Preparation for the Suez Canal Zone.
(or - The Dreaded RASC Depot Battalion.) By Ken Harris. ex R.A.S.C.
My name is Ken Harris and this is an account of what I and
many friends of mine experienced at The Dreaded RASC Depot battalion.
This was the place where
other ranks of the RASC were sent too before being shipped abroad, in my case the Suez Canal Zone. It was here me and my friends were put through hell to
smarten us up to represent the British Army in Egypt. The Depot Battalion was at Denbury in Devonshire.
My experience of this hell hole started when I and approximately 75 other ranks were introduced to our NCO, Sgt. Smith, a name never to be forgotten.
My friends and I were to spend two weeks of absolute hell which included Christmas 1950 under this dreaded NCO.
The first thing he made us do was to change the colour of our Blancoed equipment from green to buff, as we were going to Egypt. Our barracks was an old
gymnasium and he told us to go to it and dry scrub our kit and not to use any water. Imagine 75 men dry scrubbing their webbing to get rid of the green Blanco;
it was so dusty you could hardly see your hands in front of your face; it was like being in a green London fog. We had to live and sleep with that dust and many
men went down with coughs, sore throats and skin complaints. When we had finished the dry scrubbing we were then told to Blanco our kit with the buff colour
that was required for Egypt. When finished, we were then told we had to square up our small and large back packs using a kit of pre cut pieces of hardboard.
The kit could be purchased from a timber merchant who just happened to be there when we were given our orders. Sgt. Smith told us he could not make us buy
the kit, but said “God help anybody who’s kit is not squared up by the morning’s kit inspection”.
Kit inspections were now going to be three times a day; the last one could be anytime, even after midnight. The last one was always the worst, because you just
had to wait around in the freezing cold barrack room until Sgt. Smith turned up and this meant you could not make your bed up or sit down because all your kit
was laid out on the bed including your greatcoat, so you just had to wait around until he had finished, all we wanted to do was to get tucked up in our beds to get
warm. Our mess tins and cutlery had to be polished with Brasso until you could see your face clearly enough to shave in. As well as having to bull your boots,
you had to scrape the black painted lace holes to reveal brass that then had to be polished. We had to remove all the buttons on our greatcoats and rearrange
them to a set pattern and then we had to press the pleats in the coat until you could cut your fingers on them. During kit inspections, if it was not up to standard
Sgt. Smith would kick or throw it all round the barrack room until it was unfit for the next kit inspection, which meant having to do it all again. During all these
inspections we were given time off for a Christmas Dinner, a long overdue break. The Christmas Menu, was signed by many of the officers who waited on us.
Having survived the two weeks of hell under Sgt. Smith and the very
cold weather, we were then put on a train to Liverpool where we would
board our ship for Egypt. Our ship was “The Empress of Australia”
and we set sail at midnight on New Years Eve 1950-1951. We
were the smartest servicemen on board the
ship; we even made the various Guards Regiments look scruffy.
On arrival in Port Said, we were transported to Gebel Maryam half way down the Suez Canal where we were to spend the next couple of weeks until we got our
various postings. This was our first experience of Egypt and being under canvas. To lay there on your beds with the tent walls wound up and watch ships passing
by in the night all lit up, appearing to float on the desert sands was something never to be forgotten. This spectacle was just as amazing in daylight because you
could not see the canal, just the desert sand and the ships on it.
I and some friends were to be posted and placed on the Permanent Staff of 156 Transit Camp Port Fouad in Port Said, where we were to spend the next 19
months. On arrival, we were shown to our quarters, a building with windows a roof and a solid floor. We soon settled in and it wasn’t long before we met some
uninvited inhabitants, the dreaded bed bug. The bugs would feed on you during the night by sucking your blood; you knew you had been a victim because your
sheets would be speckled with blood stains. Having been attacked we were then told by older members of the permanent staff to shake our beds and to our
surprise the bugs fell on the floor and after stamping on them the floor was covered in blood stains and the smell was horrible. We soon learnt how to cope with
the bugs, we were issued with tins of powder known as AL63, which if you got some empty tins of boot polish and filled them with the powder and then stood
the legs of your bed in them this would stop the bugs climbing up the legs. Another thing we did was to put our mattresses out in the sun during the day and this
got rid of them.
