大象传媒

TOO YOUNG

It was September 1939, and England and France had just declared war on Germany. A group of young people, boys and girls were swimming, diving, splashing and chasing a ball in the river.

It was a lovely sunny day, which was suddenly interrupted by the wailing of an air raid siren. Silence descended on the youngsters as they stared up into the sky waiting for who knew what. After a few minutes they decided that they might just as well carry on swimming. They did and soon the all-clear signal sounded. Afterwards they made their way to their respective homes.

With summer nearly gone the little gang never met at the river again, as the war took them their different ways.

This story is about one of the group. A boy nicknamed Dick, so called because his old Granny called him filthy Richard for his habit of watching the steam trains chugging under a slatted foot bridge and getting slightly soiled with the smoke. Dick at seventeen was still too young to join the forces and carried on working in a local shop. He was old enough, however, to join the Home Guard where he was taught drill and how to load and fire a .303 rifle. Attendances were two or three nights a week.

One night it could be the local electricity grid station to be guarded. Another in the grounds of a very large church, and the other a pavilion on a sports ground just on the outskirts of the town. This last was quite near a sewage works and not the most favoured of the three. Nothing very exciting happened during these duties except the night one of the members accidentally fired a round through the roof of the pavilion.

This was the time called the 鈥楶honey War鈥�, but all that changed as the Germans attacked and occupied France and the Low Countries. The air raid warnings were now for real and Dick watched masses of enemy planes pass over on their way to London. They did not go unchallenged however, as our gallant young fighter pilots created havoc with Spitfire and Hurricane planes. So much so that in the end they gave up mass daylight raids and came at night.

It was about this time that Dick experienced at first hand a German bomb. He was on his way to a timber yard to get some wood for his pigeon loft, a small one in his back garden. Pigeon fanciers were allowed a ration of corn even during the war and some of the really well-bred birds were used as messengers in aircraft and saved many lives when a plane came down, especially in the sea.

Dick had passed by the railway station and not far to go for the wood. He heard an aircraft overhead but thought nothing of it for no warning had been given. Suddenly there was a terrific bang and a crater opened in the road at a junction. Luckily he was unhurt but did see the body of a woman on the edge of the crater. There was an A.R.P. shelter on the allotments close by and Dick called down to the warden. There was not much Dick could do, so he did not complete his journey and went back home.

His next experience was even more tragic and concerned him and his family.

It was a bright Thursday afternoon in July 1941. Sitting down to dinner was his Dad, Mum, elder sister, himself and younger brother. In spite of rationing his Mum had somehow made a huge apple pudding, boiled in a cloth and simply oozing apple juice. Dick said afterwards that it was the pudding that saved his life. Generally he would have eaten his dinner and gone out to see to his beloved pigeons. This day he asked for a third helping of apple pud and was just starting on it when the siren sounded. There was the crump of a bomb not far away and his sister started to usher them into a cupboard under the stairs. There was a knock on the door and a young cousin on his way to school had heard the siren and called in for shelter. He also went into the cupboard. Ironically, Stanley the young cousin had been evacuated from London for safety.

Dick鈥檚 father a veteran of the First World War and, unfortunately, at home with a bad back, sat calmly at the dinner table. They were told afterwards that the bomb fell at the back of the house directly on the pigeon loft. The rubble killed Dad instantly and all the back of the house destroyed up to the stairs. The rest of the family were released by the rescue services without a scratch. The local council rehoused them after staying for a while with his Mother鈥檚 sister.

Shortly afterwards, Dick joined the Army and was sent to a Light Infantry regiment. He settled in well and proved to be quite good at the drill and a good shot with a rifle.

He was a 鈥渟tick man鈥�, or "clean man" twice running, given to the smartest turned out Rifleman on Platoon Parade and it meant no guard duty, but instead went with the Orderly Officer on his rounds and had the afternoon free. The third time he was not so lucky and recalls doing guard at the main gate and giving a splendid Present Arms to whom he thought was an officer. He always remembers the growled reply 鈥淣ot me boy, not yet of course鈥�. He turned out to be the Sergeant Major but he did have a smile on his face as he passed.

