Cliff’s diary entries petered out after he got back from leave in Alex but the letters to Dorothy continued — 150 pages over three months.
On the 15th July he had to give up on a letter when a rowdy argument got too distracting, but he tried again next day in Padre Taylor’s new recreation tent — quiet and well set up with writing tables, seats, reading matter, cards, draughts and dart boards.
But what could he write about? It became a constant refrain, grasping for something worth mentioning, grateful when there was. Aching to be home with Dorothy — Dot, Carrots! Bored, resentful, frustrated at not being promoted. Recording it all in his letters, oblivious to the censors.
All the same, he managed eight pages that day before new “routine orders” meant he had to scrap all but the first two. Maybe this was to maintain secrecy about the Div’s next assignment. Maybe to suppress talk about the Furlough Mutiny, then current.
He’d been to Cairo to help one of his mates shop for relations back home. After trying innumerable shops, and Cliff’s patience, they went for a drink before catching the truck back to Maadi.
At the next table was a WAAF girl accompanied by a couple of Tommies, and they were busy imbibing the demon Gin. They must have had one or two drinks before we arrived, and to watch that girl knock back another steady half dozen was a revelation. To say she was calm, cool and collected would be incorrect for she look positively bored, and I’m sure her companions thought it was a waste of good liquor. After her sixth they decided to go.
§
He was still fretting about the Yanks and the hospitality they were enjoying back home — envious too of a newly arrived 21 year old man who’d been able to marry before heading overseas, and whose wife was now due to give birth.
Do you remember the fun we used to have playing draughts at Peates? Those were the days. Darling, I do love you so, and pray we may meet again soon. We must keep our faith. On 7th August it will be two years and five months since I left NZ.
§
There was news from home to catch up on, and respond to gratefully. The horses, the neighbours, her parents, holidays. The run of the mill of daily life so far away. Soldiers back home on furlough. The death of a railway guard who was helping to shunt wagons at the Taipuha station when he slipped and fell, and was run over by one of the wagons.
It was tragic but goes to show what different values are put on human life at different times and places. I was attached to an infantry battalion a few months ago, and we were all living in the one big building. One night I returned to Brigade, and the battalion also moved out. Another unit took our place. The following night four bombs dropped on the building, killing 60 and injuring about a hundred others. We who’d moved out thanked our lucky stars, but little comment was made about the casualties. It was a waste that so many should’ve gone in that way, but we have lost far more fighting in a successful encounter.
§
He had occasional news to pass on himself, thankfully, like touring an aerodrome — “but I can’t tell you much or I’d get stirred up” — and a Div Cav picnic at the Delta Barrage. The Barrage was a system of low dams bridging the Nile. Its primary use was irrigation, with lock gates allowing the fellucas to pass. A huge grassy park “with lovely trees and plant life” surrounded it… very popular with the Cairo people, and crowded on Sundays, with boat rides and donkey rides and a queer little tram.”
As at the kibbutzes of Palestine he was curious about how things worked — the Barrage, boats, irrigation and farming.
The hoes used by the fellaheen are the same as ones in the museums labelled 3000BC. The water screws used to pump water from the ditches to irrigate the Delta are the same as the one invented by Archimedes 200 years before Christ. The ploughs are like those in tomb paintings of the Old Empire.
The cooks prepared the boys a feed of lamb and vegetable salad, followed it with fruit salad and ice cream, and were almost overrun by hungry Arab kids when they doled out the leftovers.
Someone organised races for the kids with 1/2 piastre prizes.
They played French Cricket until it was time to leave, then clambered on the trucks — as many as possible up front on the bonnet — and sang their way across Cairo, waving to the girls as they passed. The girls smiled and waved back. On the street a smile would have offended them.
§
At a Methodist rally a South African Padre had a bit to say about their “native problem”:
It seems quite evident that unless some radical change takes place after the war there is going to be trouble there. The natives are selfishly exploited and have no privileges and are given little or no education. They have proved themselves capable of becoming good citizens when given a proper chance and those natives who have taken part in this war are going to cause some considerable trouble when they get home again. It is certainly a big problem and the South African government doesn’t seem to be taking any steps to do anything about it.
