大象传媒

continued from 13b

As soon as I was relieved at the end of my eight hours' duty I left the Command Post and headed for my slit trench, but before I had gone many yards I was intercepted by another signaller who told me the B.S.M. wanted to see me. Changing direction immediately I walked towards Battery H.Q. lines, wondering why the sergeant- major should ask for me when there were off-duty men available for him if he wanted something doing.
"Ah, yes, " he said, when I reported to him. "You are one of our ex-Worcesters, aren't you? I want you to round up about half a dozen other ex-Worcesters who aren't on duty and report back here with them."
As I went to do his bidding I wondered why on earth he should ask for ex-Worcesters specifically when there were others readily available. I knew the Worcesters had suffered heavy casualties, the same as most of our infantry battalions, and I wondered vaguely if we were to be posted back to them as replacements.
In fact, our infantry casualties were so heavy that some artillery regiments still in England were hastily given infantry training and shipped out to Normandy as infantry. Having earned the reputation of being a very efficient infantry battalion ourselves, we ex-Worcesters were thankful we had been sent to Normandy so soon, or we might have had to revert to our original role.
My thoughts turned out to be completely erroneous, because the sergeant major's orders were quite different.
"You chaps are all fully-trained infantrymen, and you know far more about infantry patrols and field craft than I do," he told us. "A German patrol has been seen in our regimental area and one of them is reported to be in our own Battery lines. I want you to go out and deal with him. "
This was a most unexpected turn of events, and we set out to try to locate the German 'trespasser鈥�.
We found him, but too late. An old French farmer had found him first and up-ended him into a well. When we arrived, the farmer was lounging nonchalantly against the wall of the well with his arms folded across his chest sucking placidly at an age-blackened pipe and looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
After our first month's fighting we were pulled out of the line for an all-too-brief break of two days to clean, repair, and generally bring all our equipment up to scratch. Although the weather was still warm and sunny we had no chance to laze about and enjoy it, for we were kept far too busy preparing for our return to the line, but one of our gunners knew little of what happened during, those two days. He took a liking to the local brew, Calvados, and downed a whole mugful at one go. That was on the Tuesday morning, soon after arriving at the 'rest' area. When we moved out on the Thursday afternoon he was still under the influence and had to be helped into his place in the quad.
We entered the line on the Caumont sector and spearheaded the Second Army's drive south. Fighting our way through extensive minefields we cleared Cahagnes, then thrust down the main road over hilly and thickly wooded country. In spite of considerable tank opposition we were in position ready for the assault on Mont Pincon by 5th. August. Mont Pincon is 1200 feet high and the dominating feature for miles around. "Whoever holds Mont Pincon holds Normandy," a French general had said. It stood athwart several roads essential to our advance.
The attack was launched from the southwest by the Somersets and the Wiltshires, strongly supported by tanks and artillery. The going, in orchard and woodland, was most difficult, the narrow country tracks making free movement of tanks impossible. The Germans had many great natural advantages and were deployed in strength with numerous machine guns sited on the wooded slopes. They enjoyed complete observation of our movements and shelled and mortared our infantry with deadly accuracy.
A new attack was launched the next day, after the 4th Wiltshires had marched nearly four miles with full kit through the thickly- wooded valley to take up a reserve position. The 4th Somersets and the 5th Wiltshires tried to storm the stream crossing under the western crest of the hill but were pinned down throughout the day by severe enfilading fire from machine guns. By the evening the Somersets, without tank support, had advanced only two hundred yards and suffered heavy casualties. The Wiltshires were pinned down at the approach to a bridge crossing. Men tried, individually and in groups, to rush the bridge, but were nearly all mown down as they ran. After many attempts, and by great determination and gallant leadership on the part of the officers, they gradually forced their way forward and reached the vital crossroads at La Varmiere. This crossroads was the key to the whole operation. Progress seemed impossible, yet this vicious defence line had to be broken. "I've never been so frightened in my life,鈥� were the last words that Lt. Col. J.H.C. Pearson spoke to his signals officer striding forward alone, his customary red rose in his buttonhole and his walking stick in his hand As he crossed over the bridge, urging his men onward with the stick, he fell dead, shot by a sniper in the trees. Captain T.H. Pearce, formulating a quick and simple plan, got across with the remnants of the battalion. They plunged on and gained the essential crossroads. That was the turning point in the battle for Mont Pincon. The 5th Wiltshires consolidated there. The 4th Wiltshires passed through them and gained the summit. The capture of the vital crossroads had turned a near failure into a splendid victory. German resistance cracked late in the afternoon and as dusk fell, when the 4th Wiltshires gained the summit, the 4th Somersets, who had been pinned down for so long on the lower slopes by vicious tank and machine gun fire, spotted some British tanks milling about on the top of the hill, and determined to support them. They advanced under cover of our smoke-screen, dust and fast failing light, with visibility almost nil, but the long hours spent pinned down below had enabled them to memorise the positions of the hedges ahead. The enemy broke here, too, and the battalion reached the crest to establish positions which were less than two hundred yards from the Wiltshires.