During the few weeks at the Depot, Dick had put on weight and had grown three inches in height, now reaching six feet.

Time to move on and the next stop was a well-known barracks still in the West Country. Here he was taught to drive Bedford vans, lorries and motorcycles, how to read maps and go on manoeuvres. To be honest with not much idea what it was all about. But still good fun, especially bouncing about cross-country on the bikes. Two or three months and another move, this time to Scotland. Scotland in the autumn of 1942 did not have a lot to recommend it. Continuous rain and the fact that the Regimental Battalions were billeted under canvas did not help, and in the end, conditions got so bad that they were moved to a nearby village. Quite a few were put in what used to be a lace factory, which was an improvement.

SCOTLAND
(THE BADGE)

In spite of everything he said before, Dick had to admit that there was the occasional dry and sometimes sunny day and it was on such a day that an officer decided to inspect his section, and so they lined up on the duck boards outside of their bell tent. All went well for a while, their rifles clean, and boots dubbed, and trousers pressed, in spite of the primitive living conditions. Then he looked up at Dick who at this time had reached six feet in height, while the officer was quite small.

鈥淵our badge.鈥� he said.

鈥淏adge Sir?鈥� said Dick.

鈥淵es badge, where did you get it?鈥�

鈥淚ssue Sir.鈥� he replied.

鈥淵ou were never issued with that badge,鈥� said the officer, 鈥渢hat is a Tower Hamlets badge, and you were never in the Hamlets.鈥�

Dick was given a history lesson by the officer, who pointed out slight differences in the battle honours round the wreath of the badge. The officer seemed satisfied with their encounter and wandered off. Dick continued to wear the badge for the rest of his service and was never challenged again.

JOURNEY TO AFRICA

There was an air of expectancy among the men, and it could be felt among the village population as well. Most of the troops had had leave in the last couple of months and of course they knew it was embarkation leave. But embarkation to where was the question. Almost anywhere according to the rumours flying about. Norway, Iceland, Italy and France were just a few of them. You name a country and that鈥檚 where they were going. Well it was the beginning of November 1942, kit, rifles, Bren guns, and mortars were being rigorously inspected, and any missing kit was being made good.

About the middle of the month, they were paraded for what they knew would be the last time in the village. The goodbyes had been said to the friends, and even quite a lot of girlfriends in the village. They scrambled aboard lorries with their kit bags and rifles, and off they went. This was it. All questions would soon be answered.

The last rumour was that they would be at an embarkation camp for a couple of days. They arrived at a well known Scottish port and unloaded from the vehicles. Some two days thought Dick, as the Battalion was marched through the dockyard and straight on to a ship. Not a big ship as ships go, thought Dick, but there was a very much bigger one anchored out in the bay just waiting to welcome them aboard. (C and HQ Companies on the Al Beta and A and D Companies on the Llanngdby Castle.) The transfer was completed quite speedily and Dick had the impression that they had done it all before! The night was spent packing their gear wherever they could, and Dick was lucky enough to find a bunk to sleep on. There were some hammocks, but Dick cannot remember seeing anyone foolhardy enough to try one. The journey began the next day. Round the coast of Ireland they were told, and out into the big dark sea. They were joined by other big ships, and soon there was quite a convoy of troop ships in line and smaller ships which Dick took to be destroyers fussing around.

THE STRIPE

It was some weeks after the campaign. Rommel had been knocked for six out of Africa, and Dick鈥檚 Company was scattered among the olive groves of Tunisia, resting they called it. Dick was at a loose end and had wandered through the trees to look at the two fine pigs, which were being fattened up for the Christmas soon to come. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Coleman, one of his section mates and a typical Londoner, emerge from his two-man bivvy. He called out 鈥淗ey Townsend, your name is on Company Orders.鈥�

鈥淵eah鈥�, said Dick, 鈥減erhaps they are sending me home to have a rest from you lot.鈥�

鈥淚 tell you it鈥檚 true.鈥� said Coleman.

