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´óÏó´«Ã½ Peoples’ War
Ron Garraway’s Story

Ron Garraway was born in Bedminster, Bristol, on 7th April 1926. He was only 13 when war was declared. It was on Sunday morning and he was at church taking part in a Boys’ Brigade parade. The preacher stood up and told everyone that Britain was at war. Ron remembers that he was crying when he made the announcement and the atmosphere in the church was very sombre. But Ron assumed the war would all be over in a couple of months so there was no way he was going to fight in that war.

He left school when he was 14. For a time he worked behind the counter at the local co-op. He then got a job with a small engineering firm, Boats Fittings Company, on Coronation Road, near Bristol docks. The firm had been given a contract to make parts for the ships that were being built by Hills Dockyards nearby. Ron was taught by the owner, a Mr Knowles, to set up the lathes and milling and grinding machines. He worked a 12 hour shift, either the day shift or the night shift, always from 6 till 6. Mr Knowles left him in charge of 10 girls aged between 17 and 22. He had a wonderful time! He earned, with bonuses, a huge amount of money, usually £10 or £12 a week and once or twice as much as £25 a week because he received a share of the bonuses that the girls earned. They all worked extremely fast because they were on piecework and made thousands of parts every day. £25 was a fortune for a 16 year-old boy!

Ron stayed there until September 1943. He could have worked there for the rest of the war because he was in a reserved occupation but he chose to volunteer instead. Most of his friends went into the Navy. The RAF were called the Brylcreem boys and he and his friends didn’t want to be one of them. But Ron was determined to be a dispatch rider because he had bought his own motorbike and loved riding it. On September 9th he went to the Army Recruiting office in Redcliffe and tried to sign on. But the sergeant there said he was too young and told him to come back in 3 months’ time. Ron couldn’t wait that long so 2 days later he went back and tried again. He lied about his age this time and the same recruiting sergeant either didn’t remember him, or chose not to, and told him where to sign.

When he told Mr Knowles he was furious and told him he wouldn’t let him go. Ron responded by sitting down and refusing to do any more work and eventually he agreed to sign his release papers. Ron commented, ‘I didn’t volunteer because I was particularly patriotic or anything but because it just seemed like a good idea at the time, and maybe because I wanted a bit of excitement.’ After a brief medical examination, not much more than a quick cough, he was in the army, aged 17. He was sent to Bulford Camp on Salisbury Plain for his basic training. It wasn’t easy. ‘We were in long wooden huts and it was hard shaving with only cold water. I remember once being on parade very early in the morning when it was still half dark and a big sergeant from the Coldstream Guards came round and felt my chin to make sure I’d shaved that morning. He wasn’t satisfied. ‘You’d get a closer shave with a kipper tin,’ he shouted at me.’

Ron was then sent to Catterick Camp in Yorkshire where he was told he was going to be trained as a wireless operator. He complained and eventually Colonel Whitbread, who according to Ron was one of the Whitbread brewing family, said to him, ‘If you joined the army to be a dispatch rider, then a dispatch rider you shall be.’

Ron thought he could ride a motorbike before he joined up but for the next 6 weeks they really taught him how to handle a big, heavy bike over rough ground. Their instructor, Corporal Johnson, used to take 6 trainee riders up onto the Yorkshire Moors and told them to just follow him. He then rode off at high speed, up and down the steepest hills he could find. Ron commented, ‘We just had to try and keep up as best we could. He was a brilliant rider. Someone said that he’d been the chief test rider for Velocette before the war. I believed him.’

It was 1944 now and Ron had finished his training. By that time the army had found out that he had lied about his age so he was still too young to be sent abroad. Instead they offered him a job as a dispatch rider instructor. This, however, meant that he had to stay at Catterick which was the last place he wanted to be. Fortunately he saw a notice on the wall of the NAAFI which said ‘Volunteers Wanted for Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron.’ Ron reckoned that if he volunteered it would get him away from Catterick. His best friend Dick Richards, a gunner from Birmingham, also pointed out that they’d be paid a shilling a day extra which would buy them a pint of beer at least. They volunteered the next day.

They were sent to Newark for training. They thought they were going to be trained to land behind enemy lines in a glider but the commanding officer said to the volunteers on their first day, ‘Primarily we are supposed to be an airborne squadron but we have never had anyone refuse to parachute. You therefore have 24 hours in which to decide whether you wish to continue with this training.’ Ron commented, ‘I suppose that was a roundabout way of saying we were going to be trained as paratroopers. As soon as we got outside both Dick Richards and I agreed there was no way were going to jump out of an aircraft, parachute or no parachute. So the next day we went back in with three others and the officer said to the first, ‘Are you volunteering to parachute?’ He answered, ‘Yes, sir.’ The second volunteer answered the same way, and the third. So that just left Dick and me. Dick was number 4 and to my astonishment he also said ‘Yes, sir.’ So, being a coward I suppose, I also said, ‘Yes, sir’.’

