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Moving
off all was quiet, out of the orchard into a long grass field, it was a fine
sunny day this could have been a manoeuvre somewhere in Devon, the terrain being
very similar. An automatic rifle fired to break the silence, answered by one of
our Bren guns. A dead German soldier slumped in a heap against the edge, his
steel helmet slipped forward covering his face. Evidence that a lot of others
had been here judging by the empty tins, rubbish and smell. Moving on to the
edge of the wood, to our front then it started! With the incoming swish,
whistle, noisy bang. Shells, shells and more shells fell amongst us “Stretcher
Bearers” was the cry. Dig in, its surprising, how fast you can get below ground
level when there’s a few, or a lot of shells about. Having dug deep enough to
sit in and keep your head down, the sergeant shouted for myself and the platoon
runner, to move down the bank into the woods, report back anything we heard or
saw. There was a path along the bottom of the steepish bank, the trees thick and
dark, on the far side, sizing up the situation, when some shells exploded,
hitting the top of the trees, shrapnel falling like rain. Scraping a hole each
in the bank, I said the first of a few prayers that day. Shells, shells and more
shells, making the hole a bit bigger, dig or die, the roots in the bank didn’t
make our task any easier. I had no watch, time meant nothing, except to dig a
bit deeper, try to stay on this earth, a bit or hopefully a lot longer. An
officer came down the path, from a company on our right, passing us with blood
coming through his left hand fingers, that held a wound on his right arm.
Shouting to him, if he wanted help, saying nothing, just passed by down the
path. A lull in the shelling, a wounded lance corporal was passed down the bank,
with a foot wound. Told to take him down the path to a road, there was no blood
so we left his boot on, he couldn’t walk. It was a cumbersome job, almost
carrying him, on coming to a farm after some time, in the yard six or so dead
cows that had been caught up in the shelling. There was a wheel barrow amongst
them, putting our comrade in it drove down the path.
…
One of
the most dangerous duties was detailed to fetch the rations, as the road behind
us was under constant shell fire, from heavy guns firing from across the river.
The stretch of road from our positions to the next houses was very exposed, the
shelling fell into a sort of pattern, so the thing to do was judge the lull and
make a dash in the breaks.
Now this
was alright going, because you only had a rifle and ammunition bandolier to
carry. The return journey was more cumbersome having also to carry two round
vacuum sealed containers each, about 30” tall, a foot around, so it was a slower
journey … many a container was dropped, left to be shelled, if it was an
important one like the tea, to be rescued by a Rifleman, dashing out risking his
life for the tea.
…
After
turning right, facing us was a large mine field. Mines on the surface as far as
we could see, a narrow path taped off with orange tape around it. In single file
we moved on, all the mines that had been cleared, stacked in piles in the path.
Stepping with great care over them, not daring to go around them, trying to step
into the same footprints as the comrade in front. Moving deeper into the field.
The concentration was broken by an explosion from behind us. There was a
mushroom shape of smoke rising into the air. Some poor infantryman must have put
his foot down in thee wrong spot. Stretcher bearers were trying with difficulty,
because of the narrowness of the cleared path to get to the dead or wounded.
…
Moving
on, passing fields of crashed abandoned gliders, Parachutes hanging from the
trees, left over from ill-fated Arnhem offensive. Passing a red and white border
barrier from Holland into the Fatherland, to welcome us in a ditch were some
bodies busting out of their German uniforms. Blotted and greenish faces, the
sort of thing that only gets one look, then you look away, not looking again,
but you already got the picture.
…
We had
apparently run into an enemy counter attack, being forced to retreat, our first
section had disappeared … The charred bodies of the enemy that had been caught
in the flames of the flame throwers.
German
long range guns fired as if in defiance from across the river Rhine, shelling
the road to our rear. Four German soldiers taken prisoner, sheltered in a dip
next to our slit trench … One of the prisoners had been wounded in the leg,
swollen up so bad, bursting the seam stitches of his trousers, split up to the
his thigh, he must have been in great pain. They could not have been prisoners
long because one still wore a watch, I liberated it from him, another had a
ladies cocktail watch in a small pocket at the waist band of his trousers. That
made three I had now.
It fell
to me to take the prisoners and wounded back to HQ, setting off back down the
path. The two fit prisoners carrying the wounded on a branch sat between them,
he should have had a stretcher but there was none to spare, further down the
path I picked up two more prisoners with a stretcher, carrying on his stomach
the rifleman that had been wounded.
Stopping
for a rest and cigarettes all round, cigarettes always plentiful 50 free each
week, with 70 cheap from the Naafi each week, on top of this various charities
sent us presents cigs.
Turning a
corner in the path, a Battalion of Canadian troops, moving up, so help was at
hand. The path at last lead us out of the woods. A red cross jeep was waiting,
we put our wounded aboard, the rifleman and his enemy laying side by side. Their
fighting days over, if they survived. The jeep dashed off up the road, still
being shelled.
