Alamein: Recollections Of The Heroes

Alamein by Philip Warner

Index of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

PART ONE

I Why the Alamein Battles were fought

II The Battles

PART TWO

I In the Tanks

II The Infantry

III Signals

IV Reconnaissance

V The Sappers

VI Artillery and Anti-Tank Regiments

VII The Back-up

VIII At Headquarters

IX Other Memories of Alamein

The Desert Rat Retired

The Order of Battle

Picture Gallery

Philip Warner – A Short Biography

Philip Warner – A Concise Bibliography

Acknowledgements

This book was made possible by the Daily Telegraph which in April 1978 published a letter in which I requested survivors of the Alamein battles or their relations or friends to get in touch with me. Hundreds did so. I therefore wish to take this opportunity to thank the Daily Telegraph for making the book possible and all those very kind people who wrote or telephoned to give me material to include in the book.

Introduction

Before beginning this book I asked various people who had been born since 1945 what the word ‘Alamein’ meant to them. All said it was the name of a battle in either the First or Second World War and some knew that Rommel was concerned. However, nobody appreciated its significance. These were people with no particular interest in military history but they were intelligent and educated. It became clear to me that the battles of the First World War – Somme, Ypres, Passchendaele – are better known than those of the Second. Probably the fearful slaughter of the First World War battles, so aptly conveyed in BBC and part-work series, was something to catch anyone’s attention.

Of the Second World War, Dunkirk and the D-Day landings were apparently the only memorable occasions. This seems extraordinary as numerous television programmes and films have been made of events around the aerial Battle of Britain and the Italian campaign. The battles of the Far East, land, sea or air, have made no impact on the minds of people who are now in their twenties and thirties. Perhaps this is not surprising but it is regrettable that so much in the way of toil, endurance and dedication should be forgotten so completely.

Even among those who were alive during the Second World War the importance of Alamein is by now scarcely appreciated. Too much has happened since. There have been other battles and other wars: the world has changed, though not for the better. The Britain of today is vastly different in terms of resources and morale from the Britain which played a vital part in the world conflict in the 1940s. But the significance of Alamein should not be forgotten or underrated. It was one of the decisive battles of history, but like many other critical battles it was less famous because the defenders won than it would have been if they had lost.

For many who were old enough to fight in the Second World War – and the fighters include those who stoically endured the bombing, rockets and privations at home – Alamein was once a magic word. The Second World War had begun on 3rd September 1939 and the following years had seen several bitter defeats and no victories against the main adversary. The Battle of Britain in September 1940 had convinced the Germans that daylight air attacks on Britain were not feasible, but in spite of that battles in the air continued for many years. In fact, the achievement of the Battle of Britain was lessened by the fact of the German bombers coming over and pounding British cities night after night. Britain had been saved from invasion, but that fact was scarcely considered by people huddled in air-raid shelters. The victories against the Italians made little impact on the public for there was a widespread impression that the Italians were not wholehearted soldiers. Losses of shipping in the Atlantic were scarcely realised, although they were critical and through them Britain could have lost the war. Dunkirk, which followed devastating defeats in France, was mistakenly regarded as a victory. Of the Far East even less was known. The jungle, the monsoon rains, the insects and the diseases were almost incomprehensible to people living in a temperate zone. Small wonder that the men fighting in Burma regarded themselves as ‘the forgotten army'.

Even when battles are known to the public there is often something missing. This is particularly true of battles of the Second World War. During 1914–18 there was little room for strategic or tactical manoeuvre. The main front was in France and there were few subtleties in the head-on slaughter of trench warfare. The other fronts, in Africa, in Russia, in the Middle East, caught public attention for a while and then were obliterated. Even the slaughter and heroism of Gallipoli were soon forgotten as the casualties mounted upon the Western Front. For nearly ten years after 1918 the public, even those who had fought, wanted to forget the war. Then suddenly there came a stream of individual stories. Erich Maria Remarque portrayed the German side of the war, Henri Barbusse gave the French*, Robert Graves (Goodbye to All That), Edmund Blunden (Undertones of War), Siegfried Sassoon (Memoirs of an Infantry Officer), gave the British. And there were others. Many of these writers were also poets and their descriptions were graphic and memorable. Thus the First World War, although a form of national suicide and mass extermination, became vividly individual through men’s memoirs. The story of the soldier, his hardships, his miseries, his dedication and his triumphs came over clearly and vividly.

*Written during the War.

