One patient in particular I can never forget. I spent two nights with him in that tent. He’d been in a tank that caught fire and every part of his body was burned. He was completely covered in bandages, with holes for mouth and nose, and he was fed by a tube. For much of the time he was delirious and fought, over and over again, a tank battle. He’d had a command of some sort and spent much of his time giving orders or having a conversation with someone. When I saw the likes of him, I thought myself very fortunate indeed.
On the morning of the 11th Dec., I was on my two feet again, climbing aboard the goods van of a train. The other occupants were a mixed bag. One Kiwi, the same one I’d travelled with two days previously, about half a dozen Italians, plus Indians, South Africans, Englishmen, maybe one or two Poles, and a solitary, sullen German who spent all of his time standing by and looking out of the van doorway. The Italians were as happy as sand boys, chattering away the whole time and proudly showing off their family photos, usually of Momma and Poppa, and up to a dozen kids.
Our accommodation wasn’t first class, but at least the van didn’t bump and bounce about like the truck had. Someone had a mouth organ, I forget who. He couldn’t play it very well, so I took over and those of us who knew the tunes sang — that is, all except the German. Nothing seemed to relax him. The Indians were left out of the fun; nothing I played seemed to strike a chord in them, but they looked as though they were enjoying it just the same. Playing the old and the newer, more popular, tunes as they came to mind, I began to play “The Woodpecker’s Song.”
The reaction was electric, the Indians burst into song as well and everyone sang in their own language. Indian, or whatever their language is called, Italian, Afrikaans, Polish and English. Sad to say, no German, although he did manage to crack a faint smile. Religion and politics separate us, music and sport bring us together. For God’s sake let us learn to keep the first two separate from the last.
Our destination was Gerawla Hospital and on the 18th I wrote in a letter Dorothy, my fiancée, “It was wonderful to arrive at this Hospital after the toils of battle. The Sisters here are doing a wonderful job under rotten conditions. None of us had seen a woman for many months, and it was a treat to have NZ Sisters dressing our wounds, making us comfortable and chatting to us. We were given good food and plenty of tea, cocoa and soup. Bread we hadn’t tasted for ages, and we ate and ate and didn’t seem able to satisfy ourselves. We have nice soft mattresses, spring beds, sheets, and plenty of blankets.
“Yesterday we were pleased to have a wireless installed in our ward and it’s just like home! The Hospital consists of acres of huge tents, which are the Wards, small 10×10 tents for the sisters, and bivvies for the orderlies. The Theatre and X-ray plant are constructed of iron and dug in beneath the ground. The wards to some extent are dug in as well.
“The last two or three days have been very cold and wet and stormy, with a terrific wind. The floors of most of the wards (which are covered with canvas) were flooded, and the Sisters and Orderlies, who had their tents dug in, had great difficulty trying to keep the water out. Everyone thinks of the sands of the desert, but a bit of rain turns this lot into mud.
“Today is nice and pleasant, and things have dried out very quickly. I have become a drunkard, and had a bottle of beer and a bottle of stout. Can’t refuse food or drink. Have a lot to catch up on.”
I wrote to my parents on the 19th:
“Hurrah! We have just been given a Patriotic Parcel apiece. A cake in a tin. A tin of oysters, coffee and milk, chocolate (6 bars of Nestles), razor blades, a nice writing outfit and 50 cigarettes. From the Canterbury Patriotic Committee, God bless them. 5.00pm and have just had a visit from Major Smith, 2IC Divisional Signals, and our Company C.O. Capt. Marshall. Had a nice long chat and they asked if there was anything I wanted. I said, “Mail.” They are going to get it sent up to me.
“News from them — Div. Sigs casualties not too bad. My mate George got back with our truck and my gear. George and I are the only ones out from our Section so far. Brigadier Hargest and the entire 5th Brigade Headquarters were overrun by German tanks, so our entire Section, except those like us who were out with the Battalions, six in all, are either casualties or prisoners of war. The wounded were recaptured and one is in the next bed to me. A freezing worker in civil life and in the Army an anti-tank gunner. They must have put up a good show. He has six bullet wounds, luckily none of them serious. He reckons they carried on firing until the enemy shot began to poke their noses through the gun shields. No Signals amongst the wounded, so our blokes are almost certainly POW at Bardia. Bardia is surrounded, and must fall soon. Trouble is our blokes will be starving, and thirsting as we were, and unless they are lucky, will stop the odd shell or bomb etc. as well.
