Larrikins in Khaki

by Tim Bowden

  THE ISLE OF DOOM (Anon)

  Here I sit on the Isle of Crete,

  Bludging on my blistered feet,

  Little wonder I’ve got the blues,

  With feet encased in great canoes.

  Khaki shorts, instead of slacks,

  living like a tribe of blacks –

  Except that blacks don’t sit in brood

  And wait throughout the day for food.

  It was a month ago not more,

  When we sailed for Greece to win the war.

  We marched and groaned beneath our load,

  While bombers bombed us off the road.

  They chased us here, they chased us there,

  The bastards chased us everywhere,

  And while they dropped their loads of death,

  We cursed the bloody RAF.

  Yet the RAF was there in force

  (they left a few at home of course).

  We saw the entire force one day,

  When one Spitfire spat the other way;

  And then we heard the wireless news,

  When portly Winston aired his views.

  The RAF he said in Greece

  Are fighting hard to bring us peace,

  And so we scratched our heads and thought,

  This sounds distinctly like a rort.

  For if in Greece the air force be,

  Then where the bloody hell are we?

  Then at last we met the Hun,

  At odds of 133 to 1;

  Though he made it pretty hot,

  we gave the bastards all we got.

  The little guns whizzed, the big guns roared,

  We howled for ships to get aboard.

  At last they came and in we got

  And hurried from that cursed spot.

  And then they landed us in Crete,

  And marched us off our bloody feet.

  The food was light, the water crook,

  I got fed up and slung my hook.

  Returned that night chock-full of wine,

  And next day copped a two-pound fine.

  My pay book was all behind to hell,

  When pay was called, I said, ‘Aw well’,

  They won’t pay me now, I’m sure of that,

  And when they did I smelt a rat.

  Next day when the rations came,

  I realised their wily game.

  For sooner than sit down and die,

  We spent our dibs on food supplies.

  And now it looks like even betting,

  A man will soon become a Creton,

  And spend his days in blackest gloom,

  On Adolf Hitler’s ‘Isle of Doom’.

  From 23 April onwards, some 30,000 troops evacuated from Greece were landed in Crete. General Freyberg, who had arrived believing he was on his way to rejoin his division in Egypt, learned that most of it was in Crete and his job was to take command of all forces on the island and defend it against probable attacks by German airborne troops. During the next two weeks, the forces on the island were hurriedly reorganised. Some 7000 men were shipped to Egypt, leaving 15,000 British, 7700 New Zealanders, 6500 Australians and about 11,000 Greeks—who were largely untrained and poorly armed with only rifles.

  Signaller Ken Clift disembarked in Crete in Suda Bay, from the British destroyer Stuart which had evacuated him from Greece.

  Suda Bay was a shambles of wrecked ships, some listing and some sunk on even keel, and the wharf and shore installations had been given a very thorough pasting by constant air attacks. The British cruiser York had been sunk on a dead even keel and could be seen at the far end of the bay.

  The story is worth telling. A boom covered the entrance to the harbour and this had to be negotiated through a pilot which guided the incoming vessel safely through a minefield by means of markers on shore known only to the navy. According to Clift:

  The Italians had devised attack craft much like a hydroplane with a draft of only a few inches to skip over a boom while travelling at high speed. The forward portion was a warhead which detonated on impact, and the rear with a crew of two was designed to part from the craft once they were truly on target, the warhead speeding onward rather like a surface torpedo—leaving the crew floating on the raft-like structure at the rear to await whatever fate dictated. They had no provision for returning to base—who said there were no brave Italians?

  We were told the two Italians appeared out of the blue, evidently dropped by a submarine, and after skipping the boom in their craft, went helter-skelter towards the British cruiser York. Pom-pom and all sorts of tracers were fired at them from both the York and shore batteries but the war-head made it to the York, which was well and truly hit. One of the Italians died of wounds, the other was taken prisoner. Because of his daring, he was made a fuss of and treated well although he had dealt a very nasty blow to the defendants. The loss of the York was a great catastrophe to the navy but only one of the many they had already encountered and there were plenty more heartaches to endure before they were finished in this neck of the woods.

