About a week later, Sgt Burns gave up command of Bangor, to Captain Randolph S. Churchill son of the Prime Minister. For the two days he was with us, while blending in well with crew activities, the Captain steadfastly, albeit graciously, declined to share Compo Box fare with us. However, when asked what it was like to grow up having such a famous man for a father, he was kind enough to tell us several stories of his boyhood years.
Page Nineteen
Next to assume command of our tank was Captain R. Bowring who had just returned to the Regiment after a temporary absence. During the brief time that our new skipper was with us, he proved to be one of the most interesting people that I was to meet while with the NIH.
The Captain had a great singing voice, often time entertaining us while he was sitting on top of the turret. On finding out that I was from Wallasey with a great interest in ships, we sat and talked for perhaps an hour. Not only was his father a one-time Lord Mayor of Liverpool but was also head of C. T. Bowring & Co. Ltd. Many a time I had seen their
ships, the tanker Regent among them, sailing on the River Mersey bound for a refinery near to Ellesmere Port. He told me that he was pleased to be serving with an Irish Regiment, particularly as the Bowring Shipping Line had adopted the flag of St. Patrick to be that of their house. Unfortunately, a few days later while on his way to a strategy meeting, he was injured when his transport overturned after it had gone off the road. The Captain recovered but, as he was posted to A Squadron, the chance for another conversation never came to pass.
Early Sunday morning, 28th March Bangor her turret repaired, was in action supporting infantry to clear Djebel Abiod of the enemy, during which time I received an insult to my tender persona. While spotting for enemy targets a sniper shattered the binoculars which I was using. Fortunately, other than several cuts on the face and some embedded fragments in my arms and nose, no serious damage was done. Roy expertly removed the debris then, to staunch the flow of blood he liberally painted face and arms with one of the Army's cure-alls - Gentian Violet. Despite Roy's ministrations, a few days later, I awoke drenched in sweat and with painful lumps in my armpits. Despite having faithfully taken the daily dose of Mepacrine tablets I was sure that I was suffering from an attack of malaria, however, after the MO had examined me he said it was not so but hospitalisation was necessary. Cpl Billy Cleghorne, of his Medical Group, then took me to the hospital in Beja where, following tests, the diagnosis was some form of poisoning.
Taking an Enforced Rest
During the stay in hospital, while Sulfa drugs were taking care of things, I was able to enjoy some good food and, most particularly, cups of freshly brewed tea! After five days of treatment, although there was still a small lump in my left armpit, I was discharged for further treatment, as an outpatient, at a hospital that had been established in a Seminary located at Thibar some distance to the west.
I took up "residence" with 'B' Echelon which was laagered in an olive grove about a kilometre from the Seminary. The weather was perfect and, with nothing else to do but stroll to the Seminary for twice-daily treatment, time passed leisurely enough.
