Operation Siren

Karaolis Camp near Famagusta, Cyprus, mid- June 1958. Its 01.00 hours and half a dozen R.E.M.E. mechanics are fast asleep. They mumble a bit and turn over as the door opens and the lights are switched on. At that second, the air is 'blue', filled with such expletives as, "Who's switching the F- g lights on at this time of night?” The young soldier who had perpetrated the deed looked a little askance, but nevertheless managed to ask, "Who's the R.E.M.E. Sparks?” Several drowsy voices shouted in such unison that it could have appeared to be orchestrated, to an outside observer. "It's him!". Each of them, pointing at different beds, none of which was mine. I let this go on for a little while and then, feeling sorry for the guy, I admitted that I was the one that he was looking for. "You're wanted down at the Ops (Operations) Room,” he said, above the now dying protestations. "Here we go again", I thought, a light bulb has blown and nobody has the nous to change it.”

Slipping into a pair of shorts, plimsolls and a shirt, (it's cold at night even in Cyprus once you're acclimatised), and grabbing my emergency tool kit, which was a little box with a pair of cutters, a couple of pairs of pliers, two screwdrivers and some fuse wire of various ratings in it, I headed for the OPs Room. I tapped on the door, entered, and as I walked into the room, immediately realised that all of the lights were in working order. I also noticed the three men standing in front of a large street map of Famagusta that was pinned to the wall. One of the men was the I.0. Captain, Brian Goode (Intelligence Officer) and the other two were privates from the Intelligence Corps who I had seen around camp from time to time but had never met to talk to, even though, like the R.E.M.E., they were part of the Corps attached to the Light Infantry Regiment. As I approached the group, the  I.0. Captain, who had turned around on hearing the door open said, "Ah' there you are ‘Sparks’, we've got a little job for you. We need a siren knocking out in the centre of Famagusta". As I inwardly questioned this matter of fact statement, he began to explain that Intelligence Officers had established a link between church bells ringing; a siren sounding and demonstrations, which followed immediately afterwards in the central market square.
 

It seemed that someone connected with E0KA was organising the ringing of church bells throughout the town, which gave notice of an impending demo' and, a little while later, the siren was sounded which brought the crowds en masse into the market square, there to cause considerable mayhem and a breach of what little peace existed at that time. The Captain continued to explain that intelligence had located the siren, which was on top of the indoor market hall in the centre of Famagusta, and that it was now my job to put it out of commission - preferably permanently! He then took me back to the street map and pointed out the whereabouts of the siren. Intelligence had further established that there was an ice cream kiosk at the left hand corner of the building from which, if we climbed on top of it, would give us access to the first flat roof of the market hall. After this, we could gain access to the second of the flat roofs by crossing the first and scaling a wall about eight feet high.

By repeating this manoeuvre, we would find ourselves on the top floor, whereupon was housed the siren. Having studied the map and getting an outline plan, I asked the Captain who would be with me on the venture. He had already decided that four of us would make up the team,  myself, a driver (who was also a marksman when required), another marksman, and a 'rookie' Lieutenant who had just got in from England and “could benefit from the expedition”. He also said that, whilst the Lieutenant was the senior officer on the job and in theory therefore, leader, off the record, would I keep an eye on him because of his lack of experience. This, as you may well imagine, filled me with confidence!

The operation was scheduled for half an hour's time and accordingly the men to be involved were notified by the 'Company Runner', the same chap who had incurred the wrath of my mates a little while earlier. Me, I returned to the R.E.M.E. quarters to collect a few more tools, together with my ‘Sterling’ sub machine gun! In view of where we were going, the job that we had been allotted, and the time, I thought the latter might come in handy!

When I returned to the Ops Room, the other three men had already arrived and been briefed. All that remained to be done was to pick up a Land Rover from the M.T. (Motor Transport) compound and head towards Famagusta, about three miles away. We drove through the camp to the perimeter boundary and halted at the barrier, where we booked out with the Duty Guard. Now we were truly on our way, driving reasonably carefully over the heavily rutted road. No one said a great deal other than to arrange how the team was to be split up. It was agreed that Jock, the marksman, would come onto the roof with me, whilst the Lieutenant and the driver would remain in the Land Rover.

