Recollections of Lieutenant Colonel H Hughes RLC
and is included as a tribute to his own memory

“When that chap asked you where you were when Kennedy was shot, he wasn’t accusing you of anything!” Those of us old enough to remember the assassination of President Kennedy will no doubt know that old gag. But all of us will easily remember exactly where we were on September 11 last year. Twin Towers, New York 11 Sep 01 (AP photograph)For myself, a couple of Army chums and I were having a friendly beer with a delightful old ex-patriot called Rogue Barkus at his Happy Valley home in the shadow of Mount Kenya. We’d had a good day and were looking forward to an equally good night in the Mount Kenya Country Club and a game drive the following morning.

In one corner of his drawing-room the television was just bringing the first live pictures of the Twin Towers outrage to us. We sat in disbelief. What we were watching was surreal, monstrous, impossible. Rogue, who had family in New York, contained his anger and shock well and lifted his telephone to call a neighbour, explaining that she didn’t have a television. When his short conversation finished he called over to his wife that ‘Stef’ was coming down. I hardly heard him, engrossed totally with what was happening in New York.

My sense of the bizarre increased when a few minutes later a very beautiful woman, whose face I knew well, walked into the room. She, too, was in confusion and was clearly thrown by the Army combats. ‘What’s happening?’ she asked, sitting down on the sofa beside us. Her hands fluttered to her mouth as we explained in detail the extent of the tragedy that was still unfolding. The second aircraft had already impacted. We offered words of comfort, for she had friends who worked in the World Trade Centre.

As we sat there quietly talking, I was desperately trying to place her. She looked about thirty, but my mind was running back more years than that. And then I had it – Hart to Hart, the old series that all red-blooded males of my age watched with such admiration. It was Stefanie Powers.

Under different circumstances, our meeting would have held more joy. As it was, I quickly realised that we were out of place here, and with a few further words of condolences, we departed, stepping out into the blazing sunlight, each of us subdued with his own thoughts. Leaving those in the house to theirs.

Thank you to Cleft Stick

Recollections of Hugh Jones

Hugh Jones in the Middle East in 1953. We, humans, are programmed to forget, that is a natures way, so no one need to apologise for having a bad memory. I have no notes about my army service, not having kept a diary so I am relying on my fickle memory, but I endeavour to be as accurate as I can after 50 years.

In Korea during the war the air mail would arrive at Kimpo (K9) in the mid morning, from Tokyo I think, curtsy of the Royal Australian Air Force. From Kimpo it was taken into Seoul to the Army Post Office located in a bank in the Forward Maintenance Area.

After sorting the incoming local mail for any miss-sorts meant for the Commonwealth Division. It was off on another milk run. The Commonwealth Division was located 20 miles north of Seoul on the Imjim river where is cuts across the 38 parallel.

Twenty miles may not seem to far a distance to travel when the road to travel is a modern four lane highway, but the Korean roads in those days were in poor shape having to bear the constant and incessant military traffic that never seem to stop, feeding and supplying the United States 1 Corps of which the Commonwealth Division was an important element. That highway was known as Route 3 in those days which we took to Uijongbu, Route 3 continued going to the north east, but we went north on Route 33.

This took us to the Tokchon rail head and the NAAFI road house where there was always a welcome cup and a wad. We then had a choice of two ways of getting the Commonwealth Division rear HQ at Fort George rear. Left through a pass between a hill range which took us the rear echelons, and the rest area for the brigade that was out of the line and, the Widgeon crossing of the Imjim below the 38th. Up stream above the 38th was the Teal crossing. This is the very area of the battle of the Imjim the previous year when the Gloucestershire Regiment was surrounded by 63rd Chinese Army and taken prisoner.

Most times we went directly north to get to the Army Post Office.

While the process of exchanging incoming and outgoing mail, we would have the ‘lunch’ we brought with us. However, there were times when we had to make a side trip to the Canadian army post office at the 25th Canadian Infantry Brigade, then we threw away the lunch we brought with us. When I first went into the Canadian ORs mess the cook asked me:
“How do you want your eggs guy?”
“Eggs?” I said, “Not that powered junk?”.
“No” he said, “Sunny side up or easy over?”
Eggs of course meant plural so I said “Two”. Then I was asked how did I want my steaks. What followed was white bread and butter, plus fresh vegetables.

