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Sunday 6 September. A spectacular dog fight this morning. Eight planes down today, four of ours and four German. I walked over to inspect some wreckage. The plane had been in a dive and failed to come out of it.
There was hardly a piece left bigger than a benzene box. I got some souvenirs amongst the bits and pieces scattered over a wide area and then Jerry drove us away with shellfire. After I got back Jerry gave us a hurry up and landed a big one a chain away that showered us with dirt.
Occasional bouts of shellfire during the day. Since Thursday we’ve been done over quite regularly and they’ve landed them very close. There are what appeared to be nose cones from shells and pieces of shrapnel all around our trench.
Just on dark I got out of my trench to go and fill my water bottle. I thought the bastards wouldn’t be able to see me. I stood on top at the end of the trench, stretched my arms to the sky, and was thanking God for another day when I saw the gun flashes. They covered a wide area and I knew for sure they were for me. 88 mm guns. Their shells travel faster than sound — no warning whistle. How did I know? Even now after all these years I can sense danger. An extra sense that keeps soldiers alive? Something developed from experience? From long experience? I can’t explain it but I’m sure it’s there.
I very smartly dived into my trench as the first shells landed, eight of them. When I recovered my wits I found my glasses were broken and I swore steadily until the shelling ceased. I can’t for the life of me say for sure what had happened. It was all over in a flash. But my glasses were broken and I had a cut under myI left eye — nothing serious but very annoying. The first volley was of eight shells, the closest about 2 feet from the edge of my trench and the furthest 20 yards away. An anti-tank gunner about 40 yards away was wounded in the arm, sufficient to satisfy me that I hadn’t hit the trench any too soon. I must have been hit by a small piece of shrapnel or a piece of rock.
I didn’t want to leave, but I’m stone stone deaf in one ear, which means that I can never locate the source of sound. That’s a handicap on its own. To be shortsighted as well would be pushing my luck too far.
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Next day started with shelling on the South ridge. After 7.30 breakfast Cliff visited the RAP at 9.00am. On the way he watched a German pilot bail out. His chute didn’t open and he came down like a bullet and landed about 150 yards away.
I had hoped I could have some glasses sent up to me — the formula was in my pay book — but the doctor insisted that I be sent back for an eye test. I rang Mr Hislop to tell him what had happened. He didn’t seem too pleased to be losing another operator, and I had the strong feeling that he thought I’d broken my glasses deliberately. I guess Ray confirmed my story, as when I met Mr Hislop later he showed a good deal of confidence in me.
I collected my gear, said goodbye to Ray and John and return to the RAP, which of course was just another hole in the ground with a few extra refinements, like a roof of timber covered with dirt. I had just clambered aboard the ambulance with three others when Jerry opened up with shellfire. We all made a dive for Mother Earth. The ambulance, with huge Red Cross markings on each side, was riddled with shrapnel, and one petrol tank was emptying out. One orderly was wounded.
One infantryman was being evacuated, suffering from what in this war we called anxiety neurosis. In the First World War they called it shell shock. He’d gone to earth about 20 yards from me. When the shelling stopped for a few moments, he ran very smartly and flattened himself out right alongside me, obviously in what appeared to him a safer place. When the shelling stopped we found that he’d lost a knee cap and couldn’t even stand. He’d demonstrated the power of mind over matter by running 20 yards without it. Quite remarkable.
There was still some petrol in the tank so we took advantage of a lull in the shelling to load everybody aboard and take off. Our German friends had different ideas and shells exploded around us as we went. A great send-off and we were very pleased to get out of range. We passed through Casualty Clearing Stations (CCSs) and stopped at a Tommy one at Burg El Arab.
The New Zealand Division was withdrawn on 9 September 1942, so I didn’t miss much.
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At each CCS those of us not obviously seriously wounded were closely questioned. To my annoyance they examined my pay book each time time to ensure that I needed glasses. Many were being evacuated for jaundice, and they were on the lookout for dodging bludgers. I was wild at being treated as a possible bludger.
