大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Bill Stafford and has been added to the site with his permission. Bill Stafford fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Bill Stafford鈥檚 Memoirs: 3

(Bill and his comrades entered Normandy four days after the first landings but were then posted to Belgium.)

鈥淥ur troops were advancing so fast that they had overshot Paris, and were heading for the south of France. Our first reaction was disappointment, which soon gave way to excitement when we learned that our new destination was to be Brussels.

That night we camped by the roadside, and the next day we set off on our new route. We then started to see, first-hand, the horror and destruction that the battles had left behind, especially the towns of St Lo and Vire. They had been completely flattened - they were still smoking and burning in many places. Even so we still got the odd cheer from the very few people who were still to be seen, rooting around in the rubble. I will never forget the smell of burning, and the indescribable stench of rotting flesh and other things!

To Brussels

Leaving all this behind, we set our sights on getting to Brussels as fast as we could. The tension was relieved a little when I proceeded to have a shave with a cut-throat razor (which I always carried in my top pocket) whilst sitting on the tail board of a ten-ton lorry, bouncing down the road after leaving all the devastation behind. A mocking cheer went up from all the lads who could see, and I played along by showing off.

Our journey to Brussels was a long one with many stops along the way. We were following the army, mainly the tank force, and had to maintain our position five miles behind the front. However, we eventually arrived on the outskirts of Brussels and had to wait until the tanks cleared the city. They were delayed by the rapturous welcome which they received - the people, especially the girls, climbed on to the tanks and rode with them, singing and kissing the tank crews as they went along.

Later, when we were allowed to proceed, we were greeted in the same way, only by now the whole population seemed to have gathered on the streets. We were absolutely mobbed, and several times the convoy was brought to a halt. When this happened the people swarmed on board our trucks with gifts of flowers, champagne and what seemed to be anything that they could lay hands on. We in turn gave up our cigarette rations and handed chocolate down to the kids on the pavement.

I vividly recall giving a bar of chocolate to a pregnant girl, who promptly broke into tears and screamed, 鈥淕od bless you!鈥� Then she shouted in perfect English, 鈥淲hat鈥檚 your name? I鈥檒l name him after you.鈥� I bet it was a girl!

'The Casern de Bedouin'

After what seemed like hours, we finally came to a halt at our destination, which was a very large ex-army barracks called 'The Casern de Bedouin', which occupied one complete side of a large square, known as 'The Place Daily'. We drove into the barracks coming to rest with our trucks all crowded together on a massive parade ground. This was to be our home for more than six months - a city famous for its friendliness, its pavement caf茅s, and wonderful entertainment and nightlife, which was exactly that - all night long - wow!

When all our vehicles had been unloaded and dispersed to their resting places, we were shown to our 'resting places', which were in very long barrack rooms on two floors on each side of the barracks. Once we had settled in, we all proceeded to wander about, exploring - finding canteens, recreation rooms, baths, latrines, etc. It all seemed very grand after tents and holes in the ground. None of us were aware that we would be staying for over six months, but we all thought we could stick this for as long as they would allow us to.

Promoted to barber

Next morning, parade at 6am - flag hoisted, roll-call, salute flag, dismiss etc. The routine had been established: back to square-bashing days? All at once came a loud shout from our very large Flight Sergeant, 鈥淪tafford - come with me.鈥� I was marched off down a long corridor towards the front part of the barracks and, wonder of wonders, I was taken into a fully fitted hairdressing salon. I was given the keys, told to take the rest of that day to set up shop and to open for business at 8am the following morning.

Thinking, my luck has come good, I did as instructed. Sure enough my luck had indeed come good - the first person in the chair was the CO, who wanted a styling job! We were in Brussels, you see - no more short back and sides. A new style had been created. It became known as the 'Brussels Trim', which became longer and fuller as their hair grew. He must have been happy with the result because to show his appreciation, he rewarded me with a tip of 20 Belgium Francs.

