大象传媒

This real war story was written out on note paper by my father who was born in Tottenham, London on 28th September 1919. Sadly he died on 9th September 2003 in Kingston Hospital, Surrey.It wasn't until he had a serious stroke in 1999, that left him paralized down his left side, that my sister found his notes. She worked very hard and got him into The Royal Star and Garter Home, Richmond, a wonderful place who cared for him for nearly four years. I might add that his injury during the war left him disabled in his right hand but he never complained.

On the 5th October this year my husband and I sat down and while he read out my father's notes I typed them up word for word. Unfortunately there are two words that we can't quite make out.

September 1944 we were marching to the start of the Gothic Line, under shell fire, we passed through fields, along over a railway crossing to take up our positions over night for an attack on the village. We dug our overnight slit trenches by a deserted farmhouse and took up positions by the side of the road. Dawn came and tanks were called up cos Gerry had some tanks on the slopes in front and was keeping us pinned down. The tank battled started when I heard a terrific crash. One of the tanks had been hit and I was peppered with shrapnel all down my right side cutting a main artery in my shoulder. I was up and shouting for a stretcher bearer, who was near by lucky for me, he was a ? friend of mine, Harry Hamilton. He applied a tourniquet to stop the bleeding which luckily for me it did after two attempts. As we were still under fire they put me under a tank that was out of action, then when there was a lull they took me back to Company H.Q. about 250 yards back.

Our C.O. Major Thomas aged 23 years, a marvellous man in the field, really new his job. He gave me a cup of tea and said "Well you've got it at last Harrold", as we had been together through Tunis, Salerno right up Italy, Anzio and now the Gothic Line.

Well I was feeling very weak through loss of blood but ? I said to my mate this is my lot take my ring off and see my mother gets it okay. I felt really dozy and everything seemed to go quiet. The next thing I knew was an Ambulance had come along and I was taken back to the Advanced dressing station where a doctor patched me up ready for travelling back to a hospital. Doctor gave me a few slugs of brandy. My troubles were just beginning.

I was the first bad casualty there. That night a storm broke, wind and rain, it blew the Marquee down on me and the orderlies had a job to keep the tent up.

An American Ambulance came for me the next morning to take me to the airfield. It was a very bumpy ride and through the shock I had not passed (water) since being wounded. I wanted to go then but they didn't have a bottle and I just wet on the stetcher. Eventually they took me back to the Hospital in Barletta, where I was cleaned, patched and stitched up. For two weeks after they couldn't make out why I didn't sleep and lost weight. I went down from 11 stone to 7 1/2 stone. They had Captain, Major and even the General of the Hospital examined me and then they found a small piece of shrapnel had severed the artery in my right shoulder, a large blood clot which was very infected had formed so they had to cut me open making a cut 18 inches long and drilled and sawed my collar bone to give them room to work. I owe my life to a Major Gledhill who operated on me. I was down in the theatre for over five hours and the other lads thought that I wasn't coming out of it.

I'm now able to say that I did, they put tubes in my shoulder and a syringe to drain off the fluid, treated me with penicillin which also saved millions of limbs and lives during the war. In the same hospital there were Gerry P.O.W. wounded all with limbs off, owing to lack of penicillin and medical attention in the field.

Well I was sent home on a Dutch Hospital boat January 1945 and was discharged in September in the same year, but attended hospital treatment for another two years after. Still I count myself being very lucky to come out of it at all.

Norman Harrold.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.