31 Battery Goes to Suez - and Back A personal account of the Suez invasion -1956 By Peter J. Gallagher Photo gallery Personnel 1955-57

As a peacetime unit, every year, like the stars in the heavens, events moved along their pre-ordained course. Service work with either Cadets or Territorials; firing camp at either Weybourne or Tonfannau, back to Sheerness, our regimental depot; weeks preparing for Brigadier Pethick's inspection; gun drill outside gun sheds; square bashing; duty battery fatigues, and all of the other housekeeping jobs considered essential in a service unit of the 1950's.

This year would be somewhat different.

We, along with the three Field Artillery units of 3rd. Infantry Division, had spent several weeks in the spring getting ready for a divisional inspection at Woolwich. Our 40mm Bofors were all freshly painted in dark jungle green; all brass parts were buffed until they gleamed, as did the muzzle flash eliminators. All vehicles, from the Austin Champs and Land Rovers, to the 3-ton GTVs, had received the same treatment. Needless to say, all personnel were equally spick-and-span in their turn out when the big day arrived, and, after an inspection by the Divisional Commander, we drove six guns abreast across the Woolwich parade ground, past the stand where General Sir Robert Mansergh took the salute. The Woolwich affair over, it was back to Sheerness and, shortly thereafter, off to Stanford Practical Training Area to perform our annual summer chore. Then, on July 26, 1956, Col. Nasser of Egypt, nationalized the Suez Canal.

I'm sure that we all received the news in many various ways. The senior officers looked serious. The junior officers looked happy; the married men of all ranks looked glum, while again many men were more than a trifle bewildered by the news, with remarks ranging from "'Ere 'e can't do that! Can 'e?" to "Wot's 'e done that for?" and with memories of nationalization attempts in England after WWII, one enlightened member sniffed as he remarked, "It's my experience that it won't work. Never has an' never will!"

We abandoned the P.T.A. to the tender mercies of some other unit and scurried back to Sheerness. Apparently, the 3rd. Infantry Division was scheduled to be part of any invasion plan to retake the canal. Our gleaming guns were brought forth from the gun sheds and had sand coloured paint slopped on them (all that work for naught!) Trucks were equally camouflaged, but with large white letter H's on their sides and roofs for identification. We all received K.D. jackets and pants; short putties, 24-hour ration packs, water sterilization kits, and a host of other hints that we were probably not off to Tonfannau that year.

There were personnel changes and promotions within the Battery. The Battery Commander, Major Stinson, left and was replaced by Major Knyvett; Captain Thompson, our Troop Commander, somehow got his foot trapped under a gun wheel during training - broken bones resulted and his place was taken by Captain Seawright. Troop Sergeant Major Lawrence departed and we now had T.S.M. Fendt. Bombardier Norman Ingram was promoted to Sergeant - one of several changes among Junior NCOs. In addition to the foregoing, the Battery received an intake of reservists called back for the emergency and transfers from other RA units to enable us to create our third troop of 6 40mm guns.

And then we waited while the politicians wrangled. There were international conferences. Solutions were found and just as rapidly discarded.

We meanwhile moved to Salisbury Plain and engaged in intensive training which made some think that out role, if any, would probably be that of P.B.I..

Of course, the old sweats among us who had been to Egypt in the days of yore were in their element going around muttering about Stella beer, belly dancers, Sister Street, and referring to their weekly pay as so many ackers. And still we waited. truly, "they also serve who only stand and wait."

Then, to us, it seemed that the issue must have been resolved. Back we went to Sheerness as the late summer turned into autumn. Events in Europe took a troubling turn on October 23rd as the people of Budapest, Hungary revolted against their Communist government and the occupying Soviet forces. Would the West intervene?

A few days later, on October 29th., Israel finally decided to retaliate against the Egyptian Fedayeen who had been committing acts of terror from the Gaza Strip and other Egyptian territories. In a well-planned campaign, Israeli forces struck across the Sinai Desert destroying Egyptian armour and capturing thousands of prisoners. Britain and France warned the two countries to remain clear of the Suez Canal Zone as was apparently their right under international treaties. Israel agreed to halt their forces, Egypt refused, and British aircraft bombed Egyptian bases. 31 Battery was on the move. Well, slowly. The rail bridge connecting the Isle of Sheppey, where Sheerness is located to the mainland of Kent was out of commission after having been struck by a barge. Trains could not leave the island, therefore, tug boats were employed to take our Battery up the Medway to Chatham? where we entrained for Southampton.

