The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders (Princess Louise's)

Um il Fahm Palestine 1939 © Tom Barker

"An',wow! Tam saw an unco sight!"
Robert Burns

Stone Sangers

‘B’ Coy of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders were sent from Jenin main Camp to a hill not so far away from this Arab Village to take over and relieve ‘D’ Company of the Buffs Regiment that had served it’s time there and was due some respite and relaxation.

The huge hill came into sight and as we approached it in our trucks travelling between more hills, we immediately spotted and picked out this one hill from the remaining hills, as our new home for a while. It was the only one with wooden buildings perched on the top like a beehive surrounded by barbed wire. This was also confirmed as we got closer, for we spotted stone sangers that came into view.

Dry-walled stone sangers were commonly used by us as gun emplacements to ward off any local baddies or Syrian bandits who objected to us being there and compromising their activities. A complete Section of a Platoon, (about ten men) with a Bren gun and rifles could hold any bandits at bay behind one of these stone sangers that were built just inside the wire and had smaller walls or shoulders that were built at right angles at each end and served as supports for the wall and prevented anyone firing and hitting the occupants from the side. Since a sanger was about four yards long and four feet high, it needed supports at each end to make it permanent and topple-proof.

Trucks Ascending

The road was so constructed, in that it had been built into the hillside and ascended the side of the hill for about a hundred yards, then the road flattened out and was level. This level bit of road allowed any transport to rest, if it was too hot with a heavy load, and it also allowed a truck to turn around so it could now go higher up the hill another hundred yards in the opposite direction, where there was another resting and turning bit of flat level road.

After reaching another flat level bit of road and another hundred yard length of road that appeared to lead up to Heaven were passed, the truck, having reached the top, would now go through the opened wire gate and on into the camp where the Guard Sgt would hold out his hand for the mail and any written new orders. On finding no Angels at the end of our journey, we dismounted from the trucks a bit disappointed with our new surroundings and fell in making up the three ranks, as was the normal procedure.

We learned later that only one truck at a time was allowed to ascend the track because the rear wheels of a truck ascending could suddenly skid, and any rocks that were embedded in the treads of the tyres could be hurled backwards like bullets and any truck following could be damaged, or the driver killed. A rock through the radiator of a following truck would also block the track, due to the engine seizing up now minus cooling fluid, and any mounted roaming bandits could take advantage of such a situation and cause havoc. The trucks, on leaving and going down the hill, would employ the same low gear, because if a truck suddenly suffered brakes failure the engine, being in low gear, would prevent it picking up speed and getting out of control.

Big Fred

They also informed us that in the wet season there were half a dozen mules that were tethered at the rear of the barracks and were for transporting rations up the hill, because even though the camp was reached by our trucks zig zagging up the hill in the dry until the summit was reached, it was a no-no in the wet. One of the Buff’s blokes casually warbled, ”And don’t stand behind Big Fred!”

“Who the hell’s Big Fred when he’s at home?”, queried one of our blokes.

“Yo’ll find aht if yu stand behind ‘im long enough!” said the speaker. “Big Fred is the mule wi’ the jet black mane and he’s a nasty bugger if yu gets too close to ‘im cos ‘e kicks wi both back feet an’ if ‘e gets yu in the nuts, it's bluddy painful, an’ if yer stan’ in front o’ ‘im wi’ yer back to ‘im the bugger bites yer in the ass!”

Danny McCormack said, “If ‘e bites me ah’l club ‘im tu death wi’ me black pudd’n’!"

In the wet season it was not possible, nor was it safe, to attempt to get a loaded truck up the steep inclines in the wet. While the earth remained dry, it was stable, but once it was wet and slippery any weight applied, like a fully loaded truck with rations or soldiers, the earth would give way, and despite skidding wheels with chains on them to give a better grip, the truck’s steering direction would be impaired and it could, if it got turned side-on to the hill, have rolled over and over all the way to the bottom. It would then be, along with it’s contents, of no further use to the Army, or anyone else for that matter.

That is when the Mules would be used as pack animals, and they would be led to the bottom of the hill where supply trucks were halted and their contents transferred to the backs of the mules and safely transported up the hill. It was only when the mules were at the front gate, would the wire encrusted gate be opened to admit them, then it would be closed just as quick. Each time the front gate was opened there would be a group of our blokes with a Bren gun to cover the now opened gate so no one could get in without first obtaining permission from the Guard Sgt.

