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CHAPTER 3
Libya, 1941

If I ever get a chance to grab a soft job I'll do so. —Private 6971, immediately after Greece.

I hope I get back to the old Battalion. I'd hate to go into a strange unit. It's one's old cobbers who make the existence of an infantryman reasonably happy. —Private 6971, after some weeks at Base.

‘Cairo,’ writes Bob Foreman,¹ ‘the city which seemed to stand apart—the boom town. If you wanted to go on the bash what better place than Cairo—arguing with and cursing and swearing at George Wog—bright lights—a great variety of food and drink—the Pam Pam—a few chairs flying — and bottles—then came the Red Caps to spoil it all—jokers running down troops from other countries fighting in the desert (were the troops furthest from the line the loudest in their criticism?)—shoe shine boys (remember those ones who would pester you when you didn't want your shoes cleaned, and then rub a patch of blacking on them?)—hawkers (wallets, photos, obscene and otherwise—crude little books containing very crude stories written in unconsciously humorous English—fountain pens, watch straps, etc., etc.). Wogs saying such things as “You come with me Kiwi—I show you….” Walking down to Bab El Louk station and passing Wogs smoking hubbly-bubbly pipes—a whiff of burning incense when passing some doorway —Arabic cafés blaring forth native vocal and string music from a radio and fat Wogs sitting at tables drinking (say) coffee (black in small cups). Cane crates full of fowls, piles of veges. —hunks of raw meat covered with flies—those native pancake sort of things—donkeys (four legs two ears and a nose sticking out from under some enormous load, or a Wog sitting on the donkey's rump and the donkey always looking the picture of dejection). The Wog driving his cart and sitting at the front

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with his wives in a group at the back and dressed in black with veils. Walking round the streets, shops and places where you could get nearly anything at a price—Wog kids meeting you and then running after you yelling “Backsheesh-ana-muskeen-marfesh faloose” (then, finding themselves out of luck and the object of abuse, as a parting shot: “New Zealand bastard!”). Then in the bazaar—they said it was safer if there were three or four of you together—masses of tall Wogs in flowing dirty white robes—some of them carrying sticks—out of the hot dusty sun into a cool dark little shop (maybe you wanted to buy some stockings or tapestries)—then out into the blinding sunshine again—Wogs with something wrong with one eye—a Wog with no legs, just wheeling himself along the street on a trolley: a trunk, two arms and a head. Sometimes he would stop and get off his cart and move himself along with a loping motion on his arms and the bottom of his trunk, the way a monkey sometimes hops along on its front legs. And small Wog eggs with a taste of their own. And always Wogs shouting and arguing. Gully-gully men—Wogs with flies clustered round eyes and mouth and not bothering to brush them off. And traffic roaring and honking their way along the streets, especially those taxis, they drove with one hand on and off the horn. And the trams, packed full and other Wogs clinging onto the sides. (It was the same on the trains—full inside—and more Wogs sitting on the roofs of the carriages—robes flowing and fluttering in the wind.) And all those tales of mystery about the Dead City. (And tales of trams bought and sold.)

‘But often you would get dressed up in your “Groppi- Mocker”, with maybe a camera slung over your shoulder, and make for the N.Z. Club (via YMCA, Wog bars, and Maadi train). Then a hot shower, more refreshing than a cold one even in hot weather. Then a feed (that very good ice cream at the Club), and then off for the afternoon to—say—the zoo or Mohamed Ali Mosque (something worth seeing I thought) or the races at Gezira or Heliopolis—you only usually went to the Pyramids once (got your photo taken sitting on a camel), and if you felt energetic, climbed to the top; also stood for a minute and looked at the Sphinx. (Also wondered just how they got those great blocks of stone all the way from the quarry.)

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‘Then maybe back (by train or sometimes taxi) to Maadi. If it was still daylight and hot, well what better than a nice cool meal at the Maadi Tent—those ladies of Maadi who ran it won't be forgotten by one Kiwi. (Then back to the pictures at Shafto's or Pall Mall: reels put on in the wrong order and frequent breakdowns: waves of insults, whistles, etc. each time it broke down. Also Andrews Sisters singing “Rumboogie” while you waited for the pictures to start at the Pall Mall.) And as you left the Maadi Tent there were all those Jackaranda and Flame trees putting on a great display of blue and red, and maybe a Kiwi having a round of golf. And if you came back by bus, taxi or lorry, remember that bump at the railway crossing? And the Berka (no comment)?’

Men new to Cairo, walking out of the New Zealand Club and wandering aimlessly down streets and around corners, would suddenly stop, realising they were completely ‘bushed’. The best plan was to call a gharry, say ‘New Zealand Club, George’ with the utmost casualness, and hope no circling of blocks would add a few more ‘ackers’ to the fare. Newcomers soon found the heat and sweat played up with leather watch straps; they bought metal ones (and arguments would start: ‘Now if you're smacked on the wrist…’). And the sudden discarding of money belts, so zealously worn and guarded in camp and in troopship. Some had their hair shaved off—a regular fashion early in the war—or were tattooed, waking in the morning with heavy head and groping for sweet, cold water in the tall-necked earthenware zeer, and discovering that other dull ache was some clumsy or blatant tattoo. The once-over at hairdressing establishments: haircut, shave, shampoo, vibrator-massage, nail manicure, and so on.

Pestered by a hawker to buy something at, say, 50 piastres, and offering perhaps five or ten just to be rid of the trader. But ‘George’, game to the end, haggling, until finally: ‘Right New Zealand. You my very good friend—I give it you at your price.’ And the Kiwi saying in disgust: ‘Christ, George, I don't want the bloody thing.’ Many bought sunglasses, and how quickly these were discarded. Others bought bottles, all sealed and wrapped in cellophane and ribbons and labelled with a well-known brand of Scotch whisky, but when opened it tasted

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like methylated spirits; and search as much as a man could, no trace would be found where the glass had been tampered with and repaired. Gradually other men grew more civilised in their drinking habits, and ordered and drank such things as ‘gazoos: very nice, very sweet, very clean’; ate water melons; got used to the paper boy (Mail or Gazette) shouting remarks about diseases (not entirely unknown within the 2 NZEF itself) affecting Mussolini and Hitler and, sometimes, for a ten-acker bribe, even a distinguished New Zealand commander or two.

