'Is you Bernado?'
I did not have a clue what the Sergeant Major was on about and answered,
'No sir.' He was looking at me rather oddly and I wondered if he believed me.
'Can you drive?'
'Yes sir.'
'Good, then you can drive my jeep.'

I couldn't believe it - I shuddered; the prospect of sharing a vehicle with the Sergeant Major from Haifa in Palestine to Shaiba in Iraq, was daunting. The Company had been busy packing the Lorries ready for the move for days, and this development was entirely unexpected. I went looking for his jeep - I knew that from that point on it was my job to see it had petrol, oil and water.

The NCO in charge of transport, Sergeant Hackett, who had years of army experience was smiling. He always smiled, asleep or awake he smiled as he planned mayhem, pillage and massacres. I enquired about the Sergeant Major's jeep and told him I was his driver. His smile changed effortlessly into a wolfish snarl as he spat out,
'Ere stick this No.1 on the old sods jeep, he's first vehicle in the convoy I 'ope he gets shot, you too. If I had my way I'd do it for the pleasure.' He looked at me and asked, 'anything else?'
'One thing sergeant.'
'Yes?' I made ready for a quick exit and asked.
'Where is your esprit de corps sergeant?'

I ran as he made to grab a spanner which missed me by inches. I could hear him swearing and cursing from a long way off. I made certain our paths did not cross for the rest of the day. His assistant, a nervous Lance corporal, who stammered, knowing I needed to check the jeep for the journey, sought me out and pointed out the Sergeant Majors jeep which I retrieved when Hackett was otherwise occupied.

Sergeant Hackett's remark about being first vehicle in the convoy struck a chord; terrorists usually took a pot shot at the first target they saw and then disappeared. At seventeen, I was too young to die. The Sergeant Major was old – thirty five at least, and had fought in North Africa and Burma. I hoped some of his ability to survive would rub off on to me during our journey. I was busy checking the jeep when I heard the Company Runner calling for Bernado. I called him over.
'Are you Bernado - the Sergeant Major's driver?'
'I'm the Sergeant Major's driver but my name is not Bernado. Tell him will you?'
'YOU must be joking mate,' he gasped, 'he'd bloody kill me. You are to report right away as he wants to inspect the vehicle.' He sat down on an ammunition box then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. I saw him draw heavily on his cigarette as he collapsed coughing and wheezing, his head hidden in a cloud of smoke. I drove the jeep and parked a few yards outside the Sergeant Major's tent. Seeing me arrive he emerged, he walked around the vehicle and said,
'Check the oil, petrol and water.' I did so in his presence and he was satisfied. I had, unwittingly, left my old school world atlas which I had been looking at earlier, in the jeep. I used it to work out how far Iraq was from Haifa but without knowledge of the route we were to take, I only had a vague idea. He picked it up and asked,
'Is this yours?'
'Yes Sir.'
He opened the atlas and spread it on the jeep's dusty sun baked bonnet, and said,
'Wait there,' he went to his tent and came out with the instructions he'd received on the route we were to take. He studied the atlas and the route instructions for a while, and then suddenly he said.
'Stupid bastard,' I found later he was referring to Captain Wot! Wot! – so called as he ended each comment he made with, What! What! He turned to me and asked,
'May I keep this atlas for a while? You'll get it back don't worry.'

