by Matthew Hall
Herford’s blooding in the ill-fated Greek campaign won him his first decoration, the Member of the Order of the British Empire, ‘in recognition of distinguished services in the Middle East’. The official citation reads:
This officer was detailed to remain behind with 24 Casualty Clearing Station, to await capture by the enemy, and performed very good service. In addition, he constituted himself liaison officer between this CCS and the Ambulance Trains sent up as often as possible to points varying between 5 and 20 miles from this CCS. When the troops had withdrawn from the CCS area, communication with the CCS ceased, but Lieut. Herford, with the aid of a motorcycle, succeeded in making contact with the ambulance train as it arrived, so facilitating evacuation of casualties from 24 Casualty Clearing Station that it was able to withdraw before capture, having evacuated all its casualties.
That this citation contains a number of inaccuracies came as no surprise to Herford when he finally saw it for the first time in 1976. Firstly, he was not detailed to remain behind with 24 CCS, but asked to remain behind to act as liaison officer when the other officers in 81 Base Sub-Area withdrew. Secondly, his function was not to liaise between 24 CCS and the ambulance trains. He voluntarily assumed the function of liaising between all the medical units in the area, British and Australian. Thirdly, 24 CCS was able to withdraw before capture not because Herford made contact with the ambulance train, but because, at his suggestion, Colonel Alexander decided to adopt the Dunkirk plan of allowing one MO and two orderlies to remain with every 100 casualties who could not be moved. And fourthly, his role in managing the ambulance trains amounted to considerably more than ‘making contact’.
The words of the young guardsman on the way to Greece had been truly prophetic. The Greek campaign was one of the most ill-conceived and badly executed of the war, mounted at the last minute and in desperation.
Many of Herford’s experiences throughout the following two years in the Western Desert were to do little to alter his tainted view of military organization.
CHAPTER 6
The Desert War 1941–1943
Herford reported to Colonel MacFie in Cairo and requested his next posting. He had only been in the army for three months, but had already built a reputation as something of an organizer. It was therefore a little disconcerting when Colonel MacFie seemed uncertain about what to do with him and simply said, ‘Well, what do you want to do next?’
‘Anything that’s available,’ Herford replied. MacFie consulted the personnel lists on his desk for a minute, then said, ‘You can join a Field Ambulance Unit.’ Herford had only an extremely vague idea what the function of a field ambulance was; he was still a military novice and unfamiliar with the jargon.
‘Or you can join a Motor Ambulance Convoy,’ MacFie suggested. Herford felt foolish, but had to ask what a motor ambulance convoy was. MacFie smiled and shook his head. He explained that it consisted of 70 ambulances together with mobile workshop facilities; its task was to provide evacuation facilities for front-line field ambulances. In other words, the convoy’s job was to collect casualties and ferry them back to hospitals. The convoy would be commanded by a major, and Herford would be second in command.
The idea of heading an ambulance convoy that would process across the swirling sands of the Egyptian desert like a latter-day caravan had an instant romantic appeal. Herford had no idea what desert warfare entailed, but he imagined the convoy would provide him with a more independent way of life, which was something he valued above all else. He agreed to take the position, and was posted as 2nd I/C to No. 7 Motor Ambulance Convoy. There were two days before the posting commenced, during which Herford took the rare opportunity to visit the souks of Cairo and write much-overdue letters home. Quite by chance, on the final day before collecting his posting papers, he hailed a taxi in the centre of town when a major stepped smartly out in front of him and bagged it for himself. Herford let out a cry of protest. The major responded by winding down the window and cheerfully asking him where he was going. ‘The Turf Club,’ Herford replied. ‘So am I,’ the grinning major said, a cigarette firmly planted between his teeth, and gestured him to jump in. During a hair-raising journey through the chaotic Cairo traffic, the major enquired where Herford was posted. When he told him that he was to join the No. 7 MAC the Major looked aghast. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, ‘That’s my outfit.’ He reached across and shook Herford vigorously by the hand, saying, ‘I’m Johnny Johnston, your Commanding Officer.’ It was a chance introduction to a charming man who was to become a close friend for the duration of the desert campaign. Johnston had a bright, optimistic view of life which was to do so much to maintain morale in the endless tracts of desert in which they were to lead their nomadic life.
