locked

An account of being in a military prison

A fellow Suez Veteran has been in touch with us and asked if we would like to include on the Website a story of his time spent in No.50 Military Corrective Establishment at Moascar for falling asleep whilst on guard, and said that he would understand if we refused. He has received his medal, but has always felt ashamed of his time in a Military Prison and this fact put a damper on his joy at receiving his medal.

We know it happened about 50 years ago but he served his time then and we doubt very much if our readers or any Canal Zone Veteran would ever hold this error against him. Therefore we willingly agreed to include his story. We are of the opinion there were many servicemen who fell asleep when on guard duty and were very lucky not to get caught. However he is in good company, our Suez Veteran friend and world famous jazz musician and clarinettist Acker Bilk also spent time in an Army nick for that same reason, he has openly told of this event without detriment to himself.

We firmly believe that all of us must ask the question, why would any young, fit, eighteen year old soldier fall asleep on guard duty when he knew the consequences of such an action as read to each guard by the Guard Commander or Orderly Sgt before going on patrol? Perhaps it could be put down to a combination of things, fatigue brought on by working in the extreme heat all day, food which though filling, very often lacked the nourishment required, and at the same time was often prepared in almost unhygienic conditions resulting in bouts of Dysentery, a nasty affliction from which many of us suffered.

Also the sheer boredom of life in the camps, and for these young men who were nearing sexual maturity, the lack of female company. Finally the discipline, which in some cases could be extreme.

We thank Jim Rushby very much for letting us have his story to include in the History and Recollections section of the website. Jim says if he hadn't at last decided to make known this niggling episode of his service, it would still be troubling him and be rattling around in his head, which it has been doing so for the past 50 years. Jim, hopefully telling this story in the open will get the monkey off your back, we wish you all the very best and ask that you wear your medal with pride; you earned it just like the rest of us.

God Bless you Jim, and your family.

Jock Marrs and Richard Woolley.
March 2005.

Locked Up

A Prisoners Story, by Jim Rushby.

I was called up for National Service in the RASC in September 1953 and went through the usual routine of induction, basic training and trade training before being posted out to Egypt in April of 1954. In common with I think, most National Servicemen, none of the training that I had been given prepared you for what was to come, as an instance, on the very odd occasion that you did a guard in the UK or a fire piquet as it was then called, it consisted of a wander around the camp along with another squaddie armed with a pickaxe handle, here in the Canal Zone you were straight into Active Service with no training or time to get acclimatized and within days of arriving out there you would be taking part in guard duties armed with a loaded sten gun of unknown age or origin, a weapon which I personally had never seen or used before, in fact I had been out there for many months before I was given chance to fire one on the camp ranges, prior to this I had carried out many duties while carrying the weapon, thank God I never had reason to use it. None of this I hasten to add, is an excuse for the events that follow.

On arrival at Fayid having flown there from Stansted in a York aircraft, I was put into Fayid Transit camp for a couple of days before being transported on to 33 SRD at El Kirsh which was the main food storage depot for the Middle East. The depot itself consisted of 29 very large storage sheds each about the size of an aircraft hanger with road and rail services to each one, and I was given a job as a storekeeper in one of the sheds which was run by a civilian. The camp routine consisted of going to work in the depot each morning until lunchtime, then a quick trip to the cookhouse for lunch, back to the billet for a short siesta, then get your kit ironed up and your boots, brasses etc bulled up ready to go on guard mounting about 5 or 5.30pm, a trip to the Armoury to draw your weapon for the night and by 6pm you were in the guardroom and on duty until 6am the next morning. Once you had completed your duty and the guard had been dismissed and you had handed your weapon back in, it was back to your billet for a wash and shave, change into your working gear then down the cookhouse for breakfast and then back on the lorry for the trip back into the depot to start your day job. In theory you then had two nights off duty before you were back on the guard roster, this went on week in week out, with the occasional 24 hour weekend guard duty thrown in for good value.