This having been sorted, we travelled in silence, each with his own thoughts, until we reached the outskirts of the town. We had a quick look at the map and then proceeded at a steady pace in search of the market hall and ice cream kiosk, each of us keen to get in, get the job done and get out, as fast as possible. I have to say that the Intelligence boys had done a superb job of reconnoitering the place and within a few minutes we had found the market hall and kiosk.

The adrenaline for each of us was running at an all time high and, frankly, my guts were churning at a rate of knots. The driver drove the vehicle onto the pavement as near to the kiosk as possible. The town was deadly quiet and every shutter on nearby houses was closed. Jock, the marksman, stepped off the edge of the Land Rover, climbed onto the top of the kiosk and quickly scaled the wall and accessed the first floor roof where, having already recharged his F.N. rifle, he lay on the floor above us, keeping watch and indicating for me to follow. I was soon lying beside him, thinking, "Well that’s the first bit over". We decided to lie there for a minute or so; just to make sure that there was no other activity going on about us or above us. Everything was as still as a graveyard and shutters in the houses still closed. We decided that it was okay to move on. I lay still, but ultra alert whilst Jock ran, half crouching, across the roof to the wall below the second level. He waited there for a while, as we had arranged, and then whispered for me to cross. Head down, I ran over the open space, and joined Jock against the wall, both of us crouching with our backs to it, to afford us protection from behind.

Once again we paused, looking intently through the darkness and listening for the slightest noise. Not a sound could be heard, other than that of pensive breath coming from both my colleague and myself.

Now it was my turn to keep watch, whilst the rifleman climbed the wall leading to the second flat roof, another eight feet or so above us. The climb was relatively easy and uneventful for him and he was soon quietly telling me to come on as he leaned over the wall. I followed him up the wall and once again we took stock of our surroundings before moving on. Silence still prevailed. So far, so good!

Again Jock set off across the second flat roof to the wall, which, once ascended, would hopefully bring us to our goal. He scaled it with the ease of an athlete and was beckoning me to follow. I had one last glance around me before hotfooting it across the space between us. One more hurdle for us and the rest would be up to me.

Covering our backs by leaning against the wall and stooping down to create a smaller mass, we looked around yet again, both of our weapons at the ready, so that we would be able to 'let loose', should the need arise. The silence, considering where we were, was eerie, but under the circumstances, most  welcome.

Having assured ourselves that all was well, Jock climbed the last of the walls and, after a quick look about him, he signalled me to join him. It was still bloody cold and I was wishing that I had put on a K.D. (Khaki Drill) jacket over my shirt. However, there was no time to pontificate! Time to get over the last obstacle. I climbed up and over the wall and rested beside my 'minder', for that indeed was his role, and surveyed our surroundings.

We were on an area some thirty feet square, with what seemed to be a small brick building over on the far side. A wooden plank had been secured down the length of the wall and at eye level was secured a 440-volt electrical mains box. From the box I could just make out some rubber covered wiring, which was clipped vertically down the plank and ran down to the floor. From here, encased now in steel conduit, it coursed across the floor then turned upwards for a couple of feet where it joined the control box of a fairly large electric motor. Parallel to the motor, at a distance of about two feet or so was the siren. This was connected to the motor by a pulley belt, obviously attached to both machines via pulley wheels. Whilst I was assessing the situation, Jock was lying on the floor and keeping a watch on our three open sides.

Having taken stock of the job in hand I decided to have a quick look over the parapet to check our colleagues below. Both men were seated in the Land Rover facing away from each other, one in the front, the other in the back and both with their weapons at the ready looking after their end of the business.

Assured that the ground floor was secured as well as ours, I walked carefully back to the mains switch in order to cut off the electricity supply. I had just pulled the lever down when an almighty clanging of bells sounded from the street below us, together with the roar of a lorry engine. The noise seemed to be even more amplified due to the quiet stillness of the night and the fact that my nerves at least, were as tight as a bowstring.

