大象传媒

6 August 1944 dawned over the fields and hedgerows of the Normandy bridgehead, the usual birdsong being replaced by the ominous grumble of battlefield noise. The birds, in their infinite wisdom, had decided that early migration to more amenable climes, offered better prospects of long-term survival.

The 3rd Reconnaissance Regiment was lodged in the area of Mount Pincon 鈥� near Caumont. As usual we had a rough idea of what we were supposed to be doing and the direction of future movements. Information was sparse but a cunning system of finding where the dangerous bits were had been devised; this involved looking where the sun was at 12.00 o'clock and avoiding this area like the plague.

Our previous six weeks or so in the bridgehead had been had been involved in 鈥榮wanning鈥� about from place to place. Usually our armoured cars would be attached to one or the other of an infantry regiment headquarters to use our very powerful radios for direct contact with Brigade or Division to keep them informed of progress. The narrow confines of the bridgehead meant that our prime function of seeking out the enemy by high speed reconnaissance was, as yet, not practical.

This sort of attachment usually meant that our car would be kept reasonably distant from the 鈥榥asty bits鈥� and thus, precisely suited my natural demeanour of craven cowardice.

But dawn of the 6th August changed all that!

I was a driver in 鈥楥鈥� troop, 鈥楥鈥� squadron of the 3rd Recce. The four Humber armoured cars in the troop were each given a name, this, of course, having to begin with the letter 鈥楥鈥�. In typical English humour these names had been decided as 鈥楥orpse鈥�, 鈥楥emetery鈥�, Crematorium鈥� and 鈥楥offin鈥� 鈥� mine being the latter.

We gathered round the morning 鈥極鈥� group as Major Norton, C.O. of C Squadron began his summary of the 鈥榩lans for today鈥�. 鈥淔or the first time we shall be acting as a regiment鈥� he said. 鈥淭his morning C squadron will move south to see if we can find a safe route for the soft supply vehicles. C squadron will lead, C troop will be in front, and 鈥楥offin鈥� point car鈥�. Unfortunately, in the army, debate about such matters is kept to a minimum so I was unable to put forward my alternative plan that 鈥楢鈥� squadron should take the lead.

At that moment I recalled a previous gathering in Farnborough, immediately prior to the invasion, where Major Norton had advised us of the outline plans for the transfer of the Regiment to Normandy. 鈥淐haps鈥� he said, 鈥淭he regiment has to move to France in three separate squadrons. I have drawn lots with A and B squadrons and, much to my regret and disappointment, C squadron has lost and, I am sorry to say, we are to go last鈥�. That loud cheer from the back of the parade was most uncalled for. This does, however, serve to illustrate Major Norton鈥檚 attitude towards these matters and his approach to the plans for Aug 6th.

And so we set off. Casually we drove south, car commander鈥檚 head stuck up out of the hatch and looking loftily at the poor bloody infantry crawling along the side of the road in the ditches. CRAWLING ? ? ?, what the hell, they must know there鈥檚 something dangerous about.

Suddenly a loud BANG sounded from the side of the car as some sniper zeroed in on the car and we then decided that this was not going to be the suggested 鈥榙rive in the country鈥� as we had thought hitherto.

BANG went the hatch cover as the car boss crawled down into the 鈥榩rotected鈥� inside of the car. The Humber鈥檚 armour plate is designed to be particularly effective in protecting the crew from offensive weapons such as catapults and the like.

Suddenly, there were no more infantry crawling along and, for a few proud moments, we realised that our car was leading the whole of the army into battle. The option of reverse gear was considered and discarded because we knew the infantry were behind us and just as likely would take a pot shot as the other lot.

Slowly down a long hill we drifted, my car in front and the other three at varying distances behind. At the bottom of the hill the road crossed a stream and a burning Sherman tank stood at the side of the road. The road stretched dead straight for a half-mile from the other side of the small bridge and, for the first time, we were able to use the standard tactics. These involve the first car belting a zig zag along the straight to the first corner, peek round the bend and, if nothing happens, wave on the second car 鈥� and so on.

