A STAR FOR THE REGIMENT

John.  Strawson

In November 1943 the Regiment was at Beni Yusef camp, not far from Mena and the Giza pyramids.  We had just finished re-equipping with Sherman and Honey tanks, had mastered the intricacies of new engines, guns and radios, had exhaustively practised tactical manoeuvres, and were daily expecting a call to action.  Just before noon one morning, as we troop leaders - the military day being over - were on the point of leaping into an open 15cwt truck and driving to Gezira Sporting Club for luncheon and some sporting fixture, the call appeared to come.

 The Squadron Sergeant-Major, pregnant with news, doubled to the vehicle.  We had frequently observed him making others double - including even ourselves on those mercifully rare occasions when the squadron leader's ire bubbled over into an order for a subaltem's drill parade - but never before seen him execute so undignified a movement himself.  'Excuse me, Sir.  The Squadron Leader's compliments and will you all attend a conference in his office at 2 o'clock. 1 think we must be on the move, Sir.' There was an illconcealed glint of anticipation in the Sergeant-Major's eye.  Apart from his devotion to C Squadron, which was absolute, drinking Stella beer in the Sergeants' Mess, seeking unlikely Cyprians in forbidden streets of Cairo and knocking out Mark 111 and IV Panzers were, as far as 1 knew, the only four pastimes that he cared about.  For the last he had already been awarded the DCM.  What decorations he had earned for the other three, 1 knew not.  But it was probable that several months stationed near Cairo had promoted an excessive indulgence in the first three, and denied him all opportunity for the fourth.

At 2 o'clock the 'O' group duly assembled in the squadron leader's little hutted off-ice.  Present were the Squadron Leader himself, the Second-in-Command, five troop leaders, the Squadron Sergeant-Major, Squadron Quartermaster-Sergeant and the Transport Sergeant.  The last named had two favourite words which interlarded almost every sentence he uttered.  The first he shared with many other men in uniform and needs no elucidation or iteration here, but was the cause of such complaint by a sensitive member of the Transport Troop that the Squadron Leader was obliged to remind this driver that he was not running a Kindergarten.  The other word, also not exclusively his, but less common, manifested itself in the Sergeaiit's constantly expressed intention of 'gripping' somebody or something.  If an ordered vehicle arrived late, he could be relied upon to 'grip' the driver; if at guard mounting a trooper's boots fell short of perfection, he too, and his boots, would be 'gripped'; if again, any of his men allowed their hair to exceed what he regarded - and his standards were severe - as the very minimum to adorn the crown of the head, then they would be marched off to the regimental barber and 'gripped' there.  When he used the word he would bare and grind his teeth as if to suit the action to it, as if in fact these same molars would be actively employed in the dread process.

The Squadron Leader's news was milder than the Sergeant-Major had led us to suppose.  A party of VIPS, unnamed but unquestionably important, would be arriving at Mena House llotel during the next few days in order to confer together, and we, that is the Regiment as a whole., had been given the great honour of guaranteeing their security from the desert flank.  The three sabre squadrons and the reconnaissance troop were to deploy appropriately and to ensure that no vehicles or men infiltrated towards the hotel from the desert.  Closer guards were being provided by Military Police and an infantry battalion.

 We were to be in position by last light that night and would remain on guard for six or seven days according to the conference's progress.  All details as to locations, movements, reliefs, passwords, setting up headquarters, wireless net and watch, replenishment, orders for opening fire and so on were then given out.  Only at the last moment of the conference did the Squadron Leader tell us who one of the VIPs was to be - the Colonel of the Regiment, and as it happened, Prime Minister, First Lord of the Treasury, Minister of Defence Winston Churchill himself.  'If anyone tries to get at Winston,' I heard the Transport sergeant growl as we filed out of the Squadron Leader's office, 'I'll grip 'im'.

 The guard duty was tedious.  Each troop was given a sector to watch by day, well out in the desert, and a much tighter perimeter to patrol on foot at night.  Two hours on, four hours off, for six long days and nights.  How bored we got, scanning the same sector of the desert through binoculars, patrolling the same bit of wire.  No sign of Winston; no sign of anything.  Yet our spirits were kept up by the thought that somewhere behind us the Colonel of the Regiment was planning the next stage of his Mediterranean strategy - deciding perhaps where we ourselves would next come face to face with 90th Light or 21't Panzer Division.  Churchill had already visited the Regiment twice during the Middle East campaign.  Would we see him this time?

At first it seemed not.  The VIP meeting broke up; Churchill went to Teheran.  There was no news either of his coming to see us or what the Regiment was to do next.  We returned to our routine of training, going for a hack on the Veterinary Corps' horses at Abassia and playing bridge at Gezira.  Then suddenly on 1" December immediately after morning parade there was another conference for troop leaders.  Winston Churchill was to inspect the Regiment in two days time.

 Parades are usually the prerogative of the Adjutant and the Regimental Sergeant-Major, once the Commanding Officer has laid down a broad outline.  But on this occasion., with so little time for so important an affair, preparations took on the atmosphere of a proper military operation.  Reconnaissance for a suitable site was followed by a formal giving of orders including plans for a rehearsal on a different - stretch of desert, so that the actual one would not be disturbed by tank tracks.  The actual site was a beautifully smooth part of the desert not far from the Giza pyramids.  What a back-cloth!  The Regimental Sergeant-Major, who had never really been happy since the horses went, was in ecstasy.  Never had he had so majestic a parade ground to play with.  The customary precautions were taken.  Whitewashed stones took up their positions to mark those points where each tank would halt and where each commander would stand.  A marquee rose up so that the Colonel could 'take refreshment' if he wished.  Pride of the RSM's heart - a saluting dais, which he had long cherished for just such a purpose, was transported to its place.  In spite of all these arrangements, the form of the parade, in order that the Colonel should not be overtaxed, was very simple.  He would arrive, stand at the saluting base, receive a General Salute, inspect the Regiment, address us if he so wished, and depart.  We should have known, knowing him, that it would not be quite like that. 

