大象传媒

I was called up for the Army on the 3rd December 1942, having reached 18 years of age on the13th May the same year, reporting to LE CATEAU barracks in Colchester. Recruits did not go into any particular unit; bur joined the General Service Corps or G.S.C. for six weeks training: learning how to drill etc. Recruits were not allowed outside of the barracks for at least two weeks, until they could conduct themselves.
Training consisted of tests, written and practical, to see what we were good enough for, i.e. to be a square peg in a round hole. We were also doing military training, learning marching, arms drill and weapon training. After six weeks of this you were posted to different units. One man by the name of Dick Viney was posted to OCTU to become an officer (more of him later). I with a few others was kept at Colchester on a twelve weeks driving course. We had all been drivers in civvy street, but we had to unlearn it all and be taught the army way 鈥� this was, of course, the same as civvy street, but by numbers as everything else in the army. We were also taught about the care and maintenance of vehicles etc. I think I knew every inch of the Colchester By-pass.
At the end of the course, which I passed as Driver I/C, we were sent on leave for seven days. At the end of this leave I was to report to the 1st Bucks, the Territorial Battalion of the Oxford and Buckinghamshire Light Infantry. They were stationed at Gales Camp, in a village called Dundonald. This was situated between Troon and Irvine on the west coast of Scotland. It was aptly named as the wind never seemed to stop blowing.

I joined them on the 13th January 1943. After the first few months there the mob moved to the race course at the seaside town of Ayr. We `were billeted in the grandstands which had been boarded up as the racing was suspended. Apart from small arms firing on the ranges the training seemed to consist of a 5 mile run every day around the perimeter roads of the race course. There were not many drill parades because there was no where large enough for a drill square. Much to the RSM鈥檚 disgust.
Friday evenings we used to go to the Playhouse Theatre, Ayr, admission was about 3d (old money). For about the same price we would go to the ice rink. We would then just have enough money left to buy our 40 cigarettes, our NAAFI ration for the week. Pay was so poor that after you had paid for any Brass, Blanco etc you had to rely on any well off mates to keep you in tea and wads (cakes).
During the summer of 1943 we went to Tenby, Wales for a big scheme which involved wading ashore from landing craft. This scheme for us consisted of unloading ammunition and stores from coasters. Our unit was known as a 鈥榖each group鈥� which was a posh sounding name or a bunch of labourers. This scheme lasted three months. The troops that seemed to be doing most work were the REME who seemed to spend all their time going into the water, under the surface, in enclosed and waterproof tractors to rescue trucks that had driven out to the coasters to unload them at low tide and got stuck in the soft sand and then got covered by the sea.

After the scheme finished we moved inland a little way to the small town of Haverfordwest for a few days and then, because we had been so heroic, the powers that be sent the whole lot of us on seven days leave. If only they had known the amount of supplies that went missing 鈥� mainly fags 鈥� we would have to nick for life instead.
After leave we went back to our old billets in Ayr, life went on as before, route marches and training until leave came round again. I returned from one leave to find the whole battalion was on exercise. The other person with me was a lance Corporal from my Platoon. We hadn鈥檛 had time to draw our kit from the stores when we were told to report to the RSM, who promptly sent us straight back to London (where the L/Cpl came from) to escort a soldier from our company who was being detained by London District Military Police for over staying his leave.

We arrived in London the next day and reported to London HQ only to be told to come back for the squaddie at 2000 hrs, get transport to the station for the overnight train to Glasgow. On the journey the L/Cpl told me to get my head down for a while as he would keep an eye on the prisoner then he would wake me up so that he could have a kip. Being a good soldier I obeyed his orders. Sometime later I woke up to find the prisoner wide-awake and the L/Cpl fast a sleep. The lad said that 鈥渉e could have got of the train a couple of times, if he had wanted, as the L/Cpl had gone to sleep just after I had but he had now sorted out his troubles at home and was happy to be going back to the mob鈥�. He got six months in the Glasshouse (Military Prison).