A week later they were posted to Fuka, in the Western Desert. The drive across the white dust roads seemed interminable, and the tents which were their homes afforded little in the way of home comfort: they neither efficiently kept out the bitter cold of the desert nights nor protected against the relentless heat of the day. What creature comforts there were, were either in the form of tobacco, for those who smoked, or in the prized rations of chocolate, sweets and thick processed cheese, which quickly became a rarity when spending long periods away from base.
Several things were immediately striking about the desert and the strange war which was being acted out, rather than fought, within it. Firstly, when they arrived in the late spring, the monotony of the limitless sand was occasionally broken by vast areas of night-scented stock. It seemed to burst into bloom the instant there was a drop of rain, filling the air with an almost magical scent. The contrast between this fragrant perfume and the aridity of the climate was so unexpected as to be almost disconcerting. Secondly, the war seemed almost swallowed up in the vastness of the environment. The pockets of conflict were small and relatively isolated. If battles had to be fought at all, the desert seemed the least unacceptable place; there were virtually no civilian inhabitants and little to damage. The objectives were purely military and tactical: control of the southern Mediterranean coast and the Suez Canal, and the protection of oil fields. It was war in its purest form.
The desert sands were like an ocean; the ripples of the dunes vast, slow-moving waves. The battle was as much with the topography as with the enemy. Roads were few, and shortcuts notoriously perilous. Rather than armies being able to spread out, they were channelled into corridors passable by lorries and tanks. The Allied troops adopted relatively conventional tactics, building up fortress-like strongpoints, but Rommel adopted a completely different tactic, preferring to amass his forces like a naval fleet, employing it like a vast armada. Herford thought this was in fact a far more perceptive method of deploying forces in the desert, but it was not copied by the Allies, who owed their eventual success not to superior manoeuvring, but simply to the massive injection of American fire-power.
The work of the Motor Ambulance Convoy was vital, though largely unglamorous, and was only occasionally punctuated with moments of high drama. But even when the convoy was ploughing to and from the scene of action to hospitals in Cairo, there was adventure of a different kind. Enemy movements were unpredictable, and it was not uncommon for solitary units to become isolated and even lost. Many roads which were safe earlier in a particular day were no longer safe by the evening. It was of vital importance that ambulances got through whatever the obstruction, so alternative routes had to be plotted and marked over the desert.
Herford soon acquired a reputation as an accomplished route marker. It required skill and accuracy with a compass, aided at night by knowledge of the position of the stars – something he had learned in boyhood. The ambulances carried tracks which could be unrolled in front of the wheels of a vehicle bogged down in soft sand, or caught in a depression or wadi, but the chief skill was in gauging the landscape and choosing a solid path. As arctic explorers must learn to detect hidden crevasses, so desert navigators must avoid deep, soft sand and gullies. Both skills owe something to a
cquired knowledge, but a lot more to finely tuned instinct.
Another talent which also became invaluable was in scavenging vehicles left derelict by the enemy. Whether through lack of fuel, or being caught in a swift attack, both sides abandoned thousands of vehicles all over the desert. Sometimes the departing troops had time to destroy their transport before it fell into enemy hands, but more often than not lorries – even ambulances and tanks – remained for the taking. Herford carried off a particular coup when he recovered a completely intact Italian 10-ton water carrier in July, which subsequently became a vital source of supply for his unit.
The desert war was unique in the degree of mobility enjoyed by the combatants. The main struggle was for domination of the coastal towns, the British having very few Mediterranean ports, but the battles were fought inland, and mostly by tanks with infantry playing a subordinate role. Thus, much of the warfare in the desert became known to the troops as ‘horse stakes’. Allied tanks would pursue Germans into the desert for as long as supplies held out, but would then be forced to retreat at speed as the enemy regrouped, refuelled and counter-attacked.