鈥淲hat鈥檚 it all about then?鈥� said Dick.

鈥淭hey have only put you up for a bleeding stripe!鈥�

鈥淒on鈥檛 be a prat.鈥� Said Dick.

鈥淭hey have give you a bloody stripe I tell ya.鈥�

Dick was getting worried by this time and thought he had better have a look at the Order Board. His worst fears were realised. There it was 鈥楻fn Dick Townsend, promoted Lance Corporal forthwith.鈥�

鈥淚 am not having this,鈥� thought Dick, and made his way to the Company Commander鈥檚 Office, which was in a large tent.

鈥淧ermission to speak to the Captain,鈥� said Dick, to the Corporal standing outside.

鈥淲ait here.鈥� He said.

Dick waited about ten minutes and the Corporal said, 鈥淭he Captain will see you now, don鈥檛 forget to salute.鈥�

Dick stood rigidly to attention until the Captain looked up at last. 鈥淲hat is it Rfn?鈥� he asked.

鈥淲ell, it鈥檚 about this promotion Sir, I鈥檇 rather not have it.鈥�

鈥淲hy is that?鈥� he said.

鈥淲ell, I don鈥檛 want to leave my section mates.鈥� Said Dick.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of the Captain鈥檚 mouth. In fact it was so tiny, Dick thought he had imagined it.

Why me? Perhaps the Captain had heard of his bravery in rescuing the Despatch Rider鈥檚 motorbike when we had to pull back a fair way because of shelling. Dick didn鈥檛 really believe that, seeing as he had lost the D.R.鈥檚 revolver holster and lanyard off the back of the bike.

The D.R. was not a happy chappy when Dick gave him his bike back minus the aforementioned equipment. I suppose, thought Dick, if I had been really brave I would have walked back through shot and shell to retrieve the said item. But there was rather a lot shot and shell about for quite a while. He never heard anymore about it from the D.R., so perhaps the revolver e.t.c. was a victim of war. The next thing that occurred to Dick was perhaps someone had noticed some hither-to unknown quality of leadership about him. This was soon discarded as Dick had never even risen to the rank of Milk Monitor. He was made Captain of the Council School second eleven football team, but he was sure the Army didn鈥檛 know that.

I can hear you thinking, well what did the Captain say? He said, and there was definitely no smile tiny or otherwise on his face. He said, 鈥淚 have no room in my Company for any man who will not take promotion or accept responsibility鈥�.

鈥淲ell?鈥� said the Captain.

鈥淚鈥檒l be happy to accept,鈥� said Dick, 鈥渁nd I will do my best Sir.鈥�

Dick thought that last remark might come in useful if he ever made a big balls-up and could say, 鈥淚 only promised to do my best, didn鈥檛 I?鈥� But did not really believe it would count for much. Dick gave the captain a smart salute and beat a hasty retreat.

When he arrived at the row of bivvies, the whole section was clustered around, and some inside the tent he shared with the Bren Gunner.

鈥淲ell it鈥檚 true,鈥� he said, 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 want it, but he made me take it, or he would get rid of me.鈥� It was very quiet, nobody said congratulations Dick, and good luck. So Dick said, 鈥淚s nobody going to say anything then?鈥�

鈥淵eah,鈥� says you know who, 鈥淒on鈥檛 think just because you have got a bleeding stripe you can come here and chuck your weight about.鈥�

Well, he had only been made up five minutes and did not want to make any records by putting a man on a charge so soon. Much as he thought the cheeky bugger deserved it. Instead he said sarcastically 鈥減erhaps you too could be made up in the field if you are good enough.鈥�

Anyway, things settled down, and went on much as before. Dick got on well with the Platoon sergeants Motte, Forrest and Davies, and on days off they would catch the liberty wagon and go swimming at Philippeville about ten miles away, visiting cafes afterwards and drinking Muscatel wine.