Raking it in

This also set a pattern, for following the very next Pay Parade, almost all visitors to the salon responded in the same way. My luck really had come good, and I started to rake it in. Talk about walking on a cloud! In a way this was to be my downfall: money to spend, free time, nightlife in Brussels. Wow!

The number of personnel at the barracks continued to grow in the same way that it did at each of our previous 'resting places', to the extent that the pattern of work for the salon soon became 8am to 8pm, seven days a week , with a weekend pass every four weeks. However, you can bet that by 8.30pm we were exiting the barracks in order to join in the prolific nightlife.

Our booking-in times were very lenient, and as long as we returned before revalue, nothing was said. Needless to say, we took full advantage of this concession.

Jack Reason

I became friends with a chum in the next bed to me, a lad called 'Jack Reason', and it goes without saying that we made many friends among the local people - one or two especially. There was Mr and Madam Noel (Mr and Mrs Christmas - what a lovely name). Madam Noel worked as the private secretary to Mr Gutt, the Minister of Finance. And then there was Albert who was a member the Secret Police. Who, what, and where these people did not know between them was not worth knowing. They took us into their homes and we were allowed to come and go as we pleased, and I spent many of my weekends off in their respective homes living as if I was part of their family.

We would go out as a group, dancing at the St Severe, going to the theatre, visiting local caf茅s, where there was entertainment, and even taking trips to places of interest such as Larken (the Royal Palace), Bruges (famous for its beautiful lace) and lots of other places. A group such as this could not go unnoticed and we became well known in Brussels.

Services requested

As always other units requested my services and one which will always stick in my mind was a prison located at the other side of the city, which was being used as a combined RAF/Army Field Punishment/Detention Unit. On entering the gate I was double-marched across the parade ground until I was inside, then I would set up shop in an empty cell, with a guard in attendance.

Haircuts, as per King's regulations, were 0000 clippers to the crown of the head, and no longer than 2.5 inches in any other part. It hurts to see tough servicemen cry over such a small thing.

On one of these visits, who should be marched into the cell-salon but one of my school-mates, who lived a few doors away from me at home. He had got 60 day's detention. His crime? He was an aircraft engine fitter and he had inadvertently left a spanner in an engine, cooling after working on an aircraft, and this had caused damage to the engine.

What a reunion - I was helpless, but I did manage to get the guard (who also had his haircut by me) to look the other way.

Christmas coming

Life in Brussels continued in the same way, day in, day out, and if it wasn't for the occasional air raid siren sounding off the war would have seemed far away.

Each passing day brought us nearer to Christmas, and our anticipation of the good times in store for us grew ever greater. But for me there was a big 'but'.... As the festive season grew closer, so the demands - both work-wise and socially - became difficult to cope with. To the extent that when Christmas did arrive I was in no fit state to really enjoy it, even though I tried my damnedest to do so. Chickens coming home to roost!

On Boxing Day I collapsed and was admitted to hospital with bronchial pneumonia. I did not respond to treatment (too much alcohol in the blood, no doubt), so it was decided to transfer me to a larger hospital outside Brussels.

On New Year's morning at about 8am I was on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance, when the sirens sounded and two Messerschmitt fighters came over and strafed us. I and the stretcher were three parts of the way into the ambulance with bullets thudding into the ground all around us. The driver and his mate, who were loading me, dived under the ambulance, leaving me out to dry!

I felt so rotten that, bullets or no bullets, I was not staying there. So I rolled off the stretcher pulled it the rest of the way in and climbed back on. I was too sick and exhausted to give a damn.

I was in hospital for two weeks and when I came out I was given a week鈥檚 sick leave. Me and sick leave in Brussels! What a joke! I am sure that I returned worse than when I started.

Box of tricks

No sooner had I got into the guard room to report back, when I was informed that I had to see the Commanding Officer at once. He said that I had to pack my 'box of tricks' that same night as our armies were moving up for the Rhine crossing to re-assume our position five miles behind the front lines, and we would be maintaining this position as and when we advanced into Germany."

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