From the Second World War there has emerged little to compare with the First. In 1939 men went to war expecting to be killed within the first few hours or days after joining the colours. Expectation, based on the 1914–18 war and subsequent scientific discoveries, gave scant confidence in survival. Yet in the event many people found the war, with its variety and flexibility, the most interesting and pleasurable period of their lives. Others, of course, had a different experience. Yet overall it is the study of the strategic and tactical which has been written up. The soldier’s story has come to light less often. Yet the soldier in 1939–45, as in all previous wars, was the person who ultimately mattered. You can fight a war without generals, although not very well, but without soldiers you cannot fight a war at all.

In the Second World War it was realised – and most of the credit for this must go to Field Marshal Montgomery – that the soldier can only give of his best if he knows what is going on and why. Soldiers were therefore informed about strategy and tactics and war aims, and many other matters – such as social reform – in which they did not show great interest at the time. And meanwhile they fired their rounds, and drove their tanks and trucks and did those endless tasks every army needs performing. As they did so, they thought their thoughts. Those thoughts may not have been profound, nor their opinions and assessments accurate, but they were what was felt at the time. To some the enduring memory of the Second World War is sand and flies, to others insects and rain, to others the whine of a three-ton truck, to others a bellowing sergeant-major, to others the peculiar taste of wartime NAAFI tea.

Whatever the memory, particularly in battle, it is important to a full portrayal of the event. In the following pages there appear many different viewpoints, some from units which the civilian might not recognise as being important in battle at all. All were in danger at different times. An enemy bomber does not merely bomb a fashionable cavalry regiment; it is very happy to demolish a convoy of rations or ammunition trucks. The value to the war effort of some of the less glamorous activities is easily forgotten but is recalled sharply enough if vital supplies do not arrive. There are no safe areas on a battlefield and behind the lines can often be more hazardous than the front. Who would wish to drive a petrol tanker through enemy shellfire?

The recollections which follow in these pages may not seem of great importance but they are the material of history. We can only guess at what men thought at Hastings and Crecy and Agincourt and our picture of these battles is therefore far from complete. We can know — if we seek it before it is too late – what men thought at Dunkirk, Alamein, Crete, at Anzio or at Arnhem. That way our picture of a battle, though not complete, is at least first-hand.

PART ONE I

Chapter I

Why the Alamein battles were fought

The Second World War alternated between periods of inactivity and periods of violent action. The first month, from 3rd September 1939, saw violent action in Poland and some British losses at sea. Within a few weeks Poland was defeated and dismembered, the battle of the Atlantic continued and the Royal Air Force dropped leaflets over Germany. The Germans were pleased at their success in Poland and undismayed by the warnings in the RAF leaflets. So placid did it all seem that the Americans nicknamed the period ‘the Phoney War’ or ‘the Great Bore War’. It was not of course boring for those on the look-out for submarines, and it was far from boring for those under training. For those administering evacuation schemes or rationing goods or generally interfering in the lives of others – as many petty officials appeared to be doing for no good reason – it may well have been a very interesting and purposeful period.

In May 1940 the situation changed dramatically. On 9th May Germans were reported to be in Norway and Denmark. At 5.30 am on 10th May Germany invaded Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg. There was an important change of leadership in Britain as Neville Chamberlain resigned and Winston Churchill took over the post of Prime Minister. However, it would need more than political changes to stop the flood of German tanks and well-trained infantry. Rotterdam was ‘blitzed’ by German bombers on 14th May, with an estimated loss of civilians dead. The Dutch army surrendered after receiving heavy casualties. The Germans, with relentless air power and apparently unlimited numbers of tanks, stormed on and overwhelmed Belgium and France. On 14th June German troops entered Paris.

The news of these disasters was so appalling that British people could hardly believe it. Each day seemed to bring yet another humiliation. Mussolini had declared war on 10th June, calculating that all was over but for sharing out the spoils. Little he knew. On 1st July the Germans occupied the Channel Islands and though these were farther away than Calais it seemed almost more menacing as they were British territory. The only bright spot in the general gloom was the fact that 338,226 troops (of whom 120,000 were French) had been evacuated in what was known as the miracle of Dunkirk. So well publicised was this event that many people began to believe that evacuating the remnants of a beaten army with considerable loss of aircraft and shipping was in some way a victory. Whether the Germans could have successfully invaded Britain if they had waited long enough and chosen their time is an interesting speculation, but fortunately for the West Hitler decided to launch an attack on Russia in June of the following year (1941). Russia, of course, was a bigger prize, but in the event this attack proved to be Hitler’s biggest mistake.