Once the handing over was sorted out and the other Regiment’s Company had left us to our own devices, so to speak, we began to poke around our new home and wondered how long we would bestuck up here. To quote one of our comedians, “Like sitting on the top of a bliddy Maypole in the middle o’ Sodom and Gomorra!”

Another voice warbled, “Yo kin Sod ‘em, ah’m pootin’ in fer a three days pass termorra, an’ kickin’ mah heels up in Germorra!” ( Haifa)

Just then Sgt Lamb stuck his nose through the door and bawled, “ Roight yus lot! Come an’ get yer beddin’ an’ no bugger’s gett’n’ ony passes ony weer the noo, so get yer skates oan!”

As we got outside we were just in time to see the last of the Buffs Regiment getting to the bottom of the hill in the trucks that had transported us here. Then in a swirl of dust, and free from the restraints of the hill camp, they sped away along the rock and sand strewn track with it’s odd thistle or poppy waving them, “Cheerio the noo!” in the breeze. Gloomy faces now watching their departure grimaced as the owners departed the windows and one murmered, “Ah bet they is aw glad ti be awa frae this rat hole!” and wandered to his bed. Some got a book, while others just laid there looking at the fly walking on the ceiling and wishing they could do the same.

We got our beds made up and it was a real treat to sit for a while to cool off and with the transport now gone, there was a silence that could be tasted. The beds were made of tubular steel frames and had a strong wire mesh inset held taught by about thirty springs about the size of a cigar. These were hooked in the mesh and anchored all the way round the mesh to the steel tubing frame by hooks in the tiny hole in the tubular frame. On these beds, and laid end to end, were three “Biscuits.” A “Biscuit” for a bed, was a three foot by three foot square, by six inches deep, canvas bag full of coir. Two blankets, a pair of sheets and a pillow, plus a mosquito net, completed our bedding.

Bed Bugs

Unfortunately, a bit later in the piece, some blokes looked like they had the measles and it wasn’t until our M.O. was hastily informed and he had a quick look at the patients that he ordered all the metal beds to be put to the torch immediately. The beds were stripped and carted outside where a gang of our lads with blow torches gave each bed a good roasting. Out of the little holes came hordes of bed bugs, which suddenly appeared to swell up and go pop as the heat from the torch reached out to them. The smell wasn’t all that pleasant either, but the breeze was soon dispelling the unpleasant smell and there were no more ugly red skin rashes appearing after sleep.

The only trouble was, and we found out later, that some of the bed springs that had been abused by the heat of the blow lamp had lost their nature and one could pull one and it stayed pulled out and did not return to its original position as a spring in good condition should. One bloke woke up one morning thinking he was in a hammock and had to be assisted out of the now sagging and touching the floor bed. However, new springs were ordered, but they took a month to get to us, so matey with the now duff bed, had to sleep on the floor.

Then some bright lad must have done his sums, because it was posted up on Company orders that, “Any beds being occupied by other than the rightful owner were to be put to the blow torch and all springs were to be removed and washed in carbolic soap, then left out in the sun to dry and only the tubular metal part of the bed was to be heated by said blow torch.”
Signed, Big Wullie, Storeman, ‘B’ Coy 1st Bn A & S H.

The next day a truck visited our camp and all the doors and windows were sealed in one of the barrack rooms and a gas pumped in. We had to sleep that night in the other barrack room. This sleeping arrangement was not enhanced because of the dinner menu and the hut being occupied by twice the number of men it had been designed for.

Jokes were bandied to and fro until everyone tailed off and finally silence prevailed until a snorer began to launch a rhythm and someone else, not yet asleep, began to quietly whistle a pipe tune, “Campbell’s Farewell to Redcastle.” The only trouble was, the snorer didn’t snore a double tap at the end of the tune, so the tune went on and on until a voice growled, “Ef ye dinnae shut that’ f----‘n’ fife’n’, ah’ll come ower an’ tie a knot in yer f----‘n’ chanter!”

The whistling ceased abruptly, but the snorer continued, until suddenly, he was struggling for air, as a huge hand clamped over his nose and mouth. “Wit the F-?” Waking up suddenly and finding no one there, the snorer turned over, and after a couple of licks at an imaginary iced lollipop and with a quick gulp, went silently to sleep again. The shadowy figure of the big bloke moved over to his own bed and lay down with a contented sigh.