Monday 8 September. Breakfast at 8:30 am and we leave in ambulance for hospital train. About 25 New Zealand walking wounded and some stretcher cases. With us were Aussies, South Africans, Tommies and some Indians. We passed through Alexandria, had a snack at Tanta Railway Station and arrived at 2 NZ General Hospital at 1.30am. The VAD (Voluntary Aid Detachment) in our ward, where my machine gunner mate and I were sent, put on a great feed for us — scrambled eggs on toast and a cup of Ovaltine. We talked for half an hour and were tucked into bed. What a life. The shower before the meal was cold but marvellous.
Wednesday, 9 September 1942. I visited the Medical Officer and am to be sent to Tommy 1 General Hospital for an eye test. I asked him to rush me through as my Section was shorthanded, but he said it was going to take some time. It is good to be here but I’ll be glad to be back with the boys.
Thursday 10 September. Bored stiff and will be glad to be back with the boys again. Lying around all day and I can’t enjoy reading because of my eyes. Eyes tested. Little change since 1939.
The frames the Army supplied were “appalling”. Cliff bought more at his own expense.
Rumour has it that an advance party of 10,000 man has arrived in base. About 50 badly injured soldiers have returned to New Zealand. They left tonight. I met a Finlayson from Whakapara who has lost a leg.
Friday 11 September. Visited the Medical Officer and Dentist. Then cookhouse fatigue until after lunch. Found a good cobber in Ray Reihana from Whangaruru and met some of his cobbers. We go to the canteen tonight.
Saturday 12 September. Teeth scraped. A lot of malaria here.
Sunday 13 September. It’s going to be interesting to see what happens to the Division now. Not much I can say because of the censor. Peter Fraser (NZ Prime Minister) will go out on his ear if we have anything to do with it. It’s a fine thing sending Yanks over there and having our Division here. The Aussies are pretty hostile too.
There will be shocks when our badly injured arrive home. If I’d been wounded this time like I was last time I would have been sent home. They are being sent home more readily now.
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Monday 21 September. Signal School tomorrow with luck. I met Barney, who’s been transferred to 24 Battalion as an infantry man. 4 Bde is training with tanks and 18 Armoured Bde is being formed — we will have our own tanks in future. Reinforcements are arriving, to our great displeasure.
Tuesday 22 September. Back at Signal School along with Johnny Johnson. Major Marshall is in command and Ted Fry is the Adjutant.
On Thursday 25 September they were training in the desert.
We were mortared extensively in spite of shifting three times — there was a mortar practice shoot in that area and we hadn’t been advised. It seemed as though we were the target, and there were some anxious moments. We couldn’t locate their position so got out of it.
“Congratulations” this morning on my good operating. A couple of stripes would’ve been more acceptable.
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On Friday 2 October Cliff met a man called Allan.
He’s going home with crook eyes. He is a malingerer. He was only in the desert for a few days when his eyes conveniently went phut. He admits that his eyes are as good as ever they were.
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He wrote to Dorothy saying he was in a bitchy mood.
I pray that we may see each other soon. It is very hard sweetheart, but we must fight and have faith. May God grant us the strength we need. It must’ve been a terrible shock to Kathleen to hear of Tommy’s death, and I feel very sorry for her. We manage to harden ourselves a little to stand the shocks, but now and again it makes us feel very miserable to think of the good friends we’ve lost.
I’m browned off with the idea of promotion. Here we are in this infernal school being instructed on the elementary principles of radio operating by non-commissioned officers, some of who know nothing about practical work in action. This is after all the experience we’ve had. It is hard to stop feeling bitter.
A Sergeant who instructed us at Trentham has gone to the Officer Cadet Training School. He is a real good-for-nothing as far as our job goes, and the only qualification he has is that he’s a rugby player from a prominent rugby family. His Signallers and NCOs will have to carry him if and when he gets a command.