The Canadian cuisine was a closely guarded secret and it was not realised why there were eager volunteers to go to Commonwealth Division when there was a side trip to the 25th Brigade.

Early in the morning someone had to get up before reveille to meet the EUSAK express (Eighth United States Army Korea) from Pusan, at the Seoul railway station there was a stall giving out free coffee and doughnuts, no limit. That again was a closely guarded secret.

A telegram service was available to anyone who needed to use it. All it took was a trip to a British Army Post Office, I think it might have been 10 words for 1 shillings and 6 pence. (The basic pay for a national service man was 4 shillings a day, this might give some idea of the relative cost of a telegram) Another method was to select numbers, number one might have said “Happy birthday” by choosing a combination of number a sentence might be composed. I do not recall what the cost was.

These telegrams were sent with the mail to Seoul. When all the telegrams of the day had been collected they were then taken to a nice residence in an up class district of Seoul. That was the home and office of Cable and Wireless. There were perhaps four or more technicians there who wore officer’s uniform, but no insignia of rank, just officer status. They relayed the telegrams to Hong Kong. One technician alone could have handled the work load we produced, so I guess they must have been engaged in some other activity, but I have no idea what that might have been.

Our O.C. had the job of taking the mail for the British POWs in North Korea. He took the mail to Pamunjom and with precise timing entered a tent at the same time as a North Korean officer, to meet face to face at a table. Both to salute each other, then exchanged mail bags.

If negotiating between the UN and the Communist were going smoothly the north Korean would be in a good mood. If negotiations were not going well, which was most of the time the North Korean would be downright hostile.

A sapper APO driver was cruising along going about his lawful occasions, perhaps pushing it a little. A god like voice booms at him, “Limey truck pull over” looking out of the rear view mirror a white jeep of the US Army military police can be seen. I seem to remember it was called “Safety Patrol”. Anyway this Limey truck does pullover, then it is seen that this Military Police jeep has a metal pole with a load speaker attached to it. A speeding ticket is issued. The driver of the Limey Truck then takes an interest in the local mail coming from the US Army Post Office, and sure enough there is a notice to our O.C. informing him of the speeding infraction. Some how or other the O.C. never did see the infraction, it got lost.

Myself, I do not think the O.C. would have taken any notice of the infraction, but it is best to be safe than sorry.

A lot of names I have forgotten, some I do recall. Ford, Ferguson, Bailey, Naylor, Napper, Laid law, Miloy, Walton, and Barnard. Not forgetting our Korean houseboat Bak Hyong-Woo and that gentleman of the first order Lt. AB Stuart RE.

All things being equal a British soldier only served one winter in Korea, and seeing that I still had 2 more years to do on my overseas tour I was reposted. Not for me a cushy posting like Hong Kong or Singapore, it was out of the frying pan into the fire so to speak, my destination was Egypt, a pig of a posting, it was active service.

The first place of work was Gordon Barracks Moascar near Ismailia and the Sweet Water Canal. Moascar was the main garrison in the zone, but GHQ was in Fayid.

The Sweet Water canal was anything but sweet, it was the hosts of all kinds of nasties, drink that raw water at your peril. A loaded mail lorry went into the Sweet Water, no attempted was made to sort out the mail bags when they were pulled out, a torch was put to the unopened mail bags.

Whenever an inquiry came through regarding a missing letter or parcel, “It was assumed to have been burnt at the Sweet Water”. After a while it was realised that more mail was assumed lost in the Sweet Water than was in fact lost.

While Moascar we were called upon to do garrison duty which involved practice alerts. When the alarm went off, we would grab our unload rifles jump onto a lorry and be driven to a road bridge over a railway line. That was our duty to protect should the Egyptians try to expel us by force.

During these exercises some officers had white armbands which made them invisible. A sapper on our crew was laying down with his rifle aimed in the firing posture. He was cocking the rifle and putting the trigger “Bang” he would call out. “What are you doing?” asked an invisible officer. “That Egyptian will not lay down” was the reply. So much for defending Egypt from the Egyptians.

After a time at Moascar it was off to RAF Fayid, that was the point in which air mail from the outside world got into the Canal Zone. The postal sorting unit was a combination of postal sappers and Air Force posties. The O.C. and the Sergeant Major were RE. About 50% of the postie crew were RAF.