The Bugler played a short, “Wakey! wakey!” at daybreak and soon the camp was alive and moving. After breakfast, a work party was formed and set to work removing all the seals from our hut. All doors and windows were opened to clear out all the gas that had been pumped in the day before. With a nice stiff breeze blowing, it wasn’t long before we got the all clear to move back in to our own barrack room.

We normally walked into our barrack room and slumped on our own beds, but today we entered and stood there sniffing and peering under our beds and the Sgt warbled, “ There’s no wee green men under yer beds an’ aw the bugs are awa’ so get used ti et!” Our beds were re-installed and we were happy, until the blokes from the other barracks were now moved in with us, until their hut got the same gas treatment.

Finally with all the barracks de-bugged the Officer’s quarters got the treatment, then the Guard room. They erected a bell tent and operated from it until it was safe to go back into the Guardroom - now minus the bugs. Then what passed as the N.A.F.F.I. canteen and mess hall, got the gas treatment and when we waved goodbye with relief to the de-contamination crew somebody warbled, “Ah wunner weer the canteen is ‘ere?” It was only when, what looked like two big cupboard doors were opened in the mess hall, did we realise that was the canteen.

Ghosts

“S--t said Bob, that’s the last thing I need!”

“It’ll soon be over.” I quipped.

The, “Stick Man” ritual and seventh man of the Guard, was ignored on this hill situation. Normally an extra man is in the make up of a Guard and on inspection, the best turned out man is presented with a stick or walking out cane, but I never saw any such cane or stick, so I didn’t worry about it. The stick man is at the beck and call of the Orderly Officer but hardly ever gets called upon to do anything and can go to bed at night but he is classed as having done a duty as a Guard and cannot be called upon again out of turn.

At night time, we relied on candles and electric torches, and there were no fans in the ceilings, so on a hot day it was nice when a good fresh breeze would blow all the heat away through all the windows that had been opened to welcome it. After lights out at night, no naked lights were allowed, because unattended for a minute or two, the whole camp, being tinder dry in the summer time, would have gone up like a bonfire, and the only water we had to hand, was what was in the 15 cwt Morris water truck.

The sun set at last and the Guard had been changed. Bob Moat and I were silently wandering round the wire side by side. We expected to meet our other two guards who were walking the wire but in the opposite direction. That was when I saw a flash of white to my left, just over the wire. “Wissaaaht?” I whispered, and Bob suddenly yelped, “Look yonder, it’s a bloody ghost!” Now with a round up the spout of our rifles and eyes stuck out like chapel hat pegs, we peered through the gloom towards the monument of a long gone village religious leader and watched, as a snow white animal, about the size of a big dog was spotted daintily picking it’s way over the jumble of rocks. On finally getting to the bottom and onto to the flat, it fled our presence without looking back.

About four o’clock in the morning Bob and I were again on guard and wandering round the Camp on the inside of the wire, when Bob suddenly touched my arm and nodded, I followed his gaze and saw the shadowy outline of a man crouching down in the moon-cast shadow of the canteen. Very quietly we took off the safety catches of our rifles and stealthily in our gym shoes, crept closer, when suddenly the form jerked to life and dashed away, “Halt!” we yelled.

“Halt, or I fire!”

“Halt!”

The moon looked down, as if bored with sailing overhead every night, but now had something to watch and it seemed to brighten a bit and smile more. Or was it the excitement of not knowing what was going to happen next? “Beware of being lured into a situation beyond your control!” suddenly blinked in my think tank and pulled me up sharp, and Bob, not wanting to be alone, also stopped. Then the shadowy figure was spotted making a dash for the corner of one of the barrack rooms and as the figure neared it I took aim and did lead him in my sights as he disappeared behind the barracks.

Splinters suddenly erupted from the wood as the .303 calibre bullet bored a neat hole through the corner post of the barracks and passed on through, leaving a hole one could peer and see light through. It was a split second decision, if I had left it any later someone in the barracks could have been hit and if the target got away, he could have hidden and killed someone later, or even worse could have got into the barracks and stolen rifles and ammo or have slit some sleepers throat. The rifles are usually chained up in a rack at one end of the barracks, but thieves have been known to butcher the Sergeant asleep in his own room at one end of the barracks to get the keys.