After leaving Catterick Ron went on a 6 week assault course in Cheshire. This involved climbing over barbed wire, under barbed wire, up ropes, down ropes all day and every day. By the end of those 6 weeks he was very fit. Then came parachute training. To start with they jumped from a gantry in a huge hanger, then from a barrage balloon with a cage attached to the bottom. Ron remembers, ‘The ground was 350 feet below us and I was very sceptical about jumping the first time. The ground looked a long way down. But the jump master was a big fellow and when he shouted Go! you didn’t argue with him. I remember being very, very pleased to be down on the ground safely. After that it was time to go up in a real aircraft. Again I didn’t have any choice when it came to my turn to jump - the man behind simply pushed me. Seconds later I felt a big tug as the chute above me opened and I thought, ‘Oh, that’s good!’ After 5 more drops it was time to attach a big heavy bag of sand to his right leg. It weighed 100 pounds and was supposed to be the equivalent of the bag of ammunition which he would carry into battle.

The rule was that after 7 jumps volunteers could opt not to continue with the training and so not become a paratrooper. They would then be an RTU (returned to unit) without too many questions being asked. But after your 8th jump, if you refused to go on, it would be disobeying orders and you would be court martialled. Ron remembers, ‘Like most young men of my age I didn’t really give it a second thought. Being a paratrooper didn’t mean I was going to die or anything although I remember on one jump I somehow managed to land on my head. I don’t remember a thing but apparently I was rushed off to hospital with severe concussion.’ He was in hospital in Warrington for 10 days. He then went back and finished his training.

It was now May 1945 and the Germans had just surrendered but the war wasn’t over for Ron Garraway. His unit, the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron were put on a plane. As soon as they were in the air they were told they were being flown to Norway. However, instead of parachuting into an enemy occupied country they landed normally at Stavanger airfield. Ron commented, ‘We were given a wonderful welcome by most of the Norwegians at least. Some I suppose must have supported the Quisling government and there were Norwegian girls whose heads had been shaved because they’d gone out with German soldiers.’ They stayed in a hotel which had been the German headquarters in Stavanger. Unfortunately the Germans who had been in their room had left them with a blocked toilet. But one of the men in their group (who incidentally had won the Military Medal at Arnhem so was not afraid of taking a few risks), said he knew a bit about explosives and put some gun cotton (dynamite) down the toilet. He then told the rest of the group to stand well clear. Unfortunately he used a bit too much explosive. The result was a horrendous mess and a toilet that had been reduced to just a jagged stump protruding from the toilet floor.

They were in Stavanger for a week. For most of that time they were on guard duty in the docks. They then drove south down the coast road in a convoy of Jeeps. ‘Norway was a very beautiful country,’ Ron remembers, ‘although after you’d seen one fjord you’d seen them all.’ Their job was to call in at all the German army camps on the route south. For some reason they always arrived between 4.30 and 5 o’clock in the morning. Their job was then to get all the German troops out of bed and on parade. They allowed them to wear their trousers but not their tops. Ron’s unit then handed the German soldiers over to the Army Intelligence Corps which was travelling with them, for interrogation. This was necessary because some war criminals, and in particular the Kommandant of the concentration camp at Dachau, had reportedly escaped into Norway and were posing as ordinary German soldiers.

As they travelled south, they slept mostly in village halls, and the local Norwegians gave them a wonderful reception with lots to eat and drink, most of it ‘liberated’ from nearby German army camps. Finally they arrived at a town called Jessheim, just outside Oslo, and in May they took part in a grand Victory Parade in the middle of Oslo. Thousands of Norwegians lined the streets waving and cheering, throwing flowers and kisses and King Hakan took the salute. That is when the accompanying photograph was taken. Afterwards Ron was given a certificate which he still has. It said:

The Liberation of Norway 8th May 1945
The people of Norway wish to thank you 14440553 trooper Garraway RAC/Recce of the British Armed Services for your valuable services in helping to restore freedom to our land.

Soon after that Ron returned to England on the Norwegian cruise liner Stratheden. 17 days later the 1st Airborne Reconnaissance Squadron was disbanded and that was the end of Ron Garraway’s 2nd World War story. 6 months later he was off to Palestine to fight so called Zionist guerrillas. But that was a different war and a different story ……

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