Open Writing

I went back to Cairo for a few more ferrying trips to India down the Persian Gulf. At this time we were helping to train the Egyptian Army and Air Force. On one of our convoy of fighters being flown out to India a Beaufighter, piloted by an Egyptian, led us. Half way between Shaibah and Bahrein one of our convoy got into difficulties and had to make an emergency landing in the desert.

I called up our leader on the radio to inform him, but he was not interested and said we should all continue. I stayed with our colleague who was in trouble to see if he landed safely and to pinpoint his position for later rescue. He did manage a good ‘wheels-up’ landing, and because his position was known, he was rescued a few hours later.

The rest of that leg of the journey I had to complete on my own, and my respect for the Egyptian Air Force was lost. When later they attacked the new state of Israel, I was confident that the Israelis would hold them at bay - as indeed they did.

It was obvious that the flying of fighters out to India would cease with the end of the war in Japan, and, sure enough, I was soon told of a posting to Cairo West Airfield. I was to act as Operations Officer for briefing crews, flying transport aircraft to and from the Far East and also to ensure that the aircraft were properly loaded and not overweight.

This was all interesting. At Cairo I briefed many of the crews flying the 1500 allied people who attended the Yalta Conference. I gave my map of the territory to the final crew between Cairo and Yalta. To my surprise, I was put under open arrest since I had given away a secret document. Fortunately the crew returned with the map.

During my stay near Cairo I was able to start a business correspondence course operated by a Cairo Company. This I continued, even when posted away from the Cairo area. Hopefully it was of value in my subsequent commercial career.

It was also possible to get into Cairo regularly, and I thoroughly enjoyed a wonderful symphony concert given by the Palestine Symphony Orchestra. In retrospect this was a unique happening because since then no Israeli musicians have performed in Cairo.

There were very few Jewish aircrew that I came across. However, John Samson DFC, DFM, was one. He had been a pre-war dental technician in the RAF and had managed to get switched for pilot training. We remained in contact, and he continued flying after the war. Sadly, he was killed in a flying accident in the Iraq area.

Finally in early October 1945 I was off to El Adem (the Tobruk airfield) with my gear.

The Officers’ Mess did not have many members, and it was hardly a busy station at this stage following the war. The CO, a wing commander and a very heavy drinker, insisted that a box was provided by the bar so that when I went there I could stand on it and he did not have to look down at me. He also decided that my name, as far as he was concerned, should be ‘Titch’, a popular, small-person cartoon of the time.

In order to keep people busy I appointed myself officer in charge of the rifle range and found several enthusiastic shots who came with me and practised there. This was useful when an inter-station rifle range competition was organised, and six of us formed ourselves into the El Adem team. We sent in our cards but obviously never won the competition, and I never found out which station did win.

The Dog Shoot

One of the problems on this airfield was the plague of desert dogs (we called them Pi Dogs) that had interbred with dogs owned by the Italians, Germans and British who had moved up and down in the Western Desert and often left their animals behind.

Thus there could be as many as 20 or 30 dogs charging across the airfield as a plane was taking off or landing, and the CO rightly decided that this was dangerous and something should be done about it. These dogs also used to hang around the different messes, and the animal-loving kitchen staff often threw them scraps.

“Titch,” the CO said to me one evening, “you are in charge of the shooting here and I want you to organise that all these dogs are shot.”

“I am not a shooter of dogs,” I replied, but was told to obey orders and get on with the job. I therefore arranged that two days hence would be the day of the big shoot, and notices were put up in all messes to warn the airmen to stay out of the way and to keep any pets in their huts.

Four of us with a jeep set off at dawn to do our unpleasant job. There was not a dog in sight. The airmen had either taken in anything that was halfway tame or tied it to their beds or chased the rest away. We drove around for some hours and finally spotted one wretched dog. We opened fire on it but did no more than wound it, and this poor howling and bleeding creature ran through the camp with us in hot pursuit. Eventually we did kill the poor beast and felt thoroughly ashamed of ourselves.

The operation continued for another hour or so, and we found and killed another dog before calling it a day. The CO was hardly pleased with our efforts, although, miraculously, the herds of these white dingo-like dogs stayed away for a while.