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and the terminals were green with verdigris.
Although we had spent years firing at live targets, it was
decided to send us up to Kirkcudbright to tryout the new tanks on the
range. There were no complaints. It was said often that hospitality to troops improved the further north you went in Britain. Certainly the
good folks of Kirkcudbright and district made it three or four days to
remember, whether it was drinking strong ale with the farmers on market day or the dance that was put on one evening, with home made scones and cakes provided by the local ladies during the interval.
George Johnson was assigned the job of collecting a Cromwell
equipped with a howitzer from the factory in Leeds. He was driven up in a 15cwt truck by Steve Paul with one or two others to act as tank crew
on the trip back. By judicious timing they arrived at the works late on the day before the close down for the Easter holiday weekend. George
lived at Doncaster and the others, except Steve, also lived in Yorkshire. Steve dropped them off at their respective residences before taking the truck to Liverpool where he lived. George was in some doubt as to
whether or not Steve, an old soldier, would return to pick them up on the day after the holiday. However, he did. George then started his
drive south in the tank, leaving it parked outside his parent's home in Doncaster the first night of the journey.
As D Day drew nearer we were waterproofing tanks again.
Gradually the tanks and lA' echelon were concentrated in the Felixstowe area and 'B' echelon went to camp out on West Ham Football Club ground. It was surprising how often a three ton truck, the back packed with men not required for specific duties that day, had to liaise with 'B'
echelon. Leaving early in the morning, one got a good day out in London

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(64) starting with flapjacks and maple syrup at the Canadian Club. Typically we were introduced to the Canadian Club by a Dutch sailor.
Eventually we sailed from Felixstowe and down the Channel. We arrived off the invasion beach on June 6th and spent the night still on the landing craft. The odd bomb dropped near but it was fairly quiet. We landed on June 7th and spent an uneventful night. The fireworks started on June 8th so far as we were concerned. Eric Wilde was back as troop and our tank commander, having recovered from his Italian wound. We were plastered with mortar bombs. One landed directly in the turret of 'Chota' Davidson's tank. Only 'Pop' Waters and 'Wilbur' Wright got out, 'Pop'suffering terrible burns. Eric Wilde was wounded again in the head and had to go back.
The next few days, spent round the village of Villers Bocage, were hard on both men and machines. The 4th County of London Yeomanry, one of the regiments in our brigade, were engaged with Tigers and Panthers in Villers Bocage itself at point blank range. One infantry anti-tank unit put their Piat mortar almost touching a Tiger before firing and were unlucky enough to have picked the tool chest.
One memory of this period is of having a little engine trouble with our tank. Moving on down the road to catch up with our squadron there was a sudden swirl of American vehicles going past us in the opposite direction. Then we rounded the corner and found three tanks with their guns trained down the road at us. Fortunately we recognised them as ours, but they were under the impression that the road had been cut. At first they thought we were Germans.
After a few days it was decided to pull back. We were moving along a road at nightfall and there was a blazing tank on the right

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brew up'. Apart from a mistake in one number of the call sign it
sounded genuine. Anyone who had turned right would have been in serious trouble. No one did, but the Germans got full marks for trying.
The countryside, with high hedges and sunken roads, was very different from the desert or southern Italy. Determined infantry could get to close quarters without being seen. One 5th tank troop was way-laid by Panzer-Grenadiers who succeded in getting on the back of one tank as it passed down a sunken road. A grenade was lobbed into
the turret and sticky bombs attached to the side. The grenade landed in the lap of the wireless operator who promptly lobbed it out again rear-wards. There it exploded and cleared the unwanted passengers. The tank commander behind warned everyone to keep their heads down and machine gunned the sticky bombs off.
Our troop was led now by Jack Stiddard in place of Eric Wilde. George Onions had his own tank command in the troop and was lead tank on one particular day. Coming up to a gateway, his tank shed a track and Sergeant Cook's tank took over the lead. They had gone only a short distance beyond the gate when they were hit and 'brewed up' immediately. Only Sergeant Cook got out. Those who were killed included 'Dizzy' Langford, 'Whaler' Tutheridge and a teenager, 'Chalky' White, who had joined us at Shakers Wood. But for the track of the then leading tank breaking minutes earlier they would not have been there but in the rear of the troop. Call it fate or luck or what you will, the circumstances made a deep impression on everyone.
The 4th C.L.Y. having suffered heavily at Villers Bocage, the 5th Inniskilling Dragoon Guards joined the 1st and 5th Tanks in the

