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Written by Tony Walsh

Submitted by his daughter

ONE

I was born in October 1919 and spent most of my early life in Mold, North Wales. After leaving St David's R. C. School at the age of 14 I helped my mother run the grocer's shop she owned in Milford Street, Mold.

I joined the Territorials in Mold in April, 1939: 239 Battery, 60th (Royal Welch Fusiliers) Anti-tank Regiment, R.A. (T.A.) By this time we knew that conscription was likely to come in during mid-summer. We spent the last two weeks in August at the annual camp at Trawsfynnydd, returning to Mold on Thursday 31st August. We were called up on Saturday, 2nd September.

We stayed in Mold for two weeks. I slept at home but had to report to the drill hall every morning. We trained at the 'rec'. Then we loaded up and set off to Bolsover camp, an ex-holiday camp at Wellington Road, Rhyl. We spent about 5 weeks there, getting equipment and training.

In October we went down in convoy to Lille Barracks in Aldershot, where we spent about 4 weeks, and then on to Fleet, 8 or 9 miles away. Here we occupied an empty guesthouse, 'Tullamore', and we spent Christmas 1939 there. There was heavy snow. Here we received transport and anti-tank guns. In February we moved to Puddletown, Dorset, where we were made up to strength with artillery and underwent further training.

At the beginning of April, 1940, we were moved on to Southampton. We had one evening there (which I spent at the pictures watching The Wizard of Oz - my first taste of the magic of colour film) and left the next day for Le Havre.

We stayed in that area for a couple of days and then to the Somme, and a small town called Aumale. We took up positions here, anti-tank guns dug in, and waited for the advance of Rommel's 7th Panzer division. During our two weeks here we were bombed heavily by dive-bombers; our guns made contact with forward German elements: our first fight. We knocked out some light armoured vehicles, but could not stop the heavy tanks with our light anti-tank guns. We suffered heavy casualties; some I knew were John Reece, Pratchett, Jack Blackwell. We were ordered to withdraw. Our Battery Commander was Captain Charlton, (later Major Charlton - he received the Military Cross on our return from France; he was formerly a director of the Chester Northgate Brewery, and his family home was at Plas Bellin Hall, near Northop), and Cooper was the Battery Sgt Major.

We tried to make our way in the general direction of Dieppe, but by this time the advancing German forces made it impossible, so we retreated further westwards and then made a right angled turn for the Normandy coast. We used anti-tanks to clear German advanced patrols at various road junctions. By a series of miracles we eventually arrived at the port of St Valery on the morning of June 13th, 1940. All was quiet at the time, and we were told that we would be evacuated by the navy later in the day, but by early afternoon the Germans closed in on the town and we came under heavy shell-fire on the sea front. All our vehicles and guns were destroyed.

I lost touch with the remainder of the battery under this bombardment and decided to make for the cliffs to the east of the town. After climbing towards the top of the cliffs I met up with Major Charlton who told me that Bill Bunting (a mechanic, from Mold) had been killed further down the slope, by enemy mortar fire. The major and myself took some shots with rifles at German troops moving into the town area. We were located and came under heavy mortar fire. Night was closing in and most of St Valery was in flames below us. Major Charlton told me that he was going to scout around to try and find any remaining members of the battery that may be in the area.

At this point we came under increased enemy fire and I had to move back, eastwards along the cliff top for about a mile. I had lost touch with Major Charlton, but met up with some isolated French troops. They got a small fire going and I joined them in a meal of half cooked chicken and looted Benedictine. I felt better after the drink, but had to be careful about the cliff-edge!

We spent the remainder of the night walking eastwards, leaving behind the spectacle of St Valery in flames. At about dawn we could see as the cliffs dipped down the little village of Veules les Roses, 4 - 5 miles from St Valery. By this time we had been joined by a few more straggling English troops. We decided to try to get down to the village, but were suddenly very surprised to find ourselves under intense mortar fire. Several of the group were wounded, one (English) very badly in the face. His mates did what they could for him.

We went back some way to avoid the enemy fire. We had to decide what move to make. By this time our R.E. officer had joined us and he thought it best that we try again to get down to the village.

German forces had reached the coast just west of St Valery, so cutting us off on the east side. They attacked the town from the west side, and eventually occupied it. But the main German forces were advancing from the Dieppe area to the east, trapping us in between.

We moved back past the scene of the mortar ambush; there were two dead there, British. We managed to find a way into the back gardens in the outskirts of the village, and made our way down to the beach, to find hundreds of troops already there. Some way out we could make out what looked like a cross channel ferry, a steamer. Queues had been formed from the beach along the jetty, way out into the sea. I could see motor launchers moving back and forth from the ship to the waiting lines of troops. I joined the end of the nearest line and hoped for the best. We moved slowly forward. There was no queue-jumping; officers with revolvers were keeping things under control.

