Larrikins in Khaki

by Tim Bowden

  The rest of the day was spent in firing and digging in and sometimes when they weren’t manning their gun and the enemy shells were too close for comfort, they were stretched out ‘like lizards drinking’ on the floor of the gun pit.

  Blazely said that once they had a reasonable gun pit constructed, the slit trenches were never used. ‘There always seemed to be a bit of comfort having someone alongside you when under fire.’ Another thing they discovered was that while they could man the gun under shell fire, everyone went flat once the bombs started dropping. He couldn’t help but admire the crew on the Bofors gun close behind them. ‘You could always hear them popping away all through the air raids—that is, until they were all wiped out one morning.’

  When night fell, things quietened down and the guns were laid on defensive lines. That is, on pre-arranged targets, to be fired in case of a night attack or if the infantry put up an SOS signal. This would be a system of coloured flares, for example, red over green over red. This order was changed periodically. ‘And so ended the first day, a fairly long and hard one but only just a taste of the weeks to follow.’

  The next morning they stood to at first light, gave the gun a pull through, cleaned the firing mechanism and breech block, and ate a hearty breakfast of bully beef and biscuits washed down with a mug of black tea, ready for the day’s events.

  The pattern of the second day was very much the same as the first. Firing on enemy counterattacks, digging in and dodging ‘Stuka Parades’. By this time the German artillery seemed to have A Troop pretty well located. ‘How they didn’t score more hits on us I’ll never know. They dropped shells so consistently on the gun on our left, they got permission to move to our right thus becoming Number One gun on the site. This had bad results as they took a direct hit, killing the Sergeant, Griff, and wounding one of their gunners, Steve, the gun layer.’

  Often through the day British fighter planes would return from sorties, flying low about 300 feet up, waggling their wings so the ack-ack could see the British markings and hold their fire. On one occasion some came over not long after an air raid and were fired on, but fortunately none were hit. The reason for flying low was that they were out of ammunition, and by flying low could not be dived on from above.

  At daylight on the third morning in answer to a call of nature I grabbed a shovel and headed for the area to the rear of the gun. There hadn’t been time to dig latrine pits, everybody disposed of his own waste in a hole in the sand. I went a decent distance back behind the command post and not far from the Bofors gun position.

  I hadn’t been there long when I was joined by a command post signaller with the same idea. It was a bit misty and as we squatted there we could hear planes’ engines, but didn’t take all that much notice until my mate Peter sang out, ‘Geez Tassie, look out!’ Out of the fog and heading straight for the gun position were about twenty plus bombers. The Bofors guns opened fire immediately while Pete and I, being literally caught with our pants down, had no time to get back to cover. So we made the best use of a couple of wheel ruts where a truck or a tank had been bogged. When the raid was over we stood up and shook a bit of loose dirt off, asked each other if they were all right and made our way back to the gun position. The Bofors gun was put out of action and towed away. I found out later all the crew of nine had been killed or wounded. What helped Peter and I was that the ground in this area was more or less a salt flat, which meant the bombs went deeper into the ground which helped nullify the effects of the blast somewhat.

  Through the morning we tried the idea of dropping one of the crew in turn off for a rest for an hour or so. When my turn came, I gave it away after ten minutes or so. I found lying in a slit trench with a groundsheet over the top for a bit of shade, with the temperature above the hundred mark and sand falling in on you every time the gun went off—plus the flies found you after about two minutes—wasn’t my idea of relaxation. Better to be back at the gun with something to do. The rest of the crew agreed.

  On 15 July Rommel’s forces made their last big effort to break through on the coastal sector—or at least push the Australians off the two ridges they held at Points 26 and 33.

  They put in three major attacks that afternoon with infantry, tanks, high-level bombers, artillery and in fact everything except the kitchen sink. I reckon if they had one handy they would have used that too. They had A Troop pretty well tapped with artillery, no one stuck his head up any more than absolutely necessary. Cliff our layer used to go through the sequence of laying the gun, then get off the seat and crouch down with his hand on the trigger. I was loader and I can assure you I wasted no time after shoving a round and shell case up the breech, before getting down—if only for a second or two. The range gradually kept dropping, and just before dark we got the order, ‘Prepare for tanks’. Down came the camouflage nets so as to give us a 360 degree field of fire and out came the armour-piercing shells. Fortunately we didn’t have to use them.