  The administration at Suda Bay was in a sorry state. Clift’s unit were among the last of the evacuees from Greece. Food and ammunition was short on the island. Of the 16th Brigade, the only battalion fully operational was the 2/1st under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Ian Campbell, and German records show they gave the parachutists invading Crete a terrible trouncing. They were eventually taken prisoner only because of the capitulation of the rest of the forces on the island. Lack of ammunition, supplies and food forced Campbell to surrender his men intact as a unit—but only after the 2/1st inflicted very heavy casualties on the Wehrmacht.

  Russell Reeve was second in command of Sixth Division Signals on the island. An excellent leader of men, Reeve set about getting the signals organised. Clift recalled: ‘Even under adversity I always found him a cheerful officer imparting confidence because of his competence and understanding of the average soldier under his command.’

  Clift had plenty of action to keep him occupied. The ship on which he evacuated Greece was the Costa Rica, a tramp steamer which was sunk by German bombing on the way to Crete. The navy came to the rescue with the destroyer Hero pushing alongside and bolstering her up while all troops were transferred before she sank. Only one soldier was lost when he misjudged the jump from ship to destroyer and was crushed between the two vessels. His body was recovered and buried at sea.

  Blue and I were camped alongside a low wall outside the Suda Bay Barracks. The whole waterfront was subjected constantly to air attack by bombing and strafing during the day although, unlike our time in Greece, we did have a modicum of ack-ack from Bofors guns for protection. The nights had been comparatively quiet, but on this particular evening, Jerry decided to give Suda Bay a night raid, and they did not do things by halves. The waterfront was bombed for several hours until well after midnight. Following dawn, Blue and I dubiously inspected a huge unexploded 2000 pound bomb, which came to rest within twelve or fourteen feet of our makeshift accommodation. If it had gone off, it would have been the end of us. Evidently, on the ground, the side of the bomb struck one of the many sangars [shore walls] alongside us, tilting the missile askew from the nose. They say it’s better to be born lucky than rich!

  The Aussie soldiers drew some pay in Crete in drachmas, as in Greece. Blue, Archie and Ken decided to sample what delights, if any, of the nearest city, Chania. It was a drab prospect, with not much to buy. Goods and food were much more valuable than Greek currency. However, they drank some retsina, the rough Greek white wine with the taste of pine resin through it, and munched away at some stuff which looked like popcorn without the sugar, talking over the pros and cons of the war with a Greek who spoke English with a pronounced Yankee accent. ‘He claimed he had spent a long time in Brooklyn, New York, made some dough and then come back to Crete to retire, but “that goddammed fucking Hitler” had loused up his plans.’

  Clift and his mates headed back to Suda Bay on foot in company with other troops wh
o were in the same composite group. They were strafed along the way by a German fighter and dived for the olive trees by the roadside, but no one was hit.

  While they were in Suda Bay they were plagued with body lice. ‘Blue reckoned Archie was the first to get them, and passed them around. We tried everything to rid ourselves of these most annoying mites which gave us little rest, even soaking ourselves, uniforms and kits in the warm salty waters of Suda Bay, but to no avail—like poor relatives, they hung on.’

  Blue, Arch, Tubby and Ken did a lot of foraging, even collecting and eating mulberries which were reasonably plentiful along the shore. The waterfront at Suda Bay was always ‘interesting’. German bombers came over daily to drop their bombs. The ack-ack gunners on the hill would have a little duel with them as they came into range. It was fortunate that the cruiser York had sunk in the bay on a perfectly even keel, as the Germans gave it priority bombing every time, so giving the Allies some respite. Even from the air, York still looked serviceable and formidable, but she was well and truly on the bottom, deserted except for ack-ack crews who sent up streams of ‘flaming onions’ as the Stukas went into their dives.

