infantry crossing the river, apparently in retreat. Brigade knew nothing about it. Jim Burrows went out to find what he could, and, miles away, met an officer who had returned to look for some missing men. The Australians and the Twenty-sixth were retiring and had failed to let us know. I altered positions, refusing the left flank, and waited on. The Brigade Major arrived and told us that Bedding's company had beaten off another attack, taking over a hundred prisoners. He got me to take him round my front because he needed exercise, which I did not, and warned me to be ready for a move back to my original position that night. We had come forward by a narrow and dangerous road and I sent Teddy Dawson off to reconnoitre a cross-country route for the rifle companies.
At nightfall the orders arrived, and at eight we set off on a very difficult move. The transport moved by the narrow winding road cut out of the side of a steep cliff with corners cambered the wrong way. The night was nearly pitch-dark, we used no lights, and it was a nightmarish trip. A man had to walk by the running-board of each vehicle where the driver could just see him. A three-tonner, a Bren carrier, a watercart, and a motor-cycle went over the bank and had to be abandoned, as also had an Australian twenty-five pounder which was blocking the corner at Prosylion and which Jim Burrows ordered to be thrown over. It was nearly dawn when we passed Pleasants' corner, where there was already a smell of death, and passed the marching companies. The short cut had given them a terrible tramp, they were plastered from head to foot with mud, and were grey with fatigue, but they reported no stragglers. By midday we were back in our old positions except that my area
I waited to see the companies in, then struggled through foot-deep mud to Lava. Everyone had gone to sleep and the sentries had no idea where Headquarters was established. By the time I found it I was in a vile temper, and Adjutant, I.O., and batman, all got a savage tongue-lashing. They listened with respect, for such outbreaks were uncommon—until poor Neville, my batman, mollified me with some tea and stew.
We then settled down to rest, when suddenly there was an unmistakable shell-burst close outside. I went to the door as the smoke and dust were clearing, and through the Castle gap saw, far out on the plain, four quickly flickering flashes. I started to count the seconds, but before the sound of the guns had arrived there were four sharp explosions, neatly spaced among the buildings. The corner of one house collapsed and the guns flashed again. I returned inside and remarked that we were perfectly safe as two shells never landed in the same spot, whereupon with a howl one entered the room above my head, passed through the next wall, and burst feebly, slightly wounding a pig. This confirmed my opinion that we were perfectly safe as certainly no three shells were likely to land in the same place, so we sat through the twenty-minutes bombardment in moderate tranquillity.
The idea of a sleep had to be abandoned, however, when a message arrived for me to report at Brigade. Cameron and Gilmour came with me, and we laboriously slogged our way through the mud out on to the road. The German gunners opened again and seemed to follow us. I had another chance to develop my theories as to the incidence of shell-bursts. There were two huge rocks behind which I averred it would be perfectly safe to shelter. We did so for a while, and left a moment before a shell burst exactly where we had been. After this I advanced no more theories and we very slowly made our way out on to the road and down to Brigade. While we did so, four Blenheims in close formation passed northwards, and thirty German bombers passed them in the opposite direction, neither group taking any notice of the other.
Brigadier Puttick was in good form but he had no bright news: the whole Army was going back to the Thermopylae position; 4 Brigade Group would pull out that night; the Twentieth would take over rearguard; and I was to control demolitions that the Sappers were preparing on the road, and should be out of the pass by 3 a.m. I got the brigade plan, saw Kelsall, the sapper doing the demolitions, and trudged back to Lava, where Jim had the orders group waiting. Many times in Greece I was thankful for our careful training in the procedure of issuing orders and our innumerable exercises and discussions on it.
This was quite a neat little problem in rearguard tactics. In fact, the whole operation in Greece had rather the nature of an exercise. I remembered sitting for a tactical fitness examination before the war.
That accepted, the planning was simple enough. Paterson and Rice would stay in position until the Eighteenth and Nineteenth were through their respective positions, then they would come back through Washbourn. Wilson's company had gone off to picket points on the road that were worrying the Brigadier. Washbourn would then come in, and I would take over with a rearguard of Bren carriers on the road, and in succession blow the demolitions. It all sounded reasonably simple and I had a meal and my first hour's rest for thirty-six hours. Jim Burrows came up and wanted to take over the rear-party job but had to go back to the transport, which was to pick up the troops as they came out of the pass. He said good-bye rather seriously, and about nine o'clock I took post with Kelsall and the rear-party at the first demolition point.
It was a weary, trying night. There was no trouble with the Nineteenth, which came up in good order and was all out before midnight. By then only a few parties of the Eighteenth had appeared. Rice's company came through. More Eighteenth arrived and said they thought the battalion was returning by the hill route. That meant that Paterson would be in a dilemma unless he got the same information, which there was no means of passing on to him. The Germans opened harassing fire on the road behind us, and the shells screamed overhead and burst with terrific noise in the narrow, steep valley. They also mortared the track leading to Lava, and shelled the village. A platoon of Paterson's company came through, in such excellent order that I congratulated its commander. I did not know until years later that he had lost his nerve and pulled out without orders. A complete company of the Eighteenth turned up, then the rest of Paterson's company, splashing along the river-bed below the road. John Gray himself appeared about 2.30 a.m., very exhausted. He said that two of his companies were still on
The German shelling and mortaring continued steadily. Ross, my faithful driver, continued as steadily to make cups of tea. The Brigadier had warned me to be out of the Pass by three, but two companies were worth waiting for. It was nearly four when another company of the Eighteenth came down the river-bed, climbed up the bank and into the trucks, and not long afterwards the other company appeared. This was better. When there was no response to our calls I ordered Kelsall to blow. This he did with a magnificent crash, but when the echoes had died away we heard a chorus of cries, very far away up the black hill-side, clear and faint, ‘New Zealand here, wait for us.’ I went to the edge of the bank and called out that I would wait, but to hurry. Kelsall very properly reminded me that I was endangering his sixty men, waiting all the wet night at their posts down the Pass, but I replied that I was resolved to wait. I thinned out the rear-party and sent Teddy Dawson off in his carrier with instructions to go as far as Larissa and tell everyone he saw preparing demolitions that I was going to be late and not to blow till I arrived. We moved 500 yards to the next demolition point, the party which had called out arrived, exhausted and grateful, were packed on to one of Lyons's trucks and went away.
We waited a little longer. The shelling continued with some shells pitching very close, while far away we could hear the Germans heavily mortaring our empty positions. Then we blew again, and, maddeningly, there were more cries. I waited stubbornly and four stragglers arrived. At 5.30 a.m., just before ordering another blow, I called to the hillside once more. Very faint and far off came one single voice, ‘New Zealand here, wait for me.’ Kelsall looked doubtfully at me but I was unable to leave. We shouted to hurry,
We went down the Pass at top speed, stopping at each demolition point, where there was a pair of patient sappers waiting. Kelsall would light the fuse—the rest of us waiting around the next corner—then he and I would run back, see the result, in each case satisfactory, and on to the next. No time was wasted, but it was nearly eight when my little column—some sixty sappers, my three Bren carriers, and my car—emerged from the Pass on to the plain. All the transport had gone, but to my surprise the Brigadier was there. He had listened with satisfaction to the explosions, congratulated us on getting everyone out, made sure that I was personally the last out of the Pass, and sped off.
I formed up my column with my own car at the tail and gave orders to move at ten vehicles to the mile with no halting if attacked by planes. Then I shared a little brandy with Stan Green, the carrier officer, and settled down in the car, saying to Ross: ‘I'll have a sleep now.’
We moved without interruption for a mile or more, and then the morning reconnaissance plane appeared. It was not satisfied with merely discovering us, but dived and machine-gunned. No one was hurt, but the leading trucks stopped and the men scattered, halting the column. The plane went farther down the road and we got moving again, but in a very few minutes it returned and the same thing happened. No one was hurt, but we were dangerously delayed; it was now after eight and full daylight. The column got moving again, not without some angry shouting and gesticulating from me. Again the plane swooped and roared along the road, and again the trucks ahead stopped and the men tumbled out and ran for cover. The plane swung away and in a minute we were moving again.
I decided to go forward through the column and rub it in
As I watched, with bitter disappointment, one swung its turret round and started firing in the opposite direction. I saw tracer from there lashing all round the tanks. Later I learned this was from our armoured car rearguard. It seemed just possible that we might clear the way by attacking with our three Bren carriers and their anti-tank rifles. A two-pounder on portée, presumably cut off from our rearguard, was out on the left firing furiously. A carrier from somewhere ahead in the column swung out from behind a truck and raced straight at the tanks. As I watched it suddenly slewed into the ditch and capsized. There were now three tanks, a hail of tracer round them and bouncing off. I beckoned to the carriers to hurry, and the leading one was moving off the road beside me and had opened fire, when I saw coming across the fields directly towards us truck after truck of lorried infantry, all sitting upright like tin soldiers. I counted seven, more in the distance, and rightly or wrongly decided that the odds were too heavy and we must run. I shouted and pointed to the carriers, the air began to crackle with bullets. Ross jumped out of the car, and we ran together across a ploughed field, up a steep bank, and into cover behind it.
I stopped at the top and looked back. The carriers had
Six men, Green, Ross, two infantrymen, a stray sapper, and an equally stray cavalryman, collected round me; others could be seen already farther away. There was no time to waste and we moved off in single file. There was still firing from the direction of the cross-roads and we turned parallel with the road, hoping to join our rearguard. Very soon the firing slackened, until there was only one Bren gun firing lonely-sounding bursts, then it stopped. I realized that our rearguard had gone and slackened our breathless pace. We crossed a tiny stream, knee-deep, came into a lovely little glade, ideal for a picnic, and I decided to stop, rest, count our resources, and consider a plan.
There was no sign of any pursuit and so, as a first step, I made everyone strip and bathe. Much refreshed, we shared our food, enough for a tiny breakfast. Then we counted arms, and as I decided we must travel fast and light, dumped them all in the stream except one pistol, which I kept. I had a compass and binoculars but no map. There was no more food and not a greatcoat between us. We had a discussion on prospects and it was made clear that I was commander of the unit.
My idea was the obvious one: to travel south during the day, cross the road down which the German army would be pouring, by night, and then head east for the coast. First we must get some food and perhaps help from the villagers, and so two of the party set off for a village near by. We were out of sight of the road and all the country-side was bright and silent. Before they had gone out of earshot we heard, startlingly, the thudding of guns far to the south. I jumped up. ‘That's our rearguard at Elassona; they are certain to
For an hour we plodded on. Small groups of peasants were tramping towards high hills to the west and we passed a few shepherds with little flocks. We said ‘Elassona?’ to one, and he pointed the way we were going. The thudding and rumble of guns continued, almost seemed a little nearer, and we began to have hope. I called a halt and said that we would observe the regulation ten minutes' halt before every clock hour, and otherwise would walk on all day; that we had a chance, just a chance. We were very weary and hungry, the ground was rough and tumbled; but we trudged on hour after hour, crossing little streams, scrambling through scrub, literally over hill and dale. Soon after midday we came in sight of the road again, packed solid with German transport, head to tail, tanks and guns, lorry-loads of infantry, all halted, with the men strolling about. We turned out of sight, crossed a difficult ravine very slowly, and started to climb up a steep valley leading to the crest of a distinct line of low hills. The guns were undoubtedly nearer, though muffled by the hills, and I thought I could distinguish the nearer crumps of the shell-bursts. The valley was steep and we were desperately tired, but we were hopeful now and somehow kept going.
At last we reached its head and the party rested while I climbed the last few feet to look. A mile to the left the road was still packed with halted German transport. A group of German officers in long greatcoats was standing beside a house, looking at maps and southwards through their glasses. Elassona itself was hidden by higher ground along the ridge which we had climbed. In front the ridge fell away sharply to a fair-sized, sluggish-looking river; then there were three miles of undulating plain and another ridge. It seemed likely that our rearguard would be holding the ridge. I watched a German plane fly along it and draw a furious crackle of small-arms fire. Our object, therefore, must be to cross this No Man's Land before the enemy could mount an attack and before the rearguard retired.
The party came up and we moved down the forward slope
From there on we alternated formations, moving as a clump when the ground concealed us from the Germans and we could be seen by our own gunners, extending to forty paces when the Germans could see us, and moving in bounds from one piece of cover to the next. It was a slow business; we were all tired out and starving, the day was hot, and at each halt half the party would fall asleep and have to be kicked awake for the next bound. The ground was covered with spring flowers and the birds were singing. Evidently we puzzled the gunners of both sides, for sometimes we would make our move in peace, the next time be fired on, and once both parties joined in to fire on us. We reached a wretched little hamlet, empty of inhabitants, and spent some time looking in vain for water.
At last, after hours, I decided that it would be safer to adopt formation A. We were quite close to where our infantry were likely to be, and we emerged more or less boldly on to the road and shuffled along it, feeling very anxious indeed and waving briskly. The artillery duel was going on over our heads and any moment we expected some over-zealous Bren gunner to mow us down. Suddenly we were halted by a sharp challenge. The party stood frozen while
The crew of an anti-tank gun was sitting under a culvert eating tinned peaches taken from an overturned canteen truck. They welcomed us in and for half an hour we sat and ate about three tins each. We were a little offended that they were only mildly interested in our experiences, being much more concerned with the tough fight they themselves expected shortly. We, for our part, were now safely within our own lines and not to be worried about anything. The artillery affair went on very rowdily but we felt it was no concern of ours and set off light-heartedly down the road. We were considering taking over an abandoned traction-engine for transport when an anti-tank portée came along. We clambered aboard and were taken to where 26 Battalion was embussing, some miles farther to the south.
Here I joined Rusty Page and took a seat in his car, the others travelling in one of the trucks. We passed through burning Larissa in the early evening and halted in the station yard. There my party reassembled and happily drank beer from a dump about to be abandoned, while the Twenty-sixth entrained, providing its own engine-drivers and firemen. There were lots of difficulties. The town was bombed, there was a scare of German tanks having got in—as they had—but nothing disturbed our perfect equanimity. I said it was nonsense about the tanks, and indeed they had gone out again. So after dark we went most contentedly off in 26 Battalion's transport, Rusty Page again taking me as passenger. His rifle companies had gone in the train and he was travelling with his transport—and was not to have an easy moment till he saw the companies again.
The night's journey across the Thessaly plain was an experience. The Luftwaffe had had a good day with the transport of the retreating Army, and I saw no such picture of disaster till the pursuit after Alamein eighteen months later. However, I was quite happy; I seemed to be completely dehydrated, and bottle after bottle of beer had no influence. I had heard that the Twentieth had passed Larissa and would now be far to the south. It was good not to be a prisoner and I felt sure the Brigadier and the Twentieth would be glad to see me. So I remained cheerful all night, though it seemed some years since I had slept, and though checks were innumerable. At one village we stopped so long that Rusty and I got out and walked forward. We found that the column had halted because one driver had stopped for some uncertainty and had gone to sleep, everyone else doing the same or simply waiting. At daylight we found ourselves in a complete traffic jam where the road wound out of the plain at Domokos. The reconnaissance plane came over and found us, as expected; then came some forty Stukas and bombed and strafed, also as expected. It was unpleasant, but only a few trucks were hit and not many men, and we were all greatly cheered by three Hurricanes which suddenly appeared and downed three Stukas like pigeons. At last the block cleared, we wound slowly over the hills, stopped and bathed at beautiful Lamia, and then to our joy found ourselves amid New Zealand infantry.
Rusty took me to 4 Brigade Headquarters and went on to find his own battalion. The Brigadier greeted me like a prodigal son, Jim came up and handed over the Twentieth with all the pleasure in the world, and I went happily back to it.
I found that Kelsall had somehow got out from the trouble at Eleftherokhorion, that Teddy Dawson was missing, and that the battalion had lost about thirty men—from air attacks—on the way down. I had a shave with borrowed gear while Jim and I talked, then went to sleep for twelve hours.
I came back to life, thoroughly refreshed, during the next day. The Division, with 6 Australian Division on the left, was standing at bay on the Thermopylae line. 5 and 6 Brigades were forward, and 4 Brigade in reserve. 20 Battalion's first task was to be prepared to deal with any landing behind the right flank. The companies moved into position, we worked out plans for all the eventualities we could think of, and for a few hours thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The spring in Greece was very lovely, the ground carpeted with flowers, the air balmy, and the sky a dazzling blue. Also we were very optimistic. No doubt there would be a battle, but we wanted nothing more, and the credulous were cheered by rumours that the Canadians had landed at Salonika and that there were 500 Spitfires at Athens. Meantime the Luftwaffe was always overhead, reconnoitring, machine-gunning on the roads, bombing or about to bomb. But under our olive-trees we were unmolested and not in any way concerned.
Bad news arrived of Teddy Dawson. He had been in a truck which was machine-gunned near Larissa, had stood to his Bren gun, shooting in the teeth of the plane until he had died of his wounds. Teddy was snowy-haired, very small, and beloved by all. He had one disability as intelligence officer, being unable to spell. I long treasured one of his reports in which he had struck out several attempts at ‘vessel’ and substituted ‘ship’.
All the night German transport, with lights full on, poured in an unending column down the Lamia pass. Obviously there would be a battle very soon.
Next day Brigade told us to alter our dispositions. It looked easy on the map. I climbed a very steep hill and was never so puzzled as to how to place troops. Finally I made
Guy Sanders, the Brigade Major, was waiting at my headquarters with orders for the move. It was startling to hear that the field regiments were to destroy their guns before moving. There had been an attack during the day, mainly on 25 Battalion, quite easily held, and there was a pleasing story of tanks knocked out by our twenty-five-pounders. We were to move to the Thebes area and go into a rearguard position there.
As usual Jim went ahead with guides and a reconnaissance party. It was not easy getting up our transport against the stream of traffic moving south, and collecting the companies, packing, and getting off in the dark, but we were away in due time. Driver Hamilton pluckily volunteered to wait with a truck and pick up Deans and Sullivan, whom I had sent on a long tramp to find an alternative route out for Washbourn's company. Private Findlay, forgotten in his sentry post, remained faithfully alone until dawn, and then thought it well to come out with 5 Brigade rearguard, who returned him to us in Crete with no deficiencies of kit.
We travelled with lights full on and before daylight settled down in some olive-groves near Thebes. During the day we went into position on the west of the road climbing the
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Most careful concealment to avoid enemy discovering presence of a large force in the area. No AA fire of any kind except in case of serious air attack. Wireless silence.
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Long-range artillery and MG fire from forward guns on observed and suitable targets. No registration.
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Forward defended localities on high ground (six hundred feet above plain) with good proportion in reserve.
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By day majority of troops to be in rear of forward slopes. False flanks of detached posts and snipers wide on high ground on flanks.
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Carriers of 20 Battalion wide on left flank.
During the day broken Greek troops and refugees streamed through the position. Several large formations of enemy aircraft passed overhead proceeding to and from the direction of the Corinth Canal behind us, and there were fighter and bomber attacks on the road traffic almost incessantly. We sat still and watched with interest. On my trip to Brigade Headquarters for orders I was twice chased into a ditch by low-flying fighters. At the conference, held under a culvert over a side road, the Brigadier noticed that my boots were worn out and gave me a pair he had taken from an Australian soldier who had several pairs hanging round his neck. He also gave Jim Burrows and me a bottle of whisky each. Jim went off with his to where he had our transport parked in olive-groves six miles back. I returned to the battalion and when forced on the way to get into a ditch very hastily, took both boots and whisky with me. Nothing else of importance occurred during the 24th, and that night the Sixth New Zealand and the Nineteenth Australian Brigades passed
Next day enemy aircraft became more active still, and movement on the road was highly dangerous. We lay very quiet, and though reconnaissance planes flew low and persistently, looking for us, they apparently failed to see us. In the afternoon we got the unwelcome order to stay another twenty-four hours. The men afterwards always called that position ‘Twenty-four hours hill’. I tramped all round my position and examined a track leading from the left of my position back to Vyllia, four miles to the south, and thence to the main road, and decided to retire this way when the time came.
The day was hot and I had trudged and climbed some fifteen miles when I got back to my headquarters in a wretched little shepherd's hut. Dave Cameron and I sat down on the straw and we both thought of the whisky concealed under it. Just as we were about to act Gilmour came in. He stood talking, and I considered whether to give him some. I had just decided that my need was greater than his when he sat down—and got up hastily from the broken bottle. Dave and I were both speechless. Gilly said nothing and in a moment went out, all three of us feeling guilty and stricken. After a few minutes we recovered a little and I wrote out a message to Jim. ‘Send det. carriers one mile W. of Vyllia to watch track from N.W. Stop. Our bottle whisky broken.’ This message of disaster was dispatched and three hours later Jim's bottle arrived, carried by motor-cyclist on the dangerous road. We called Gilly in and one of the crises of the war was past.
Early on the 26th the enemy arrived at last. An immense column of solidly packed transport appeared on the road miles north of Thebes and slowly crawled towards us. It was an alarming sight, a Juggernaut of mechanized might. The head disappeared into Thebes and for some time nothing happened. About 11 a.m. a light tank and some motor-cyclists emerged, followed by about a hundred closely spaced trucks, and moved briskly towards Kriekoukis, the village in front of and below our position. This exactly suited me; a
The main column made no effort to come forward. A dozen guns settled down in the open off the road and started to shell us, the twinkling flashes a pretty sight. Our guns replied briskly at anything that looked in the least like a target. Then the column itself turned and moved endlessly into the hills in the east, where our maps showed a bad road leading past our right. The party in Thebes kept quiet and the afternoon passed slowly. C. Company got most of the shelling but had no casualties. At nightfall the long thick snake of transport was still filing into the hills and the guns stopped.
We heard in the afternoon that there had been a parachute landing near Corinth and that our retreat was barred.
As the Brigadier said, this raised a very awkward problem. I went back to see him and found that pending further information he was preparing a very stout-hearted plan for seizing two hills east of Corinth and close to embarkation beaches. We were fully armed and equipped; in fact we had all the British guns in Greece, seventeen of them, and had several days' supplies. We would destroy the parachutists,
This seemed a very good plan in the circumstances, and orders were being prepared for carrying it out when at 6.30 p.m. an officer arrived with a message that gave rather more hope. He came from Brigadier Charrington, commanding the British Armoured Brigade somewhere on our right. Charrington's signals had picked up a message from New Zealand Divisional Headquarters that 4 Brigade Group was to withdraw to beaches to the east of Athens, and probably embark that night, the 26/27 April. Half an hour later a second officer arrived from Charrington with a duplicate of this message and one from Brigadier Miles, the New Zealand C.R.A., with another copy.
The Brigadier wasted no time. A detachment of carriers under an English officer, Lt.-Col. Marnham, was sent along the Corinth road towards Megara to get information. The reserve company of the Nineteenth went back to Eleusis where the Thebes road joined the Corinth–Athens road. An advance party was sent to D. beach at Porto Rafti and a detachment to picket the road through Athens. I was given the rearguard and with a company of Australian sappers was to blow the demolitions from our forward positions back to Eleusis, some twenty miles.
Everything went smoothly although there had been very little time to get out orders. The withdrawal started at 9 p.m. and was unmolested. Transport arrangements were good. The column travelled with lights full on and at high speed. By 4 o'clock next morning, 27 April, it was tucking itself under the olive-groves on the approaches to Porto Rafti.
I had no difficulty with the demolitions. The four Australian sapper subalterns, whose names all began with E, worked things very well, the battalions left no stragglers, and we blew demolition after demolition without any hitch. At the last we had two and a half tons of ammonal left so we added it to the last charge and made a very fine finish. At Eleusis I found a few machine-gunners who had missed the
Perhaps half an hour later I was wakened, and found myself surrounded by some very serious-looking officers, Strutt, commanding the Australian Field Regiment, his battery commanders, and an Australian machine-gunner. Strutt said with some gravity: ‘There has been a mistake, we should have embarked last night. The Brigadier has gone. Your battalion and my guns are the last British troops in Greece. I have come to put myself under your command.’ This neat little speech woke me up effectively. We counted up our army, one battalion, seventeen guns, one machinegun company, seven anti-tank guns, and some sappers. I pointed out that the force was inadequate to retake Athens and said that we would fall back to the high ground about the beach, lie low or fight as the case required, and hope to embark during the night.
There is nothing like having a plan, even if a poor one, and everyone cheered up. Jim Burrows and my company commanders turned up and I assured them that we would at last have a good fight and it was a pity we would have no spectators.
I left Strutt and Jim to get the troops on the move and went off to the beach, twelve miles away, intending to find out what I could, select a defensive position, and put the troops on it as they arrived. The beach was empty, a single caïque riding in the little bay and no sign of any embarkation parties, and I came away feeling rather doleful. On the way back we saw some abandoned trucks hidden under the olive-trees and as we had no rations Ross and I stopped to examine them. One was an Australian canteen truck, loaded with tinned plums and raspberries. While we were busy transferring this find I saw khaki figures through the trees and came on Brigade Headquarters and the Brigadier shaving. It was a distinct relief. He was very indignant that I had imagined him gone. No one had gone. The whole Brigade was present, evidently well hidden, and we would all embark that night.
Much more cheerfully I went with him on a short reconnaissance, handicapped by the fact that the only map was a 1 : 200,000 motor-map of Attica. No time was wasted about orders: 18 Battalion and 20 Battalion were to be forward on a line just east of Markopoulon, 19 Battalion in reserve, and 2nd/3rd Australian Field Regiment in support.
I then returned to the battalion and as usual found that Jim had everything ready and the orders group waiting. About 10 o'clock we were able to get on the road in our turn, moved to just short of Markopoulon, and pulled into the olive-groves again. I had been ahead with the company commanders, had given them their orders, and when I got back the men had debussed and were starting with some zest to destroy the vehicles. This is not easy to do when fire cannot be used, and heavy desert tyres are extremely difficult to injure. Oil was drained and the engines run till they seized. There was still no sign of the enemy and I told the companies to move independently to their positions and settled down to breakfast and shave.
Reprehensibly, though perhaps it should not have been necessary, I gave no special warning about precautions against air attack. The road was still crowded with transport and as the men moved off by sections, they became part of a very good target. I nearly intervened to order them off the roads; but they were hot and heavy laden and very tired, so I weakly let them go. Retribution came very quickly. I had not finished shaving when a score of German fighters appeared and dived savagely. For ten minutes there was a roar of cannon and machine-gun fire, punctuated by sharp explosions, and then they flew away. Half a dozen black columns of smoke curled up near the village, and an ammunition lorry started a fireworks display. I went along very anxiously and found that B. Company had lost two officers killed, McLaren and Ayto, and thirty men. The Brigadier said it was the only foolish thing the Twentieth did in the campaign; and it had been sharply punished.
The next few hours were rather anxious: A., B., and C. Companies got into position and reported so in good time; but D. Company was astray for some hours and Headquarters
For some worried hours Cameron and I were alone on the clump of rocks that we had selected for a headquarters, without information or means of getting any, and with nearly half the battalion astray. It was nearly four in the afternoon before, by one means and another, we had found and brought back the two missing companies and got our headquarters and signals established.
This was such a relief that a message from Rolleston, one of the forward platoon commanders, that eighty A.F.V.s had moved into Markopoulon was hardly alarming at all. Still it did not sound well. My mortars shelled the village and we reported to Brigade. I rather discounted the message but the gunners had reported to the same effect and got busy shelling enemy transport which we could all now see coming down the Athens road. It looked very like a fight before nightfall and a very difficult embarkation. The Brigadier sent out a message that there was every prospect of an A.F.V. attack being beaten off by gunfire and that if the front was irretrievably broken the troops would fall back to the steep hills near the beach and hold them as infantry positions until embarkation became possible. As he explained to me that night, if there was any difficulty about water or rations we could always descend into the plain and ‘savage’ the Boche for what we wanted.
I thought poorly of the prospect and, against his vigorous protests, sent Jim to report to Brigade where he would be available for the embarkation, which looked like being sticky. About an hour later he returned, looking much more cheerful, accompanied by driver and batman. They did not have
We were all rather fed up with the long withdrawal and would have liked to have seen some German infantry, though we were not particularly keen on the A.F.V.s. Nothing happened, however, though the enemy continued to stack up on our front. After dark we moved smoothly back through the Nineteenth and on to the beach, where we sat for some hours. All guns, heavy weapons, and equipment were destroyed by order and we were told to discard our packs. After a very trying trip on a tank lighter, which for an hour or so stuck on a sandbank, we scrambled aboard the cruiser Ajax and ended our share in the Greek campaign.
We had had eighty-five casualties, including three officers killed. Among the missing was Corporal Denvir of A. Company, who three and a half years later was to reappear as a Yugoslav partisan battalion commander. B. Company had suffered the worst, losing forty-four, of whom sixteen were dead. Most unfortunately, we also lost the first reinforcement of six officers and forty-six other ranks whom we had left in Athens. They were caught in the unfortunate affair at Kalamata—where Sergeant Hinton of C. Company won a Victoria Cross—and were mostly taken prisoner.
