4th and 6th Reserve Mechanical Transport Companies

Front Cover

Spine

Back Cover

R M T

The Desert Road: Cairo to Alexandria black and white photograph of road

Title page Official History of New Zealand in the Second World War 1939–45R M T Official History of the 4th and 6th Reserve Mechanical Transport Companies, 2 NZEF JIM HENDERSON WAR HISTORY BRANCH DEPARTMENT OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND 1954

Foreword

windsor castle black and white photograph of coat of arms

by lieutenant-general the rt hon lord freyberg vc, gcmg, kcb, kbe, dso

I AM glad to have the honour of writing this foreword to the history of these two fine units, because in doing so I am able to pay a tribute to their work in the Middle East and Italy.

The 4th Reserve Motor Transport Company went overseas with the First Echelon, and was in fact one of the first units of the New Zealand Division to take the field in Lord Wavell's victorious campaign in the Western Desert in 1940. Later they took part in the disastrous Greek campaign. When Greece was lost, in common with all technical units, they lost their vehicles and heavy equipment. In Crete they fought as infantry. When Crete was evacuated they were re-equipped at El Maadi, and from then on they fought through the North African and Italian campaigns. The 4th RMT continued right to the finish, and took a leading role in the advance that captured Trieste.

The 6th Reserve Motor Transport Company was formed before the Libyan campaign in 1941, and fought through the Western Desert campaigns, and in the battles in Italy, up to the period of the fighting near Rimini in 1944, when owing to manpower shortage this unit was disbanded.

I AM inclined to think that the New Zealand Division's greatest contribution to the Allied war effort was in the North African campaigns during 1941–2–3. Fighting in the Western Desert was essentially a war of movement. Mobility played a decisive part. New Zealanders were ideal men for this class of warfare. They found their way by night as well as day across the unmapped featureless desert with accuracy and skill and, as it were, almost by instinct.

In this volume is the story. It tells us how these two units were formed and of their work in training and in battle.

It is a tale that should be recorded. It deals with our triumphs and disasters. It is a fine story of two of the most efficient operational units in the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force.

I hope that this book will have the circulation that it deserves, and that military students will study it and get from its pages the numberless lessons that are to be gathered.

black and white photograph of signature

Deputy Constable and Lieutenant Governor

Windsor Castle

He was on his way to fight in battles as great as any in the histories. But these would appear to him mere welters of nasty, complicated, tiresome activity. Only in after years, reading books describing the scenes in which he had been engaged, would he begin to think of his battles as Battles. Only then, when the heat of youth was gone, would he come to warm himself with the fanned-up glow of the memory that he, too, had fought on Saint Crispin's Day.

—Herman Wouk, The ‘Caine’ Mutiny

The author particularly wishes to thank F. Sargent, K. H. Gibbs, R. H. Thomson (whose remarkable memory has filled many gaps in the First Libyan, Greece and Crete chapters — all company records for these three campaigns were lost), P. F. Ward (for graphic letters home, quoted and unquoted), T. M. Cumming, C. T. Wan, L. F. Jemmett, I. E. Stock, A. H. Burt, R. E. Broberg and D. F. Coleman. Above all, thanks are due to the Editor-in-Chief and staff of War History Branch for research, biographies, maps, illustrations and much checking of proofs; without their patient and generous help the book would have been impossible.

Contents

Page FOREWORD V 1 THE BEGINNING 1 2 FIRST DESERT CAMPAIGN 19 3 GREECE 46 4 CRETE 76 5 ESCAPE 96 6 TOWARDS THE FRONTIER 104 7 SIDI REZEGH 125 8 BEYOND TOBRUK 154 9 TO TEHERAN AND SYRIA 168 10 MINQAR QAIM 179 11 ALAMEIN 201 12 ADVANCE TO TRIPOLI 220 13 THE END IN AFRICA 252 14 MULE PACK COMPANY 269 15 TO MAADI 279 16 TO ITALY 281 17 TO CASSINO 296 18 TO ROME 311 19 TO THE ADRIATIC 323 20 INTO 1945 337 POSTSCRIPT 353 APPENDIX: FIRST NEW ZEALAND ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 355 ROLL OF HONOUR 363 HONOURS AND AWARDS 367 INDEX 371

List of Illustrations

The Desert Road: Cairo to Alexandria C. J. Boland Frontispiece Following page A guard at Papakura Camp, November 1939 G. H. Whyte 102 Souvenir postcard C. Lee collection 102 Training in the desert G. H. Whyte 102 Training convoy in Nile Delta O. C. Fones collection 102 Bayonet training for ‘Mahmid’ B. J. Crowley collection 102 Anniversary dinner at Fuka, October 1940 B. J. Crowley collection 102 Sandstorm near Bir Thalata Henry Muller collection 102 Trench and dugout near Mersa Matruh B. J. Crowley collection 102 The approach to Sidi Barrani B. J. Crowley collection 134 On the frontier E. N. White 134 An Italian gun at Tummar West B. J. Crowley collection 134 Fort Capuzzo B. J. Crowley collection 134 Signing for Christmas parcels Henry Muller collection 134 RMT graves at Sollum I. E. Stock collection 134 Land mine, Tobruk Henry Muller collection 134 Laager area near Derna Henry Muller collection 134 Waiting to descend the Sollum escarpment Henry Muller collection 168 Entering Piraeus, Greece E. L. Tinker collection 168 Arriving in Athens E. L. Tinker collection 168 On the main road to Albania J. Pool collection 168 Transport from the Pindus Mountains J. Pool collection 168 Bombing in Nikaia E. L. Tinker collection 168 RMT men evacuated from Greece to Crete 168 Mess parade near Galatas 200 Troops returning from Galatas towards Canea W. N. Carson collection 200 Lt W. N. Carson, 4 Field Regiment, who commanded a patrol of 4 RMT, Galatas 200 Bamboo shelter, Crete 200 Bursting bombs, November 1941 J. M. Boland 200 Sidi Rezegh battlefield C. J. Boland 200 Entry to Tobruk, I December 1941 C. J. Boland 200 Bombed ruins, Tobruk R. M. Jaspers 200 The move west C. J. Boland 200 Climbing the Gazala escarpment C. J. Boland 200 Sgt T. W. Gill's escape party 200 Halt for lunch in the Sinai Desert J. H. Rich 200 On the road from Damascus to Beirut D. F. Coleman 200 The break-out at Minqar Qaim —from a painting by Peter McIntyre 200 Petrol truck on fire, Deir ez Zor, Syria F. L. Williams 200 In a slit trench under shellfire, Alamein F. L. Williams 200 Cookhouse at Burg el Arab C. J. Boland 232 Parade at Alamein for General Montgomery C. J. Boland 232 Watching the Alamein barrage by moonlight C. J. Boland 232 Muddy going and a rainbow, south-west of Fuka C. J. Boland 232 Bogged south of Daba G. E. Reed 232 Over the top of Halfaya Pass R. M. Jaspers 232 On the left hook south of El Agheila R. M. Jaspers 232 Marble Arch R. M. Jaspers 232 Olive trees at Kairouan A. E. Trenwith 232 1 NZ Mule Pack Company in Tunisia NZ Army Official (M. D. Elias) 232 Crossing the Sangro D. F. Coleman 232 Convoy carrying mules snowbound at Capracotta D. F. Coleman 232 Agnone, on the move from the Sangro A. E. Trenwith 264 Company HQ at Piedimonte d'Alife D. F. Coleman 264 With men of 28 Battalion in Forli NZ Army Official (G. F. Kaye) 264

UNIT COMMANDING OFFICERS

Following page Maj G. H. Whyte 264 Capt J. A. McAlpine J. K. McAlpine collection 264 Maj B. A. N. Woods 264 Maj I. E. Stock 264 Maj D. F. Coleman NZ Army Official (M. D. Elias) 264 Maj A. H. Burt 264 Maj R. T. Brown 264 Maj R. O. Pearse E. Pearse collection 264 Capt R. J. Robertson 264 Maj R. K. Davis 264 Maj A. G. Hood 264 Maj G. G. Good 264 Maj J. J. Hunter 264

List of Maps

Facing page Western Desert: Alexandria to Tobruk 1 Greece 35 Crete 69 Central and Eastern Mediterranean 135 Southern Italy 265 Northern Italy 299 In text Page Roadside dispersal for an RMT section at night 14 Indian's chalk diagram for pre-Tummar manoeuvres 23 Attack on the Tummar forts, December 1940 28 Pinios Gorge positions 60 Composite Battalion, Galatas, 20 May 1941 80 Routes of New Zealand brigades in advance to Sidi Rezegh, 18–27 November 1941 128 Eastern Mediterranean 172 The break-out at Minqar Qaim, night 27–28 June 1942 188 A typical battalion desert formation, about November 1942 222 Left Hook round El Agheila 234 Left Hook at Mareth 255 Gabes to Enfidaville 261

The occupations given in the biographical footnotes are those on enlistment. The ranks are those held on discharge or at the date of death.

colour map of north of egypt

CHAPTER 1 The Beginning

THIS is the RMT —the 4th Reserve Mechanical Transport Company.

Some RMT men speak of the Reserve Motor Transport Company. So, to keep the record straight:

The Army Act, Pt V, Sec 190 (40) says: ‘The expression “horse” includes a “mule” and the provisions of this Act apply to any beasts of whatever description, used for burden or draught or for carrying persons in the like manner as if such were included in the expression “horse”.’

Ibid. (40a): ‘The expression “carriage” means a vehicle for carriage or haulage other than one specially constructed for use on rails.’

Amendment 110/General/4762 adds: ‘and the expression “trailer” means carriage constructed or adapted for being drawn by a mechanically propelled carriage.’

Thus, in the Army Act, the term ‘mechanically propelled carriage’ is used to embrace all such vehicles and the term ‘motor’ or ‘mechanical’ transport is not used at all. The RMT's name probably derives from the Reserve Mechanically Propelled Carriage Transport Company (or Column).

In the index to the Manual of Military Law one reads: ‘Motors. (See Carriages.)’

This day, 9 December 1940, it will drive into its first action. The RMT is the first company of the 2 NZEF to go into action in the Second World War.

The 4th RMT Company's story goes back to that first Tuesday in October, in the ripe spring of 1939. That was when the First Echelon marched (and, in some cases, was assisted by more sober comrades) into New Zealand's three main camps: Ngaruawahia, Trentham, and Burnham. These men, volunteers for our Special Force, as 2 NZEF was called in the beginning, wore civilian clothes and carried small suitcases or sugar–bags. The old soldiers shook their heads….

The quartermasters handed out tin plates, pannikins, and clumsy knives, forks and spoons coated against rust in a loathsome grease. Each man picked up a sacking palliasse and stuffed it with straw. For candlesticks, old triangular bayonets, salvaged from heaven knows where, turned up. Old, too, were many of the khaki serge uniforms of assorted shades and sizes, their folds filled with flakes of naphthalene, their four–starred brass buttons heavy with green. Greatcoats in two sizes (too big or too small) were mustard-coloured survivals from 1916, some with disturbing bullet holes. But the black boots and the grey blankets were good, very good. All this and a lot more had to be carted to the six-man tent (huts were not ready for everyone then), which took some finding for a start.

‘Sorry. I'm a stranger here myself.’

Shuffled from queue to queue in that first dazed week, paraded for gear, for meals, and for paybooks, mystified by bugle calls,

Soldiers made up words for all bugle calls except the last call at night, Last Post. C. E. Montague, in Disenchantment, calls it ‘that most lovely and melancholy of calls, the noble death of each day's life, a sound moving about hither and thither, like a veiled figure making gestures both stately and tender, among the dim thoughts that we have about death the approaching extinguisher—resignation and sadness and unfulfilment and triumph all coming back to the overbearing sense of extinction in those two recurrent notes of “Lights Out”. One listens as if with bowed mind….’

asked for name and number at every turn, thankful they had brains enough to avoid such an organisation in peacetime, detailed for fatigues in cookhouse (those great bloody gauze bags of raw mincemeat) and latrine (the horror of the first cigarette butts), commanded to swing-those-arms-keep-in-line-pick-it-up-pick-it-up-watch-your-dress-ing, volunteers consoled themselves by reminding each other of the only thing the Army could not do: it could not make a man a mother.

But after a while the unit began to shake itself out of this mess. The 4th RMT Company, scattered among the three training camps, would not meet up together until Egypt was reached. In the meantime in each camp was a little pocket of RMT: A Section (now moved from Ngaruawahia) in Papakura and commanded by ‘the boss’, Captain ‘Granny’ Whyte,

Lt-Col G. H. Whyte, OBE, ED, m.i.d.; Te Puke; born Pahiatua, 23 Aug 1895; company representative; 3 Auck 4 Bde and ASC i Bde 1917–19; OC 4 RMT Coy Nov 1939–19 Jan 1941; CRASC 5 Div (in NZ) Dec 1942–May 1943; CO Trg Bn, Trentham, Nov 1943–Oct 1944.

with Lieutenant Muller

Capt F. H. Muller, MC; Hamilton; born NZ 18 Mar 1905; engine driver; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941.

helping him; B Section in Trentham under Lieutenants Woods

Maj B. A. N. Woods; Wellington; born NZ 2 Jul 1892; traveller; i NZEF (Auck Mtd Rifles and Anglo-Russian Armd Car Bde); OC ASC Comp Coy 7 Nov–1 Dec 1940, Base Sup Coy 10 Dec 1940–10 Feb 1941, 4 RMT Coy 10 Feb–26 Jun 1941.

and Broberg

Maj R. E. Broberg, ED; Wellington; born Wellington, 5 Mar 1909; mechanical engineer; wounded 24 Apr 1941; senior inspector of munitions, Army HQ, (NZ), 1943–45.

; C Section in Burn- hamBurnham with Captain McAlpine

Capt J. A. McAlpine, MBE, MC; born Ashburton, 26 May 1910; farmer; OC 4 RMT Coy 19 Jan–10 Feb 1941; killed in action 18 Apr 1941.

and Lieutenant Good.

Maj G. G. Good, OBE, m.i.d.; Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia; born New South Wales, 14 Nov 1913; dental mechanic; OC 6 RMT Coy 2 Feb 1942–11 Sep 1943, NZASC Base Trg Depot 11 Sep 1943–22 Apr 1944, Pet Coy 7 May–20 Jul 1944.

RMT's job was to carry riflemen about and to lend a hand with the multitude of transport tasks required by a modern army. To look after its trucks was a sort of mobile repair shop called Workshops Section. This Workshops Section and Company Headquarters, with its clerk, typist, despatch rider, sergeantmajor, and so on, the small administrative staff of the company, began to take shape in Trentham. Later drivers and technicians from Papakura and Burnham went to Trentham to complete Workshops Section and Company Headquarters, CSM Rhodes

Capt C. W. Rhodes; Hastings; born Dunedin, 20 Jul 1904; engineer; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

leading the southerners and Staff-Sergeant Upton

WO II H. T. Upton; Auckland; born Auckland, 27 Aug 1910; warehouseman; p.w. 28 Nov 1941.

heading the others.

Once rifles were issued, drivers settled into the routine of rifle drill, copious instructions on the Lewis gun (never used), preliminary infantry training, route marches, map–reading, and lectures about the organisation of the Division and how the Army Service Corps fitted into the picture. Few even saw the inside of a truck. Nobody seemed to know exactly what this RMT outfit was. Besides, no RMT had been with 1 NZEF in the First World War—and was it really necessary? Trucks were in short supply in those early days, and on the parade ground of Trentham RMT men reluctantly stood-in for trucks, glum and apprehensive while ‘sump’, ‘petrol’ and ‘water’ were examined and checked.

From 14 December it was goodbye to it all for a fortnight, with a £3 gratuity, a travelling warrant, and a pass safely pocketed within each new drill uniform. When the men were on leave a good many people wanted to know: ‘Why are you in the Army? There are more men in the Maginot Line than they know what to do with.’

In the new year the address for letters became:

Number, rank, initials, name,

Company,

NZASC,

2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Force,

C/o GPO, Wellington.

Any day now….

Then it was past the pubs and the eating places where so much of the soldier's pay stayed, past the offices and shops (keep in step and give ‘em a good show), down those streets walked in happiness or in loneliness on leave, past the crowds and the children held up to see, with a bit of cheering and waving, and a blaze of band music. It was listening to speeches (mostly too long) from about five lots of officials trying to say the same thing. But the small handkerchief glimpsed waving, then abruptly arrested and dabbed to eyes suddenly wet, said it: New Zealand's goodbye to the First Echelon of her Expeditionary Force that morning of Wednesday, 3 January 1940, in Auckland, Wellington, and Christchurch.

And crowds through the camps in the afternoon, and cakes for the trip, and best frocks, photographs, and talking and laughing, just a bit on the artificial side, maybe.

Shouldering black-stencilled kitbags and sea kits, the Trentham RMT men boarded the transport Orion at King's Wharf, Wellington, on Friday, 5 January. Soon they were joined by A Section and Captain Whyte from the Papakura troop train. The RMT men in this ship numbered 284. The rest of the company (94) from Burnham embarked in the Sobieski at Lyttelton on the same day. Next morning the convoy joined up and swung westward through Cook Strait.

Over the widening water lay New Zealand in her pakeha centennial year. Visitors to the Exhibition in Wellington were nearing the million mark. From the top of a crazy house a model of a man laughed incessantly upon the crowds below. Bing Crosby fans sang ‘Pennies from Heaven’, and Claudette Colbert was appearing in a film, ‘It's a Wonderful World’.

The last to be seen of New Zealand was Mount Egmont, with a bit of cloud, at 6 p.m. The next land was near Sydney, but men did not get ashore until Fremantle was reached on 18 January. ‘We knocked about a bit and the Aussie kids were mad on getting our badges and shoulder titles and buttons. When you walked it still seemed the boat was rocking.’ Next day there was an unnecessary route march to Perth, about 14 miles in all, with the temperature over 90. ‘Three hours 40 minutes it took us. This is not my idea of a joke. We bet the zoo wasn't crowded that day.’

The sea grew bluer and bluer. Sunsets resembled cinema-organ music. A lot now slept on deck, Mae Wests for pillows. All the good Westerns were out of the library and only sea stories were left. The ship's cinema was always crowded.

Films shown on the voyage: ‘Air Hostess’, ‘Two in a Crowd’, ‘After the Thin Man’, ‘Anything Goes’, ‘Roman Scandals’, ‘Kid Millions’, ‘The Street Singer's Serenade’, ‘Man in Possession’, and ‘Breezing Home’.

‘We crossed the Equator on 28 January and everyone said: did you feel the bump? Colombo, 30 January, another hot march, three hours leave, and what a pong! The Romantic East! Niggers came out in boats to sell fruit and stuff. What they do for a pair of bust tennis shoes would set your hair on end.’

Aden, 8 February: ‘Pete met an old beggar saying “No mother, no father.” He must have been 90.’ The Red Sea: lectures…. ‘The wind came hot and dry, and you could see the land far off looking white, like snow.’ Port Tewfik on 12 February, and so, wide-eyed, wondering, by train through Cairo suburbs to Maadi. ‘P.S. These marks are sweat, not tears.’

The 4th RMT went up into the Western Desert, up into ‘the blue’, into a desert as large as India; it left Maadi on 18 June, just eight days after Italy declared war—with Holland, Belgium, and France now prostrate. If there was any fat in this wasteland by the Libyan border, the RMT, suddenly the most advanced unit of the First Echelon, certainly lived on it now. The company's fortunes had changed with a vengeance. At Maadi the RMT had not exactly cut a dash. For many weeks it had only a handful of trucks. The company was the youngest child in the NZASC brood, and veteran drivers, instancing RMT's lowliness in early 1940, love to say that at a ceremonial parade for the British Ambassador in Egypt, Sir Miles Lampson, and Lady Lampson, when 4 RMT's turn came to march past the saluting base even the band had packed up and gone. The visit was commemorated in an unprintable song to the tune of ‘Steamboat Bill’.

All that the RMT did at Maadi, apart from route–marching and drill, was to learn how to care for, maintain, and look after trucks. The 380 men shared (like the miracle of loaves and fishes) about a dozen old Morris trucks, one Humber car, and 27 Norton motor–cycles. The most important job was to teach men to drive a lorry properly. Each of the three sections hoped to get 30 lorries to itself one day, and there were supposed to be two first–rate drivers to each lorry. RMT aimed at having at least one reliable driver ready for each truck by the time its permanent vehicles rolled in. Sergeants, corporals, and despatch riders, with much agony, learned to handle the motor–cycles in the sand, but once in the desert the NCOs stuck to the trucks, and only the despatch riders kept motorcycles.

Hardly anybody had handled a heavy lorry in his life. In one section, for example, of 90 men only three (yes, three) had driven heavy transport vehicles in New Zealand, and only 30 had car licences. The remaining 57 had never even driven a car. For an hour or so each week drivers coached non–drivers in starting, changing gears, and steering on a hard, firm stretch of sand at Maadi. The learners then passed on to more advanced instructors, and finally had to pass a gruelling test over really tough going of soft sand, rocks, and hummocks.

Here, and in the desert, men had sand trays (long metal troughs) and the far more useful sand mats (canvas strips with wooden battens) for getting stuck trucks out of loose sand, and one tow rope among six trucks. While in the desert the RMT had mud tires (with deep herringbone grooves); re–equipping for Greece, the company was given sand tires (wide, flat–surfaced tires with a very shallow tread) for the Balkan mud. Similarly, drivers spent the first cold winter in shorts and shirts and, with the return of good weather in Greece, received battle dress.

When the fleet of trucks did arrive shortly before the move into the blue, the three sections had barely enough No. 1 drivers to take over each truck. As it turned out, after a short time in the Western Desert, practically any driver could be sent confidently on any task, a tribute to the corporals for studying, nursing, and developing their men.

But by mid-May (with reports of the Italian Army moving restlessly on and behind the Libyan border), the company had received at long last 98 three–ton Bedford lorries, 16 30–cwt. trucks, three one–ton trucks, and nine cars. Each vehicle bore the divisional sign, a white fernleaf on a square black background, on the front left mudguard, and the company's colours, green and red, and its number, 39 (later changed to 48).

RMT was beginning to perk up.

Then, on 18 June, with the riflemen of 18 and 19 Battalions packed aboard, the three-tonners left for the Desert on the RMT trail which would lead some 500 times round the world before the war ended five years later. Down by the Nile they went, passing the sweet white sails of its feluccas, the flame trees, and naked children dabbling in mucky canals; over the Khedive Ismail Bridge to Giza and Cheops' Pyramid, nearly 500 feet high, nearly 5000 years old, where the ragged young descendants of the Pharaoh's people begged for biscuits, cigarettes and baksheesh; past Mena House into the wastes of desert, the hypnotic black thread of the bitumen road stretching ahead; on to the turn–off to Alexandria. They dispersed for the night and were away next day, with glimpses of the blue Mediterranean, sparkling white sand dunes, and the strange pink of salt marshes. And so they came to Garawla, near Mersa Matruh, by dusk, a wind blowing the sand and making it hard to see ahead. In the night they were welcomed by bombs falling just beyond the dispersed lorries.

At Garawla (nothing more than a couple of huts and an airstrip) RMT's passengers set about hewing and blasting the never–used ‘Kiwi Canal’, an anti-tank ditch some 6000 yards long, twelve feet wide, and five feet deep. On the last day in June the company, 370 strong, moved to Smugglers' Cove, some five miles east of heavily bombed Mersa Matruh. The RMT, now virtually taken away from 2 NZEF until the campaign in Greece, began a long and pleasant period of service for the British under the command of Western Desert Force. While to the west small British mobile columns engaged and harassed the cautious enemy along the frontier, Western Desert Force prepared secretly and stealthily for the counterattack. The RMT's part was to help fetch and carry everything from water, food, petrol and oil to ammunition, leave parties, and mines. And Naafi (Navy, Army, and Air Force Institute) canteen goods—the fat of the wasteland—spirits, beer, tinned delicacies, cigarettes, tobacco—yes, indeed, and these luxuries drivers considered fair game to be ‘acquired’ by luck and by subtleties. The Naafi run had to be rotated strictly. The booty was concealed with equal cunning. Steve Tripp,

Cpl R. S. Tripp; Paraparaumu; born NZ 1 Sep 1907; railway porter; twice wounded.

for example, buried a crate of beer in a military cemetery. The company built up dumps and kept them full, carted supplies over open desert (and not-so-open desert pocked with boulders, potholes, shingle, thorn bushes, and treacherous sands), and followed, with the assurance of camels, faint tracks to as far as Siwa Oasis, some 160 miles inland. Siwa was the forward base for the Long Range Desert Group, and the RMT party, usually a corporal and three or four trucks, often came back with a welcome load of dates.

Communications were difficult. The railway stopped short near the indifferent port of Mersa Matruh and the only road was the one along the coast. Western Desert Force, being far from amply supplied with transport, warmly welcomed the New Zealand drivers and their three–tonners.

The RMT men made themselves at home in remarkably quick time, A Section even adopting a young Arab waif, ‘Mahmid’, until officialdom frowned. Trucks, frequently called out on jobs for days on end, took on a homely appearance, with a photograph of the wife (or the girl friend) fixed prominently before the driver or the spare driver (for there were two drivers to a lorry), ‘and a photograph of the mother-in-law well behind his head’.

A typical three-tonner, developed by its two drivers over a period in the blue, became something like this. Bits and pieces were hung and fixed here and there with the skill of a high–country sheepfarmer adding ‘just a bit more’ to an already overburdened packhorse. Between the two drivers in the cab rose something like the little cupboard in the bathroom. It had a shelf or so, and there they kept brush, comb, mirror, toilet gear, and any opened foodstuffs—a half–finished tin of jam and margarine (soldiers from the world's largest butter–exporting country ate margarine throughout the war), the current packet of Naafi biscuits, and so on. While the truck bowled along the ‘pantry’ could be tapped for a snack. Bolted under the tailboard was a large metal box, about four feet long, completely filled with reserve tinned food. Then slung along the sides under the edge of the tray were other lockers with more food. In the gap between the cab and the tray, by the spare wheel, rested a five–gallon water container, complete with tap. That was the water supply, apart from the usual tins of reserve water. Slung under the trapdoor in the middle of the tray (the trapdoor was for inspecting the transmission) lay a shallow locker for hard-tack food.

For light during rest and repose in the back of the lorry, the trouble lamp (the wire–cage protected electric light on a flex connected to the truck battery) was fixed semi-permanently inside the canopy. With all headlights absolutely banned, the only other drain on the battery was for starting. With the canopy well roped down and absolutely lightproof at night, there was always plenty of power for reading, writing home, playing cards, eating, and yarning. The trouble lamp worked from a switch rigged up alongside the resting driver. He didn't even have to get out of bed. Now, drivers were supposed to sleep on the floor of the desert or on the bare floor of the truck, with a humble groundsheet and a couple of blankets. In no time, however, every driver had a comfortable mattress (from bombed–out houses in Matruh) or a folding camp bed. And usually some flat spot was left to settle down on, even when the lorry was loaded up.

About the most useful part of a lorry was the exhaust manifold. A tin of M and V (meat and vegetables) was placed on this and, presto! after a couple of miles breakfast was hot and ready. When away from the cooks' truck

Fresh vegetables issued were C3 in quality and quantity, so for some weeks a Company Headquarters truck was sent weekly to Alexandria, where vegetables were bought with canteen funds.

men also whipped up hot meals and brewed tea in no time on primuses or petrol fires. Every lorry carried an ample emergency supply of petrol. Drivers washed their shirts in petrol; water was scarce.

What about navigation and desert craft? Why didn't this raw company from Maadi disappear without trace in the trackless desert, like the Persian host on the way to beat up Siwa Oasis thousands of years ago?

Two British 7 Armoured Division navigators with sun compasses went out with 4 RMT Company on its first job in the desert, a four–day job building a dump. A khamsin, the most furious and the thickest of all dust–storms, chased the company home. From then on 4 RMT worked on its own.

For a start trucks worked mainly between Smugglers' Cove and Matruh, shifting the supply dumps and dispersing them in the desert. This was virtually all road work, the convoys going only a few hundred yards out from the bitumen road into the desert. This was the first series of jobs.

By now two personalities in particular were widely known. One was Bill Tanner,

Cpl W. F. Tanner; Marton; born Auckland, 16 Aug 1898; works foreman; wounded 26 May 1941.

the company's sanitary corporal, a small, merry, deep–voiced man whose work (and play) was of the best. He carried a pet tortoise with him and looked, some thought, like a tortoise. That became Bill's nickname, and the stories about Bill would fill a book—but not this one. The other personality was Padre Roy Jamieson

Rev. V. R. Jamieson, MBE, m.i.d.; Christchurch; born Lower Hutt, 22 Mar 1904; Methodist minister.

who, through his understanding and simplicity, soon became part of the company's life. He was awarded the MBE ‘for great devotion to duty and outstanding service, not only as a chaplain but as a leader.’ Padre Jamieson kept his sermons and services short and apt, ‘and when he left us after seeing us right through the desert, 4 RMT was never quite the same again,’ writes one driver. ‘His commonsense helps many of us still.’ One church parade in 1940 Graham McMillan

Dvr G. McMillan; Christchurch; born Waddington, 22 Apr 1908; clerk; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

remembers vividly for different reasons. ‘Somebody had found a little sheltered cove where a good many of us could gather without much danger of being bombed,’ he said. ‘We all piled into this little cove, somebody had a fiddle to provide the music, and away the service went. Well, what with the roar of the waves, we could hardly hear Padre, or the fiddle, and by the time the service ended, half our boots were awash from the incoming tide.’

After road work the desert trips began, carting rations for 7 Armoured Division. This was work for one or two subsections (six or twelve lorries) under corporals, and there were six sub-sections, each of six trucks, to A, B, and C Sections. Only officers had maps and prismatic compasses, and they couldn't be everywhere. One of the senior NCOs would pioneer the route to the dump. Drivers would go there in convoy and come back in convoy. Then it was considered everyone knew the way.

This is how the route was pioneered. First, the NCO (or driver in charge of the convoy) would study the map before leaving, watching for and memorising landmarks, escarpments, and bad bits, and would fix a route in a dead straight line. He didn't take the map with him. His starting point would be on an intentionally simple angle (say 45 degrees) from one of the milestones (or kilometre pegs: white, with the number painted in black) which bordered the coastal road. Reaching the particular peg with his loaded trucks, the NCO in charge of the convoy would get out and stand by the peg. Here he would make his turn (in this case 45 degrees) giving him the angle he had fixed on the map. Parade ground drill (Right turn! Left turn! Rotten! As you were!) long ago had taught him to make an exact, right–angle turn. Half of such a turn would be 45 degrees; a third would be 30 degrees. So far, so good.

His turn made, the NCO, fixing his eyes on a bush or a tiny feature, would walk straight towards it until the following truck was 20 to 30 yards along the line, which was now established for the waiting convoy. All the other drivers had to do was to follow the truck ahead. The NCO knew the distance (say 50 miles) to the destination, probably a couple of camouflaged tents in camel–thorn. The leading truck now had to drive 50 miles dead straight, a most difficult task, for trucks drift to the right or to the left, just as human beings do when walking for any length of time.

The NCO in the leading truck (he wasn't driving, of course; he had quite enough to do already) would pick another bush or rock on the skyline about 300 yards ahead. He glued his eyes to this bush (peering into the future), while the No. 1 driver (in the present) dodged any rough stuff ahead, from boulders to potholes to big bushes. When he had almost reached the bush, the NCO would quickly pick another one dead in line, and so on to the journey's end. The strain on him was not light. Sometimes in his sleep he would dream of dancing bushes.

When swerving to avoid obstacles, it was essential that the driver passed round the first obstacle on the left-hand side and dodged the next one on the right-hand side. This, soon becoming automatic, brought the driver roughly back into line again and helped prevent side-drift.

Another aid to navigation was to use a shadow in the cab as a sun compass. Allowance had to be made for the sun shifting round and taking the shadow with it.

In sandstorms such convoys of 6 to 12 trucks froze in their tracks until the sky began to clear. Watching the way the wind blew helped keep a sense of direction.

Occasionally, without stopping the convoy, the leader would climb out on to the spare wheel at the back of the cab and look at the convoy behind. If one truck could be seen behind, all was well, but if his dozen trucks were sprawled in an arc round the horizon he was great-circle sailing and had to get back on his rhumb-line smartly. In such small convoys one rule could not be broken: trucks had to follow dead behind one another. After the required distance, the 50 miles, had been checked carefully on the speedometer, the trucks, which would be creaking and groaning at four to five miles an hour if the going was uneven, would stop. The leader would climb out on the cab roof and look around hopefully. If he could not see the objective, he sent trucks on a limited scour in different directions, and one of them would find the dump.

By such methods, rough as they may seem, RMT trucks could travel considerable distances and at the end would be no more than half a mile or so out. The usual journey was 30 to 40 miles.

Just when a well-marked track was fixed in the desert, the dump would be established on another map reference and the whole thing began again. Of course, going back was nothing —-all that had to be done was to follow the tracks or, if the ground was stony, to head due north for the coastal road, where the distance from Mersa Matruh could be fixed by the nearest kilo peg. As for night travelling without map or compass: if no stars shone no truck moved. Every RMT man knew how to find the Pole Star and its pointers, so that if some were obscured he could work from the others. Fixing onto stars (such as Orion) that moved in the night could be most misleading. The stars were very big and close and personal to every man in the desert. Often before falling asleep in his bleak slit trench, a man would gaze at the stars with something close to adoration.

Frequently scattered far and wide on the individual carrying tasks handed out to the small six-lorry sub-sections, the drivers soon became confident and, above all, dependable. One of the highest peaks of efficiency was reached by one man in 1940. The drop arm of his steering gear broke, it was impossible to make temporary repairs, and he was by himself, alone in the bare desert. He put his three-tonner in creeper gear, wedged his accelerator down with a stick, and walked alongside the front wheels, kicking them into line whenever they bumped off course. He did this for one day, stopped during the cloudy night, and continued on next day, going north until he hit the coastal road. He sent a message back with a passing truck to Workshops and stayed guarding his lorry until the breakdown truck arrived. On the other hand, one RMT man became nicknamed ‘Dipstick’. He was a newcomer to the company and evidently to vehicles too. In the periodic oil-change and checkup, he drained the engine all right, but after a couple of hours told his corporal he had not been successful in refilling the motor. On investigation it was found he had been attempting to refill through the tiny dipstick hole.

Spacing the lorries and maintenance could not be neglected in the Western Desert. ‘There'll come a time….’ instructors had said over and over again. Spacing was based on the scatter value of the current enemy bomb, and trucks were spaced at all times so that no bomb could get two of them. Two hundred and fifty yards was considered safe. Night movement was nose-to-tail. Light and horn fuses were drawn from all trucks. On road work in the daytime a section would take up to five miles of road, and when night approached trucks dispersed methodically in sub-sections in open desert on one side of the road, ready to complete the task next day. The day finished with getting the trucks ready for tomorrow. The routine, laid down in the ‘Good Book’, had been learned thoroughly. Petrol, water and oil were checked and replenished; anything which had worked loose was tightened up, and any small mechanical adjustments were made at the end of the day. In this way the RMT got off each day to a clear start. Repairs beyond the scope of the driver-mechanic in each sub-section were handled by Workshops, where much enthusiasm developed into a great deal of skill. When the time came for Lieutenant McDonagh,

Capt W. G. McDonagh, m.i.d.; born Ireland, 13 Oct 1897; motor engineer; killed in action 20 May 1941.

from Petrol Company, to inspect all New Zealand transport in the desert in November 1940, he considered the RMT fleet the best maintained of the lot.

roadside dispersal for an rmt section at night black and white sketch of vehicle movement

On maintenance, Lieutenant John Fenton,

Maj J. D. Fenton, MBE, m.i.d.; Wellington; born Waitara, 24 Jul 1912; foreman motor mechanic; wounded 2 Jun 1944; Deputy Assistant Director Mechanical Engineering, CMD, Apr 1947–.

6 RMT (and this, momentarily, is looking forward into 1941) writes:

In the completely motorised New Zealand Division hit and run methods of maintenance could not be tolerated, particularly in an isolated desert war. The Army laid down virtually foolproof Vehicle Inspections (nothing was overlooked) and Maintenance systems and they became second nature to us. The Commanding Officer's technical adviser was the Workshops officer; the Platoon (or Section, as they were first called) Commanders were responsible for the operation, inspection and maintenance being carried out by the drivers. Daily maintenance (and glancing at the instruments on the dash to anticipate trouble) became instinctive. It was often noticed that during halts and night bivvies, as the infantry were cleaning their weapons, the RMT drivers also maintained their vehicles. A good driver, proud of his truck, kept 100% fit; reckoned the cost of his vehicle not in £ s d but in men and women power, materials, rubber, petrol, oil and valuable shipping space; remembered the responsibility of the load he carried. Its monetary value may have run into thousands of pounds, but its monetary value was secondary to the men in the line depending on the drivers getting that load there. If the load was personnel, then it was priceless.

A three-tonner's average load was about three tons of freight, or about 620 gallons of petrol, or 25 men without kit or equipment, or 20 with equipment, or 18 fully equipped with kitbags, or 30 prisoners of war or native labourers.

From early insistence on correct spacing (if in doubt in the first few weeks someone would pace the distance; besides, Colonel Essie, officer commanding all the RASC in the Western Desert, could be relied upon to appear in the most fantastic places and shout: ‘Disperse those trucks!’) drivers naturally adapted themselves at the end of the year to two formations, ‘Arrowhead’ and ‘Air Formation’, for troop-carrying by day. At night they closed up nose-to-tail.

The arrowhead, or inverted V formation, with 250 yards between trucks, was used when limited numbers of trucks carrying troops were crossing open desert. This formation was safe against bombing, but was too neat and tidy to give protection against strafing. In air formation the trucks were staggered so that no more than two were in line in any direction, and each about 250 yards away from its neighbour on all sides.

