Writing fifty years later, and with just a few letters and his memory to depend on, Cliff wrote that he had only a few recollections of the days following his return to the front. This was in the days between the attacks on Ruweisat Ridge (14-15 July) and on the Mreir Depression a week later.
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I’d been allotted an operator to assist me, the son of a ship’s captain. He was quite pathetic. He’d failed to follow in his father’s occupation Continually seasick, he’d found that to be impossible, and it must have destroyed his morale. Although we only suffered from occasional shell and mortar fire he obviously couldn’t wear it. I only had him for about two days. He became a Sergeant Instructor in Signal School at Maadi Base Camp I believe.
I remember being joined by Mick Mulvey. It was our job to man a transmitter each, one in a pick-up truck, the other in a Bren Carrier, which Brigadier Clifton was to use for reconnaissance or as a forward Tactical Headquarters.
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I recall a flight of five German bombers returning from a raid on Alexandria. Returning over the Mediterranean they’d obviously thought they were over their own lines. Our Bofors guns got the lot, the last one falling over enemy lines. A very cheering sight for us.
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One day I watched an amusing incident from the security of my slit trench — funny in retrospect but there had been anxious moments. I watched a man get to his feet and start walking, something I didn’t think would pass unnoticed by the enemy. Sure enough a mortar bomb exploded a few yards behind him and he walked a bit faster. Then another and his pace quickened a little more, but he retained his dignity. Then another and he maintained the same pace. Then another bomb exploded a little closer. By the time the next one arrived he had started to run. Then another and he was running flat out and disappeared behind the dust and smoke. I thought he had bought it, and was relieved to see him dive into a trench. A very foolish and a very lucky man. Shrapnel from any one of those bombs could have killed him.
It was probably during this period that I was ordered to recover radio and signalling equipment from a headquarters that had been abandoned earlier because of enemy action. The 4th or 5th Brigade headquarters I expect. After a good deal of trouble I found it in a dugout about 150 yards from infantry, who were dug in. My pick-up truck was the only vehicle in the area and I felt more than a little exposed. Thankfully there was no mortar or artillery fire, the enemy busily engaged elsewhere — but as I loaded the gear into the truck a dive bomber appeared, coming straight at me, the apparent target. I did a very fast dive into the dugout. Very poor marksmanship. The bomb exploded about 50 yards away, and I’d had a few more anxious moments.
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At last senior officers were beginning to realise the importance of effective and efficient radio communications. Telephone lines were effective in First World War trench warfare, but that didn’t mean they’d be effective in the desert. Imagine the line required for a six mile (10km) advance such as the Ruweisat attack of 14-15 July. A battle of movement when lines were not only subject to shell and mortar fire but also chewed up by tracked vehicles. No wonder Signals came in for a lot of criticism.
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Mick and I decided to toss up to see who would go first on the Bren Carrier as Brigadier George Clifton’s “Recce”, and from then on we would take turns. I won and went first — very fortunate for me and very bad luck for Mick.
It was my first time to operate from a Bren Carrier, so I was a little anxious about how my equipment would perform.
My first experience in action as Clifton’s Recce promised to be interesting. He was a wild fellow, full of enterprise and never backward at taking risks. He hadn’t made himself popular with the infantry with his demands for nightly patrols into enemy territory, an occupation that was very hard on the First Lieutenants who had to lead the poor bloody infantry.
So it was that on 21 July, with Brig. Clifton in front with the driver and me in the back with the radio (or “wireless” as we called it in those days), we took off for a visit to the forward infantry in broad daylight. We weren’t welcome, I’m sure. We would stop for a chat here and there, and almost inevitably we would draw fire before we moved off.
Unfortunately for Mick it was his turn to go with Clifton that night night, 21-22nd July, when 6 Brigade made their attack on the El Mreir Depression. Like Ruweisat Ridge it was a bloody disaster.
Tank support was not available when needed and Signals became a real balls-up. Transmitters and Bren Carriers became separated from the infantry units — not necessarily their fault I must say. In my opinion responsibility lay with the unit commanders, who should have ensured that their means of communication followed them, and kept in touch. We could only do what we were told to do, and if the bloody officers didn’t use our services, what the hell could we do about it?
From now on, during an attack our sets were to either go forward with the infantry in Bren Carriers or failing that, manhandled. Thank God I didn’t ever have to manhandle a set, but some did.
Mick Mulvey and Clifton’s Tactical Headquarters were with 24 Battalion when they were completely overrun by German tanks. Some of the men escaped in vehicles, but about 200 who tried to get away on foot were captured. 6 Bde lost heavily in transport, and the major part of Tactical Headquarters and 24 Battalion headquarters were also lost. 25 Battalion had considerable losses as well.
Our Captain Laugesen was never seen again. Our Section (L) lost 14 men. That included my former comrade from Sidi Resegh, George Darroch, who died later as a prisoner of war, and of course Mick, who was also reported to have died as a prisoner of war. Mick’s death is not recorded in the War History but it was in the NZEF Times afterwards. Again a narrow escape for me.
Mick had wanted to leave his camera and other gear with me but I’d persuaded him to take them with him in case of need. The Germans got that lot. He did leave behind a dark green coloured notebook which I used as a diary from then on. I still have it, and it reminds me of those hard times over 50 years ago. Captain Laugesen was the only man reported killed of the fifteen that L Section lost. The rest were reported as POW. In spite of the fact that I’d spent quite some time with the Section, my work had isolated me from them, so except for George and Mick I haven’t lost any friends.
Poor Mick. I wonder what happened to him.
I had kept very busy all day of the 21st getting Mick and everything else organised. Then followed the longest, most tedious and frustrating night and day of my life. The attack began with a tremendous barrage from our guns at 8.45 pm. From then on I sat in my truck with my one good ear, which became very sore, glued to the earphone. I didn’t dare leave the set in case I missed something, and I answered a call of nature by standing by the tailboard of the truck. I heard nothing until 7 am the following morning, when Division apparently discovered that our link existed, and sought a response from George Clifton’s Recce. I couldn’t help them.
I continued to listen until I finally decided that this couldn’t continue. I went to Main Headquarters and heard the sad news. I don’t think they had been aware of my existence, which is a good indication of how poorly organised the business was. Borman makes no mention of our link either in the Div Sigs History.
Brig. Clifton was one of those captured, and managed to escape using his usual enterprise. Tearing off his badges of rank, and with the cooperation of others, he became a stretcher bearer and was allowed by the Germans to depart the scene.
Later, when we had been withdrawn to a position behind Rear Divisional Headquarters, we were paraded as part of the Battalion, and he gave us a talk afterwards. Using very strong words of criticism about the armour, he said that he would never again commit infantry to attack without having armour under his own command.
While behind Rear Division, we watched two of our ambulance planes take off. They had just become airborne when they were attacked by two German fighters. Shots were fired in front of them as they passed overhead. One landed in a wadi in full view of us. One of the fighter pilots had a good streak of decency in him. He waited until the wounded had been unloaded before he shot the plane up, setting it on fire. I would’ve like to meet him. According to my diary, written later, the planes were not marked with red crosses, and they both landed in the wadi.