'Later I discovered he'd held a hurried conference of all the NCOs' when the route was changed. Section sergeants, hurriedly got to grips with their sections and told us the time of departure had been brought forward to 07.00hours the following morning. Thankfully all the Officers had opted to fly from Lydda to Shaiba. I was cleaning the sand and dust from the inside of the jeep when I was joined by Russel, a friend and the only other Welshman in the Company. Russel had a first in Law from Aberystwyth but had sworn me to secrecy. His one ambition was to be sent home and in one piece – he hated the army.
'Just imagine,' he once said, ' if I were commissioned - I would have use the same Mess as Wot Wot and that bloated hysteric of a Padre. What could be worse, especially as I'm a strict Baptist?'
Russel had successfully managed to convey the impression he was semi - literate and had been allocated menial work as an assistant to the Armourer.
He told me, 'I enjoy the work, and it's not strenuous. Think of the plusses, I'll be the only solicitor in the whole of Cardigan who is an authority on firearms – it will help me defend poachers, gun runners from Aberaeron – not to mention Methodists Ministers slapped with paternity orders and threatened with shotguns; queuing up they'll be for my services,'
'Which Lorry are you travelling in tomorrow Russ?'
'Lorry! I'm travelling with you boy, by special request I'll have you understand; we'll be able to speak in Welsh all the way to Sodom and bloody Gomorrah.'
'You've forgotten the Sergeant Major, this is his vehicle.'
'Not any more it isn't. He has converted the first Lorry into a Command Post vehicle and is busy studying Geography. The bad news is we are to travel a mile or so ahead of the main convoy – out riders so to speak, like the American 7 th Cavalry in cowboy films - a decoy.'
'Jesus!'
'Not to worry; we Cardies are the thirteenth and the lost tribe of Israel - but just in case, I'll have my Bren gun.' Russ loved his Bren gun and was considered a crack shot at five hundred yards.

Russel's information proved to be correct – I was called to the Command Post vehicle and handed a typed list of the route we were to take, where to stop for a rest, meals, and our daily destination. The duty sergeant picked up my Atlas and asked,
'Is this your Atlas lad?'
'Yes sergeant.'
'Thank God you had it - otherwise we would be heading for Syria and Turkey tomorrow. That bloody Wot Wot... Too bad you have to be in the leading vehicle - if you think you're in danger, get in first and shoot the bastards – make sure they are dead. Here take this Sten gun it's better suited to the terrain.' I thanked him and left. I told Russ what had transpired and showed him our new route.
'According to this,' Russ said, 'we are to make Tiberias by 12.00 hours tomorrow, via Nazareth and Cana – unless we stop at the wedding for photographs. How far is Tiberias?'
'About seventy the duty sergeant said. He had no idea what the road was like. He also told me we'd have military police motor- cycle escort the first few a miles to see us on the right road.'
'What a way to run an army, with an out of date 'third form' Atlas.'
'Hang on Russ; I got distinction in Geog., using that.'
'We'll end up in China like Marco Polo– mark my word boy.'

         At seven o'clock the following morning we were ready to set off. Sergeant Hacket, came over – he wasn't smiling for once- 'Get going lad, your leading this death march, and you,' looking at Russ and his Bren gun; 'shoot every bloody thing in sight lad , once the MP's have gone - the more the merrier, I'll cover up for you.' He smiled at us as he strode off to get the Convoy on the road; things were returning to normal. The Military Police Corporal stopped along side. He smiled, removed his goggles to clean the glass, and said,
'We'll lead you for the first few miles to make sure you're on the right road and then good luck.'
'How far is Tiberias, Corporal?' Russ asked.
'About seventy – give or take a few miles.' We both thanked him. He waved us on. At long last we were on our way. It was a glorious day. The sun was not yet at its hottest and there were no flies. Russ and I were looking forward to the trip. We had been travelling for maybe ten minutes and were thoroughly enjoying ourselves when we were overtaken and flagged down by the second Military Policeman. I stopped. He came over and said.
'They can't find the Padre. The bastard is missing. Wait here until the convoy catches up. My mate has gone back to look for him.' He said to Russ, 'mount that Bren on its stand, you're sitting targets stopped here.'
Neither Russ nor I knew that the Padre had changed his mind the last minute about flying to Shaiba, saying he wished to see the route Abraham once took to the Promised Land, albeit in reverse.

Ten minutes later the Convoy arrived. The Sergeant Major was frothing at the mouth and literally speechless. We had never seen him in such a state. Sergeant Hacket, characteristically, wanted the Padre crucified and sent to his maker, then added, 'I'll drive the nails in.'

