Sandstorms, The Khamsin Season
The true meaning of absolute Hell
At the beginning of the ‘Emergency’ in October of 1951, during the riots in the Canal Zone, when some of the killing of servicemen and civilians took place, families were hurriedly moved from their married families quarters into secure accommodation at Army camps within the garrisons, leaving their apartments to be looted by the mobs. Servicemen with their wives and children, many of them just babes in arms, were moved at a moments notice with only the belongings they could carry, such was the speed of the evacuation. Many of these families found themselves living in tents, and were still doing so when the Khamsin season, complete with its sandstorms, started in mid March 1952. One can only imagine the effect on small children living in this atmosphere day after day, something the Parliamentarians who sent them there, and were safe in their warm, sand-free homes, could never comprehend. It is to the sandblasted servicemen, servicewomen, the wives and children, we dedicate this detailed article of just what it was like to live through the Hell of Sandstorms, day after day for approximately six weeks in which the Khamsin blows each year.
The warning of the start of the Khamsin would be posted in Company part 1 Orders by the CSM's Clerk and the precautions to be taken by all ranks to fight it were published. This entailed a huge amount of extra work by all ranks. Just the clean up after a sandstorm had passed through could last for hours, even days, depending on the severity of the storm. One could look to the west and see this miles long black cloud rolling in at incredible speed. Everyone moved at the double, tightening all the tent guy ropes, and securing the sides of the tents. A trip to the toilet (the thunder-box,) and especially the ‘Desert Rose’, which was open to the elements, became a chore. (Try taking a pee in a 50mph sandblasting wind). One could quite easily get lost when visibility was down to just a few feet and the noise deafening. The OR's mess was about a quarter of a mile away through 7 Company Tent lines and one kept tripping over tent guy ropes. We stocked tins of food i.e. Bully Beef, beans, peas, and bottles of soft drinks and beer, which were bought in the NAAFI before the storms started because we knew we could be stranded in the tent for days at a time. The menu would be cold Bully Beef, peas, sand, soft drinks and more sand. Not very appetising, but better than nothing. Sand got into everything, our food, our tea, our hair, and our ears. There could be about a foot of sand on the floor of the tent after a storm had passed as well as in our beds, boots, footlockers, and every-bloodywhere. Guard duty was no picnic either and very very dangerous, one could very easily be taken for a Gippo in the low visibility and be shot at. I doubt if my rifle would have fired, it was full of sand even after being covered. I think that the Egyptians ran to ground and left us mad Britishers to patrol under conditions in which the average Gippo would stay at home. Our Dhobi wallah didn't do laundry or cut hair during a storm but preferred to stay in his tent until he thought it was all over.
The following statements
were forwarded to this website by some those who experienced this natural
phenomenon at its worst, and we are indebted to them especially for the
photographs that show sandstorms in progress and the damage after one has
just passed through.
TONY TOLAN. Ex RAF (Airfield Construction), recalls going to Port Said for supplies when the storm first hit his convoy. You could not see any distance, breathing was very difficult and we had to finally pull off to the side of the road and wait for a break in the storm in order to continue our trip to Port Said. We actually had to stay there two days before it was clear enough to travel back to Kasfareet. One storm in 1952 was so severe it blew our tent away and we had to shelter in the tent of our mates, six to a four-man tent. We were stuck like this for a few days. When it died down the tents were covered with sand and my skin felt as if it had been sandpapered. You would soon get lost if you wandered out during a storm and vehicles could take hours to do just a couple of miles. Just one of the many things we had to put up with.
PETER VERNEY. I was a Sargeant Navigator at Kabrit from Feb 1952 until Aug 1954. When we arrived in Egypt the situation was utter chaos. We had been in Kabrit for only one week when there was the most almighty sandstorm that lasted all night. The room shared by four of us had a crack in the window and the man whose bed was beneath that window woke up with a couple of inches of sand/dust all over him. There was also a small sand dune inside the doorway caused by a gap of 1 or 2 inches between the bottom of the door and the floor. I can remember stumbling over to the mess and not being able to see my feet at times. Whenever we tried to eat or drink, the food crunched and tasted of sand. When it was possible to resume work, we found that the hanger doors wouldn't close by about 2 inches at one end of the hanger it was 6 inches deep in sand. After the aircraft had been pushed out of the hanger and brushed off, someone had the bright idea of opening the hangers at both ends and reversing the tail of a Mosquito and running both engines assisting the line of men with brooms to sweep the floor. This worked a treat, much to the annoyance of the Wing Commander whose office roof had just been blown off during the storm and whose clerks had almost finished straightening out his paperwork, and which now bore the full blast of the wind from the Mosquito’s propellers.
