大象传媒

TO ALL THE GIRLS I鈥橵E MET BEFORE!
December 1944.
My battalion was suddenly called upon to move from Beegden down to Louvain to hold the line, where the Germans had broken through the American lines and were trying to get to Antwerp to block our lines of supply. So in Christmas week in 1944, the 2nd Battalion The Monmouthshire Regiment found itself barracked in the centre of the city of Louvain, or Leuven, as the Belgians called it. We were quartered in,a large school in St Jaacobs Platz. (Now I had been in Leuven before on my way from a Transit Camp in France to join up with this regiment to which I had been posted and had met a lovely young girl there whose name was, if I can recall it correctly, Emma Leunis but I seem to have forgotten her address 鈥� bad mistake on the part of a Lothario!) On the opposite side of the square was a caf茅 and in this caf茅 there was a very beautiful young girl. Naturally we all flocked to this caf茅 in the evenings. She could also dance and as I was one of the few who could do ballroom dancing and especially the jitterbug, we seemed to merge together. M,selle Titine Robert, St Jaacobs Platz, 2d, Leuven. I wonder if you are still living? I have never made it back to Leuven since those days but I did write one or two letters. We had the usual traditional Regimental Christmas day in Leuven where the officers and sergeants served us with breakfast (well, a mug of tea and a measure of rum) in bed and then lunch in the room reserved as a mess. Shortly afterwards we were again moved on from Leuven down into the Ardennes and finished up at a place called Marche` (?) (or was it Hotton?). Anyway, 鈥榯was deep into the Ardennes zone. Not long after we got there we were told to prepare ourselves to make an attack up and over the hill at the back of the town. Now, I鈥檝e never been able to understand why, when the British Army makes an attack it is always at about 5 a.m. We were always 鈥榮tood to鈥� at about 4.30 a.m., just in case the Germans decided to make an attack 鈥� their officers must have been trained with the same manual as ours!. so why did we always have to start an attack at 5 a.m., when it was obvious to everyone concerned that the Germans would also be 鈥榮tood to鈥� at 4.30 a.m., also waiting for an attack? The Wellington mind-set? (I sometimes wonder if the officers training at Sandhurst today are still instructed that if they are ordered to make an attack against the enemy they should do so at 5 a.m.!) Still, ours not to reason why and off we set in the Bren carriers and trucks to the start off point. It was snowing when we dismounted and formed up to make our way up the hillside through the forest to the top of the hill from where we could survey 鈥榯he wondrous land鈥� and decide what to do next. On the way through the forest I very nearly stumbled over two very dead German SS officers so someone had done their work very well. We reached the top of the hill and gazed down into the valley where there was another small village. 鈥極K lads, that鈥檚 the first objective鈥� came the command and we stood up and started our advance down the hill, over completely open ground, towards this village. The next thing we knew was that two German .88 mm cannons on the opposite side of the valley opened up point blank and the white snow suddenly turned all very black and grey and here and there also red from the blood of our comrades who fell in the first two or three salvoes from the 88鈥檚. Cor blimey, what a dash down that hill. I believe that a couple of Mustang fighters were hurriedly called up and made short work of the 88鈥檚. We were now in the village through which ran the main road on the way to Bastogne. Consolidate. BUT, where were the Germans?
