Article It's Bonfire Night back home ! By Ken Chambers

Dr.Yahia Al Shaer

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It's Bonfire Night back home !

By
Ken Chambres

22651318 RAOC




Aged just 22, in early 1956 I received a telegram at my place of work. I thought it was a practical joke at first but with a War Office stamp and my army details on it (number & regiment). My world was suddenly transformed as it read, "Please report within 48 hours to Coopers Lane Camp, CAD Bramley, Hampshire. Railway warrant attached." I went to the nearest pub for a stiff whisky and the landlord said, "Alright mate", upon which I replied, "Look at this." I showed him the telegram and he said, "This one's on me and good luck!"

I had to explain to my family and tried to answer questions, but the most difficult part was to tell my fiancée, Gladys, that I had been recalled to the army, as we were planning our wedding in September but because of the uncertainty over Suez, our plans had to be cancelled. This was a huge disappointment and put a lot of stress on my fiancée to cancel various appointments and other plans were quickly talked about.

At three pm I strolled into camp, an open camp at first, for the gathering of recalled reservists. Everyone was looking at each other with a "What have I got to do?" type of expression. With no officers or NCOs and all of us in civvies, it looked more like a refugee camp than an army camp. I thought to myself, "How different to my national service in Blackdown, Aldershot." A complete shambles is all I can say, no security, no authority, and being next door to a large ammunition depot such as CAD Bramley was a potential risk given the increasing IRA activity at the time. After a few days some sort of order was restored and our billeting arrangements were sorted. As more turned up we began to recognise familiar faces from our National Service days, a kind of reunion you might say. I teamed up with my old mate Roy Green, from Birmingham, with whom I spent two years and two lots of army reserve in Scotland together.

Eventually we got into shape but nowhere near the sharpness of our National Service days. Considering the seriousness of the situation a lot of concerns were on my mind. It was obvious that because we were reservists, no regular army personnel took any interest in us. This to me was worrying, and so it proved in the conflicts in Cyprus and Suez we were about to become embroiled in, as we were seen as a private militia.

On home leaves my fiancée and I discussed the worsening situation in the Middle East and we decided to get married in September that year at the registry office to replace our original church wedding plans. The only problem was getting permission from the Commanding Officer, as on returning from leave we were told we were going on 24-hour standbys - destination unknown. The CO, also a reservist, asked what date had been set for the wedding and I told him September 29th. He told me that he would grant a 24-hour pass, and from this quick arrangements were made by telegram back home. The CO stated, " If I have to get you on that boat on a 2-ton truck I'll do it!" At 10.00am Saturday 29 September 1956 at Wednesbury Registry Office, I married Gladys Cresswell, and at the moment of writing we are still together. I was back in camp on Sunday and by Wednesday I was on my way to Cyprus, via Malta, on a converted Halifax.

At 3pm we touched down in Cyprus, where it was 110 degrees, as we stood on the runway wearing our great coats- I can tell you sitting back to back in a seatless Halifax at 10,000 feet was extremely cold and uncomfortable. I smiled to myself as I thought, "The elite 23 have arrived." I keep looking in the Guinness Book of Records, but no one nominated us. We were escorted by army truck to Kykko West Camp and joined the other regimental allsorts. There wasn't much activity in Cyprus, where we carried out normal patrol duties day and night. Nevertheless, we were instructed to have rifles at the ready with one in the breach, and no safety catch on. We soon realised this was no cowboys and Indians game.

November 5th arrived and we knew something was stirring. I had just remarked to my mate Roy Green, "Its bonfire night back home" when our sergeant dashed into our tent shouting at us to get our gear on and fall in outside. A 50 round bandolier was issued to us all and we got into open backed trucks with folding tables down each side. It was explained to us that the tables were for our protection from stone throwing local villagers. Several incidents did occur as we went on our way to Famagusta, but we all got there unscathed. We sailed out of Famagusta docks at 5 am on the Empire Gaelic, a converted merchant ship. As we were getting settled on board after embarking for Port Said, we saw the Famagusta customs office blown up by terrorists.

As we sailed into Port Said we could see smoke billowing from the town. We landed near to the docks to the sound of small arms fire coming from the forward units clearing remnants of the Egyptian forces from around the town. I can recall seeing the sunken ships Nasser had instructed to be sunk to block the entrance of the Canal. Our task was to offload ammunition and create a supply depot, which we achieved about 3 miles outside the port. We commandeered an old market place that was a good defensive site for our operating headquarters. We were told that about 5,000 Egyptian military were masquerading as civilians in the town and to be on our guard. The road out of Port Said was well guarded by both sides. Our group included the Scotch Greys, Royal Engineers and us (RAOC).

There were the usual cock-ups that tend to happen in any conflict, and one such fiasco happened when a comrade and I were on guard duty at our forward site. Poor cooperation and communication between the units led to us being challenged by a patrol, which asked us what we doing at that location. We asked the same question. Soon after, the major in charge was shipped back to Cyprus. He was a regular officer, the very same chap who had called us amateurs! You always get one glory hunter. We were hungry most of the time, and tinned sausages and bacon never tasted so good. The 48-hour packs we were issued with were our lifeline. We made the best of old fruit baskets and mosquito nets to get some kip.

Then came the withdrawal. We coped with that okay, loading ammunition onto trucks and convoying it to waiting ships at Port Said and we moved 400 tons without incident. At the same time we noticed UN troops were more active. One morning on parade we were given the good news that we would be home for Christmas, and as from tomorrow our duty would end. So long Suez! This was the news we all wanted to hear. I often think how difficult it must have been for the soldiers who endured 6 years of Egypt during the Second World War. What an achievement. The big day came and we were ordered onto a local single-deck bus and I remember soldiers sitting in the aisles had to put their rifles through the open sided windows to act as a defensive guard. We made it to the docks and loaded onto pontoon barges. There before us we saw the aircraft carrier Theseus and we got on board by the seaward side, avoiding unfriendly fire, as the locals had been taking pot shots at outgoing troops.

Once on board we were allocated quarters all over the carrier. I was lucky, being given a hammock. The galley was working at full stretch as we were all very hungry and in need of traditional grub. I recall a Marine cook telling me I needed feeding up and he proceeded to give me double ham and eggs. I can tell you this went down extremely well. Not to be left idle, some of us were detailed to help out with some of the chores on board. I plumped for a gem of a job serving behind the bar in the officers' wardroom. Some Army officers who knew me were given generous tots, and in return I drank quite a few free drinks from them. It was quite a tricky walk back across the hangar to my hammock but I slept rather well every night. A football game was arranged on one occasion, about twenty a side as I recall. All was going well until someone kicked the ball high above the hanger roof, and as we were doing 27 knots the wind took the ball straight into the Med! End of game! Docking at Portsmouth was exciting, with bands playing, and people cheering. We were home. My adventure was over and I headed back for Darlaston, tanned and fit.




Dr. Yahia Al Shaer
 

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