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Monday, June 24th 1940 was a glorious summer's day, the sort of day one spent swimming or fishing or strolling through country lanes; for me however, it was the day I went to war.
I volunteered to become a regular soldier with the Grenadier Guards and after the normal basic training period at Caterham Barracks, found myself, during those autumn and early winter days, when the London Blitz was at it’s height, seemingly interminably entrapped, ill equipped for combat, at Wellington Barracks with the Holding Battalion, in a perpetual routine of guard duty, either at Buckingham Palace or at one of the numerous posts surrounding the City of London, known as ‘Whitehall Defences’. When a call for volunteers for a newly formed Parachute Unit appeared on the Battalion Notice Board, a number of us with a shared feeling of inadequate preparation, for the almost certain fury of the imminent invasion by German forces and spurred by the rumour of extra pay and the luxury of exchanging life in army barracks for the comfort of ‘civvy billets’, submitted our names for consideration. Within a few weeks, those of us who were accepted, found ourselves en-route to Achnacarry, a regular commando training area, set in the rugged highlands of Scotland. The winter of 1940 was bitterly cold and the training area perpetually wet and bleak. Under canvas, in a hollow surrounded by steep hills, our clothes, once wet, stayed wet. The prelude for every parade was the ascent of a steep hill, but the variety of activities taught compensated for the lack of amenities. Over a period of weeks we absorbed an understanding of signalling (semaphore), explosives, map reading, weapon training, unarmed combat and cliff climbing techniques. Interspersed with these activities were long, physically demanding route marches in rugged terrain. On one such march, we were required to cross a swift flowing stream between two trees. We pulled ourselves hand over hand beneath the rope, but unfortunately one colleague, with a Bren gun strapped to his back, lost his grip and fell face up into the water beneath, with fatal consequences. At the end of this training, those of us who were still around were supremely fit and eagerly awaiting the next stage. This involved a stint of several days at a rifle range near Liverpool, to hone our skills at marksmanship. It was at this time that we learned that a detachment from the Battalion we would be joining, had been dropped at Tragino, in Southern Italy, where they breached a vital aqueduct carrying a main water supply.
After an expansive period of advanced physical training and then, finally, some preliminary training at Ringway Aerodrome, Manchester, came the long awaited culmination of our efforts, a series of parachute jumps in Tatton Park, Knutsford, near Manchester. The day before our first jump, we were taken to the landing site to observe a demonstration drop, by a group of Polish parachutists. On a cold, sombre morning we stood and listened to the steady drone of a distant Whitley, as it approached the dropping zone. As it came into sight above the tree-tops, we could see the hole at the bottom of the fuselage, from which the paratroops would emerge. One after the other, they came out, in textbook fashion and then, to our horror, two came out locked together. Jumping from opposite sides of the hole, instead of jumping alternatively, they had emerged simultaneously, with the consequence that, although their chutes initially opened, the rigging lines wrapped around each other, the chutes collapsed and the two bodies hitting the ground at a high velocity were killed instantly. This incident was not the most encouraging introduction to our chosen means of arrival, at some future battleground. However, the following day, a much warmer and sunnier occasion, saw us determined and purposeful, gathered at the base of a balloon for our initiation into the still evolving art of parachuting. Lying underneath the balloon, I watched them descend, fast and straight down at first and then, as their chutes opened, drifting with the wind clear of the balloon cable. It seemed so idyllic and carefree, until suddenly there were only four of us left and as we ascended in the balloon I found that I was to be the last to jump. Sitting alone perched on the edge of the hole, I waited for the command to go, then after a free fall lasting only brief seconds, my chute opened and joyfully I contemplated the scenery below, as I descended gently to earth. Wham ! Suddenly my chute collapsed and my speed of descent increased. Fortunately my chute quickly stabilised and I hit the ground according to the methods instilled in us, during practice sessions in the hangar. As I had disappeared through the hole in the floor, the Sergeant Instructor, parachute at the ready throughout the exercise, had jumped over the side and landed on top of my own chute ! After a series of night and day plane jumps, seven in all, we were presented with our coveted parachute badge and pronounced fit to take our place with the Unit, 11 Special Air Service Battalion, which was split into two separate bodies, both in civvy billets, but one at Congleton and the other, to which I was assigned, at Knutsford. I could not, however, but admire the guy, who despite an overwhelming fear of heights, had forced himself to complete the whole sequence of jumps before requesting to be ‘Returned to Unit (RTU)’.