The O.P. crew usually consisted of four men an officer, a driver and two signallers. One of the signallers occupied the right- hand side passenger compartment of the Bren gun carrier and operated the No.19 radio set, which was the larger and more sophisticated of our two radios and the one with which we kept in touch with the rest of the battery. We found its two frequency dials a big advantage, for while one had of necessity to be netted in to the battery frequency the other could be, and nearly always was, tuned in to the B.B.C. Home Service, so that we could hear the news bulletins whenever possible. This was sometimes the only way we could find out where we were and what we were doing:
The other signaller occupied the left-hand side passenger compartment and operated the No.18 radio set, which was the type we had used in the infantry and was much simpler to use. It was netted in to whatever infantry unit we happened to be supporting. It was portable and could easily be strapped to one's back and it weighed twenty-nine pounds. It was because I had used this set so much in the Worcesters that I was chosen for O.P. training when the battalion became field artillery. We also carried a Don Five so that we could have a line to either the infantry or our own gun position if necessary .
Sometimes, the crew consisted of only three men, a driver/operator doubling as carrier driver and No.19 set operator. To operate the set when driving he had to fit the headset over his ears with the attached handset, or mike, hanging down in front of his chest. He could then send or receive messages as he drove along. Nobby usually got that job. When I found what work on the forward observation post entailed I was thankful for my infantry training.
The 1st. Worcesters, whom we were supporting, were combing the area for enemy troops. Our Bren gun carrier, R.D. (Roger Dog in the phonetics of the day) was parked close to a hedge. The area was littered with safe conduct leaflets the Germans had dropped, urging us to surrender and get ourselves out of the mess we were in and telling us that the Jerries are not such bad sorts after all. They were more a source of amusement that anything else and no one had any use for them except for utilitarian purposes!
Suddenly a German voice came over the radio and continued to usurp our frequency for several minutes. We did not understand a word of it but from the clarity of his transmission it was obvious he was not far away. The voice of Bert Hawkins, the control operator at ~.H.Q, then interrupted. "Hello, all stations Peter One. Report my signals. All stations Peter One, over."
"Peter One, O.K., over," answered "C" Troop O.P.
"Peter Two, O.K., over," answered "C" Troop gun position.
"Peter Three, O.K., over, " I replied.
"Peter Four, O.K., over, " replied "D" Troop gun position.
We could all hear him quite clearly, despite our scattered positions.
"Hello, all stations Peter One. O.K. Report signal strength. All stations Peter One, over," was Bert's next instruction.
"Peter One. All stations strength five. Over," 'C', Troop O.P. reported.
"Peter Two. All stations strength five. Over." reported "C" Troop gun position.
"Peter Three. All stations strength five. Over." I reported.
"Peter Four. All stations strength five. Over." replied "D" Troop gun position.
Who said the age of miracles was past? Our Battery net was bang on- for once!
"All stations Peter One. Roger, out." Bert signed off.
The German voice had been obliterated by our transmission but now it intruded on our frequency again. "Achtung, achtung," it began, but the rest of it was lost in German.
"Gerrout of it, you bloody squarehead," growled Alf, our driver, as the German voice persisted.
The voice continued for several minutes before it stopped, and we heard it no more. Then, after some minutes' silence, another voice intruded on our frequency. "Hello, Peter Three. Hello, Peter Three. Report my signals. Peter Three, over, " it called. I stared at the set as the voice I did not recognize went silent. After a brief pause the call was repeated, louder and more insistent than before, and again I did not answer. Only Bert Hawkins, or one of the other control operators at B.H.Q., should use that form of procedure when calling me, but this voice was not Bert's, nor that of any of his colleagues. All of us on the Battery net knew each other鈥檚 voices from long association with each other, but this voice was unknown to me. The call came a third time, as loudly and as imperative as before, and again I remained silent.
Then Bert's familiar voice came on again. "Hello, Peter Three. Hello, Peter Three. Ignore pirate station. Peter Three, over," he instructed. "Peter Three. Wilco, over, " I replied.
"Peter Three. Roger, out." Bert ended his transmission.
The German operator must have heard us and realised he had been rumbled, for he made no further attempt to draw me into conversation and we heard no more from him.

