LIFE WITH THE MAURITIAN PIONEERS

As Remembered By John Hardy

National Service 1950-52. As a child, I lived in coastal Norfolk. 1940, Dunkirk, expected invasion, evacuation. Due to all that, and family circumstances, I started, aged just 9, in mid-term, at a boarding school in deepest rural Herefordshire, and stayed there, terms only of course, until 18+. This included compulsory Army Cadets for all, so I was a veteran of 5 summer cadet camps at various locations around or near the coast of Wales, the last one as Cadet Sergeant Major (!) and with Certificate A, a military qualification/ exam for cadets. All this meant that early National Service was not that much different in many ways from school life.

To Oswestry in March 1950, as a Royal Artillery recruit. Two weeks’ initial assessment, during which I learnt that there was still illiteracy in Britain – a lad in a nearby bed asked for help with his letters to and from his girlfriend – and I was labelled a ‘toff’, because I had a pair of pyjamas in my little suitcase. I also discovered that the Dandy and Beano were by far the most popular reading.

Selection led to inclusion in a squad, many of similar background, to be trained as ‘Tech Acks’ (Technical Assistants, RA), who would be the gunners/surveyors who put the guns in their given right places, and pointing in the right direction, a form of surveying which I found interesting. This accompanied the expected bull, square bashing, fatigues, PT (and a little sport), and gun drill on 25 pounders. During this time I was sent on an Officer Selection Board (WOSB), which I passed, at Catterick. I was cross that this meant I missed the firing camp for the 25 pounders, although on return, by walking slowly on York station, I managed to miss the last train that day to Oswestry, and was able to walk the walls that evening (I had never been to York before).

Following the end of the Tech Ack course, some leave, and then Mons Officer Cadet School at Aldershot, for the 16 week course for a National Service commission. This I found hard work. The bull, square bashing, infantry and gunnery training were all intense and fast paced, with day and night exercises, and a lot of technical information to be absorbed. I was in an anti-aircraft battery, requiring technical knowledge of both heavy (3.7) and light (40mm Bofors) guns, with the rudiments of the radar, generators, etc which accompanied the heavies. A grey, drizzly firing camp at Tonfanau in north Wales for both heavy and light, and eventual passing out.

Then the postings. I was the odd one out, I think – I was to be sent to the Mauritian Guard Companies (what were they?) in the Canal Zone. I think many of the squad would have regarded it as a sink posting: as time went by, I considered it to be a plum in terms of experience gained, and interest. I missed all the bull and pomp of a gunner regiment, and had an interesting and varied time, which did, I think, quite a lot for a maturing (slightly) and raw 19-20 year old.

But before that, the next inevitable stage, after finishing at Mons and some leave, was a spell of a few weeks at the RA Depot in Woolwich, to await a troop ship to Port Said. I thought the Depot and its surroundings were very imposing. I had a rather bare room and a batman (new experience), was well fed, with some tedious and/or elaborate dinners, and given a variety of odd jobs to fill in. I remember, for example, taking a truck load of valuables for restoration to be delivered to an address in Bond Street or nearby, being Draft Conducting Officer for 118 men from Woolwich to Harwich for the ship, signing a receipt for them and having to collect another on arrival in Harwich (in this case being very thankful for the experienced sergeant who tactfully guided the raw inexperienced subaltern), and ‘observing’ at court martials. Here, the main memory was feeling sorry for the accused, usually AWOL, overstaying leave on some desperate domestic crisis. I played rugby once for a Woolwich Garrison side against a local club. Finally, I was junior officer on a court of enquiry in some stores (I think it was a QM with DTs). We found a situation where almost a complete inventory was required, so inevitably, I counted nearly everything (I remember cutlery being particularly tedious). Would we finish before Christmas? We did, but it was tight. Spare time at Woolwich was spent on some sightseeing and evenings, with a friend in similar circumstances, spending our tropical kit allowance in trips to the West End for a variety of shows and an occasional meal (Lyons Corner Houses and the like).