It was about this time that Guardsman ‘Frankie’ Garlick, having exited through the hole of a Whitley in the prescribed manner, then finding himself suspended beneath the belly of the plane, was reluctantly compelled to survey the panorama below, a bird’s eye view of the landscape near Edinburgh, in Scotland. The Whitley continued its journey back to Manchester, with it’s unscheduled passenger still dangling beneath the fuselage. The plane landed slowly with the tail lifted higher than normal and Frank survived almost free of injury, to continue his participation in the affairs of the battalion.
Although almost every other member of the unit seemed to be a Guardsman, in fact most Regiments of the British Army were represented. Also it consisted of the most cosmopolitan collection of individuals it was possible to imagine. There were Irish, both Northern and Southern, Scots, Welsh, a Spaniard, a Jew and a Pole. One guy was a committed Communist who had seen action in the Spanish Civil War and another who professed admiration for the Fascist philosophy, elements which would normally create ethnic and political tensions, but, overriding all these various considerations were two overwhelming common bonds, a fierce pride in the Unit, which we designated, "THE Battalion’ and a common fear of failing to measure up to the high standards required, with the resultant ultimate punishment (RTU).
Although we were a highly trained and viable unit, we were not uniformly attired, for we continued to wear the cap badges of our original Regiments, but with the addition of a parachute badge worn on our right arm; this created many an exploitable situation in the local pub whilst relaxing in remote areas. The eventual deeds performed by the battalion were as nothing, compared to the vivid exploits recounted over many a free glass of brown ale.
The threat of invasion was now no longer imminent, but still a possibility, so from time to time large or small groups would be missing from the normal activities. They would be dropped in some vulnerable area of England, with a specific target, which would be defended by troops, stationed in that area, who were familiar with the terrain. The specific exercise could be a brief encounter, lasting a few hours or a more complex affair spread over a number of days. These schemes served to keep morale high and also gave attackers and defenders much needed practice in deployment and tactics. The downside of the coin was the inevitable list of casualties and the expense involved. We were dropped with only meagre food supplies and instructions to fend for ourselves, just as we would in actual combat and any vehicle which was considered a source of danger was to be immobilised by removing the distributor. This distributor was to be placed in a bag, suitably identified, and handed in to the authorities at the conclusion of the exercise. The bags however were frequently lost in the heat of the moment, which was inevitably a source of some embarrassment.
All aspects of parachute operations were at this stage subject to experiment and frequent change of direction. This applied particularly to the aircraft, which were to deliver us. The hole in the floor exit of our main carriers, the Whitley, was a cumbersome and slow method of disgorging troops, so that they were spread too far apart on the dropping zone. It was obvious that a better means of exit would be through an open door in the side of the aircraft, as was common practice in troop transport aircraft and we looked forward to the time when this method could be implemented. The evolution of the various methods of dropping weapons and the changes in fighting apparel are well documented. A most welcome innovation was a light, but very warm sleeping bag, which made cold nights spent in the open a much more endurable experience.
Life at this time had a touch of the bizarre, not only for conventional members of the three Services and the general population, but even more so for we ‘Special Forces’. It was inconceivable, given that, an invasion force, consisting of the might of the victorious German Wehrmacht, was poised on the beaches of France, awaiting favourable conditions and with our shipping carrying vital supplies of food and materials, being sunk at an alarming rate; with our cities and centres of production being devastated and with Britain alone in a position to resist the, seemingly inevitable, subjugation of Europe, that the reason for continuing the conflict, the eventual defeat of the Axis forces could be seriously considered. Yet here we were, training to be dropped into enemy territory !!