There was rapid movement all along the front and "D" Troop guns were so far forward that the O.P. was deemed unnecessary for the time being and we were called in. The position of the guns was sufficient to show just how far forward they were. They covered an arc of 270 degrees, with number one pointing back north-west almost in the direction from which we had come and number four firing off back up north-east towards the channel. Two and three were trying optimistically to fill the space in between.
When the four guns are pointing in four different directions like that they are in a place where they have no right to be. Too far forward for their own good.
We lost one man killed during the short time we were there. He thoughtlessly piled metal boxes around the edge of his slit trench for greater personal protection without realising they contained the blue bags of cordite. An enemy shell hit them and they went up in a sheet of flame. The man sustained severe burns and died soon afterwards.
We soon went out again. Roger Dog rattled along the narrow country roads and soon came to a small farmhouse situated on a small hill. It seemed a good place to observe from, so we stopped the carrier and Captain Woodward and I walked quickly up the hill to the house. Three or four ladies going about their daily chores gave us no more than a casual glance as we approached. A slit trench protected by a hawthorn hedge had been dug only a little way behind the house and we dropped into it and peered through the hedge. What we saw both amazed and delighted us. Only two fields away, in full view, was a row of German field guns, with their limbers and trucks parked nearby and the crews strolling about in the open field with no attempt at concealment or camouflage. Somehow, we must have found our way past the enemy front line positions and reached one of their artillery positions.
"Quick, Burdon, fetch your remote," Captain Woodward urged. But I needed no urging. I was already out of the trench and doubling back to Roger Dog almost before he had finished speaking.
With the remote control cable run out and the headset connected on to it I lost no time in calling up the Troop guns. "Hello, Peter Three. Hello, Peter Three. Message for Peter Four. Fire orders. Peter Three to Peter Four, over."
"Hello, Peter Four. Message for Peter Three. Wait." came the reply. After what seemed an age but was in fact only seconds came the reply.
"Hello, Peter Four. Message for Peter Three. Sorry, we can't fire. We're on the move. Peter Four to Peter Three, over."
I acknowledged the information and then called up "A" Troop guns. Again I was told to wait, and again I received the reply: " Sorry , we can't fire. We're on the move. "
With the whole Battery on the move there was only one chance left. I called up the control operator at B.H.Q. and asked him if he would get through on the "H" net to the other Batteries and find out if one of them could accept our fire orders. They could not. The whole regiment was moving forward to take up new positions. The situation was most frustrating. There we were, with a target any self-respecting gunner would love to have a go at, and nobody wanted to know. While I was busy on the radio the Germans had not been idle. They brought their vehicles up to the guns and limbered up, and drove away even as we waited for a reply Perhaps it was the stray shell that landed just in front of them that prompted them to leave. We could only watch them go.

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