Unfortunately, it was a truism that until the appointment of General Montgomery in April 1942 as the Allied Commander in Chief in the desert, Rommel was the better leader. He was able to marshal his forces effectively and orchestrate them like a single entity – a masterly experiment at ‘sea warfare on land’. He concentrated his exertions on one objective at a time, and even in retreat managed to maintain high standards of efficiency in regrouping. Winston Churchill himself praised him as a splendid military gambler. In the House of Commons in January 1942 he said of him, ‘We have a very daring and skilful opponent against us, and may I say across the havoc of war, a great general.’ It was also to Rommel’s credit that in 1944 he took part in the conspiracy to displace Hitler, an adventure which would cost him his life.
The months of latitude in summer 1941 were a welcome period of acclimatization and recoupment after the Greek maelstrom. Herford and his colleagues found time to take in the country, and even to swim in the Mediterranean. At Fuka, Herford was tempted by the sight of rocks 1¼ miles offshore. He foolishly swam there and back without telling his companions. He returned three hours later, his friends having given him up for drowned!
On 3 August Herford received a bundle of letters and a postcard from Mary. They had not seen one another for 18 months, but whenever the military postal system was properly functioning they corresponded as frequently as they could. Perhaps because he had spent two summers alone, or perhaps because he felt happier and more certain of himself in the desert, Herford cabled to her on 3 August, asking the simple question, ‘WILL YOU MARRY?’ Nearly three weeks later he had still not received Mary’s reply when he travelled with a fellow officer, Peter Field, to Jerubub in a Blenheim aircraft on a visit to some outlying units combined with a trip to a Senussi tomb. The short flight was uneventful, but on the descent the pilot mistook a stretch of sand for the landing strip and shook the plane nearly to pieces hurtling over rough ground which tossed the aircraft back in the air, only for it to bump and shudder to an erratic halt, narrowly avoiding complete disaster. They were more than a little reluctant to re-board the aircraft on the return leg, but fortunately they arrived back at base without further incident and still intact.
The reply came in a letter of 27 August. Mary agreed, but suggested it would be better if rather than decide on a marriage date, they announce their engagement first. He replied the next day asking her to buy a ring and go ahead with the announcement. The military post wouldn’t accommodate parcels, however small, so Mary had to venture out alone and buy her own engagement ring. Full-scale hostilities did not break out until November. General Auchinleck, who had replaced Wavell as Commander in Chief Middle East Command, had set his sights on the important Libyan port of Tobruk. Its strategic significance both as a port and as a route for supplies was such that it was one of the most valuable prizes in the desert. Rommel’s forces were occupying it and the surrounding country 70 miles to the west.
On 18 November the Eighth Army, preceded by extensive aerial bombardment, drove forward, closing the ring on Tobruk from the south and east. A bitter three-week struggle engaging the might of the tanks on either side ensued. But in one critical place only infantry could be used. Some 20 miles to the south-east of Tobruk was Sidi Rezegh, a ridge about 100 feet high, which on its northern side was almost a cliff. From the summit it gave a commanding view of the desert to the south, as well as providing a natural line of defence. This ridge became the key to the relief of Tobruk. On 4 December Herford’s unit moved up to a camp known as Conference Cairn, just a few miles from the battle at Sidi Rezegh. The casualties were coming out thick and fast, many of them New Zealand infantrymen. On 6 December news came through that a number of wounded were lying up in a wadi behind enemy lines and needed pulling out. Major Johnston described Herford’s response to this news in a letter he later wrote to Herford’s father:
We were under orders to move soon to Tobruk, but things were very ‘fluid’ and I had no one to appeal to find out the real state of affairs. Martin and Jim (a fellow officer) persuaded me to risk about one third of my entire unit in an endeavour to get those boys out. Had it succeeded all would have been well, but had it failed I’d have been out of a job. Well, we decided that it must be done and off they went through enemy held territory and got up there; when the drill was for Martin to go in and try and get the wounded out under the Red Cross flag. That they got there a couple of hours after a column out of Tobruk had gone through is old history; but it showed the stuff he was made of. If he had pulled it off and had the luck to get there first it’d have been a DSO… This is not an unsolicited testimonial, Sir, but I think it is only fair that you should know he’s first class and the greater the responsibility the better he does; only [one] thing he can’t stand and that’s inactivity… He’s impulsive and impatient; I used to think I was impatient but I have nothing on him.