By a mixture of instinct, shock and fear, I switched off the pencil torch, at the same time dropping to the-floor, easing my Sterling S.M.G. into my hands from where it lay. Within a few moments the cause of the noise was evident as a fire engine, bells still clanging, sped past the building. As it did so, lights were going on in the houses and flats all around us and window shutters were being opened. By now I was beside Jock, both of us tense, quiet and still. I assumed that the lads on the ground had adopted the same attitude.

We waited like this for what seemed an eternity, yet it was probably no more than a few minutes. The fire engine had in fact passed us within seconds, but from each lighted, open window, people were gathered on the balconies, looking out over the street and possibly wondering what was happening on this particular night and like inquisitive people the world over, once awake and up, they stood around for a while speculating, one assumed, what might possibly be the reason for the disturbance. Meanwhile we were watching from across the street for any sign or movement that someone may have seen us. Or, worse still had both seen us AND had a firearm! However, after some ten minutes, the residents began to disperse. Shutters were being closed, and lights went out as they returned to their beds.

The noises of the fire engine's bells were now but mild chimes somewhere in the distance. As we witnessed this 'Jock' and I began to lose some of the tenseness and gave quiet gasps of relief.

Five minutes after all of the lights went out, I decided to have another attempt at the mains box, but not before moving the 'Sterling' to a spot within easy reach. Undoing the securing bolts I opened the front and carefully removed both fuses. I then put a mains tester onto the output side of the wiring to make doubly sure that no power was flowing. Having established that all was safe to proceed I turned my attention back to the generator. I crawled all around it, located the mains input box and at the same time establishing that six self-tapping screw-bolts were securing a steel cowl which was protecting the armature, bushes, and bearings from the outside elements. It occurred to me that if I could do as much damage as possible to the generator, then, since these were very difficult to obtain, I would cause more havoc and concern, than merely damaging the siren. This then, I decided to do.

Opening the control box by unscrewing four bolts (one in each corner), I dismantled the switch mechanism and spring connectors. I then crawled around the generator and proceeded to unscrew the first of the six self-tappers securing the cowl. Moving along and around the plant I finally unscrewed all six bolts. As the last of the bolts was released the cowl sprung outwards, lying across the length of the motor and forming a slight arc. I now needed to move it out of the way to afford me access to the inner workings. Grasping each end of the four feet by three feet sheet of steel and slightly bending it in the process, in order to get a firmer grip, I lifted it from where it lay. I began to walk down the gap between the generator and siren when both legs touched the pulley belt, which I had not yet dismantled, and had also forgotten about! Before I realised what was happening, I was falling towards the floor having tripped over the belt. Automatically I let go of the cowl in order to stop my fall. With a resounding crash the cowl hit the floor giving off as it did so a loud, echoing, clang until I fell on top of it. Silently cursing my own stupidity, and with the echo of the falling cowl disappearing on the night air, my minder and I found ourselves once more prostrate, ensuring that the noise hadn't aroused any unwelcome attention.

Suddenly a voice whispered croakily from below, "I say, are you chaps all right up there?" It was the rookie Lieutenant! I leaned over the parapet and hissed back with some venom "Yes...for f...k sake shut up!” All was quiet once again

Back I went to the generator, and using the pencil torch I could now see clearly the copper wiring of the armature. I reached down to the side of me, into the tool bag and withdrew a small pair of wire cutters. Once I'd gripped them correctly I reached into the inside of the machine and lifting up the tightly wound wires one or two at a time began cutting and separating them. I continued to do this until I was convinced that the armature wiring were all destroyed and then switched my attention to the carbon brushes and brush housing. Using a long thick screwdriver I was able to lift out the brushes and sever the copper connecting wires and using the same tool, severely damage the housings.

Having now virtually destroyed the generator I decided to cut the pulley belt, just for the hell of it and also take off the wheels. The cutters went through the carbonised rubber compound quite easily and the wheels were dismantled with equal ease by merely unbolting the securing nuts. I then placed it in my tool bag on my way to rejoin 'Jock' who had been lying vigilantly, patiently and I'm sure tensely, for some thirty minutes.