A fax made very quick time to Suda Bay and we were disem-barking in great haste, bombers being expected, by ten next morning, 28 April. We had come aboard with only what we could carry, less packs. At first I could get no orders and we streamed in a long straggling crowd to Canea—a dusty road and a hot morning. Some miles along the road we found that someone had organized food and drink, and we sat down very happily under the olive-trees. We had no idea that it was only a matter of from frying-pan to fire. After a while we were directed to a transit camp and meandered along during the afternoon. Everyone had a holiday feeling, there were several attractive wine cafés, and it was evening before the move was completed and the companies reorganized. Not a good show. There were no blankets and the night was rather chill.
The companies had next morning for ‘interior economy’ and a thorough straightening up. In the afternoon I inspected them very carefully. Personal equipment and arms were very nearly complete except for one man who possessed nothing beyond a single hand-grenade. Both our mortars had arrived, complete with base plates, but of course without ammunition. There was scarcely any signalling gear and it was disappointing to find only thirty-seven Bren guns instead of fifty. Apparently on landing someone had told the men to dump heavy gear on the wharf and a number had been simple enough to do so.
The inspection, strictly carried out and undoubtedly helpful for morale, was only just finished when an order came for me to hand over the command to Burrows and to assume command of 4 Brigade. General Freyberg had accepted the difficult command of all the forces in Crete, Brigadier Puttick, in consequence, taking command of the New Zealand
The weather was perfect, the surroundings beautiful, and we had no doubt whatever that we would easily destroy the parachute landing of which there was some talk. The troops marched and drilled and dug and quickly got over their weariness and slackness. We had wonderful bathing in the sea or in the sparkling mountain streams, oranges by the armful, brilliant sunshine, and windless, balmy nights. For most it was a halcyon period.
For the commanders and those who knew what was impending it was very different. Intelligence reports soon made it certain that a very strong attack by air-transported troops would shortly be made; and we were in poor condition to meet it.
Hargest, with the four battalions of 5 Brigade, was holding the Maleme area, where was the only airfield, a minute one, in the western end of Crete. One of his battalions, the Twenty-first, was very weak, having been isolated and cut up near Mt. Olympus. At first it was only 190 strong but it grew to 350 as odd parties, including its C.O., Macky, arrived by caïques. In 4 Brigade the Eighteenth had lost 85 and the Nineteenth 156, and all three battalions were like the Twentieth in the amount of their equipment. The various miscellaneous units were at first organized into what was known as Oakes's Force.
On 30 April 4 Brigade moved into position, its task being to cover Canea against attack from the west and to destroy any hostile troops who landed in the Prison valley. We were separated by some five miles and high ground from 5 Brigade at Maleme. I went into Canea in the afternoon and after much searching got nails for my boots; while next day I got a truck, the only one, for the Brigade. Both acquisitions proved most valuable. We set to work to dig in, handicapped
The first hint of the storm came on 2 May when there was a sharp Stuka raid on Suda Bay. We could not see what damage had been done but there were fires. General Freyberg came round and spoke to all officers and N.C.O.s and warned them that the attack was coming and that it would be tough going. He asked me if I thought the men would fight. I was very confident that they would. Perhaps I had eaten too many oranges, for on this day I had an attack of diarrhoea which stayed with me and kept me very weak until the fighting started, when it stopped as if by magic.
On the 4th and 5th there were more raids on Suda Bay. It was a delight to see several Stukas brought down, but there was a pall of smoke over the harbour and the working parties we had sent to unload stores came back to say their ship had been sunk. I had been unreasonably sceptical of any serious attempt at an air landing, but on this day
On the 6th I went with Gentry, John Gray, Blackburn, now commanding the Nineteenth, and Guy Sanders, to Kosimo Kastelli, the little port near the western end of Crete. Here Bedding of the Nineteenth, two other New Zealand officers, and a dozen N.C.O.s were trying to get some order into 800 little Greeks, none more than fifteen days a soldier. They made enough progress to put up an astonishingly good resistance when the attack came, and actually to destroy the whole of the first attacking party. On the way home we had tea with Hargest, who was welcoming Major Trousdale and fifty-one men of the Twenty-first just back from a fortnight's wandering in the Aegean.
The next few days passed quietly. The General gave a very good cocktail party in Canea, the account for which was duly paid in 1945–4 Brigade band arrived, and we visited one another and enjoyed life. On the 14th the air
Inglis arrived from Egypt and took over 4 Brigade, and I went to command the extemporized 10 Brigade. Dispositions were altered and 10 Brigade took over the Galatos position, 4 Brigade going into reserve nearer to Canea. This formidable 10 Brigade was composed as follows:
My Brigade Major was
The Composite Battalion was composed of good material but both officers and men were wholly untrained in infantry work. Though reliable at first in defence, they were wholly incapable of manœuvre or attack and gradually lost confidence in themselves. The Greeks were malaria-ridden little chaps from Macedonia with four weeks' service. The Eighth Greeks had fired ten rounds each from their ancient Steyers, Sixth Greeks none, and neither battalion could be said to have any military value. The Divisional Cavalry was untrained in infantry work but was a well-disciplined confident unit, and easily adapted itself. Four of the six Vickers guns had tripods. There were two trucks for all purposes—supply, evacuation of wounded, and inter-communication. The Greeks had six heavy St. Étienne machine-guns, old
I established my headquarters in the biggest house in Galatos and selected a battle headquarters in what proved to be a very bad position. I spent 15th and 16th May going round my units and particularly in trying to get the Greeks into reasonable positions. They had a strong tendency to dig in on the tops of hills; while the gunners of the Composite Battalion were usually satisfied with a ten yards' field of fire.
Heavy raids continued on Suda Bay, several ships were sunk, and there was a monstrous pall of smoke over the bay, thickening and extending daily. On the 17th I walked out through the Prison valley, south-west of Galatos, and an ideal and expected place for a parachute landing, and visited
The whole of the Prison valley was dominated by the Prison itself, a solid rectangle of buildings, impervious to our little guns. Its Governor was suspected of being pro-German, and so he proved. I have no recollection that we ever considered garrisoning it. Perhaps we were too tender of the civil authorities, or we may have thought it too easy a
That day and the next there were more heavy raids on Suda Bay and Maleme and reconnaissance aircraft were continuously overhead. On the 19th the tempo increased, Suda Bay was full of sunken ships, and transport on the road was machine-gunned. We went to bed convinced that the day was near. Inglis and I had a talk and satisfied each other that the attack would be disastrously repulsed.
An order had arrived during the day for twenty-four N.C.O.s to be sent to assist in training the Greek recruits who were guarding Italian prisoners miles away at Alikianou. I decided not to obey it meanwhile.
The right of 10 Brigade line rested on a bold bluff overlooking the sea, 1,800 yards north of Galatos. Thence it ran southerly through vineyards along a ridge for 2,000 yards to Wheat Hill, a bold feature which dominated the whole line 1,000 yards west of the village. Then the line turned eastwards across the Prison road 2,200 yards to Cemetery hill, a bare prominent knoll 800 yards south-east of Galatos and surmounted by a walled cemetery with cypress trees after the Eastern style. From this point the line ran southwards again for 2,000 yards across the Canea road to the Turkish fort, an ancient structure on a terraced foothill of the main range. The right sector, as far as the Prison road inclusive, some 3,200 yards, was held by the Composite Battalion with the Divisional Petrol Company in the most dangerous portion astride the Prison road. The Sixth Greeks held the remaining 3,000 yards of the brigade position. The Composite Battalion sector was dominated by Signal Hill, two miles westward, with numerous ravines and broken country between. The Prison valley, olive-trees and open pasture, lay opposite the rest of the position. Nearly two miles beyond it and quite isolated, the Divisional Cavalry and the Eighth Greeks held positions respectively north and south of the Agia Reservoir and power station. I had the only map in the Brigade.
Twentieth Battalion nominally belonged to 10 Brigade but could not be employed without Division's approval. It
The brigade front was covered by single or double apron wire, weapon pits were quite well constructed, and except for one circumstance there was no reason that it should not have been held against any attack likely in the first instance, despite the bad communications. This circumstance was that the Sixth Greeks had only three rounds per man. Our one truck had delivered five truckloads of ammunition during 19 May, but for some reason it had not been distributed, by whose fault we never discovered. If our troops had been well trained and armed a parachute landing in the Prison valley would have been easily dealt with. As it was, the two outlying units were in hopeless positions and there was little solid about the rest of the line. It was a pity that the Twentieth had been replaced by the Greeks and withdrawn into reserve where they did nothing all the vital first day.
The morning of 20 May was calm and cloudless, as was every day during the battle. Before the sunlight had reached the valleys the German reconnaissance plane appeared. Shortly afterwards a fighter arrived and started to roar up and down the main street of Galatos firing bursts at anything it could see. This struck me as a bit unusual so I hurriedly finished shaving and looked with some caution out of my first-floor window. Other fighters were swooping over the Canea road and there was a great deal of noise from aeroplane engines. Nothing appeared imminent, however, so I finished dressing and went down for breakfast under the trees outside. The plane was still tearing up and down the street and maybe the cooks were bustled, for the porridge was mere oatmeal and water. I was grumbling about this when someone gave an exclamation that might have been an oath or a prayer or both. Almost over our heads were four gliders, the first we had ever seen, in their silence inexpressibly menacing and frightening. Northwards was a growing thunder. I shouted: ‘Stand to your arms!’, and ran upstairs for my rifle and binoculars. I noticed my
Map 3. 10 N.Z. Inf. Bde. at Galatos, 20 May 1941
When I reached the courtyard again the thunder had become deafening, the troop-carriers were passing low overhead in every direction one looked, not more than 400 feet up, in scores. As I ran down the Prison road to my battle
The signallers and
Our own front line, where the Divisional Petrol Company lay astride the road, was only a few hundred yards ahead, and we quickly found that we were in far too exposed a position. Bullets ripped through the cactus and soon it was obvious that we would not be able to stay with any comfort. It was necessary to be near one of our few telephones, so we decided to move to Composite Battalion Headquarters, a few hundred yards to the north. I took the tommy-gun and a pistol from the dead German; Brian and the signallers went back up the road to warn the rest of Headquarters of the change and I went direct through the trees. On the way I came on a dead parachutist hanging in his harness on an olive-tree.
We settled down at Composite Battalion Headquarters, which consisted of a few holes in a hollow, but at least had a telephone. Everything was quiet south of Galatos. A few stray parachutists had landed in the battalion area and had been shot, others were being rounded up, and eventually there was a tally of fifty-five. Two parties of gunners and drivers each about thirty strong under young officers named McLean and Carson—the latter had represented New Zealand at cricket—did most of this rounding up. When they had finished it I kept them in hand as a reserve and we gave them some training as infantry. About 400 of the Greeks were rallied by Michael Forrester, an officer in the Queen's Regiment who was attached to the Greek Mission. He had arrived in Galatos on a visit that morning and decided to stay for the party. He somehow got the Greeks forward and established them on a rough line south of the village connecting the Petrol Company with the Nineteenth.
About 10 o'clock a tremendous racket started on the Galatos–Prison road. The Germans had organized themselves and put in a fierce thrust through the trees on both sides of the road. The Petrol Company was forced back several hundred yards to behind our original headquarters and had thirty-five casualties. McDonagh, its commander, was killed, and Fussell, my staff-captain, was mortally wounded.
There was then time to take stock of the position. Small-arms fire could still be heard from the Reservoir area but we could not see what was happening. 19 Battalion told us that they had killed 155 parachutists and, rather apologetically, that they had taken nine prisoners. They also apologized for having shot my Greek colonel, who was creating a nuisance by throwing grenades at them. Two or three snipers were hiding in Galatos, taking pot shots at intervals, and Carson went off after them. Otherwise the brigade area was clear. Our losses were not heavy, except for the near elimination of both the Greek Battalions. Numerous enemy fighters were about but were uncertain as to who was who
At midday there was a short flare-up when patrols approached Cemetery hill. The nearest Greeks set up a terrific yelling and about fifty of them charged. The patrols ran away smartly and all became quiet. Signals had by then got a line through to Division and I spoke cheerfully to General Puttick, who seemed decidedly pleased to hear me. I gathered from him that the position generally was thought to be in hand, there had been a big landing at Maleme and fighting was still going on. There were no troops to spare for a counter-attack so we turned our attention to lunch.
Brian and I were very annoyed that Composite Battalion Headquarters had done nothing whatever in this direction. We made the necessary arrangements and from then on I assumed direct command of the battalion as well as of the Brigade.
By captured orders we later learned that three battalions of the Third Parachute Regiment had landed in our area. They were very elaborate orders but had so far not been carried out. A German officer, Captain Neuhoff, of this regiment, who was interrogated after the war, said that very heavy casualties were suffered from the moment the men left the planes. From his aircraft only three men reached the ground unhurt, and those who jumped first, nearer to Galatos, were nearly all killed either in the air or soon after landing. This was our observation also. In his battalion approximately 350 men survived the initial landing and organizing period.
The afternoon started quietly. I was anxious about
There was another half-hearted attack up the Prison road about this time but the Petrol Company beat it off emphatically and, according to Neuhoff, inflicted really heavy loss. Most of the Germans were armed with sub-machine-guns, not nearly as effective a weapon as the rifle at over 200 yards. I pressed again for infantry with which to counter-attack and was told that something would be done.
Late in the evening two companies of the Nineteenth, under Pleasants and McLaughlan, came over and moved to a start-line behind the Petrol Company. Three light tanks of the Third Hussars came into the village. These people said they were going to attack at 8.30 p.m. but were not at all clear what their objective was. The more common opinion was that they were to reach the edge of the olive-trees north of the prison and remain there to deal with any other landing in the morning. Exactly at zero hour I was informed that the Nineteenth was under my command. We tried to get in touch with the two companies but they had gone forward and it was already dark. We heard very little firing but my patrols, who could not have been very venturesome, failed to find them during the night. Before dawn McLean and his stalwarts went forward with orders from me to withdraw the infantry, Division having recognized that whatever opportunity there was had now gone. McLean found that they had only got about 200 yards past our original wire and were just about to resume their advance with little prospect of success. They came in, except for one platoon that went right across the valley and re-crossed, ten strong, three days later. Pleasants had inflicted about twenty casualties, McLaughlan claimed nothing. The tanks on the previous
We were kept busy all this day, 21 May, though we reported the morning quiet except for persistent ground strafing, another small parachute landing, and a brisk attack up the Prison road. During the night the enemy had got on to Cemetery hill, enfilading part of our position and depriving us of our best observation post. 19 Battalion was still under command, so in the afternoon I attacked the hill with a squadron of the Cavalry and a company of the Nineteenth. This attack was difficult to organize and support but it was quite successful, several machine-guns and mortars being captured, and forty or fifty Germans killed or wounded. There were no tools to dig in with, however, and very little cover on the hill, so after a while the troops, who had been sharply mortared, came back and said the hill was untenable. The Germans appeared to agree and thenceforth both sides left it alone. John Russell and I, having got rather forward and climbed a tree to watch, were seen and had some frights before we got down amid a shower of twigs. We had thirty casualties in this affair.
During the afternoon we had heard that the Twentieth was to go up to Maleme to make a counter-attack with the Maoris. I was able to ring Jim Burrows and wish him luck.
Two days had now elapsed since the landing and it had not yet occurred to us that we were going to be beaten. Instead the impression prevailed that the enemy was evacuating and during the night I was directed to be as aggressive as possible the next day, 22 May. Quite early in the morning we heard that matters had not gone over well at Maleme and that the Twentieth had been badly cut up. It was clear by now, too, that there was no question of the enemy evacuating but that the troop-carriers which we could see flying towards Maleme in an unending procession were bringing reinforcements. Nevertheless, it was decided to go ahead with my plans.
19 Battalion attacked with two companies on a front of 800 yards, with the object of regaining most of the ground from which the Greeks had been driven. Meagre support
The day closed with a heavy enemy attack in the evening on the old line up the Prison road. This was fiercely pressed on a front of some 700 yards, and after losing about fifty men the rather weary Petrol Company fell back, though still fighting. The enemy followed, raising strange yelping cries and firing continuously. I sent McLean to reinforce the Petrol Company and moved with Carson to Wheat hill with the idea of counter-attacking from that flank. The line had gone back some 500 yards, fighting from tree to tree, when we got there. The Germans, whose left was quite close, were abreast of the hill and between us and Galatos. They had also started a direct attack on the western side of Wheat hill. There was a beautiful opening for Carson, and I was waiting for him to line his men up before giving him the order to charge, when a most infernal uproar broke out across the valley. Over an open space in the trees near Galatos came running, bounding, and yelling like Red Indians, about a hundred Greeks and villagers including women and children, led by Michael Forrester twenty yards ahead. It was too much for the Germans. They turned and ran without hesitation, and we went back to our original positions.
I reinforced the Petrol Company with twenty gunners, borrowed a platoon from the Nineteenth, and gave
Five patrols of about thirty men each went out from the Composite Battalion position. Three moved west along the coast road and then turned southwards to clear the valleys as far west as Agia Marina. About forty Germans were found in the little village of Agio Goannino and nearly all disposed of by Veitch's party. A 12-year-old Cretan boy gave invaluable help here. The other two patrols moved south
During the day we were rather frequently attacked by fighters, though without great effect, and the enemy mortar fire became much heavier. We copied some of the German ground-to-air signals, without knowing what they meant, and got an interesting assortment of supplies, including a nice new mortar but no ammunition.
My sprained ankle was becoming a nuisance as it prevented me from getting about as much as I should have and also kept me awake when the odd chances of sleeping came.
23 May was a quiet day for 10 Brigade, but we heard the bad news that 5 Brigade was leaving the Maleme area and moving into reserve behind us. With the help of a company of the Eighteenth we put parties south of the coastal road to cover the retirement. These came in late at night, having had several small brushes and having effectively covered their part of the retirement. Enemy patrols from the Prison area were active and Russell's group was constantly engaged. There was the usual mortaring and ground strafing, with a further ominous increase in the former. I managed to get round most of the Composite Battalion and was forced to the reluctant conclusion that it was in no condition to meet the heavy attacks that must come soon. All day we could see
At midday I went down to Division by truck and reported the state of affairs to General Puttick. He at once decided that the Eighteenth should relieve the Composite Battalion in the evening. Apart from the General and Gentry, who gave no sign of perturbation, the atmosphere at Division was not cheerful. I saw some of the Twentieth platoons moving back, looking dazed and weary to exhaustion, and for the first time felt the coming of defeat. During this visit there was a very heavy bombing of the area, so heavy and prolonged that we thought it preceded another parachute landing. I had stupidly come out weaponless and was very relieved when nothing happened.
Inglis came up soon after my return and we arranged the details. 10 Brigade came under the command of 4 Brigade. Russell's Group, who had had the bulk of the fighting but were in the best condition, stayed in position. 18 Battalion took over the line from the sea to Wheat hill inclusive, unfortunately not taking over the feature we called Ruin hill. Composite Battalion, less the sturdy Petrol Company, moved a few hundred yards back to a ridge running north from Galatos. My headquarters moved to a half-completed building at the eastern exits of the village and Michael Forrester managed to move his mob of Greeks to the same area. Fifty of them, under a very stout young Greek officer, remained in the line under Russell.
These moves were not completed until early morning. It was heartening to see the Eighteenth come in—looking very efficient and battle-worthy—in painful contrast with the columns of clumps in which my unfortunate quasi-infantry got about. One of the Composite Battalion's officers told me that the contrast completed his discouragement.
The morning of 24 May was ominously quiet. I managed to walk along the whole of the Composite Battalion's new line and get them into something like reasonable positions. I also tried to put a little heart into some of the officers, but
Map 4. 10 N.Z. Inf. Bde. at Galatos, 24–5 May 1941
The afternoon was lively enough. 18 Battalion was heavily mortared, and there was a lot of ground strafing. In the evening John Cray reported that he was being attacked and asked for help. I put 120 men from the Composite Battalion
The next day brought hard and critical fighting. All morning there were continuous air attacks and steadily increasing mortar and machine-gun fire. Numerous parties of Germans moved into cover opposite 18 Battalion's front and about midday a column about 1,500 strong moved in threes to obvious assembly positions.
B., C., and D. companies of the Twentieth, organized into two companies under Fountaine and O'Callaghan and 140 strong, were sent up by Inglis. I placed them in reserve in the olive-trees north of Galatos, intending to use them for counter-attack. Jim Burrows came with them and said it was nice to be under my command again. Early in the afternoon they were particularly heavily bombed and machine-gunned. From midday mortaring and air attacks became intense and
About 4 o'clock a dozen Stukas dive-bombed Galatos. We had no anti-aircraft defences and they must have enjoyed it. My headquarters had one or two very near misses. At this stage I was standing on a table looking through a window that gave a view over the line from the village to the sea, and every few minutes I had to stand aside to avoid being seen by one of the planes continuously cruising over the tree-tops shooting at everything in sight. Fountaine, O'Callaghan, and Carson were with me, waiting the order to counterattack. Carson's batman kept us all going with cups of tea.
Immediately after the bombing the main infantry attack started against the Eighteenth, and the crackle of musketry swelled to a roar, heavily punctuated by mortar bursts. Inglis rang and asked what all the noise was about and I could only say that things were getting warm. I estimated
I went a few hundred yards forward to get a view of Wheat hill, and for a few minutes watched, fascinated, the rain of mortar bursts. In a hollow, nearly covered by undergrowth, I came on a party of women and children huddled together like little birds. They looked at me silently, with black, terrified eyes.
After two hours of this John Gray came back and said that his right company had been overwhelmed. I told him to counter-attack with his reserve (his Headquarters' Company and Bliss's 120 men) and restore the situation.
I decided that the time had come to use the Twentieth and ordered it to move fast to the right of the Composite Battalion's ridge. Fountaine and O'Callaghan ran out, stooping under the stream of ‘overs’. They got into position, finding the Composite Battalion nearly all gone though it had only been getting ‘overs’, and hung on grimly. For the rest of the evening it was a comfort to hear their fight going steadily on.
Matters were now looking grave, for
Then the position worsened. Wheat hill was abandoned
1.
The Prison Valley before the Invasion
Author2. ‘
Word Came through of Upham's V.C.’
Author
John Gray himself came back about 7.30 p.m., almost the last of his battalion, and looking twenty years older than three hours before. I told him to reorganize his battalion on the Daratsos Ridge. The Greeks had attempted a charge while the Eighteenth was rallying, but this time the men would not face the fire and they disappeared from the field. Fortunately Inglis had acted unhesitatingly and a steady stream of reinforcements was coming up the road; I set to work to build a new line.
The first to arrive was 4 Brigade band, which I put to line a stone wall a hundred yards in front of my headquarters. The Pioneer platoon of the Twentieth and the Kiwi Concert Party extended their right, and A. Company of the Twenty-third under
Brian, who seemed to be everywhere at once, appeared at this stage and told me that the third company of the Twentieth, Washbourn's, was in position behind the other two, and this part of the line was secure. Also that more of the Twenty-third, from 5 Brigade, were coming up. The Composite Battalion, on the other hand, he said had cleared out. We long afterwards learnt that some gallant groups had hung on desperately to the end; but the rest of the Division knew nothing of their fate until the war was over and prisoners, who had been there, returned.
The position began to look more hopeful, when it suddenly worsened again. An officer, who had skirted Galatos, arrived with a message from
Two ancient Mark VI tanks of the 3rd Hussars came up the road. Farran stopped and spoke to me and I told him to go into the village and see what was there. He clattered off and we could hear him firing briskly, when two more companies of the Twenty-third arrived, C. and D., under Harvey and Manson, each about eighty strong. They halted on the road near me. The men looked tired, but fit to fight and resolute. It was no use trying to patch the line any more; obviously we must hit or everything would crumble away. I told the two company commanders that they would have to retake Galatos with the help of the two tanks. No, there was no time for reconnaissance; they must move straight in up the road, one company either side in single file behind the tanks, and take everything with them. Stragglers and walking wounded were still streaming past. Some stopped to join in as did Carson and the last four of his party. The
Farran came back with his two tanks and put his head out of the turret. ‘The place is stiff with Jerries’, he said. I told him that I had two companies of infantry; would he go in again with them? Certainly he would, but he had a driver and a gunner wounded; could they be replaced? I turned to a party of Sappers who had just arrived and asked for volunteers. Two men, one named Lewis, immediately volunteered, the wounded men were dragged out, and they clambered aboard. I told Farran to take them down the road to give them a ten minutes' course of instruction and that we would attack as soon as he came back. My batman went off to John Gray with a message that we were counter-attacking and an order to join in.
We waited another ten minutes, the air filled with noise and tracer crackling incessantly overhead—and then Farran came rattling back. He stopped and we spoke for a moment. I said the infantry would follow him, and he was not to go farther than the village square: ‘Now get going.’ He yelled to the second tank to follow him, pulled the turret lid down, and set off. The infantry followed at a walk, then broke into a run, started shouting—and running and shouting disappeared into the village. Instantly there was the most startling clamour, audible all over the field. Scores of automatics and rifles being fired at once, the crunch of grenades, screams and yells—the uproar swelled and sank, swelled again to a terrifying crescendo. Some women and children came scurrying down the road; one old woman frantic with fear clung desperately to me. The firing slackened, became a brisk clatter, steadily became more distant, and stopped. The counter-attack had succeeded, it was nearly dark, and the battlefield suddenly became silent.
We had lost both tanks, Farran was wounded, and in each company some thirty men were hit. Two of the subalterns who had led the charge, Sandy Thomas and Rex King, were badly wounded and were later captured in our abandoned
Map 5. Counter Attack at Galatos, 8.20 P.M., 25 May 1941
Before the end Thomason, commanding the Twenty-third,
It was quite dark when we arrived at Brigade Head-quarters and we stumbled round for some time among the trees. Inglis was in a tarpaulin-covered hole in the ground, seated at a table with a very poor light. Burrows, Blackburn, and Sanders were already there. Dittmer, the Maori Battalion commander, arrived a moment after me. Inglis was anxious to use the Maoris in a night attack and recover the ground. It was clear to all of us that if this was not feasible Crete was lost. It was a difficult operation, perhaps impossible: darkness, olive-trees, vineyards, no good start-line, only 400 men in the battalion. Dittmer said it was difficult; I said it could not be done and that it would need two fresh battalions. Inglis rightly pressed, remarking that we were done if it did not come off—‘Can you do it, George?’ Dittmer said, ‘I'll give it a go!’ We sat silently looking at the map; and then Gentry, the G.1, lowered himself into the hole. Inglis explained the position. Without hesitation Gentry said ‘No’—the Maoris were our last fresh battalion and if used now we would not be able to hold a line to-morrow.
There was no further argument; it was quickly decided that Galatos must be abandoned and everyone brought back to the Daratsos line before morning. I returned to the Twentieth Headquarters with Jim Burrows and slept under a tree while he reassembled the battalion.
The Twentieth had been in reserve and in coast defence positions during the first two days. In the evening of the 21st it had been detached to counter-attack at Maleme with the Maoris and re-capture the airfield. It was known that the enemy was about to attempt a sea-transported landing and consequently the battalion was not allowed to leave its position near Canea until relieved by an Australian battalion. Then it was to move to near Platanias in trucks which had brought the Australians, put in a night attack, and be consolidated by dawn. Unluckily the Australians, bombed
en route, were late and the relief was not completed until after midnight; the attack did not get under way until 4 next morning. It was vigorously pushed, some of Upham's most notable exploits helping the advance; but daylight came before the airfield had been cleared and further progress became impossible. If the attack by these two battalions had been successful the enemy could have brought no more troop-carriers in until he had cleared new landing-strips farther west, and the whole position would have been altered, for the sea invasion was intercepted by the Navy and we might have been in a position to make a general counter-offensive. The Twentieth withdrew by stages to its original area, and from then on the 25th shared in the fighting at Galatos. It had had 292 casualties, including thirteen officers, of whom Rice, Scoltock, and Green had been killed, and was now not much more than 300 strong.
There was hard fighting about Daratsos on the 26th but 5 Brigade held firm and we rested all day. There was a project to form an improvised brigade of some British infantry, including a battalion of the Welch Regiment, which had not yet been seriously engaged. Inglis went off to take command and I took over 4 Brigade, less the Nineteenth, which came under the command of Hargest, and also less A. Company of the Twentieth, which somehow had become attached to the Twenty-first and was retained by that battalion.
It took me all day to discover the Eighteenth and the Composite Battalion—in fact, their commanders discovered me. While its commander was looking for me the Composite Battalion, for its own reasons, made another eastwards movement and we lost all touch with it thenceforward. Inglis returned in the evening, having been unable to find the units of his projected brigade, and resumed command. I returned again to the Twentieth.
There was again heavy fighting on the 27th, but 5 Brigade and Vasey's Australian Brigade held their positions and we were not called on. We spent the day straightening ourselves out and were soon in good shape. The infantry had fought so successfully that, despite nearly 50 per cent. losses, morale
We moved in the evening, joined the main column of retreating troops near Suda Bay, and after a weary night march halted in an olive-grove. Shortly after daylight a sergeant from the Welch Regiment arrived in full retreat also. He said that the rearguard had been overwhelmed and his battalion cut up. I thought him just another panic-stricken straggler but his story was true enough this time.
Another rearguard was apparently produced and during the day we saw its positions on the hill behind us being heavily mortared. We were not called on and rested all day, except for a very unpleasant and sustained attack by fighters who discovered us under our trees. Strain was telling on some people and after this attack one officer continued digging until he could not climb out of his pit. One of my officers, who had been badly shaken, appeared walking very fast with odd automaton-like steps and quivering incessantly. He made a great effort to control himself, offered cigarettes to Jim and me, and continued his move at a high velocity.