  Some tanks got through the forward defence lines and headed our way but didn’t have any infantry with them. One of the observation post Diggers told me they got to within about 400 yards, then what was left of them came in with their hands up. Besides, by this darkness had fallen, and tanks are pretty blind in the dark so they headed back whence they came minus a few of their number knocked out by our gunfire.

  There was hardly a smoker on the gun but we all had a cigarette going, and handing them to Cliff who was using them as a light to see the air-bubbles on the dial sight.

  Their last rounds that night were fired at a range of 1200 yards. Finally things quietened down about 9.30 pm. As a parting gesture the enemy artillery dropped a salvo of shells on their position, these killing a sergeant and wounding a gunner on the gun that had shifted position to their right. The official tally for the day was ten tanks and 63 prisoners.

  By now nearly everyone had a touch of the ‘Gypo Guts’—five or six times a day being normal. Cliff, who was doing a bit better than that, thought he might have a touch of dysentery. He reported sick and the doctor told him he would need a specimen. How could he arrange that, Cliff wondered. ‘Shit in a tobacco tin,’ he was told, and he did. According to Blazely:

  The specimen lay around in the pit with temperatures exceeding 100 degrees F all day, with the lid firmly on. The next morning Cliff fronted at the Regimental Aid Post which was a fair lump of a tent dug in about four feet or so, and very hot and stuffy.

  ‘I brought you that specimen, doc,’ Cliff said, opening the tin.

  ‘Get it out, get it out,’ yelled the Medical Officer following his own advice and heading for the fresh air.

  I don’t think the specimen was ever tested.

  As it turned out, Cliff didn’t have dysentery, only an extra bad attack of the runs. He reckoned he’d never seen the regimental aid post staff move so fast.

  By this time, Cliff had done a bit of scrounging and was the possessor of a Breda light machine gun and a medium one, a Fiat, and plenty of ammunition for both. He rigged the Fiat to a tripod with a bit of wire and reckoned to use it as an ack-ack anti-aircraft weapon. Every morning at daylight Cliff would fire a burst to make sure it was in working order. This was all right for a few days, until one morning in the act of firing the tripod collapsed, and he couldn’t get his finger off the trigger, and put a burst dangerously close to the command post. His arsenal was immediately confiscated with dire threats of what would happen if he acquired any more non-official weapons.

  On 27 July, the 2/28th Battalion made the last attack to try and take Ruin Ridge. Suffice to say, they failed. The whole battalion was either killed, wounded or taken prisoner. The only ones to return were the 2/7th Artillery gunners who, with their officer, were sent back in a Bren gun carrier to take a message to headquarters to clarify the situation. Their carrier was blown up and the officer killed. Blazely said, ‘I don’t think we took part in the initial barrage but I remember we fired a lot of smoke the next day to try and get them out, but to no avail.’


  On the night of 31 August, Rommel made his last attempt to break through to Alexandria. This was at a spot about 30 miles south of Alamein called Alam Halfa. The Germans also raided all along the line including the Australian positions.

  At this particular time A Troop was in a forward position about 600 yards behind the 2/43rd Battalion and a similar distance to the right of the 2/3rd Pioneers. They were close enough to see the infantry move for cover when the Germans put on their evening hate—a couple of salvos of shells on different sections of the line as regular as clockwork, about sundown.

  This night was a pleasant moonlit one and we managed to get a few bottles of beer from somewhere and our crew put in a very pleasant couple of hours having a sip. At about 12.30 am things got very noisy up front, with mortars, machine-gun fire, rifle fire—the lot. Up went the SOS flares and A Troop went into action firing on a pre-arranged area in front of the Forward Defence Lines. After about five minutes our gun went out of action. This was reported to the gun position officer who, with a stroke of genius that makes a born leader, ordered us to send out a ‘tanks sentry’. So far no tanks had been reported up front, nor as it turned out, were there any.

