November 5, the ship made it's way slowly with our escorts. A lot of time was spent down amongst the tanks with the crews checking everything in order to make a quick move should it be needed. The sky always had jets screaming by or helicopters moving around from carrier to ship, or carrier-to-carrier. To look out to sea with all these ships was a comforting sight. A tankie had got hold of a radio so we had a running commentary as the Paras took hold of the airfield. Early the following morning, after a night of roaming the ship with our nerves on edge, the tannoy sounded to muster at our designated area. As we were getting our small packs on, the guns from nearby ships opened up with an all mighty boom and our ship shook with each salvo. One tankie shouted, "Stay on deck in case the bloody thing sinks". With a nervous laugh he headed for the tank deck followed by the other tankies all joking as they went to their stations saying, "Hey Bones, great dart thrower, but I don’t want to see you until this bloody 'vencher is over". I waved and moved out of an open door leading to the deck. As another salvo was let loose, the power of the guns left my body shaking. One old sailor helped me in and said,” Get down to your vehicle or you'll be left behind". Peter came up,” Come on Ron we're heading for the beach".
 

Only through the driver's armoured open flap could you see the tanks on the move, with turrets moving slowly, alternately in sweeps as they moved into position. The sound of gun fire could be heard as the tanks set off to their grid locations at speed to help units needing back up. The radio crackled constantly as the lead command tank entered the edge of town where large blocks of flats, some hit by the ships' bombardment, had left them in a pretty bad state as well as other surrounding buildings. The tanks stopped, fanned out, and then moved slowly forward. From where we were, well to the rear, a movement was seen in front and we could just make out a squaddie on the tank outside radio link. The tank turrets moved into position as the radio crackled. Peter said, "Cover your ears". As the tanks sent rounds off, they started moving slowly forward. The only problem was that there were only 3 small windows as the front driver's cover had been closed so it was difficult to see what was going on. The main fighting was seen as we moved following just behind number 3 tank and the heavy gunfire was alternating between numbers 2 and 3 tanks. The column came to a halt and a bang on the door made me wake up from looking through the widows.

I opened the door and a medic stood there. "Any large packs to spare? Can you help with some small injuries”, he asked as I gave him some spares. I looked at Peter as he had been on the radio to the lead tank, "Go Ron. We’re here for some time till some building has been cleared". Heart pounding, I grabbed my large backpack and some small medical packs and opened the two doors. I made my way following the Marine medic. About six lads were behind a wall looking at the squaddie with his arm held out. "A bandage and I'll be fine", he said. His tunic sleeve was torn and red with blood. "6 stitches", the medic shouted as the booms came near, so I got on with the job, cleaning the 6 stitches and putting on a small arm pad bandage. "Thanks", said the squaddie and pointing to the torn sleeve, "Got some plaster? Don't want that flapping about". I got a roll of plaster and ran 2 strips around his arm. "Right. See you", and picking his rifle up he moved off. The next one a leg, then a foot.” You alright there”, I asked as the medic was working on an injury that looked in a bad state. Within a few minutes, four lads arrived with stretchers. "I'm off", I said and left to hop on to the ambulance."Ok?” asked Peter. "I think we are off by the sounds of it, how did it go"? It came to me and out came the ciggy box."Ok, but them poor buggars run around the rubble and get shot at". The radio started up and the tanks moved off down to a main crossroad where more messages came from the commander of number 1 tank. I was looking out of the rear door, watching the infantry at work, moving in snake like fashion around the tanks, when Peter called," The boss said shut that bloody door before you get your head shot off". "Bloody spoil sport", as I closed the door. "How the hell did he know, being in front", I asked Peter? "Got eyes like a sh-- house rat", he laughed. Then the noise quieted and the only noise was some gun fire well off to our right.

As the tanks turned right we heard the crackle of machine gun fire hitting the lead tank and then whoosh. An anti-tank rocket flew past but only hit a building. Numbers two and three tanks moved to the side to engage. Down the road were some 40-gallon drums stacked two high, but not for long as the next round of gunfire started with each tank sending one round down to the drums. There was a lot of confusion as anti-tank rockets flew past without exploding, from a three story building up the road. "The idiot firing forgot to prime the rockets”, Peter had said. The radio was red hot as we could hear the Marines going house-to-house. Peter stopped behind two tanks nearest to the building leaving enough space for me to get out and see to injuries. There was a only one lad with a leg injury so we put him on a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance, closing only one side door, and making sure that the others were alright. The tanks were moving slowly to work in tandem with the Marines. I carried on working on him and any others that jumped in to get a bandage or two then off they would go. I told Peter to get on the radio to let them know we had a serious injury on board but the message came back that we had to pick up some injuries that were a few minutes away and then a tank would escort us to the Medical Clearing Station area there and back. The radio gave Peter the information he was waiting for as we stopped outside a building door. Out came some stretchers and one sitter with his arm in a sling.
 

After the meeting of minds, the tanks split up with some moving to a large block building said to be under attack by infantry or Marines. We set off up a main road, taking in some streets, I suppose they had ideas of where pockets of Egyptians were waiting for our troops to advance, with the odd exchange of fire and we were watching for snipers as they were in small units in buildings of all sizes. The optimal formation was Marines and tanks moving side by side. If the Marines couldn't get the enemy out then the tanks did. Late afternoon, after some fierce exchanges, and some runs to the Medical Clearing Centre, the tanks moved towards a single block of shops where you could see a few men with goodies in there hands legging it away up the street. As they were no threat they were left alone but their own soldiers were shooting at them. Then they turned their fire on the tanks.

As a tankie put it later, "You don't take a tank on with a pop gun." A little 'tit for tat' then all was quiet. We had a stop for orders, and we were talking to one tankie over a pot of tea. I asked, "How on earth can you ride in a tank?" His reply "Makes it easy if you’re mad as a hatter." We chatted for a while and then it was mount up, and move 'em out as Capt. Pratley, with sword in hand, gave a swish then a point forward. As dusk was falling, the tanks slowly moved to the outskirts of a crossroad leading out of Port Said. A large building was the ideal place to laager and after an inspection the tanks deployed. Machine guns were set in place on the roof of the building. After a bit of a hot meal and a pot of tea, while the tanks were being worked on, I went to see about doing guard duty to the amusement of a few of the lads. "Ever fired one before?” asked one. "Five rounds so don’t get within range of me." With a pack of ciggies and large mug of tea, I went to the roof to change with a tank guard. "Do you know what to do?” he asked, looking at the gun on a tripod. "No. I just pull that trigger I think." He laughed as he went away for some food. I sat looking at the sandy colour earth that had shadows dancing, playing tricks with the eyes. What a bloody day. One of the tank lads came up asking if I was alright and chatted for a short time. They had worked hard all day so a bit of time for them to relax was alright with me. A couple of hours later I was relieved. Down in the ambulance I tried to sleep but like many others, the mind was reliving the day's events.

Cease-fire came in the early hours, but the tankies kept their post on alert. After a wash and a meal, things looked different as the sun rose. The tanks moved into different positions and spread out more for effect. Midday brought out the gift sellers. What a resourceful people the Egyptians are, out there selling their wares as if we were tourists. I met up later with the rest of the medics but that soon came to an end as we where sent to help with any injuries, no matter how trivial. I helped a few with cuts and bruises. Over the next few days, ambulances were slowly detached from their units as the 'moorhouse' thing was going on. We were sited near the place where units assembled to embark for home. The last memory was the death of a young infantry lad in an accident. I left 12 November 1956, and ever since I have remembered that young lad and what the war had all been about.

Ron Today