Our troopship, the 22,000 ton Royal Mail ship Asturias would be our floating home for the next week. As we went aboard, each man was issued a coloured ticket. "Don't lose it!" we were warned. The colour of the ticket indicated which group was to go to the mess hall. Periodically, one heard over the ship's Tannoy, "Holders of blue (or green or red, etc.) tickets proceed to the ORS mess hall now." We obeyed and were duly fed.

The Asturias, built in 1927 and finally scrapped in 1957, had been used in the post WWII years to carry immigrants to South America. Now we occupied these same quarters, eight men to a cabin in two-tiered bunks.

For many of us, the ship's command structure was a trifle novel. There was the ship's Captain, ship's Officers and merchant navy crew. In addition, there was the ship's Commandant and ship's police, etc. responsible for the orderly military routine and discipline aboard ship, Especially needed when the wet canteen was open.

We had excellent weather as we sailed west down the channel, across the Bay of Biscay, and south with the coast of Portugal off our port side. We sailed past Gibraltar in the early morn and found ourselves in "Mare Nostrum" as the Romans referred to the Mediterranean Sea. Now it was the rocky Algerian coast we saw off the starboard side of the Asturias as we headed east.

How did we while away the hours? There was P.T. on the foredeck. A semi-permanent game of pontoon - at least in our cabin - and, everyday, many of us clustered around the radios as the B.B.C. Overseas News was broadcast throughout the ship; "Hungarian Freedom Fighters still holding out in Budapest." "More airstrikes against Egyptian targets." "The Security Council..." and wild rumours abounded.

Malta rose out of the sea ahead, and in a short time, we were sailing between the massive arms of the huge forts built by the Knights of St. John to guard Valletta and its Grand Harbour. A roar went up from all of the troops who thronged the side of the vessel. There on the rocks at the foot of one of the forts were two girls. Both were clad in blue swimsuits (modest by today's standards!) They were dark-haired with golden tanned skins, and they smiled and waved at their hundreds of enthusiastic and lustful admirers. In our male society, were were relieved to see that females still existed!

Asturias was in Valletta less than a day and then continued her voyage eastwards. Egyptian submarines were said to be lurking in the Eastern Mediterranean, and our ship sailed with deadllights closed and dimmed lighting. Crew and passengers were ordered that life jackets were to be carried at all times, and this author received a well deserved rocket form our Battery Captain, Major Cross, for not being equipped with the aforementioned preserver.

The radio announced that the US. had ordered a ceasefire among the combatants - Britain, France, Israel and Egypt. Then, that a ceasefire was now in effect. However, we were warned that the ceasefire was merely temporary.

Was it the following morning or the day after? I'm not sure, but over the loudspeaker system came a series of orders for all troops to don our Field Service Marching order and proceed to pre-designated positions on the decks. Those among us who were early risers had already been on deck and seen to the south Port Said emerging from the sea, as it were, as the ship drew closer. There was a general impression of brown buildings with plumes of smoke still rising from fires caused during the fighting for the town and , wafting towards us, an odour - not unpleasant, but different somehow. Somebody remarked upon it and one of our older NCOs said "That's the Orient you're smelling, lads." (Curiously, other people since have mentioned this same odour.)

LCTs drew alongside, and we transferred from our recent home to this new mode of transport. In full kit with rifles and bandoliers containing 50 rounds of .303 and adorned with our helmets, we presented a war-like appearance - except for one thing. We all carried slung across our large packs our sand-coloured kit bags that continually pushed on the back of our helmets which, in turn, tipped forward and obscured our vision and , thus encumbered, we waited while the LCT neared land. We disembarked, our gaze limited by our wretched helmets, as we stumbled ashore at a place where railings had been removed to apparently allow the craft to beach at the town end of the mole surmounted by the statue of Ferdinand De Lesseps.