We discovered a dump of biscuits and bully and saw that every man had as much as he could carry. Everyone washed and cleaned up and made ready for the hard march ahead, some forty miles to Sphakia over a rough, steep mountain road. Pat Welch brought me a billy of tea and I promised to overlook the next few days he overstayed leave. In due course he reminded Bob Orr of the promise, but either there was some technical flaw or Bob thought I had not contemplated a three-weeks' absence.
We were ordered to move to the plain of Askipho, twenty-two miles by the map, and take up positions there to deal with any parachute landing intended to intercept the retreat. This was a desperately hard march, uphill nearly all the way, and made more difficult by the masses of masterless troops, British and Greek, who cluttered the way. Mostly non-combatants of various descriptions, their officers had
At one point, half-way through the march, the road forked and I was uncertain which fork to follow. I spread a map on the ground and turned a torch on to it. Immediately there was a chorus of cries from the bank above: ‘Put out that … light!’ and a man rushed up and kicked the torch out of my hand. I stood up and seized him by the throat, throttled until he started to choke, and threw him down. I then stated if there was any more such talk I would open fire. Apart from a few satisfied grunts from the column behind me there was a dead silence, so I turned on the torch again and resumed study of the map. I was still puzzling when Dick Hutchens, one of the L.O.s L.O.: Liaison Officer—the practice was to attach junior officers from units to the headquarters of the formation to which the unit belonged or was attached. Their duties were adequately indicated by their description, and in addition they carried out many minor staff duties on the formation head-quarters. Dick Hutchens was 19 Battalion L.O. on 4 Brigade Headquarters.
We trudged on, through silent villages, through one where there was a burning house, up interminable spirals. Once we all overslept for half an hour at the hourly halt and woke guiltily but refreshed. At last about 7 o'clock, after thirteen hours on the road, I halted, though we were still short of the plain, meaning to resume the move in an hour's time. The men were reeling with fatigue and with my still-swollen ankle every step was a crisis.
Within ten minutes the Brigade Major, who had travelled ahead by truck, appeared and administered a reprimand to me for stopping before we had reached our destination. He offered to lead us to the plain by a short cut, for the road wound and climbed crazily. Off we went and got at once into some country that would have been difficult for fit and fresh men. I should have turned back to the road but thought that would be the last straw for the men, and plodded on.
I went off to Brigade Headquarters intending to shoot the Brigade Major, but was easily mollified by a tot of whisky, a beautiful cold bath, and a cigar of the Brigadier's. In quite a good humour I returned to the battalion and there Jim Burrows and I shared a blanket and his gas-cape in an extraordinarily uncomfortable position on the hill-side. There did not seem to be a square foot of flat ground in this part of Crete.
Next day, the 29th, we spent quietly in our positions. Large numbers of troops passed through en route for Sphakia, the infantry in good order and still moving in sections at intervals, most of the others in no formation whatever. I saw A. Company of the Twentieth passing through. Markham told me they had had a lovely fight yesterday and both he and Washbourn were pleased about a bayonet charge they had done. Very wrongly I ordered the company to stay with me and heard afterwards that the Twenty-first had an anxious time looking for it.
Water-bottles were short and many were stolen by stragglers. The rearguard was still north of the plain and we were not molested, except occasionally by low-flying aircraft. Whenever a plane appeared, however far away, everyone on the road except the infantry would scurry for cover, and several times I had to go out and be very angry to get movement going again.
General Puttick with Divisional Headquarters was in a hamlet on the plain. Something I heard about the orders for embarkation annoyed me, and without any right to do so I went to speak about it. Frank Davis gave me a beautiful sponge, there was a lovely little spring, so I stripped, soaped, and bathed myself, addressing the General and Keith
Then an order arrived for us to go back to the northern approaches to the plain, which was as much like the bottom of a sugar-bowl as anything else, and take up a position there until 8 p.m. This did not appeal to me, as it meant a six-mile tramp there and back and we were in good positions where we sat. So I made another trip to Inglis and persuaded him to send a company of the Eighteenth instead. I don't know whether the Division ever knew.
That evening, the night of 29 May, we set off on another long night march. It was not less difficult than the other two and there was more trouble with the stragglers. These were now being organized in groups of fifty, they were tired and quiet but they jammed the road, and we had to force our way through them. It was the policy that formed units should have priority for embarkation after providing a rearguard, and indeed very few got away from Crete who were not with their units.
About daylight we reached the end of the formed road and halted in sight of the sea in a memorably stony spot. I had a slight bickering with an officer from 5 Brigade Headquarters who thought I was in the wrong place, but we were both too tired to pursue the argument.
A few hours later we moved down an extremely steep track and halted in a ravine, known as Rhododendron valley, close to the cave which housed Force Headquarters. Inglis was there and I climbed out of the ravine to speak to him. He handed me the following warning order:
-
Force HQ directs that the following tps only embark tonight:
HQ 4 Inf. Bde. Strength 70.
HQ and part 19 and 20 Bns. strength in each case 230.
HQ and part 28 (Maori) Bn. strength 230.
18 Bn. strength 234.
-
Balance of 19, 20 and 28 (Maori) Bns. will be placed under command Lt. Col. Burrows and it is expected will be embarked tomorrow night.
-
HQ of each unit must be embarked tonight.
-
Units will organize forthwith parties to embark tonight.
-
Orders for the move to the beaches will be issued tonight.
Sgd.
G. P. Sanders
major
B.M.
1425 hrs.
30th May.
Inglis explained that the Navy could only take off 1,000 men and he sharply overruled my protest against Burrows being left.
While we were talking there was a close and violent outbreak of firing from the ravine and for a few minutes almost equally violent perturbation round Force Headquarters. It appeared that an enemy party was in the ravine within a few hundred yards. Inglis went off to organize resistance on the eastern side. I went to the edge and shouted orders to Washbourn to take his company up the bed of the ravine and to Fountaine to climb up the cliffs on the western side.
Both companies set off promptly and in a few minutes the firing died down. I went back to the valley and with a heart as cold as stone sat down to consider the position. I had 306 men, including the Kiwi Concert Party and 4 Brigade band. I decided that the Concert Party and band must stay, which left about 40 to remain from the Twentieth. These were apportioned between companies and I told them to make the selection any way they liked. I decided that Markham should be the officer to stay but, when a deputation of subalterns came to point out that he was, married and to push their own claims to be left, selected Rolleston instead. I had to turn down very emphatically some urgent appeals to be left with the rear-party.
Meanwhile Upham's platoon was slowly climbing the steep 600-foot hill west of the ravine. The men were weak and very weary but they kept slowly going, and we could see that Upham was working round above the Germans still in the bottom of the ravine and pinned down by Washbourn's company and by fire from the eastern bank. Two hours after they had started the climb there was another sharp outburst of firing. It lasted about a minute, there were then some single shots, and then silence. A little later Upham's
The companies made their selections and Jim Burrows started to organize his rear-party and to take over water and food from those who were to go. Fountaine's company came back, very hot and tired. When they were collected Fountaine told them how many were to stay and asked for volunteers. There was a gasp and then Grooby, the C.S.M., stepped forward. He was followed at once by Fraser, the C.Q.M.S., and by Kirk and Vincent, the two sergeants, and then the remaining forty men. The N.C.O.s insisted on staying and after much argument lots had to be drawn for the men.
The afternoon wore miserably on, but at last there was nothing for it but to say good-bye and go. I spoke as reassuringly as I could to the rear-party, shook hands with Jim, and went off very sadly.
We had a tramp of some miles to the beach, the last part lined with men who had lost their units and were hoping for a place with us. Some begged and implored, most simply watched stonily, so that we felt bitterly ashamed. There was a cordon round the beach with orders to shoot any man who tried to break in. I had to count my men through. We were the last unit to pass, and on the principle that there is always room for one more, I bullied the cordon officer into letting me take Frank Davis, with some of Divisional Headquarters as well. I had
We embarked on the Australian destroyer Napier and were at once led to great piles of bread and butter, jugs of cold water, and urns of coffee. We ate and drank incredible quantities. An Australian colonel and his Adjutant got aboard, but just before sailing discovered that their battalion had not embarked and went hurriedly ashore again. We sailed after midnight and made for Alexandria at full speed. I had been given the purser's cabin and some pyjamas, and slept profoundly.
Late in the morning I was shaving when suddenly there
The racket died down and we went out into the brilliant sunshine. I hastily finished shaving and dressing and decided to spend the rest of the voyage on deck. There was one more scare, but it was caused only by two of our planes which were a shade late in giving the recognition signal. Once the ship stopped altogether but at last we saw the palmtrees of Amiriya and then the towers of Alexandria rising out of the sea. We had never realized that Egypt was so beautiful a country.
We came into Alexandria harbour in style, standing to attention and saluting, and the Navy blowing pipes as we passed each ship. It looked like the graveyard of the Mediterranean Fleet. Every ship showed damage and many were listing or down by the stern. We tied up and I went up to the bridge to thank the Captain. While there I was very distressed to see R.S.M. Wilson hurrying down the gangway. Then he called loudly for markers from Twentieth Battalion and I watched with pride while he collected, dressed, and placed them, all as correctly and smartly as if at Maadi. The men filed down and it was good to see that every one was armed and every one was shaved. The R.S.M. fell them in, handed over to the Adjutant with full routine, the Adjutant handed over to me—and we marched off, I stumping hatless and very proudly at the head and everyone on the wharf saluting.
We spent the next day in a transit camp at Amiriya, got clean clothes, showered, and rested. Also we drank a large amount of beer. In the evening we heard that some more ships, the last embarkation, were coming in. I went down, saw the Orion with grim-faced sailors unloading the bodies of the hundreds of the Black Watch killed by a single bomb—and the Perth with both her fore-turrets blackened wrecks—and then saw the Phoebe come in. Troops streamed off her and then I saw Grooby, and then Fraser, Dave Kirk, and little Vincent, and the rest of them, and then Jim, and met them openly crying.
Late the next night we arrived at Helwan and went to the lines from which we had left for Greece. Twelve of us went into the mess which forty had left, and drank and talked quietly into the small hours.
We had a week's leave and then came back to Helwan to rebuild. The Twentieth had all told 300 out of the 851 who had gone to Greece and received 400 reinforcements in one draft. They were marched in on a ceremonial parade and we settled down for training in very hot weather.
A battle was fought near Sollum, known by its code name as ‘Battle-axe’. It was not a success but we took little interest. I went into hospital with a recurrence of malaria and was joined by John Gray and Jim with jaundice. I convalesced at Moascar, bathing and sailing on Lake Timsah, dining and drinking at the French Club, and being eaten alive by bedbugs, and returned to the battalion early in August. We moved to an unpleasant camp at Kabrit on the Canal and did a combined training course. Brigadier Puttick returned to New Zealand on promotion and Inglis took over 4 Brigade, making his mark at once with a characteristically thorough inspection.
In September, after a leave in Palestine, we moved back to the Western Desert and again camped at Bagush. Tobruk was still besieged and we concluded that we were to share in its relief. Jim was promoted and went to command an infantry training depot and McKergow from the Twenty-sixth became second-in-command. There had been many changes and my rifle company commanders were now Mitchell, Agar, Fountaine, and Manchester, of whom only Fountaine had been in Greece and Crete.
One spell of training is very like another, very important, very interesting for the trainers, but there is not much to be said about it. We trained and exercised solidly, practised
Headquarters,
Southern Inf. Trg. Depot,
18th October, 1941.
Southern Inf. Trg. Depot,
18th October, 1941.
Memorandum for:
Headquarters,
20th Battalion,
2nd N.Z.E.F.
Honours & Awards
Reference our communication 11/1/4630 dated 15th October 1941, for 2nd Lieut. Upham read 2nd Lieut. Upham and
It would be a convenience to this Headquarters if in future, the names of members of the Twentieth Battalion who win Victoria Grosses were published in one list and not on different days as appears to be the present practice.
Sgd.J. T. BurrowsLieut.-Colonel.
The company areas were rather far apart but every Saturday night all officers came in to headquarters mess and we had very happy and valuable parties. There was a famous divisional Rugby match against the South Africans, inter-company and inter-battalion matches. We ran a very good inter-platoon competition in drill and tactics, easily won by Upham's platoon. It was a happy, fruitful period which might have lasted indefinitely for all we knew or cared of future plans, and then it suddenly ended.
C.O.s were told to take a few days' leave, but that they might be recalled for a divisional exercise. I went down to Maadi and had been there twenty-four hours when I was recalled as the exercise was about to begin. Grooby and
3. 20
Battalion R.A.P. at Bir Chleta. The officer is the M.O. Gilmour
Author4.
Sidi Rezegh, 25 November 1941
Author
Back up the desert road and at Battalion everything was packed and ready to move. No one doubted that the exercise would be held in Libya and that the enemy would co-operate.
The General gave the outlines of the plan to all senior officers. I paraded the battalion and with maps told everything I knew. We had a final party. Upham, McPhail, Maxwell, and the others I had decided to leave behind sat gloomily in corners. At the last moment I relented and took McPhail and Chesterman extra to establishment.
In the morning of 12 November we took our place in the column, moved through Matruh and down the Siwa road, and in the evening formed up at the head of 4 Brigade for the great approach march. Until the end of the war it was the opinion of old hands that the morale of the New Zealand Division was at its peak for this campaign. Certainly in the Twentieth it was terrific; we felt like runners, tense for the pistol.
This great approach march will always be remembered by those who took part in it though the details are vague in memory. The whole Eighth Army, Seventh Armoured Division, First South African Division, and the Second New Zealand and Fourth Indian Divisions moved westwards in an enormous column, the armour leading. The Army moved south of Sidi Barrani, past the desolate Italian camps of the previous year, along the plateau south of the great escarpment, through the frontier wire into Libya, south of the enemy garrisons in the Sidi Omars, and wheeled north. Then, just as we were rejoicing in the conception of a massive move on Tobruk, disregarding the immobile frontier garrisons and crushing everything in our path, the whole Army broke up and departed different ways. This was the era of the Brigade Group and the ‘Jock’ column. It has been said that at the Somme in 1916 British tactical doctrines reached their lowest depths, and it seemed to me that Libya '41, or the Winter Battle, or Auchinleck's Offensive, or ‘Crusader’, as it was variously called, was fought with an equally total
Surprise was achieved and thrown away, but there certainly was economy of force, a nicely calculated or perhaps unavoidable minimum for every operation, and there was a most obstinate maintenance of the objective. The Army battled on, regardless of setbacks and losses, until it had fought the Germans to a standstill. Then it gathered the fruits of a great victory, relieved Tobruk, and mopped up the frontier garrisons. So perhaps the management was not so bad as we were inclined to think. It was a fantastic battle, fought during the short days and moonlight nights under lowering skies. There were no flanks, the enemy was as likely to appear in what one thought was the rear as in front, Headquarters were constantly on the move, usually running hard from some roving column, the whole picture changed daily in kaleidoscopic fashion. We had rather more than parity in the air but two grave weaknesses. Our armour had nothing better than a two-pounder gun against the 75 mm. of the German tanks, and our infantry with only four two-pounders per battalion were helpless in the stony desert against the German tanks.
We did a short night move, some 14 miles, and then two long day moves of 50 to 70 miles. These were easy, there was little dust and we rolled along, trucks 150 yards apart stretching far out of sight, a monotonous, never-changing procession like a convoy at sea. Then we started on the night moves. The trucks closed in until we were in 9 columns, not more than 20 yards apart and trucks almost head to tail. This was done just before last light each evening and meantime the provost sections went ahead planting posts with lanterns at ½-mile intervals along the intended bearing. All the brigades had different desert formations. In 4 Brigade at this time 20 Battalion led in 9 columns with companies abreast, 18 Battalion and 19 Battalion followed, each in 3 columns behind the flanks, and Brigade Headquarters and the attached troops, field, anti-tank, and anti-aircraft gunners, sappers, Field Ambulance, and supply vehicles followed the centre 3 columns. Fully closed up there, was a mass of over
Brigade groups followed one another, so that when each closed up for the night move there were gaps between them of about nine miles and they had to halt with similar gaps to leave room for dispersion at daylight—always made forward and outward. We had practised movement in desert formation, by night and by day, very often. Every truck had its allotted place and everyone knew it. The Division in the desert always moved on the one axis, marked by black diamond discs or by lights. Each formation and each unit had its regular and often-rehearsed drill for passing defiles, changing direction, dispersing and closing in, deploying to attack, or taking up a defensive position. One great advantage to commanders, staff officers, and dispatch riders was that Once a truck was identified it was easy to find the headquarters of the formation, unit, or sub-unit to which it belonged, as relative positions were known and familiar and unchanged.
This carefully studied and very often practised system enabled the Division to carry out many great moves, from Egypt to Tunisia, with comparative ease and speed. In time we came to think, not without reason, that we knew all that needed to be known about the movement and the manœuvring of masses of transport in the desert.
With every care and attention to system and detail these night moves were weary and slow. In the move into Libya it was my responsibility, as the Commanding Officer of the leading battalion, to lead the Brigade on to the line of lights and hold it on the line, which sounds easy enough. The vehicles of the Brigade ahead disappeared as they moved forward to concentrate. My first task was to find the three lights marking the brigade starting-point, and these were invariably where I did not expect them. If, as happened once or twice, I failed to find them before starting-time, the only course was to lead off on the correct bearing, peering anxiously ahead into the darkness until a light was picked up. At the time the provost people had a maddening habit of
Apart from these difficulties the night moves were not easy. We used no lights and most desert is bumpy and uneven. Leading vehicles travelled at two and a half miles in the hour but there was unavoidable concertinaing, and the tail of a long column usually had to move in fits and starts at anything up to twenty miles an hour. Twenty miles was a long night march under normal conditions. The drivers could see nothing of the ground in front, those back in the column could only follow their leaders. One was constantly slithering down over steep banks, bumping against hummocks, falling heavily into abandoned slit trenches, or getting stuck in soft sand. But every difficulty would be surmounted, the lights were always found in the end, and a few minutes after daylight we halted and dispersed and every truck brewed up for breakfast. During the day the stragglers and cripples were brought in by the indefatigable L.A.D., L.A.D.: Light Aid Detachment, a section specially equipped for the recovery and repair of vehicles.1
We crossed the frontier into Libya through a gap made in the wire on the night of the 18th. A few miles on I lost the line of lights and worked farther and farther off-course in looking for them. It was undesirable to stop the column to take a bearing unless unavoidable. But I got a shock
At a conference next day we heard something more about the plan. The armour had gone ahead ‘to seek out and destroy the German armour’—4 Indian Division was to capture the enemy position in the Omars, now east of us. The South African and New Zealand Divisions were to remain in laager and await events. We made a short move and halted.
On 20 November we stayed in our laager all day, listening to the rumble and thudding of tank battles far ahead over the rim of the horizon. I went for a run round and saw the start of an attack by an Indian brigade on one of the Omars. Two hundred enemy tanks were reported ten miles ahead but they came no nearer. Two German plantes flew over the laager, came low to look, and went away in a great hurry with everyone firing at them.
The morning of the 21st passed quietly. At 12.30 p.m. we moved very suddenly. To my keen and doubtless ill-informed disappointment the Division split up at once. 6 Brigade went to help the support group of the Armoured Division, already hotly engaged and hard-pressed on Sidi Rezegh escarpment. 4 Brigade moved northwards to cut the Bardia-Tobruk road, 5 Brigade north-east to deal with or mask the positions about Sollum.
We moved for seventeen hours continuously, in the latter stages a very hard march. Near Sidi Azeiz, about midnight, we ran slap against a deep trench which had no right to be there. A crossing place was found but in the rain and darkness it was a desperate struggle to get over. Somehow it was done, and in some miraculous way the drivers sorted themselves out again into their correct positions. Boyle and Chesterman, in an eight-cwt. truck, were navigating for me. At 5 a.m., before first light, they said we were within half a mile
Map 6
The Brigade halted and shook out into its day-time formation. I sent Mitchell's company forward to go down the escarpment on foot and get established across the Tobruk–Bardia road and then we rested until daylight.
Very soon after dawn I arrived on the escarpment and in the growing light saw a pleasing scene. The escarpment here was steep and about a hundred feet high, unscalable for vehicles except by one very steep track. On the road below, half a mile away, several trucks were stopped, one blazing, and grenades were bursting round another which also broke into flames. Numerous German trucks dug into pens were scattered between the road and the escarpment, and hundreds of enemy soldiers in groups were staring at the blazing trucks. Half a mile to the east, on the edge of the escarpment, was a group of tents, more transport, and men bustling round in an agitated manner. Obviously it was a complete surprise.
The companies had come up in their trucks and were waiting close behind me. I ordered Agar to debus with B. Company and attack across the flat, Manchester to take D. Company in its trucks right up to the camp and go in with the bayonet, and kept Fountaine with C. Company in its trucks in reserve. The carriers found the track down, and Guthrey went down with them to sweep between the road and the sea, three miles away.
Everything went like wedding bells. The companies moved quickly, and the enemy, with A. Company already in their midst, were too surprised to offer much resistance. In an hour's time we had 200 prisoners, armoured cars, and some thirty trucks, with only one casualty. One truck, taken by A. Company, was marked A6 and proved to be their own, lost in Greece, and with some possessions of Washbourn's still on board.
This was a good start and I looked round for something more to do. No more enemy were to be seen in the Bardia direction but there were still some about, west of Mitchell's position and fairly close. I went down and saw that he was
A.F.V.: Armoured Fighting Vehicle. Tank or armoured car or self-propelled gun.
C. Company collected on top of the escarpment. Only one man, a nice lad called Hill-Rennie, had been killed and a few wounded, but the men looked rather rattled and were worrying more than they should have. Many more Germans had appeared from holes in the ground when their A.F.V.s were about and the situation needed clearing up.
I went back to Brigade Headquarters, a mile back from the escarpment. Parties of the Eighteenth and Nineteenth were kicking footballs about, Inglis was tied to the telephone to Division. He told me to take the squadron of Valentine tanks, attached to the Brigade and counter-attack as I thought fit.
We soon worked out a plan. The tanks were to move down the only track, face westwards astride the road, and advance to a depth of three miles. A company of infantry was to follow them, mopping up and dealing with any anti-tank guns. I gave this task to C. Company to stop it from brooding,
The plan worked very nicely. The tanks moved smoothly down, deployed, and advanced at a steady pace, Fountaine close on their heels. The enemy cars and guns moved well back; their infantry surrendered as they were overrun. The only contretemps was that when I emerged with B. Company on the escarpment a mile ahead of our tanks they opened a warm fire on us and we retired rather hastily. By dark we had another 230 prisoners in hand with three or four more casualties. I pulled tanks and C. Company back to the top of the escarpment, left A. Company in its position with some two-pounders, and felt that it was quite a good day. The night was bitterly cold, and Rhodes, my Adjutant, gave himself a great deal of work trying to get hot food and blankets for our 430 prisoners.
During the action the remainder of the Brigade had moved westwards on Gambut without waiting for the result of my attack. I was to be relieved by 22 Battalion from 5 Brigade and follow next day.
Early on the morning of the 23rd advance parties arrived from the Twenty-second. I was showing them my dispositions when the Germans attacked again from the Tobruk direction, this time with thirteen A.F.V.s of different sorts and sizes, and some scores of infantry lorries. Infantry and anti-tank guns opened briskly, but as the enemy seemed to mean business, I hurried my squadron of tanks down the escarpment again. Unluckily this move could not be concealed and the enemy scuttled off smartly.
Division called for me to move without delay to Point 212, fifteen miles westward, on the Trigh Capuzzo, the so-called road from Capuzzo to Tobruk. 22 Battalion was arriving, so without waiting for formal relief I called in A. Company and the tanks, formed up into desert formation, and set off. The Twenty-second had some very hard fighting later in the positions they took over from us.
About 4 o'clock in the afternoon, after one detour to avoid some camels which looked suspicious, we arrived at
Bir: a well, always marked by the heap of excavated soil and so a tactical feature in the desert.
This was a really difficult piece of navigation. We had to swing round the Germans ahead, and then back on to the Trigh before we got on top of the unclimbable Sidi Rezegh escarpment. We moved very carefully, halting every half-hour to check distances and bearings, which we plotted by torchlight in the back of my car under a blanket. Flares, only used freely by the enemy, were going up in all directions and we several times had to alter course. But it was accurately done, and at midnight I was able to tell the General that we were at Bir Chleta and that the high ground looming to the south of us was the Sidi Rezegh escarpment. The Twenty-first immediately moved off to join 6 Brigade, the rest of us got into laager and had several hours sleep. A German Staff car ran into the laager during the night and its occupants were very surprised to be taken prisoner.
Soon after daylight I was ordered to move to Point 172, a mile or so to the north, make contact with 4 Brigade, now at Gambut, and come under Inglis's command again. He was about to resume the move westwards parallel with 6 Brigade's advance on the Sidi Rezegh escarpment. The enemy group which we had by-passed had now followed us up and was shelling our laager, so I was also told to drive them away. Obviously this would have to be done before we joined 4 Brigade.
The battalion carriers moved a mile to the east to form a screen and I went out to reconnoitre. Three miles north-east
The Twentieth formed up in its trucks with its right flank on the Bir, B. and D. Companies leading on a front of 1,000 yards. C. and A. Companies lined up 600 yards behind them with Battalion Headquarters and the mortars immediately behind again. When the forming up was completed the tanks were to pass through in line abreast and advance at ten miles an hour on a bearing of forty degrees, the infantry following. If the tanks could overrun the enemy so much the better; the infantry would mop up. If the tanks were checked the infantry would debus, pass through, and assault. 4 Field Regiment would support with observed fire and I emphasized that speed and violence were the essence of the affair. No time was wasted in giving these orders but it took an hour for everyone to move into position. Meanwhile I ran in a carrier to Point 172, which was on the edge of the next escarpment above Gambut, and saw the rest of 4 Brigade already moving westwards in exactly the opposite direction to that in which we were about to attack.
I returned to find the battalion formed up and the tanks passing through. They did not check, charged on at about fifteen miles an hour on a bearing more like seventy degrees than the prescribed forty, spotted our carriers moving out of the way to the right flank, opened fire and knocked out two of them, one bursting into flames, and carried madly on. Things happened very quickly. Through the control tank I yelled to the tanks to get on the right bearing but without result. The infantry trucks leapt forward, keeping stubbornly to the correct bearing and steadily increasing speed. The guns opened, unluckily on the wrong target, a newly appeared mass of transport miles farther away. The machine-gun
Our transport had gone rather too far and I overtook the infantry trudging back. They were very cheerful and pleased with themselves. I was still rather excited when I met Gentry, the G. 1, and told him: ‘Tell the General my infantry are beautiful.’ We reached the trucks, got into desert formation with the carriers as a screen ahead, and moved west. At 4.30 p.m. we drew level with 4 Brigade, to which I sent a message that we had had a nice fight, and until dark we moved steadily on, going seven miles without opposition. At dark we halted for the night, expecting a good deal to do in the morning. There was an orders conference at Brigade at ten but I had the first real sleep since the campaign had opened.
At first light on 25 November we resumed the advance in our trucks, all three battalions of 4 Brigade moving abreast. 6 Brigade, which we heard had experienced very heavy fighting, was on top of the Sidi Rezegh escarpment on our left, and the immediate intention was simply to move up level with it.
We travelled along cheerfully for four miles until nearly level with the famous Blockhouse, a prominent square white building near the edge of the escarpment. I was up with the carrier screen a mile ahead of the trucks when we suddenly came under close-range fire from an anti-tank gun which must have been extremely well concealed. One carrier was hit and we had some trouble getting the badly wounded driver out of the flames. The gun was knocked out and I went back, a little shaken from the effect of several near misses from high-velocity shells, and stopped the trucks. We were on a dead flat plain, overlooked by the escarpment, and orders were not to press on against opposition. We accordingly halted and started to dig in, while Paddy Boyle went up the escarpment to discover the position on our left. Johnny Quilter, our L.O. with Brigade, came over and said that the Eighteenth on our right had taken a hundred prisoners and was half a mile ahead. We accordingly stopped digging and advanced in extended order until level with it, and settled down to dig in again immediately below the Blockhouse. Paddy Boyle came back with the disturbing news that the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth, on our left, had been amalgamated because of losses, and he thought they looked rather worn.
We spent the day in this position without any particular incident. Enemy transport was visible miles ahead. We were spasmodically shelled, and around the Blockhouse and
In the afternoon matters were so quiet that I went three miles back to the transport, shaved and bathed, and for a while rested blissfully in the sun. A message came that A. Company below the Blockhouse was being counter-attacked, and I hurried back. All was quiet. I walked over and saw Mitchell who reported a small scrap, a few casualties, and a certain amount of discomfort from mortaring. I went round his posts, had a chat with a cousin who was a private in the company, and was discussing patrols for the night when Rhodes rang to say I was urgently wanted at Brigade and that there was a warning order for an attack.