The Naafi canteen ran ‘housie’ and sold eggs and chips fried in oil, and Stella or Pyramide beer, invariably drunk from cut-down beer bottles. The company canteen (when company canteens were established) had its radio blaring happily (‘the beer ran out on one occasion and we got in Zibbib, with disastrous results to one Kiwi from Gisborne’). Bits of spare time were also passed dozing in the tents, or running each other down, or playing cards.

‘Sometimes somebody would get heartily sick of it all and really go on the bash. Then in the dead of night we would hear approaching noises—songs—laughter—curses. Then one voice would break away from the others and make roughly in our direction (‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine….’). Then the next second the whole tent would jolt as a thud was heard outside. Then would follow a stream of curses at the offending tentpeg—then the voice would become more distant and finally die away in the distance, probably to enter at last its own tent —telling the victims in there just what it thought of them, amid much shuffling and fumbling….’

‘Yes: Egypt and the desert: I hated it,’ writes a veteran. ‘The other countries I saw all had their redeeming features, but Egypt had so very little and I liked it least of all. A climate and landscape as uninteresting as any I could imagine. You hear of beauty of desolation:² well it had the desolation…. I didn't even see those great sand dunes you see in pictures (except maybe a patch in the Sinai), but mainly flat desert

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or sombre wadis (valleys) and escarpments. And so little sand and so much dirt, dust and broken bits of rock lying about, plus camelthorn. Some said the sunsets were beautiful, but I'd say I have seen plenty better at home. Then again some said that the evenings had “something”. But there again I'd say that it was only relative: how many times in the desert have we waited longingly for the evening to come?’

June began with the weary survivors landing at Alexandria and going on to the desolate outskirts of Garawi Camp (near Helwan, a few miles south of Maadi), a very bad camp, ‘arid and bare as a sow's paunch’, with no facilities, rice three times a day, no fresh vegetables, and a sugar shortage. The Intelligence Officer, Sam McLernon,³ suggested grinding the rice to make it more palatable; but this made meals more leather-some than ever. The rearguard from Greece welcomed comrades back. The stories, reunions, arguments, laughs, and sudden silences began. So did weapon training and the endless route marches (full water bottles carried, but nobody allowed to drink). One platoon, slogging through dirt and sand, met a peanut vendor—and hawkers used to appear in the most surprising places, even during ‘highly secret’ moves. The soudani-seller cried: ‘Hitler no bloody good, Mussolini no bloody good, but peanuts very bloody good.’ They ignored him, and as they headed for home, heard the farewell cry: ‘Hitler no bloody good, Mussolini no bloody good, and peanuts no bloody good.’

The reinforcements, 365 of them, marched in, bringing the battalion's strength up to 30 officers and 752 men. ‘And what a splendid lot of men they were too,’ says Colonel Andrew. ‘They'd had home affairs to wind up and leave in order, and once this was done they turned to soldiering. When they came to us they were keen to learn. The veterans took them in hand, taught them and wised them up. They settled down excellently.’

Here is the first impression of a reinforcement, Private Price:⁴ ‘The first parade after the reinforcements had been posted to

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their various Companies, he gives us all a heart to heart talk: “You are in the 22nd Battalion, yes, 2nd to none, and I'm tough, bloody tough. Old February, that's me—Twenty-eight Days—ask any of the old hands, they'll tell you. Don't think you can go sick and get out of it….” The old hands had told us beforehand practically word for word what he would say…. Our Company Commander is a hell of a good sort, Major Hart….’

The Colonel was not satisfied with the appearance of his battalion. He cancelled all leave until camp lines were left clean and tidy, bedding and equipment laid out properly for inspection, guards and pickets knew their duties and performed them smartly, and men dressed properly on parade. Furthermore, to the delight of other ranks, officers were given brisk rifle drill for several mornings.

One Saturday morning the men were straggling back to camp after an unusually hot march. The Colonel appeared and shouted: ‘March like soldiers!’ A muffled voice retorted: ‘Oh shut up you silly old b—.’ That afternoon, instead of Cairo leave, away they went on a second march, Colonel Andrew first saying, ‘I may be a silly old b— but I'm the boss' and then setting the pace. No veteran will ever forget that afternoon's march, and stories of that day used to frighten off reinforcements from 22 Battalion. ‘But by God,’ a veteran writes, ‘we prided ourselves on being able to walk any other outfit into the ground—and we could. An officer, Tommy Hawthorn, used to bounce along, leading his boys, with his eyes half closed, the son-of-a-gun could walk indefinitely.’

After a few weeks at Garawi the battalion moved to another camp, Kabrit, by the Bitter Lakes, three-quarters of the way down the Suez Canal and about 16 miles from the tarnished port of Suez. This was no holiday resort: enemy bombers knew Kabrit, and all tents (eight men to a tent) were dug down three feet. They stayed here for a month. Fifth Brigade was grouping together for advanced training. On the lake and on the Canal they practised invasion exercises in shallow landing craft. ‘These ALCs are something like a steel barge, one end opens and the platoon goes aboard, Nos. 1 and 3 Sections first and No. 2 last. All sit down in rows, the door is pulled up, and away we go. The ALCs are…. for landing purposes only. There are

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ships fitted with special davits and the ALCs are carried aboard these. Then about three miles off the shore the Mother ship anchors, and each crowd man their ALC and are lowered over the side, and away you go, either get lost or land on the wrong beach. We put in two days on one of these ships and did a few practice landings and then the whole business was called off.’ Perhaps it was just as well that the plan to make a surprise landing behind enemy lines in Libya was abandoned.

Meanwhile, men who had lost all their personal gear in Crete were wondering whether they would be compensated. They learned now that they would: 50 ackers (10s.) apiece. Officers seem to have received full compensation, and one is known to have received £46.

From Kabrit they went on to Ismailia, marching a third (14 miles) of the way in a day, one of the worst marches put up by the battalion, with feet giving out all the way. Platoon commanders had to go on a punishment march next day. Nobody fell out from 3 (Mortar) Platoon, 7 Platoon (A Company), and 14 Platoon (C Company). Paul Donoghue and a comrade marched the full distance with recently stitched heads.