One would have thought that with two 88鈥檚 on the side of the hill that there would have been a few Germans to put up a fight. Instead, nothing. After searching through the village it was decided that we should push on down the road. Second surprise. About half a kilometre down the road from the village our advance party encountered a German Tiger tank dug in to the ground with just its turret showing and this, too, made itself known in no uncertain a manner. Nothing left but to go back up the hill at another angle towards a point where we could outflank it. Again, strangely, up the unmade road up the side of this hill, there were again dead German soldiers lying in the snow. What had been going on before we came on the scene? Still, no time to think about that. We had to make the top of the hill and get into the forest once again. Objective reached by which time it was getting on for late afternoon so after having ventured someway into the forest and finding no resistance, it was decided to withdraw to more or less the edge of the forest and dig-in against a possible enemy counter-attack. Dig-in! What with? None of us had any trenching tools with us. Just our small packs on our backs. Me, of course, dummy in the middle, being a Regimental Signaller, had also a No:18 Radio set on my back plus a couple of batteries slung underneath. Have you ever tried to dig a slit-trench with the bayonet on issue at that time in 1944/45? About 8 inches long and thin and round, something like the steel one uses in the kitchen on which to whet knives before carving Sunday lunch. So make do the best you can and together with my Major (sorry, sir, but I simply cannot recall your name) we managed to scrape a small indentation about six inches deep into the frozen ground and wrapping our overcoats around us got down to have a sleep. Awake the next morning and the snow, although still falling in spits and starts, was not bad enough yet to block any movement by Bren carriers which managed to get to our position and drop off some breakfast, tea and, thankfully, some entrenching tools. My Major, the Company Commander, using the radio set I was carrying made his report to Battalion Headquarters (which, no doubt, in turn, made it鈥檚 report to Brigade Headquarters). Shortly afterwards we received the order to continue our advance. Up and at 鈥榚m, lads! And off we went into the forest, slipping and sliding down the fairly steep hill. About three quarters of the way down someone spied a house through the trees to our left and we decided that no matter how deep the snow, the best way forward was on our bellies. We arrived at a position to the rear, maybe, of the house. One man was sent forward towards the house to make a reconnaissance of the area. Poor bastard. Half-way to the house he stepped on an S-mine which exploded and made a mess of him and for the next 30 minutes we lay there listening to his screams and pleadings for his mother until he suddenly went silent.. It don鈥檛 do much for your morale when that kind of thing happens. Unfortunately for us, this also alerted the Germans in the house who opened up fire with just about everything they had. I dived behind a tree and still today, some 60 years on, I can hear those bullets from the German Schmeizer machine gun ripping into the tree trunk behind which I was sheltering and shivering with fear. My Major crawled to me and got on the radio to Battalion headquarters and advised them of the situation, told them we were about to withdraw to safer ground and asking for an artillery 鈥榮tonk鈥� upon the position of the house. So we began our withdrawal back up the hill but, unfortunately, the Artillery, not having had much to do that day, were very much on the QV and when they got the order to 鈥榮tonk鈥� that house, did so. Now, if you are on one side of a hill, populated very thickly with pine trees, and the artillery are on the other side of that hill, when they fire and the shells begin to fall, some of them (all of the bloody things!) hit the tops of the trees and get deflected down in amongst you, and there landed some very nasty 25 pounder shells which we were not expecting.
I don鈥檛 know if any of them reached the house we had stumbled across, but if you have ever been a couple of metres away from exploding artillery shells, it鈥檚 not a very nice experience and we were really taking it badly. There is a huge flash of very white light followed a nano-second later by the red fires of hell and the very nasty sound of shrapnel; whizzing by (and sometimes, through) you. Very unpleasant and these shells caused some half dozen casualties amongst us. I got a call from someone to 鈥榯ell the b鈥︹�︹�s to stop shelling鈥� which I was only too glad to do but we had to struggle our way back up the hill, about a hundred or so yards before we decided to call a halt taking our wounded with us. It had now started to snow with a vengeance. 鈥淥K lads, this鈥檒l do. We dig in here and wait until tomorrow鈥�. So it was back down to digging a slit trench. Have any of you reading this have ever had to dig a slit trench? It goes something like this. About 3 to 4 feet long, about two feet wide and deep enough so that when you stand upright in it only the top half of you face from your nose upwards, should be visible. If you are going to spend a night in the trench, you will also carve out a small shelf half-way down on each side wide enough for you to lie in so you can, maybe, get some sleep. You鈥檙e probably thinking by now that I was used to this kind of life? Let me assure you that this was not the case. This was the very first attack the battalion had made in which I was an active member. To say that I was scared stiff is an under-statement. And yet, I suppose, because I was the Radio Operator working alongside the Major company-commander, there was no way I could let on to him that I was scared. So we dug the trench together. The earth we dug up was piled up on the edges of the trench and patted down to try and form a barrier to any shells that might explode coming from the enemy (at least, this time, we hoped, not ours!). So there we are. Snug as bugs in a rug. All nice and tidy. No need to camouflage the position. The snow took care of that. And did it snow!鈥� There must have been about two metres of that damned white stuff before we decided to call it a day and go to bed. This was just the first night. Next morning whatever we could salvage from our rations (what rations?) we had for breakfast. My Major got on the radio the Battalion HQ. Stay where you are and hold the line. How about getting some food and tea up to us? You must be joking. Nothing can move, there鈥檚 too much flaming snow. You鈥檒l just have to make do until the snow stops falling and we can try and clear the road to get to you. Thank goodness Christmas and the New Year 1945 had come and gone. We would have hated getting that in our stockings. Second night in the trench. Now we are reduced to sucking the snow to relieve our thirsts and for food? Try snacking on a twig from a tree! The second night we got down to sleep. Awoke in the morning, as on the morning before, with our feet and ankles in water with ice on the top. Break the ice but the water, where do you put it? As fast as you scoop it out, more drips down from the snow. And it鈥檚 still snowing. Then suddenly the snow stops. Have you ever heard 鈥� yes Heard!鈥� 鈥� snow stop. The world goes quiet. Everything is covered in, or so it seemed, miles of snow. It鈥檚 so quiet you can hear the droplets of water from the melting snow on the branches of the trees hitting the snow below. It really is amazing how quiet the world becomes.