I reached Brigade Headquarters at 6 o'clock. Inglis's orders were short and to the point. 18 and 20 Battalions were to seize and hold Belhamed, I was to be in command, make the arrangements, and continue to command on the hill after its capture. 6 Brigade was attacking along Sidi Rezegh and we were to advance simultaneously with them at 9 o'clock. There was no question of artillery support; it had to be a straightforward night attack with the bayonet. The guns would, however, fire small concentrations at intervals to help us keep direction.
Belhamed was another escarpment, very steep on the northern side and then falling away very gently for four miles to the foot of Sidi Rezegh. On our approach we would have to cross a wadi running at an angle to our line of advance and then ascend a moderate slope. I expected difficulty in keeping direction for the 6,000 yards of the advance.
Inglis gave me precise objectives and then rather soberly wished me luck.
It was nearly 8 o'clock when I got back to the Twentieth. The companies had come in from their positions, had a meal, and were assembling. I gave my orders to the company commanders, A. and D. Companies to lead, Mitchell to take command if I was hit. Mitchell was the senior company commander but, as he had not been in action, I had ordered before the campaign began that Fountaine should take my place if necessary. Mitchell had done so well that I now revoked this order, to his obvious delight. When all the companies were assembled, sitting quietly together in the brilliant moonlight, I spoke to them. It was a tense moment. We all knew that desperate fighting was very close ahead. I told the men what the objective was and the plan, that our success would mean the relief of Tobruk, and that we would go through at all costs and then hold the hill against all comers. I ended by saying: ‘And now I want only to wish you good luck, every man of you.’ It was a very wonderful thing to hear the response: ‘Good luck to you, Sir.’ But it is little use wishing good luck; not one man of the 500 of the Twentieth who stormed Belhamed that night had any; more than half were killed or wounded; the others suffered years of imprisonment.
We moved off along the guiding tape, feeling somewhat serious, and each man thinking his own thoughts, and without misadventure we reached and formed up on the start-line. The Eighteenth arrived about the same time.
At 10 o'clock I gave the forward companies the order to move. They stepped off with a resolute air and disappeared. Then the supporting companies came up and passed, intervals very accurate, and the men moving in a steady,
We moved at a good smart pace but I was surprised that we quickly lost sight of the companies ahead. I remembered with a shock that I had omitted to say where my headquarters would be established after the attack. As I had always flattered myself that I gave orders clearly and in the correct sequence, this was mortifying and it might cause serious trouble. The company commanders should have reminded me, but, after all, their failure to ask me was also my fault, something wrong with my training. I was fretting over this and considering how to notify my whereabouts in due course when after travelling 2,000 yards we reached the wadi. It was shallow and not very wide, but the trucks had to pick their way and, without my noticing it, they and my whole party emerged on the other side some hundreds of yards north of the original course. A few flares were going up ahead but there was still no firing and we pressed on. A few hundred yards on Allison, my young Intelligence sergeant, told me that he had lost touch with the companies. He was on the correct bearing, 282 degrees. Neither of us realized what had happened at the wadi crossing and we hurried on. Soon the loom of high ground appeared to our left—how far away it was impossible to tell—and a moment later the flash and sparkle of tracer. In an instant the top of the hill was sizzling with tracer criss-crossing in all directions—and faint and clear and distant we could hear the high-pitched yell of charging infantry. Still quite unsuspicious of what we had done, I said, ‘That's Sixth Brigade going in on Sidi Rezegh’, and we hurried on more anxiously than ever,
I instantly realized what had happened. In crossing the wadi we had swung to the right and had thenceforward moved parallel with the assaulting battalions and outside their right flank. We had gone through a gap in the enemy line, the high ground was Belhamed, not Sidi Rezegh, and it was our own fight we could hear and partly see, still raging furiously on our left rear. Crouching under a greatcoat I examined the map with a pocket torch. Thinking very carefully indeed, I decided that if we went back for 1,200 yards and then climbed the escarpment we should be behind the Eighteenth.
We had just turned the trucks, all keeping very quiet as the situation seemed delicate, when there was suddenly the sound of many men running over stones down the escarpment only fifty yards away. Baker and his platoon rushed across. For a minute there was a terrific noise, everyone shouting and firing at once. I went over and savagely ordered silence. To my surprise there was. We had eighty German prisoners. They had been running from the fight and had scrambled down the hill to get on their trucks, and were very surprised by our appearance. Our situation was still insecure, however, deep in the enemy position and ahead of our own troops. Some of my men were excited and inclined to be noisy; the Germans kept silence and behaved with perfect discipline. After a few minutes I got everyone quiet and we formed up for the return march, the prisoners moving in threes between the two trucks. Belhamed was silent and dark again.
We moved off gingerly and slowly, counting the paces. At 1,200 we stopped and Rhodes and Allison came with me
We walked towards the sound and then I went ahead with my hands up and called out, ‘New Zealand here’, thinking glumly that another omission from my orders had been a password. The picking and shovelling stopped and I was sternly ordered to advance and keep my bloody hands up. I did so and was sharply examined by a soldier, one of three who kept me closely covered. At first he refused to send for an officer; one of his mates recommended shooting the bastard. I protested and said who I was. He knew of me but did not think I looked like the chap. My knowledge of his Colonel's name only tended to confirm his suspicions. Then he said: ‘Well, if you are a New Zealander, who won the Melbourne Cup?’ ‘Damned if I know!’ I replied. This satisfied him. ‘You sound like a New Zealander’, he said, and called for his officer.
There was no further trouble, the platoon commander recognizing me at once. I told him to bring in the wounded German (long afterwards he told me that he had died) and Allison went back and brought the party, prisoners, and trucks up on to the hill. For the next four hours we wandered round trying to find the Twentieth. I found Peart and got directions from him, but though we quartered the hill I could not find the battalion. We came on many German dead and wounded and a few of our own, there were cries for help in all directions. I could never understand why we failed to find any of the Twentieth: for they were there and in their correct positions. Presumably we moved in circles. I sent a message to Brigade reporting success and before dawn sent off the prisoners and the trucks with escorts.
We rested for a short while, bitterly cold and worried by the wailing of the German wounded all around. At first light we set off again, Rhodes, Roberts, the signallers, and myself. Shortly afterwards we found Peart, and he had mean-while found the flank of the Twentieth. We proceeded with him to the forward posts of one of his companies and found
For a moment there was a stream of bullets over us, all literally hugging the earth. When it stopped I asked Rhodes if he was hit. He said he was, badly—eye and wrist. McKay had a bullet in the head and Roberts one in the calf of the leg. Peart and Green (both to be killed in later battles) were the only ones unhurt. They crawled up cautiously and applied field dressings, and then went away, stooping and running. So did the signallers, whom I told to find Major Mitchell, now in command. After a while Roberts hobbled off.
Rhodes, McKay, and I lay still for a time. It was bitterly cold and the wind blew the sand in our faces. One of the tanks, up to support at first light as promised, came past and changed course to avoid us. Fifty yards on it was hit and burst into flames. Two of the crew scrambled out, were hit, and collapsed beside it. The blazing tank attracted the enemy mortars and they searched the area with an intense concentration. I saw a soldier's head a few yards away, was invited to share his pit with him, and laboriously dragged myself there. The others found similar cover a few yards away.
For half an hour my host and I lay squeezed together in his shallow trench under a most alarming pounding. One shell burst a yard away and covered us with sand. At last the fire ceased and I was able to sit up, light a pipe and look round, while my friend got out and, kneeling, dug himself another home. My view was limited and I could see nothing but the burning tank, so I settled down to smoke and wait for stretcher-bearers. The time passed very slowly.
After a long time a signaller with a wireless set appeared and crouched down beside me. He told me that Mitchell had taken command of the Twentieth and I spoke to the
The signaller went away. I saw him a few days later just before he died. The mortaring continued and for a long time I could see no movement. A medical orderly named Arnold, whom I remembered having punished severely for some offence at Athens, appeared at a particularly nasty time and put fresh dressings on us all.
About 1 o'clock four stretcher-bearers from B. Company appeared, picked me up, and set off cheerily, quite regardless of the fire. Rhodes and McKay came too, and the mortar bursts followed the procession the whole mile to 20 R.A.P. On the way I saw Ray Lynch, who was upset to see me wounded. Sergeant Smith told me that fifty-eight wounded had already been evacuated and showed me the list of names. He said that Captain Gilmour was up on the hill where there were many more wounded, but sent his compliments.
We were loaded into a truck and bumped off painfully over the hummocks. We called in at Brigade where Inglis and Bassett came over, very friendly and concerned. Inglis agreed to send Johnny Quilter up as Adjutant, which eased my mind greatly. In the early evening we arrived at the Advanced Dressing Station where I found that the two knocks had been one bullet passing in and out so that nothing much had to be done. Ross and Neville arrived, very
For the next week I cannot do better than quote my diary, helping it out where memory serves:
Nov. 27th. Moved to surgical tent, being treated better than was warranted by my wound. Did poorly for food but was comfortable very quickly and began to feel better. Rusty Page (C.O. of the 26th) came in, hit through the back, and looking rather poorly.
Nov. 28th. General, Gentry, Maxwell, and Kenrick all looked in, very cheery and confident. Gentry says Germans have only fifty tanks left. About five German infantry came in and made us all prisoners. Alan Tennent popped his head in the door and said, ‘We're in the bag!’ The orderlies all went out with their hands over their heads.
Two German soldiers looked in, I remember, but said nothing, and we were left in silence. There were about twenty seriously wounded in the tent and after a while some began to call out for water. I was least badly hurt so I got up and found that I could walk after a fashion. I found a bucket half-full of water and went round giving everybody a drink from an enamel jug. All drank with restraint for they knew how badly off we were. Rusty refused anything.
The orderlies returned after an hour. 4th, 5th, and 6th Field Ambulance, and Mobile Surgical Unit, and about 1,200 wounded are prisoners and 900 German prisoners have been released.
Nov. 29th. Shifted to tent provided by Stan Wilson and joined there by Guy, Paddy, and Cyril Pepper, all in a bad way. Mills and Mitchell are in the tent I have just left, Mills very bad. Fountaine is in another tent. Heenan, Roberts, Harper, Abbott, and Baker are in holes near by. Spent most of day talking to wounded and hobbling round watching Germans get into position. In afternoon our people seemed to be attacking in our direction and got within two thousand yards. Considerable small arms fire. About 5.30 p.m. damned Italian motorized Division (Ariete) turned up. They passed with five tanks leading, twenty following, and a huge column of transport and guns, and rolled straight over our infantry on Pt. 175. About 200 of the Twenty-first came past us as prisoners. Fighting went on in the moonlight until 11 p.m.
Nov. 30th. At daylight we saw that the enemy column was still halted with its head on Pt. 175. An hour later shells started to burst among the leading vehicles and there was a great panic.
The tanks stayed, but every other vehicle bolted and many did not stop to pick up their passengers. A number passed through the camp and Paddy and I put out a coil of wire between two tents. A small staff car ran slap into this and the occupants got out and continued running. We grabbed an attaché case and when they came back looking for it, were lying down in our tent looking very sick. The papers were interesting but of no great value. This was a cheering incident but otherwise it was an unhappy day.
Completely cut off and without news. Rations and water very short. Can manage a few days on one pint per man. Much firing in all directions and camp shelled by own twenty-five-pounders. Several of the wounded killed.
The signaller who was with me at Belhamed was among these. He sent me his compliments after he had received his second and mortal wound, and I was with him when he died.
[November.] Over a thousand wounded here, many serious, and cannot be washed or properly looked after. Heard from wounded that ‘B’ and ‘C’ companies of 20th made an attack on the 27th and suffered heavily, to no good.
In the evening Italian ten-ton trucks took away several hundred of the walking wounded and drivers. I was nearly included in the party, but was saved by John Twhigg giving me warning in time to keep away. He and a number of other medical officers were taken. Dittmer, C.O. of the Maori Battalion, Abbott, and some others joined the Italians in one of our three-tonners and escaped from the column after dark.
Dec. 1st. Lot of traffic during night and hopes that enemy were leaving, but they were still about in the morning. On two tiny meals a day, and half a cigarette tin of water, so taking things quietly and trying to keep optimistic. Very heavy fighting visible about Belhamed, six miles away.
On the previous evening the German armour had overrun the remainder of 6 Brigade on Sidi Rezegh and during that
About 5.30 p.m. much shelling in all directions and many in the camp. Heenan gave me some tobacco, Jackson got some heavenly extra water by straining tea leaves thrown out by the cooks. Walked a few hundred yards to see Fountaine and visited as many men as I could, which was tiring.
Dec. 2nd. A.S.C. personnel and senior medical officers taken away. In evening about two Battalions Italian Motorised Infantry with twenty guns came from west and took up positions facing north-east, less than a mile away.
I have never been able to understand the object of this Italian movement. Our guns were firing only from east and south.
Dec. 3rd. A grim sort of day. Started to plan escape but in evening, big enemy column, fifty tanks, twenty-eight armoured cars, hundreds of trucks parked south of wadi and cut off chance. Conference of conspirators, postponed attempt. Moonlight too bright, guards all round, R.A.F. dropping flares and too many troops about. Bitterly cold night.
And bitterly miserable! When the Germans came into our camp our drivers managed to remove the rotor arms from our trucks and immobilize them. On this day two drivers, one named Robinson, came to me and said that they had the rotor arm of their truck and would like me to organize an escape. We spent the day getting recruits and planning and in the evening held a conference. A surprising number of those approached were not willing to take the risk. Many, of course, were not fit and several of the doctors held that their duty lay with the remaining wounded. I agreed to take twenty altogether and stipulated that those
Dec. 4th. Tank column moved in early morning, east apparently. Decided about nine to make a break. Got truck by a miracle. Gradually loaded people aboard. One complete unloading because of prying Italians. Finally seized chance and bolted. Anxious moment climbing out of wadi but not stopped and after furious run of five miles were fired on and stopped by South African armoured cars.
I had just completed a laborious reconnaissance, discovered that the way south and west was clear, and that the Italian sentries had been reduced from two every fifty yards to one every hundred, when Lovell joined me and suggested that we should make the attempt at once in daylight. I agreed, pleased to have the encouragement, and we set about it. The people concerned had to be notified to make their final preparations and to collect unnoticed in the vicinity of the truck, which was well placed beside a marquee. This was a slow process, as it had to be done in a casual manner and there were many Italian soldiers wandering about the camp looking for what they might pilfer. As the party arrived I loaded them into the truck, seizing opportunities when no Italians were near. Once, when about half were aboard, lying on the floor, some Italians started to examine nearby trucks. I had to make everyone scramble out and
After three nerve-wracking hours all were aboard and I dragged myself up beside the driver and told him to start. He pressed the starter button and the battery was flat! The switch had been left on the previous night. I ordered everyone out again. It was quite impossible to use the crank handle. The plan had collapsed.
At this precise moment, before anybody but myself had got out, a British three-tonner drove up and stopped along-side facing east. Two Germans got out, one carrying a kit of tools, and without even looking at me they went to the far end of the camp and started methodically examining trucks. They had stopped their truck in an ideal position and in five minutes I had the whole party transferred and lying on its floor. I then clambered in beside the driver, told him to rev. the engine up, to back for twenty yards, and then wheel round and climb out of the western side of the wadi. I then drew my pistol, told him to drive close to the nearest sentry so that I could have an easy shot if necessary, and said I would certainly shoot him, the driver, if he stalled on the climb. I do not think Robinson needed this encouragement. The engine started nicely. An Italian sentry fifty yards away, whom we were facing, stopped on his beat, looked at us very hard, and then unslung his rifle. I thought it was time to go and gave the word. Very coolly Robinson backed the twenty yards with the engine singing beautifully. The sentry still hesitated, we turned and bounded up the slope, passed within two yards of another sentry who luckily for himself was too slow-witted, and rattled west at full speed.
It was a delightful moment. There were cheers from the passengers and a great sense of relief and elation, but we were not yet quite out of the wood. My plan was to run west for a mile, then south for five, and then east for Egypt. We turned south, saw enemy tanks ahead, tried to get round them, saw more and more tanks, until we were forced to run west again and then found we were being chased by two
The two armoured cars escorted us to their Regimental Headquarters and thence we proceeded alone to Jock Campbell's headquarters. This consisted of a few trucks dispersed on a piece of perfectly flat desert. Four very suspicious-looking twenty-five-pounders swung their barrels on to us as we approached.
I dismounted and was met by a smart-looking military policeman who asked for my identity card. I had torn this up while a prisoner and so I replied, ‘You go to hell.’ ‘Very good, Sir,’ he said, and conducted me to Jock's car. Some food was promptly arranged for the party and I had a memorable meal of bully and Worcester sauce, sitting in the back of his car with Jock. I told him of the move of the German armour westwards along the Trigh Capuzzo that morning and he promised to stop shelling the wadi and to see what could be done about rescuing the wounded still there. We then moved on, and two days later after a painful journey arrived at Bagush. On the way we had discovered Corps Rear Headquarters and managed to interest someone in rescuing the wounded in our wadi, which was done.
New Zealand Division had returned to the same area from which it had left for the battle. Lovell and his team went on another 400 miles in the night to Helwan. The other wounded made a very slow journey by hospital train to Alexandria, where Rhodes had an eye removed and Boyle his broken jaw fixed up. I myself stopped at the 2 New Zealand General Hospital at Gerawla. Here an 18 Battalion officer told me of the annihilation of the Twentieth and took me to Brigade Headquarters.
I got out of the truck and walked towards the familiar
We had drinks, asked and answered questions, and then I went back to Gerawla, and to bed for the next three weeks.
A few days after our escape, when only thirty gallons of water were left, the hospital camp was recaptured and the remaining wounded and medical staff were freed. Page and Mitchell came into beds on either side of me. Mills was brought in moribund and died, as did the officer who had lent me his pistol.
The Twentieth had returned to Bagush with 120 men, all from Headquarters Company, and two officers, Agar and Padre Spence. Jim Burrows had come up with 600 reinforcements and thirty new officers to form a new battalion, greatly helped by Upham, Maxwell, and Gibb, whom I had most fortunately left behind, by Washbourn who came up from Base, and by Phillips and Chesterman who had been wounded and evacuated early. R.S.M. Wilson and Quartermaster Bolwell were both back, and other old hands who were scattered on courses or had also been evacuated early were quickly collected, so that the links with the first Twentieth remained strong.
It was some time before we were able to get a reliable account of what had happened after I was wounded. Mitchell and Fountaine were hit in quick succession and Agar took command, with Quilter as Adjutant. On the morning of the 27th B. and D. Companies made an attack, the details of which are still obscure. Agar stated that he was given insufficient time for preparation and wholly inadequate artillery support for a daylight attack—a ten minutes' concentration by one Field Regiment which ended before his orders had reached the platoons. The attack was stopped by very heavy machine-gun fire, with more than 50 per cent, casualties.
Inglis then relieved Agar of the command and replaced
At Belhamed on December 1st, my platoon occupied a forward position. Shortly after dawn word came round to stand by for an A.F.V. attack. We had had several warnings of this nature and did not really expect anything to eventuate. In about twenty minutes' time, I spotted a dozen tanks advancing up a wide wadi about eight hundred yards distant but I thought they were our own tanks as I could see the Artillery preparing breakfast in the Brigade area about five hundred yards away, and they did not appear to be disturbed at the appearance of the column. It was very hazy and dusty and we remained watching these tanks, unable to decide whether they were friendly or not.
The first indication that they were enemy was flashes from their guns, firing at the artillery. By this time, the artillery started to get moving and four quads with guns came tearing over to our left flank but only got three guns into action as one was hit on the way and remained there with the quad burning. The first column of tanks advanced on the Brigade area setting afire several trucks. Another column of fifteen tanks turned and commenced a zigzag attack on our position. The German tanks advanced in threes, each supplying protection for the other two. When about one hundred and fifty yards distant, they stopped and threw several smoke bombs which exploded round our guns and made direct shooting very difficult for them. The two-pounder in my rear opened fire but was soon put out of action by a direct hit from a 75-mm. shell.
Through the haze and smoke we could see enemy mortar teams and infantry coming up. Sergeant Lochhead ordered us to open fire on these and at once we could see that this fire was having
Three enemy tanks directly in front started to advance and I had visions of being run over and squashed. However, they came to a halt sixty yards away. Lochhead ordered us to fire at the slits, and we opened fire. I fired half a magazine but received such a hail of fire in return that I decided it was useless firing at a tank once he had spotted you. ‘Gunner’ Leckie, a few yards to my right, was firing steadily with a Boys anti-tank rifle. Apparently he was annoying the tanks as twice I saw the turrets swing round and send a hail of bullets in his direction. He bobbed down each time the turrets swung round and continued firing when the tank was concentrating on other objects. He ran out of ammunition and yelled for more which we threw over to him. He continued firing and we could actually see the bullets bouncing off the tank, it was so close. Suddenly and very quickly the turret swung round and the tank opened fire with its 75 mm., Leckie receiving a direct hit at not more than fifty yards.
I glanced over to my left and saw one twenty-five-pounder still firing, the remainder were going up in smoke. After the tanks had knocked out this gun several moved round to the left flank of ‘C’ company, completely surrounding our area. I concentrated on my front, firing at the German infantry, and when I glanced over to my left received a big surprise to see ‘C’ company coming out with their hands up. This was rather more than an hour from the commencement of the action. I looked over to my right and there was ‘A’ company coming out with their hands up. We stopped firing and lay in our holes as low as we could, thinking we might be missed. However, one of the tanks came rumbling up, a turret opened, a German appeared with a Tommy gun, pointed it at me and in a very guttural voice said ‘Op, Op.’ We got out.
A battery of twenty-five-pounders a fair distance away was still
Sergeant McConchie was awarded a D.C.M. next year for very gallant conduct at Minqar Qaim.
Sergeant McDonald, who was later killed at Alamein, gave a similar story:
The troops were all in good spirits. In conversation with men from the companies on our flanks on the previous day, they all expressed pleasure that our platoon was there with seven extra Bren guns, and I heard some say that they hoped the Germans would attack and that we would chop them in pieces.
Shortly after dawn the order was passed along ‘Stand by for A.F.V. attack.’ Visibility was bad, a haze making it difficult to pick up objects beyond five hundred yards. About fifteen minutes after the warning order three tanks passed across my front about four hundred yards away. They had brushwood tied at the back to raise a dust. At first I was not sure whether they were enemy as our artillery did not fire at them, but when they stopped I saw their gun flashes firing towards Brigade area. Then more tanks came into view with anti-tank guns towed by motor vehicles. I immediately opened fire, range about five hundred yards. Motor-cycle combinations followed and there were a good number of infantry. They were engaged by us with good results. Two large-calibre guns mounted on four-wheeled carriages never got into action.
For the first part of the attack the nine tanks I could see did not engage us. With the arrival of their supporting weapons they turned on us, edging slowly up. We had been firing continuously for some time and I was beginning to consider the advisability of conserving ammunition. During a pause I looked to my left and was surprised to see some of our men with their hands up, three hundred yards away. I could not understand what had happened. There was still plenty of enemy movement in our front and we carried on shooting and getting heavy fire in return.
While I was in hospital at Gerawla an incident occurred that left a good deal of bitterness. Inglis attended a parade of the new battalion and, after some handsome remarks on the performance of the unit up till 1 December, said that it had surrendered too easily at Belhamed. In saying this he had the highest motives and he must have believed there was an alternative. I was never able to concede that there was; I told him that what my men had done was good enough for me, and we agreed to differ. Inquiries among prisoners after the war have only confirmed my opinion that when the surrender took place there was no possibility of continuing effective resistance or of running away. The casualties of the Twentieth in this campaign were twenty-four officers and 537 other ranks, of whom ten officers and 361 other ranks were prisoners; about a hundred of those taken prisoner were wounded.
I spent Christmas Day of 1941 with the Twentieth, very pleasantly, but rather sadly; there were so very few familiar faces. For New Year John Gray and I were at Alexandria and in the middle of my convalescent leave I was recalled to Cairo. There I found that a proposition was under discussion for a landing in the Gulf of Sirte, behind Rommel, by the New Zealand 5 Brigade under my command. It filled me with alarm and I was unfeignedly glad when it was shelved. For a few days I was in command at Maadi Camp but had hardly discovered where my office was when on 16 January I was appointed to command 5 Brigade. On the way to the Canal area to take over I lunched at Helmieh Hospital and, feeling very smart in my new red band and tabs, decided to call on one of the sisters. She was out, but later told me that she thought it might have been I who was asking for her as the nurse said that a military policeman with grey hair had called.
The 5 Brigade at this time consisted of the Twenty-first, Twenty-second, Twenty-third Battalions, the Twenty-eighth (Maoris) who usually served with it having just been trans-ferred to 4 Brigade.
My Brigade Major was Bob Dawson, a regular, who had held the same appointment under Hargest. I unblushingly brought in Chesterman, McPhail, and Ensor, all old Twentieth, as Staff Captain, Intelligence, and transport officer, respectively. McPhail and Ensor had been commissioned in the Twenty-third and both were closely identified with that battalion. Lionel Dickey commanded the defence platoon; a few months afterwards he became transport
5. ‘
Ipulation as to Walking Excluded Fountaine, Heenan, and Harper’
Author6.
Moving into Position at Minqar Qaim
N.Z. official
In the first few weeks I had a careful look at the units with which I was to serve for the next two and a quarter years. 21 Battalion had an unhappy record of misfortune and at that time was regarded as the unluckiest battalion in the Division. This had its effect on both officers and men and my impression was that its morale was low and its discipline slack. Sam Allen, who had been in charge of the Divisional Signals, came in to command and I felt confident he would pull the battalion together.
22 Battalion had a good record, though it was unhappy at having lost its Maleme position in Crete—after very heavy casualties—and it had a grouch that it had not been fairly treated in decorations. Les Andrew, unfortunately, was going; but I had my choice of
23 Battalion was a grand solid unit, very carefully commanded by Leckie, but not then going through one of its best periods. Too many officers and N.C.O.s were holding temporary appointments, and some absurd provincial jealousies had not yet died out. The worst feature in the Brigade was that the battalions had an odd hostility towards one another which sprang from old antipathies between earlier commanders and was not eradicated for a long time to come.
Brigade Headquarters had to be built anew and there were several changes before we settled down. I believed in making war in as much comfort as possible but it took us some months to get a good mess. Ross came with me from the Twentieth and as Neville had been captured at Belhamed I acquired a new batman, Joe Minogue, who had been strictly trained in that capacity by Hughie Mitchell.
The Sirte Gulf project was revived and we did a full-scale landing exercise in the Gulf of Suez. I liked the plan as little as before and indeed doubt whether General Freyberg would ever have allowed us to take it on. Just before going on the exercise I saw the Middle East appreciation of the courses
Bob Dawson and I set off on 12 February to report to Eighth Army Headquarters near Gambut, leaving the troops to follow by the longest possible stages. We made two stages to Sidi Barrani, got a hurry-up message, and arrived at Army Headquarters next afternoon. General Ritchie told me to report to General Gott, commanding 13 Corps. We found him long after dark, got orders to prepare a brigade box, an unhappy device fashionable at that time, at El Adem, and ended our 700-mile journey after midnight, sleeping under a table at Rear Corps Headquarters. We were up and away before daylight and while I reconnoitred a position Bob took action to hurry up the troops. The C.O.s arrived during the day, the troops, rather travel-weary, on the next day, and we were busy digging on the fifth morning after leaving the Canal. In the event the urgency was unnecessary. Rommel had made a gesture but he did not come on and we worked at our positions for nearly six weeks.
We dug, wired, and mined a very good box, as such things went, and tucked the whole Brigade Group inside it with a perimeter of 14,000 yards. In the May battle it was held by an Indian Brigade against several attacks, and I was gratified to be told in June by General Gott that it was the best of all the boxes in his positions. We took mines from the Tobruk defences, 19,000 of them, with full authority to do so and with a good conscience, for at an army conference I heard the decision that Tobruk was not to be held if the Army had to retire. The attitude and mentality of Eighth Army was distinctly defensive. The only army exercise we did was one envisaging retreat to the frontiers; every unit or formation
We were all so busy digging that so far as I could learn neither we nor anyone else did any serious training. We did organize and train our private mobile column. This was composed of a regiment of tanks, a battery, a company of infantry, some carriers, and some sappers. We had a very enjoyable time playing round with this little force, which presented interesting problems for command, signals, artillery, and supply. The idea was that while we were beleaguered in our nice little box it would cavort around outside, biting at the rear of our besiegers. I thought that war should be taken more seriously.
We had one heavy rain when we were all washed out of our beds, our trucks sank to their axles, and we had two thoroughly uncomfortable days. Italian planes did a ‘hit and run’ raid, so much run in it that only one Bofors got into action and it missed by many miles. I visited Belhamed on a sombre black afternoon and saw the graves of my men, also the wadi where I had been a prisoner. On another day I set off to visit General Koenig and the Free French at Bir Hacheim, penetrated the perimeter unseen in a sandstorm, failed to find him, and went out again undetected. We went over the scenes of the Brigade's fighting near Gazala, had a thorough look at Tobruk, most miserable and sordid of desert places, and visited every area that seemed likely to be important in the impending battle. But time went heavily, we disliked being away from the Division, felt no great confidence in the command, and at the end of March were glad to get orders to return to Maadi and thence move to Syria.