The day dawned.  The parade was to be fairly early to avoid the sun's heat.  At 8 o'clock the Regiment was lined up by squadrons with Regimental HQ on the right of the line.  It was a magnificent sight.  About eighty tanks in two lines, officers and men at 'Crews front', transport lined up behind the tanks, also with commanders and crews.  Every officer and man wore a new battledress, some sporting a Military Cross or Military Medal; most unadorned, in spite of having seen a good deal of desert fighting, and thereby hung a tale, shortly to be told.  The Regimental flag flew bravely by the saluting base.  All was ready.

A posse of staff cars escorted by Military Police swung in from the Cairo-Alexandria road and drove across the hard sand towards us.  A familiar figure alighted and was shown to his position on the dais.  With him were a bevy of generals, ADCs and his daughter, Sarah.

'4 th Hussars - AttenSHUN!' rang out the Commanding Officer's order.  'General SALUTE.' Greeting formalities over, the Commanding Officer reported to the Colonel, and together with the entourage accompanied him down the ranks.  We saw him close to, some of us for the first time - Winston, the Prime Minister, leader of the nation, champion of freedom, and our Colonel, wearing our uniform and our cap-badge.  Every man's heart glowed within him.  Winston stopped here and there to have a word with the soldiers, but his first question to the Commanding Officer was a facer.  'Why is the Regiment not wearing the Africa Star?'

Consternation!  When, during any inspection of this sort, a really difficult, an unanswerable question is put, it is passed on from one hanger-on to another until the most junior of all is reached; on him, the one least likely to know, may hang the reputation of all.  In this case our Commanding Officer initially reversed the process by referring it to the General Officer, Commanding British Troops in Egypt, senior military member of Winston's party.  He drew blank.  On it went to the Commander, Cairo Area, then to a Colonel of the General Staff, finally to a deputy assistant adjutant and quartermaster general, in short a mere major on the staff at the end of the line.  His reply was short and entirely to the point.  'They haven't been issued yet.' When this information had been relayed back to the great man he looked far from pleased, but continued with the inspection.

When this was over, he returned to the front of the Regiment, climbed on to the bonnet of a jeep, and with an all-embracing gesture motioned to us to gather round.  No orders were required.  Asonemanwemassedroundhisjeep.  Thenthewordscametumblingout-how proud he was to see us in such splendid array, geared for battle, so demonstrably ready to go to Italy (it was the first confirmation of what we had been guessing) and take up the struggle again, how we would then win more fame for the Regiment, how he would assuredly visit us again there (he did!) and how he relied on us to reinforce 8'h Army's renown as one of the most valiant in British arms.

Then came a surprise - not just for us; most surprised were the GOC, Egypt and his staff when Winston announced that in connection with the Sth Army he had given instructions that the ribbon of the Africa Star would be on the tunics of those members of the regiment entitled to it by tomorrow morning.  No doubt the DAA and QMG's face fell, but we did not notice it.  Our eyes were glued to the Colonel's face.  He ended.  The Commanding Officer called for three cheers.  They must have been heard in Alexandria.  But Winston's surprises for the day were not over.  He then blandly announced that he had asked the Commanding Officer whether the Regiment would now march past, and his re uest had been ted.

Three hurried 'O' groups - the Commanding Officer and his squadron leaders; squadron leaders and their troop leaders; troop leaders and their tank commanders.  The orders given, all crews were once more in front of their tanks, the order 'Mount', a signal to start up, and a radio message to begin.  So, unexpected and unrehearsed, we marched past the Colonel.  As each tank passed him on the saluting dais, up went each tank commander's hand in salute.  Gravely and formally Winston returned each salute, until towards the end of the line one of C Squadron's tanks went by.  All C Squadron's tanks had been named after English villages, and on the side of this one painted in foot high capital letters was - CHURCHILL, name of the Somerset village.  No formal salute from the Colonel this time, but the V sign.

    After the tanks had returned to their positions, the Colonel did 'take refreshment' in the marquee, met the officers and Warrant Officers of the Regiment, and after, took his leave.  What a day it had been; but it was not over yet.  When we got back to the camp, a dramatic signal awaited the Adjutant.  It was from one of the many pundits in GHQ and read: 'A team of seamstresses will arrive at Beni Yusef camp this evening at 2200 hours to sew the Africa Star medal ribbon on tunics of all the ranks entitled to wear it.' It was clear that a more or less universal ' gripping' of the Staff had taken place, since almost all branches of it were involved.  The Adjutant General's department kept the records; the Military Secretary was responsible for honours and awards; the Royal Army Ordnance Corps, who actually held and issued medal ribbons - and no less than forty yards of it were needed since most of the Regiment were desert veterans - came under the Quartermaster General; and the General Staff were the great co-ordinators.

 On the whole the officers, sergeants and men took kindly to having medal ribbons sewn on to their uniforms by a team of not ill-looking and largely French speaking seamstresses.  One or two future rendezvous were arranged.  C Squadron Sergeant-Major was very active in inspecting all barrack huts and thus all seamstresses during the operation, although the

 Transport sergeant was heard to announce that he would personally 'grip' any member of his troop who laid a finger on 'one of them bints with needles'.  

  Who else but the Colonel could have done it?  What a star turn he was!  How unforgettable had his visit been!  And next time we saw him, we would be about to battle our way through the Gothic Line in northern Italy and so grip another star for the Regiment.