From RAF Fayid the air mail was taken to Moascar for all units to the north. The milk run was a triple lorry affair during the height of the emergency. The first lorry was an armed escort, two armed guards in the front of the lorry one in the back. The middle lorry carried the mail, all were armed. The third lorry was the same as the first. The Egyptians tactic was to force a lone lorry off the load into the soft sand and shoot it up. There is safety in numbers. Later on when things cooled down it was reduced to two lorries for the mail run.

The next move from RAF Fayid was to the L.of.C Postal Unit in Fanara, mail was received from RAF Fayid for local distribution. The OC of this unit was also responsible for the Postal Unit with “O” Force in Aqaba Jordan. I was asked if I would like to go there as NCO i/c, so with two hooks I went to one of the best posting in my 5 years of army service. My pay went up to a pound a day, plus 4 shillings local overseas allowance, and no need to for a rifle.

A British merchant ship calls into Aqaba and one of its crew is an old postie from HPD. He goes into the APO and ask is Hugh Jones here? I had not see Bill West for 2 or 3 years when he took his discharge from the HPD.

Who knows what the odds are against such an encounter taking place. It was good to see Bill West in my mind he has to be the most Loveable scoundrel London ever nurtured, with a heart of gold. (Are you reading this Bill?)

Mail to Aqaba was twice a week as I recall from RAF Fayid. There was a daily flight from RAF Fayid to RAF Amman the capital of Jordan. A parachute mail drop was introduced for the days when there was no milk run from RAF Fayid.

Most times the drop was routine and on the nose to a maker on the desert floor. One time the drop was an over shoot miles up the wadi (valley) and it took and RAF Anson aircraft to locate it for us. Another time the drop was short and the parachute went in the Gulf of Aqaba, Saudi Arabian waters. That was a right off.

The only other event I recall was when the parachute failed to open. When the container hit the desert floor it bounced back up in the air, perhaps 6 feet, but left a created a crater about two feet. The parachute container was a write-off, but the mail survived. In the batch there was a letter for me from home, with a picture of my sister which I still have, and the picture still has a crease in it from the hard landing.

Soon my 3 year overseas tour came to an end, and also my 5 years in the colours, it was back to Civvy street with the civvy suit from a grateful army given to me.

After 50 years it looks like the government might award a General Service Medal for service in the Suez Canal Zone, by the time this essay appears in print the medal might have been awarded, or once again denied.

Recollections of Maurice L Howard

I was conscripted into National Service on the 4th August 1949, at Cove, Farnborough as I thought and remember as 262 party and was later re-designated 49.15 party, we were in the’ spider’ at the bottom of the passageway and backing onto the railway to Southampton. My number was 22167942.

Being ‘Postal’ after the ‘basic training’ of 4 weeks I was posted to the Army Post Office in Knightsbridge London and 8 Lennox Gdns became my home for 4 weeks, further foot training was the order of the day and we undertook the ‘slow march’ within the sorting office complex supplementing this training at the Chelsea and Horse Guards Barracks.

Our mess was in Belgrave Square, and here I must tell you a little story of about 5 Sappers who after crossing over Brompton Road were approached by a Troop of Household Cavaly, in awe they were transfixed by such a sight, not realising their posture and their requirement to give the officer a salute, well with all that braide who was the officer the leading guy (officer) bringing his hand up to bring his troop to a halt and exhalting ‘Don’t you lot salute officers then?’ Well I ask you? What pertinance!

We were moved to Victoria and Eaton Place until 9th December when on draft we moved to Liverpool and embarked on the Empire Pride – destination unknown in those days – we slipped our moorings in the late afternoon early evening to the strains of ‘Now is the Hour’ by the company of the whole ship, we sailed down the Mersey and into the Irish Sea on the morning of the 10th December, at about 0500 hrs we were bidden over the Tannoy System – those guys wishing to see the last of the U.K. and say their farewells should come up on deck now as the English Coast was fast dissapearing into the merk of a British winter.

