大象传媒

When the time came for the push (which was to be known as the 鈥楤attle of Falaise Gap鈥�) I was detached from the 6th Airborne and sent to the start line of the action, where I attached myself to a Highland regiment. My instructions were to record the build-up, the artillery barrage and the advance of the infantry and then get out, back to our own unit with the film, so that it could be flown back to England for processing, censoring and release to the news reels if they required it, with the still pictures with the names and addresses of any of the troops who were in the pictures.
This was a very important part of Army Public Relations, as these pictures would be on offer to the local Press where these lads lived and thus their relations - wives, friends, etc., would know that at a given date their husband, son, etc., was all right and on many on occasion, when I was in the line with the troops they would say to me in amazement,
鈥淎re you going into action with us with your camera?鈥�
鈥淵es, that鈥檚 right, and if you lads fight hard enough it will be all the protection I need鈥� and they would usually say,
鈥淏loody Hell鈥�
Of course we were armed, officially with a pistol, an American Colt .45 automatic, but I鈥檝e always maintained that if you鈥檙e close enough to use a pistol you are too damned close so, having learned a thing or two in the past, I carried an American carbine, very light, very accurate, semi-automatic which I had acquired, and a pair of hand-grenades, whenever
I was going to be close to the sharp end.
So, suitably booted and spurred, and wearing my red beret, this being a point of honour with the paratroops (excepting in very exceptional circumstances when a helmet was de rigeur and a beret would have been plain stupid) usually the Para fought wearing their berets. I am certain that when the Germans saw one they got the wind up because they knew what to expect if they had the temerity to clash with them. Anyway, I dutifully filmed the tanks 鈥榠n the rear鈥� the artillery in front of them and, of course, the boys who would be taking the first brunt of the attack, and then it was evening, so I climbed into an armoured personnel carrier with the intention of photographing the gun flashes as they put up the initial barrage. This type of shot is very effective and when edited can produce a visual effect on the screen of one continuous ripple of fire, the flash of the guns showing up the gun itself and perhaps some of the gun team. All good stuff but what I didn鈥檛 know was that the barrage was to be a creeping one, that is, each salvo would land a bit further on than the previous one, in this case one hundred yards at a time and that the infantry were going to attack under this umbrella of fire, the theory being that when you subject your enemy to heavy bombardment he will be dazed and if the infantry, or tanks, get in amongst them quickly they can destroy them before they recover their wits, thus achieve a victory without heavy loss of life, and reach their given objective , dig in, and be ready for the enemy when he inevitably counter attacks and deny him the ground he has lost.
So the barrage crept, and suddenly the I troop carrier鈥檚 engines roared and off we went into the darkness, smoke and general mayhem, with me aboard and I couldn鈥檛 get off or I would have been smashed into the ground by one of the following vehicles. Now if there is anything more unnecessary than a cameraman in the darkness I don鈥檛 know of it. It is quite impossible to take pictures in the dark so I was like a spare bride at a wedding and could do nothing except keep my head down and trust we didn鈥檛 hit a mine or stop a shell.
Eventually, without mishap, we reached the de-barking point and the infantry lads got off and got stuck in, and a very successful action they fought. The lot I was with didn鈥檛 suffer a single death and they captured their objective.
It was just starting to get light by this time and, getting out of the A.F.V. I headed for the sharp end which was about half-a-mile away As it got lighter, the enemy causalities were very noticeable; heads, legs, arms, trunks - bits of this and that were strewn everywhere, the barrage must have panicked those poor blokes into making a run for it, but a heavy stonking just can鈥檛 be trifled with and the only thing to do is to stay put and cross your fingers and trust that it hasn鈥檛 got your number on it. They didn鈥檛 and paid the price. Mind you, it made some very good pictures, especially if arranged a bit artistically, but that bit was never published. I wonder why? Our own dead were never photographed, for obvious reasons, but what is wrong with a bit of visual proof that our boys were helping the Wehrmacht in their wish - to die for their country?