  On Crete, news of Rudolf Hess’s flight to Britain, and subsequent capture in his abortive attempt to secure a peace not sanctioned by Hitler, came over the BBC. The Australians pondered the possible outcomes. ‘But,’ Clift said, ‘the result as history shows, was sweet Fanny Adams, except Hess was spending unlimited time as a guest of his Majesty King George VI.’

  The bombing raids on the island grew in intensity and there was constant heavy strafing by Stukas. The 2/1st Battalion was in Retimo under Lieutenant Colonel Ian Campbell, determined to preserve the vital airstrip nearby. The 2/8th and 2/11th Battalions were at Heraklion, and mixed groups of British soldiers and marines manned defensive points elsewhere.

  The navy had repulsed sea landings, inflicting heavy losses on the enemy, but suffering themselves. An invasion seemed imminent.

  Then, early one morning, they were alerted and informed that a small composite group comprising parts of the brigade, including Clift’s own J Section, some of the 2/2nd and 2/3rd Battalions plus a few engineers, were to be evacuated. Why, they didn’t know, but later discovered the reason. The 2/2nd and 2/3rd Battalions were so badly mauled in Greece that Sixth Division Headquarters had decided to bring them back to regroup, so retaining the nucleus of the 16th Brigade. The 2/1st Battalion was left in Crete practically intact, where they did a magnificent job under Campbell.

  By the end of May 1941, it was all over. But the withdrawal of Commonwealth troops from Crete was not a repeat of the success story of the evacuation from Greece. The navy embarked about 4000 men, but when the ships sailed, practically all the 2/7th Battalion, the marines and commandos and some 3000 others had to be left behind. About 15,000 men in all had been successfully embarked from Sfakia and Heraklion. About 12,000 were taken prisoners by the Germans in Crete, including more than 3000 Australians.

  In fighting units, the Australian force lost heavily—three full battalions captured. In the operations around Crete, the combined fleet lost three cruisers and six destroyers. Two battleships, an aircraft carrier, two cruisers and two destroyers were damaged so severely they were out of action for several months.

  So, by the beginning of June 1941, Commonwealth forces in the Middle East were in bad shape. The decision to invade Greece had indeed been a very costly mistake.

  Chapter 9

  THE ALLIED INVASION OF LEBANON AND SYRIA

  Australia’s participation in the Allied invasion of Lebanon and Syria between 7 June and 11 July 1941 against the Vichy French is one of the least known Australian military operations of the Second World War, involving the Seventh Division and including elements of the Sixth Division.

  Syria and Lebanon had been French protectorates since the Treaty of Versailles, and a pro-German Vichy French administration had taken over following the fall of France in June 1940. The Allied aim was to prevent the establishment of a German presence in Syria and Lebanon that could threaten British bases. And it was successful, despite a more robust defence by the Vichy forces than was expected. It was actually the first Allied victory in the long-running war in North Africa and the Mediterranean.

  Shortly after General Blamey was impertinently farewelled by his loyal troops at Qastina after reviewing them on parade, Gunner Ivan ‘Ivo’ Blazely and his unit from the Ninth Division received their orders to move to Syria. The route was by way of Haifa, Sidon and up the Lebanese coast to Tripoli and then inland to a little village called Jdeideh—some 170 miles in all. With eight or ten others, Blazely made the journey on an open truck:

  The trip started off with everyone in good spirits, singing the usual bawdy songs with a few sentimental ones thrown in. Then as darkness fell and the cold began to creep into our bones, gradually everyone became silent, and started to wonder when we were going to get to wherever it was we were heading. When we arrived at daylight the next morning, we more or less rolled off the trucks stiff with cold, to be greeted by a reception committee handing out a rum issue—the first and last I ever got as a member of the AIF.

  It was pretty potent stuff too on an empty stomach. I had about half a pannikin which did me, but some of the more hardened drinkers went back for seconds and thirds and spent the rest of the morning very happy with the world in general.

