1st Btn WELSH GUARDS, WOLSEY CAMP, EL BALLAH
“GATEWAY TO HELL”
As Remembered By David Evans
This awful camp was situated right alongside the euphemistically named Sweetwater Canal, a somewhat dilapidated collection of sunken marquees and small broken down outhouses, the whole surrounded by barbed wire, the local population of the nearby village somewhat hostile.
There was no way that an elite regiment of foot guards was ever going to exist with these conditions and steps were taken at once to transform the camp into the immaculate state into which it presented itself when I, as a young apprehensive recruit, was introduced to it in 1954.
My journey, via Malta and Cyprus, to this wilderness had not been without its’ hairy moments. We flew in an old, and I mean old, “York” plane making hops to re-fuel first to Malta and on to Cyprus and that is when the fun started.
Having taken off from Cyprus on the final leg of our journey we were somewhat inconvenienced by one of the engines breaking down. Luckily, we had not yet reached the “point of no return”, the old plane, complete with passengers, managed to stagger back to Cyprus where we spent two days celebrating our narrow escape.
Concern for our general well-being was somewhat jolted by the following incident which occurred on the very day of our arrival. An intruder to the camp was shot dead. It seems he failed to supply the sentry with the correct password – from there on in you could be very sure that we would certainly know the password by heart.
We were not alone in this sandy fly infested wilderness. As far as I can recall the adjacent camps in the vicinity were occupied by the Highland Light Infantry and the East or West African Rifles, neither of which we had a great deal of contact with.
We were only told a very “potted” version of our doubtful privilege to even be in Egypt but, being the young conscript that I was, it was of minimal consequence, one merely proceeded with the job in hand.
L to R: Les Evans, Jones, Tony Morris, Jack Shaw, Dave Evans (Self) & Davies
We were issued with the appropriate middle eastern kit and what intrigued me most of all were a couple of khaki coloured six foot lengths of cloth, four inches in width. It was explained that they were “puttees” and designed to be wrapped round the lower legs to ward off snakes and scorpions, we required no urging to comply.
My first assignment of note was to ride “shotgun” alongside a young ‘gippo’ driver who, according to my tender nostrils, had not familiarised himself with soap and water of late, however our designated mission was to collect food supplies from some far off army depot and I was armed with a fully loaded Sten gun and fervently hoped that I would not fall asleep and pull the trigger in error.
We were subjected to very early drill parades owing to the extreme heat. On one occasion I fainted, it was an extraordinary sensation, I was standing in line when the horizon started tilting, next thing I was aware of was lying on the sand with some fool splashing water on my face, I probably thought I was back at Broadstairs.
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There was a man-made strip of water known as the “Sweetwater Canal” that meandered its’ sluggish way past our camp. One of our daft young officers, whilst slightly inebriated, managed to fall into it, he had to have so many jabs that it was rumoured that he was never again able to sit in comfort.
Whilst on duty one very dark night I was forcefully reminded of our very close proximity to a very twitchy bunch of soldiers from the African continent. All of a sudden all hell broke loose as shots were fired into a deserted desert, it seems that they were firing at shadows.
The local village although bristling with hostility was pleased enough to supply paid labour. My mate, Ron Haywood, was supervising a small work party, he turned away for an instant but hearing a slight sound behind him he turned in time to see one of the party heading towards him with a raised pick axe. Ron did not hesitate but fired a bullet from his Sten gun between the culprit’s feet, he was then marched to the guard room and forcibly ejected from the camp, he was a lucky man!!
The hostility of the
locals were not helped by the following incident:
One of our sergeants, whilst in a state of intoxication, pinched a land rover
from the vehicle pool and drove it at great speed down the adjacent canal
road and in passing through the local village a native of the place was unfortunately
run over and killed. As one may imagine, the locals were not amused and, luckily
for the driver they made such a “hullabaloo” that they turned
out the camp guard, thus saving him from being court-martialled.
The ongoing effect of the previous affair was such that nobody was allowed out of camp on foot and our land rovers were equipped with Bren guns. The food trucks would therefore be accompanied by one of the armed land rovers – no more “shotgun” rides for me, thank goodness.
Our rugby ream were riding high, they won the M.E.L.F Inter Services Tournament having previously won the B.A.O.R. Inter Services in Germany and the British Army Trophy in U.K., what indeed was left to win?
L to R: John Stone, Tom James, Jack Linney, Davies, Dave Evans (Me), Tony Morris, Jack Shaw, Ken Arthur & Les Evans |
Myself by the Suez Canal
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I can’t possibly end this thrilling narrative without mentioning our fabulous “Corps of Drums” performing “Retreat” in the desert evening – it was a sight to behold!
My internment in this camp was fast coming to an end as they had discovered that I was not as dim as I had first appeared. I was therefore elevated to the environs of the “Orderly Room” from thence dispatched forthwith to Gebel Maryam on a clerks course to learn about Army forms and procedures – what a thrilling thing to look forward to!!