Later in 1943 we moved from Ayr to a little village in the highlands called Strathpeffer. The village consisted of two large hotels, a few shops, houses and small hotels plus a large hall where we had a few dances occasionally. The troops were in the two big hotels, the one I was in was called the Highland Hotel. It was an LMS railway hotel and had been taken over for the duration of the war. There was a big barn in the village that had been turned into a cinema.
Strathpeffer was practically at the foot of the second highest mountain in Scotland, Ben Wyvis (3,433 ft). We climbed it one day as there was quite an easy path to the summit. We also used to go by platoons to the fields around the area firing Bren guns at target drogues towed by aircraft. The aircraft crew were a little put out once when someone only just missed shooting the plane down.

There were only four of us in our room in the hotel, myself from Bristol, one from Bath, one from Clevedon and the Platoon Commander鈥檚 batman 鈥� a lad from Melton Mowbray- who鈥檚 name was Charlie Burford. There was an open fireplace in the room and, because Charlie was off duty before we finished parades, and because fires were not allowed before 16:15, he was able to light the fire before we got back. So in winter we always had a lovely warm room to come back to.

We were well trained in the old soldiers鈥� maxim 鈥� off in bed or out of barracks. After last parade on a Saturday, which was always a five mile cross-country run you were finished until Monday morning. If you failed to finish the run in 30 minutes you had to go round again in the afternoon 鈥� I don鈥檛 recall anyone having to do that.
After lunch on Saturday we quite often went to bed and often stayed there, apart from calls of nature, until Monday morning reveille. If someone was feeling energetic they would get out of bed at meal times and would bring some tea and whatever food they could scrounge from the cook-house to the room for those still in bed. After all there was nothing to do in the village.
While we were there 12 Ors, including myself and 2 Officers went on a twelve week ammunition course at the big RAOC depot in Bramley, Surrey. This was a pleasant scrounge in a lovely village 鈥� nearly all the time we were there it was perfect English summer.

Early 1944 we moved to Petworth in Sussex, billeted in Nissan huts in the grounds of Petworth House. Life was going on as before when suddenly everything changed 鈥� security was tightened and all leave was stopped. We were confined to camp and only allowed to go to the village on evenings. We were allowed 24 hour passes every week, each company on a different day. That lasted for 3 weeks; I was able to get home for two of them. Suddenly the camp was sealed off; a Nissan hut was surrounded by barbed wire and Redcaps. We were taken to this hut every day to study a model of the invasion beaches that had been set up in it. All we knew was that it was somewhere on the French coast. Sometime after this we left the camp and went on a movement control exercise, or so we thought. We went first to a camp in Southampton for about a week and then moved to a tented camp in the New Forest. After a few days we were issued with French invasion money, this was specially printed for the troops. We were taken by transport to the landing craft etc for the invasion. As we travelled through the villages the people would cheer us, everybody seemed to know what was happening except the poor old squaddie. I think we must have travelled the whole South of England then one day we ended up at Bucklers Hard. As we got off the transport I was informed by our Platoon Commander (Lt Yates) that I was to be his runner and bodyguard 鈥� WHY ME? 鈥� the biggest coward under the sun.
As we boarded the tank landing ship another Lt came up to me enquiring after my health and why wasn鈥檛 I in nick yet. After a moment I realised who he was, Dick Viney who had finished his Officer Cadet training and had come back to the unit. It seems all his male relatives had been in the mob; his father at some time having been the OC of the unit.
The landing craft sailed from the port to the marshalling area, south of the Isle of Wight; from the boat we could see Ventnor. We anchored in this spot for 10 days 鈥� how we weren鈥檛 spotted by Jerry I鈥檒l never know. There again perhaps we were and he thought we were on a world cruise for our health. On the evening of June 5th we set sail, the war for us, in the shape of Europe, had started.
We landed about 1830 on D Day the 6th June. The beach we landed on was called Sword Beach, situated in a little seaside area called Oiustreham, the entrance to the Caen Canal. We were part of the 3rd British Division of 30 Corps. No casualties were suffered although we did come under fire from some Jerry long range guns.
We moved from this area a little way inland, turned left through the town and moved up to the canal. On the right hand side of the road was a narrow gauge tramway track which we followed for a mile or so and then cut back towards the beaches. When we got there we dug slit trenches in the gardens of the houses that had been built in the sand dunes. These must have been lovely house one time but all they were all now ruined by bombs and shells. We covered the trenches with doors from the houses and piled earth on top of that to give some protection from Jerry鈥檚 shells. We were there working on the beaches, unloading stores etc., also clearing up pockets of resistance, which is where we started getting casualties. After a couple of weeks of this we moved up to the canal.