Knowing that as sure as morning follows night, the enemy would counter-attack very soon and not wanting to be caught out in the open, I looked for a Jerry 鈥榙ouvre鈥�. This was, in effect, a large, square hole dug about 8-10 feet square and deep, but lined vertically, laterally and vertically again, with the trunks of fir trees and just like 12inch (30 cm) thick plywood and similarly roofed, the latter finally being covered with earth and turf and with an L-shaped entrance, the whole being very difficult to see and, as near as dammit, shell and bomb proof, certainly splinter proof.
Anyway one was soon found because there was a dead German halfway out the entrance so it was fairly easily spotted. Taking the precaution of lying down near the entrance and calling out, so that if any of the infantry boys were down there they would answer in English, if not, then a quick grenade down it and after the dust and smoke cleared I went into it. As it so happened it was empty, so, going back up and pulling the dead one out of the entrance, I awaited developments and, before long they counter-attacked with mortars and shell fire.
By this time several troops and their Sergeant had found me, and I asked what the score was. The Sergeant told me and said their orders were to stay put until the expected tank and infantry attack started and then the shelling and mortaring began and we all blessed the Germans who had constructed that douvre; apart from being periodically showered with earth and worms, not a single hit penetrated.
By this time the din of the battle was tremendous and the Bren gunners and the Sergeant at the entrance were ready if the attack came our way, but as it so happens, it didn鈥檛, but we were stuck down there until 2 o鈥檆lock in the afternoon, when the whistle sounded, mustering the lads in our area. The 鈥榮tonking鈥� had suddenly stopped and after the din there was an air of unreality. The Sergeant shot out and called his troops and off they went with the others in the area. It was about company strength and, of course, me trailing in the rear.
I reached the First Aid station, not that there was anything wrong with me, but to see if a hand was needed, but it wasn鈥檛, as they had plenty of help from an enemy first-aid post they had over-run; in fact, the British had occupied the German post and both sides were working together, trying to save the wounded and succour the dying.
A quick picture or two to illustrate how, in adversity, both sides could work together, and then I left that charnel house. People just don鈥檛 realise the horrific wounds that front-line doctors and staff have to deal with, these men are amongst the noblest of beings, never giving up and often going voluntarily into captivity with their patients; people seem to think that wounds and death are caused by neat little bullet- holes, all very tidy and noble, but this is not so. Can you imagine a man with his jaw shot off? Or his stomach ripped by a jagged piece of mortar, and his tripes strewn all over the place? No, unless you鈥檝e seen it, it can鈥檛 be imagined. Or the screams of tank crews when they are being incinerated in their 鈥榖rewed up鈥� tank. If these things were given worldwide publicity, with pictures, there would be a bit less bullshit about 鈥榯hey died gloriously for their country.鈥�
War is a stupid, filthy, stinking business, resorted to when the politicians can鈥檛 talk any more, or bow down to a bully. As a regular soldier, war was my business and, perversely enough, for all my written distaste against those who try to glorify it, I enjoyed it. But then again, how much of this was revenge for what had happened to my pals and the civilians at home? In seeing these evil bastards decimated, and make no mistake, evil they were; arrogant, jack-booted murderers, and I am very pleased with the part I played in helping to destroy them. The psychologists can sort that one out. I鈥檓 not repentant at all.
Walking back to Battalion H.Q. I enquired if there was any transport going to the rear as my film should, by now, be back at my own H.Q. and I was mortified when told that there was a twenty-four hour embargo on vehicle movement, so it was either stay or walk the seven miles back - I walked, having been told where the 鈥榦ut鈥� corridor was. It was very still, no noise, the battle having moved away, and after while, in a wood, came across a grim reminder of the barrage of the night before; the Germans used a lot of horse-drawn transport and I saw a group of five such vehicles, the horses dead between the shafts, poor things. I hope they died quickly; they have no part in wars, and there were various crews lying dead in and around the wagons except one driver who was sitting bolt upright in his seat.
