大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Roger Marsh of the 鈥楢ction Desk 鈥� Sheffield鈥� Team on behalf of Harry Wood and has been added to the site with the author's permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

MEMOIRS OF A GUNNER
BY
HARRY WOOD

Chapter 6c

Most of the lads were now getting a four-day break in Brussels, and soon it was my turn. We were all put up in civvy billets for sleeping, but ate in Army canteens set up in the city. There was little to spend your money on except weak beer, although it was pleasant enough to see all the lights on, no one bothered about the black out too much. I went in one big store and bought a pair of silk stockings to take home to Dot on my next leave, they would make a change from leg paint for her. The short spell was soon over and it was back to Nijmegen again with the prospects of a long cold winter ahead. Apart from patrol activity, things were really quiet, but we were too professional to be caught napping. Just before dusk all guns were trained on certain areas that were liable to be used for infiltration, a crossroads, gaps in between minefields, or places where the forward infantry might not be able to cover.

Any noise or movement at any time and we could send a few rounds; our guns always had someone there 24 hours a day. It was getting very cold now, we were glad of the long woolen underwear, balaclavas and great coats but the officers acknowledged this and provided a 3 ton lorry to take some of the lads to scrounge some sort of makeshift shelters for the winter ahead. Our lot came back with what looked like a few sides of a hut, but what we had when assembled was part of a wooden caf茅, with no roof. With a tarpaulin spread over, and ground-sheets spread over the door, we were safe from the biting wind, although I was surprised that the officers allowed us to keep it on the gun position as the place was beginning to look like some Wog shanty town.

A paraffin lamp appeared like magic, so all we needed was a small iron stove for warmth. A stove was forthcoming all right, but unfortunately we had no fuel. Odds and ends of wood were scrounged but the only coal in the vicinity was at Nijmegen power station and that was guarded by the RASC and only people with official chit could get any. As orderly NCO next day, I decided that desperate times required desperate methods. One of the clerks typed me a chit with the battery stamp on it, but of course, this required an officer's signature which I knew would not be forthcoming, but I had a 15 hundred weight at my disposal, so I took two spades and sacks and set off for the power station. The name I wrote on the chit was fictitious, I think I put Lieutenant Martin at the bottom, and the sentry at the gate let me through to the dump. We had put about 陆 ton on board when an officer came out and I showed him the chit.

He was an older chap, a regular by the look of him but I didn鈥檛 like the way he asked me back to the office. We talked about the war in general, then with a slight grin on his face, he tore the chit up and said, 鈥淚 mess with your chaps quite a lot and Lieutenant Martin is not a member of your battery, so please unload the coal and we will let the matter rest there鈥�. What a let off! I could have been in serious trouble for that offence.

Christmas came and the food was good, that is about all I remember of it. New Year's Eve, I was in charge of the guard and we had an empty barn for a guardroom. There was a good rum ration which warmed me up, and one of the OP drivers sent a bottle of wine in that had come from the jam factory at Elst, our most forward position.
At 10 o鈥檆lock I had posted my second sentry, and as things were rather quiet, I decided to swig the wine and let the New Year in. The sentries never did get posted every two hours after that. I woke up next morning, frozen stiff, it was daylight and I felt terrible. In fact, I was too ill to eat any breakfast and it was dinnertime before I felt any better. This was no ordinary hangover; the bottle from the jam factory was in fact a highly concentrated fruit juice that was put into the vats of jam to give them their flavour. Anyhow being sick a few times probably helped my recovery, and to all enquirers as to who could have my dinner ration the answer was no.

Things were rather quiet on our front now. The Germans had made a push through the Ardennes in December and caught the Americans napping. Some of the yanks had fought magnificently, especially at Bastogne but others, especially at the rear, had panicked. Monty took our infantry and many more to plug the gap created, or he would have been in Antwerp and things could have been really serious, but that was behind us now. We were not called upon; maybe he thought we had done enough. I think the real reason was the shortage of infantry. They accounted for 60% of all casualties and after five years of war we must be getting desperately short of footsloggers.

