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A Wartime ~Friendship — Collaborating with the Enemy.
· Christmas 1939 being over I volunteered to enlist in the Army and after training at Horfield Barracks I was posted to France in early 1940. There in May, I became one of the thousands who retreated West to St. Nazaire, and was then involved in the sinking of the Lancastria. From this disaster I escaped aboard the Oronsay which on June 17th, sailed into Plymouth with its bridge destroyed and using manually operated auxiliary steering. Salvation Army girls sent telegrams to our homes about our safe arrival.
· Further service abroad took me to N. Africa in 1942 and then across to Taranto in Italy in 1943. It was in the Summer of ’44 with the sun blazing down on Alexander’s latest offensive we approached towards the River Po. To me it was yet another day on this seemingly endless trail which would hopefully finish in a peaceful England. Surrounding us, lying stretched out on the ground were German prisoners of war, many physically and mentally exhausted by the bombardment to which they had been subjected.
· Then one, more alert and more aware caught my eye and gave me a challenging yet friendly look. I felt I wanted to respond so I threaded my way towards him. Little did I realise that those few steps
· were taking me to a relationship which would survive a decade after the War, and that he would become a much-loved companion of my two boys, as yet unborn. I approached closer and noted his powerful chest and shoulders with which he would swim in the R. Thames in happier years.
· I signalled to him and he followed me to the Sergeants’ Mess. I found the R.S.M.
· And obtained his permission to keep him. I took him to my tent and tied him to the pole. I think I should tell you now that he was a fine Boxer cum Doberman dog.
· I named him BOB and changed his nationality. He became my inseparable companion — his home my 3 ton truck, his Mess adjacent to the Sergeants’ Mess,
· And he slept within an arm’s-length of my blanket. What fortuitous stroke of fortune caused our paths to cross for within a month my friend Charlie was killed at Coriano Ridge. We had been together since we sailed down the R. Clyde in Nov. 42. I mourned for Charlie and sought solace with Bob. Unlucky Charlie, next Spring the War in Europe finished and we the victors, lived in the Hotel Germania on Lake Worthersee, Austria. Next month, to my surprise our Unit was disbanded and I, with Bob in tow, was posted to Vienna. We travelled in a much-damaged train through the freezing Semmering Pass where the Russians held us up, and I was glad to sleep with Bob on the floor.
· On arrival in Schonbrunn Barracks, I found I was unable to keep Bob in barracks because of the danger of rabies. I searched Vienna for a ‘’Tierschuzvereim’’ (dog kennels). I found one in the Russian sector and the Austrian owner was willing to look after him while I applied under a clause in Kings Regulations. to send him home to England!! I received a speedy reply from a Veterinary Unit to take him to Graz, a town nearby. They would then keep him in quarantine and return him to England — a service I never expected in wartime. Six months later I was then at home demobilised when I received a letter to collect him from the Army Dog Kennels at Barton Stacey, Hants.
· I journeyed down there and Bob went berserk with excitement and joy. He sighed so heavily in the taxi that took us to the station that the driver got out and kicked his tyres ‘’Thought I had a puncture’’ he said
· Is there a human emotion that can surpass a dog’s devotion? Certainly not to sigh sufficiently to stop a taxi in full flight!!.

I have a photograph of Bob.

George Francis B.E.M

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