Writing to his parents, Mr and Mrs J. J. Wooding, of Havelock Road, Luton, Cpl W. H. Wooding, who is with a Signal Company of the Royal Engineers in Egypt, gives a vivid description of a night ride in the desert. He says:
On Wednesday night, January 3rd, I sat up reading until after eleven and had got to bed and just getting off to sleep when a message came through from a place about eight miles distant for a despatch rider to fetch two special despatches. The previous night was the occasion of our NCOs dinner, which ran into the small hours, and so I felt sorry to be turned out.
I filled up with carbide and petrol and started off about 12.30. After the rain the roads were pretty treacherous in places until I got to the desert when the wind, which was behind me, made it safe for riding moderately fast. I calculated that it would be about two hours before the moon, half full, would set. Unless a gathering cloud bank obscured it, the ride would be all right.
Straight ahead it was lightening continuously. Not the faint sheet lightening we are used to at home, much finer. Sometimes from a point dead ahead of the road, the sky would seem to open and sheets of flame appear to spread to the right and left, the whole extent of the sky. Other times it would go from left to right and back again. There was a thick cloud bank which prevented the reflection spreading upwards, and the effect of the light beneath it was remarkable.
Within a mile of my destination I knew from a previous journey the road was pretty bad. A slight wobble caused through cutting the edge of a patch of drifted sand gave me a reminder, and after that I went steadily at about 10 miles an hour. That last mile occupied about half the time of the journey.
Over pot-holes, mud and sand drifts, I successfully steered and, after two or three blanks, pulled up at the desired place. I don't know if it is because we are not used to mud lately, but those slimy patches seemed worse than any I ever struck. I just crawled over them in low gear, taking the risks and using my feet pretty freely.
The fun was where the road was banked on either side and sand had drifted right across, in places to the depth of a foot. To get through these it was necessary to ride full tilt, or get stuck and drag the bike out - a very tiring proceeding. Coming through successfully usually ended in a giddy slide from side to side on more mud until another one was reached.
On the return journey the wind was very rough, and the best pace I could get was not more than 20 miles an hour. The engine only stopped twice, however - once on a sand bank, and once I pulled up to allow a mule to recover its composure and go home quietly.
The mule was being chased by a muttering stable guard and as I came up it stood across the road for a bit, and as I approached nearer it danced off in front of me about 20 yards ahead in a most annoying manner. In the wavering light of the lamp beam it looked a wicked being with a leer on its face - quite the evil sort of beast that mules are reputed to be.
When I pulled up it went off over the desert, followed by the guard. I shouted 'good night' but got no reply. After that I went ahead and, with the exception of two desert dogs, met nothing further and reached the office just before two.
[The Luton News: Thursday, February 1st, 1917]