Twenty wasted minutes later the first Military Policeman returned with the Padre as pillion passenger. We all stared with disbelief as a pink, floppy body dressed in short shorts, a silk cravat in his old school colours around his neck and sporting a Panama hat struggled to get off the motorcycle. He limped over to the Sergeant Major and said in a peeved sulky sort of voice,
'It's not fair - you left while I was in the latrines.' He strode off without even an apology and went to his place in the convoy. The Military Policeman added that Nazareth was straight ahead and that from that point they would return to base. I think they were glad to see the back of us. I switched the engine on and told to move off - it was 08.45 hours; for the second time that morning we were on our way. It was getting progressively hotter.

Russ was checking the route plan. He glanced at his watch and said, 'another ten minutes and we stop for a rest, it says so here.' Ten minutes later in accordance with our instructions we pulled in on to the road side. As we waited for the Convoy to arrive, we gazed at the hot blistered landscape with its occasional shrub that defied death and managed, somehow, to survive without water. Eventually the Convoy arrived, the Sergeant Major got out and asked, 'problems?'
'No sir, the route plan says we are to stop and rest at 10.00. It's now 10.00, Sir.'
The Sergeant Major was not amused, he shouted,
'To hell with the bloody route plan, between you and that daft sod of a Padre we'll never get there. Get moving or I'll put you on a charge of malingering you useless individual.'
Russ came smartly to attention and said, 'Yes Sir.' He was fuming. When we got under way, he said, 'If we hadn't stopped he would have ranted about our agreed route plan, you can't win with a man like that- he's irrational. I'll have my own back, on that you may rest assured. Drive on boy I hope the whole convoy gets lost.'

We travelled at a steady twenty miles an hour. The road had a reasonable surface but had incredibly sharp bends and it was getting steeper. We had been climbing gradually for several miles, all-around us were the barren hills of Galilee. Suddenly Russ said, 'Stop here for a moment.'
'What's up Russ,' I asked.
'We're in the Galilean hills my boy – one day when I'm Chairman of the Baptist Union of Wales, I will be able to tell our Minister, that I girded my loins, whatever the hell that means, and went up into the mountains of Galilee. You see my boy, unlike you, I'm cursed and blinkered by a chapel upbringing, it's a damned liability.'
He climbed a small hillock; he came down and said, 'there's no sign of them, you can see the road snaking down for miles from up there.' Later we both climbed the hillock for another look - there was still no sign of the Convoy.
'What do you think we should do Russ?
'Nothing boy, you heard him tell me to forget the route plan, well, I've forgotten it. We'll stay here for a while and rest.' He immediately put a magazine in the Bren, cocked it ready for action and waited. We waited and waited; suddenly Russ stood up and said,
'Let's have your Sten - I'll have another look from that hill again.' Within minutes he returned and said, 'there's a motor bike coming up. Be on your guard just in case … you never know- keep your Sten gun pointed at him from that side of the road. I'll stop him and ask if he has any news. Any funny business let him have it.' It took ages for the motorcyclist to arrive, when he saw our jeep he stopped and struggled to get his motorbike on its stand. The motorcyclist was dressed in long black cloak – on his head he had a small black cap like a sailor and a bushy beard. He smiled and said,
'Hello, I'm Brother Francis; I've been asked to tell you the Convoy has had breakdowns - they should be along in an hour or so.' He turned and looked at me then his gaze went to my Sten, I grinned; 'Just being careful.'
Brother Francis was perspiring - Russ handed him his water bottle which he accepted with alacrity
'Thanks, I needed that.'
'How far are we from Nazareth Brother Francis?' I asked.
'Fifteen miles or so I'd say. Where are you all going to?'
'To Shaiba in Iraq, with a little luck.' As we chatted, we found he was Greek Orthodox and lived in a monastery in Nazareth. He asked us the time, and then decided to be on his way. We shook hands, he kicked life into his motor bike and with a wave of his hand, he was off.
Russ said, 'let's move on and find a more congenial spot than this to wait.'