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On Saturday 3 October he told Dorothy that he had leave for 14 days.
Too late to catch the 9.30 train. Bludged a ride to Cairo in a truck and caught the 12:30 pm train to Alexandria. The 2nd and 3rd Class Carriages were crowded, so we wended our way through to 1st Class, where we shared an apartment with an English lady and her two boys, who kept us entertained. Nice to be able to speak with an English lady.
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On 15 October he wrote:
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the last day or two because we’ve had plenty of female company, and it’s been great. I hope you don’t mind me being so thrilled about it. After men’s company exclusively for so long it is a great pleasure to speak to a nice young lady. It helps us to maintain a sense of values and prevents us from becoming worse in our ways.
Colin, Johnny and I went to the Jewish club for morning tea. When I’d collected my sandwiches I almost collapsed with surprised to see a lovely young lady sitting at our table. Colin introduced us and I sort of got tangled up between taking off my hat and shaking her hand, and finished up by leaving my hat on. Not polite. Poor Johnny was as bad if not worse than me. He was so overcome that he only ate half a sandwich.
Lisette has Jewish blood and is interesting to talk to. She has travelled widely through Europe and America and is related to the owners of the Singer Sewing Machine company. Colin has known her for about 18 months.
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At this point in a very long letter Cliff says something like — Oh, I had to stop there. We’ve been in action since. I got wounded again but nothing serious. I’ll tell you about it later. And continues talking about his time on leave.
The three Kiwis had spent a day with Lisette, her sister and their friends, swimming and talking and playing the gramophone. Cliff was particularly impressed by Fanny, or Francis, who Cliff said was well educated and fluent in several languages. She had “classic Greek features, beautiful eyes, jet black hair, a flawless complexion and — if you don’t mind me saying — a most beautiful figure. No doubt we were physically attracted to each other but that was about as far as it could go.”
It must have been tough for Dorothy to read these things in his letters. I’m sure Cliff was loyal to her, but throughout his life his past “girlfriends” would come up occasionally in conversation, greatly annoying his daughter-in-law, if not his wife. The mysteries of the male psyche.
He said later that Colin and Lisette became engaged eventually. And shyest-of-them-all Johnny had been so swept away by one of the girls that he’d sworn he was going to Greece after the war to find her.
The Greeks looked after their daughters well. As it got dark a uniformed chauffeur in a flash car turned up to take them home. The boys headed home on the bus.
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On Saturday morning Colin and I went for a walk and found everyone gone when we returned. We visited some friends of his for afternoon tea. I was surprised to hear that they were German. They were Mr and Mrs Lockhus, of Jewish blood with a son of about 10 years of age. They had left Germany because of Nazi persecution. He’d fought against us in the First World War and was violently anti-Nazi. They were very friendly, homely people and Mrs Lockhus was very nice indeed.
They have the biggest library I’ve ever seen in a private dwelling, and I would like a chance to read some of the books. Most of them are in German and some in English. Books on geography, history, peoples and their customs and beliefs, etc. I saw a of Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf in English, and several books written by prominent politicians and writers. A very well read man.
They have been to Cologne, Bremen, Essen and many other places that have been heavily bombed recently, and they described them to us. Cologne has a population of 800,000, the streets are very narrow and bombing would be horrific. They described it as a real deathtrap. We enjoyed their company and were delighted to be invited to dinner some time.
So now I have met and enjoyed the company of Italians and Germans, and have found them to be very charming. It is a mad, mad world and it’s a pity that nations can’t find better leaders.
While we have been here the fasting period of Ramadan has been on. It lasts a whole new moon, and during that time Muslims are only allowed to eat after midnight. Consequently after midnight has been noisy for a week or two. They go about beating gongs to wake people to eat and drink. During the day they are not permitted to swallow anything…
The Germans have refrained from bombing during Ramadan, so now it’s over they will no doubt start again.
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I have tried to learn to count in Arabic from some children, and can now count up to 10.