As one disaster succeeded another during the second half of 1940 the outlook for Britain seemed bleak indeed. There were a few brighter spots in the gloom such as the superb performance of the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force; and Churchill’s matchless oratory created hope where bewildered defeatism would otherwise have prevailed. But in September we lost 160,000 tons of shipping, in October the Germans were able to seize the Rumanian oilfields without hindrance and in November 4,500 civilians were killed in air raids on Britain. One of the curiosities of the 1970s is that most people are not only unaware of the battles which took place overseas in the Second World War but they are also quite oblivious of the fact that hundreds of people died every day in houses and streets of this country. One might have thought that on the ugly blocks which pass for architecture today there might be room for a memorial plaque or two for the brave, but now forgotten, citizens of the recent past.

These were the people for whom the victory of Alamein would mean so much. Day after day they heard the ominous wail of the sirens — one of the most depressing noises bureaucrats could possibly inflict – and every night most of them went to their crude shelters sleeping, when possible, through the thump and crash of air raids. Their men were seldom there to comfort them when the bombs shook the buildings in which they sheltered. Their children were often far away, evacuated to the countryside or even another country. There were brave slogans, among them ‘Britain can take it’. ‘Taking it’ is all very well if there is a hope of eventual victory, but taking it when it seems a mere prelude to defeat is another matter. News of a victory – any victory – would make all the difference, even though you might not even know the name of the country in which the all-important event had taken place.

At the same time – and later – the men in those far-off countries often talked to each other of ‘home’. Their homes might he slums in Whitechapel or Newcastle, Newport or Glasgow, hut they were something worth fighting for. Unfortunately none of the post-war planning know-alls were present to hear their conversation before much-loved streets were demolished to make way for twenty-storey rabbit-hutches. Most people looked forward to having a slightly bigger home than the one they were born in with a bit of a garden, and friendly neighbours and a nearby pub. No soldier, even in a nightmare, imagined living in a tower block.

Few people if asked to place Egypt, let alone Libya, Tobruk or Benghazi, on a blank map of Africa would have been able to do so accurately. When the news came in that on 4th August the Italians had advanced from Abyssinia into British Somaliland this was meaningless to many, although resignedly they felt it was probably another petty defeat. In fact it was the start of the chain of events which led to Alamein and eventually to the fall of Mussolini himself. For the ‘Sawdust Caesar’, as Mussolini had been nicknamed, felt he must do some-thing to impress his more powerful partner and ally, Germany. Hitler made little attempt to conceal his contempt for the Italian dictator and the fact rankled with Mussolini. The Italians themselves had scant liking for campaigns in distant arid countries, much preferring life in their own territories. However, they had over half a million troops available for this venture, and with little in the way of British opposition to stop them it seemed that victories must be inevitable. General Wavell had just over 80,000 troops to defend an area which included Palestine (Israel), Egypt, Sudan, Kenya, Cyprus, Aden and Somaliland. There were a few RAF squadrons equipped with ageing and outdated Gloucester Gladiators. The Italian line of communication was protected by ten modern battleships.

However Mussolini’s plans went sadly wrong. In November the Italian fleet was crippled by a raid on Taranto Bay and on 9th December Wavell opened a desert offensive by attacking Sidi Barrani. By mid-December the Italians had been driven back over the Libyan border while Cunningham was busy rolling up the Italians in Abyssinia and Eritrea. By April of the following year (1941) the Italians had lost most of their best naval craft in sea battles, over 130,000 prisoners, and all their territory in battles ranging from the Red Sea to Benghazi. This was all heartening. However, they were Italians, not Germans. It was the Germans who had thrown us out of France and were now sinking our ships and bombing our towns. What was needed was some form of successful counter-attack against the Germans.

But it was not to be. Instead the news from the Middle East took an ominous turn. The number and size of the Italian defeats in Africa had impressed Hitler with the need to do something to holster up his erratic ally. If his Axis partner continued to he defeated on such a scale there might be a revolution in Italy. Hitler already had work enough for his troops without wanting to use them in suppressing a national uprising on terrain as difficult as Italy. Fortunately for Hitler the Italians still possessed Libya (then called Tripolitania). Hitler therefore sent Erwin Rommel, who had distinguished himself while commanding 7th Panzer Division in the French campaign. Rommel’s ‘army’ initially consisted of two divisions, and this was the beginning of the ‘Afrika Korps’. It went into action for the first time on 24th February.