Soon after arrival, we had some more unexpected guests, Egyptian burglars; they broke into our billet one night and took what ever was lying around while we
were asleep. The next morning we were woken by someone shouting he had lost his trousers, which we all thought was funny and then someone else would say
they had lost something and the laughter got even louder until nearly all of us had lost something and the billet was in uproar. When the laughter had died down
we began to wonder where it had all gone and started to look around for the missing kit. Someone opened one of the doors and looked outside the billet and
found a heap of clothing and other things, which when examined turned out to be things the Egyptians didn’t want, such as socks with holes in or frayed shirts, they
even left our pay books behind. We couldn’t get over the fact that they were so clever and quiet they had time to go through our stuff and leave behind what they
didn’t want. After all the commotion had died down someone decided to report the incident to the camp Provost Sergeant who did no more than come down to
the billet and march all those who had lost any kit down to the Guard Room and place them on a charge. I was one of the unfortunate ones who lost kit, in fact I
had lost everything other than the pyjama trousers I was wearing and that is the way me and the others were marched down the main street of the camp to the
Guard Room. Eventually when we were put on a charge in front of the Officer Commanding suitably attired, he let us off and all we got was fined for some of the
kit we had lost. I have never been able to work it out; I lost everything, but only had to pay for a pair of trouser braces. Sadly, all the kit I had spent all those
hours polishing and scrubbing in the Dreaded Depot Battalion had been lost and all the new kit had to be brought up to standard again.
When my friend John Eede and I were nearing completion of our National Service, we were told we were being flown home to England, to a Depot Battalion at
Bordon in Hampshire for demob. On arrival we met up with a lot of old pals who had been with us at the outward bound Depot Battalion at Denbury in
Devonshire and the topic of conversation was hope we don’t get the dreaded Sgt. Smith. When we went on parade the next morning low and behold, who was standing in front of us? You guessed it, Sgt. Smith. He proceeded to walk along the ranks, when he got to me he stood there eyes glaring, tapped me on the
shoulder and said “take one step forward”, I thought that’s it, what have I done wrong and stood there shaking. He then carried on down the ranks and picked
out two more chaps and told them to take one step forward. After he had dismissed the parade, he came up to the three of us who by this time were thinking the
worst. He approached me and said, “Until you are demobbed you are going to be my batman and your only daily duties for the next two weeks will be to polish
and Blanco my belt and gaiters and polish my hat badge”. As NCOs are not allowed batmen, he got away with it because everyone was scared of him, even the
officers. The other two chaps who got picked out with me were given similar cushy duties. While I was his batman he told me I could go home for the weekends,
but all my pals who hadn’t been picked out were put through two weeks of hell with all that spit and polish and kit inspections and to crown it all had to have their
hair cut short again just like the beginning of their National Service all over again As you can imagine, I was a very lucky man and felt a great deal of sympathy for
all my friends who had to endure the dreaded Sgt. Smith yet again.
© Ken Harris. December 2006
other ranks of the RASC were sent too before being shipped abroad, in my case the Suez Canal Zone. It was here me and my friends were put through hell to
smarten us up to represent the British Army in Egypt. The Depot Battalion was at Denbury in Devonshire.
My experience of this hell hole started when I and approximately 75 other ranks were introduced to our NCO, Sgt. Smith, a name never to be forgotten.
My friends and I were to spend two weeks of absolute hell which included Christmas 1950 under this dreaded NCO.
The first thing he made us do was to change the colour of our Blancoed equipment from green to buff, as we were going to Egypt. Our barracks was an old
gymnasium and he told us to go to it and dry scrub our kit and not to use any water. Imagine 75 men dry scrubbing their webbing to get rid of the green Blanco;
it was so dusty you could hardly see your hands in front of your face; it was like being in a green London fog. We had to live and sleep with that dust and many
men went down with coughs, sore throats and skin complaints. When we had finished the dry scrubbing we were then told to Blanco our kit with the buff colour
that was required for Egypt. When finished, we were then told we had to square up our small and large back packs using a kit of pre cut pieces of hardboard.
The kit could be purchased from a timber merchant who just happened to be there when we were given our orders. Sgt. Smith told us he could not make us buy
the kit, but said “God help anybody who’s kit is not squared up by the morning’s kit inspection”.
Kit inspections were now going to be three times a day; the last one could be anytime, even after midnight. The last one was always the worst, because you just
had to wait around in the freezing cold barrack room until Sgt. Smith turned up and this meant you could not make your bed up or sit down because all your kit
was laid out on the bed including your greatcoat, so you just had to wait around until he had finished, all we wanted to do was to get tucked up in our beds to get
warm. Our mess tins and cutlery had to be polished with Brasso until you could see your face clearly enough to shave in. As well as having to bull your boots,
you had to scrape the black painted lace holes to reveal brass that then had to be polished. We had to remove all the buttons on our greatcoats and rearrange
them to a set pattern and then we had to press the pleats in the coat until you could cut your fingers on them. During kit inspections, if it was not up to standard
Sgt. Smith would kick or throw it all round the barrack room until it was unfit for the next kit inspection, which meant having to do it all again. During all these
inspections we were given time off for a Christmas Dinner, a long overdue break. The Christmas Menu, was signed by many of the officers who waited on us.