A crowded church service followed, mainly soldiers, and then supper at a Mr and Mrs Jamieson’s. He was English, tall and lanky, a railway official with a daughter who looked just like him. She was a staunch Methodist, but puffing on a cigarette and looking very sophisticated. “Our Methodist ladies would be shocked.”
§
At the end of July there was a Signals reunion on the Sigs Nile houseboat. Cliff and a mate arrived early and had a yarn with the officers. Captain Harewood had been OC back in Trentham and was now 5 Bde Staff Captain, but this was Cliff’s first decent talk with him. He was a good bloke who’d got married shortly before leaving, and whose wife had since died of consumption. Another officer had the superior attitude he detested so much — all too common in Sigs, he reckoned — while a third was quiet, inoffensive and hard working. Inconspicuous and maybe too quiet. He thought a fourth had been killed at Alamein.
The rest of the men began to roll up about 8 pm, most of them well under the influence. Having dinner so late was a mistake, quite apart from the fact that it cost 5/- each for a meal they could get in town for about 1/8d.
There wasn’t any beer on the houseboat — there is very little anywhere — but some of the boys, including myself, had brought their one bottle ration, and we drank one or two toasts with that, and from then on gin and lime was the only drink. The toasts were a farce, for those who were drunk wouldn’t stop talking, and when anyone got up to speak they were heckled, cheered or booed according to their degree of popularity. As a drunken brawl it was a roaring success, but as a reunion a dismal failure.
Cliff had learned to enjoy a drink by then but he always thought there were limits. At a Div Cav dance a couple of months later only a few of the girls they invited showed up. “A dance held a few nights beforehand had, according to reports, ended up something worse than a drunken brawl.” You couldn’t blame the girls.
§
The night at Peates must have been memorable because a week later it was still on his mind:
Do you remember that night at Peates when you went to sleep on my knee? Were you asleep? — that’s the question. Frankly I was at a loss, not having met with such a situation before and I didn’t know what to do about it…
You know you didn’t give me a chance and stole my affections away before I knew what was happening. I always did like you very much, from the first time I heard your voice over the phone, and well, you just seem to become more and more a necessity for a young man’s happiness and peace of mind…
Your fun for animals, waifs and strays is the only thing that worries me, and it seems as though I’ll have to learn to like cats much better than I do.
He’d received some photos from Colette and Lisette, and exchanged addresses with them. He was sending Dorothy a photo of Lisette and Mrs Zuraki so she could see for herself what their Swiss friend looked like. He’d intended to send several until a cobber suggested it wasn’t a good idea.
§
Come the end of August, time was still heavy on their hands. He was taking French lessons from a Sergeant in 24 Bn who was pretty good at it. He’d given up gambling, having lost money. He was pleased Dot’s horse Peter was fit again, and not to worry too much about his cobber’s comments about Silver. We’re all a bit unbalanced and acting strangely, he said.
Hearing from her Mum and Dad cheered him immensely. No wonder you’re such an attractive person. He’d heard from his own mother that his friend Wally was back in New Zealand, which was news to Cliff, who hadn’t seen him since Tripoli. Don’t read too much into that, he warned her — you can’t be sure of anything, but things certainly looked rosier now.
Some of the responses to her letters are mysterious. How did you climb that pole? Or, no, I haven’t got the knack of camouflaging gear so effectively that I can’t find it. Or, how are your semaphore and morse skills getting on? And, you’re probably right about Charlie — he’s the type whose idea of a good time over here would be to keep out of action.
In early September the mail he was receiving was more than a month old, with occasional letters still missing. They’d both promised to write every week, but sometimes he just couldn’t — “not always because I didn’t have time, but because I felt I would break down if I even thought of home, let alone write to someone I loved and who was so far away.”
§
Most of the Section got another day’s leave in Cairo. They travelled by truck these days, which saved the scramble on the train. He went to the pictures with a friend who’d been wounded and was likely to go home soon, but after that he was by himself:
I made my way to the Pole Norde for tea. I haven’t been there for about two years and I remembered how homesick I used to be in those days, and found that I still am. I had a poor but expensive meal of fish and chips, and a bottle of beer which wasn’t any better. Another “never again”. After that I wandered around and looked in shop windows but I soon tired of walking the streets. I passed Wally’s girlfriend Mary’s shop and thought of going to talk to her, but it was so crowded I called it off and strolled down to the car park and waited for a truck to take me home. Some of the boys were home before me, much to my surprise, but the rest were in at all sorts of hours, in different stages of drunkenness.