OHN DODD. Ex RE. I was working on a road-building project across the desert in January of 1951 when one of these storms hit our construction Camp and this is what happened. A orange cloud came towards us, the sky and the air around us turned orange, and it was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. When the cloud finally hit us it arrived with a terrific noise and almost knocked us off our feet. While in the field our cookhouse was a wide pit in the sand with poles and a tarp over it. When it was time to get our meals, we took our mess-tins and mugs and wrapped them in towels, rushed to the ‘pit’ in the sand that was our cookhouse, grabbed some food, wrapped it in the towel, and then ran back to the temporary tents we lived in. By the time we made it back to the tents, even though the mess tins were covered by a towel, enough sand had blown in there to make the meal mostly uneatable.
STAN TOTT was attached to the Station workshops at TEK and a couple of sandstorms he remembers very well. These storms seemed to wait until I had the cylinder head off an engine before venting its wrath on our camp. When the dreaded Khamsin was announced to be on its way, we quickly covered up anything that was open as best we could and then doubled to our tents, checked the guy-ropes, rolled the side-walls closed and where possible braced the sidewalls horizontally with long pieces of bamboo. Then we sat and waited it out. The extreme heat from the blowing wind and sand was almost unbearable. During the time that it lasted everything came to a grinding halt, no workshop repairs, and the cookhouse closed down. If anyone was brave enough or hungry enough to run the gauntlet of blowing sand there was bread and tinned Spam for making sandwiches. It was quite a journey to go for food, not far but being sandblasted and chocked was the chance you took. One tried to occupy ones-self by writing letters. Everything was covered in a fine film of sand. The words ‘Cabin Fever’ or should it be ‘Tent Fever’ takes on a new meaning, even after 50 years, those sandstorms are as vivid as ever in my memory.
KEN BRAZIER. RAF Cpl and
Instrument Fitter. After seeing the sandstorms on TV a local Newspaper
asked Ken about living through these, and he wrote an article for them
titled ‘Sand in my Shoes’. It was a bit lengthy and unfortunately
we had to omit a goodly portion of it but kept most of the parts regarding
sandstorms. Ken states: When I arrived at Port Said, I was posted
to RAF Shallufa as an Instrument Fitter, servicing target towing planes.
We did guard duties and the billets at Shallufa were wooden huts, thirty
men to a hut. I slept on the veranda because the billet was crawling
with bed bugs. It was here that I first experienced a sandstorm.
There would be a lot of lightning flashes and the wind would increase threatening
to blow my bed and bedding away, so it was off the veranda and back into
the Billet. Even with the windows and doors closed, there would be
an orange haze inside and it would be difficult to see from one end of
the billet to the other. The storms lasted from hours to days and
I didn't ever see rain out there. Aircraft had to be washed down
with Kerosene and aircraft parked outside the hanger had the jet intakes
covered. Any residue sand had to be removed before the aircraft could
take off. Because of the strength of the wind during these
storms fuel Bowzers were parked in front of the aircraft to prevent them
from flipping over, such was the strength of the wind. After the
new Treaty was signed (in the mid fifties), servicemen imported bikes and
cycling became very popular. Once when cycling from Fayid to Kasfareet
we were caught in the open during a sandstorm and we just couldn't outrun
it. It was a very painful experience indeed especially when all we
were wearing were shorts and T-shirts.