The Italian Air Force, unlike their Army, was active. The bombing of Mersa Matruh reached a peak of five raids in one afternoon in July. Three RMT men were out of luck that month. The 2 NZEF's first casualty through enemy action came when a formation of Italian Savoias swept in over Matruh at 2 p.m. on 12 July. Corporal Pussell,

Cpl O. T. Pussell, m.i.d.; born Feilding, 12 Feb 1917; battery assembler; twice wounded; died of wounds 25 Dec 1940.

wounded in an arm and a leg, was evacuated to hospital. Six days later four bombs fell in Company Headquarters. Driver Graham

Dvr J. A. Graham; Hamilton; born NZ 25 Jul 1915; insurance clerk; wounded 18 Jul 1940.

suffered from shock and abrasions, and Driver Andrews

Dvr C. L. Andrews; Auckland; born New Plymouth, 27 Apr 1907; commission agent; wounded 18 Jul 1940.

was wounded in the right leg. There were no further battle casualties in the First Echelon during the month.

Sudden and violent explosions halted a convoy of six A Section lorries rumbling along the Sidi Barrani-Matruh road in the darkness at 4.10 a.m. on Friday, 13 September. The trucks were carrying men on leave from 7 Armoured Division. Thermos bombs, unknown until then, littered the area. This new Italian device looked like a khaki-coloured thermos flask measuring about seven inches by two, with an aluminium spiral spring or cap at one end of the canister, and was exploded by vibration. These bombs had been dropped by aircraft. A blast threw Driver Osborn

Dvr G. R. Osborn; born London, 27 Jan 1907; truck driver; killed in action 13 Sep 1940.

on to one, which exploded, fatally wounding him. His was the first death from enemy action in the company and in 2 NZEF. Further casualties were prevented by the presence of mind of Corporal Tom Gill,

S-Sgt T. W. Gill, BEM; Wellington; born Shannon, 9 Nov 1907; bus driver.

who was in charge of the convoy. He forbade any further movement whatsoever. Investigating at dawn, he posted pickets at each end of the convoy, and sent for medical help and for engineers to deal with the bombs. He switched a fully loaded ammunition column close behind from the danger area, and for his work received the BEM. He was helped by Drivers Townsend

Dvr N. W. Townsend, m.i.d.; Te Kuiti; born Ireland, 11 Feb 1906; motor mechanic; wounded May 1941.

and Walding.

Cpl J. A. Walding, m.i.d.; Mamaku; born NZ 8 Apr 1907; butcher.

Arthur Brumby,

Cpl A. W. J. Brumby; Auckland; born Wellington, 1 Nov 1917; fitter and turner.

of Workshops Section, exploded a supposedly ‘dud’ thermos bomb while taking it to bits to see what made it tick. Bill Lupton,

Dvr W. H. T. Lupton; Te Awamutu; born Auckland, 7 Jun 1905; blacksmith; twice wounded; p.w. 22 Jul 1942; escaped 7 May 1944.

nearby, was bowled over backwards. White and shaken and with a badly lacerated hand, Brumby swore the last screw had set it off. At the RAP (Regimental Aid Post) all he could think about was how to find another thermos bomb and prove his theory.

That day, 13 September, the Italians advanced into Egypt by the coastal road. They reached Sidi Barrani (a few houses and a landing ground) on 16 September, dug in, and stayed there, establishing a number of strongly defended camps, two of them called Tummar East and Tummar West, a few miles south. Altogether the advance was 65 miles.

Air raids on Western Desert camps and dumps increased. On 22 September the RMT moved back to Fuka, where regular leave parties left for Cairo and Alexandria, and a most successful anniversary dinner (lamb and mint sauce) was held. Although the nearest Naafi had scanty supplies, beer was abundant for once, and this is the reason why. Driver Logie

Dvr J. C. S. Logie; Dunedin; born Gore, 30 Oct 1905; PWD ganger; p.w. 27 Apr 1941.

and one or two comrades seized a truck and hastened a hundred miles back to Alexandria. Mustapha Barracks and even a few cafes had nothing, so they went to the brewery itself, where stocks were exhausted. ‘We talked them into filling a truckload of bottles on the spot,’ says Logie, ‘and got back just in time for the reunion.’

By now, characters and hard cases were part of the company's life. A random run around A Section, for example, reveals these more-printable nicknames: ‘Cascara’, ‘Soap Box’, ‘Horse Thief’, ‘Zulu’, ‘Brusher’, ‘Gharry’, ‘Grandma’, ‘Labour Battalion’, ‘Clark Gable’, ‘Mother’, ‘Know-all’, ‘Bulldust’, ‘Gramophone’, ‘Playboy’, ‘Neck or Nothing’, ‘Half Pint’, ‘Sleepy’, ‘Swamp Rat’, ‘Tucker Box’, ‘Moaner’, ‘Fancy Pants’, ‘That'll be the Day’, and ‘Tent Peg’.

About this time a candid routine order concerning dive-bombing attacks warned: ‘On no account will troops look up from slit trenches except when firing as the white of their faces is immediately conspicuous.’ With the RMT based at Fuka, most of the First Echelon worked away at defensive positions some 18 miles west at Baggush. The majority of the Second Echelon was in England, and the Third Echelon, still at sea, did not begin to arrive in Maadi until 30 September.

The RMT's first tasks, often under arduous conditions, had been carried out excellently and with devotion to duty and determination, maintaining the fine traditions of the NZEF in the 1914–18 War, said Major-General Freyberg in a message. Typical of further messages of thanks and congratulation was the note from Major-General M. O'M. Creagh, commander of 7 Armoured Division, to Lieutenant-General R. N. O'Connor, commander of Western Desert Force: ‘May I bring to your notice the excellent work done by the New Zealand R.A.S.C. Coy., which has been working as third-line in this Division. Their work with the Division has been first class in every way and I can say no more than we much regret their departure.’

CHAPTER 2 First Desert Campaign

DURING late November 1940 4 RMT, right away from New Zealand command and attached to Western Desert Force headquarters, was working for the genuine old British sweats, the original Desert Rats, who had their modest insignia, a red rat sitting up on its haunches, painted on their vehicles. RMT's Company Headquarters and Workshops were stationed at Fuka. A Section was working on supplies from Fuka forward. B Section was in the desert building up and maintaining a petrol sub-park below Garawla, and was also establishing a reserve dump of over a million gallons further south, with eight-gallon cases mostly buried to ground level and camouflaged with camel-thorn.

CSM Rhodes helped B Sec start this dump, which L-Cpl V. L. Norrish completed, together with map and key plan showing the exact location of every case. This brilliant young NCO was killed a month later.

C Section was at Bir Abu Batta, working with RASC7 Armoured Division, transporting rations, petrol, ammunition, and ordnance stores. At the end of the month C Section rejoined the company at Fuka.

Sgt R. A. Walker, of C Sec, estimated each vehicle now had travelled about 8000 miles. The average truck mileage at the end of the campaign was about 16,000.

Then Headquarters, A, C, and Workshops Sections moved to Smugglers' Cove, near Mersa Matruh, and checked vehicles.

Something was in the air all right.

B Section, still busy around its petrol park, noticed three big straws in the wind. First of all stocks of diesel fuel arrived at the railhead at Qasaba for storage in dumps. Diesel oil could only mean one thing: tanks. Next the RQMS turned up from 7 Royal Tank Regiment to arrange for delivery of diesel fuel for I tanks—tremendous 25-ton marvels—15 miles an hour or so flat out—25-pounder shells just bounced off'em—invincible. They were moving up quietly each night and passed almost through B Section's lines. Drivers supplied them with fuel and oil daily.

Finally, on 27 and 28 November, trucks carrying petrol up to forward positions were switched from the usual route because of manoeuvres with live ammunition. The men on these manoeuvres were Indian troops in Cypriot trucks with 7 Royal Tanks. They were rehearsing a battle sequence. Rumour had it that the live ammunition disconcerted the Cypriot drivers, who beetled off, and the battle was lost without opposition. Anyway B Section was immediately afterwards sent to rejoin the unit at Smugglers' Cove, arriving there about 1 December. This was the first time the whole 4 RMT Company had been together for many weeks. One truck in each sub-section (one in every six) was fitted with brackets to hold four stretchers. Everyone knew what that meant.

Quietly and without fuss in the afternoon of 5 December A, B, and C Sections moved from Smugglers' Cove along the road towards Alexandria. The 100-odd trucks left the road near Garawla and turned south into the desert to an area known as Naghamish. Here guides met sections and led them in groups through the dusk to battalion areas. Now, and for some memorable days to come, 4 RMT was dispersed among and entirely at the disposal of units of 5 Brigade of 4 Indian Division. A Section went to 1 Royal Fusiliers who, with years of service in India, had a wonderful store of yarns and experiences. B Section went to 4/6 Rajputana Rifles, C Section to 3/1 Punjab Regiment.

‘The place at first sight seemed to be deserted, and it was hard to find even traces of the existence of a camp,’ says George Sheddan.

Dvr G. W. Sheddan; Christchurch; born Dunedin, 17 Aug 1918; stationer.

‘Those boys knew their stuff with camouflage. The ground just opened up and disgorged Indian soldiers in their hundreds. They could hide themselves behind two grains of sand.’ When he and Cyril Spiers

Dvr C. W. B. McK. K. Spiers; Dunedin; born NZ 27 Apr 1918; farmhand; p.w. Apr 1941.

opened a bright conversation with a bunch of Punjabis by saying ‘Boukra Mussolini kullos’, one answered by drawing a bayonet and pulling it across his throat. The two gathered that the Punjabis’ one ambition was ‘to get into action and take somebody to bits to see how he worked’.

In the dark and in the weird creeping grey of approaching dawn the fighting men embussed and the RMT moved off towards the world's first desert war between two fully mechanised armies.

The day came wrapped in cold and cloud. A raw wind drove stinging bits of sand into the faces of the troops. Once out of camp the vehicles travelled south and, later in the day, west, heading over open desert well inland from the comfortable coastal road. They covered some 50 miles before stopping for the night a few miles west of Siwa Track, and 30 or so miles south of the coastal road. All trucks moved in air formation, no truck nearer than 250 yards to any other. The RMT had often moved like this lately. As usual, while the front of the convoy quite probably was moving at a steady and sedate eight miles in the hour, the rear was alternately halted or belting along about 40 miles an hour, each driver mortally afraid of losing sight of the vehicle in front. This concertina action of convoys, never really mastered, seemed to be unaccountable. At times, one man remembers, it looked like a gold rush on the Klondyke. Drivers, flat out, avoiding bumps by quick twists of the steering wheel, feared springs would snap like carrots.

The host drove west. The Petrol Age was going to war. Describing a typical section move on this day, an RMT sergeant said:

During one stop I climbed up on the cab roof and looked around. The wind and sand had subsided and as far as I could see on all sides were vehicles moving—one can see a long way across a flat clear desert from a truck roof. Two other brigades were moving at the same time along parallel routes. I shall never forget that view. Some trucks were so far off they appeared stationary except that there was a tiny puff of dust behind them. All were moving westwards—Italianwards. There weren't sufficient supplies in the Western Desert to warrant a manoeuvre of this scope: we were obviously up to something shrewd.

After about 50 miles we just stopped. No one came near us or told us anything so my cobber and I investigated and found that the troops were here for the night. Further search revealed the Section cook's 30-cwt. truck. George Cashmere

Dvr L. G. F. Cashmere; Outram; born NZ 26 Jul 1907; motor driver.

was No. 1 cook at this time and he heated up stew and tea. We set out to find the Section trucks—all 40-odd.

‘The Indians,’ writes Dvr T. M. Cumming, ‘carried most of their own rations consisting of dried fruits (apricots, prunes, etc.) and chapattis or, as we knew them, the Egyptian pancakes. “Bully” disgusted them; they thought it pure “dog”. They were great tea drinkers, and at every stop thick sweet tea was brewed, and my mug was always filled first. They loved strawberry jam—and got it.’

We travelled miles feeding the brutes. Darkness fell with no stars. We received directions at each truck where the next one was. We wandered from one truck to another, 300 yds between, until we reached the last at about 10 pm. Then where were we? Where was George's cook truck? We lay on the ground trying to see the silhouette of something, but not even a snake stuck up its head. There was of course an issue of prismatic compasses to our Company but the officers had those—all three of them. So we drove off in the direction dictated by the average of our three instincts. The desert was cluttered for miles with transport but we saw none of it until much later we met of all people Captain Good, our own Section commander, within 100 yards of George's cook truck— amazing navigation!—but not ours.

Next day, 7 December, the news was out officially: a fullscale attack was to be made any time now on the Italian camps around Sidi Barrani. No advance took place this day. Sub-sections, with their companies of troops, practised movements required for the battle: ‘trucks to advance to within 500 yards of the perimeter of Italian Camps and infantry to debus and advance to positions on foot.’

The average RMT truck now looked something like this. The 20 Indian passengers (1 corporal, 19 privates) had puckered up the canvas and lashed it round the centre support. This left the framework bare. A Bren gun was slung above the cab roof, while rifles and assorted kit hung from all along the exposed canopy framework. This left room for anti-aircraft work by all hands.

The words two paragraphs back, ‘sub-sections, with their companies of troops, practised movements required for the battle’, cover a multitude of activities and explain something of the cocky ‘Up Guards and at ‘em’ air about Wavell's 1940 campaign. As the war developed, to co-ordinate manoeuvring infantry, RMT trucks, and so on, sheaves of plans and reports and diagrams and lectures would pile up. Days would pass on patient and not-so-patient manoeuvres. Excruciatingly detailed arrangements would be made about lights, rendezvous, signposts, guides, engineers, military police, movement tables (or charts), bulldozers, flags, radio, precise times, and so on. For our first desert attack the RMT was given exactly one day with its infantry to practise ‘movements required for the battle’.

The manoeuvres, a bare 48 hours before the battle, and now described by Sergeant Thomson,

WO I R. H. Thomson, DCM, m.i.d.; Wellington; born Port Chalmers, 19 Feb 1912; school-teacher; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

would have sent General Montgomery reeling in his caravan. There would never again be anything like this in the Desert. The untried RMT was about to establish in battle the first foundations of the 2 NZEF's reputation for initiative, dependability, and honest-to-God common sense.

None of the Indians with us could talk a word of English and none of us knew any Hindustani (or whatever it was).

Thomson's difficulties were those experienced by B and C Secs; A Sec had no trouble with the Fusiliers' English.

There were six 4 RMT trucks carrying B Company. The only other vehicle was an Austin company truck with a driver and two Indian officers. They knew no English. B Company had no white officers at all. When it came to practising our manoeuvres the Subedar (Indian officer) explained it to the Rajput corporal riding on our truck and then, for our benefit, drew a diagram with chalk (which we supplied) on our front mudguard. He could write numbers our way and he used up his complete English vocabulary: ‘This my platoon truck,’ pointing at his sketch of it. We then passed on what we reckoned he had said to the other drivers in our subsection. When he used up our supply of chalk we managed the diagram in the sand with our fingers. The whole thing looked something like this:

indian's chalk diagram for pretummar manoeuvres black and white photograph of diagram of vehicle movement

Incidentally for the next few days we received no orders at all in English. Various patterns of the above cropped up almost hourly; distances and formations were constantly changed for no reason apparent to us.

For the manoeuvres we in the leading RMT trucks had a hazy idea of what was wanted. We were to follow behind the Subedar in his ‘This my platoon truck’ according to the chalk plan on the mudguard. The desert here, not far west of the Siwa Track, was flat and hard and pebbly. So we set off at a very sedate speed. There was no flying sand, the sun was shining cheerfully; we were feeling pleasantly warm for once; we were relaxed and cosy—until ‘This my platoon truck’ stopped suddenly! The Subedar sprang to earth facing us and flapping his wings like a demented duck. The passengers began attacking the cab roof with fists and rifle butts so we stopped. I got out to see what the hell was up. I stepped back alongside the truck and was nearly brained. Rifles, picks and shovels, boots and tin hats with Rajputs sandwiched between, all hurtled over the side and the tailboard. They ran violently in all directions for some yards, dug ferociously, and in no time at all were all down off the horizon, peering along rifle sights. These Indian troops certainly trained well, seriously and thoroughly—everything done strictly according to the book.

Eventually we got going and did it again. This time we were ready. As soon as the Subedar sprang ashore flapping, I put on my tin hat for protection, dashed round the back and let down the tailboard, only to find they had pulled the pins and let it go with a rush. So I stood there and handed some out. One wee man reached down both hands to me and I lifted him down. Another tall stiff specimen gravely handed me his shovel and insisted that I steady him in his descent. We did this pantomime several times and then, quite unexpectedly, the demented duck was replaced by a penguin impersonation.

This time the troops bailed out as before but without shovels. They set off ahead over the sands with fixed bayonets at a steady, determined pace for a few hundred yards. This was the final assault apparently. They looked good and reliable to me. As before everything was correctly and conscientiously done. After capturing the enemy's camp a couple of times we drove back to our bivouac area for the night. One disconcerting factor was that we drivers of B Company never knew what was likely to happen next. There were no English officers to tell us if, for example, we would be halted long enough to do some minor adjustment to the truck, or at what time we would need to be ready tomorrow. The Indians would all leave without a comprehensible word, and would as suddenly return and want to be carried on. This isn't the best way to treat New Zealand drivers, who give of their best when they know all that is required of them and, if possible, why.

So 7 December got us nowhere positionally, but we certainly had moved along technically to establish teamwork.

Two instances illustrate the rapid New Zealand-Indian settling-down process. One was a fluke. An RMT NCO saw a horned viper, a sandy-coloured snake about a foot long with a large triangular head. This snake, usually seen curled up and poised threateningly, leaps diagonally, jumping just a little higher than the top of a man's half-puttees. On a sudden whim the RMT man took a flying kick at the snake, luckily half-stunned it, nipped it behind the neck and, with its tongue still flickering, showed it to his truckload of Indians who, far from being interested, all cringed away. Surprised, he told an Anglo-Indian warrant officer and received the reply: ‘So'd you cringe if you came from a country where thousands die from snakebites every year.’ After this the Indians would do anything for the RMT man. The RMT man would do anything to avoid more vipers.

The other instance concerns Driver ‘Nugget’ Parnell

Dvr E. R. Parnell; Johnsonville; born England, 29 Apr 1914; truck driver.

who, after driving many weary miles, became increasingly vexed because the Indian corporal would pound on the roof of the cab and shout angrily and unintelligibly when he swerved a mite off course to miss a great bush, rock, or hole. It eventually became too much. Nugget at length stopped his truck (and the following convoy), clambered out and addressed the passengers passionately. If they left him alone, he said in effect, he would get them to their battle in good order. He had been driving trucks for a very long time. He was only considering their comfort and the well-being of his vehicle in not charging great mountains of rock. And if they didn't shut up their bloody caterwauling and their crashing in of the roof, he'd drive the blasted truck into the next damn hole he could find and leave them there to rot! The Indians recognised not a word but they grasped the idea, and Nugget was left for the remainder of the campaign to navigate in peace.

For the average driver the normal driving routine was tiring enough, with difficult going, flying sand, and biting cold. No winter dress had been issued officially, and a great many drivers still wore skimpy shirts, shorts and, mercifully, the good thick New Zealand greatcoat. One man lived in his greatcoat for 10 days. Maintenance had to be fitted in during any spare time; to the nagging of back-seat drivers had to be added (in the case of B and C Sections) language difficulties. Some drivers also drove late into the night on odd local errands, and sleep for everyone was very precious. One driver, who had endured all this and a boil on the cheek without complaint, was roused by an Indian at 3.30 a.m. for a 6 a.m. move. At sun-up the Indian was still looking pale.

On 8 December, the day before battle, the whole division moved undetected about another 50 miles, heading for the gap between Alam Nibeiwa Camp and Bir el Rabia Camp.

No supplies—not a crumb of food, not a drop of petrol, not a mouthful of water—had reached several of the RMT lorries since they left Smugglers' Cove. This was a brigade fault; once attached to the infantry, each RMT section became part of the battalion for all purposes. Fortunately RMT's early training in desert-craft (or ‘desert-graft’) paid off handsomely now for these forgotten men. Each truck had its extra built-in lockers groaning with tins. In the past no truck had ever gone out on a job without two spare cases of petrol (16 gallons), but on this advance all drivers had tucked away four extra cases. Each truck had an official emergency ration (almost a petrol tin full of tinned stuff and biscuits), and every man had his store of illicit grub. For months the RMT policy had been: any emergency rations used up on a job had to be replaced at the first chance, and no silly questions asked. RMT men seldom missed a chance to relieve bulk ration dumps of a case here and there. This mostly went into cooks' stores to supplement the meals, or was spread among reserve food in the trucks. Explaining the RMT attitude a driver says: ‘For months we had been handling rations but the only stuff ratted was bulk. No man tampered with food broken down for a specific number of men in a unit up front. That got to its destination complete to the last dried pea, and it stayed that way. So although on our first advance our own HQ vehicles were unable to find all of us, scattered for miles as we were, we existed OK due to our earlier training.’

The day was dull and cold and sandy. The RMT moved in fits and starts. Trucks tore madly across rough ground for a few miles, drivers worrying over front springs, only to halt for varying and unspecified periods nowhere in particular. The expected enemy attack from the air did not come, except for one or two negligible sallies around the Tummar camps. The most cautious air formation in the history of desert movement was not tested. Drivers were full of admiration for their passengers, huddled together for warmth, thrown and bashed about as the trucks bounded from hummock to boulder, and exposed to flying sand whipped up by the icy wind. By the end of the day, when they were about 15 to 20 miles southward of Nibeiwa, Fusiliers and Indians were so stiff they could scarcely walk.

Before bedding down for the night regimental officers addressed the New Zealand drivers, showed maps of the proposed battle areas, outlined the complete operation, gave detailed requirements, and made plain that everything depended on trucks being able to get troops up to battle. Major Whyte, with three battalion commanders, attended the Brigadier's conference. The operation was discussed in full. The leading battalion (in A Section's trucks) had to debus 500 yards from the perimeter. Trucks would have no trace of cover coming or going. When the troops left, trucks would turn about in groups of two, one ahead of the other, to reduce the target. The front truck would get some protection from the one behind from small-arms fire.

B Section drivers were rounded up and paraded before the Rajput's commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel L. B. Jones. A man present wrote:

We looked a motley crew. Every driver had four days' growth of beard. Our uniforms were anything but uniform. This was a sore point at the time. We'd been attached to the British for months. When we sent to Maadi for clothing replacements they said: ‘Get your gear from the British’ and the British said, ‘Oh, but we can't supply New Zealanders.’ So we scrounged what clobber we could, and air raids while carting to Field Ordnance Depots were always helpful. Colonel Jones, not seeming to notice anything peculiar, made us sit down, put us all at our ease immediately, and explained his problems very patiently.

He told us A and C Sections were concerned with the Italian camp, Tummar West. He told us that we were to take the Rajputs in to the attack on a neighbouring Italian camp, Tummar East. He outlined the general plan of the whole attack on Sidi Barrani and surrounding outposts—he showed us everything on an outline map on a blackboard. He gave us an estimated timetable of the operation, and told us what ‘Intelligence’ knew of the enemy strengths and placements. He explained our own special task in the assault and mentioned he was greatly understaffed with ‘white’ officers. He was relying on us drivers to give the required example to the Indians when things warmed up. He said: ‘Would you give them a cheer when they go into the attack? You will find them very steady and good soldiers once they get going. So would you give them some vocal encouragement as they leave the trucks?’

attack on the tummar forts, december 1940 black and white photograph of vehicle movement

We all felt very bucked, very honoured, and rather important. We all thought very highly of Colonel Jones and his understanding of New Zealanders. We couldn't possibly fall down on the job now we had been entrusted with virtually the success of the whole operation.

Brig. W. L. Lloyd, commanding 5 Ind Inf Bde, told Maj Whyte afterwards: ‘I am certain the whole operation would not have succeeded as it did had it not been for the co-operation and efficiency of your unit.’

That night was particularly dark, cold, and at times noisy. An uproar flared ahead. This was merely a diversion. Some Indians had sneaked up on the eastern side (or front) of Nibeiwa Camp to fire a few shots, and the Italians had supplied enough panic and tumult to cover the noise of our tanks and truckloads of other troops passing round the south and up to the western side (or rear) of this perimeter camp ready for the early morning attack.

The last flares died in the distance. Total blackness pressed down over all the machines of war and over all the sleeping soldiers. All became calm and still.

But Corporal Tinker,

Lt E. L. Tinker; Christchurch; born Otautau, 20 Oct 1917; garage attendant and lorry driver.

who on the way up had eaten a tin of spaghetti, a tin of beans, oranges, a tin of sardines, a tin of M and V, a tin of herrings, a tin of milk, and one and a half tins of pineapple chunks, wrote in his diary next morning: ‘Up several times during night—crook guts.’

Expectant, tense, each driver hugging his own secret thoughts (wondering Will I be any good, will I do my block, will I get killed, will I get hit here, here, or—worst of all—here?), A, B and C Sections sneaked with the dawn south, west, then north out of range past Nibeiwa, the Italians' southernmost camp, 18 miles from their stronghold of Sidi Barrani. Drivers and passengers waited, but not for long. From the east they heard a sudden roar of attack—the Empire's first offensive—as tanks and 7 Armoured Division troops fell upon the unsuspecting Italians at Nibeiwa and seized, after a short clash, the surprised camp with over 2000 prisoners. Drivers stood around watching the artillery bombardment raising the dust and smoke on a distant mound. Then they saw an astonishing sight. Down one end of the low skyline moved a dark green wall—a solid unbroken endless mass of Italian prisoners, hundreds upon hundreds of them, marching out. A great caterpillar of humanity.

Hell, eh! Here's something to write home about!

On now to the same treatment at Tummar West. Every time the trucks stopped the Indians leapt out and dug themselves in madly all round each truck. The area, pocked with a mass of slit trenches, added to the natural hazards of desert driving. Sand began to move early in the day, the wind whipping the churned-up surface. From time to time squadrons of tanks passed through the RMT, or waited with the trucks in a shallow wadi before their next venture. An I tank cruising along through the sand threw up a bow wave like a battleship; all you could see was the heavily armoured turret and upperworks, with the squat, menacing gun. One tank had the barrel of its gun peeled back in four strips like a banana—probably a premature explosion.

And so to the assembly point, and the first New Zealand charge of the Second World War. A Section would lead the attack with the Fusiliers; C Section would follow with the Punjabis; B Section was reserved for another task.

A Section's lorries formed up facing the Tummar West camp, about three miles away. Some NCOs went from truck to truck, chatting with their drivers, ready to change any man who might be jittery. ‘Unnecessary precaution,’ reported one NCO. ‘All were as steady as though on parade, and only showed their excitement by their eyes and a desire to be on the move.’

Every man knew the story. Our artillery would lay down a barrage at 12.30 p.m., as the new I tanks, interspersed with lorry-loads of infantry, moved off to attack Tummar West. Cap- tainCaptain Fisher, of the Fusiliers, would lead, with A Section loaded with Fusiliers following immediately behind him, the lorries staggered and slightly dispersed. Platoon commanders would ride in the cabs with the No. 1 driver, and the No. 2 driver would sit on the edge of the body of the vehicle next to the driver's door. If the driver stopped one the emergency driver (No. 2) would open the door, tumble out the stricken man, and take his place.

The infantry tanks formed up and the anti-aircraft gunners watched for a possible air attack. The wind was bitterly cold. The rum issue was doubly acceptable. Corporal Jones

Capt W. K. Jones; Te Puke; born England, 24 Apr 1911; transport contractor.

wrote:

At last the tanks were in position and I made a last check of the vehicles, wishing all the drivers ‘Good luck!’ The tank crews stood up and gave the ‘thumbs up’ sign which was returned by our troops. Then the lids of the tanks closed and we began to move forward in huge extended line. As this massive mechanised fleet moved into attack huge dust clouds rose and almost immediately the Italian artillery let go with everything it had. As we got closer the fear of minefields became uppermost in our minds but not one vehicle was blown up.

The air was now filled with howling, screaming shells and bursting shrapnel. Fountains of sand rose up. I looked at the Tommies who were yelling something about ‘Look at the bloody fireworks!’ I looked at my driver, a veteran driver from Gisborne, and thought to myself: ‘All hell won't stop Nick.’

We were now in sight of the Italian camp. The enemy could see us clearly and fired madly with everything he could bring to bear, including anti-aircraft guns and small arms. Our tanks were returning the fire now. They would lurch to a standstill and after a second's pause the whole forepart of the tank would appear to belch orange flame. No individual shot could be heard because the thunder of guns and exploding shells and the roaring, clanking tanks merged into just one terrific inferno of sound.

An Indian lorry [near us] was hit but still kept moving although casualties on board were obviously heavy. Suddenly one of our own lorries, to my immediate left, was enveloped in a cloud of smoke and dust. ‘God!’ I thought, ‘they've got poor Clarky.’ He was only a boy, not yet 21 and a favourite in the sub-section. Then almost immediately I saw his lorry lurch out of the dustcloud, and on.

The leading vehicle, increasing speed, looked as if it was almost going to charge into the enemy rock fortifications. Suddenly this lorry stopped and out sprang Captain Fisher armed with rifle and bayonet. Our vehicle slithered to a standstill. Troops poured out and charged while the lorries sat like sitting birds…. After a while, the second phase of the attack came, and the second wave of attackers, Indians from C Section's trucks came through, to be joined by armed drivers who were keen ‘to go in and get an Eyetie, too'…. When the firing died down and before we moved our lorries we paced the distance from the nearest Italian guns to our position: exactly 120 paces. God must have been with us that day. It's almost unbelievable gunners could have missed our vehicles at such a short range.

Probably the Italians, totally unprepared for attack in the rear, in their panic completely forgot to lower their sights.

Major Whyte, moving up in the attack, noticed about 2000 yards were passed before the enemy woke up. Enemy artillery landed a salvo wide on the right, then another wide on the left, and then camc uncomfortably close to the target. At about 1000 yards rifles and machine guns lining the perimeter opened fire. The major, now most anxious—and later, most proud—reached a point he thought was the line to debus, 500 yards from the perimeter. In his own words, ‘Instead of stopping, every lorry speeded up to its maximum and kept on for at least another 400 yards. This was an anxious moment but nothing could be done. At last the halt came, and on the perimeter guns of all calibre were still in action … then I saw, dammit, RMT drivers grab their own rifles and go in too over the low stone breastwork…. During this operation the RMT did not suffer a single casualty. Some tyres were burst, many of the lorries were scarred and one had 68 holes in it.’

C Section, also driving through heavy fire without casualties, quickly brought up the second wave of attackers. The Punjabis climbed out, chanting weirdly. This eerie chant or wail made Driver Beaton's

Dvr M. J. Beaton; Gore; born Gore, 2 Jun 1911; concrete worker; p.w. 1 Jun 1941; escaped 17 Mar 1945.

hair stand on end. Then he heard sobbing from the back of his lorry and found a sick Indian, broken- heartedbrokenhearted because his comrades had left him behind. ‘He almost cried his heart out and I could not pacify him,’ said Beaton.

Meanwhile ‘Lead was flying thick and fast,’ said Sheddan, ‘and we no sooner got our heads up to see what was going on than we had to flatten out again. Until the Punjabis reached the Eyetie lines the enemy kept up a fairly steady fire, but then the tune changed, and through a pair of field glasses belonging to Sergeant Gay

WO I R. Gay; Dunedin; born Hokitika, 9 Nov 1904; transport driver.

I plainly saw Eyeties dropping their rifles, deserting machine-gun nests, and running down the slope in hundreds with their hands up.’

Among some of the RMT men who disobeyed orders, left their trucks, and followed in behind the Indians, was one of the youngest members of the company, ‘Ginger’ Wingham,

Dvr W. H. Wingham; Ikamatua, Westland; born Christchurch, 9 Nov 1919; motor trimmer; wounded 18 Apr 1941; p.w. 29 Apr 1941.

of Christchurch. Ginger had collected an automatic pistol in his travels, and with this firmly in hand he entered a dugout occupied by five Italian officers. Flourishing his revolver superbly, Ginger ordered them out. One officer eyed him up and down, cleared his throat, and said in Oxford English: ‘Don't worry, sonny, we won't hurt you.’ Ginger, piqued, got them out—at the double.

The attack had begun at 12.30 p.m., to synchronise with the Italians' lunch period when, it was hoped, the defences would be lightly manned. Intelligence assumed the camp would be taken completely by surprise. They were right. The Fusiliers had pressed hotly into an alarmed and confused enemy expecting and prepared for an assault from the east. The Fusiliers did not take long to clear the first half of the camp. The Punjabis, following up, found resistance in the remaining half of the camp much stronger, for the Italians had rallied to some extent. The Punjabis (an RMT man with them here and there) pushed on doggedly, rooting Italians from dugouts, rounding up prisoners and surrendering parties, and silencing one by one various strongpoints. By about four o'clock Tummar West was ours, except for some isolated strongpoints and a few machine-gun posts on the eastern perimeter.

As resistance faltered and faded, B Section's turn approached.

This section was not concerned with Tummar West and had kept on to the north, to halt west of and just above the besieged camp. These drivers were to take the Rajputanas past the north flank of Tummar West, once the camp had fallen, and carry on to seize Tummar East. Little did they know that the enemy, equally startled, would meet them half-way. The start line was within sight of Tummar West, but some distance from and out of sight of Tummar East. Some shells from Tummar West fell disconcertingly, but harmlessly, among the convoy during the move up to the start at 2 p.m. Don (‘Shortie’) Sutherland's

L-Cpl D. M. Sutherland; Wellington; born Scotland, 24 Aug 1909; process engraver; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

truck vanished clean out of sight in sand and smoke, apparently having received a direct hit, until, unharmed, it bounded out of the dust cloud, still holding formation. The trucks moved off to the attack at 4.20 p.m., covered one and a half to two miles, and then ran slap-bang into Italian infantry on foot. The RMT had hit a counter-attack coming out from Tummar East to the relief of its sister camp. While three companies of Rajputanas and their RMT drivers smartly debussed to engage the force from Tummar East, the fourth company entered Tummar West from the north-east to help quell resistance centred round some Italian light tanks. By 5.30 p.m. all resistance was quietened. It was then too dark to continue to advance, so trucks and drivers laagered with their companies.

While B Section had been passing Tummar West, the subsection on the southern flank, in danger of running into an anti-tank ditch, was forced to break formation and drive in line, almost nose-to-tail. Directly on the other side of the ditch three or four light Italian tanks suddenly appeared, fired at point-blank range, and merely nicked a Punjabi in the heel. These trucks ran into a curtain of fire from the last strongpoints by the camp's eastern perimeter. The Subedar stopped his truck, ‘This time imitated a pelican,’ and vanished completely. On his own initiative, Sergeant Thomson organised an attack and led his Rajputs until they linked with the Punjabis. For this brave act Thomson (backed up by most of his drivers) received the DCM.

colour map of greece

Thomson, later finding one of his drivers missing, searched anxiously, and finally discovered him in a bottle-strewn dugout arm-in-arm with an Italian. The two were singing unsteadily ‘Stormy Weather’.

From late afternoon until well into the night various parties of RMT men picked their way through the conquered camp while ponderous Io-ton lorries filled with ammunition blazed and exploded. A huge dump of fireworks made ironic carnival. Dense clouds of smoke hung over the camp and dead men, documents, abandoned weapons, and equipment lay everywhere. Pitiful cries came from the wounded and the dying. Among the shambles delighted mules gorged away at stores of forage. One greedy beast, partly treading on the remains of his ex-master, wrenched eagerly at a bale of straw.

A party from A Section, finding its weary Fusiliers and learning that the cooks' truck was lost as usual, brewed up and gave them tea and food. An A Section corporal joined them, deeply distressed at what he had just seen. There was one bunch of Italian officers under guard, he said, and another bunch was marched over to them. They recognised cobbers and wept and embraced and started kissing each other! Tinker, in B Section, treated his suffering stomach to a tin of Italian fruit salad, while others, pocketing Italian cigarettes and putting aside bottles of mineral waters, sampled tinned Italian tunny fish, sardines, a jellied meat which was probably horse, and a pleasing mess of macaroni with tomato sauce and cheese. And, of course, wine and more wine. More ambitious loot included neat-looking pistols and watches, but the fountain pens were deplorable affairs. Set aside as curiosities for air-mailing home in the non-censored green envelopes were 50 and 100 lire notes, bearing the picture of a rather apologetic Italian king, and only later did many a driver realise with a curse that these notes were worth real money in Cairo. Sheddan, with another C Section man, flashed a torch into a dugout and flushed two prisoners. Offered a smoke, one prisoner gave in return a fine photograph of himself.

But souvenir collecting was only part of the story. Drivers also turned their hand to first aid and helped gather wounded.

Lieutenant Allan Lomas,

Maj A. L. Lomas, MC, m.i.d.; New Plymouth; born Wanganui, 30 Jun 1916; medical practitioner; RMO NZASC Jan 1940-Jun 1941; 4 Fd Amb Jun 1941-Jun 1942; OC Maadi Camp Hosp Jun 1942-Apr 1943; 3 Gen Hosp Apr-Aug 1943; DADMS 2 NZ Div Aug 1943-Apr 1944.

a New Zealand medical officer attached to 4 RMT Company, assisted by his medical orderly, Driver Jack Prichard,

Sgt N. J. Prichard, MM; Dunedin; born NZ 10 Nov 1916; law clerk.

worked for twelve hours without food or rest. Part of the time they were under fire. They attended to the wounded of both sides, and for their work Lomas received the MC and Prichard the MM.

Shocked at the sight of some of the wounds and realising for the first time what a mess shell fragments and grenades can make of a human body, a New Zealander later wondered about the people in war factories who made these things. Perhaps they made them with the radio playing dance tunes, music-while-you-work stuff, ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and ‘Roll Out the Barrel’.

For a while drivers helped the Indians guard great mobs of Italian and Libyan prisoners.