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brigade. One or two of the newcomers' little ways amazed us. There were youngsters who had joined us at Shakers Wood who had friends from the same training unit with the 'Skins'. Not unnaturally, they went to visit their friends. The new 'Skins' received a solemn warning from their sergeant-major not to have anything to do with the R.T.R. or they would pick up bad habits. The brigade received orders to move suddenly and the 5th Inniskilling nragoon Guards were supposed to be the lead regiment. They asked to be excused as they were busy painting their tanks - the wheel rivets all picked out in pretty contrasting colour. As Bangle Bowman said: "What can you expect from donkey wallopers?" (i.e. cavalry regiments).
By mid-July the scene had moved to Caen. We watched with awe as the R.A.F. used 1000 Lancasters in a concentrated raid on the German positions less than a mile away. By the end of the raid not an anti- aircraft gun was firing and it did not seem possible for anyone to be still living in the pounded area. They were, though, and soon asserted their presence.
By now I was back on George's tank with 'Yam' Taylor as driver and 'Slicer' Spencelyas lap gunner. 'Yam' was an old soldier with the North West Frontier ribbon of his service in India of the 1930's. Every campaign found him at the start as squadron leader's staff car driver or some such duty befitting an elder statesman. 'Yam' was well into his thirties as was tpop' Waters. He came from Cumberland and got his nick-
name from his oft repeated remark: "I want to go yam". Every campaign 1 nevertheless found Yam back driving a tank as soon as casualties or emergencies gave the opportunity. Yam was a professional soldier in the best sense of the word. In retrospect, one cannot help wondering if he

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had some presentiment. Unusually for Yam, he was frequently serious in
his denunciation of Hitler for prolonging the war when it was obvious he had lost.
The crew were keen on boxing and we carried a set of gloves in the blanket box for sparring between ourselves when we were not required immediately for hostilities against the Germans.
Soon the Falaise Gap battle developed. There is a hazy memory of a vast plain littered with burning tanks. Suddenly we found ourselves behind a hedge with a Tiger tank full in the sights at 500 yards. I wanted to have a go but George, no doubt with his Tunisian escape in
mind, thought the range too far for our 75mm. Our discussion was interrupted by the turret being hit. We heard afterwards that there had also been a Panther, well camouflaged, which had been watching us as we watched the Tiger.
The turret was blazing well.. I dragged myself through the hatch which acted as an up-draught for the flames. After rolling about to put out the flames, I ran back to our nearest tank which was commanded by Cyril Nutall. He put George, myself and the uninjured Slicer on the back and took us to the rear. Cyril was in trouble immediately with Dennis Cockbaine, the acting squadron commander. I doubt whether George or myself would have survived in the state we were without Cyril's action. Yam and the wireless operator, Ken White, did not get out of the tank. Months afterwards, I heard that Cyril was killed the next day.
Also the next day both the Tiger and the Panther we had tangled with came to grief. 'Pluto' Ellis, his tank equipped with a 17 pounder, came up to a hedge with a German tank on the other side and
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above him. Pluto's tank ran on to a strong, whippy tree at the front.
This re-asserted itself and pushed the tank front off the ground. In order to move, a tow was needed from the tank behind. Meanwhile,
the German was doing his best to bring his gun to bear but could not
obtain enough depression.. The shots going just overhead discouraged any of Pluto's crew from getting out to connect the tow (source of information - George Johnson, Pluto's driver) so Pluto got out and did it himself. After being towed off the tree they proceeded to knock out both the Tiger and the Panther. Harry Ireland was the gunner.
Pluto's crew watched him climb on to the Tiger. The German
tank commander was still in the turret, both arms having been severed by an armour piercing solid shot. Pluto heaved the body out and vanished
inside the turret. On being asked what he was after, Pluto pointed out that a chap with such magnificent shoulder epaulettes must have had a good wristwatch. He was looking for the arm. In due course, Pluto was awarded a bar to his D.C.M.
Anyone meeting Pluto for the first time would have the impression, probably, of a quiet, undemonstrative man. In civilian life he was a gamekeeper. Few of his army friends would fancy poaching on
his preserves. His crew's main complaint was his fondness for finding various stringed musical instruments on which he would play to his own
I I
singing. After enduring this for a day or two, the instrument would be 1.
placed under the tank track at a judicious moment just before moving. On getting out after we were hit, I thought my burns were
superficial and that a couple of weeks would put me right. Presumably
some morphia was injected as a casual, almost carefree, mood continued. The truck on which some of us were stretcher cases stopped and everyone
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baled out to take cover from a low level air-raid. Some perverse streak of non-logic persuaded me that you could not be hit twice in one day and we waited, quite unworried, for the driver to come back and move on
again. Some of the other wounded were Canadians. They were worried
because I was not saying much. I could hear their conversation but did' not feel like talking myself.
A memory of the cross-channel trip back to England is of a
kindly sailor bringing me a large, steaming mug of cocoa and helping me to drink it. As wonderful a drink as I have ever had. [Geoffrey told me much later that the cocoa had been intended fer the sailor. Seeing Geoffrey on the stretcher, the sailor said: "Here, lad, you look
in more need of this than I do". Geoffrey was convinced that the drink saved his life. A.P.W.]
Back in England, after a short stay at the Royal Naval Hospital at Haslor, it was on to Basingstoke. This was a war time burns
unit with a famous New Zealand surgeon, Sir Harold Gillies. His chief
assistant was a middle aged Danish lady who looked very much the typical housewife, but who was an acknowledged expert in her field. Sir Harold was far removed from any military code of conduct - "And how are you
today, m'boy?" was a usual greeting. The occasion arose for him to move from one house to another. It was only from one side of Park Prewit to the other but the whole hospital was in uproar for three days before he was safely installed in his new residence. Sir Harold set up the first plastic surgery unit during the First World War at the Cambridge Hospital, Aldershot and treated soldiers with facial injuries. He became recognised as the 'father' of plastic surgery. At the time he did my
skin grafts nearly thirty yeas later he still took nothing for granted.

