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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Reg Reid, and has been added to the site with the author’s permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

The Lighter Side of War

By
Don Alexander

CHAPTER 21: Bayeux. A minefield. German helmets. A Bailey Bridge. Bottles of Guinness.

The British troops had been under intense fire at Bayeaux, but reinforcements, landing every day, helped the subsequent quite rapid advance through Northern France.

133 tailed and served the 7th Armoured Division in those hectic days and Butch, proud co-owner with Ritchie of the big workshop lorry, tailed and served 133. Even in the midst of the alarms of war though, Butch found time with Brotherstone & Powell to visit Bayeaux Cathedral and the famous tapestry then draped inside.

"At least we've fared better than 'arold with the 'arrer in 'is eye. So far the good Lord has looked after us in 133 Company and I dare say in His presence in this magnificent cathedral, He will continue to do so throughout this war."

Why is it that the Welsh can sound so poetic, even when stating the obvious? It's nice to know, nonetheless, that British youth can, or could, appreciate culture and the broad sweep of history - mature youth anyway.

The `silly old sods' of the beginning of the war, like Brotherstone and Powell, were now in their mid thirties. The `silly young sods' of `A' Platoon, Warhurst, Wheeler and Petty, etc., were now twenty-two years old. Butch Reid, who linked the two age groups - `the missing link' as Wheeler called him - had had his 25th birthday on May 19th 1944, just before the invasion.

Onward through the `vasty' fields of France!- Ritchie and Butch found their services much in demand though they did find on one occasion while towing a 3 tonner over a bomb hole they themselves got stuck in a rut.

Even with the `crawler tracks', they couldn't move, and were eventually pulled out by a passing tank!

Not all Tank Corps were so co-operative, as they found one morning when they noticed, and even thought they smelled, breakfast of bacon and eggs being cooked amidst a number of British tanks in a field. An entrance to the field and part of the field itself was taped off but Ritchie drove through, ignoring the tapes and a notice, half hidden by grass, propped against a wall.

They'd gone about 50 yards down a track when a sergeant appeared gesticulating wildly
"STOP. STOP WHERE YOU ARE."

Ritchie couldn't resist:
"Can we have some bacon and eggs?"

"NO, YOU BLOODY CAN'T. REVERSE ALONG YOUR TRACKS, YOU'RE IN
A MINEFIELD!"
They reversed very carefully back onto the road, Butch jumped out and put the notice in a more prominent position. It featured a skull and crossbones with the words `DANGER. MINES'.

They passed through a village that was reduced to rubble with a single track winding through it, cleared by army bulldozers. There was hardly a wall standing, the stump of a church being the only significant ruin. The movement of the army was infantry, tanks, artillery followed by support services, RASC, RAMC etc. The RASC shuttled all over the place with supplies; Workshops' Platoon were usually in a known position where repairable broken down vehicles could be brought to them.

Unusually, Ritchie and Butch were following right behind 133 through the village, and their lorries kicked up dust. The big 15 tonner stood higher off the ground but, without the luxury of windscreens - just tiny windshields - they had to pull canvas flaps up to their noses for protection as the dust swirled around them. They could see well enough to spot six dead German soldiers though, lying in a ditch, in varying poses, as if asleep. They stopped. Both had fancied the prize of a German helmet, but seeing these lads dead, but not a blemish on their white dusty faces, they hadn't the heart to take a couple.

"Not Axis but angels," was Ritchie's comment. "Poor sods," was all Butch could offer.
He reflected on the futility yet seeming inevitability of war. A friend back in Sheffield had worked at Hadfield's in the 1930s producing their manganese steel for export to the world's armies, including the German army. This work hardening steel was ideal for helmets. He mused that his city was responsible for both killing and protecting the enemy. Bayonets or surgical scalpel blades. bombs or helmets. You pays your money, you makes your choice!

Guinness and the Bailey Bridge

A Rotherham engineer made a big contribution to British success in the war: Mr. Bailey, inventor of the type of bridge that bears his name, which could be carried in steel sections and was comparatively quick and easy to assemble. They were strong, and though temporary, there are examples found across rivers around the world to this day, including the River Don in Sheffield. The most impressive ones were across such rivers as the Rhine and Meuse (Maas). Ritchie and Butch could vouch for their sturdiness.

Driving through the French countryside they came across a most unusual sight - crates of Guinness taped around with big British Field Hospital signs and even bigger `UNFIT FOR HUMAN CONSUIMPTION' labels. "Seeing as it's unfit for human beings I'll make a pig of myself," Ritchie commented and quickly downed four bottles. Another 133 Company lorry pulled up behind them and the driver shouted, "I'll prove it's not unfit for human consumption. The medics have put that sign to put us off. They'll be back you bet, to pick 'em up - well they won't get these buggers." With that, he made an even bigger pig of himself than Ritchie, downed six bottles and then seemed to collapse in a drunken state over his steering wheel.

Though Butch generally avoided alcohol he couldn't resist this buckshee booze, he drank a few bottles and loaded four crates into the back of the wagon for the lads. It wasn't as good as Jubilee stout, but you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Ritchie was a civvy-trained mechanic, a Southampton lad whose father had a fleet of coaches that he'd worked on as an apprentice. (He said Butch could have a job as mechanic for the company there after the war.) Normally an intelligent, cautious and sober driver, Ritchie threw caution to the wind after his four bottles of Guinness and set off at speed.

Butch saw the single track Bailey Bridge with its retarder hump over an unnamed French canal or river, approaching them fast and ducked down with his hands covering his face. The Southampton lad was aiming the fifteen ton canvas sided lorry at the narrow bridge. It seemed too narrow for their vehicle, but to his credit he cut his speed down from 40 to 30 MPH. Despite this, the fifteen tonner hit the hump fast enough for the beast to sail in the air, land like a cat, eight wheels spinning, and apart from ripping canvas, screeches and sparks of steel against steel as they banged and lurched from side to side of the bridge, they suffered no harm.

"Good job there's no effin' windscreen in this wagon ", was Butch's comment as they were both convulsed with laughter, right up to the time they passed into that night's overnight camp, slinging bottles of Guinness to the lads.

Pr-BR

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