Tummar West yielded 3000 to 4000 PWs and a large number of vehicles and stores. The three captured camps yielded some 7000 PWs, about 100 guns, several hundred motor vehicles, and vast quantities of stores and ammunition. Over 40 enemy tanks had been destroyed.

It was impossible not to feel pity for these wretched, swarthy little men with their battered cardboard suitcases and their thin, inferior uniforms. The dull rumble and murmur of their talk got monotonous in time. Against this background nearby prisoners could be heard calling out, and into the night cries continued, strangely similar to sheep bleating in a shed: Santa Maria … Bruno! … Antonio … Acqua, Acqua! … Presto … Antonio, Antonio, … Mamma mia….

Bigger actions by far were to follow. ‘But this was our first action and we are proud of it,’ writes a driver. ‘There never is another battle like your first.’

Next morning B Section grouped together and with the Rajputs resumed the interrupted advance on Tummar East, entering the almost deserted camp unopposed. The Indians rounded up the stray Italians and the trucks were dispersed inside the perimeter. But all was not over yet. The enemy still held out at Point 90 Camp, about three miles south-east. From there he ranged his artillery on Tummar East. After undergoing nearly three hours of almost continuous shelling, the RMT section was ordered back a mile, to be joined by the infantry. Only one Indian had been wounded and not a truck was hit. In the late afternoon the Rajputs moved towards Sidi Barrani. Next day, 11 December, in a fast move, the section took off with the Rajputs to assist the attack on Point 90 Camp, which fell with almost no opposition. This was the last spot of trouble.

In the meantime trucks were taken from A, B, and C Sections for a further move after dark. The idea was to take Sofafi Camp, to the south. The way led through enemy minefields in pitch darkness. After about a couple of hours' travelling news came through that the Italians had abandoned Sofafi. Drivers pulled up and parked for the night, revelling in the first decent sleep for nearly a week.

While this was going on a second RMT group, together with vehicles from other companies and several captured lorries, had loaded prisoners (including several hundred officers and one general) and set off for the cage at Mersa Matruh, with Captain Broberg navigating. The route lay south of Nibeiwa. The convoy, heading cautiously along a much-used track, spotted a recently mined lorry. Major Whyte, suspicious, investigated the track and found three mines. While these were being removed, two Italian officers under guard came up from an RMT truck in a big hurry. One said breathlessly in English: ‘This area is mined. In our interests as well as yours, it is right that we should tell you.’

‘You put’ em in, you take ‘em out,’ answered Major Whyte. The Italians did, and then led the whole convoy safely through the minefield.

‘I later yarned with the English-speaking officer and questioned him about Tummar West,’ said the Major. ‘He told me they were completely taken by surprise, and the boldness of our attack in transport caused a panic effect which accounted for us getting off so lightly.’

‘The trip was tough and we were all dead tired,’ said a driver. ‘Half the time I was nearly asleep and at each goodsized bump—and there were plenty—my head hit the roof of the cab with a wallop. That's where the tin hat came in handy. We reached the prison camp about three in the morning darned near done, eyes full of sand, a week's beard on, and a good crust of dirt all over.’

The Sofafi column returned to Tummar West next day, 12 December. The Indians set about cleaning up the mess while the RMT waited in an intense sandstorm, a gritty curtain coming down over Tummar West's last act in the war. Later the Indians moved out on foot, their destination Sudan and Abyssinia. Drivers hoped transport would turn up for their gallant ex-passengers for at least part of the journey. ‘I was very sorry to say goodbye to my lot of Indian troops,’ wrote one driver. ‘I will always remember their kindness and good-fellowship.’ The Fusiliers were on the way too. The riflemen, the excitement, had gone. The New Zealanders' job was now carrying more Italians back to Matruh—a rough ride by way of the desert, for the Sidi Barrani-Matruh road was still damaged and mined.

The 4th RMT was well represented in the battle honours. Major Whyte received the OBE ‘for most valuable service’, the citation also paying high tribute to his company's efficiency. Captain McAlpine, who already had been awarded the MBE for consistent good work and devotion to duty, received the MC for controlling and supervising debussing at Tummar West ‘with great coolness and courage’. Lieutenant Muller won the MC for displaying courage and leadership during the engagement; Sergeant Wilson

WO II P. G. Wilson, MM, m.i.d.; Wairoa; born Wairoa, 21 Sep 1905; foreman mechanic; p.w. 27 May 1941.

received the MM for bravery and ‘complete disregard for danger’ during the prolonged shelling of Tummar East, and Driver Corp

Dvr G. W. Corp, MM; born England, 3 Sep 1911; taxi driver; p.w. 1 Jun 1941; killed (in air raid) while p.w. 12 May 1944.

was awarded the MM for driving his lorry to within 30 yards of the enemy parapet, entering an exposed position under heavy fire, and carrying out a wounded soldier.

On 16 December Italy's three-month occupation of the fringe of Egypt ended. Nearly 40,000 prisoners were in the bag for fewer than 1000 British casualties. Bardia, the first important post inside Italian territory, was the next objective. It was less than ten miles past the Egyptian frontier. The next day orders arrived for the RMT to pick up Australian troops and take them ten miles west of Sidi Barrani in preparation for the New Year attack on strongly fortified Bardia, ‘the bastion of Fascism’, according to Bari radio. Lean, laconic, superbly confident, the Australians sauntered aboard. Insisting on navigating the convoy themselves, they got off to a bad start by circling Matruh, and promptly got lost in desert the RMT knew like the back of its hand.

During the third week of December 4 RMT moved to Sollum. Any trucks in particularly bad shape were exchanged for Bedfords from a newly arrived British reserve mechanical transport company, X RMT Company. This unit had removed the glass from the windscreens of its trucks to prevent reflected sunlight from flashing away their positions to enemy aircraft or patrols. The New Zealand drivers took a decidedly sour view of this uncomfortable precaution. With the glass gone, sand drove into faces and cabs, and the cold, biting wind of the desert winter cut with increasing force into faces and hands. The Kiwi system was to smear the windscreens with oil and throw on sand, leaving a small strip clear to look through.

Snub-nosed barges from ships out in the bay were now bringing war materials into Sollum's little port, and 4 RMT's job was to help carry this material from the stone pier up hairpin bends to dumps scattered along the dreary escarpment. The company worked the clock round, sections taking turns with the night shifts, for with the advance in the desert supply problems had increased, especially with food, water, and petrol. Tanks alone in one action needed between 20,000 and 25,000 gallons of petrol a day. ASC drivers ‘worked against great difficulties of time and space,’ says a War Office publication, Destruction of an Army, ‘and these men, hardy, tough and enterprising, deserve to share in the triumphs of the campaign as much as the men who drove more spectacular vehicles.’

Sollum, bombed regularly by enemy aircraft, was also troubled by a big gun in Bardia—‘Bardia Bill’. It paid not to waste time around that narrow wharf. Warnings came from an old mariner who would emerge from a hut and shout ‘Air raid!’; from small naval gunboats opening fire out in the bay; and from the stampede of wharf workers, Cypriots and Palestinians, heading for the caves. On the day before Christmas 4 RMT met with its heaviest air-raid casualties in Africa. The men, all from B Section, were anxious to speed up the work and had four trucks loading at the same time. At 12.40 p.m. a flight of 17 Italian aircraft caught everyone by surprise. Bombs straddled wharf and barges. In the ruins (and among the red oranges intended for the troops on Christmas Day), lay Second-Lieutenant Wallace,

2 Lt J. T. Wallace, m.i.d.; born USA, 5 Mar 1910; machinery salesman; killed in action 24 Dec 1940.

Lance-Corporal Norrish

L-Cpl V. L. Norrish; born NZ 11 Dec 1918; clerk; died of wounds 24 Dec 1940.

and Driver Ted Reynolds.

Dvr E. W. Reynolds; born NZ 2 May 1906; truck and service-car driver; killed in action 24 Dec 1940.

Corporal Pussell and ‘Scotty’ Hurst

Dvr A. B. Hurst; born Ireland, 1 Oct 1904; labourer; died of wounds 25 Dec 1940.

died of wounds. The wounded included Sergeant Mulligan,

Sgt C. J. Mulligan; Invercargill; born NZ 18 Apr 1914; traction-engine driver; wounded 24 Dec 1940.

Drivers Davis,

Maj R. K. Davis, m.i.d.; Eureka, Waikato; born Auckland, 2 Mar 1917; clerk; OC 4 RMT Coy 30 May-30 Nov 1945; wounded 24 Dec 1940.

‘Bounty’ Quintal

Dvr N. A. S. Quintal; Auckland; born Waihi, 27 Aug 1914; labourer; wounded 24 Dec 1940; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

(a descendant of a Bounty mutineer), Ian Appleton,

Dvr I. E. Appleton; Wellington; born Wellington, 12 Sep 1915; clerk; wounded 24 Dec 1940; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

and Ted Boosey.

Dvr E. W. Boosey; Masterton; born Wellington, 25 Mar 1918; clerk; wounded 24 Dec 1940.

The five deaths sent a shadow of sorrow over the first Christmas away from home, and the day passed without any celebrating by the hardworking drivers. They made up for it though when a Naafiship came in for unloading before the New Year. Thanks to the ship's crew, the barge men, the Cypriots and Palestinians, the wharf MPs and the RMT, much of the original cargo failed to reach the Naafi tent.

Bardia, yielding no fewer than 40,000 prisoners, was ours on 5 January. Even before the bypassed fortress fell, the RMT sowed dumps of petrol, food, water, and ammunition—all for the well-advanced 7 Armoured Division—in open desert beyond the frontier and on the way towards Tobruk. Promptly on 6 January that sober old aircraft, the Lysander, perhaps best described as a threshing machine gone air-minded, circled an ammunition-carrying RMT convoy and dropped a message. The company was to leave everything and report to Headquarters 6 Australian Division immediately. Loads were flung out on the spot. By nightfall 4 RMT was rolling into Bardia.

Near Bardia Major Whyte overtook some thousands of prisoners, a Bren carrier idling behind them. ‘An Aussie was strolling slowly backwards and forwards behind the prisoners,’ writes the Major. ‘He wasn't carrying a rifle, but had in his hand an unsheathed bayonet, with which he occasionally flicked the tops of camelthorn bushes. “Everything OK, Aussie?” The Australian spat. “I joined the army,” he drawled, “because I was tired of my old job and wanted a change, but here I am bloody well droving again.” ’

The victorious Australian riflemen climbed into the Bedfords and the company was off again, heading west into the night along the tarsealed road to the garrison port of Tobruk.

Drivers who took part in the first Libyan campaign invariably call Tobruk ‘Toe-brook’; those arriving later say ‘T’ brook'.

There was practically no moon (and of course no headlights) and, in places where the road narrowed or was still being repaired, a number of trucks went over the side. Tidying itself up, the convoy halted at 3.30 a.m. Drivers quickly dozed off within their cabs. Trucks got under way again at dawn, and the Australians debussed a few miles east of the now encircled town. Two lines defended the township and the harbour; the inner line stretched about 19 miles, and the outer 30 miles. Drivers had just enough time to brew up and bolt a breakfast (or dinner) of stew before about-turning for Bardia again. The following night, 8 January, the RMT drove a second lot of Australians to Tobruk at 3 a.m., and at once set off for the final load of riflemen. The third party of troops was driven to its destination next night. Within four nights, with practically no sleep or regular meals, 4 RMT had carried some 5000 Australians over the 70 miles between Bardia and the outskirts of Tobruk. Once again the company had taken a vital part in the campaign. Tired out, drivers returned to wharf work at Sollum, where a number of new engines were fitted into lorries, and Archie Jeff

Dvr A. R. Jeff; Nelson; born Ohakune, 27 Oct 1916; chainman; wounded 23 May 1941.

presented an astounded Corporal Tinker with a pair of Italian boots, size 28.

With the fall of Tobruk, 4 RMT at once moved up to the garrison port. ‘Our first sight of Tobruk was a harbour filled with sunken ships and seaplanes, two liners ashore, petrol tanks blazing, and a cruiser, the San Giorgio, on fire,’ noted one RMT man. Drivers heard firsthand accounts of the spectacular victory. Attacking at dawn on 21 January, British and Australian troops, with fewer than 500 casualties, had seized all of Tobruk's defences by the evening of the 22nd. Over 15,000 prisoners were taken, including an admiral, together with 200 guns and much booty. Tobruk's water supply had broken down, and the infantrymen had seen many pitiful figures lying on the ground gnawing the edges of their coats, while others staggered about like sleepwalkers mumbling ‘Acqua, acqua’.

From Tobruk RMT lorries at once pushed on, carrying Australian troops a hundred miles up the coast, to leave them under shellfire preparing for the attack on Derna, which fell on 30 January. In the interval RMT went back to wharf work at Tobruk. This included a nasty fright at dusk when three bombers, thought to be ours, coming in low over the sea with their lights on, bombed and strafed angrily. Sergeant Maurice Browne,

Capt M. G. Browne, m.i.d.; Wellington; born South Africa, 28 Sep 1913; clerk.

All Black hockey player, ‘and he could really run,’ had 15 yards start in a 100-yard charge for the caves, but the Mediterranean wharfies trampled him down.

Three days after Derna fell the RMT had set up its headquarters in the little seaside resort. Men gave the Italians full credit for road-building, and only a couple or so bends of the zigzag road above the town had been blown. A driver wrote: ‘We came upon Derna, a little white town nestling under the escarpment and extending to the seashore. It was great to see green trees, grass, and gardens of vegetables and flowers…. Given three hours’ leave. Had a scrounge around some of the buildings. Some lovely buildings, but not much left as Wogs had been ratting through the place. Had a bath in a flat.

‘Nugget’ Parnell and some comrades found a bath in a deserted hotel, but water was not running in the taps. They broke into the packed cellar, carried crates to the bathroom, and bathed contentedly enough in champagne. Even Cleopatra managed only asses' milk.

A beautiful bathroom, blue tiles and chromium fittings. Broke up coathangers and furniture to put under geyser. Had a shave too. It was great; I am white now and really feel clean again.' Feeling pleased too was Company Headquarters, set up in modern, furnished flats in the hastily evacuated town. Such luxuries as radios, crockery, table linen, spring beds, mattresses and bed linen helped the quick recovery of physically and mentally tired men.

In Derna Alf Beaton would park himself down on a doorstep with a pound or so of tea and a small ‘spot’-sized glass. The gathering natives learned they could have a spot glass full of tea-leaves for a couple of eggs. While bartering Alf always slyly managed to fill the glass with his thumb stuck inside it. A thumb inside a little glass takes up a lot of space. Then when the native handed over two eggs and demanded baksheesh, Alf, all in one cunning and concealing flourish, added an extra pinch, tipped out the measure of tea-leaves, and removed his thumb. That extra pinch put the Arabs in high good humour, and Alf's reputation soon became unexcelled for generous trading.

‘The Aussies had been through so fast that even they hadn't had time to do-over much—but they certainly made a job of the Governor's residence,’ said one driver. ‘You'd find houses with whole libraries available to the more cultured looters: Italian-English dictionaries for example, and oh yes, a man could be seen listening to his engine with a stethescope. Some men were up to their gills in grog. A certain Italian brandy was vicious stuff. It was probably this brandy that sent two drivers, with .303 rifles, stalking one another at night in grim earnest by Derna airdrome.’

Eric Broberg, now in charge of Workshops,

Maj Whyte, ill, left the company before Tobruk; Maj Woods, returning to the company at Derna, took his place, Capt McAlpine acting as OC in the meantime. CSM Rhodes had left the company before the attacks on the Tummar camps, and Thomson became CSM at Derna.

got an Italian garage working. His men detected a false wall and uncovered a magnificent lathe. A hefty sewing machine which sewed leather was also found. This was ideal for repairing truck canopies and leather buckles and straps.

While drivers loaded petrol at the Derna wharf and carted it to a dump on top of the escarpment, a British flying column in a famous ‘left hook’ cut deep inland over punishing country, passed Fort Msus and completely trapped near the coast on 5 February Italian forces withdrawing south from Benghazi. This Italian host, ten miles long, was avoiding the Australians who, not fjar from the coast, were thrusting west towards Benghazi. After a 36-hour battle the flying column captured at Beda Fomm over 20,000 prisoners and 1500 lorries.

With the Italians now thoroughly routed in Libya and the threat to Egypt (and the vital Suez Canal) removed, our advance halted. Between 9 December 1940 and 8 February 1941, in 62 days, 133,295 Italian prisoners had been taken, together with enormous stocks of equipment, armour, and some 1300 guns. The 4th RMT, which had been in at the opening of the campaign, was represented (but in a different role) in this final blow. Following up this inland striking force on 6 February came RMT lorries laden with precious petrol. These lorries moved back from Derna to Bomba, to cut inland and join up with a vast convoy of supply vehicles. The going over the desert was extremely rough, and choking clouds of dust checked progress. Trucks closed up, yet still the one ahead was difficult to see. ‘For mile after mile the vehicles had to plunge over and plough through a desert surface covered with rough boulders and slabs of rock, lurching and bumping over the billowy ground at about 4 mph,’ says Destruction of an Army. ‘An added difficulty was the lack of accurate maps of the country from Mekili onwards. Parties of supply lorries disappeared into the curtain of dust and lost contact with the main column; hours later they would be seen looming out of the gloom again.’ The dust continued next day, and again rough country lay across their path, but at times the surface had packed hard and travelling was better than on bitumen. In the evening and early next morning the RMT safely delivered the petrol to an enormous dump rising near (it is thought) Fort Msus. This was the company's last hectic dash of the campaign.

On the way back it wasn't dust—it was mud, red mud. The trucks, pushed and towed laboriously over the worst parts, finally made Derna, where the storm had left giant hailstones which lay about for four days. The bitter cold at this time, when RMT drivers were still in summer dress, partly accounts for the company's motley dress on its return to Egypt. Drivers had seized any warm clothing they, could find (B Section particularly) and returned to the New Zealand fold dressed in all sorts of Italian finery—high-ranking naval uniform (and swords), peaked hats, generals' tunics and privates' jackboots —a fantastic sight.

Derna soon became a terminus for supply columns operating from Tobruk and further east. ‘It was amazing the amount of transport that poured into Derna,’ said one NCO. ‘British 10-ton diesels, commandeered Italian lorries, and other NZASC units would turn up in convoys with supplies.’ From Derna onwards the RMT worked, operating along supply routes to fertile Barce (about 110 miles west of Derna on the road to Benghazi) and to Magrun, 50 miles south of Benghazi. There were roads here and they were good. Three trucks from A Section were attached for a time to supply an anti-aircraft unit near El Agheila, the farthest west Wavell's Army advanced.

But this work was soon interrupted. Early on 25 February 4 RMT, tried and tested veterans now, the most experienced unit in 2 NZEF, moved off laden with souvenirs on its long journey of over 500 miles eastwards to Helwan where, during a complete refit, a new section, D Section under Captain ‘Scotty’ Veitch,

Capt J. Veitch; born Scotland, 2 Feb 1901; omnibus driver; died while p.w. 3 Jun 1941.

would be added, bringing the company to full strength at last.

One by one the big three-tonners got under way. The strings of war next month would jerk these men and trucks across the Mediterranean to Greece. Most of them would never see the little white villas of Derna again. Out and away they went on the road to Egypt, Derna disappearing behind the tailboards in the west.

But they were leaving a desert where there was now one difference. Out of the morning haze, at ten o'clock on Saturday, 22 February, 15 planes swept low in three waves, machinegunning an RMT convoy returning from dumping petrol at Magrun. Three trucks were hit and one driver, Steve Tripp, was slightly wounded. These planes, tenacious, daring, meant business. The bold, black swastika was making its first appearance over Africa.

CHAPTER 3 Greece

IT seemed the desert was saying goodbye to the men who knew it so well, a goodbye harsh with the violence of element-torn wadis and escarpments. The dust-storm swirled over Alexandria, blotting out the sun and bringing shipping to a standstill. Rough hands shielded tanned faces from wind-whipped particles of sand; the outlines of transports and ships of war faded and were lost. The storm, its strength displayed, slackened; the convoy crept to sea.

And now to the eyes once more the caress of green hills and far mountains, the gentle shades of green and blue beneath a kindly sun. ‘It could be home. It could be home.’

From the decks and holds of the Port Halifax truck after truck swung up and away and on to the dock at Piraeus. Vehicles and drivers of 4 RMT Company were landing to join the 2 NZEF's first stand against the enemy, the old foe, the German, now massing within Bulgaria for assault upon a sorely pressed Greece. The dock had to be cleared quickly, for further convoys were steaming towards the coast, bringing British aid under the Lustre Force plan.

Without delay, engines started up, vehicles moved into line, and the convoy, echoing and re-echoing through the cobbled streets of the grimy port, passed over a gentle hill to a joyful welcome in the great white city of Athens spread beneath the Parthenon. Crying and waving, the citizens pelted the moving vehicles with flowers, cigarettes, and sweets: a hero's welcome. Drivers, at first a bit puzzled at gestures, soon realised that the Greek way of waving goodbye is the opposite to ours, as though they were beckoning the men to come back again. Six miles from Athens, beneath the scented pines of Kifisia, the convoy dispersed and drivers prepared for the first evening in Greece. Grateful women begged to help by washing, ironing, and mending clothes. Children came forward to make friends and to share many a meal. Greeks, perturbed at New Zea- landersNew Zealanders sampling wine without food, insisted on bringing bread and a little meat, although the war against the Italian invaders had clipped their rations cruelly. More aloof, a dapper civilian strolled through the lines, two dachshunds frisking behind him —a fantastic, almost contemptuous touch. No restrictions curbed the curiosity of the German ambassador — or his military attaché and staff.

Sleep was sound that night, the scent of the trees and the wild thyme seeping deep into many a memory.

Within four or five days the advance party left to collect the rest of the company, arriving on 21 March in HMS Fiona, a small merchantman from the Indian coast. One gun mounted at the stern had been fired twice, and each time the pumps had had to be manned until a rivetting job was done. Each time all the crockery had to be replaced.

‘Soldiers crowded everywhere, not much room to sleep, about two feet by four feet of space,’ wrote Driver Neale Weastell

Dvr N. M. Weastell; Christchurch; born Glentunnel, 7 Mar 1913; shop assistant.

in his diary on the trip. ‘Had a few games of cards. Weather cold, feed not very plentiful.’

To keep the landing army properly fed, supplied, and armed, two enormous dumps had been made, one at the Athens racecourse, the other at Larisa, about 150 miles north by road and rail. To bring the supplies closer to the fighting positions, field supply depots had to be made. These depots, containing stores of food, oil, petrol, disinfectants, and medical comforts, plus ammunition nearby, were set at Livadhion, Servia, and Kozani—all beyond Larisa. From these depots branched handy field dumps at Katerini, Veroia, Edhessa and Amindaion. The first three field dumps were to hold 12,000, 36,000 and 24,000 rations each. Amindaion would be stocked when the others were filled.

RMT's job, apart from carrying troops when needed, was to help the ASC fill and keep full these dumps and depots. And Greece's roads were certainly poor, and the over-burdened railways not much better.

For a week the company worked around Athens, moving troops and supplies as they arrived. Arthur Pope

Dvr A. Q. Pope; Johnsonville; born Wellington, 16 Nov 1917; horse breaker; wounded and p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

found a full and promising looking barrel, whipped it back to camp, broached the keg before expectant comrades, and found it contained olive oil. Leave parties explored the blacked-out city, wandered awed or bored through the classical ruins, and brightened up in the thriving wineshops and cafés, echoing to the song hits of the day, ‘Oh what a Surprise for the Duce’ and ‘Woodpecker Song’. One punishing drink was ouzo. After a night on this, horrible indeed were Kifisia's green and woolly caterpillars hooking on to one another and forming long, mysterious ‘snakes’. That—and the mating of tortoises—caused much anxiety.

From the fields peasants looked up, smiling and waving, when the company, loaded with rations and petrol, left in convoy for Larisa on 28 March. At even the smallest village happy Greeks, giving the ‘thumbs up’ sign, pressed rosebuds and orange blossoms on the grinning drivers, and handed out wine and cheese and yet more garlands and olive twigs. Stan Shaw,

Sgt S. Shaw; Wellington; born NZ 9 Jun 1899; motor driving instructor; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

given a little Greek cross, tied it on to his braces, where it stayed until the day of invasion in Crete. During halts—and there were many, for ‘the convoy discipline was frankly terrible’ —tinned food was bartered for eggs, bread, wine, and money. Steve Tripp traded away a tin of axle grease. Just as the Greek reappeared, breathless and furious, the convoy moved off again in the nick of time.

‘We were put behind the artillery, and this was the worst convoy we were ever in,’ noted Driver Wan.

Dvr C. T. Wan; Lower Hutt; born New Plymouth, 19 Mar 1914; labourer; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

‘Sometimes we only did a chain without stopping; if we were lucky we might make 100 yards! Occasionally we belted along flat out. Some time in the early part of the night we stopped on a road going through a swamp, and we couldn't talk for the deafening noise made by thousands of frogs.’

‘The most striking things in the country were the amount of women toiling in the fields, and the primitive way they worked,’ wrote Driver Cumming.

Cpl T. M. Cumming; Christchurch; born Galashiels, Scotland, 14 Jun 1910; baker; p.w. 28 Apr 1941; escaped to Crete; p.w. 1 Jun 1941; escaped 19 Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 24 Aug 1941.

‘In most places there was no ploughing. Instead a line of women would be swinging large three-cornered hoes, about the size of a spade, breaking up the ground to a depth of six to eight inches. In the “wealthier” farms a wooden plough was used, pulled by a mule or—more often—a donkey. Mules had long since been commandeered by the Army. We saw sheep and goats being milked within a circle of reeds and brushwood. Head and body are passed through the milker's legs, and the animals are milked through their own hind-legs. The milk is poured into a skin, and taken away to become either curd or cheese.’

After an overnight break near Lamia the convoy moved north in fits and starts to Nikaia, a small village just outside Larisa, where storks, birds of good luck, made welcome nests on the roofs. Greetings on the way were as friendly as ever, and the tossing of flowers and greenery continued. But by now some began to regret the enthusiasm; being clocked on the head by a substantial bunch of flowers or a chestnut bough when travelling at 30 miles an hour was no joke. At Nikaia Major Woods set up Company Headquarters and Workshops. A typical Greek peasant village, Nikaia was not much more than an inn, a few shops selling wine and groceries, and some white and grey stone houses of farmers who worked the surrounding country. A peaceful spot where a few geese or turkeys wandered about, always watched carefully by farmers or their children. When a turkey ended up in a foreign pot, most times it had been haggled over and paid for. War against the Italians had left the humble Greeks with little to offer, yet they made friends, gladly sharing cups of strong coffee with visiting drivers. Apart from this, entertainment was nil, except when a gipsy band appeared with a dancing bear, a sorrowful, shaggy beast blinking behind a stout muzzle.

With the company ready for field service, on the morning of 30 March a convoy of 100 trucks set out with full loads for the field supply depots sprouting near Servia and Kozani, about 65 miles away. Towards the cold and rugged north beyond the Thessaly Plain they drove, passing through Tirnavos and over the rolling hill country to Elasson, where Mount Olympus, rising beyond 9500 feet, stood sharply outlined in a covering of snow. Here was an even more abrupt change from driving over the trackless desert. Past Elasson, along rocky hills and valleys spattered with scrub, slippery roads twisted and looped for ten miles up the precipitous Servia Pass and down to the township of Servia.

By the roadside gangs of women and children attempted to keep the surface repaired and in good condition. The roads, metalled and narrow, bustling with army transport, were little better than New Zealand back-country roads, and the three-tonners needed steady hands and sharp eyes to guide them around hairpin bends and through the heavy traffic. Servia reached, the run through to Kozani was comfortable enough, and sections returned to Nikaia to move further supplies piling up from trains and trucks at Larisa. While the operating sections worked forward from Nikaia, Headquarters and Workshops stayed put. Repairs were mostly the result of accidents or war damage rather than general wear and tear, for more than half of the trucks were brand new. There was the inevitable stream of broken springs—not as bad as in the Desert—and these were handled by the section's three blacksmiths under Lance-Corporal Ruffel,

L-Cpl R. L. Ruffell; born NZ 31 Oct 1916; blacksmith; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941.

a shrewd springsmith who, without any of the special tempering oils, made do with only old engine oil.

On the last day of March a casually handled pistol killed Driver ‘Aussie’ Osborne,

Dvr I. C. Osborne; born Whakapara, 21 May 1903; motor mechanic; accidentally killed 31 Mar 1941.

the first divisional casualty in Greece. It was a tragic coincidence, for his namesake Driver G. R. Osborn was the first 2 NZEF soldier to die from thermosbomb wounds near Matruh the previous September Furthermore, Aussie (i.e., not G. R. Osborn) had been officially reported dead after the thermos-bomb raid, and even his base kit had been sent home. He was buried with full military honours in the Greek cemetery at Larisa, Padre Jamieson holding a simple service. Following the tragedy, Captain Broberg and Staff-Sergeant Hoare

WO I E. A. Hoare; Wellington; born Wellington, 19 Mar 1906; mechanic; wounded 24 Apr 1941; p.w. 7 May 1941.

swooped on Workshops men when they were busily digging slit trenches and announced a thorough search of trucks and kits while the section remained on parade. A startling amount of prohibited stuff was found, including Italian hand grenades, some fully charged, automatic pistols, and cameras. Ces Weston's

Dvr C. B. Weston, EM; Auckland; born NZ 13 Nov 1910; plumber; wounded 24 Apr 1941.

private arsenal of 17 grenades was brought to light, not all of them entirely harmless. Asked why he had collected them, Ces replied that his many nephews and nieces in New Zealand might have liked them for souvenirs.

For a week the three-tonners were on the move day and night, shifting hundreds of tons of rations, ammunition, barbed wire, explosives, and petrol from Larisa to the field depots and dumps growing up behind the infantry and the gunners, who were wasting no time in digging in and making ready for the assault. The roads up through the mountains about Servia and Kozani were bad enough by day; by night they demanded a driver's utmost skill. No lights at all, not even tail lights, were allowed, no matter how rough, narrow or steep the road, yet not one truck came to grief or crashed over the edge into the black valleys below.

British officers, congratulating Maj Woods on his company's performance, said they fully expected 4 RMT to make good after the reports they had had from 7 Armd Div in the Desert.

The side roads were worse, and day by day over the northern front the patches of mud and potholes spread steadily.

Leaving the supply service for moving troops, 50 three-ton trucks under Captain McAlpine and Captain Good were ordered off on 4 April to the Veroia pass, east of Kozani. Here Greek troops were picked up from their hill positions and taken over some 70 miles to near Edhessa. This move transferred units of 12 Greek Division from its right flank to its left, strengthening the defence line in the Edhessa area. Australians took the place of the transferred Greeks. The trucks returned to Company Headquarters at Nikaia on 7 April. On this move Max Beaton shared a bagful of bread among Greek infantry and offered some M and V to a Greek officer. ‘He gesticulates with his hands,’ recalls Max, ‘and offers his most hearty thanks by saying “Merci, merci”. Being dumblike I think he means “No, no”, and calmly munch away at hot M & V and tomatoes.

Next stop I got a sudden jolt as one of the boys explains. The Greek, a fine fellow, understands, and I fix him up. Later he gets out at a village and returns with a gift of a dozen eggs.’

By 5 April the New Zealand Division, apart from 5 Brigade preparing defensive positions back in the Olympus Pass, held forward positions on the Aliakmon line just north of Katerini and about 80 miles from Larisa. This line, running from the sea to the Yugoslav border, could be turned from the flank if the Germans attacked through Yugoslavia and advanced down a broad valley into Greece through the Monastir (or Florina) Gap. This weakness was not strongly defended. It was hoped Yugoslavia would join the Allies.

On the dismal wet morning of 6 April, while RMT men in their overcoats huddled round the cooks' trucks for breakfast, Germany attacked Yugoslavia and Greece. Next day the threat to the Aliakmon line from the rear became reality. Yugoslavia collapsed completely and the Germans advanced to the Monastir Gap. It was decided to pull back the New Zealand Division from the Aliakmon line to the Olympus Pass positions, part of a general move to draw in and tighten the defence of Greece. The Allied line would now run from the coast, across the Olympus passes to the Servia area, and would then swing north-west through Vevi, south of the Monastir Gap.

This meant pulling back not only the troops but also the advanced food, supply and ammunition dumps which were still being built up. With a grinding of gears, the army machine went into reverse. So back over the congested roads now rapidly churning into mud went the RMT lorries, helping the New Zealand Supply Column return the dumps to safer areas. It was a tedious and tiring task, to say the least, but in the end some 86,000 gallons of petrol and 300,000 rations around Katerini were evacuated by rail and road. Later, the Germans collected most of this.

A slender bridge sent twelve RMT trucks hurrying north from Larisa. British armour, facing a sudden threat of being overwhelmed by the invaders from Yugoslavia, would have to retreat west down the road to Grevena, crossing a bridge over the Aliakmon River gorge ten miles above the town. The bridge had to be reinforced to bear the tanks. Told of the predicament, engineers in Larisa handed a heap of long metal girders over to the RMT and told the drivers to get going. The safety of the tanks was in their hands.

Up over the Servia Pass and through the town the RMT drove to Kozani, where only a few days before the three-tonners had carted supplies for a dump. Now retreat was in the air, and beyond the dark hills ahead the German was moving down, how fast nobody knew. The girders, unwieldy loads, stuck out over the tailboards, making the going awkward, especially at corners. Plenty of trouble arrived with the dawn, when the convoy had passed Kozani. The roads now were choked with Greek soldiers moving from the high ground east of the Servia-Ptolemais road to the high ground west of the same road. It was unfortunate that the Greeks had to clutter up the lines of communication in this way, but it was all part of the withdrawal plan from the Aliakmon line. Some soldiers incorrectly thought the Greeks were bolting already, and condemned them unjustly. With little modern transport of their own, the Greeks toiled on laboriously, donkeys and even oxen hauling carts, ammunition limbers, and guns. Another army, led only by fear, began to take to the roads too at this time—the refugees.

The RMT lorries inched along in this crawling mass from the Monastir Gap. It took hours to cover the 15 miles to Siatista. The next problem was to get the girders down the choked, cork-screwing road to the bridge below. One by one the trucks were brought up to a curve overlooking the bridge 200 feet below, and from there the girders were tipped over the edge and manhandled down to the riverbed.

Meanwhile at Larisa the engineers determined to make doubly sure that the strategic bridge was reinforced. Within twenty-four hours a second girder-toting convoy, led by Captain Good, swung north over the same route, edged through the crowded traffic, and finally made Servia bridge. But here Australians, busy with demolition charges, refused to let the RMT go on.

‘Jerry's on the way, and our job's to blow the —– bridges,’ they said. They told the New Zealanders what they could do with their girders. Wearily, the second convoy returned the girders to their store in Larisa.

And the strategic bridge? It was never used. The British tanks quietly found another crossing.

Ten miles north from Servia bridge, in the rough country near Kozani, Captain McAlpine with 33 trucks on 12 April searched in vain for Greek infantry to be moved to a new line south of the town. Making the best of a bad job, the lorries shifted ammunition left behind by the Greeks towards the new line of defence and returned through Kozani, packed with refugees, to evacuate the last of 19 Australian Brigade, withdrawing to the shorter line from the rearguard action at Vevi. Heavy fighting was going on in the hills, the valleys echoing and re-echoing with gunfire, as the drivers moved through mud and slush towards the rendezvous, a long dark ridge, where the infantry was expected to embus at midnight. Here it was found that only about half a dozen vehicles would be wanted after all, so the rest of the convoy turned back and made for Company Headquarters near Larisa. The remaining six, on making for Company Headquarters next day, would be among the last New Zealand vehicles to use Servia bridge, which was blown at 3.20 p.m. on 13 April.

Through the long night (12–13 April) of bitter cold and further snow, the small cluster of drivers waited within their lorries for the infantry to turn up. Every hour engines were started up and run for a few minutes to ensure easy starting in an emergency. Sometimes a lonely shell whined high over the area. Sometimes small-arms fire ricocheted nearby. Someone lit a fire in a small drum, and drivers huddled round until the captain sharply ordered them to put the fire out. The miserable night ended at last for Corporal Walker,

Lt R. A. Walker; Dunedin; born Otautau, 9 Feb 1910; storeman.

Drivers Ray Richards,

Sgt R. W. Richards; Hororata; born Christchurch, 10 Jul 1912; truck driver.

George Cowlin,

Cpl G. W. Cowlin; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 26 Oct 1918; carpenter.

Bill Walker,

Dvr W. H. Walker; Greendale, Canterbury; born Christchurch, 10 Jul 1917; labourer; wounded and p.w. 25 May 1941.

‘Rusty’ Hammond,

Dvr W. H. Hammond; Belfast; born NZ 5 Jun 1916; chaff-cutter worker; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

the Beaton brothers,

Dvr M. J. Beaton (see p. 32) and Cpl A. Beaton; born Gore, 28 Jun 1913; labourer; died at sea 30 Jul 1943.

Willis,

Dvr A. Willis; Dunedin; born Dunedin, 12 Jun 1912; bus driver; p.w. 22 Jul 1942; wounded while p.w. 18 Oct 1942.

Thornley,

L-Cpl H. T. Thornley; Hawarden; born NZ 28 Aug 1917; lorry driver.

Spiers, Cherry,

Dvr R. E. Cherry; Featherston; born Featherston, 28 Sep 1918; labourer; p.w. Apr 1941.

Keys,

Dvr W. J. Keys; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 1 May 1918; painter and decorator; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

Bennett,

L-Sgt H. Bennett; Invercargill; born Invercargill, 22 Jun 1913; truck driver; wounded 30 Dec 1942.

and Christoffersen.

Dvr A. S. Christoffersen; Makotuku, Hawke's Bay; born Norsewood, 5 May 1911; motor mechanic; p.w. 3 Jun 1941.