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"These grafts may float off in the first bath you have."
The staff were from Westminster Hospital augmented by war time additions. The ward sister was a cool, efficient person. One of my
friends visiting,Bob, was surprised to find patients drinking Guinness
and to be offered one himself. Burns cases needed plenty of liquid and the hospital was not too worried what form it took.
One factor which kept people from feeling sorry for themselves was the cheerfulness of the very bad cases and the amazing variety of
the skin grafts which succeeded. Perhaps the worst burns were those of a seaman who had been torpedoed and suffered acid burns from a carboy.
It was a matter of putting blood into him and waiting to see if natural recovery overtook the acid eating into his system. He survived.
At night there was a continual stream of 'doodle bugs' overhead en route for London. These were pilotless V One missiles.
Also in September there were countless aircraft of ours suddenly going in the other direction. In due course we learnt that this had been the air drop at Arnhem.
Soon afterwards I was convalescing at what had been a country mansion lent for the duration of the war. At first sight, paratroopers
and tank troopers did not look right on a croquet lawn but we soon found out it is a vicious game.
The main authority here was a small, middle aged matron. It was a sight to see anyone who could walk being rounded up for a Sunday morning service. Paratroopers and earls' daughters in nurses uniform
fled in panic at her approach. As someone said: "If Matron was shipwrecked on a desert island, I'd give the cannibals a fortnight before they were lining up for a G. of E. service on Sunday mornings."
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From there we moved on to another convalescent home at Chester-Ie-Street in Durham. Here the hospital blue got you in free to see war time football on Saturday afternoons at St James' Park. An assortment of players represented Newcastle United versus the visitors. One such match I saw, Hull City were beaten 6-1, Albert Stubbins(later of
Liverpool fame) banging in a hat trick from the position then known as wing half.
By January 1945, six months after our tank brewed up, it had
been decided to discharge me a no longer medically fit for the army. So I returned to the Inland Revenue service at Rawtenstall tax office with
a 20"/0 disability pension.
George Onions, who got out of the tank at the same time as I did, had a badly damaged foot. The next time I saw him was after the
war on Birmingham New Street station. He had gone back to his old trade as a fitter with Mather and Platt. Subsequently he went into business on his own. His foot still troubled him but, many years later, he incautiously jumped down from a lorry. As he jumped he remembered his
foot and expected severe grief. Instead, something clicked and his foot was much better.
The 5th Tanks continued across Europe. In September 1944 they were the first allied troops to enter Ghent and, in due course, were
presented with a citation from the Town Council and citizens of Ghent. Memories fade but it was touching to find the citizens of Ghent still remembering the 5th Tanks at Old Comrades' re-unions in the 1980s. By April 1945, the liberation of Stalag XIB included the
release of the 4th C.L.Y. crews taken prisoner at Villers Bocage soon after D Day. In the same month the 5th entered Hamburg. The war
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