On the banks of the canal, near the bridge that crossed it, there were some beach huts which we moved into as they were brick-built and, except for a direct hit, would afford good protection. Mr Yates, his batman and I had the hut on our side nearest the bridge, of course the best of the lot. It had been re-enforced and used by the Jerrys as an ammo store. From the other side of the canal you could see across the fields to a place called Dives close to where the airborne troops had landed 鈥� by the sound of the small arms fire I鈥檓 glad I wasn鈥檛 there. One night I was off duty and fast asleep in our little hut when the house over the bridge went up in flames, over came jerry鈥檚 planes and started bombing the area of the bridge and beaches 鈥� I wasn鈥檛 very happy about that. Mr Yates, in his wisdom, decided that battalion HQ should be told what was happening 鈥� seeing they were in the area of the beaches they could hardly fail to notice 鈥� so he sent me. It was only half a mile to HQ but that took me about two hours as I spent most of the time diving for cover. I don鈥檛 think the CO was too pleased; he would not let me go back so I had to stay at HQ. The next morning I went back with the CO who then took Mr Yates to one side. When Sir came back into the hut he was not looking too pleased. I was told by the Platoon Sergeant, who had heard part of the conversation, that the CO was telling him to use his loaf as he didn鈥檛 want needless casualties.
Later on in the morning Mr Yates and I went across the bridge, it was undamaged by the bombing and as we were coming back over we fired on from the lighthouse. Neither of us was hit, that day there wasn鈥檛 a gun fast enough to catch me. I reckon I did the 4-minute mile long before Roger banister ever did. I was under cover long before Mr Yates, surprising as in training he always left me standing. Sir got on the radio and called for an RE tank, which arrived and, with a little thing called the Flying Dustbin, promptly brought the light house down in little pieces.
I was doing my favourite thing one day, i.e. sitting in the deepest slit trench I could find, when the CO came up and said 鈥渉e was going across the bridge to examine a German pillbox, a smart job with an armoured cupola on the top. He asked Mr Yates if he wanted to go as well; he declined but volunteered me. We got to the other side and when we arrived at the pillbox a

Commando Sergeant who was with us lifted the cover, climbed down inside followed by the CO and me. Jerry had dug under the ground a little way using this space as an ammo store. It contained some pistols, including a verey light pistol. As we were about to pick up some pistols to take back with us the clot of a Sergeant picked up the verey pistol and pulled the trigger. There was a big bang as it went off, starting a fire in some rubbish 鈥� we beat a hasty retreat. When we got back over the bridge the fire was going well, suddenly there was a huge explosion as the ammo went up.

After a few weeks we moved into an orchard on the edge of town, the fighting having moved on a bit by then, though we were getting stonked (shelled) regularly, usually at meal times. When the petrol burners were going full blast you couldn鈥檛 hear a shell until it landed. One evening, as we were going through it, a lad named Jollife jumped into the platoon 15cwt truck and as he did so a shell landed almost on the truck killing him outright. He was our platoons first casualty unfortunately I don鈥檛 remember his first name but I know he came from Bristol.

We continued to stay in the orchard and work on the beaches for a while then the Powers that be decided to break the unit up. I don鈥檛 think any of the boys were too sorry about this as the OC began to think we were back at the Depot and had us doing drill\parades on the road outside the orchard when we weren鈥檛 on duty. How we won the war with clots like that I will never know. I think he was bomb happy having been badly wounded at Dunkirk 鈥� so maybe there was some excuse. We all went to different Units; my company went to the 51st Highland Division. Our platoon, with one exception, went to 1st Battalion the Black Watch. The only one not to go was Mr Yates, it was rumoured he was given a base job. Happily for us Dick Viney became our Platoon Commander. He asked me if I would stay as Platoon runner with him 鈥� I told him I would give him a trial, what a difference good bosses make in anything. The Company Commander was Major Peter Taylor, who had been with the Company in the desert and the Battalion was commanded by Lt Col John Hopwood, who was known as laughing John because he always seemed to be laughing even when we were in dire straits. He even smiled when telling someone off.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.