大象传媒

This story is put on the site by Pat Yates on behalf of Mrs. Marjorie Macdonald, the widow of Charles Macdonald, with her full permission and understanding of the site rules. These are Charles Macdonald's own words.-
"If there are any Roman Catholics will they please come to my tent" It was the chaplain who spoke as we were walking away from the final briefing. It had been astounding news - we were to go on board that night. Then any day might be D-Day.
Tempering the feeling of relief, almost of exultation, that at last action was imminent there had been lurking the thought that many would be killed, even that I might be. And so a handful of us - 3 out of 30 - walked over to the chaplain's tent. Our chaplain was F. Lester Guilly S.J.
Twenty-five years ago this priest had been a friend of my brother. We had lived in the next road. I remembered he and my brother signalling to each other with lamps between our two homes in semaphore. Funny that I should now be in the Signals. He had gone on to become a Jesuit.
It was a particularly comforting thought that a priest who knew my family so well would cross with us.
In a tent with muddy boots we knelt in turn and having made our confession we received Holy Communion. And as we came out we knew for what we had prepared. For the few hours before 1am, the scheduled time of leaving we slept or tried to sleep in trucks or under them.
We moved off on time in convoy formation. A wireless truck, or mobile wireless station, is quite a comfortable place housing the transmitter and receiver with seats for the wireless operators. In the front beside the driver sits an NCO or the officer. I believe I dozed quite a bit but welcomed the stop in the small hours for tea and food and then we dozed off again until morning found us on a road leading to the sea at Gosport.
We crawled with stops and starts and after a very long time we came to the docks where Army vehicles were converging in thousands, it seemed. People looked out of the houses in the road and wondered but they could only guess, so demonstrations were saved for those who came down that road at a later date.
At last we boarded the LST or Landing Ship Tank. Each vehicle ran up the ramp and was parked on the tank deck, the bottom one, which looked like a garage with no room to spare. I found it rather amusing to conjecture why the guard had been placed at the entrance. To keep them on or from coming off?
As we sailed I think we all wondered when, if ever, we should set foot in England again.

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