After a short Christmas leave, it was back to Woolwich on Boxing Day (trains ran then in those days), for embarkation in Liverpool on 29 December on the Empress of Australia for Port Said. This was an uneventful trip, but another great new experience. I had no duties that I can remember. Six subalterns in a cabin (3 pairs of upper and lower bunks), waited on at meals served in presumably some version of Canadian Pacific (?) style. All very different from the treatment of the majority.

A not very pleasant passage across the Bay of Biscay, seeing in the New Year 1951 somewhere off Cape St Vincent, then our first port of call at Gibraltar. Splendid views, but not allowed off the ship. The same applied in Malta, where we arrived on Epiphany Sunday, with every church bell ringing. This was mystifying to me, as Epiphany was barely celebrated in most English churches then, until somebody explained. A few more days of sunshine, and then arrival off Port Said early in the morning, with the first acquaintance with the smell of Egypt, a mile or two offshore.

The Mauritians were a very mixed group, ethnically, culturally and of several religions. (There were also Seychellois and Rodrigues, but they were formed into separate companies elsewhere). Mauritius was uninhabited when first discovered by Europeans, but was colonised successively by Dutch, French and British, who all imported labour. The majority was of Indian origin, both Hindu and Muslim, Some professed various Christian denominations. There were a few Chinese and some negroes, presumably descended from slaves. The island and its population, after forest clearance, supported a labour intensive one crop sugar cane economy, which raised problems as time went on. One solution was to sign up any willing men for the British Army in the Zone. (I did not know of them serving anywhere else, but I may be wrong in this, as possibly in some of the above). They were signed up for, I think, 3 year stints, with no system as far as I know for home leave. They were paid less than their British equivalents.

My guide took me to the officers’ mess, and I learnt that all the officers, except the NS men and one avuncular captain, lived out with families, so the mess after lunch each day was virtually a club for the few junior Mauritian officers, the NS men and the captain. ‘Formal dinners?’ ‘Oh no, we don’t bother with those’. A big relief. The staff were all Mauritian, and they did an excellent job. This resulted in us having probably much less contact with Egyptians than other troops. Their ‘pièce de résistance’ was a grand curry lunch each Sunday, which brought in some senior officers with family and/or friends, an intrusion into our private club.

My accommodation was to be a tent, just for me. It had a very low mud brick wall, with a door frame and door set into it. I shared a Mauritian batman with some others.

As for work, the various admin chores were shared out among us, and rotated once in a while, so that we were all on a fairly constant learning curve – all good experience for a recent schoolboy. Pay parades were rotated among us, which meant a truck trip to the bank in Ismailia to collect a larger sum of money than I had ever seen or handled in my
life before. This was then duly paid out in small sums, with clerical assistance, to each man in turn. Any mistakes or deficits were made up from one’s own pocket – fortunately, I never had to do this, probably largely thanks to my assistants.

Rations were another chore I had for a while. There were different allowances for the Mauritian and British units, but the Mauritian one was not very satisfactory. The preferred cereal was rice (for curries and similar): bread was not popular. I tried to contact my opposite numbers in some British units on the barely functional wind-up telephone system to suggest deals, and would occasionally succeed, and go forth with a truck laden with bread to exchange for rice.

Orderly officer duties were a considerable portion of the job, since there was ‘camp orderly officer’ and ‘company orderly officer’. The former was I suppose the normal one, inspecting tentage, meals, the lock up, latrines etc (we had a corporal whose sole job was to maintain the latrines, short of emptying them – bins, which were cleared by Egyptians coming round on a lorry) closure of the sergeants’ mess, etc. Company orderly officer was more frequent, each time requiring a daytime and a night-time tour of our various guard posts, by truck, each of which took about 3 hours, and sometimes involved impromptu electrical repairs, which I am sure we should never have done, but which sometimes worked and helped to keep things running, and we all survived.

