EYE-WITNESS ACCOUNT WITH THE NEW-ZEALANDERS IN GREECE

Korero (AEWS), Volume 2, Issue 11, 5 June 1944, Page 12

EYE-WITNESS ACCOUNT WITH THE NEW-ZEALANDERS IN GREECE

Withdrawal to the Coast and Evacuation

By a New Zealand Medical Orderly

Crowded, cramped, utterly weary, and uncomfortable as they were while the long convoy raced on, there was still spirit enough in the men to crack a joke, and to wonder profanely how Jerry was liking the carefully prepared traps set for him. Athens was reached once more, its streets dark and deserted, then on and on interminably. All lights went out. Not evena cigarette glowed. Some time after midnight we became suddenly aware that something was amiss. The convoy stopped. Behind us a heavy truck pulled up with its fender touching our tailboard. Behind that again we knew, though we could not see, there were more trucks “ nose to tail ” almost endlessly. Plainly we could hear above the sound of brakes and idling engines the mutter of gruff voices inquiring, speculating, cursing the delay. After a stop, which seemed endless, the vehicle ahead melted into the darkness. We were moving, but at a snail’s pace, in fits and starts, a few yards at a time. Then trucks began to roar past us, going back the way we had come. Ahead, with infinite trouble in the narrow roadway, the transport was turning about. Someone complained bitterly “ Another b muck-up ! ” Shortly before dawn the convoy halted and dispersed among olive groves. It was Sunday, and Greek civilians were early astir. They came to stare curiously at us, strolling couples, little groups of family folk out perhaps on their way to Mass. I set to work at once to dig in, as did all the others, in the shade of a convenient tree. A little old workman touched me on the shoulder. “ Why do you do that ?” he asked, " You will kill the tree. The Germans, they will not come here. They could not.” It wasn’t possible to desecrate such peace, such beauty. And

looking at the green loveliness of the richly fertile gardens about us it did not seem possible to me either. This was no battlefield. The crops, the strolling peasant people in their ones and twos and their family groups, the smell of fresh turned earth, all spoke of peace. But I dug my trench. From the time I dropped asleep lying full length in a narrow grave-like hole with little streams of soil trickling in on me until there was a sudden stir and a barking of orders about midday seemed only a moment. “ Moving out at once,” snapped an N.C.O. “ You’ve got to march to a beach and wait till dark.” Orders were given to destroy the vehicles. Men were smashing gear with picks and heavy hammers. So this was the last stage. The end of the campaign in Greece. It was a relief at least to know, but why must we move in broad daylight ? As the first long files of men began to march away the story was passed from man to man that the enemy was entering Athens. We were in danger of being cut off, and must at all costs make contact with an embarkation point. No sooner had the men begun to move than the air was filled with the roar of engines, and out of the sky a long line of black shapes came diving, screaming, towards us. Messerschmitts 1 I thought of the old Greek peasant and his quiet conviction that the peace of his lovely countryside could not be broken. Above our heads was an inferno of noise with the deadly uproar of almost continuous machine-gun fire dominant above it all. The first attack broke into a series of many. The air seemed full of hostile craft. Every few moments would come a burst of firing. Ahead of us, but out of sight, the Luftwaffe was still attacking when we moved off again, hurrying from cover to

cover, watching alertly for any sign of the enemy’s return. It did not seem like a retreat to the beach, more like an advance under fire towards a front line. We would cover a few yards and then have to drop flat as planes dived, on again for a few more yards, down again among the grape-vines waiting for an attack to pass, then forward once more. The midday heat, too, was a severe test. for tired, heavily laden men, and before long , the heaviest equipment had to be discarded. One soldier rested for a while to play a last tune on a fine pianoaccordian which he could carry no further. We passed through a small village which the planes had machine-gunned a a few minutes before. The population did not appear at all afraid, for they stood at their doors to watch us go by men, and even women and children —in silence as a rule, but sometimes there would be a cheery word and a wave of the hand. Twice we passed homes where the whole family had turned out to form a bucket brigade, working furiously to rush cold water from the wells in their yards to the thirsty men. It seemed as though that march would never end. All day the enemy planes were on the attack, and though the particular area in which we were was often free from their attentions they were always to be seen or heard not very far away. From time to time we had to rest, but as long as the light lasted we were constantly under fire or threat of fire. It is important to realize that at the time it was not the actual military situation that concerned us, but the situation as we believed it to be. There may have been some considerable difference in actual fact. Even now we do not know for certain. However that may be, as those long lines of men, sweating, parched with thirst, pressed on under a burning sun, on and on, under threat of death from the air every moment of the day, this is the story that, passing from man to man, was generally believed. That morning, when the convoy had been laboriously turned right-about, we had avoided, by the skin of our teeth, a Nazi parachute troops’ ambush. Ahead of us in the darkness they had been

waiting, holding a bridge which we would have had to cross. Behind us, advance German armoured units were pouring along the road we had just travelled. The enemy land forces were behind and before, advancing nearer every moment and threatening our line of retreat to the beach. We believed ourselves to be in a tight corner, and it seemed highly probable that desperate fighting would be necessary before the withdrawal could be completed And always there was the Luftwaffe, hunting, harrying with machine-gun and cannon, seeking to terrify with screamers and bombs. The New-Zealander’s skill at taking cover to the best advantage must have exasperated the enemy. It certainly resulted in his achieving the minimum of result for the effort expended . As we neared our objective the illusion of approaching a battlefront became always sharper. Ahead was the thunder of bursting bombs. Every now and again a German plane could be seen swooping up and down the sides of the hills, so low that it appeared to be touching the ground, raking the valleys with fire. Over the road ahead hung a great pall of black smoke. From a nearby field came the fierce crackle of flames telling where incendiaries had set the ripening grain crops ablaze. On the side of the road on which I was we came often across little patches

