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What we generally think of as the Battle of El Alamein, the turning point of the war in North Africa, was in fact the second battle. The first saw the 8th Army stand and fight just 40 miles or so from Cairo, Alexandria, the Suez Canal — and major strategic defeat.

Rommel’s Afrika Korps had rampaged across the Western Desert and, at the limit of its resources, made a final push to try and achieve those objectives. On the Allied side there was a real ”flap” on, and even talk of evacuation to save the army itself.

But in a series of scrambling engagements — and with the advantage of superior resources, short supply lines and air superiority against the depleted Germans —  the Allies held the line. This was the first, defensive, Battle of El Alamein — the context of Kippenberger’s here-we-stand message to his 6 Brigade troops.

In the weeks that followed Rommel prepared his defences for the inevitable Allied counter-attack across the narrow 40-mile front between the Mediterranean Sea and the impassable Quattara Depression — the second Battle of El Alamein.

Cliff is writing following his 12-day leave in Alex. ~  Ian

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22 October 1942. We returned to Maadi on the 17th October. Johnny and I left for Division with 38 others on Tuesday 20 October and arrived there that afternoon. On Wednesday I was posted to L Section and proceeded there. Johnny Johnson was posted to K Section. On Wednesday night the whole of 6 Bde left for the desert and arrived that night about 20 miles behind the forward area.

Len Brooks and I are to man the main Brigade Headquarters link with an 11 set. But first I have to go forward with the Engineers in a Bren Carrier to report progress on mine clearing.

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Orders have changed and most of us are to go forward tomorrow, including myself. Presumably they’re scared a few signalmen will be bumped off before the real job starts, and that would disorganise things. There is to be a full-scale attack along the whole front.

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This attack, of which the New Zealanders were just a part, was called Operation Lightfoot. Over the entire course of the second Battle of Alamein there would be almost 200,000 men involved on the Allied side, over a thousand tanks and many hundreds of aircraft, artillery and anti-tank guns. The Div’s initial objective, working in conjunction with British divisions, was to clear paths through the enemy minefields to allow British tanks to pass through, and to take the high ground of Miteirya Ridge.

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One could’ve imagined we were travelling along a New Zealand road on the way up here. The days are still fairly hot but at night it gets rather cold. There was a lovely full moon and it would have been a very peaceful scene if it hadn’t been for the flashes of gunfire forward.

We can hear the faint boom of gunfire in the distance. Today Jimmy Grant has been fitting an 11 set into a Jeep. He is to be Brigadier Gentry’s Recce. I have installed an 11 set in 24 Battalion’s Bren Carrier. The trip with the Engineers should be quite exciting. My Carrier driver is appropriately named Eric Driver. I should be able to remember that.

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We left for the forward positions at about 7:20 pm on Friday night. The Staff Captain led, followed by Jimmy Grant and Eric and me in the Carrier, with the rest of the Headquarters following.

There were several designated tracks through which the Allied forces were to advance across the enemy minefields — Sun, Moon, Star, Bottle, Boat and Hat.

We followed the Boat track. The track was marked white with a light inside a kerosene tin with holes in it. This one was in the shape of a boat facing to the rear.

We arrived at forward Signals Office at about 8:30 pm and dispersed. Everything was very quiet and one wouldn’t have known that we were in frontline positions waiting for an attack.

At that stage I was given my precise instructions by Captain Hislop, who with one or two Signals Office chaps had come forward on Thursday night. He was a very popular officer with the men. A ship’s radio operator in civil life, he called us all by our first names. He obviously wasn’t popular with Borman, the author of the Div Sigs history, for his name isn’t mentioned once, which is not surprising. I met him and his Batman alongside his pickup truck where we enjoyed a gin and a chat about things to come.

I was to accompany 8th Field Company Engineers, whose job it was to clear mines to allow supporting tanks and weapons through.

Behind our Carrier would be a line-laying jeep to lay telephone line as we went forward. If the line went out, as it was sure to do at times, I was to take over. Failing both the line and my transmitter I was to use a signalling lamp.

My God, this is some job.

I asked Captain Hislop to make sure everyone would be looking out for my lamp signals, should I have to use the lamp. That would be a very dangerous occupation for sure, and I didn’t want to be flashing that light any more than necessary.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll make certain of that. If the line goes out and we don’t hear from you we’ll look out for the lamp.”

At about 9 pm the infantry and Engineers moved up from behind and pulled up to the Start Line, a white tape run out on the ground just in front of us.

Timing is critical. At 9:30 pm sharp the guns opened fire right along the front, and what a hell of a row. Hundreds of them. About 15 minutes later the infantry got to their feet and dispersed, about 10 yards between each man, and started walking. We moved into position with the Engineers, who had five vehicles and a tank-mounted Scorpion Roller. The Scorpion had chains attached to a mount in front of the tank that were theoretically supposed to flail the ground and explode mines as it went forward.

