Frank's Diary
On a cool, crisp, desert morn on the 13th of March 1940, the 4th Field Regiment of Artillery, of which I was a member, picked up their gear and moved out from their camp on the sand at Amyria, near the great city of Alexandria. We had only a very short march, in the dusk, before we arrived at the small desert railway station, where we were to embark for Alex. The boys were full of grand spirits, and shouts and bursts of merry laughter, and cuss words rent the air, as we staggered through the sand. Our packs were pretty heavy, but we were too excited by far to worry very much about them. We were leaving the bloody desert, and that was the one thought that dominated our minds.
The greater part of the Regiment were all First Echelon men, and had been "up in the blue" for over a year, and were not sorry in the least to be saying farewell and good-bye to the land of smells, fly's, sand and "Wogs", that was known as "Egypt". They were a great bunch of chaps and I was proud and happy to be one of them. I had joined their merry band about five months before as a reinforcement, at Martin Bargush where they were stationed. I had made many staunch friends, and I was one of them, and my heart glowed, for we're on our way to another country, and another adventure. Where we were bound, none of us knew, and none of us cared very much. The crowd of us stretched out along the small platform, and well up and down the track on both sides. The Bully Beef Stew we had eaten for breakfast hadn't made much impression on our ravenous appetites and we were hungry. We were issued with some bread and margarine, cheese and biscuits, so we got stuck into this and felt slightly better. We were always able to buy chocolate and sweets off the "Wog" peddlers who were always about. This was one thing that amazed me about the "Wogs", where ever we happened to be, out miles and miles in the desert on maneuvers, and out of nowhere would pop up a "wog" and his donkey and oranges. It was the same when we were on the move, and this morning was no exception to the rule, The"boys" were there and no shortage of chocolates, or mandarins. We had the usual army wait, and it was broad daylight when our train pulled up and, all aboard for Alex. With much shrieking of the whistle our train pulled away again and at half past eight we were on the wharves at Alexandria and along side our ship. She was a trim little steam yacht, and was once owned by the King of Greece, but she was a trifle small for the number of troops that were packed on her decks. The rumor has by this time, circulated that we were headed for Greece, and excitement ran high. It was only a short trip, and after an uneventful journey we reached Pyryus Harbour and docked on the morning of the 15th. It was a great thrill for us to see the rolling green hills and trees of this new country, after the drabness of Egypt. We were impressed with the people too, they seemed so friendly and we looked forward to talking with them. The troops were disembarking and all off ship by 11 o'clock in the morning. Our N.T. was there waiting for us and I'm sure that those who experienced the trip from the wharves, through Athens, out to our camp at Kapisia, will never forget it. "Welcome boys", shouts, cheers, handclapping, smiling faces, made us feel very happy and proud. We were soon in camp and shown to our tents. The camp was situated in a Pine wood, and joy of joys, the ground was covered with green grass. We scampered about like excited kids, made friends with the gypsy children, and were soon learning the Greek lingo from them. They were jolly kids and would give anything at all for a shiny benzene tin, or one of our biscuits, or some bully beef. The next morning was spent with maintenance on our trucks and equipment, and in the afternoon we were given leave to go into Athens. Rod Matheson, Ivan Vautier, "Churchy", Pat and myself, hired ourselves a car, and away we went. To try the beer was our first aim, and we found it good, so we had a feed as well. Athens is a beautiful place and I could not attempt to describe it after only two short visits. We tried to see most of the sights, before dark, then we spent most of our money on cigarettes and chocolates and cakes. Greek money had us completely bluffed for a while, the more we spent the more we seemed to have. The girls in the shops were swell to us and only gave us things we asked for, so we had another "feed" of ice cream and strawberries.