The branches of the trees are almost breaking under the weight of the blasted stuff. And you are still up over your ankles in water that is trying it鈥檚 best to turn your feet into a block of ice. Once more on the radio. Lucky I had brought a couple of extra batteries with me so we could still contact the outer world. 鈥楾he snow has stopped. We are trying our best to clear a path up for the carriers. One more night in the trench. The third night! Awoke next morning and, hip hip hooray, we hear the laboured sound of the Bren Carriers coming through the trees and suddenly, there in front of us, are our mates. AND THEY HAVE BROUGHT US SOME FOOD AND TEA!! What a feast. Three days rations in one morning. Porridge, boiled eggs, bread and butter. But above all, that saver of English souls, a mug of hot sweet tea. My mug filled, I ate a little and decided to take a drink of the warm stuff. I lifted my mug to take a swig and it was empty. I turned to the Major and without thinking of rank told him what I thought of him for drinking my tea. He replied in like vein that he had not touched my mug so I took a look at the offending article. In the bottom was a large ragged hole. I took a look at my small pack. Which I had carried on top of the 18 set wireless. A nice large hole in the top of the pack. Inside were a spare pair of socks, a spare shirt and towel and soap, etc, and in each one was a very ragged hole. In the bottom of the pack I discovered a piece of shrapnel about an inch and a half long and half an inch wide. Just goes to show, 鈥榠f it ain鈥檛 got your number on it, you鈥檙e OK鈥�
(I eventually took it home with me and presented it to my mother as a souvenir of 鈥榯he one that got away鈥�). Apologies all round and I took a very welcome slug of tea from my Major鈥檚 mug. When we had all finished and had a smoke (probably even those who did not usually smoke had a cigarette that morning) we were told to pack up and get ready to march back to where we had to go to. So back up and down the hill to the small village where this had all begun and carry on marching. About five kilometres to where we had to go to. And my feet hurt. Before we had gone half-way, I was in agony. I could hardly bear to put one foot in front of another and a few of my comrades were also suffering the same pain. We arrived in the small town of Hotton (?) or was it Marche`(?). (Who can remember after all these years and I no longer have the map of the area which I once carried around with me.) Orders! Fall in in three ranks. Right dress. Down the ranks comes the Major. 鈥淭hanks lads. Now get in those houses and get a bath or a shower and get into some clean and dry clothes鈥�. What a welcome order. Naturally, as the Regimental Signaller and Wireless Operator I have to go into the same house as the Major. God, this overcoat weighs a ton, the water is still dripping off it. My battle-dress is also still wet. Off it comes. Where鈥檚 the bath? Wait a minute, take your boots off first! Undo the laces, slowly peel the soaking wet leather boots from my feet and thankfully strip off my socks. And my feet swell to twice their size and the pain is excruciating. I can鈥檛 even walk to the bathroom. Eventually overcome the pain and place my feet in the hot water of the bath. I never, ever, want to feel that again. And still my feet swelled!. I manage to get to the Major and tell him that I was in no state to do any further marching or even slow walking for a short while. 鈥淟ook, we have to go back into battle tomorrow鈥�, said he, 鈥榗an you not force your feet into your boots and carry on?鈥� 鈥楴o way, sir, I need to see a doctor straight away鈥�. So they called the Medical Officer. He took one look at my poor old tootsies and pronounced that I had a bad case of trench feet and a little bit of frost-bite and should be evacuated immediately.
Continues in Part II.

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