Thankfully, our move forward was a mere couple of hundred yards as we halted opposite the Casino Palace Hotel currently being used as Command H.Q.. Kitbags were piled on the sidewalk, and the Battery moved off through the town with men spaced out on either side of the road. I was one of about a dozen men under an unknown lieutenant who were told off to remain behind as baggage party. We waited through the morning and on into the afternoon watching with care any stray Egyptians that ventured near. At some point, we were spelled off in twos to go across to the hotel where a field kitchen had been set up near a side entrance. There we gratefully accepted a mug of tea and a corned beef sandwich which we bolted down in order to go back and allow the next two their break. In the late afternoon, our officer finally decided that the circumstances warranted the opening and consumption of part of our 24-hour ration packs which we had carried since August.

Finally, as the swift dusk of a tropical night was descending, a commandeered truck drew up with our B.Q.M.S. beside the driver. The kitbags were piled on with us on top, and off we drove to the western edge of Port Said to where the three story blocks of flats rose for the desert sand. Our first day in Egypt ended with us fumbling around in the gathering darkness to find the apartments where our individual detachments were located - spreading our blanket rolls - a quick snack of army biscuits and those little cans of cheese form the ration packs, and then it was "lights out" as our temporary means of lighting were extinguished.

"Stand to" was shortly after four A.M as, in accordance with orders given the night before, we donned battle order and crouched on the small balconies of our flats waiting for the sun to rise from beneath the horizon. And arise it did - swiftly or as Kipling had it, "the dawn came up like thunder." We were stood down and proceeded to perform our ablutions at a shellhole adjacent to the buildings. It must have been where a shell or mortar bomb had hit a water main as there was a copious amount of water which we generously shared with a number of Royal Fusiliers, among whom were two with whom I had been on a course in Chatham. Small world!

At the same time, we had been taking notice of our surroundings, to the north on the other side of the highway was the beach and the Mediterranean Sea with gentle waves lapping the shore. To the west, a fence and greenery indicated what later turned out to be a cemetery. To the south of our bomb hole were acres of smoking rubble, the site of what was termed Shanty Town. These squatters' shanties had caught fire during the engagement. There were, I believe, six blocks of flats, one of which had lost most of its western face, and to the east of us were coast guard buildings which had obviously put up resistance since many of the windows had lost their rectangular appearance after being hit with either rocket or small arms fire.

Work parties had either cleared out the belongings and furniture of the native occupants of the flats or had piled larger items in one or two rooms, thus our quarters had a stark empty appearance. Latrines had been dug between the flats, due to a lack of water, and, after many of us had eyed the Egyptian facilities with surprise, we felt fairly comfortable with our own Hessian-draped conveniences. The Egyptian answer to nature's demand was a small, dank, concrete floored room with the floor sloping towards hole in the centre. Imprints of feet either side of the hole provided a rough aiming mark while squatting, and a brass bowl filled with water served in lieu of paper.

As we were finishing breakfast served from the field kitchen beside our "flat", the call went out, "Any Catholics who wish to go to mass in Port Said fall in at 10.00 hours." There was no formal parade. A small bunch of us gathered together at the appointed time and stood in a rough circle talking and smoking while waiting for some kind of transport to appear. (It should be noted that our own trucks and guns were still floating around somewhere east of Malta!)

Suddenly, there was a loud bang - a frozen moment of time - and then Bombardier Alfie Shaw next to me pulled up his left trouser leg and in a voice filled with righteous indignation exclaimed to the sergeant on the opposite side of our group, "Hey! You've bloody well shot me, lad!" Alfie pointed to a spot halfway between the crotch and knee where a thin stream of blood was trickling down from a black hole tinged with blue flesh where a 9mm Sten gun round had entered and exited slightly lower on the rear of his leg. Field dressings were applied and Alfie, assisted by two of his pals, hobbled off somewhere. Subsequently, he was flown back to the U.K. listed as "Wounded in action".

Later, at an official Court of Enquiry, the sergeant in question claimed that he had been reaching for a packet of cigarettes. His sleeves had hooked in the cocking knob of his Sten which had withdrawn the bolt a couple of inches. The sleeves freed itself, the bolt slammed forward feeding a found into the chamber, and lo, Alfie was on his way back to England. Surprisingly, the sergeant's explanation was accepted.