We began to move. By that time our artillery had ceased its bombardment of known enemy positions and commenced a creeping barrage in front of the infantry. The barrage lifted forward 100 yards every three minutes, the rate of progress the infantry hoped to make. We were on the tail of the infantry in a short time, and passed through the gaps in our own minefield and soon reached the enemy’s first minefield.

Then the Engineers’ work began, clearing mines. Enemy shellfire was scattered and there wasn’t much of it. What we did get was long-range heavy stuff. Our artillery had given the enemy a lot of trouble. We came across one or two infantry casualties attended by stretcher bearers. I didn’t think the Engineers had had any casualties going through the first field, but  I couldn’t see for dust and smoke, and was busy relaying messages from 24 Battalion to Brigade. Murray Reid’s book The Turning Point says they lost a section of men.

At one stage a South African reached over and tapped me on the shoulder in great distress. His company had reached their objective and been practically wiped out by our shellfire. He wanted me to send a message, but without permission I had to refuse. I told him to find Major Reid and ask him. Seconds later I sent the message. The South Africans were A Company, Cape Town Highlanders. They were well out of position, apparently to the left and just forward of us. It is easy to get bushed under these conditions.

Conditions on the air were terrible and messages had to be spelled out and repeated time after time. 24 Battalion couldn’t get through at all to 6 Brigade, so I was kept busy relaying messages for them. Their poor operators had to carry in an 11 Set. What a job. I don’t recall who was on the Set, and I also don’t know how the South Africans fared afterwards, as we were soon in trouble ourselves.

We were subjected to a good deal of crossfire from enemy machine guns — strong points the infantry had bypassed. Major Reid kept his men at it and didn’t get down himself. I was very impressed by him. He had an air of confidence and I felt confident in his ability and his apparent guts.

There were scattered mines before the enemy’s second minefield, and some Engineer casualties. I saw two men killed outright when one stepped on a mine.

Just before we struck the second minefield 25 Pounders started to explode amongst us — our own guns. I was sitting in the Carrier on the set when a bit of 25 Pounder shrapnel got me in the lower part of the back of my head. I found later that our line laying Jeep had stopped a direct hit right behind me. Cliff Hume the driver was alive but unconscious.

I bled like a stuck pig. So much blood poured out that I thought I was bleeding to death. I clamped my hand over to try to stop it but the blood seeped through my fingers. A bad thing to do for my hands were very dirty. I yelled out to Eric to help bandage it up and climbed out of the carrier.

Major Reid was right on the job and soon had a dressing on it. He helped me back into the Carrier to send a message — that 25 Pounder shells were falling amongst us. I had to repeat it several times, particularly the words “25 Pounders”. The firing lifted shortly afterwards. Apparently we had made faster progress than had been anticipated, and were ahead of the gunnery programme. Or so I assume.

I was still bleeding and felt pretty sick for quite a while after the shelling stopped. Major Reid was halfway through asking for a replacement line truck when the line itself went out. He asked me if I could carry on operating.

I had every intention of doing so without being asked. At the start of the action I had had a very strange and vivid experience. I’d had a strong feeling that my friends the dead were with us, helping us, and that at all costs we were going to win this action. I was at one with the dead and death had no importance to me.

I sent the message. “Send another line truck.”

Then I hesitated. Should I send the rest? Perhaps I’d better.

“Send another operator, both U.S. (unserviceable).” I had to repeat the message two or three times.

Then from them, two or three times, “Repeat after the word ‘both’”.

I repeated, “Uncle Sugar, Uncle Sugar.”

Then thankfully an acknowledgement message received.

I relaxed and kept my head well down. After a while I asked Eric how he was doing.

“I’m alright, I’m not wounded,” he said.

Major Reid came to ask me how I was.

“I’m fine, I wouldn’t’ve been hit in the first place if I’d kept my bloody head down.”

 Major Reid later added some colour to Cliff’s story:

When Len Brooks and Maurie Morrison arrived we were almost through the second field and on the forward slopes of Miteirya Ridge, our objective.

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At one stage 24 Battalion sent up distress flares because they were being attacked by tanks. A tank commander decided to give it a go and got only a few yards when he came to a halt. A mine had blown a track off his tank. The Scorpion with its flailing chains had a go, made a hell of a lot of dust, and after about 20 yards it stopped too. I expect the roller chains were damaged by exploding mines. It was useless anyhow. Another tank had a go and blew up as well.

What a waste. I think those two were probably New Zealand tanks. They would have to wait.

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By this time the gaps in the minefields were filled with tanks, anti-tank guns and supporting weapons, and I thought — My God, what a target. I hoped they could get through and disperse before daylight.