The next few days of battle were a flurry of activity, receiving the wounded and dispatching the more seriously hurt to hospitals in Egypt. Herford’s duties also included recces of areas which had recently been the scene of tank battles, both to look for wounded and also to retrieve any serviceable vehicles. This was an unpleasant task, and involved poking through the charred and burnt out remnants of tanks, hoping not to encounter the grisly sight of blackened corpses inside the turrets. But they found many unburied corpses littering the battlefield, attracting obnoxious black swarms of flies. Sorting through the dead was the most gruesome task of war.
Fortunately, the enemy suffered the majority of the casualties. At the conclusion of the battle the Germans and Italians had lost 33,000 men dead and taken prisoner. The Allies lost 2,908 killed, 7,339 wounded and 7,457 missing – a total of 17,704. But in loss of armour there was almost parity, with the Germans losing 300 tanks, and the Allies 278. With the fall of Tobruk to the Allies, Rommel was in retreat, and his army was chased off to the south-west, several smaller towns falling to the Allies in their wake.
Herford entered the remnants of Tobruk on 16 December, but the ambulance convoy had to push on, keeping abreast of the German retreat. Several days later they travelled to the newly liberated town of Derna where his unit recovered 130 British prisoners of war who had been in a German military hospital. The freed men were white and washed out, and suffering from the effects of malnutrition. But on the night of the 22nd they ate well for the first time in many weeks, feasting on the local produce which was richly abundant in this small town.
Christmas day was spent in a desert encampment. The ground was soft and muddy, the rain torrential, reducing many of the roads to quagmire. Herford’s unit enjoyed a good meal in the evening with wine and beer, but were shaken to their senses by heavy German gunfire in the evening. The festivities were short lived. There were many casualties to be evacuated along the impossibly muddy tracks. New Year’s Eve was celebrated with six hours of digging o
ut a four-wheel-drive 3-tonner stuck in the mud.
In spite of the deluge, clean drinking water was at a premium, especially for the ambulance units. And together with tins of petrol, cans of water were the most precious commodity. Over the next two weeks Herford spent a lot of time on the road, reconnoitring routes for the evacuation of ambulances, and liaising between field ambulance units. The journeys were often lengthy and sometimes unpredictable, so he made a point of insisting that his driver, Atkins, brought two Jerry cans of water with them when they departed in the morning. But Atkins was not blessed with a quick mind, and on several occasions forgot to bring the water. On one morning in mid-January Herford gave his driver a stiff reminder before they set out, ‘For God’s sake, Atkins, let’s not have any more trouble with the water cans.’
They headed out in a newly overhauled 15 cwt jeep, but without their knowledge, the vehicle had been incorrectly fitted with springs designed for the 30 cwt vans. While the road was still flat they proceeded without incident, but as soon as they hit a sizeable pothole, which in normal circumstances would have presented no problem other than a slight bump, the jeep bounced off the ground and turned in the air. Fortunately Herford was thrown completely clear, and suffered no more than a minor crack in the scapula. But Atkins was caught in the overturned vehicle and his scalp was cut from left to right, creating a bloody flap of skin which hung down over his eyes. Miraculously he was still conscious, and when Herford made it back to the wreckage the first thing he heard was Atkins asking, ‘Is the water can all right, sir?’
Fortunately Herford was able to hail a passing vehicle and get Atkins to the Sutherlands’ No. 2 Casualty Clearing Station where his face was stitched up the same evening, and confirmation received that he had done no more substantial damage.