MY LIFE IN THE CANAL ZONE 1952
As Remembered By John H. Hooper
In 1952 as a seriously wet behind the ears 2/Lt I was posted to join 9 Para Sqn RE in Fayid. There were quite a few from my Sandhurst Intake on HMT Dilwara making its way gently via Malta, Port Said and various other intermediate points, to Hong Kong. The accommodation and food on the ship was superb, especially the curries made by the Lancers. However, we came back down to earth with a bump as the next leg of the journey from Port Said to Fayid was courtesy of the RASC. They supplied an every-expense-spared, marginally modified, 4 tonner laughingly called a troop carrier. Added to the bone shaking bumps was a blinding cloud of dust until we managed to open the front of the tarpaulin cover and get a through draft to defeat the driver's clear intention of suffocating us all by closing it initially. As for food, I can safely say from about forty years of soldiering the single greatest improvement in the Army was the standard of catering. The food in 1952 was appalling. There must be a word for “worse than appalling” and if so it would fit the food proffered in those days.
“What”, you might well ask, “were you doing on a troopship?” Essentially it was the result of a major con-job pulled by the War Office as it was then called. I am sure that nowadays I could sue for gross misrepresentation, fraud or similar offences. As a National Service recruit I spent my first six months doing absolutely no work but played sport almost every day. Called up in July it was the athletic season. I was only a moderate performer at the high jump but clearly better than anyone else in the Welsh Brigade Training Centre which is not saying much. I also claimed some prowess at shot-putting but nearly dropped the shot on the PTI 's foot as it was about twice as heavy as the one we used at school so no future there. After athletics it was swimming and water-polo and I ended up doing little else except play and coach water-polo and swimming. Then it was rugger and “Where do I sign” in expectation of a life-time of doing nothing but having a good time.
The Squadron I joined was commanded by a major with an MC, a 2i/c with an MC, a SSM with an MM and everyone above the rank of L/cpl had WW2 ribbons. We shared a mess with 2 Para where amongst a flurry of MC's and DSO's was one VC. I wandered around in awe! However, I came down with yet another bump as I was given my first task which was to build a 500 man camp just outside Fayid. I was given a plan of the camp and drew a compass from the stores. Whatever the camp would eventually look like at least it would be facing the right way. The camp got built I'll say no more - what took place is between me and a couple of sergeants! I am still great pals with the one still alive.
As a 2/Lt I was somewhat foolishly entrusted with the building of a 500 man camp. Now in the way of the Army I had, on my first engineer course, been taught all about mines, how to lay and lift them, how to build Bailey bridges, how to supply drinking water from some pretty dodgy sources and how to blow things up with explosives. Such fun! Mind you I was never asked to supply drinking water from the Sweetwater canal. Just looking at it could give you “Gippy Tummy” But…... I was not taught about building camps. That came on a much later course by which time I probably knew more about building camps than the instructors, but I did build a further camp in Cyprus in 1956. The camps, as you well know were tented on concrete bases with cookhouses and ablution blocks of “wriggly tin” and wood with , but of course, Deep Trench Latrines (DTL's) without which no soldiers life in the Canal Zone was complete.
It was during the DTL construction phase of the camp that I nearly caused a fatality. I had found from somewhere a mechanical trench digger with a bucket the perfect width for a DTL. The only snag was it left a curved bottom to the trench which would never do. I won't go into details. But the bottom had to be square. Lucky yet again, I was given some Mauritian Pioneers as a labour force. They were very cheerful chaps but as black as your hat and they all looked alike to me. The saving grace was that one of them spoke English so I could tell him what to do and he passed it on.
I split them into parties of three each armed with a bucket on a rope, a pick and shovel and a home-made ladder. Their task was simple, two men in the trench and one on top. Square off the bottom and dispose of the soil via the rope and bucket. It worked a treat until one morning as they set off for work like the dwarves but without Snow White one of them was so busy talking to his pals that he walked straight into a trench. I rushed over fearing a broken arm or leg or even worse. No problem....... the trench-diver was down the bottom busily filling his bucket.
At some time we were dropped, at night, onto a DZ somewhere South of the Canal
Zone. On this exercise I was the only officer in the troop as the troop commander
was off on a course in UK. Airborne troops had a captain and a subaltern. For
some reason we were dropped miles from my objective which was a hut near a railway
and representing some enemy defended position. Why we were not dropped on or
near the objective I have no idea. Anyway, I took a bearing on a star and off
we went trudging along with the usual incredibly heavy loads of ammunition,
explosive and 24 hour ration packs. I changed the star every twenty minutes
and took another bearing but I got distracted and stayed far too long on one
star. I made some adjustments to compensate and hoped for the best. After some
further marching I was little surprised to find that I was right on the target.
Well, least there was a railway and a hut and we promptly blew the latter up.
There were no complaints although I did wait rather anxiously for a few days
just in case but it must have been the right one!