All good things come to an end however, and after a visit to the barber, we wended our weary way home, very tired happy and full of good things. The following night I was lucky enough to get into Athens again, and met my old pal Doug McGlashan, so we had an enjoyable evening celebrating, with wine and food at a very respectable hotel. When we got back to camp the lads were busy loading and packing the trucks for an immediate move in the morning, so we didn't get much sleep that night. Our truck M1. was fortunately fairly tidy and well packed so we didn't have much more to do in the morning, than draw rations for our personal (5) and throw on our haversacks. Our driver was young Grasham; LpB. Rod Matheson was next Ivan Vautier, myself, and two new chaps Gnr. Churchill and Gnr. Paterson, we were a very happy bunch of signalers and there was very rarely any strife on our truck. Our convoy was soon on its way and we passed through Athens in the early morning hours as most of the people were going to work. I won't dwell on our first day out except to say that the people all along the route were simply marvelous, and hour after hour threw flowers and fruit blossoms to us, until old "Liz" looked more like a show float than an instrument of death moving to war. Rod played his beloved pipes on several occasions during the trip sitting up on the back of the truck. Our first night out we slept in an old olive grove, very close to the coastline. We dug ourselves in as usual and were very soon asleep. On the road again next day early, and we began to pass the first of the refugees, fleeing from the border and war. They were a pitiful sight and I was to remember them vividly at a later date. We took turns at the wheel and enjoyed every hour of travel through the country.
At nearly every small village we were greeted by the country folk, with their flowers and good wishes, and often our DR. was able to buy us fresh brown bread, and eggs. The Greek bread is delicious, and many was the meal we made of it, with eggs and cheese. During one of our brief stops a small boy came along the road with a bird under his arm. I thought it looked a pretty decent looking rooster and after a bit of bargaining I bought it for 50 "Dracks". My Signals Officer came along, "Mr. Roy Herrick", and after a shrewd look at the said bird, announced it to be a hen.
Great was the rejoicing thereof and the chook was made a great fuss over. When we bedded down that night, in our slit trenches, the new pet was tucked into a warm box of straw in the back of the truck, and we all had visions of an egg every morning. I was awakened very early next morning with the rest of the lads to the "joyful" or "woeful" sound of my Hen crowing. Anyway "he" made a jolly fine meal two days later, when we got settled down a bit.
Our third day on the road and we were in the Olympus Mountains, travelling through beautiful scenic country that was a sheer delight to our eyes. Quaint little villages were perched away up in the most inaccessible places, and I amused myself by searching them with the field glasses, from the back of the truck as we moved along. Down over the other side of the mountain, out a little way into the foothills and we made camp. It was here I found my first tortoise, in fact we found several, but I think I was first in the outfit to pick one up. They were all sizes, and the boys soon had their own pets.
Next day Rod and I went forward with the gunners on a digging party. Our position was in rolling hill country, mostly covered with crops, grape vines and fruit trees. Altogether a glorious picture to behold, and I couldn't for the life of me see it torn with shot and shell. An old soldier by the name of Fred Povey was one of our helpers, in digging our exchange "hole", and Fred could always be relied upon to keep things top side up with plenty of excitement and amusement. There was only about a dozen of us in our particular party, led by the C.P.O. Mr. Phil Hannah, who being a very astute person, put friend Fred on the job of cooking up a meal for us. He made a splendid job of it too. Bully beef baked in a dish with eggs and bacon rashers is a pretty tasty feed.
It took us two days to complete our exchange dugout, and we made ourselves very comfortable. It was about seven feet deep with plenty of room for the two of us to move around. We slept in the same bed in one end of the "hole" and took it in turns when the night alarm bell rang. Rod was a good mate and things went pretty smoothly. Our gun pits were by this time completed, and our battery was ready willing and able to take on all comers. The lads all looked very well and fit, and felt confident of their abilities.