  I was a popular choice, so I grabbed a rifle and headed out 50 or 60 yards and slightly to the right. By good luck I stumbled onto a slit trench, so I got in that and awaited events. I didn’t have to wait long as Jerry opened up with artillery slap on our very own A Troop. A fair amount of this was falling in the area where I was, so much so, that a couple of times in lulls between salvos they sang out from the gun position to see if I was all right! The whole show probably lasted half an hour, though it seemed much longer to me. The Germans were beaten off and peace and quiet once more descended on the desert for a short time at least.

  By the end of August 1942, Montgomery was ready himself. He knew that Rommel was very short of fuel and that the Germans could not sustain a long campaign. But when Rommel attacked, Montgomery was asleep. When he was woken from his sleep to be told the news, it is said he replied, ‘Excellent, excellent,’ and went back to sleep again.

  The British had placed a huge number of landmines south of El Alamein at Alam Halfa. German tanks were severely hit by these and the rest were held up and became sitting targets for British fighter planes that could easily pick off tank after tank. Rommel’s attack started badly and it seemed as if his Afrika Korps would be wiped out. He ordered his tanks north and he was then helped by nature. A sandstorm blew up which gave his tanks much needed cover from marauding British fighters. However, once the sandstorm cleared, Rommel’s force was hit by Allied bombers that pounded the area where the Afrika Korps had their tanks. Rommel had no choice but to retreat. He fully expected Montgomery’s Eighth Army to follow him. However, Monty failed to do this. He was not ready for an offensive and he ordered his men to stay put while they held a decisive defensive line.

  Montgomery was actually waiting for the arrival of something that the soldiers in the desert could only guess at. In fact, they were Sherman tanks—300 of them—to assist the British Commonwealth forces. Their 75-mm gun shot a 6-pound shell that could penetrate a Panzer at 2000 yards. The 300 Shermans that Monty had were invaluable.

  To face Montgomery’s attack, the Germans and Italians had 110,000 men and 500 tanks. A number of the Italian tanks were of poor quality and could not match the new Shermans. The Germans were also short of fuel. The Allies had more than 200,000 men and more than 1000 tanks. They were also armed with a 6-pound anti-tank gun which was highly effective up to 1500 yards. Between the two armies was the ‘Devil’s Garden’. This was a minefield laid by the Germans which was 5 miles wide and littered with a huge number of anti-tank and anti-personnel mines. Going through such a defence would prove to be a nightmare for the attackers.

  To throw Rommel off the scent, Montgomery launched Operation Bertram. This plan was to convince Rommel that the full might of the Eighth Army would be used in the south. Dummy tanks were erected in the region. A dummy pipeline was also built—slowly, so as to convince Rommel that the Allies were in no hurry to attack the Afrika Korps. Monty’s army in the north also had to ‘disappear’. Tanks were covered to appear as non-threatening lorries. ‘Bertram’ worked as Rommel became convinced that the attack would be in the south.

  On the night of 23 October 1942, a massive artillery barrage signalled a huge Allied offensive. Although the infantry achieved most of their objectives, the tanks were unable to follow through, and Montgomery was worried that his offensive was becoming bogged down. Changing tactics from the drive to the west, he ordered the Ninth Division to switch their attack to the north. The Australians survived a veritable inferno of bombs, shells and bullets to push Rommel back, with British tanks striking a decisive blow on 2 November. His Panzer army had suffered crippling losses, and the Desert Fox was forced to order a general withdrawal or face total annihilation. Rommel knew that he was beaten.

  The start of the Allied attack on Rommel was code-named ‘Operation Lightfoot’. There was a reason for this. A diversionary attack in the south was meant to deceive 50 per cent of Rommel’s forces. The main attack in the north was to last—according to Montgomery—just one night. The infantry had to attack first. Many of the anti-tank mines would not be tripped by soldiers running over them—they were too light (hence the code-name). As the infantry attacked, engineers had to clear a path for the tanks coming up in the rear. Each stretch of land cleared of mines was to be 24 feet—just enough to get a tank through in single file. The engineers had to clear a 5-mile section through the Devil’s Garden. It was an awesome task and one that essentially failed.