The unit, now on guard duties with the rest of 5 Brigade, had the bad luck to camp in Spinney Wood, a filthy spot, a good example of some of the wretched places a battalion can be landed in. RASC traffic, using extensively a road through the camp, sent dust flying in all directions. One row of tents huddled between a highway and a railway. A train ‘with square wheels' jolted past every night. The Camel Corps only too obviously occupied an area to the south. Near that was a row of native hen-houses. Any attempt at migration was baulked by a wireless station to the west, the Royal Marines to the north, and the main railway line to Port Said to the east. Within this blighted area sprawled a contractors' canteen (no Naafi), a dhobi with clothes-lines and living quarters, native latrines and washing places, traders' hovels, and a native barber shop —all this in a dusty patch smaller than 20 acres, where 774 men lived in tents jammed together, their guy ropes interlacing. Precautions against the swarming flies were negligible; cooks found their quarters dirty and primitive, and with no mess tent, men had to draw their food and carry it to their tents. The camp was set in a malarial area. Every night jittery natives

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streamed through the lines to avoid air raids on Ismailia. And an outbreak of plague in Port Said stopped all leave.

Colonel Andrew, who could storm as fiercely for his men as against them, sent a vibrant report to Brigade, but fortunately the battalion stayed here only a fortnight.

There were two compensations: a train containing crates of beer became derailed, an extraordinary coincidence, beside the camp (while the canteen contractor joined pillagers about the train, other enterprising soldiers rifled his canteen); and working parties sent to unload boats on the Canal often returned laden with tinned delicacies. With visions of luxuries, C Company landed the hay and wood line: no job was dirtier or thirstier. Officers of 23 Battalion were entertained at a hilarious party, at which Colonel Andrew sat back smilingly and said: ‘If I were 10 years younger I would be in there.’ Suddenly, with a whoop and a yell, he dived into the struggling mass ‘and took as much subduing as anybody.’

The next move, 280 miles away into the desert, into ‘the blue’, was to Kaponga Box. While approaching their destination, near Alamein, a few men noticed a slight rise in the sand and rock. It didn't look much. This modest ridge was known as Ruweisat—a dark and tragic place for the battalion one year later. Kaponga Box, where 5 Brigade settled, was a patch of desert encircled by low sandhills, intended to be turned into a horseshoe-shaped fortress—not a Beau Geste one with walls and loopholes, but a camouflaged, almost invisible fortress with strongpoints and trenches on the surface and underground tunnels and rooms. Fifth Brigade sweated away preparing these amenities. Little showed above ground. The idea was that should the enemy sweep down from the frontier and approach Alexandria, the fortress garrison, amply supplied with food and ammunition, could sally out and harry him from the flanks. This ‘Box’ outlook, together with schemes of flying ‘Jock columns', was a fashionable but unsuccessful idea, abandoned in mid-1942.

The battalion set to work to build a series of ‘keeps’. First the section built its keep, modelled along the lines of those which had proved their worth round Tobruk. Once the section keeps were finished, they were wired round to form a platoon keep, and then, finally, a company keep—that was the theory,

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anyway. There was no continuous line—rather a chain of company keeps, about 400 or 600 yards apart. The men worked away in the rock and sand, hacking out holes of all shapes and sizes with many curses and blisters, four hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon. Charlie Brock⁵ and his pioneers were well to the fore. Indian sappers and men from 7 Field Company, New Zealand Engineers, gave brief assistance, blasting into layers of hard limestone which had very few fissures. Sometimes they struck enormous, tough boulders. ‘A Company found some good fossils; one day a rabbit bobbed up, God knows what it lived on, but it was knocked on the head with a spade.’

The battalion picks and shovels, although plentiful, were made from poor stuff: ‘on the hard rock the pick just bounced off and turned back and looked at you.’ The battalion's forge was kept busy. Help arrived in the shape of twenty crowbars and Spaulding hammers.

By mid-September good progress had been made. Parties took spells and briefly bathed and basked on the coast. Ploughing back to the Kaponga Box through fine, sandy dust left the troops dirtier than ever. Water was not plentiful—‘1 ½ gallons a man a day for all purposes', read the official ration, but all of this except half a water bottle for each man went to the cookhouse. The soldier washed, cleaned his teeth, and shaved with this ration of half a bottle, and ‘if any was over he was able to have a good drink.’ Canteen stores had to be brought 40 miles away from El Daba. Canteens opened with slender and quickly exhausted stocks of English, Australian and Egyptian chocolate, tinned fruits, boot polish, shaving tackle, biscuits, English lollies, cigarettes, tobacco, and Chinese beer (‘Ewo’, with the yellow label, from Shanghai); on the average a man received half a bottle each week, ‘and all other luxuries in the same proportion.’

‘Flies were the greatest army of all,’ wrote Tom De Lisle. ‘At their worst they accompanied the moving soldier, and made his arms ache with waving to ward them off. At their mildest they were still there in ones or twos to torment and annoy. No matter what remote spot the battalion moved to, nor how

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quickly, no sooner were the preliminaries of bivouacking engaged in when the vanguard of the fly army arrived. Flies and sand! Sand and flies in never ending quantities.’

To keep the men in touch with civilisation a Cairo daily newspaper brought out a special Western Desert edition which arrived by air a few hours after publication. Half-hearted attempts to prosecute Egyptian war profiteers made wry reading. The NZEF Times brought the home news every week; a picture propaganda magazine, Parade, turned up too; and the YMCA cinema unit toured here and there, screening tirelessly ‘Topper Takes a Trip’.

For all its bleak environment the life was better than at base camps. ‘I think that at Kaponga the troops were fitter and healthier than they ever were before or since,’ says Colonel Andrew, ‘and we should have gone direct from there into action.’ Other men, remembering ‘the terrific desert sores’, disagree firmly. ‘Gerry Fowler could tell you of some battles with desert sores and septic fingers,’ notes a stretcher-bearer, ‘and how nearly every “cocky” in Taranaki provided ointment and liniment and the Lord knows what through parcels for D Company.’

