大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War site by the Dunstable At War Team on behalf of Robert Hawkes and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

As a young boy living through the 1930s I was very aware of the grave situation in Europe from newspaper reports, the wireless and cinema newsreels. There always seemed to be photographs of goose-stepping Germans and one could turn the knobs of the wireless and often hear martial music and Hitler鈥檚 rantings from some Nazi Party rally.

My favourite toys were the splendid lead soldiers, produced by W Britain and Co and many mini battles were fought among the cabbages, with those of my friend Paul. As the European crises deepened gas masks were distributed to the population and on September 3rd 1939 I listened with my parents to the Prime Minister鈥檚 solemn broadcast announcing that Britain was at war with Germany. Air raid sirens sounded soon afterwards and we all returned to our Anderson Shelter, newly erected by my father and myself and positioned at the end of the garden.

I followed progress of the war closely, cutting out photographs and I subscribed to a new publication i.e. War Illustrated. By this time I was a pupil at Dunstable Grammar School although we lived in Luton. Air raid shelters were built at the school but were seldom used as the town fortunately received little attention from 鈥楪erry鈥�.

I joined the School Cadet Corps and learned the rudiments of military training, even day dreaming of the Corps defending Dunstable in the event of invasion, except of course our ancient carbines were quite inoperable. We were encouraged to help the war-effort by assisting with the harvests on local farms and with the post at Christmas. A small group of us worked during several holidays on a farm. One memory of this time is watching a lone aircraft drop bombs on Luton. It was rumoured that Midland Road (Luton) had been hit. This was where my father had his office. In alarm I cycled to the scene to find a number of houses down but thankfully my father鈥檚 place was still standing. I was told he had been using his St John Ambulance skills and had just left for home.

Apart from first aid he was a very conscientious fire watch warden. I remember him gazing up at the night sky and remarking 鈥渢hey鈥檙e over鈥�, as he identified the re-occurring throb of German aircraft engines.

Early in 1943 I left school with my School Certificate but with absolutely no idea of a career and with the prospect of 鈥榗all-up鈥� when I reached 18. I decided to take temporary work at Luton Library and it was there that I met up again with my old childhood friend, Paul. He had volunteered for a young soldiers regiment and was on leave from Bovington Camp, Dorset. He was enjoying life in the Royal Armoured Corps and I resolved to join him. Naturally my parents were very concerned but accepted that call-up was inevitable and that by volunteering, one could enter the Service of ones choice. So I cycled to St Albans and signed on and by August 1943 I was reporting to the 58th Training Regiment, R.A.C.

At Bovington there was general primary training followed by a few months intensive course on all aspects of armoured vehicles including driving, maintenance, gunnery, wireless telegraphy and the tactics of tank warfare. I found this difficult and discovered I had little mechanical aptitude. What was I doing in the Armoured Corps? Nevertheless I 鈥榩assed out鈥� and was drafted to the 5th Royal Inniskillen Dragoon Guards, then in Northumberland. The year was 1944 when the Allies were expected to invade Europe.

There was great excitement in camp when D-Day was announced over the radio. Then 鈥楽kins鈥� were mobilised and ready to move south only to be disappointed when orders came to move to Kirkcudbright, Scotland for tank gunnery practise. July came and the Normandy invasion force was still fighting hard to reach Caen and move inland. At last we were ordered to move to Bury St Edmunds where we received a book on 鈥楩rance and the French鈥�, 200 French francs and we made our wills. From Bury by train south via North London where we witnessed the aftermath of a V2 rocket on houses near the railway track. Rescuers were frantically digging in the rubble and shouted, 鈥済ive the bastards hell鈥�, as we passed slowly by.

In full marching order, but without our tanks, we marched onto an LSI (Landing Ship Infantry) in Portsmouth harbour. In convoy we eventually passed out at dusk into the Channel to the accompaniment of the woop, woop, woop of destroyers and the loud intercom instructions between ships, across the ocean.

The French coast came into view at dawn and with it the amazing sight of hundreds of ships including the Warspite, which was firing broadsides inland. We went ashore on motorised rafts and marched in file up the beach between white guide tapes. It was my first time abroad and I was fascinated by the scene, excited and apprehensive.

The regiment became part of the 7th Armoured Division, a replacement for a regiment, which had suffered heavy casualties. We collected our Cromwell tanks and I was made co-driver/hull machine gunner in a crew of five. The city of Caen fell at last and then it became a race for the Seine.

My brief contribution to victory came to an end on August 26th, when, as leading tank we encountered stiff opposition at the entrance to a village. Our tank was twice hit by armour piercing shells, one of which ignited around 150 gallons of petrol. In the resulting conflagration sadly two crewmembers were killed. I escaped through my hatchway, helped by two colleagues who had dismounted from their vehicles and by returning fire, forced back enemy infantry. They were subsequently awarded the Military Cross.

This part of my war ended in the British General Hospital in Bayeux. While in there I received the distressing news that my friend Paul had been killed in action whilst serving with the 13th/18th Hussars.

I still keep in touch with one of my brave rescuers and on the 58th anniversary of the battle I had the honour as sole survivor of our crew, to unveil a roadside memorial plaque to those who died, provided by members of the French community.

My abiding memory of Normandy will always be the lush closed in character of the Normandy bocage and the pervasive smell of dead cattle.

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