It was just as well for the fleeing figure that the ground on the other side of the corner dipped by about a foot and the figure fell because of it, if the ground had been level he would have had another two holes in his head. We got to the fallen figure, only then to realise it was one of our blokes getting to his feet and he was pale and visibly shaken.

“Which of yo two dumb back studs fired that shot?” he snarled.

I told him I had, and I had challenged three times but would he like to try it again, because now aware of the dip in the ground, I would not miss the next time.

“How stupid can you get?” I yelled, now realising, that but for the dip in the ground, he would have been dead. On seeing how up-tight we were and with loaded guns, he thought better of it and remained silent.

The Sgt had turned the Guard out on hearing the shot and they came running to the scene. I explained that the bloke had been to the toilets in the dark and I had seen, what looked like a white wolf, and took a shot at it because if it had rabies, it could have attacked and bitten some of us. The Guard Sgt accepted the explanation and the midnight prowler relaxed when he realised he was off the hook.

Then about a week later someone cleaning the windows spotted the bullet hole through the corner post and began yakking about how this place had never been under attack, but here was proof it had. He persisted with his point of view, but Bob and I kept mum and did not enlighten him as to the truth.

Free Beers

That night Bob and I strolled round to sanger two and there was our midnight masher with three of his mates, one had a mallet, another had a barrel tap in his hand and the third was holding a battered tin mug at the ready. As we approached, the one with the tap offered it to the barrel. There was a thud as the mallet hit the tap and the tap was firmly embedded into the cask. The blokes crowded round with tin mugs ready for the big drink, but one swig from one bloke and the rest got sprayed as he gasped and hawked at the taste of bad warm beer.

The blokes own common sense should have dictated that to leave good beer unattended in a camp full of thirsty swaddies was like begging for it to get stolen. The beer baddies hoisted the barrel of bad beer over the stone sanger and let go of it. It went hurtling down the hillside and gradually smashed to pieces as it hit rocks at speed and the only thing to reach the bottom of the hill intact but now oval was one of the metal hoops. The next day we could smell the stink of bad beer as the sun got on it and the breeze carried it upwards. The next day some Arab women, who had come to the well to draw water from the well, saw the wood from the barrel and collected it and carted it back to their village for firewood.

Encrusted Gates

We got settled in, but when the novelty of standing in the gun pits scanning the terrain from this high vantage point through powerful binoculars wore off, we went back to the old pastime of writing home or playing cards and dominoes, some even produced a dart board and whiled away the tedious hours throwing darts at it. I had bought a guitar in Haifa and a book on how to play it, but had to find a secluded corner to practice it because guitars don’t take kindly to thrown boots or fist sized rocks.

A sanger is made up of rocks so placed one atop the other, a bit like the dry-walling the Romans used in Britain long ago. We used these sangers as protection from a sniping enemy. The sangers had been built to accommodate half a dozen men who would mount a machine gun and handle the ammo.

The sangers were placed at the north, south, east and west points of the camp inside the barbed wire that encircled the camp. One entry/exit to the camp was via the front gate that was made up of a pole the length of the gate opening (about twelve feet) and at each end was fixed a wooden cross.

At the rear of the camp, where the Mules were kept outside the wire, there was a smaller gate that also was encrusted with wire and was locked at night with a heavy padlock and chain and the key kept in the Guardroom. The only time this gate was used, was to feed and water the animals and check the tether and hobbles that stopped them wandering off or being stolen by some Arab joy rider or horse thief. The animals were returned from whence they came as soon as the wet season was over.

The wooden gate to this hill Shangri-la was surrounded by a double row of twisted barbed wire and could only be moved by a bloke with heavy leather gloves on that were specially designed for the purpose, in that they reached right up to the users elbows. Even then moving the gate was only achieved with great care. But like everything else that gets moved often enough, it wasn’t long before the gate began to fall apart and leather gloves or no leather gloves, the gate fell to pieces and became too heavy to move. But it did stop anyone getting into the camp. The only trouble was, we could not get out either, if an urgent call came.

That particular night was extra long for everyone, because we were all aware that if a hook on the end of a rope was slung over the gate then tied to a horse and dragged, our front gate would be gone. But the Officer was up to the mark and posted two Bren gun crews to cover the now faulty gate, until a new gate that had been on order for a week, arrived from Haifa and was delivered the next day after a frantic Heliograph message to Jenin.

