大象传媒

71st Battalion Befordshire and Hertfordshire Regiment.

On the day war was declared on Germany, I was on the beach at Bexhill near Hastings. I used to cycle there every weekend from my home in Fulham. If I was taking the girlfriend back to her Father he would not let me cycle, but he put the cycle and me on the train.

On the 4th of September I went along to the Duke of York鈥檚 HQ at Sloane Square to enlist, and I was told 鈥淐ome back when your old enough son鈥�, being only seventeen at the time. So I joined the A.F.S (Auxiliary Fire Service). Practical work I don鈥檛 mind, but sitting through lectures on the various types of fire extinguisher did not suit me. So when the Local defence volunteers (later to become the Home Guard) formed, I became number 383 and was issued with my broom handle-for parade purposes in lieu of a rifle. It was not long after that I was the first to be issued with a rifle, no ammunition and a steel helmet. I was put on night duty on Wandsworth Bridge in London, checking all the pedestrians coming over the River Thames. When not on guard we were allowed to sleep on the floor of a petrol filling station that was adjacent to the bridge. A patrol area further in from the river was near to the local gas works. This was a prime German target for bombing, and that was when I was glad of the steel helmet. It saved me from serious injury on a number of occasions from the shrapnel that struck it, instead of me. I remember mobile Ack Ack guns patrolled the borough.

On a different patrol, following an air raid, I was with a Sergeant who noticed a hole in the roadway some hundreds of yards away. He told me to 鈥淪tay鈥� where I was; he then walked up to the hole and 鈥�.BANG just as he got into the hole. There was a cloud of smoke and rubble after the explosion, and I remember saying to myself 鈥淏ye Sergeant鈥�. Then as the dust settled, there was the Sergeant walking or rather stumbling towards me, looking rather the worse for wear. But what a lucky man!

Soon after that I volunteered to be a rear gunner in the RAF, at a local recruiting station. I passed through several rooms doing various tests, including a medical. I got through to the final interview with some squadron leader who said, 鈥淲hat do you want to join the RAF for lad?鈥� I replied, 鈥淚 want to be a rear gunner sir鈥�. 鈥淲hat do you know about trigonometry lad?鈥� he asked. 鈥淚 beg your pardon sir鈥� I said, 鈥淕round Crew鈥�, he replied. I was so disgusted that I went next door and joined the army, accepted the King鈥檚 shilling, (A days pay-half of which had to be deducted by the army and sent home) and that鈥檚 when I became another number.

Reporting to Hemel Hempstead for the first six weeks training, we were all taken to a local hall and given a slice of bread and jam, and a cup of tea. We were then kitted out with three blankets and 鈥榤arched鈥� to an empty private house, and I mean empty, bare floorboards-bare everything. A case of grab a floor space for your blankets and that was our accommodation for the next six weeks. Next day issued with our full kit including, leather belt, straps and ammunition pouches, and after the training period these would become webbing. Everybody, except me, had old leather. But not me- oh no I had brand new leather, looked very nice ideal for smartness on parade, but not so good when you鈥檝e got to throw yourself on the ground whilst wearing it. It was stiff as a board and how it digs in to your ribs. In addition it cost me a fortune in ox bloodstain and polish! All the other lad鈥檚 old leather had been issued time and time again, and so was already stained and softened. But when it came to the cookhouse I was lucky, having had a tough upbringing and living on scraps up to the age of fourteen. The army catering at that period was more or less a case of three large cauldrons, one for the potatoes (sparingly washed), second for the vegetables and the last for the meat (inclusive of fat, gristle and anything else that might be attached). We had long benches to sit at whilst eating from mess tins, which had been washed in a bucket of hot water-if you got there early enough, and provided forerunners had eaten the meal rather than washing it into the water instead of using the swill bin first.

Having learnt the rudimentary marching and rifle drill, we were posted to Sandy in Befordshire. It was here that I became a section leader and number one on the Vickers water-cooled machine gun. This I enjoyed, but I can鈥檛 say the billet, an old mill with rats that ran over you during the night, sleeping on the floor as usual. Highlight of every other week, I think it was, we were each allocated a house for a bath. I was lucky to be accepted willingly, and coming up to Christmas time I was invited to join them for Christmas dinner, which I gladly accepted.
The army, in its generosity, had made a Lance Corporal. They decided to move out of Sandy and up to Oundle near Peterborough, on Christmas Eve morning, leaving me to ensure that no army equipment was left behind and our billet offices were clean and tidy. It was late evening by the time I, and my squad arrived at Oundle. I was a fair darts player in those days, so I left my kit with my mate who was already settled in with the advanced party, and I went off to try and win some drinks at the local pub. This was a successful trip, during which a farmer invited me to the farm for Christmas dinner. Explaining my mate was in the camp he told me to bring him along too. Next morning the two of us went along and were met at the farmyard and were shown around the farm, among the ducks, geese, turkeys and hens etc鈥ntil the farmer said 鈥淭here鈥檚 mother calling us in for dinner鈥�: Off we went indoors and sat at the table to enjoy Christmas boiled beef and carrots. Back at the camp we found all the lads had turkey, Christmas pudding, crackers-the lot, and they were waited on by the officers in true army style. I shall never forget Christmas 1940.

