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This is the second instalment from my father's diary. It continues directly from the previous entry. As before, where I have been unable to decipher my Father's handwriting I have replaced the word with XXXs.

"We wondered what our next job would be. We settled down in the little Belgian village of Peer — there we hoped to rest. But we were soon on the move again to defend the Dutch town of Weert. Life was quite easy here for there were no shells and particularly no air activity. An uninteresting town, very flat country all around and it seemed to rain consistently.

Our quietude was upset by Rundstedt’s counter offensive. Off we dashed down to Leuven where amongst the mines we spent our Christmas Day, and then off to Ardennes to the Meuse crossing at Dinart. Fortunately Gerry didn’t reach the Meuse — and apart from the intense cold we did not suffer.

From Dinart we travelled back north again to join the battle of the Sittard Triangle. A longish journey and we spent one night enroute at the little Belgian village of Henk-la-Ville. It was here that we billeted the Troop in a Nunnery, and they were so kind. From there to XXXXX and the now familiar Meuse, and then forward as soon as the bridge was built to Susteren.

After this we returned to Weert — more bad weather; nothing else of interest.

Back to the Meuse (the XXXX now for me it was in Holland) — Gennep was our objective but it was still in Gerry’s hands. The offensive through the Reichswald was in full swing but had not as yet reached Gennep. We got as far as Bengen and there we contacted the forward HQ of the troops holding the line. We were determined to get down to the river bank opposite Gennep, but having been told what it involved, we were greatly relieved when the sudden rising made it impossible. We spent that night at Bengen, as XXXX as any I’ve spent. It poured with rain and to complicate matters Di did not arrive with the troop until it was getting dark. The usual mud and consequent difficulties in getting the guns in — the feeling that at any time anything might happen. I remember hitting a trip mine with my foot — flat in the mud I went — an awful moment and the tremendous relief when it was just a flare that went up and not a mine. As an HQ we had the wreck of a small farm — most inadequate protection against the weather, and as an added discomfort nothing but the XXX between us and the Gerry. As darkness fell, the machine guns started to rattle spasmodically and the not very distant battle could be heard quite clearly. We had also a lot of heavy guns just behind us — the vivid flash and the deafening roar and down the road came the bridging vehicle — no lights of course, and in blinding rain. Quite late Di and I went around the guns — sentries were much awake and silently pushed rifle muzzles into our stomachs. A German patrol had crossed the river — so we went back. We made another recce of our defensive positions, issued further orders as to what to do in the event of an attack, and then lay down on our beds in the remains of a room dimly lit by a well screened hurricane lamp. Not wishing to be taken unawares we barricade the door, put a box of grenades by the side of our beds and though soaking wet dozed off to sleep.

Morning came and all intact — some spasmodic mortaring which came a bit too close. We moved down to Offelt a small village opposite to Gennep and prepared to defend the bridge which was going to be put up. Gennep was attacked and fell — it got an awful pasting and we got a very good view. The river was now well over a thousand yards wide — you’ve probably read already how it was all done. Our stay there was much less eventful than we had expected — I fell sick for the first time during the campaign.

But there are one or two things I remember very clearly about Gennep. The terrific array of artillery from 3.7 AA gun firing in a ground roll to super heavies that had to be dismantled when it was necessary to move them. There was a 7.2 in. howitzer just outside our HQ — every time it fired the whole house shook. But it was sweet music to hear all that noise, and a mystery to this day why so little came back in return.

There was too the sad experience of finding the War Artist killed by a mine. And odd things like standing out in the pouring rain hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Churchill. Gennep bridge was a magnificent achievement — a most imposing sight and especially by night when it was lit by hundreds of lights so that the Engineers could work night and day. I often used to wonder what you civilians at home would think when you had to be so careful about your blackout, when so close to the front line a vital objective was being lit with naked lights? But by then Gerry seemed to be so weak in the air — a few scattered raids were all that we encountered.

From there it was on at last to Germany. The battle was going well though the fighting was still fierce and costly. The weather for the most part was unkind, yet though things were going well and perhaps the end was at last coming in to sight, there was one ever present thought in our minds and that was the crossing of the Rhine. We knew we would have to be there and we had a feeling it would not be easy.

On the other side of the Maas, the activity was intense. Huge dumps of ammunition being built up — incessant streams of bridging vehicles moving up. These latter were the most potent sign. And as we moved for the first time on to German soil we saw the pleasant sight of German towns and German villages instead of French or Dutch homes, being smashed into rubble. But what a mess, what a price Germany was going to have to pay if we fought right across her territory. Places like Goch — just a heap of bricks and dust through which bulldozers had hurriedly driven a road for that incessant stream of Army traffic.

We went into a bivvy area just near to Kevalaar — there to wait — for how long we did not know. Di was on leave and that left me on my own — I hoped he would be back before anything big started, though it was probably unkind towards him for me to think so.

At last we went forward to make our recce. The German civilians had left the area, it all seemed strangely deserted, for even we had to have a special permit to get into this smoke shrouded strip of land running along the banks of the Rhine. Of course Gerry took pleasure in lobbing his shells over especially on to the main road and cross roads. Xanten was a nightmare to go through, he was always shelling it and from that it was constantly burning."

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