One night having been placed on guard yet again, the Guard Commander, who I think was a full Corporal, gave me the 6pm till 8pm stag on prowler around the inside of the perimeter wire which meant that my other stag was from midnight to 2am which I always found to be the hardest one as having got back to the guardroom from the first stag it was almost impossible to get any rest before the start of your next one. The rest area consisted of a large tent at the back of the guardroom with about six old iron beds with no mattress, just the springs, and you were supposed to lay on them and sleep while still dressed in all your kit in case of emergency. If you were lucky enough to get any sleep you only just seemed to have shut your eyes before they were rousing you to start again. Come midnight, off I went again with my trusty Sten slung on my shoulder and after wandering along in total darkness along the empty wire for about an hour, being young and stupid I decided just to have a quiet sit down for ten minutes which proved to be a bad mistake, as without meaning to, I fell asleep. I was found asleep by one of the duty NCOs who placed me under arrest and having replaced me with another guard, I was marched off to the guardroom and locked up for the night. Next day I was put up in front of the CO charged with 'Sleeping on guard while on Active Service' and was remanded for trial by Court Martial.

My Court Martial took place at Moascar Garrison, after all this time I cannot recall how many Officers took part in it but the room seemed to be full of them, I seem to think there were three or four acting as judges, another one who was the prosecuting Officer, plus a NS Officer who was supposed to be defending me. I had no other choice but to plead Guilty as charged, there being no excuse for what I had done, but there I stood all of 18 years old being threatened that the end of my world was nigh. I was told that during the war men were shot for this offence, that the last man they sentenced got 25 years and it gradually got down to about 7 years at which time I was marched out while they considered the sentence. After a short time I was marched back into the room and was very relieved to be sentenced to 56 days in 50 MCE Moascar, I was then transported back to El Kirsh and kept in the cells there for a few days while my sentence was confirmed. The cells at El Kirsh were part of the guardroom and were only big enough for about two prisoners. At the time that I was a guest, there was about eight of us in there which meant most of us sleeping in the corridor, we were very fortunate to have an old wind-up gramophone but only had a couple of records, I think one was Guy Mitchell singing "Sippin Soda" and " Cloud Lucky Seven" the other one was Frank Sinatra singing "I've got the world on a string", trouble was our one and only needle was on its last legs, but luckily one of the lads discovered a big thorn bush just outside the guardroom and the thorns worked really well as replacements. All too soon my days of peace came to an end and off I went in the back of the duty truck accompanied by a couple of Regimental Police NCOs whose job it was to deliver me safely to 50 MCE to serve my sentence.

The truck pulled up outside the gates and once I had collected all my FSMO together, the two NCOs accompanied me through the main gate of 50 MCE and for all of us that was the end of piece and quiet. As soon as the first boot crossed the portals the shouting and screaming began and both the NCOs and myself were told to double on the spot and then double over to this large tent where, to the continued screams and shouts, I had to check all of my kit while still doubling on the spot. It was only after all the necessary paper work had been signed were the poor old NCOs allowed to depart, still at the double until they cleared the main gate. Now being in a state of sheer terror at what lay before me I and several other new guests who had also just arrived were doubled over towards the very large imposing gates set in a high stone wall which led into the main part of the camp, it looked almost like the gates to one of the old forts in a Beau Geste film, once inside you could see a very large area of tents and buildings which were surrounded by a very high fence complete with barbed wire and lights. The prisoners lived in blocks of four-man tents with each block being surrounded by high chain link fencing, between two of the blocks was a large area of sand on which stood rows of trestle tables and wooden benches, and being as it was now about 2pm and none of us new boys had had any lunch, we were told to put our kit down and sit at a couple of the tables. We were then each served with a mug of tea, a bowl of porridge with salt in it and a big hunk of bread with a dab of margarine and a small piece of cheese. Stood at the wire of the compounds on both sides of us were lots of the prisoners who all looked half starved and a couple of us managed to pass our bread over to them, next day of course we were stood there with them!