Later, we had another Sten gun related accident in the Battery. One of our many Jones' came off guard duty and sat down in the guard tent. He apparently propped his feet on a box with a Sten pointing at his feet. Unfortunately, the weapon was cocked and the selector switch was set on auto-fire. Jones fell asleep with his finger on the trigger, and an involuntary reflex caused him to twitch and put two bullets into his foot! Another wounded in action.

Meanwhile, we Papists had obtained transport in the form of an ex-British WWII vintage 3-tonner acquired somewhere by the Paras and were on our way to Mass. I found out later that the church was "Our Lady of the Universe" run by French and Italian monks. It was most certainly a novel situation for all of us to go clomping down an aisle armed with rifles, Sten and the odd Bren, and deposit them in front of the kneelers. I found myself sitting next to a very attractive French girl in military uniform. I didn't see any badges of rank, although, since she was packing a pistol in a small leather holster, I presume she was an officer of some kind. She also had legs! Female, nylon-clad legs, which sadly tended to dominate my thoughts all through Mass rather than the reason for us being at church.

One other incident stands out from our short duration at the "flats". Some of the boys had obtained quite a large quantity of plan green cloth, cotton most likely. Now it had been noticed that many of the Paras seemed to wear unorthodox scarves, etc., and we thought green "chokers" would set a new style. Alas, it was the shortest-lived fashion in creation, the B.C. had the whole Battery on parade and dressed us all down. He would not have "gentlemen" of the Royal Artillery going around like, I believe the term was, Sicilian bandits. Like Queen Victoria before him, he was not amused. So much for our notions of sartorial splendour!

The guns and vehicles reached Port Said. where two troops were to be responsible for air defense a El Gamil, and one was sent south of the town towards El Cap - the current ceasefire line. Some of us were sent to Gamil to start preparing gun sites. I was one of the NCOs working with a couple of detachments on the eastern edge of the airfield perimeter.

As the war wind gently blew in our direction, it seemed to bring with it a sweet sickly odour. Sergeant Ron French sniffed, and then sniffed again, "Something's long dead around here. Come on lads." We spread out and moved forward over a small rise in the terrain. There were several dead Egyptian soldiers laying there. One in particular had gone to his waist in a mud-filled depression and, dying there, had fallen forward into the mud. Another was curled in a fetal position and the sand had drifted against him. Since they had been out there in the sun for about eight or nine days, the bodies were black and bloated, literally bursting out of their uniforms. Most of our Battery had never been on active service or seen the result of violent death, and that morning's experience brought home the fact that we were certainly not on a training scheme. Well, quicklime was obtained, sprinkled on the bodies and sand shovelled on top. It was a sober group of lads who sat eating their haversack lunches shortly thereafter.

The guns arrived, and we moved form the flats to the airfield. our two Bofors, command by Sergeant Read and Amario respectively, were given a position halfway between the former airfield control and admin' building and a small pumping station. East of that on the seaward side of the road were a number of what were probably holiday villas one of which became our battery H.Q..

We started to dig our guns in and rapidly found that this was impossible since the water table lay a mere two feet below ground level. Using sand filled oil drums and rocks, a wall was constructed around the guns to provide a limited protection and then sand was heaped around the outside. Behind was a line of two man bivouac tents and, to one side, the upper framework and tarp from the bed of one of our trucks. In the latter was placed our stores and spare kit including our regular B.D. uniforms. We had obtained some poles and an old table and, with the former draped with camouflage netting, created a messing area.

Several incidents come to mind regarding our stay at El Gamil. Shortly after our arrival, the "gentlemen of the press" arrived. A vehicle drew up to our site, and two or three men emerged. They politely enquired as to whether they could take our photos. We saw no objection, and they arranged us around the table in our dugout. Then they produced "props" to create a "staged" picture of us preparing for Christmas. We went along with the farce but were more than a trifle aggrieved when, photo taken, the bottles of beer featured in the picture were gathered up and stowed in their car. I've never trusted the media since!

Shortly thereafter, we had a mini-deserter at the gun site. A roster had been devised that shared the task of duty cook for the day among the two detachments. Now one of our number was a Gunner who we will call Gunner Bloggs. He had successfully prepared breakfast and also lunch. After the latter, we all sat around smoking and yarning for a short while and then returned to the work on the gun sites. There was a loud boom, and we saw our structure from the truck going up in smoke. It appeared that Bloggs had decided to heat some water for washing up. The cooker needed more fuel, and he was filling same while smoking a cigarette. Fuel vapours, 95 degree heat and lighted cigarettes were a bad picture. Clouds of oily black smoke went skywards as the hungry flames licked across the plain impregnated canvas of our stores centre.