We had been at this place "Spendamy" for about five days, waiting watching and listening, when we received orders to retire. This was quite a blow too after spending so much time in making ourselves at home. However, ours not to reason why, and the usual hustle and bustle began all over again; by that night, with the exception of the "sigs", and one or two radio trucks, every one was away. I slept on the back of M1 this night and very nearly froze, till nearly three in the morning we were rudely awakened by our Infantry moving back. Poor lads were heavily laden with their packs and Great-coats, and were nearly running to keep warm. Dawn broke and a glorious day greeted us. Mr. Herrick took charge of us, (his "sigs",) and we set to digging ourselves in, as a tank hunting party. We were supposed to be waiting for "Jerry" to come over the top any moment so things got rather exciting. About midday some of our "Div. Cav." came through and told us they had had a short but lively encounter with the enemy, and in the afternoon we moved back right to the top of Mt. Olympus. Good Friday and what a day, Snow and sleet and freezing cold. It was just plain hell getting our lines of communication down, but finally the boys had the job done. Easter Saturday a party of our "sigs" started out early reeling out by hand the O.P./line, in the snow five miles long and over the top of Olympus. It was a Herculean task, and our maintenance men did a great job. Progress reports came through after each reel had been laid , and by evening I was "through" to the O. Pip. by phone. Mr. Hannah came in at this moment with a great bottle of wine, at least that is what he said it was. After I had my share I was satisfied it was either raw whiskey, or liquid fire, but by heck it was good. Rod and the boys had dug another "hole" and I managed to pinch some railway sleepers on the side of the road to cover it over with, so once more we had a home. Easter Sunday, a beautiful day, and a snow covered ground. Our gunners had been standing too and Jerry had been reported advancing through Katerini. A reconnaissance plane had been about all day and once when he came down too low our Ack Ack Gnrs. took a crack at him and scared him off. We had just got into bed that night, and I was handing over the earphones to Rod when the order came to pack up. Bedlam was let loose again. Round about ten o'clock Mr. Herrick asked me if I would go out with a party to reel in the O. Pip line. What a night, and what a job, I'll never forget it as long as I live. Roy Herrick was splendid and at seven o'clock in the morning we were down on the road again. After a hot mug of tea and biscuits we set sail after the rest of our outfit, and as we left, the 5th Field shooting their Don Troop. At 12 noon we stopped for a spell, and immediately went to sleep, when we woke up about an hour later Mr. Herrick had a meal ready for us. It was very good and very much appreciated by us all. We made good time during the afternoon, and caught up with our Battery, who were resting at a small place just out of "Elasson". Most of the lads were sleeping and overhead, the sky was almost black with Jerry planes, dive bombing Elasson, and machine gunning convoys on the road . In the middle of it all our first mail arrived. Lord knows how or where, but there it was. I had one from Joyce, and a photo, God bless her. We decided to take a trip into Elasson for some smokes and beer, for H.Q. so M1 made the trip. We arrived in the middle of a raid, and found the Aussy Canteen Sergeant and his assistant buried in a slit trench, and a dirty big shell hole right alongside. They were alive, thank heaven, but we didn't get our smokes or beer. The Regiment moved on again during the night and all the next day, arriving at Tempy Pass in the early afternoon. It was a beautiful position for our guns, any amount of cover and good digging. We were very soon all set and ready for action. "Ivan" and "Churchy" were out on the job with the wire and everything seemed set. I had difficulty in contacting Aussy H.Q. who I believed were running the show. The enemy were right ahead and we could see them very well coming down the hill face and through into the villages. Most of their equipment loaded on mules. We were all ready to shoot the Battery off when our O.Pip line went dead as a Dodo. There was hell to pay for a while, and every maintenance man in the outfit was sent out on the job. Rod took over from me on the exchange, and I went out to help as well. We believe, definitely, that it was fifth columnists at work. Admittedly, some of the wire was torn up by our own Bren Carriers. A lot of the wire had been laid over the railway line after permission had been granted by the Aussie H.Q. It had not been in use, and no trains were running. However, some person unknown had an engine running up and down over our communications, and ripped them to hell. By 12 o'clock midnight most of it was repaired again, and I looked about me to wend my way back to our lines. After falling over twice into a ditch of mud, and losing my Jack knife, and pliers, I found the road. All of a sudden, a glaring flash, followed by a series of tremendous blasts, seemed to go off right in my face. The 4th Field were in action at last. I had to make a detour, for I was right in front of our guns, and every time the Battery fired I instinctively ducked my head. I was not long in finding the exchange and my mate was still going strong on the "board". Very shortly Ivan came staggering in closely followed by "Churchy" so we brewed ourselves a good cup of tea, and made some toast on the Primus. The guns still kept up the barrage, so there was no sleep for me or Ron Matheson. "What a night," the noise kept up, and so was everybody else, the exchange, which was a new "job" to us, was going mad, all lights on, and all lines working.