Assis

One day one of my mates grinned at me and asked, “Ayeup Tommo, is yo cummin’ fer a drink of assis?” I immediately got a mental picture of the mules at the back of our camp and knowing they where all male I knew he was not referring to milk, and queried, “Asses wot?”

Bandits

Palestine away from the coast is very hilly and an ideal place to ambush even a large force of law and order keepers, so sometimes we were requested to watch the back of some posse on some of these operations.

One operation took us to the house of a local Arab who had allowed bandits to use the flat rooftop of his house as a platform to shoot at passing British Military vehicles and the Powers that were in effect at the time decided to remove any further temptation and removed him and his family and gave him till midday to remove his effects when his house would then be demolished. The Arab protested that the band of baddies had guns and he had none, so he could not stop them on fear of death, and now these people were doing the same thing to him and backed by the law and where was the sense in it?” He had done nothing wrong, yet they were going to blow up his house.

I could see his point, but all to no avail, and the poor Arab was so busy running about protesting, that at midday there was a huge explosion and the house disappeared amid a huge cloud of dust and falling masonry.

Then one of our lads shouted, “Ha Ha, ah don’t believe it! Look yonder!” And we all looked where he was pointing to see a donkey climbing to it’s feet amid the ruin and dust of the house, then shaking it’s head repeatedly and staggering as if to ward off the ringing in it’s ears.

The Wee Dug

During the day, one bloke on guard for two hours at a stretch, would stroll round the wire and keep his eyes open, then as soon as it got dark, two men with a whistle and powerful torch would stroll around the wire at night. I was on guard one day, when out of the corner of my eye I saw movement in the bushes and I still walked as if I had seen nothing, but when I got to the stone sanger I sank down out of sight and put a round up the spout of my rifle and peered round at the bush I had seen move. The bush was only a wild pea and so small that I thought my imagination was playing tricks. But as I watched the bush about six hundred yards away, I saw what looked like a butchers apron move, so I yelled to the Guardroom to alert the Sergeant, who came running, and he puffed, “What?” and “Where?” And I pointed at a prominent white rock, “See yon white rock at eight‘o’clock?“ and he replied, “Aye,”

I said, “Watch the bush about two yards down from it.”

“Aave gor it.” he said, “Et’s a bloody wee dug!” (small dog).

“Wait the noo!” and he grabbed the binoculars that were hanging round my neck and I had to lean over as he pulled to see through them.

”Noo, let’s hae a wee look at ye.” he murmured And putting the binocs to his eyes he focused them and said, “That’s no wee dug, it’s an Arab an’ he’s in a reet mess."

He ran back to the Guardroom and organised for two Bren guns to be set up in case it was a ploy. Meanwhile I was looking at other bushes to make sure there were no more Arabs on the prowl.

The Sgt must have sent one of our chaps to alert the Officer, because the Officer came tumbling out of his billet strapping on his Sam Brown belt and pistol. He in turn ordered the gate to be opened and blew his whistle, to which the response was almost immediate. The barrack rooms doors were flung open and blokes poured out buckling up their equipment and the Officer held up his hand and said ”Sorry chaps, but I just want one or two volunteers to go and fetch that man in!”, and he pointed to where the bush was. Four men and the Sergeant went to the bush and brought in an Arab who was in a real mess. Once inside the wire, the Bren gunners were dismissed and the heavy wire encrusted gate shut and everyone returned to what they had been doing. A signal was sent via Heliograph using Morse code for an ambulance to come from Jenin main camp.

While waiting for the ambulance to arrive we had managed to extract some info from the Arab. It appeared he had a friend who had some guns hidden and some bandits had got wind of them, so they beat this bloke up to make him tell were the guns were buried. Trouble was, he didn’t know where the guns were. After beating on him till he collapsed, the bandits had a break for coffee and ‘horses doovers’ and that was his chance to get away. He knew if he could get to our camp he would be safe, that was when I saw him near the small bush. We saw him off in the ambulance and thought that was the end of the matter, but no, the powers that be wanted those guns, because, while they were in the hands of anyone other than the Police or Military, they could be used against us. So we had a foray into the Arab village the bloke had named, and got hold of the friend with the guns and told him to hand them over.