The return journey to Maadi was notable for a very
khamsin which caught us on the escarpment above Sollum. For a few hours the whole Brigade was scattered and lost, many vehicles being forced to halt until the wind died down.
The troops were glad to be back at Maadi and near to Cairo for a few days, and on the first night they blew off steam by firing fusillades from the numerous captured weapons. This was a bad thing to do, even though most of the firing was into a cliff and no one was hurt, and we deserved the sharp reprimand that came down from Camp Headquarters next morning. Being in the wrong we were all the more annoyed and resentful at such fussiness.
Ross and Joe and I left for Syria ahead of the convoy. We camped the first night in the desert near Beersheba. Next morning our petrol pump played up, some Australian officers gave us a spare and we went on with them to Tel Aviv. Next day the spare collapsed near Jaffa and was replaced by one donated by a South African officer. We carried on until in the evening it too went wrong as we were crossing the Lebanon above Beirut. This time it was a French general who came to our aid and we went on to spend the night at Divisional Headquarters at Baalbek.
After inspecting the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter and the delightful little Temple of Bacchus and visiting the Twentieth, we went on next day to Aleppo. 4 Brigade was working on its part of the divisional position being constructed in the Baalbek valley, 5 Brigade on arrival was to relieve 6 Brigade, now under
At Aleppo I found that George had his headquarters installed in a palace and was himself living in a very comfortable flat, which I took over. He had of course got to know everyone worth knowing, had acquired a very nice horse for his morning gallop, seen all the sights, run several social functions, and somehow found time to examine every road and track in the big area for which he was responsible. I was surprised that he had not been into Turkey, but the Turks were excessively neutral and apparently that was a
6 Brigade held a parade to impress the inhabitants and General Freyberg came up and took a salute from the balcony of the Baron Hotel. Apparently, the troops had not been warned where the saluting base was and nearly all passed without taking the slightest notice; about half the others, startled by the band, gave an ‘eyes left’ to the opposite side of the street. However, the spectators probably thought that this was in order and were suitably impressed. There was a terrific row with the C.R.A., Steve Weir, who came up to discover that George had fired all the Field Regiment's carefully husbanded allotment of practice ammunition in a single concentration. This blew over, my battalions arrived, and we proceeded with the relief. I sent the Twenty-second and Twenty-third to the frontier area at Afrine and Idlib respectively, where each had about a forty-mile sector to watch. The Twenty-first, still in need of some drill and hard training, went to the German barracks at Aleppo, where also we installed 5 Field Regiment, 5 Field Ambulance, and 7 Field Company.
The weather during April and until late in May was perfect, with glorious cool sunny days and fresh nights, and we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. With Chesterman, Dawson, or McPhail I spent days in travelling round northern Syria. Our role was to cover the heavy-bomber airfield at Aleppo and to impose as much delay as possible on any invasion by the Germans through Turkey before retiring over the Syrian plain 180 miles to Baalbek. Possibly, if the Turks invited us, there would have been an advance into Turkey, but this would have been difficult as their roads had been deliberately allowed to fall into disrepair and they had done nothing to clear up malarial areas.
On our side of the frontier we had thousands of Kurds, the
There was very good defensive country north-west of Aleppo but not a single possible position in a wide belt to the north. My own opinion was that if an invasion came this way, the only one likely, we would have to scamper very smartly indeed. We made ourselves thoroughly familiar with the ground and in that lovely country, in the delicious spring, it was very pleasant doing so.
I paid a formal call on the Syrian Governor and was received with all the state possible in Aleppo. A space had been roped off outside the Palace. I drove up with outriders and numerous police clearing the populace away, dismounted amid what I took to be cheers, and advanced across the square on a red carpet to the steps, where a bevy of resplendent aides was waiting. These escorted me up three flights of stairs to the Governor's room. The stairs were lined by very bad-looking but very ornate troops, and on each landing an officer wearing a helmet with feathers and a cuirass saluted with his sword, making me duck a little each time. The Governor and I drank coffee, and through an interpreter discussed the recent changes in the Cabinet at Damascus and the rising price of wheat, a delicate subject as His Excellency was known to be one of the chief monopolists.
I departed in a similar manner and later in the day the Governor returned my call. We received him with the Brigade band, which played the Syrian national anthem, which it had learned during the morning, and a very good guard of honour. We drank coffee out of a set which an L.O. procured from the Bazaar just in time, and talked the same banalities and I suppose it helped the war effort in some way.
The British Political Officer took me to dine with the candidate for some Sheikhdom. He was the candidate
To show the flag we sent the Brigade band to the spring races at Deir es Zor, 260 miles down the Euphrates. McQuilkin and Ensor went with me for the big day. Some 10,000 Arabs were present with more horses than I had ever seen together. The racing was poor except that every rider appeared to be in earnest and we saw some very willing fights behind the totalisator. There were no bookmakers that we could see. At the conclusion I had to present the prizes, aided by the very attractive daughter of the French Consul. A Syrian band played the Syrian national anthem and our escort presented arms; a Foreign Legion band played the Marseillaise with another present arms; and then the
I made another trip to visit the Australians on the coast and saw the Duke of Gloucester take a parade of 9 Australian Division. There was space on the ground for only 200 men from each battalion and without exception they were the most beautiful troops I ever saw. Hardly a man appeared to be less than six feet and they drilled and marched superbly.
Then I suddenly became quite seriously ill with shingles in the head and chicken-pox, and was evacuated to our hospital at Zahle in the Lebanon. On recovery after a fortnight I went to convalesce at the Staff College at Haifa, where I was very kindly treated after an astonishingly chilly reception. Later I heard that Inglis had recently called there and had spoken of the deficiencies of the British armour in the winter battle with more candour and emphasis than tact. I was watched carefully for a few days, but at that time I had no particular grouch and gradually the atmosphere thawed.
On 27 May Rommel opened his offensive in the Western Desert, but all the first reports were optimistic and we had little expectation of being involved. Intelligence reports in the Middle East always breathed the same air of bland cheeriness and patronizing appreciation of the enemy's struggles no matter how badly things were going for us. I don't know at what level commanders were told the truth; corps and divisional commanders may have seen truthful reports. At the Brigadier level they were often infuriating.
There were projects for our employment on the Bosphorus or on the Caspian, with Libya only a likely outsider and Egypt in no one's minds. General Freyberg and Gentry went off to Iraq and almost to the Caspian. I returned from convalescence on 11 June and resumed command. During my absence Bob Dawson had gone to Division and Monty
From here on when I speak of ‘Monty’ I am referring to this officer, not to General Montgomery.
5 Brigade Group concentrated and we moved into the desert sixty miles south-east of Aleppo to do brigade training. At this time the Brigade Group theory was disastrously popular in the Middle East. We had been asked to adopt it with more than outward conformity. The General agreed to the extent that we were actually organized in brigade groups in Syria and remained so organized during all mobile periods of the war in Africa; but he made it very clear that we would fight as a division with our guns under the C.R.A., and missed no opportunity of making his intention clear. The brigade group organization had many advantages for desert warfare, particularly in mobility and quick readiness for action, so long as the groups kept touch and combined to fight as a division with the guns a single fire unit. Accordingly we went out to exercise as a brigade group. We found a fine piece of desert with good going everywhere and set to work in frightful heat. On the third morning I conducted a T.E.W.T. T.E.W.T.: ‘tactical exercise without troops’. A group of officers is taken out on to a suitable area and divided into syndicates each of four or five. An imaginary situation is described and each syndicate is asked to say what they would do about it, and how, with the imaginary troops at their disposal. Half an hour or less is given them to produce their solutions, during which time the director of the T.E.W.T. and his assistants, known as the ‘Board’, think up their own answer. The syndicates in turn give their replies. With the help of any ideas picked up therefrom the conducting officer then gives the Board solution, which is right. T.E.W.T.s can be useless or very valuable according to the manner in which they are handled. They are nearly always carried out in rain or a cold wind.
In the afternoon we formed up to try out our ideas. The heat was quite overpowering, low oppressive clouds and the feeling of being in an oven. The water in the bottles was too hot to bear on the hands, many trucks had stopped owing to petrol vapourizing, and one went up in flames, apparently by spontaneous combustion. I noticed how white and strained everyone looked and suddenly cancelled the whole affair and we all trundled off to the Euphrates to bathe. The river was yellow and cold, dangerously high and rapid with the spring thaws; but we were able to sit close to the bank up to our necks and there the whole Brigade remained for hours until the worst of the heat was over and there was again some energy in us. We had planned to practise a night attack and we now began preparations. The evening meal was finished and we were about to move out when a signal arrived from Division which ended all thought of exercises. ‘Division moving. Return to Baalbek forthwith.’
We could return to Aleppo, sixty miles by good road, and thence by the main road, 180 miles to Baalbek, or we could travel across the desert direct, about 130 miles. Monty and I looked at the map: there was nothing to show that the going would be difficult, and I decided to go direct. We did an easy thirty miles that night.
The next day, 14 June, was difficult. It was again intolerably hot, and about half-way we ran into a knot of little villages and could find no way round. There were innumerable watercourses with narrow crossings and we got entangled among these on narrow tracks and causeways, at many places too narrow for our vehicles. We laboured for hours in the stifling heat; it was impossible to turn and go back, and sometimes I feared we would be stuck for days. Everyone was bad-tempered but determined and somehow we wriggled and struggled on. After about three hours my car at the head was out on open desert with clear going ahead. For miles back among the stunted palms and mud huts I could see files of trucks and guns winding at crawling speed. But the heads of each file were emerging into the open and the obstacle was obviously surmounted. I have seldom felt more relieved.
Monty and I went ahead fast and arrived at Baalbek just before the last of Divisional Headquarters moved. The General and Gentry had returned from the Caspian and gone on to Cairo by air. Many units were on the move, but 4 Brigade required all the road space next day and we would not be able to start our move for a day or two. It was annoying to find that we need not have been in such a
We went back a few miles and found an excellent camping place with a stream. Only the guns arrived that night and the Brigade was not in till next afternoon. Everyone looked jaded and travel-weary, but the units were nearly complete and the L.A.D.s brought in the last stragglers by midnight. It was a fine performance with our tired old trucks.
There were two possible routes as far as Beersheba but only one road across the Sinai Desert and that was being used to capacity. The men thoroughly enjoyed the rest, the last they were to get for long enough. 4 Brigade was moved on the 16th and not until the 18th was there road space for 5 Brigade. I decided to leave Monty to make arrangements for the move and to get ahead to Cairo myself, and I told my unit commanders to do the same.
Ross, Joe, and I set off in our nice new Chevrolet early on the 17th. I always sat in front with Ross and occasionally took the wheel. Joe sat in the back seat wedged amid piles of luggage. We could have lived for a month on the tinned foods and drinks we normally carried and could have dressed for a year in the clothes. In addition Ross always carried as much spare petrol and water as could be jammed in. Our most precious possession was the primus and both Ross and Joe were adepts at making tea in the shortest possible time. I could never be trusted to work the thing.
We overtook the Twentieth on the road moving to the last of its disasters, and passed it with a wave and a smile from every truck. At Beirut I saw
I got back into camp about midnight and was hailed with relief by three very worried officers. They had black news. Tobruk had fallen. The General had left for Matruh and Brigadiers were to proceed there forthwith, travelling through the night. Ross was on leave but Joe and I packed the car with the help and advice of a Brigadier and two full colonels. Ross was back an hour later and we left immediately.
At daylight we stopped for breakfast near Amiriya, where Monty, who had come ahead of the Brigade from the Canal, joined us. He reported that the move was going well, our rather decrepit trucks showing no sign of a mass breakdown. We travelled on up the familiar, weary desert road and reached Matruh at eleven, reluctantly resisting the temptation to stop a little while and bathe in the sparkling waters of Smugglers' Cove.
At the divisional conference held underground in Fortress Headquarters we heard a very gloomy story. Eighth Army had unquestionably taken a bad beating and there did not appear to be much solid left. About a hundred tanks were still runners, many of them the light Stuarts; 1 South African Division was in fair order, 50 Division and 4 Indian Division were reduced to little more than weak brigade groups, and not much else remained. On the other hand, 10 Indian Division had arrived and part was already about Sollum.
Inglis took the western sector with 4 Brigade which, with the Maoris, had four battalions. 5 Brigade reinforced by 26 Battalion from 6 Brigade was to hold the eastern sector. This sector had been prepared and occupied in 1940 by an Egyptian Brigade, which withdrew with amusing celerity when Graziani advanced, and the defences were in very bad order. Most of the dug positions had caved in or filled with sand, much of the wire was on the ground, minefields were badly marked, communications non-existent, and the whole plan of defence obscure.
An Eighth Army memorandum said that a lesson of the battle was that a division had more infantry than its field and anti-tank guns could adequately support and recommended that infantry battalions should be reduced to three companies each. This it was decided to do and we were instructed to select one company in each battalion to return to Maadi.
My unit commanders appeared during the afternoon and we did a reconnaissance and allotted sectors. In the afternoon the troops arrived, very weary after their 900-mile forced move in the height of summer. I sent as many as possible for a bathe in Smuggler's Cove and they moved into position in the moonlight. Early on the 22nd we were hard at work.
During the next three days we worked hard. Eighth Army poured back through us, not looking at all demoralized
On the evening of the 24th we were lightly bombed. Next afternoon there was another divisional conference in the deep dug-out of Fortress Headquarters. The General said that Gott's 13 Corps on the frontier had been overrun and that the enemy were already at Sidi Barrani, eighty miles away, in great and unexpected force. Apparently, the undamaged transport captured at Tobruk had enabled Rommel to carry his Italians and he was going all out for complete victory and Egypt. The Air report spoke of 3,000 vehicles in one of the advancing masses. Then the General said, to our delight, that we would not stay to be besieged in Matruh: 10 Indian Division would relieve us and during the night we would move south into the desert and meet the invasion head on. He told us to get our ‘left out of battle’ companies away; and in accordance with the opinion that there were too many infantry in a division,
The relief was carried out during the evening. The brigade that relieved us had been involved in the scramble on the frontier, had been surrounded, had broken out, and was very weak. While the relief was under way I wrote a letter home. In it I said: ‘It is a lovely cool evening. Matruh lies peaceful in the last light and the little ships are moving out to go to Alex. If we can only somehow gain a little time, a fortnight or so, all will be well but it will be a hard fortnight and a great test.’
We moved out of Matruh that night and halted before dawn. During the move the Twenty-second lost some men in a random bombing. General Freyberg selected a position at Minqar Qaim—the cliffs of Qaim—twenty-five miles from Matruh. I was ordered to send a battalion to Bir Khalda, twenty miles to the south, to guard a petrol dump and reluctantly sent Sam Allen with the Twenty-first.
The Minqar Qaim position was a very odd one and I was
We moved on to the ground on the late afternoon of the 26th and dug in that night and until 9 o'clock the next morning. On top of the escarpment the solid rock was within eighteen inches of the surface and it was not possible to do very much.
7.
The Fist Shells at Minqar Qaim
N.Z. official
8. ‘
Jim Brought Some Tinned Beer as a Peace Offering.’ Burrows. Gibbs, the author
Author
Early on the 27th some six-pounders arrived and the anti-tank gunners started to train with them. The infantry battalions at this time had eight two-pounders each and not enough six-pounders arrived for any change.
Late on the night of the 26th bad news arrived from the Twenty-first. The battalions reached Bir Khalda at last light and halted while Sam Allen looked round to see where to put everybody. The trucks, everyone having grown careless in months away from the field, closed up with a view to the evening meal. They were caught and bombed by a flight of Dorniers and there were sixty casualties.
About nine on the morning of the 27th, six or seven miles to the north-west, a huge column of transport appeared, shimmering in the haze and headed by a group of fifteen tanks. It moved slowly, growing in width and depth. A battery moved out from the Reserve Group position, unlimbered, and opened fire. The tanks moved steadily against the battery, disregarding and untouched by the twenty-five-pounder shells bursting about them. We saw a very pretty sight as the battery fell back, the two troops leap-frogging one another as in a drill movement and maintaining a steady fire. They passed north of my position apparently unhurt.
Some mines had arrived and at this moment Lincoln, my sapper officer, was laying a belt 200 yards from the mouth of the headquarters' wadi. The tanks were 4,000 yards away and Lincoln called to me, where I stood on top of the escarpment: ‘Shall I finish?’ He had two trucks and about ten minutes' work still to do, simply unloading and placing the mines on the ground in a pattern. I told him to go on.
The party worked furiously for five minutes while I watched with my heart in my mouth. Several batteries were now shelling the tanks, almost hidden in dust and shell bursts. Suddenly one tank moved swiftly in towards us and opened rapid fire on the sappers with its gun and heavy machine-gun, vicious-looking tracer. The second shell hit one truck and killed five men and wounded three. The other truck and its party went resolutely on until I could make them hear me and then came calmly in. One man ran back and drove in the damaged truck.
Map 7
The tanks came no nearer, but an artillery O.P. truck came well forward, and try as they might our guns failed to disturb it. The vehicles in the headquarters' wadi were the only ones inside the brigade position and before long we were under a very unpleasant fire from 105's. There were several casualties and we were obliged to stay in what little cover we had. A heavy artillery duel worked up. From my position on the cliff I could see shells bursting incessantly among our guns and admired the way our gunners were standing to their work. Soon columns of smoke rose where trucks in the divisional position had been hit and were burning. The great mass of enemy transport in the northwest moved about uneasily but as the morning wore on it gradually worked past our northern flank. In the haze it was hard to see what was happening.
The shelling on us died down and I visited the two battalion commanders. They had nothing to report and there was no sign of any threat from south or west, where we had Bren carriers well out. When I got back, as the shelling on us had stopped, I sent out a party to bring in and bury the poor sappers. The tanks had gone but the O.P. must have seen them; it called down accurate fire and two of the burial party were killed and were left to lie with the others.
Soon after midday we could see that the enemy had worked round the right flank of the Division. There was a steady thudding of gunfire, much dust and the smoke of many explosions and burning vehicles, and occasionally the distant mutter of automatics, but we could form little idea of what was happening. Everything remained quiet with 5 Brigade but we could see that 4 Brigade was heavily engaged and that the enemy was steadily moving east of us. North of 5 Brigade the great enemy mass remained out of range. We moved headquarters to a safer area with 22 Battalion.
Early in the afternoon Division informed us that General Freyberg had been wounded. Inglis had taken command and Jim Burrows had taken over 4 Brigade. A sharp attack had been repulsed but more attacks were expected. About this time a very agitated officer arrived in a great hurry and said that tanks had driven our transport away and were
I was called to Division for a conference about 8 o'clock that evening. We stood in a group at the back of the command truck. Inglis said that all attacks had been repulsed so far, but the enemy was fairly round behind us and we obviously were in a grave position. The going to the south was reported bad, the only sure going was due east, which meant that we must make a break-through. His plan was that 4 Brigade should make a gap by a night attack with the bayonet, the rest of us should drive through in a solid column, and then 4 Brigade should mount its own vehicles and follow. It was a shock to him when I announced that my troop-carriers had disappeared and that, though we would pack the men on to guns, carriers, anti-tank portées, gun quads, and every fighting vehicle we had, there would still be five or six hundred who could not be carried. Bob Dawson, now G.2 on Division, said that some of the petrol and ammunition vehicles could be used and it was arranged that he should get them to a rendezvous. All vehicles, including guns, were to form up after dark, head to tail in nine columns ten yards apart, with 5 Brigade in the rear. Zero hour for the attack was 10.30 p.m. and we would move on the success signal from 4 Brigade.
General Lumsden, commanding 1 Armoured Division, was present. I asked him if he could let us have a squadron of tanks as a spearhead. He replied that he had to move south to Bir Khalda to refuel. I got permission to recall the Twenty-first.
On return to my headquarters I told Monty that we were going to have an interesting night. We still had no touch with our transport and now could not raise the Twenty-first.
I cursed the signals officer heartily for not having his sets in better order or his operators better trained. Years afterwards we discovered that he had stupidly sent all his charging sets with the transport and his batteries had run down.
We worked out a plan for withdrawing, moving to the rendezvous and embussing, and gave it verbally to the very anxious-looking unit commanders. I gave special, and I thought clear, orders for lifting our minefield so that the Twenty-second could safely move out north of the escarpment. The carrier patrols had reported that the transport south of us was friendly and for some time I was hopeful that the L.O.s would locate and bring in our missing troop-carriers; indeed at one time someone reported that they were doing so. Instead, both youngsters returned looking decidedly harassed and reported that the transport south of us was extremely hostile and that they had been unable to get through. Which report was correct I never found out, but they were plucky lads and I gave up all hope of seeing our trucks. We continued unceasingly to call both Twenty-first and our transport on the air, but with no success.
At ten we began to withdraw and move to the rendezvous? We were not yet finished with the unlucky minefield. It had not been completely cleared, a carrier struck a mine and twenty men out of a platoon of the Twenty-second marching alongside the carrier were killed or wounded.
Apart from this the Brigade assembled safely and was loaded on to our vehicles. The trucks were packed to the limit and the hundreds of men whom they could not carry were crammed on to the fighting vehicles. Men were hanging on wherever there was standing room, squeezed inside the gun quads, on the guns themselves, on carriers and anti-tank portées, everywhere imaginable. The loading was completed in a quiet and orderly manner and I walked round to check up, I found about twenty men still unaccommodated and they followed me round while I found places for them one by one.
I then returned to my headquarters which was at the head of the Brigade Group immediately following the forty vehicles of Divisional Headquarters. Meantime Monty had at last got into touch with our transport, very faintly. We had a poor map-reference code which it was hopeless to try to use. He said in clear, many times: ‘Go east to Amiriya immediately.’ The over-suspicious signals officer with the transport, although he was given nicknames as identification checks and recognized Monty's voice, refused to accept the message as genuine. He decided that we had been captured and that Monty had been coerced into sending this order. Consequently the transport did not move.
The position of 5 Brigade was therefore highly unsatisfactory, two battalions loaded anyhow on to the first-line vehicles and guns and completely incapable of fighting, one out of touch altogether and about to be left isolated and unaware of our retreat, and our troop-carriers miles away and obstinately determined to remain in the danger area.
I joined Inglis and Gentry at the head of the column. There was silence ahead where we expected to hear the sounds of 4 Brigade assault. We waited with growing impatience and anxiety. No message came from Jim explaining the delay, which in fact the Maoris had caused by being late on the start-line. After what seemed a very long time Inglis decided to move with the idea of passing south of the enemy flank or, if necessary, of breaking through. The assault actually began, at most, a few minutes later and was completely successful. A clean cut was made and the original plan would have worked, but Inglis was in a difficult position and daylight was not long ahead.
We moved off slowly due east, Inglis, John Gray, and Gentry personally leading. Then came some forty divisional vehicles, then 5 Brigade Headquarters, the divisional reserve group, 4 and 6 Field Regiments, and the medley of vehicles representing and carrying 5 Field Regiment and 5 Brigade. I settled down beside my driver and relaxed. Joe was in the back seat wedged among his piles of gear.
A few moments later firing broke out ahead. We continued eastwards and then turned south, when we must have
We had bumped into a laager of about a dozen tanks lying so closely together that there was no room to break through between them. Their fire simply hailed down on us. There were tank shells, 20-mm. shells, and automatics, all firing tracer. A petrol truck was hit at once and exploded. An ammunition truck was hit and the boxes of cartridges crackled and exploded in succession. The most dreadful sight was an ambulance a few yards away which blazed furiously, the wounded on the stretchers writhing and struggling utterly beyond help.
My car was jammed on all sides and could not move. I told Ross and Joe to get out and for a moment we lay flat on the ground. Many others had done the same. A few seconds later I saw the truck ahead of us turning to the left, and beyond it quite clearly saw John Gray standing with his head through the roof of his car and pointing in the same direction. ‘We'll give it a go, Ross,’ I said. ‘Very good, Sir,’ he replied, as polite as ever. We scrambled back and followed the trucks ahead, all bolting like wild elephants. For a few moments we ran on amid a pandemonium, overtaking and being overtaken by other frantic vehicles, dodging slit trenches, passing or crashing into running men, amid an uproar of shouts and screams. I recognized the men as Germans, pulled out my revolver and was eagerly looking out for a target when suddenly there was silence and we were out running smoothly on level desert. We were through.
There were vehicles ahead. I looked back and saw a steady stream following four or five abreast. The pace slackened and we settled down to run quietly at ten miles an hour. I thought of Joe, who had not got out of the car with us, turned round and poked him. There was no response. I prodded again and called anxiously and Joe woke up. He had slept
We took up a position astride the line of retreat, got on with breakfast, and waited for the end of the column. By sunrise there was only a single file and soon only single vehicles. The intervals widened, at ten o'clock there had been none for half an hour, then a lone Bren carrier and no more. We realized that we had the whole of 5 Brigade with us in three staff cars and four three-tonners. I took a photograph of them.
We moved on, anxious enough, though I tried to comfort myself by remembering Earl Haig's dictum that things are never as bad, or as good, as they seem. I came on Inglis talking to a South African sapper who was laying a dummy minefield. He listened dubiously while Inglis explained what a dreadful hammering we had given to Afrika Korps. We went on together and joined Divisional Headquarters which had stopped to organize the movement down the escarpment running south from Fuka. An order of march had been worked out and there was consternation when I grimly explained how little road space 5 Brigade Group would require.
The move ended in the Kaponga Box, an almost circular ring of big sand-hills which 5 Brigade had prepared for defence in 1941. 5 Brigade was allotted an area and we waited fairly confidently for the Brigade to arrive. By midnight nearly
Sam Allen was last to arrive, when we had almost given him up and in fact had heard he was dead. He had somehow discovered that we had gone and, though harassed by enemy parties, he showed fine decision and skill and came out with little loss.
It rather appeared that the break-out had been unnecessary and that we could all have moved south and east as these parties did; but that would have entailed an unjustifiable gamble on the going.
That first afternoon in the Kaponga Box was a wonderful one of reunions and mounting joy as each party arrived. At one stage, when only a few of my people had appeared, I ran out a few miles to the west and met a big mass of trucks moving in perfect formation, Jim Burrows and 4 Brigade coming proudly in after their great exploit. It was sheer happiness to see him and
There was no sign of the enemy all the next day. Whether we had hit him so hard that he had to stop to reorganize, as some still think, or whether he had maintenance and supply difficulties, I do not know. Certainly the pursuit was vigorous as far as Fuka where the road was cut. In any case we were left in peace all the 29th, and next morning we moved to positions east of the Kaponga Box. We were in thoroughly good fighting order again.
We were told that Eighth Army would stand and fight on the Alamein line, which ran from the sea to where the Taqa plateau overlooked the impassable Qattara depression, a distance of only twenty miles. There was no fear of being outflanked. We heard that 1 South African Division under Dan Pienaar was holding the Alamein Box in the north and that an Indian brigade was in the Deir el Shein Box with 50 Division Group in a near position. Then came 2 N.Z. Division and south of us on the Taqa plateau was another Indian brigade. The armour was in support and the leading Australian brigade from Syria had arrived at Amiriya. In addition there were a number of ‘Jock’ columns, at this time called ‘Monthly’ columns, between us and the plateau. We made contact with ‘June’, ‘July’, and ‘August’. They were each composed of a battery of twenty-five-pounders and a company of motorized infantry and, acting independently as they usually did, had little fighting and no stopping value whatever. Nor could we ever find out where they were, which would have been annoying if they had been serious fighting troops. The whole position looked weak but it was reasonable to suppose that the enemy was getting weary and he was certainly at the end of a terrific line of supply.
I sent
Division called me very early on the 29th and said that Inglis had disappeared and I was to come up and take command. I handed over to Sam Allen and went at once. Gentry and I talked things over. He had no idea where Inglis had gone and I decided to see ‘Strafer’ Gott, the Corps Commander, who was near.
General Gott was in his Armoured Command Vehicle (A.C.V.), the first I had seen. He came out at once and walked a few yards clear of it. ‘Inglis has gone to Cairo’, he said, and handed me a letter. It was a short note from General Corbett, then General Auchinleck's M.G.G.S. I remember very clearly the opening sentence: ‘The Chief has decided to save Eighth Army.’ The note then went on to say that the South Africans would retire through Alexandria and the rest of us down the desert road through Cairo.
I asked what was meant by the first sentence. ‘It means what it says—he means to save the Field Army,’ the General said. He went on to explain: a general retirement and evacuation of Egypt was in contemplation and Inglis had gone to Cairo to arrange for the evacuation of 2 N.Z.E.F. rear installations and hospitals; he supposed we would go back to New Zealand. I protested that we were perfectly fit to fight and that it was criminal to give up Egypt to 25,000 German troops and a hundred tanks (disregarding the Italians)—the latest Intelligence estimate—and to lose as helpless prisoners perhaps 200,000 Base troops. Strafer replied sadly that N.Z. Division was battle-worthy but very few other people were and he feared the worst.
I returned to Division and told Gentry of this unpleasant conversation. We said nothing to anyone else and were both sorely perplexed and depressed. In the evening a provisional order for our retirement arrived from 13 Corps. It certainly envisaged the abandonment of Egypt.
