Foggia, Italy. 1943. A group portrait of transport drivers of No. 3 (Kittyhawk) Squadron RAAF, who have driven their trucks from Alamein, maintaining a maximum serviceability throughout. [AWM MEA0837]
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Foggia, Italy. 1943. A group portrait of transport drivers of No. 3 (Kittyhawk) Squadron RAAF, who have driven their trucks from Alamein, maintaining a maximum serviceability throughout. [AWM MEA0837]
Travelling one day in the desert
I was worried and ill at ease
When my motor began to splutter
And I thought she was going to seize.
So I pulled to the side of the roadway
And waited for "workshops" to come
When there leaped, from a yellow wagon,
Three desperate, determined men.
Ah! These were the section's fitters
Armed with spanners and files to the teeth
Who clambered on top of my wagon
And one got underneath.
They probed at various components
In a tentative, hopeful way
But results, by their worried expressions
Were the worst they'd had that day.
Then they hit on a new plan of action
With the requisite tools in their hands
They scattered my motor in pieces
Over the desert sands.
Then they all started in to re-build it
And when they had nearly done
One shot from the drivers cabin
As a bullet shoots from a gun.
There followed a long altercation
Both technical and very profane
It may be only in Hellfire
I shall hear words like that again.
Then they gave me an explanation
And Brother, it sounded grand
But they spoke in such technical language
I just didn't understand.
I treasured the words they were saying
As I treasure their memory yet
And I scribbled them down in my pay book
For fear that I might forget.
And it wasn't till several days later
With the dictionary's skilful use
That I found that the tank of my wagon
HAD SIMPLY RUN OUT OF JUICE.