At Kaponga, first thing every morning before starting his daily jobs, Padre Thorpe⁶ would go across the desert plateau away from the unit's position to read the Psalms and Bible readings for the day, ‘and to pray for the men and for our people at home, and that I might be of some use. At the time about which I speak things were pretty bad with the Allies; I tried to see the world situation from a moral and spiritual point of view. How else could we pray? And of course there were great moral issues at stake, and it was important that we should keep that perspective in view. Otherwise we would not have right motives, when coming back after the war, to rebuild our nation on more secure moral foundations. It seemed, as it really was and is, a critical crisis in the story of mankind—with the rise of Nazi-ism, as an evil, destroying force and with plenty enough soul-less materialism corrupting our own people. With this background of thought, I prayed for the springs of spiritual renewal within our people, and of course within our own men

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of the 22nd Bn. Stretching away for hundreds of miles was the desert, barren and lifeless, and symbolising to me in a very real way the desolation in the heart of man that gave rise to such a ghastly war. Moreover, Egypt itself depressed us by the corruption and slums (tho’ in the worst slums I had found inspiration when I saw Christian love in missionary centres). Tho’ I knew God's promises, could I ask for “a sign”?

‘My prayers seemed pretty hopeless. But then I remember I took a hold on myself, and stood up and prayed, accepting God's promise that those who pray believing are already answered. Then there came over me an assurance that whatever the barren appearance to the contrary, God had not forgotten man and his need, and His mighty purposes were working out. I turned to the Psalms of the day and the words were to me a direct message to confirm what I felt: “I am well pleased that the Lord hath heard the voice of my prayer, that He hath inclined His ear unto me, therefore shall I call upon Him as long as I live!” Verse after verse applied to our situation and to me.

‘As I arose to go back from my meditation, something attracted my attention. Nearby on one of the dead-looking camel-bushes was an exquisite, wax-like flower, the only sign of life that I had seen in that vast dead desert. Then, nearby I saw a similar tiny, pink flower; and close by me I saw a little track in the sand behind a white snail-shell. All through the hot summer these snails had sealed themselves off with a waxy substance and had gummed themselves to camel-bushes. Intrigued by tiny signs of life I walked around for some hundreds of yards, and found not a sign of anything more; nor did I when moving around our position that day. Here was the “sign” I asked for. To me it was a way in which the good Lord said to me, that in the moral desolation of man He was still sovereign over His universe, and He would bring forth springs of life in the midst of man's failure. It was as real to me as if He had spoken by voice; and I knew I could help bring a new moral strength of purpose to those who were in the midst of the conflict.’

October⁷ brought an end to fortress work. The Division was

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to train for mobile desert operations. The rest of the Division was now by the coast at Baggush Box, and 5 Brigade would join it there. In any future attack, as Brigadier Hargest pointed out during a visit, the infantry would be carried in motor transport up to the assembly point. Sometimes men might be carried into the fringe of the attack itself and debus under fire.

After a church parade on 5 October the battalion moved off in convoy, bound for Baggush, and travelled 25 miles westwards over the desert before bivouacking for the night. One man's impressions read: ‘Movement of a big formation in the desert is like a convoy at sea. As far as the eye ranges are motor vehicles big and small. They roll and dip with the undulations in the sand. The carriers forge along as escorts—like destroyers —and suddenly one will dart away, speeding to the head of the moving mass of vehicles, or to some point which needs watching.’ Before tea-time next day the battalion covered 50 to 60 more miles to a gaunt escarpment scattered with mines at ‘Baggush by the Sea’, as the parodies of ‘Sussex by the Sea’ described the dusty, flea- and bug-infested oasis. From here, after a month, big formations of New Zealand vehicles would move out, the Division would assemble and move towards Libya, one force moving in one body, nearly 3000 vehicles and over 19,000 men, in all its power and majesty, for the only time in its life. But first, something had to be learned of exercises, traffic discipline and manoeuvre. And time was running short.

News came through of a gallant escape from Greece. Early in July Second-Lieutenant Craig had broken out—the first officer to escape from his camp—from a prisoner-of-war cage near Athens. Two months later he and three companions reached Crete via Antiparos. Engine trouble set in, and for twenty-four hours they drifted near Port Spinalonga. From there they set sail to Alexandria. The boat was small, and they suffered great hardship. They reached Alexandria on 8 October, and Craig, who had shown great fortitude all the time, went back to underground work in Greece.

The troops practised, with map and compass, navigation and movement and speed over the desert by companies, by battalion, and then, for three days, by brigade. They moved at night without lights. They learned to scramble from 3-ton lorries, and to attack swiftly and in orderly fashion. B Echelon

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(administration, supplies, sanitation) rehearsed its own movements and checked over rationing arrangements. A sergeant recalled the panic which set in back home when his family of four drove off for a Sunday picnic. ‘Now we've got 800 men to feed and care for on the move, dammit,’ he wrote. They went through the motions of practising protection against aircraft and sudden raiders, both on the move and when halted for the night. Engineers gave talks and demonstrations on various types of mines and booby traps. A practice took place on the range with live grenades (Lieutenant Davison⁸ was injured here).

Then General Auchinleck (who had succeeded General Wavell after the first desert victories) took the salute at a parade at Sidi Haneish station, ‘the best gallop we had for a long time, luckily we moved along in our own dust storm.’ Admonishing 7 Platoon's commander, Peter Hockley,⁹ for untidy lines, Colonel Andrew pointed to a lumpy old sandbag, aimed a vigorous kick at it, and found it was full of solidly set cement. Some members of the battalion were allowed to see New Zealand play the Springboks, provided they marched with full equipment and ammunition. Other units went by truck. They saw the All Black, Jack Sullivan,¹⁰ of D Company, score the only try of the match. Another All Black, Captain Arthur Wesney,¹¹ of 26 Battalion, converted Jack's try and kicked a penalty goal. He had two more weeks to live.

Padre Thorpe records in his diary the last two days at Baggush oasis:

Sunday, 9-11-’41. Expectancy in the air as I go from place to place among barbed wire and mines taking little services, before moving up into action….at the services in each place little messages for the occasion. After each service around a rough altar at the back of a V8, they come to kneel in brown dust for Holy Communion.