When I saw him I pulled out my pistol and shouted 鈥淗ande Hoch鈥� (hands up) but he didn鈥檛 respond and when I took a second look - his head was missing! Gave me quite a start. His was a food wagon and had a carton of cigarettes on it, with a swastika printed on each cigarette. I took some as souvenirs to give to the base bound lads, who never had any opportunity to collect any 鈥榣oot鈥� and I opened a packet and took one to light it. Do any of you old soldiers remember the 鈥榁ictory V鈥� cigarettes? Well, these Jerry ones were a sight worse; it doesn鈥檛 seem possible, but they were!
As I was leaving there three very old Germans came out of the trees with their hands up, saying
鈥淭ommy, no shoot.鈥� After recovering my cool and thankful that my intestines hadn鈥檛 disgraced themselves, I searched them; they hadn鈥檛 any weapons, in fact not even an Iron Cross (this was a good trading object) so with them in front of me, carrying my camera and bag of film, we set off for the rear and they were duly handed over to the first Military Police we met, who gave us a lift to the rear.
When we got to the Armoured start line (which was well behind the infantry one in this instance there was a bit of smoke and overturned guns and tanks, in fact it was a right shambles with dead and wounded all over the place. We stopped and did what we could, which wasn鈥檛 much, as it was medical aid they needed, and when the ambulances arrived we asked what had happened. The truth was disgusting and another reason for the troops to distrust the seemingly s1ip shod methods of the American Air Force; a squadron of American heavy bombers were passing over on their way to bomb the German front-line and tank laagers and, due to an error in navigation, spotted our tank and artillery laager and dropped their load on their own Allies. Fortunately in military terms the damage wasn鈥檛 sufficient to stop the guns and arm our going into action. This imminent attack was why there was a twenty-four stop on traffic movement, so as to give them a clear run up to the enemy without hindrance of our vehicles so that everything that moved must be Jerry鈥檚 and fair game to the attackers.
Having had the explanation, I didn鈥檛 feel so bad about walking out and, once again, if I hadn鈥檛 tarried by these German transports I might have been in the area that was bombed; truly, if your number is on it鈥�
Back with my lot, they looked at me with astonishment; as I hadn鈥檛 come back the previous evening, they thought I was dead and was about to be reported missing. However, after explanations all was well and I had the rest of the day and night to rest up.
The following day dawned with the news that we had trapped a complete German Army (I can鈥檛 remember its number) and that the Falaise Gap was now a massive killing ground, so, grabbing our gear, we all went our different ways to the front, and I returned to the sector I was in two days previously.
Killing ground was no exaggeration at all; they were trapped, couldn鈥檛 get out, and our people were knocking seven different kinds of shit out of them. Artillery was literally firing point blank into the area, the tanks were giving them stick, and the R.A.F. were thumping their tanks into scrap metal. The rocket firing aircraft were running a taxi service to Falaise and its environments and a hit from one of those boys meant a tank without a turret. And so it went on and on until the Germans surrendered and left the road open to Belgium and Holland.
After it was all over, the morale of the troops was sky-high and there was much talk of being home for Christmas, but this wasn鈥檛 to be, there was lots and lots of hard fighting to be done before then.
When the fighting finished, I went touring round the killing area to see if鈥� there was anything to put on film that hadn鈥檛 been done already; there was the usual wreckage of war, the hundreds of dead, the burnt-put tanks, some with the driver killed trying to get out of his hatch, the outside half of him more or less whole, the inside bit just a bit of charred nothing - and the smell, Phew! It was hot and heat does odd things to corpses and, being a bit revolted, I told my driver to head for our H.Q. when my mate said that there were some troops calling us to come to them. So over we went, and we saw a sight I鈥檇 never seen before, it was a young German, stark naked, lying on top of a girl, who was also 鈥榮tarkers鈥� and it was obvious what they had been doing; they were both as dead as doormats but without a sign of any injury. We reckoned that they had been killed by blast and whether he was a rapist or they were lovers we will never know, but as one of the troops remarked.
鈥淲hat a lovely way to go!鈥�

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