We got into the jeep and drove off towards Nazareth. Neither of us gave a thought for the stranded convoy. On our right, rugged scorched hills loomed ahead - apart from an occasional lizard or a bird that seemed to have lost its way nothing moved. Further on we saw a few trees, the highest about fifteen feet in height grouped together a few yards from the roadside.
'Stop near to those trees, it looks like a shaded spot to wait.'
I stopped. Russ jumped out and walked towards the trees. Suddenly he tiptoed back and whispered,
'Let's get out of here quick, can you see that?'
He pointed to a large round cone like object, it must have been at least five feet long hanging from one of the branches - then we saw several large wasps flying around the nest.
'It's a wasp's nest.' I said.
'Hornets my boy, and thousands of them; nasty when they're upset, so I'm told.'
'Let's move on then, for God sake, before they see us.'
Russ was smiling. He patted his beloved Bren.
'I'm certain there are better vantage points to wait than where we are now,' he said. About two hundred yards further on we came to a wider part on a bend in the road from where we could see both the hornet's nest and the road for a mile or more immediately before the trees. I stopped the jeep and we waited.
'This, my boy, is where we get even with the Sergeant Bloody Major; put me on a charge for malingering – a useless individual - he said – and for following his stupid written orders.' It never occurred to me ask Russ what he had in mind and he did not offer an explanation.
We sat staring at the road waiting for the Convoy to appear – we waited for ages. It was very hot. Russ said he was hungry. According to the route plan, if it still applied, we were scheduled to have Tiffin somewhere around Tiberias. With the un-scheduled stops there was no saying when we would eat. Russ suddenly shouted.
'Here they are at last, get ready. Drive off when I tell you and don't stop whatever you do.' Russ was holding a running commentary, 'nearly a mile, just a little more, that's it. Come on Sergeant Major Sir. Switch on, ready.' I jumped in fright when Russ fired a burst from his Bren gun. He shouted, 'Off boy, off to Nazareth.'
'What happened, did you see any terrorists?'
'Yes. Now get going.'

Miles later we descended a long hill, from where we could see the panorama of the entire Jezreel valley ahead. We parked on the outskirts of Nazareth on a levelled out section on the slopes to wait. Nazareth itself was a surprise; we had no idea it was as large as it turned out to be. Russ wandered into a nearby Arab cafe and came out with two cups of tea, very sweet and no milk. 'Ugh,' I said, 'it's like army tea,' – but I drank it. Within minutes an old Arab appeared with a tray hanging around his neck, like cinema usherettes have – he was selling slivers of wood attached to a hand decorated card, claiming their authenticity as being part of the True Cross.
'Here is a Cardie in the making,' Russ said. He bought one and posted it to his Chapel Minister, suitably inscribed with pious comments. He said, 'the silly bastard is daft enough to believe it as well. He's never been further than Swansea in his life.
'Come on let's make for Tiberias.'

An hour later we entered Tiberias on the Western shore of the lake and waited. Tiberias, what we saw of the town, was situated on a tree dotted mountain slope facing over the Golan Heights on the other side of the lake. Staring at the clear cool waters of the lake and hoping, later on, we'd be allowed to bathe - Russ said,
'My boy, we are truly privileged. In a short while, you and I will witness the second “Walking upon the Waters” by our Risen Lord Sergeant Major. In the meantime man the Bren gun in case the locals have never heard of turning the other cheek.'

Two hours later the Convoy arrived, as no one stirred from the vehicles, we walked over to greet them. When the Sergeant Major and the rest of the men got out we were shocked. Russ asked, 'What happened?' He looked genuinely concerned. 'What happened?' he asked again as we stared at the Sergeant Major and the men's swollen arms and faces - to be told, haltingly, by a soldier who had suffered less stings than the others how the convoy had disturbed a swarm of hornets up in the hills. He added, with some relish, that the Padre had suffered more than most.