Inglis returned on the afternoon of the 30th, nothing else of importance having occurred in his absence, and I returned to 5 Brigade. He drew a vivid picture of the confusion he had seen on the Cairo road and of the prodigious ‘flap’ in
It was customary to say ‘Middle East’, meaning Middle East Headquarters, and B.T.E., meaning ‘Headquarters, British Troops in Egypt’.1
On 13 July I issued to 5 Brigade Group a summary of the operations of the Division from 26 June onwards. There were ninety copies, it was to be read to all platoons and equivalent sub-units and returned to Brigade Headquarters by midnight on 15 July. As in the meantime we took part in the disastrous attack on Ruweisat Ridge it is probable that few copies were so returned. The composition of the Brigade Group, typical then and for the rest of the African campaigns, is shown by the Distribution List. It was:
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21 N.Z. Battalion.
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22 N.Z. Battalion.
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23 N.Z. Battalion.
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6 N.Z. Field Regiment—24 twenty-five-pounders.
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33 N.Z. Anti-Tank Battery—16 six-pounders.
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43 N.Z. Anti-Aircraft Battery—16 Bofors.
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7 N.Z. Field Company.
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4 N.Z. M.G. Company.
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5 N.Z. Field Ambulance.
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Signals Section.
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Defence Platoon.
The opening paragraph read:
This short survey of the operations to date of 2nd New Zealand Division in the present battle is prepared for the information of all ranks in and attached to 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade. It is not complete and many factors and circumstances are not known to the Brigade Commander.
It gives an account of this period better than anything I could write after this lapse of time. After dealing with Minqar Qaim and the break-out the summary continues:
June 30th. 6th New Zealand Infantry Brigade held Kaponga Box while 4th and 5th Brigades moved to positions east of it. The main enemy advance appeared to be directed along the south of the coastal road.
July 1st. During the day the enemy attacked the Box at Deir El Shein between us and the South Africans at Alamein and stormed it after several hours' fighting. The situation on this day was extremely grave and a further deep retirement seemed inevitable.
July 2nd. However, it was decided to fight on and gun columns were organized by both Brigades and engaged the enemy to the North. In the evening our tanks attacked and though unable to gain decisive success, inflicted loss and reduced the German tanks to 20 or 30 effectives (plus 100 odd Italians).
How important this tank counter-attack really was I do not know but it certainly appeared to check the enemy drive in the centre. At one time in the afternoon we were hopeful of great things, but Corps did not bring us into the battle and the affair ended in noisy but more or less harmless long-range interchanges between the opposing tanks. I went out to watch and was distressed to find several very slightly damaged Crusader tanks making no attempt to get back into the battle. One officer asked me if he should and was disappointed by my emphatic reply.
July 3rd. 4th New Zealand Infantry Brigade had an outstanding success when 19th and 20th New Zealand Battalions with 4th and 5th New Zealand Field Regiments working in two columns and with the timely aid of our tanks pushed off the artillery of Ariete Division on and north of Alam Nayil, took 350 prisoners and destroyed 44 guns. Ariete had to be withdrawn. 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade moved quickly west of the Box and struck for the enemy flank at El Mreir. Though it was unable to get on to the whole objective, it would appear that the two operations were decisive in forcing the enemy to abandon his projected attack on the South Africans and re-group his forces.
These were two well-conceived operations and that of
I was with the Twentieth watching Steve's attack develop when I was recalled and given verbal orders to move west and south of the Kaponga Box, wheel northwards and seize the El Mreir depression, three miles north of the box and in rear of the enemy advance. The depression was thought to be unoccupied. In this curious country the occasional depressions, fifty feet deep and more and steep-sided, were tactical features nearly as important as the low ridges which gave the only possible observation. Once ensconced in one troops were very hard to hit or turn out.
We had to move round the box on a single track some seven miles, a distance which barely gave space to get the whole group moving at once. Some carriers led as an advance guard, followed by Brigade Headquarters, the Twenty-first and Twenty-second, the guns, and then the Twenty-third. Progress was slow and erratic owing to patches of heavy sand. About four in the afternoon the head of the column turned right and all filed down the northern side of a ridge three miles south of the depression with open desert and good going ahead. The carriers were nearly two miles ahead and there was no sign of opposition. The guns were miles and hours behind and I decided to go ahead without waiting. The two battalions filed down the track and deployed abreast into desert formation on a mile front. Sam Allen and
The battalions, the Twenty-first on the right, advanced at a steady pace for half the distance; and then suddenly there were four shell-bursts fairly among the Twenty-second, followed by salvoes from at least twenty guns. The battalions carried on with shells raining down. No trucks seemed to be hit though the fire was really heavy. Both battalions stopped short of the edge of the depression; we could see the infantry scrambling out and advancing and then in the gathering dusk could see no more. I ordered Walter to deploy his guns well forward on the plain, and the Twenty-third, now under
It took me some time to find
While crawling back in the dark against the stream of troops and guns still coming into position, I decided reluctantly that it was unwise to make a night attack in strange ground with so little time for preparation, and that I would maintain pressure with the two battalions in and look for a flank with the Twenty-third next night.
July 4th. During the day 21st New Zealand Battalion struggled to get across the depression in its front but it met severe opposition from M.G.s difficult to locate and the companies across were unable to get really well established. They were later withdrawn under a smoke screen.
At 2130 hours 23rd New Zealand Battalion with heavy
Pavia Div., shelled very heavily but our own total loss was only 17 and that of the enemy about 100.
22nd New Zealand Battalion had a very uncomfortable day and stood a lot of shelling but had small loss.
The gunners had good targets and were engaging them most of the day.
This was a most disappointing day for me. I went up to the Twenty-first early, crawled to the edge of the depression, and formed the opinion that though not comfortable the position could and should be held. I gave Sam authority to call on the guns direct, an unwise thing to do when there were reasonable communications and other units concerned, and went on to the Twenty-third to prepare a plot for its night affair. When I returned to Brigade some hours later I learned that the Twenty-first had called down a smoke screen and withdrawn its forward companies. This had to be accepted with so good and gallant a commander but I was unhappy about it.
The attack by the Twenty-third was even more disappointing. A daring carrier reconnaissance in the morning had discovered that the enemy right flank rested on the northern lip of the depression opposite our own left. I gave verbal orders to the Twenty-third to move by truck well out to the west, cross the depression, wheel right and sweep down the enemy position parallel with our own as far as the well-marked road and then return along the road. 6 Field Regiment was to fire a barrage working from west to east, parallel with our front, starting at 9.30 p.m. It was probably an over-elaborate plan and there was little time for preparation.
In the event the Twenty-third did not use its trucks, and so was late, and for some reason did not cross the depression but moved along the floor of it. Fortunately the Italian defensive fire was mostly too high or was directed on the Twenty-second and the battalion moved under it with slight
I went up with
On the way back we ran into a slit trench and crushed a man lying in it. Ross and I, both rather shaken, got him into the car with difficulty, and left him at a Field Ambulance. Long afterwards we were sad to hear that he had died. We took two prisoners only in this affair, but they gave us the important identification of the newly arrived Pavia Division which had come down in great haste from the coastal sector. It was some satisfaction that our move had produced a violent reaction and so must have affected the enemy plan.
During the day the Stukas were active and Divisional Headquarters and the Reserve Group had some nasty bombing raids. The Brigade B. Echelon transport was also severely bombed.
July 5th. This was another day of shelling and 5th Brigade Headquarters and B. Echelon were severely bombed and strafed with some thirty casualties.
During the day it became evident that the enemy were in their turn reaching round our western flank and 4th Brigade came into position SW. of 5th Brigade. It was bombed en route and Col. J. R. Gray of 18th Battalion was killed and there were some thirty other casualties.
During the morning there were constant reports of enemy M.T. movements on our open western flank and some of infantry debussing there. One alarming message spoke
4 Brigade, now under John Gray, who was senior to Jim Burrows, moved round behind us and came into position on the ridge echelonned behind our left flank. On the way it was attacked by some thirty Stukas. I saw the attack while with the Twenty-first and shortly afterwards Monty rang and said that he had heard that John Gray had been killed. I refused to believe it and told him to check up. Shortly afterwards he rang again: it was true enough, worse in fact than the first report—
We had our turn about midday. I returned from a round of the battalions and was angry to see a dozen trucks clustered round the command truck, a carelessness to which our numerous visitors were always prone unless carefully controlled. I spoke sharply and they dispersed. It was stiflingly hot and I lay down for a short rest in the shade of some waterproof sheets that Joe had rigged from the bonnet of the car. There were enemy planes about but none appeared dangerous to us. Suddenly there was the terrifying scream of planes diving directly on us out of the sun and almost simultaneously the howl of their bombs and the racketing thunder of their guns. I rolled two yards in an instant and fell into a slit trench on top of Ross. Simultaneously we heard glass and wood splintering as the car got a direct burst and then the roar of exploding bombs. It was all over in a few seconds. I got up, apologized inanely to Ross, and we surveyed the damage. It was not very much, the car windshield and the waterproofs were riddled and the clothes in the back were burning but the engine was undamaged; The command truck was damaged and an L.O. was slightly wounded; but thanks to the dispersal and good luck no other harm was done.
July 6th. Small patrols from 22nd and 23rd New Zealand Battalions did good work in the evening and killed a number of Italians but took no prisoners.
This was a really quiet day and to fill in time I noted in my Field Service Message Book every slight event as it occurred. The day's notes give an idea of a quiet day at that period.
0650. Woke after peaceful night and instantly remembered that John Gray,
0700. Tank fire in NE. surprisingly close. Went on to ridge but could see nothing in morning haze. No reports from Battalions. Our guns shooting quietly, harassing fire.
0730. Finished shaving and dressed in clean shirt and shorts. Joe remarked that one didn't often see Wogs on a battlefield. One has just gone to command truck.
0800. Walked 500 yards across wadi to breakfast. Found Wog was Major Danvers of Indian Cavalry, escaped and walked in from Daba. Fed him and then took him to my car, gave him water to wash and a clean shirt and shorts. Very flea-bitten. McPhail got his story and some information and Good took him on to Division.
0900. 5th Brigade guns shooting steadily. Little return fire. 4th Brigade guns to SW. shooting occasionally. Tank fight, not big, going on spasmodically to NE.
Am sitting in command truck, tidied up after yesterday. McPhail slowly posting up information on map. Have to get used to his deliberate ways. Fairbrother calling up units in turn, all had a quiet night.
0905. Have just told Monty to call on Battalions for strengths, personnel, carriers, and mortars.
0909. A stuttering officer from B. Coy. 25th in the Box arrives, very surprised and relieved to find us here. Wants ‘some dope from the platoon point of view as to which is which of the bangs we can hear’. Monty is trying to explain.
Shelling is still going on. Breakfast was tinned sausages, onions, and tea. Bit hard but held on to it and am fitter than at start of battle.
0924. Arrived at O.P. Sharp tank fire to NE. at intervals.
Medium guns in fortress shelling targets 15,000 yards to NW.
My guns various targets to N. Day getting hotter and thick haze. Am running with sweat already but flies not so bad here.
0931. Firing to NE. renewed but not so intense. From O.P. on cliff can see NE. and W. round 180°. Stony desert. Horizon in haze … two miles ahead 5th Brigade vehicles sitting quietly. Occasional gun-flashes and white explosion splashes of shells.
0936. Off go the tanks again, hard. Area ahead of 21st Battalion being shelled. Must be our O.P.s or carriers. Now lifting on to right of 21st, four guns.
0940. Shelling increasing and now over 21st on open ground. One dud.
0942. Salvo of three, five hundred yards ahead.
0944. Salvo of four, three hundred yards ahead. All from North in open ground.
0946. Enemy shelling stopped. Mediums now shooting to NE. Visibility improving and several groups of enemy MT visible at various points in distance.
1000. Sudden heavy shelling of 21st from NE. Our guns replying.
1005. Stopped on us. Still heavy to NE. Six Kittyhawks passing.
1009. Kittyhawks strafing about six miles to NW. Heavy enemy AA. Started fourth pipe.
1030. All quiet. Matches finished. Returning to command truck.
Returned to command truck. Maoris and 20th coming up on our left later. Dick Chesterman jumped out of his truck right into a bomb burst yesterday. McPhail still pottering with his maps and Monty getting sarcastic.
1050. 23rd rang to say their carriers were being shelled by our guns. Monty rings 4th Brigade, the culprits, and tells them to stop.
1051. McPhail says ‘It's hot’.
1059. McPhail says ‘We've been fooled the greater part of our lives.’ No answers.
1100. Dasler says 50 Div. has one Brigade only. All just sitting flicking at flies. McPhail still playing with maps.
1101. 22nd report one three-ton truck destroyed in shelling last night.
1109. 6th Pipe. Matches pure phosphorus.
1115. Have three mouthfuls of tea and sweat it out at once. Discussions on shortage of talc.
1120. Warned for conference at Divisional Headquarters at 1200.
1125. Arty L.O. arrives and he and McPhail discussing location of O.P.s.
1135. Strengths in:
1240. Back from Conference. Present—Inglis, Burrows, Hansen (C.R.E.), Weir, Clifton, Agar (Div.Sigs.), Gentry, myself. Inglis showed situation map and Corps plan to break through opposite our left. Doesn't look real. Role today, harass and make ground if possible.
Jim told me ill news that my nice little cousin Derek Paterson was killed by the same bomb that got Gray and Bassett. He had a very near shave himself.
1242. 22nd report cases of heat-stroke and exhaustion.
Monty and I in truck with many flies. Others gone to lunch, ours coming over.
1246. Officer of XIII Corps called asking way to Division. Nine Bostons going east.
1315. Had lunch. Salmon, tinned potatoes, and peaches. Twenty fighters strafing enemy on our front. Jim Watt called to enquire position.
1325. Hotter than ever. Not a sound. Many flies which I'm tackling with swatter.
1330. Eighth pipe.
1340. Everyone back from lunch. Discussion on prospects and reason for absence of air attacks today.
1420. Albert Cooper (4th M.G. Coy.) called. Says he should change his clothes, has to keep upwind of himself.
Staff Captain Dugleby called. Desultory conversation. Told him that he must not tell men they need not shave, on the contrary.
9th pipe. Hotter than ever.
1425. A little shelling. Can hear planes. Everyone looking for them. Have dropped four bombs on our guns.
1435. Have returned to ground sheet shelter to change into lighter footgear.
1450. Clouding over and a lot cooler. Going to visit battalions.
1730. Returned. Men dusty and thirsty but in good heart.
Arranged raids with Walter and Russell. 22nd to raid feature at 863280 this evening. One platoon. Silent. Guns standing by to deal with any retaliation.
23rd to reconnoitre crossings over Deir el Qatani during night.
22nd to raid depression about bend in road at 867277 tomorrow similar lines.
Both cloak and dagger affairs, socks over boots, grenades, tommy guns, and bayonets.
1731. Message that 1st Armoured Div. attacking from East this evening and expect to reach 880 grid with exploitation in the morning. 5th and 6th Field Regiments to co-operate. New Zealand Division to exploit success tomorrow. Fanciful.
1745. 5th Field Regiment coming in. Hope they don't stop in our wadi.
1815. Gentry just gone. We have only 45 Grants and 100 tanks in the army. Getting cooler.
4th Brigade may do attack tonight. Talked Bill Gentry out of idea of making it too complicated.
1835. Have had tin of lukewarm beer. 5th and 6th Field Regiments have opened their three-hour bombardment to help 1st Armoured Division. Wind and dust make visibility poor and they are shooting by map. 5th Field hasn't been able to register. Show doesn't look very hopeful. Feel certain tanks won't attack in dark whatever Corps may order.
9th Australian Division has two Brigades up and is in reserve and all its guns up.
1900. Dinner. Bully beef hash, onions, and peaches, also a spot of Curaçao from remnants of our stock.
At O.P. Can see very little so talking to men.
1920–2300. In command truck. No need really but everyone talkative. Annoyed with 21st Adjutant because neither he nor Sam was near their 'phone.
2305. Bed. Almost immediately up to check some drivers. They were halted on ridge above me when there were some near explosions, and they dispersed in a panicky way.
Both raids were successful, except that each left a man missing.
The Twenty-second's party went 1,700 yards and came on about thirty trucks parked close together with about a hundred men standing about. When challenged the party lay flat and made no reply. They worked round behind the
We heard nothing of any particular results from 1 Armoured Division's attack and suspected that it was not very resolutely pushed. This was before the time of the carefully prepared Montgomery battle with everyone thoroughly prepared and schooled for his share and success practically a certainty before the start.
4 Brigade put in its attack that night but found no enemy.
July 7th. 4th New Zealand Infantry Brigade moved forward to west of and level with 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade but, in the afternoon, were threatened by a heavy force with tanks still farther to the west and withdrew in one bound to their previous positions. This left 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade's left flank exposed; there were several bickerings with enemy Armoured Cars, a good deal of shelling was sustained, and there was some anxiety. Overnight both Brigades withdrew to east of Kaponga Box and went into positions there, 5th Brigade next to the Box. This was a difficult move, many vehicles getting stuck in the sand and all had a restless night.
The outcome of these manœuvres was therefore that our attempt to outflank Rommel and strike for Daba had failed and the enemy in turn was going for our southern flank.
Despite this, the time gained must have been invaluable. 9th Australian Division got up and the armour has received reinforcements.
It is correct to say there was some anxiety. I was feeling very comfortable with 4 Brigade up on my flank when they made the most sudden movement back I have ever seen. Before long Jim came over to explain, bringing some tinned beer as a peace offering. Division had decided that he was about to be rolled up and ordered him to move back instantly, which is just what he did. The messages reporting the move and its reasons arrived very shortly after it started.
Until sunset I expected that the enemy would attack with
The night move was horrible. Every truck in the Brigade must have stuck in sand several times. It was not until well after daylight that the units were in their new positions and it was a good performance to be in so soon.
July 8th. Once more, everyone settled down to dig positions, the enemy closed up in our front but the day was comparatively quiet.
The night was marked by another night move which put the Division in a sounder position. 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade's front was long and the southern side could only be thinly held by 21st Battalion.
At least, I suppose it was a sounder position. It puzzled me considerably to decide how to hold it and we finished with 1 1/2 battalions facing north, half a battalion west, and one battalion south and other arms correspondingly disposed. The move, in the deep sand of the Deir Alinda, was exceedingly difficult and as usual Brigade Headquarters got lost for a while.
July 9th. Morning spent in digging again. Enemy stormed the box in good style but came no nearer. A patrol from 21st Battalion at night destroyed the crew of an Italian gun.
We understood that Italians carried out the capture of the box. If they did it was a very good show and the fact that there was no opposition hardly detracted from the merit of the performance. I watched with appreciation from one of 22 Battalion's section posts: some air bombing, then a violent artillery concentration on a selected sector, and amid smoke and dust armoured cars, tanks, and trucks advanced rapidly, infantry debussed and ran forward, sappers picked up mines, the infantry assaulted, and all was over. If they were Italians they must have known the place was empty before they took it on. It was all very pretty and I was sorry someone was not there to deal with it properly.
The Twenty-first raid was extremely well planned and executed. Bob Horrocks, later killed on the Sangro, who commanded, was awarded an M.C., but it remains in my memory principally because of Sam Allen's model report. Nothing better could have been produced at any school of instruction. We showed copies to the other battalions and begged them to emulate it.
July 10th. A stormy day for 5th New Zealand Infantry Brigade with the enemy closing in on three sides and a great deal of shelling by both parties. In the evening an enemy column pushed swiftly past our southern flank, between us and the Taqa Plateau and just before dark a small attack was checked by 21st Battalion's left company.
The position was again untenable, however, and during the night 5th Brigade leapfrogged through 4th Brigade and once more took up and prepared positions, this time facing north only.
The enemy put in a serious attack on 21st Battalion's empty position, witnessed only by one man who had overslept in a slit trench, and quite spectacular and successful.
This was a thoroughly harassing day. We were constantly warned by Division that we were about to be attacked and, with reports of enemy movement continually coming in from all three sides of the position, I was puzzled which way to look.
By this time the enemy were in possession of the Taqa plateau, which rose sharply three miles to the south. Possibly the waterless Brigade Group that Alan had found in the
Apparently the Germans got tired of the situation; for this afternoon a column of armoured cars, guns, and lorries made a sudden, swift advance along the foot of the plateau driving due east. Everyone fired at them but they drove on through the shell-bursts unhurt and in the most gallant style. The ‘Monthly’ column concerned could do nothing but fall back rapidly. My guns were all sited to shoot to the north but some turned round and joined in. Still the column pushed on. I got a platoon of machine-gunners on trucks, ran out with them and opened with all four guns at ‘rapid’ rate at 3,000 yards. We must have got hits but the Germans unlimbered some field guns and before we could knock out the crews they had picked us up, got the range, and started point-blank fire for effect. It was no use staying and we scuttled back to shelter with great celerity. The gunners then shifted on to my headquarters which was rather exposed from the south and when I arrived back the place was fairly sizzling with bursting shells. Everyone kept cool, however, and we moved to shelter behind a nice big sand-hill with no one hurt. Then the Germans thought they had gone far enough, stopped, and settled down. Soon it was dark.
This was a most noisy and spectacular affair, and also quite harmless so far as I could see or hear. The attack on the left company of the 21st was probably nothing more than a patrol.
Still, as the brigade position was now decidedly uncomfortable, during the night we moved again, through 4 Brigade, and went into position facing north. At dawn next morning 21 Battalion's empty position was stormed. The enemy command must have thought us confoundedly elusive. The solitary soldier who had remained there arrived back very
The night move was as difficult as ever and, as often, Brigade Headquarters got lost and was late settling in; but our drivers were really very good and in this awkward, complicated country the guiding was actually astonishingly accurate. By morning all was forgiven as usual and equally as usual the men were digging away in their correct positions.
July 11th. By this time our armour was ready for action again and during the morning it swept west across the front of our positions and cleared the Alam Nayil Ridge.
It was hoped to get our infantry on to the Ruweisat Ridge by a night attack. At 1700 hours both brigades moved north in their lorries, debussed, and advanced to the intended assembly position. Heavy artillery fire was encountered and 23rd Battalion had twenty casualties.
Preparations were made for a night attack on the Ridge but cancelled.
In an astonishing way we now ceased entirely to worry about affairs to the south. We faced north and thought only of Ruweisat Ridge eight miles away. Inglis had sent the Divisional Cavalry to help ‘June’, ‘July’, and ‘August’, and we left the matter to them. Ruweisat Ridge, a long, bare, narrow ridge of an average height of 180 feet, ran east and west into the centre of the army position and gave enough command to make it of great tactical importance. Apparently Corps thought we might seize it by something in the nature of a coup de main.
During that morning of 11 July the armour cleared the Alam Nayil Ridge parallel with and seven miles south of Ruweisat and sat there among the Ariete Division's abandoned guns. The plan was a daring one and looked well on paper, or rather on the map, for there were no written orders. It was asking a great deal of the infantry. Two brigades were to move in trucks two and a half miles under fire to an assembly position, easily marked on the map but not so easily located on the ground. Then they were to form up and make a night attack without artillery support on an objective five miles distant. There was no time for co-ordination with the armour, through which we were advancing at right angles to the way it was
We set off in desert formation at 5 p.m., looking very impressive, passed through the tanks who seemed very surprised to see us, and came under heavy artillery fire. Parts of the Twenty-third on my left and the Maoris on Jim's right had lost direction a little and were mixed up and thickly bunched. The fire was heaviest on this target but heavy all along the front, the enemy gunners thoroughly roused and with the target of their lives. Several trucks were hit and there were many casualties but we trundled steadily on for another mile. A mile from the assembly position both brigades halted and debussed. The men shook out into long, extended lines and went forward steadily and unflinchingly. It was an archaic sort of movement but it was beautifully done and a fine thing to watch. We did not have a single gun in action; the enemy gunners, unmolested, switched on to the infantry and fired their fastest; but the men kept their seven paces intervals, never wavered, and trudged on line after line through the spouting bursts. From where I halted, ahead of the transport among some enthusiastic tank officers, I could see the whole of 5 Brigade and most of 4 Brigade. The advance went on steadily, disappeared into the wadi in which we were to assemble for the real attack, and halted.
The anti-tank guns went forward and after a quick visit to the battalions, who were busily digging once more, I returned to my headquarters, now established where the transport had stopped. There I heard with unfeigned relief that the projected attack was cancelled.
Darkness, an unusually dark night, came on before we had all the wounded in. It was quite dark when a stretcher party stopped by the command truck and asked for the Maori R.A.P. We gave the direction of the nearest dressing station. ‘We've got the Colonel here’, one of the bearers said. I went out and found it was Tui Love, the gallant commander of the Maoris, desperately wounded. I spoke to him and thought he recognized me, but he died very soon. 5 Brigade had about forty casualties in this move which could have been made in the dark without loss.
We sent out patrols during the night. They all made contact and reported big parties of Italians thought to be laying mines. Everyone was now very tired, but not yet exhausted, and the hardest times were still ahead.
July 12th. The day was spent on the position reached in this advance, again under heavy shelling at times, mainly on 4th New Zealand Infantry Brigade and again the projected night attack was cancelled. Patrols found many indications that the enemy was consolidating solidly on our front.
One of these patrols was an unintentional one by
During the morning Charlie Mason, 23 Battalion carrier officer, went off alone in his carrier and by evening had not returned. The battalion was very worried about him and searched earnestly all day.
Inglis came up and had a look at the forward positions. He quite properly pointed out that the Twenty-second, which had dug in where it had halted, was very much crowded. This was straightened out and with a somewhat
Our night patrols found big enemy working parties laying mines and shot up some of them. These were British mines lifted from the boxes we had so laboriously prepared at Bagush and the Naghamish Wadi in the previous year. They contained a high percentage of duds and infantry could walk over them with reasonable safety, though it gave one a tender-footed feeling to do so, and occasionally a man was lost.
We had a conference about the projected attack and heard with some scepticism that when we had taken the ridge our tanks would go through and exploit. I do not think anyone then realized how much training and care and forethought are required to get good co-operation between infantry and tanks. We merely cursed one another when it was not achieved. Nor was the problem of command dealt with: the tank brigadiers naturally and emphatically intended to keep their regiments under their own command and to act merely ‘in support’. In the absence of any clear direction from Army they had to be left with their way. We knew there were minefields to be passed but I do not remember any particular plan for clearing and marking gaps: at least there is no mention of the matter in 5 Brigade Orders. Fortunately the Italians had left some gaps on their own initiative and had also gone to the trouble of marking them.
We asked for air photographs but none were available and, though the request was repeated again and again, none were taken. So we knew very little indeed of what was in front of us. There was a disturbing suspicion that one of the Panzer Divisions was south of the ridge; if it was, then there was nothing to be done but go through it and hope that our tanks would be up in time to deal with it. We heard that 4 Indian Division, advancing on a converging bearing, would be on our right, but there was no more liaison with the Indians than with the tanks. The affair was a Corps attack delivered by one armoured and two infantry divisions, but there was no Corps conference for lower than divisional
Code word for the operation was ‘Bacon’. Gentry rang in the afternoon and said ‘Bacon is off’.
We sent out patrols again that night. Again they reported large working parties and some successful shoots. Ominously, they also reported what they thought were German tank tracks.
Next morning I issued my summary. The final entry ran:
July 13th. Much valuable time has been gained. Our tanks and infantry forces are stronger and better organized than a fortnight ago. N.Z. Division has had 1069 casualties in the seventeen days, 500 in 4th N.Z. Infantry Brigade, 347 in 5th N.Z. Infantry Brigade. It has inflicted many more and has played a vital part in stopping the enemy onrush into Egypt.
This claim still appears to be justified. There was no sign of Charlie Mason during the day and we gave up hope. There was an unpleasant amount of shelling, again mostly on 4 Brigade, who reported a number of casualties. I had a lucky escape, being left untouched by a small shell which burst two yards away. We went ahead with our preparations but again in the afternoon Gentry rang and said ‘Bacon is off’.
The final conference was held at Divisional Headquarters at 10 a.m. on the 14th. The task of 5 Brigade was vividly defined as ‘to attack and capture Ruweisat Ridge from 880278 to excl. pt. 63, 876279’. This entailed an advance of nearly six miles and the seizure of the ridge on a front of 4,000 yards. On our left 4 Brigade was to advance alongside us and take the western portion of the ridge. 5 Indian Brigade was responsible for the balance of the ridge east of our right boundary. Its advance was begun from well out on our right and we saw nothing of it during the night. 1 Armoured Division was to secure the division's left flank in event of an advance from first light on the 15th; but 5 Brigade was warned that it must clear a suspected minefield about Point 63 (on the ridge) to permit exploitation by the armour at first light. As we broke up Inglis repeated this warning to me emphatically. I do not remember that any representative
As to the enemy, we knew that their positions were in depth, extending to three miles south of the ridge, that minefields had been or were being prepared, that they had at least thirty-six field-guns south of the ridge, and that there were almost certainly some tanks. We were confident of victory in this battle, in which New Zealand Division performed one of its finest feats of arms and gained a magnificent success, yet which ended in disaster and bitter disappointment.
