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 7a

We moved out into Germany wondering what sort of reception awaited us. Our destination was a small country village near Osnabruck.

Army instructions were that we must not fraternise at all with the Germans.

This was the most stupid order that ever came out of the war, we couldn鈥檛 even talk to them. The village was untouched by the war, the inhabitants were all old men or women and kids, and as one would expect of country folk, most of them looked fairly well fed.

We took over a sports centre containing a swimming pool and football pitches etc. the old men were pressed into service to build bed bunks for us as there was a plentiful supply of timber. We all hated this idea of sending the locals to 鈥楥oventry鈥�, but such was the discipline, we carried it out. It was pleasant here, the billets were good, there was plenty of recreation and we made the most of regular sleep and food. This didn鈥檛 last long, as the rest of Germany was in turmoil and we moved into the Ruhr, to Dortmund and Bochum.

What devastation the bombers had wreaked here, just heaps of rubble for miles. It was difficult to imagine that these areas were once mighty towns. As we picked our way through the repaired streets, we saw hundreds of people living amongst the ruins, refugees filled the streets, defeated soldiers making their way home all on foot. All bridges seemed to have been blown, the railways weren鈥檛 running and movement in any direction was a problem. We were directed to a few streets that had some houses still standing and turned out the people to take over their homes. One old lady asked my permission to go back inside and take with her a few possessions and photos from a room where I had dropped my kit. She had a quiet dignity about her that made me feel like a violator in her home.

The youngsters in the area came to the cookhouse at meal times carrying bags and tins awaiting the leavings on our plates. How can you eat your grub, knowing that these gaunt eyed kids are awaiting your leftovers? They never cried or clamoured for anything, but quietly accepted whatever there was going with a whispered 鈥� Danke Shcon鈥�. I have seen rice pudding mixed with tea and stew meat all in one bag and whatever was offered them, bread or the occasional chocolate bar, they wouldn鈥檛 eat it but insisted on taking everything home to their families in the ruins.

Our job here was to try and bring some form of law and order to bear. The locals were absolutely terrified of the 鈥楻usskies鈥� and many of these ex-Russian prisoners, now freed, were taking vengeance on the locals. We rounded up as many as possible and put them in large old buildings, we fed and clothed them but told them to stay put, yet it proved difficult. Each morning saw tearful women and young girls arriving as we paraded the men, so that they could pick out the animals who had raped them. Some didn鈥檛 stop at this and resorted to murder. They were a mongolian type, short, powerfully built, and must have been descended from Attila the Hun. I remember one girl passing this place where I was in charge of the guard. Two men grabbed her and dragged her into the building. I took a man with me and we went inside looking for her. The place stank, it was gloomy and although we were armed, the menacing looks and sense of hostility as we searched the building made your heart beat a little faster. We never found her, and I don鈥檛 know what happened to the girl, she was never seen again, just another statistic. One day we noticed a commotion in the grounds amongst a group of them, and going over to investigate I saw a one legged ex German soldier in the middle. They were playing a game by making him stand up, and kicking his good leg away so he fell down to roars of laughter. This was repeated many times until we rescued him. To them it was their rough form of humour.

Ken Seaty from Leicester was a kind lad who was getting incensed with their inhumanity and one day when he was on guard, all the inmates were sat on the wall, and now and then, one would jump down, run across the road and make for town, most likely in search for Schnapps, the local spirit. He didn鈥檛 like them grinning and taking the Mickey as they slipped across when his back was turned. The next bloke was unlucky. As he was 50 yards away, another dashed across and Ken lifted his rifle and shot him dead. There was no more trouble after that, and Ken wasn鈥檛 disciplined for it.
June had arrived and so did leave time, I was due to go early July as it was six months since my last one, when we were on the move again to a small village about 20 miles away.

This was a pleasant place with good billets and most of us thought 鈥榳ell we could stay here until our demob came through鈥�, which by my reckoning would be about 10 months time. It was a rural area and we had a different role here. Gangs of men were roaming the area and living off the land, slaughtering the cattle and other livestock. The locals were terrified; several had been found with their throats cut and the scene resembled something like the Wild West. Of course there was a strict curfew, anyone moving around between dusk and dawn was liable to be shot. The regiment organised night patrols. An NCO and six men to each 15-hundredweight truck went out each evening to a given area, boots were discarded, and we wore gym shoes. Some of the patrols had a little success but on my first three, I drew a blank. On the fourth one I went to a small village and knocked on the door of the first house, and asked the old couple if we could use the front room as a guardroom for the night.

They were overjoyed; at least it meant a good night鈥檚 sleep for them free from fear. We had a radio set and tea in a container along with some sandwiches. Two men went on patrol for a two-hour shift before being relieved. About 1 o鈥檆lock in the morning I took my sten gun and went out to check them. It was fairly light as we had a three quarter moon and one of the sentry鈥檚 was on the outskirts of the village, where two roads came to a point. At this particular spot was a farm, which had an opening or gate to each road. The sentry told me that he had heard a noise in the farmyard, but hadn鈥檛 found anything on investigation. Everything was dead quiet. I said, 鈥� Go down the road, come in through the farmyard, and I will go in the other entrance until we meet, but for Christ鈥檚 sake don鈥檛 shoot me.鈥� We stealthily did this and met up in the farmyard again - nothing.