The three divisions that had fought in the desert bore little resemblance to the formation that we had now, although their DIV signs were displayed so proudly. There were happenings that we could do little about. The V1鈥檚 and V2鈥檚 especially. The flying bombs operated from bases always just in front.

We saw them set off from their silos. Many crashed soon after take off. Others looped the loop, some set off back towards occupied Holland, and we all ducked when the motor cut out, and the bomb came down/ they moved too fast for the Ack-ack, but they all had a go. An exploding shell nearby could upset their gyroscoping mechanism. All we saw of the V2鈥檚 was a stream of vapour in the sky and that meant a huge explosion in London. They traveled faster than the speed of sound. What devilishness did the future hold, especially in times of conflict? In the Middle East, we had experimented with fuses of shells that contained photoelectric cells, that exploded when within 10 feet of an object. Slit trenches were not much protection against these as they acted as an airburst the result being a rain of shrapnel on the hapless troops below.

Information had come through that when the war was over, age plus service would count towards your release date. My de-mob number was 28. If I'd said I had been 19 and not 18 when the war broke out, my de-mob number would have been 27 and so on. Therefore the older people would be home first, it was as fair as they could make it really.

January and leave had started, I couldn鈥檛 wait to get home. The canal had frozen over, snow was on the ground, but at least we were getting a little sleep now. To relieve the monotony, we went back over the Nijmegen Bridge for a couple of days on the island to fire a few rounds. The waters had subsided, but Jerry鈥檚 other ploy was to position a long-range gun with its sights trained on the bridge. His time of firing took three minutes between shells, so vehicles would take cover at one end of the bridge, we could hear the whine as it came over and as it splashed into the river. We went hell for leather across the bridge and 3 minutes later stopped and took cover. It was like a game really, playing chicken, and laughing after we got over safely. He never did hit the bridge and caused very few casualties.

February and I had a fortnight鈥檚 leave. Going from Calais to Dover on the boat, word came over the tannoy that anyone caught taking home a pistol or some such souvenir would be sent back to the unit from Dover. My Lugar joined many more over the side. Looking back it was the right decision; the country didn鈥檛 want the criminal classes to have access to these weapons of death. I enjoyed my fortnight鈥檚 leave. Dot was thrilled with her stockings but even so the civilians were feeling the starting of shortages, the blackout, and the long hours at work. At least the end was in sight. Dad wasn鈥檛 working; he was ill with bronchial trouble and had spent some time in a sanatorium.

Mother was her usual dependable self, conjuring up meals out of nothing, Dot and Mary managing the occasional dance in between working shifts.

Rose was still at school, she seemed the most unaffected by the traumatic times we lived in than anyone else in the family.

All too soon I was on my way back, but I knew that Dot would keep up the letter writing, we wrote every day to each other. I knew that in the future we would get married, but the time wasn鈥檛 right yet to tell her, like so many men in a position of danger, we felt it better to stay single until the situation altered.

The winter weeks dragged on but all the evidence was there for a final push across the Rhine to Germany. Large trucks, adapted to belch out smoke positioned themselves across the bank sides obliterating the preparations from prying eyes. Our aim was to take Arnhem and push on into occupied Holland whilst the main thrust was to come about on our right flank. There had been a change of enemy on our front; we were now faced with an SS division composed of Dutchmen yet we were supposed to be liberating the Dutch.

Most of the troops had suspected that there was strong support for Nazi Germany in Holland and this confirmed it. Of course propaganda wanted us to believe otherwise, but the facts speak for themselves.

The new gun position had to be occupied under cover of darkness, as it was in a very open position. We had done this in training and everyone hated it, speaking in whispers and not showing any lights.