Finding
HQ up the road, thirty or so prisoners in the front garden, adding my batch to
them. Finding myself the only rifleman present, everyone else taking cover, the
shells whizzed over exploding up the road. The prisoners kept ducking and
throwing themselves to the ground. Approaching them, searching some, saying
“watches” but they had already been liberated from them, to my surprise one of
them said in good English “I had only one watch”. The RSM appeared from the
house. Ordered me to take the prisoners to Brigade HQ, not expecting this,
always obey the last order. Getting the prisoners to their feet, in three lines,
set off up the road, it wasn’t a nice place to be, never knowing when the next
batch of shells would arrive…
About to
return down the road, seeing a queue, with mess tins at the ready, it didn’t
take me long to take out my tins from my pack, joined them. Pork chop, mash
spuds peas, and thick gravy. With half a tin peach with custard, a full mug of
tea.
No
questions asked, as brigade was made up with a lot of the three regiments, good
nosh (food) better than stew and hard tack…
As it was
late, I decided to stay the night, after a search, I found a spare spring bed,
no mattress, but it was the first bed I had seen for some time … After taking
off my kit and steel helmet, it must have been at least three days since I had
taken off my steel lid proper. My hair was cut infantryman short, but still a
bit tangled, so running my fingers through it saying I had lost my comb. Then
one … signalman did what I thought was a great show of comradeship, me being a
stranger, taking out his comb he broke it in half, giving me one half to keep.
Next
morning after breakfast, a sergeant, started asking questions, so I thought it
was time I left, in case I got done for eating another man’s rations…
Intending
to report back to my platoon, but something entered my head. I’m not going back
into that woods again, where so much had happened, reluctantly I turned right
away from the front, the rumble of gunfire in the distance, walking away from it
all. After walking for some time, thinking I looked conspicuous, there being no
Scottish troops about, and all the ammunition I was carrying. Taken the tassel
off my hat and my conspicuous badge. Carrying a sten gun, I had borrowed off Cpl
Grant to take the prisoners back. Throwing away the bandolier of rifle 303
ammunition in a ditch also two mills bombs (hand grenades), after taking out the
live detonators, pushing them into the soft earth. After a while a vehicle came
up the road, it was a Buffalo river crossing vehicle, thumbing a lift. Only the
driver no questions asked. Taken me all the way to Nijmegen, dropping me off on
the outskirts of town. Going to the nearest house with a garage, knocking on the
door … With signs I indicated I would like to sleep in the garage. Turning she
consulted her husband, indicated that I could sleep in the house, signalling for
me to enter, it was very homely. Taking off my equipment by the back door in the
kitchen, watched by my hosts who turned out to be good friends. Taking my sten
gun apart, showing the husband, putting the firing pin in my pocket, dismantling
the gun. Agreeing with what I had done, nodding, saying “good” one of the few
words we both understood. Perhaps it was just as well, not too many questions
asked…
Returning
to the house, my new friends greeted me with a cup of substitute coffee. There
was an old lady that lived there, don’t think she liked me very much a scowl in
her wrinkled face. But I was wrong, coming back one night to find she had
knitted the fingers back on my gloves, that I had burnt off back on the Maas
river. Showing me to a bedroom, it took me by surprise, double bed, white sheets
etc, it was nothing but first class. Making in the now common sign language, to
my host, that I would sooner sleep on the sofa down stairs, they wouldn’t hear
of it…
Planning
on one more night between the sheets, then I intended to turn myself in to the
military police (Red Caps) take what was coming to me. Eating my rock buns in
the Naafi, someone touched me on the shoulder, it was a chap who had been with
me in the Devonshire Regiment … Joining him and a corporal in the same Regiment.
After a chat about what had happened to others … telling them not to tell
anyone, but I was “on the trot” absent without leave. Replying he said “Don’t
tell anyone but so are we”. I was not alone…
The next
day turned out to be the same routine, except in the canteen a military
policeman came and sat in a spare chair at our table. After a chat, I showed him
my three watches, asking if he was interested, as we were all getting short of
cash. He turned out to be a blessing in disguise, bought one and showed interest
in the ladies cocktail watch. Saying he would return tomorrow with the (ackers)
money to buy it…
It was
with caution that I watched the policeman approach, never trusting them, of
course they had their job to do.
Pulling
up a chair he produced the guilders, wound the watch, put it to his ear, with
satisfaction he left. My associates had decided to move on, try to get to
Brussels, asking me if I cared to join them. Now this was a new turn of events,
I hadn’t intended to stay away so long, so against my better judgement I agreed
to join them.
Next
morning I bid farewell to my kind friends, the woman shed a few tears. Waving as
I went up the road … I hope I hadn’t offended them when offering them some
money, that they would not take…
Thumbing
a lift on an empty tank transport as far as Einover, it was full of troops…
Making
our way back to the main road, we hadn’t gone far, when a traffic blue cop
passed on a motorbike … Asked us what we were about. Telling him the truth,
think we were glad it worked out this way … Taking us to the local nick that was
a school that had been taken over. After taking down our particulars, taking
away our hats and boots. Putting us in an upstairs classroom, there must have
been thirty troops from different regiments, all infantry men, all AWOL … Three
days later my escorts from A Company arrived, two of my mates and a lance
corporal, filled me in with latest news… |