§
“The news is very good these days isn’t it?” he said.
I wonder if we will rejoin 8th Army when we leave here. I received a letter from Colette (the French girl from Alex) the other day and she said she may come through to Cairo this month while she is on holidays. If she does I suppose I’ll have to play host, or try to.
Cliff said he hoped she didn’t come because he’d need to find a better place than Pole Norde for lunch, and it would cost a small fortune. And he had a confession — this was Colette’s second letter, and he’d hesitated to tell Dorothy.
However it’s no secret here and I’ve had my leg pulled pretty thoroughly all round by my cobbers, who’ve threatened to write to you and “put my pot on” as they say. I hope it doesn’t worry you, dear. Colette and I have absolutely nothing in common.
She’s evidently ambitious as she plans to tour the world after the war, and at present she’s thinking of going to Algiers to join what she calls the “French Feminine Army“. She is very worried about her French boyfriend who has joined the parachute troops in England. Elsa is also on holiday. She’s been sick and spent a few days in bed. “Holidays” they say, but to me it seems they have one perpetual holiday. All Elsa’s work consists of is helping in the Forces Clubs and at the hospital, but still it’s good work and no doubt appreciated.
§
A few days later he sent Dorothy 78 photos, “taken during our travels by different chaps, and which I’ve bought from time to time. You may not find them very interesting but some day I’ll try and explain something about them to you and that might help.” He sent another batch later that he’d bought through the official photographer — they’d left him short of money, but he couldn’t get film for his camera. After the war he made up an album — the old cling mount pages in a green vinyl ring binder cover.
§
An opportunity came up when Henry was promoted and transferred to K Section, and Merv, who’d also received a stripe, was likely to replace him in charge of their “tank”. That left them an operator short, so Cliff went to find Dink, who’d become a good friend, and suggested he apply for a transfer. On his way back, Mr Douglas, the CO, picked him up, so Cliff put in a good word for Dink while he had the chance.
That prompted a return to his regular complaint about not being promoted:
I was disappointed of course, because it is about time — in my opinion and in fact the opinion of many — that I had at least one stripe. Merv has been in the section longest, and he is a good chap so I can’t begrudge him his, but the unfairness of it all is simply glaring.
Merv should’ve had his stripes long ago, but like myself and many others he has been superseded by many worthless fellows. It seems a hard and biased statement to make, and I’d like to think it weren’t true, but no doubt it is. I would if I were more sensible see the OC about my grievances, but I feel so disgusted with him and his satellites that I can’t bring myself to do it. It is hard to discuss your future with a chap whom you dislike and unfortunately has it in his power to make life very unpleasant for you. I don’t want to leave Div Sigs for it would mean starting all over again in another unit, and that wouldn’t be so good. Even if I were to consider it I would probably find, as others have found, that their application wouldn’t be considered. Army life can be very irksome no doubt. It is a sore subject with me so let’s drop it.
By the 21st September Dink’s application had been accepted. The Div had moved from Maadi to the Burg el Arab staging area on the Mediterranean coast2, and Cliff had just enjoyed a swim in the Med with him when he wrote next:
Dink is with us. I spoke to our company OC about him personally. I think he has a guilty conscience where I’m concerned, so although Dink’s Section OC strongly objected, Mr Douglas insisted upon the transfer, and I think it was to either pacify me or by way of restitution for the poor spin I have been given.
Before Henry left he told me of some of his efforts to get me promotion. Until then I didn’t know that he’d been doing so much for me, and it was amusing to hear of some of the discussions he had with Mr Douglas. It was much as I expected. Mr Douglas told Henry that he knew me very well — which he doesn’t, I’m sure — and said that he couldn’t speak too highly of me and my work. But he said Cliff is very discontented and it is his disrespectful attitude that spoils him, and other words to that effect. Mr Douglas is right, of course, for I am discontented and am very disrespectful towards my officers, but not without reason. I’m not too good at hiding my feelings and that is my downfall, and of course I can’t help being discontented. With my experience there are some NCO‘s jobs which I could handle with more understanding and efficiency than which they are receiving now, and apart from personal feelings it seems a shame that I can’t be in a position where I can be of more use. As it is I am no doubt discontented and show it, and also, which is worse, I’m losing interest. Well, here I am again bellyaching and I must stop it or you will become heartily tired of me.
