RAMC - STATION HOSPITAL, SUEZ 1951-53
As Remembered By Jack C. Wright
AN EVENTFUL INTRODUCTION TO THE ZONE
All roads lead to Rome, so they say. If only! My road was via the ‘Dilwara’, anchored off Port Said on the morning of the 9th November 1951. As our small squadron was taken off by tender, I looked back at several hundred of the Norfolk Regiment watching us depart and for the first time in my life, felt insecure. They obviously decided the place did not look like a nice place for a holiday so went on to Korea. What was lying ahead of me? I was soon to find out.
The Transit Camp we arrived at did a very good impression of a bombsite. With nothing to do, the CSM volunteered us for duty on the docks. As all the native labour had disappeared, we were detailed to unload a barge carrying NAAFI supplies. At the end of the day the goods received did not tally at all with the delivery note – how this came to be I shall never know – perhaps it was something to do with the very merry chain smokers!
In a day or two we left for Fayid. From there I was sent even further south to what was to be my delightful home for the next twenty months, Station Hospital, Suez. How many more God for-saken dumps were there in this country? A bare Nissan hut with nothing but a concrete floor greeted us. Talk about being disheartened. We ambled aimlessly about for two or three days and I’m sure the CO didn’t know what to do with us. Finally the CSM pointed to two of us and said “draw rifles from the stores, you’re on escort duty for a truck going to Port Tewfik”.
We jumped in the truck with a corporal sitting next to the driver, and sped through the eerily quiet roads of Suez Town to the British Consul’s house on the waterfront. “Stay here and guard the truck” said the corporal and he disappeared into the house. As the three of us waited fairly nervously, suddenly a full rumble caught our attention. Round the corner, down the road about a hundred yards away, appeared a mob of at least 100 or more men. On seeing us they stopped abruptly. I guess they had seen our rifles. “What do we do now?”, I thought and to our concern, a large stone was thrown at us, landing a few yards in front of the truck. “Come on corporal!” we shouted and luckily for us he reappeared with the documents he had come for. “Get in the truck” he shouted and, as the driver did a ‘U-turn’ in the road, a barrage of stones and rocks followed us until we were out of range.
The ‘troubles’ had started. The events of the first four day in the Zone had been quite eventful.
LIFE AT SUEZ GARRISON HOSPITAL
After our introduction to the local residents of Suez Town and Port Tewfik, we settled down to life in Suez Garrison Hospital – if you could call such conditions a hospital.
Parts of the Garrison were attacked, but I’m afraid the locals came off worse and a number of their dead were brought into camp for us to pass on to the Suez Authorities.
I had a very varied time whilst in the Zone – my first was working in the Mortuary – not very nice being thrown in the deep end and I wonder how many people today know how many died during that period in time.
A while later I moved to the Medical side and saw a number of the lads shipped home for various reasons, mainly due to quite serious illnesses. Such things as dysantry were common place but these facts were never publisized to my knowledge.
During this time I had to do my stint of night duty. Four weeks, 28 nights straight with no break – 20:00 hrs to 08:00 hrs the next morning. We had an “Out of Bounds” isolated tent in a corner of the camp but it was difficult to sleep during the day as it was so hot. After 28 nights we had five days off, excused of all duties. We were allocated a small truck and a RASC driver to take us down the coast of the Red Sea, where, with our sandwiches, we would stay all day, swimming and relaxing. I read in the ‘mag’ what sports other units took part in and I wonder if we were in the same area – we swam and went to the A.K.C. cinema and that was it.
In the summer of 1952, I moved to Surgical and had a great time. I worked under one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. His name was Captain Lawrence, the nephew of the well known author D.H. Lawrence, of Lady Chatterly fame. He was ‘one of the lads’ and couldn’t wait to get out of the Army and back to his surgeons job in London. He saved many young squaddies with numerous injuries. I remember he took some of us out on his birthday for drinks. To him, what ever the rank, we were all the same. A rare creature in those days.
At the end of the year I was given the job of Pay NCO. By now we had many East African troops come ashore from ships in the Gulf of Suez. They were brought to hospital for a full medical. I felt sorry for a number of them as they had come straight from their village and had never worn anything on their feet before. I was given a young Ugandian chap who spoke very good English to act as an interpreter. He taught me a lot of Swaheli, their common language but not widely spoken in my part of the world!
After a great 1952 Christmas, the New Year arrived and with it more East African troops who made the whole camp really move as they had a number with smallpox – rife in those days, eradicated now of course.
The spring wore on and, at last, demob came in sight. It was June 2nd and I was transferred to Fayid to fly out that night, but no, it was the big Coronation Parade the next day and we were to be on it.
We flew out the next night on an old York. There was trouble with that, so around seven hours on the ground in Malta. Off again the next day but a re-fuelling stop in Marseilles, France and a very slow flight by today’s standards. We finally touched down at Stanstead Airport which was just a long runway and a few old Nissan huts back then – just look at it now!
Writing this after sixty plus years brings back a lot of memories, but enough
of me.