Down from the hills straggled small parties of weary Australians, some without rifles and one or two even without boots, and one by one the vehicles filled and smartly moved off to Kteni, south of Kozani. At the last moment a stranded British tank crew was spotted in the distance and out to its rescue drove the Beaton brothers. As the last of the Tommies climbed in, German rifles opened up. Alf Beaton clung for dear life to the tailboard while his brother raced the truck out of immediate danger. The convoy pulled out under fire, Captain McAlpine's staff car at the rear receiving close attention from a machine gun. As the convoy passed through Kozani German bombers began attacking the town.

Another swarm of fighters and bombers droned high over the snowy Olympus range and made for Larisa, the sun glinting on their wings and bodies and sending shadows skimming like nightmarish fish along the fields below. A few Hurricanes rose in brief defiance before the aerodrome and its anti-aircraft defences rocked under the impact of high explosives. Soon black and yellow plumes of smoke mingled above unfortunate Larisa, doubly devastated by a recent earthquake and a subsequent raid by the Italian Air Force. Then from the armada came fighters to strafe streets, roads, and countryside and any signs of movement. The RMT area at Nikaia did not escape. Drivers Snell,

Dvr C. F. H. Snell; Hamilton; born NZ 3 Sep 1911; mechanic.

Frayling,

Dvr E. C. Frayling; Auckland; born England, 10 Apr 1905; housemaster, Institute of the Blind; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

and Bruning

Sgt J. P. Bruning, MM; Westport; born Westport, 17 Jan 1913; factory hand; p.w. 1 Jun 1941. When a call was made for drivers at Moosburg prisoner-of-war camp in February 1945, Bruning drove under the International Red Cross. In one load he took 26 Russian generals and one field marshal from the prisoner-of-war camp to an airfield, a distance of 50 miles.

turned their Bren guns on a low-flying fighter, and as if angered, it turned, attacking again at tree-top level. Enraged, ‘Battler’ Charlie Snell, a boxer in civilian life, kept blazing away, thumping his chest between bursts and shouting, ‘I'm Battler Snell, you bastard!’ The fire may have brought down the plane, which was found later in the vicinity.

By the night of 13 April all sections were drawing together again at Nikaia, A and D Sections helping to move two field dumps over Servia Pass to temporary safety. With 18 vehicles, Second-Lieutenant Pool

Lt-Col J. Pool, m.i.d.; Te Kopuru, North Auckland; born England, 12 Jun 1904; credit manager; LO with SHAEF in Europe 1944–45; LO with British Army Staff in Paris 1945–46.

joined about sixty British trucks bound for Ioannina, where Greek troops from the Albanian front were to join troops at Grevena. They travelled west through Trikkala and Kalabaka, climbing among ice and snow at night with lights on, to about 5000 feet over the Metso-von Pass in the Pindus Mountains. The Greeks, who were found before dawn trying to sleep on the frozen roadside, were picked up and taken to Kalabaka, where they were left to find their own way to Grevena. The RMT trucks returned for more Greeks, only to find that the troops wouldn't budge, preferring now to stay and fight in the mountains rather than to retreat, as they thought, to another front at Grevena. The detachment at Kalabaka, instead of heading north to Grevena, began marching back to rejoin its comrades, and to make matters worse an Australian brigadier ordered Lieutenant Pool to stand by ready to move his men. Pool says he ignored this order and told his drivers to escape from this mess by returning at once to Nikaia.

‘Around Trikkala,’ wrote Driver Wan, describing his trip up to the Greeks, ‘there are herds of cows the same as we see around New Zealand. The township seemed very pretty and quaint. On our way through it was beautiful and peaceful and the people waved and cheered us on our way…. Coming back Trikkala was a pitiful sight. The place had been twice bombed. With the first bombing, all the casualties were put in the church. The second bombing got the church. We never got any waves or cheers and I was filled with an infinite sadness. I still think of that beautiful spot and would like to visit it once more.’

Despite air raid after air raid, trains kept a stream of ammunition, supplies and petrol flowing into Larisa, and company transport, principally D Section, commanded by Captain Veitch, helped RASC convoys spread these loads in dumps over the Thessaly Plain and as far west as Trikkala.

When a battalion of 17 Australian Brigade reached Larisa by train on 14 April, RMT trucks were called in to drive the troops to near Kalabaka, where the brigade was forming a rearguard. The drivers took them through Trikkala to their destination, a journey of about 70 miles, arriving at 3 a.m. on 15 April. ‘Big air battle over us about 8 a.m.,’ wrote Neale Weastell. ‘Three planes came down and burst into flames. Left there are 9.15, driving into bombing all the way down on different villages and on the road.’ The convoy reached Larisa at the height of a heavy air raid, Driver Weastell estimating that 64 planes were taking part in the attack. From the smashed town panic-stricken civilians were fleeing in all directions. The drivers stopped. They took on loads of terrified women and crying children. With bitter feelings they drove their pathetic passengers to safety in the countryside near Nikaia. ‘Being New Zealanders,’ Allan Christoffersen remembers, ‘we were only picking up women and children. As the Greek men were pushing them aside we were throwing them off again as fast as they got aboard. The men just couldn't make it out. They thought they came first. We thought different.’

Corporal Lloyd Hinchey

Cpl L. W. Hinchey; Invercargill; born NZ 19 Jan 1914; diesel tractor expert; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

and Cam Sawers

Sgt A. C. Sawers; Taumarunui; born Hinuera, Waikato, 2 Feb 1910; shepherd; twice wounded.

were involved in a dead-end convoy when trucks with 25–pounder ammunition were switched from Trikkala to near Grevena, where Australian gunners were fighting a rearguard action. Sometimes the drivers had to clear donkey carts and refugees' belongings from the road ahead, and one bad stretch of ten miles took eight hours to cover. But the ammunition got through—just as the gunners were packing up, their last round fired. Still loaded, the convoy joined in the retreat.

About the only clear fact now was that a general retreat south was imminent. One indication came when A Section men with Captain Muller shifted an ammunition dump at Trikkala down to Lamia, 55 weary miles of more crowded roads. A second pointer was the evacuation by 4 RMT trucks of the staff of 1 New Zealand General Hospital at Farsala to the railway line nearby. The patients, about four hundred, had gone on by train to Athens the day before, 13 April. A third sign was the abrupt evacuation of Workshops Section to Athens, Staff-Sergeant Cooney

WO II D. L. Cooney, m.i.d.; Alexandra; born Dunedin, 30 Jan 1912; motor mechanic; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

rousing men from their sleep in the early hours of 15 April with Captain Broberg's orders to pack without delay. Headquarters Section soon followed them south. One night, after a paratroop scare (false), men from Headquarters had manned a highly unpopular road block on the Larisa-Athens road. Sergeant-Major Thomson had an English phrase ready for suspects to repeat: ‘Just what do you think this is?’ (‘Yust vat do you tink diss iss?’). He never tried it out, convinced by the first cries of ‘What the blasted hell do you stupid bastards think you're doing?’

No one at the time quite knew what was going on, but it added up to this: the British forces were too slender to hold the enemy advance. We were withdrawing to Thermopylae. Up to 13 April it had been hoped that the line from the Olympus passes to the south of Vevi could be held. All troop-moving was done with this in view. After 13 April the problem was to establish rearguards and extricate troops from the line in such a way that Larisa, the junction of all routes north, could be held until evacuation to Thermopylae was complete.

The operating sections took a last look at Nikaia, then on 16 April wound north about 30 miles to near Elasson, ready to help move part of the New Zealand Division back to the Thermopylae defences. Just outside Larisa a Naafi had been abandoned. The bottlenecks of nearby bridges were halting traffic for long periods. Bob Mitchell

Dvr R. H. Mitchell; Wellington; born Wellington, 4 May 1918; clerk; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

and a comrade during one long halt left their truck, seized a four-dozen crate of beer, and just failed to manhandle it up a bank between the Naafi and their truck. Mad with frustration, they saw the convoy begin to move again. Mitchell's truck was about to hold up those behind. Major Woods from the bank curtly ordered the struggling couple back to their truck. ‘When the truck drew up level with the abandoned crate the tailboard was conveniently down, the lorry crept very slowly, this time four of the boys swept out to tackle the crate, and Major Woods, acting the gentleman, looked the other way.’

Bright and clear dawned 18 April; birds preened and sang from trees and hedgerows where flowers of spring looked out to frail mists, rising to unveil the massive Olympus ranges. It seemed strange that this day, beginning with such beauty, should end with widespread violence and death.

First away from the company was A Section, just back from taking ammunition to Lamia and safely returning through a brisk air raid. The 20 trucks were to pick up 21 Battalion and some Australians, who were bitterly disputing the Pinios Gorge near Tempe village, about 20 miles towards the coast northeast of Larisa.

Led by Sergeant Bruce Crowley,

Sgt B. J. Crowley, DCM, EM; Auckland; born Dunedin, 24 Jun 1914; salesman; p.w. 28 Apr 1941; escaped 23 Sep 1943. (See Appendix.)

the 20 trucks reached the rendezvous near the Vale of Tempe. Captain Muller and his driver, Tidman,

L-Cpl C. W. Tidman; Auckland; born Dunedin, 23 Jul 1911; suit cutter; wounded Apr 1941.

bringing up the rear, ran into an air raid in Larisa and dived for cover in the town square. The trucks then went on about two miles to the embussing point near a bluff, where they dispersed just before a Stuka raid, and settled down to await men of 21 Battalion.

At the mouth of the gorge Muller was joined by Lieutenant Pool

After the abortive attempt to lift Greeks near the Albanian border, Pool had returned to Nikaia. Most of his trucks had gone on to the new company area at Elasson. From Nikaia Pool had followed on towards Tempe ‘with four trucks, losing one before reaching Larisa and, shortly afterwards, having my own vehicle shot up and burnt’.

with two trucks. Here Major Harding,

Lt-Col E. A. Harding, MC; Dargaville; born Dargaville, 4 Dec 1893; farmer; NZ Rifle Bde 1915–19 (OC 5 (Res) Bn); actg CO 21 Bn 20 Apr-17 May 1941; CO 1 North Auckland Bn.

second-in-command of 21 Battalion, told the two RMT officers he did not favour returning his men through the bottleneck of Larisa, which was being bombed regularly. He himself had used an overland route, little more than a track, which dodged Larisa and led on to the Volos road. Along this road the trucks could go to their destination at Molos. Pool, taking a wrong turning at Larisa, had travelled over part of this short cut. Major Harding had ordered his transport officer to reconnoitre an overland route dodging congested Larisa, but the officer did not return. He was captured by an advance party of German soldiers. This independent enemy striking force, circling through the hills, had crossed the river behind the Vale of Tempe men, set up a stoutly manned road block, defied all comers, and had completely severed the Tempe-Larisa road by 7 p.m. Except for the overland track, Tempe was now bottled up, but no RMT drivers up with their lorries knew about this.

pinios gorge positions black and white photograph of road map

Most of these drivers spent four drab years as prisoners of war, and although each has his own version of the Vale of Tempe affair (and few accounts agree in detail), they are unanimous that ‘it was a damn bad show from start to finish’.

Now troops outside the Vale of Tempe who were retreating fast past Larisa in the night saw fiery indications of the road block in the distance and started the false rumour that parachutists were advancing on (or were seizing) Larisa. The only attack by German parachutists in Greece was at Corinth Canal, and Larisa was not entered by German soldiers until 7.30 a.m. on 19 April.

Fighting raged in Tempe's hills until dusk. By then between 100 and 200 men, some from 21 Battalion, but mostly Australians, were gathered in waiting transport. Then the first party (a mixed lot with perhaps up to seven RMT lorries) left for the mouth of the gorge. Lieutenant Pool took over this convoy and with much difficulty (for the night was pitch black) crossed overland to the Volos road, eventually reaching Molos safely. ‘Infantry guides were posted at the turnoff, but apparently they did not remain,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Had the guides remained at their posts I'm sure the rest of A Section and many members of 21 Battalion would have escaped capture.’

‘There was no need to post guides: the traffic lane was firmly established by this time—about 9 pm,’ comments Capt Muller. At the mouth of the gorge the Captain, concerned about the remaining RMT trucks, vainly attempted to move forward against the roaring tide of scurrying (not to say panic-stricken) vehicles and guns. Then a report arrived that the Germans had established a road block between Tempe and Larisa. (This was the road block established by the overland enemy party four miles from Larisa at 7 p.m. that day, 18 April.) The only news Muller could gather was, ‘The line's broken; everything's clearing out.’ Three RMT trucks with Australians arrived at 9 p.m.; with them Capt Muller and Dvr Tidman took the dirt road, now axle-deep to wheel-deep in mud. One truck bogged down. The rest went back to test the rumoured road block, finding it very much alive when mortars burst among them. Returning on foot to the dirt road, the RMT men became separated. Muller and Tidman got a lift and were both injured when the truck overturned. They landed up in a dressing-station at Volos.

Soon after this first party left, the bulk of the RMT transport began to move. Drivers had sat watching others pulling out, and Driver Herbert Elliott

L-Cpl H. H. Elliott; Auckland; born Auckland, 21 Jul 1912; lorry driver; p.w. 28 Apr 1941.

writes: ‘It was a fair dinkum rout. There were guns and trucks and what-have-you going for their lives, and us still sitting there. When we started to move down the valley towards Larissa it was fairly dark and things were sticky. There were guns and trucks in the ditch. One gun was right across the road and we had to heave it off before we could get past. We finally got going up the road when everything in front stopped, and all the troops came running down the road.’ Drivers learned of the road block. ‘It was a case of ditch our trucks and take to the hills, and believe me we got out of that area smartly.’

Distinguishing himself in the mêlée was Driver John Snell,

Dvr J. A. Snell, DCM; Auckland; born Opotiki, 8 Sep 1915; painter.

who won the DCM by crawling forward under fire to some apparently reluctant Bren carriers, gathering grenades and joining a charge on the road block. Snell, hurling grenades from the running-board of his lorry, silenced at least two enemy machine-gun or tommy-gun positions. His driver killed, he jumped into another truck and carried on with the attacking party until the road was hopelessly blocked.

No man could keep his trucks together under such conditions. Sergeant Crowley and some of his men grouped together in the hills. The party included Corporal Johnston,

Cpl W. F. Johnston; Morrinsville; born Matamata, 15 Mar 1916; accountant; p.w. Apr 1941.

Frank Mead,

L-Cpl F. D. Mead; Taneatua; born Auckland, 21 Jul 1918; lorry driver; wounded 28 Apr 1941; p.w. 30 Apr 1941; escaped 7 Jun 1941; recaptured 28 Jan 1942; escaped Feb 1945; with 30 (US) Div until Apr 1945.

Noel Callagher,

Dvr N. H. Callagher; Auckland; born Auckland, 1 Apr 1905; blacksmith; p.w. Apr 1941.

Jim Ward,

Dvr J. J. Ward; Auckland; born NZ 10 Jul 1912; bartender; p.w. Apr 1941.

Jack Logie, Herb Elliott, and a B Section man, Cliff Bezar.

Dvr C. C. Bezar; Christchurch; born NZ 23 Sep 1917; clerk; p.w. Apr 1941.

In vain, twice using Greek schooners to evade the enemy, they made their way down the coast to Tolos, just south of Argos. The last landing craft was filled and the A Section drivers were left behind.

Referring to the RMT convoy later, Major Harding said: ‘They did a good job of work. They were up to time at the rendezvous I had arranged with Divisional Headquarters. The dispersion was quick and orderly and the convoy that pushed off at about 9 p.m. looked all set for Molos.’

Back near Elasson the remaining A Section trucks, together with B and C Sections, waited to join in 6 Brigade's move to the Thermopylae line. Noon came and went, then at 2 p.m. Captain McAlpine left to check details of the move with 6 Brigade Headquarters, a few miles south near Tirnavos.

Beside McAlpine in the battered staff car sat his batman, ‘Ginger’ Wingham. Suddenly a flight of three Me 109s, hedgehopping across the fields, slashed at the car, severely wounding the officer in the chest and wounding Ginger in a leg. Nearby gunners came over to help. McAlpine insisted that 6 Brigade and 4 RMT Company should be told instantly they had failed to get through. This remained uppermost in his mind. An ambulance took the two to an RAP in an old orchard outside Tirnavos. The medical unit, ready to move, unpacked, put up a tent and began giving McAlpine a blood transfusion. It was too late. They buried him under the peaceful boughs of the fruit trees.

‘The skipper,’ wrote one of his drivers, ‘was the gamest, fairest and toughest man in the 2 NZEF in my opinion—bar none.’

Wingham could not believe their days together had ended. He thought of ‘Captain Mac’ over the last week, always on the move, never resting, a tin of beans or stew always heating on the car's manifold, ready for the two to share on the way. Then his mind went back to the Desert, and to Tummar West where they were taking the Indian Division. He remembered a British officer, red tape to the hilt, giving McAlpine strict orders to stay behind until sent for. He remembered ‘Captain Mac’ wandering round the car several times, kicking the sand, until he said: ‘Hop in. I feel sure he'll be lost and needing us by now.’ Wingham's sorrow grew.

When McAlpine did not return, Captain Good, with despatch rider Bert Barrington,

Dvr H. C. Barrington; Masterton; born Christchurch, 25 Aug 1908; labourer; wounded May 1941; p.w. 1 Jun 1941; escaped 20 Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 8 Jun 1942.

left for Brigade Headquarters. Barrington returned with details of the move and broke the news of McAlpine's end to a shocked company. The sudden death of such a vigorous and adventurous personality seemed incredible. The commanding officer, Major Woods, realised he had lost his right-hand man.

Immediately, Lieutenant Coleman

Maj D. F. Coleman, OBE, m.i.d.; Upper Moutere, Nelson; born Christ-church, 5 Mar 1913; farm manager; OC Mule Pack Coy May 1943; 4 RMT Coy 12 Sep 1943–20 Jul 1944.

led a mixture of B and C Sections' trucks off to 24 Battalion to pick up the riflemen at 9.30 p.m. (Every RMT lorry carried cases of fruits, food and chocolate, and some carried beer, all seized from aban- donedabandoned dumps. This would be a most welcome surprise for the weary battalions when they boarded the trucks. ‘I can still hear the rattle of those empties going over the side of the old bus as those boys got stuck into our little treat for them.’) The black-crossed planes were coming over in droves. Drive a few hundred yards … halt … take cover … back … on. At Tirnavos a red-cap in British uniform misdirected some of the trucks onto the Larisa road, but the drivers soon realised the error and returned to the convoy. A strong rumour later said the MP was shot as a fifth columnist, but like most stories of the fifth column in Greece, no record can be found of it. The battalion aboard, the trucks, now led by Captain Good, drove south all night, passing a blazing Larisa and seeing firing going on past the airfield. ‘Parachutists,’ said rumours. It was the road block, spreading confusion among the hapless men escaping from the Vale of Tempe. Between Larisa and Volos General Freyberg loomed out of the darkness, shouting ‘Put on your lights and go like hell!’ They did, the lights disconcertingly revealing the perils of craters, rough detours and smashed vehicles. About 7 a.m. a weary convoy debussed 24 Battalion near Volos, the empty trucks going on south past Thermopylae and on about 35 miles further to the assembly point at Atalandi.

When the move to lift 24 Battalion began, the remaining 25 trucks (ten of them left-overs from A Section), with Major Woods, Second-Lieutenant Gilmore

2 Lt A. A. Gilmore, BEM; born Glenbrook; farmer; killed in action May 1941.

and Padre Jamieson, went west through Tirnavos, picking up 25 Battalion near Elasson just after dusk. Already stray German tanks were nosing into the neighbourhood, to be met with shells from 6 Field Regiment. Most of the trucks had moved off quietly and calmly by 9 p.m., passing safely down the thronged and torn roads to drop 25 Battalion at Molos. The six RMT trucks which had remained behind under Sergeant-Major Thomson to gather the last of 25 Battalion left as midnight approached. Behind them they heard the roar of bridges going up, first at Tirnavos, then at Larisa.

Jim Ward, running late in the night, took cover in a cemetery in Larisa. ‘I was crawling round miserably in the dark.

A few were landing here and there. I had my head well down when I heard a voice. I couldn't see anything. I thought “What the hell?” and began to crawl on—faster. The same voice said: “Come here you silly b—-.” I looked up and saw an Aussie's head poking out of a crypt. “Safer in here Dig,” he said. In I went beside two Aussies and a Tommy who had scraped a skeleton into a corner. We pulled the concrete slab back in place. We were set.’

Describing the trip down that night, Driver Simpson

Dvr J. L. Simpson; Nelson; born Fremantle, Australia, 20 Sep 1917; motor driver and welder.

says: ‘In the finish I was so tired of straining through the windscreen that I kicked the glass out of it. That helped no end, and the cold air kept me awake, and made Bill Peach

L-Cpl W. E. Peach; Leeston; born Rangiora, 27 Dec 1916; labourer.

beside me sleep sounder.’ A little later, misled by a heap of shingle on the side of the road, Simpson went over the bank and ended up wheels on top. ‘In the back I had about 15 or more men with unsheathed bayonets, and these had stuck in the ground when the canopy flattened out. Well, what a roar! They were kicking and swearing and all they had to do was crawl out, but the beggars wouldn't come out without their rifles.’

On the morning of 19 April, with 24 Battalion safely—and correctly, so it was thought—debussed near Volos, and the RMT trucks well on the way to Atalandi, Captain Good and Lieutenant Coleman, enjoying a bathe in a hot pool near Thermopylae, were abruptly interrupted by a terse despatch rider telling them 24 Battalion should have been left at Molos, not Volos—a difference of at least 80 miles. More angry than anxious, the battalion, stranded far above the Thermopylae line, was now marching south; would it have to march the whole way? Fortunately Captain Veitch, with D Section, was close to nearby Lamia. This section had been busy shifting ammunition south. Told at once, Veitch led D Section north, to meet 24 Battalion at Almiros at 6 p.m., the battle-weary infantry meanwhile having foot-slogged over 15 miles. This seeming confusion had been caused by a change in plan. Both 24 and 25 Battalions were to have stayed in the Volos area during daylight of 19 April. However, General Freyberg directed the brigade to move straight through to Molos, as the enemy made no air reconnaissance early on 19 April. While 25 Battalion's transport, under Major Woods, was still with the battalion, the transport with Good and Coleman, arriving at Volos earlier, had left 24 Battalion at the rearguard position before the change in plan.

The remaining trucks of 4 RMT Company began reassembling in olive groves near Atalandi all through the afternoon and night of 19 April and on through the next day, Hitler's birthday, when two Messerschmitts, striking at daylight, fatally wounded Driver Forbes

Dvr E. J. W. Forbes; born Auckland, 14 Oct 1914; transport driver; died of wounds 22 Apr 1941.

and slightly wounded Driver O'Callaghan

Cpl D. W. O'Callaghan; Culverden; born Southbridge, 6 Apr 1914; lorry driver; wounded 20 Apr 1941; p.w. 1 Jun 1941.

in the truck ahead.

Many familiar faces were missing; many a bullet-scarred truck told of the hairbreadth escapes. But Driver ‘Hori’ Martin,

Dvr O. Martin, MM; Wellington; born NZ 11 Dec 1918; labourer.

one of the three Maoris in the company, kept grinning away as cheerfully as ever. When his truck was hit, setting the load of ammunition on fire, Hori instantly jumped in and flung out ammunition until his truck was clear. Told that was a risky thing to do and that he could quite easily have been blown to bits, Hori replied: ‘I was too frightened to run away, eh?’

Orders began to come in again. Ten trucks reported to Athens for ordnance stores. On the way back they were bombed and three trucks were lost. Nobody wanted the stores on the seven remaining trucks, which were filled with boots, tires, and odds and ends the company had been wanting for weeks. Nothing could be done with them now. Fires would have attracted planes, so holes were ripped in bales and cases, and acid from truck batteries was dripped in.

A delayed signal summoning 30 trucks to report to 6 Brigade at Molos by 1 a.m. reached the company 40 minutes after midnight on 21 April. A convoy headed by Captain Veitch got away, struggling through traffic streaming south, to arrive before daylight, only to find trucks from the Divisional Ammunition Company had done the job. Back came the RMT trucks—empty—and they dispersed as yet another air raid broke overhead.

No driver will forget his cat-and-mouse life in the last two weeks in Greece. ‘A living nightmare,’ sums up Driver Spiers, who writes:

It was impossible to drive safely during the day because of the strong German air force. Sleep during the day was impossible because of planes hovering above bombing and machine-gunning the slightest movement. At night we drove endless miles. The men were more like ghosts than men towards the end.

Some indication of the mental torture can be gained from this.

Towards the end when daylight driving was a necessity it was one continuous stop and start, in and out of the truck all the time. Stop and dive under the truck or into the ditch or trees if lucky enough to be near any. On one occasion I was carrying infantry. We were attacked by a very lowflying bomber and the men, so fed up not being able to fight back, debussed and kneeling on the road or sighting over the bonnet and mudguards blind to personal danger gave that Jerrie hell. He soon left but what was the use as there was always another to take his place.

On another occasion when my second driver in the crow's nest above gave the signal to bail out I kept going, scared and fed up, hoping against hope that I'd be hit and finish it all but no such luck—on to the bitter end.

Lieutenant Coleman left the company dispersal area at Atalandi on 22 April to help move 4 Infantry Brigade

‘4 I.B. was near Thebes Pass (60 miles north of Athens). We were there a total of five days,’ writes Dvr Wan. ‘Every day the reccie. plane would be over two or three times and he would circle round and round until we began to think he would never go away. The tension was really nervewracking. We were among trees on a small ridge and the Jerry would fly so low we could look down into his cockpit. His goggles didn't fit too well. He was all the time adjusting them. Now and then he'd give a burst with his cannon, hoping for movement. But the order of the day was camouflage and no movement, and we got away with it.’

back towards the evacuation beaches. Over the next few confused days drivers became split up among the battalions and embarked at Porto Rafti with the units they had been carrying. Coleman, moving with 20 Battalion, gathered together thirty RMT men and embarked in the destroyer Kingston for Crete.

‘I remember saying “Thank God for the British Navy”,’ writes Dvr Christoffersen. ‘They gave us each a cup of cocoa or tea, one of the best I had ever tasted—and then we just fell asleep sitting down.’ Lt Coleman, before embarking, remembers someone setting up a gramophone and smashing all records except one, which was left on the turntable ready for the first German to play. The record was ‘There'll Always be an England’.

Corporal Gray,

Capt A. T. Gray; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 4 Jul 1913; truck driver; wounded 4 Jul 1942.

setting out originally with this convoy, took six trucks to the Corinth area with reserve supplies for infantry detachments. At Corinth enemy planes systematically swept the countryside in preparation for a parachute landing. Caught broadside on, one truck containing Drivers Turnbull

Dvr S. H. J. Turnbull; born Oamaru, 21 Dec 1913; farmer; killed in action Apr 1941.

and Pool

L-Cpl J. Pool; Eiffelton, Canterbury; born Scotland, 16 May 1905; farm worker.

was set blazing, and it is believed that here Turnbull lost his life.

Four RMT drivers (Lance-Corporal Thompson,

L-Cpl R. J. F. Thompson; Culverden; born Southbridge, 7 Apr 1914; labourer; p.w. Apr 1941.

Drivers ‘Bunny’ Penny,

L-Cpl O. J. Penny; Christchurch; born Gisborne, 20 Oct 1906; miner; p.w. 26 Apr 1941.

Spiers, and Cherry) were with a detachment with 19 Battalion which was guarding areas about Corinth Canal. On 25 April the area was bombed and strafed continuously. Everyone lay doggo. Spiers writes:

At dawn on 26 April we were awakened by a terrific drone which filled the whole air, and on going to the edge of the woods and looking over the harbour the prettiest and most frightening sight I'd seen throughout my active days appeared before me. Our hilltop was about 500 ft above sea level, overlooking the harbour on one side and higher mountains on the other. Roaring majestically up the harbour not more than 50 ft above sea level and towing gliders were about 70 three-engined German transports. All were not towing gliders. We looked right down upon them although they were about half a mile distant. Just before reaching the open ground west of the town the planes rose sharply and began spewing out paratroops. Red, green and white ‘chutes were prominent. Fierce fighting immediately started. It was during this operation that the bridge was blown, but whether the English blew it to save having it taken intact or not I can't say.

Penny and Spiers captured a German on a BSA motorcycle. They sheltered with others in a cave. Two Greek policemen appeared with white flags on poles and told the party that if it did not surrender it would be blasted out. Ill equipped and with practically no ammunition left, the party surrendered. ‘Our prisoner of one day was now our captor.’

colour map of crete

Back at the company dispersal area near Atalandi (where some firmly believed sheep bells were being used for signalling by enemy agents), in the evening of 22 April all trucks except five were ordered to be destroyed. Many a driver felt a lump in his throat as he set about his work, perhaps consoling himself by saying, ‘Anyhow, Jerry won't get the old bus.’ Most remarks were unprintable. Drivers got the business over as quickly as possible. They tried to turn aside thoughts of victorious motors pressing west into the far desert. They tried to close their ears to the smash-up going on under the olive trees of Atalandi. Picks and crowbars crashed down into faithful engines. Holes gaped in radiators and petrol tanks. Tires were slashed. Some men drained away the oil and left the motor running, the accelerator weighed down with a stone. These engines died painfully, reproachfully. Then through the night wound this five-truck ghost of a company, some 120 silent RMT men aboard, to reach the outskirts of Athens, where Headquarters Section was camped with a few worn trucks. There they waited until 24 April, when the men left for the lying-up area near D Beach, at Porto Rafti.

Above Athens the Parthenon looked down on just another beaten army passing by.

On the night of 26-27 April the company came out from its hiding places beneath the trees, marched to the beach, and divided into different parties. About 120 men were taken to a Crete-bound destroyer, the Kandahar, 66 of them later moving to the troopship Salween for Egypt. This party included Major Woods, Captain Good, Second-Lieutenant Surgenor,

Capt G. R. Surgenor, m.i.d.; Auckland; born NZ 4 Mar 1913; storeman.

Sergeant-Major Beer,

WO II T. A. Beer; Christchurch; born England, 22 Sep 1902; driver.

and Staff-Sergeant Upton. A few other RMT men were evacuated in the Carlisle, an anti-aircraft cruiser. In the Glengyle,

Lying asleep alongside a Maori, these RMT men awoke on the mess-deck floor of the Glengyle to find a heavy sleeper (about 15 stone) lying across their feet. Unable to shift the heavy form, the Maori drew his bayonet and jabbed where the figure was plumpest. ‘There was a feminine shriek, and up flew a bonny piece of Greek womanhood, hands clutching behind her. Then came bellows from an irate Tommy. Explanations that our intentions were honourable to his bride (whom he had smuggled off in battle dress one night) were accepted with bad grace.’

destined for Crete, on the previous night were four RMT men: Corporal Stan Shaw, Drivers Liddle

L-Cpl J. P. Liddle; London; born Napier, 16 Jul 1917; tobacconist; wounded 26 May 1941.

and Arthur Pope, and another. Attached to 6 Field Ambulance at Tirnavos, they had carried wounded until the evacuation. Pope and a padre, just before leaving, found a Humber-Snipe staff car undamaged among wrecked vehicles. Remarking sarcastically about brass hats going off first and leaving good cars for Jerry, the two wrecked it thoroughly, to the speechless fury of a brigadier, returning to his car after a brief but fatal absence of five minutes.

The 12th (German) Army Quartermaster-General, reporting on 11 May 1941 the British destruction of abandoned trucks and guns, wrote: ‘The most that can possibly be repaired is 5%.’

Far to the south, at Kalamata, Driver Sutherland saw the last rescue ship disappear in the darkness. He joined a party of Australians, and hope rose again when they found a small fishing smack abandoned off the coast. Swimming out and climbing aboard, they tried to start the engine, for two days hauling uselessly at a rope around the flywheel. Finally they hoisted the sails, pointed the boat in the general direction of Crete, and set off. Although they carefully rationed a tiny store of water, white bread, and goats' cheese, they were starving when they landed at Canea six days later. Sutherland refused hospital treatment and joined Second-Lieutenant Hope Gibbons'

2 Lt H. Hope Gibbons; born Wellington, 18 Apr 1918; mechanical engineer; killed in action May 1941.

platoon.

Near Corinth Captain Muller and Driver Tidman waited and hoped. From their dressing station at Volos after the Vale of Tempe escape the two had been taken to hospital in Athens, and from there by train to just north of the canal. Tidman's luck held good, but Muller, left behind, was picked up by a German patrol. The two, now separated, had been together continuously since they entered Ngaruawahia Camp.

Workshops Section had reached Athens from Nikaia on 19 April to become the Heavy Repairs Section of 4 Advanced Maintenance Depot, a British Army unit. The RMT men started work again at full pressure in a large motor works in Athens. Before them lay a shop piled with vehicles of all kinds and sizes with one common complaint: they wouldn't go. From senior NCOs to cooks, the men went to work with a will. Under three key men, Staff-Sergeants Wilson, Hoare and Cooney, they worked round the clock. Fitters, electricians, blacksmiths, coppersmiths, carpenters, other tradesmen and storemen, all helped one another out. A storeman-clerk, who previously had handled only a carpenter's hammer, could be seen striking for the blacksmiths to get a set of springs out in a hurry. Within three days, by stripping a few vehicles, exchanging or making parts, the men had 80 per cent of the vehicles running and back in service again. One persistent task was repairing a British blood-wagon, which three times set out with blood for the front and three times was towed back, riddled by aircraft fire despite its red crosses.

As the motors returned to life the latrines failed, and a Greek contractor agreed to end the trouble in the septic tank for 200 drachmae. Next day, when the price had risen to 1400 drachmae, Captain Broberg persuaded the Greek to return for payment on a date when the New Zealanders would be far from Athens.

Before moving, everything of possible use to the enemy had to be smashed and ruined, a bitter order for the workshops men who took such pride in their equipment. Engines were ruined methodically; 100 spare truck tires were put through a bandsaw and neatly stacked together again. Into the wreckage went superbly stocked Thornycroft technical vehicles, their contents sufficient to start a medium-sized garage. Jimmie Sellars

Dvr J. H. Sellars; Christchurch; born NZ 17 May 1908; blacksmith; p.w. May 1941.

painted and left a big sign among the destruction: ‘Fix this, Adolf!’ Just as Workshops began moving off to Piraeus in the early afternoon of 24 April, Captain Broberg remembered that Staff-Sergeant Wilson had been given a mass of small parts and dozens of different tools to hide or destroy. Had this been done? With the characteristic Wilson grin came the reply, ‘Sure. They're in the —— septic tank.’ Workshops men gave away all personal gear before leaving. Johnny Boag

Dvr J. A. Boag; born NZ 19 Dec 1913; car painter; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

handed his blankets to an elderly couple; with tears of gratitude runningdown her face the old lady smothered Johnny with kisses.

Workshops joined the hundreds crowded into the Hellas, a royal yacht at Piraeus. All sorts were packed aboard: British, dumpy and philosophical, weary Australians, despondent civilians, merchant seamen, and patient-eyed wounded. The Greek skipper and a large part of his crew slipped away in the crowds, but the merchant seamen took their places.

Then, just before sunset, just before sailing time for Egypt, there was a drone in the distance and half a dozen Stukas came in, flying low and fast. The ship carried guns fore and aft and was a legitimate target.

Five bombs struck the crowded Hellas; three burst alongside on the wharf. In a few minutes flames seemed to be everywhere. Surrounded by the wounded, the dead, and the panicstricken, Staff-Sergeants Wilson and Cooney worked valiantly in a race against the fires, quietly organising rescue parties to sort the wounded from the dead.

Diving overboard, Drivers Cliff Lockyer,

Dvr C. R. Lockyer; Whakatane; born Petone, 19 Mar 1910; truck driver.

Thornton,

L-Cpl L. R. Thornton; Lower Hutt; born NZ 25 Jun 1917; lorry driver.

and ‘Scotty’ McIntyre

Dvr T. M. McIntyre; born Scotland, 3 Apr 1904; died while p.w. 17 Aug 1942.

set off to swim across the harbour away from the burning ship. Lockyer, struggling across the quartermile of sea, reached the shore to find McIntyre, black with oil. ‘It was serious, but we couldn't help laughing at ourselves, all dirty, all nude.’ Driver Ramsay,

S-Sgt W. S. Ramsay; Invercargill; born Mataura, 20 Jul 1915; manager.

among those who made for the shattered docks, badly burned his hands and legs on the scorching bolts and staples in the smouldering piles.

Driver ‘Ginger’ Wingham, helpless from the strafing which had killed Captain McAlpine six days ago, was helped by Ian Cooney and another driver to mooring ropes still intact, down which he slid to safety. Staff-Sergeant Hoare, suffering from concussion and a broken arm and jaw, was a pitiful sight with face and legs blackened and clothing ripped and torn. Sergeants Mellsop

Sgt G. J. D. Mellsop; born NZ 16 Feb 1916; insurance clerk; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

and Delaney

Sgt R. H. Delaney; born NZ 30 Jun 1904; mechanic; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

were found among the dead, together with five others, Drivers Thurlow,

Dvr J. S. W. Thurlow; born Oamaru, 23 Aug 1906; service-car driver; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

Hook,

Dvr F. N. L. Hook; born NZ 18 Jun 1915; transport driver; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

Austin,

Dvr J. S. Austin; born NZ 3 Jan 1905; tramways employee; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

Allanson,

Dvr E. M. Allanson; born England, 14 Apr 1906; butcher; died of wounds 24 Apr 1941.

and Patrick.

Dvr G. W. Patrick; born Wellington, 9 Jun 1914; carpenter; killed in action 24 Apr 1941.

Few, if any, escaped from the shambles of the once luxurious smoke-room.