  Just one non-moving tank could hold up all the tanks behind it. The ensuing traffic jams made the tanks easy targets for the German gunners using the feared 88-mm anti-tank gun. The plan to get the tanks through in one night failed. The infantry had also not got as far as Montgomery had planned. They had to dig in.

  The second night of the attack was also unsuccessful. Monty blamed his chief of tanks, Lumsden. He was given a simple ultimatum—move forward—or be replaced by someone more energetic. But the rate of attrition of the Allied forces was taking its toll. Operation Lightfoot was called off and Montgomery, not Lumsden, withdrew his tanks. When he received the news, Churchill was furious as he believed that Montgomery was letting a victory go by.

  However, Rommel and the Afrika Korps had also been suffering. He only had 300 tanks left to the Allies’ 900. Monty next planned to make a move to the Mediterranean. Australian units attacked the Germans by the Mediterranean and Rommel had to move his tanks north to cover this. The Australians took many casualties but their attack was to change the course of the battle.

  Hitler ordered the Afrika Korps to fight to the last man, but Rommel refused to carry out this order. On 4 November 1942, Rommel started his retreat. Some 25,000 Germans and Italians had been killed or wounded in the battle and 13,000 Allied troops in the Eighth Army.

  Ivo Blazely and his fellow gunners did have an occasional brief respite. As things quietened down, they hardly fired any rounds during the day as the lines were pretty far apart and any movement very hard to pick up. About once a week A Troop would move out at last light and take up a pre-arranged position a couple of miles from its permanent one to engage in harassing fire. This consisted of firing a few rounds at staggered intervals late at night or early in the morning. Blazely didn’t know whether it harassed the enemy much, but it was not popular with A Troop as they got little sleep on those nights. At first light they would move back to their gun pits and wipe out the gun tractor tracks as best they could, to avoid giving away their position to the reconnaissance planes.

  About once a week Bob the ack-ack gunner would be sent with a truck back to a big English canteen at Burg-el-Arab about 80 kilometres away. There was a collection and an order with Bob for supplementary rations, such as tinned fruit, tobacco, razor blades and even beer whenever it was available. He would hand the money over to the English staff and a chit
authorising the purchase signed by such well-known officers as Lieutenant Edward Kelly or Captain R.G. Menzies. ‘The Poms reckoned they must’ve been good types of officers to look after their troops so well.’

  Each gun team sent a couple from each unit back to the engineers for a few hours when they could be spared.

  There we were taught the ins and outs of mines and booby traps. This was pretty interesting stuff. Our instructors were a pretty hard-bitten lot and knew this work pretty well. One bloke was a bit of a humorist and told a story of the party of sappers who were out in front one night laying a minefield. These were laid on a staggered grid about ten feet apart and as long and deep as are required. Sappers work as a team, some digging holes, the line of which was marked by tape on the ground. Others put the detonator in the mine and placed it in the hole and last of all came the NCO. In this case he was a sergeant who covered the mine with dirt [mines were filled in with the dirt being smoothed over by hand]. This particular night the sapper who placed the last mine in position, crapped on top of the loose dirt and then retired to a discreet distance to see what would eventuate. As the instructor put it, when the sergeant started to cover the hole there was a lot of loud swearing and much drama.

  On one occasion a German plane flew over very high and dropped a lot of leaflets. The leaflets didn’t land anywhere near A Troop, but they caught up with them later. One said, ‘Aussies you are defending the Alamein Boxes but what about Port Darwin?’ Another read, ‘The Yanks are having a good time in Australia—and you?’

  Blazely recalled that ‘One day some of us got lucky and were taken to the beach for a swim. The Mediterranean might be a tideless sea, but there was a pretty strong undertow. I remember it knocked me down and put a graze on my back which turned into a beaut Wog sore, about the size of a shilling, which I carried for weeks.’