8 am: A Coy; 8.30: B and C and Holy Communion; 9.15: HQ and D and Holy Communion. Then as fast as rough desert will allow, along the flat to 21st Battalion HQ escarpment with Major

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Harding¹² to a great parade of 21 Battalion HQ at 10.15 am. All ready. Again through the service is a sense of things to come, of committing those we love to God, of asking guidance and strength to go out into the fortunes of battle, ‘O, God, our Help in ages past’; Lieut.-Col. Allen gives the last message and we arrange for Holy Communion early tomorrow.

I called at HQ and saw Padre Sheely¹³ (R.C.) and went on to 23rd Battalion HQ for lunch with old friends….On to YM for as many primuses as they could sell me for the platoon trucks. To 22 Battalion Headquarters and franked a pile of letters. To 28th [Battalion] for more primuses. Back in a cloud of dust to the deep concreted dugouts of C.C.S. for final visit to sick men including Padre Read,¹⁴ Doc. MacGregor¹⁵—all anxious lest they get missed out of the coming offensive: visit to Transport 22 Battalion, up rocky escarpment to C Coy to give latest news from BBC, treacherous journey, along escarpment again to A Coy among whom I was living at the moment, and then quiet in the dusty, concrete gun-emplacement which is my home and my spiritual fortress, to sleep.

Monday, 10-11-’41. A cold shave in darkness and away to 21 Battalion as light comes. Lieut.-Col. Allen meets me in battledress— which from now on replaces for all of us the scanty drill shorts— and we choose a rocky waadi against the escarpment. I open the back of the car and set out the silver vessels on the simple altar. One by one a few faithful come and stand in the cold wind for the simple service. As in all these last services there is the special thought for those in authority, for decisions on which shall hang the issue of the day, and the life or death of many. (I did not realise then [Padre Thorpe subsequently wrote] that the 21st Battalion was to be so badly mauled at Sidi Rezegh, that among the killed would be the C.O. now kneeling for his last Holy Communion, and that Padre Sheely with many prisoners would be in German hands.) But here we commit all to God, rise to our feet and on with the day's work. Breakfast at 21st Battalion's officers' mess, back to A Coy by 8 am, away with the Ration Corporal, some 12 miles up the road to Naafi for emergency supplies, cigarettes for the wounded, wine for Holy Communion. Back for lunch, last letter to R—, and till 3 pm franking a great pile of innocent letters which may be the last. Called at the R.Q.M. for an extra water tin and a petrol

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tin, go to the Transport for petrol, to D Coy for extra blankets and emergency ration. Mess in A Coy's officers dugout, BBC news, silence and prayer, get anti-gas ointment, finish!

They were off on Armistice Day. ‘Some idiot from Div H. or Base had the happy thought of sending us a lot of red poppies to buy. We didn't subscribe very much. Seemed a very “We who are about to die” stunt.’ Away they went, a motorised fleet, streaming up the coastal road, leaving behind the rehearsals in vain by the Canal, the hen-houses and humiliations of Spinney Wood, the navvy work at Kaponga. They were off, 77 vehicles among 5 Brigade Group's 1006 lorries, trucks, cars, carriers and guns. They were off, 700-odd men, a twenty-sixth of the New Zealand Division, a hundred-and-sixty-fifth part of the newly formed Eighth Army's 118,000 men and 17,600 vehicles going towards battle.

The idea behind this campaign, the Second Libyan or CRUSADER campaign, was to drive the enemy out of North Africa. Libya's two northern provinces, first Cyrenaica then Tripolitania, were to be captured in turn. The first step, which was to be taken in November, was not the relief of Tobruk (this was incidental to the plan) but the destruction of the enemy's Armoured forces. Once the armour was shattered, General Auchinleck, holding Cyrenaica easily, hoped to advance into Tripolitania.

Out in the desert from Mersa Matruh, 22 Battalion rested quietly while the other units of the Division moved into position. General Freyberg arrived from Baggush after jotting down in his diary: ‘Thirteen to dinner last night; part of 13 Corps, and left on adventure 13th November.’ When they were all in place the New Zealand vehicles formed an oblong 12 miles long and 8 miles wide: 2800-odd vehicles, 200 yards apart, each with a camouflage net to break revealing outlines and shadows. They rested, silent and still, waiting the word to go.

The word came. The oblong crawled forward, the Division moving as one entity for the first time in its history, early on Saturday, 15 November. Vehicles, still spaced 200 yards apart in case of enemy bombing, stretched from horizon to horizon, an unforgettable sight.

Speed was set at seven miles in the hour, for the ground with no roads whatsoever was humpy and patched in low, wiry

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camel-thorn, the sand piled and packed in small hard cones about its roots. It was no joy-ride for the riflemen, jolted, bumped and bashed together, stiff at times from the cold, travelling under conditions which would have brought serious trouble to any transport firm carting farm animals. Yet ‘the morale of the Division was at its peak, a level never surpassed,’ writes a New Zealand historian.

They covered 60 miles this day, dug in, and settled down for the night, all lights banned except in the carefully blacked-out office trucks. Daylight movement was cut to a minimum, and all through Sunday they lay low, undetected. Evening brought intense activity. Vehicles drew in and closed up for the 25- mile night move. Green-shaded lamps, planted a mile or so apart, marked the route ahead.¹⁶ The guiding lamps were placed and tended by provost who had gone on ahead, had done their work, and then had taken cover. The centre of each brigade moved along this route. The trucks ran into soft sand in the darkness, concertina movements began in the column —now fast and lurching, now crawling or halted.

Vehicles, halted in their tracks in the night, fanned out to 200-yard intervals at daybreak. To allow for this sudden expansion, gaps of several miles had been left between the brigades. Men heard of an eve-of-battle message from Britain's Prime Minister saying: ‘Now is the time to strike the hardest blow yet for final Victory, Home and Freedom.’

They moved again in the night. This was no orderly move, but a hectic scramble. Last night's bruises doubled. The route, not well chosen, lay across soft sand, small depressions, rocky rises and other obstacles. Trucks fell back and then, their drivers hoping against hope not to ram the vehicle ahead, raced forward to hold position in the darkness. The night, pitch dark, was slashed wide open with great sheets of light from a thunderstorm in the north. The brief flashes, momentarily lighting up the desert and dazzling drivers, revealed trucks, roaring angrily, disappearing into dust clouds. And the dust-caked riflemen, cooped together under the lurching canopies of the three-tonners, felt like dice in a shaker.

