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Time passed and our work proceeded without let up. The beach head had by now moved inland about five miles, and the time to move was imminent.

The unit packed, and we made our way to a place named La Riviere. This was, as far as I could make out, just a small hamlet, about three miles inland with a "T" junction. A road on our left led to the front. After assembling the CCS we carried on as before.

One day, when on duty in the reception, Bill and I were called over to one of the theatres were we witnessed an operation on a Canadian whose leg was being removed. When the surgeon had finished, an orderly placed the leg, complete with boot and sock, into a bucket and, covering it with a towel, handed it to me saying, "Go and bury this somewhere". We carried it out to an adjoining field, and, digging a hole, we tipped the limb into it and covered it up.

The Luftwaffe still carried out their swoops at low level, but they were just a nuisance, although it can be a little off-putting carrying a wounded man, on a stretcher across an open field, with an orderly at the side holding a blood drip.

There was a large white sheet with a painted red cross pegged down in the centre of the field, which we hoped would be recognised and respected by the enemy, although in the heat of battle, and dependant on the pilot, attacks had been known to occur.

Some time after arriving at La Riviere, I was on guard at the entrance to the field when I became aware of the sound of bagpipes just around the corner of the road ahead, about a quarter of a mile away. Suddenly round the bend came a solitary piper, followed by a company of infantrymen. They made the way up to the road junction, and turned right up to the front.
It was a sight that I'll never forget.

We managed some days, during the rare slack periods, to have a swim in the river that flowed along the bottom of the field. Sleeping and working in your clothes day after day can be very uncomfortable.

The days passed with the Germans still fighting hard to contain and repel the beachhead, and we moved only short distances.
The place names are just a dim memory now. Secqueville, It was here that Joe, and I had a little disagreement, after which he told me of his former opinion of me, and apologised, as I mentioned earlier in this story.

It was here we saw our first V1 flying bomb. It must have been wrongly set, for just over our heads it turned and went back in the direction it came from.
Over to you Adolf !
Then on to Bretteville, and La Deliverand that had a lovely church with a double spire: and Saint Lo, which was in the American sector, and been very heavily shelled.
I spoke to an American soldier here; we talked about our homes and families, and the war in general. He seemed a very decent fellow. It was here also, entering a bombed house; I saw a crucifix on part of a wall. I took it, and it went through the campaign with me, it is still in my possession.

After a few weeks we arrived at a place just south of Caen.
This town should have been taken on D. Day, together with the nearby Carpiquet airfield, but the Germans had fought hard to deny the allies these important centres, and even the five hundred bomber raids we had witnessed, didn't move them. It was to be mid July before it was taken. The air raid was awesome. Wave after wave of bombers soared overhead. They unleashed their bombs over the town, and the dust and smoke blotted out the sun.

The C.C.S began to receive German wounded about this time.
I got the task of guarding a young German who was obviously a shell shock case. His whole body trembled uncontrollably, and he was incoherent. I put a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, but he was unable to smoke it. He was later taken to the beach, and to England, for him at least the war was over.

Another German whom I had the task of guarding, who was not as fortunate as the previous one, was a head wound case. The Medical Officer handed him over to me saying "Stay with him, its just a matter of time". I stood by the stretcher for about a half hour, listening to the low moans, and watched the wound in his head pulsate.
He never regained consciousness, and when all went quiet I informed the Medical Officer, who examined him, and said "Take him to the mortuary".

Late in July our section moved up to Carpiquet, to await the arrival of the CCS. We were on high ground here, overlooking the airport, and we could see for miles.
The whole front lay before us. A German fighter plane, obviously in difficulty, made a forced landing in the field we occupied, fortunately for the pilot he clambered out unhurt, and we took him prisoner.

In the field just behind us, the Royal Artillery were shelling the German lines, the noise was terrific. We were really glad when they moved on!

Our next move was to a place called Falaise.
This marked the beginning of the end of the battle for Normandy.
The American forces were driving round from Argentan to trap the German forces inside a pocket, close the gap and destroy them.
This was achieved, and resulted in about seventy thousand of the enemy forces being killed or taken prisoner.


Now began the dash into France itself.
We left the CCS, and joined our own H.Q. We packed, loaded up, and were on our way.
The roads were littered with damaged enemy vehicles, lorries, tanks, cars of all descriptions, dead horses and cattle, their bodies swollen, and lime thrown on them.
It was Dunkirk in reverse, the smell was terrible.

Crosses by the roadside marked the graves of German soldiers who had been caught in the strafing and shelling, sometimes just a rifle stuck in the ground with a German helmet on top marked a grave.

On through Lisieux, Evereux, across the bailey bridge over the Seine at Vernon, Gisors, the battlefields of the first world war passing too quickly for us to see them. At Amiens we paused, and I managed to do a little shopping, I sent Ethel, and her mother some French perfume.

In just a few days we had covered miles, with the Germans in full retreat, although they left pockets of resistance in the villages, and hamlets as a delaying tactic.

The French people welcomed us with the V sign, and cries of "Viva La France", "Viva La Angleterre." The children shouted "Cigareet pour Papa".

Then it was on through to Belgium, where again we were received with wild enthusiasm, people thronging the streets, shouting "Viva Le Angletier", "Viva Belguiq". The children pelted us with flowers, and ribbons of the Belgium colours.

Brussels with its vast crowds, handed us fruit, and flowers. It was all bewildering, but very exciting. These people had suffered four years misery from the German occupation, and were showing their relief at liberation.

On the move again, to a place not far from Brussels. Diest. It was the 4th of September 1944. Here we stayed a little time.
One day whilst we were here, I had to accompany the Corporal on some business in Brussels, where we had dinner at a large hotel.
High-ranking German officers had previously occupied the hotel, and the meal was excellent.