He said no, they were his, and no one was going to take them away. We had no right to demand them as he was doing nothing unlawful, but our mob did not see the logic of his argument and arrested him and took him back to our camp. When we got back he was locked up in the cell in the Guardroom and the next day, when I was coming out of the barrack room, I saw a crowd gathering round what looked like a fight about to commence. Since being in a camp in the middle of nowhere, apparently doing nothing, and being bored to tears doing it, a fight was a good distraction, especially if it was for free. When I got to the edge of the crowd, I saw the Arab we had arrested. He looked like an old man, maybe in his sixties, and I admired him for sticking up for his rights.

Then it turned nasty, because we had a Sergeant who had seen service and probably lots of his blokes killed in India, and he was requesting the Arab to tell where the guns were hidden, but the Arab shook his head. The Sgt then snapped an order, and the Arab was man-handled onto his stomach on a wooden bench, then someone tied the mans hands under the bench and took a leather whip about three feet long from a canvas cover. The whip looked like an evil well-oiled black snake that rippled in the sun as it was moved. The black supple whip in the Sgt’s hand was almost like a billiard cue when straight, but instead of being cut short, it tapered off to a long thin point, where, to stop the end from splaying out, it had been tipped with a metal sheath, as seen on a shoe lace. The Arab, seeing this whip, looked uncomfortable and gabbled in Arabic.

The Interpreter said, “He will not tell, effendi.” (sir).

The Sgt drew back the whip and it sizzled down on to the end of the bench and as it curled round the wood it cracked like a pistol shot and splinters of wood leapt off the wooden bench. The Sgt then spoke to the interpreter, who told the Arab that the next stroke would be on his body and the Arab spoke rapidly, the interpreter said, “He will show you where the guns are effendi.”. So we got the guns, but they had been buried there for years and were too rusty and dangerous for anyone to use anymore.

Water Parties

A week later I and another chap was detailed to ride shotgun on the 15 cwt Morris water truck. The drill for this task was to wait until all the villagers had disappeared who were getting their daily water in huge earthenware jugs and jars. They would roll up about mid morning and drop a pot bucket on the end of a rope and haul up the water from the well that was situated at the base of the next big hill near the end of the road that led to our camp.

They would fill all their pots and jars and heaving them onto a twisted cloth padding now on their heads, they would gracefully wander off towards the distant village of Um il Fahm, chattering one to the other. Sometimes they were followed by children and even sisters with babes in arms. When the last of the villagers were out of sight, we would open the gate and the water truck with its oval water tank strapped on to the body of the truck, would pass through and descend the stony track to the bottom and park along side the well.

The driver with his Lee Enfield rifle loaded and strapped to the side of his truck, would sit there ready to take off should trouble appear, and the bloke with a rifle sitting in the other seat would give his rifle to the driver, while he would unship a pump that looked like a heavy metal clock with one heavy wooden hand and a long pipe that reached down into the well and a rubber hose that went into the top of our water cart. Clamping the pump to the side of the truck, the bloke took hold of the wooden handle and with a vigorous movement from left to right and back from 10 O’clock to 2 O’ clock on the clock face, the water began to gush in spurts from the well and up the rubber hose which would jerk to each spurt of water going into the tank.

Myself and another chap had been chosen to go down in another truck with it’s driver and mate both armed. That driver would also not leave his vehicle, but his mate would hand his rifle to the driver, then he would spell the chap on the water pump, while he had a rest. Meanwhile, this other chap and myself had been instructed to climb the other hill, to make sure no one could get to the crest and fire down on the water party.

Grapes of Wrath

With the water tank now full, we followed the drill of letting the water tank get up the hill and through the gate, then our truck got the go ahead, and much to my relief, we got through the gate and it was closed. I made straight for the M.O.’s hut and he said it was a pity I did not bring the snake so he could identify it. He asked me how I felt, and I said fine, so he varnished my knuckle with iodine and told me to report in the morning.

That night it appears I awoke everyone up from sleep about three in the morning, and it took three blokes to hold me down, because I was raving and had punched a Sgt in the face, who had got too close. I was told later the M.O. was awakened and he ordered an ambulance with an armed guard by getting the Signaller to signal Jenin main camp with an Aldis lamp, and I ended up in Haifa hospital. I awoke the next morning and felt the cool air and the quiet, but on opening my eyes I observed the huge fan slowly turning over my head. I was in a white clean cool ward of Haifa Hospital.

Then a passing Female Nurse who reminded me of a very stern school teacher I once knew as a child, suddenly paused in her stride, and having glanced in my direction warbled, “Ah so you are awake at last!” Then she ignored my puzzled look and purred, “I will be back in a moment don’t go away!”