We were expected to put in at least a token appearance at all religious festivals, which came round quite regularly, including Christian, Hindu, Muslim and probably others, and were educational, coming as we did from Britain before it was noticeably multi-cultural. The guard rotas were arranged by I know not who, to take account of religions as far as possible, because guard duties were obviously 365 day requirements.

I was also ‘welfare officer’ for a short spell, for which I felt totally unqualified, particularly as I had one ‘Dear John’ letter, to try and arrange a passage home on the next very occasional troopship, not a satisfactory solution.

This posting came in the form of an order to go back to the Depot at Kabrit to organise/ help with the running of a course through the Mauritian OCTU, which was based there. There were 8 to 10 cadets, as I remember. It was commanded by a major, who had a fondness for long weekends with his family (I think the longest was Thursday evening to Tuesday morning). There was also myself and a British sergeant-major, with whom I fortunately got on well, I think mutually. Instruction, exercises, training and admin each morning from 7 or 8am – I can’t remember – till probably 2pm, and the rest of the day was free. This was in the hot summer season, and the Bitter Lakes were nearby, so the solution was obvious. I was fortunately taken aboard by the officers from the Depot itself, which had a fairly large, heavy sailing dinghy, capable of carrying several, so that and swimming filled most afternoons. We could sail or swim across to the other side (Sinai), although paying close attention to the shipping in the Canal channel. The distance was I think about a mile, but the water was very warm, salty, buoyant and still, so one could take a floating rest at any time if one wished. I think I swam over and back alone at least once, which was probably a bit stupid, but I’m still here. I once met a surprised policeman on a camel over there. The cadets duly passed out and were posted, and I went back to TEK and 2045 Company.

After a few weeks back in that routine, I was due for a spot of leave. I arranged about 10 days in Cyprus, with no plans – not more than one person at a time could be spared, so I was on my own. Fortunately, on the way in the rolling naval or ex-naval flower-named ship running the transport between Port Said and Famagusta, I teamed up with a RASC subaltern, who was fortunately a competent driver (more about driving below). We booked a hotel overnight; the next day we bought a map and hired a car. He drove and I navigated, and we got round what seemed to me, in my ignorance and in comparison with Egypt, a happy and undivided island. All another new experience or experiences for a naïve youngster. My driving companion had to return after a week, so I spent 3 days in Famagusta lazing on the beach and to a lesser extent the hotel bar until it was my time to return – the sweet red commanderia wine was my principal discovery.

On return, the situation had changed completely. One of the crises (1951) had started. Everything was hostile. All Egyptian labour had been withdrawn, either by conviction or coercion, violence had begun (or increased). The supply of local fresh food stopped.

Counter moves were decided on high, and filtered down the chain of command. Movement was in convoys. All open Jeep style vehicles had to be fitted with vertical bars at the front, to counter the wires tightly stretched across roads at head height. Alternative food was brought in from UK, at first slowly by sea, and later by air.

The variety of this food was limited, and some of it rather unusual. As a result, I was determined never in my life to eat another (tinned) frankfurter sausage, with tinned carrots not far behind. Later, kippers by air flummoxed our Rodriguez (at that time) cooks – they had never seen one before. Curried kippers was an experience.

Mauritian troops were taken away from guard duties gradually to do some of the work formerly done by Egyptians, with their officers. The remaining troops had to absorb the extra duties, so work loads increased. Eventually, 2 of us were left to supervise the increased round of guard posts, so each of us had to do a round on alternate days, and also on alternate nights, and on the days when I was not on the rounds, I was camp orderly officer and dealing with the paperwork. This meant, effectively, 36 hours on and 12 hours off, so sleep was quite a luxury.

