大象传媒

I was called up for National Service in February 1943 aged 18 years & 2 weeks and spent 4 years in the army before being demobbed in August 1947. Like many others I then put the army completely behind me, forgot it all and returned to work in the post office. I married in 1949 and for the next 36 years concentrated on work and bringing up a family.

I gave little thought to my time in the army including the time in Normandy in June and July 1944 when my active army service was active in the true sense of the word. However in retirement from 1985 I read and learned a little about the Normandy campaign and my own unit鈥檚 part in it. This brought back memories, some good, some not so good. This year plans were made at our Managed Retirement Development, where my wife and I live, for the 60 residents to celebrate the 60th anniversary of D Day together at a party on the 6th June. I gave more thought to my time in the army in Normandy and sorted out my old bullet, a legacy of time there and had it fixed on to the end of a length of silver chain to wear round my neck. I put it on and fiddled with it as I sat reading my library books or watching TV and this reminded me of the incident where I got the biggest shock, more than anything I can remember 鈥� not in Normandy but lying propped up in a hospital bed in England.

I served in the Royal Welsh Fusiliers and trained for service as an Infantry Signalman. Training involved learning the Morse code, semaphore, laying telephone cable and the setting up and operating of wireless equipment. The wireless sets were heavy and large and when used when the Battalion was on the move were strapped to a signalman鈥檚 back while another signalman walked behind tuning the set in and using headphones and a handset. Reception by today鈥檚 standards was very very poor. Incidentally in addition to the above we were instructed on how to handle pigeons and how to attach and recover messages from their legs. How communications have changed since then.

June took the Battalion via a south coast Marshalling Camp out to Normandy. We were soon standing by as a reserve force to troops in the front line near Caen. We were moved forward for short periods to take part in small scale attacks and night patrols but the first big battle came on the 16th July in an area south west of Caen.

The intention was to attack and take over a hill (Hill no 112) a very small hill, which was a vantage point over a vast area and of considerable strategic importance. The operation did not go well for us. We moved forward on the night of the 16th July but got bogged down by a thick mist. Early on the morning of the 17th soon after daylight the mist cleared, virtually in a couple of minutes, and we came under intense fire from small arms, machine guns and mortars. I got a bullet in the face. It felt like being slapped in the mouth with a house brick. Blood poured down my battle dress and my glasses were pushed above my eyes as my face swelled up. However, I was conscious and able to make my way back to our own base. I was taken to a field hospital, patched up and two days later evacuated back to England by Hospital Ship. And finally from the south coast port by hospital train to a hospital at Basingstoke in Hampshire. I was then operated on, the bullet removed from the back of my lower jaw, bits of bone and broken teeth removed. The bullet appeared to have entered through my open mouth; the surgeon presented me with it the next morning.

I remember little of the above. I had been given pain killing drugs and also penicillin. This was a wonderful new drug and saved many lives. I remember little of my first few days in a hospital bed. I remember there was little to do, my face was badly swollen and my lower jaw was wired to my remaining top teeth and I could hardly speak.

I spent much of my time twiddling my straggly moustache. I had started growing it weeks earlier, my first and only moustache and my pride and joy. I twiddled it with my thumb and forefinger. I eventually found one hair thicker than the others I twisted it and eventually tugged at it; it came out about half an inch. I was frightened and lay thinking and puzzled. How could a hair come out of your skin?? But it had. In my half drugged state I was shocked and mystified. I held it again and pulled. It came out another inch and I could touch it with my tongue. I eventually pulled again and it came away I brought it up to my eyes and I saw two inches of cat gut which had been used to put a stitch in a bullet hole. What a lovely shot it had been by that German 鈥� right in the middle of my face, below the nose and above my top lip.

Mainly, I think because of the penicillin, I quickly healed up and eventually got back to my battalion in Germany six months later. I saw the last four months of the war as we advanced towards Hamburg.

Recently my son and his wife went to Normandy for a short holiday. They visited the cemetery near Hill 112. It contains over two thousand graves and they found and took photos for me of the graves of two of my army pals killed during that hour or so when I got wounded. Ken and Geoff, like me at the time, 19 years old killed together by a mortar shell while manning a wireless set. My son and his wife also brought home a photo of a plaque in the cemetery about Hill 112 which states: - 鈥淭he first offensive on Hill 112 was made on 26th June 1944鈥� The final lines on the plaque state: - 鈥�7 000 men was the price paid by the allies in the course of a terrible war of position, in order to capture a slightly higher ground in the plain of Caen. Hill 112 did not finally fall into British hands until the 12th August with the general withdrawal of the German forces.鈥�

Was the price we paid really worth it? Like so many wars taking place today it depends on how you look at it.

[This story was submitted to the People's War site by Wolverhampton Libraries on behalf of Cyril Robinson and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions]

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