Wahai Mohammed

Waho mohammed I think...not hai or hoo...


War Hero
Cuddles is correct. It is "Waho Mohammed"

Waho Mohammed

While the 1st Parachute Brigade served in North Africa, they noted that whenever the local Arabs shouted messages to each other, they always began by saying "Waho Mohammed". The Brigade adopted it as a war cry, and it spurred men on to great feats, with the added benefit that it helped to distinguish between friend or foe - The Germans couldn't pronounce the phrase.

Extracted from here.

wahoo, waho, wahai,..... what about geordie paras though wouldnt it then be Wahey Mohammad (canny lad!) :)
One such position was between Djebel Abiod and Sedjenane in which Lieutenant Colonel Jock Pearson, commanding the 1st Parachute Battalion, rallied his men including the cooks, clerks, batmen and everyone who was capable of holding a rifle, as we charged the enemy positions. The dark valley of this wooded area reverberated to the cries of “Wahoo Mohammed”, which mingled with the reports of gun shots and mortar fire, until finally we regained our objective. The action took a heavy toll of casualties after some extremely heavy fighting.


I thought cries of 'Wahey Mohammed' were used when soldiers were getting into trouble whilst out on the piss....all the bloke had to do was scream 'wahey mohammed' and 30 seconds later he would have 30 muckers to help him out...or thats what I heard on the grapevine.
brocky said:
scream 'wahey mohammed' and 30 seconds later he would have 30 muckers to help him out...

Surely 30 taxi-drivers ready to take him home... Or 30 kebabs are made ready to be spilled on his shoes... Nowadays, of course, such a cry is likely to bring 30 coppers ready to do you for 'race crime'.
Just for the record; and to agree with some of the above, that the correct pronunciation is/was “Waho Mohammed”.
Nothing but.

Never heard or seen anything to suggest that it is anything other than 'Waho'


This is a quote from one of the original Red Devils from Paradata website...........

( One of the outstanding features that made the British Airborne soldier amongst the finest and most feared of fighting men during the Second World War was 'Esprit de Corps' - the loyalty and devotion uniting those members of the armed forces who felt themselves to be highly privileged to wear the Red Beret.
Feats of outstanding valour in battles across the world have already been written into the history books, yet it was in non-battle situations that this great spirit can best be demonstrated.
Those American and British soldiers who were stationed in many camps across barren Salisbury Plain managed to get in a good deal of practice in the art of street fighting and unarmed hand-to-hand combat, although the method employed will not be found in any Military Manual, nor did it have the approval of the Mayor, Aldermen, Councillors or citizens of the City of Salisbury where most of the battles occurred on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights - that was assuming that the Airborne soldiers meagre pay had not run out, or the Taverns of the city had not been drunk dry. (It was not unusual for the public houses to have sold their quotas of beer by Friday night - in which case the long suffering people of Salisbury enjoyed a comparatively peaceful weekend.
The worst trouble usually began when a group of Airborne lads entered a pub and met up with some coloured Americans. They were friendly lads and we always seemed to get on well with them. The only form of entertainment was normally a battered old piano but the coloured lads were very musical and there was usually one amongst them, or us, who could knock out a few tunes so we would soon be enjoying a sing-song.
All would be enjoyable until some white Americans came in. The coloured lads would tell us that they had to drink up and go. When this first happened we could not believe our ears. We were all in this bloody war together, and would all be dying for the same cause - the right to individual freedom - so what the hell gave the white Yanks the right to expect their coloured countrymen to leave any pub that the whites chose to enter?
After experiencing this inequality we got mad and told the coloured lads "You stay put - you were here first and if they don't like drinking in the same pub as you they can push off and find another one"
This was easier said than done, for when a pub ran dry it was a case of touring round the city centre to find another one which was still open.
When the colour problem arose the whites would stand just inside the door glaring at the coloured lads, and us, until we told them in no uncertain terms to "Push Off".
They would then withdraw with shouted threats and when we eventually emerged it was not unusual to find a large mob of them waiting for us.
If we were outnumbered we would immediately yell out our Airborne battle cry which had been originated by our 1st Airborne Division in North Africa and adopted by all Airborne men thereafter. Up would go the cry "Waho Mohammed".
The effect of that cry was truly amazing. Within minutes, and from all directions, Red Berets would appear and a pitched battle would commence.
Our unwritten Airborne law was clearly understood by every Red Devil - at least amongst the lower ranks - and regardless of which Airborne unit they served in; if an Airborne man was in trouble and called out our battle cry, it didn't matter what you were doing, you immediately responded to the call.
Many a lass, out walking with an Airborne lad, would be dumbfounded as her escort, on hearing the battle cry, would say "Sorry - I've got to go" and would rush off to join in the battle.
If it dragged on it often meant a long walk back to camp with a black eye or bleeding nose and/or mouth because the last lorry transport would have left in order to return the troops before midnight. (The long walk also meant that we would not arrive back in camp until well after midnight, which forced us to find a way of getting inside without entering the guarded entrance gate).
What always amazed me was that the white Yanks never cottoned on to our system and adopted their own battle cry. Time and again they started fights in which they greatly outnumbered us but, invariably, when our battle cry was yelled, within moments they were overwhelmed beneath a sea of Red Devils.
It was all good and brutal fun and, when the chips were really down, we all managed to achieve a degree of togetherness that enabled us to beat the real enemy and win the war. And, who knows, perhaps our frequent battles around Salisbury helped to give us the courage to fight hard when it was really needed - with the odds stacked against us and when no amount of battle cried would bring us reinforcements! )

and yes, Reg blokes still sometimes shout the the war cry.


We were at one of our old and bold (2Para) funerals last year lot of his old muckers attended and as the coffin was placed in the back of the hearse to go to the cemetry one of his old mates let out this cry sent a tingle down the spine. It still has an effect on you.

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