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I am sure the whole mainland military personnel who served during the war years in ulster would pay tremendous tribute to the local people for their generosity. There could not have been anyone who did not have a home to visit for a welcoming meal and to that extent we were spoiled and cosseted!

Here I must recount another true story, which is remarkable. Some years ago, where we had lived in Kent for thirty years, my eldest grand-daughter Anna Magennis and her friend from Belfast came for a holiday to our Maidstone home. On taking them to see the lovely All Saints' Church by the River Medway, one of the churhc stewards noticed their lovely Ulster accents. He then told me that he had been an air force officer based around Nutt's Corner during the war, and had a very bad conscience about their operations thereabouts. He was there before, during and after the bombing raids on the province. During their time there the local farmers were very kind and generous to them - giving them eggs and bacon. Yet during these days the RAF, he told me, were actually placing beacons in close proximity to their homes and farms in order to distract the air raids from more important localities.

I had never heard this before, and i often wonder if I was the first to hear about this piece of history. I have since regretted that I did not keep in touch with this officer. Hopefully he is still living, but I recall vividly his feelings of guilt about what the military considered a necessity. Such is war.

There are so many incidents which come to mind about our stay in Ulster, but my story here brings me to when we had, with some regret, to leave Northern Ireland for the mainland.

From Stranraer we entrained for the Shropshire area, and eventually were stationed in Kent. First of all in Harrietsham where our HQ was a large mansion on high ground, but troops and camp staff were situated in Nissen Huts, surrounded by large stone boulders - all whitewashed, useful in a blackout!! Again, we worked hard on exercises, and on Monty's return from the eighth army we were doing 10 mile 'trot and march' routes in two hours, often in scorching heat, with a full pack.

I discovered that I had two brothers in law already in Kent - both Sergeants, as I was, and each was in charge of a Bofor gun battery on the Deal beaches to shoot down enemy fighters which came over at sea level to strafe railway trains and other objects. One, named Ron, was a typical soldier in that he was a 'scrounger' for himself and his men - a necessity in the forces. He was a charmer. On one exercise they found themselves on an estate on a misty and rainy night. Ron was looking after his own section while the other, Alfred, was i/c another section. Ron saw a large garage and went to the door of the mansion house, asking if his men could sleep undercover in the garage. The master of the house was summoned by the butler, and agreed that the men could sleep there for the night. He also invited Ron inside, much to his surprise, and Ron was shown to a four poster bed and provided with clean pyjamas! He was then given a good supper and slept in a four-poster for the first time in his life! Despite knowing that his fellow sergeant was on the estate with his men wet through in tents, Ron enjoyed a comfortable sleep!

In the morning he awoke to a hearty English breakfast, and dressed in newly creased trousers and polished boots. He met his fellow sergeant later, who indeed looked very wet and bedraggled. Service life could be very competitive!

We stayed in Kent from early 1942 until June 1944, doing plenty of exercises. We had moved to another mansion in Bearsted for our HQ, and we frequently saw the RAF fighters in dog fights and streams of US bombers crossing the channel in daylight to attack targets on the continent, and at night we could hear the roar of British night bombers going overhead for some night attack. They would disturb our sleep on their return. We also saw the first 'doodle-bugs' fly over Kent and V1 explosions in the distance, which we were to encounter again in the Ardennes during Hitler's last push.

We began to suspect that something was afoot when we began to get new equipment and weapons, and return our 'welfare' equipment to Regimental HQ in Shropshire. This was the precursor to another fateful move of the divisional formation.

By now I was not in G section - I was sergeant i/c admin in Q branch under the grandly titled Assistant Adjutant and Quarter-Master general. As a member of the A/Q overlord team we had a conference in the White Horse Inn in the village of Bearsted, a photo of which was published in a 'Team Spirit' booklet compiled by Major Bolland at the end of the war which I have in my proud possession.

Eleven days after D-day we began to arrive off the coast of the Arromanches, sailing in an American Liberty Ship from Harwich through the Dover Straits where we expected attacks by enemy aircraft, but it was a generally peaceful voyage until we found ourselves under a terrific barrage of battle-cruisers, which I recounted way back in part one of my story.

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