It is this image which is so embedded in my mind, I was seven at the time. But an even more embedded image in my mind is the sandstorm of 14th Dec 1951. I think (but I am not sure) that we were at El Ballah. My Grandfather had died that day and my mother received a telegram informing her of this. I came home from school in a sandstorm so severe that my face was being cut and I couldn't see my way. I was wondering at the time why my mother had not some to get me. When I got home I found my mother in tears because her father had died and she knew she would be unable to return to the UK for the funeral. Had she done so she would not have been able to rejoin my father for the remaining year or so of his posting in Egypt because of the Abrogation of the treaty, which had just taken place two months beforehand. Whenever I think of my Grandfather’s death and how badly it affected my mother and me I always remember this sandstorm above all others. Anne goes on to describe part of a letter that Colonel Newton wrote to his parents from HQ Canal North District, MELF 10. 24th March 1952. He talks about the sand on the first page. He begins by describing our married quarters at El Kirsh, and goes on to say "We have a small patch of grass which makes a welcome change from the everlasting sand which surrounded us and threatens to overwhelm us on occasions. With the recent high winds the sand had been a foot deep over most of the ground, and along the fence by the main gate. We had a shower today and will probably have a torrential downpour before the hot Khamsin winds which heralds the heat of summer, in May.” There you are, sandstorms as seen through the eyes of those who were in the Suez Canal Zone over 50 years ago, and a full-blown sandstorm heading in to our camp at a high rate of speed is something I have never forgotten especially if seen for the first time. It only added to the other miseries like bedbugs, Dysentery, footrot, and the sheer bloody monotony of service in the Canal Zone in the early fifties. One of the characteristics of the British serviceman, and this is as it has been at least for the last hundred years or so, was his ability to smile and joke in the face of adversity and this is especially so in the poems of Rudyard Kipling, depicting the trials and tribulations of Tommy Atkins, Jock MacGregor or Taffy Jones, during the many battles and in the harshness of general life of the ordinary British serviceman. Yes, we hated being posted to and serving in the Suez Canal Zone, but one thing will always stand out and that is the friendships we made. We have our poets, men like SCZ veterans Mike Bye (Ex RAOC) and Tony Tolan (Ex RAF). who have recently penned some wonderful poems depicting life as it was out there during the early 50's. The following poem written by Mike Bye, is a an example just how the British Servicemen can see comedy even in the worst possible situations, and this is the attitude towards adversity that saw us through many many months of what was monotonous, often very dangerous and unhealthy service to our Queen and Country. Service that has finally been recognised after 50 years. Here is Mike's Poem.
...the C.O. said...
"As the Lido's still 'no-go'
and before spirits get too low
I think it's time we had
some "in-camp" fun.
We'll have this year's Sports-Day
on March's last Saturday...
....shouldn't be too hot
to jump and run!
O.R's only will compete
while we 'Accompanied' will sit
with our Ladies, Wives and
Children in the shade.
Important that you see that
we have sandwiches and tea
and the Children have ice-cream
or lemonade.
All on strength will attend
- this rule no-one will bend -
Sarn't Major will see to
Judges and Recorders
and various odd job men,
(..chattee carriers and rakemen..)
Adjutant! - please put all
this in Part One Orders".
...came the Day....
Let an observing eye exclude
desert, tents and hutments crude
and see the scene sublimed
to an English Shire.
For represented here is
all that is held dear...
to which Class and Social
Separatists aspire.
Brown trilbys and tweed
suits, stick-seats one takes on Shoots,
tasteful hats and frocks
with decorous exposure;
The C.O's party's grace
would not be out of place
in Glorious Goodwood's Paddock
and Enclosure.
Just sufficiently apart,
in Mufti, stiffly smart,
stand "the WO's and JO's",
badge-blazered and eyes questing.
Their few wives nod and
chat, remaining seated where first sat:
rightful denizens of Mess
and Ten-Bob Ring.
And those on whose delight
this occasion set its sight:
the Other Ranks - the track
and field parade;
the keen, the fit, the athletic,
(and the fiercely apathetic
now seconded to handle rake
and spade!).
In issue blue gym-shorts,
the billowingly-bloomered 'Sports'
limber up, all shod in issue
plimsoll shoes;
skin tones (red, brown and
white) crown a kaleidoscopic sight
of dubiously-dhobi'd vests
in various hues.
Those who run or jump or
throw, exert commendably to show
their best and win their
heat, height, length or weight,
while those reluctantly
supporting, find their thoughts transporting
them elsewhere........"WAKE
UP, RAKEMAN....YOU'RE TOO LATE!"
yet admonisher/admonished
will shortly be astonished
as rebuke becomes a broader
truth fulfilled
for wind and sand begin
to rise towards swirling dusty skies
then..... all invisible.....
activities are stilled,
save the headlong helter-skelter
rush for any shelter
to escape the gritty gale's
stinging wrath.
One and all can barely see
where to seek immunity
from every airborne object's
scything path:
for tables, chairs and poles,
sundry things one puts in holes,
(such as sandwiches etc.),
challenge gravity
(but fashionable frock and
skirt, ballooningly assert
that age-old interests will
regain priority!).
Wisely, with reluctance,
the C.O. gives utterance
to commands that all must
quickly leave the scene;
as nears the time for Dinner,
we thus impute the Winner
to be Mother Nature and
her son, Khamsin.
For in a desert lattitude,
a constant, careful attitude
to time of year and climate
must prevail;
for the best of organisation
will surely meet frustration
and sadly, as that year's
Sports-Day.... fail.
To prevent morale declining,
let us seek a silvered lining,
as we clear up Master Khamsin's
mess together,
and look foward as we can
to ......a month of Ramadan!
... for which, though British,
we cannot blame the weather!
© 2003. Mike Bye.
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