Luckily we were no longer having to double everywhere and the shouting had also eased off. Having eaten we were then led to one of the tented compounds by one of the S/Sgts and told to go find a bed in one of them. This is where my luck really came in as I was approached by two big lads who I later discovered were Irish Guardsmen, who said they had a spare bed in their tent which I could have, those old boys were the salt of the earth, they helped me with my kit, they even cut up pieces of cardboard and boxed up everything that I had to lay out on my bed for inspection every day, they also taught me everything that I needed to know to survive in there, believe me they were true Gents and I owed a lot to them.

Reveille was at 6am and you turned out with your aluminium bowl which you had been provided with, and queued at one of the standpipes to get water to carry out your ablutions, you also queued if needed to use the toilets which if memory serves me right, were completely open air and consisted of a row of poles to sit on with just an open trench behind them. Tents had to be tidied up, beds made and kit laid out for inspection by the Staff who were always called "Screws" (but not to their faces,) the sand around the tent had to be raked and even the aluminium bowl that you had just used for washing had to be bulled with Brasso and sand until it gleamed.

After all these years I cannot remember the whole routine, but I rather think breakfast was at 8am, I know that you all stood by your beds and when the first whistle was blown you had to run out and form up outside your tent, at the next whistle you all came to attention, the next one you all turned to your left and the final one you marched out and took your place at the tables. Breakfast and lunch were similar meals, both of them started with a bowl of salt porridge which after a few days tasted as good as having sugar on it, the fact that you were starving probably also helped with the taste, this was followed by a hunk of bread with a dab of marg and a blob of jam and of course, a good old mug of tea. Lunch only differed in as much as that instead of a blob of jam you got a small piece of cheese with your hunk of bread, the evening meal was always some kind of stew with rice, the meals never varied and stayed the same all the time that I was in there. I don't know how many of you remember the Orderly Officer coming at meal times on camp and asking if there was any complaints regarding the food, I know they used to do it occasionally at El Kirsh, well one of my lasting memories of meal times at 50 MCE was when this Officer did his rounds of the tables while we were having lunch and asking, "Are there any complaints?" and some fool at one of the other tables saying, "Yes Sir, this porridge is a bit lumpy", the poor devil was immediately accused of trying to start a riot and was carted off by two of the Screws and put into one of the sweat boxes that stood out in the open and consisted of a small corrugated iron shed with a tin roof and just a door and no window. I don't know how long the poor bloke was shut in there but in that heat you wouldn't need to be in it very long before it did you a mischief.

During the day we were kept occupied with various lectures, weapon training, the assault course, which lay out the back of the camp, and various other pastimes and general fatigues. One of their favourites was to march us all out into the desert behind the camp making sure that we all took our bowl or a galvanized bucket with us, they then formed us into a great big line and had a gang of blokes digging a big hole at one end and filling the buckets and bowls which then had to be passed along the line to be emptied at the other end at which time along came the empties going the other way, once the heap was big enough they then reversed it and had blokes loading the sand from the heap back in the bowls etc. and we passed it back along the line to refill the hole. All this of course with the sun blazing down on you, great fun.

One of my favourite stories from in there concerns those poor devils who loved a smoke, they were limited to two cigarettes a day one in the morning and one in the afternoon, at each time they were made to sit in two lines facing each other, then one of the screws went along the lines handing out a cigarette to each of them and lighting each one, he then stood there until they had all finished then went along and collected all the cigarette ends. The men became so desperate for a smoke that nothing was sacred, there wasn't a bush in the camp with a leaf on it, they also collected used tea leaves when the screws were not watching, and took leaves out of books to roll their mixtures in. The methods of lighting these cigs was even more ingenious, they would get a piece of cardboard and cut it so that it was about an inch wide, they would then cut a vee in one end so that it had two points on it, on these points they would put a piece of silver paper and then shave a blanket so that they got a ball of fluff which they soaked in Brasso and put between the points, while someone stood "screw up" keeping an eye out for the staff they would then remove the light bulb in the tent which were always on day and night, then push their bit of cardboard into the lamp holder at which time there would be a big flash and hey presto they had their light, and would puff away on their home made cigs, the great bonus of this was that occasionally this trick blew the lighting circuit and we would get a good nights sleep with no lights on. The other method of lighting up was to find someone who wore glasses, borrow them and use them as a magnifying glass which was no problem during the day with the sun right overhead.

