RAF ABU SUEIR
'COULD I HAVE PULLED THE TRIGGER'
As Remembered By Des (Taffy) Bowen
As somebody said in the last issue all was peace and tranquillity in the early years of my stay (Jan ’50-July ’52) in Egypt. We used to spend most of our off duty time in Ismailia. I remember it as a nice clean and well laid out town with plenty to do, shopping or drinking in the clubs or bars. I remember the NAAFI club and also the street sellers of everything you could possibly want. The best part of that was haggling. But what a difference later when the troubles started. This was the time when I came the nearest to shooting somebody. I still shake today after all this time when I think about it and wonder if I would have pulled the trigger.
The first time was during the mass walkout by the native staff from RAF Abu Sueir. I was on duty in the signals section. We were taking it in turns to do sentry duty. It was my turn and my beat was out the front of the section fronting on to the main camp road and then around to the back which bordered on the gardens. Armed with the trusty .303 rifle I wouldn’t say I looked the part of the fearsome soldier. Perhaps that’s why the bearers etc. were willing to try it on. I was just coming around to the front of the building for about the third time, when I heard a bit of a commotion. It sounded like a steady murmur and a lot of shuffling. I rounded the corner to be faced with a mass of people coming down the road. All the bearers, kitchen staff and general dogsbody’s were on the move out of the camp. They had apparently been ordered to down tools and quit by the terrorists. There was me and about five thousand potential enemies (not very good odds). Most just glanced at me and went on their way but about six of them, remembering that there was a bounty of a years wages (for them) for every British rifle handed in, decided to be brave and headed straight for me. I un-slung the rifle and made a big show of putting a round up the spout, they hesitated but came on more cautiously, so I brought the rifle up towards the aim. The last I saw they were beating a hasty retreat down to the main gate on the opposite side of the road.
The second occasion was
when I volunteered to ride shot-gun (escort) for one of the pick-up trucks plying
between the RAF bases. At the time we had been confined to the camp for some
time and we were getting stir crazy when one of the boys said they were looking
for volunteers to ride escort on the Dodge pick-up trucks.
Just the idea of getting out of the camp seemed like heaven. Again we had to
take our own .303’s with us. We thought it a daft weapon for the inside
of a cab, the driver had a sten gun, not that I ever trusted those meccano pistols.
There had been some incidents of the lorries being forced off the road by a
big American style car. The tactic was to pull alongside and then push the truck
gradually over the edge and off the road. Soon after starting out the driver
indicated to me to watch out and sure enough a big black saloon drew alongside
us. Without thinking too much about it, I wound down the window on my side which
was nearest the other vehicle (ours being right hand drive) and pushed the rifle
out until it was no more than six inches from the fat guy in the passenger seat.
He turned three shades of pale, screamed something at his driver, there was
a roar and the car shot off up the road leaving a large cloud of dust. Obviously
“they didn’t like it up ‘em.”
The rest of that drive was incident free and a bit boring, but it was great to get ‘out’.