Canal Zoners

RMP 203 PROVOST COY 1953

STABILIZING THE BORDER BETWEEN JORDAN & ISRAEL

As Remembered By Walter Ray Davies

It was mid summer 1952 and I was a lance corporal in the RMP, 203 Provost Coy, Moascar Garrison, when about a dozen of us MP’s were told we had been assigned to join an army being sent to Trans-Jordan to pacify the border between it and Israel. We were allocated vehicles, jeeps and one tonners, and headed off to Suez. There we drove onto the LST “Evan Gibb” and secured the vehicles for the journey down the Gulf of Suez and up the Gulf of Aqaba. Unfortunately the LST engine broke down enroute and we drifted for two days until engine parts were delivered and installed. There was only enough water on board for the 2 to 3 days the journey was supposed to take, so, being MP’s, we were given the job of guarding the water tank and minimising its use.

One night there was a dramatic dry electrical storm with lightning flashing every which way across the sky, it certainly made one appreciate the fear that people in ancient time had of ‘lightning bolts’. Arriving in Aquaba we bivouacked near the beach and had a great couple of days swimming and laying around. The water was crystal clear and the bottom, 30 to 40 feet, showed up in every detail. Our requiem was rudely shattered when four of us were detailed to look for a deserter who, being Jewish, was thought to be climbing over the mountain towards Israel. The mountains there are as if a giant had tipped over a wheelbarrow of racks and as we climbed rocks would slip and tumble down on anyone below. As we rested at the top of the mountain, we watched the goat herders tending their flock and running like goats themselves up and down over the rocks. Needless to say we didn’t catch the deserter.

The next day the army was ready to move and it took off across the desert along the same route, although in the reverse direction, that Lawrence of Arabia took when he attacked Aqaba. We were employed to trail the army and look for broken down vehicles, radio in their position to the REME, and guide any that were lost. That proved to be a laugh because we got lost ourselves. It was dusk when we stumbled upon a village, Ma’an, and the children in the street immediately picked up stones and pelted us with them. Hot footing it out of the village we saw on the horizon a bright light and knew it was the convoy, never was a sight more welcome!

The next few days the convoy proceeded north spread out over the desert which was rocky and covered with a layer of dust at least an inch thick. This resulted in dust being thrown up and it was like driving in a London ‘peasouper – suddenly a stalled truck would appear just in front of you and there was only a couple of seconds to stop. A few days later the terrain changed to very hilly and vehicles had to traverse steep hillsides covered with loose rocks and a steep fall on one side inside the valley. As a jeep driver I was constantly scared that the jeep wouldn’t make it and I would end up going over a cliff, so I can’t imagine how the drivers of the 10 tonners were feeling. To my knowledge, only one 10 tonner crashed. We eventually arrived at the border with Syria and the army bivouacked near Al Mafraq where an RAF base had been established many years previously. Wonder of wonders – they let us use their showere block and it was great to wash off 2 weeks of dust and grime.

The following few weeks we were employed in the laying out of routes between various regiments and taking part in 24 hour guard duty. During this time many soldiers went down with ‘Gypo-belly’, dysentery, and I was one of them. I either lay in my tent, doubled up, wishing I was dead or hot footing it to the latrine, a hole in the ground with a plank of timber supported each end by oildrums, surrounds by hessian sacking propped up by poles. “Flies paradise” we called it. Someone set fire to the sacking but exposure to fresh air did nothing to reduce the pong!

Sgt Page, our squad leader, suggested four of us drive to Amman and rent a taxi to Jerusalem, which we did, leaving the jeep with an Arab Legion detachment. The driver was so small he could barely see over the steering wheel but he got us to the Damascus Gate safely. There, for a few shillings, a tour guide took us around all the sights. Anglicans dispute the Church of the Holy Sepulchre as being the burial place of Jesus and believe another tomb close by to be the correct one. We returned to the taxi and after a couple of minutes it became obvious the driver was ‘as high as a kite’, hashish probably, because he was swerving around. Jerusalem is on top of a mountain and the road in those days was narrow and winding with sheer drops to the valley below. We forced him to stop and Sgt Page took over and got us back to Amman safely. The Arab Legion sergeant major in charge of the detachment invited us to his home and we had a very nice meal of Arab cuisine. A few weeks later the politicians must have sorted out their problems because we were suddenly ordered back to the Canal Zone, and this time we didn’t have to go via the Red Sea but drove back across the Sinai to comfortable beds, regular showers, half decent food and cold beer.