So, off went Coffin with my foot on the floor, following the well-trained procedure. Suddenly, from the hedgerow at the side of the road a figure appears and gives us a friendly wave as we approached and slowed down. The Humber car has many similar characteristics to a German type but it appeared to us that all the chap wanted to do was surrender, so we slowed down until a few feet away when, with a great yell he suddenly realised his mistake and belted back into the undergrowth. At that precise moment we pulled up alongside only to see a German anti-tank crew trying to turn their big gun to point it in our direction.

On such occasions time seems to stand still! Being the driver I could not see what was happening at the near side but the car commander, Corporal? 鈥揑 can鈥檛 remember his name, yelled out something that in normal times would permit of 鈥榳ould you kindly direct the car in a forward motion at a suitable speed鈥�. Stirling Moss would have envied my control of the gears. 鈥淭he plan鈥�, said the car commander, 鈥� is to take the first turning right, the first turning right again and then full speed back the way we came鈥�. To my mind a well-considered and ingenious method of overcoming our dodgy predicament.

The first stage of the plan went very well as we found a right turn about 500 yards ahead. I took the corner at a speed considerably in advance of the car鈥檚 design specification and belted along for another distance until a 鈥楾鈥� junction appeared. To our great relief one of our Bren Gun carrier troops was slowly grinding up this road without a care in the world. At the same time, two of our other cars caught up with me from behind having knocked out the anti-tank gun that had nearly done for us. Our troop leader (lieutenant Snelling) came forward to discuss future intentions with the carrier troop leader. They decided that as we appeared to have penetrated just a German forward screen we should proceed with the original plan to move forward, but this time we would take the road being used by the carrier troop.

鈥淏ack in front Coffin鈥� came the instruction so there I was leading the whole lot of three cars and four carriers up this narrow lane going uphill and at an increasing slope.

A hundred yards forward and all hell broke loose. Artillery shells began landing all around us, the noise being indescribable. Some machine guns opened up from the trees and our gunner 鈥� Trooper Sturroch 鈥� opened fire with our heavy armament 鈥� the bren gun. A shell landed right alongside, removed one of the car wheels and part of the armour plating. At this particular moment we were on a bridge over a railway line and couldn鈥檛 escape off the road. Our second car passed us to go over the bridge but appeared to be knocked out by a tank a little further up the road, some of the crew, including Lt Snelling, baling out.

At such moments normal thinking stops and one acts completely instinctively. Get out of the broken car and move back down the hill away from the action site. It was at this moment that I last saw the crew of my car.

Many of the column of seven vehicles seemed to be damaged by shellfire but, together with some wounded survivors, we found a carrier that seemed to be OK. We all piled into this, got our heads down and started up. The plan being to drive off the road onto an adjacent field, cross over this in the general direction of home and hope for the best. This plan went smoothly until, bursting through another hedge to reach a road that appeared, the carrier hit a landmine in the grass verge, throwing us all out onto the grass, the carrier coming down on top of my leg pinning me underneath quite helplessly.

The spot we had penetrated the hedge happened to be about 30 yards from the headquarters of a German parachute battalion; a quick burst of fire over our heads discouraged any aggressive intent that might have retained. We hadn鈥檛!

It took about 15 minutes for the Germans to remove the carrier from on top of me and, unable to walk properly, they helped me back to their headquarters where a further 50 or so of their people wandered around. Their attitude could not be faulted as they treated our injuries, gave us all coffee and sweets and told us, with great glee, how it was our own British artillery that had smashed us to bits.

The transfer from the front all the way back to Germany and my experiences as a POW is another story,
but the foregoing, probably unremarkably normal, had a quite strange sequence.

Twenty years later I happened to join a particular snooker/social club. The Club Chairman was a gentleman by the name of John Singer. Many people will remember John, who died in 1986, as one of the writers of the very popular Dick Emery comedy shows. He was also a pal of Bill Cotton and many other 大象传媒 people. We often exchanged stories of Normandy because John was a Major in the Royal Scots. In one of these exchanges when I told him of the above story, he told me that on that particular day he was operating as artillery spotter in that sector of the front. We will never know if he did the damage for us at that time but it does make a wonderful ending to the tale.

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