It was soon abundantly clear to all that Rommel had a genius for desert warfare. He was too far away for Hitler to be able to interfere with his strategy and he was therefore able to indulge in a variety of tactical ploys, feints, changes of direction, sudden withdrawals, unexpected attacks. He had an advantage in that he possessed new and up- to date equipment in both tanks and guns. The German 88 mm gun was widely respected wherever the Germans fought. Like our own 3.7 inch, it was originally an anti-aircraft gun but the Germans found it could be put to many other uses from anti-tank to harbour defence. The 3.7 was, in fact, a better weapon but its use was severely restricted. Two factors helped Rommel enormously. One was the fact that British troops were weary after a long and adventurous campaign; the second was that our tanks were by now in poor shape mechanically. Sand and dust shortened the working life of a tank considerably in the desert. Troops and supplies which could have settled the desert campaign, and even the elusive ‘Desert Fox’ (as Rommel came to be called), once and for all, were now diverted to Greece to help a hard-pressed ally. In the event the Greek venture proved a costly failure.

Rommel probed and struck, backed by full support from the Luftwaffe. He was by no means always victorious, but he succeeded in pushing back the British line to Solium and isolating Tobruk. Some British losses, such as that of 3rd Armoured Brigade which was captured at Derna, and 2nd Armoured Division which suffered the same fate at El Adem, were crippling, for these were the units which might have carried the offensive back to the Germans. The supply and reinforcement position was made worse by a revolt in Iraq on 3rd April. Until it was checked there was considerable danger that the Germans might be able to establish themselves in that vital area – where oilfields and pipelines lay. This meant even more diversion of limited supplies and men. By June 1941 the reinforcement position had deteriorated so much that Rommel had over twice as many tanks as the British opposing him, in fact 160 against 70.

Gradually Wavell fought back. The situation in Iraq was restored. Other problems in Syria and Iran were settled. However, the attempt to relieve Tobruk in June 1941 failed. The British forces had nothing to match the PzKw IV tank with its 75 mm. gun and were at an even greater disadvantage against the German 88 mm. The latter showed its power only too clearly when used in the anti-tank role: a shell from an 88 would not merely check a British tank – it would go clean through it.

Quite unjustly, Wavell was blamed for his failure to relieve Tobruk; he was criticised for not waiting longer! Wavell had achieved miracles with insufficient troops and was certainly due for a rest. However, the move which sent him to India, which he did not know, and his replacement by General Sir Claude Auchinleck, whose experience had been almost entirely in India, seemed a strange one. Auchinleck’s special knowledge could have been invaluable in the Burma campaign which would open five months later. However, in the subsequent argument as to whether Auchinleck should or should not have been replaced by Montgomery a year later, nobody ventured to suggest that the desert war had received anything but benefit from Auchinleck’s appointment. The desert army was now re-formed as the Eighth Army and put under the command of Lieutenant-General Sir Alan Cunningham. Cunningham had 450 tanks to Rommel’s 412 but was heavily outnumbered in anti-tank guns, of which he had only 72 against Rommel’s 194. In quality the German arms and armour were more effective. Over half Rommel’s force was Italian.

Eighth Army was made up of XIII Corps (one Indian division; one New Zealand division and one tank brigade) and XXX Corps (one armoured division [7th], one armoured brigade, one South African division and one brigade group), plus the Tobruk garrison, the Army reserve of one division and a brigade, and a small RAF component of 27 squadrons.

In November this force went on the offensive and, after stiff fighting, cleared Cyrenaica and relieved Tobruk.

In December Japan came into the war and vital reinforcements were diverted to the Far Eastern theatre, mainly Burma. Rommel meanwhile had received much-needed supplies of men and materials and came back to the offensive. By 21st January 1942 he had advanced to the Gazala line (west of and close to Tobruk). His plan was to force the British to withdraw to Egypt, but he was not so foolish as to risk having his army destroyed in the process. The stakes were high for the British, for Rommel would threaten the very heart of Allied Middle Eastern power if he once entered Egypt and it was vitally important to recover the airfields in Cyrenaica and to be able to use them to defend Malta. Malta had been under tremendous pressure from the Germans, who realised only too well the vital importance of this Mediterranean island. From Malta the RAF and Royal Navy could defend Allied convoys, but equally the RAF could intercept and destroy convoys of German and Italian supplies to North Africa. The task of the RAF in North Africa was not easy, for many of the German bombers were faster than our fighters. The balance of power – and morale – was partly restored by David Stirling’s ‘Special Air Service’ (the renowned SAS), whose members swooped deep behind the German lines in heavily armoured jeeps and destroyed 350 German aeroplanes on the ground. (The SAS also attacked other targets than airfields and dislocated the German supply system by such activities as destroying railway lines and telegraph exchanges.)