After about an hour (it seemed more like six) I found myself at the front, waist-deep in the sea. At long last my turn came. The rescue craft arrived manned by Royal Navy personnel. They greeted us with remarks like: "Any more for the Skylark?" "Hurry up me lucky lads, could get hot at any minute!"

Just as I was pulled aboard the launch the first artillery shells dropped on the beach behind me, to the rear. With a full load we made our way out to the steam ship and eventually arrived alongside. Rope ladders were slung down, up which we wearily climbed. At this stage I noticed the name of the ship: it was the Princess Maud. All I wanted was water and sleep. Shortly after this enemy shell fire began landing close by. I heard the ship's engine beat picking up, and we were on the move, leaving hundreds, possibly thousands still on the beaches. It must have been the last ship away from the Normandy coast.

After some time I was awoken by the sound of the ship's anti-aircraft guns firing at a low-flying plane, but nothing happened. After this I wandered around the ship and was very surprised to bump into Major Charlton and a friend, Cyril Bellis, both from 239 Battery. Major Charlton then told us that the Blackwatch of the 51st Highland Division unknown to us at the time had formed a perimeter around Veules les Roses, thus temporarily holding up the German advance into the beach area. He said there was a crazy story about us re-embarking further down the French coast and going into action once more. I thought, what with? I had a tin hat and a French bayonet (rifle was left on the beach). Everyone had just what they were standing up in. I went off to sleep again and woke up to see quaysides and buildings and a sign saying 'Better Buy Capstan, they're Blended Better". I wearily realised we were on the right side of the channel: Southampton.

TWO

From there we went to Winchester, under canvas for a few days, and then to Longbridge Deverill, near Warminster. Here the remaining members of 239 Battery who had somehow got back from France were reunited. Of a battery strength of over 200, only about 40 got back, the remainder having been killed or taken prisoner. Among many others, Sgt Major Cooper had been killed at St Valery, and a friend, Bas Thomas was injured and taken prisoner.

From Warminster we were sent to Bowley Road Camp, Aldershot. Nothing much happened except for parades and drills. But I almost got myself killed. A lone German bomber from some height cut his engines off and glided over Aldershot, and released a stick of bombs. They exploded along Wellington Avenue, the area I happened to be in as I walked to the Post Office. I dived into a nearby shelter after the first bomb landed very close. After it was over, I came out to find much damage and many casualties. There were many wounded, and some still buried in the barracks buildings. I noticed a lot of blood on the cape I was wearing; there was a small sliver of steel in my right arm, nothing serious. But somehow word got back to Mold that I had lost an arm - panic at that end!!

From Aldershot we went to Camberley, Surrey, still under canvas for a few weeks and then to Bramley for a few days. Everything was rather primitive there - the toilets were ditches with a pole above.

Then we moved to nearby Godalming and were at last billeted in a country house called Munstead Heath. It was September 1940.

Here we received our anti-tank guns and transport vehicles, and went through the usual military training routine, day in, day out. The blitz raged over London, 15 miles away; a few bombs dropped in Charterhouse College grounds, which is where we used to go for a shower.

It was at Munstead Heath that one of our men came close to causing a very nasty accident. He seemed to suffer from some form of persecution complex and no-one ever felt safe when he was on guard duty, brandishing a rifle while muttering things under his breath like "I'll get you, you b……." to himself. But this episode seemed to be a thoughtless accident. He was being relieved from guard duty in the guard room, and thinking he had emptied his rifle of live rounds he pulled the trigger. He had left a round in the breach, and it went up through the ceiling, through the desk of the battery officer just above, and just missed the orderly officer (an unpopular chap called ), who to all accounts turned a lighter shade of pale. Cyril Bellis was also in the room at the time and was similarly lucky to escape injury. Needless to say, the poor chap was transferred and medically downgraded.

Otherwise things were uneventful. I got Christmas leave in the December and spent seven days in Mold. It was a very hard winter, and snow was piled up everywhere for weeks. I returned to Godalming loaded with tinned food of every description in my kit bag.

We remained in Godalming until April 1941, then moved to Kintbury, near Hungerford in Berkshire. Here we received our final supply of arms and equipment for active service. We were not however told where we were going. They were happy days in Kintbury, on the River Kennet; there were two pubs, and we had the odd trip into Newbury, beans on toast at the YMCA, and then to see a film starring maybe Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth. Les Williams and Cyril Bellis were my usual companions.

THREE

Early September brought rumours of a move overseas which turned out to be true, and we were shortly entrained at Newbury. We travelled overnight and in the light of dawn the area seemed familiar: the Liverpool docks, with the Liver building in sight. We embarked on the SS Mendoza, a ship captured from the Spanish government forces by Franco in the civil war. We spent three days aboard in Liverpool, strictly no shore leave; in mid-September we sailed up the Mersey to the North Atlantic. We made our way past the west coast of Africa, called at Dakar to refuel, and then went southwards towards the Cape. We ran into violent gales, and conditions below deck were very grim. I was very sea sick and ate nothing for two days.