That sounds pretty convincing to me, written — honestly and free of guile as always — for Dorothy and the censor to read. And without any thought for how they might receive it.
§
On another day’s leave he and Dink caught the tram to Sidi Bishr and got a warm welcome from their friends at the beach, who invited them to stay for tea. Lisette and Elsa were there but not Colette. He rang Colette‘s family. Her car had been stolen, only to be found next day minus its tyres and completely stripped. By the time they’d swum, had tea, talked and cleaned up it was time to go. They returned to town at 8:30 pm and had a “leisurely and lordly” dinner at the Gordon House.
It is lovely to sit down in a nice quiet dining room at a table covered with a clean white tablecloth with serviettes and all the comforts of home, and the meal was splendid. We took our time over it and just had time for a short walk afterwards before we caught the truck. I don’t expect we’ll be able to get any more leave to Alex, but one never knows.
This time he was right.
He warned Dot that the mail mightn’t be regular for some time, but not to worry, he’d write as often as possible. If he came home on leave would she be in favour of getting married? They mightn’t be long together before he’d have to leave again, but it would be worth it.
Dink had a letter from Lillian the other day and I laughed when he told me she’d said she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions when they meet again.
Cliff didn’t think he could be held responsible for his, either. The letters were becoming more suggestive, and who knows, maybe it was reciprocal:
We decided we ought to go for a swim… It was a nude swim, as they mostly are these days, and you ought to see me — you would want to see me, wouldn’t you? — brown all over with the sun. There’s no fun in our nudist colony though, for as you’re hoping, yes, we’re all the same sex. One of the joys of army life. It’s good to be able to tear around without clothes for a while.
We have some strange discussions at times and last night was no exception. Joe says he’s never been in love or had a girlfriend, but now he wants to know what he’s missing out on. So last night we were asked to tell the story of our first love and provide all the trimmings. None of us would bite of course, but Shorty the humorist started the ball rolling by telling his version of Merv’s experiences, which caused a lot of fun. The basis of each story was correct, for we’ve heard them from Merv himself before…
Dink and I went home to bed to preserve what’s left of our innocence.
“Do you want to marry an experienced man, dear?” he’d asked her recently. “If so, throw me over right away for I most likely will disappoint you.”
§
And then, on 23 October 1943:
As you’ll know by now we are in Italy. Don’t we get around? We had quite a good and uneventful voyage over, although I think we all expected excitement of some kind or other. I can’t tell you anything about the trip other than that. What do you think of the latest development in the war? Italy has declared war on Germany!3
The first NZ Battalions had begun boarding for the voyage to Italy on October 6th. Cliff’s letter was written the day after vessels carrying the second flight of NZ troops arrived in Taranto to begin 2NZEF’s Italian campaign.
A year and a half to go, give or take.
Footnotes
- The Delta Barrage-type dam was built between 1833 and 1862 to improve irrigation and navigation along the Nile. Upon completion it was abandoned for safety reasons as the structure was very poor quality and started leaking. In the 1880s, repairs were made and this allowed the dam to be used for agricultural irrigation. In the 1930s, when maintenance costs and ongoing repairs became too costly, the new Mohammed Ali Barrage, was built. The old Delta Barrage was then abandoned permanently, although it has been retained as an historic monument and is still used as a road bridge.
↩︎ - In mid-September the Div began a seven-day march from Maadi Camp to Berg el Arab on the Mediterranean coast near Alexandria. Training continued after they arrived, and also at Ikingi Maryut, another area outside Alexandria that was the site of another Allied staging camp.
↩︎ - Mussolini had been deposed as Italian leader in July and replaced by Marshal Pietro Badoglio. The new Italian Government declared war on Germany on October 13th and aligned itself with the Allies. The Germans continued the fight in Italy with ongoing support from Fascists opposed to the new government.
↩︎