Detailed to pick up rations at Athens racecourse for the ship, Dvrs Doug Shaw, Alf (‘Snowy’) Creed, and Jack Boag missed the bombing, drove in convoy to Corinth, Boag disappearing without a trace on the way. At Athens racecourse Shaw and Creed had taken good care to load Naafi goods too, and the couple threw a party before embarking in HMS Havock for Crete. Alf still remembers the parting words of a rejoicing British major: ‘You Kiwis would find rations and drink in hell.’

Not until paint began peeling from the Grecian figurehead did the rescue parties stumble ashore. The wounded rescued — they included Corporal Sinclair,

Sgt A. Sinclair; born Scotland, 2 Apr 1908; tractor driver; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941; died 9 Dec 1951.

Lance-Corporal Ruffell, Drivers Pistor,

Dvr C. A. Pistor; Gisborne; born Gisborne, 1 Apr 1910; blacksmith; wounded 24 Apr 1941.

Saunders,

Dvr J. R. Saunders; Auckland; born Russell, 16 Mar 1920; garage attendant; wounded 24 Apr 1941.

Housham,

Dvr D. O. Housham; Wellington; born Houhora, 19 Sep 1907; carpenter; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941.

Stringer

Dvr L. F. Stringer; Wellington; born Wellington, 18 Feb 1912; motor mechanic; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941.

and Potter

Dvr J. S. Potter; Wellington; born Wellington, 5 Mar 1909; bus driver; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941.

—were sent in commandeered trucks to hospital in Athens. Most of them were taken prisoner later, including Driver Stevens,

Dvr F. J. Stevens; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 17 Mar 1913; painter; wounded 24 Apr 1941; p.w. 12 May 1941.

who was on the gangplank of the ship when the first bomb fell. He was pleased to find his tremendous moustache undamaged. Although wounded, Tim Armstrong,

Dvr K. M. Armstrong; Christchurch; born Runanga, 6 Jan 1911; carpenter; wounded 24 Apr 1941.

one of the drivers who refused hospital treatment, drove survivors to Daphni Camp, the stragglers' collecting point. There Captain Broberg, wounded in the back during the attack, found that his uninjured men totalled only about twenty. Next day they crossed the Corinth Canal and sheltered from hostile skies in the Argos area, stragglers bringing the Workshops total up to about twenty-five. A landing craft took them to a destroyer, HMAS Stuart, from which they were bundled on to HMS Orion, which landed them next day (27 April) in Suda Bay, Crete. Of Workshops' 75 men, 31 remained; only seven of them rejoined the section in Egypt after the campaign in Crete. Virtually wiped out, the section had suffered over 90 per cent permanent casualties.

The 4th RMT Company, which had gone to Greece 419 strong, sailed away totalling 356. The company's casualties in Greece were: one officer and ten other ranks killed or died of wounds; one officer and four other ranks wounded; one officer and 51 other ranks captured (of whom the officer and ten other ranks were wounded).

Captured in Greece, one RMT man, Sergeant Charlie Mutch,

Sgt C. Mutch, MM; Auckland; born Scotland, 8 Feb 1909; slaughterman; p.w. Apr 1941; escaped May 1941; recaptured Nov 1943.

escaped and eventually joined the guerrillas. He made contact with British and New Zealand specialists and for eight months was kept busy running a mule train. ‘If I wasn't carting explosives I had gold sovereigns or else wireless sets.’ He saw many sad and strange things. ‘On one trip I looked over the escarpment above Delphi and saw a company of Ites pull in. After they had gone I went down. The town was in tears. The Ites had taken the statue—and how would they get the tourists after the war?’

He took part in many activities, one of them the blowing up of the Asopos viaduct, protected by pillboxes and a guard of 240 men. Local Greeks said it was impossible to get down the gorge to the viaduct, which was three miles north-west of Brallos and some ten miles south of Lamia.

Two New Zealanders, Don Stott

Maj D. J. Stott, DSO and bar; born NZ 23 Oct 1915; rotary machinist; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941; escaped Aug 1941; drowned, Borneo, 20 Mar 1945.

and Bob Morton

Capt R. M. Morton, MC, DCM; Nyasaland, South Africa; born NZ 3 Mar 1919; clerk; wounded and p.w. Apr 1941; escaped Nov 1941; wounded 23 Oct 1942.

(both formerly of 5 Field Regiment), and six others spent five days getting about two-thirds of the way down with the explosives —crawling along the sides of the cliffs, over waterfalls, and swimming below the falls until they came to the main waterfall: a sheer drop of 40 feet and about 15 feet wide, the side walls perpendicular and like glass. There the party ran out of rope, had to give up, and returned to camp. A few days later Don Stott begged permission for another go at the viaduct. He got Charlie Mutch and a Palestinian sergeant, a tough chap as hard as nails, to go with him. Stott's biggest disappointment was not having Bob Morton, who had been sent to Athens the day before to organise a sabotage group. Bulldog Drummond and Company, said Charlie, had nothing on these two.

Charlie describes what happened:

Our first day was spent in felling a tree about half a mile back and floating and pushing it down the river. The roar of a fall stopped the sound of the axe. With branches about every three or four feet, this tree was about 70 feet long. After having it well tied back it was let over. To our joy it reached the bottom with about three feet to spare at the top. The next day we swam the pool below the fall and got another 400 yards on. The next day Don Stott, about a chain in front, came back and said we had made it. The bridge was only another 100 yards in front. He sent me off straight away to get two sappers and an officer who came originally from Kenya.

We arrived back three days later. We had three hours to wait for darkness. The cold was terrible. All we had on was a pair of shorts and sandshoes. There was a track made down under the bridge from the guardhouse to the water. We could hear the mumble of talk from the guardroom about 30 yards away. Then one man came down the track smoking a cigarette. The Kenya major in front knocked him over the cliff with a lump of wood. We then set to work getting the charges out to the four main girders. Then the Palestinian and I made back to get the two mules ready for a quick getaway while the others fixed the wiring and time fuses. What a mad scramble it was, swimming and climbing ropes. While going up one rope ladder my arms gave out on me and I fell back about 25 feet and knocked myself out and got a bad knock on the shin. I came to about 15 minutes later hearing the other chap calling to me from the top in the darkness. After another couple of attempts I made it. By the time we had got the mules loaded up the others had arrived and we made off. We were so tired it took two days to get back to Headquarters instead of one.

The viaduct? Oh yes. It went up all right.

For a full account of this operation see Special Service in Greece (Episodes and Studies series), published by the War History Branch, 1953.

CHAPTER 4 Crete Here we sit on the Isle of Crete Spelling up our blistered feet. Little wonder we've the blues With feet encased in great canoes. Khaki shorts instead of slacks, Living like a tribe of blacks Except that blacks don't sit and brood They get about and search for food. ‘Twas just a month ago, no more We sailed to Greece to win the war. We marched about beneath a load While bombers chased us off the road. They bombed us here, they straffed us there, The bastards they were everywhere. And as they dropped their loads of death We cursed the absent RAF. One day we heard the radio news And Winston Churchill gave his views. ‘The RAF,’ he said, ‘in Greece Are fighting hard to bring us peace.’ I scratched my head at that and said, ‘That smells a lot like something dead, For if in Greece the Air Force be Then where the flamin' hell are we?’ At last we met up with the Hun At odds of just on five to one. And when the going got rather hot We ran, then had another shot. The bullets flew, the big guns roared, We yelled for ships to get aboard. At length they came, aboard we got And hurried from that cursed spot. And then they landed us on Crete And marched us off our weary feet. The food was scarce, the water crook: I got fed up and slung my hook. Returned that night filled up with wine And next day stopped a ten bob fine. My pay book was behind to hell. When pay day came I said ‘Oh well ‘They'll not pay me, I'm sure of that.’ But when they did I smelt a rat. But next day when the rations came I woke up to their wily game. For sooner than lie down and die I spent my pay on food supply. So now it looks like even bettin' A man will soon become a Cretan And spend his days in deepest gloom On Adolf Hitler's Isle of Doom.

—Author unknown

LANDING at Suda Bay, towards the western end of Crete's northern coastline, men from Greece were directed to a large transit camp near the town of Canea. A warm welcome from the friendly Cretans helped them on their way. In the transit camp they were sorted out into their units. ‘There were many surprises,’ wrote one driver. ‘Lots of us were enthusiastically welcomed back, because many stories had been going round about us being seen dead or wounded.’ Drivers Sellars and Shaw,

Dvr E. Shaw; Blackball; born England, 14 Jan 1911; labourer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

from the Hellas, turned up wearing boiler suits and sandshoes and, unable to get a change of clothing, remained dressed that way. George

Dvr G. E. C. Lambert; Whangarei; born Wellington, 20 Oct 1913; farmhand.

and Arthur Lambert

Dvr A. H. H. Lambert; Whangarei; born Whangarei, I Jul 1917; motor engineer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

reached Crete in an old caique. The trip from Greece had taken a week. The two landed in poor shape. Prudent Arthur ate sparingly, and urged his brother to do the same, but George, enjoying his food so much, suffered the upsets of the starved man and, taken to hospital, was evacuated to Egypt. Diet-conscious Arthur stayed in Crete, and continued to eat sparingly for four years in German prisoner-of-war camps.

Sorted roughly into shape, rested a little, marched to and fro without apparent purpose, and armed with what scanty equipment was available, NZASC and artillery men, loosely organised into a unit known as Oakes Force, moved up towards Galatas to take up positions as reserve infantrymen. Oakes Force was eventually called the Composite Battalion. The battalion, commanded by Major Lewis,

Maj H. M. Lewis; London; born Wanganui, 27 Dec 1908; company secretary.

was made up of gunners and RMT men, the latter 274 strong on invasion day. The RMT group within the Composite Battalion was commanded by Captain Veale,

Maj L. H. Veale, ED; Wellington; born NZ I Nov 1911; insurance clerk; p.w. I Jun 1941.

a gunner. The second-in-command was Captain Veitch, and among the other officers were these from the RMT: Lieutenant Coleman and Second-Lieutenants Hope Gibbons, Gilmore, and Pool. The sergeant-major was ‘Tommy’ Thomson. The Composite Battalion was given a ridge by the coast. The RMT riflemen, without bayonets, were lent ‘for a day or two’ seven picks and five shovels, already well worn. Overnight (to their surprise, for this was their first attempt) they managed to erect a formidable-looking double barbed-wire fence. ‘Changing our positions every day or two we saw quite a lot of the future battleground,’ said Driver Cumming. ‘Whether this was done to impress the people, or to outwit fifth columnists we never knew, though we were pardonably annoyed to think we'd settle down, only to be moved to the hills on parachute picket, or down to the beach on guard. But anyhow, after Greece the air raids at first seemed puny.’

Down the east coast of Greece, in the Dodecanese, and on several of the larger islands in the Aegean, the winged shapes of the German armada crouched ready, waiting, in the darkness. Under the olive trees and in the vineyards of Crete sleeping figures sprawled in peace. The dawn came quietly into Suda Bay, the sun rose in a calm and cloudless sky, and while men, yawning and stretching, reached for that first cigarette of the day, cooks busied themselves about breakfast warming up in well-blackened petrol tins.

Then came the sharp-nosed fighters, scouring the shelter of tree and hollow, swooping as hawks do upon signs of movement. Bombers appeared, to blast the earth, and next, in awful dry-lipped silence, came the gliders. Louder and louder beat a roar from the north as troop-carriers in scores—it seemed without end—brought the invaders to Crete. Out spilled parachutists by the hundred to a sweeping crackle of rifle fire below, and breakfast was off—well and truly—for many a soldier on 20 May.

Down to the hostile Galatas and the Prison Valley, firing as they came, drifted the German 3 Parachute Regiment and attached units, 3300 men,

These 3300 invaders suffered 1400 casualties that day. Of the 10,000 Germans who came by air to Crete on 20 May, 6000 remained active by nightfall.

some meeting death in the air, more killed on landing, a few entangled and slain in the trees. Most of them fell inland, thickly about the prison, scattering widely over a rough line south-west from Karatsos to Alikianou —about four miles.

‘Figures could be seen dropping out of the side door and then a flutter of white as the parachute opened out just behind the tail of the plane,’ wrote Driver Farley.

Cpl C. Farley; Wellington; born Halcombe, 18 Sep 1906; construction worker; p.w. I Jun 1941; J Force Mar 1947-Oct 1948; Regular soldier Jan 1949–Apr 1952.

‘To watch them was like watching white handkerchiefs being let go out of a carriage window.’

‘Just like the darned duckshooting season,’ some men remarked, and an RMT man says: ‘I don't think we were scared stiff. Rather, we were interested and awed at that mass of stuff up in the sky. It seemed there wasn't room for one more plane. And for once we could look up into the sky. The straffing and bombing laid off for a bit while the big fat troop-carriers were coming in. In a way it was peaceful. For a while there was an end to the harsh, discordant screaming of dive-peckers' [dive-bombers'] syrens and bombs.’

The Composite Battalion by the sea had an easy introduction to a terrible battle, seen, heard, felt, and stamped on the mind in all its majesty and terror. Stray parachutists landed in Coleman's ‘company’, holding ground by the coast. B Section opened up with a will–action came as a relief after cowering into the earth–shooting seven in the air and sending the rest bolting in the direction of Galatas. Tom Alvis,

S-Sgt T. Alvis; Upper Hutt; born Australia, 9 Jun 1904; timber worker; wounded May 1941.

among dismayed and hungry bystanders, saw a dead parachutist fall gracefully on to the breakfast tin and send the only hot meal of the day flying. ‘Who says now the only good German is a dead German?’ demanded Tom. Crying ‘Don't shoot! I'm wounded!’, an injured prisoner fell into the hands of Ian Appleton and Arthur Pope and was taken to Canea. Among equipment captured were tommy guns and a machine gun. Over in A Section Driver Frayling, in fine form, trained his Bren gun on a lumbering Junkers three-motor troop-carrier. Flaming spectacularly, it smashed into the sea. Frayling shared a speedier target, an Me 109 which crashed on the beach, with Driver Bruning, of B Section. Most of the trouble came from fighter planes skimming and snarling over the trees and forcing the battalion to keep down in its holes, but after a time things quietened down over the RMT area.

composite battalion, galatas, 20 may 1941 black and white map of battle position

Behind the lines to the east parachutists occupied the clearly marked tents of 7 British General Hospital. One German, landing on the cookhouse, was shot by the cook. An artillery officer from 4 Field Regiment, Second-Lieutenant Carson,

Maj W. N. Carson, MC, m.i.d.; born NZ 16 Jul 1916; warehouseman; wounded 29 Jul 1944; died of wounds 8 Oct 1944.

in quieter days a double All Black (Rugby and cricket), with about twenty men from B Section, went across to lend a hand, arriving as the place was being cleared. They found plenty to do, cleaning up pockets of resistance round about so effectively that Colonel Kippenberger,

Maj-Gen Sir Howard Kippenberger, KBE, CB, DSO and bar, ED, m.i.d., Legion of Merit (US); Wellington; born Ladbrooks, 28 Jan 1897; barrister and solicitor; I NZEF 1916–17; CO 20 Bn Sep 1939-Apr 1941, Jun-Dec 1941; comd 10 Bde (Crete) May 1941; 5 Bde Jan 1942–Jun 1943, Nov 1943–Feb 1944; 2 NZ Div 30 Apr-14 May 1943, 9 Feb–2 Mar 1944; 2 NZEF Prisoner of War Reception Group in UK 1944–45; twice wounded; Editor-in-Chief NZ War Histories.

impressed, kept this patrol as a special reserve,

Carson's patrol (or Carson's Rangers, as others knew them) included Sgt W. Ritchie, Cpls D. R. Geenty, G. S. Essen, Dvrs T. A. Speed, A. D. Ayr, C. H. Anslow, S. C. Scott, A. Pope, D. Sutherland, C. Flett, Bert Barrington, Tom Wan, Alan Carson, Eddie Jaspers, E. R. (‘Nugget’) Parnell, H. A. R. (‘Farmer’) Brown, J. W. Kenning, F. T. Ramage, R. H. Mitchell, J. P. Liddle, and L. M. Lynn. Sometimes only a few accompanied Carson; on some jobs the whole lot went out. In a subsequent report Carson highly commended Dvr Speed (‘at all times an example to the others … my highest commendations’), Sgt Ritchie (‘outstanding courage and a model for the patrol’), Cpls Geenty and Essen (‘at all times showed great coolness and courage’), Dvrs Ayr, Anslow and Scott (‘outstanding work under all conditions, by their actions an inspiration to the other men’).

together with a similar party of gunners under Lieutenant MacLean.

Maj G. MacLean; Wanganui; born Wellington, 13 Nov 1915; farmer; twice wounded.

By dusk the patrol could claim a good share of the 55 prisoners bagged by the Composite Battalion, a fair enough finish to the first round. The invaders were not so happy. Most of the day's fighting had been outside the Composite Battalion. The 19th Battalion, for example, had killed more than a hundred Germans within a few hours of the landing, and assaults on Galatas had been beaten back towards the prison area, out of the RMT men's sight and reach.

One RMT man had been in the hospital when it was captured. He was Alf Creed,

Dvr A. R. Creed; Lower Hutt; born Wellington, 18 Apr 1917; mechanic.

who had scabies. The hospital had been ‘straffed and bombed as if it was all the heads of the Allies,’ says Creed. ‘We were all herded out of the trenches by paratroopers and were marched to the roadway where we were made to sit down with our hands on our heads. When the Jerry had rounded us up he tried to ask questions, first in French, then in every language but English. One dag called out: “Ask in good down-under language Heine”, and was promptly knocked about by another German. I don't think he knew what was said but reacted to our laughter.’

After sitting down for about two hours in this uncomfortable position the captives were lined up in fours and marched off about half a mile to the 6 Field Ambulance lines. As they arrived Germans opened fire into surrounding trees, where someone had picked off one of their men. At this minute a doctor rose out of a slit trench. Whether the German was nervous or not Creed does not know, but he opened up with his tommy gun and killed the doctor.

This was Lt-Col J. L. R. Plimmer, CO 6 Fd Amb; the padre mentioned in Creed's account was the Rev H. I. Hopkins.

After a three-hour halt the march began again. Creed continues:

Just then a Bren carrier came down the road from Galatos and opened up on us. We scattered smartly, and with much abuse informed the driver and crew that we were New Zealanders, and prisoners. ‘Not for bloody long,’ came the reply, and off they went up to Galatos. After another hour we were marched off again up the hill towards Galatos. We had not gone far when firing broke out from our right and Jerry replied from behind us. We were between fire, so smartly dropped down on our stomachs. Jerry still tried to move us, and we must have looked a sight crawling on hands and knees. I do not know his name but a padre with us rose to his feet and said: ‘Boys, if we have to go out let these Jerries see we can go out as men. Let's walk.’ He was a leader, a man that gave confidence. We rose in a body and although we were still between fire we walked halfway up to Galatos and only one man was hurt. He had a bullet through a cheek of his behind.

Luckily a patrol from 19 Battalion (among others) despatched the German guards and released the party before dusk. Meanwhile the defenders had received some unexpected benefit from the air. Parachutes also had delivered hexagonal, coloured canisters (about six feet by two feet by two feet) containing mortars, automatic rifles, grenades, ammunition, radio sets, food, medical kit, and also wheels which were clipped together to aid dragging the heavy canisters into cover. Tom Speed

Dvr T. A. Speed; born Calcutta, India, 19 May 1905; sand blaster; killed in action 25 May 1941.

and Arch Jeff, after raiding German canisters in no-man's-land, returned and distributed hundreds of English cigarettes and chocolate, probably some of the pickings from Greece. Tobacco had been particularly short in Crete, and a heavy smoker, tormented by shortages, swears he was by no means the only one with this very first thought as the parachutists descended: ‘Thank God! Tobacco!’

The German paratroop uniform was of greyish blue material. Trousers fitted into the tops of high boots, and in the bottoms of the trousers spare clothing was carried. ‘They drop out of the plane from about 100 feet,’ noted Bill Carson, ‘with the para- chuteparachute open. Our first prisoner had a pistol and three grenades in his hands when he landed. They climb out of these chutes like lightning. In their water bottles they carry very strong cold black coffee. They each had with them two days’ rations, which consisted of a poloney, wrapped bread which was remarkably fresh, dried fruit, and two cakes of milk-chocolate. They also had two cubes of “dope”, probably some sort of condensed vitamins, which bucked our chaps up no end when they tried it. Each German carried in his wallet two photographs of Hitler—one in Air Force uniform, coloured, and the other in Army uniform.'

German pilots returned to the attack next day, 21 May, bombing, machine-gunning and dropping supplies, and many a man, crouched, huddled or prostrate, perfectly still with face and hands pressed to the ground, swore to quit rabbit shooting in civilian life. Machine-gunning aside, the Composite Battalion had a fairly quiet morning. Carson's patrol spent a profitable time mopping up stray parachutists and returning with arms and ammunition. One prize was a mortar, but as bad luck would have it no ammunition to fit could be found. The patrol stalked and killed two snipers–one of them a troublesome fellow who, despite a broken leg, accurately covered a well from a tree—and during the night moved out to set up and run a listening post overlooking the prison, but without incident. As the day grew older further supplies from the air increased the enemy's fire power; mortars were especially active, and the Composite Battalion sorely missed good cover in its poorly prepared defences. These had been made by British troops previously in the area. The slit trench was not in universal use at that time; these British trenches, deep, long, and straight, had more in common with those of 1914–18, and the soil thrown up in front made them most conspicuous from the air and from the ground. Lack of shovels and inexperience further handicapped the men. This, and waiting for attack, gave gunners and drivers in the role of infantrymen an anxious time; yet spirits in general were not depressed, and Captain Veale remained optimistic and active. The main action of the day, again away from the coastal area, cleared Germans from Cemetery Hill, just south-east of Galatas. Two RMT men met their death this day. A group of drivers under the command of a gunner officer, Lieutenant Nathan,

Capt M. J. Nathan; Wellington; born Wellington, I Oct 1917; estate agent; wounded 3 Sep 1942.

was stationed by a little white stone church on the inland flank. Here Sergeant Nicholls,

WO II D. Nicholls, m.i.d.; Sydney; born 14 Apr 1917; costing clerk; p.w. I Jun 1941.

using his Bren gun up in a tree, escaped close attention, but Driver Milne,

Dvr J. K. Milne; born NZ 30 Apr 1917; farm labourer; killed in action 21 May 1941.

operating a Bren gun nearby in a circular pit, opened up at one plane, which returned in a flash and shot up the gunpit, killing the driver. Driver Robinson

Dvr H. L. Robinson; born NZ 19 Apr 1906; forester; killed in action 21 May 1941.

is believed to have been shot by a patrol of three in Greek uniform. They passed the time of day with him and then turned and fired at him from behind.

In the night the fleet broke up an invasion by sea. Flashes of gunfire and searchlights lit up the sea for miles. The RMT had a grandstand view of the Royal Navy at work in the distance. Destroyers, picking targets by the British-invented radar, rammed troop-carrying caiques and schooners; concentrated gunfire sent larger ships to the bottom. Experts, including Viscount Cunningham in his book A Sailor's Odyssey, estimated that the flotilla was carrying about 4000 troops. The actual number of dead, the German official records reveal, was 324.

Returning from a conference at 10 Brigade Headquarters early on the morning of 22 May, Captain Veale passed on the news that the Germans were thought to be evacuating Crete,

Based on a quick impression at Maleme when Germans briefly rushed back to their aircraft for cover and for supplies.

and that the Composite Brigade

Actually 10 Inf Bde, specially formed for the defence of Galatas and including Comp Bn, a Div Cav detachment, and some Greeks who had been dispersed by the landing and were now reassembling.

was to attack in the Galatas area. The Composite Battalion's job was to clear the heights in front and also the village of Stalos. Patrols of RMT men (including a party of 30 led by Nathan) joined in the push westward towards Ay Marina on the coast and south-west towards the hamlet of Stalos.

Lt Pool, after falling down a bank and injuring his back, was evacuated.

Three patrols sent by Veale moved in an arc as far as Stalos; one under Captain Veitch broke up a pocket of Germans in a clump of farm buildings known as Ay Ioannis, capturing half a dozen Germans, including an officer.

Carson's patrol had a characteristically livelier time. Starting from 10 Brigade Headquarters, which had established itself on the morning of the attack beside Composite Battalion's headquarters, the party moved south towards Aghya reservoir, but strong opposition stopped it from reaching the reservoir, where the enemy, wasting no time, had seized donkeys and mules to cart ammunition. On the way back (a bullet furrowing remarkably Driver Brown's

Dvr H. A. R. Brown; Wakefield; born Gisborne, 17 Oct 1915; farmer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

helmet) the patrol met up with the Divisional Petrol Company and joined in resistance against another and more successful attack from the prison area. Driver Pope recalls a German officer shouting ‘Here comes the 22nd!’ and other misleading cries.

Then, according to Pope, ‘with a terrific clamour’ came one of the most remarkable charges in the campaign. ‘Out of the trees came Capt (Michael) Forrester of the Buffs, clad in shorts, a long yellow army jersey reaching down almost to the bottom of the shorts, brass polished and gleaming, web belt in place and waving his revolver in his right hand. He was tall, thin-faced, fair-haired, with no tin hat–the very opposite of a soldier hero; as if he had just stepped on to the parade ground. He looked like … a Wodehouse character. It was a most inspiring sight. Forrester was at the head of a crowd of disorderly Greeks, including women; one Greek had a shot gun with a serrated-edge bread knife tied on like a bayonet, others had ancient weapons—all sorts. Without hesitation this uncouth group, with Forrester right out in front, went over the top of a parapet and headlong at the crest of the hill. The enemy fled.’

Quite a number of armed Cretan civilians were operating in this area. A party of three armed civilians was brought before platoon commander Corporal Stan Shaw for interrogation. The different languages made questioning a difficult business, almost a farce. The civilians and the RMT men seemed to be getting nowhere. Suddenly a great grin spread over the face of the leader, and to ‘prove’ his absolute loyalty, the Cretan plunged a hand into a pocket and proudly produced a couple of ears with the statement ‘Germanos’.

At dawn on 23 May the hills before the Composite Battalion showed signs of enemy infiltration. About sixty Germans [150, from German documents] were reported at 7.30 a.m. to be moving from the hills towards Ay Marina. Coleman had moved his ‘company’ forward about 600 yards the day before and had stayed there during a quiet night. Two groups, one under Captain Nolan,

Capt S. T. Nolan, m.i.d.; Hamilton; born Onehunga, 14 Aug 1905; motor trimmer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

went forward from Red Hill to snipe and to observe. Coleman led forward a patrol of 15 men, soon meeting heavy fire from an obviously formidable enemy group. The patrol was heavily engaged for the next hour, during which time it inflicted casualties and knocked out two machine guns with only one casualty, Driver Glanville,

Dvr S. Glanville; born Auckland, 25 Jan 1910; motor driver; died of wounds 23 May 1941.

who was fatally wounded. Supporting Coleman's right flank was a platoon led by Corporal Shaw. This platoon had one man wounded, Driver Jeff. About this time, it is thought, Driver Maudsley

Dvr R. Maudsley; born England, 12 Nov 1911; electrician's labourer; killed in action May 1941.

lost his life. These units kept the enemy under fire until B Company of 18 Battalion arrived on the scene. No. II Platoon of that company, moving up with fixed bayonets through the RMT and asking, ‘Where are these bastards?’, staged a brilliant attack, clearing practically all of the village of Stalos and pushing the enemy back. As the result of an apparent misunderstanding, the company commander then ordered the platoon back, and B Company withdrew to the RMT group's right flank, leaving it to hold the position. By noon a line of sorts facing south and covering Stalos had been made to check enemy units trying to reach the road behind 5 Brigade.

For the time being the position at Galatas was under firm control. At Maleme, however, the enemy had been building up his strength rapidly since 21 May when he won the airfield. By 23 May it was decided to withdraw 5 Brigade behind the Galatas front, thereby leaving the way open for powerful enemy reinforcements to link up with the battered remnants of 3 Parachute Regiment in the prison area. Heavy pressure would soon develop on the Galatas line, and the commander of the forward troops, Colonel Kippenberger, decided to replace the Composite Battalion, whose makeshift organisation might not stand the strain of heavy battle, by 18 Battalion, which had been in reserve. The Composite Battalion had already undergone changes in the course of the battle, and the Divisional Petrol Company and some of the gunners had been placed under Divisional Cavalry command in what was known as Russell Force.

The Composite Battalion did not move back far, however, for its next positions on Ruin Ridge were only just behind the front line. The change took place on the night of 23–24 May, at the same time as the weary battalions of 5 Brigade moved back along the coastal road and settled between Galatas and Canea. Some of the RMT found the move from Stalos to Ruin Ridge difficult and trying. On the way back, stumbling over rough country in the dark, they received conflicting orders. Some drivers reached Galatas and had to trudge back. Dawn found them dead-tired and hungry, with nothing to dig in with, on comparatively open country exposed to heavy machine-gun and mortar fire probing behind the front line on to Ruin Ridge. The assault from the air did not slacken. C Company 18 Battalion, locked in a series of engagements in the evening when Red Hill exchanged hands, finished up 300 yards back on Signal (or Murray) Hill, bringing the front that much closer to the RMT men on Ruin Ridge. Captain Veale expected a company of Australians to turn up, but none arrived; the relief had been cancelled.

What did appear, no matter how briefly, were six memorable Blenheim bombers, passing over Galatas area on the way to bomb Maleme airfield. ‘It was wonderful,’ writes Driver Wan. ‘Where I was everyone cheered wholeheartedly, and wherever British troops were they must have done the same, because we could hear the cheers of others echoing through the hills and valleys.’

This day Arthur Pope was crouched in a gutter, streams of bullets passing overhead, when Colonel Kippenberger came up the road. Pope writes: ‘ “Pretty unhealthy about here sir,” from me, somewhat facetiously. “It is,” he responded, indicating some very dead Jerries. “They should have been buried long ago.” ’

On 25 May the Germans were ready and the assault began. Ruin Hill (inland from Ruin Ridge), previously occupied by the Divisional Supply Company, had not been taken over by 18 Battalion, and from this dominating position the enemy poured heavy fire into the RMT lines. Mortars, firing steadily, were joined by field pieces, thought (wrongly) to be Bofors guns captured at Maleme. Fighters frequently strafed the area. By about two o'clock a mounting attack crunched into the right flank of 18 Battalion, one company reporting Germans advancing in solid masses, heedless of cover, undeterred by concentrated fire. Veale's runner returned from Brigade Headquarters with orders to hold on, and the RMT did, although under fire from three sides, including their rear. Infantrymen brought news of the enemy breakthrough, and many passing through the RMT lines showed the effects of a severe mauling. Major Veale saw ‘a most pitiful chap crawling around on all fours. He wouldn't move unless on hands and knees. He could talk, but his nerve had completely gone.’

With no fresh instructions, Veale sent Driver Major

Dvr A. W. Major; Wellington; born Wellington, 24 Jan 1916; labourer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

to Battalion Headquarters. Major returned saying all that remained was a batman picking up the last pair of socks. The batman said the enemy had broken through the Divisional Supply lines, and headquarters ‘went that way; you'd better come too.’ Major Veale decided to fall back to the next well-known landmark, Galatas turnoff, less than two miles away, where his men could form up again for any future tasks. It was only too clear now that advanced German units had passed RMT's left flank, coming down across Red and Signal hills to cut off the RMT except for a narrow strip by the coast. With the unit facing encirclement and capture, Sergeant-Major Thomson

‘Tommy Thomson, a Wellington school-teacher with glasses, didn't smoke or drink,’ writes a driver. ‘He used to line us up and talk to us like a bunch of kids. We loved it. We knew he'd never give us anything he wouldn't do himself.’

and Driver Johnny Quinlan

Dvr J. C. Quinlan; Te Kuiti; born Wellington, 21 Nov 1909; civil servant; p.w. I Jun 1941.

left Major Veale and hastened off along the fireswept Ruin Ridge with orders to fall back via the coast to the turnoff. Stumbling and crawling through the gnarled grape-vines and somehow avoiding being hit, Thomson distinctly remembers hearing derisive cries of ‘Not bad for the dirty Hun, is it?’ and ‘Where's your Siegfried Line now?’ Orders to withdraw were passed on to the RMT in their scattered positions along Ruin Ridge, and the retreat began, one platoon of 20 Battalion showing drivers how to fight a rearguard action. As the withdrawal began, Driver Lundon

Dvr J. B. F. Lundon; born NZ 10 Dec 1913; labourer; killed in action 25 May 1941.

was killed instantly. Second-Lieutenant Hope Gibbons sent his men back to the turnoff and went forward to collect some battalion maps which had been left behind. Determined that these maps would not fall into enemy hands, Hope Gibbons and his runner, Driver Cooke,

Dvr A. R. Cooke; born NZ 8 Apr 1917; labourer; killed in action May 1941.

went off to their deaths. Another RMT officer, Second-Lieutenant Gilmore, apparently lost his life between the withdrawal and the arrival at the Galatas turnoff. No reliable news was heard of him again.

At Galatas turnoff Veale met the Brigade Major, Brian Bassett,

Maj B. I. Bassett, m.i.d.; born NZ 12 Sep 1911; barrister and solicitor; killed in action 5 Jul 1942.

who told him to withdraw to the transit camp. The companies of 20 Battalion had taken over from the retiring 18 Battalion and, with a few sections of the Composite Battalion (now, by good fortune, back from Ruin Ridge) formed a rough line from Galatas to the sea as the first wave of Germans reached the village before dusk. East of Galatas 18 Battalion and some others from the Composite Battalion were being directed to an area on Church Hill.

The withdrawal to the turnoff was attended by confusion and touches of panic. ‘In another five minutes,’ wrote an RMT man, ‘hundreds of New Zealanders were running hell for leather through the grapevines, so I off too, and never ran so hard in my life before, the bullets were buzzing overhead, but I soon ran out of wind, and being tired out I said “To hell with them”.’ Another RMT man felt this way: ‘The air was alive with bullets. You can hear a bullet whine overhead but these were much closer than that. They sounded for all the world like bees buzzing around your ears. You could actually feel the disturbance of the air on your eardrums. I will never forget that particular time. I had regained my nerve and made up my mind that the Jerries would not make me run. I kept saying to myself: “I wonder if I will get hit. I wonder if I will get out of it alive.” It is very clear in my mind, perhaps I was praying.’ Some New Zealanders, tried beyond endurance, had lost their nerve, believing they were pursued by endless, invincible hordes, and made their way back regardless of orders. Many, however, halted when told and later stragglers willingly joined the attackers, about two hundred strong, forming up to clear Galatas village.

The gallant Carson patrol had been broken up after its last united stand that day among bomb, smoke, and ruin with the Divisional Petrol Company around Pink Hill. The popular Tom Speed (who declared he hated Crete's fleas more than the German mortars) met his death here, but he was avenged by Arthur Pope, who bayoneted his killer. Now, as if drawn by a magnet, the fighting remnants in two isolated groups, each of about half a dozen men, came in at the death to join in the desperate counter-attack now being launched against Galatas. Led by two old tanks commanded by Captain Roy Farran, of 3 Hussars, two companies of 23 Battalion swept down from the north-east, and parties from 20 and 18 Battalions under Lieutenant-Colonel Gray

Brig J. R. Gray, ED, m.i.d.; born Wellington, 7 Aug 1900; barrister and solicitor; CO 18 Bn Sep 1939-Nov 1941, Mar-Jun 1942; comd 4 Bde 29 Jun-5 Jul 1942; killed in action 5 Jul 1942.

came in from Church Hill. Bayonets glinting, and with the instinctive cries and yells of the killing man, the attackers lunged into darkened back streets and alleys, their pent-up hatred against the six-day hell from the air bursting in the pandemonium of falling flares, the roar of mortars, and the chattering spandaus. Vengeance thrust hard behind bayonet and grenade—aha, no diving Stuka screamed that way—and within twenty minutes the village was cleared.

During the night the New Zealand Division withdrew to a shorter line running south from the hospital. Fighting strength had now seriously dropped and the units of 10 Brigade were absorbed into 4 and 5 Brigades. The scattered detachments of the Composite Battalion made their way back to the transit camp area, and by early next day had formed up there in reasonable shape alongside 18 Battalion.

But what had been intended as an area of rest proved in the course of the morning to be nothing of the sort. It was only just to the rear of the Australian front line and soon came under fire. Lieutenant-Colonel Gray, therefore, on orders from Divisional Headquarters, led his unit back to an area south of Canea and told Major Lewis to follow.

To the RMT men this was a case of leaving the frying pan for the flames. This was the day in particular when the wrath of the Luftwaffe rose to full fury; fighters and bombers struck again and again, circling, swooping, zooming, singling out and hunting remorselessly even solitary men. The march degenerated into a series of quick dashes between raids. In this fashion most of the RMT arrived in the Suda Bay area, where strafing brought more casualties. Among remnants making their way over to Suda Bay were some Carson patrol men. Two Dorniers swooped. Jack Kenning,

L-Cpl J. W. Kenning; born NZ 23 Mar 1917; clerk; died of wounds 26 May 1941.

mortally wounded, gave Lew Lynn

Dvr L. M. Lynn; Oxford; born Australia, 10 Dec 1917; grocer; p.w. I Jun 1941.

his Bible and two or three other little treasures to send to his mother.

Lynn, although taken prisoner, safely delivered them to Mrs. Kenning in Palmerston North in July 1946.

Simultaneously, Drivers Reed

Dvr N. R. Reed; born England, 19 Nov 1916; bricklayer; wounded 26 May 1941; died of accidental injuries 30 Sep 1944.

and George O'Halloran

Dvr G. O'Halloran; Upper Hutt; born Wellington, 17 Feb 1905; driver; wounded 26 May 1941.

were wounded by explosive bullets. Sergeant Parker

Sgt B. E. Parker; Wellington; born England, 24 Apr 1909; manufacturer's representative; wounded 26 May 1941.

and Corporal Cam Sawers, taking cover in a flax bush, became walking wounded cases when an Me109 fired a burst into the bush. Driver Des Sawers,

Dvr D. C. Sawers; born Cambridge, 25 Jul 1916; farmhand; died of wounds 27 May 1941.

helping his wounded brother, was himself fatally wounded when the party attempted to shelter from Stukas in a wood. About this time an aircraft dropped roughly printed pamphlets which warned soldiers and civilians against mutilating the German dead, otherwise nearby villages would be burned to the ground. Such mutilations had taken place, for the collecting of ears and noses seemed to be an old Cretan custom.