Standing in the road together I had a feeling that we were being watched, a sort of sixth sense that said all was not right. Scrutinising the area carefully by the light of the moon I looked at a telegraph pole by the side of the farm wall, and as my gaze travelled down from the top, the bottom six feet thickened out in the shadow. 鈥淐over me,鈥� I said to the sentry and walked slowly up to the pole. Not a movement, no stirring. I was beginning to feel I had made a fool of myself and approached to a few feet away, before I made out the form of a man standing motionless, all dressed in black. I grabbed him by his lapel, but he still didn鈥檛 speak, and of course didn鈥檛 understand us, but the problem was what could I do with him. The regiment didn鈥檛 want him back there. I knew that the village had, in better times, a copper so I found the place and knocked up the local cop. He just didn鈥檛 want to know. There was no place in the military set-up for him and of course no wages or authority. Well we had to be very persuasive and threatened to arrest him before he produced the keys to his one cell. We put the bloke in the cell and as far as I know, he might still be there. I didn鈥檛 want him as my responsibility.

The following week, I was on guard duty in the village that was our headquarters. A place about as big as Castleton, when the sentry brought a young woman to the guardroom in a rather distressed condition. With our limited German, we deduced that she had a very sick child and had braved the curfew and the terrors of the countryside, to try to get some medicine from the chemist in the village. Apart from calling her a stupid so and so for taking such a risk, I took her to the chemist and hammered on his door. The time was 02:00 and he wasn鈥檛 very pleased about being woken up. He put his head out of the window and words were spoken which meant that he simply wasn鈥檛 going to help his fellow countrywoman. No messing about I was thoroughly browned off, threatened to shoot his lock off and drag him downstairs. The
Germans always react to threats and understand better. He put some trousers on, came down and made the lady a bottle of medicine. Now I had a dilemma. Someone had to escort her back home. The sentries couldn鈥檛 leave their posts and I couldn鈥檛 leave the guardroom. Officially I should have placed her in the guardroom until dawn and let her go, but she started weeping and spoke about her sick 鈥榢inder鈥�.

I took a chance and decided to take her home, hoping it wasn鈥檛 too far away.

We walked through the quiet deserted countryside, all strange territory to me so I kept a check on the landmarks until we came to a very wide canal. The large metal bridge had been blown and rested partly in the water. She explained that she had managed to scramble amongst the girders and get across, and the cottage where she lived wasn鈥檛 too far away.

鈥楬arry,' I thought, 鈥榶ou must be mad,鈥� as we inched across the wreckage in the darkness, but what the hell it was a change to do at least a little good in the world. As a soldier I must bear the responsibility of doing a lot of what was considered un-Christian. About half a mile form the canal she said, 鈥淒anke Schon,鈥� and was off to her sick kiddie. I hope the youngster benefited from the medicine and someday when he or she grows up, realises what his or her mother did out of love that only a mother can understand.
It was leave time again now that July was here, I had a pleasant time back home. Dot showed me the engagement ring she had bought and we decided to get married on my next leave, which would be due in about 6 months time.

Rationing was still very much in evidence at home, but the blackout had been lifted and people were beginning to look to the future, even though the Japs had still to be defeated.

I had only been back at the regiment a few weeks when Jock Reynolds came rushing into the billets.

鈥淗arry, you are being posted to the Far East,鈥� he said, 鈥淵our name is in orders鈥�.
Looking at the order, there it was all in group 28 or over were going on draft to the far East. Most of the names were recent arrivals and I was the only one with service in the Middle east, all my old mates were earlier demob numbers, they being older. There was plenty of sympathy for my position, but that didn鈥檛 help. I kept saying to myself 鈥渨hy me? I鈥檝e done my whack鈥�. Anyhow, I was put in charge of the draft on its way to Woolwich, the artillery depot in London.

We were soon allocated regiments, mine was a regular one, the third RNA stationed at Leicester, but first a fortnight leave and then report back to Woolwich to be kitted out again with tropical gear.

A telegram was the next step, to tell Dot that I would arrive on Monday and as I promised, we would be married on Saturday. Blissfully I was unaware what consternation this had caused in the Rogers household, all I knew was that a serviceman could get a special licence for 7/6d, and everything else concerning the hundred and one things connected to a wedding, were hardly my concern. Looking back I marvel how a wedding dress, bridesmaid dresses, bouquets and reception all came about in such a short space of time, in times of rationing. We even had a wedding cake. Dot鈥檚 Aunt Flo from Castleton put us up for a week鈥檚 honeymoon in their house, and on Wednesday there was great rejoicing in the village when the Japs announced their capitulation upon the dropping of the atom bomb.

Dot鈥檚 Aunt Kate was on holiday in Sheffield, from their home in Portsmouth, with her husband, a Petty Officer in the Navy. It was decided to spend the rest of our leave and honeymoon in Portsmouth, and then I would join up with my draft in London from there. We enjoyed ourselves very much at Kate鈥檚, and Dot was persuaded to stay on a little longer for an extended holiday.

I went back to Woolwich and managed to squeeze in a football match at Charlton before once more it was up anchor and off to my new unit.

They were stationed on the Racecourse at Oadby near Leicester, and were in the process of re-building the regiment, prior to overseas service. Many of the soldiers were new recruits and required training, but I was still surprised at the equipment they had. The guns had been modified for jungle warfare, the wheelbase being much shorter, and the rest of the stuff; vehicles, radios etc., were all the latest gear. Anyhow I reckoned on eight months service before my demob., so it came as quite a surprise when I was made Sergeant and moved into the Sergeants' mess. Life was certainly much more pleasant, no guards etc., and every Saturday, unless being orderly sergeant, I was able to catch a train in Leicester for a weekend at home, the journey only taking about an hour. My pay had gone up to 8/- (8 shillings (40p)per day. There were cinemas nearby and if in Leicester for the weekend, I sometimes went to see the local team play.

Rumour had it that our posting to the far east had now been cancelled and this turned out to be true, but any hopes of serving out time in Blighty were dashed when we were told of an overseas posting to the Mediterranean area.

I managed a few days at home before setting off, Dorothy giving me the good news that she was pregnant.

Pr-BR

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