Shots In The Dark

Arthur at RAF Ismailia, 1949.

On arrival at Fayid in April 1948, a number of us were dispatched to our future base at Deversoir, but later during my tour of duty I also served for a time at El Firdan and Ismailia.  We certainly saw active service whilst in the Zone, if 'active service' means shooting, being shot at and having friends killed.  The job I had as a radio mechanic was to dismantle radio equipment from military vehicles.  The gear we removed was smashed and buried in the desert.  I gather that the reason for this was that the equipment was mainly U.S. on loan and any subsequent commercial use could have adverse market implications.  I'm only guessing on that point.

Another and far more exciting part of my duties was to travel extensively, via DC3, to many parts of Africa, Asia and the Med, as part of the Med/ME Command Radio Fitting Unit.  But all this may not be relevant at this stage.  What may be of more interest is that for a large part of my tour of duty in Egypt I was posted on  guard and perimeter surveillance duties, always during the night hours.  Local Egyptian fellahin raiders would enter our camp most nights, even entering our tents on occasions.  One guy awoke to face a flashlight and a knife at his throat.  "I'm not a brave bastard," he said later, "I just yelled 'Allah Akhbar' and he ran off." After a while the powers that be (or were), deemed it prudent to accommodate us in safer Nissen huts.  About a dozen of us used one that had previously been used by the Americans, or so it appeared judging by the stars and stripes on the ceiling.

For night watch duties, we were issued with Lee Enfield 303s and 20 rounds each.  Most nights we didn't fire a single shot, but we were able to hear distant gunfire and see warning flares set off by the odd tripwire.  There were, however, a few occasions when we were directly involved in skirmishes where, apart from our own arms, bren and sten guns were used in these confrontations.  Lying between a couple of sand dunes, rifle cocked, staring in the direction where a hostile approach was most likely to come from, could be quite eerie.

The crazy part was that the invaders seemed to be intent on stealing just about anything they could lay their hands on.  Items of clothing, boots, tin plates, cutlery, or whatever wasn't screwed down, but at times even this precaution didn't always work.  The 'klefty wallahs' would steal what they could by day during any lapses in our vigilance; their armed compatriots would take over for the night shift.  The night invaders were at risk of being cut to pieces by concentrated bren-gun fire, and sometimes were.  This was particularly gruesome for the newbies.  Not at all what we expected when we joined the 'Brylcreem Brigade.'

I suppose I can say, after all this time, that on one particularly scary occasion, disaster was averted by a split second.  On one semi-moonlit night I observed a figure approaching.  The man was armed and wearing what appeared to be a gallabiyeh.  ‘This was it’ I thought.  I aimed my rifle directly at the approaching figure who was no more than 30 yards away.  In that instant I was tackled by the corporal in charge of our section.  "You **** ****!, that's the orderly officer coming towards us."  It was indeed.  The ‘gallabiyeh’ turned out to be his greatcoat. It may well have kept him warm but it almost cost him his life.

These were hectic times.  Sadly, we lost a few of our people.  One name that sticks in my mind is Meares, or possibly Mears.  He was, I believe, killed instantly by a shot from the other side.  It has always struck me as odd that there seems to be a blanket of silence over that entire period.  We were on active service; we were told so in no uncertain terms by our OIC.  This advice was offered on the basis: "Since you are on active service, be aware that discipline will be harsher than when you are outside a combat zone."

It is only fair to mention the contribution made by a regiment of Basuto’s stationed on the eastern side of the road linking Deversoir with Ismailia.  They were a fearsome crowd.  Was it the Duke of Wellington who, when referring to his troops, remarked:  "I'm not sure what effect these men have on the enemy, but they frighten me to death."  Or words to that effect.  To this day I can recall the intimidating chanting that wafted over from their camp, a sort of two line lilting refrain, terminated by a terrifying and resounding "Whoomp!"  These guys were certainly the most trigger-happy that I ever encountered.  There were, so we heard, various 'accidents.'  Nevertheless, it has to be said that their presence added to our feeling of security.

Oddly enough, the most frightening experience occurred during a stroll with a friend in Ismailia. A group of Arab boys decided to accompany us on our walk. Eventually one piped up. "Inta maskeen, hinna, ershein sagh."  Meaning: 'You are poor, here are a few coins.'  Placing his hand near my trouser pocket, he motioned as if to place something in it. Some moments later he decided that he wanted 'his money' back. We ignored him and continued walking. This was the catalyst for a scream of abuse and in no time we were surrounded by an angry mob. The situation looked grim.  At that time British personnel were frequently found hacked to death in the Canal area.  Maybe it was our turn. Miraculously, a Military Police jeep appeared and one M.P. fired his revolver into the air. "Hey you two, get in," he shouted.  We could have kissed the pair of them, they saved us from what could have been a very nasty incident.

Summing up, the Canal Zone was a miserable place.  I remember the sunshine and the smells and the ships sailing through the desert; but I also remember the real dangers we encountered, even when walking through the streets of Ismailia.  A good place to be out of.

(p.s. The Arabic and it’s translation is written and spelt here as Arthur sent it.  I did check my dictionary for 'Gallabiyeh' and found it can be spelt in twelve different ways.  I trust that Arthur is correct with the other words.) -

Richard (Dick) Woolley