‘…And Here be Dragons’
By
 “Roussilon”

22466779 Pte Bird.A 1st Royal Sussex 1951/53

The old time mariner’s warning of an uncharted coast with unknown but undoubted dangers. A not inappropriate description of postcode MELF16 around Christmas ’51, which was when I first became acutely aware of my own lowly position in the food, chain. After a fight over ambushed water trucks we set up an outlying picquet one afternoon in a Shell Service station. We did everything according to the book, blocked the entrance/exits with the three tonner and the 15cwt FFW and then proceeded to secure the area. All OK as far as we could see, so as signaller free from the stags, and required to keep my own skeds I was deputed cook. Now it wasn’t hard to gain a reputation as a bit of a cook out in the khuds..  Frying an onion and the bully beef first before the stew was sure proof of culinary skill, adding curry powder or desiccated mixed herbs was positive Haute Cuisine.

I neatly avoided that same Korean draft by claiming a newfound regimental allegiance and an uncle by then farming in the County. Actually it was all down to pure British army snobbishness.  Never volunteer said the old hands and in any case we’ll be smashing up Cairo in a week. A medal would be up with the rations anyday. And who in his right mind would leave an armoured formation’s G1098, no marching carrying a back breaking 62 set or its lead acid battery, just  4WD.’ing everywhere. Brigaded with the Royals, the RHA and the 4th RTR; and go to a lumpenproletariat infantry division.  Or words to that effect.  Enough said..

Anyhow after breakfast we started a close examination of our surroundings. The squaddies provided themselves with a collection of suitable implements. Some held a one edged thick backed razor blade between the fore and index fingers, others had those wog knives with the split rings. Being possessed of a Sten I had a nine-inch edged bayonet and promptly joined in as supernumerary. We started in a storeroom ripping up the sacks, an action that has characterised the rough and licentious soldiery, usually the Redcoats; in Hollywood movies from D W.Griffith right up to Francis Ford Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now.”  Actually of course it’s pure self-preservation. A favourite wog trick to fool the simple minded soldier, we had been told, was to tie a grenade in the top of the sack thus holding down the lever, and then pull the pin.  First lucky lad to open the sack got the grenade and three seconds to get out.. Slashing the sack hopefully left the grenade’s lever secured. This time however out came a wave of rice and surfing down it a huge black turd of indeterminate origin, but behind it in the foam of the wave so to speak, was a James Bond figure-of-eight tooled leather shoulder holster with automatic pistol in place. I caught it and had just enough time to see Baretta on the butt when a bloody 2nd Battalion corporal grabbed it, stuffed it into his own swiftly opened BD blouse, and barking  “Right I’ll look after that!” moved off smartly.  I bet you will, I thought.

This left us to our own devices but now possessed of an incredibly heightened awareness, something just short of fear I suppose. He, whoever he was, had been here and had anticipated our coming. How good was he? What other precautions had he taken?  What was the next surprise?  A new appreciation of our questionable future prospects dawned.  This was indeed the lair of the Jabberwock and not a vorpal blade between us. Allah ‘kefiq about not paying attention during lectures by an earnest young Sapper on search procedures and booby traps; became sudden proof of not only stark neglect of duty but also of unmitigated military stupidity...What was that about backed-up trip wires again?

Eventually we moved on upstairs without further incident. In the apartment over the servo we found a wog officer’s service dress uniform, a colonel I think, complete with decorations and insignia which our officious NCO seemed not to have noticed, or wanted.  Just for swank I wore the trousers past the Regimental Police walking out to the picture show across the road in the Garrison. The real laugh would have been to wear the beribboned tunic too, but I had already passed on that, and it went to the other bloke, who was going home fifty oh three, as a souvenir.
 

Tont Bird

22466779 Pte Bird.A 1st Royal Sussex 1951/53. Radio /Op for that fight at the railway level crossing,  and for the village clearing mentioned in the news reports, B echelon operator when we went up to support the LF, subsequent service thru till march 53. Joined MN as radio officer in 1955. finished up out here in the magical land of OZ