“As for my wounds, I’ve had another X-ray and I think the bullet has shifted, for they said it was down in my pelvis. The Doctor squeezed and probed around in my stomach and didn’t find a sore spot either. It still hurts when I walk however (adhesions perhaps?) and the damage has healed up now. My back has almost healed and won’t need attention soon. My buttock is okay. There was a fair sized hole there but it is filling up now and looks more like a bad burn. The one on my ribs is pretty good and the skin should form on it soon.
“One South African in the Wadi had stopped a burst from a Spandau and had 18 holes in him. None of them hit a bone or a vital spot. Very lucky, and he is fitter than you can imagine and will be up and about in a week or two. The bullets hit him right down one side and in the fleshy parts of his legs. A bullet is nothing really, unless it hits you in a vital spot.”
I think it was in Gerawla, though it may have been in Whistling Wadi, that I first met Allan “Lucky” Luxford, who occupied the next bed to me for months. A bushman, and the son of a bushman, he was a really great man and helped sustain me through a very difficult period. He was decorated in April 1943 after an action with 21 Battalion at Takrouna, Tunisia. I kept the citation, which read, “After his section commander was wounded, he took charge of the section, and before they were all wounded, captured an anti-tank gun, two machine gun posts, and a mortar post. He then fought on alone until wounded and out of ammunition.”
Allan had quite an interesting wound when I met him. A large flake of shrapnel had penetrated his leg parallel to the shin bone. It had then flattened out as a result of the impact and carried on its way, taking with it a sizeable portion of the fleshy part of his leg, leaving a deep hole, perhaps 2 inches across. Miraculously, no tendons or working parts had been damaged. The fascinating thing was that when he moved his foot or his toes one could see the tendons or whatever moving in his leg. It took three months for the hole to fill up and heal over. Much of this time we spent together, and I deeply regret that I haven’t seen or had any contact with him since.
The Luxfords were a tough and hardy breed. Allan told me once about his father cutting himself badly with an axe and insisting that Allan sew it up with a needle and cotton.
Next, on the 19th December, came a 300 mile trip to 3 N.Z. General Hospital at Helmiah, Cairo, on board a hospital train. All I can remember about it is the stink of rotting flesh, and of one Maori in particular with his arm in plaster. His arm was a mangled mess and stank to high heaven, and I heard that maggots were inserted under the plaster to deal with the portion that no longer lived. He was a very pale and unhappy Maori, and I do hope he made the grade.
When we arrived at Helmiah almost the first man I saw, from the Ambulance, was my old friend John McIlroy. It was his day off, but he had been busy all day, helping take in our big convoy of patients. He made a great fuss of me and, after tea, arrived with a tin of peaches, a tin of biscuits, chocolates, barley sugar, cigarettes and books for Allan and I. It was great to see him. He was a regular visitor until soon afterwards he ended up in a hospital bed himself with a football injury.
We were installed in a typical mud brick building, and most of the occupants were “up” patients, and a fairly cheerful lot. Allan occupied the next bed, happily, for we had much in common to talk about.
Members of the Voluntary Aid Detachment had just arrived and we had one in our ward. She was an attractive young girl, a little shy perhaps, but good fun and the subject of many practical jokes. We also had two Nursing Sisters, both too busy to stand much nonsense. One had lost her husband on Crete. One of their tasks each morning was to try to force Scotty Simpson to walk. He had a shrapnel wound that had damaged his spine. With one on each side supporting him, they forced him to take weight on his feet and walk about the ward. Poor beggar. It must have been a very painful process. He did eventually walk, though it took the best part of three months to accomplish.
Another of our patients, a Maori called Dave Lewis, was a lively, loving fellow who got around the ward, cheering people up with his chatter, and continual teasing as he helped our V.A.D. with her tasks — dishes, cleaning etc. The V.A.D.s were Nurse Aids. Dave had an interesting wound. He had been driving a Bren Carrier on reconnaissance, and as he drove over the brow of a hill he’d been met by hall of bullets, one of which ricocheted around inside the carrier, hitting him in a vital organ and rendering him, temporarily, sexually incapable! Surgeons had been able to make a very satisfactory repair, much to Dave’s delight. He had good reason to be cheerful after what had been a very worrying time.
Our V.A.D. had no knowledge of what was wrong with Dave, and when she came into the ward one morning to find his bed surrounded by a screen she was naturally curious. When she asked Dave what he was up to, and everyone laughed, she was even more curious and walked resolutely up to his bed and yanked the screen aside to find Dave dressing his wound.