The end drew near at Suda Bay. Urgent messages arrived before noon on 27 May saying that the enemy was almost in Suda Bay and men were to move back to the region of Sfakia on the opposite side of the island. Moving in a body in daylight over open country would have been fatal. Parties broke up into small groups. It was virtually each man for himself. A large number of RMT men assembled south of Suda Bay under Sergeant-Major Thomson and during the night moved out in good order towards Sfakia.

To Sfakia was about 40 miles, but it seemed twice as far to the weary, dispirited men trudging along crowded mountainous roads by night and hiding by day, short of water, food and tobacco, and fearful of showing any sort of light in the darkness. ‘I know,’ said Driver Christoffersen, ‘that at times I didn't care whether I went on or not. We even cut our battle-dress trousers off at the knees and made shorts of them, as it was so very hot.’ Toiling away with the walking wounded was Bill Tanner, cut and dazed from bomb blast. He'd lost the pet tortoise he'd carried in his overcoat pocket from the Desert and all through Greece. He would just whistle or call softly, and the tortoise would poke its head out of his pocket. In Greece a bullet had chipped the tortoise's shell. Bill kept wondering how his tortoise would get on now, in Crete, and at times he found himself absent-mindedly whistling or calling softly.

Cam Sawers, wounded in the right thigh, went with the walking wounded and carried a crude red cross flag (made from a piece of tent) which German airmen respected. Cam took this flag to Alexandria, and its last use was as a sling for a severely wounded Maori on the Helwan-bound hospital train.

The retreating men passed through Stilos, where one of the rearguard actions was fought, struggled up across the White Mountains, fought for water at a well in the pleasant plain of Askifou (there were no creeks in this part of Crete), rallied for the last climb over the remaining heights, and at last, exhausted, stumbled down into a ravine not far from Sfakia.

Wait, hope, hide, and wonder.

On the night of 29–30 May SS Glengyle, the cruisers Phoebe, Perth, Calcutta and Coventry, and the destroyers Jervis, Janus and Hasty took off 6000 men. Food and water were very short.

On the night of 30–31 May the tramp of men going off in the destroyers Nizam and Napier died in the darkness. Lieutenant Coleman, with a few RMT men, was in HMAS Nizam; Lieutenant Nathan and a small RMT party were aboard the far from overcrowded HMS Napier. From above the beach they had heard some Navy man calling faintly: ‘Don't you b—–s want to come?’ Ironically enough, further back the message was passing from group to group: ‘No more tonight…. No more tonight.’ Well, maybe tomorrow night then. Maybe….

On the night of 31 May-I June the last men left in the cruiser Phoebe, the destroyers Jackal, Kimberley and Hotspur, and the minelayer Abdiel. The last landing craft left the beach at 2.45 a.m., its wake growing fainter and fainter. Then there was nothing.

What now, some 5000 soldiers wondered?

Priority at the beaches had been given to regular infantry units on the natural assumption that they had done most of the fighting. For those among the gunners and drivers who had taken their share of the Galatas battle this was perhaps unfair. On the afternoon of 31 May Veale, an artillery officer in charge of a strange unit, called a conference of his RMT men, about a hundred of them. Two things could be done: either the men could make an illegal trip to the beach that night and try to gatecrash a boat, or they could wait their turn, staying put until officially told to move. Veale said: ‘If you do go down to the beaches tonight, other fighting troops will miss out. Make up your own minds. If you decide to go, I'll help all I can. If you stay, I'll stay.’ The RMT decided to wait another night.

In the morning the German came into the valley. There was no choice now. Overhead fighters began circling like blowflies about carrion. Rumours of surrender spread and were confirmed by orders left behind by the senior officer, Major- GeneralMajorGeneral E. C. Weston, of the Royal Marines, who had been flown out by Sunderland to Egypt. Orders to show anything white were ignored by the RMT party of a hundred which watched in dour silence a blond Bavarian hastily stumbling down the rocks, towing a huge swastika flag to call off the dive-bombers.

The conquerors appeared, mostly Bavarian mountain troops. The war was over;

Of the 274 RMT men in Crete, two officers and eleven other ranks were killed, 21 other ranks were wounded, one officer and 173 other ranks (of whom ten were wounded) were taken prisoner. Of these one officer and ten other ranks died or were killed while prisoners of war.

drab prison camps lay ahead for the Division's crack drivers.

Back in Egypt, another verse was added to 4 RMT's old ‘Steamboat Bill’ song:

And now we're back in Egypt and we're often inclinedTo think of all our mates who we have left behind.We didn't want to leave them, but we had to you see,Because the rearguard of the Army was the RMT.

Drivers elsewhere saw different scenes. ‘Snowy’ Rolfe,

Dvr R. W. Rolfe; Mangakino; born Auckland, 27 Apr 1914; carpenter; p.w. I Jun 1941; escaped Jun 1941; reached Egypt Apr 1942 after sailing in a 26–foot boat without a compass from Crete to Sidi Barrani in four days. ‘Uneventful journey across; all eight of us very sick,’ he writes.

who with some Australians at Sfakia had shot an old stallion donkey and carved him up with a penknife, watched Alpine troops descending from the hills. Rolfe saw the enemy suddenly spot a dejected bunch of Chinese coolies (from some torpedoed ship). Astounded, he heard the Germans cry out delightedly ‘Ching-Chong-Chinaman!’ Driver Cumming, ordered out of his gully by armed Germans, saw this: ‘It was funny even then to watch some chaps raise their arms above their heads while others raised them, then lowered them, hesitant about being shot or looking silly. However the Jerries were also glad it was all over, and patting us on the back made signs we could drop our arms. We were a motley looking crew then.’

Somewhere a man began playing ‘Hi Yi Yippi Yippi Yi’ on his accordion, and one by one voices still uncertain, still dazed, still disbelieving, joined in the chorus:

She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes, She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes, She'll be comin' round the mountain, She'll be comin' round the mountain, She'll be comin' round the mountain when she comes….

CHAPTER 5 Escape

SOME men mope in captivity, some die, some settle down, some escape. Of the RMT men captured in Crete, Corporal Shand,

Cpl A. J. Shand; Bluff; born Winton, 19 Sep 1909; barman; p.w. i Jun 1941; escaped 18 Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 24 Aug 1941.

Drivers Barrington, Cumming, Foley,

Dvr E. F. Foley, MM; Te Awamutu; born Awanui, 5 Jul 1917; truck driver; p.w. i Jun 1941; escaped 30 Jun 1941; recaptured 27 Mar 1942; escaped 6 Apr 1942; arrived Egypt Jun 1942.

Payne,

Dvr S. J. Payne; Wellington; born Lancashire, England, 9 May 1918; gardener; p.w. 3 Jun 1941; escaped Jul 1941; arrived Egypt Dec 1941.

Rolfe, Smith,

L-Cpl L. A. Smith; Wanaka; born Christchurch, 17 Apr 1918; labourer; p.w. i Jun 1941; escaped 20 Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 28 Nov 1941.

Tisdall

Dvr S. D. Tisdall; Middlemarch; born Middlemarch, 13 Jan 1919; labourer; p.w. i Jun 1941; escaped Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 19 Jun 1942.

and Toon

Dvr J. L. P. Toon; Helensville; born Christchurch, 9 Mar 1916; labourer; p.w. i Jun 1941; escaped 19 Jun 1941; arrived Egypt 24 Aug 1941.

escaped.

Follow Driver Toon to the prisoner-of-war cage at Galatas:

We were told to lay down our arms. The war for us was over. That was our last laugh for some time to come-some for many years. You see what few of us had arms had no ammo. As we trudged our way back up the escarpment there was silence among us. Everybody's thoughts must have been the same: was this really the end for us? From the top of the hill looking down on the beach all one could see were pieces of white cloth. How hellish it looked! Word was soon passed around to every nook and corner and soldiers soon poured out onto the road to start the three-day hunger march.

The first night we were stripped of everything: blade razors and knives and anything that could hurt a Hun. That night we never even got a drink of water. The next day was worse, tired, hungry, we crept along in choking dust. The German guards screaming ‘hoost, hoost’ and pointing their pistols at us never made us go any faster.

On the other hand, an official German account,From Serbia to Crete, describing Suda Bay prisoners who were exhausted and meticulously sharing their last food and water, says: ‘Why should we not admit it frankly? In these moments, when we were ourselves on the point of exhaustion, we were proud of our enemies.’

Everyone seemed half dead with thirst and the radi- atorsradiators of all the smashed trucks on the road were drained for drinking water. As night was falling we were turned off into a paddock and every fifth man was given two tins of bully beef and a packet of biscuits to share up between. We still starved that night but a creek with clear cold water we had to ourselves. Freshened up from a dip in the creek we marched our third day and finally into the P.O.W. camp. When I met Sam Payne his boots were falling apart and his feet were a mass of blisters. Separated from us he had not eaten for seven days. On the march he found an egg and the remains of a tin of bully which had been run over by quite a few trucks. ‘It was as flat as a pancake and the meat was a brilliant yellow but I ate it’, he said. We all would have done the same.

The P.O.W. camp at Galatas was the filthiest hole I have yet seen and wish to see: those back streets of Cairo don't stink compared to that camp. Sanitary arrangements were a trench out in the open and the damn wind always blew across that trench and over the camp. Lentils and mouldy bread from Greece were the food they gave us, we were starving all the time. Six men to a bivouac, no blankets, and none of us even had a coat. We slept sitting huddled up to one another. One day an inspection was held by the Camp ‘Com.’ [Commandant] and cameras, watches, etc., were taken. The lousy cows. I got my watch replaced twelve months later-funny too, in exactly the same way. Soldiers were taken sick but nothing was done for them; food they needed, there was none.

While marching to the cage in the remains of the hospital area near Galatas, other RMT men passed liberated Italian prisoners of war. ‘They were very decent to us,’ one driver wrote, ‘and gave freely of the food, sugar and tobacco they had. This made them unpopular with our guards who pushed them aside, and there were several arguments between them.’

At Galatas gaunt, dysentery-weakened prisoners built rude shelters from bits of canvas, wood, and old iron. Sanitary arrangements and living conditions were very crude. Scrounging parties collected their first so-called square meal of green tomatoes, marrow skins and onion tops, and boiled them into a stew. A nearby field of wheat was stripped in a day, prisoners boiling and devouring the heads. British troops succeeded in killing, cooking and eating a donkey and a dog. They declared the dog all right ‘as it was a brown one’.

Hopes for a counter-attack on the island faded. Tom Cum- mingCumming and one or two companions talked seriously about escape. Once free they would trust to luck. Surprisingly few would take the risk, arguing that they would be much better off in Austria. Others tried to talk Tom out of it. ‘But now I had the idea in my mind I just couldn't drop it. I brooded over it for days, the thought of freedom urging me away from all this monotony of prison life with its filth, hopelessness and hunger.’

In the night of 19 June he and Jim Toon crept to the latrine pit and waited for the sentries, who were in pairs, to pass. The two then clambered through the barbed wire. When the sentries had passed again, they dropped into a dry ditch, crawled through a culvert under the road, and emerged in a field thick with vines. It all seemed so simple.

They made for Galatas and hid in an old farm building. Dawn showed a house nearby where an old lady, at first much alarmed, prepared a banquet of fried potatoes and fresh bread. The next step was to gather food. They stole from house to house, collecting a little here, a little there. One man boldly led the two into a shop and bought a good supply of potatoes. He handed over a groundsheet and described the best way out of Galatas and into the hills. ‘Are there—er— many Germans in Galatas?’ asked Tom. The man smiled. ‘This is their headquarters,’ he said.

It was still early. A few sleepy-eyed Germans drove motorcycles and trucks down a nearby street, but more disturbing were encouraging cries and waves from well-meaning villagers. They passed over an old battleground and collected dixies, a cooking pan, forks and a German bayonet. ‘We chased the only rabbit I ever saw on Crete. Maybe it was a tame one. But I guess it saw the hungry glint in our eyes.’

The trail to the mountains led through vineyards where a Cretan (‘he reminded us of “a well-informed circle” ’), generous with wine and tomatoes, said Russia, now at war, was attacking Turkey for allowing German troops free passage. [Germany invaded the USSR at 4 a.m. on 22 June 1941.] Far more important, he rolled cigarettes from a packet of New Zealand makings found on the battlefield.

In the heights above Galatas friend and foe lay buried in a common grave beneath a large cross. An attempt had been made to pretty-up the surroundings. Odd parachutes and empty canisters still lay around. And an odd body or two, overlooked. The drivers felt a cloud come over the sun. They gladly got out of the place. In the late afternoon families in a tiny village crammed their two sandbags with bread, olives, bottles of olive oil, a little flour, sugar, and, best of all, tea, which had been snatched from army dumps and hidden at once. ‘The women were very sympathetic and wept for us, patting our hands and heads, and crying down all sorts of curses on the “Germanos”. We left with the women praying for our safety.’

Luckily they skipped the next village and were sitting down to rest when vicious machine-gun fire broke out below. The screaming of women and girls went on for quite some time. Later they found out what this meant—reprisals. Weak from so much climbing and from so much food, the two settled down for the night in a strange spot—ancient ruins overgrown with vines and creepers. These rustled faintly now and then. Suddenly a voice began calling. The voice came closer. One New Zealander held the bayonet ready. Then a Greek priest, fully robed, appeared in the dusk. Determined no German in disguise would stop them now, the two called softly. The priest was genuine enough, and distracted too, and kept on his way, his cries growing fainter and fainter until silence returned to the ruins. They slept uneasily through the first free night.

Three young women halted them next afternoon near the village of Therisso. One, a refugee from Athens, speaking good English, invited them to her house to rest, eat and meet her brother, an officer from the Greek Navy. Friends gathered. Wine and cigarettes went round. Escaped prisoners? Wonderful ! Wives? Children? Mothers? Photographs of them, perhaps? Excellent! Admiration, especially for children, grew. Tom, a father, patted frequently on the back, felt like a national hero. Happily they sat down to fried eggs, chips, salad, cheese-curd and milk, when through the door burst an old woman crying:‘Germanos etho! Germanos etho![‘Germans here!’]

Every man raced for the woods. The two New Zealanders slept on a bed of pine boughs. In the morning the girls arrived with food, money, the last of their cigarettes, and a map of Crete. They farewelled the New Zealanders with tears and begged them ‘to tell the British to come back’. Supper that night was eaten with a humble goatherd in his stone cottage. The family sat round a square slab of stone. In the centre lay a dish of boiled milk, a plate of olives, and bread. Everyone ate with spoons from the same dish. With the others beating them to it, the two soon improved their technique. After supper the children went to bed on layers of moss and hay and the men curled up in sheepskins under a tree.

Jim and Tom made off for Sfakia, clambering over rock and crag until their boots gave out. They were now about 4500 feet up. They lit fires, for the nights were bitterly cold. Confronted by even steeper ranges, they turned back and went east, running into men and women threshing wheat.

‘It was surprisingly primitive. Down in a hole paved with flat stones a donkey walked round and round pulling a small sledge with cutting edges on it. A child stood on the sledge to add weight. Once the straw is cut sufficiently fine someone grabs a large wooden fork and tosses it into the breeze, which blows away the chaff. It's very slow, though very little wheat is lost.’

Here they stayed for a week. Tom, greatly alarmed, ate his first dish of snails, but was reassured by Jim, who had eaten and enjoyed them in New Zealand. They also became fond of garlic, said to be good for the stomach and also for keeping snakes away during afternoon siestas. They met guerrillas. One, Petro, had worked in coal mines in the United States and had returned to a small vineyard near Palevora. He had taken part in the fighting, shooting down several parachutists and cutting the throats of others. His farm now looted and destroyed, Petro was a fugitive, well armed with five rifles and plenty of ammunition. Another guerrilla, one of the best killers in that area, travelled with three rifles, an automatic, a wicked looking knife and a haversack of cartridges.

‘Petro's sons and nephews visited us, bringing from hiding places their rifles,’ said Cumming. ‘They played with them like children with toys, saying what they would do to any Germans who came their way. They would load and unload them, clean them, aim at a target, and get all excited over some stories of past fights.’

Jim and Tom moved to the little village of Drakona, closer to the coast but still far enough in the mountains to be safe from enemy patrols, usually restricted to villages linked by roads. Sympathetic villagers provided food. They slept in a cave, exchanging army dress for civilian clothes and keeping only identity discs and paybooks. Long hair and moustaches completed their disguise.

‘People kept asking: when would the British return? In their view the war started and finished in Crete. Sometimes we were told Britain seemed to talk too much and not fight enough. We felt their confidence was waning. They got more radio news from Moscow. They then pinned their faith in the Russians and assured us that one day hundreds of aeroplanes would appear over Crete, dropping hundreds of thousands of parachutists. We were also dismayed by the news from Libya, with the enemy back to the border.’

Earning their keep, the two New Zealanders helped charcoal burners chop young firs, cut up the logs and set them alight to smoulder under coverings of earth. One worker, a strict vegetarian, shunning milk, cheese and meat, had fought in Albania and returned to Crete by boat. In the firelight, silent and rapt, he studied for the priesthood of the Greek Orthodox Church.

Many ex-prisoners were moving through Drakona to the eastern end of the islands. They brought stories of shootings and burning. One man had jaundice. The Cretans treated him for it by cutting the membrane of his lower lip. Fed up with hanging about, the two New Zealanders decided to move east, Tom going ahead via Caboose, Ramallie and Kares.

The spellings of some of these place-names are phonetic. Probably small villages, they cannot be found on the maps available.

Near Kares he met three ex-prisoners, two New Zealanders and an Australian. ‘I felt by my reception I was hardly welcome. Lots of chaps were jealous of spots they had found where food was obtainable and sometimes plentiful. I didn't blame them. After all we were nothing but a lot of hoboes wandering around the country.’

Tom, now separated from Jim, met up with a party of RMT men. Crossing hot, dry, barren hills they made for Sfakia, dodging patrols and running mostly into goat and sheep herders. Germans used the roads regularly, the people were less friendly, and food, except for grapes and figs, became harder to get. ‘At all times we found that, as everywhere else, the poorer people were always the most insistent that we eat with them.’ A turn for the better began in one village on the way to Sfakia. With growing excitement the New Zealanders listened to a Cretan of some authority. He said a British officer was getting men off the island in submarines. The Cretan would find a guide to take them towards the rendezvous.

With their water bottles filled to the brim, they waited expectantly outside the village. The bearded guide, Petro, hard as nails, turned up. The party set off at a smart clip along steep tracks winding through thick scrub. Petro had eyes like a hawk. He suddenly lunged into the scrub, startling the men behind until they saw a three-foot snake dangling dead on the handle of his stick. They walked all night, pausing at a village where a priest passed on the latest war news. Next day Petro entertained them royally at his home, which was also the village smithy, and begged them to sign his ‘visitors' book’. The RMT men, still a little suspicious, wrote down anything. Some Australians had signed before them, splashing titles, rank and decorations right and left. Through the humble smithy apparently had passed every male descendant of Ned Kelly, Phar Lap, half the Australian stud book, and the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Down gullies and around cliff faces they continued to a hideout, where Petro told them to wait a day or two while he spied out the land ahead. Time passed. Petro did not return. The submarine had been expected on 13 August. It was now about 18 August. Someone went back to the smithy and found Petro. He was stretched out dead drunk on a week's ‘bash’.

Alone and disheartened they pushed on, bearded and ragged, their broken boots hanging together with bits of wire and tin tacks. Luck led them to another contact man who promised to have them on the way to Alexandria within two days. A youth led them over rocky and dangerous hillsides to the village of Morjou, overlooking the coast sweeping up to bitterly remembered Sfakia.

A guard at Papakura Camp, November 1939 black and white photograph of soldiers in guard

Souvenir postcard black and white photograph of postcard

Training in the desert black and white photograph of soldiers training

Training convoy in Nile Delta black and white photograph of soldiers standing beside truck

Bayonet training for ‘Mahmid’, an adopted Arab waif black and white photograph of soldiers training

The first anniversary dinner at Fuka, October 1940 black and white photograph of soldiers eating

A sandstorm that lasted three hours, near Bir Thalata black and white photograph of storm in desert

A trench and dugout near Mersa Matruh black and white photograph of soldier standing in front of trench

Another guide, a man well over six feet tall and heavily built, took over, making for a distant cave where eight fugitives were waiting. Clambering over cliff and rock, breathless and faint, the men looked down upon Germans bathing and playing about the beaches some two miles below. Far away monasteries sat like toy houses on top of two precipitous hills. Every day the monks came down to attend to their crops, sheep and vineyards.

More guides arrived. The men split into small parties. Time running short forced them to sprint at intervals along goat tracks until the coastal hills and the road from Prevalee were reached.

Tom continues:

Here we saw another group of prisoners coming from the village. We did not join forces until it was quite dark. A crowd of Cretans followed us. We gave away what clothing we carried and also our tobacco leaves. The head monk came down on a mule to give us his blessing. We moved off in silence, warned if any trouble broke out the submarine would not come in.

Reaching the cliffs we fumbled past bay after bay until we came to a very small beach. We had trouble keeping silence here. Everyone was tremendously excited. We had not long to wait. Within half an hour we heard a swishing sound and against the background of the dark sea we saw the conning tower of a submarine. We felt like cheering or crying, so great was our relief. Again we declared that the Navy was certainly the Service.

A rubber dinghy approached. We soon had a line from the submarine. Just before entering the water we were eagerly assisted by the Cretans who fought among themselves for our possessions. One helped me out of my jersey and another was undoing my trousers while a third snaffled my boots. The only article I brought off was my paybook and family snapshots, which I held between my teeth. We made our way out, swimmers helping non-swimmers who held onto the line supported by lifebelts.

Eager hands assisted us on board….

CHAPTER 6 Towards the Frontier

PREPARE now, what's left of you, New Zealand Division, for your third campaign—and 4 RMT Company for your fourth. Over in Greece lie 291 New Zealanders who will never come back. In Crete, where only one-third of the Division fought, are 685 more. Through the raw earth the grass rises again, and back in New Zealand a thousand urgent telegrams beginning ‘DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR …’ are folded and put away, and the photograph looks down from piano or mantlepiece or bedside table until time takes it to a drawer, to a box, to a dusty cupboard, to a backyard bonfire, to ashes over the ground where the grass roots and the grass seeds are waiting.

Some of the wounded who get back will fight again: some of the 371 from Greece, some of the 967 from Crete. It's home for the rest, home or pottering around base camps. That's how it works out, and whichever way you look at it you can't do anything about it. Nothing.

And half-way between, shocked and stunned at their sudden severance from the Division, are the prisoners of war, never to doubt that by next Christmas it'll be over, sure. Greece caught 1856 New Zealanders, Crete 2180. That Christmas is a long time coming. Besides all this, wipe off all the artillery, the vehicles and heavy equipment that crossed the Mediterranean with the Division. That's had it, too. Write it off.

What's ahead for the rest, the old hands and the reinforcements? They're back at it again in Maadi and Helwan, back at the same old tricks, marching, drilling, practising, manoeuvring, while more reinforcements and new equipment come in to patch up the holes, to fill the gaps, to set this thing of flesh and metal ticking away again. They drink Stella and Pyramide out of cut-down beer bottles, go on leave, go on the shicker, go on the mat. They write letters, maybe saying aloud as they do: ‘Dear Mum. I am sending you a quid, but not this week’, or ‘Dear Mum. This Army life is a bastard.’ They sit in the sand in the dark and kick holes with their heels and lean back on elbows and drink again, and the talk goes back to the last few weeks and the old outfit will never be the same again. It never is. It never was.

On 14 June 1941, 4 RMT Company's other ranks numbered 146, 325 men short of full strength. The company needed 216 drivers, 19 driver-mechanics and 23 fitters, among others. A week later the shortage dropped to 174 (111 drivers are still wanted, 13 driver-mechanics, more fitters, more cooks….). By the end of June, at the foot of the company's weekly returns, in the space for signature of commander a new name appears: ‘Ian E. Stock, Capt.’

Maj I. E. Stock, MBE, ED, m.i.d.; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 24 May 1914; clerk; OC 4 Res MT Coy 26 Jun 1941–12 Sep 1943; OC NZ Adm Gp Oct 1942–Sep 1943; OC NZ VRD, Bari, Sep-Dec 1943.

Major Woods had relinquished command of the unit on 26 June and Captain (shortly afterwards Major) Stock had taken over. At the end of July,

In the November 1941 campaign the officers with the sections were: A Sec, Capt Julian and 2 Lt Burt; B Sec, Lt Surgenor and 2 Lt Battersby; C Sec, Capt Coleman and 2 Lt Fernandez; D Sec, Lt Blanch and 2 Lt Smith; Workshops, Capt Broberg.

in charge of the company's sections, now only 48 men short, were Captains Good, Broberg, Julian,

Capt J. M. R. Julian; Wellington; born Hawera, 13 Mar 1913; motor mechanic.

and Coleman, Lieutenant Blanch,

Capt W. R. Blanch; Wellington; born Scotland, 18 Mar 1909; insurance clerk; wounded Jun 1942.

and Second-Lieutenants Burt,

Maj A. H. Burt, m.i.d.; Wellington; born Auckland, 18 Jul 1917; cutter; OC 4 RMT Coy 20 Jul-28 Aug 1944; wounded 18 Dec 1942.

Gray,

Maj A. G. Gray, m.i.d.; Auckland; born Scotland, 29 Dec 1914; clerk; Adjt HQ Comd NZASC Jul 1942–Sep 1944; Amn Officer HQ Comd NZASC Sep 1944–Jan 1945.

Fernandez,

Capt S. V. Fernandez, m.i.d.; Wellington; born Wellington, 9 Jul 1903; clerk.

and Smith.

Maj D. A. Smith, m.i.d.; Wellington; born Wellington, 16 Jul 1916; draper; CO NZASC Base Depot Jul 1944–Jan 1945.

All Workshops tradesmen went to work with new and complete kits of highly prized American tools. They overhauled the officers' new PUs (pick-ups), handy, tough runabouts, 15–cwt. Dodges, rigidly springed on an all-steel body. They checked over the new four-wheel-drive Fords, which arrived steadily until the company was fully established with 147 three- tonthreeton load-carriers. At first, after the trusted old Bedfords destroyed on the beaches and in the olive groves of Greece, these Fords seemed a tinny job: steel cab, steel tray and sides, and very short in the wheel-base. But time and work proved their usefulness. Spares were easily got. Engines could be changed quickly. The four-wheel drive was popular. Ahead of these vehicles lay tremendous tasks, yet they would serve the Division faithfully until the end of the war.

Trucks or no trucks, route marches continued until Major Stock was confident his drivers would find ‘no hardship now in marching 40 miles in 48 hours’. This, and training in weapons, camouflage, road discipline, and transport manoeuvres at Fayoum, across the Nile south of the Pyramids, welded the unit together again. Jobs ran from picking up new arrivals and stores from troopships nosing into Suez Canal to carrying infantrymen on brigade exercises and to taking 5000 bivvy tents (about 25 tons) to men preparing defences west of Alexandria.

In the Canal Zone each of the Division's three brigades trained for combined operations to get the feel of a division working together again. There had been other changes too. More sturdily equipped, the artillery now should have a better show against tanks and aircraft. A new general hospital had arrived.

Three months after Crete the Rt. Hon. Peter Fraser, in a seven-question cable to General Freyberg on 16 September, asked: ‘Are you satisfied that the Division is ready for action both in respect of training and equipment?’ To that question the General could reply: ‘Yes. The Division is trained, and when the deficiencies [some light tanks for the Divisional Cavalry and some light anti-aircraft guns and anti-tank rifles] are made up it will be fit for war in every way.’

But the New Zealand Division was little more than one-sixth of the force gathering for battle. All around, on Egypt's land and in her sky, the strength grew. Every day ships were bringing vehicles of all shapes and sizes, and more and more were coming, streaming out steadily from the assembly lines of Britain, Canada, Australia and South Africa. In July tanks and trucks began to turn up in bigger and better numbers from the United States. Between July and October almost 34,000 trucks and 2100 armoured vehicles were landed in Egypt. Among new artillery and small-arms supplies were 600 field guns, 200 anti-tank guns, 3700 Bren guns, 80,000 rifles. From Britain came these tanks: Cruiser (19 tons), Matilda (26-odd tons), Valentine (17 tons). The 13-ton Stuart tank appeared from the United States.

Deep in conferences, schemes, maps and reports were the men of mystery—the planners, the brass hats. General Auchinleck, taking over command from General Wavell on 5 July, saw the official birth of Eighth Army on 1O September. Details of the plan of attack ran to almost any subject under the sun: ways of deceiving the enemy, distributing 95,000 mines, recovering damaged tanks and vehicles, Navy and Air Force co-operation, security, checking rumours, dummy tanks, a field propaganda section to find out if loudspeakers could be used effectively against the enemy….

The supply problems were gigantic. Gathering for battle were 118,000 men—almost the entire population of Wellington city—and 17,600 vehicles. Soldiers would eat each day 200 tons of food. Every day the vehicles carrying them would use 1500 tons of petrol and oil; guns and rifles would need 480 tons of ammunition a day, and 350 tons (79,400 gallons) of water would be wanted. Altogether the Army would need 2972 tons of supplies every day.

How would men get their day-to-day supplies when Eighth Army left its bases and struck into Libya on 18 November? The railway ended at Misheifa; the pipeline carrying water from Alexandria would go no further than Sofafi. So three forward bases were being stocked night and day, and from these bases, with everything needed piling up high as a house over acres of desert, trucks built handier field supply dumps further forward. The New Zealand Division, when the time came for it to be attached to 13 Corps with 4 Indian Division, would draw rations and water from 29 Field Supply Depot, beyond the railhead at Misheifa, from 16 to 19 November, and then from 50 Field Supply Depot, to be set up east of the gap in the frontier wire at El Beida through which the New Zealand Division would pass. The 29th FSD was pre- paringpreparing to supply in the days just before the attack about 36,000 men and 6000 vehicles daily. To keep clear the supply lines, over which lorries hurried to dump reserves in the forward areas, Eighth Army was staying well back from the frontier and, by avoiding large-scale troop movements, hoped not to forewarn the enemy, stiffened in April by Germans under General Rommel and now besieging Tobruk.

The Axis forces had recaptured Cyrenaica from the Western Desert Force, weakened by the demands of Greece and Crete. The enemy did not press into Egypt but dug in at Capuzzo and Sollum, close to the sea on the Egyptian frontier, to cover the siege and manned a string of forts—the Omar forts—stretching south-westwards. This Capuzzo-Sollum area is a good prize for any army. Stretching ahead from Baggush to Tobruk is a low plateau with a flat coastal strip petering out at Sollum. A 500-foot escarpment, rising inland to run northwest over 50 miles, meets the coast near Sollum and spreads up to Bardia. This 500-foot escarpment is a tough barrier for anything on wheels advancing westwards near the coast. The escarpment's two main passes are at Sollum and Halfaya, seven miles south-east. An army intending to enter Libya without using these passes must make a long detour of at least 100 miles to the south. The Germans and Italians held these passes; but they had failed so far to take Tobruk.

And while the Army prepared, the Navy and RAF continued to engage the enemy.

In mid-September the New Zealand Division's 4 and 6 Brigades settled into the defences of Baggush (158 miles west of Alexandria, 30 miles east of Mersa Matruh), where swallows holidaying from Europe's cold swooped and flitted prettily and the dusty date palms grew by the sea. Maybe the date palms were a bit like nikau palms—but not much. Maybe the swallows were magnoon (mad). How d'you make that out? Well, they've wings to go any place they like, and Hell, they come here, to this dump…. But many will remember old Baggush fondly, the place where they trained to their prime in the days of their youth. Fifth Brigade felt the same way, arriving at Baggush after a month's hard work on defences and roads in a little-known area in the desert south-west of Alexandria.

Later known as the Alamein Line.

As if anything would happen there. Just another army stunt to fill in time and keep you away from Cairo.

About 20 miles from Baggush, 4 RMT Company was back at Fuka again on 17 September, occupying bivvies already dug by the Indians. Work began at once, carrying supplies, petrol, and ammunition up to forward dumps rising to back the November advance into Libya. D Section landed up in Sidi Barrani one afternoon with Cypriots of a pioneer corps; A and B Sections distributed within a couple of days 42,200 two-gallon tins of water. It was a great day for C Section's mascot, ‘Tiny’, whenever one of his section's lorries took sheep to the Indian Field Butchery at Matruh. Drivers talked about pensioning him off after the war in a comfy kennel on a New Zealand sheep-run. As official news trickled in about the fate of drivers left behind in Greece and Crete, the Mobile Film Unit turned up to screen ‘Nancy Steel is Missing’. Through October the sections worked hard, towards the end running many night details to fox Jerry, besides carrying riflemen on brigade manoeuvres and practising desert movement. This month the company's mileage was up to the 240,000 mark—from the earth to the moon. Each day the company used about 1200 gallons of petrol, enough to send a ten-horse-power car one and a half times round the world. Air raids around Fuka did little damage except to blow an ammunition train to bits. Says 4 RMT's war diary:

‘Small bomb estimated at 25 lbs found in sea by swimmer and brought into shore and [left near] orderly room.’ Right on the nail next day, routine orders reminded all swimmers to remove dentures—army property—before taking a dip.

But now 4 RMT Company is not alone. Another mechanical transport company has been formed within the Division.

The story of 6 RMT Company begins on 14 October 1941, when Colonel Crump,

Brig S. H. Crump, CBE, DSO, m.i.d., Bronze Star (US); born Dunedin, 25 Jan 1889; Regular soldier; NZASC 1915-19; CRASC 2 NZ Div 1940-45; commanded 2 NZEF (Japan) Jun-Sep 1947; on staff HQ BCOF and NZ representative on Disposals Board in Japan, 1948-49.

head of the NZASC, announced the formation of a new mechanical transport company. In com- mandcommand was Captain Hood,

Maj A. G. Hood, ED; Auckland; born Auckland, 29 May 1912; company manager; OC NZASC Sec 14 Lt AA Regt Aug-Oct 1941; OC 6 RMT Coy 14 Oct 1941-2 Feb 1942; Assistant Director Supply and Transport Army HQ (in NZ) and O i/c NZASC training May 1942-Jan 1946.

from the NZASC Section of 14 Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment. Hood, Lieutenant Fenton and Second-Lieutenant Brown

Maj R. T. Brown, m.i.d.; Auckland; born Auckland, 5 Nov 1912; advertising manager; OC 4 RMT Coy 28 Aug-30 Oct 1944, 6 RMT Coy 30 Oct-6 Nov 1944.

left the Western Desert on 15 October for Maadi Camp, where they received instructions about forming the new company, which had to be ready for work in the Western Desert within a month. The 6th RMT Company would carry riflemen of 6 Infantry Brigade into the Libyan campaign.

Possibly never in the history of the New Zealand Division was the forming of a unit attempted in so short a time. But Captain (soon Major) Hood's previous experience as Adjutant of HQ Command NZASC proved invaluable. He knew the make-up of operating NZASC units, the stores and equipment needed, and the depots through which they were drawn. He knew how 4 RMT Company worked, and on these lines 6 RMT Company would take shape.

The task was a big one. Within three weeks 127 vehicles had to be collected, plus all mechanical parts necessary to maintain such a fleet. On top of this were tons of stores, rations, ammunition, and equipment needed by a company operating for weeks in a barren desert. The men to form the basis of this company—6th Reinforcements, plus a sprinkling of echelon men—were away from Maadi ferrying vehicles to the Western Desert. On their return they were posted at once to the company.

Ordnance depots were asked for stores and vehicles. By 18 October the OC, his two lieutenants, and 57 other ranks marched out from Base Training Depot NZASC to ‘Q’ area, at the end of the road beyond the Lowry Hut and underneath the escarpment dividing Maadi Camp from the city of Cairo. The area was shared with men of 2 New Zealand General Hospital, from whom tents were borrowed to hold 400 men. This party for the next two days slogged away erecting tents, cookhouses, and other houses in readiness for more men and more stores. The first vehicles, 50 of them, arrived from Eighth Army vehicle park at Tel el Kebir on 23 October. The rest were collected by company drivers from the same park within a few days. By 21 October most of the men were settling down, some of them from the Infantry Training Depot, for the NZASC had suffered 80 per cent casualties in Greece and Crete. A bustling week changed the once-barren ‘Q’ area into a busy, tented village. Stores rolled in from depots all over the Delta. The men were keen. Vehicles were thoroughly checked, and any suspicion of a loose nut or a mechanical fault received quick treatment. Anyhow it paid to look brisk and occupied, for the OC had ordered route marches for those not on duty. Nobody wanted two-hour exercises climbing up the escarpment and marching along to the Citadel.

The largest administrative task was organising the men into three operating sections, a workshops group, and the headquarters administration group.

A Sec: Capt A. E. Collins and 2 Lt A. T. Rimmer; B Sec: 2 Lts J. Pool (ex 4 RMT) and R. A. Todd; C Sec: 2 Lts R. T. Brown and A. E. Irving; E Sec (Workshops): Lt J. D. Fenton.

The fourth operating section, D, was to be added later. Each operating section received 36 vehicles, 33 of them 50-cwt. Chevrolet load-carriers, and three 15-cwt. vehicles, two for section officers and the third for section defence. The Workshops Section, or E Section, started off with six load-carriers and two breakdown vehicles equipped with winch, and an officer's car. Headquarters group consisted of an orderly room, quartermaster's store, cooks' wagon and a baggage wagon, all of which were three-tonners, plus the OC's car, a water cart and a defence lorry. Two drivers took turns in driving each lorry. One driver signed for his lorry, and it was his responsibility to see that it was properly and regularly looked after.