Back at the camp Dick hatched a scheme to get back at Coleman. All through the campaign he had noticed a grenade launcher rifle in the back of the 15cwt truck in which they travelled, being a Motorised Infantry. It was in a terrible state, rusty, dirty, and with about a ton of stores on top of it. He thought what a waste of a perfectly good weapon. A bit dilapidated admitted, but otherwise a perfectly sound weapon. The next thing was, who to make responsible for it. It didn鈥檛 take a lot of deciding, but he consulted Eddy Forest and asked his opinion. He said, 鈥淕ood idea and yes allocate it to Coleman.鈥�

On return to camp Dick dug out the rifle from the truck and took it to Coleman鈥檚 tent. When told about the intention to allocate the job to him, and for him to be responsible for its maintenance, he was most upset, to put it mildly.

鈥淚 am not having anything to do with that bloody thing.鈥� He shouted.

鈥淏ut Coleman,鈥� Dick said, 鈥渨e will see that you get proper training after you have cleaned it up nicely.鈥� Mind you Dick muttered to himself, 鈥淚鈥檒l make sure I鈥檓 standing a long way behind you.鈥�

Anyway, fate stepped in to save Coleman鈥檚 bacon when Dick was taken ill with appendicitis and whipped away to hospital to have said appendix removed. It was quite a while before Dick was able to rejoin the battalion and hear the fate of the rifle.

GAFFE AT CARTHAGE

Dick had not long been promoted to Lance Corporal when it was rumoured in A Company that we had a special assignment to do. It transpired that we were to be an escort company to the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, who had been unwell at that time and was recuperating in Algeria. It was decided that he would visit Carthage Amphitheatre with his and the Soames family. A Company was part of the audience at the service and afterwards gathered in a field close to the road that the Prime Minister鈥檚 convoy was expected to pass on his way to an airfield and home.

Somehow the boys had got hold off a quantity of Muscatel wine. Also a crate of oranges was given to them by Winston. We were quite happy by this time and Dick stood chatting to a group of Riflemen in the field.

Suddenly an officer appeared to be walking towards them. So being the senior rank in the group, Dick called them to attention and a gave a smart salute to the officer as he walked by. Much to his chagrin, Dick realised that he was not wearing his beret. As they say, was his face red!

Following this the Company was called to the edge of the road to cheer Winston鈥檚 party on their way to the airfield. However, things did not go to plan, and before the company could muster at the roadside, Winston鈥檚 party had passed by to a few belated cheers from the men. So back to the olive grove for a few more weeks of wondering what would be our next job.

SPECIAL DUTIES (GUARDING KITBAGS)

Dick was posted to guard the Battalions kitbags until such time that they could be safely returned to the owners. It was some days later that Dick questioned to himself, why me? Six feet tall now and a good shot with a rifle, a trained dispatch rider who had been sent to Strensal on the DR course. Surely some smaller, weaker, rifleman could have been found for this mundane job. However, it was too late now, orders were orders, and who was Dick to question them. Anyway, Dick settled down to a comfortable billet in Bone with a couple of men from other regiments who were also responsible for the safety of the gear. Dick spent most of his time wandering around the dockyard area, which was overlooked by a bridge. A little Arab boy had cottoned on to Dick and followed him about. Dick usually gave in to the boy's request for 鈥渃igarette for Papa鈥� and a few sweets from the ration packs. The boy鈥檚 invitation to meet his big sister was refused.

He did have an event one-day, when he was looking down from the hill into the dockyard. A German airplane made an attack on the yard and dropped a small bomb. It did no damage but was quite exciting for a few minutes. Dick also got friendly with Charles, part of the original French army when Algeria was a French possession. Then there was Don, a suave good-looking Frenchman who had got away from France by submarine. Dick never did get the full story, as Don spoke no English, and Dick's knowledge of French amounted to being able to count to 10, and such phrases as 鈥榲oulez vous promenade avec moi?鈥�, which was not much help. The other person was our Arab cleaner, the butt of many jokes. Dick did not know how they knew it, but shortly before he was recalled to the unit, the trio took Dick out to his first French meal, which was nice of them.