  The next morning after Reveille, Blazely heard cries of ‘Washing George’ from around the perimeter of the camp. These came from the Arab women from nearby villages who were doing washing for the Australians. They worked for a few ackers and as much soap as the gunners could give them. Their washing was taken away every morning and returned squeaky clean the next. None of it was ever mixed up and nothing was ever missing—their shirts and trousers were even ironed. ‘Their method of washing was as old as time. They simply took it to a nearby river and bashed hell out of it against the rocks, a bit hard on the fabrics but the results were good.’

  There was quite a bit of heavy drinking among the troops in Syria, so much so that Lord Haw Haw, the British traitor who nightly broadcast propaganda from Germany, said, ‘We know the 9th Australian Division is in Syria but we are not worried. Leave them there six months and they will drink themselves to death.’ Ivo said, ‘Even our Commanding Officer was reputedly a bottle of whisky a day man so what hope for the rank and file.’

  While the troops were at Jdeideh (near the modern city of Beirut) a couple of the local belles set up shop in the vicinity of the regimental headquarters.

  These girls were affectionately known to us as the Hollywood sisters. Here in the shelter of the olive trees they plied their age-old trade for cash or barter. What the cash price was is hidden in the mists of time but the barter rate was thus: Sex and two eggs change for a tin of bully beef. Sex only for a tin of goldfish (herrings and tomato sauce).

  As Ivo explained, their rates were so cheap because they had no overheads in the way of rooms or cots. Their entertaining was confined to the ground under the olive groves.

  Tasmanian Gunner Clarry McCulloch, from the Sixth Division 2/1st Battalion, took part in the Syrian campaign too. The Allied force was rather a mixed lot, made up roughly as follows: part of one British cavalry division, which to McCulloch’s amazement contained a yeomanry regiment (equivalent to Australian Light Horse units); one Indian infantry brigade; the Free French–supplied six infantry battalions, mostly North African troops; some artillery and a handful of tanks. Australia’s contribution was the Seventh Division less one brigade which was still in Tobruk; and last but not least was the 2/3rd Machine Gun Battalion, without whose assistance, Clarry believed, victory may not have been achieved.

  A and my C company were to be attached to the Indian Brigade, together with a couple of British battalions of the Free French. On 14 June C Company left camp and headed for Damascus. Yes, we too took the road to Damascus. If not in the footsteps of that biblical bloke, Paul, certainly in the footsteps of countless armies of so
ldiers who had marched up and down through this land over the past 5000 years or more.

  On 15 June, the C Company convoy headed north, wending its way past such historical sites as Nazareth. As with all army convoys there were lots of unexplained stops along the way, probably caused by the lack of official maps. Clarry realised that the only map that his commander had was a crudely hand-drawn sketch on a scrappy piece of paper.

  They had expected to camp at Ar Rama overnight and leave early the next morning but, just on dusk, orders arrived to pack up and move on once more. Their destination this time was a crossing over the Jordan River between Lake Hula and the Sea of Galilee. The actual crossing was known as the Bridge of Jacob’s Daughters—not the original structure, but the area had been a crossing point for thousands of years. Later they entered the Jordan Valley, which was a nightmare. As the day wore on, the temperature rose rapidly and by midday was well over the century mark. They learned that a battalion of Royal Fusiliers had gone up to the Golan Heights earlier and had occupied the town of Kuneitra. They had been attacked almost immediately by a Vichy French force supported by artillery and many tanks. Later, they were told, the Vichy French had captured the town when the Fusiliers ran out of ammunition. With 400 of their battalion dead in the town and surrounded by tanks, they had no alternative but to surrender.

  All this was confirmed by a Fusiliers officer who had escaped. Colonel Arthur Blackburn ordered C Company, together with the two anti-tank guns, to proceed to the area of Kuneitra and occupy a suitable position to assist any attack which might take place when more troops arrived. They found a suitable ridge about a mile and a half from the town where they swung their trucks off the road, and in a matter of minutes the twelve Vickers guns were set up without a hitch. Peering over the ridge, they could see the town sitting out in the middle of a large, flat plain.