We all raced to the scene and shovelled frantically trying to smother the flames with sand. The whole episode then took on elements of a Keystone Kops saga. The RAF sent a fire truck, which got bogged down a good three to four hundred yards away. Somewhere in the inferno was a large bottle of rum recently obtained. Two Scots of our party could be heard muttering to each other as they diligently shovelled sand, "Save the rum! Save the rum!"

One of the officers arrived and approached our senior NCO, "What happened, Sgt. Read?"

Sgt. Read responded in his broad Manchester accent, "I don't know Sir. Gunner Bloggs was 'ere when it 'appened. Bloggs!"

Bloggs appeared out of the smoke and flame and staggered towards the officer. His face was blackened; part of his shirt was burnt, his beret was gone and his hair was scorched on one side. The officer looked at Bloggs in horror and disgust and, turning to Sgt. Read, said, "I can't talk to this man in that condition, tell him to get a haircut!" He then departed. It was a salutary example of the way in which events can affect various folks in different ways.

The fire had consumed part of our individual kits including battle dress uniforms, stores and equipment. Fortunately, a supply of 40mm shells was in a separate bunker.

We cleaned up the mess, salvaged all we could, including the famous bottle of rum, found another tarp to go over the framework and life returned to normality.

It seemed highly appropriate that later we were shown two comedy films for entertainment in the foyer of the Airport terminal building. The first was a zany Marx Brothers offering "The Big Store", and the second an English production "An Alligator Named Daisy". The comic antics in both films seemed very similar to our recent experience.

The beach immediately to our north was said to have been mined by the Egyptians and was out of bounds. Later, Royal Engineers could be seen wandering around presumably locating and dealing with any mines discovered. Then we were told to be on the lookout for Egyptian Fedayeen who were apparently already attempting to smuggle arms into Port Said across El Manzala Lake to our south and might well try similar operations from the Mediterranean.

Therefore, it was no surprise when one evening after nightfall, we saw a small light on the darkened beach. Three of us grabbed our small arms and ran forward to the road overlooking the beach. We spread out, "and I, as the NCO, called out, "Halt, Stanna!" having been informed earlier that the latter was the Egyptian word for "halt". Three times I repeated the order at the same time working the bolt of my rifle and feeding a round into the chamber. Still no response. The light continued to wander back and forth before us. I raised my rifle and sighted on the light and then hurriedly aimed much higher as a Cockney voice came to us out of the darkness, "Wot's wrong, mate."

A number of mine markers, little white pyramids, had been left on the beach in error when the REs left for the day, and this solitary Sapper had been sent back to get them by an unthinking officer without informing nearby units. We were angry at this lack of communication between two branches of the services, and I in particular was relieved that I'd paused a moment before squeezing the trigger and therefore had avoided a potentially fatal accident.

It was becoming more and more apparent that our stay on 'Gamil was gong to be of short duration. Several times we noted vehicles marked with U on their sides moving from the control building to the town and vice-versa. Then there were small numbers of troops wearing pretty blue helmets to be seen. They were rapidly named the "bluebells" and shortly would be taking over Anglo/French position. We were now awaiting the orders to withdraw.

A strip of beach adjacent of Battery H.Q. was declared safe, and we were permitted to join the dozens of other soldiers leaping and cavorting in the surf. One detachment at a time, we were allowed to go into Port Said by recce' truck between 1400 and 1600 hours. I went and for twenty cigarettes obtained three copies of the Street Photo Illustrated. Gunner Bloggs was true to form. He diligently cleaned his rifle before heading for Port Said, and, when he returned, the bolt was still lying on the table where he had left it!