Early dawn and silence. How peaceful everything was. The countryside was at it's best, and looking about, one could not imagine oneself on a battlefield, shortly to become a shambles. Blossoms on snow everywhere, and one or two Diamond Backed snakes sleeping in the sun. Shortly before breakfast, Mr. Hannah payed us a visit, and made sure we were O.K., and then our guns began to bark again. Our gunners were Par Excellence, and targets were hit with repeated accuracy. An Australian Infantry Officer was doing a spot of O. Pip work on our left flank. He was very excited with our shooting, and he made a wonderful job of it until an enemy machine gun put him out of action.
It was about nine thirty when Jerry got our range with light artillery fire and trench mortars. They had a plane overhead observing for them, and their "stuff" was getting to close for comfort. Some of our guns were soon out of action with direct hits. Sergeant Jack Cardnow stopped a piece of shell in the head, and I think was the first man killed. I can't remember the rest of the lads names, but I will never forget them, or the grand fight they made in Tempy Pass. Rod and I moved our exchange during a brief lull, and I got down a small hole I had dug for it, and settled myself down. Fire orders kept coming down, and things were looking pretty glum. The tanks were keeping us busy on one flank, with the infantry pushing across the river and in front on our left flank. Our gunners were changing positions every half hour, but Jerry kept pumping over their "stuff". "Churchy" cracked open a large bottle of Cognac, and Mr. Herrick helped us drink it. It was fire water supreme, but did us good.
About ten thirty orders came for an orderly retreat. We were not long in getting our outfit packed up and on the truck. There was no time, on this occasion, to reel in our wire, and it was left. Gras' pulled the truck up for a moment behind E. Troops G.P., while another plaster of muck came over. We jumped off and lay on our bellies hugging mother earth. I pushed my face into the black soil, just like an Ostrich. I happened to look up for a moment, and saw three lads, running from different directions, and all making for the same small lonely little shell hole. They reached it simultaneously and all took neat "headers" into it. I had to laugh to myself before clambering onto our "bus" again."Gras" made her move along and we hung on like grim death, till we reached our wagon lines about a mile back. They had just been bombed and several trucks were blazing merrily. Sergeant Major Kite was on the spot with two bottles of beer, chocolate, and smokes. Dick, Rod, and myself sat down and drank a bottle, and in the distance we could here the rumble of battle. We had scarcely finished our drink and 45 Stukers came over and dive bombed us. It was just sheer Hell. We scrambled down into a ditch, and I buried my face in the ground again, and pulled my tin hat over me. It never seemed so small before. Thoughts of home, and all my life passed through my mind like a cavalcade. I was scared and partly shell shocked, I think, because I trembled in every limb. However, it was soon over, although it seemed years, it was only an hour. Mr. Marbeck got things sorted out and we moved back another mile. It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when over they came again. This time strafing us with their machine guns. A lot of our lads were killed and wounded during that stunt. I was making my way down a small piece of road, to get some water, and I dropped down on my belly again. I could hear bullets zipping and spitting into the ground all around me, covering me with dirt, and expecting every second to "stop one". When at last they finished their hells work I made my way back to the truck and we made ourselves a brew of tea. Hearing the roar of an engine of some sort in the distance, we looked up fully expecting more trouble, but it was only "Ski-vin" arriving on an Aussy motor bike he had found. He was a great lad for picking things up as spares, and I hope someday to hear he is safe and well.
When it grew dusk, all the M.T. began moving down the road toward Larisa. What a terrible mix up it all was. The Aussies were doing their best to get up front, to bring their infantry out, and we were trying to make a fighting rear guard withdrawal with our guns. The road was just a seething mass of moving M.T. Thank God it was dark, otherwise the Jerry planes would have had a wonderful time.
Our troubles were not over yet! A Don. R. came tearing up the road and told us it was impossible to go through Larisa as "Fritz" was already there. All the M.T. had to be turned about, and it was here, on this stretch of road we abandoned a lot of our stuff. It was a terrible task getting on the road again. Just try and imagine, hundreds of vehicles...
