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'This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Gwilym Scourfield of the County Heritage Team on behalf of Ron Evans and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

Clearing Up the Mess — Someone Has to Do It

I was eighteen and a half when joined up in the RAF — 5BTUnit. In 1944 our job was basically to recover bombed and damaged vehicles and to repair or scrap them. I drove a Bedford 3-Tonner. We had to use cranes to get the damaged vehicles aboard articulated trucks. We landed at Arramache and camped above Gold and Sword Beaches. Fortunately the D Day action had all long since been over. We had to follow the troops through as they advanced. I drove through France on the way to Belgium. The roads were quite good despite all the wreckage, bomb and artillery damage all around.

When we got to Arras race course we were all issued with khaki uniform. It seemed that our RAF colours and the shoulder stripe of albatross were too much like German uniforms. Some of the French had mistaken our men for Germans and had killed them.

I drove through Belgium into Germany. At Celle we found ourselves arranging transport for repatriated prisoners from the notorious concentration camp at Belsen. Those poor guys were in a terrible state. It was pitiful to see grown men so emaciated and weakened. They were just skin and bones. Once the Red Cross had pronounced them fit to travel, they were eager to get back home. We were able to help. I remember the trip to Hamburg docks. There were lines of church bells the Germans had prepared to be smelted down for armaments. They had fresh potatoes, though. Our boys were making do with powdered spuds, but they had fresh potatoes.

A couple of weeks after the war I had some Germans helping me with loading the lorry. I was up on top securing the tarpaulin. I shouted down to one of the Germans to toss the rope up for me. He flatly refused. I asked him politely again. Still he didn’t move. I lost my rag then and jumped down to persuade him. I had him by the throat. One of the British officers put me on a charge. I couldn’t believe how arrogant the man had been. Only two weeks before, we were at war. To think he wouldn’t even help by throwing a rope up to someone. They did drop the charge, but I didn’t ever lose my impression of our former enemies as being very arrogant.

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