That was a very, very white winter, and a certain officer delighted in having us all out sharp on the dot of reveille in shorts and pumps, running round the fields and then rolling each other in the snow for half an hour. It was then back to the cold showers for a shave and a wash. We were as warm as toast for the rest of the day.

The next move was up to a Wellington bomber aerodrome at Marham, near Kings Lynn for aerodrome defence; this was before the RAF regiment was formed in any large numbers. One night the fifth columnists (as we found out later) set fire to a ring of haystacks on the fields around the aerodrome. 鈥楪erry鈥� came over and in full force and blasted the hell out of us. After it was over I was put on guard outside the RAF officers quarters, I was on my own for the rest of the night. Good job I was on my own because, at daylight I found I had been walking around an unexploded bomb in front of their building. Weeks later, whilst on bomb dump guard, a pilot took off in his Wellington bomber, became unwell over the channel and jettisoned his load of bombs and returned to base. He missed the runway, passed over the other ranks guard tent, one wheel passed between, Corporal Hatten and myself. By this time the Officer of the Guard must have sat up or stood up, because his head got caught by the propeller. He was buried with full military honours in the local churchyard. It was always the best Officers that went first.

We moved to another Wellington aerodrome at Feltwell. These postings suited us in the army, because we enjoyed the RAF catering. I always made a point of being friendly with the WAAF dishing out behind the counter. It was at Feltwell that I had another memorable Christmas. I had been in charge of the Guard on Christmas Eve near the hangers, when at about 06.00 hours the company commander came out to the area and asked where I had been all night. I told him that I had been right here on the guard. It took a lot to convince; luckily I had the backing of all the lads, because he had heard from the RAF that I had been reported missing over Germany. He had heard previously that I had wanted to be a rear gunner, and he thought I had hitched a lift.

We had a boost to our wages, whilst we were there too. A local farmer wanted help lifting sugar beet from his fields. He gave us a whole shilling a day, with no deductions. We had to walk between two rows of beet, lift, and top and tail each one, and throw it into the middle. The man next to you would to the same thing, giving a pile of four to be collected later. Snow was on the ground, and of course there was always a clever one, racing ahead of us saying how slow we all were, until we saw blood in the snow and saw him standing there with a thumb missing.

The Wellington bomber used to take a lot of punishment, but was very often back in service again. Pity that nobody had the foresight to save one for prosperity. On one occasion, at Feltwell, I remember one plane landing safely, but it shot up very badly so the ground crew rushed to assist. This was normal practice, but inside the whole crew were dead. That pilot had used the last of his life to get all of the crew back to their base, he was a very brave and courageous man.

The next posting was to March, in Cambridgeshire. Here we could concentrate on training as a whole company. Church parades were of course, a regular item on a Sunday, following which I was often called upon to train the local home guard. On one occasion, I had an elderly man collapse on me during my drilling. It put the 鈥榳ind鈥� up me, I can assure you and I was very glad when he came round. I was then told that he had a silver plate in his head following a First World War wound. What a marvellous man he was, he wanted to do his bit his bit for his country yet again.

Towards the end of 1942, I was in the company office covering for Sergeant Major while he was on leave. While I was that it came through in orders for volunteers for the Palestine Police. Seeing as I was unsuccessful in getting an overseas draft, I made out an application and put it amongst the other papers for the C.O to sign, which he did without even checking all the papers. Consequently my application went through and I was accepted, I was off to Palestine. Technically from the day of leaving the army, to attesting in Jerusalem I was classified as a civilian. Therefore on board the Queen Mary, (with all the American crew-including catering) which took us from Port Tewfiq the Southern end of the Suez Canal, I was treated as a second-class passenger. Two of us in a cabin, waiter service in the dining area with four at a table. It spoilt me for sea travel I can assure you.

We started with a few months of training on the outskirts of Jerusalem; incidentally there was snow, learning law and the Arabic language (only basic). We were posted to Nablus on the 3rd of May, where on June the 2nd my mate who I had travelled from London with, was shot and killed whilst on night patrol. Another older constable from the police station also died. Investigation established the name of the culprit, but it took the best part of two years before he was captured and brought to trial and convicted.
It was evening of May 8th 1945 before word came through from Jerusalem that the war in Europe was over. There I stayed until we were all evacuated in 1948.

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