Soon some 30 cwt trucks arrived to pick up the kitbags, so it seems that the front had been stabilised enough for them to be returned to the owners. Then another shock. Dick had always taken it for granted that he was an A company man, but to his dismay he found himself allocated to HQ Company and his pet hate, assistant to the Sergeant Cook. Thoroughly disgruntled, Dick made it known in no uncertain terms that he had not come here to peal bloody potatoes and within a couple of days was posted to his beloved A company with whom he stuck right up to him being wounded, which finished Dick鈥檚 participation in any more action.

Dick鈥檚 sojourn at Algiers eventually came to an end when a long train arrived, and Dick was surprised at the number of waifs and strays that embarked on it. It was a long trip to Tunis enlivened by some enterprising Guardsmen who thought up the scam of offering a blanket to the Arabs who massed on the railway station hoping for freebies. They would bargain with the Guardsmen and eventually arrived at the price, say 300 francs. When they knew the train was pulling out, they would take the money, give one end of the blankets, come what is the Arab try to take it. He did not know that the other end of the blanket was tied inside the carriage and trotted along by the train until he had to give way as the train reached the end of the platform. This scam worked at nearly every stop between Algiers and Tunis. At Tunis they were put on a small ship. Dick forgets the name of the ship and just remembers disembarking at Naples and being taken to what was called a GRTD. He believes the place was called Benevento, a few miles north of Naples. At this camp the men were segregated into their different units, and Dick was the senior man who found himself in charge of several riflemen who for various reasons had also missed the Battalion鈥檚 first landing at Naples.

Left on their own, this little section of riflemen became bored stiff waiting to see if they would get any word from 10RB to return them to their units. A few days passed by and then a worrying rumour started that they would be farmed out to any other regiments who were short of men. Luckily this did not happen and soon they were picked up by a vehicle sent from Battalion and thankfully rejoined their companies.

Dick met one or two of his original section mates from Africa and got the story that the grenade launcher had conveniently been disposed of in some way in Africa or in Italy, so that was the end of that. When Dick rejoined the company, the battles were still going on the Monte Cassino. Dick remembers swimming with some of the lads in the river, but does not remember the name of the river, but he thought it could be the Gari. While they were swimming it seems that some careless individual had left part of a lit cigarette on the canvas of the 30 cwt truck that had taken us to the river. It was well alight when a driver called Tommy Atkins, his real name by the way, drove the truck away from the river. The flames were put out but it could have been messy if the fire had got inside the truck, which had ammunition, grenades and mortars inside. So well done Tommy.

After this, Dick remembers moving forward until they came to another river where one of the Indian Divisions was building a bridge. He believes there was some trouble with shelling here, but saw it finished by the morning.

The company then moved on to the outskirts of Monte and the fourth and final battle for the monastery. The French General Quinn had done a marvellous job with his Moroccans by getting into the back of Monte, paving the way to its capture. At this time, Dick thinks he saw the last attack by the Polish troops scrambling up the rocks, also at the same time 6 Armoured Division were making their way on to route six and the Liri Valley without meeting a lot of opposition.

The company moved steadily up the valley with some shelling but otherwise not too bad. They then restarted, and rested some nights on our way, but then came an incident that Dick assures readers is perfectly true. Strange as it may sound, there were a few shells which the company thought could have been German, but were then told it was friendly fire by the Canadians. However true this was, Dick never knew, what he did know was that he was ordered forward to a position in front armed with a Bren gun. All was quiet and then later in the night he heard a rustling noise close by. Dick was determined not to panic and he remembered the old saying of 鈥榳ait till you see the whites of their eyes鈥�.