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A party from D Company went out in the afternoon to guard engineers cutting a 300-yard gap in the wire barrier along the Libyan frontier. (This barrier, no defensive measure, was to keep Mussolini's Senussi from straying.)

The next night, tangling with the trucks from another battalion, the 22nd moved into Libya.

Inside the frontier, south of the chain of enemy forts, the New Zealanders, unmolested, waited in full battle order. With airfields soggy from recent rains, the bulk of the enemy air force remained grounded. The Division's move, both to the frontier and 12 miles farther north in the afternoon of 19 November, seemed to have been undetected by the enemy. English armoured vehicles and tanks arrived, most inoffensive looking at a short distance under their camouflage of false canopies. The complete and cocky confidence of these Englishmen, ‘some knee-high to a grasshopper’, made a deep and permanent impression on the New Zealanders—this and the fact that the English soldier was always short of sugar.

Before the New Zealand Division began its major operations, deadly fighting raged over a huge area of desert. Tanks hid hull-down behind any protecting rise, or charged from out of the sunset. One by one the engagements ended in flames, with oily smoke billowing above the horizon. Anti-tank guns claimed most tank victims. By the afternoon of 22 November the Germans began to get the upper hand. Our battle plan allowed dispersion of our armoured brigades, which were defeated one by one. The German properly co-ordinated all arms in his panzer divisions, but many of the British tank officers thought they could ‘go it alone’.

The New Zealanders were not to be sent to hem in the frontier forts from the west until the enemy armour had been at least neutralised by 30 Corps. Tobruk garrison also was not to start its break-out (to join hands with 30 Corps) until the battle of the armour had reached a favourable stage. Both events seemed to have arrived on 21 November, when Tobruk garrison started its push towards Ed Duda and the New Zealand Division resumed its northward advance. The auguries, however, had been false. The battle of the armoured brigades and panzer divisions began to turn in favour of the panzers by the

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afternoon of 22 November. Early news of the fighting was optimistic and the enemy's losses greatly exaggerated.

The order for action, soon to affect the battalion, came early on 21 November. The forces to the north—the strongholds of Bardia, Sollum and Halfaya—were to be blocked from the west, completing their isolation, for already the Indians had hemmed them in from east and south. Fifth Brigade, screened by the Divisional Cavalry, was to cut Bardia from Sollum. Fourth Brigade would move north too, while 6 Brigade remained for the moment in reserve.

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The battalion¹⁷ formed up at noon and moved off towards the north. The brigade's three rifle battalions were carried on lorries of 309 General Transport Company, a British unit borrowed for the campaign. They travelled steadily for about four hours, meeting nothing more formidable than a heavy rainstorm, and halted about four miles from Sidi Azeiz, not a settlement but merely a landing strip and a junction on the worn caravan trail known as Trigh (track) Capuzzo. The trail, faint and in some parts quite obliterated by drifting sand, runs from the border to south of Tobruk, and far into the west. Twenty-second Battalion was to capture and hold the track junction near Sidi Azeiz, and prevent any enemy movement east or west.

The cavalcade of 1000 vehicles had scarcely halted after covering 20 miles when the battalion was ordered to push on and take Sidi Azeiz immediately. Sidi Azeiz was deserted—but only just: from what men saw of dugouts and hastily abandoned articles lying about it appeared that the enemy had left in a hurry only a little time ago. Potatoes were still cooking on untended fires; a lonely wind scattered letters from home, curious-looking magazines and writing material. A Divisional Cavalry squadron, striking the first blow of the campaign, had raided the place, taking about fifty prisoners, lorried infantry and gunners, including a startled Italian officer in his bath. The enemy had not attempted to return. The battalion at once organised to meet any counter-attack, and all companies went quickly into position. Captured material included four Breda guns and large quantities of ammunition, seven trucks, two motor-cycles and a great wad of paper money. The carriers found a treasure trove inside an aircraft fully loaded and ready for flight. The night was peaceful.

While the battalion continued digging in next morning during heavy rain at Sidi Azeiz, D Company left to probe the outskirts of Bardia itself, 11 miles north-east. With the riflemen went seven carriers, a troop of anti-tank guns, and a detachment of two mortars. The small force had been told that 23 Battalion was ‘rolling up the opposition’ on the road running north

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from Capuzzo to Bardia. D Company's urgent task was to head them off and round them up by Bardia's crossroads just before the Italians reached the protecting defences. The battalion war diary says that Major Campbell was to ‘push forward as far as cross-roads outside Bardia and withdraw without getting into serious fight’, but Campbell got no such impression. If he had, he would have pulled back much sooner; for the crossroads were actually inside the Bardia defences.

Lieutenant Bob Knox,¹⁸ with his seven carriers, went well ahead in arrowhead formation, his task to contact the enemy, find his strength, flanks and position on the ground, engage him, and radio back all information to D Company. The carriers, keen to reach their objective before 23 Battalion appeared, pressed on, flushed a party of Italians, simultaneously came under fire, suspected an ambush, directed the Italians where to make for, and swung off on a wide right-flanking circuit to the outer defences of Bardia, ‘a sea of barbed wire in which there was a kind of gateway,’ Knox writes. ‘I of course moved through this opening and noticed hundreds of men in uniform about 100 yards ahead and to my left. Some were standing, others just lounging around. I remarked to my driver C. G. Watson¹⁹ that these men must be the 23 Battalion who had beaten us to the job.

‘“Like hell!” says Slim Watson. “These Bs are Ites!”

‘Being doubtful and wanting to make sure, I told him to drive closer. The Ites just stood and looked at us, apparently under the impression that anything mechanical was German.

‘When we get up about 60 yards from them I realise what has happened. I remember adjusting the sights on my Bren gun and putting it on to single shot. I aimed at one poor fellow who was standing smoking a cigarette. I pressed the trigger and strangely enough two rounds went from the gun and the fellow dropped, having collected both. Of course everyone else in the vicinity dropped out of sight into slit trenches which I hadn't noticed.

‘I next stood up to yell charge (like a bloody fool), and then for the first time discovered that I only had three carriers under

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Sergeant Hart²⁰ with me, the other three having captured the prisoners and taken them back to D Company's headquarters.