One afternoon all of the prisoners were made to form up in ranks out in the open and along came the camp Medical Officer with some of his assistants to give us boosters for our injections, they went along each rank and gave us all one in each arm with what felt like a six inch nail, after they had finished there was a bit of murmuring in the ranks and one of the NCOs shouted out for 'quiet', a voice from somewhere among us shouted B-----ks, and of course all hell broke loose as the staff tried to find the culprit, of course no one was going to own up to it as we all knew the punishment, 'the sweat box', because of this we were all ordered to stand with arms over our heads, boy was that painful, but we all stuck to it and stood out there in the sun for what seemed like a couple of hours before they gave up and let us go.

With most of my sentence served I was called out and told that because of good behaviour while in there I was being given 14 days remission which meant that I would be out in a couple of days. The day before my release I was told to report to the large tent on the outside of the compound to have my kit checked again prior to my release, it was the same scenario that had greeted me on that first day, the doubling on the spot the yelling and screaming but now it didn't bother me anymore, here I was one step from freedom and after the weeks inside I could take it. Next day I was awake bright and early, I think I was washed and tidied before any of the others in the tent had stirred, same old routine as before but today was the day. At the appointed time we all stood by our beds waiting for the first whistle to form up outside, when it came the four of us ran out of our tent and stood in line at which time one of the S/Sgt's came over to me and accused me of being the last one out of our tent and stopped me three days of my remission which absolutely stunned me.

I served my extra three days, did everything I was told and kept my nose clean, again came the day for my release, this time no mistakes as I thought, first one out of the tent everything done by the book, said goodbye to all my mates, came the time for my release, out through the Beau Geste gates freedom in sight, doubled over to the tent to collect my kit, only to be told that I should have gone through the kit check system again the previous day ( not that anyone told me ) and that they were considering stopping some more of my remission, anyway someone up there must have liked me and they relented and let me go. I'll tell you what, you couldn't see my tail for dust, I was doubled out of the main gate straight into the back of the duty truck that had been sent from El Kirsh to pick me up and I was gone. When I arrived at camp I was allowed to go to my billet to put all my kit away and was welcomed back by all my mates who wanted to know all about it, I then had to report to the O.C. and was given a lecture on the error of my ways, in fairness to him though at the end of it he shook my hand and wished me well and then it was back to the old routine of work and the dreaded guard duties. On that first day back, when we went to the canteen at lunchtime I went round the food counter three times, I was absolutely starved, I don't think my mates could believe how much I ate, if nothing else 50 MCE made me the slimmest and fittest that I have ever been in my life.

Life after 50 MCE, well within a couple of months of getting back to camp I was promoted to L/Cpl and put in charge of one of the large sheds in the depot that stored all the food for the East African troops who served alongside us in the zone, a few months after that I applied for a posting to a Port Detachment at Fanara Wharf which I was fortunate enough to get and I finished my time out there.

The sting in the tail from it all was that I had to serve another month on top of my two years to make up for the time I spent in prison, so all the mates that I joined up with were back home in civvy street while I continued to serve Queen and country, despite this I am still very proud to have been there and done it, and even more proud to have a medal to show for it. Finally I would imagine that there will be some people who read this who will think that I got what I deserved, and they will be quite right, the punishment fitted the crime, but also many others who read it will be honest to themselves and think:

"There but for the Grace of God go I"

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