I indicated that the job was complete and to move out. On the descent he remained on the higher level whilst I climbed down the wall and then he followed. I ran across the open space of the second flat roof and waited. All the time, keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings, until my mate joined me. We continued the same manoeuvre to the parapet of the final floor where I leaned over the edge and whispered to the driver that we were on our way down. Just in case he mistook us for terrorists and being more than a little 'jumpy', got trigger-happy. I then eased myself onto the ice cream kiosk and into the vehicle. Within seconds I was sitting in the back seat with 'Jock' beside me, as the driver started the engine.

He slowly eased the Land Rover off the pavement and equally slowly turned towards home, gradually increasing speed as we left the outskirts of 'Fama Gee'. Once we were in open country he stepped on the throttle. In those days Cyprus had few tarmacadem roads, so the journey home, in spite of the reliability of the vehicle, was less than comfortable. Strangely no one seemed to notice this too much and certainly I was so elated with having got the job done and getting out of there, that a few bumps and bounces were the least of my worries.

We arrived back at base at around 04:00 hrs, each of us now feeling totally knackered. Not particularly from tiredness but from released tension. I'd already thanked 'Jock' and the driver for looking after my health and welfare and we were about to head back to the Ops room for a de-briefing when the Lieutenant eased me back by my shirt sleeve and in a subdued tone said "You do realise don't you that I could charge you with insubordination for your comments to me from the roof back there?" I looked him in the face and feeling sorry for the naivete' which he displayed replied "Sir, when we get back to the Captain, you tell him what you will and we'll see what happens next eh?"The I.0., and the Intelligence Corps guys were waiting for us and I explained what had been done and that in my opinion we had achieved our objective. He thanked us all and then asked the Lieutenant if he had anything to add. "No Sir." he replied. With that we each gave a smartish, though tired, salute and left to return to our beds. On reaching the R.E.M.E., billet I was careful not to make a noise, opening the door as quietly as possible and not needing to switch on the lights since dawn had broken. I eased myself out of my clothes and dropped naked onto the bed.

Two hours later the bugler sounded 'Reveille' and the room started to come alive. The 'Lads' asked me were I had been and since no one had told me different recounted the story of the night's events. I then lay back in my 'pit' and asked 'Taffy', if he would bring me back a cup of tea from the cookhouse.

At around 08:OOhrs. I stirred myself, put on my shorts and walked to the washhouse where I had a leisurely wash, shave and brush up. I then returned to the billet and got dressed, after which I strolled down to the R.E.M.E. compound, otherwise known as ‘the Garage’. It was composed of four bays of corrugated sheeting, a tin roof, and was open at the front to allow vehicular access. An area of some fifty square yards covered in gravel chipping surrounded the whole. As was my wont each morning I had a look at the job cards fixed to the vehicles in the compound and the only job for me was the control box on a one-ton Austin lorry. I picked up my toolbox, got into the cab, put the box on the drivers seat and then lay on the floor with my feet on the dashboard. I had just made the first test on the control box, using a multi-meter, when I heard rather positive, firm steps, crunching into the gravel. The body to which the feet belonged stopped in front of the nearside open door of the Austin. "Good Morning." said a well-spoken voice, which I recognised immediately as that of the Commanding Officer (Colonel Norman Wheeler.) I twisted my body to stand up and get out of the vehicle, when the voice continued," Don't get up lad! I just popped over to congratulate you on the first class job that you did last night. The police have just 'phoned, it seems that certain civic dignitaries are in uproar and are demanding to know who destroyed the plant beyond repair. The motor driving the siren is totally destroyed and there is absolutely no chance of it being replaced or repaired. Well done!" With that he turned on his heels and left.  Me? I was totally uplifted, ‘over the moon’, full of my own importance.  But most of all, bloody glad that it was all over and done with.
 
 

Peter with his R.U.R. C.O. Lt. Col.E.D.D.Wilson  taken in 2003.