‘I sat down behind my gun and opened up on a German staff car which was moving off as fast as possible. No sooner had I opened fire than all hell broke loose, so informing my driver to get out through the gateway I told my wireless operator to contact D Company and tell them the news.’

The carrier party, passing through ‘their smallfire stuff which was buzzing around us like a swarm of angry bees', took cover in a handy wadi, untouched by heavy shelling but reached by mortars ‘which really didn't seem to be very heavy.’ This wadi indicated a fairly safe way back towards D Company.

Meanwhile D Company, now about seven miles on from Sidi Azeiz, rounded up the party of Italian prisoners, and continued the advance in vehicles in desert formation according to the drill book. Almost immediately down came heavy artillery fire from the left. The trucks drove on until the fire grew too accurate, with mortars joining the fray, and were then sent back while the company deployed and continued on foot over bare open ground in a determined attempt to reach the crossroads. The men were plodding on through an area marked with various large heaps of stones and large drums. The enemy was now ranging on to these identification marks, mortar fire was extremely accurate, ‘landing among us like raindrops’, and here several casualties, including Charlie Smith,²¹ were incurred. Many were actually knocked over by the blast but were otherwise unhurt. ‘Mac let out a wild yell, and there bouncing along the ground with terrific leaps was the nosecap of a shell–we stood fascinated and watched its progress past us—then carried on and walked the rest of the way—funny how the tension had gone.’ Soon they ran into machine-gun fire. More were wounded. Fortunately at this moment badly needed cover seems to have been detected by Lieutenant Bill Lovie²² and 16 Platoon on the right.

Major Campbell (known as ‘pooch’ because of his frequent orders to ‘booten up your pooches’) writes: ‘I seized the opportunity as a rain shower moved across us to quickly change direction right with the whole company and seek the cover of a very low ridge. I am quite satisfied that this completely foxed

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the enemy defences which, being unable to find us, thereafter left us severely alone.’ An attempt to bring up the transport and resume the advance as another shower approached, however, brought a further hail of fire. The platoons deployed and Campbell settled down to observe what he could of the enemy defences, intending at nightfall to withdraw the company to Sidi Azeiz. Foot patrols failed to contact 23 Battalion: the radio at this stage failed to get through to Battalion Headquarters.

Knox had now returned to the company area, placed his Bren-gunners on the ground to a flank where enemy positions could be picked out quite easily without binoculars, then went back to report to Battalion Headquarters, and returned under heavy fire. He met Corporal Caldwell²³ who, although exhausted with little sleep in the last forty-eight hours, cheerfully volunteered to guide him to Company Headquarters. There Knox passed on the Colonel's orders: ‘Tell Campbell to withdraw his company immediately.’ It was now between four and five o'clock. Knowing a move now (instead of waiting for dusk) would bring casualties, Campbell questioned this order. But it was confirmed and so he carried it out, himself bringing up the rear. He adds: ‘No sooner had the first section of the leading platoon poked its nose round the corner from our hideout than the symphony commenced. However, everybody moved steadily and we had very few casualties in this withdrawal. I think we had only one man killed…. There were one or two wounded though not seriously, and we were lucky to have got away so lightly.’

The waiting trucks, just out of shell range, were a welcome sight to D Company, and soon, travelling by truck and Bren carrier, most of the men were back with the battalion again at Sidi Azeiz, where important information was passed on promptly about the gun positions, the estimated calibre of the guns, fields of fire and range. In the battalion's first action in Libya four were killed (Crompton,²⁴ Redpath,²⁵ ‘Shorty’ Sangster,²⁶ and ‘Sandy’ McClintock²⁷) and fifteen wounded, a high cost for

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eleven Italian prisoners. The men ‘had behaved magnificently’ under fire; Private Laurie Corbett,²⁸ who had coolly driven an ammunition-laden 8-cwt truck under fire to pick up wounded, recalls these two incidents:

‘I remember seeing a fellow (I think his nickname was “Irish”) coming out with his full equipment, pack, rifle, etc. and marching with his head high in the air. He had the lower portion of one side of his jaw cut wide open with a shell splinter, but apparently he wasn't worried very much about that because he just went past me and smiled.’ And: ‘Tom [Campbell] was lying on the ground with bullets hitting the ground in front of him. He was obviously the main target because of his dress which was a white trench-coat. He also had a great big map board with him. I told him to throw the coat away, but he said it was “too cold”. Hell! The sweat was pouring off my nose which was pretty close to the ground.’

As the company cleared the line of shells the Medical Officer, Captain Volckman,²⁹ was waiting with the greeting: ‘Have you anything for me?’ ‘He was in a trench coat, his fore-and-aft cap sideways on his head, and a more striking resemblance to Claude Raines with his hands in his pockets would be hard to find. “By jove,” said someone, “you look just like Napoleon.” The name stuck, and he was always referred to after that as “Nap”.

In two three-tonners just after dark, Donald and his platoon (14) from C Company went back for wounded who could not be found or were isolated by particularly heavy fire during the withdrawal. Near the spot the platoon left the trucks and walked forward cautiously. ‘It was pitch black,’ writes Donald. ‘We had to comb the ground close to the defences. We left one section at the trucks: too many men would have been difficult to control. We spread out in a long line about five yards between men, almost the limit of visibility, and started to comb the ground systematically. It was very eerie with the searchers calling out in hushed voices the names of the missing men, with flares meantime going up intermittently from the Italian lines. Everyone froze when the flares went up, and we felt as if we had

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been stripped to the skin, but not a man moved, although every moment we were expecting the dread chatter of a machine-gun.’

Then Donald received a shock. A grinning face under a shock of curly hair poked over his shoulder, and a Scotch voice said: ‘Hullo.’ It was Jock (‘Haggis’) Lowe,³⁰ flatly disobeying orders to stay with the trucks. Donald reprimanded him. ‘But you're bloody pleased to see me, aren't you?’ said Jock. ‘Yes,’ said Donald emphatically. With Jerry Fowler and Jock playing a notable part, they collected every man. For their work in this action and previous campaigns, Campbell was awarded the MC and Fowler the MM.