Later that day in the Bay of Biscay we were to loose the use of one of the ships engines and so we limped down to Gibraltar at reduced speed. On arrival at Gib. a maintenance crew came on board and repaired the engine. That evening leaving Gib. and entering the Med. we were met by a horrendous storm, the bow of the ship dipping into the waves that were multi story high, the stern coming out of the water and the screw whirring to a crescendo and then crashing back into the water, the ship taking on water down the hatches where the troops quarters were awash, kit being washed from one side of the accommodation and of course the sea sickriess-ofthe guys was to be seen, as we approached Valletta, Malta to be advised over the Tannoy tbat we had experienced the worst storm tbe ship had ever encountered.

We layed-to in Valletta Harbour to have the ship repaired, we sailed a few days later for Suez and I will never understand why we didn’t put into Tobruk and dissembark then, we arrived at Port Said to the announcement that the master of the ship required a clean ship and that we should all dissembark into the Transit Camp there, my first night on foreign soil, not a very happy chappy? What with all the rumours and leg pulling going on I now realise.

In reverse the following day we re-embarked leaving Port Said, the water like a mill pond a reflection of the ship mirrored on the sea we headed at last for Tobruk, but no, the engine decided to pack-up again and we entered stormy conditions again, the ‘Pride’ not being able to enter the natural harbour of Tobruk, it was back to Valletta again where we were allowed shore leave and a few pounds ‘credits’ from our pay, and of course now Christmas Day aboard the ‘Pride’ our eventual dissembarking at Tobruk 28/29 December 1949.

Our arrival at Tobruk amongst all the sunken shipping was a sight to behold, it was said that you could walk across the harbour without getting your feet wet, I would perceive that could have been quite true, we were allocated 10 ton lorry’s in which to climb aboard and commence the next stage of our journey heading into the desert, observing all the brewed-up armour we soon became accustomed to the sight and the novelty of our interest soon disappeared. To arrive at Derna, negotiating the hairpin bends of the Derna Pass, that evening in transit we settled in for the night to reboard our vehicles for the next stage of the journey the following morning which was to take us up the West Pass of Derna, we were struck in awe as we travelled this road that on the other side of the waddy that a road at one time had existed, this road had been blasted out ofexistance for about 3/4 of a mile and laying in the bottom of the waddy(valley) there was all this brewed-up armour laying about. (I learned only last year, while playing bowls and talking to an ‘old soldier’, that the armour was in fact German) to exit this mountain range we arrived at a pass with a pinnacle of rock to the right of the road to enter a plain, the lorry followed a curving right hand bend for about a 1/3 of a mile and there lay this Panzer with its gun still trained on the pass we had just a few moments before travelled through.

We arrived at Benghazi APO (S/247) to the announcement from the Orderly Corporal that we were not wanted at that place and time and that he refused to take us on strength, because of an A5 proforma sextuplet that he would have to prepare just for 2 days, well who could blame him, I wouldn’t either. A note for my record book shows that the homeward journey on the ‘Devonshire’ took just 7 days and was uneventful. Where the outward jouney had taken 21/22 days.

After performing my 3 years with the N/S reserve and about 7 years later I re-enlisted into the T&AVR (Postal and Courier) for which I undertook 13 years with the Reserve and received a Medal of Proficiency, performing duties in Mill Hill Barracks, Dusseldorf, SHAPE at Mons and NATO in Brussels. Our exercises were always of interest and the use of helicopters for Courier work became the norm. providing a network of services to our forces in Germany and the Low Countries and all those countries associated with NATO. I resigned with the rank Sergeant and am now currently – A Life Member of Royal Engineers Association. I attended the 5Oth Anniversary of National Service Royal Engineers at Brompton Barracks where about 4,000 men were ‘On Parade’ I hope that in my attending I somehow represented those who were unable to attend and be’On Parade’ What a splendid Corps! ! !

More recently and last year it has been my honour to observe in our Nominal Roll of the Posthorn that Mr John Corrigan is now a member of the association John as WO II of No 9 L. of C. greeted us at Benghazi APO our correspondence shows and confirms that he had on just one or two accasions had been chased across the Libyan Desert by Rommel.

In March/April 1950 the occasion of 48/15 party embarking for de-mob and a vacancy occuring in the Postal Orderly Room, I volunteered for the post, no I couldn’t type and I had no experience of book keeping or knowledge of filing systems, and under his guidance and instruction I persevered and I have been doing secretarial work ever since now being secretary of my local Bowling Club, thanks to John his kind of discipline has remained with me the whole of my life and it is to his honour that I owe him this kind of respect.