Auchinleck, viewing the position from the Middle East, felt that the situation in the desert should be kept stable with existing materials while any available reinforcements should be sent to strengthen the lines in the Far East and prevent the Japanese breaking through into India. Churchill, looking at the war as a whole from No 10 Downing Street, felt that Auchinleck should take the attack to Rommel and stabilise the North African situation that way. The men in the tanks and the foxholes – as will be seen in the following accounts – were blissfully unaware of the conflicting opinions of higher strategy and were merely concerned with keeping flies out of their food and the sand out of the machinery.

The impatience of Churchill and his War Cabinet may be explained by the fact that since the previous January supplies had been pouring into the Middle East and that by now the Eighth Army was superior in numbers and equipment to its opponents. Cunningham had used the breathing space to ‘dig in’ the Eighth Army along the Gazala line. ‘Digging in’ meant laying extensive minefields, and grouping troops in ‘boxes’. A box was a strongly fortified position which had the function of a medieval castle. It would be difficult to reduce, dangerous to bypass and would serve as a base for either offensive or defensive operations. However, history has all too often shown that an enterprising general can usually find a way through fixed-line defences. Rommel decided to take the initiative and by a series of ingenious hook movements in which he managed to encircle and destroy British concentrations, he moved on to threaten Tobruk. By this time he was in a position to lure most of the British tank strength to destruction either by anti-tank guns or superior fire power. The battle had begun on 26th May and by 20th June Rommel was able to watch his bombers and his gunners pounding the outer defences of Tobruk itself. A day later, after relentless bombardment, the Germans were able to smash their way through the remainder of the Tobruk defences. It was a magnificent triumph for Rommel and an appalling disaster for the British, not least because it was so completely unexpected. The garrison was small, and, as is the way with garrisons, contained large numbers of inexperienced administrative troops. But it was Tobruk and it was full of stores; it was a major disaster.

Furthermore, because Rommel was not a man to let a chance slip, the fall of Tobruk was by no means the end of the matter. Two days later Rommel was over the Egyptian frontier with a force of 44 tanks. He scattered the resistance which General Gott hastily organised with XIII Corps at Mersa Matruh and moved on. By this time he was in front of many of the retreating British units. From the outside the position looked even worse than it was. It appeared that there was nothing to stop Rommel forcing his way on into Egypt, Cairo and Alexandria. But there was. It was at a place called El Alamein.

Chapter II

The Battles

El Alamein is a ridge on the coast approximately half way between Mersa Matruh and Alexandria. A road and a railway run along the coast. From the Alamein ridge to Qaret el Himeimat, twenty-eight miles to the south, there was a natural defensive position, for south of Qaret el Himeimat there was an impassable barrier in the shape of the Qattara* depression. The Qattara depression is a salt marsh two hundred feet below sea level. Although light vehicles have been known to cross it, it is quite impossible for normal military traffic. There is no way of skirting around it, for to the south-west it links with the Great Sand Sea. What became known as the El Alamein position (although it covered much more than the coastal ridge) was this twenty-eight-mile stretch between the coast and the Qattara depression. This blocked that part of the desert which was suitable for military vehicles, for it was mainly of rock.

* May also be spelt Quattara.

Desert is a wide term. To most people it means endless shifting sand under baking heat. In practice it may mean rock, salt marsh, hard sand, soft sand or gravel. It could be bare and flat or undulating and covered with scrub. It could be suffocatingly hot or (at night) bitterly cold. It could, at times, be quite pleasant. In spite of its drawbacks it is possible to become very fond of the desert.

Along this defensive line there were various features which were destined to play a significant part in subsequent battles. An ordinary tourist would probably not notice them for they were neither beautiful nor impressive. However, the history of warfare has shown that minor slopes, which in peacetime could scarcely be noticed, become vital objectives in wartime. Hill 70 in Northern France is typical of such features.

The Alamein position began on the coast (salt marshes) and was most strongly defended around Alamein station with what was known as the Alamein box. This was where most of the German attack was expected. The Alamein box made a semi-circle some six miles in diameter and at the southern point was level with the Miteirya Ridge. This ridge included the famous Kidney Ridge, a misleading feature since it was not a ridge at all but a depression.

Eight miles farther south lay the Ruweisat Ridge, running east to west. In advance of it (i.e. to the