Well he did wait, but it was not German whites of eyes that he saw. There was the sound of a 'baa' and a goat poked it鈥檚 head out of the bushes. There were several and obviously not interested in Dick or his bren gun and after a while wandered off. Phew! Dick鈥檚 luck was still holding.

However in the morning the company made ready to move on, but it appeared that the friendly fire of the Canadians had not been so friendly to the Germans and we saw a lot of bodies of Germans lying about.

Pushing on it was another night of rest except for the fact that they were shelled by the German Nebelwerfers, six barrel mortars or moaning minnies or whatever you want to call them.

The nebelwerthers were noisy with a nasty whining noise but luckily did not cause any casualties in A Company. On the next morning the company woke up to the sight of a large dome which appeared to Dick to be three or four miles away. Dick asked an officer what it could be, as Dick was not well travelled and not a very interested historian, and was surprised when the officer replied it was St Peter鈥檚 Basilica at Rome. This must have been on about the 4th or 5th of June 1944, when Mark Clarke of the 5th American Army, contrary to the agreed plan of campaign, occupied Rome. This meant that the Battalion had to bypass Rome and head for Perugia. Dick relieved the regular dispatch rider, presumably to rest him, as it was a fairly long journey from Rome to the outskirts of Perugia. No doubt writers with better memories then Dick could describe the various actions leading up to the last of his involvement. It was a long time ago.

THE FINALE

Dick鈥檚 Armoured Division made good progress after the Americans entered Rome, and the Division drove on towards Perugia, which Dick knew nothing about. This would be around 18th to 23rd June 1944. Dick鈥檚 platoon was ordered to proceed on foot to attack a large villa or casa in a village Dick now believes was called Corciano.

Dick鈥檚 number 2 Platoon arrived before dawn after being dropped off by trucks and left the narrow road and walked up into the garden of the house. The platoon met no opposition and they crouched up at a wire fence waiting for orders. Dick was directly behind the Lieutenant when he stood up and beckoned the rest of the platoon towards the building. The officer and Dick made their way to the end of the house to see what was there.

It appeared that there was nothing there, but they were hiding themselves. The next thing they knew was the sound of bullets buzzing about their legs, presumably from a German Spandau machine gun, an equivalent of our Bren gun. They were very lucky not to have been wounded. At this they decided that caution was the better part of valour and went to see what had happened at the house. It seemed that the rest of the men had met no opposition at all as they entered the house and took quite a lot of prisoners, probably about 20, who gave up without a fight.

Their job then became spotters for the artillery. The tanks were bogged down because of heavy rain. Dick and a rifleman were watching from a bedroom window at the top of a flight of stairs. Once again nothing seemed to be happening and Dick remembers lying back on a bed feeling quite comfortable.

All of a sudden Dick was wide-awake and was going to have another look out of the window. Then all hell broke loose. There was a terrific bang in the vicinity of the window and the next thing he knew was pain in his arm and foot. Somebody came up to the room and assisted Dick downstairs where his arm and foot were bandaged as best as they could.

Dick asked after his friend who was in the room with him and was assured that he was all right. He didn鈥檛 know whether that was right or not and probably never will. Anyway one of the other riflemen piggy-backed Dick to some vehicles parked down the road which took him on to a tented field hospital further on. Red Cross nurses made Dick comfortable with a cup of tea from a cup with a spout to it because his lips were sore from the blast of the shell. They then did up Dick鈥檚 wounds in a very professional way. Afterwards he was chuffed when one of the nurses said 鈥淵ou have not made a fuss like some we鈥檝e seen.鈥� which Dick thought was nice of them.

The exact circumstances escapes Dick鈥檚 memory for some reason, but he found himself taken by some means to the hospital in Rome of the 3rd Canadian or South African army. Dick recalls that the hospital may have been in a street called Via Appia. After a couple of days he was somehow moved again to hospital in Naples.

Dick was finally returned to the UK via the Hospital Ship Oranje.

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