We had been paid in BAFVs (British Armed Forces Vouchers) from the time of our landing in Egypt. The street vendors quite happily accepted BAFVs as the currency of trade. Now with our impending departure, they had a problem. After we had left, they could hardly exchange these military vouchers at Egyptian banks, equally, since in theory we were only supposed to use them in 'official canteens' etc., they were hardly likely to be reimbursed by our military authorities. Therefore, as we wandered the streets of the limited area deemed safe, we were constantly asked, "Hey, Johnny, You got English, Egyptian pound? Me give BAFVs two for one!" They were quite resigned to accepting a loss rather than be stuck with non-negotiable funds.

The day arrived. Our Bofors were put into travelling position and rolled out of the gun pits over which we had lavished so much care. Hooked up to our G.T.Vs, they departed not to appear until we were back once more in Sheerness. A number of our one-ton vehicles were handed over to the UN forces to supplement their meagre transport, and we, withdrawing to the northeast corner of the airfield, became once more light armed infantry. We spent a couple of days in this mode, living in a mixture of tents and camouflaged "bivouacs", and then we were on the move once more back past the Egyptian cemetery; past the damaged flats, past Arab town, and through Port Said itself to the shoreward end of the mole where an LCT took us out to the M.S. Dilwara.

The Dilwara was a much smaller ship than Asturias being a mere 12.500 tons. We, being a relatively small unit, were one of the last to go aboard and were allotted mattresses in what was, I believe, normally the First Class music room. Unlike other O.R.s we did not proceed below to the mess hall but were told we would be dining in the Sergeants' Mess but we would have first sitting! Such luxury! White tablecloths; gleaming silverware, and dishes served by white-jacketed lascar mess waiters. Strange, no matter how hard I try, I cannot pinpoint the exact date when the Dilwara headed to sea bound for the UK, but I presume that it was about the 6th. or 7th. of December.

We sailed west. The Mediterranean was deep blue and calm. We avoided Malta but pulled into the wide area of the Bay of Algiers and docked alongside a quay. Some of the wags aboard ship started making remarks such as; "Take me to the Casbah." but alas it was not to be. French Foreign Legionnaires lined the quayside, and nobody was allowed ashore. We contented ourselves with trading Woodbines for vile tasting Gaullois cigarettes. By early morning, we were out at sea once more and approaching the Pillars of Hercules.

Out in the Atlantic, the weather was vastly different from the sheltered Med. and, sailing northwards, the ship met heavy weather which sent her pitching and rolling and giving many of my fellow shipmates a severe case of mal-de-mer. Through the Bay of Biscay, lines were tied across the foredeck to enable one to pass from one side to the other, but, as we entered the Channel, the storm passed, and we sailed up to Southampton in a gently rolling sea.

The last night aboard ship, the officers had some kind of party on the port deck right outside the windows of our sleeping quarters. As the evening wore on, they became more boisterous and, eventually, in recognition of the season, started singing Christmas carols. One of our Reservists got off his mattress and had a quick "whip around" for small change. As one carol came to an end, he opened a skylight window; chucked out the small coins, and said, "Here! That's your lot. Now piss off!"

There was a moment of silence, and then a roar of laughter went up and, shortly thereafter, the deck was deserted.

Next morning, we docked; lined up for H.M. Customs to interrogate us, and finally entrained for Sheerness. Much to our surprise , upon our arrival, we went not to our old barracks but were sent through town to a disused Naval station and from there we al went home on leave just in time for Christmas.

An article by a member of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders makes reference to them arriving at the "damaged" flats. This would have been as we moved out. The author then goes on to describe them taking up perimeter defense of El Gamil - "Hitherto only defended by a flight of the RAF Regiment, but we were there and recall the infantry arriving.

On a technical point, the authors describe how the Egyptians were armed with AK47's whereas British troops merely had the bolt action .303 number 4. The latter is certainly true but the former? I don't think so. They did use automatic rifles, but they were 7.62mm SKS, Russian-designed and manufactured by most of the Warsaw Pact countries and China. I had one for a short while in Egypt, Czech made, and currently have a Chinese "knock off" which my wife bought for me about five years ago.

We of 31 Battery were the only unit of 34th Regiment to reach Suez. The other two, 11 Sphinx Battery and 119 Battery, had different experiences. One reached Gibraltar and then returned to the UK, while the other remained in England and took part in John Mills epic film "Dunkirk".

End of October to End of April
peter.gallagher@mchsi.com

May through to End of October
Petmo@sympatico.ca