DOWN TO THE SEA IN SLIPS
There was a military band playing some where. I could hear it as plain
as day. As I lay on the ground
and listened to it, I thought I had never heard a band as good as this
one.
The instruments seemed to be getting further away but the big drum was
pounding as loud as ever
and finally the instruments faded completely away. Now only the bass
drum was pounding ever louder in my ears until it got to the stage where
I hoped it would go away because it was getting unpleasant. I felt like
I had been asleep for a long time and as I laid still and explored my dry
mouth with my equally dry tongue,it occurred to me that there was no band
and the big drum thumping was actually my heart beating.
At each "boom" of the drum or my heart, my head seemed to
enlarge like some kid blowing up a
balloon. Then it would shrink ready for the next blast of air. The only
trouble was, each beat was accompanied by surges of pain, to my eyes, head,
jaw and neck.
I wasn't aware of my body and a horrible thought passed through my mind.
What if my head has
been blown off?--because now I could make out shapes, and I was beginning
to focus my eyes, but I could feel nothing else. Then I thought, that was
a stupid thought because I would not be seeing this now if my head was
off.
I could make out lots of tall trees with something moving in the distance.
Just keep still, was my first
thought. But there aren't any tall trees on Crete, was my next thought.
Then I wondered if perhaps I was dreaming because it occurred to me that
there were no tall trees where I had been lying. That's right, I had been
lying under a bush watching a motorcycle and sidecar coming toward me.
Having unseated the two occupants, I remembered a hefty bang on the head
and seeing lots of pretty lights. It felt as though some one had hit my
tin hat with one of those mallets you see at the fairground, where a beefy
guy pays the attendant then gets a mallet and whacks this peg--and it in
turn sends a weight sliding up a rod to ring a bell at the top, that is,
if the bloke hit it right in the first place.
I pondered what could have happened. Someone had rung my bell alright.
Every time I tried to
move it, I heard ding dong very loud. If it had been a bomb I would
have heard it coming down. Come to think of it, there had been a droning
noise very high up in the sky. No it was not a bomb, nor a mortar round
because I would have heard either. The only thing I could accept was it
could have been a German sniper. That would fit too because he would cover
for the motorcycles. If the bullet had been a fraction more to the right
there would have been a round hole in my tin hat but the shoulder of the
bullet must have hit and then it glanced off. Funny thing, when I was a
kid someone used to say to me "who's a lucky boy then?"
Now I was aware that I was rubbing one of my thumbs against my first
finger and was overjoyed to
find I could move. In moving I began to sweat. Then I remembered the
movement I had seen among the trees so I was still again and realised now
that what I thought I saw were not trees at all but grass stalks so close
to my eyes that they had indeed looked like trees. I laid very still with
my heart pounding because now I could see two blokes and they were coming
in my direction. I also suddenly found out I could not move my head. When
I tried it was very painful on my neck. So I stayed still and closed my
eyes and played dead.
It was hot, I did not feel up to scratch, I was wet through now with
sweat and that could give me
away because the dead don't sweat, but now I could hear them muttering
and as they got nearer still it suddenly dawned on me they were conversing
in English. The two blokes turned out to be Australians and although I
had kept still, I was spotted by one of them and they came over and one
of them said something like "strike a bloody light mate, you look
bloody awful!"
They helped me get up, and it was then I realised I had something wrong
with my mouth. It would
not close like it used to and it hurt like hell. Also, as I was getting
up, the side of my face was stuck to the ground with dried blood, so I
had twigs and grass on the side of my face. They brushed some of the rubbish
off and found my tin hat. It had a big dent in it and was now useless.
One bloke reckoned I had been hit the day previous because the blood
had had time to dry hard.
"Try and keep the flies off yer face till we get to the beach mate--then
we can clean yer up."
We got to the beach and I cannot honestly remember how we got there.
All I know is that I put my
rifle and ammo on a rock and waded into the sea. As I sank down into
the water I was reminded of the village blacksmith making a horseshoe.
As he grasped the red hot metal with a pair of long tongs he would dunk
the iron shoe into a trough of cold water and it would go "scheeeeeeeeee"
and a cloud of steam would rise into the air. I ducked my head under two
or three times and with the soaking the rubbish came off my face. As I
came out of the water one of the Aussies had cut the tail off my shirt
and he said, "Here'ya mate, this'll keep the bloody flies off'n yer."
Then we moved under some rocks for cover, as we realised we could be seen
on the beach from a long ways off.
A couple of blokes begged me to give them ammo as they had none, so
I gave them a bandolier
each because they said they were going into the hills to fight. They
had a good argument in that I was not really in a fit state to be wandering
round on my own. I would fall down sometimes for no reason. When I sat
down that night I had only what was in the magazine, I think it was four
rounds. Someone said to me as I walked past him on the beach, "g'day
mate, y'know yer slip's showin," because my shirt with the tail now
missing was always hanging over my shorts instead of being tucked in.
One bloke gave me a hardtack biscuit, and without thinking I stuck it
into my mouth, intending to
bite a bit off but as the pain shot through my jaw. I now realised I
had a new problem. How do I eat? For the rest of that day I had lost all
interest in food. "Keep drinking," was some advice offered and
this was no problem as there was plenty of fresh water. Two days later
one bright bloke came up with "I don't know why you don't do as the
locals do, soak it in water and drink it like soup." I could have
hugged him, as I was thinking of snuffing it due to lack of vitals. Well
it worked or I would not be writing this now. And if perchance that bloke
should happen to read this now, I would say to him "God bless yer
mate, yer blood's worth bottling!" (Sorry but it does rub off on one,
when one has been in Aussie for thirty years.)
Gradually the number of blokes on the beach increased. There were a
few Navy, quite a few
Australian. One bloke who stood out was one of our officers, a Major
McNab. He did not pull rank on anyone, but we did listen when he spoke--force
of habit maybe. We had to scrounge what food we could get and you wouldn't
believe some of the stuff we ate. We had lookouts posted to warn us of
danger from the ground and the air, because a Stuka could be upon us before
we could take cover. This applied mainly to the wounded. We moved them
permanently to caves or under overhangs where an aircraft could not see
them.
One of the blokes tried to repair one of the beached T.L.C.s (tank landing
craft). The plug was
pulled on that project when a Stuka put a bomb through the bottom of
it, so the now disenchanted but more determined blokes scavenged off it
what was useable to repair another one that was hidden in a cave. That
one got back to Tobruck.
Next night a large aircraft flying low swept over the beach and because
it was dark we didn't know
what it was. We waited to hear the scream of bombs but someone suddenly
shouted, "he's signalling!" But before any one could read it
he was gone, and we hoped he would come back but he didn't. The more optimistic
among us suggested he was trying to tell us a submarine was on the way
from Alexandria, but most seemed to think the navy would not risk sending
a sub because of the Stuka threat.
Others thought if one did come it would have to be at night. With this
in mind we all slept cheek by
jowl, so if a sub did come we could wake the next bloke without making
a noise because of German snipers. This way we could all be quietly taken
off by a small boat to the sub and Jerry would be none the wiser. The sub
did not come that night and as I sat on the sand it was cold. It was silent
except for the surf pounding the beach but we kept a watch all night.
The next day a bloke came dashing up the beach to report a bloke who
had two sheep and that he
would sell us one. Would we like to go and negotiate?