As with 4 RMT Company, each section of 30 load-carriers and three spares could lift an infantry battalion. Each section was divided into sub-sections of six lorries, with a corporal and lance-corporal in charge. Within each section was a small headquarters group: the section officer, a subaltern, a sergeant in charge of administration, and a transport sergeant. Also on the strength of section headquarters travelled the cooks (two to a section), two spare load-carriers with reserve petrol and stores, and three men working the light anti-aircraft defence.

Workshops Section, though not up to full strength, started out with the latest in mobile repair equipment. Two load-carriers carried machine shops which, complete with lathes, could repair everything except major breakdowns. Two vehicles carried the stores and spare parts Workshops would need, and the Workshops carpenter and blacksmith had a vehicle apiece. Two vehicles with winches operated as breakdown repair wagons. Completing Workshops' total of ten vehicles were a load-carrier used by the cooks and a car for the Workshops Officer.

Headquarters Section handled all the administrative duties of the company and could also travel as an independent unit. Its vehicles were the OC's car, a three-tonner for the orderly-room staff and also for the company quartermaster's stores, a baggage lorry, a petrol-carrier, and a cooks' truck. There was also a water cart and a 15-cwt. defence truck. Other men in headquarters were the postman and the RAP orderlies.

In nine days the company was formed into a self-contained and fully-operating unit. At night drivers picketed vehicles, spending most of the daytime checking and rechecking the lorries' mechanical parts. Despatch riders were particularly pleased with their new Matchless motor-cycles. And the company's first job turned up, a small but pleasant duty only remotely connected with the business of war: three lorries left on 23 October for the Western Desert crammed with Christmas cards and tobacco for the Division.

Moving the complete 2 General Hospital (except, bad luck, the nurses) and the Casualty Clearing Station to their field station at Garawla was the company's first big job. From Tel el Kebir trucks took the complete stores for a 600-bed hospital. They also picked up 120 Flint stretchers and brackets. These were fitted later to the truck trays so that in an emergency lorries could be used as ambulances.

The company was away, 310 strong, at 10 a.m. on Sunday, 2 November, Captain Collins

Capt A. E. Collins; Kerikeri, Bay of Islands; born Te Awamutu, 18 Jun 1913; motor salesman.

leading the long line of over a hundred vehicles up the hill, past the Lowry Hut, and then to the right through Maadi Camp. Men gathered by the roadside: ‘What outfit's this?’ Vehicle after vehicle flashed by: three-ton Chevrolets with four-wheel drive, extra-wide sand tires and high sand-coloured canopies; the lighter vehicles of the administration and defence sections; the despatch riders; and, at the end, vehicles carrying the hospital's men and stores. Down the leafy streets of Maadi, along the river road to the Khedive Ismail Bridge, where donkey carts are laden with market-bound water-melons, then past Cheops Pyramid on the way to the ‘blue’. Past Mena House and vehicle parks, then three miles on to the desert proper under the shimmering haze of midday heat.

A halt for lunch—drivers in the rear feeling they had no sooner stopped than the leader pulled out again—then on 45 miles to Wadi Natrun for the night halt. The tarsealed highway covered old caravan tracks linking Alexandria and Cairo. The swish of the tires, the haze, the heat from the engine made drivers drowsy; the spare drivers dozed off in their seats, one leg in the cab, the other resting on running board or mudguard (it was impossible to find a comfortable spot for the head). At Wadi Natrun vehicles dispersed, 100 yards apart; drivers stepped down from the high cabs, walked to the wheels, then to petrol tanks, and then, satisfied that oil levels, radiator and tire pressures were correct, looked after themselves. They slept in bedrolls spread on the clean sand.

Before 8 a.m. 6 RMT was under way again, following the black streak of bitumen 45 miles to Amiriya, the Arab village near the crossroads leading to Alexandria and to the Western Desert. Palm trees dotted the settlement, almost lost among the Army's dumps, large petrol, water and ration points, a transit camp and an airfield. Refuelled, the convoy crossed the causeway over broad salt marshes onto the coastal road, passing blue flashes of the Mediterranean, odd clumps of tall date palms and patches of small fig trees. Thirty miles on, near El Imayid, urchins from Burg el Arab village raced beside trucks to swop eggs (fresh and otherwise) for biscuits and cigarettes. More petrol and water were taken on at El Daba, 30 miles short of Fuka, and with seven miles to go the company bivouacked for the night. Next morning, 4 November, the trucks with medical men and stores went on to Garawla, while the rest of the company pulled in to Fuka, settled down next to 4 RMT Company, and dug in.

Two men sharing a bivvy tent, only six feet by five and about three feet high, usually dig down a foot or more then run a foot-deep trench along the centre. This makes two firm ledges for the bedrolls and gives a man a chance to move about without crouching too much. In time the place is prettied up. Odd bits of sacking, canvas, or cardboard turn up to line the walls and to check the sand from trickling down. A box at the top of the trench makes both a fine table and a container for a spare primus, over which tea, toast (sopping in margarine) and tinned bacon are prepared for night feeds. If parcels have been arriving lately, there's cake, shortbread or gingernuts, and tinned oysters too. Unfortunately not only bivvies but underground orderly rooms and cookhouses have to be dug as well. B Section cooks of 6 RMT settled on a small rocky plateau surrounded by acres of good diggable sand-soil. For two days half of B Section rapped, scraped, and cursed away until a better cookhouse site was chosen.

From Fuka A Section was the first of 6 RMT to move off, leaving before dawn on 6 November with 9000 gallons of water for Eighth Army's forward base at Bir el Thalata. The trip was completed by moonlight and the unloaded water containers camouflaged with scrub and netting. Two days later General Freyberg inspected the company, the first time he had inspected a complete New Zealand transport company, and told Major Hood that the formation of 6 RMT was a British Army record, so far as he knew. In the evening the company suffered its first death when an RAF lorry ran over Driver Talbot,

Dvr R. C. Talbot; born NZ 22 Mar 1911; contractor; accidentally killed 8 Nov 1941.

of Workshops Section, in the blackout. Early next morning Second-Lieutenant Pool led 56 load-carriers from B and C Sections westwards of Siwa Track and dumped 25,000 gallons of petrol. It was an important job, for here the Division would refuel on the move towards Libya, and 6 RMT's cargo was to have kept the entire Division going for another 50 miles. But this petrol had been loaded very carelessly by Arab labourers the day before at Sidi Haneish. The flimsy petrol tins had received rough handling and, despite drivers' protests, dented and sometimes leaking tins had been loaded. Jolting on the way damaged more containers. Although this dump would be increased by the Divisional Petrol Company, the Division would be short, and 6 RMT drivers wondered just how much those leaky containers had affected the Army's plans.

Leaving behind guards from 21 Battalion who had travelled with the convoy, the two sections returned to Fuka to find A Section had gone off temporarily

D Sec 309 (British) Gen Tpt Coy, which carried infantry of 5 Bde into the Second Libyan Campaign, was working at Siwa on 10 Nov. A Sec 6 RMT took this section's place, carrying the Maori Battalion until 14 Nov. Returning from Siwa, the British section took 24 Bn forward in 6 Bde's first move on 13 Nov. Next day, with the Division together, the two sections returned to their companies, A Sec 6 RMT now carrying 24 Bn as first intended.

to 5 Brigade to carry 28 (Maori) Battalion forward on the 11 November move. B and C Sections stocked up with water and spare petrol (16 gallons for each lorry) and joined 25 and 26 Battalions for their first troop-carrying tasks. The company came under 6 Brigade's command, and Company Headquarters and Workshops joined 6 Brigade Headquarters group.

Capturing a fort in the desert is the scheme. The fort is protected by mines and barbed wire. The gunners open the attack, their squatting 25-pounders pumping across a thick fog of smoke, which spreads neatly, quickly, good and thick, between mines and the fort. As the shells ripple through the air, from four to eight 4 RMT lorries speed forward, filled with the first wave of the attackers, 100 to 200 riflemen, about one or two companies. The drivers see that the wind is blowing towards the fort. Good. No chance now of the man behind the wheel getting smoke-blinded and hitting mines, or wire, or emerging apologetically on the enemy side of the fog. Don't waste time getting the boys up there—while you're mucking about the arty is using up its ammo. Up to the minefield, the smoke coiling strangely just beyond, and out dive the riflemen, bayonets fixed. They sprint 25 yards straight ahead and lie down, so the RMT lorries can turn without delay. Now get those lorries out of it, smartly, before the smoke goes. They may be wanted badly later on.

The smoke is thinning and the gunners switch to high-explosive shells. That keeps the enemy's head down, and so does fire opening up from the tanks and mortars, nice and handy. The riflemen advance by bounds, now up, now flat, ‘close as you are brave enough’ to the advancing barrage of exploding shells.

The barrage lifts. The riflemen charge and seize a patch in the enemy's front line. Now, alone, they must hold on at least twenty minutes. The tanks are halted by the mines, the guns have fired all the rounds they can spare, and the smoke has gone. So watch for the counter-attack; open up at the machine guns and any movement, get the two-inch mortars going, hold on. Hold on up there while the engineers clear lanes through the minefields, freeing the tanks to bite forward again. Now the dust flies once more as up to the mines comes the RMT again, lorries packed with riflemen for the killing blow, about a thousand of them, the bulk of the brigade's men with bayonets. Out they come; away go the 4 RMT lorries. Behind the tanks, now moving up the cleared lanes, go the infantry as a second wave of tanks joins in the attack.

The first tanks are into the fortress; in a moment the riflemen are in too. One by one clumps of defenders smash up or surrender until the riflemen well and truly hold the fort. Prepare now for the coming counter-attack. See there's no snarling up of the transport now pouring in: lorries and trucks with ammunition and tools, carriers, medical chaps, wireless trucks, the odd staff car, anti-tank guns, 25-pounders, maybe a few light anti-aircraft guns.

Victorious. But the cook's truck is lost again….

That was a dummy fort. Those were just exercises, the New Zealand Division's three brigades rehearsing for war near Baggush in the mellow October of 1941. Not a single shot flew in anger. Those ‘tanks’ were just stand-ins for the real thing, just a few lorries with a superiority complex. But those exercises and other trips into the desert gave the Division experience of movement and manoeuvre; gave drivers the feel of flag signals, of keeping position among the 800 and more vehicles strung out in long columns of each brigade, of orderly driving over the quickly changing surface of the desert, now rocky and pitted, now hard and smooth, now soft with wind-piled sand. It got them into the routine of mobile warfare. As General Freyberg reported to New Zealand's Prime Minister in October, this, like all modern battles, was in the first place a battle of machines and exploitation by lorry-borne fighting troops of all arms.

So on to ‘NZ Div Exercise No. 4’, everyone pretending this was just another stunt, and few indeed being really misled. The Division rose out of the ground, like some great conjuring trick, left its camouflaged tents and dugouts, and climbed into 2836 vehicles—just 300 more vehicles than all the taxis throughout New Zealand in 1953. The fleet moved off in three massive groups:

Fifth Infantry Brigade Group (Brigadier Hargest

Brig J. Hargest, CBE, DSO and two bars, MC, m.i.d., Legion of Honour, MC (Gk); born Gore 4 Sep 1891; farmer; MP 1931-44; Otago Mtd Rifles 1914-20 (CO 2 Bn Otago Regt); comd 5 Bde Jan 1940-Nov 1941; p.w. 27 Nov 1941; escaped Mar 1943; killed in action, France, 12 Aug 1944.

) moved in 1006 vehicles, 33 of them B Section 4 RMT lorries containing not troops but supplies. For the campaign the section was attached to the Divisional Supply Column. Carrying the Maori Battalion (for three days only) was A Section 6 RMT. Moving other riflemen of the brigade were lorries of 309 General Transport Company, the British Army unit lent for the purpose by the RASC. Completing the group, and also making up the other two brigade groups, were field artillery and anti-aircraft and anti-tank gunners, engineers, machine-gunners, the Petrol Company (complete within 5 Brigade Group), part of the Divisional Supply Column, a field ambulance, and a section of Divisional Ordnance Field Workshops.

Fourth Infantry Brigade Group (Brigadier Inglis

Maj-Gen L. M. Inglis, CB, CBE, DSO and bar, MC, m.i.d., MC (Gk); Palmerston North; born Mosgiel, 16 May 1894; barrister and solicitor; NZ Rifle Bde and MG Bn, 1915-19; CO 27 (MG) Bn, Jan-Aug 1940; comd 4 Inf Bde 1941-42, 4 Armd Bde 1942-44, 2 NZ Div 27 Jun-16 Aug 1942 and 6 Jun-31 Jul 1943; Chief Judge of the Control Commission Supreme Court in British Zone of Occupation, Germany, 1947-50.

) had 803 vehicles, 132 of them of 4 RMT Company (A Section carrying 18 Battalion; D Section, 19 Battalion; C Section, 20 Battalion). Complete in this group was the Survey Troop. Moving independently at the end of the group was New Zealand Divisional Headquarters Group (General Freyberg), containing the Division's headquarters staff and signalmen, the headquarters of the Division's artillery, engineers and ASC, a field hygiene section, military police, the postal unit and the pay office, 136 vehicles in all.

Sixth Infantry Brigade Group (Brigadier Barrowclough

Maj-Gen Rt Hon Sir Harold Barrowclough, PC, KCMG, CB, DSO and bar, MC, ED, m.i.d., MC (Gk), Legion of Merit (US), Croix de Guerre; Auckland; born Masterton, 23 Jun 1894; barrister and solicitor; NZ Rifle Bde 1915-19 (CO 4 Bn); comd 7 NZ Inf Bde in UK 1940, 6 Bde May 1940-Feb 1942; GOC 2 NZEF in Pacific and GOC 3 NZ Div Aug 1942-Oct 1944; Chief Justice of New Zealand.

) had 918 vehicles, 129 of them from 6 RMT Company (all together when A Section returned from 5 Brigade to carry 24 Battalion). B Section carried 25 Battalion; C Section, 26 Battalion. The Ammunition Company travelled complete within the group.

Out on to the bitumen road at Baggush emerged each brigade in turn. Down dozens of tracks on both sides of the road, only 20 to 25 feet wide, came 5 Infantry Brigade's one thousand lorries, trucks, Bren carriers and staff cars, converging on the starting point on the morning of 11 November—Armistice Day. The halt was about 60 miles away: up to Mersa Matruh, south-west to the end of the bitumen on Siwa Track, then into the desert for ten miles. Brigade vehicles, booked to cover 15 miles each hour, were supposed to be spaced ten to the mile, making a column more than 100 miles long and taking nearly seven hours to pass one point. But there were several mix-ups, none serious. B Section of 4 RMT, attached to the Divisional Supply Column, moved off at noon and reached the desert rendezvous at 8.30 p.m. The 6 RMT section bivouacked with the Maori Battalion at dusk.

Next day 4 Infantry Brigade and Divisional Headquarters groups were off to join 5 Brigade in the desert. Among the 939 vehicles were 4 RMT's Company Headquarters, Workshops, and three operating sections. They pulled up near 5 Infantry Brigade from just before sunset to after dark. Two-thirds of the Division was together now. The RMT sections found the ten-mile desert strip very dusty and rough travelling. The Divisional Petrol Company had set up a petrol point nearby where the 25,000 gallons dumped by 6 RMT lay, enough it was thought to take the Division 50 miles. The Petrol Company began issuing petrol and oil.

About midnight on 13 November 6 Infantry Brigade Group's 918 vehicles settled down in the desert. The trip had given 6 RMT drivers little trouble. The Division was now complete and ready to go. Engines silent, the transport, 200 yards apart, rested in a great oblong about twelve miles long and eight miles wide. No advance took place on 14 November. The only movement was the occasional turning of vehicles to keep tell-tale shadows as small as possible as the sun slid across the sky. The story was out, officially, that the ‘exercise’ was over; the Division was bound for Libya.

The entire Division, together and fully mobile for the first time, moved forward on 15 November. From 16 to 20 infantrymen were packed together under the canopy of each RMT lorry. They had with them all their equipment and their reserve rations. A dozen squatted on their bedrolls laid out along the sides of the truck tray; the odd-men-out settled down where they could among the boxes of ammunition, petrol, water, and rations stacked in the centre of the tray. Nobody could call this luxury travelling. The truck jolted, bucked, bumped, dodging potholes and boulders to lurch over bushes of camel-thorn rooted under hard-packed mounds of wind-blown sand. Still, the infantry said, riding under any conditions was better than marching—any day.

The Division's mass movement towards the frontier is an amazing scene…. This day I will remember always, always. The sand below is stiff with bones of old armies with all their banners and bravery since the year dot. Ai-wah. But they never travelled like this, never looked like this. Never sounded like this. Never felt this way. Never…. Vehicles stretch from horizon to horizon. Any rise in the ground reveals to men looking back further black dots of yet more trucks appearing in the far distance and grinding on at a steady pace of seven miles each hour to cover 50 miles by nightfall. From time to time sand-coloured RAF fighters pass over the advancing New Zealand fleet. ‘It seems impossible that such a colossal array of vehicles can keep order,’ writes Captain Coleman, of 4 RMT. ‘Now we realise the value of the exercises rehearsed again and again during manoeuvres, where every driver learned with almost uncanny instinct his relative place in the group. Keeping place in convoy, by day or by night, adds to the success of the moves. It's only achieved by rigid concentration of the drivers.’

‘Our drivers are grand,’ writes Lieutenant Clubb,

Capt F. C. Clubb, MC; born Liverpool, England, 27 Aug 1917; medical student; died on active service 7 Mar 1944.

of 26 Battalion (carried by C Section 6 RMT). ‘ “Lofty”, veteran of a dozen service routes in New Zealand, handles his lumbering three-tonner loaded with men, kit and rations, with a skill that has merited the reputation of the A.S.C.’

Before dawn on 16 November, from 5.30 to 6.30 a.m., men stand to, well muffled, greatcoat collars turned up, balaclavas pulled well down. ASC commanders are worried. Too much petrol has been used up in yesterday's 50-mile move, about 40,000 gallons instead of the estimated 25,000. One gallon, instead of taking a vehicle the estimated six miles, has lasted for only three and three-quarter miles.

The Division's petrol position caused anxiety until the frontier was crossed. Rough travelling in low gear and the rigours of two night moves played havoc with estimates. Besides, much petrol must have seeped away from leaky, flimsy containers. Plans had been affected, too, by many shrewd drivers taking good care to stock up well beyond their petrol quotas. The Division, poised on the frontier on 18 November, had only enough petrol for 90 miles instead of 150 miles. The emergency was met by taking a lorry from each section of the RMT companies and adding them for a day to the Petrol Company. The trucks intercepted a convoy near Conference Cairn and returned with 44 lorry-loads, 28,160 gallons. (4 RMT's 166 vehicles, travelling from Fuka until 4 p.m. on 18 November, averaged 5.75 miles to the gallon.)

The Petrol Company draws more petrol in special trips to No. 2 Forward Base while drivers, LADs, and mechanics make sure trucks are in trim for the night move ahead of over 25 miles. The 4th RMT's first casualty of the campaign, Corporal Jaspers,

Cpl E. C.Jaspers; born Waipawa, 12 Nov 1915; electrician; accidentally killed 15 Nov 1941.

of B Section, is buried after a fatal accident the previous day. It's strange, think drivers attending the funeral of their comrade, that a man should survive the perils of Carson's patrol in Crete only to meet death a little later in a peaceful desert.

With the return of darkness vehicles close up to ten-yard intervals and move off, the leading brigade followed by the two groups of the other brigades. Engineers and MPs have gone ahead, placing shaded green lights on poles at two-mile intervals to mark the track by night. Each brigade has a leading car just ahead with a panel of dim lights at its rear. This discreet ‘glow-worm’ car follows the lamp-marked route; behind the car follow the nine blacked-out parallel columns of the brigade. But all is not easy going this night of 16 November. Soft sand ahead joggles the columns into ‘concertina’ movements; boulders, shingle, rough patches and clouds of dust add to the scramble in the darkness. Some vehicles close up nose-to-tail, others draw apart and in trying to catch up speed up to 30 miles an hour—bad for the lorries, worse for the flung-about passengers. Major Stock writes:

The column, rumbling in low gear through the blackness of the night, suddenly slows down. This usually means bad going in front. Drivers strain eyes trying to pick out what's ahead. In five or fifteen minutes they approach a bad dip, with three or four of the earlier vehicles just discernible, bogged down. This is it, you look for the tailboard ahead and it has already disappeared, speeding up for its run through the bad going. You put your foot down, your only thoughts being to get through and not to lose contact with the truck in front. As you are almost into it a Div Provo looms up from the blackness and shouts ‘Straight ahead Dig—watch the bump at the bottom’ or ‘Give her the gun, the going's good.’ You give her the gun, keeping your fingers crossed that no springs will be broken, and away you go like Ben Hur and up the other side of the wadi, hoping the chap in front has cleared it in time to let you keep going. We've made it this time, but luck doesn't always hold.

The November nights are cold. The driver's hands become numb on the wheel, pain develops at the back of the neck through constant straining to see into the night ahead, and the eyes are running with the cold wind coming through the open windshield. Everything is going along nicely when the truck in front brakes—you do the same and find yourself in a soft spot. Out spare driver and out spare man at the back to wave the other vehicles on so there'll be no break in the column. Then to the work of getting her out of the bother. You try her again and the big four wheels just thrash around and dig in deeper. All right, get the blokes out at the back and let them push. Then the fun begins. The infantry are mostly asleep or dozing—they are all as cold as blazes. Once out from the shelter of the canopy they get colder still. The RMT stops some fancy names.

But with sturdy shoulders to the wheel the truck is soon on her way again, trying to get back into the column. Every driver is jealous of his own position in the line, and woe betide the chap who tries to break it, unless he is known. Our driver has to find someone he knows before he can get back into the line. He peers into the darkness. ‘That's Jim, he's got his spare covered with a bivvy—yes that's Bill with the camel tank strapped on the bumper, so Mick must be next—Hey Mick, let me in after Bill.’ So in we go and the advance continues.

The 25-mile march ends. Before dawn lorries scatter according to plan so that first light will not give enemy aircraft a juicy target of closely packed vehicles. Each battalion moves separately, and quite a distance is covered before the brigade's hundreds of vehicles are properly spread out. While the infantry brew up drivers cover vehicles with camouflage nets—like fish-nets stuck with strips of subdued pink and green material, sacking and tufts of scrub. Now is the time, while others take it easy, when the LAD men and the driver-mechanics go to work, examining engines and chassis with the skill and understanding of surgeons, anticipating and detecting trouble, swiftly and thoroughly repairing damage done during the move. In the campaign ahead they will work tirelessly, keeping trucks mobile, giving drivers complete confidence in their vehicles. Keeping the Division rolling is the work of the LAD

Light Aid Detachments were manned by driver-mechanics. One vehicle was set aside for this work in each operating section. LADs formed the liaison with Workshops Section and were entirely responsible for keeping all vehicles mobile while in action. They carried spare spring assemblies (when available) and main leaves, spare petrol pumps, radiator hose, spark plugs, tires (when space permitted), tubes, and in fact all parts necessary except for major breakdowns. They would fit or oversee the fitting of spring assemblies, etc., and generally kept their section vehicles in tiptop shape.

and the Workshops men. They are dependable.

Daily maintenance tasks done, 6 RMT drivers swop impressions of their first night move carrying troops. Some can't believe such a large fleet of 2800-odd vehicles could move so far at night without some trucks getting lost for keeps. Other drivers discuss falling asleep during halts and the rotten feeling on waking to find the truck ahead vanishing. The young 6 RMT Company, with no other experience of brigade manoeuvres at all, is learning the hard way.

More lessons and shocks lie ahead of new drivers in the second night march on the evening of 17 November. Within an hour of their moving off on the 30-mile journey a violent electrical storm slashes the darkness. A 6 RMT driver, Gibbs,

Sgt K. H. Gibbs; Auckland; born NZ 4 Feb 1915; grocery manager; wounded Nov 1941.

writes:

Soon the lightning sheets shoot over the brigade column and in an instant every vehicle is seen lurching crazily forward. In the same flash the driver has a chance to note his position in the convoy, and he makes a desperate effort to correct his place. If he is far behind and the ground in front is flat he risks a dash forward, but this must be done in the blinding blackness following the lightning flash. Perhaps the next flash reveals him charging headlong toward another vehicle and he has barely enough time to avoid a smash.

Voices are lost in the roaring din of the thousand motors; drivers work overtime, one minute changing up, the next down, braking, swerving, in short giving their utmost to keep up with the inexorable moving force.

Following a three-tonner is like driving along a lighted highway compared with the lot of the driver who has to follow a gun limber. The black outline of the large three-tonner can be seen at least a couple of yards away and a driver coming out of a dust cloud has sufficient time to brake. The driver behind the artillery waggons has no warning until he sees a gun barrel poking almost through his windscreen.

Nobody ever wants to travel behind the ack-ack.

The route this night leads 6 Brigade briefly through a patrol camp of 4 Indian Division. These unfortunates must feel that all the devils in North Africa are on the loose. Long before the Brigade Group reaches the Indians' area they hear the thunder of its approach. New Zealand infantrymen looking back from the lorries see many near-tragedies as the Indians leap from the path of one vehicle into the line of another. Some vehicles stick in unseen slit trenches, which means more delays, but still the advance goes on.

Past the Indians low ridges of invisible miniature escarpments sometimes send lorries leaning over to angles of 30 degrees or more. Each driver keeps going, hoping in the darkness that the old bus will right herself again.

In daylight a small eight-foot escarpment is summed up quickly and the driver makes the best approach. Even then several attempts may be necessary to get the lorry over it. At night the driver's first warning of coming to a sand bank is the front of his vehicle rearing up and the motor stalling. Then the only thing to do is to send the co-driver out to see if the following vehicles are far enough back to allow the stalled vehicle to reverse. Both front and rear low gears are engaged and the driver sets the lorry to it, with all the petrol power it can take.

The performance of the four-wheel-drive lorries this night is amazing. Truck after truck lurches up steep gradients and with a final twist rights itself and continues after the vanishing column. On worse than usual banks, tracked vehicles and breakdown wagons from workshops sections come to the assistance of the struggling drivers and trucks. Descending the escarpments is, if anything, a more tricky process and many a driver suddenly finds himself running along the edge of an escarpment with the lorry gradually leaning more and more to one side. How does the land lie out there in all that blackness? To even the truck up now, should the driver pull the steering wheel to the right or to the left? That many vehicles don't capsize is a compliment to the drivers and to the makers. One 6 RMT driver, skilled in the handling of coal lorries for years before the war, comes down one of these escarpments safely. Reaching flat ground he changes, he thinks, to normal gear. He doesn't know he has changed into reverse gear, and back he goes, retreating innocently into the night until his spare driver notices something's not according to Hoyle. Other weary drivers had the illusion that they are driving down a vast tunnel or along the bottom of an enormous cutting.

The jolting in the dust-clouded blackness confuses even expert drivers and exasperates into silence even the most expert swearer among the flung-about infantry behind.

At I a.m. the nightmare journey ends. Down the lines passes the message ‘bed down’ … ‘bed down’ … ‘bed down’…. But some drivers don't hear. Slumped over the wheel, already they are fast asleep.

CHAPTER 7 Sidi Rezegh

NOW it's over the border into Libya, the barbed-wire hedge cut and rolled back 300 yards for the Division's 2800-odd vehicles to pour through, a river of metal and engines, grumbling and creaking and revving through the midnight hours of Tuesday, 18 November 1941. Military police with dim lamps stand by directing the flood. They're as calm and collected as cops on a country-town street corner, and men look out at them with admiration as they pass. But only briefly, for within vehicle after vehicle someone, responding to the power and the force close about him, infects his comrades, and they sing, shout and yell as never before, or after. For this is the great advance, heralded the night before by tremendous flashes of light from the north, a curtain-raiser from the gods.

But it's Onward, as the fernleaf badge of the Division says, onward nose-to-tail in the night, after resting by day, far apart, dug-in and camouflaged. British tanks arrive to escort the Division. The approach is over. This is Libya. And any time now the target will be firing back.

In the afternoon of 19 November the Division rolls off again ten miles north, just out of range of Sidi Omar's guns feeling for the advancing Indian Division. Dusk comes and with it parachute flares from enemy planes in the dark, wondering.

Ahead in the night the barren Libyan plateau stretches more or less smoothly to near Bardia, where it breaks up into a group of about five small escarpments pointing like a bony hand to besieged Tobruk. There is little difference in the heights of these small escarpments. Starting from near the coast, each escarpment is overlooked by the next by a few feet, a slight difference but a most important one to any army driving to Tobruk. Where the fingers draw close to Tobruk the New Zealand Division will meet its bloodiest fighting. No civilians live in this wilderness, no cities or settlements remain. The names which will flash round the world and linger for a few brief years around bar rooms and reunions in shabby halls—— Sidi Rezegh,

Sidi (Saint) Rezegh, a learned Moslem scholar thought to be a direct descendant of the Prophet Mohammed, headed a religious school and had many followers. He died about seventy years ago and was buried near Gambut, Libya. His son is buried in the same tomb, which is visited at the beginning of every spring by many Moslems from Libya, some of them barren women. Pilgrims annually whitewash the tomb and plant sticks with rags on them. Bodies buried nearby are thought to gain sanctity from the saintly bones.

Gambut, Belhamed, Bir el Chleta——are only map names for lonely inconspicuous ridges, patches of sand, hills little more than mounds, or an occasional drab well containing a meagre amount of flat, wretched water. The only road, held of course by the Axis forces, runs along the coast from the frontier to Tobruk. Faint tracks, worn by traders and camels across the centuries, criss-cross the plateau above the escarpments. The best-known trail leading from the east through the escarpment country is Trigh Capuzzo. This ‘trigh’ (Italianised Arabic for a caravan route) runs from near Fort Capuzzo past the Sidi Rezegh escarpment and into the far west.

Thursday, 20 November

The New Zealand Division stays put.

The 4th RMT Company orders its Christmas dinner: chicken 117 lb., pork 176 lb., Christmas pudding 119 lb., Christmas cake 90 lb., mince pies 950, mixed nuts 50 lb., beer 480 bottles, cigarettes 5000.

Everyday rations, although they improved grudgingly as the war went on, were inferior to German rations. A man's daily ration in this campaign added up to about 2 lb. in all of tough brown biscuits, cheese, margarine, tea, sugar, jam (marmalade or fig), tinned milk, bully beef more often than M and V (meat and vegetable), and a fragment of tinned bacon and tinned herring. Where cooks' trucks could work men ate at least hot stews, porridge and perhaps rice (sometimes with dates or currants in it). Otherwise it was mainly bully and biscuits. Men with trucks handy would buy with their own money a reserve of tinned food and fruits, and odds and ends such as split peas. Fifty flat-tasting cigarettes of weird makes, the most notorious being Vs, were issued weekly. Not until 22 December 1943 did 4 RMT's war diary record: ‘Capstan cigarettes received in weekly issue in lieu of much discussed V brand.’

Friday, 21 November

The New Zealand Division and 4 Indian Division begin a sweep around the enemy's southern frontier forts to sever them from the west. Screened by tanks and with the Divisional Cavalry in its light tanks and Bren carriers scouting ahead like sheepdogs, the Division continues north in the afternoon. In front the Divisional Cavalry's armoured fighting vehicles capture surprised Sidi Azeiz, and an even more surprised Italian officer taking a bath, at dusk. First blood.

Now the Division splits: 5 Brigade swings east to behind the frontier forts of Capuzzo, Musaid, and Sollum; 6 Brigade turns west, ready to go to Gambut, about 25 miles away and halfway to Tobruk; 4 Brigade continues north to cut the Bardia-Tobruk road.

Drivers have taken their vehicles safely through dust and darkness and over rock, potholes, shingle, and thornbushes. But not through mud. It's here now, mud in the desert, mud in your eye, glutinous, deep, dirty. The mess spreads wherever heavy rain fell during the night of the electrical storm. Before the mud is struck, 26 Battalion in C Section's (6 RMT) lorries are singing ‘Silent Night, Holy Night’. Once in the mud, the night is no longer silent or holy. Drivers and passengers work flat out before they are free. In every column bunches of cursing men, overcoated and hooded with balaclavas, are slithering and sliding, shoving and heaving from the side, from the back, from anywhere they can get a grip for hand and foot. Battalion Bren carriers do a great job rescuing and towing. In some of the worst spots drivers must back repeatedly before slushy tires begin to grip properly. Other lorries keep going only as long as nobody changes gears or slows down. The mud-spattered passengers pant behind for a chain or more, struggling through ooze to catch up to the tailboard, to clamber in, only to hear the truck stick again. Some Headquarters RMT trucks carrying no obliging infantry risk being left behind in their plight. One spare driver, frantic to get the truck moving, flings personal gear, webb-equipment, anything he can find, under the rear wheels for traction.

The most extraordinary incident of the night, according to a 6 RMT driver, takes place when leading vehicles of 25 Battalion run into bogged transport. The 6 RMT driver pulls up near two bogged Ford trucks and the riflemen in the lorry jump out to lend a hand. Not until the two trucks are almost clear do the riflemen discover they are liberating grateful Germans ‘driving Australian trucks captured in Greece’. Rounded up altogether are eight enemy vehicles and twenty very startled Germans from an isolated tank-repair unit.

Soon 6 Brigade, fed up with the floundering, camps for the night, ready to move on at dawn to attack Gambut. The 4th RMT lorries with 4 Brigade take up to 14 hours to cover 36 weary miles. Confounding confusion, an ambulance convoy mixes with C Section. The woes of D Section increase when an anti-tank ditch 12 feet deep and 15 feet wide yawns unexpectedly ahead. ‘Much credit is due to the MT drivers for the manner in which they navigated this exceedingly difficult piece of going,’ notes 19 Battalion's war diary.

Fifth Brigade is in action: a company of 23 Battalion sent to reconnoitre Capuzzo during the night captures it; 21 Battalion reconnoitres Bir Hafid.

routes of new zealand brigades in advance to sidi rezegh, 18–27 november 1941 black and white map of directions of soldiers advancing

Saturday, 22 November

Sixth Brigade, its plans suddenly changed by a crisis ahead, moves off at a top speed of eight miles in the hour. The pace, no scorcher, allows for rough patches and defiles through which the Brigade's transport must pass. The speed also includes regular halts. Along with the vehicles the escorting tanks must average ten to twelve miles an hour to cover eight miles of open desert within the hour. Sixth Brigade is moving towards Sidi Rezegh, 20 miles from Tobruk, where deadly tank fighting rages.

Estimate of enemy's total strength: 110,000 men, about 380 medium tanks, 1140 field and anti-tank guns. Eighth Army: 127,000 men, about 120 light tanks, 500 cruiser tanks, 200 infantry tanks, 850 field and anti-tank guns.

Our tanks, told to seek out and destroy the enemy armour, fight with dazzling bravery, but in vain; the well-trained and shrewdly used German armour gives them a terrible pasting. We lose about four hundred while the Italians lose some forty and the Germans no more than fifty. Few know of this at the time.

Sixth Brigade, travelling part of the way along Trigh Capuzzo, brushes into an enemy unit and takes twenty prisoners. The march ends at 9 p.m., transport officers making sure all vehicles under their command have arrived. If one RMT troop-carrier were lost half the fighting strength of a platoon would be missing.

Fourth Brigade tests the defences of Bardia.

At daybreak 4 RMT's headquarters, with the brigade's B Echelon, sees 4 Brigade, despite its hectic night of bog and ditch, still holding good formation except for a few stragglers. Now close to the coast and behind the northernmost fort, Bardia, the convoy halts about 7 a.m. Already battalions have moved off from the brigade on tasks to sever Bardia from the enemy forces in the west. Everyone with B Echelon is tired after 18 hours' continuous travelling over 39 miles——one of the company's toughest trips in its life. Everyone is hungry too, for the last meal was at 10.30 a.m. the previous day. An hour after B Echelon halts, a hostile plane circles its area in a thick curtain of ack-ack fire. The 4th Field Regiment's guns, a hundred yards from 4 RMT's headquarters vehicles, are soon in action supporting the infantry ahead, and before noon a hundred German prisoners are brought in. One Company Headquarters vehicle joins B Echelon transport carrying prisoners to cages already built and waiting behind the gap in the frontier wire.

With the dawn drivers of 4 RMT's operating platoons carrying the three battalions run into their first engagement of the campaign. A Section, carrying 18 Battalion and moving east to Bardia, hits a startled enemy camp at first light. The enemy, abandoning a number of vehicles, is chased towards Bardia. By 9.30 a.m. the battalion has occupied high ground above Bardia and begins patrolling the escarpment. About a dozen miles west of Bardia, near Menastir, are 19 and 20 Battalions. The 19th remains in laager on top of the escarpment over-looking the coastal road to Tobruk, and the D Section 4 RMT drivers with this battalion fill in time kicking a football about. The war does not seem very real. Already one company from 20 Battalion has gone down the escarpment on foot and has cut the coastal road a mile below. From the escarpment drivers look down on surprised and confused enemy units and trucks on the flat. Another company debusses and attacks across the flat. Some C Section drivers take D Company to rout an enemy camp of some sixty tents a mile east along the escarpment. Surprise is complete. Prisoners say they thought the British were a hundred miles away. Before noon fresh Germans, with six tanks supporting, counter-attack on the flat from the west. Fire from mortars and 25-pounders holds them. Early in the afternoon 20 Battalion's C Company, 500 yards behind infantry tanks, cuts down the escarpment on foot and wheels west to meet the counter-attack. The German tanks, outnumbered, promptly flee. A large gun mounted on a tank chassis and a number of mortars are captured, together with overrun German and Italian infantry and engineers. The only error concerns B Company, poised in RMT trucks on the escarpment for a strategic descent when needed. This company is kept from getting down to the scrimmage on the flat by fire from the over-energetic and ill-informed British tanks. C Company triumphantly continues mopping up and by dusk 20 Battalion will have collected more than 400 prisoners.