It was April now and we had a hard day of preparation, loading ammo and pulling guns into position where we could move out quickly just before nightfall. Feeling tired, we moved out, and into another hard night鈥檚 work, emptying ammo boxes and stacking the shells, filling empty cartridge cases with soil to build a gun pit, laying the gun on correct lines and all the time the growing hunger pains. Just before light we were ready. Tommy Davo brought the rum ration round and then the barrage began. The cordite hung heavy in the misty morning air and we all had a stomach full, but one thing to be thankful for, the enemy gunners hadn鈥檛 found us, they would probably be shelling our old position. Verey lights went up in front which was a good sign; our job now was to wait for targets sent back by the infantry. In the respite we had tea, porridge, and a link of sausage with a slice of bread, this filled up a corner.

Looking around the gun position now it was light; we realised that a barn 25 yards away offered the chance to lie down so it was decided to have 3 men per gun, and the other 3 to take four hours sleep. I tossed up with the sergeant and lost, and the next four hours were spent wearily firing at targets, clearing out empty shell-cases but at all times making sure that we had plenty of ammo fused and ready. Our regiment prided itself on always having artillery support there wherever the infantry called for it. After four hours the sergeant came back with his two men and I took mine. We climbed the ladder into the loft where hay was strewn about. The rustling sounds denoted mice and maybe a rat, but I was too tired to care. I intended taking off my boots, but I must have dropped off immediately and what seemed like five minutes time found me being kicked awake again after four hours. Several days steady fighting, putting a pontoon over the Rhine and then we were in Arnhem. No civilians about here, the town looked eerie with all the evidence of the heavy fighting of last September, and the graves of paratroops and Germans in people鈥檚 gardens and by the roadside.

We moved into the country beyond with no serious opposition, and then came to a halt. Most of Holland was on the brink of starvation and the RAF was now dropping supplies of food in most areas of the country. Our forward troop had occupied Utrecht, the capital and resistance here was practically nil. We moved to a small village near Oosterhuis, knowing the war in Europe was drawing to a close. It was nearly May, the weather was pleasant, and we had a radio that someone had looted and a few Dutch folks made an appearances now, eagerly wanting news. Most of them could speak English, and as the Germans had confiscated their radios, you could understand them wanting information as to progress of the war.

The inevitable barn served as a cookhouse, a few yards down a lane from the guns. On the way to get the grub issue we passed opposite a hut used as a command post by Lieutenant Kitchen and his staff.

May 8th and Sergeant Otino called for me to go to the cookhouse for grub, taking as usual our mug and mess tins. He walked on my right hand side and as we passed the wooden command post, a single shot rang out and 鈥極tty鈥� dropped like a stone, his mess tin clattering on the floor. A shocked Lieutenant Kitchen came out of the hut holding a German Schmeisser automatic, as I dropped to my knees, tearing at my field dressing. Otty was already unconscious but there was little blood, it was obvious the bullet was in his guts and he was bleeding internally. There was little we could do, and the ambulance whipped him off to the casualty clearing station, where he died a few hours later. How ironic that an hour later Churchill announced the end of the war in Europe.

This stupid officer of ours had broken the golden rule of pulling the trigger of a loaded gun in the vicinity of your own people. The bullet had hit a hurricane lamp in the hut, ricocheted through the side as we were passing and killed sergeant Otino. The colonel sent for Kitchen and no one ever found out what happened to him. He was never seen in the regiment again.

To help the starving civilians, trucks from units were sent forward with food to large towns. One lorry with Brigadier Edwards, Jock Reynolds and a driver was detailed to take food to Utrecht. By contacting the police chief, distribution could be fairly created and probably where it was most needed. Our lorry arrived back in two days minus Jock Reynolds. Ossie Edwards, with a grin told me that Jock had taken a shine to the police chief鈥檚 daughter and, taking ample food with them, they had disappeared.
He was eventually caught by the military police and served time in an Army Prison, but I suppose Jock thought that it was worth it. Life is much brighter with characters like him around, they tilt at authority, and only hurt themselves, but life is a laugh and a game to them, we should all be grateful for their existence.

Pr-BR

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