The ship developed some kind of engine trouble and the following dawn found us all alone in the big ocean. Our reduced speed meant the convoy and escort had pushed ahead overnight. The situation was not too good for the Mendoza. We were a sitting duck for any U-boat which could be in the area. After what seemed hours imagine our relief when out of the distance an escort destroyer, later made known to us as the Sheffield, came speeding back to us like a sheepdog looking for a missing sheep. His signal lamp was flashing a message to our captain; I later heard the message was far from complimentary.

It was during this nervous period that we had a little something to feel happy about. It was about noon on the second day, when two smoke blobs were noticed on the distant horizon astern of us - and whoever it was, they were in a big hurry and getting closer by the minute. Visions of German surface raiders crossed my mind - my fingers were tightly crossed! Nothing daunted our intrepid destroyer made off in the direction of the approaching ships. With straining eyes it now seemed our destroyer was heading back towards us, then suddenly it all became clear. It was two British Battle Cruisers, the Prince of Wales and the Repulse, flying the White Ensign and moving at full speed, urgently required in the Far East. In passing they signalled us: "Have you ever been lonely…Safe sailing to the Cape!" and within minutes they were just a smoky smudge in the distance. What moments to remember! Sadly, later in the year, both of these fine ships were sunk close to Singapore, after constant heavy attacks by Japanese dive bombers. Tragically there were few survivors.

Two days late we limped into Cape Town for repairs and to rejoin the convoy. We also waved goodbye to our faithful destroyer, our lone companion in those troubled waters.

We spent five days in that wonderful capital of blazing lights - no black-out there - well out of range of German bombers. We enjoyed the nightlife and the amazing hospitality of the townspeople, who invited us to join them in their homes. They gave us a marvellous time with meals and drink, and took us for trips to Table Mountain.

With great regret we said goodbye to Cape Town and headed up the Indian Ocean on the East side of Africa. Now out of U-boat range we could show our lights (had been blacked up until Cape Town) and relax, and look forward to getting off the goddam ship! Eventually arrived at Aden to refuel. The heat was intense and the port had an oily, sickly smell. Then into the Red Sea and up to Port Twfik, close to Suez, and caught our first glimpse of Egypt.

There were celebrations on board to mark our safe journey after so many perilous miles at sea. We said goodbye to the dear old Mendoza and disembarked, weighed down with kit and drenched with sweat. The heat was unbelievable. We then packed into a waiting steam train with a few hard bench seats and no windows - the chaotic conditions bringing about a chorus of farmyard cattle calls from the unit's jokers. We travelled for some hours to a staying camp at Ameria, in the desert, under canvas, about 10 miles from Alexandria.

Our stay there lasted about 2 - 3 weeks. There was an occasional trip down to Alex, so fresh and cool in the evening, after the heat of the camp, with plenty of food and beer and the ladies of Sister Street, if you cared to take the risk. Our guns and transport etc eventually arrived at Ameria and we were soon ordered to move westward, along the coastal road into the Western desert. At that time the German Afrika corps fell back to an area called El Agheila. Our advanced patrols made contact with the enemy on Christmas Day, 1941. I talked to some New Zealanders on the way back for a rest. One said 'You'll be alright mate, you'll be home by March. Jerry's only got a couple of dozen tanks left." Little did we know.

Stalemate now developed until January 1942, and then Rommel attacked us after being heavily reinforced with tanks from his port of Tripoli.

After several clashes and our first casualties we had to withdraw eastwards in stages. We lost two officers, two sergeants and seven gunners in this retreat. Many more were injured. We moved back to the Gazala area, close to Tobruk. In March 1942 we established a defence line and hoped to hold Tobruk. Enemy forces closed up and heavy fighting developed. Our small two-pounder anti-tank guns were no match for the heavily armoured German tanks, and we suffered serious losses. (This area, Gazala, was known as 'the cauldron').

Major Charlton took the place on a gun (on 'H' troop) whose crew had been wiped out, and tried to fire the gun single-handed. He was instantly killed by enemy machine gun fire. At the time I was about half a mile away on a gun with 'G' troop. The battery's position became desperate with more casualties and loss of guns, and we were ordered back to Tobruk. It then became obvious that Rommel could not be held and we began a fighting withdrawal toward Egypt.

Through the long hot summer months we retreated from Tobruk through Bardia, Matruh, Sidi-Barani, to El Alamein. There, our division (First Armoured) established good defensive positions and waited for the impact of enemy forces.

It was at this time decided that owing to heavy losses in men, guns and transport, to disband our dear old TA Regiment (76th Anti-tank), and the remaining personnel were posted to other units. I found myself in a transit camp and was ordered to join the 4th Field 25 Pounder Artillery Regiment (later the 7th armoured division, the Desert Rats). I said goodbye to Les Williams and Cyril Bellis, and we went our separate ways.

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