In the west a dramatic change had begun. The armoured corps had suffered heavy losses, while the sortie from Tobruk had halted. This affected 5 Brigade and, in its turn, 22 Battalion. At 2 p.m. on 22 November (while D Company was still pinned down before Bardia) this signal reached Divisional Headquarters from 13 Corps:

Leave minimum troops to observe enemy Bardia and send remainder your troops to clear up north Bardia-Tobruk road, and advance on Gambut which enemy aircraft still using. Advance west will best assist plan.

For 30 Corps was beaten, and 13 Corps had to do its best to link up with Tobruk as well as isolate the frontier forts—a makeshift arrangement and no part of the original plan. For the rest of this ill-fated and confused campaign the New Zealand Division was split into two parts: 5 Brigade, by the frontier and under fire from the forts, was soon to be buffeted by raiding panzers while 4 and 6 Brigades battled about the gaunt slopes of Belhamed and Sidi Rezegh in the Division's bloodiest fighting of the entire war.

In 5 Brigade's tasks along the frontier forts³¹ 22 Battalion was concerned with Bardia, a somewhat meagre port but important as an anchor of the frontier defences. It now held a reinforced brigade of Italians stiffened by Germans and appropriate artillery.

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The battalion (briefly without B Company, which did not move on and join up until after dark) set off towards Bardia on 23 November, which dawned to the rumble of heavy gunfire and flashes far to the south. Moving seven miles north-eastwards from Sidi Azeiz, the battalion came to the 150-foot-high escarpment stretching past Bardia, and took over from 20 Battalion, which the day before had dug in on the escarpment and fanned out below to sever the Tobruk-Bardia road. The new position, a few miles west of Bardia garrision, was reached about noon. Occupation was delayed by a scuffle between 20 Battalion and a hotch-potch of enemy with half a dozen lightly armoured, half-tracked guns (mistaken for tanks). Then 20 Battalion streamed away to the battle in the west, and the 22nd, piling up stones in front of slit trenches to improve the defences, was in position by 2 p.m. Some men, while digging in, noticed thermos-flask bombs scattered about. Late in the afternoon transport was seen towards Bardia; shells from the garrison burst harmlessly on the escarpment a mile away. Here, firmly planted among rock and sand in the area named Menastir after a nearby well, the battalion stayed for five days, masking the Bardia fortress from the west and cutting the coastal road from Tobruk.

At Menastir A Company took up position forward by the crossroads below the escarpment, C Company was placed to the east, and D to the west, on the escarpment, both with a platoon of medium machine guns. Headquarters took up the central position with the field artillery to the south. Twentieth Battalion's prisoners were sent back to 5 Brigade, which was now setting up its headquarters at Sidi Azeiz. B Company stayed at Sidi Azeiz as a guard for Brigade Headquarters, but was called back briefly to the battalion during the night. Colonel Andrew was expecting ‘a bit of fun’ in the morning. B Company arrived in the B Echelon area and settled down as a reserve company.

The ‘bit of fun’ arrived at breakfast time on 24 November: ‘Oh, they're only our blokes,’ said somebody, and breakfast continued until interrupted by sudden mortar, machine-gun and rifle fire.

What looked like two companies of Germans attacked from the east. They were difficult to spot. They advanced directly

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in front of the sun, and did not open fire until within 1000 yards. The battalion immediately manned all defences and turned the attackers back with heavy counter-fire from all weapons, the artillery, Bofors and anti-tank guns opening fire at a range of 1500 yards over open sights. B Company, from reserve, set out after the enemy until he reached his transport beyond the ridge. The counter-attack halted, but Bob Bayliss³² had not had enough. With Jack Adeane³³ and another he chased five Germans for a mile, finally forcing them to ground. Bob, with a man on each flank, went in with his tommy gun. He shot two in the last 30 yards, and then the German officer emptied his Luger at him at point-blank range and missed. Bob, who brought the officer (‘a truculent b—’) and two other captives back with him, won the MM.

The action, in which five soldiers were wounded, lasted about half an hour. Nine prisoners were taken, several enemy dead were buried, and spasmodic shelling of the ridge continued without any further enemy attack. A private ‘spent the hot moments in a hole feeling homesick and a bundle of nerves.’

Fifth Brigade's policy now was to harass with strong patrols the enemy in his isolated forts, and to keep him guessing. Accordingly, after finishing the rudely interrupted breakfast, a fighting patrol from 14 Platoon (C Company) moved out, reconnoitred the enemy defensive positions outside Bardia, and although under heavy artillery fire, edged to within a thousand yards of the main defences and to within a few hundred yards of an outpost. The patrol returned unscathed with useful information (including the heartening news that 20 to 30 per cent of the enemy shells were duds) and a little brandy, spare water, and socks, all picked up in a small deserted Italian camp. A Company seized an incautious Italian truck at the crossroads. B Company (less one platoon), supported by carriers, went out on a long sweep north of the coastal road, covered 32 miles, ‘an uncomfortable trip, no place for lorries’, rounded up six Italians, and on return received a rude welcome from a two-pounder gun in A Company's area. Many a man spent a restless night hearing imaginary shells. A few night bombers passed overhead.

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Defences were well strengthened (more digging, more rocks piled up). Next day (the 25th) was quiet, with reports of enemy armoured fighting vehicles on the prowl. The precautions were just as well. The tanks with 5 Brigade had left the day before for Sidi Rezegh because General Godwin-Austen believed ‘the battle will be won in the forward zone’. At dusk Brigadier Hargest radioed from Sidi Azeiz and said an awkward situation had arisen in the south. (An enormous German cavalcade of 2000 vehicles had suddenly been reported coming up from the south, from Sheferzen, near where the Division had crossed through the frontier wire.) Hargest was sending his non-fighting B Echelon, supply columns and Divisional Cavalry B Echelon to 22 Battalion for protection. Probably he would follow. B Company, not without misgivings, was sent back to Sidi Azeiz to give Brigade Headquarters protection. Rumours buzzed all through the night.

At dawn on the 26th the battalion made ready for action. All vehicles moved to the foot of the escarpment, joining transport which had arrived from Brigade Headquarters.³⁴ The artillery moved in closer, taking up a position in the centre of the perimeter, and the guns swung their dark muzzles out towards the bare desert. Carrier patrols scouted south-west for six miles but saw no enemy movement.

Meanwhile Peter Butler, Tom H