The Brigade conference was held an hour later. I gave verbal orders which were later confirmed in writing. With about 850 rifles available in the three battalions for the assault I had to take an objective 4,000 yards in length. It was accordingly impossible to sweep all the ground during the advance even though we would approach the ridge from an angle. I decided to drive through on a 1,000 yard front with two battalions, accepting the certainty that pockets of resistance would be left on the flanks of their advance, and to keep one battalion in reserve to deal with difficulties as they occurred. 4 Brigade and the Indians did much the same; we were not in touch on the start-line and the assault was, as a result, made by three separated brigade columns. We sorely missed the companies which had been sent back to Maadi.
My plan was to attack with two battalions forward, Twenty-third on right, Twenty-first on left, on a frontage of 1,000 yards. The Twenty-second, with one company deployed on a wide front as moppers-up, and the other two in close formation, was to follow at 1,500 yards' distance. Twelve six-pounders and the twenty-four two-pounders of the three battalions were to move with and immediately behind the Twenty-second. Their dispositions on the objective could not be decided until daylight, that of the six-pounders was the responsibility of the anti-tank battery commander, the two-pounders would take the first opportunity of joining their own battalions after daylight. One troop of four six-pounders was allotted to Brigade Headquarters, which followed the reserve battalion at a short interval in its vehicles. First-line
Map 8
Other details given were the start-time, 11 p.m.; the start-line, a line of green lights laid by McPhail on a bearing of 230° from a map-reference point; the axis of advance, 320° from the centre of the start-line; the rate of advance, two miles in the hour; and the location of Brigade Headquarters after capture of the objective, a Point 66, on some rising ground 2,000 yards south of the ridge. The axis of advance was to be marked by lamps placed by the provost section after Brigade Headquarters had passed through; tools and one day's water and rations were to be carried by the men; the password was ‘Speights’ (a popular New Zealand beer); and success signals were laid down, one or two red flares at five-minute intervals. The signals officer produced an intricate signals plan which I could not understand and unwisely accepted.
After the conference, at which there were no questions at all,
Preparations went ahead all day but after three cancellations there was a feeling of uncertainty and, when ‘Bacon is on’ came through at 5 p.m., everyone was a little behind time. There was then a terrific scurry, and people were warned in great haste: ‘The show is on.’ I found that the signals arrangements were particularly behindhand. The divisional phone line which was to be tied to a line trailed out by us as we advanced had not arrived and never did arrive. Divisional Signals had been given a rendezvous and had accepted an eight-figure map reference instead of a guide, which does not always do in the desert. Theoretically, no doubt, it was
During the day my signals, on their own initiative, had laid a line to the nearest armoured brigade, which we surmised was the one that would pass through us. I now at the last moment decided to go off and see the Brigadier. It was infuriating to find that some idiot on Division had ordered this line to be taken up and that this had been done without reference to Monty or me. There was no certainty of finding the Brigadier quickly in the gathering dusk without this line to follow and the idea had to be dropped. I should, of course, have gone earlier and perhaps he should have come to see me.
At last light we found that the Twenty-first had ordered all its tools to be loaded in the platoon trucks and my last words with Sam were to order him to cancel this and carry tools on the man.
The anti-tank guns that were to move behind the Twenty-second, thirty-six of them all told, inexcusably failed to find that battalion and in the end most of them joined the transport behind Brigade Headquarters while some got hopelessly lost. This was the most disastrous of all our mishaps.
We made our final preparations, put on clean clothes, filled water bottles, loaded revolvers, wrote short notes home and had a late meal, with the feeling of tension usual just before battle. While the Brigade transport was forming up,
Odd things always go wrong in the preparations for a battle and the only course is to be patient, correct them as far as possible, and remember them for future reference. More than usual went wrong in the preparations for this unlucky battle.
We waited more or less resignedly for Alan and then moved to the start-line without him. The Twenty-first and
The battalion stood up, there was a jingle and rustle of equipment, and then it moved silently forward, hearteningly orderly and resolute-looking. We waited ten minutes and then moved, a solid mass of cars, trucks, carriers, portées, wireless vans, at less than walking pace, Monty leading with my car immediately behind him.
Forty minutes after we had started, at ten minutes after midnight, fighting flared up on the Twenty-third front. A moment later it had spread to the Twenty-first, tracer criss-crossing as the Italians fired on their fixed lines, a steady chatter of automatics, crunching of mortars, and, as the infantry closed, the coughing of grenades and sometimes faint, distant yells. The enemy guns opened, apparently not on any set defensive task but spraying the desert with many shells falling close to us. At about the same time we could see the tracer on 4 Brigade front and could hear the noise of its battle opening. From now on until 4 a.m. fighting was continuous but the advance was never checked.
We followed very slowly with frequent halts. Once on the right there was a check and for twenty minutes a dazzling display of fireworks where some group of posts was fighting it out. But the infantry this night were inspired, there was suddenly silence and blackness where the sparks had been flying and the advance went remorselessly on. Post after post collapsed but there seemed to be no end to the resistance. I wondered how long the men's high endurance would last but no call for help came back and the Twenty-second was never called on.
Communications broke down almost at once. The line from Division did not arrive and I understood the signals
Quite early I went up in a 22 Battalion carrier to the Twenty-second. I found it steadily plodding on in good order, but paying no attention to its job of mopping up. I told Sid Hanton to attend to it. Most of the way Monty and I walked ahead of the headquarters group with a mass of vehicles following us. Once we came on tank tracks. ‘These are fresh,’ Monty said. I thought of Crusoe and the footprint.
Somewhere about 4 o'clock we arrived at what we decided was Point 66 and halted. It was still dark. There were many dead and wounded Italians about, the wounded moaning pitifully but vainly. Monty and I stood for a moment and looked at one dead New Zealander, a mere youngster, lying half curled up and peaceful as a child asleep. Firing had died down. One of the L.O.s said the Twenty-second was halted close ahead. I sent him forward with an order to move forward and consolidate on the ridge, in rear of the leading battalions, who by the absence of fire appeared to have reached their objective, though no message had come back from them. I lay down for perhaps a minute. Then fire broke out again, coming from several directions and passing over our heads. Assuming that it came from posts that had been missed I sent the brigade defence platoon to mop up the nearest, on our right.
Then I decided to go forward to the battalions while headquarters was being set up and these posts disposed of. I travelled in the 22 Battalion carrier and took with me two L.O.s and the troop of six-pounders which had been attached to Brigade Headquarters under Mick Ollivier. Almost at once we came under heavy fire, disconcertingly heavy. I thought that the Twenty-second had not mopped up very cleanly, but the fire was high and with several narrow escapes we pushed on and to my delight soon came on the Twenty-second, halted in close order immediately south of the ridge and exactly where and how I wanted it. This was at 4.40 a.m. with the first streaks of dawn appearing and the light growing each minute.
I told Sid Hanton to get deployed quickly and pointed out to him roughly the areas to hold. I also told him to send a platoon back to deal with the posts that had shot at me and which were now firing towards the rear of the battalion. A hundred yards ahead I found 23 Battalion Headquarters.
I felt very pleased with the situation, though quite reluctant to pass again through the surprisingly heavy fire that continued south of the ridge. I stopped for an instant to speak to McLernon, I.O. of the Twenty-second. The L.O.s, Ross and Carnachan, sprinted ahead in their jeeps. We followed and within a chain a solid shot screeched overhead in a streak of flame. I poked my head up and to my horror saw in the half-light five tanks, 300 yards away, heading towards us and all shooting hard, spitting flame like dragons. Poor Twenty-second! I told my driver to bear half right and step on it: the only hope was to get out and find our own tanks. ‘O.K. but I can only do twelve miles an hour,’ he said. I sat down low beside him and thought how difficult
I stopped a few hundred yards on and looked back. Mick Ollivier's six-pounders were putting up a superb fight from their portées. One tank was blazing, but a dozen more were in action and the six-pounders couldn't last long. I turned and ran on, praying that by some miracle our tanks might be near enough to save the situation. We passed groups of prisoners hurrying back and met Ray Lynch, C.O. of the Eighteenth, looking very worried. He asked me if I had seen the Eighteenth and went on to find it. He succeeded and later died of his wounds as a prisoner. No sign of our tanks. We reached Point 66, which I recognized by the dead New Zealander. No sign of Brigade Headquarters or any of our transport. Almost frantic with helplessness we crawled on, scores of dead and wounded and abandoned weapons now visible. After we had passed through more clumps of prisoners and a battery digging in, a mile from Point 66 we came on Brigade Headquarters.
After my departure our mass of vehicles had come under heavy fire. Monty had stood it as long as possible and then, when he saw that some of the fire was coming from tanks, had very coolly led the whole group back in an orderly fashion to shelter in what we later called Stuka valley. He had just completed telling the bits and pieces of supporting arms where to go when I arrived and he was much relieved when I approved his action.
But it was broad daylight and still nowhere any sign of our tanks. I left my carrier, forgetting to get the name of its plucky driver, got into the car with Ross and McPhail and
After ages, perhaps twenty minutes, we reached a mass of tanks. In every turret someone was standing gazing through glasses at the smoke rising from Ruweisat Ridge four miles and more away. I found and spoke to a regimental commander, who referred me to his Brigadier. The Brigadier received me coolly. I did my best not to appear agitated, said that I was Commander of 5 New Zealand Infantry Brigade, that we were on Ruweisat Ridge and were being attacked in the rear by tanks when I left an hour before. Would he move up and help? He said he would send a reconnaissance tank. I said there was no time. Would he move his whole brigade?
While he was patiently explaining some difficulty, General Lumsden drove up. I gave him exactly the same information. Without answering he walked round to the back of his car, unfastened a shovel and with it killed a scorpion with several blows. Then he climbed up beside the Brigadier, who was sitting on the turret of his tank. I climbed up beside them and McPhail stood within hearing. The General asked where we were and the Brigadier pointed out the place on the map. ‘But I told you to be there at first light,’ General Lumsden then said, placing his finger on Point 63. I jumped down and did not hear the rest of the conversation but in a few minutes the General got down and in a soothing manner which I resented said that the Brigade would move as soon
We found on return that several batteries were digging in round Brigade Headquarters and there was a great congestion of vehicles, an ideal bomber target. Accordingly we moved along Stuka valley and established ourselves a mile farther east. No word of any sort had yet come back from the battalions, but the supporting arms had not got through to them and every movement forward of Point 66 came under heavy fire. The battalions were isolated on the ridge, without anti-tank guns or mortars or communications. There was no word of 4 Brigade except that it had sent prisoners back, had been abreast of us throughout the attack, and now was equally isolated. Jim Burrows and some of his staff were in fact forward with his battalions, and his Staff Captain was reorganizing a headquarters.
We spent a dreadful day of uncertainty and helplessness. The tanks arrived before very long, drove off the tanks of 15 Panzer Division without any difficulty, and settled down about a mile behind the rear of 4 Brigade, apparently without any clear idea of what to do next and certainly with no intention of exploitation. Big enemy pockets remained in the valley behind both brigades and every attempt to reach the ridge came under heavy fire. The field regiments got into position but their O.P. officers could not get through. McPhail and Dasler made repeated and most plucky efforts but were shot back each time. There were no infantry left to fight a way through with: even our defence platoon had disappeared. Everywhere there was confusion and uncertainty and a sense of frustration and helplessness that was desperately hard to fight against.
I went forward several times and gradually got a picture of the situation. On the right the Indians were plainly in possession of most of their objective, the eastern end of the ridge, and all was quiet there. Between them and 5 Brigade, near Point 64, there was still a big enemy pocket. There was a little shelling on where I supposed my troops to be, but I was fired on too heavily each time I tried to get through; and there was heavy and continuous shelling on
Early in the afternoon I realized that the pocket about Point 64 had been cleared. Troops were moving about quite freely in the vicinity. Shortly afterwards I watched a British company belonging to 5 Indian Brigade attack one of the pockets in the valley and capture it easily. This made it possible to reach the ridge via the Indian position. Dasler promptly got there with a No. 11 set and from him we got the first confirmation of what we had feared, that the Twenty-second had been caught by the tanks in close order and had nearly all been captured.
I spoke to
I was called to a conference at Division at midnight. We sat round a table in a canvas lean-to against the side of the command truck. Inglis, Steve Weir, Bill Gentry, and myself, probably one or two others. We were all very weary. The picture looked nearly as black as possible.
In 4 Brigade, Jim Burrows was dead; this seemed the last blow. Ray Lynch, C.O. of 18 Battalion, was badly wounded and missing and Peter Pike had about a hundred men in hand from the battalion. Sid Hartnell, commanding the Nineteenth, was missing and there was only a handful of men left out of his rifle companies. All three rifle companies of the Twentieth, with my old friends Upham, Washbourn, and Maxwell, were gone completely. Charlie Upham was known to be severely wounded and there were stories of valiant deeds. Nearly all the anti-tank and machine-guns of the Brigade were gone and at best it could put 200 riflemen in line in the morning. There were of course the Headquarters Companies, but they were useless alone. In 5 Brigade the position was a little better. Sam Allen was dead and the Twenty-first was badly scattered, but I expected it to have a fair strength in the morning. Sid Hanton and his headquarters and all three rifle companies of the Twenty-second were gone except for one platoon.
With little discussion it was decided that we should consolidate on the line to which 5 Brigade had fallen back and extend it to the left. This gave us possession of most of the spoils of victory, including fifty-five guns; and it enabled us to support the Indians still on the ridge. In fact it largely made our losses worth while. The Twenty-sixth from reserve was attached to 5 Brigade and the Maoris were to be brought up to replace the Twenty-second. 18 Battalion was also attached to 5 Brigade and it was decided that the remnants of 19, 20, and 22 Battalions should be withdrawn to Maadi to reorganize. It was further decided that 6 Brigade should be brought up from where
So ended this bitterly disappointing battle. There has been little recrimination about it among the participants, though much discussion. I think we have all felt that the fault largely lay with us. A truly brilliant victory was achieved, honestly earned by the eighteen rifle companies who made the assault. It was thrown away and we lost four battalion commanders out of six and 1,400 of our splendid veteran infantry, half of them taken prisoner helplessly. It is not right to say that the operation was laid on too hurriedly: we had several days for preparation. There were failures with guides, rendezvous, and signals, and no doubt faults in planning, but these things happen to some extent in every battle and are part of the friction of war. They are cancelled out by the mistakes the enemy commits and by the initiative and valorous deeds of the fighting men, on which one cannot base a plan but which good troops will always produce. The fundamental fault was the failure to co-ordinate infantry and armour. That is impossible without a
The Division took 1,600 prisoners, but at one time my Brigade alone had over 4,000 in hand and 4 Brigade probably took more. Jim told me afterwards that when he reached the ridge at daylight there were 20,000 prisoners for the taking. Most of those who were captured were released by 15 Panzer Division in the morning, or by the late-afternoon counterattack on 4 Brigade. During the next week I had a count made of the captured material remaining in our possession. There were twelve 88 mm., forty-three other field guns, sixty anti-tank guns and mortars, and automatics beyond counting. There was also a very large number of dead, more dead Italians than on any other battlefield that I have seen, and many Germans, as the German gunners mostly fought to the death.
During 16 July we settled down in our new position along the rising ground 1,200 yards south of Ruweisat, all facing north. After a day or two, we realized that this attitude suggested an unnecessary suspicion of the Indians who were holding part of the ridge directly north of us; so we occupied a Point 69 and placed half the Brigade to face west. When George Clifton came in he took over the Twenty-sixth and prolonged the line southwards, 18 Battalion went into divisional reserve, and the Maoris joined 5 Brigade, in which they remained for the rest of the war.
We spent the day licking our wounds and trying to decide whether we had gained a victory or had been defeated. The great amount of captured equipment in our hands was a real comfort.
To our astonishment our defence platoon had turned up during the night, intact. Their commander was a very good and genuine officer who had shown much gallantry at Minqar Qaim and who served with credit until the end of the war; but on this occasion he had made an extraordinary decision. He led his platoon off to deal with the posts shooting
I wandered about among the troops, who were on the whole in very good form and pleased with themselves, and to some extent pieced together the battalions' stories.
Some stretcher-bearers were left by the Germans to look after the Twenty-second's wounded. They told us that the battalion was attacked from the rear by about twenty tanks immediately after my departure and before it had properly shaken out. Ollivier's troop of six-pounders had fought for fifteen minutes until all guns were knocked out and the infantry, helplessly exposed under a hail of fire, had then surrendered with the tanks right on top of them. Satisfied with their success, the Germans did not follow it up by sweeping along the ridge and destroying the rest of the two Brigades, as they might easily have done. Instead they marched the battalion off in threes, with tanks on either side of and all round the column, past the rear of 4 Brigade and into their own territory. It was a humiliating and disastrous incident. One platoon only, under Sergeant Elliott and Corporal Garmonsway, escaped in some manner and fought its way back. Elliott was awarded a V.C. and Garmonsway a D.C.M. Incidentally, the bar to Upham's V.C. was awarded for his conduct in the night assault and during the 15th.
The Twenty-first had assaulted with an average strength of seventy-five in its three companies. It first met opposition at about 1.10 in the form of small posts which were quickly
The incident, however, had broken up the battalion's formation and when the advance was resumed it seems to have been in four parties. One party of about forty under Sam Allen crossed the ridge and proceeded a long way north. On the way they shot scores of the enemy, a great many of whom were bolting in their transport, destroyed trucks and lorries as far as their means allowed, and finally halted close to a battery of very heavy guns. Survivors thought they were two miles past the ridge, which seems incredible. A consultation was held at which all the officers present except Sam expressed the opinion that they were far past the objective. Sam stuck to his opinion and with Staff-sergeant Phillips of the Twenty-third went back to collect and bring up the rest of the battalion. During its advance the party had found it impossible to deal with all the enemy who wanted to surrender but whom no one wanted to be troubled with. Sam and Phillips collected a large number on their return journey and when near the position one of them shot Sam. He died some hours later. Sam Allen was a regular officer, extremely regimental, correct and unsmiling on parade, a delightful companion and inimitable raconteur. We missed him for longer than soldiers usually miss their comrades.
After waiting an hour the remainder of the party decided to come back. They met Harry McElroy, one of the Twenty-first company commanders, with a party of twenty-eight men, and at daylight reached the northern side of the ridge. There they discovered a wadi full of Italians facing south. McElroy lined up his party, evened up ammunition to five rounds a man, and charged. A number of Italians and a party of fourteen Germans were killed. The remainder, forty officers and 500 other ranks, surrendered, the full colonel in command weeping profusely. The prisoners were handed over to the Indian Brigade and so were not included in our tally. McElroy and his party remained on the ridge during the day. The remainder of the Twenty-first, in two groups, very much mixed up, got on to the ridge and remained there until withdrawn in the evening. Losses were not very heavy, somewhere about fifty.
The Twenty-third had an assaulting strength of 300 in its three companies. It had sharp fighting all the way and the two leading companies had lost forty men each when they reached the objective. The left company went through the tanks and a Private Clark set one on fire with a sticky-bomb. It blazed for hours. The rear company, under
We settled down at once to the routine of static warfare. After a few days' respite the Luftwaffe was now giving us its attention again, its main target being our gun lines in Stuka valley. My headquarters was outside the area of the heaviest concentrations but we were not neglected. For the next few weeks the Stukas came two or three times a day, between thirty and fifty at a time. There was always an attack in the early afternoon and another about sunset. We felt aggrieved when occasionally another was sandwiched in. They were very nasty and until the gunners thinned themselves and their transport out, they inflicted many casualties.
6 Brigade came up and extended our line to the south.
I readjusted my line so that the Twenty-first held a short but difficult front facing the eastern end of the El Mreir depression with a No Man's Land about 300 yards wide. Farther south, opposite 6 Brigade, No Man's Land was as much as 4,000 yards wide, giving only too much scope for alarms and excursions. The Maoris held the northern flank facing the portion of Ruweisat Ridge in enemy hands, with one company in an uncomfortable position on a flattish knoll in the centre of the intervening valley. The Twenty-third was fairly close up in reserve.
Reinforcements were hard to come by and were of variable
embusqué snugly installed as a mess waiter or storeman found himself in an infantry draft; many others, who were fretting as instructors or in other ways doing the oddly named ‘tour of duty’ at Base, came up very gladly. It was at this time that I received a ‘Report on Students who attended courses at New Zealand Signalling School for Battalion signallers’. Page 2 read:
I still retain it with pleasure for this was a bad time to come back to the Division for any but good men.
We set to work to lay minefields, to clear or mark the Italian minefields that we were sitting among, and to dig ourselves in. One truck carrying a load of mines struck a mine and blew up, leaving no trace of the laying party. The ground was very hard, and except in patches it was impossible to get deeper than eighteen inches without a compressor, so that most of the work had to be done at night and progress was slow. Summer was now at its height and the plague of flies at its worst. From ten in the morning until six in the evening, we sweltered and fretted, with one hand continuously waving the flies away. It was bad enough for us at headquarters where we could at least walk about, get into some shade, and rig up fairly fly-proof trucks for offices and messes. For the troops in the line, who all day long had to remain in their narrow slits, it was purgatory. After sunset the air became deliciously cool and pleasant and everyone came to life. The evening meal could be eaten and enjoyed and work done with some energy. The men remained cheerful and uncomplaining.
We buried the hundreds of dead and cleaned up and buried the filth that marks every Italian position. This made no appreciable difference to the flies but at least the odour
Jim wrote to me from Maadi giving an account of 4 Brigade's battle. He spoke with bitterness of the way in which the tanks had sat 1,200 yards away and, despite promises and assurances, had allowed an inferior number of German tanks to overrun his brigade, with its anti-tank guns all knocked out and more than half his men already killed or wounded. At one time he had had four Italian generals as prisoners and he was certain he had captured at least a Corps Head-quarters, but all had been rescued by the Panzers.
At this time there was throughout Eighth Army, not only in New Zealand Division, a most intense distrust, almost hatred, of our armour. Everywhere one heard tales of the other arms being let down; it was regarded as axiomatic that the tanks would not be where they were wanted in time. It was impossible not to sympathize with the tank crews. They manned inferior tanks, either armed with the feeble two-pounder or, in the case of the well-armed General Grant, far too conspicuous a target. Their losses had been very heavy and it is a dreadful thing to be ‘brewed up’ in a tank. Many units were amalgamated because of their crippling losses. There was no doubt, however, that for a while their fighting spirit was low and they were resentful and sulky under the keenly felt criticism that they met and sensed everywhere. The atmosphere struck me as really dangerous and I did my best to check critics and put a strong curb on my own tongue. When General Harding, the Director of Training in the Middle East, an officer of great distinction then and afterwards, visited us and asked my opinion as to the causes of our recent set-backs, I spoke without reserve. For what it was worth, my opinion was that we would never get anywhere until the armour was placed under command of infantry brigadiers and advanced on the same axis as the infantry. Under command and on the same axis. In some operations I conceded that the armour commander should
On the evening of the 16th some German tanks emerged from the El Mreir depression and moved slowly eastwards south of the ridge. They were met by a group of our own tanks and a typical tank battle broke out, both sides firing briskly at one another from behind cover at about fifteen hundred yards' range. We were sitting in the command truck and did not trouble ourselves to go and watch, but one of the Brigade runners did climb the rise to a viewpoint. He came back excitedly and reported that there was a regular battle on, and said with genuine astonishment in his voice: ‘Our tanks are fighting like hell!’ The implied disparagement was cruelly unjust but in our then state of mind no one thought it was. I went out and watched the affair. Before long the Germans withdrew and an absurdly inaccurate account duly appeared in the Intelligence summary.
On the same day we got our share of one of the Stuka raids. A Bofors gun had planted itself a hundred yards from our command truck on the previous evening. The crew threw up a flimsy stone parapet and had their meal. I strolled across for a yarn and suggested that they should at least give themselves a solid blast-proof wall; they could easily do it in a few hours. They were all tired and said it would do in the morning. I had enough on my mind and let it go at that. Next morning the troop officer called and I spoke to him; but gunners are inclined to think they know their own business and by midday nothing had been done. I then went across to the gun and gave the sergeant an order to get on with the job directly after lunch and keep going until I was satisfied. Normally I deprecated excessive precautions against air attack, having got the idea in Crete that over-emphasis thereon had something to do with the low morale of many troops there; but this I thought a case of crass negligence and foolhardiness.
Directly after lunch the first Stuka attack came in, about forty strong. We were standing and watching them dive in succession on the gun lines when someone noticed that several Stukas had carried a little farther on and the leader was in the act of turning over to start his dive on us. There was an instantaneous scatter, each to his own slit trench. Mine was occupied and I ran on to another.
During the week following Ruweisat, the Indians made small attacks along and north of the ridge, without much success as far as we could learn. The Australians were fighting a grinding sort of battle at Tel el Eisa and on 22 July another attempt was made to gain a decision in the Ruweisat–El Mreir area.
This time 6 Brigade was to make a night attack on the salient of the El Mreir depression from the south, the same direction as that of my effort three weeks earlier. To do this the Brigade had to move out into the wide No Man's Land, form up with its left flank practically resting on the enemy front line and advance parallel with it. An armoured
I was very unhappy at the divisional conference. Again there was no Corps conference although this was a Corps battle, and we knew only at second-hand what the other formations concerned were to do. It is an immense help to hear the commander of a neighbouring formation say what he is going to do and how and why. It is essential, and elementary, that such details as starting-time and start-line, axes of advance, objectives, boundaries, lateral communication, artillery support, siting of headquarters, should be co-ordinated, if commanders are to help one another and do their best for their own troops. We knew very little indeed on these points.
But the principal worry, of course, was whether the armour would really be up in time to support 6 Brigade. The armour Brigadier was present and swore that he would be up, but though George pressed him hard he declined to consider moving at night. We knew that the German tanks moved at night and, in fact, George's patrols had several times bumped into them; but the Brigadier insisted that tanks
I expressed my misgivings and had the feeling that Inglis was not very happy about the plan. But the tank Brigadier was emphatic and explicit with his assurances that his tanks would be there at daylight without fail, and
I went back feeling profoundly uneasy. On return to my headquarters, I ordered everyone out of the command truck except Monty and
We did our best to give support by fire as ordered. Our machine-gun company was placed so as to search every part of the depression that it could reach and every mortar in the Brigade was brought into 21 Battalion area. Heavy fire programmes were worked out with no stinting of ammunition, from zero to the time when the infantry could be expected on the objective, and then lifting beyond it. Most of our fire would inevitably fall on empty ground but it seemed
During the afternoon before the attack I called on
I decided to watch proceedings from Ralf Harding's headquarters, which was not more than 500 yards from the eastern lip of the depression, and for some reason I went up with Ross in the car instead of with Twigden in the jeep. On the way up we called on 23 Battalion. It was not yet dark, nor time for the attack to commence, when the enemy artillery opened up vigorously. Later, we heard the infantry had been seen, moving out to their start-lines in daylight. Our guns remained silent. The enemy fire was partly by observation on to 6 Brigade infantry and partly defensive on us. Accordingly, I was able to see what his defensive fire plan was on our front. It was laid in two clearly defined belts, one on and in front of our forward posts, the other 800 yards farther back. This was nice to know, but it meant that we had to pass through a beaten zone on our way to the Twenty-first. I thought it might be wise to wait a while. This early outbreak of fire was ominous, the chance of surprise was gone.
Zero hour arrived and our guns opened on their concentrations. Some were directed on the enemy batteries, but
I stayed there for several hours with Ralf Harding, trying to see what was happening and getting far too much of the shelling to be really happy. There was no sign of Reg, and I was very worried about him. Actually, having no bump of direction whatever, he had got lost, wandered out into No Man's Land, had some queer adventures, and returned hours later, very concerned about me.
We could see very little, only flashes and bursts in many directions. It was clear that 6 Brigade was having heavy fighting. We kept in touch with Brigade, Monty rang to say that Division was out of touch with 6 Brigade and was anxious to find out if we knew anything. We could see and hear that the attack was progressing slowly but little else. Our fire programme ended but I ordered part to be repeated as it was clear that the infantry were not yet on their objective. After the repeat, we carried on at a slower rate, for some ammunition had to be kept for the morning. We were concerned to see explosions and fires in the path of the advance.
Some time after midnight we could hear fighting going on in the depression, a few hundred yards away, rifles and Brens, grenades, and the flare of a fire that might be a tank set on fire by a sticky-bomb. I sent the Twenty-first carrier officer, Henton, who was killed in the next battle, to find the nearest battalion and get some information. He went off in his
I rang Division with this scanty information. Inglis was relieved to hear this much and it did appear that the infantry had done their part and that, if the tanks were up in time, all would be well. Firing quietened down to a few odd shots. Both artilleries became silent. It was disturbing that there were many more fires out in the old No Man's Land, but when I returned to my own headquarters, about 4 a.m., I felt fairly optimistic.
Soon afterwards, while I was chatting to Monty over a cup of tea, 21 Battalion rang to say that Colonel Peart had withdrawn his battalion and it was reorganizing in our area. As daylight approached, Jan had become very uneasy. The truck carrying his reserve of sticky-bombs was blown up and with tanks in and among his troops he would soon be helpless. Renewed efforts to get in touch with his Brigadier or the other battalions failed. He had had 150 casualties. So he took the decision to withdraw and came out with 260 men.