Wearing only my under pants I was loath to get out of the bed, let alone go anywhere. In another bed to my left was an older man, and on spotting his shirt on the back of a chair by his bed, I saw he was a Regimental Sgt Major.

“Oh Gawd!” I thought, "Do I have to sleep at attention?”

I thought we were the only two patients in this huge ward until a voice from the bed that was at the other side of the carpeted walkway at the foot of my bed and slightly to my left, poked his head round his bed head and spoke to the Sgt Major, “You think you’ve got problems? I just went for a quick leak and ended up with this." and he pointed to the sheet covering him, the middle of which was stuck up as if his bended knee was holding it up like a bell tent.

“I went for a shower and pulled back the skin of my d--k to wash behind it, and it stayed there and I got a fat and it was really painful because I could not get the skin to go back to it’s original position and it was cutting of the blood supply to my bobby’s helmet so the Doc whipped me into hospital and they circumcised me quick smart.”

“But the bluddy stiches are pulling and itching and what makes it worse, the bloody thing won’t relax and is like a rampant cobra ready to strike at anything within range."

Just then the very prim nurse turned up, and whipping the sheet off said, "You cannot be comfortable laid like that."

The bloke retaliated by warbling, “How do you expect me to get comfy with this soddin’ cobra throbbing like a bleed’n’ three fifty Norton motor bike? How about a quick massage to ease the cramps?"

Quick as a flash the nurse whipped a long pencil from the top pocket of her blouse and gave the offending Norton a smart whack on the nose. “That will dampen it’s spark for a while!” she snapped, and marched off tight-lipped.

The bloke was now purple faced and gasping and pulled both his knees up and with tears in his eyes he swayed from side to side silently cursing the cruel Nurse. The Nurse was long gone with her nose in the air and with a taught thin-lipped smile she slammed the door to her little office and glanced our way a few times through her observation window to see if all was well.

I had seen the doctor and had to have a course of 21 needles, the funny part from my point of view was the Orderly would ask me as he approached my bed armed with a hypodermic needle that resembled a six inch nail, “Where do you want it today, Tommo?” I had already had needles stuck in both arms and legs, so I settled for the rest in my butt. It was a mistake! Now it was painful for a while to sit down anywhere.

Red Paint

I had got it cleaned just in time to go on a Guard stint at the main gate. I was in the Guard room when a horn suddenly began blasting at the main gate and the Guard Sgt waved for me to go see who it was. I got to the gate and there was a truck with the engine stopped, but it was hot and red paint was spilling out from the back. It was then I noticed the bullet holes through the front and doors and the body of the truck. I chatted to the driver, but he looked drunk or half asleep and thumbed to the back of the truck. So I dashed to the rear of the truck and shouted to the Guard room.

On looking into the back canopy of the truck, I realised it was not red paint, but blood, and here was the reason. The back of the truck contained some half a dozen bodies of our lads who had been on escort duty to Jerusalem. One bullet that had struck the chassis of the truck had left a deep gouge. It was obviously from an elephant gun. One tyre was flat and in shreds, so it had travelled a long way deflated.

We later learned that the driver, who was wounded, had dragged out the dead driver and had managed to get him into the passenger side, then get back to Jenin. The wounded driver kept asking for a cigarette, then after a puff let it fall and talked a bit more. Then he asked for another cigarette, but passed out before someone could light it for him. The driver died half an hour later. We got word later that day that a dispatch rider on a motor cycle had been decapitated by a wire stretched between two trees.

Then we were sent to Haifa where Martial law was declared and people dropped masonry blocks on us from bedroom windows. Some of our lads got broken shoulder bones, but when one of our lads was killed by having his neck bones impacted by two concrete blocks still stuck together by mortar when it was dropped and landed on top of his tin hat, we began to stop asking nicely and politely for the culprits to desist.

Things really got rough a bit later that day, when two of our lads minding their own business, were accosted by a group of Jewish youths who were out looking for trouble. Since the two Argylls had no rifles with them, but were wearing belt and bayonet, the youths thought they would be an easy target. On spotting the mood of the youths, the two Argylls whipped out their bayonets and undid the webbing belt and with the webbing wrapped round the hand that was holding the bayonet scabbard like a club and with the other hand brandishing the long bayonet like a sword, they stood back to back and the group of belligerent youths backed off then scattered when more armed Jocks were spotted racing up the street.