Signed Christmas menu. 1950. |
Ken on his first day at Gebel Maryam. |
ship; we even made the various Guards Regiments look scruffy.
On arrival in Port Said, we were transported to Gebel Maryam half way down the Suez Canal where we were to spend the next couple of weeks until we got our
various postings. This was our first experience of Egypt and being under canvas. To lay there on your beds with the tent walls wound up and watch ships passing
by in the night all lit up, appearing to float on the desert sands was something never to be forgotten. This spectacle was just as amazing in daylight because you
could not see the canal, just the desert sand and the ships on it.
I and some friends were to be posted and placed on the Permanent Staff of 156 Transit Camp Port Fouad in Port Said, where we were to spend the next 19
months. On arrival, we were shown to our quarters, a building with windows a roof and a solid floor. We soon settled in and it wasn’t long before we met some
uninvited inhabitants, the dreaded bed bug. The bugs would feed on you during the night by sucking your blood; you knew you had been a victim because your
sheets would be speckled with blood stains. Having been attacked we were then told by older members of the permanent staff to shake our beds and to our
surprise the bugs fell on the floor and after stamping on them the floor was covered in blood stains and the smell was horrible. We soon learnt how to cope with
the bugs, we were issued with tins of powder known as AL63, which if you got some empty tins of boot polish and filled them with the powder and then stood
the legs of your bed in them this would stop the bugs climbing up the legs. Another thing we did was to put our mattresses out in the sun during the day and this
got rid of them.
Soon after arrival, we had some more unexpected guests, Egyptian burglars; they broke into our billet one night and took what ever was lying around while we
were asleep. The next morning we were woken by someone shouting he had lost his trousers, which we all thought was funny and then someone else would say
they had lost something and the laughter got even louder until nearly all of us had lost something and the billet was in uproar. When the laughter had died down
we began to wonder where it had all gone and started to look around for the missing kit. Someone opened one of the doors and looked outside the billet and
found a heap of clothing and other things, which when examined turned out to be things the Egyptians didn’t want, such as socks with holes in or frayed shirts, they
even left our pay books behind. We couldn’t get over the fact that they were so clever and quiet they had time to go through our stuff and leave behind what they
didn’t want. After all the commotion had died down someone decided to report the incident to the camp Provost Sergeant who did no more than come down to
the billet and march all those who had lost any kit down to the Guard Room and place them on a charge. I was one of the unfortunate ones who lost kit, in fact I
had lost everything other than the pyjama trousers I was wearing and that is the way me and the others were marched down the main street of the camp to the
Guard Room. Eventually when we were put on a charge in front of the Officer Commanding suitably attired, he let us off and all we got was fined for some of the
kit we had lost. I have never been able to work it out; I lost everything, but only had to pay for a pair of trouser braces. Sadly, all the kit I had spent all those
hours polishing and scrubbing in the Dreaded Depot Battalion had been lost and all the new kit had to be brought up to standard again.
When my friend John Eede and I were nearing completion of our National Service, we were told we were being flown home to England, to a Depot Battalion at
Bordon in Hampshire for demob. On arrival we met up with a lot of old pals who had been with us at the outward bound Depot Battalion at Denbury in
Devonshire and the topic of conversation was hope we don’t get the dreaded Sgt. Smith. When we went on parade the next morning low and behold, who was standing in front of us? You guessed it, Sgt. Smith. He proceeded to walk along the ranks, when he got to me he stood there eyes glaring, tapped me on the
shoulder and said “take one step forward”, I thought that’s it, what have I done wrong and stood there shaking. He then carried on down the ranks and picked
out two more chaps and told them to take one step forward. After he had dismissed the parade, he came up to the three of us who by this time were thinking the
worst. He approached me and said, “Until you are demobbed you are going to be my batman and your only daily duties for the next two weeks will be to polish
and Blanco my belt and gaiters and polish my hat badge”. As NCOs are not allowed batmen, he got away with it because everyone was scared of him, even the
officers. The other two chaps who got picked out with me were given similar cushy duties. While I was his batman he told me I could go home for the weekends,
but all my pals who hadn’t been picked out were put through two weeks of hell with all that spit and polish and kit inspections and to crown it all had to have their
hair cut short again just like the beginning of their National Service all over again As you can imagine, I was a very lucky man and felt a great deal of sympathy for
all my friends who had to endure the dreaded Sgt. Smith yet again.
© Ken Harris. December 2006