At daylight Inglis, unaware of the fate of the other battalions, told him to go straight back. He made the attempt and, feeling that his action had been condemned, led the leading section himself. The enemy had reoccupied his positions, he came under heavy fire, and abandoned the effort. Jan was very worried, for this was the second time he had given up a position, the first being when he side-stepped the Eighteenth into Tobruk while the Twentieth was overrun at Belhamed. He thought Inglis would write him off altogether;
Soon after daylight, from wounded and a few stragglers who got in, it had become clear that there had been another disaster. After much hard fighting, all three battalions and Brigade Headquarters had reached the depression. The anti-tank guns and transport following them had run into a minefield and few or none had arrived. There had been no appearance of the tanks. The German tanks moving in the darkness, and some of them actually following the brigade through gaps in the minefield, had attacked at first light and the survivors, quite helpless, had surrendered. One battalion commander, Greville, had been killed,
This unhappy story was only pieced together during the day. I went back to the Twenty-first about 10 in the morning and found that another disaster had occurred in the meantime. About 8 a.m., 23 Armoured Brigade had thundered past our northern flank at a great pace. ‘A real Balaclava charge,’ Ralf Harding said. They had come under crushing fire from several directions, had pressed on and run on to a minefield, had still pressed on and very, very few had come back. It was reported that some had broken through as far as a Corps Headquarters. There were many rumours about this affair but we never heard anything official. One was that the advance had been made on a bearing of 277° instead
The third phase of this ill-fated operation started punctually at 11 a.m. when the Indians on Ruweisat Ridge attacked along the ridge. From 21 Battalion Headquarters I had a grandstand view at less than a mile. They had strong artillery support: either a ragged barrage or a series of heavy concentrations, probably the latter. The advance went forward smoothly for about a mile. It reminded me of a battle of 1916, waves following one another in good alinement. Then it halted under heavy fire and there appeared to be an attempt to consolidate, but digging was impossible on that stony outcrop. The men stood about helplessly for a few minutes and then the whole mass ran back, all the way to their starting positions. Some stubborn individuals refused to run and followed at a walk but the retirement could not be called anything but a rout. A few German infantry followed them up and reoccupied most of their original positions and the battle was over.
During the morning, the armoured brigade that was to have supported 6 Brigade was sitting about in our forward area and out in No Man's Land beyond. They had several tanks hit and after a while realized they were doing no good and departed. One angry regimental commander saw me and stopped to apologize about the affair. He said that he felt bitterly humiliated but I am afraid that I did not answer very graciously. When they had gone, the charred skeletons of about forty of 6 Brigade's vehicles remained on the sky-line.
I saw Inglis in the afternoon. He was angry almost beyond words, and swore that he would never again place faith in the British armour. I gathered that he had spoken very frankly to various people. All three New Zealand infantry brigades had now suffered crippling losses within a few days. 5 Brigade had come off best and it had lost almost a complete battalion. There was no question of our taking part in any more offensives for a while.
Two infantry and two armoured brigades had been employed. They had made three unrelated attacks from different directions at different times. A single small Panzer division of some twenty or thirty tanks and a fifth-rate Italian infantry division easily dealt with all three attacks in succession and inflicted crippling losses.
For the next five weeks we remained in our positions without any material change. 6 Brigade, with the Eighteenth taking the place of the Twenty-fourth, reoccupied its old positions and 5 Brigade remained where it was. We surrounded ourselves with minefields on all four sides and the position became known as the New Zealand Box. Our period there was perhaps the most trying that the Division ever experienced. Summer was at its height and the flies at their worst. Strengths were so low that there was little rest for anyone. We were depressed and cynical. The men's faces were gaunter and more strained each week and there were many cases of jaundice.
A series of reserve positions was prepared twelve or fifteen miles to the east. We were allocated sectors and took our officers back to look at them. Our transport was kept well forward and we did not know whether we would fight where we stood, or in the reserve positions, or run away. On 26 July there had been further attacks by the Australians on Miteiriya Ridge in the north. We heard of objectives being taken, got the usual fatuously cheerful stories from the intelligence summaries, and slowly realized that there had been another failure with the same old story of no tank support. The whole attitude of Eighth Army was that of having one foot in the stirrup, and it was evident that, for the time being, the initiative had passed to the enemy. In my own small sphere, I realized the dangers of the prevailing mood and did my best to be cheerful and optimistic, but I let myself go in letters home. One phrase, ‘Things are not being done right in Eighth Army’, rebounded violently a few weeks later.
General Freyberg returned early in August with his wound almost healed, and resumed command. He was suffering
An American colonel visited us and went round the battalions with me. As he was going away he remarked that he had now seen everything but a Stuka raid. He had been shelled, been under mortar and machine-gun fire, had elsewhere seen an attack, reckoned he was entitled to a combat medal in fact, but he would have liked to see a Stuka raid. While he was talking I had been uneasily watching the sky and the rapid movements of people in the vicinity. I interrupted him to say that I had arranged a Stuka raid for him but he had better come to a slit trench with me. We were just in time, the first plane was diving as we got down. The raid was heavy and very close. Afterwards he produced a bottle of Scotch and went away with everyone well satisfied.
During this period 5 Brigade Headquarters started to play chess. We never stopped during my time, and in playing whiled away many a weary waiting hour, even in battle. 9.
The Author and Inglis after El Mreir
Author10.
Monty at Brigade Headquarters at Munassib
Author
I followed a regular routine. Breakfast before the sun was hot and then I would be sick. I was only slowly getting over my illness in Syria and never omitted this item until the cool weather. Then after looking through the overnight reports on progress of digging, wiring, mining, and the patrol reports, and giving Monty decisions on any points he raised, I set off with Twigden in the jeep to go round the battalions. At this stage, I was always watched suspiciously by the signals officer, who wanted to know my precise route and times of arrival and departure at various points. He was quite right but I hated to be tied down and always departed with the guilty knowledge that he did not believe for one moment that I would follow the route or observe the timing that I had given him. Eventually he put a wireless set in the back of the jeep, and as neither Twigden nor I could work it, an operator, who took a very gloomy view of the whole business, had to accompany us, perched more or less on top of the set.
My invariable rule was to visit the headquarters and at least one company of each battalion and one of the artillery O.P.s every day. This took several hours as I frequently stopped to chat with some men. At the end of the tour I had, or should have had, a very good idea of how everyone was shaping, what were their troubles, and what could be done to help them. Usually I managed to see the leader and some of the men of the previous night's patrols and get a better notion of what had happened than was conveyed by their stilted reports. Objects for the next night's patrols were settled during these visits; the plans were left to units. Very often, in fact almost always, we ran into trouble of some sort. 21 Battalion area was particularly lively and, with Battalion Headquarters practically in the front line, the visit there was always interesting. There was an O.P. nearby from which there was a view into part of the El Mreir depression. My old friend Carson, of Crete days, was often there and I sat with him under many smart shellings. Once I took General Gott there and admired his complete coolness under a very
On one trip I strayed out of my area to visit a British field regiment that had come in south of the ridge. While I was there it was bombed by forty-seven Stukas and several guns and trucks were knocked out, one of the most concentrated bombings I have ever cowered under. Monty was very angry with me for getting into this unnecessary trouble and thought little of my defence that I did not know the field regiment was going to be bombed. During my absence my car was wrecked by a 500-pound bomb which made a huge crater ten yards from the car and very nearly got Ross.
On my return we had lunch, sitting at a trestle-table out in the blazing sun, with one hand continuously waving over the food and fighting the flies for every mouthful from plate to mouth. The afternoon we spent in the command truck, swishing at flies and playing chess. After a time we fixed up a good fly-proof screen and, when a light sea breeze reached us about four, the day became quite endurable. In the late afternoon I frequently visited the brigades on either flank, either
We started patrolling again. I laid down the object of each patrol and the units took turns. The enemy very soon had booby-trapped double-apron wire along their front but there were many gaps in it and we kept a careful watch on the progress of his work. The El Mreir depression was still a prominent salient. In the re-entrant south of it, there were several German-manned posts which appeared to be occupied only at night. It occurred to me that if we could clear them out of this area we would be in a position to attack or raid the depression from the south, getting in behind the strong defences that were being constructed round the tip of the salient, and also evading the defensive fire. Several fighting patrols accordingly were directed on to this task. They had some sharp brushes but we methodically
The stiffest scrap in this little enterprise was when a 21 Battalion patrol, led by Joe Tanner and his sergeant, Jack Bramwell, came on a post with fourteen Germans. They rushed them, shot or bayoneted twelve without loss, and took two prisoners. One of these tried to escape and was shot. The remaining one was regarded as a great prize, as German prisoners were very hard to get at that time. They usually fought to a finish. Unfortunately, he was a reinforcement only ten days from Germany and was very disappointing to the Intelligence people. I sent Bramwell up with the next batch of candidates for commissions and was very annoyed when the Selection Board turned him down.
Inglis had departed before General Freyberg returned and I had a few days commanding the Division but with nothing particular to do. A few days after the General's return, Corps held a conference which all senior officers attended. General Auchinleck was there and General Gott in a brand new uniform. We were informed that General Auchinleck, who had been carrying the double burden of Middle East and Eighth Army, was handing over command of the Army to General Gott, who would first have a few days' leave. When the conference, which did not seem to be about anything in particular, had ended, Gott went straight off to fly to Cairo in an old troop-carrier. Almost as soon as the machine left the ground it was shot down, and he and fourteen others were killed. He and Jock Campbell, who had been killed in a motor accident near Sollum a few months earlier, were two great leaders of the early desert campaigns. Gott was said to know every wadi and well from Matruh to
For a few days General Freyberg went to Corps and I went again to Division. This time there was a little more to do. It was clear that the next move lay with Rommel and probable that he would go for the Army's left flank, held only by light armour south of the New Zealand Box. Gentry and I selected a line to hold on our southern flank. It was easy enough to select the bold Alam Nayil Ridge and we decided a few points such as inter-brigade boundaries and location of minefields. A new General, one Montgomery, arrived to command Eighth Army, and a new Corps Commander, Horrocks. General Freyberg came back and I returned to 5 Brigade.
The new Army Commander made himself felt at once. I saw him first when he called, unannounced, a few days after his arrival. He talked sharply and curtly, without any soft words, asked some searching questions, met the battalion commanders, and left me feeling very much stimulated. For a long time we had heard little from Army except querulous grumbles that the men should not go about without their shirts on, that staff officers must always wear the appropriate arm-bands, or things of that sort. Now we were told that we were going to fight, there was no question of retirement to any reserve positions or anywhere else, and to get ahead with our preparations. To make the intention clear our troop-carrying transport was sent a long way back so that we could not run away if we wanted to! There was no more talk of the alternative positions in the rear. We were delighted, and the morale of the whole Army went up incredibly. I was inspired to issue instructions to the Brigade which amused and pleased everyone.
To All Ranks5thNew Zealand Infantry Brigade and Attached Units—17thAugust, 1942The
New Zealand Divisionhas a very proud name in theMiddle East, noDivisionhas a better. It is fairly admitted on all sides that the arrival of theDivision, its action atMinqar Qaimand in the subsequent fighting, together with the arrival of theNinth Australian Division, were decisive in stopping the enemy advance. Further, it is freely admitted that atRuweisat Ridgeon July 14th the Division made a breach in the enemy lines which, if properly exploited, might have led to a decisive victory. But, instead of being satisfied with the credit given to them by all other soldiers in Egypt, many of our men are trying to insist on it by blaming or disparaging everyone else. Letters from the men of the Division show that many men are blaming impartially the South Africans, Indians, British, and the Armoured Formations, and by implication are boasting that we are the only good troops in Egypt. Many of the men in Base, who have taken no part in the fighting or very little, have disgraced themselves and the Division by unseemly boasting and insulting conduct in Cairo….Leave It to Others to Praise Us. Everybody in Egypt is willing to give us full credit and we need not boast.It must be remembered that we have seen very little of the fighting of other units. We did not take part in the great battles in
Libyafrom May 26th onwards and many of the troops whom we are freely insulting have been continuously in the field since then. We were disappointed in the action of the Armour in failing to support us, disappointed and bitter. We do not know what difficulties prevented them, but we do know that many of the men whom we have freely charged with cowardice have had their tanks destroyed under them half-a-dozen times and that almost every armoured unit, owing to losses, is an amalgamation of several units. We freely blame the South Africans for losing Tobruk but we have not shown yet that we ourselves can face and defeat a Stuka bombardment and concentrated tank assault of the violence that they had to meet.I appeal to all men in the Brigade to remember that we know only too little of what other units have done and suffered, that we are fighting the Germans and the Italians and not the South Africans, British, or Indians and that careless, ignorant, and thoughtless talk of the description that has been common does tremendous harm to our cause and to the good name of the New Zealand Division.
We are now facing a very severe test. For the next few weeks we will be on the defensive, and it is open to the enemy to make an attack which will test us to the limit. If he does not make it or if he makes it and fails, then the tide will quickly turn strongly against him, but these few weeks are critical. We hold an exposed and vital position of the line. Like the Australians, the
South Africans, the Indians, and British, we are burning our boats by sending our transport many miles away and it is our duty to stand and fight where we are, to the last man and the last round. It is probable, almost certain, that we will be subjected to extremely severe attacks by dive bombers, artillery, tanks, and infantry, and in fact it is probable that the supreme test of the New Zealand Division is close ahead of us. We are in a strong position, mined and wired, with well over a hundred guns and an ample supply of A Tk guns and if we stand our ground firmly, we cannot be broken. There must be no question of surrender if there is a ‘break-in’. Every post must fight to the last, irrespective of the fate of its neighbour. This must be the guiding principle of the defence. The methods to be observed are as follows:—
Infantry PostsThese will everywhere be dug to a depth of five feet without parapet and weapon pits will not be connected by crawl trenches. Each man is then safe against everything but a direct hit from bomb or shell and a tank can roll over him without damage. Each individual soldier must fight until he has no means of fighting left. Small-arms fire will be concentrated on the enemy infantry who will either precede or follow his tanks. Enemy tanks coming to close range will be tackled with sticky-bombs and Hawkins grenades, but this is only possible if they have been separated by fire from his infantry.
Machine GunsThese will have pits dug sufficiently deep to remove the gun from its platform so that it is not crushed by a tank rolling over. Reserves of ammunition, spare barrels, will be dug in close by and MG positions will be defended with as much tenacity as Infantry posts. While the enemy is forming up and preparing his assault MMGs will engage his tanks and supporting weapons so as to force personnel to take cover and the tanks to ‘close down’. During later phases MMGs will concentrate on
supporting weapons.Anti-Tank GunsAll guns have already been sited in defiladed positions and have already been dug in. Ammunition will be stored close by and every gun will be fought to the last. All guns will remain still and silent until enemy tanks are within decisive range.
Mortars will be sited so as to cover the minefields and their principal function in the initial stages of an attack will be to stop enemy infantry or engineers from lifting the mines. For this purpose good observation of the minefields is essential. They will then engage his supporting weapons if within range and otherwise continue to engage his infantry.
2″ MortarsEnough 2″ Mortars will be placed forward in each battalion area to illuminate the minefields by means of the parachute flares if the enemy attempts to lift the mines under cover of darkness.
R.A.P.RAPs will be dug in and cover provided for all personnel and as far as is possible, for wounded held at RAP. Ambulance vans may be retained but will be dug in and
Notoccupied.DumpsDumps of food, water, and ammunition will be made in each Coy. Area and will be well dispersed.
HeadquartersAll Headquarters will be dug in and organized for defence and will be defended with as much determination as any platoon area.
Field GunsFire will be put down on enemy armoured vehicles from the limit of observation. If the lorried Infantry can be separated from the armour, the attack may collapse early. After the enemy has debussed, fire should be directed mainly at unarmoured supporting weapons and to blinding his supporting tanks.
A proportion of the guns may be used to engage the enemy infantry following the tanks.
When the A Tk guns become engaged it is of great importance that their view of the tanks is not obscured by artillery fire coming down among the tanks and raising dust.
Destruction of enemy mortars, when they can be located, is of paramount importance.
It is the tradition of Field Gunners to fight their guns to the last.
( This is a Secret Document. All Copies will be returned to this HQ, by 1800 hours 18th August, 1942, after being read to all Ranks.Sgd.)H. K. Kippenberger ,
Brigadier
Comd. 5th N.Z. Inf. Bde.
I went up one evening and spoke to the officers of each battalion assembled at their respective Headquarters. If Rommel's final throw—and we were slowly realizing that it would be his final throw—was to have any chance, it seemed that he must smash the bastion of the New Zealand Box, and I fully expected a desperate fight. We got ourselves into the mood of rather looking forward to it. We organized the position for defence in depth. Wire fences marked dummy minefields so sited that we hoped any enemy penetrations would be canalized and led into trouble, while our own counter-attacking tanks would not be embarrassed. A squadron of tanks was put under command for the counterattack and we faithfully exercised with them on several hot days. One innovation we practised was carrying machine-gunners on the tanks, to be dumped and brought into action from selected positions. By the end of August our positions were so solidly dug, the spirit of the men so high, and our preparations so promising that I was almost sorry that the expected blow was never delivered.
On 24 August the General asked me if I could put on a raid. He told me that no prisoners had been taken on the whole Army front for a fortnight and some must be got. I said that we were ready to go into the El Mreir depression again if we could have the support of the divisional artillery. He replied that we could have two divisional artilleries, 144 guns, and to go ahead.
I decided to do the raid with two companies of the Maoris, who were the freshest battalion and had had the least fighting during the campaign so far, and told them to submit a plan. Preparing plans was not their strong point and a few hours later, with a touching faith in Brigade, they asked us to
The date was set for the following evening, 26 August. Briefly, the plan was as follows:
First, a company of the Twenty-third was to move out after dark into the area our patrols had cleared, as a covering party. Under its protection a tape line was to be run out from one of our forward posts at a right angle to our front and 300 yards south of the salient. The two assaulting companies were to move out along this line, halt and face right when the leading file had gone 500 yards. They would then be on their start-line. The guns were then to open, all concentrated on the tip of the salient, and for 300 yards back. Under cover of the bombardment the troops were to advance up to the wire and gaps in it were to be blown by a detachment of sappers with Bangalore torpedoes. Metal tubes about five feet long, filled with explosives; a two-man carry; pushed under the wire and set off, they blew a sizeable gap.
Half an hour before zero I went up to see them off. Both companies, Ngapuhi under Porter and Arawa under Pene, were ready, waiting together at the near end of the tape. I walked about among them and was amazed and amused by the number of weapons they were carrying. Every other man had an automatic, mostly captured Spandaus or Bredas, they were loaded with grenades, many had pistols, very few had rifle and bayonet only. Otherwise they were lightly equipped. The Maori padre spoke to them, most eloquently and impressively. Then he said a prayer, very moving in the utter silence. Baker asked me to speak. I did so briefly. I said how many guns would be in support—there were grunts of satisfaction—that I was confident they would do well, wished them all good fortune and concluded by saying: ‘The fame of your people and the honour of your battalion are in your hands to-night.’ There was a pause and a moment's silence, broken by a long burst from a Spandau in the salient. A man said: ‘Let her go, boy, that's your last.’ Baker said: ‘On your feet, men,’ said ‘Good-bye’ to me, and they moved silently off and disappeared into the gloom. I returned to the Battalion Headquarters to wait and watch.
Of course I could see very little and might just as well have stayed in my own headquarters. The guns opened punctually, a ripple of flashes round a quarter of the horizon. For the first time I realized that the sound of the opening of a bombardment or of a barrage, however perfectly synchronized, is not a crash, as often described, but a series of rapid thuds, for the guns are varying distances away from the listener. Then there is the whirr and whine and scream of the shells passing overhead and a series of crunches as they burst. After a few moments it works up to an incessant hammering and drumming. The depression was soon ablaze with shell-bursts, the first concentrations were very heavy indeed, and it seemed impossible that there should be any resistance. The enemy guns replied promptly, putting down defensive fire just where we expected, and it was very pleasing that the men in the assaulting companies did not have to go
At the expected time, the company in the line rang to say that Ben Porter's company was coming back through them, bringing prisoners. Pene and Baker came in soon afterwards. The first prisoner to arrive was gibbering with terror. He clung to me in the shallow dug-out and trembled violently with every near burst. We packed him off alone to Division, where he cannot have been of much use, and a few minutes later sent another batch. There were some late-comers, but half an hour after zero all was quiet again. The bag of prisoners, forty-one, was satisfactory in the circumstances. They came from two companies of Bologna Division, and the Maoris reported that there were scores of dead and wounded and that they had left no one unhurt or not a prisoner. These two unfortunate companies must have been annihilated. The Maori casualties were heavier than I had hoped—over thirty, including a very good officer, Mitchell, and a few men missing. Most appeared to have been incurred from our own artillery fire, either from shorts or through over eagerness in pressing on. The missing were all wounded and would no doubt have been picked up if the raiders had returned over the same ground. A few pockets of Italians had shown fight and some Germans had also had to be killed.
This was the first offensive operation of Eighth Army under General Montgomery's command, and we received warm messages of congratulation from him and from General Horrocks, the new Corps Commander.
During the whole of the next morning we could see ambulances moving into and out of the depression, and a patrol just before daylight reported that the enemy forward positions were not yet remanned. I reported this to Division and was ordered to take possession of the tip of the salient, which would give us observation over the whole depression. I should have foreseen this, but I had thought of the
In retaliation the enemy put down a very heavy concentration on one of the Maori company areas that afternoon. This was an uncommon thing, as they very seldom fired concentrations after our style. Ammunition was usually something of a problem for them and they favoured fire by observation on opportunity targets. However, this was a genuine concentration, so intense that we thought it was the overture to the expected attack. Everyone went to their battle positions, we warned Division, and I went forward to watch from a few hundred yards outside the danger area. All the fire was coming down on a belt about 500 yards long, pitching in well-spaced salvoes of four. The whole of the company area was obscured in smoke and dust. The Maoris lay low in their single-man trenches, ten yards apart and four feet six inches deep, but every few moments I could see a helmeted head bob up, looking for attackers. I made an estimate that a dozen troops (forty-eight guns) were firing not less than two salvoes a minute each and, as the bombardment lasted for twenty minutes, calculated and reported that about 2,000 shells had been fired. It ended as suddenly as it began, the dust cleared away, and nothing more happened. I did not expect many casualties but was surprised that there was only one, a man killed by a direct hit in his trench. General Horrocks came up in the evening and I took him along the line of forward posts in the moonlight. With the enemy nervous and irritated, it was quite an interesting walk.
The number of German tanks was always a vital question. The number of Italian tanks might be a matter of interest but hardly affected plans.In the last days of August there were many indications that Rommel was about to deliver his last offensive, and that he was going to come round our left flank. Intelligence said that he had about 250 German tanks.
A brigade of the newly arrived Forty-fourth Division relieved us, and during the dusty night of the 29th we moved through the box and on the 30th occupied positions on its southern and eastern sides. Twenty-first and Twenty-third Battalions went on to the Alam Nayil Ridge, facing south. The Twenty-second had now returned from Maadi, again under
The New Zealand box was the southernmost solidly-held portion of the line. Several minefield belts ran south of the box as far as the Taqa plateau. They were only patrolled by our light armour and the enemy would have no great difficulty in making passages. Then he would have to pass through the bad going of the Alinda, Munassib, Muhafid, and Ragil depressions which we had known only too well in July, a perfect target for air attack with the bottle-necks of the minefield gaps behind him. We would be on his
At 2 in the morning of 31 August a runner came to my dug-out and said ‘Twelvebore’. This was the code word which meant that the enemy were passing the minefields south of us and that their offensive had begun. I thought for a moment: everything I could think of was ready. There was a heavy bombardment to the north in the Ruweisat Ridge direction but it would not affect us immediately. So I went to sleep again, and slept well, though during the rest of the night our guns fired steadily at the minefield gaps, more or less over my head.
We had a lively morning. Despite shelling and bombing the enemy had pushed steadily on, and they continued to work forward all day, They did not appear to be interested in us, and although our guns were busy most of the day, we were only very lightly shelled. We were frequently bombed, however, and our Bofors were constantly in action. One bomb which pitched a few yards from our shallow dug-out set a truck on fire. The driver had taken shelter underneath and in an instant he was a sheet of flame. Someone beat the flames out and he writhed for a few minutes, blackened, smoking flesh, and was still alive when an ambulance took him away.
We were greatly cheered by the successes of our antiaircraft gunners, who with constant practice were now
A hot sandstorm stopped all fighting in the afternoon and made conditions extremely unpleasant. It cleared for a cool and noisy evening and a wild night. Both sides appeared to make a maximum air effort. Our bombers dropped flares over the minefields and depressions south of us, and bombed mercilessly. The enemy dropped flares over us in the box and bombed equally heartily. This was the first time that we saw butterfly-bombs, a dozen or so small bombs in a container which broke up on landing while its contents fizzed and spluttered all about before bursting. The sky was alight, and there were fires and bursts in every direction all night.
The day of 1 September was much the same as the previous day. Our guns kept up a steady fire and we got rather more back than on the previous day. The enemy advance continued slowly and cautiously, and by evening its head was well eastwards of us, but we had the feeling that the situation was well in hand. No attempt was made to sweep in behind the box, east of which many of our tanks were sitting snugly waiting in hull-down positions. All day there was an incessant thudding of tank-fighting farther east, and we heard that matters had gone well. Bombing continued by both sides but we got less, and our Bofors again had successes. During the following night our patrols located the enemy flank-guard positions a little north of the series of depressions.
2 September and the day of the 3rd passed in much the same way. An exceptionally good patrol led by young Fred Marett of the Twenty-third gave us exact information as to the enemy F.D.L.s on the brigade front. There was on each day a great deal of shelling and bombing and tank-fighting somewhere. But it was becoming evident that Rommel had shot his bolt, had failed, and would soon be thinking of going back. At the divisional conference on the morning of the 3rd, orders were given for an attack by 5 and 132 Brigades and a battalion of 6 Brigade to seize the northern edge of the depressions. This attack was launched from the Alam Nayil
Map 9
5 Brigade front was covered by a minefield 600 yards wide. Two minefields, each of about the same width, ran south like fingers at right angles from our line. The westernmost field ran nearly 6,000 yards to the northern edge of the Munassib depression, the easternmost field some 4,000 yards to the Muhafid depression. Our attack had to be delivered down the corridor between them. I gave verbal orders at a
11.
The Author Speaking to Survivors of the Rifle Companies of 21 Battalion after Alamein. (Ross at back of car)
12.
The Break-Through at Alamein
Author
The Brigade's attack was to be made by the Maoris on the right and the Twenty-first on the left. The Maori objective was the northern edge of the Munassib depression along a length of 1,000 yards with a 1,500-yard flank thrown back over open ground to the edge of the Muhafid depression, where they would make contact with the Twenty-first. The Maoris were to exploit into Munassib with their carriers and two sections of carriers attached from the Twenty-first. That battalion had to establish itself on the northern and western edges of Muhafid and also hold the long but not seriously exposed eastern flank back to our original line. It had a shorter distance to go and an easier task than the Maoris but was much weaker in numbers. We were learning by experience, and there were several differences between our plans for Ruweisat and for this battle. All the preparations were made without hitch or misunderstanding, with very minor exceptions.
The start-line was taped forward of our own minefield by and under protection of the company of the Twenty-third. A twelve-yard gap through our minefield was cleared by the sappers, the mines being located by the primitive method of prodding every square foot with a bayonet, and plainly taped off. Brigade Headquarters was established close to this gap and as near the start-line as possible. In moving there we got lost, as usual, with the result that I was too late to see the troops on the start-line before they moved off. 33 Anti-Tank Battery, two platoons of 4 Machine-gun Company, 6 Field Company, an escorting company of the Twenty-second, and the first-line transport and carriers of both the assaulting battalions were assembled in groups under Dugleby close to Brigade Headquarters. With them was the squadron of tanks with six carriers attached from the Twenty-third.
To assist the tanks and transport to find their way forward the provost section was to plant a line of lamps behind the advance along the inter-battalion boundary for 4,000 yards. Apart from clearing the gap through our own minefield, some of the sappers, under the protection of the company of the Twenty-second, were to lay a field between the two depressions covering the left of the Maori objective. We now had a new signals officer, John Shirley, very much on his toes, and he produced a good and comprehensible signals plan. A lateral line was laid to 132 Brigade Headquarters. The attacking battalions carried their No. 11 sets in jeeps and careful plans were made for getting line up to them on the objective. I asked John if his plan would work and he replied: ‘One hundred per cent., Sir.’ Monty and I both smiled. ‘This is your first battle, John,’ I said.
The gunners were to have their O.P.s forward at first light. I pulled the Twenty-second out of its position and brought it forward in close reserve. We were in good communication with the divisional artillery, reinforced to 144 guns, which could all shoot beyond our objective. Things seemed well knit together, and Monty and I felt as satisfied with our plans as it is well to be.
During the afternoon the Brigadier commanding 132 Brigade called on me and asked if I could give him any tips. I disclaimed any expert knowledge of the technique for night attacks, but showed him our plans and made two points very strongly. The first was that Brigade Headquarters should not move up following the assault as Burrows, Clifton, and I had each done in the Ruweisat-E1 Mreir battles. We had each got into serious trouble and had been unable to command effectively. I urged that a better solution was for Brigade Headquarters to be established as far forward as possibl