Drivers are elated and keen for more. They study captured vehicles and C Section bags two Opel Blitz trucks, Sergeants Ritchie

Sgt W. Ritchie; Wellington; born Wellington, 25 Oct 1914; general carrier.

and Walker taking over a truck loaded with new rifles, new boots and, alongside a body, the answer to every soldier's dream——a unit's payroll, gloriously complete. Drivers see the badge of the Afrika Korps, a palm with a swastika on the trunk. A belt——like a scout belt——has Gott mit uns on the metal clasp. Curiously, drivers examine the enemy's personal little belongings, abandoned and pitiful: his writing paper, his photos from home, his shaving outfit, his strange magazines, a handful of sweets in paper stamped with patterns of flowers. There's his uniform too, khaki or blue-green, his gourd-shaped water bottle, his queer mess kit. And somewhere a pet dog circles in bewilderment.

Fifth Brigade masks Sollum. The 21st Battalion attacks Bir Ghirba, comes under heavy fire, loses some transport and suffers heavy casualties. The attack is called off. The 23rd Battalion reaches out from Capuzzo towards Musaid, which is captured in the afternoon, and arrives at the escarpment overlooking Sollum. Many prisoners, mostly Italians, are taken and the pipeline to Sollum is cut.

Sunday, 23 November

Sixth Brigade wins most of Point 175, east of Sidi Rezegh, in a fierce and bloody attack and takes 350 prisoners. Fifth Brigade remains holding the Bardia-Sollum area. The Maoris capture Sollum barracks, with 160 prisoners. Fourth Brigade moves to support 6 Brigade in the march on Tobruk.

Sixth Brigade moves off at 3 a.m., with anti-tank guns and tanks guarding the flanks, drivers weary, riflemen in the rear huddled together for warmth, aware that today they will go into action. Dawn comes and the grey columns fan out in desert formation, then halt. As men start primuses or gather scrub to boil the billy, the peaceful scene rips wide open to the hammer of machine guns. Somebody has spotted an enemy group moving nonchalantly through the brigade, a ridiculous situation. Vehicles scurry like alarmed fat bugs, gunners swing 25-pounders into firing positions, Bren carriers race to cut off escape, the nearest riflemen (25 Battalion) come under fire and return it with good measure. Many 6 RMT drivers dash for their rifles, attempting to join the infantrymen, only to be ordered back to stand by their lorries. One driver, sent back because he has no bayonet for his rifle, curses his luck. Enemy armoured cars, perplexed, dart here and there; one gun knocks out five of them. Tracer bullets streak the air. And cooks continue to prepare breakfast until the enemy, scattered and confused, escapes, leaving two hundred of his men captured, together with many valuable documents. An error in navigation has run 6 Brigade into part of the headquarters of the Afrika Korps, no less.

In B Section Drivers Proud

Dvr L. N. Proud; New Plymouth; born NZ 26 Aug 1912; labourer.

and Mitchinson's

Cpl M. E. Mitchinson; Palmerston North; born NZ 4 Apr 1918; grocer and storeman.

vehicle is out of action, damaged by rifle fire, and a shell, miraculously dodging the seated infantrymen, has gone clean through the tray of the truck driven by Drivers McMurtrie

L-Cpl W. G. McMurtrie; Invercargill; born NZ 3 Mar 1913; truck driver.

and Cleator.

Dvr J. T. Cleator; Lower Hutt; born England, 6 Oct 1909; slaughterman.

A few A Section drivers are told to carry prisoners to the rear and on the way Drivers Brian,

Dvr W. C. Brian; Christchurch; born Waiau, 10 Apr 1917; tin worker; p.w. 23 Nov 1941.

Burfield-Mills,

Sgt P. O. G. Burfield-Mills, EM and two clasps; Wellington; born Dunedin, 18 Apr 1906; traffic inspector; p.w. 23 Nov 1941; escaped 1943.

Borcoski,

Dvr J. L. Borcoski; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 27 Feb 1915; carpenter; p.w. 23 Nov 1941.

and Smithson

Dvr H. H. Smithson; Wellington; born Wellington, 9 May 1915; tram conductor; p.w. 23 Nov 1941; escaped to Switzerland24 Sep 1943; repatriated 24 Sep 1944.

are in turn taken prisoner.

Leaving the Bir el Chleta area, 6 Brigade continues west to Point 175, the threshold of Sidi Rezegh, where 25 Battalion, later supported by 24 Battalion, dismounts, riflemen cheerfully adjusting packs, examining weapons, and speculating on the coming attack. Before the main attack is launched Mitchinson and Proud (whose truck was knocked out in the morning) temporarily join A Company 25 Battalion to deal with trouble-some fire penetrating the assembly area. Both drivers are without bayonets and they enter the bayonet attack with determination and apprehension. They survive.

Company by company the riflemen move off from the start line in open formation. Point 175 is thought to be lightly held. The attack is mounted with haste and the infantry, who could have been carried most of the way by 6 RMT lorries, set off on a trying one-and-a half mile march under fire to reach the enemy. Drivers stand by their vehicles and watch with mixed feelings their passengers steadily advancing, steadily growing smaller and smaller until they disappear into their realm of smoke and dust, erupting explosions of mortar bombs, and the continuous spatter of machine-gun fire. The fire intensifies, the enemy directing the full weight of his weapons upon the infantry. Mostly overs land among the transport. Many drivers take cover alongside their lorries, the rocky desert preventing much digging of slit trenches. Some men heap up loose stones for cover while others protect their vehicles by filling sandbags and placing them round the radiator and bonnet. And a significant incident takes place. A 6 RMT cook, watching his sweating sergeant finishing a fine slit trench, suggests adding a wing in case of attack from another direction. Half an hour later the L plan is finished. The cook warns of possible attack from yet another angle; after another 30 minutes' excavating the Y plan is complete. At that very moment of triumph all transport is ordered to move up 100 yards. Here, in a nutshell, is the story of the Second Libyan Campaign.

Five trucks go forward to help evacuate wounded. Drivers Jones,

L-Cpl G. W. Jones; Christchurch; born Christchurch, 20 Dec 1912; lorry driver.

Mason

Cpl R. L. Mason; Wellington; born Tasmania, 5 Oct 1914; monumental and quarry worker.

and Finlay

Dvr J. D. Finlay; Tauranga; born Frankton Junction, 17 Sep 1915; bushman.

take their truck well up into a wadi still partly held by the enemy. In a tense silence they pick up stretcher cases while both sides hold fire. The four other lorries are not so fortunate, and Driver Masters

L-Sgt D. W. Masters; Auckland; born NZ 5 Jan 1919; motor driver; wounded 23 Nov 1941.

is evacuated with a wounded knee. To relieve 25 Battalion's RAP, now working at full pressure, Sergeant James Baird,

S-Sgt J. D. Baird, m.i.d.; Nelson; born NZ 10 Jun 1916; fruit and produce merchant.

with three lorries, runs a shuttle service to the brigade's Advanced Dressing Station.

When the attack on Point 175 opens, C Section has taken 26 Battalion five miles south-west to link 6 Brigade with 5 South African Brigade soon after noon. The transport laagers in desert formation, the infantry taking up positions in front, and stray shells begin to land in the transport, a mortar blowing up Captain Brown's vehicle and wounding his driver, George Rowland.

Dvr G. A. Rowland; Christchurch; born NZ 26 Jan 1917; truck driver; wounded 23 Nov 1941.

British tanks are seen making sudden dashes, stopping to fire, then jerking on again. Out of sight German panzers are wresting higher ground from the South Africans, whose remnants retire hastily, leaving an isolated 26 Battalion to beat off a determined attack. Pat Ward

L-Sgt P. F. Ward, m.i.d.; Greytown; born Greytown, 2 Jan 1907; civil servant.

sees a South African, a wheel suddenly blown from his truck, shake a fist first towards the enemy then at the sky, uncertain whom to curse. Drivers Ross

Dvr R. A. Ross, m.i.d.; Waipukurau; born NZ 24 May 1915; lorry driver.

and Reid

Dvr R. R. Reid, m.i.d.; Woodville; born Northern Ireland, 19 May 1907; carpenter.

drive forward taking mortar men into position, then make a second trip loaded with mortar bombs. After this, and still under fire, the two help RAP men gather wounded, Reid walking ahead to guide the truck. Both are mentioned in despatches later. After dark 26 Battalion draws back to 6 Brigade, some RMT men carrying wounded, but Drivers Elliott

Dvr E. Elliott; Auckland; born Auckland, 31 Aug 1919; labourer.

and Davies,

Dvr R. W. Davies; Onehunga; born Dargaville, 30 May 1921; truck driver; wounded 7 Jul 1942.

uncomfortably lost after a mine has destroyed their truck, wander round enemy lines for several hours before an armoured car rescues them.

Scattered as they are over a wide area, drivers have different impressions of the day's battle, the company's first introduction to warfare. The 6th RMT is but five weeks old. Drivers are not experienced. Some are unduly impressed by the tumult of battle; a few give too much heed to the flying rumours of the day; others underestimate the dangers about them. But all have done, and are prepared to do, their duty. Some go further; for instance, the driver who acquires two machine guns, mounts them in a weapon pit, and finds an anti-tank gun moving into position in front. Bitterly the driver complains to the gunner officer that his line of fire is being obstructed. Every hour has its alarms. Sudden explosions a few feet away rock Drivers Griffin

Dvr B. Griffin; Whakapara; born NZ 10 Apr 1918; farmhand.

and Hampton.

Dvr T. R. Hampton; Ashburton; born Ashburton, 10 Feb 1919; farm labourer.

Unknown to them an anti-tank portée——one of those gallant desert knights without armour——has ripped into position alongside their truck to blaze away at an enemy tank appearing over the escarpment. A Section drivers watch three British tanks pass by their trucks to support the attack. The tanks travel only a short distance before German anti-tank gunners knock them out. Survivors walk back through the lines and Drivers Mattson

Cpl L. C. Mattson; Auckland; born Auckland, 16 Jul 1918; labourer.

and Ewing

L-Cpl E. B. Ewing; Oamaru; born Cromwell, 3 Oct 1912; farm labourer.

give them cups of tea.

The approach to Sidi Barrani black and white photograph of desert town

On the frontier black and white photograph of soldiers standing on border

An Italian gun at Tummar West black and white photograph of artillery

Fort Capuzzo black and white photograph of soldiers standing in front of fort

Signing for parcels on Christmas morning, 1940 black and white photograph of soldiers taking mail

RMT graves at Sollum after the air raid of Christmas Eve black and white photograph of burial ground

A land mine, Tobruk black and white photograph of land mine

Laager area near Derna black and white photograph of trucks

colour map of mediterranean sea

The tanks burn savagely. A heavy pall of smoke billows back over the transport lines. There's smoke from other fires, too, and dust and the thud of angry weapons, until at last the light thickens, dusk comes, then merciful night. A great silence settles over the wadis where weary, wounded, and dead men lie. Now drivers help gather more wounded from the battlefield, one man walking in front to guide the lorry around weapon pits and to make sure no wounded are run over. Many a driver is close to tears. He remembers these men two nights ago under 6 RMT's canopies singing ‘On the Ball’ and ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’. The dead lie very thick round about. In some places New Zealanders and Germans lie on top of one another.

By midnight Baird's drivers hear that Brigade ADS intends to evacuate the present spot, believing it will be a battlefield next day. When the last of the wounded and the RAP staff are taken to the dressing station, drivers rest. It's 3 a.m. There's no rest in 6 Brigade's dressing station where ‘the sight was ghastly. There appeared to be hundreds awaiting attention. Men were lying on stretchers and on the ground moaning and groaning…. I

Maj H. G. Burton, CO 25 Bn.

felt really sick in this atmosphere and wondered how these medical blokes could stand it hour after hour and day after day.’

Other 6 RMT drivers moving wounded, rations, and ammunition learn that all spare drivers are to be organised into a rifle platoon for fighting, but the plan is abandoned. Instead 6 RMT Company, carrying wounded and prisoners, will leave at first light, 24 November, for 13 Corps, B Echelon area, about 15 miles to the east. Trucks move into little groups in widely separated clumps and drivers sleep at last.

The day, which began with 6 Brigade leaving for Point 175, sees 5 Brigade remaining holding the Bardia-Sollum area, where that brigade, less 21 Battalion, will stay. The 21st Battalion is brought up to join battle south-east of Tobruk. Fourth Brigade is on the move again, soon to join 6 Brigade on the march westwards. The 4th RMT's A and D Sections,

On the way up six 4 RMT trucks carried a company of 19 Bn to an escarpment. The party tried without success to make contact with the harassing guns. Towards late afternoon a conglomeration of transport was sighted on the horizon and the RMT group, scattering, was shelled thoroughly but harmlessly. Gambut and the battalion were reached safely.

with 18 and 19 Battalions aboard, move off, A section running into shellfire which kills Driver Maxfield

Dvr L. E. Maxfield; born NZ 28 Sep 1911; labourer; killed in action 23 Nov 1941.

at his seat on the Brengun defence mounting. The going is rough and ahead lies the enemy, dug in, poised for his attack on Tobruk, yet confident in his tanks and in his ability to smash the invaders. The two sections unload the infantry at Gambut aerodrome at 3 p.m., then drive back under heavy fire while the airfield falls. Wait now for the next job, see how the lorry is taking it, keep her in running order. From now on it's a fight to the finish on and around the gaunt escarpments of Sidi Rezegh and the bare, rocky slopes of Belhamed commanding the approaches to Tobruk. The dead, the wounded, and the wreckage pile up in the Division's bloodiest battle of the war.

Monday, 24 November

Fourth Brigade gets into line with 6 Brigade, which is bringing in its dead from dusty, blood-stained Point 175.

Behind the two brigades is an enemy pocket near Bir el Chleta. There, at midnight, 4 RMT's C Section lorries have brought 20 Battalion, last of 4 Brigade's infantry to move west from near Bardia. The night journey has been particularly difficult and rough. Every half hour the convoy halted while navigators checked distances and bearings by torchlight under a blanket. The enemy group had to be avoided, and the course was altered more than once when enemy flares soared just a little too closely. The new day brings Divisional Headquarters under fire from big guns to the east and north-east. The heavies crunch into the escarpment among the lorries. Their fire ceases, but 20 Battalion's transport close by is now under fire from the enemy group bypassed in the night. The battalion is to wipe out this enemy group before resuming the drive to Tobruk with 4 Brigade.

Now it's C Section's turn to drive 20 Battalion into battle in the RMT's closest approach so far to those rehearsals around that dummy fort near Baggush in October. On a front of about 1000 yards, the 28-odd RMT lorries form up abreast in two lines 600 yards apart. The riflemen, bayonets fixed, jump up under the canopies. Beside each driver and now in command of the truck sits an infantry officer watching for the signal to go. Three miles away the objective, about a hundred German trucks, with guns and infantry in front, moves uncertainly, restlessly. Machine guns, anti-tank guns, and carriers prepare to send covering fire from the right flank.

A squadron of tanks forms up in line abreast and charges, the RMT's troop-carriers hard behind in the dust. But plans and practice are not always the same. The compass bearing the attackers are to follow from the start to the enemy is 40 degrees. The tanks swing off course, see the Bren carriers, open up and knock out two before they are corrected, while the artillery comes down with a flourish——on the wrong target, miles away. RMT sticks stubbornly to the correct bearing, advancing towards the enemy at a steady 15 miles an hour. The going is fairly rough and from the bobbing lorries drivers glance from side to side to hold good formation. Ahead they see the enemy drawing closer minute by minute, and occasionally they have the uncomfortable thought of ‘one smacking clean through the windscreen’, which at times seems as wide as a barn door. Some drivers meet little fire; others experience a fair amount of mortar and anti-tank fire, laced with lurid streaks as tracer shells zip past. Luckily most of the fire seems about wheel-high, and Captain Coleman and Lieutenant Fernandez, standing through the cab hatches in their pick-up vehicles, are relieved and surprised to see every truck moving with parade-ground precision. When most of the distance is covered, strong small-arms fire shows the objective is reached and, with the first wave of trucks almost on top of the enemy positions, the signal to debus is waved by the leading battalion officer. From their pick-ups the two RMT officers pass on the signal to the trucks. Fire intensifies every moment and, watching the anti-tank shells skimming past their pick-up, Fernandez and his driver agree they are rather like flying-fish. As each three-tonner turns about the riflemen spring from the back and engage the enemy, while the trucks, still in drill order, return considerably faster than they advanced. A number of drivers, in their understandable haste to turn about, forget to refasten tailboards. Several, realising this after travelling some hundreds of yards, come to a swift stop and spring around collecting scattered personal gear and oddments which have fallen out. At a previously arranged place C Section halts to await further orders from the battalion. Immediately drivers check vehicles for casualties. Surprised, they find, apart from a few dents and holes, the only serious damage is a few springs snapped during the vigorous cross-country charge. The old Tummar tradition still lives.

‘The show has gone like clockwork and I feel a justifiable pride in my section,’ notes Coleman. ‘Over what we feel to be a well-earned brew-up, experiences are swopped and only then we realise what a colossal cheek we had to attack an enemy position in a mass of highly vulnerable trucks. But the success of the show proves once again that a well planned move executed with sufficient dash can have a very satisfactory result. The only flaw in the operation from our point of view is the delay in the order from battalion for the re-embussing of the troops. Had the order arrived earlier we could have gone forward and picked up the infantry, saving them an unnecessary march back.’

With the enemy routed, 260 Germans taken for the loss of 21 men, seven tanks and two carriers, and the threat from the rear removed, the men drive on in high heart to the advancing 4 Brigade.

In the meantime on this day, 24 November, the enemy is carrying out a bold and probably rash stroke which spreads confusion and panic far behind the forces grasping towards Tobruk. Convinced he has soundly defeated the British armour, Rommel decides to overwhelm the forces on the frontier and then return to master Tobruk. Leading two German and one Italian armoured divisions, he dashes to the frontier. For two days he will attempt to pin and to crush British forces against the forts, but opposition will be too stiff. By the evening of 26 November the critical state of the Axis forces around Tobruk will force the raiders to return. Rommel's roving bands, however, convince many an unarmed unit its last hour has come. And among these startled groups will be 6 RMT Company.

At 1.30 a.m. a despatch rider, saying he has been seeking Major Hood for about two hours in the darkness, awakens 6 RMT's OC with the news that his company is to get out of it; all lorries will move back to B Echelon 13 Corps at first light. Major Hood calls at Brigade Headquarters at 3 a.m., and then, to make certain all trucks will be released promptly, tries to get in touch with the battalions.

Assembling the company in a hurry is a tricky task. Nighttime duties with the battalions have split sections into small parties. Some guard prisoners or take urgently needed supplies to different destinations. There is ammunition to lug forward, wounded to be gathered and taken back. Not until 7 a.m.——a good half-hour after first light, when the company was supposed to be on its way—is the first section (A Section, under Captain Collins) formed up behind 6 RMT's Company Headquarters group and ready to move with loads of wounded from the ADS nearby. Even now few of B and C Sections' drivers know a company move is on. One moment they are obeying a local order to disperse among the wadis; the next they are being ordered to report to a rendezvous at Company Headquarters, at Brigade ADS, or at Brigade Headquarters which, to complicate matters further, has changed position in the night. Vehicles weave to and fro, the confusion increasing when the enemy's artillery awakes. Soon the ADS comes under shellfire, driving the RMT vehicles so far assembled into a wadi for shelter. The brigade staff captain gives a brief farewell message to Major Hood: ‘For God's sake get up rations, ammunition, water and petrol as soon as you can.’ The Major returns to help Second-Lieutenants Brown, Todd,

Capt R. A. Todd, m.i.d.; Christchurch; born Invercargill, 15 Dec 1917; clerk; twice wounded.

and Pool round up into the wadi as many of B and C Sections' trucks as they can find, including captured lorries loaded with hungry prisoners bitterly complaining of exposure to shellfire. Jim Mackay

Cpl R. J. Mackay; Te Rehunga, Dannevirke; born Dannevirke, 18 Nov 1913; butcher.

and Jack Lash

Dvr J. G. Lash; Petone; born Shannon, 16 Aug 1907; labourer.

turn up with a shrapnel-slashed radiator after a night in no-man's-land. Drivers Gilmore

Dvr A. J. Gilmore; Te Puke; born Te Puke, 25 Aug 1915; butcher; p.w. Nov 1941.

and Armstrong

Dvr V. A. C. Armstrong; Lower Hutt; born Wellington, 17 Mar 1916; storeman; twice wounded; p.w. 1 Dec 1941.

are missing——later confirmed prisoners of war. Second-Lieutenant Brown, whose offsider, Second-Lieutenant Irving,

Capt A. E. Irving; Green Island, Otago; born England, 21 Feb 1914; clerk.

is sick with dysentery, says there is still plenty of transport scattered about, and Major Hood goes out in a last effort to collect all his company, ordering every ASC vehicle he sees to drop its load of equipment and make for the wadi. At last, about 9 a.m., two and a half hours late, the RMT transport is off on its 15-mile journey. Sergeant Baird has gone on ahead leading a hastily assembled ambulance convoy made up mainly of RMT lorries.

At least six drivers and three vehicles remain with the battalions. Two C Section lorries, working late carrying 26 Battalion wounded, reach Brigade Headquarters well after 6 RMT's convoy has left. Given the compass bearing and vaguely told to follow on, the drivers decide to stay, particularly as prowling tanks are battling in the vicinity. So Corporals Wells

L-Sgt S. G. Wells; Nelson; born Nelson, 4 Jun 1901; commercial traveller; wounded 6 Mar 1943.

and Morris,

Cpl D. G. Morris; Rotorua; born Ngaruawahia, 17 Dec 1919; labourer.

Drivers Whyte,

Dvr R. S. Whyte; Katikati; born Hamilton, 6 Sep 1919; farmer.

Worsnop,

Sgt S. R. Worsnop; Gisborne; born Gisborne, 5 May 1917; lorry driver.

Halliwell,

Dvr F. W. Halliwell; born NZ 6 Jan 1918; milkman; killed in action 15 Jul 1942.

and Beale

Dvr T. Beale; Te Awamutu; born Onehunga, 27 Jun 1912; seaman.

remain with 6 Brigade, sharing with the infantry the bitter experiences of the following week and returning with the remnants of the New Zealand Division to Baggush.

The 6 RMT convoy, heading for where B Echelon 13 Corps is said to be, passes dozens of scurrying vehicles, many of them driving north in the direction the RMT has just left. ‘What the hell's going on?’ drivers ask, puzzled or angry, or maybe too tired to care. Nothing makes sense. Bowling along, Drivers Hampton and Griffin remain unaware their canopy is blazing from an incendiary bullet until flames lick the cab door. In a flash the two are out, slashing ropes, freeing and flinging aside the canopy, throwing off the reserve of petrol, and tossing sand on to the flames. They save the truck.

Fifteen miles covered and B Echelon of 13 Corps nowhere in sight, Hood leads the convoy on five miles further, then halts for reconnaissance. The last stretch of going has been tough, particularly for the German-made lorries carrying the prisoners. Drivers transfer the captives into empty 6 RMT lorries, tip petrol over the Jerry vehicles, and burn them. On the five-mile run a camouflage net falls from an A Section cooks' truck and a cook, showing devotion beyond the call of duty, leaps out crying ‘Keep going, I'll get it’. The net saved, the cook turns to see the last RMT truck vanish in the dust. Alone, with yards of stringy netting streaming from his shoulders, he plods after the convoy's dust. Luckily a YMCA van appears from nowhere and gives him a lift for three miles. Afoot and abandoned again, the cook walks calmly on until Captain Collins and Lieutenant Rimmer

Capt A. T. Rimmer; Lower Hutt; born Wellington, 1 Apr 1915; clerk.

on reconnaissance emerge from a haze. Astounded, they rescue the cook and accept the camouflage net.

Still no trace is found of the 13 Corps area. Vehicles form into column for easier control, one driver at last finding time to change a tire punctured by a bullet at Point 175 the previous day. Even with a flat tire he has kept up with the convoy over twenty lively miles.

Suddenly, at 11 a.m., enemy shells spurt not far off from the head of the columns. Rommel's raiders from the west are on the job in the neighbourhood. On again smartly, lorries zigzag for ten miles down shallow wadis, hoping to avoid the enemy's eye. They find an armoured car patrol with a story that everything in the vicinity is clearing out to the border. The 6th RMT carries on, passing wreckage of burning trucks and armoured vehicles. At last, at 4 p.m., the convoy reaches 13 Corps Headquarters, but it too is starting to move now. Hood decides to follow Corps Headquarters group, hoping to get rid of the prisoners and to see if supplies can be sent to hard-pressed 6 Brigade back at Point 175. Just then 16 Divisional Petrol Company trucks turn up, bound for the New Zealand divisional administration group through the wire to the south-east. The OC is about to lead the convoy off to the New Zealand area when armoured cars appear. The latest arrivals are dead against going south where, they say, the armoured brigade is fighting a rearguard action against panzers. Instead they urge to head for the wire gap at Sheferzen.

Pandemonium lies ahead at Sheferzen, where hundreds of vehicles are milling and churning in attempts to crowd through the narrow gap. Avoiding the confusion, 6 RMT tries to sneak down to the El Beida gap, about nine miles south. Everything seems quiet but, after the company has gone only half a mile on the way, shells land ahead and transport can be seen under attack. The convoy immediately turns about towards Sheferzen, finds a gap, and scurries through.

In Egypt hundreds of vehicles, fleeing like sheep before wolves, are racing north. Rather than add to the chaos the 100-odd RMT trucks continue east, halting in the dusk to count and straighten out the vehicles, but sorting out is considered hopeless when South African and British trucks and cars are found tacked on behind the RMT columns. ‘Everything seems to have joined us except Noah's Ark.’ The cavalcade, warned of new dangers ahead (a soldier jumps on to Ed Ewing's vehicle shouting ‘Stop! You're heading straight into a minefield!’) now moves off north-north-east until the Very lights and gunfire fade away. Again the convoy is stopped about 9 p.m., this time by an officer of a Royal Artillery regiment attached to 4 Indian Division in position at Point 204. ‘You're running bang into two Jerry strongholds. Our batteries have been in action against ‘em all day.’ The company laagers near the gunners. The prisoners, now found to be 280 Germans altogether, are brought into the centre and kept in their trucks under guard by spare drivers.

Drivers are stupefied by events. Questions and rumours fly from man to man. Bewildered and angry knots of men gather in the dark. Why have we abandoned the battalions we are supposed to be carrying? Aren't we supposed to be going for urgent supplies for the battalions? What about 6 Brigade now? Didn't anyone know panzers are on the loose all over the show? What are we doing? Doesn't anyone know ? A wan hopelessness fills some of the drivers, worn out not only by long hours of continuous driving but also by irregular meals, the last of which was at least 36 hours ago. They have had no orders. Always it has been——follow the lorry in front. Follow the … lorry in front. Swinging with the convoy away from heap after heap of smouldering wreckage. Turning left, turning right, avoiding risks of bumping into Jerry. Meeting columns and not knowing whether they are friend or foe. The story of Bir el Chleta——but the other way round it's not so funny. A story spreads that the company is surrounded, to be destroyed or captured in the morning. No reassuring information circulates to deny this. And all this in Egypt, too, Egypt…. What has happened to the ambulance convoy? Nobody knows. So, exhausted, hungry and tired, the drivers bed down beside trucks while other drivers stumble like sleepwalkers to guard trucks where the prisoners sleep soundly.

The ambulance convoy's grim story fortunately is not repeated in RMT's history. Before 6 RMT's main convoy leaves Point 175 in the morning about thirty vehicles, a good many of them RMT lorries, leave under Sergeant Baird for a South African dressing station 15 miles to the rear. This convoy is attacked on reaching its destination. An armoured column, guns blazing, scatters RMT men and the South Africans. A South African native, trouserless, mounts a motor-cycle and, prostrate over the petrol tank, speeds off, only his enormous naked rear visible. In the frantic escape over ten miles some trucks reach up to 40 miles an hour. The flung-about wounded behind, New Zealanders and enemy alike, bounced and jolted unmercifully, rise to a supreme peak of courage and endurance. Some fleeing lorries carry eight stricken men, not lying in reasonable comfort on stretchers but prostrate and without even blankets on the truck's bare steel tray. The wounded endure their terrible ride without complaint, but at least three men die.

Helpless with a shrapnel hole in his back, Private Grant,

Pte L. Grant; Oamaru; born Dunedin, 27 Nov 1915; general labourer; wounded 23 Nov 1941.

of 25 Battalion, blesses the RMT driver who thoughtfully and thoroughly roped him into a top stretcher just before the attack began. Lying on his good arm, his other arm numb, Grant watches sky and earth seesawing crazily behind in the frame of the canopy, and realises his life depends on the rope.

‘At this stage I very nearly kick the bucket as the roads [sic] are very rough,’ recalls Private Hoppe,

L-Cpl B. Hoppe; Lower Hutt; born Samoa, 23 Apr 1918; storeman; wounded Nov 1941.

of 25 Battalion. Two machine-gun bullets had struck him the previous day on the right shoulder, injuring his spine and emerging from his left shoulder. His right leg and left arm are useless.

‘Some of the wounded suffer great pain as the truck drivers have to go flat out over very bumpy ground,’ notes Private Robb,

Pte B. H. Robb; Wellington; born Inglewood, 8 Jun 1918; warehouseman; wounded 23 Nov 1941.

also of 25 Battalion. ‘I can see Ron Burden

Pte R. D. Burden; Palmerston North; born Palmerston North, 9 May 1918; deer culler; wounded Nov 1941.

with his two hands full of hair that he has pulled out, so great is his pain.’

RMT drivers attempt to act as medical orderlies during halts, and through the day divide their rations and blankets among their stricken passengers, for the convoy has not been stocked with food or water. Only one of the three medical units met during the day gives food and morphia to the wounded. RMT men manage to group together again under their sergeant and laager for the night. Next morning (26 November) the ambulance convoy passes through the frontier wire near Sidi Omar. South African medical men take off some of the most severely wounded and give morphia to one uncomplaining New Zealander who, without legs, has survived the stampede. He never regains consciousness. The convoy makes for the Conference Cairn area and spends another lonely night in the desert. Drivers watch with growing concern the state of neglected dressings and wounds. Next day (27 November) the convoy safely delivers its brave patients to the railhead.

Tuesday, 25 November

Sixth Brigade captures a troublesome blockhouse just west of Point 175, takes 200 prisoners, and then gathers for a night attack which fails to break through to Ed Duda. Opposition is fierce, casualties on both sides severe.

Fourth Brigade, to the north, moves four miles forward after dawn, runs into heavy fire, and digs in. The three sections of 4 RMT Company draw back south of Belhamed and Zaafran, awaiting further orders. From now until entering Tobruk their job is to stay put and wait. Except for one air raid——and now enemy bombers and fighters appear daily in moderate strength ——the day passes fairly quietly for 4 RMT. In the evening white flares from enemy positions prick the sky. Fourth Brigade's 18 and 20 Battalions, on foot, in moonlight capture Belhamed by bayonet.

The Division's ammunition is low, supplies and water are short, and now with no link-up to the east, hundreds of wounded and almost a thousand prisoners are further problems.

With plenty of problems of its own, B Section of 4 RMT, on water supply work, is worried by roving tanks, artillery fire, occasional bombing, and shifting water points. One water point has changed its position three times in two hours. One B Section convoy runs into seven lost Germans, accepts their surrender, and hands them over to a tank brigade headquarters. Driver Hewlett

L-Cpl W. Hewlett; born NZ 5 Aug 1916; labourer; killed in action 3 Dec 1941.

is last seen searching an abandoned car when a staff car pulls up beside him. Thought to have been taken prisoner, Hewlett later is reported killed.

B Section 4 RMT acts as a water-carrying section in the Divisional Supply Column, which comes under the Divisional Administration Group, at first located just through the wire where the Division entered Libya. Stationed with the group are the workshops sections of the two RMT companies, together with similar sections from other NZASC units. From the front Divisional Headquarters sends messages (usually by radio) concerning supplies, reinforcements, ammunition, wounded, and so on, to the Divisional Administration Group, which tries to carry out these orders. Near the group is 50 Field Maintenance Centre, an enormous open-air dump handling all the stores, ammunition, petrol, water, and supplies necessary to maintain 13 Corps in the field. The 50th FMC also receives prisoners from the front. B Section is supposed to help supply the Division with water from water points established wherever operations permit, starting first of all from the water point in 50 FMC. Between 23 and 28 November their efforts to supply the Division are largely thwarted by the movement of enemy armoured divisions.

The 6th RMT's trials are by no means over when the new day, Tuesday, 25 November, begins. The company's laager in the dark near Point 204 lasts only about four hours. The Indians and the gunners are moving back to near the wire gap at Sheferzen to form a defensive position around a feature, Point 203. The company follows, twice getting lost. Point 203 is reached after dawn, but transport must move immediately because it is a sitting target for enemy artillery.

Waiting behind until facing capture by an enemy attack were Capt Collins and Lt Rimmer. They were to redirect six RMT trucks which did not turn up. These six trucks belonged to a small convoy of twelve RMT trucks which went ahead of the main convoy in the night carrying soldiers of a Sikh battalion to near Point 203. On the way Dvrs Cartwright and Steadman struck a very deep slit trench which put their lorry out of action. The drivers ‘cooeed’ in the dark trying to keep touch. Trucks were scattered at dawn when an infuriating order arrived to turn about and return the Sikhs to Point 204. Six trucks, not receiving the order, dumped the Sikhs near Point 203 and joined the main convoy. The remaining five trucks returned their Sikhs to Point 204, collecting on the way Sikhs earlier and wrongly debussed. Trying to find 6 RMT Coy, these five trucks got lost, were shelled, scattered, and by good fortune eventually managed to rejoin the company. Dvr Frank Bushell was killed at this time when his truck was ambushed. Germans were about to help the relief driver, Doug Nicol, bury his comrade, but vanished when a South African patrol appeared.

On the suggestion of the Indians, the company, led by Major Hood, leaves for Conference Cairn, 21 miles away, intending from there to follow the telephone wire east to 5 Indian Brigade headquarters. Once reached, the brigade headquarters could take over the prisoners and ‘contact by phone N.Z. Division’ for orders for its unhappy waif, 6 RMT.

Seven miles on the way to Conference Cairn Hood halts the company for a badly needed breakfast. Many of the men and most of the prisoners have not eaten for two days. Everything seems wonderfully quiet and peaceful at last. Only a small knot of drivers argues fiercely. A rifle has gone off accidentally. Half of them maintain, half deny, that a rifle with safety catch on can go off if dropped on the ground. Abruptly the debate breaks up to a volley of shots, and from the west enemy armoured cars are coming hard and fast out of the haze.

Drivers race towards their lorries, intending to seize their rifles and fight it out, but in a moment the enemy is among the transport and it's every man for himself. Major Hood, watching prisoners lining up for breakfast, waves them to get aboard and shouts to nearby drivers, ‘Get the transport out!’ Drivers at the end of the convoy see the enemy race in at high speed, an officer in a people's car bolt upright and spraying the area with tommy-gun bullets. From the rear the raiders seem to be heading straight for the top of the column, attempting to cut it off, but those in front see the German fire on his own men, the prisoners near the cooks' wagon. Major Schmidt, an English-speaking officer, runs out waving a white flag. By the time the German officer leading the armoured cars and the half-tracks mounting light guns reaches the head of the convoy, 6 RMT is on the move.

The celebrated ‘Tewfik Stakes’

Commemorated in a 6 RMT song to the tune of ‘Bless ‘em All’. Amended, one chorus runs:

Follow me, follow me, follow me,And we'll be in Egypt for tea.You can join the rearguardOf your local Home Guard.Get cracking, my lads, follow me. is off to a flying start, destination unknown.

Those taking cover spring for their lorries the moment fire slackens. Some get away to a perfect start, others muff the mechanical side of starting, such as the Whangarei man cranking furiously with the ignition key turned off. Some, too far from their lorries, leap on to running-boards of passing vehicles. Even then a few do not get far, suddenly blocked by gallant or demoralised prisoners throwing themselves in front of the lorry to form a human road block. In No. 1 Sub-section, where most of the prisoners are lost in the mad rush, Drivers Barron

L-Cpl D. I. Barron; Lower Hutt; born Lower Hutt, 2 Sep 1913; clerk.

and Boyes

Cpl P. R. Boyes; Masterton; born Wellington, 10 Jan 1919; clerk.

find their lorry stalls at the first run. A prisoner (or ex-prisoner) is sheltering under a wheel. Whether he stays there or not, the second run certainly succeeds, and away they go, their prize passenger, Major Schmidt, missing, believed free. An armoured car heads off two lorries and forces them to a standstill. The breakdown wagon towing the vehicle belonging to Claude Steadman

L-Cpl C. C. Steadman; Moerewa; born NZ 30 May 1905; lorry driver.

and Jim Cartwright

Dvr J. A. Cartwright; born NZ 9 Aug 1903; farmer; killed in action 20 Jul 1942.

has little chance, but doing his best Driver Dick

Dvr W. H. Dick; born NZ 10 Nov 1918; shepherd; killed in action 25 Nov 1941.

drives on, Germans firing directly alongside him until he is killed at the wheel. Jim (‘Dave’) Kiihfuss,

Dvr J. Kiihfuss; Patea; born Waverley, 17 Jun 1914; farmer.

his truck loaded with surplus timber, refuses to move until the stubborn tailboard is fastened properly. His truck whips to a safe spot dead behind a German armoured car, slows down to gather up Sandy Roger,

L-Cpl A. J. Roger; Owaka, South Otago; born Owaka, 27 Jun 1918; truck driver.

then charges off at full speed. Jim Mackay's damaged truck, towed by Bill Macey

Sgt W. O. Macey; Wellington; born Wellington, 20 Jun 1917; lorry driver; wounded Mar 1943