Open Writing

As the days went by, it was up early, usually about 5.30 a.m. and out in the desert for more practice. In addition to the original four of us, Joe Radice, Jim Emery, Dick Rowney and myself, two new men made up the rest of the crew. They were Corporal Tommy Gristock and a man called Hardwick.

The crew arrangements in a Grant were very different from those in a Crusader. The gunner (myself) in charge of the 75 mm sat by the side of the driver and just slightly behind him. The man who loaded this gun (in our case Hardwick) was behind the gunner. Jim and I were unable to see the other three members of the crew because they were in the turret, above and behind us.

In the turret were mounted a 37 mm gun and a Browning machine-gun. Gristock was in charge of these - loaded by Rowney who was also the wireless operator. The tank commander, Joe Radice, completed the turret crew.

In general, as a crew we got on pretty well. Dick and I didn't always see eye to eye, but we got along. Tommy was a very quiet man with little to say. Hardwick was cheerful. Joe Radice was brave, but a little odd in his ways. He seemed to make a habit of getting lost when walking about and was always knocking things over. He wore thick glasses and had rather a spotty face.

Out of the whole crew Jim and I got on best together. He was a big young man, came from Birmingham, had a strong 'Brummie' accent and a dry sense of humour. He rarely got upset or annoyed and took everything in his stride. We had been in the same tanks (Crusader, Stuart and now Grant) together for the past six months. We had spent some particularly congenial days together with our broken down Crusader in Tobruk. He was a very good driver too. We had known each other since the day he and Bob Weightman and others had joined the squadron at Tilford in 1940. It was nice to be sitting beside each other now.

In the tank we had two types of 75 mm shells: A.P. (armour piercing), olive green in colour, to be used against armoured vehicles; and H.E. (high explosive), coloured yellow and made to explode on impact. The Germans, always a few steps ahead of us, had a deadlier shell, an A.P./H.E., designed to go through the armour of a tank and then explode inside.

On 23 May, 1942, we were woken at 4.30 a.m. by the guard and told to be ready to stand to by 5.00. There was tension and expectation in the air, for we knew that a German attack was imminent. But we didn't move.

The next day this happened again, and this time we did move, about thirty-five miles west, to within only five or six miles from the front line. On the morning of 27 May the enemy launched the expected offensive, and were moving our way. We went to meet them. Our squadron was leading the attack, with 'A' and 'B' Squadrons behind and to our left and right.

It was scorching hot and soon we could see German vehicles in front of us shimmering in the heat. We shelled them and really wreaked havoc among them. All hell was let loose as we exchanged fire; the noise was deafening and the dust rose in clouds. It was an exciting experience, but also very frightening.

We were fighting with the best tanks we'd had so far, and had confidence in them, but our confidence was soon shattered. Through my periscope I saw a spurt of sand from the ground in front of us. Within seconds the next shell hit us. It was certainly an A.P./H.E. because it came straight through the front of the tank and exploded inside.

I looked at Jim; he had taken the full blast of the shell in his face and was dead. I had blood on my face and arms but what was hurting most was my leg. It felt as if it had been hit with a sledgehammer. On looking at it I saw a hole in my thigh an inch or more across.

In a situation like this one doesn't stop to think; automatic reaction takes over. There was a door in the side of the Grant, behind the gunner, and also one above it. For some reason I crawled out of the top door, then lay on the back of the tank and rolled off on to the ground, a drop of about six or seven feet.

Lieutenant Radice, Rowney and Hardwick had baled out. Radice was slightly wounded in the leg and Rowney in both ankles. They said that Gristock had been killed. Hardwick was unhurt. The battle was raging. Another of our tanks nearby, commanded by Lieutenant Halsted, had been hit. He was wounded, and one of his crew, Harry Mounsey, a boy from Leeds, was killed.

Our tank was still moving forward with Jim and Tommy inside it. Then it caught fire, and the ammunition started to explode.

There were scout cars running about, and one driven by a very courageous Sergeant Harris picked me up and took me back several hundred yards, where medical soldiers were helping with the wounded. Sergeant Harris immediately left, to look for anyone else he could see in trouble. I owed him a great deal. The rest of our crew were picked up, though I didn't see them.

I was laid on the ground alongside some other men, none of whom I knew, and an M.O. gave me a shot of morphine to ease the pain. There were three ambulances there, and we were lifted into them on stretchers, perhaps six in each, the stretchers fitting in racks, like bunk beds. One man in our ambulance was a German soldier.

It was late in the evening when the ambulances set off across the rough desert, and soon it was pitch dark. We came to a stop and I heard the drivers get out and start talking to each other. We were lost. In the distance they could see a few lights, and decided that with wounded men on board the only thing to do was to drive over to them. If they were Germans, we would give ourselves up.

The bumpy journey continued, and we arrived at the lights to find that they were a few abandoned German vehicles with their lights left on. There was another conference on what to do next. If we drove north we would eventually hit the coast road, and if we got there without mishap, we should turn right and head for Egypt. The ambulances had no compasses, so which way was north?

Fortunately there was a clear sky and someone had the bright idea of finding the North Star and following it. We had no idea where we were or how far it was to the coast, or even if there were Germans between us and it.

After several more bumpy miles, out of the blackness in front of us there was a shout: 'What the hell are you doing here?' It was the voice of an officer of a Scottish infantry regiment. I heard the ambulance men explaining what had happened. The Scotsman said it was a miracle we hadn't been shot up but that we were now near El Adem, and would indeed hit the coast road if we kept going. He wished us luck.