This was the end of page 21 in the diary, page 22 is missing and the story is picked up again from page 23.
...for about thirty six hour. I didn't know then what a day I had ahead of me. There were 7 trucks, 4 New Zealand and 3 Aussie 30 cwts. Mr. Marbeck was towing our one remaining gun. We set off down the road at a break neck speed, stopping at intervals to pick up stragglers who were walking across the hills. We picked up as many as we could, and on our way again. Mr. Marbecks truck leading and our good old M1. close on his tail. We turned off the road and made across a rough track of swamp land covered with crops, to avoid Larisa. It was like running the gauntlet. We were about two miles across, when dead ahead of us, wheels almost touching the ground, were six or seven German bombers. It was a terrible shock to us again, and immediately we stopped, and most of us scattered into the long barley and corn.
Albert Smith, Bom Donaldson, Frank Salmon, Clary Tolchard, and several other chaps whose names I can not remember, happened to be close by me. Keeping low in the long crops we watched the planes hover around and then make off. Imagine our surprise and disgust when on standing up we saw our truck disappearing in the distance. From that moment I was doomed to become a Prisoner Of War, - but I didn't know it. We hardly knew what to do next, and started off in the general direction the trucks had gone. Planes were about all the time, and we had to nearly crawl, trying to keep out of sight. At about eleven o'clock we saw a camp in the distance, and discovered an abandoned aerodrome. The tents were new. On the far side of the landing field Jerry planes were landing and taking off at short intervals, it was rather amazing how we crawled across on our bellies and were not discovered. We reached a farm house on the outskirts of the dome, but the people were frightened and asked us to move on. They gave us food and we trudged on following a little creek. Smith dropped out here saying, "I can't go on". It was a case of every man for himself, most of us were in a bad way, and could not have helped him. (I met him later as a Prisoner Of War).
The creek led us to the edge of a huge swamp, and we could see no way out but try and wade through to the other side. And so we began, six of us I think there were. After an hour steady going we seemed to be making no headway whatever, and we were up to our waists in water. The reeds were high above our line of vision, we were feeling chilled. The millions of frogs croaked on and on. Up above the inevitable Jerry planes. We looked at each other and encouraged ourselves to keep going. Took it in turns to break our way through the mass of stinking weed. After two solid hours of this solid work we came to an opening in this jungle of reeds, and there we found a platform built high and dry. Apparently it was a duck shooting stand. With grateful hearts we clambered up and were soon warming ourselves in the bright sunshine. From here we could see the hills rolling down to the edge of the swamp. It was about a mile away.
We rested for half an hour then decided to push on. It was awful letting ourselves down into the cold water again, it was deeper and up to our armpits. However, the going seemed easier. For an hour more we pushed on. (This may sound like a tall story, but six other chaps can tell you the same). We heard a rustling in the reeds ahead, and our hearts stopped still not knowing what to expect. Suddenly, there appeared a long duck boat, propelled by an old Greek man. He spied us, and we could see the incredulous amazement in his face, perhaps he saw the same in ours. Very soon he had us all aboard. He also had two young goat and a big bundle of onions. These he strewed over the top of us and motioned us to be still. Thank God for that old chap. He probably saved six lives that day. The sun was going down when he landed us. We thanked him the best way we could, and offered him money, which he refused. Creeping up from the water we made for what turned out to be a dusty little donkey road. The first people we encountered were two of our own chaps out of our own troop. Stevens, and "Stack" Hay. They had walked around from a different direction and so arrived as quick as we had. We were glad to see them and so we joined forces and marched on our way, after sunning ourselves dry first.
The diary finished here, but we do know that Frank did make it back to Athens after being separated from the other lads during the journey. He was helped by the Greek people to avoid capture during his long trek back, however he was never able to outpace the speed of the German invasion and was always just behind enemy lines. He missed the last evacuation boat back to Africa by just a few days. Frank stayed in the American embassy while in Athens until captured by the Germans and was shipped off to a Prisoner Of War camp, where he wrote this diary.