However, British troops were brought in unit by unit to take over the guard (and other) duties, so my situation changed again. I was detailed to take charge of 60 Rodriguez (Rodrigues is another smaller island some hundreds of miles from Mauritius) at the Base Laundry at Qassassin, a relatively small and isolated camp between TEK and Ismailia. They were required to do mostly hospital laundry work, I think, by day, and also the guard duties (it must have been considered a safer post than most). I settled in, living in a ‘shed’ type building, sharing a room.

I saw a large part of my job as looking after ‘my’ men as best I could. In particular, I tried to convince the Major, OC of the laundry, that it was not reasonable to expect them to do a night’s guard duty followed immediately by a full day on machinery such as presses, which I felt could be dangerous if the operator was very tired. I was to some extent the odd man out, and very junior.

Another problem was their tented accommodation, which I suspected was very old and had been brought out of long-term store for this crisis. It was certainly very leaky on the rare occasions when it rained, as it did at this time of year. Someone in my group of 60 could be found with almost any necessary skill for building or similar work, so part of my time was taken up going round the camp with a truck and driver to pick up any useful unconsidered trifles such as, particularly, timber, corrugated iron and cement. Some small improvements were made this way, as inconspicuously as possible.

Events during my time at Qassassin included Christmas, celebrated I think in a version of the traditional British military Christmas, although there were relatively few Christians, even nominal ones, in the group (they lived separately from the British ORs). The other event was the death of King George VI, and the hurried acquisition (how?) of black armbands.

My two years full-time National Service was to end in mid-March 1952, and in mid-February, I received orders to sail on the homeward voyage Port Said – Liverpool on Georgia, a troopship chartered from Cunard – another relatively luxurious passage. I heard no more of my unit after I left, and so have no knowledge of what happened to them. Neither have I had contact with any former comrades, apart from exchange of a few letters in the first year or two after return.

On return to England, I was sent on leave fairly quickly and discharged from full-time service. However, there was a period (?3 years) with the Territorial Army to follow, which had been recently introduced as an additional commitment. For this, I was posted to a mixed Heavy Anti-Aircraft Regiment based in Norwich. I was the first National Service officer to come to them, so I was perhaps considered as an intrusion into a well-established club. However, others soon followed. I enjoyed the various experiences I had, and stayed on in the TA after my compulsory spell, and was finally squeezed out in 1960 in one of the political concertina-like expansions and contractions of the reserves. The TA had provided interest and occupation, some social life and even, for a student, a little bit of cash – no regrets.

From Egypt, I gained, among other things, the ability and confidence to speak to a group in public, to do what I could in a foreign language (nearly all National Service officers taught themselves to understand and be understood in the Indian Ocean Creole, largely of French vocabulary, with quite a lot of Hindi, Urdu and Arabic words and phrases and a strange rudimentary grammar of its own). I say National Service officers above; I don’t recall ever hearing a British officer of captain or above speak more than perhaps the odd word of Creole. I also learnt to drive, at least enough to get around without accident and to acquire a certificate of competence of some sort, enough to get me a UK licence on return without any further test.

People’s experiences of National Service vary greatly. I consider myself to be one of the lucky number who got a great deal from it, and enjoyed it on the whole. Most of all, I think, I acquired confidence, some maturity, and the perception, correct or not, of ability to deal with most situations thrown at me. I even saved a little money from my pay of eleven shillings a day, which was a little comfort. Not a bad output for one who two years earlier had been a just-left schoolboy. I’m very glad I had to do it – I would not have missed it.

One final point. The medal. When the award was announced, I completed the paper work, a lengthy business, and sent it off. Some weeks or months later, I received a letter, which included the quote ‘we regret to inform you that TNT Archives have been unable to trace your service record’,and went on to say, in effect, unless I could produce more evidence (I couldn’t), no medal. I had plenty to do; why had my record been disposed of to TNT, or maybe not to TNT, since they couldn’t trace it? I would only have worn it once a year at a Memorial Service, and I didn’t need it for a CV, and if that’s the care taken with service records, forget it. I wonder if anyone else had a similar experience?

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