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I left about 4:30 am, not long before daylight, feeling quite fit again, stuffing as much of my personal gear as I could into my shirt. I had bought a writing compendium to send to Dorothy. As can still be seen, it got badly blood stained and didn’t get sent home.

I followed the phone line on the way out looking for a break. I’d just found one and was trying to borrow some pliers to fix it when Torchy Wilmot arrived to do so. It had broken near our first minefield.

I walked to Brigade Headquarters and stuck my head in the door of the Armoured Control Vehicle to ask the whereabouts of the nearest RAP or dressing station. They looked a little astonished. No wonder. I must have looked a sight with the bloody bandage around my head and lots of blood in evidence.

Buster Smith gave me and four others who had wandered in a ride to the Advanced Dressing Station. The casualties were just piling into the ADS and they were frightfully busy. I felt that I just had to help, and started to work as a stretcher bearer. They weren’t going to have that and made me sit down.

According to Walter Young, who worked as a medical orderly, the first casualty had arrived three minutes after the guns opened fire.

I got a fresh dressing on and had a cup of chai (tea), then set off for the main dressing station where I met friend and Orderly Colin Bell. He gave me the choice of either a can of peaches or a can of oysters. I chose the oysters and ate the whole tin. I felt I needed it. He also gave me Lisette’s telephone number. From there to a Tommy Casualty Clearing Station where we had a few hours sleep.

At about 5 pm we boarded a truck to go to 4 LT Casualty Clearing Station at Amraya. While passing over swampy area our stupid driver tipped us over a 15 foot bank. Luckily he was travelling slowly. The truck landed on its side and everyone got their wounds hurt but no additional damage. My shoulder is bruised and has been sore ever since. We stayed at 4 LT overnight. The following morning I met Cliff Hume, the line Jeep driver, who was quite fit except for a pain in the head. He had regained consciousness in the ADS.

We left at midday on a hospital train, a long monotonous trip, and got to the hospital about 11 pm. There was an amusing incident on the way. We’d stopped at a station where Red Cross ladies gave us all refreshments and a cup of tea. As I walked along the platform I found myself being followed by about half a dozen young boys all chatting to each other with excitement. What the hell goes on? I stopped and they pointed at me and jabbered in Arabic. I took my first look at myself. I was covered in blood stains from head to foot. The blood had been running out of my boots.

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Monday 26 October 1942. I’ve been up and about today and feeling pretty fit, although the left side of my head is numb. After leaving bed I donated blood in exchange for a bottle of stout.


Before this I’d been in bed in a Ward with 20 others. Cliff Hume was in the next bed.



A lady came through the Ward distributing writing paper and envelopes, and saying hello, how are you to everyone. On the way out she stopped and sat on the edge of my bed for a chat, which seem to last the best part of half an hour.



She wanted to know how I thought the battle was going, and I gave her my optimistic appreciation. The Germans and Italians were going to be given one hell of a hiding, and this was going to be the beginning of the end for them. Under Montgomery we were at last fighting as an army. We were well prepared and we had the benefit of arms and equipment that we’d never had before.



She questioned me about my own job, and about this and that, and she kept me talking — now and again making a contribution of her own, mainly encouragement.

She asked me what I thought about the General, General Freyberg. I can’t remember my exact words but it went something like this — He’s a very brave man. Inclined to be a little impetuous, and to become carried away in his enthusiasm at times.

She asked if that concerned me. I said no, it didn’t, for he had several very good Senior Officers who appeared to have a restraining influence on him.

I became aware that the other men within hearing distance seemed to be taking an unusual interest in our conversation. Perhaps I’m talking too much. She thanked me for a very pleasant conversation, wished us all well and said Cheerio, which we reciprocated.



When she’d gone I asked if anyone knew who she was.

“That was Tiny’s wife, Mrs Freyberg. Didn’t you know?”



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Thursday 5 November 1942. More gains have been made in the desert. Kiwis are back in action after regrouping. Aussies are making gains in the Northern Sector and fighting continues along the whole front.



My former offsider Ray Miles has arrived with a scar down one side of his face that he will have for life. He had bad and good news. My friend Barney Walker and Stan Lorimer have been killed. It’s a great shame to see them go.



Ray shocked me. He’s heard from several sources that I’ve been recommended tor and received a Military Medal…



Ray isn’t very reliable at times so I won’t bank on this information, but it would be absurd to say that I wouldn’t be thrilled to bits to receive an MM. I’ll be lucky if I do. In my opinion there are dozens who earn decorations and aren’t recognised.

Pleased to see Gordon Neilson decorated for repairing lines under fire and his general good work.



Gordon Neilson later received a Bar to his MM.


NEXT — to be continued.