On the move, we arrived at the town of Hasselt. Here we were attached to the 81st General Hospital, and I met, and became very friendly with a chap named Dick Rodgers. He was something of a comedian, and could mimic nearly every sound of the farmyard animals.

Dick was a butcher in civilian life, coming from Oxford. He was a member of the Hampshire Regiment, and his duties here were as batman to the Catholic Padre. Later I was to become batman to the Dental Officer for a short period of time.

Both the padre and the dentist were billeted on a Belgium family, Mr. and Mrs. Hermans, who had two daughters of school age, whom we tried to help with English lessons.

Our main duties now were to wake the two officers, and prepare them for duty, also to keep their rooms tidy. Mr. and Mrs. Hermans were extremely good to us, and offered us their food, which was meagre; we were very reluctant to take it.

Mr. Hermans was a hairdresser. They occupied a very large house, some three stories high. Besides the large salon, they had living quarters and kitchen, and in the upper stories about six bedrooms. The cellar had been fitted out as an air raid shelter, into which the family retired to every time the sirens sounded. Mister Hermans pleaded with us to join them, but Dick and I would have none of it, and stayed in the house talking until the all clear was sounded.

The Hermans were very nervous people, not surprising after the German invasion of Belgium in 1940, and now the allies fighting their way through their country, also having two young daughters to consider.
Their hatred of the Germans was in no doubt however. They had a photograph of them both giving the V sign, while still under German occupation, which they proudly showed us.

In September, while we were here, the advance into Holland with the attempt to capture the three bridges at Eindoven, Nijmegen, and Arnhem, took place, which, if the operation had succeeded, would have shortened the war by months.
However it proved to be a bridge too far, the allies were unable to take the Arnhem bridge.

It was also whilst we were here that the German breakthrough in the Ardennes took place.
Mr. Hermans became very agitated when the news came through, but we managed to put his mind at rest, and told him there was no chance of another 1940 debacle.

Christmas came, and Dick, the padre and I, were invited to a little party with the Hermans. Having been given a half bottle of White Horse whisky by the Dental Officer, I took it along with me, and a good time was had by all.

The Hermans next-door neighbour came to the party, a gentleman named Tits (pronounced Teets), who was it appeared a wine traveller. He told us that he travelled all over the continent. His large cellar contained all kinds of wines and spirits, some of which, he brought out for us. There was Kummel, Schnapps, Benedictine, and a few others.
I'm afraid I cannot remember the latter part of the evening.
It took me three days to get over it!

On 11th January 1945 I was surprised to hear I had been granted leave. Nine days of heaven away from it all. It was great to see my family again, though it was marred by the fact that my father was very ill.
It was to be the last time I saw him alive.

One night while I was on guard duty here, I suffered very severe pains in my groin. When my relief took over, and I returned to the guard room, the guard commander looked at me and said "Are you all right son, you look terrible" I told him how I felt, and he called the Medical Officer, who, when he had examined me, ordered me to bed. "Report sick in the morning" he said.

The following morning I reported sick, although now the pain had gone. A surgeon examined me. He told me I must have an operation as soon as he could perform it. However, the hospital at this time was extremely busy with casualties.
It was to be twenty years before I got that operation!

The weeks rolled by, and then we were on the move again, this time it was Holland. Sterksel was a small village. Here we were billeted in a nearby college, Saint Paul's, run by White Fathers. These monks were very good to us, and kindly put on an evening of classical music records for those interested. I found it very enjoyable.

One day we were told that a German patrol had cut the road behind us. After a bit of a skirmish they were pushed back. We accomplished that in a very short time.

Just down the road from the college about half a mile was a farm. Dick and I became very friendly with the family there. Mr. and Mrs. Rieling were very old. They had a son Carl, and a daughter Toos, both in their thirties. These people also were very kind to us, and showered us with farm produce and gifts. They told us how they had suffered under the Germans, who had stolen from them, and when they retreated had even taken their bicycles, and farm carts.

It was here we witnessed the drive into Germany itself. The sky was filled with transport planes carrying parachute troops, and towing gliders.
It was a wonderful sight!
Later we were to see these planes returning with parachute lines hanging from their fuselages.

Shortly, our turn came to follow them into the fatherland.
We crossed the Rhine by bailey bridge, at the point between Xanten-Wesel, and after passing fields of broken gliders eventually arrived at a place named Soltau, not very far from Hanover.
Here we billeted in a detached house the owners had fled.

Whilst there I received a letter from my sister Janet informing me that the doctor had given my father a short time to live. I immediately showed it to the Orderly Officer who arranged for me to go to Second Army Headquarters. This place was in a large house. I'm afraid I was too upset to remember were it was. Here I saw a Major who told me that having had leave in January it might be difficult to arrange leave.

I then asked him if my older brother would be able to obtain leave. He asked where my brother was, and on telling him he was in Italy he shook his head and said, "Not much chance there". However, he said he would do his best to get me away; I had to leave it at that.

Two days later my Commanding Officer informed me that I should get myself packed, and proceed by the unit water wagon to Eindoven in Holland, for air transport home. With our company driver, we set off to Eindoven. After several hours drive, during which we had to ask directions of German people, who not unnaturally, were very unhelpful, we finally arrived at our destination.

This was an R.A.F unit where I met some other men going on compassionate leave. The station officer in charge informed us that the unit was moving up the following day, and there would be no plane available until then. After a meal I was shown to a Nissan hut where I bedded down for the night.

The following morning after breakfast, and a wait of several hours, our transport arrived at about eleven thirty am. Our party trooped out to where a Dakota transport plane stood on the tarmac, and we boarded it.

Soon we were airborne and making our way over the channel.

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