and lines of charred ground. The scarred sides of a large concrete culvert showed where a diving, low flying plane had sent a burst of armour piercing bullets right along its length. A low clay bank along one side of a track had been swept with fire so that there were patches and lines of churned-up earth. All along the road

were burning vehicles, vehicles smashed and filled with holes, tributes to enemy marksmanship. Once we passed a small-arms-ammunition truck which was blazing fiercely, its load exploding in tremendous rattles of “ firing ” while spent shells whined in the air and thudded into the ground round about like a heavy shower of hail. We lost count of time as the withdrawal continued. Never have I known a day to seem so long. Without arms we medical folk —there was a bare halfdozen of us together by this time, the others having taken a different route — felt helpless, dismayed. There seemed to be nothing we could do, we had no equipment, and we had lost the unit to which we had been attached. In the meantime, however, some of our party were doing valuable work. We heard later how they had attended seriously wounded men under the most difficult circumstances. Two of them were working in a damaged truck when enemy planes again began to machine gun the road : but they carried on efficiently throughout the attack. Later in the afternoon we ’ passed a nest of our own machine-gunners ready for action. They expected the enemy to attempt a breakthrough. “ But,” they said, “ he’ll have a b hard job.” The gunners were in excellent spirits, smiling, cracking a joke or two, but grimly confident. There were tanks in the village we had left a bare half-hour before, sheltering under the protection given by our refusal to fire on civilians, they said.

Even as we passed them our artillery began pounding away at the roads beyond the village. At last we regained contact with our adopted unit. We found them digging in, preparing to make, should it be necessary, a desperate last stand which would enable the main party to escape. In a dry river-bed we found a shelter, for it seemed that all we could then do was to await events —attack when we would go into action as stretcher bearers, or the time for withdrawal to the sea. There was no attack, however, and when the coming of darkness brought safety from the Luftwaffe the last steps in the last stage began. The danger was by no means over, however, and one unit, ours, was detailed to form a rearguard while the remainder marched back to the beach. The company with which we medicals were was set to straddle the road in reserve of the remainder of the battalion. To us it seemed rather a strange anomaly for unarmed men to be waiting there a few yards in the rear of a rifle company also waiting tensely in the darkness, weapons ready, crouched in the scant shelter of irrigation trenches and behind trees in anticipation of a possible attack. If the day had seemed long, that night of waiting beside the road was an eternity. Company after company, group after group of men, marched past us. Hours were centuries, minutes years, as we waited, waited, waited, unable to sleep, yet fatigued beyond measure. At last our turn came, and we marched a few yards down the road to a point where it branched. Here again we waited. Time dragged by unbearably. Groups marched away into the blackness, under the guidance of naval officers, and clearly in the silence we could hear the welcome sounds of the sea, and at long irregular intervals the rhythmic throbbing of engines. Between us and the enemy there were only the ready rifles of our own men now that and bluff, for it seemed that not knowing what we had in store for him he dared not come on until daylight. Some one passed the word that the naval authorities had declared that they would have to pull out at a certain hour, whether we were

on board or not. The named hour approached, and was passed, and still we waited, waited, waited. Waited until we began to plan with despair how we would disperse into the hills in twos and threes when daylight came, hoping to take our chance and perhaps find our own way of escape. By this time only a handful of men remained, and we knew that absolute zero hour for embarkation was near. It was the darkest hour before dawn, both metaphorically and in fact, when at long last the efficient hand of the Navy turned to us, and we began to move, quickly, silently, down the last stretch of road to the beach. With smooth efficiency we were packed on to fishing-boats, barges, and a great variety of small craft, and soon, growing swiftly closer, we could see through the blackness the welcome shapes of British ships of war. For the particular craft on which I had found a perch there was still a moment of anxiety before we reached final safety aboard a destroyer, there was a strong wind, and our ancient craft was so heavily laden that she proved most difficult to manage. Three times we circled the destroyer before coming near enough to clamber abroad. Once a ship’s officer, hailing us through a megaphone, shouted impatiently “ Do get alongside at once ! If you don’t we will have to go without you ! ” It was a tense minute or two while we made our final attempt. If we missed this time there would not be “ another try.” We would have to stay behind. But this time there was no mistake, and with the most wonderful feeling of relief in the world we scrambled on to decks of steel.

Even as we were being taken to spaces where we could spend the few remaining hours of night the ship began to move, and before long we were racing out to sea at over 40 knots. It is useless for me to prate about the deeds of the Navy, to which so many of us owe our lives, for if you have not already been told the story there is something radically wrong. It was beyond the powers of human endeavour for men to have done more for us than those naval men did that night. The ship’s doctor and his orderly worked like Trojans attending our wounded, while for those who suffered only from a weariness greater than ever they had known before the galley staff worked unceasingly. So it was that we left Greece to land in Crete, where for a time there was respite, but where later the worst of the fighting took place. This part of the story, however, does not concern me, for my unit went straight to Egypt, and our small party rejoined them before the Nazi invasion took place. What we did see of Crete made it seem a very pleasant place, a semi-tropical island paradise. We did not at that time dream how soon Paradise was to be changed to Hell. After landing from the destroyer we had a memorable march to a reception station, where rations and much-needed hot drinks were waiting, then on again to a bivouac camp among the olivetrees not far from a pleasant stream. We had just time to see something of the beauties of the island before the time came to leave for Egypt, where a heatwave and sandstorms at their worst gave an ironical welcome.