The fact that we spent a great deal of our off duty hours in the company of our civilian hosts, resulting in a serious problem with security, could only be sustained as a temporary solution to the overall need for a suitable Regimental base. Another embarrassing dilemma was evidenced when the need arose to discipline a soldier for a transgression of the rules. The offender was confined in an empty house, requisitioned by the Military for the purpose, for a specified period. One of the guards detailed to ensure his captivity, was detailed to march him to and from his normal ‘civvy billet’, at each mealtime. The evening ceremony would invariably take much longer than the earlier ritual, because the route back, involved passing a pub during the hours of opening, a custom which was seldom observed by this elite body of men.
MOVING ON
Suddenly the whole war situation changed. On June 22, 1941, Germany embarked on a campaign, code-named ‘Barbarossa’, against the Soviet Union. This switched the German priorities, both in man power and resources to the confrontation on the Eastern Front. Now, for England to speculate about a victorious outcome, was no longer an idle concept and the psychological effect of this turn of events lifted the spirits of all elements of British society.
And so 11 SAS, originally 2 Commando, again changed its identity. Moving to Hardwick, in September 1941, under the command of our new CO, a martinet by the name of Lieutenant-Colonel Eric Down, we became 1st Parachute Battalion. It was then that the persistent rumours we had been hearing of newly formed airborne units became a confirmed fact. However we, as long established pioneers, regarded ourselves as somewhat superior to these other ‘Johnny-come-lately’s’, so it came as an immense shock to our self-image and was the cause of much inter-battalion friction, when C Company, 2nd Battalion, was chosen to make what resulted in an archetype airborne assault, on a German radar installation at Bruneval, on the coast of France, in January 1942.
The shock of the drastic change in life-style, now that we were accommodated in more conventional quarters, was exacerbated by the strict disciplinary regime imposed by Lieutenant-Colonel Down, with the emphasis being placed on physical fitness, endurance and efficiency in all known aspects of guerilla warfare. From time to time, a familiar face would disappear, as the person in particular failed to measure up to the standards required. With the passing of time, life became routine, a common Army problem during periods spent preparing for possible combat, on some future battlefield, at some distant date. Incessant combat training, route marches and physical feats of endurance were the order of the day.
The days and months of late 1941 and early 1942 drifted by, until, in March 1942 we departed Hardwick for the less rugged and warmer territory around Bulford, on Salisbury Plain. Now it was that we came into contact with other standard units of the British Army and our new and most welcome allies, the American Forces. Inevitably our off duty energies were dissipated in physical confrontations at the local dance hall, either with other battalions, other regiments or more usually our allies and quite often, opponents at one instance, suddenly became allies against a common, natural opponent, at some later stage in the proceedings.
In August 1942 we were officially transferred from our original regiments, to become founding members of the ‘Parachute Regiment’, a wing of the 1st Airborne Division, Army Air Corps, and some time later were issued with our new Regimental badge and a ‘Maroon Beret’, the colour of which was viewed with misgivings by a large majority.
This event marked the beginning of a period of battle readiness by the 1st Battalion, now under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Hill. During the month of August, we were confined to barracks and briefed for a major role in a commando raid on the French coast, at Dieppe. A German gun emplacement dominated the assault landing area and it was considered that a prior parachute landing, in the rear of the emplacement, was needed to neutralise the battery before the main assault from the sea. We emplaned for this exercise in some trepidation, it certainly looked easy on the scale model we had studied, but the French coast was heavily fortified and manned by troops who had yet to taste the bitterness of defeat in battle. Suddenly we received the order to disembark, because the project had been cancelled, due to inclement weather conditions. Canadian commandos, were eventually assigned to our task when the raid finally took place; they attempted to assault the gun emplacement from the front, were massacred and the whole exercise was a tragic failure.
Shortly afterwards after a training exercise at Exford, we marched back, with full pack, to Bulford, a distance of 110 miles, in just over three days. Each night when we stopped, we were some distance from the nearest pub, to which most everyone journeyed, so that the actual distance covered was much more than the registered length.
Later we were again briefed for a raid on the island of Ashant, near Brest, to assault and capture a German garrison. Again this was cancelled.
In early November 1942 we received orders to prepare for embarkation to an undisclosed destination.

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