Old Comrades
I was discharged from Atbara Army Hospital (thankfully) and given passage on a Nile River boat, going to Wadi Halfa. I spent three days on the craft, which was just like a large houseboat. I was in a very bare cabin - only the floor to sleep on, covered by a light blanket. On board was a sizeable troop of British Army Commandoes who had been raiding well behind the German lines in the Western Desert.
They had trekked back southwards after a series of exploits, right into the desert, before striking eastwards and marching until they reached Sudan. They were now on their way back to Egypt, and making the most of a happy return to civilisation. There were noisy and boozy parties each evening, with all the ribald Army songs sung at top pitch.
We steamed slowly northwards through the barren Egyptian land, and it wasn't long before I saw some of the marvellous antiquities of this ancient place. Along the banks of the Nile were the burial places of the Pharaohs, and I wished we had the opportunity to stop and visit them. I tried hard to remember them, where they were and who they commemorated (as much as I could learn from the not-friendly houseboat crew). I think we passed through the Valley of the Kings, there were magnificent huge stone carvings on the river banks, and later on, we passed the Isle of Phyla, where there were more tombs and wonderful carvings.
We arrived in Wadi Halfa on the third day. The heat was still blistering. We had to transfer from the river boat to the train for Cairo. I was lucky to be with an Army Corporal, Ted Willis, who had been with me in the Sick Quarters at Atbara. He had been studying Arabic for some time and could speak it well. He was able to organise a couple of good seats on the train for us, and to call for drinks while we were travelling in reasonable comfort that night.
I think that it took us about 24 hours to get to Cairo. I reported to Air Headquarters, and was reunited with my Air Force mates, first at a city hotel, where they had been billeted for the past two weeks, then very quickly we were transferred to Almazan, a Transit Camp near Heliopolis, a Cairo suburb that also boasted a fair sized airport.
At Almaza we were to languish for what seemed ages, and was actually about 8 or 9weeks. Obviously the Air Force didn't want night fighters. The place was crammed with air crew, both longterm and transient personnel who had come over from the African coast to deliver 'planes, or were on their way to other war zones.
While we were at Almaza with nothing to do, the war was proceeding apace. The Allies were fighting strenuously at El Alamein, only 60 miles west of us, at the furthest point to which the brilliant German Field Marshal Rommel had driven them along the North African coast. We used to see the weary soldiers in the streets of Cairo, some back for a hurried 24 hour or 48 hour break from the fighting. They were stained yellow - clothing, skin and hair - from the sands of the Western Desert. Starved of official information, we anticipated that we would soon be posted to active units.
Meanwhile, we lived in comparative luxury in our tents at Almaza, and were able to go out practically at will. There were no duties for us, except an almost-daily parade and roll-call, which was a farce.
On 23rd October 1942, the Allies struck with an almighty offensive, and the tide was turned. Rommel had almost reached Egypt, where he would have driven the Allies from the Canal Zone and been in a commanding position to take over the Middle East. We heard the shelling in Cairo, and met many fellow aircrew returning from the thick of the fighting. It became galling that we were hanging around with nowhere to go. Trained aircrew, but with inappropriate skills!
Last edited by Walter603; 12th Feb 2016 at 05:12.
Reason: spacing